#these got left out from the prev set

[dimpleskinard]

9-1-1 → 7x05 “You Don’t Know Me”

[onlyswan]

summary: in which you drive jungkook mad but you make his heart beat.

idol!jungkook x f!reader, est. relationship / fluff, suggestive, a pinch of angst / word count: 5k

content/warnings: tried sumn different so this is mainly from jungkook’s pov :D !! drummer!oc ur so cool & i’m stealing u from ur bf 🏃— mention of a 10 yr age gap between jk & a guy who likes oc (he’s hella pissed off) ; mentions of (car) s^x ; allusion to a bl^wj^b ; jk just got home from tour & oc is tipsy, needy, & dramatic as hell T_T ; oc /briefly/ touches jk while he’s driving & he /nearly/ loses his shit & crashes the car (he doesn’t) (i’m kidding) + to the anon who wanted to jk’s cheek scar to get a kissy here u go 🥺

> in which masterlist!

note: oc is so shot glass of tears coded especially in this… i’m glad i’m posting this after golden came out just so i could say it 🥰 this takes place after this drabble sooo the end of oct 2018 <3 if u’ve read the prev drabble too, this was when jk said those exact words in the past 🥺 wrote this in the middle of hell week so i was half out of my mind :'] as always feedback & reblogs rrr always appreciated !! 🥺

—

jungkook loves the sound of rain— the gentle knocks on every surface of the earth has always been a lullaby even during daylight.

tonight is a different story, however. it is defeaning, terrifying even. he can barely see what is infront of him, spare the occasional headlights blazing across the slippery roads. his umbrella is being stolen away by the harsh gusts of wind and the mud stains on his sneakers are well-hidden by the plain black.

and yes, he is tired; and yes, this is hard, but that is the end of it.

you’re exactly where you told him you’d wait, far behind the edge of the roof where the rainwater falls from and splashes on the ground. you stand out in his blue oversized shirt, one that he purposely left behind in your closet so he could have something else to wear when he sleeps over.

you’re too busy typing on your phone to see him crossing the parking lot; he feels his very own vibrate in the pocket of his sweatpants. however, his giddy smile fades when a man exits through the entrance door and approaches you with a red umbrella. his strides become slightly hurried then, as he watches you politely decline it with that heart-fluttering smile of yours everybody adores.

“oh no, really, i’m fine. you might need it later! my boyfriend is already coming to pick me up anyway.”

jungkook acts cool. he tucks his hand in the pocket of his sweatpants, tries to make himself appear bigger because he realizes that he would be inches shorter than the man if not for the platforms of his shoes.

“____, baby!”

upon hearing your name coming from the lips of your lover, your face lights up even brighter.

“jungkook!”

you greet him with an embrace, jumping into his arms before he can properly set down his umbrella on the ground.

“yah, yah-yah! be careful!” he chuckles as he wraps his arms around your waist to catch you, peering down to check how high your boots are for you to be running and jumping around freely.

“hey, i’m going back inside- there’s more customers coming in. make it home safe, alright?”

the stranger tries to catch your attention, and jungkook’s protectiveness swiftly kicks in when he lays a hand on you and slides it down to your lower back. your boyfriend turns you away from the unprompted touch by pulling your body closer to his side, and he is unable to control how his eyebrows knit together in annoyance.

he wasn’t planning on giving much thought to the presence of a man around you. he knows better than that. but he has never heard about this one, which raises the question of who the fuck is he to freely touch you like that?

“oh- alright! thank you, jun!”

“you better take care of ____, man. it’s dangerous around here during this time.”

he receives a rather heavy and condescending pat on the shoulder, and so, with his annoyance bubbling worse, he wears a passive aggressive smile on his face.

“yeah, of course i am,”

jun’s nostrils flare as he witnesses you sneakily slide your hands underneath jungkook’s hoodie in search of warmth.

“i’m here now, so there’s no need to worry about my girlfriend anymore.”

he nods, then forces himself to smile. “that’s good, then.”

“yeah, thanks. we’re leaving.”

“oh, okay. have a nice night!”

“you too,”

he turns on his heel and returns inside the busy establishment— but not before jungkook made sure that he saw the bruises on his knuckles that he got from his boxing sessions.

his jaw clenches as he glares at the door.

is he being petty? sure, to hell with that. he doesn’t care. he’s always been one to trust his gut, and he has a bad feeling.

he is met by a love-drunk smile when his undivided attention is at last given to you, in the form of fond eyes and affectionate strokes of your hair.

“who was that?”

“eh, new bartender,” you shrug with disinterest. “hm, i think he’s 31…? he’s nice but he keeps talking about wrestling.”

he raises an eyebrow at the mention of his age, while your lips form a sad pout.

what the hell? he thought he would be 25 at most.

“the tv has been in the same channel for the past two weeks because of him. it’s all i’ve been seeing! i don’t like it-” you whine in distress, quite frankly, a little traumatized.

an endeared smile is coaxed out of him at your adorableness, how your speech is a little slurred and how you’re looking at him like you’re begging him to do something about it.

“makes me nervous,”

his dominant hand closes into a fist.

if he only he had known. should’ve fucking punched the guy, give him a taste of what he seems to be a huge fan of.

“let’s watch something calming when we get home, how about that?”

you nod your head, eyes that twinkle with eagerness fluttering shut when he leans in for a much awaited kiss. how sweet, he feels a little more alive than before. he can smell it, even taste it— the peach margarita you started sipping on before the band’s first set. concocted by jun, he presumes. he pulls away with a small smile, licking his lips for the traces of you that clung to him.

out of the blue, you burst into a fit of giggles, weak knees buckling as your weight crashes on him.

“i missed you!”

“babe, are you seriously drunk?” he chuckles, holding you with a secure grip around your torso.

“maaaybe tipsy…? i was pretending not to be.” you stand on your tip-toes to nuzzle your face against his neck, mumbling sheepishly. “only trust you.”

—

“i should’ve accepted the umbrella.” you grunt childishly, body going limp on jungkook’s back, except for the arm holding up the umbrella that shields the both of you from the pouring rain.

“yah!” he scolds you, clearly not pleased with the words that just came from your mouth. “what does that mean?”

“i’m embarrassed! they’re probably feeling bad for you.”

the last sentence comes out as a whisper, pertaining to the side glances you’ve been attracting from strangers as you make your way to your boyfriend’s car.

unfortunately, he had to park somewhere far because the restobar’s parking lot was already full.

you jokingly complained about staining your white boots with dirt and mud, but you instantly regretted it when he bent down, signalling you to ride on his back without an ounce of hesitation.

“our shoulders always get wet when we share an umbrella,” he said. “if i carry you, wouldn’t it be better?”

“embarrassing? some would even say romantic!”

something peculiar happens then— when your lips ghost over his left cheek, planting an affectionate kiss there that lasts for seconds. you pull away with a smacking sound, giggly and bubbly, might be his favorite version of you.

“i love you,” you hum, grasping the umbrella upright before it could tip over.

he doesn’t know if you did it on purpose or not, kissing him precisely where his scar is, but his heart jumps in his chest when he feels it begin to throb.

as if the wound from his childhood has come alive. as if, once again, he is bleeding as he glares at his older brother, and he still wants to play games on the computer oblivious to the fact that it would leave a permanent scar, a brand new landmark on his body.

you mistake his silence for something else.

you frown, warm breath tickling his neck as you quietly ask. “are you still mad at me?”

he sighs, vision landing on the ground as his walking pace slows down. “no? i was wrong. i shouldn’t have questioned your decision in the first place… why would i be mad?”

you started playing the drums for your friend’s band two months ago, just as soon as he left for tour. you volunteered after witnessing how distraught they were when their drummer vanished without a trace. he learned that it used to be a hobby of yours from childhood until early teenage years, playing the drums, but it was robbed from you when your father took his instruments with him when he abandoned your home for another.

he was pleasantly surprised when he learned about it, recounted all the times your hands and fingers were drumming on any sort of surface and his head naturally bopped to the beat, but then again, you never brought it up.

isn’t ____ so cool? he would proudly say when he flaunts you to his friends, even the protocol team, who have never seen him so happy.

three times a week, from nine in the evening until midnight, your phone was propped up on an empty table infront of the stage, and him, on the other side of the globe, excitedly watched you from backstage while he was getting ready for their own show. some other times, he was in his hotel room, or the private jet. his patience has been tested by crappy wifi, nosy and noisy people, and his earphones that stopped working while you looked insanely attractive grooving to ‘why’d you only call me when you’re high?’ as you effortlessly played the drums. he showered you with compliments as you did for him. you’re working hard so he must do the same.

he arrived home from tour the other day, spent the rest of its hours sleeping. yesterday, he waited for you at school and then at work like a lost puppy, slept on your bed (if he’s being honest, the two of you didn’t do much sleeping) then woke up at 9am for work.

and he tried his best, he really did, to get out of the company early enough to catch you playing a song or two. after all, it was your last day at the job.

much as you enjoyed reconnecting with an old flame— loved the overflowing tips that came from those who were amazed by your talent (well, there were also those who were just trying to get into your pants), the moment that the old drummer got down on his knees begging to be taken back by his best friends, just like how you became a part of the band, you voluntarily stepped down.

jungkook didn’t agree with this decision. he didn’t understand why you’d sacrifice something that makes you happy for a person who fucked up and wasted what they had. you went back and forth over it on the phone until you cried, told him that it wasn’t easy for you, and he couldn’t hold you in his arms or kiss your face. he could only apologize, and it even felt insincere doing it through a screen.

maybe he’s only relieved that you no longer need to be around a man an entire decade older than he is, who is obviously interested in you and serves you alcohol drinks. no, that doesn’t sit right with him. he needs jun, or whatever the fuck his true name is, to stay very far away from his baby.

“i’m just sad that i never got to watch you perform in person.”

you rest your cheek on his shoulder, heavy eyelids slowly blinking as the headlights of a black van blindsides you.

what the fuck. too bright.

“me too…”

—

“i’m bored,” you release a dramatic sigh, stealing a glimpse of jungkook at the driver’s seat, just to see if you caught his attention like you intended.

his eyes are trained on the dashboard, however, focused on the navigation guide displayed on his phone. he isn’t very familiar with this part of the city. it took him more than an hour to arrive at the address you sent him, including the time he spent in the middle of traffic.

“forty-eight minutes, then we can do whatever you want.”

“whatever i want?”

he slows down the car, briefly turning his head to find you expectantly looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“of course,” he laughs, taking one hand off the wheel to squish your cheeks together. “just tell me what it is, baby.”

he doesn’t catch the sad look that flashes across your face after you lose his touch.

“then i’ll tell you when i figure out what i want,” you say quietly.

“i thought you already had something in mind?”

“nope,” you answer with yet another sigh.

you choose to stare out the window in silence, body completely slumping into your seat in defeat.

jungkook’s senses are sharp, or he likes to believe so. “are you okay?”

“i’m okay,”

“you sure?”

“hmm,” you hum curtly, and then you close your eyes, so he decides not to press further despite wanting to.

he meets a red traffic light not long after that. and so, he hurriedly grabs the black fleece blanket in the backseat. he envelopes you in it, crossing the distance between you to softly press his lips onto yours for a goodnight kiss. he feels you respond, albeit lazily, and he smirks cockily when you lift yourself up to chase him for one more, please— desperately, to get your fill of goodnight kisses from the many nights that you missed it.

the time seems to tick excruciatingly slow now that you’re quiet. a minute is multiplied by a hundred. the steady rhythm of your breathing keeps him sane throughout dark avenues and encounters with reckless drivers of the midnight scene.

he missed you. he missed you so much, and he knows that you’re tired from university, and tutoring high school students in english, and playing the drums for more than two hours… but he selfishly wishes that you’re awake right now so he can make up for the two months that you were apart.

be careful of what you wish for, they said.

jungkook should know better by now.

“i can’t sleep,” he hears you whisper in a dulcet tone that indirectly tells him you’re in need of some love… but he isn’t given the chance to act upon that request because you’re already all over what it is that you need.

he swallows thickly, glancing down at your hand that has somehow found its way to his inner thigh— zeroing in on your red nails, can feel them faintly grazing his skin.

you’re so pretty. everywhere.

even when naked and bare.

no, especially. it’s all he can think about.

he can draw you from memory.

“____,” he utters your name through gritted teeth, heart beginning to race a thousand miles per second in his chest.

the effect of your teasing touch is instantaneous, slowly inching closer and closer to where his growing erection is. his eyes remain focused on the road, but he fears that he’ll start thinking with his dick soon if you carry on with this act a few seconds longer.

“shit, not now, baby- please- not while i’m driving.”

your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, poorly concealing a self-satisfied smirk, and you pretend not to hear a single word from his plea.

a minx, that’s what you are, always causing trouble and blurring lines in his eyes.

“____, i’m not joking around. don’t make me mad-”

his warning is cut short by-

“fuck… fuck,” he curses, filter flying out the window once he feels you tracing the outline of his hard-on, the feather-light touch of your fingers smoothly gliding across the fabric of his sweatpants, and he completely loses it when your soft palm caresses his cock, so gentle that it feels almost innocent.

okay, so he couldn’t feel it because you weren’t skin-to-skin, but he knows that your hands are soft, can feel his imagination running wilder because he has memorized the way they feel on most parts of his body.

you’re so incredibly nasty and evil for this— squeezing him lightly, taking advantage of how sensitive he’s gotten, making him tremble as pleasure shoots up his spine. his breath stutters in his lungs and he unconsciously pushes harder on the gas.

and although it means fighting every fiber of his being that painfully yearns for more, he seizes your wrist in an iron grip, placing your hand over the gearstick while his sits heavy on top of yours.

“____! behave! you’re going to get us killed!”

he watches you jut out your bottom lip through the rearview mirror, eyes hazy with lust staring down at where your hand used to be, and then his handsome face. he is evidently flushed, honey skin dusted with a rosy pink. all the way to the tips of his ears, down to his neck.

while he’s driving? really?

doesn’t this only happen in wet dreams?

you are not real.

“then pull over,” you plead. “please?”

he releases a shaky breath. you’re always so needy with alcohol in your system, drove him into total insanity while he couldn’t be here to give you what you wanted.

“no, you need to learn how to be patient… told you we can do whatever you want when we get home, right?”

wrong move.

the silence returns, and just when he thought that you went back to your journey to slumber, the sound of your sniffles fill the car.

jungkook’s heart breaks into a million pieces.

also, he wants to slam his head against the steering wheel.

you make it so fucking hard to resist you; you always get what you want. it becomes much harder when he is the subject of your desire and he loves being loved.

“haven’t i been patient enough…? i missed you so much.”

“and i missed you too!” he brings your intertwined hands to his lips, pressing them on your skin. “fuck, you have no idea how much… please, don’t cry.”

“then pull over,” you stubbornly insist, and he is so close to driving this car into a lamp post. “fuck me at the backseat.”

“can’t,” he mumbles, sounding almost pained, and he is. he wants you so bad, it hurts. “we’re going to have to do it without protection.”

“what do you mean?” you exclaim.

you rip your hand away from his, not wasting time in unlocking the glove compartment, and a sound of sheer disappointment escapes from your mouth as you collapse back on your seat.

“jungkook, i hate you!”

“well right now i hate myself too!” he cries out in frustration. “i didn’t have the time to buy more, okay?”

“and there’s not one in your wallet?”

“babe, are you serious?!”

“what?!”

somehow, his hands still expertly swivels the steering wheel as the car meets a curve.

but he feels dizzy. the ghost of your touch is still there, a promise of carnal pleasure unfulfilled.

“stop the car,” you say out of the blue, rather calmly, and that terrifies the shit out of him.

he swallows the lump in his throat, eyes switching between you and the road in panic. “huh?”

“i said stop the car, i’m stepping out.”

“babe, come on,” he moans, ruined and tormented. he reaches for your hand but you scoot further away from him, and he ignores the way his heart drops to his stomach as he kneads your exposed thigh instead. “please, don’t be like this. i just got home.”

“jungkook! if you don’t let me get off this car right now, i swear!”

the urgency embedded in your threatening voice leaves your boyfriend with no choice but to pull over to the side of the street as soon as he gets the chance.

he carries on to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“baby, stop being stu-”

he tries to reach for you, but he is rudely ignored as you hop off the car and slam the door shut on his face.

“…bborn…”

he blinks.

he inhales. he exhales.

and then he buries his face in his hands to scream… as quietly as possible.

“what the fuck was in that margarita?!”

—

jungkook steps out of the car worried sick about you. now wearing a black bucket hat, his head whips in different directions in search for the familiar shape of your body, your hair, your shirt that is his, anything.

his arm rests on top of the car door, the other on the roof, fingers drumming on it anxiously as he chews on his bottom lip.

there are mostly restaurants here, it seems. some are already closed, some are still lights on. not far away, he hears a karaoke place bursting with music and laughter. he looks up and he finds that the night sky remains barren of stars; there’s no guidance from the heavens that will lead him to you.

except for the sound of your sweet voice calling out his name.

he turns around, and he knows it’s going to sound extremely silly, but damn, you make his life feel like a movie— because you’re jogging towards him, and the universe begins moving in slow motion. perhaps it is to prevent him from falling on his knees in relief, because he genuinely thought that you already went home on your own like the stubborn brat that you are.

“____, where did you go?! you can’t just run off like that! seriously, that was not nice!”

“i forgot my wallet!” you squeal as you halt infront of him, slapping your forehead as a way to scold yourself. “i found a hotteok cart!”

his anger quickly dissipitates. he scans your face, mouth agape in bewilderment.

you, screaming at him to stop the car because there was a sighting of your favorite snack? makes sense.

he dishes out the wallet from his pocket. “wha- i thought you… you didn’t have money?”

you shake your head to answer his question.

“then how are you already eating?”

you take another bite from the hot hotteok you’re holding in a paper cup, and then you shrug.

“i was already eating when i realized it,” you point at yourself, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “so he let me run back here. does it look like this face would steal?”

“you’re impossible!” he bursts out laughing, the unique sound of his joy harmonizing with the mundane noises of the city.

he is thoroughly amused and in awe of your undeniable charm never failing to work its magic. if you just gave it a shot, you might be even better at him at his job.

you’re pliant as he captures your wrist, tugging you away with him so he can lock the car.

“i bought three, by the way.” you note as the two of you start walking, with you clinging to his side. “the last three then mister can go home.”

you put the hotteok near his mouth, and he pauses to take a big bite. “have you even had dinner?”

“just the four margaritas- they were yummy! or was it five?”

he clicks his tongue in disappointment, but he doesn’t get to say anything more about it because you’ve reached the hotteok cart, and he’s already handing the vendor the money.

“thank you!” he bows his head politely as he accepts the remaining two you mentioned earlier, handing them over to you.

“no, this is yours.” you speak with tenderness, giving back one of the cups to him. “then we’ll split the third one. it’s really good!”

the vendor secretly watches the interaction with a fond smile as he packs up to finally, finally end his long day working at the busy streets of seoul.

—

you’re sat together on the hood of jungkook’s car as you share a midnight snack. with caring hands, you rip the hotteok apart in perfect halves, offering the other to your lover. he accepts it in between his teeth.

“do you want drums as your christmas gift?”

“love,” you search for the words to say as you chew the food in your mouth. “i can barely fit in my apartment. where am i going to put a drum set…? not to mention that i can’t even cry without my neighbor hearing it.”

his shoulders drop in dejection, and you rub your boyfriend’s back in an attempt to comfort him.

“you must really want to see me play, don’t you?”

“i’m dying to,” he says in pure jungkook fashion, tone dramatic and thick with an accent that is entirely his. “i can’t believe there were regulars who saw you every night, while i, your boyfriend, didn’t even see you once…! even that fucking bartender… this- this can’t be right! do you think this makes sense? no, right?”

“aw, my baby,” you coo at him, jutting out your bottom lip as you tenderly cup his face.

“i don’t trust him, by the way,” he scoffs. “as much as possible, stay away from him when you visit, alright…? if i see him touching you one more time, i don’t know what i’ll end up doing to him.”

“i don’t like him either,” you giggle. “so that’s easy.”

he stares at your bloodshot eyes. damn it, you haven’t sobered up.

“____, i’m serious. he’s weird. i’m worried about you but i can’t always be here to protect you.”

you blink at him innocently. “i am too! serious!”

“you promise me?”

“i promise!”

he nods, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he gets lost in the sea of his own thoughts. “i should talk to your friends about this, too. is that okay?”

“if that will ease your mind,” you half-smile, heart fluttering in your chest because you feel so cherished.

comfortable silence follows suit.

the hotteok is still soft and warm and sweet. if your love had to be delivered to his doorstep, it would in the form of your favorite food.

he sighs to gain more of your sympathy, basking in the attention he’s receiving from you. he missed this. he missed you. he sounds like a broken record, but it’s true.

“come ooon, don’t be sad! i’ll make it up to you! but it’s a surprise!”

“surprise?” he eyes you with suspicion. “what surprise?”

“just trust me, alright?”

you poke his cheek where his dimples are, and you witness them pop out as he copies your contagious smile.

“can i make a guess?”

“nope!”

you fit the remaining piece of your hotteok in your mouth, jumping off the hood of the car. you stand before him as you wipe your hands clean with a small paper napkin.

“don’t you dare. if you guess it right then my plans will be ruined!”

—

you’re back on the passenger seat to travel the remaining twenty-seven minutes to your apartment.

jungkook melts into the tenderness of your touch as he drives. you’re tracing the toned muscles of his arms; stroking his hair, his face, and the smell of the sticky brown sugar from the hotteok still lingers on your skin.

“when are you going to start getting tattoos?” you wonder out loud as he intertwines your fingers together on top of his thigh. “i think you’d look so pretty.”

“i’m planning on it.”

his heart skips a beat at the thought of you remembering that he wants his skin artfully inked as you absentmindedly distracted yourself with it.

he licks his lips, smiling as he looks over at you. “you really think so? pretty?”

“hm, hot, too,” you stick your tongue out playfully, and he snorts out a laugh. “but as long as you’re happy, then nothing else matters.”

“of course- wait, yah! you still need to eat dinner.” he reminds you once he recognizes the path you’re taking.

a grocery store is not more than a kilometer away, if his memory serves him right.

“what do you want? i don’t mind cooking.”

“for you to fuck me, that’s what i want. you won’t mind that, too?”

oh my fucking god.

he wishes you were passed out drunk instead so he wouldn’t have to suffer this battle between self-control and his insatiable appetite for you.

“baby, aren’t you still sore from this morning?”

“a little,” he notices you squeezing your thighs together from his peripheral, and along with it, the bruises on your knees from when you worshipped his body last night. “but i want you.”

your giggles in reaction to him frustratedly running his fingers through his hair seems to only fuel the dirty thoughts in his head. he uncomfortably shifts in his seat to adjust himself.

“can you just bring it up when we get near your house? you’re killing me over here!”

“but why? i’m having fun.” you bring your tangled hands over to your side, peppering the back of his hand with innocent kisses. “i love you. you’re so cute.”

“are you… are you seriously calling me cute after what you just asked me to fuck you?”

his disbelief is challenged by your amusement.

“why not? being one dimensional? boring. being different things all at once? sexy.”

jungkook doesn’t need to see you play the drums to know that you are the only one capable of making his heart beat like this. to feel it pounding, it turns out there’s another way besides performing, he can just be alone with you. a different type of addictive exhilaration. he isn’t at the top of the world; he free falls as it revolves around you.

you always know the right words to say, because right now, he is preening. he’s wearing a big smile, the kind that looks like he’s laughing, but he’s not— almost. the kind that reaches his eyes, shapes them into little crescent moons.

how did he get so lucky?

rehearsals in the morning be damned, he will be fucking you good all night.

you make a noise of confusion when the car swerves into the trees at the side of the road.

“what are we doing here?”

jungkook only spares you a glance. “get in the backseat, baby.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[coff33andb00ks]

Rule Breaker - Pt 2

max verstappen x single mom!reader

{prev} {next}

warnings: cursing, reader y/nsplains, jos is an asshole, fluff, barely proofread, logan tries to flirt, y/n's bestie is a tumblr girlie at heart, kiddo steals the show Summary: Max has it all...right? Besides, he's too busy collecting trophies and completing side quests for anything else. Until... You moved across a whole ass ocean to start over, uprooting you and your son's lives to become social media admin for cars that drive in circles. word count: 6833 auth.note: thank you all so much for the love for part 1!!! ily all and i'm having so much fun writing this

The paddock was relatively quiet so early in the morning. Unable to sleep, y/n had left the hotel and made her way to the track. She was taking the opportunity to explore the settings on the camera and getting her bearings since she didn't have any work duties to complete until later in the day. She had expected Kevin to want to come with her, but he'd opted to sleep in with Ellie, who would bring him to the track later. So she wandered, exchanging the occasional greeting with others. Stopping to take a photo of a bird perched on the fence in front of pit lane, she backed up, crashing into someone.

"Whoop, s'cuse me, sorry," she said, turning to apologize properly. She recognized the two men by their faces but her mind blanked on their names.

"It's alright, ma'am. Didn't mess up your shot, did we?" His American accent was a happy surprise.

"I don't think so." Smiling, y/n lowered the camera. "My fault, and I'll blame it on being new."

"Marketing?" The other man guessed.

Australian. And suddenly she remembered their names. "Social media. I'm y/n."

"So great to meet you." Logan tipped his head slightly. "Carolina?"

"God, you can take the hick outta Carolina, but you can't take the Carolina outta the hick." He grinned and she laughed. "North Carolina, yeah."

Oscar stared at Logan. "How did you guess that? She just sounds plain American?"

"No, dude, it's the lilt. It's like when George got pissed we couldn't pick up on the different English accents."

"Can he pick up on the different American south accents?" y/n asked.

Logan rolled his eyes. "He knows Brooklyn, Midwest, valley girl, and just south."

"In his defense it's hard to pick out each individual one," Oscar pointed out.

Y/n shrugged. "You've got a point. I sound different from people that grew up just an hour from me."

"Yeah! And I know mine's been butchered from so much time in Europe." Logan nodded.

"You still sound more like home than anyone else I've met."

"I was gonna say the same thing – you sound like home." He smiled, a soft, genuine smile that had her smiling in return.

"And what do I sound like?" Oscar asked with a grin.

"A magical place far, far away," y/n told him. She covertly checked the time and wondered if hospitality had finished setting up so she could get some coffee.

"Hear that? I sound like Star Wars."

"She's using southern charm on you, dude," Logan snorted.

"Well it's working, I'm charmed."

A giggle bubbled up her throat and she let it free, raising her camera and giving them a hopeful look. "Okay?"

"Hang on—" Logan fussed with his hair, and y/n laughed when Oscar reached to help him, then they both had to fuss with Oscar's hair. "Think we're presentable enough?"

She nodded, moving so the sunlight was beside them. She got several photos and thanked them. "I'll send them to y'alls social media teams?"

"You can just send it to me." Logan began patting his pockets for his phone.

"Unbelievable," Oscar muttered under his breath, and y/n barely heard it, giving Logan her number and adding him to her contacts once he'd sent her a text.

"I should get going – Sorry for bumping into you."

"Don't apologize, I'm glad you did."

As she walked away she gave her head a little shake, smiling to herself when she overheard Oscar's grumbling that Logan had flirted with fuckin' Red Bull's social media admin. Something told her to glance back and she did, amused to see Logan watching her. Don't show interest, don't show interest, don't—

He gave a little wave. And she smiled, waving back.

Fuck.

Ducking around the corner, she wandered until she found hospitality, grogginess taking over as she made her way to the back to fix herself coffee. She recognized a couple engineers and mechanics that she'd met in Milton Keyes and greeted them, settling into a corner to drink and look over the pictures she'd gotten.

She was on her second coffee, had uploaded the pictures to her laptop, and was editing the first batch for a short video when the chair across from her was pulled out, taking her shoe with it.

"Sorry," Max said when she yelped, chuckling as he bent to pick up her shoe. "Didn't know you were attached."

"Bad habit I'm afraid." Taking the shoe, she shifted to put it back on. "Picked it up when I was pregnant now I do it without thinking."

"For the swelling?" he asked, sitting down and taking a sip of his coffee.

"Yeah." After tying the shoelace she shifted, tucking one foot beneath her. "Good morning, by the way."

"Morning. Already working?"

"I'm gonna do a short photo tour of the track. I got some nice shots."

"You walked the track?"

"I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep, so… It's beautiful first thing in the morning."

Max nodded, picking up his coffee again. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Max, you should know that hotel beds suck. Especially with a three year old sleeping sideways and a snoring friend in the other bed. Is this where you tell me you slept great?"

"Haha, no. My sleep was shit but it wasn't because of the bed. I didn't get enough." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I was up late sim racing."

"Okay, explain sim racing to me," she requested, slipping one earbud in so she could check that the music she'd selected went well with the photos. Tweaking it as he began to talk, she realized she was barely paying attention to her work, exporting and posting the video to all the platforms then closing her laptop to focus on him. He talked with his hands. It was something she'd picked up on already, that if he was focused on the topic he used his hands. Maxplaining the fans called it. Finishing her coffee, she listened intently, propping her chin on one hand.

 He smiled, almost shyly, as he finished. "It's something I truly enjoy. I'm not very sociable. I like going out once in a while, but I prefer to stay in, yeah? And I can spend hours in the sim without thinking twice."

"I spent the last few days watching a lot of interviews. Not just of you and Checo, but everyone on the grid," y/n said softly. "Leclerc talks about piano and his family, Norris talks about gaming and DJing, and Hamilton has his six hundred side projects."

"Yes?" He didn't look or sound impatient for her to get to the point, and she appreciated that.

"The thing is, they all have passions outside of racing. This – formula one, fastest cars, all that – is a goal, a dream, but they all have something else they love, that they can pursue now." She paused, meeting his eyes. "The only thing I've seen you passionate about is racing."

He blinked once, nodding his head. "Because it is my passion."

Y/n regarded him carefully for a moment. "You're very lucky, Max."

That must have surprised him, because his brow furrowed. "Why do you say that?"

"Not everyone is able to be successful following their passion. Being able to do what you love for both a job and hobbies is almost unheard of, yet you're doing it. You break records and win races and yeah you've had a few setbacks but you're still in love with this. And on your off time you're training to be better and studying tracks and you go home and race on your computer." She shook her head in amazement. "You're incredibly lucky, that your passion is not only something you're good at but something you can be immersed in nonstop, and that you haven't lost your love for it."

"I guess I am lucky," he said carefully. "But luck had nothing to do with me getting into formula one."

"I know." She held up her hands, not wanting him to think she thought he was in the position he was purely by chance. "I can't imagine how much work you've done over the years, or how many sacrifices you've had to make. It's just… In my experience, passion doesn't always equal financial stability is what I'm trying to say."

"What's that saying? Do something you love and you never work a day in your life?"

Y/n snorted. "That's bullshit. I love sleeping and yet I still have to work."

That made him laugh and she rolled her eyes, even though she enjoyed the sound. "Surely you love more than sleep."

"I love a lot of things. Maybe that's been my problem all my life. I find things and fall in love with them and when I think hey this might be it something new and shiny comes along and I fall in love with that."

"There's nothing wrong with being passionate about many things," Max said gently.

"That's what I keep telling myself. And yet—"

"Are you saying you don't love your job?"

She froze, a wave of panic rippling through her. "Uhmm… Since it's technically my first day I can't answer that."

"Okay. Do you love your social media?" he asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table.

The table which was, suddenly, smaller than she remembered.

"I like engaging others. I like creating conversations and seeing my work appreciated," she finally said.

"You sound like a PR person. Do you love it?" He enunciated each word slowly.

She couldn't say yes. The answer wasn't no, either, because she didn't hate it. "I personally hate it. But you've learned how to make it work for you, yeah? How to word things to spark a conversation among followers? What type of content people appreciate?"

"I like to think so."

"Stop being so unsure of yourself. You study it, right? At your last job when you posted a video and no one liked it what did you do? "

She exhaled harshly. "I compare it to ones that did well and pick it apart to see why it didn't work."

"Why?"

"Why?" she echoed.

"Why did you pick it apart?"

"Because I wanted it to do well," she said slowly.

"And these conversations you want to create, do you join in or sit and watch them happen behind the safety of your screen?" He reached over, gently turning her laptop so he could see the screen.

"I engage. I reply and ask questions to make the viewers want to keep the conversation going."

"Why?"

"Because—" She clicked the mouse, bringing up the comments below the video she'd posted to Instagram. "These comments? Come from people that love this brand – or sport. Some of them are trolls who just want to start up an argument to make their boring lives more interesting for a few minutes, but for the most part it's people who care. People who want to see this team do well. People who had the dream of doing it themselves but life got in the way. People who watched it with their parents and still watch to stay connected to someone they love. It's little kids who want to be like you. It's people who spend their hard earned money on a t-shirt or a hat or a ticket to see someone they admire live out their dream." She took a quick breath, scrolling through the comments. "If I don't like or respond to them, they feel like their opinions don't matter. And maybe they don't in the grand scheme of formula one. But they want to be seen and heard. When I click and they see that Red Bull Racing liked their comment or replied with an emoji or whatever, they have a few seconds of elation, and their support of this team is cemented just a bit more."

Max blinked at her, and she continued even though she heard him draw a breath to speak.

"I know very well how horrible social media can be. However, I've seen how it fosters growth for a company. You're not stupid, I'm sure you've seen how TikTok challenges or Instagram livestreams have brought in more support. Not to mention money. If a post of you wearing your Red Bull shirt gets a million likes, I can probably pull the data and show you that a hundred thousand people went to view the shirt on the official shop and probably twenty-five thousand ordered one. A silly picture of you arriving for race day or a new helmet design pulls people in and gets them excited. And, yes, it makes money. Which in turn pays the salaries of everyone on the team."

"Y/n."

She sucked in a breath. "I'm—"

"Passionate," he whispered before she could say sorry.

"I know what it's like to enjoy something and never feel included," she murmured. "So, yeah… I guess I love what I do, because I like that I can include people in something they love."

His hand covered hers briefly. "For a moment there, I even loved social media."

She watched his fingers squeeze hers before they slid away, wondering why his touch lingered. "Yeah?"

"It's easy to forget that there are real people saying nice things. Sometimes all you can see is the negativity."

"Negativity only breeds more negativity—"

"And when you look at it, it's all you'll see," he murmured.

"Well… So far everything I've posted today has been met with positivity."

"That's good."

"Okay, a few comments about wanting to see Lando on the podium. Thank you for letting me rant about why I do what I do," she said, glancing at his hand without meaning to.

"You let me do the same," he reminded her. Lifting his chin, he waited until she looked at him again. "Are you too busy to see what I was talking about?"

"I don't have anything scheduled until after lunch."

"Perfect." He lightly drummed on the table and stood. "Do you want to see my rig?"

"You do know I won't have a clue what anything but the computer and monitor are, right?" Smiling, she stood and began packing away her stuff.

Closing her laptop, he handed it over, catching her earbud when it fell off the edge of the table. "Maybe you'll like it so much you'll want one of your own."

*-*

He was rambling, he knew he was, telling her about the setup and his plan for the 24 hour race over the weekend and how he had everything scheduled so he could do two of the things he loved most. But he could tell she was paying attention, actually listening, as if she really cared. Rubbing his palms against his thighs, he finished and looked up at her.

"So this is your actual job and the f1 thing is just a hobby?" she teased.

Laughing, he got to his feet and got himself a can of Red Bull. "It's just racing, y/n."

"And racing is life."

"Absolutely." He watched her muffle a yawn behind her hand.

"Am I allowed to mention it in my posts? Because it sounds so badass. Sim race stint then qualifying, chug a Red Bull, sim race stint then race."

"You can mention it, not like it's a secret." He watched her hide another yawn and cleared his throat. "Looks like you need a Red Bull."

She shook her head. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Nodding, he checked the time. Just over an hour before he had to meet with his trainer. "Of course."

"I hate Red Bull," she whispered.

He choked on a laugh. "You what?"

"I've tried so many times! I can just about stomach one of the flavored editions, but the original? Tastes like battery acid to me." She looked embarrassed and covered her face with her hands. "Please don't tell anyone."

"You hate the drink. So you accepted a job with a team owned by the drink company." He wanted to laugh. It was so absurd to him.

"Yes," she groaned.

"That would be like me taking a job at Instagram."

"I know it's so bad. What makes it worse is I love Monster—"

"Of course you do," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Please say you won't tell anyone. If corporate hears, I'll probably get fired. It's in my contract that I can only drink that while in pubic during race weekends which means I've got to either stick to water or learn to fake it."

"Your secret's safe with me," Max promised, breathing in the aroma of her perfume as she moved past him to get her bag.

"Thank you. I think Ellie would kill me if I told her I have to find a new job."

He didn't want her to go so soon. Ridiculous because he knew he'd see her in just a few hours. By the end of the weekend he'd be sick of seeing her. Sipping his drink, he finally sighed and cleared his throat. "You can take a power nap."

She whipped her head around, sending a wave of her perfume his way. "What?"

"A power nap." Before he could stop himself he was setting down his drink and taking her bag off her shoulder. "Thirty minutes, and you'll feel great."

"Max—"

"You need to be alert and focused, and I don't have a Monster for you to drink. Please, I insist." He motioned to his bed in the far corner, gently nudging her shoulder when she hesitated.

"You're sure?" she asked softly, and when he assured her he was she bent to take off her shoes, looking almost elated as she walked over to the bed. "Wait, I need to set an alarm."

"I'll wake you."

She lifted an eyebrow and he pulled out his phone to set a thirty minute timer. Satisfied, she sat on the edge of the bed, thanking him several times as she laid down and curled up on her side. "Thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes," he murmured, sitting on the couch to answer emails. It was fifteen minutes before she stopped shifting and kicking, and when he heard her breathing even out he knew she was asleep. Resetting the timer, he stood and carefully pulled the blanket over her, then returned to the couch and tried his best to ignore that she was sleeping in his room.

Her phone started buzzing on the table. She didn't stir so he ignored it, focusing on his email. That was impossible though so he cleared out his unread texts, one foot bouncing each time he heard her breathe. A mistake. It had been a mistake. He jumped up when her phone began to buzz again and, glancing from it to her, he realized she would undoubtedly sleep through it. He picked it up and was about to silence it when he saw the name on the screen. Ellie. That was her friend that was helping with Kevin… Something could be wrong, so he answered the call and lifted the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, we just— Who's this?"

"Max. This is Ellie?"

"…Yes…" The woman sounded wary. "Why are you – Oh! Max! Right of course. Um, is y/n okay?"

Max looked over at her, smiling faintly when she shifted. "She's fine. Taking a nap, actually."

Ellie snorted. "Of course she is."

"Is everything okay with Kevin?"

As though aware of the question, Kevin began chattering in the background. "Yeah, he's perfect. I was calling to let her know we just got here but I ain't got a clue where to go."

"Are you at the main entrance?" he asked, slipping out of the room so he wouldn't wake y/n. Ellie told him where they were and he nodded as he pulled out his own phone to text one of the team assistants. "You're going to walk down to the turnstiles, scan your passes and come through. Someone will be there to meet you and bring you to the motorhome."

"Ok perfect. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. We'll be downstairs to meet you." Ending the call, he checked that the assistant was going to meet them then reentered his room. He closed the door and silenced his timer. "Y/n?"

She hummed in her sleep, and he smiled while he crossed over to the bed.

"Y/n," he called gently. She groaned, shifting to face away from him and it suddenly occurred to him that when he went to bed that night he would smell her on the pillow and the sheets. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea, but it was too late now.

Would he be an asshole if he had his sheets changed before the end of the day?

Leaning down, he gently touched her shoulder. She inhaled sharply and he saw her eyes snap open. "You have company on its way," he said softly, tugging the covers back in case she tried to get comfortable again. His eyes swept down, locking on the skin bared by her shirt, which had ridden up in her sleep. "Come on, you had a nice nap, time to wake up."

"This bed is so much more comfortable than the one at the hotel," she mumbled, slowly sitting up and turning to face him. Smoothing down her shirt, she stretched and sighed, blinking as she focused on him. "Oh! Ellie and Kevin!"

He laughed as she leapt to her feet, his hands immediately moving to steady her. "It's fine, they haven't even made it to the paddock yet. I've sent someone to meet them."

"Oh," she murmured. "Thank you."

His hands were on her hips, and he forced his breathing to remain calm as she rested her hands on his forearms. The space, which had felt roomy and open, now felt tiny with how close she was to him. He was painfully aware of the scant space between them and each place their bodies touched, but more so of her. That heady floral scent of her perfume and the softness of her palms against his skin. The gentle lushness of her hips. He could hear every breath as his gaze traveled up from her hands to her face, lingering on her slightly parted lips before settling on her eyes. "You good?"

"Yep."

"Right. Sorry," he mumbled, releasing her hips and taking a step back. "I'll get your shoes."

What was wrong with him? It hadn't been so long that he got turned on like a teenager just from touching a woman… As he bent to retrieve her shoes he counted back, dragging a hand over his face in humiliation. What must she think of him? He'd brought her to his room, showed off his fancy toys, then let her sleep in his bed. She probably thought he wanted to fuck her—

You do.

—which couldn't be further from the truth. He was just being nice. Because she was nice. That was all.

Wasn't it?

And why, he wondered as he handed her shoes to her and told her about answering Ellie's call, did he care what she thought? Not caring was his specialty.  

"How do you feel?" he asked, finishing his drink in one gulp.

"Refreshed. Thank you so much, Max." She tied her shoes and ran her fingers through her hair. Her lips moved but he didn't hear a word she said, watching her gather her hair and twist and twirl it, securing it with a band from her wrist.

Witchcraft.

"That okay with you?" she asked, slipping her phone into her pocket.

"Of course," he answered automatically.

She clapped her hands together. "Great! I'll put up a post asking for fan questions."

Max blinked, pinching his brows together. "Fan questions."

"Well we can't do an impromptu Q and A without questions." She had her other phone out now, fingers flying across the screen. "We'll do it this afternoon? Just let me know the best time."

Fuck's sake. What had he agreed to? More importantly, how had she gotten him to say yes? Everyone knew he had a low tolerance for marketing. He could take it back and say no, he couldn't do it today. He could tell her to get Checo to do it, that he would do it another time. He'd gotten out of marketing and social media stupidity without a problem plenty of times before. But he was already opening his calendar, going over his schedule, already telling her the open slot he had at 5, and was already putting Q and A with Y/n in that space.

"Perfect," she enthused, shouldering her bag and heading for the door, her fingers still tapping swiftly on the screen. "They should be here about now, right?"

Nodding, he followed her out the room and down, smiling when Kevin came through the front door with a woman he assumed was Ellie. The boy dropped her hand and sprinted over to y/n, who dropped down to hug him tightly. Max looked on, chest squeezing, searching for something that had been lacking, as mother and son talked and hugged, their words overlapping. They both understood each other perfectly, though, and he smiled at Kevin's excited retelling of what he'd had for breakfast. Introducing himself to Ellie, he reached to shake her hand.

"Mister Max!" The boy squealed.

"Kevin!" He was down in a split second, Ellie forgotten and chest constricting tighter as Kevin hugged him like a long lost friend.

"I saw two cats and a horse!" Kevin tugged at his shirt, grinning as he showed off his Red Bull merch.

"You did? What kind of cats?" he asked, taking the boy's cap and beginning to roll the brim for him while the boy described the cats and then the horse. Returning the cap, he enthused over animals, telling him about his own two cats and pulling out his phone to show him a few pictures.

"I miss Cotton," Kevin said with a small pout.

"Is that your cat?" Max saw his trainer approaching and gave him a quick nod.

"Yeah. We can't bring him to Eng-a-lund so Aunt Ellie's sister has him." Kevin's pout melted into a faint smile. "But she sends lots of pictures!"

"That's good. And maybe you'll be able to get him soon."

"Mama says it's s'pensive." The boy sighed as though he had to earn the money to bring his beloved cat to England.

"I know," Max sympathized. "Go with your mum, yeah? I've got to go train."

Kevin's face puckered in confusion. "Train? Like Shang?"

Y/n cleared her throat. "We watched Mulan on the flight last night."

"What did Shang do?" Max vaguely remembered the movie, but it had been years since he'd seen it.

"He made a man out of 'em."

"Okay, doodle bug, we have to let Max get his workout in," y/n said, flashing Max a smile. "If you ask another question he'll start singing the song."

Max stared at her then turned his attention back to Kevin. "What song?"

Because he had to. Because hearing her groan as her son began singing a song about being a man was priceless. And the dramatic way she hung her head when Ellie joined in made him laugh. Kevin giggled, cutting off his singing and looking at Max hopefully. "Will you watch it with me?"

"I—"

"Mister Max is too busy to watch a movie," y/n cut in.

"We'll watch it this weekend," Max promised, hating the sadness in the boy's eyes. Relieved when it disappeared in a flash, he gave him a high five and stood.

"Yay!"

He exchanged a look with y/n, who sighed and nodded, reaching for Kevin's hand. "I'll see you later," he said.

"5 o'clock," she reminded him as he headed out.

*-*

"So…"

Y/n groaned at Ellie's knowing tone. Watching as Kevin was snatched up by Lando so he wasn't crashed into by Charles in the impromptu game of football, she folded her arms over her chest. "So?"

"He had coffee with you."

God, here we go.

"Showed you his private room and his expensive computer setup… Let you take a nap in his bed—"

"He's just being nice," y/n insisted.

"And he's gonna take time out of his ridiculously busy weekend to watch a movie with Kevin." Ellie hummed, taking a sip of her tea.

Ignoring her, y/n looked on as Lando, Oscar, and Logan pretended to fight back the others while Kevin kicked the ball towards the goal. They were all shouting, dramatic and over the top, and above it all she heard the sweetest sound of her son's laughter. When the ball rolled into the net there was a roar that rivaled a championship game, and she joined in the cheering and applauding.

"You could do worse," Ellie murmured.

"Would you stop?" Y/n rolled her eyes, giving Logan a thumbs up when he gestured to the football and Kevin, understanding they wanted to have another quick game.

"He's cute."

"They all are," y/n muttered without thinking, lifting her camera for a few photos for her personal collection. Recognizing Checo when he suddenly appeared in the viewfinder, she snapped more photos, lowering the camera to watch.

"You know—"

"I can't wait for you to start your job so I can come and try to partner you up with a coworker," she huffed, snorting when Ellie gasped.

"You wouldn't."

"In a heartbeat."

"Besides, there's only one person in that group that's technically your coworker," Ellie said.

"I'm not here for that."

"I know." Ellie leaned against her briefly. "Wouldn't be me if I didn't encourage a delusion, though."

"Yeah…" Y/n laughed softly. "It's my first day, of course everyone's already in love with me."

"Exactly."

It was what she loved about Ellie. No matter what, she could make her laugh. Grinning, she watched Kevin bump into Oscar, who immediately collapsed with an exaggerated howl of pain, holding the leg that Kevin hadn't touched. "And they're all so good with kids."

"Total dad material, every one of them," Ellie agreed. "Not a stepdad, a dad who stepped up."

She choked on a laugh, playfully swatting her friend's arm. Because she knew Logan had overheard them. "Stop—"

"And probably more than willing to crack your back—"

"Oh my god." Clapping a hand over her face, she sensed someone approaching. "I have to work with these people."

"Only until they fuck a baby into you."

"Hey, y/n, your kid's so cool," Logan said.

Her face burned but she slowly pulled her hand away, giving him a weak smile. "Thanks."

He propped his hands on his waist, breathing heavy as he watched Kevin dart between Lando, Oscar, Checo, and Alex. "He always this energetic?"

"Fify-fifty. He's either like this or so quiet I worry he's up to something."

Logan chuckled. "Is he a troublemaker?"

"Nah, if he's quiet it's because he's focused on his cars or studying a bug."

"Christ! Get it away from me!"

Y/n's heart lurched at the sudden shriek from Lando, and she barely saw him sprinting away from her son, who was holding something in his hands.

"It's a frog, mate!" Oscar shouted behind him.

"Don't care!"

Kevin slowly walked over to y/n. "Mama, look!" he said, eyes shining with excitement. His cheeks were a little flushed from the hard play and he was giggling. "Mister Lando scared of a l'il frog."

"He's just not a country boy like you, honey," she soothed. "But maybe we should put the frog somewhere he'll be safe?"

"C'mon, Kev, I'll help you," Logan offered.

"Hmm," Ellie hummed once Logan had scooped Kevin up, cupping one hand over the boy's to keep the frog from jumping away.

"Shut it."

"I didn't say a word."

"Please, that hmm contained at least two paragraphs, ten innuendoes, and a pointed reference," y/n said, trailing behind Logan. Looking on as he set Kevin down near the tree line, she got a few pictures of them releasing the frog. She cringed when her son wiped his dirty hands on his shorts but Logan didn't seem to mind, lifting him up and carrying him back to her.

"He's free!" Kevin squealed. "Thanks, Mister Logan."

"Anytime, Kev." He tousled his curly hair after setting him down, flashing a shy smile at y/n.

She returned the smile, eyes following Kevin as he ran back to the game. "He's gonna pass out as soon as we get back to the hotel."

"He could probably run circles around all of us all night," Logan chuckled.

"True…"

"So like…" He cleared his throat. "Are you married?"

God, she loved Floridians. "No," she answered, turning to look at him. "Are you?"

"God no." He made a face at the thought. "So you're single?"

She nodded, already formulating how she would turn him down if he asked her out. She was too busy. Not interested in anything romantic at the moment. It never hurt to be honest, right? She couldn't lie and say she just had a messy breakup or—

"Would you be interested in – I'm not trying to hook up or anything," he said quickly when she opened her mouth. "Just, like, as a friend? I know how it is to feel like a fish out of water here. I'm kind of used to it but I can remember feeling like I was alone and surrounded by people who didn't understand my Americanisms."

"Oh." Aw. Damn it, she couldn't say no to that. "I… Yeah, sure, I'd like that."

He smiled. "Awesome. Maybe we can do something tomorrow after practice?" he suggested.

"Sure, sounds great. Text me?" she requested. Her phone alarm started going off and she pulled it out to silence it. "I gotta go. I'll see you later."

She waved to Ellie and mimed that she had to get some work done, waiting for her friend to wave back before making her way to the garage. While walking she got a message from one of the mechanics that the cars were photo ready and quickened her pace, envisioning the photos she would get of the mechanics and engineers. As she worked she asked questions, truly interested in what everyone did, a small idea forming that she'd run by Mr. Horner later. She knew that she would enjoy mini profiles on the team, with just the most basic of information like their names and where they were from. Maybe how long they'd been on the team, what had brought them to formula one…

"Thanks so much guys," she said as she finished up, declining the offer of a cold Red Bull. Her alarm went off again – twenty minutes to get ready to meet Max in the lounge back at the motorhome – and she switched off the camera, waving bye and turning to leave the garage.

She slammed into a human wall, grunting in surprise as she stumbled back. Twice in one day, really? The bump had caused the camera to slam against her ribs and she rubbed the spot gently. "I'm sorry! Wasn't looking where I was going."

She expected a chuckle, a reassurance that it was a hazard of the job. Maybe even an apology in return. Instead, the older man sneered at her, looking her up and down in such a way she felt like a child caught misbehaving. "You need to learn your place."

She gulped, fear prickling through her embarrassment. And even though she knew she hadn't done anything wrong, she found her mouth opening to apologize. "S-sorry."

"Horner know better than to hire amateurs," he muttered, scoffing. "He obviously didn't hire you for your looks."

She bristled at that. "I beg your pardon?"

"As you should." He brushed past her.

She felt weak. Clammy and cold. Shuddering slightly, she swallowed hard and left the garage, heading straight for the motorhome, where she was able to catch her breath. Who the hell had that been? He'd been wearing a Red Bull pass, so he had to be on the team. He was obviously important. She couldn't imagine him being considered her boss, not when everyone else had been so nice and—

"Ah, y/n, are you ready to do the Q and A?" Max asked.

Y/n felt her lungs burn and sucked in a breath, staring at the cup of coffee she'd made herself. "Y-yeah, I'll meet you up on the deck?"

Please go up, please go up, please go—

"What's wrong?"

Goddammit.

"Y/n?" He looked and sounded concerned, and she ducked her head as he walked over. "Hey…"

"I'm fine," she lied.

"You're a terrible liar," he said, leaning against the counter. "What happened?"

"Nothing, I'm just overreacting." Rubbing her hand over her face, she shook her head and reached for the coffee. "Just a run-in with an asshole."

"But I haven't seen you in three hours." Max's lips barely twitched at the corner.

"Not you, a different asshole." She felt her cheeks burn and groaned. "I'm not saying you're an asshole!"

"You don't have to, I already know I can be an asshole at times." Folding his arms over his chest, he met her eyes. "Who was it?"

"That's the thing, I don't even know. I was coming out of the garage – You know, I went down to get pics of the mechanics? Anyway, I was about to text you about the Q and A and wasn't looking where I was going and bumped into him."

"Who?"

"I don't know. Older, kinda tall? Sour faced." She raised a hand to the man's approximate height. "I apologized and he told me I need to learn my place, then said I was an amateur and Horner obviously didn't hire me for my looks – I didn't ask his name because I was in shock. All I know is he had a Red Bull pass."

Max's brow furrowed, and she felt him tense. Then, to her surprise, he described the man perfectly.

"Yeah, that's him." She bit her lip. "You know him?"

"Unfortunately," he muttered. "It's my dad."

"Oh." Y/n looked down at her coffee. "Sorry."

"Me too." He sighed, pushing away from the counter. "Don't listen to him, yeah? You have more right to be here than he does, and you're not an amateur. As much as I hate social media, even I can tell that you're excellent at your job."

"Thank you," she whispered. "I just… I've spent my entire adult life working to improve myself and discover my own worth as a human being, and I can give other women empowering pep talks, but I still freeze when a man that thinks he's better than me talks down to me."

"Fuck him," Max said simply. "He's not your boss, he can't control anything you do in your life."

"Either you're really trying to make me feel better or you really don't like your dad," she murmured. When he didn't reply, she slowly lifted her gaze. Seeing the muscle in his jaw twitch, she felt a pang of sympathy. If the man had been that rude to her, a stranger, she couldn't begin to imagine what he'd been like to his own son.

"If he speaks to you like that again, you let me know."

"I don't want to cause a fuss—"

"Not wanting to cause a fuss is why he thinks he can get away with it," Max pointed out. "I'll speak to Christian—"

"Max, no, it's literally my first week!"

"Which is why you have to set boundaries now. He'll either treat you with the respect you deserve or he'll be banned from the paddock."

Y/n blinked in shock. "You'd have him banned?"

"In a heartbeat." The look on his face told her he was serious, from the determined set of his jaw to the way he kept his eyes level with hers. "So either you mention it to Christian in the team meeting or I will."

"God," she groaned, knowing that this had to be just one tiny item among a long list of infractions for Max to want him banned. "Okay. I'll tell him before the team meeting tomorrow."

"Good. Come, let's do the Q and A. You ready?" he asked, taking her empty cup and throwing it away.

"Yeah." Grateful for the distraction, she walked to the stairs with him. "I did a clip of you looking confused and posted it on TikTok and Instagram that went viral because I captioned it When You Ask Max Verstappen About Anything But Racing. Oh and I found out Tumblr fans love making gifs of you laughing. Twitter likes making memes out of your face. Whereas Facebook is mostly a bunch of boomers commenting about how I'm ruining the integrity of the sport."

"I really do hate social media," he snorted.

"And that is why I'm doing social media," she teased. Halfway up the stairs, she slowed, turning to look at him. "Thank you, Max."

"For hating social media? You're welcome."

taglist

@spookystitchery | @halleest | @lyannesworld | @llando4norris

[formulawolff]

v. heat of the moment - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 2.9k

warnings: cursing, some mentions of misogyny, a physical altercation, slight physical injury, teasing, banter, YEARNING, there is lots of yearning, toto wanting to rail the absolute shit out of you, power imbalances, age gap, yadayadayada

prev. | next.

“you ready?” 

james peers down, towering over the car as the pit crew flurries around, prepping for the race. 

you shrug, flipping your visor, “is it too patriotic of me to say that i was born ready?” 

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“well i’ll do you one better,” the team principal leans over the car, slapping your helmet a couple of times, “go get ‘em tiger.” 

“way to hype me up.” 

“i think another podium is in the cards,” james’ face hardens, the intensity of the race setting in, “you think you could get us on the podium again?” 

“i don’t know about first. they don’t refer to max as the dutch assassin for nothing,” at least you were realistic, “but i think i could place second or third.” 

“i think we should aim for first.” 

underneath the helmet, the corners of your lips curl into a grin, “i think so too.” 

“i believe in you,” james’ hand finds yours, shaking it, “we all believe in you.” 

the authenticity of his statement sends a slight wave of distress washing over you. 

ever since the night in jeddah, your loyalty was beginning to shift. 

you were starting to seriously consider toto’s offer. 

although you made the verbal commitment to james that you would remain with williams until 2026, a certain team principal was starting to tug at your heartstrings. of course, this team principal didn’t have to try very hard. 

even the slightest smile was enough to send you spiraling. 

the turmoil was enough to keep you up at night, tossing and turning. there was really no legitimate reason you could give james on your departure, other than it was your teenage dream to drive for mercedes. 

you would have to lie through your teeth and attempt to put on this facade that you had always wanted to be with mercedes. you just happened to settle for williams. 

fuck, that really made you the asshole. 

now, here you were. 

day-dreaming about a certain team principal, completely on autopilot. 

yet, that quickly faded as you glance up, watching as the lights blink, that green hue gleaming in the sunlight. 

it was go time. 

now or never. 

the roar of the engines is nearly deafening as it fills the track, blood roaring in your ears as you step on the gas.

for the australian grand prix, you were fifth on the grid. it wasn’t a terrible spot, as you had the opportunity to overtake a few places, which would earn you a podium. 

behind you, was george russell from mercedes, lewis hamilton in seventh. ahead were max, sergio, charles, and carlos. 

overtaking the ferrari boys would be a challenge, but you were more than willing to accept it. if you were able to just overtake carlos, you would be content with fourth. 

even if you weren’t on the podium, those points would be significant. 

closing in on carlos, adrenaline pumped in your veins as your sucked in a breath, james voice flooding your ears on the radio. 

“you got this. go for it.” 

the moment you’re about to step on the gas, a horrendous scraping noise sounds to your left. 

george made contact with your car, sending the two of you flying towards the tarmac. you skid along, bracing for impact as you barrel towards the wall. 

although it was merely seconds, it felt like eternity. 

for a moment, your field of vision goes black. 

yet, you blink, the sun so vivid as it shines through your visor. shaking your head, you groan as you clamber out of the car, scrambling to your feet. 

swiveling your helmet, you make out george. 

that’s when everything started to become tinged with a crimson hue. 

“you bastard!” 

“oh?” george taunts you, “this was my fault?” 

“of course it fucking was!” you march over to the british driver, “learn how to fucking drive the damn car!” 

“learn how to overtake somebody else and we would have never had this fucking problem!” george retaliates, his voice raising with every word. 

you just scoff, deciding to let it go. 

accidents happen. unfortunately for you, it was just part of the job. it may have cost you a podium, gave your car significant damage, and ruined your day, but you had to let it go. it was just a bad day at the office. 

well, more like a fucking awful shit day at the office.

as you suck in a breath, strolling away from george, he decides to goad you on even further, giving one final retort. 

“you should have stuck to nascar! maybe then it would have been easier for you to navigate a bloody track!” 

you stop in your tracks, glancing over your shoulder. 

“what did you just fucking say?” 

“you heard me,” george folds his arms over his chest, “you should have stuck to fucking nascar. maybe then that thick skull of yours would have been able to navigate the track! it’s pretty bloody simple you know, just a few left turns!” 

that was the moment when everything truly went dark. 

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“do you know how much today cost us?” 

james is to your right, massaging his temples. however, you can’t quite decipher the emotions plastered across his features.

was he disappointed? furious? you couldn’t tell. 

alex is across from you, chewing on a thumbnail, “i mean, things could have been worse.” 

“we literally had to pry her off of him,” james exhales, groaning slightly, “it’s a mess. that’s what it is. a fucking mess.” 

“i think you guys are forgetting he started it,” you mumble, pressing an ice pack to your jaw, “he told me i should’ve stuck to nascar. i mean, what would you have done in that moment?” 

“walked away? called him a twat or something?” james shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut, “you know i adore you, but you really fucked us over today. my driver getting into a physical altercation with another team was the last thing on my agenda today. yeah, the accident was bad, but that… that was awful.” 

“hey,” alex puts his hands up, “at least i didn’t crash my car.” 

“fuck off,” you shoot him a glare, “also, i wouldn’t call that an accident. it was more like a little skirmish.” 

“you beating his ass wasn’t,” alex points out, his tone laced with a tease, “i gotta admit, that was pretty entertaining to watch.” 

“i taught that bitch one thing today. and it’s that you don’t mess with texas,” a laugh bubbles up in your throat, earning a chuckle from alex in response. 

“what am i going to do with you two?” although he tries to remain stern, you can see a hint of a smile on james’ face. 

“i think i deserve some rest,” raising your arms above your head, you use your hands as a cushion, leaning backwards, “i put in a lot of work today.” 

“yeah,” alex nods, “a lot of work beating that brit’s ass.” 

“do you think he’s scared of me?” 

“i think everyone is,” alex rolls his eyes playfully, “if i was max verstappen, i would be shaking in my boots right now.” 

“okay, okay,” james interjects, “enough from you both. we can discuss this further tomorrow. i’m exhausted.” 

“you weren’t even the one throwing the punches!” alex tosses his hands up in the air, “if anyone if exhausted, it’s probably our wwe superstar over here!” 

“go,” james waves a hand at the two of you, “like i said, we’ll talk more tomorrow. i have to do damage control for the rest of the night. probably well into tomorrow too.” 

“i am sorry,” you clear your throat, rising to your feet. you make eye contact with alex, who is still bearing a mischievous grin, “i guess that australian heat just got to me.” 

“i cannot take you two seriously right now,” james sighs, “go. get some rest.” 

unlike james’ dismissal, you did not have to be told that twice. 

after george’s snide remarks, you caved under the heat of the moment. with emotions running high, you sprung forward at the british driver, shoving him a couple of times. he goaded you on, taunting you to “actually do something about it.” 

of course, you actually did something about it. 

what could you say? it was the american way. 

there was no way in hell you were going to let him off the hook. especially after he demanded that you “go back to nascar.” those comments were completely unnecessary and uncalled for. anyone could admit that. 

so, in response, you knocked him to the ground, throwing a few good punches in before a safety crew member pried you off of him. 

the little “skirmish” with the mercedes driver had taken the formula one world by storm. 

all over social media, there were mixed reactions. many of the comments praised you for not taking anyone’s shit. the others blasted your character, questioning if women truly belonged in formula one if they “let their emotions get the best of them.” 

numerous fans called for your resignation from williams driving, claiming that you had no right to be behind the wheel of a car. 

the fia claimed they would be launching an investigation to determine if there were to be punishments for both drivers. mercedes put out a statement that they would be “thoroughly addressing the incident that occurred with one of their drivers.” 

meanwhile, williams racing had yet to comment on the matter, remaining silent. 

personally, you felt that the sheer embarrassment from your outburst was enough. you would be the topic of discussion for weeks. your personality, likeness, and every somewhat terrible thing you had ever done would be dissected throughout reddit forums, through tik toks, and through instagram posts. 

surely the fia would remain merciful, but you had your doubts. 

pulling up the hood on your sweatshirt, you make your way in the direction of your motorhome. 

at least that would provide you a space away from all of the chaos that ensued after the race. 

in your pocket, your phone buzzes. 

reluctantly, you fish it out, anticipating your name to be headlining yet another article. instead, it’s a message from mr. wolff.

i’m on my way over. be there in five. 

oh fuck.

toto wolff was the last person you wanted to see. 

especially after today. 

flinging open the door, you trudge into the space, dumping your belongings on the counter. making your way to your room, you flop on the bed, resisting the urge to scream into your pillow. 

not even a minute later, you hear a familiar voice filling the motorhome. 

“don’t tell me you’re hiding from — oh, there you are.” 

“i don’t want to talk about it.” 

“i think we should.” 

his tone is far different than you anticipated. you expected him to be furious, dropping the offer entirely. 

rather, his words are quiet, laced with a softness as he sits on the edge of the bed, placing a tender hand on your back. 

“rough day, huh?” 

“rough is not even the word to describe the absolute shitshow that was today,” your head is still buried in the pillow, your voice muffled, “you have no idea how disappointed i am in myself.” 

“i’m sure,” toto inhales sharply, “i hope you know that what occurred today does not change anything. actually, it’s convinced me that you deserve that mercedes seat even more than i initially thought.” 

“toto,” you lift your head up, “i literally physically assaulted another driver. a driver who happens to belong on your team. i don’t deserve that seat.” 

“well it simply proved to me that you’re more than willing to stand up for what you believe in,” he counters, that gentleness dissolving into firmness, “you don’t take anyone’s shit. i need that energy brought into mercedes.”

“i think if you gave me that seat, george would actually shit himself.”

“don’t fret baby,” a hand finds your hair, fingers smoothing out some strands, “i would be your mediator.”

“are you sure you still want to offer me that seat? do you know how much the media is going to ridicule you?”

“i think i have been ridiculed enough in my time at mercedes,” he shrugs, “what’s a little bit more? if it means i have you, nothing else will matter.”

shifting your weight, you sit up, scooting over a little so that you could be next to toto. leaning your head on his shoulder, you nuzzled into his dress shirt, his arm instinctively wrapping around your frame, “today just fucking sucked.”

“i can only imagine baby,” light kisses pepper your temple, trailing all over the bridge of your nose and the apples of your cheeks, “i could help take your mind off things.”

“i’m sure you could,” your heart skips a beat as his hand squeezes your thigh, “i wish you could just make it all go away.”

“i could definitely do that, sweet girl,” his hand inches further and further up your thigh, fingers tracing circles, “you want me to take care of you?”

yet, as his mouth hovers around your ear, a flash of pain seeps into your skull, causing you to wince. 

“fuck.”

“what’s wrong?” 

“my head hurts,” you whimper, “after i hit the wall, i think i may have passed out for a second. everything went black, i couldn’t see anything.”

“and you didn’t have a medic clear you?” toto presses, and you can’t help but notice the inflections of worry, “baby, you should have had someone look at you.”

“i was more focused on other things,” you mumble, the pain beginning to increase, “fuck.”

“you’re probably just a little banged up from the crash. if your symptoms continue through the morning, we’ll get you checked out.”

“we?”

“well,” he pauses, biting his tongue, “i would say i would take you to our medic, but i think that would raise some eyebrows. make sure you see someone, okay?”

before you know it, toto is to his feet, towering over you on the edge of the bed, “where are your pajamas?”

“you don’t have to–”

"i want to,” he interrupts, “let me help, okay? you don’t have to do everything yourself, you know that?”

“but i’m used to–”

“and i need you to know that while i’m here, you do not have to worry about that anymore. i’m going to take care you. anything that you need, you’ll get,” he brushes a lock of hair away from your forehead. 

you melt, nearly collapsing under his touch as he caresses your cheek. wrapping your arms around his thigh, you nuzzle into his hip. 

meanwhile, the team principal is about to crumple to his knees at the sight of you. fuck, you were so cute. why were you so goddamn cute?

even after assaulting one of his drivers, you were still pretty damn cute. he was not lying when he said it made you more attractive. 

he needed someone to be that passionate about their team, their driving, and their beliefs. he needed someone who could take a stand against another driver without backing down. he needed someone who didn’t give a fuck. 

he needed you. 

fuck, he needed you. 

in the moments the two of you were apart, he could barely process his thoughts. you were consuming his mind whole. he clung to your words, your voice, so sweet and soft, flooding his ears when you weren’t around. he found himself checking his phone more frequently, in attempts to see if you had responded. 

lately, it seemed every time he thought about racing, his mind brought him to you. 

he was addicted to you. 

“how about some head?” 

your inquiry takes him by surprise, his jaw clenching, heart racing, “oh? does my baby need some?”

“it may help ease my headache,” you glance upwards, the team principal fighting back a groan as filthy fantasies begin to creep into his thoughts. 

the sight of you looking up at him like that? with those lashes framing those stunning eyes? with your lips looking oh so plush? 

fuck, toto felt his knees nearly buckle.

there was no denying he wanted you. he craved you. often.

he desperately ached to feel you, to know what you felt like as he made you his. he yearned to feel that perfect pussy on his tongue as you bucked your hips, crying out for more. he wanted more than anything, to hear you beg. you probably looked oh so pretty when you begged. 

that night in jeddah, you were so fucking wet. you had nearly coated his fingers with it all. and it was all for him? 

“toto,” the way his name fell from your lips was like heaven itself, “will you stay tonight?”

“of course,” he nods, his voice nearly faltering as your hand massages his thigh, “f-fuck.”

“what?” you coo, meeting his gaze once more, “what is it, baby?”

baby. 

he was going to fuck the shit out of you. 

the buzz of a phone in his pocket startles you, earning a flinch. as it rings, the team principal lets out a string of curses, and you infer it was more than likely german. bringing the phone to his ear, he takes a step back, strolling over to the corner of the room. 

sighing, you roll on your side, back facing the team principal. 

the call was only about a minute, yet felt like an eternity.

“don’t tell me you’re pouting over there.”

“maybe i am.”

the bed dips underneath his weight, your heart fluttering as you feel his presence. the team principal is on top of you now, pinning you to the bed. 

“well quit it.”

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taglist: @toldyouitwasamelodrama @nebarious @whoisss @kravitzwhore @prettiest-at-the-party

[bluesidez]

GymRat!Miguel Part 4

content warning: mentions of sexual coercion (may be triggering to some so I marked the area where I talk about this subject with 🎧, the story will still make sense if you have to skip it), the word assault is used once in regards to Miguel’s situation at the party, fluff to make up for the last part, Miguel’s biological father is Tyler Stone here but he IS NOT comic book Miguel physically by ANY MEANS 😭, the progression might be a little fast?? I hope not though I want them to kith 👩🏾‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏽, a little suggestive at one part but nothing serious

word count: 2.4k (at this point y'all...you must know that I like telling stories because wtf), kinda proofread

Prev | Next ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist

GymRat!Miguel who set his alarm for 8 am the next morning. It rings long enough for his roommate to get up and shove him in his side.

“Shit. Sorry,” Miguel groans. His head is splitting and he feels like he’s been run over.

“Coming in at ass o’clock in the morning and letting your alarm ring past 12 rings? What happened to my roomie?” Peter muses, scratching is stomach. His own eyes are tired as he blinks at Miguel’s body slumped against the bed.

“A party that I should’ve never gone to,” Miguel says, bringing the ends of his palms to his eyes and breathing deep. “Nothing went how I wanted it to.”

“It looks to me that you got everything you wanted,” Peter yawned, going to grab a water from the mini fridge. He handed it to Miguel who thanked him and emptied the whole thing in one go.

“I left a girl that I really liked alone there,” Miguel replies, voice broken. “Was stuck in a room with a bunch of girls I didn’t even know. I was gone way too long and she left.”

“Shit, O’Hara,” Peter said, eyebrows raised. “Did they do anything to you?”

“No. After they realized I wasn’t trying to do anything, they just tried to bring the party upstairs. I didn’t get back downstairs until two hours later.”

“Did you reach out to your girl, at least?”

Miguel reached for his phone, “She texted me when she left and I texted back later.”

He looked at his phone, going to your messages. “And still no reply.”

“Can you blame her?” Peter asked, getting back in his own bed. “If I left my girlfriend anywhere while we’re out, she would literally have my head on a wall.”

Miguel wanted to cry. How could he fuck up something so badly?

He sighed as he brought his knees up, resting his arms on his knees. He put his head on his arms, trying to think.

“What should I do? I really like her,” he asks, voice watery.

“Not to be that guy, but there’s no time like the present,” Peter says. “Tell her the truth. Explain things to her. If you’re feeling that awful, do something for her.”

Miguel sniffles and groans out, deciding to get up.

“You’re right,” he says. “No time like the present.”

GymRat!Miguel who grabs a light breakfast and gets straight to work. He thanks the universe that his mom packed a bunch of aimless art supplies in one of his bins. He gets to crafting, putting his heart into everything. He’s freshening up, spraying on cologne, bringing out the slacks that make his ass look great, tightening his belt, fixing his hair. He tightens up so well that even Peter whistles when he walks out of the bathroom. He grabs his craft and goes off campus to a store, buying a few snacks, a circus animal cookie plush, and a gatorade in case you happened to be a little hungover too. He even goes the extra mile and finds a cute apology card. If anything, he hope you could get a laugh out if it.

GymRat!Miguel who makes his way to your dorm building, some guy letting him in after he saw him lingering around the door like a kicked puppy. He thanks him profusely and runs up the stairs to your door. He stands outside in the hallway for a minute and catches his breath, trying to still his beating heart. He gives a light knock, hoping you were there.

The door opens, revealing another girl who looks Miguel up and down with a scowl. Her hand is on her hip and her bonnet moves with her head as she stares Miguel down.

Miguel stutters, asking if you were there.

“Maybe, depending on what you’re about to say next,” she says.

“Look, can you tell her that I’m deeply sorry. I should have never left her alone last night. She didn’t deserve that. I apologize for even accepting the invitation to go. I should have known better. Nothing was worth me staying upstairs that long. Can I just- please, let me just talk to her,” Miguel pleads, desperate.

Your roommate just goes “hmph” under her breath and closes the door in his face.

Miguel’s arms drop and he gapes at the door like a fish. He’s willing to stand here until you have to come out, but isn’t sure what to do.

Just when he considers knocking again, the door swings open again and you’re standing there in a giant t-shirt and pajama pants with pokeman balls printed on them. A giant blanket is wrapped around your body.

You look at him, eyes cautious, “Jess said you were groveling. I’ll give you 5 minutes of my precious time. Something you clearly know how to waste.”

You sounded hurt and Miguel felt like dying.

He takes a deep breath calls out your name.

“I am so sorry for leaving you the other night. It was extremely fucked up, especially when I made sure that you could come. Anything could have happened to you and it was careless of me to not see that. I promise you my mom raised me better,” he says, looking down at your face.

You just crossed your arms and scrunched your mouth up. Even now, Miguel was still infatuated with you.

“I’m glad that you understand how fucked up that was. I was worried about you. I waited. For hours. I didn’t know anyone there and it was nerve wracking,” you say, words coming out like ice.

“I know and I apologize. Truly. Please just,” Miguel hands you his gifts. A gift bag full of the goodies he bought and an origami flower bouquet with a few lilies of the valley sprinkled throughout. A flower for renewal. A flower that he hopes speaks to you. “Please accept this and my honest apology.”

You look down at the flowers, taken aback. “Did you make these?” you ask, a little awed.

Miguel rubs one of his wrists, completely nervous, “Yes, I did. The lilies are real, though.”

“Well, obviously, Miguel,” you laugh softly at him. You start to go through the bag, heart warming at his initial gift.

“If you’ll accept my apology, I really would like to try taking you out. Again,” he says, shifting his weight to another leg.

“Wasn’t aware that last night was a date but slow down, tiger. I didn’t say I would forgive you yet.”

“Right!”

You took out the cookie plushie, cursing in your head about how cute it was. He really did know you. You kept going, heart melting the further in the bag you got. You finally got to the card, taking it out of the envelope.

You laugh at the cute seal, “You were an ‘ice hole.’”

Miguel heart sings at your laugh, happy that you were finding joy in this somehow.

You start to read the card, eyes wandering the page. His heart is hammering. Not only did he write his heart out, he dropped his confession of love like for you at the end. Whether or not you accepted it would make or break the rest of Miguel’s week.

Your eyes slowly drifted and you started to blink faster.

“Our time together has been short, but I think of you day and night. I dream about you. Your eyes, your smile, your laugh, your touch. It sounds sudden and cheesy but none of these parts of you escape my mind. I’m not sure what it felt like for you, but as soon as I was lucky enough to be graced with you in my lab group, I was stuck. To me, you lit up the room. I want to continue to explore that light, if you are willing to have me. May you please forgive me and consider going out with me?”

“If this feels like too much, I completely understand and I’ll-”

“Shut up,” you say, eyes teary. “Do you really mean this, Miguel?”

He stares at you, itching to reach out and hug you, “Every word.”

You wipe at your cheeks, a little overwhelmed. “Come here, you big goof.”

Miguel practically teleports the short distance, wrapping his arms around you. You sniffle in his chest, warmed up in his arms.

“I forgive you,” you say, words muffled into his shirt. “Just don’t ever do that shit again.”

He brings his hand to his head in a salute, “I won’t. Scout’s honor.”

“Of course you were a Boy Scout,” you say, giggling as you look up at him. He smelled really good and looked delectable. If you were weaker, you would have answered the door instead of Jess and filled the hallway with obscenities.

🎧

“Tell me though,” you say, trying to ground yourself. “What does one do when he leaves me for two hours?”

Miguel felt a groan in his chest, “Those girls were trying to do some weird harem thing. I was stuck in a room telling them no, trying to drink my way out of there. They kept trying to add more people to the mix, thinking I would go along with it. I didn’t want a case on my hands so it took me a while to get out of there without force.”

You went rigid in his arms, “Oh my god, Miguel!That’s assault.”

“Nothing crazy happened. I made sure that none of them got handsy.”

You bring your hand to his face, “That’s great, but there was still alcohol involved, which makes that coercion. Did you tell anyone about this?”

“Just my roommate, Peter. He sounded a little worried, but we were more focused on getting me to this point with you.”

You remove yourself from his arms and step back into your dorm.

“Stay right here. The council needs to discuss and Jess is on the Student Association,” you say, leaving a crack in the door.

GymRat!Miguel who is sat on the floor of your dorm room and explained the implications of what he went through. Jess ensures him that she’ll get somebody on the case despite Miguel saying that he was ok. You both ensure him that nothing will happen on his end and that this should stop those girls from doing this to anyone else in the future. Miguel is on board with that and you give him one more tight hug.

“Although you didn’t have to, I wish you would have told me. I would have came barging through those doors,” you say, a frown on your face.

“Really, it’s fine. I feel a little silly going along with the whole ordeal anyway.”

“None of that is your fault though, Miguel. You didn’t know what they were going to do or what they were trying to do,” you say, voice firm.

Miguel was enamored by your passion, “Thank you for saying that. If it helps, my father is Tyler Stone.”

Jess turns her body completely to you both on the floor, mouth dropping in shock, “Oh yeah, that entire organization is getting shut down.”

🎧

GymRat!Miguel who walks you out of your dorm, hand in hand with you. You two agreed on a nice coffee date. Something light after so much turmoil. You looked adorable, running around the room frantic and getting all dolled up just for him. He’s happy that he was able to work things out.

GymRat!Miguel who sits across from you, rubbing your hand with his thumb as you both sip your drinks. He begs for bites of your chocolate cake and you roll your eyes and feed it to him, a little shy at the PDA.

GymRat!Miguel who explains his family tree to you. You're still shocked at the Tyler Stone name drop. You're empathetic to his situation, agreeing with how tough it was to find out someone you knew for so long wasn't your actual father. He assures you that he's settled with the feelings for now, just happy to still have a connection with both of his dads and his mom. Plus, the money Tyler sends him was not anything to be sad over.

GymRat!Miguel who learns of your dating history. You've had a boyfriend and few meaningless dates. As you describe how he treated you, it makes sense that you were ready to completely block Miguel out of your life. Who stands up their prom date that they did a promposal for?

GymRat!Miguel who takes you shopping at the bookstore. Letting you get just about anything. Some romance books? Grab it. A plushie? Of course. A Beyoncé vinyl? No need to even ask. He was happy following you around the store as you squealed over certain things. Your eyes twinkled as you explained a series about a deaf girl falling in love and her boyfriend learning sign language to communicate with her. Miguel responds accordingly, humming at whatever you say.

GymRat!Miguel who feels crazy watching you eat a strawberry ring pop that he got from candy machine. You placed it on your left ring finger and he watched as your lips kept puckering around the crown of the candy diamond, taking it to the hilt and pushing it back out. Your tongue would come out occasionally as you slid the candy down it.

"Is it good?" he asks, mind in the gutter.

"Mm hm," you say, a smile on your face, ring pop popping from your mouth.

Lord help Miguel.

GymRat!Miguel who opens his car door for you. He also reaches across and buckles your seatbelt for you, body close to yours.

GymRat!Miguel who walks you to your dorm room, hand still in yours. You both linger there for a moment, taking in each other's space. You peer up at Miguel with those Bambi eyes again.

"I had a really great time with you Miguel," you say, holding your new bag to your chest. "I'm glad you came here this morning."

"I'm glad too," Miguel says looking at you, hearts in his eyes.

You bite your lip, rocking on your feet before you decide to do something.

You reach up on your tip toes and kiss Miguel on his cheek.

He stares at you, shocked. He stares at you a little longer, then begins to lean down. You get excited, hoping that he'll do what you were scared to do.

Jess swings the door open, "Aht aht! Come on inside, girl."

Miguel stands straight, face in flames.

"Good night, Miguel," you say, cheeks feeling hot.

"Good night," Miguel watches as Jess smirks at him before she closes the door.

GymRat!Miguel who floats all the way back to his dorm. Peter grins and tussles with him in excitement after taking in Miguel's appearance. He texts Gabriel while he gets ready for bed:

"When have I ever lost?"

"I kicked your ass in Mario Party last week but go off Ig"

"🖕🏽"

"🫰🏽"

Miguel went to sleep once more, having thoughts of you.

dividers by: @yeribbon 🩵

a/n: I’m almost certain that this is the LAST time something this serious happens in this series. It will be pretty fluffy for a while...I think 🫣

As always, thank you for reading! Leave a like and a reblog. Please comment! I love to hear what you guys have to say 🥺 🩵

taglist: @ghost-lantern @miguelhugger2099 @slushycoookie @emelie-s-h @lake-lili @obsessed-with-miguels-ass @scaleniusrm @superiorspiderass @lexluvswriting @flordelalunas @froggygal @vmpz8sauceee @famouscattale @nixinluv02 @jada-of-arcadia @spideykid22 @what-the-jams @julia4today @tojishugetiddies @samjinxx @sleeklyalisha @the-pan-liquid @prongs-lover @kikaaauu @urlocallocachica @wanderlustingcastaway @peachey-pie @ch3rry-bl1ss @girl-of-multi-fandoms @love-kha1 @manlikemilesmyguy @sillysillygoofygoose @monticellohoe @kodzuminx @lauraolar14 @bruhhvv @m4dyy @farrowroyale @ce3stvu @ohara-whore

[021894s]

— 02 the invite [1.5k]

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PAIRING: brothers bsf!sunghoon x f!reader

WARNINGS: mentions of heartbreak, mentions of throwing up, cussing

AUTHORS NOTE: babies!! this is my first ever written piece!! it’s not perfect but I hope you guys enjoy nonetheless. i’m excited for this storyline to begin to unfold. love you, thank you for reading <3

Sunlight streams through the curtains, and your eyes snap open. Panic sets in as you realize you're not in your own bed. Scrambling to check the time, the memory of last night's chaos comes flooding back – Jungwon, in a lot worse condition thanks to Jake's encouragement, making it so you had to play caretaker after the countless shots and rounds of beer pong.

You leap out of bed, heart racing. Class starts in twenty minutes, and your professor isn't known for leniency. Grabbing your things and getting dressed in some clothes you had left behind, you rush downstairs, only to nearly collide with Sunghoon, who's looking unfairly good with his tousled hair and that deep, just-woke-up voice.

"What’s the rush?" he asks, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

You're momentarily distracted by his disheveled charm, but the urgency of the moment snaps you back to reality. "I'm late for class," you blurt out, then remember Jungwon, still knocked out in the guest room. "Can you keep an eye on Jungwon? He had a rough night."

Sunghoon nods, a smirk playing on his lips. "Sure thing. you should go before you’re even more late."

Grateful, you offer him a quick smile, glancing around only to see niki and sunoo slumped on the living room couch. you turn back to sunghoon ,giving him a knowing look and bolt out the door, hoping you can make it in time.

You rush through the crowded hallways of your university, heart pounding in your chest. The sound of your footsteps echoes, matching the frantic beat of your thoughts. As you finally reach your classroom, you take a deep breath to steady yourself before pushing open the door.The professor pauses mid-lecture, giving you a stern look. "Late again, Y/N?"

You offer a sheepish smile, quickly finding an empty seat. "Sorry, sir. it won't happen again."

as if your morning couldn’t have gotten worse you feel your phone buzz with a new message. Glancing down, you see it's a forwarded email – a formal wedding invitation from your ex. Your heart skips a beat as you read the elegant script, announcing their upcoming marriage. It's a surreal moment, one that brings a mix of emotions swirling through you.

You're not sure how to react. Part of you is happy for them, genuinely wishing them the best, but there's also that tiny, complicated twinge of... something. It's not exactly sadness, not exactly jealousy, just a poignant reminder of the past.

Leaning back in your chair, you can't help but let your mind wander to Jeno. he was your first everything. Your first love, your first heartbreak, the first person who made you feel like you were truly alive. You remember the way he used to hold your hand, the way he smiled just before he kissed you, and the way he made you laugh until your sides hurt.

Heeseung had always been wary of Jeno. He'd seen the signs, warned you about his antics, and tried to protect you like he always has, naturally, being your older brother, but you don't regret a single moment. Despite the warnings, you plunged headfirst into the relationship. You got to experience love—the highs, the lows, and everything in between.

Even now, with the wedding invitation in hand, you can't bring yourself to feel bitter. Heeseung might give you that 'I told you so' look, but you'll just shrug it off, because to you, love, even when it ends, is something to cherish. It taught you, shaped you, and you wouldn't trade those memories for anything.

Class finally ends, and you make your way back to your brother's house. Opening the door, you find everyone except jay, saerom and jake in the living room, engaged in a random conversations about the previous night.

As you step into the living room, the change in your expression doesn't go unnoticed by Heeseung, his brow furrowing with concern. "What's up?" he asks, his voice tinged with brotherly caution.

You hesitate for a moment, feeling the weight of your phone in your pocket. Sighing, you pull it out and hand it to him. "It's Jeno's wedding invite," you admit, watching his eyes scan over the elegant script, capturing the attention of your friends in the room. Heeseung's protective instincts kick in immediately. "You're not thinking of going, are you?" He hands back your phone, his gaze steady on yours.

You meet his look with a resolve that surprises even you. "I think I need to," you say firmly. "For closure." Heeseung doesn't look convinced, but he knows better than to argue when your mind is made up. "Just... be careful, okay?" he says, and you can tell he's trying to understand. You nod, grateful for his concern but knowing this is something you have to do for yourself.

Niki, always the joker, jumps into the conversation, trying to lighten the mood. . "I never liked Jeno anyway, you were too pretty for him, and he’s the clumsiest person to literally ever exist”. You can't help but laugh at Niki's attempt to make you smile. "Thanks, Niki," you say, playfully rolling your eyes. "But let's not get too carried away with the ego boost, okay?"

you glance over at jungwon, who clearly has not made a full recovery and is still very much regretting letting jake feed him shot after shot. it’s then you realize that you have no idea about saeroms whereabouts. that probably makes you the worst best friend known to man but in your defense, you had a pretty hectic morning. iyou catch sight of her walking out of jake’s room. confusion spreads across your face. why would she be in his room?

looking a little disheveled, she freezes as she notices everyone's eyes on her. The not-so-secret secret is out, and her cheeks turn a shade of pink.

"Guys, it's not what it looks like," Saerom stammers, but the knowing smiles and snickers from heeseung and sunghoon tell a different story.

You raise an eyebrow playfully. "you and jake? when did that happen?” Saerom bites her lip, trying to suppress a smile. "Okay, okay, maybe it's a little bit like what it looks like, and i’m sorry i didn’t tell you. i was afraid you’d be upset since yknow jake is heeseung’s friend and all" she admits. “trust me im more worried about you catching something from jake than him being my brothers friend” you tell her.

heeseung smiles, “trust me jake’s ONLY been sleeping with her”. you snap your head, giving her an offended look, “my BROTHER knew about this before me? ok now im hurt”. Sunghoon laughs, “it was kind of hard not to find out when they both clearly have a thing for exhibitionism”.

“ ok i think im gonna throw up now” jungwon says causing everyone to let out a laugh”.

niki gasps, “SO THIS is why you’ve been wanting to come to every ksana party??? i knew you were still a boring bitch”. “ok who invited him” saerom rolls her eyes. the sudden commotion in the room wakes sunoo, who had still be deep asleep on the couch next to niki. “what’s going on” he says in a groggy tone. “you don’t wanna know” sunghoon tells him.

you turn to him. Once again admiring his look, now put together as opposed to his disheveled state you encountered when you ran into him this morning. you made a mental note to thank him later for keeping an eye out for jungwon.

You can't help but feel grateful for your friends, even in the midst of reminiscing about your past. With their humor and love, you know you'll be able to face whatever comes your way.

later on back at your place, you catch Saerom up to speed on all the details. “that dick invited you his wedding???, what the fuck is his problem” saerom states with a tone of disgust. “i found it odd too but I think it’s what I need in order to finally close that chapter in my life” you say, assuring her.

“you now what this means right?” she presses. “no?” you ask, a bit confused as to what she has up her sleeve. “you need a date!” “yeah no” you quickly reply. “come on babes you can’t show up alone. you need to show him that you’ve moved on too and don’t care that he wasn’t the one for you”. you ponder her idea. it wouldn’t be so bad. it’d save you from the internal embarrassment of showing up to your ex’s wedding all alone, looking like some pathetic loser who came to drown in her sorrows at the sight of her first love being wedded away to a different woman. after more careful consideration, you reluctantly agree. saerom claps her hands in excitement. “where in the world am i going to find someone that’ll agree to being my date within 2 weeks?” you weren’t exactly the popular type around campus, despite being heeseungs little sister.

“i can ask jake, maybe he’ll know someone?” saerom suggests. you’re hesitant and take a moment to really think about your plan here. “we need to find someone you can be comfortable with. you’ll need to hold hands and do couple shit to make it beliveable”. Saerom tells you, a little to excited about the whole ordeal. you swallow, oh boy are you in for a ride.

taglist: @cornenhapovs @myjaeyuns @magssu @leeknowsgfsblog @luminouskalopsia @jentlecoeur @heeslut4life @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @jaeyungxrl @rapmonie2047 @anormieee @nishislcve @leesura @en-happiness @kimsunoops @heelariously @rikiwaify-blog @ihrtgyuuu @purennn @hoonharem @g0niki @hearts4itoshi @yongbokified @shuichi-sama @xiaoderrrr @hongshuaknow @skylaly @yzzyhee @jwnghyuns @heelovesmeknot @kookify

[simping-overload]

ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴀᴍɴ ᴅᴇᴇʀ - ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ʜᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ

a/n: showing my love for my favorite Greek God of all time, Hermes<3 this is a multichapter fanfic.

trigger warnings: animal hunting so animal death. Religious themes and practices

synopsis: You never thought helping out a lost hobo would end up with you in the loving embrace of a god.

『read on ao3』

『prev chapter ⟺ next chapter』

disclaimer: hermes is based on his BOZ, EPIC, and canon mythology. I don't really know how ancient greece actually was or how hunting works so take this with a grain of salt! It is just fanfiction :)

You come from a village that has been long-term worshippers of the goddess, Artemis. Each year, the village holds a festival, Laphria¹. With this festival, of course, comes activities, the most important being the hunt. Where 3 main selected participants, who were allowed to bring at the maximum two others along the hunt with them, they were to hunt down a large stag, whoever was to bring back the largest wins.

The reward would entail being given a large sum of money and being allowed to worship the goddess to the fullest extent, which means you'd get to say your prayers before everyone, including the high elders.

This year, you were finally chosen for the hunt, much to the joy of your family and friends. You were their best hunter and tracker, able to find an animal with ease regardless of how little the evidence that has been left behind.

After passing a familial trail—hunting a snow hare in the middle of snowstorm— you were gifted a beautiful pup who you named Winston². The two of you were jointed at the hip. There wasn't a place you'd go without him. This included the hunt.

You decided to bring two of your beloved friends along, Damian and Agnes. You set off at dawn, racing into the trees on the back of your horses, Winston running ahead as the scout.

Agnes and Damian were chattering away behind you as you looked over the map. You wanted to try and plan out all paths you could safely use.

"So...do you think if I win this, it would get Corinna at the very least interested in me?" Damian questions, fiddling with the horses' reins. He had a crush on Corinna ever since they were teens, spending most of his time trying to impress her— which failed considering he always made a fool of himself.

Agnes, bless her, rolling her eyes as she listens to Damian rant, just as the millions times before. She's been friends with him since they were babies. Both of their mothers were the best of friends, so it makes sense they were too.

You didn't come into the picture until you were about 7 or so, moving here to take care of your grandmother after she got sick.

You met Agnes when your mother invited hers over, and then her mother invited Damian's over. You all were just placed in front of each other and expected you all to click automatically. Thankfully, you did, and you've been friends ever since.

"Probably, but you need to remember Nikolaos is in this competition too, I know he's been desperate to get her hand as well." She pauses as her horse jumps over a fallen tree. She looks back at Damian with a blank stare and continues. "And also this could've been avoided if you just grew a pair of balls and confessed."

"I can't just do that— I need to get her attention first. Maybe we'll find that white stag the elders ramble about." Damian giggles as he pictures Corinna leaping into his arms and saying yes to his proposal. He was such a lovesick fool.

"Or maybe she's already interested and is waiting for you to confess. I've heard its custom in her family for the woman to wait for the man to ask, no matter how long it takes." You chime in, not looking up from your map.

"Wait wh—" Damian is cut off when a large gray wolf jumps from out of the trees, holding a white hare in its mouth.

Your horse, startled, bucks you off its back, sending you to the forest floor. You're now eye level with the wolf, noticing how its eyes are an unnatural golden color.

You and the wolf stared each other down for a moment before it huffed and leaps back into the trees. Agnes drops down from her horse and rushes to your side, while Damian goes off to fetch your horse.

You snapped out of your daze when you felt something wet touched your cheek. It was Winston, licking at you and whining in concern.

You pat his head to calm him, and you lean on Agnes for support as you stand. She brushes the dirt and leaves off your back.

"Hey, you okay?" She questions, her freckled face is laced with concern.

You feel fine, a little sore, but nothing you hadn't been through before. There was something about that wolf that just stuck with you, "Yeah, I'm fine. That wolf, though... its eyes were like pure gold."

"Maybe it's one of Lady Artemis' wolves? It wouldn't be the first time she's watched over the hunts." She suggests, steppingaway from you once you've steady yourself. Damian comes back with your now calm horse, handing you the reins.

"I suppose? Though I never heard of a wolf having pure gold eyes before... Anyway, Winston, did you see anything?

Winston barks in reply, his tail wagging before he runs off. You mount your horse and begin to follow him. You motion the other two to do the same.

Winston leads you to what looks to be a temple, one that seems to have been neglected for years. Nature has taken over, vines have trickled up and wrapped themselves around the columns, and grass and flowers grow from the cracks of the floor. The usual pure white of the marble has faded into a off white tan color with a thin layer of moss across the surface.

"Let's make sure the area is safe for us to set up camp here. Agnes, check out the back of the temple, and Damian, you'll start with the outer perimeter. I'll start with the inside. Regroup to the front once you're sure no one else has been here."

Agnes nods, and Damian gives an alright in response before going back into the forest. You dismount your horse, tying it to a loose fence post. You make your way up the cracked stone steps and into the temple.

The rays of sun lit the inside of the temple, illuminating the illustrations that line the walls and ceilings. Going off of the winged shoes on the god that was illustrated, this was a temple of Hermes. You wonder if there was ever a village that was here before yours that were worshippers of him.

Your search around the temple came up empty, with no human activity. Only animals and plants seemed to have been inside. You leave the temple in time to see with Damian and Anges coming back.

"There doesn't look like there's anyone for miles, only animals. I saw the cutest fox kits." Anges says.

"Same here, though I wasn't blessed with seeing any cute aniamls today." Damian pouts, dismounting his horse, kneeling down next to Winston to ruffle his fur, "Expect for this bugger." Winston barks and licks the man's hand.

You chuckle, "Looks like it's safe to set up camp here, we'll need to find something to eat, so I'll try and find something for us. You two just set up camp and remember to use the horn if anything happens."

They give you mock salutes in response before they begin to take the supplies off the horses and into the temple. You mount yours and whistle for Winston to follow as you trot off into the woods.

It doesn't take you long to hunt something down. After finding some boar tracks, Winston leads the rest of the way to the creature. Upon finding it, you ready your bow, steadying yourself on the moving horse as you focus your aim on the boar.

You suck in a breath, drawing back your arrow and whispering a short prayer to Artemis as you relase. The arrow pierces through the side of the boar, straight to the heart, quick and painless.

Suddenly, you hear a loud scream, and off in the distance, you can see someone running towards you with what looks like a... deer? Chasing after them. Winston stands alert, ears perked, and focused on the person getting closer to you. You hold your reins tight while Winston moves in front of the horse.

The person turned out to be Nikolaos. You spot his signature ginger hair showing from under his hood before he trips over a log and face plants in front of you. He doesn't try to exchange pleasantries as he scrambles up to keep running.

The deer came soon after, gracefully hopping over the log. It glanced at you for a meer moment, giving you enough time to see its golden eyes. The same color from the wolf.

You hop down off your horse, making your way to the boar.

You are for sure this time that it wasn't Artemis. Maybe some other god?

You wrap the boars legs tight with string as you bring it back to your horse, settling it on the rear. Positioned so it won't slip off, you mount your horse once more before going back the direction you came.

As you make your way back. Your mind wanders back to Hermes. It could be him. After all, he's one of the more playful gods known for his pranks and tricks. You'll have to make an offering to him for letting you sleep in the temple, regardless if it's abandoned or not, and so he doesn't prey on your friends like he did Nikolaos.

By the time you made it to camp, it was dusk. Agnes greets you outside, taking the horse reins from you. You take the boar off of the horse, taking off to the side as you make quick work of the animal, cutting off the hide and chopping the pieces of meat you need. You leave whatever is left for Winston and the other forest creatures to feast.

Damian is quick to start cooking. Thankfully, his mother was kind enough to pack spices so your group wouldn't have to suffer tasteless food.

Until the sky went dark, you spent the rest of your time eating and talking. Damian nearly choked on his food when he heard you recant the experience in the woods earlier. He says he wishes he could've seen the look on that bastards face when he was running away. Agnes jokes that Nikolaos probably looked like a scared chicken. Which admittedly, he did, come to think of it, his screams sounded like the human equivalent of one.

As the night went on, it got quiet, Damian was the first to sleep, and Agnes was next. Winston is sprawled out in between them, snoring away. Before you rest, you bring a plate of food and burning incense to the altar.

You whisper, "Please, Hermes. The God of speed and travel grant us permission to make sanctions in your temple. If you disapprove, we will be out as the sun rises. Take this food as a thank you for allowing us to sleep here for the night." You pause. "Also... please refrain from chasing us as a deer or anything else for that matter. While it was funny what you did to Nikolaos, I would rather not soil my pants." You chuckle, placing the food onto the alter and the incense in a dusty holder.

You go back to your original resting place, leaning against the pillar. You feel a soft and comfortable breeze flow through the temple. The sounds of the trees rustling soothe you into a nice slumber.

Still in deer form, Hermes walks through the woods, no set destination just allowing the fates to choose where he will end up. Faintly, he can hear someone whisper a prayer.

"Please, Hermes. The God of speed and travel grant us permission to make sanctions in your temple. If you disapprove, we will be out as the sun rises..."

It was not often that he received prayers, especially not in his sisters park of Greece. He lets the prayer pull him towards the location.

Switching to his human form, he approaches the temple. It was one of his firsts. A gift to him by his father. While unkept, it still stood strong.

He sniffs the air, a familiar smell, boar. Not only did he get a prayer, but he got an offering, too? Just what he needed after chasing the mortals.

He giggles as he makes his way inside, involuntary waking up Winston, who was silenced a quick shush and a pat to the head.

Hermes looks around at the mortals who sleep before him. Wondering who said the prayer, his eyes land on you. Still leaned against the pillar, head thrown back against it. Your hand is tightly wrapped around a dagger. Ready to strike if need be.

He studied your face for a moment, his hand twitched with the desire to trace over your features. You were very attractive for a mortal, and judging from the faint golden aura he could see emitting from you, you're the one who prayed.

He steps away with a grin, making his way to the alter. He picks the plate up, nearly drooling on the food. As much as he'd love to take his time eating, he's a glutton. In seconds, the plate is empty. He holds back a burp as he makes his way back out of the temple, glancing at you as he makes his way out.

Well, he's going to have some fun on this vacation.

[jolapeno]

18. calming peach

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter eighteen of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 4.2k chapter warnings: dad!frankie. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. flirting. too idiots who clearly want to have a future together. an: we're so close to the end and i'm crying.

prev chapter | series masterlist

read on ao3

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

You’d never consider setting an alarm an hour early for anyone else, silencing it with a groan and stretch, leg bending out like a lazy, sleepy starfish until it meets him.

He who is waiting, palm sliding over your thigh, up to your waist, gently tickling your stomach until you wiggle. Frankie’s breath grazes your neck as he sighs, pressing each syllable to your skin, Morning.

Sometimes when you wake next to him, you stretch out and he comes to your side; others you fold over onto his, and occasionally you meet in the middle, leg between his, rousing to the sounds of neighbours, heartbeats, birds, or silence.

But like clockwork, always after a moment, your lips meet his in a tender kiss, soft and layered with a smile before growing needier, the only time his movements aren't slick and coordinated.

“Shower?”

He hums against your mouth, tracing the band of your sleep shorts.

Soon enough, the hour is stolen by cuddles and whispers before a shared shower washes away lingering sleep. Hisses blend with steam until you're both towelling off and slipping into clothes.

“Do you think you’ll be gone all day?” you ask, pouring fruit into your yogurt, handing him the bowl as he sips his coffee.

“Not sure—could be. You’re staying here, right?” You nod and grin, chewing a piece of fruit. “Good. I like knowing I’m coming home to you.”

His words spread warmth through you, a blaze of happiness. You stare at him for a moment before asking, “Is that so?”

Placing his elbow on the table, he traces his jaw as he stares. “Yeah. That okay?”

Shrugging, fighting a smirk. “Not the worst thing I’ve been told.”

“What you working on today? ” he says, pinching a piece from your bowl—ignoring the chopped-up, untouched yoghurt ones left for him. “Still those graphics?”

Nodding, you motion to stab him with your fork when he tries again. “Get your own, Morales. Stop wanting mine.”

“Can never stop wanting you.”

Narrowing your eyes, you watch him grab a piece from the free bowl, smirking as he chews.

“I made you a lunch, by the way.”

Chewing and smirking, he drags his tongue across his bottom lip. “Like a lunch lunch or—?”

“A lunch in a brown bag—with maybe a love note in there.”

His tongue pokes his cheek as he smirks. “Yeah?”

You nod, pointing at the fridge. He moves quickly, opening the brown bag, rustling through it before pausing and turning fully.

“You made me lunch.”

“I did.”

You might have ruined me for lunches from now on.

Ah, this is why I didn’t make you them before—wanted you to fall in love with me for me, and not my excellent packed lunch. You hating what you have today?

It’s not hitting the spot.

Did you make it yourself or grab it on the way?

Grabbed it?

Well, there’s why. It isn’t made with love.

I did like the fact I got a note in mine the other day.

Special treatment. Hope you didn’t throw it away.

Don’t laugh, but it’s in my wallet.

Aw Butterscotch, you loveeeee me.

If you make Luca a packed lunch, I think he’ll make you stay forever.

Well, I’m not going anywhere. If that’s okay?

I meant living with us, but good to know that we’re on the same boat about being a forever kind of thing.

I don’t make lunches for just anyone.

Because of the risk of them falling in love with you?

It’s a blessing and a curse, Morales.

Placing the platter down, a breeze blows the tablecloth on the newly painted and restored garden furniture Frankie had surprised you with.

The temperature warm, birds chirping as you check and recheck the various paint shades ready on the paper plates—the canvas’ already set up on their stands as he waits, resting his chin on his palm.

“Ready?”

Scrunching your nose, you sigh. “I think so?”

“What if I can’t paint you how I see you?”

Kissing the top of his head, feeling his head tilt up as you press another to his forehead, to his nose. “Oh, I’ll cry if I look like a monster.”

His laugh ripples out as you press your mouth to his, feeling one of his hands skate around your middle, squeezing.

A scroll on your phone one night had led the two of you to purchase a vase from Harold’s small homeware section, filling it with a bunch of different date ideas. Some cheap, at home, some further afield that required more planning.

Last week’s had been backyard camping. The tent had been big enough for all three of you, fairy lights strung on the inside as Luca’s s’mores (an insistence on them from both you and him) had accompanied well with Frankie’s reading of Luca’s ghost story. Which was basically one of his books with a ghost on the cover.

Today’s, on a rare free day off, had you both back outside and ready to paint. Thirty minutes on Frankie’s phone, a set of paint shades that would definitely make it difficult to capture the beauty of his eyes and an array of nibbles that smelt too good to keep avoiding.

As you sit, both grabbing a brush in hand, you glance over at him and nod as he begins the timer, his focus already deep on his canvas. He looks up, catching your eye and offering a smile that’s familiar, all but warm.

“You know,” he says, dipping his brush into a bright blue, “this might be my favourite date yet.”

You grin, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the sun. “Because you’re getting to paint something other than a dinosaur?”

He nods, eyes twinkling. “I do paint a good dinosaur.”

“You do. Very talented.”

Laughter continues as you begin with his outline, the conversation flowing as you try to capture his nose, his smile—the crinkle of his eyes. By the time the alarm goes off, you're almost happy. Dropping your paintbrush, hands up as you admire for a moment before picking yours up to show him.

“You’re going to be blown away.”

“I’m ready, baby.”

Turning yours first, his brows raise, leaning forward, slightly squinting. “I'm getting the idea that you like my nose...”

Smirking, slowly lowering yours back to the stand. “Oh, I like your nose, Butterscotch.”

Laughing, he then turns his and what you see takes your breath away. His painting of you, beautiful but also absolutely hilarious, has your smile cutting up into your cheek, teeth showing before a laugh rumbles out. It high-pitched, scratching your throat as it forces it out—tears pricking at your eyes, as he slowly lowers it.

“See? I told you I couldn’t paint you how I see you.”

You laugh, blinking back tears, heart full. “Frankie, you drew me as a dinosaur.”

He cracks then, mirroring you, laughing. “I wouldn’t run from you.”

Shaking your head, wiping another tear from your eye you snort. “I’d trample on you.”

“I’d let you.”

Wanted you to know that a certain person is wondering if he can watch cartoons and eat ice cubes with you. Aw, how’s the little man feeling? He’s still got a temp, but it’s less than yesterday and he’s managing to keep toast down. I’ve rang Harold already, thought he might have been okay today but. Does Harold need help?

You don’t even think, question.

The offer had been on your tongue on the day Frankie had called from the car to tell you he needed to pick Luca up. Explanation interspersed with hissing at traffic and grumbling, as you conjured the image of him tugging on his hair as he hurried his way to the school.

Frankie had said it would be fine when you’d offered before—it’ll be one day, that’s it. Now it was day three, and medication from the family medicine doctor as Luca battled an ear infection that had him not even wanting to talk dinosaurs.

There’s a delivery, but he says he’ll call his nephew.

Dialling his contact and pressing the phone to your ear, you drain the last parts of your coffee, tidying away the opened letters on your countertop as it rings, and rings, and—

“Call him and tell him I’m on my way.”

Frankie laughs, mumbling a hello as you hear him clanging a pan and something else. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I haven’t got much on—and even if I just accept it for him, let him tell me where he wants it, then it’s sorted.”

“You sure? This… you don’t have to do this.”

Laughing, grabbing a t-shirt from your drawer, before pulling out a pair of older jeans. “You kidding me right? I get to hang out with Harry—hear his puns first-hand? I’m more excited than he’ll be.”

“Rainy…”

Your mouth opens, letting out a heavy exhale before you stare at yourself in the mirror. Seeing the smile on your face from his words, finding yourself unable to tear yourself away from it for once. Liking it, the look of joy on your face, the one he etches just from his voice.

“Rainy?”

“It’ll be good for me—think I need to get out of the office, my house.”

There’s a silence, just for a moment. “You okay?”

Muttering an uh-huh back to him as you place him on loudspeaker, dragging the t-shirt over your head before he says your name.

“Just another rough day with a person who is using me as a punching bag. Woke up to an email, but… it’s fine, it’s really fine.”

“I hate that you keep having them.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Me too. I feel like I brave it up and get rid of one and two grow in its place.”

Frankie exhales, his breath sliding down the phone, “Can I do anything?”

“Well, if you don’t mind me being fake Frankie, I’d love to go help Harold out—it’ll be good for me. Feel like… I’m good at something.”

“Rainy.”

“I know,” you say, finger-tracing a pattern on your bedsheets, “I know. But… just how I feel.”

“You’re good at lots of things.”

“Like?”

He snorts, loudly. “Making me laugh.”

“You laughed at a meme for ten minutes the other day about a dog’s tongue poking out.”

“It was hilarious.”

Sitting yourself down, back lying on your made bed, you run a hand down your face. “I’m just a little tired, I think. Usually, it wouldn’t bother me this much.” Frankie makes a noise in agreement, the back of your wrist resting on your forehead. “Truthfully, I want to see if Harold would be impressed by my puns.”

Frankie laughs, more clanging heard under it. “I’ll call him—but only if you promise to let me order you food for when you’re done.”

“Oh. Not worried I’ll get whatever Luca has?”

He snorts, and you can imagine the roll of his eyes even down the phone. “Unless you think you can catch an ear infection, I think you’ll be good.”

Smiling, slowly pulling yourself up to a sitting position, a pang of worry knocks through you—threatens to shake things. “Harold won’t mind, will he… I know you said he runs things differently.”

“I think he’s been wanting to replace me with you since you wandered in that day—he’ll be hoping it becomes permanent.”

Are you doing okay?

Yeah! It’s been fine, most are on palettes. Did spot a large order of butterscotch paint—that for you?

Haha, no. It’s actually been picking up in popularity.

It’s you modelling it on your page.

Shh, no it isn’t.

Baby, I love you—but I saw your latest video. From when you helped Benny, if I wasn’t already getting the chance to be in the sheets with you, I’d be thinking it.

It wasn’t that hot.

You really, really grossly misunderstand how hot you are, Francisco. Your arms for one.

You’re making me blush.

How the turn tables turn. Me, in your apron, you at home being flirted with.

Now I’m picturing you in my apron.

Yeah?

Don’t tell me what’s under it, let me fantasise.

Should I bring it to yours later?

Yeah. Yeah, do that.

There’s something about the noise of fight night.

It is both thrilling and anxiety-inducing as Frankie leads you in, his palm firmly on your back, guiding and easing you in. You reach a hand back to touch his wrist, a comforting ritual you’ve developed since that first time.

Your eyes scan and search for the others, a routine that brings a sense of normalcy to these events. Feet slowing, almost coming to a stop as you see Will wave, drink in hand, pointing at it as you nod back to Frankie and guide him through the growing crowd.

The music is louder tonight, the air tinged with more restlessness as you move, slide, and push your way through until you reach the rope.

“VIP, are we?” you call out, wrapping your arm around Will’s neck in a hug.

“Only the best.”

You step aside as the rope is reattached, letting Frankie and Will greet each other while you wave at the others. Out of the corner of your eye, you see all the slaps on the back, Frankie’s fingers cupping the back of his friend's head as he grins, nods, and talks right into his ear.

Then, there’s an arm around your middle, a familiar warm breath on your ear. “You good, baby?”

“I am.”

His lips press a tender kiss to the side of your head before you follow Will to sit down. As you settle in, you listen to Will telling Frankie that Benny is in the back and how he’s really stepped up over the last few days. You find yourself distracted, your tongue chasing the straw in your drink, until the conversation turns to yoga. Will mentions that you think it’s been quite good for Benny to shut off, and you give Frankie a look, mouthing, ‘Told you,’ to your boyfriend.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Will says suddenly, shouting over the music. “How did it go showing him the—”

Involuntary, your elbow slams into his side mid-sip. Your eyes widen as it forces a cough to smother the other words, staring boldly, almost coldly, right into Will’s face.

“I haven’t had a chance to show Benny the video,” you say, curtly, sharply. “It was very bright in the helicopter.”

You hope the lie is good enough, solid enough. You also hope Will picks up on it. Notice the distress in your eyes as Frankie, who is hanging onto your side and you can feel is darting his eyes from you to his friend and back again.

It takes a second, eyes narrowing, your stomach knotting as you fear the surprise you’ve been planning for Frankie is about to unravel.

“Ah, alright. Well, it would be good to see when it’s ready.”

Nodding, you lean into Frankie’s side, watching his eyes smooth out, relief washing over you as the tension dissipates. “Hey, so how does this night go? Is he the main fight?”

Shaking his head, Frankie adjusts his hold on his drink as he slings his arm around your neck, beginning to explain things as you shoot a smile at Will, managing to catch, quickly, the mouthed apology as you wink and let Frankie explain what tonight is for.

Your phone vibrates on the side, glancing at it as you help Luca roll out a small pizza circle from the dough you made last night.

“Rainy, can you helps me with my hat?”

Fingers adjusting his chef hat further down his head, a thing you hadn’t been sure if he would like until you saw his face light up when you pulled it out with its matching apron.

We should be done in about half an hour. And then I can come inside? You will be greeted at the side door by our mini-waiter who will be happy to show you to your seat. You breaking child working laws, Rainy? He had a work permit I swear.

Stepping back from him, you turn the oven on as you mentally tick off another thing, before scanning over the recipe that you have printed out.

It’s splattered in the sauce you’ve already made—and slightly damp from grabbing Luca's water earlier.

I think you’re lying. I think you grossly misunderstand how seriously we take things at Dino-Moralesaurus Diner. Excellent name though. I can’t take all the credit, your son is a genius.

At the sound of a knock, you help Luca down from the cooking stool Frankie had made him as he runs off excitedly screaming. It’s even harder not to grin at the sound of his boots coming off, as he comments nice hat, chef to Luca as you continue rolling out the dough.

You’re aware you’re covered in flour, that the side is a mess of sauce stains and random half-chopped ingredients.

“What’s this?”

Luca, now hatless, fulfils his duty as a waiter, offering the chalkboard to him as he explains, in the most adorable voice, that the special is pizza, the main is pizza and the dessert is—

“Rainy, what’s the dessert again?”

“Ice cream.”

“’Tis ice cream, Daddy.”

Lifting your head from chopping toppings, you catch his eye and exchange a knowing smile before Luca leads him to the already set table, clinking plates and silverware as he clambers up onto the chair to pour him a glass of lake water.

“Now, tell me, are the pizzas dino shaped?”

“Hmm, lets me ask the chefs. Chef Rainy?”

“Yes, Waiter Luca-saurus.”

You can’t fight the smile that spreads as you announce that unfortunately, tonight's dishes won’t even be fully round, never mind dinosaur-shaped.

By the time you’ve rolled out the dough and just about to begin spreading tomato sauce, Luca decides that there needs to be more dinos on the table. Freeing Frankie from sitting at the table and allowing him to join you.

“Chef Rainy, would you like some help with the toppings?"

“Only because you’re nice to look at,” you say, watching him roll up his sleeves as he moves to stand beside you.

You hand him a spatula for the sauce while you sprinkle cheese. Frankie insists on creating a ‘masterpiece’ with a mix of all the toppings, while you opt for a simpler choice, sprinkling it with fresh basil and tomatoes.

“By the way, Luca’s is store-bought. Thought poisoning your child would be hard for me to live down.”

Together, you lean against the counter as Luca runs back in, little feet slapping against the tiles as more dinosaurs begin filling up the table. Frankie goes into dad mode as he asks if he’s washed his hands before he’s running off again.

It’s barely a few minutes, but the timer goes off. Springing into action, removing Luca’s pizza from the oven—seeing the cheese golden, bubbling, filling the kitchen with a rich, cheesy aroma before you place it down and throw both yours and Frankie’s in.

You call out to Luca, who’s been eagerly waiting in the living room. “Luca-saurus! Your pizza’s ready!”

Luca comes running in, eyes wide with excitement as he climbs onto his chair at the table and you slice it up into smaller pieces and place it down.

“Mmm, this is so good!” he exclaims, his cheeks puffed out like a little chipmunk.

As Luca continues to enjoy his pizza, you and Frankie take a moment to savour the anticipation of your own creations baking in the oven. The timer goes off again, and you carefully remove the pizzas, setting them down on the counter.

“They look amazing,” Frankie says, admiring the crispy edges and perfectly melted cheese.

Taking your first bite, you’re hit with a burst of flavour, the freshness of the basil and the tang of the tomato sauce mingling perfectly with the gooey mozzarella. You share a look with Frankie, who gives you a thumbs-up, his mouth too full to speak.

“How did you like your homemade pizza?” you ask Luca, smiling at his enthusiastic nodding.

“It’s the best pizza ever!” he declares, reaching for another slice.

Frankie leans over, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’ve outdone yourself,” he says softly.

You squeeze his hand, before moving to the sink to begin soaking them—just as Luca drags Frankie to pick the second part of the evening.

By the time you’re joining them, finding your saved spot in between them both, the movie is ready to begin, the opening credits starting before you’ve even got under the blanket. It’s minutes before you feel Frankie’s fingers sliding up and down your shoulder, your head turning, smiling as Luca sighs loudly next to you, eyes still closed, sinking deeper into a heavier sleep.

“You had a nice evening, Butterscotch?”

“Was perfect.”

“Thank you. For letting me do this—let us do this for you.” Shrugging, his free hand stroking over his face. “I’m proud of you. Six years is… monstrous.”

Snorting, resting his head on the back of the sofa, he grins a little wider. “Can tell the pair of you have had the afternoon together—monstrous.”

“He says it better.”

Nodding, Frankie shifts in his place, hand pausing on your shoulder, before squeezing it. “T-thank you. For tonight. For making a big deal but… not making a big deal.”

“Big deal not big deals are kind of my forte.”

Laughing, his thumb and index tracing over his lower lip, as you flick your eyes back to the brightness on the television—the high-pitched voices of the characters making you giggle, as the cartoon scene plays out.

“Wish we could do this all the time,” you whisper, fingers stroking along Luca’s hair—feeling him nuzzle further in the space between your calves and bent knees.

Frankie doesn’t move, or shift, but rather drags his fingers up and draws a different shape on your neck, forcing your eyes to move from the screen to his. And you see it, nestled there—a question, one his mouth opens to speak.

“What?” you ask.

“We could… do this all the time.”

Brows raising, you smile. “Oh? How would we do that?”

“Rainy.”

“Francisco.”

Snorting, continuing his drawing on your arm, he lets out a weighted exhale. “We could… maybe live in one place?”

“Oh?”

His hand slides over your shoulder, squeezing it as your heart races as he takes a breath, as more of his words hang in the air. It isn’t that you haven’t thought about it—that it hasn’t come up casually, a promise of asking you properly previously teased—but now it’s here, there, present.

Things crash into you as you run through the list. The image of waking up with him every morning, is slighted by the worries that he’d grow sick of you if you didn’t have your separate spaces. Would you disappoint him? Would he like the version of you he sees all the time—and not just part of it—

But, even still, the answer is so clearly there, sitting, teetering on the tip of your tongue as you begin to grin, smile. Almost about to answer when Luca mumbles in his sleep beside you, something incoherent before his eyes flip open and he makes a funny noise.

Frankie shifts, hand dropping from you as he calls out his name.

“I… Daddy, I don’t feel very well.”

“Shit,” you whisper as you throw your legs down from the sofa as Frankie moves to kneel at the same time as he whispers, “Mierda.”

The back of his hand presses to the boy’s forehead as Luca begins rubbing his stomach. “You feel sick?”

Luca nods, rubbing his eyes as Frankie helps lift him from his place between the sofa and your legs and makes him stand up.

“You think Daddy was right about all those sprinkles?”

Nodding again, Luca buries his head into Frankie’s neck and chest, little hands sliding around as Frankie looks at you and smiles, reassuringly. “He’ll be fine. But, I’m gonna put him in bed—do not press play without me, Rainy.”

Grinning, your lashes flutter as he lifts his son and stands. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Morales.”

“And, maybe we can finish the conversation too.”

Okay, you whisper—fingers pinching at the skin on the back of your arms as your brain begins to tally, to list, to think.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

an: have you seen the bonus graphics on the masterlist? if you have any moments you'd love to see from the series till now, let me know and i'll make them for after the epilogue (chapter 20)

[heavenlyhischier]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨

word count: 6.2k

summary: You finally arrive in Switzerland and take a trip to Nico's hometown. Nothing can go wrong, right?

warnings: angst (sorta. at the end), drinking mentioned, not edited, probably some inaccurate descriptions of Switzerland, but I did my best ahaha, poorly translated german!!!

note: thank you guys for the love on the first part! i hope you enjoy this as much. my inbox is always open for questions or concerns!

series masterlist | prev part

JULY 2023

The plane rides to Switzerland were arguably the worst experiences of your life, when it came to air travel at least. First, people at the terminals were absolutely miserable and rude to you from the moment you stepped foot in the airports until you sat in your seat on the plane. Second, you almost missed your flight after your overnight layover because the hotel shuttle broke down. Then, you were unfortunately seated next to the seemingly one person on the plane who snored while they slept. On top of all of that, you were in the middle seat for both flights. 

Needless to say, you had had enough of planes for the time being and you wouldn’t be upset if you stayed in Switzerland for the rest of your life if it meant never having to do that again. The only thing that got you through all of that without crying your eyes out were Nico’s excited texts about your arrival, and also Jack, who had to talk you down from fighting one of the terminal women at the airport after Charlie called him in a panic. 

Once you and Charlie had gone through the proper channels to be granted clearance and had your suitcases, you searched the sea of people bustling around the airport for Nina, Nico’s sister. You’d only seen her in pictures, but Nico had made her send you a picture of what she would be wearing to make her a little easier for you to spot. You were grateful that she had, because you’re not sure you would’ve found her if it weren’t for knowing she was wearing a bright yellow top. 

“Hello,” She beams, her smile just as bright and her accent thicker than her brothers, “It’s so nice to finally meet you! Nico has not shut up about you since he got back home.”

Your cheeks instantly flushed a deep shade of pink as you let the man to her left take your suitcase, while she grabbed at Charlie’s. You’d known Nico had told his sister about your arrival and trip, but you didn’t think there was enough to tell that would’ve had him discussing you for the last two months. Though, you were going to choose to not dwell or read too much into it. Maybe it was a simple mistranslation. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, too,” You grinned, letting her pull you forward into a hug, “I’ve heard so much about you over the years.” 

“Hopefully good things,” She teases as she gently squeezes you, “This is my boyfriend, Finn.”

You step out of Nina’s grasp and take Finn’s outstretched hand, a warm smile on your face as you introduce yourself. Once Charlie had made her own introductions, Nina was ready to set off towards the car. She relayed an apology from Nico, mentioning how he desperately tried to get out of the prior commitment just so that he was able to pick the two of you up. You had to ignore Charlie’s not-so-subtle elbow into your rib cage as she snickered. 

“I’ll be sure to tell him not to worry. After all, he’s letting us stay in his house for free,” You lightly laughed, handing your backpack to Finn as he loaded the trunk. 

“Yes, he told me about that. He said you are quite stubborn, in the best way,” She had a mischievous smile toying on her face, “He was ready to give up the entire place, but he said you wouldn’t let him.”

“Yeah,” You shyly laughed, “I’m not putting him out of his own home. I don’t mind sharing a bed with Charlie.”

Nina slightly raised her brows at you, giving you a teasing smile when she noticed the blush that was still decorating your cheeks. You averted your gaze away from the woman in front of you, trying to not think about how much Nico had told his sister about you. Trying to ignore the stampede of butterflies in your stomach.

“Thank you,” You and Charlie said at the same time as Finn grabbed the last of your bags, earning an amused look from the Swiss natives in front of you. 

Nina offered either one of you the front seat, but you both declined and slid into the back instead. The drive there was filled with her pointing out landmarks or important shops, with Finn chiming in every once in a while despite his English being slightly off. You made a mental note to learn more words in their language to better communicate with him, and the other Swiss born people you’d encounter. You tried to learn the language as best as you could over Duolingo without asking Nico, but that proved to be more difficult than you’d anticipated. 

Nearly halfway through the drive to the apartment, you’d gotten a text from Nico that mentioned how sorry he was for not only him not being there, but for also sticking you with his sister until he was done. You bit your lip in order to prevent yourself from smiling, though it didn’t necessarily work based on Nina’s smirk when she glanced back at you. Your response was simple, telling him that it was perfectly fine, that you loved his sister, and you were excited to see what he had in store. 

When Finn pulls up to Nico’s complex, he leaves the car running outside the main front door and jumps out to grab your suitcases from the trunk. You slip out of the backseat, Charlie following suit as the two of them nearly shove you away as they grab your bags. Finn mumbles something to Nina before placing a gentle kiss to her lips and getting back into the car. 

“He said wait here until he parks the car,” Nina translated, hands on her hips as she watches him drive off, “So, you and my brother are not…?”

The question caught you so off guard that you slightly choke on the air in your lungs, your eyes widening as Charlie let out a loud laugh. “We’re just friends,” You explained, your voice slightly cracking in embarrassment.

“I don’t buy it,” She shrugs nonchalantly, her brow quirking as she looks at you, “I know my brother, and you’re quite obvious too, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Charlie snorted, ignoring the scowl you sent her way.

“We’re just friends,” You repeated, your voice much softer as you stared at your shoes. 

Though Nina still didn’t believe you, she dropped the subject and fell into conversation with Charlie as you sat with your thoughts. It was a secret to none, except for Nico himself apparently, that you had feelings for him, and you’re not sure how you plan to keep those tucked away for the next week and a half. Nina’s subtle comments about how much he spoke about you were not helping you, either. In fact, they were letting you drift back over into the possibility of him liking you back. 

Finn quickly returned, taking only your suitcase after you put up a stubborn argument when he tried to carry your backpack as well. Nina translated for the both of you in amusement, laughing with Charlie when you placed your hands on your hips and shook your head at Finn. After your small, harmless debate had been settled, you followed them inside and up to Nico’s apartment. While you were in the elevator, you felt your phone buzzing in your back pocket, and you saw Nico’s name on the screen. 

“Hello,” You answered, turning away from the smug smiles of the three of them. 

“Hey! Did you guys make it to the apartment,” He asks, only the quiet hum of passing traffic being heard in the background, “I’m on my way now. I made them let me leave early.”

“Yeah, we’re in the elevator right now,” You told him, a light blush decorating your cheeks simply from speaking to him, “You didn’t have to leave early. We would’ve been fine.”

“Oh, he left early,” You heard Charlie’s teasing whisper followed by Nina’s giggle.

“I wanted to. I’ll be there in about ten minutes, so I will see you soon,” His voice was slightly softer than usual, almost as if he was trying to hold himself back from something. 

“Great, see you soon,” You bashfully spoke, all too aware of the audience behind you. 

You disconnected the call, avoiding turning around to see what you know are going to be playful grins and relentless comments on how red your face had gotten. Luckily, the elevator had reached Nico’s floor, and Nina was slipping past you to lead the way. Shaking your head when Charlie winked at you, you followed the two of them down the hallway until you reached what you assume is Nico’s apartment since Nina’s fishing around her bag for a set of keys. 

When she finally gets the door unlocked, she pushes it open and gestures for the two of you to step inside. Your eyes are dancing around the apartment, drinking in all of the little details and decorations that littered the space. Pictures of his family and friends hung on the wall, but there was one picture in particular that stood out to you.

It was a picture of just the two of you that had been taken less than four months ago, after their win over the Rangers. You had tagged along with the guys and their partners out to some small diner to celebrate their win, and you ended up next to Nico at the table. You later learned it was not a happy accident courtesy of Nicole. The two of you were talking and having a good time when you had tipped your chair too far backwards, sending you toppling over. 

Nico, being the kind person he is, had tried to prevent you from falling, but instead, he went crashing down with you. The two of you laid on the floor, laughter echoing around you as you looked at him. You had no idea anyone had even taken a picture of the two of you, but it made something swell inside of your heart at the thought of Nico not only  knowing, but even caring enough to print it out.

“Let me show you the guest room,” Nina’s voice tears you out of your trance.

Both girls share knowing, teasing looks with each other, earning an eye roll from you as you follow Nina down the short hallway. She pushes open a door, her and Finn rolling the suitcases into the decently sized bedroom. You rush around Charlie, quickly moving to claim your side of the bed before she can do it.

The bedroom isn’t anything grand, but it looks extremely comfortable and cozy. The fluffy comforter is a light blue color with matching pillowcases that told you it likely came in a set. The walls in the room were sparsely decorated, but there was a full length mirror tucked in a corner with a small table next to it that was perfect for getting ready. There was also a TV that appeared to still have the plastic protective film over it sitting atop a nice wooden dresser.

The view outside the window made your jaw drop and your eyes slightly widen, the thought of never leaving returning again, but for a much better reason now. You had only seen very little of what the city had to offer, but you were already absolutely enchanted by it in its entirety. There was absolutely nothing that could compare. 

“I’ll let you guys get settled and wait for Nico in the main room,” Nina softly spoke, “If you need help, just yell!”

“Thank you,” You gave her a small smile. 

You and Charlie fall into a comfortable silence as you begin taking things out of your suitcases and bags. There was a small closet that you divided equally, and you also split the six drawer dresser between the two of you. You left your toiletries and other items on the exposed space of the dresser, not wanting to take up any bathroom space. You were in the middle of tucking your suitcase under the bed when you heard his voice.

“Well, come on,” Charlie playfully rolls her eyes as she watches you debate going out there. 

She doesn’t wait for you as you briefly remain in your spot, your hands trembling with nerves, but you follow shortly after. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you round the corner, and you’re not entirely sure why. You knew you were going to be seeing him, so why were you so nervous? 

“Hey Nico,” Charlie greets, letting him pull you into a side hug.

He greets her in return, but his eyes don’t leave your figure once he notices you hesitating near the hallway. The three of them notice the way Nico seems to have let them fade away, his focus now being you and only you. Nico’s arm is so loose around Charlie that she barely feels a difference when she steps away from them, her smirk matching that of Nina and Finn as Nico steps towards you. 

Your eyes never stray away from his, everyone around you blending in with the background, as you watch him approach you with bated breath. Nico has the small smile on his face that he always does, but it makes your heart swell all the same. He instantly pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around your neck as your own wrap around his torso.

Nina shares a look with the two others as she shakes her head in amusement before she moves into the kitchen. Finn follows suit, Charlie shortly after, leaving you and Nico in the main room alone. Your head is pressed against his chest as you relish in the feeling of his arms encasing you. You could stay there forever if you had the opportunity. 

“Missed you,” Nico bashfully mumbles, making your already red cheeks deepen in color.

“Missed you, too,” You whisper against him.

“I’m excited to show you my home,” He says as he pulls away, his hands lingering on your arms a tad longer than necessary, “I have a lot planned for us.”

The first couple of days Nico showed the two of you around Bern, taking you to all of his favorite spots, and spots he thought the two of you would enjoy. He let you guys have control of when you went, but he gave some guidance because certain places were best to see at certain times. He also gave you the option to say no every time he brought up something he wanted you guys to see, but you never did. Both of you wanted to see everything that you could. 

The third day you were there, Nico mentioned that his parents wanted to host dinner for everyone, but he made it clear you didn’t have to go to that either. He reiterated that it was your trip and if you didn’t want to spend the little time you had with his family, he completely understood. You had given him a pointed look when you told him you would love to go and that it would never be anything except an honor to have them host you for dinner. 

You had spent the majority of the day relaxing and wandering around the city with Charlie while Nico had gone off to do something work related for the morning. The two of you arrived  back at his apartment an hour before you were supposed to leave, and you took turns showering before getting yourselves ready for the dinner. You were sitting on the floor in front of the mirror doing your hair when you noticed a receipt on the floor poking out underneath the table.

Curiosity always gets the best of you, so you reach for the paper and pull it out to look at it. The words were in a language you didn’t really understand, but the date was something you could clearly read. It was dated only a couple of days before your arrival and it had four things listed on it, so you opened your phone to do your best google translating job. 

Mirror. TV. Side table. Comforter set. 

Nico had bought a mirror, the comforter set, the side table, and a goddamn TV for the room before you got there. You’re positive he would’ve done this for anyone who was visiting and staying in his house, but you couldn’t help but let the warm feeling in your chest spread throughout your body. Nico had a big heart and he would always go to great lengths to make those he cared about as comfortable as possible, and regret from all of the times you let your unnecessary feelings push him away flooded your body. 

You didn’t have much time to dwell on that when you heard him walking through the door. Nico quickly popped his head in the room and to tell the two of you he was going to shower and change and then they would head to the train station. You and Charlie finished getting ready and waited for him in the living room, talking about how much fun you were having so far. It didn’t take Nico long to come out of his room freshly showered and changed, and he looked good. 

He had changed into a pair of simple white shorts and he had on a black shirt that had an unrecognizable logo above where his heart was. It wasn’t anything over the top, but it still made you flush with warmth as you looked at him. Charlie elbowed you in the side when she noticed the way your stare lingered on him, a quiet snicker passing through her lips. 

“Are you guys ready,” He asks, his cheeks tinged slightly pink. You assume it’s from how quickly he got ready, but Charlie knew better.

“We’ve been waiting on you,” You tease, playfully rolling your eyes.

“Yeah yeah,” He laughs as carefully brushes past you, “Let’s go then. Our train leaves soon.”

“Why are we taking a train again,” Charlie asks while the two of you follow Nico out of his apartment, letting him lock it behind you.

“It’s the quickest way to my home city. It’s an hour by train and two hours by car,” He says over his shoulder.

The three of you took the short trip to the train station, the car ride full of Charlie practicing her German with Nico who laughed at her attempts, but corrected her with grace. You yourself had recruited Nina’s help in learning and understanding the language, a little too embarrassed to ask for Nico’s help even though you knew he wouldn’t judge you. 

When you arrived at the station, Nico made sure that everyone had everything before guiding the two of you inside. It was busier than you thought, but Nico said most things there were since it was the summer months. His eyes kept glancing behind him to make sure the two of you were behind him, and he made sure to give you a small smile each time you made eye contact with him. He could tell you were becoming overwhelmed at the amount of people, and he wanted to take your hand in his own to calm you down, but he knew he couldn’t do that.

When you finally made it onto the train, Nico guided you to your seats, gesturing for the two of you to sit before he did. You took the seat by the window, and Charlie gave you a subtle wink as she took the seat across from you instead of next to you. You carefully narrowed your eyes at her, but she looked away with a smug look on her face. 

Nico took the seat next to you as the three of you fell into a comfortable silence. You kept your hands clasped in your lap, silently cursing Charlie but simultaneously thanking her at the same time. She was only doing what you were scared to do. The feeling of his thigh pressed against your own made your mind hazy as you kept your eyes trained on the platform outside of the window, watching as people rushed by. 

Charlie, who couldn’t stay quiet longer than five minutes to save her life, started asking about what the rest of the week had in store even though he’d told you a hundred times. Nico indulged Charlie’s questions, though his eyes kept flitting to you as you stayed quiet in your seat. He wanted to ask you if you were okay, but he felt like it wasn’t the place for that. Though you were fine, except for the always impending realization that your feelings for the man next to you seemed to grow every day.

You started joining in on the conversation not too long after the train ride started. It was a mixture of topics ranging from what you were going to do now that you graduated to Charlie’s complicated relationship with Jack. Charlie had noticed the way both you and Nico had subconsciously shifted your bodies towards each other, but she chose to silently observe rather than embarrass you both like you did to her. 

When the train reached the station in Nico’s hometown, you couldn’t help but feel slightly nervous. You felt as if you had to make a good impression on Nico’s parents and you were nervous that you were going to screw it up. What if your outfit was too much? Too little? What if you tried to speak to them in their native language and you embarrassed yourself?

Both Charlie and Nico could see the worry on your face, and she gave it a moment to see if he would step in. She watched him hesitate, but ultimately had backed down so she could step in. Charlie grasped your hand in her own, giving it a gentle squeeze as the two of you followed Nico out towards where Luca said he would be waiting. 

As soon as the brothers saw each other, they were loudly greeting each other as they pulled the other into their embrace. You couldn’t help but notice the way his entire face lit up the moment he saw his brother. You weren’t used to him looking so truly carefree that it put a smile on your face, and it made you wish that he could feel that happiness all the time. 

Nico lets go of his brother and introduces him to the two of you. Luca, much like his sister did, tugs you into his arms as he says, “So nice to meet you. Nico has told me a lot.”

Your face instantly heats up, as does Nico’s as you step out of Luca’s hold and keep your gaze on the ground. Charlie quietly mumbles about how much she loves this family before letting Luca hug her aswell. You are intensely aware of Nico’s proximity to you, but you’re too flustered to glance at him. Truthfully, he’s a little embarrassed himself that his brother exposed him so freely.

“Well, let’s get going,” Luca claps his hands together, “Mom is excited to see everyone.”

The ride to their home was fairly short, but Nico and Luca pointed out a few of their favorite spots from when they were children. It was a cute town, full of life and character that most towns in the United States could only dream of having. Each new thing you saw had you completely enamored, and furthered the idea that you could stay forever. 

The four of you climbed out of the car and headed towards the house, and you had forced yourself to put on your best facade of confidence to mask the nerves that rippled from your chest. Charlie looked nervous herself, but the both of you knew it was for a far different reason than you were. 

You admired the outside of his parent’s home as you walked up the path to the front door. It was nothing grand, but it was beautiful. They had a blooming garden tucked underneath what you assumed is the window in the main room. They had adorable outdoor trinkets perfectly littered in the yard, and they even had the most beautiful bird bath you’d ever seen.

Luca opened the front door, announcing your arrival as he gestured for you guys to follow him inside. You guys step into the entryway, toeing your shoes off in lieu of Luca and Nico. You let your eyes wander around you, taking in all the pictures that decorate the walls. A small smile makes its way on your face when you notice a picture of Nico when he was younger dressed as one of the Ninja Turtles for what you’re assuming was Halloween. Though with children, it could’ve been a random Tuesday afternoon. 

Your heart slams into your rib cage as the voices of Nico’s parents fill your ears, shortly followed by the sound of footsteps approaching you. Nico watches as you fiddled with your fingers and chewed on your bottom lip, and he’s brought back to the moment he first saw you. You were sporting a similar worried look, and you were even wearing a similar dress. The one thing that hadn’t changed, though, was that Nico still thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world.

“Hallo, meine söhne,” Nico’s mother softly speaks as she wraps her arms around Luca, followed by Luca. (Hello, my sons)

“Hallo mama,” Nico greets, returning her affection, “This is Y/N and Charlie.”

“Oh, hello,” She beams, her accent thick and clasping her hands in front of her as she looks at you, “It’s so nice to finally meet you two! I’m Katja. Do you mind if I give you a hug? We are huggers in this family!’

“Of course,” You shyly smiled, stepping into her outstretched arms. Her embrace brought a sort of comfort to you that made you feel at ease and welcomed. 

“Sie ist sehr schön, Nico. Warum ist sie nicht schon wieder deine Freundin,” She teases as she looks at her youngest child, though you can only understand a few words of what she said. (She's very beautiful, Nico. Why isn't she your girlfriend again?)

“Er ist eine muschi,” Luca laughed, earning a shove from his brother. (He’s a pussy)

Katja let go of you as she passed you an adoring smile, turning around to briefly scold her two boys before pulling Charlie into a hug. You let your eyes fall on Nico and you noticed the way his neck and cheeks had reddened, so whatever his mother and brother said must’ve been poking fun at him. You weren’t entirely sure what they had said, but you made out the words ‘beautiful’, ‘why’, and ‘she’. 

“Where’s dad,” Nico asks, clearing his throat as he slightly steps towards you.

“In the kitchen. Nina and Finn said they will be here soon as well,” She smugly smiles at the way her son seems to drift towards you, whether he’s aware of it or not.

“Is there anything I can help with,” You speak up, swallowing the nervous lump in your throat. 

“Absolutely not! You are a guest here. You kids go in the main room and chat. Dinner will be done soon,” She waved the four of you off, subtly raising her eyebrows at Nico as he passes by her. 

Nico trails behind you as the four of you fall into the living room, and it’s almost like Charlie and Luca had made a silent agreement to force you and Nico by each other when they sat on the sofa and stretched their limbs out. You playfully roll your eyes at your friend as you sat on the smaller sofa, Nico shaking his head as he took the seat next to you. You ignore Charlie who keeps glancing at the empty recliner, instead focusing on Luca as he begins asking the two of you about your time so far.

Nina and Finn arrive not too long after, the middle child taking immediate notice to the way her brother has his arm loosely slung around the back of the cushion behind you and the way you seemed to lean into him. Luca had taken over the recliner so the couple could sit on the couch, Charlie greeting them before everyone fell back into conversation. 

Rino, Nico’s father, comes in when the six of you are discussing potential plans for later in the evening and announces that dinner is ready. A trail of hungry stomachs file into the dining area, everyone taking seats at the table. Katja is on one end followed by Nico, you, and Charlie while the others are on the other side with Nina directly across from you. 

“What do you girls do for a living,” Rino asks as they begin passing food around the table.

“We actually just graduated. I majored in digital marketing, and I landed an internship with Ralph Lauren,” You bashfully admitted at the slight bragging moment. 

“Congratulations! Nico told us about that, I believe,” Katja nonchalantly added.

Your face flushed as you take the dish from Nico’s hands, his eyes full of mortified apology. Charlie comes to your rescue by going on about her own major, the attention shifting on to her instead of you. You weren’t necessarily embarrassed by the things they had been saying, it just caught you off guard. They were making it increasingly difficult to deny yourself the pleasure of knowing that he didn’t feel the same. It was causing a war within your brain and heart.

The rest of the dinner went by with minimal teasing comments, and you had a fantastic time. You felt slightly guilty when his family would stumble over their English, and you made a point to tell them they didn’t have to do that the entire time. Katja was quick to wave you off and say that it was no problem and they needed to practice. However, you and Charlie both said you needed to practice too, so you compromised. You would speak to them in German and they would speak to you in English. It did not go very well on your end.

You refused to let his parents clean up dinner without your help, telling them how disappointed your mother would be if she found out you didn’t help. Once they realize you’re not backing down they end up letting you help Nico with the dishes while Charlie and Nina are tasked with cleaning the table. Luca and Finn corral Katja and Rino into the living, telling them to relax before they pick up the leftover tasks.

“Sorry about my family,” Nico quietly speaks after a brief silence, taking the dishes you hand him to dry.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” You laugh, “I love them. They’re amazing.”

“Yeah, but I mean the- I’m sorry about their comments,” He shyly admits, clearing his throat as he intently analyzes the plate in his hands.

Your movements still, the warm water running over the dishes as you let your gaze settle on him. The light above the sink illuminates his face in a way that’s almost certainly angelic. His brown eyes seemingly deepen in color under the light, and it makes your knees weak even though he isn’t even looking at you. His Adam's apple bobs as your silence starts to worry him, but when he turns his head he sees you’re already looking at him.

He sees the ghost of a smile toying at your lips when he meets your eyes. Your hair has delicately fallen in your face, and he knows you’ve tried to push it back countless times only for it to happen again. He knew it bugged you, and before he could realize what he was doing, he had placed the plate on the counter and he was reaching for the loose strands.

When you saw Nico’s hand reaching for you, you breath caught in your throat and you swear your heart stopped beating. You kept his gaze, your eyes slightly wider in anticipation as his fingers grazed your cheek. He pushed the hair that had annoyingly fallen in your face behind your ear, your mouth dropping open when he kept his palm against your cheek. 

The two of you stare at each other, nothing but the sound of the running water filling your ears. His thumbs moves in the smallest of movements against your skin that you almost don’t feel it, but the action still sends shivers down your spine. Your breathing stutters, and you swear that he starts to move closer to you, but you’re interrupted.

“Are you guys do–,” Luca’s voice cuts through the tension between you, causing the two of you to spring apart, “Oh, I’m very sorry. Carry on, but we do want to leave soon.”

Luca has a smug smile on his face, one that rivals the many you’ve seen on Jack. He hastily walks backwards out of the kitchen, but not before tossing his brother a wink. Humiliation fills your veins as you quietly go back to washing the last few dishes in silence, not trusting yourself to speak. However, Nico mistakes your silence as a sign that he had misread the situation and he puts all of his focus on getting done.

The two of you finish not too long after, filtering out into the main room where the others are waiting to leave. There was no subtlety in their glances, but you ignored it and walked to stand by Charlie before they began going over the plan again. The six of you were going to some bar that they love and meet up with some of Nico’s old friends before coming back to sleep.

After everyone was in agreement, you split into two cars and made your way to the bar. Charlie was texting you the entire drive, trying to get the details of what happened in the kitchen, but you told her it was nothing. She didn’t believe you, saying she’s been third wheeling the whole time and there’s just no way it was nothing. Though she dropped it when you asked her how Jack was doing, noting that he hadn’t been texting you nearly as often as her. 

When you arrived at the destination, you filed out of the car and fell in line with Nina and Finn as they led the way inside. Nerves were pricking your skin the closer you got, suddenly feeling more out of place than you had the entire trip. You were no longer going to be surrounded by strangers, you were going to be surrounded by people from Nico’s life here. The thought alone made you nauseous. 

Luca trailed behind you as you walked inside and through the sea of people, quite a few of them greeting Nico and his siblings with smiles and hello’s. You felt small when their gazes would fall on you and Charlie, your mind wandering to the most anxious thoughts of what they could be saying about you. With one glance at you, Nico could see through the thin veil of calmness you had draped over yourself.

As Nina and Finn settled at the table, Nico was leaning down to your ear as he spoke, “Do you want to go with me to get a drink?”

You quickly nodded, knowing the alcohol would help ease some of the nerves. You asked Charlie if she wanted anything, but she said she was fine for now and that she would get something later. You followed Nico up to the bar, making a few stops so he could talk to someone, sitting on the bar stool he gestured to. 

Nico placed his hand on the exposed part of the seat, his arm pressed against your back as he leaned forward to order a round of drinks for everyone. You tried not to let the effects of his touch show, but anyone who knew you could see that it left you frazzled. He looks down at you, giving you a small smile to attempt and bring you some sort of comfort, and it works at first. Until you hear the sound of a delicate voice directly behind you.

“Nico! Ich wusste nicht, dass du in der Stadt bist.” (​​Nico! I didn't know you were in town.)

You glance over your shoulder, noticing the way Nico quickly retracts his arm to his side as he slightly turns towards her. A beautiful blonde girl stands there with a bright smile on her face, and it feels like an exceptionally harsh reminder that you were virtually nobody even more so here than you were in Jersey. You watch as they engage in a brief conversation you barely understood before she looks at you.

“Uh, Y/N, this is Julia. She’s an old friend,” Nico awkwardly introduces, not looking away from her as you turn towards them.

You try not to read too far into his body language, but he makes it difficult when he completely turns away from you. He angles himself so that he’s covering a quarter of your body, and it makes your body heat up in embarrassment. You cast your eyes to the ground, but what the girl in front of you says nearly knocks the wind out of you.

“Don’t be silly, Nico. I’m his ex-girlfriend.”

next part

[anqelically]

TILL DEATH DO US PART 𖤐 SAMURAI!YUTA OKKOTSU

ii. WISHING ON YOU

SUMMARY. Even when separated, both you and Yuta couldn’t help but long for each other. After all the time spent apart, you could no longer resist your temptations

WORD COUNT. 6.8k

SERIES SUMMARY. Set in Edo Japan, you, daughter of the L/N Clan’s head, are left powerless while your clan is on the brink of a war with the Zenin. In order to protect the clan’s future leader, your father assigned a samurai to remain by your side. Although his duty is only to protect you, Yuta Okkotsu couldn’t help the feelings that developed along the way

SERIES MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

After Yuta switched guarding duties with another samurai, you realized how much you had taken him for granted. Behind his stoic face was a soft, kind-hearted boy that you grew too comfortable around. You missed him, terribly so. And combined with your confusion, you felt a bit lost without him if anything.

You had less privacy than you wanted. Masuro Tashiro was the name of your new guard, and he took watching your every move seriously. Even as you attempted to sleep, he stood guard, watching like a hawk. Not even Yuta did that, and he kept you safe (excluding when you didn't cooperate). The thought of Tashiro keeping guard creeped you out.

You were deprived of entertainment. You no longer received any gifts or trinkets from Yuta to take up your time, and you definitely never left the estate. You would attempt to take up painting when you had absolutely nothing else to do, yet your artwork wasn't even good enough to be considered mediocre.

You no longer had a friend by your side. When you were in the same room as Yuta, he avoided your gaze. You'd stare, boring your eyes into his figure as if it would make him finally face you. You wanted to meet his eyes, even if it was only for a brief second. It never happened.

After all the time you spent frustrated with his determination to ignore you, you eventually became devoid of hope for him. He told you he was sorry, yet he didn't seem to be. Months of no communication made you think that maybe letting him go would be for the better. But even when you've tried, you couldn't help but think about him in your free time, which was practically all the time.

It was almost as if... No— it couldn't be that.

One day, 9 months after Yuta switched duties, you found yourself seated on the engawa near the estate's garden. Since it was early winter, there weren't any flowers in sight. A frozen pond and large piles of snow were all you could see.

You sat by the irori, warmth seeping through your clothes and to your body. In front of you was a half-painted canvas of the scene in front of you. Your paints and brushes, which were gifts months old that Yuta bought you, sat by your side. Despite how nice the materials were, your artistic abilities couldn't keep up.

A sigh escaped your mouth, and your eyes traveled to the door. Tashiro stood there, his hands at his sides as he talked to a few other samurai. He was not looking at you, nor were the people he was speaking to. You stood up without any noise, waiting to see if they'd notice. They didn't.

Your heart hammered against your chest as you backed further, eyes still set on them. Once you were hidden by the wall, you lightly speed-walked away. You repeatedly checked behind you to see if any of the guards had followed, but they failed to.

When you got further away, you had made a run for it. Your steps thudded against the wooden floor as you made your way towards the back of the estate in the direction of the nearest town. With the occasional samurai roaming around, you made sure to avoid them easily.

You took a moment to catch your breath as one of the men was walking nearby. Since your hand was over where your heart resided, you felt your family's pin beneath your fingers. Without even looking, you ripped it off and threw it near one of the bushes.

After the man passed, you walked in the opposite direction. The clothes you wore weren't the warmest, so you shivered slightly as the wind blew. You only got so close to the woods when a hand grabbed your arm. In fear, you turned around, expecting a threat, only to find that it was no threat at all.

"Tashiro-san is looking for you," Yuta's gentle voice reached your ears. You noticed his voice was deeper than when you last heard it. Although he was nearing 19 years old, it still seemed like he was still growing, even if in the smallest ways.

Months of not speaking, of Yuta ignoring you to the best of his capabilities, and those were his first words to you. You've wanted him to talk to you for months, yet you couldn't be any more disappointed. A part of you wanted to laugh, but you were too shocked to do that.

"He is looking for me, so why are you pulling me away? He can come to find me himself," you responded, releasing your arm from his grip.

Yuta seemed a bit surprised, but he returned to his normal expression quickly. He answered, "It could've been me or someone else. I'll just make the excuse that we were only catching up compared to another guard saying you were running away."

"No need," you dismissed him with a wave of your arm. "I'm leaving now."

"But you'll get in trouble-"

"I don't care, and neither should you."

The man frowned at you, "Why are you being difficult, Y/N? You know it's not safe out there. You're also not dressed appropriately."

'Why am I being difficult?'

You turned back to Yuta, hurt flashing your eyes. He worked so hard to ignore your existence, disregarding all your attempts at communication. Did he think you'd forget that so easily? Yes, you missed him, but you weren't so blind as to forgive him immediately.

Before you could criticize him, Yuta's red scarf was wrapped around your neck comfortably. He tied a soft knot before propping it up to cover the lower half of your face, effectively keeping your teeth from chattering any longer.

A feeling of warmth spread throughout your chest at the action. His scarf smelled faintly of wood, a scent you noticed he usually smelled like.

"Why are you so confusing?" your hands dropped to your side. Yuta, who was a step away, dropped his hand from your shoulder to his waist. "I... Stop making it impossible to stay mad at you."

His eyes widened, but he never got to reply because Tashiro had shown up, his hand gripping your arm tight. Your brows furrowed in pain, and you tried to yank it out of his grip but failed. Instead, the man moved his hand to your shoulder. Yuta eyed his hand unapprovingly.

"Good job catching the runaway, Okkotsu," Tashiro praised. And despite the words he spoke, the younger man didn't listen at all.

He told himself that he'd no longer reach for you, but watch in the distance. If there was a gap between the two of you, everything would be okay. With close proximity came misfortune, so he wanted you far from him.

Yet when he saw you running across the estate in a hurry with your nose stuffy and arms shivering slightly, he couldn't help but chase after you. In the direction you were going in and the fact that Tashiro was looking for you, Okkotsu knew you were running towards the lake. In weather like this, you were bound to get hurt.

"I attract misfortune to those I love, and I'm afraid that doesn't exclude you."

So as Tashiro had walked away with you in his grasp, your eyes on Yuta, he held himself back from running to you. You'd be fine without him, he told himself. Again and again, he said the same thing in his mind, but it didn't take him long enough to give up on what he promised and give in to his desire for you.

It was two months since your last encounter when you two stood in the same room again. This time, you were accompanying your father to another clan's estate for a gathering.

Although you did not want to go, he forced you to anyway. So as people mingled amongst each other, you found yourself alone, sitting on the engawa near the estate's garden. The weather was not completely warm yet, but you chose to stay outside anyway. You preferred this over the heat of random bodies near you. And since Tashiro was talking with the other guards, you were allowed to slip away on your own.

Yuta, who only kept his eye on you, followed you to the spot you sat on. You were bored, he noticed. Your fingers tapped against the wood with no interest, and the view in front of you was not entertaining either. And if he had anything to say about your expression, it'd be that you almost seemed sad.

Carefully, Yuta took a seat 3 feet away from you. You didn't bother looking in his direction as he adjusted himself. The two of you sat in silence until you spoke up.

"Did the other samurai bore you enough to come out here and sit with me?"

"Somewhat. They're all old enough to have two children if they weren't samurai. It's rare for someone my age to be fully fledged like I am."

"Right. It's been 3 years since you've begun to serve us L/Ns."

The silence between the two of you returned. With nothing else to say, your insides swirled in discomfort. Matters between the two of you were awkward, something you never thought would happen. You were no longer angry at the black-haired man, but bitterness still gnawed at you.

With a bit of attitude in your tone, you mentioned, "You told said you'd attract bad things if you were near me, and that work and personal matters shouldn't mix. Why the sudden change?"

Yuta's eyes widened, "Are... Are you mad at me right now?"

"That's doesn't matter. I asked you first, you know," you tilted your chin. "Do you no longer care for me like you did then? Is that why you're suddenly open to talk? Or are you quitting to serve someone else?"

"That's not it at all," he replied.

"Then what is it? You've left me high and dry without an answer for a year now! Just go to my father if you want to and stop leaving me to wait for you. Your incomplete answer makes me spend hours thinking. Agh, how frustrating!"

Losing your composure, your hands grabbed at your hair and pulled slightly. Immediately, Yuta sprung up from his seated position to hold your wrists so that you'd stop pulling at your hair. You only looked at him with a frown.

"Yuta, let me-"

"I've wanted to stay by your side this entire time," Yuta heaved. "For the past year, it's all I ever wished for. I know I hurt you by pushing you away, and I'm always going to be sorry for that, but it's for the better. What my mind wants and what my heart wants are different. I didn't want to hurt you with the confusion."

"I'm afraid you already have," you exhaled, closing your eyes for a brief moment.

"I know, and I'm sorry. That's why I want to tell you it now. Although I'm still working in the estate, I'm guarding your father, not you. My mind knows this is better to avoid danger I may cause you, but what I truly want is to stay by your side, just like how it was before."

As he spoke, Yuta's cheeks flushed a light shade of pink. You felt your own face warm up at his confession, letting him hold your hands as he pleased. The man's hands enclosed yours.

"Why do you think you attract misfortune?" you asked, since it seemed to be the root of the problem. "I know Rika died, but that wasn't your fault. Your whole village was under attack, so what could a child do?"

Although you were slightly lost about his guilt, you completely understood when he painted the full picture for you.

It was the middle of the night when Yuta first heard the sign of an incoming attack. The village was not densely populated and nearly 4 miles away from the main city, so they weren't given the attention they needed. The adults, as a whole, ran the village. They held their weekly meetings late at night, the time when all the children were fast asleep.

Yuta, however, was a light sleeper. His mother always kissed his forehead before they left for the meeting hall, and, without fail, the boy always woke up. This night was no different, except for the fact that he couldn't fall back asleep.

When Yuta first heard the screams while he lay in the dark, the first thing he did was light up the lantern by his bed. One scream, another, and the sound of a door slamming open.

His heart hammered against his chest as he was left scared and alone in his small house. That was, until someone slammed open the door to his bedroom. He jumped violently in fear, watching as Rika neared him with a frantic expression.

"Throw on your shoes, we have to run," she bent down to reach for Yuta's sandals underneath the bed. "Hurry!"

"W-what's going on, Rika?" he asked, slipping on the sandals and following behind the girl.

When they reached the front door, Rika looked in both directions before she took Yuta's hand in hers. They ran, the brown-haired girl leading the way further back into the village.

"Some men came and started attacking the houses up front! Nakajima-san went to get help, so we have to get as far as we can."

"But the meeting hall! It's at the front near where-"

"Most of them are dead," Rika bluntly stated. The images of his parents flashed through Yuta's mind. "My mother showed up bloody at the front door before I ran. I watched them set my home on fire as I came here."

"Are we-!" Yuta, who had been running as carefully as he could, tripped over his own feet. The lantern in his hand fell to the ground as he staggered to get up. Tears brimmed his eyes, "Are we going to die?"

"We will if we carry that lantern with us. Come on, we can go to the abandoned house near the flower garden."

The children picked up their pace as they ran further into the village. There was one home that remained unoccupied for years and for a good reason. It was run-down and unsafe to live in. Putting it to good use, the gardeners used it as a shed for their tools.

Upon arrival, Rika shut the door to the shed and held it in place using a chair. Out of breath, she grabbed one of the shovels and stood near Yuta. Even though he was the boy and he should've been protecting her, Rika was normally the one protecting Yuta.

"What if they come here?" the boy tugged on Rika's sleeping gown.

"Then I'll use this shovel and hit them on the head."

With fear brimming through their bodies, Yuta and Rika stayed in the kitchen area of the abandoned home. Every scream and noise made them jump. "It'll be over soon," they reassured each other. But being the children they were, their hopes were crushed.

The smell of burning wood eventually filled their nostrils, and the roof was burning before they knew it. The brown-haired girl ran to the front window, watching as a man laughed at her despair. Yuta took a step closer after Rika's arms fell to her side.

Once she turned around, his eyes widened at the single tear that ran down her cheek. Before he could utter a word, part of the roof collapsed right there. The little boy covered his head as he stumbled back onto his bottom.

"Yuta?" he heard her faint voice.

"Rika!?" Yuta coughed, trembling as he got up. "Rika are you okay!?"

The dust cleared and revealed Rika's figure trapped beneath a heavy pile of wooden beams. Just her luck, one of the fallen beams pierced her shoulder. The little girl hacked blood as she viewed the spreading fire.

"Y-you need to run," Rika cried at Yuta's frozen figure. He didn't move. "Yuta! Please run away!"

"I-I I can't- you-" his body trembled at Rika's spilling blood. "Rika..."

As Yuta stepped closer, Rika suddenly burst into screams. Her eyes widened and her body thrashed beneath the fallen beams as its flames burned her small figure. Her flesh melted as her eyes tearily met Yuta's.

In response to her pained cries, Yuta's feet took off without a thought. He turned around and climbed out of the window, running as fast as he could to a nearby cluster of trees. Once he was in deep enough, he climbed up one of the biggest trees and hid atop, sobbing until the sun rose.

"Rika died. My parents died. My first friend during samurai training died. It's like everyone close to me ends up dead, and it makes me fear for you. I don't want you to die, Y/N."

A gust of wind suddenly blew, yet you remained indifferent to it. Yuta uncovered his eyes and fixed his hair while you watched him.

"It's been about 3 years."

"What?"

"Since we met," you clarified. "3 years and I'm still standing, Yuta. Despite the dangers, despite everything, I'm still standing. I was close to dying at birth, I nearly drowned when I was a kid, I was close to splitting my head open after falling down stairs, and a samurai from the Zenin nearly killed me! It's somewhat concerning to say, I guess, but I'm a bit stubborn with death. I won't die, especially because of you. So please, I know it'll be difficult, but reconsider."

His lips parted, "I... You almost split your head open?"

"Is that seriously the first thing you say?" you took your hands, which were wrapped by his the whole time, and placed them on his shoulder. "Yuta, did you tell me those things because you wanted to stay beside me, or because you never wanted to ever again?" 

"Neither," he closed the distance between, placing his forehead against yours gently. "I'm not sure about being your assigned samurai again, but what I do know is that I'm tired of pretending I don't care. It's too hard to ignore you in the same room when all I want to do is stand by you. I'll start to visit you when I can, okay? That is, only if it's okay with you."

Your arms slid down from his shoulders to his biceps as your heart quickened its pace. Although your proximity made you increasingly nervous, part of you enjoyed it. Your eyes met his blue ones, longing, and Yuta resisted the urge to finally seal your lips with his.

"What I want..." you mumbled, squeezing his biceps tighter. You didn't dare to move your face closer to his, "Yeah, I'd like that; you visiting."

Yuta finally moved his body away from yours, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, "I'm not sure when the next time I'll be free is, but I do hope it's soon."

As Yuta talked about other things, your shoulders relaxed. You placed a hand on top of your chest, saying nothing as you felt your heart pumping relentlessly.

—

Yuta's first visit was 3 long weeks later. You were gazing out your bedroom window when he walked into your bedroom, which surprised you considering Tashiro normally stood outside. You perked up at his presence, swinging your feet to the ground and standing to greet him.

"Sorry, am I bothering you right now?"

You waved your hand, "Not at all. I was just looking outside, but since it's only starting to warm up outside, the only interesting thing I see is the icicles melting off the trees."

"I'm afraid that isn't interesting at all."

"Tell me about it."

With a tired exhale, you retired to your bed. You sat by your pillows before you patted the space in front of you, beckoning Yuta over. He sat down without any argument. Seeing his conflicted expression, you chose to ask him what was wrong.

"I overheard a conversation your father was having, and it seems like he actually arranged a marriage for you. The boy was taken in from the Zenin clan by the Gojo clan. His name is Megumi, and he's only a year younger than we are."

"So much for freedom of choice," your face twisted at the thought.

As you grew up, there were a lot of things you couldn't choose on your own. You couldn't choose what to wear, what you should eat, what instrument you wanted to learn, what friends you could make, etc. And now, sitting on your bed, you realized that you didn't even have the freedom to choose the man you'd spend the rest of your life with.

Life was unfair, but you thought that you'd at least be given the time to choose your future husband. Your father, once again, proved that he wouldn't give you a choice on such matters. As long as you lived under the same roof he did, nothing would change.

"It's like I'll never escape my father's grasp. Now, I'll be stuck with a husband I don't even love."

Yuta tried to console you, "I know it isn't ideal, but at least he isn't a bad person. Megumi-kun can be standoffish, but he really cares about the right people. I'm sure he would treat you with respect."

"Have you met him before?" you questioned.

"I have," he hummed. "I used to be trained under the Gojo clan before leaving and finding work elsewhere, which happened to be here."

"Wow, I never knew. Actually, I feel like there's a lot I don't know. You know so much about me it almost feels unfair," you brought your face closer to his. "Yuta, what's your favorite food?"

"Are we seriously doing this right now?"

"Getting to know about you will help ease my mind. So, what's your favorite food? I remember you really liking that yakitori you brought me once, and also those udon noodles with tempura we had at one of the food stalls. I don't think they're your favorites though, as good as they taste."

Yuta smiled, "You're right, they aren't. My favorite food is cabbage with salt and sesame oil."

"Wow, that really says a lot about you."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Sunrises or sunsets?"

"Sunrises. They're nice to wake up to."

"Your favorite season?"

"Spring."

"Oh wow, I thought you'd say fall."

"It was my favorite season until a few years ago."

"What made it change?"

"You did."

Your gaze, which was previously set on your bedroom window, moved to the black-haired man's. "Me?" you questioned.

"It was because of you, yeah," Yuta avoided your eyes. "We first met in the spring. I remember it was sunny that day, but the breeze prevented it from being too hot. I knocked on your door and told you what was going on, and you immediately complained to your father."

"Don't remind me," you covered your face in embarrassment. "I know now that there's no point in doing such. He won't listen to what I want and will proceed with whatever he wants. I thought I'd get the choice to marry someone I fell in love with naturally, but he proved me wrong. Again."

"Why not present Megumi-kun with a proposal? When he's alone, tell him that the two of you don't even have to bother trying to love each other. Since it's for the clans coming together, the two of you just have to keep up with appearances. I'm sure he'll understand."

You gave Yuta's idea some thought. Playing the role of a happy wife wasn't anything close to ideal, but you felt as if you could do it as long as Megumi's personality was how Yuta said it was.

"I'll try that, but I'm still scared," you admitted.

"Scared of what?"

"Scared that I'd actually fall in love with him."

It was a thought neither of you wished to become true.

—

Satoru Gojo was different than you expected him to be. You were at the Gojo estate to meet Megumi for the first time when the tall man greeted you himself and offered to walk you. You bowed at him out of respect, but he only waved you off.

"No need to be so formal, kid," he patted your shoulder. "I'm not like your dad."

In more ways than one. Not only did Gojo's attitude seem different, but his looks were very different compared to you or your father's. Gojo's eyes were a bright shade of blue, nearly crystalline, and his hair was a shade of snowy white. You wondered where he got his rare features from.

"Shall we start walking?"

"If you'd like to," you nodded.

And within a few minutes of knowing him, you realized Gojo was, indeed, very different than your father. He was laidback, cracking jokes here and there and talking to you as if you were a friend. You laughed at his words a few times, feeling at ease in the great Satoru Gojo's presence.

"Your dad told me you can be a troublemaker. That true?"

"It depends," you shrugged. "Give me a reason and I might just run away before I marry Megumi."

"I'm not the type to interfere, so any reasons you want to run away won't be on me. Are you opposed to this marriage?"

You pursed your lips and without hesitation, you replied, "I am."

Gojo's lips curved into a satisfied grin, "Oh, you kids will get along just great."

The two of you stopped at the end of a long hallway somewhere in the estate. Gojo stepped aside, gesturing for you to slide the shoji door open. You gulped, fingers pressing against the wooden indent of a handle. Behind the doors awaited your future husband who you'd, unwillingly, spend your future years with.

You took a breath before you slid the door open slowly. Your gaze traveled from the floor to the two people sitting at the room's chabudai. One, like described, was a black-haired boy with an uninterested expression. However, the brown-haired female seated in front of him wore a welcoming smile.

She was the first one to stand up, and bowed out of respect, "You must be Y/N. You can just call me Tsumiki. I'm Megumi's sister. It's our pleasure to meet you."

You reciprocated the bow, "No, the pleasure is all mine. I'm Y/N. I guess we'll be in-laws soon enough." You exchanged eye contact with Megumi, "And we'll be... husband and wife."

"Well, I should excuse myself. It was lovely meeting you, Y/N. I'll see you around whenever you visit."

Tsumiki smiled at you one last time before she left the room with Gojo. You awkwardly cleared your throat before you walked towards the low table. You sat across Megumi, in Tsumiki's previous spot, and rested your hands in your lap.

"So, I've heard a little about you," you started.

Megumi raised a brow, "If Gojo said anything embarrassing, just know that he was probably lying. He likes to poke at me for fun."

"Really?" you chuckled. "Actually, I didn't hear much from Gojo, but from Yuta. He works under my family, and he used to be personally assigned to me. He told me a little about you. He says you're smart, understanding too."

"You said that he used to be assigned to you. Do you mind if I ask what happened?"

"He... he felt that his personal feelings and thoughts were a hindrance. He switched with one of my father's guards and has been protecting him ever since. I don't see him all that often now, unfortunately," you sighed. 

"There's no need to beat around the bush. Over a year ago, we began to exchange letters after he reached out of nowhere. He told of his feelings for you," Megumi poured some tea into both of your cups and with his same neutral expression, he took a sip.

You felt your cheeks grow warm at the thought. Although he didn't say the phrase directly, what Yuta told you was close enough. You were so excited at the thought of talking with him again that you nearly forgot. And even though you didn't reciprocate his feelings back then, you knew that had changed.

You bit the inside of your cheek, "Do his feelings not matter to you? We'll be getting married and all."

"Do you want them to matter to me?"

"Well... not really."

"Then they won't. We'll be married, but neither of us exactly wants to be. I'm doing this solely for Tsumiki's protection, and you're doing it because your father left you with no choice. Although we'll be together by the law, let's just be free to do whatever we want."

At his proposal, you slowly nodded your head. The freedom to do whatever you wanted, the freedom to feel for whoever you wanted— you liked the idea. And Yuta, who you told as soon as you saw him, agreed.

"You didn't even have to propose it. He did it for you," the noirette leaned against the wall he stood by.

Sitting by your bedroom window, you smiled, "Yeah, it was like he read my mind. Neither of us asked for this marriage, so we'll be together for appearances and appearances alone."

"See, I told you he would understand."

You chuckled, "You were right. He was straightforward but still respectful. He also seemed to care a lot about his sister, Tsumiki. He said that he was only doing this for her protection. Ah, I'm afraid there's a tiny chance I might actually fall for him after marriage. He's cool and protective of his family. Ah, this is bad."

Yuta immediately stood up straight and took a step towards you, "H-Huh? I thought this would be a good thing for you.  Um... maybe you'll actually fall for him. Don't you want to be married to someone you love?"

A sigh escaped your lips, and without a word, you got up from your seat and walked towards Yuta. The two of you stood a breath's distance away when you shifted your weight onto your left foot. Tilting your head slightly, your eyes made contact with his

"Well, the person that I love isn't Megumi."

Yuta parted his lips. His brows furrowed slightly as he asked, "You're in love...? Was it the chef I saw you talking to the other day? I know he's only a few years older than us, but you shouldn't go for someone older like that. It's better if you're the same age so that-"

You laughed, "No, it's not the chef. I barely know the guy."

"Then who is it? That is- if you don't mind me asking."

"If I tell you, you have to at least hear me out."

"Of course."

"Well," you fiddled with your fingers behind your back, "he is, in fact, my age."

"Okay..."

"He's sweet and caring, not to mention adorable. I find plenty of his actions endearing, and he does it so effortlessly. It seriously frustrates me sometimes," you huffed. You watched Yuta hold his katana's handle tight, "But despite how much I love him, I'm not so sure anything will happen."

"He'd be a fool to not take the opportunity."

"I agree," you shrugged, "but who am I to tell you what to do and not to do, Yuta?"

The samurai took a moment to process your words before his eyes widened in realization. As you spoke, he tried comparing the image you were painting with people he knew and came up empty-handed. That was because of all the people he thought you'd love, he didn't think of himself.

He realized his feelings long ago, but when did they become reciprocated? Yuta first thought about the day you tried running away from Tashiro but decided that was too soon. At that point, you were still upset at him and didn't seem to realize your feelings, if any.

His mind then traveled to the moment you had towards the end of winter. Yuta's head was pressed against yours almost urgently as he held himself back from pressing his lips to yours. And your hands, firmly placed on his biceps made his skin burn.

"I'm not sure about being your assigned samurai again, but what I do know is that I'm tired of pretending I don't care. It's too hard to ignore you in the same room when all I want to do is stand by you. I'll start to visit you when I can, okay? That is, only if it's okay with you."

"What I want..." you mumbled, squeezing his biceps tighter. You didn't dare to move your face closer to his, "Yeah, I'd like that; you visiting."

Now that he thought about it, he was surprised neither of you moved any closer.

Yuta hesitated to say your name, "Y/N..."

"I know you're scared," you cut him off, taking his hand and holding it between both of yours. "People die Yuta, and the death of those you cared about was never your fault. You think that people get hurt because they're close to you, but all the time I spent with you kept me safe. The L/Ns and Zenins will battle eventually, so while we have the time, I want to spend it with you. I love you, Yuta, and if there's anyone who can keep me safe and happy, I know it's you."

A loud knock sounded at your door before Tashiro entered the room. You immediately took a step back before he announced that your father was leaving the estate and Yuta had to report back. The man left back into the hallway but left the door ajar.

"Give it a week," you told Yuta, who was biting his lip. "Switch back with Tashiro or don't. It's your choice, so I won't stop you. Though, I hope you know that I miss having you by my side. I was the happiest with you."

You made sure no one was looking before you pressed your lips against Yuta's cheek, leaving a chaste kiss. At your bedroom door, he sent you a final glance before heading towards the entrance of the estate.

Once you were sure he was far enough, you ran onto your bed and shoved your warm face onto a pillow. You had just confessed your love to someone for the first time.

—

Everyone in the estate was in a frenzy a few days later. You stood by the estate's blooming garden as samurai rushed past you and maids gossiped in worry. Apparently, your father and the samurai with him were ambushed by a group of Zenins and were left outnumbered.

At the news, you couldn't help but worry for Yuta, who was one of the ambushed. You were sure that he was not weak. After all, if he was, your father wouldn't have chosen him amongst the many people who applied to work for the L/Ns. But even so, if there were too many people for him to face at once, he really might...

You shook your head in denial.

Yuta never told you his answer, and until he did, he couldn't die. You carried yourself back to your bedroom, shutting the door behind you. Tashiro was one of the many samurai who left to assist, so you had no one following you around.

You frantically dug through your drawers to find an item Yuta had given you. It was one of his last gifts before he stopped guarding you. After some time, you pulled out a thin bookmark that had a ribbon tied to it.

Your fingers ran across the bumpy surface, which would've been smooth if it weren't for the flower sealed inside. You stared at the preserved plum blossom, its color still as rich as it was when you first received it.

"Plum blossoms symbolize good fortune, so I wanted to get this for you, Y/N."

Closing your eyes, you pressed the bookmark between your hands. One thought circulated in your mind, and it was for Yuta to return safely. Again and again, you repeated your wish.

You didn't know how long you were praying for when a few muffled shouts reached your ears. Some of the voices got louder, passing by your door and eventually turning back into silence. You were about to shut your eyes again when your door flew open.

"Y/N?"

Yuta's voice, unusually rough, reached your ears. The bookmark that you held onto so tightly, without you even meaning to let go of it, fell onto the ground. His clothes were stained with blood and grime, even bearing a few tears. But what had worried you the most was the cut on the right side of his forehead.

"Oh my- Yuta are you okay?" you rushed towards him without a moment's thought. "I was so worried!"

Once your feet brought you within arm's length, Yuta immediately grabbed you by your arms. You let out a sound of surprise as he pulled your body close, tilting his head slightly before moving his face towards yours. And with your eyes wide and nose right against his, Yuta pressed his lips against yours with utmost desperation.

Your hands found his waist as you shut your eyes and kissed him back. A warmth spread throughout your body as you freed yourself of Yuta's grip and threw your arms over his shoulders. Gently, he pressed his calloused hand against your cheek and pulled away, heaving.

"Yuta-"

"I've been thinking about it these past few days, and Rika crossed my mind. I often think about her dying in front of me, her teary eyes, and the pained cries she screamed. While we were ambushed, it crossed my mind again, but instead of it being Rika, I saw you in her place."

Yuta's other hand also cupped your face as he scanned your body from head to toe. While fighting, the sound of your voice screaming in pain echoed in his head, so he couldn't help but check for any injuries anyway. Finding nothing, he sighed before he tilted his head towards the ground.

"I was too weak to save Rika or anyone else, but I have the strength to protect you. I love you, Y/N, and I'll be damned if I let anything happen to you."

"Took you long enough."

"I know, and I'm sorry."

This time, you took it upon yourself to brush your lips over his before pressing them together. The noirette held your body tight as the two of you began to kiss again, his right hand traveling to your lower back. A quiet groan escaped Yuta's lips when you tugged at his hair slightly.

"If you're not sure about this," you murmured between kisses, "tell me now."

"There's plenty of things I'm not sure about, but I can't dwell on them any longer. The only thing I'm sure about is that I want you, Y/N. I, Yuta Okkotsu, promise to make you happy for as long as you live."

And with your lips smiling against his, your eyes shone, "You always have such a way with words, you know? I'll happily spend the rest of my life with you."

He gave you one last peck, "I'm looking forward to it."

—

In a certain room far away, a group of men sat in a room lit up by a single candle. Some of their katanas lay flat on the floor in front of them, taking up space for a certain someone's legs. Without a care, he stretched his legs out and crossed his fingers behind his head, leaning against the wall.

"The L/N girl is getting married," one of the men spoke, his voice gruff.

The youngest amongst them all sneered, "And that matters how? Do you think some information about the girl even matters?"

The dual-haired man raised his hands when he found a silver blade placed to his neck. The man next to him, Ogi Zenin, pressed the blade into his skin lightly, "Quit it with your attitude, Naoya."

"Sorry, sorry. Now please, Oji-san, no need to draw blood."

"Do what he says," the clan head, Naobito Zenin, waved his hand. Ogi withdrew his sword before the elder brother continued, "Did the ambush work?"

"We were able to take down most of L/N's personal samurai before more showed up. He and two others were left when we retreated," the first voice, who belonged to Jinichi Zenin, spoke again. 

Naobito took a gulp of his sake, "Good. They're bound to move the wedding date up after that. We strike during the party after the ceremony. Naoya."

"Hm?"

"When the time comes, I want to you kill the L/Ns. Don't fail."

Now interested, Naoya's lips curved into a smirk, "Oh, I won't."

NOTE. 4 months later and we did it... this is the longest chapter i've ever written in my years of writing which is acc crazy to me. i usually max out at around 3k but this series has got me going past my limits 🙂‍↕️ next chapter will be the last! i just have to figure out all the in betweens before i write because i only have the beginning and ending in mind 😭 see you guys until then 🤍

TAGLIST. @seneon @crystalcclaer @mochuchi @soleelia @little-miss-chaoss @dievia3 @diogodxlot @sorasushik1 @st4rdusttx @elliesndg @michelleeveline @brad-is-rad-blog @willowgirlmaiden @shyfurina @xil3k

[fuctacles]

hi!!! congrats on 500 followers!! you deserve them and so many more! i love your writing sm. i will take some more from crazy cat lady stevie 💛

thank you, thank you! 💚 It's a joy to write for y'all. Here's the next 500 words of CCLS(lmao):

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"Here." Steph pushes back the notepad after setting down a string of digits. Her handwriting is small and neat. It suits her. "Feed the little shits twice, today evening and tomorrow morning, water the plant once today. They should be fine alone, but stay with them to make sure they eat their food and, I don't know…" she waves her hand in the air. "Scratch them if they get really whiny or something. Call me if anything's wrong."

Eddie nods along at her instructions. "Don't worry, I got this. I've befriended Jeff's hateful little Siamese in a day. I think cats like me," he assures her. "We'll be fine." She puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

"Of course you will. I trust you."

This touch and her words are all he can think of while they talk for the ten minutes Steph has left. Mostly her and his uncle, because his brain is running wild while trying to soak in the information they share.

He finds out that Robin lives in Indianapolis with her girlfriend. Wayne isn't surprised by that information, but Steph gives Eddie a cursory glance. He gives his best to show how much he doesn't care she's friends with a lesbian. He wants to scream that he's bisexual but it doesn't seem like time and place for that.

He also learns that Dustin is around five years younger than her and married, and she seems to be both proud and jealous of that.

Eventually, she looks at her watch and makes a distressed noise, before hastily gulping down the rest of her coffee.

"I gotta go," she informs them, standing up. Eddie follows.

"I'll walk you off."

"You don't have to—"

But he ends up grabbing her duffel, putting his slippers on, and opening the door in front of her anyway.

"M'lady." He bows, earning himself an amused huff.

"Goodbye, Wayne!" she says, leaning into the kitchen.

"Have a safe trip!" Wayne offers back, and then they're off, walking down the stairs.

Steph grabs the duffel near the front door, basically prying it away from his grasp.

"Thanks again for stepping in. Wayne is lucky to have a family like you."

To have a family.

"No problem," he assures her. "I wouldn't just help anyone, though. You seem like a good person."

"Thanks." She smiles timidly. Then, she leans in, and brushes his cheek with her lips. "See you soon. Don't kill my cats."

"Uh-huh," he agrees eloquently. The heady smell of her perfume must have dazed him.

On her way out the door, she turns.

"Love your pants, by the way. Though I'm more of a Captain America fan." She disappears after that, giving him one last wave.

He's about to swoon. Gorgeous, queer-friendly, and likes superhero comics? He could fall in love.

But he's not going to swoon for a lady that's at least ten years older than him, and probably still single for a reason. And it goes the other way too.

[intheorangebedroom]

Tonight you belong to me, chapter 4

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town.  Christmas on a Friday means you won't be meeting Frankie this week. This break away from each other might be just what the two of you need to consider if you should carry on with whatever this is…

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 see series masterlist for extensive tw.

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡 @frannyzooey you mean more to me than you will ever know 🧡

Word count: 14.3k

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Chapter 4: Frankie

Frankie scratches the stubble on his jaw. Behind the green screen of his aviators, under his creased brow, his eyes are riveted to the red light in front of him. His grip on the steering wheel too tight for safety. 

Something has to be wrong with this light because he’s been waiting at this intersection for ten minutes at least. 

He takes in an angry breath. Loud, but constricted. Yet it’s enough for your scent to fill his lungs. 

It might be a trick of the mind, because it’s been six days since you’ve been in here, and it’s still everywhere around him. It floats in the cab of the truck. It clings to the fabric of the seat. It’s woven into the suede leather of his jacket. 

It’s probably what it is, just a trick of his brain, but he’d like to know for sure. If your presence has pervaded the whole space, or if he’s losing his goddamn sanity. 

The light changes to green. His head rolls back on the headrest, eyes drifting close. 

It’s a light fragrance. A pale shade of yellow, and celadon green. Orange blossom, citrus, honeysuckle. It’s the very last days of spring, when the air is still chill, but the sunbeams are warm and blinding. Before summer sets everything ablaze, the southern wind, the asphalt, the concrete walls and the bodies. It’s the first sunny day on a pale winter skin. 

And there’s the sweet musk you exude, mixed with his own, when he’s fucked you hard and thorough. 

The car behind him honks and he jolts up in his seat, knees knocking against the wheel. He puts the pedal down to the floor in less than a millisecond, tires screeching, engine revving up. 

What the fuck is wrong with him? What is happening to him? 

The route to Will’s place is a familiar one. He drives absentmindedly down streets and avenues lined with palm trees, his mind wandering. To Lua’s shot, that’s due next week; to his Thursday shift he has to swap with Felix. To the gutters that need cleaning, and the front door he should repaint. To the overnight diapers he has to restock soon. 

To the feel of your smaller hands cupping his face, and the coolness of your touch. To that tiny pink wound on your forehead and the weariness in your eyes. To that scar on your knee in the shape of a grid, and that other one on your inner thigh you try not to let him see. To those two dimples above your ass and your scent, fuck, your scent, it does something to him. Something he didn’t ask for. Something he wasn’t prepared to deal with. 

When he turned around, back in that dive, and his eyes met yours, he didn’t feel anything. Or rather, he felt everything, all at once. The end and the beginning. The sweetness and the pain. Blood and honey. It was all there, contained in your luminous, telling eyes. He saw something in them. Something frightened, but brazen. A hunger. A madness. A longing. Something he recognized, and wanted himself. 

He took in your general appearance, the expensive clothes, the even more expensive bag, and he turned back around. Tried to convince himself you were just some corporate executive, bored with your life, looking for a cheap thrill and a quick fuck. 

He could sense your gaze, burning holes through his shirt into the muscles of his back, those damn eyes, wide, exhausted. And they kept boring into him. Strong, determined. They wouldn’t let go. You wouldn’t let go. 

So he left. He got up and stormed out. Went home to the guest room sofa, and his sleeping baby, and tried to forget about you.

Your eyes kept haunting his nights. And his waking hours too. And since he’s been clean, his days have gotten considerably longer. 

No more drugs meant sleepless nights, followed by never-ending stretches of daytime, with nothing to sustain his focus but stress and coffee. It means going to work, and flying on three hours of nonconsecutive sleep, while his thoughts swirl in his overwrought brain. Nothing to take the edge off.

He hadn’t realized the weight he was carrying until Lua was born. 

As long as he was in the military, he had kept his head straight. So many guys he served with were using; all kinds of shit. A genuine feel good hit of the summer. It was disconcerting, the ease with which they could score pretty much anything, in just about any country where they were deployed. As if it were made accessible to them purposefully. 

But not him. He had never needed it. His focus was sharp, his mood even and leveled, his mind clear. Every fiber of his being striven towards one goal: to watch over his brothers. To leave no one behind.  

Things started going south after he’d retired. They followed him. The ones he had left behind. Those times he’d been too quick on the trigger. All of them, soldiers and civilians. Faces without eyes. Deep, bleeding cavities, and dark gaping holes where their mouths should have been. Brothers and enemies merging into one big shapeless and viscous mass of casualties. 

They came to him at night, and soon, he stopped sleeping. Exhaustion exacerbated his temper. His control became tenuous. But somehow, he still kept going. 

When he met Lupe, he had told her everything. Five days a week, she was the voice in his headset, steady, constant, as she dispatched him and the crew of paramedics to wherever the emergency was located. She sent him to brutal, deadly pile-ups on the highway, burning high schools or heart attacks on remote hiking trails with an even tone that aroused his curiosity and inspired his trust. 

When they’d started dating, he confided in her. The nightmares, the difficulty focusing. She understood, but she also didn’t want anything to do with it. She’d answered with a blunt warning. I have my own shit to deal with, Morales, I’m not in this to save you. He didn’t want her to, anyway. He wasn’t her responsibility. 

He had stayed. And so did she. Things were good enough. They were in love. She was already well into her thirties, with a job that didn’t leave much time for dating, and even less for starting a family. She wanted a kid more than anything, and he thought normalcy would do it. That it would ground him enough to fix him. 

After Lua was born, he resorted to drugs to numb out and function. At the time, he had considered it to be a momentary solution. He needed the energy to care for her, not to keep it together.

The drugs helped at first. It helped with the nightmares. It helped with the realization that flying had, for most of his life, been his sole purpose, main goal and greatest talent, and that he’d used it to destroy, ravage and kill. It helped with the guilt. Even as it generated more of it.

The benzos put him to sleep for dreamless hours, and then the coke kept him awake throughout the workday. He thought he’d find some sort of footing. 

It didn’t help long, though. He got caught fast. Almost as if he wanted to be. And then it was all burning shame, and disintegrating self-esteem, with no means left to escape any of his feelings. 

Lupe gave him hell, rightfully so. His sister said nothing, which nearly killed him. She wired him money so he could hire a good lawyer. She’d been the one to advise him in the first place to think twice about bringing a baby into his mess. He still hated himself for not listening to her.

What hit him the hardest was the suspension of his pilot license. Who was he, if not a pilot? 

After the bust, he invested everything into being a good father. Lupe found it in her to forgive him, and things were pretty good for a couple of months. 

Until Pope came back with his bullshit idea. Frankie watched his friends buckle and fold, one after the other. Ben, Ironhead and Redfly. Until he had no other choice but to follow suit. Watch over his brothers. Leave no one behind.  

Flashes after that: Redfly coming back in a plastic bag, to join the mass of eyeless, gaping holes that kept him awake at night. 

The cruel irony of his suspension being lifted within a mere two weeks after he’d crashed that fucking Mi-8. Pope going into hiding, perhaps dead himself. The rest of them left here to slowly fragment, standing amongst all the things they broke beyond repair, with nothing to show for it. 

And then that one day, you collided into him. 

When he came back to the bar two weeks after your first encounter, it was with the firm intention of giving you what he thought you wanted. Scratch your itch, and his. Fuck you once, use you as an outlet, same way you probably wanted to use him. 

The very moment he saw you step inside the bar, he understood how wrong he’d been. 

You were not out for a cheap thrill or a quick fuck; you were not a bored, cynical executive looking to mix with the very working-class you exploited. 

You were in pain. Numbed out. Withdrawn. Absent.

For some reason, that fucked him up hard. He tried running away from you, but you came after him, headstrong. You sought him out. Without hesitation, or fear. And something held him back, prevented him from running away too fast or too far. He let you catch up with him.

You wanted him. You want him still. 

The sounds you make when you come, that breathless moan, full chest, empty mind, he knew he was in trouble when he pulled it out of you that very first night in the parking lot, against his truck. You clung to him, cold hands with a feverish touch. He was greedy and you thrashed before you went slack in his hold and right away he had wanted more. He risked a taste, licked his fingers, and you were heaven. You were unreal. 

He wanted to know so much more: what did you feel like from the inside when you came? How much of him could you take? What your voice would sound like after he’d fuck your throat? 

How much of you really existed? How much of you had he made up? 

He soon found out. About the sensation of your soft skin under his rougher hands. About your patience. About your scent. A pale shade of yellow and celadon green. Intoxicating. 

At the beginning, he thought you were coming to him for degradation, as much as for pleasure. There wasn’t a single debasing act he could come up with that you didn’t let him do to you.

You’d take anything he gave you.

Week after week, you let him fuck you numb, fuck you rough, fuck you raw. Tie you up, fold you down. Cover you in come, choke you on his cock, spit in your mouth. 

Friday after Friday, you kept looking at him like you couldn’t believe he was still here, pounding you blind into that shitty mattress. Not grateful. Surprised. Or relieved. He didn’t know what to make of it, of that dignity you forfeited when you crossed the threshold of that room that very first night. Of your surrendering. 

In retrospect, you understood your dynamic much faster than he did. Back then, he was still struggling with the idea that you were real. 

He grew wary, and in his head, a refrain started playing. Tonight’s the last night. There won’t be a next week. 

He couldn’t stop, though. One last night, that turned into two, then three, then four. He finally started getting decent nights of sleep, a restful slumber of which he felt undeserving. 

He had to put a stop to this. Just one last night, and there wouldn’t be a next week.  

He knew even more when his curiosity started to drift elsewhere. To your life outside the room with the brown rug and the yellow curtains. To that inner island of yours, the contour of which he was only starting to make out through the fog of his blunt desire. 

You kissed him like you knew he’d never be yours, so you’d be his instead. Like his breath was yours. Like your heart only beat under his hand. And yet, you kept eluding him, silent and slippery. The paradox drove him insane.

He grew restless in between Friday evenings, booking the room earlier each week. He forbade himself any other kinds of relief, and instead turned to books. Browsing, flipping pages impatiently, searching for words and concepts. Intellectual tools to rationalize the feeling of you, to understand your presence and describe your scent, because you wouldn’t let him name you, and probably never would. 

He thought that if he didn’t come inside you, perhaps you’d keep coming back to him.

It only made him want you more. The relinquishing drop in your shoulders, every time he asked you to stop him. He became obsessed with the thought of giving you what you knew better than to want. And in his head, the refrain kept playing.

One last night. One last fuck. One last fix. 

In comparison, it had been easier to quit coke. 

He can’t explain your pull. The way his body gravitates towards yours. He can’t explain the visceral craving. 

Aloof and soothing, with a will so hard and unbending it scares him, you take, everything that festers ugly inside him, and absorb it, making it disappear. You turn it into something beautiful, something that blooms and purrs and breathes. Orange blossom and honeysuckle. 

What do you do with all his rage? How do you cope with it? Where do you get this strength from? 

Your strength. He’s only beginning to fathom the magnitude and depth of it. 

It’s hidden beneath the surface of you, dormant, nestled in your quiet resilience, your accidental resistance. The remoteness of your gaze. It’s in your plea for him to take, until he knows he’ll stop breathing if he stops giving in. 

That place within yourself, where you retreat not to get hurt. That’s where he wants to find you. That’s where he wants to live. 

When you didn’t show up two weeks ago, he should have been relieved. He’d got out easy. You’d taken the decision for him. Inside his chest, however, anxiety chewed up his heart and set his nerves on fucking fire. The possibility that your absence was unwilling. That something might have prevented you from coming. Something, or someone. 

He had your plates written down in the little spiral notebook he kept in the glove compartment of his truck. He could’ve pull some strings, found out your address. Fuck, he could’ve found out your name. But it felt like a violation even thinking about it, no matter how sickly worried he was. Like a step too far into madness. Something he wouldn’t come back from. 

And then, you did show up. Exhausted, wounded. Twice as determined. He felt the overwhelming urge to get you into his truck and drive away with you, and never come back.

He felt the familiar grip of wrath, a blinding surge of hatred for this man who’s not quite your husband.

Pulling in front of Will’s building, Frankie puts the truck in park. He grazes a palm over his face, eyes falling on the ugly condo to his left. The teal-colored, budget paint peeling off the sunburned walls in large flecks. 

He sighs, remembering Will’s former house. The one he shared with his fiancée before she left him. Two stories, bow windows on the top floor, a white porch with a swing. Lilac trees in the front lawn. Conversations about having kids.

He readjusts his hat, fingers deftly combing through his hair, takes the six-pack next to him on the seat bench, and exits his truck, dark eyes quickly scanning the block for Ben’s car. The beat-up Camaro is nowhere in sight. He didn’t expect Ben to be on time anyway, but he’s hoping he won’t take too long to join them. 

In the narrow corridor leading to Will’s apartment, a neon lamp goes off and on in a spasmodic, irritating blink. The damp stench of molded wood cloaks his tense frame. He knows that if he tilts his head down to his shoulder and inhales deeply enough, he’ll find you there.

He doesn’t.  

Before he brings down his knuckles to the door, Frankie exhales long and slow. With closed eyes, pursed lips. It’s useless. His shoulders won’t relax. 

When Will opens the door, Frankie’s taken aback by how good he looks. How normal. Thick blond hair kept short, with a carefully trimmed beard. Brawny shoulders, creaseless shirt, alert gaze. Seemingly unchanged, incomprehensibly constant. 

Frankie leans a little longer than necessary into his friend’s full-body hug. When he lets go, the tall man briefly narrows his eyes at him, a steel-blue, surgical stare from behind long blond lashes.

“How are you doing, man?” Will asks in his lazy drawl.

The dim hallway feels too small for the two of them. Frankie’s skin is pulled taut under Will’s unblinking scrutiny. He lowers his head, tucking his face into the protective shadow of his hat. 

“Good. Same,” he mumbles. 

Benny’s buoyant entrance saves him, and it’s more hugs, bulky shoulders colliding, hands clasping and eruptive greetings as they slowly make their way inside the apartment.

“How’s my goddaughter?” Benny asks. 

Frankie smiles at the question. A genuine smile, crinkled eyes and dimpled cheeks. The warmth of the younger man’s baritone spreads in his chest. It’s the care in his words.

“She’s good. Growing up fast. I think it’s just a matter of days before she walks, now.”

“The minute she walks, I’m gonna teach her how to throw a punch,” Benny grins. 

Every time he visits, it takes Frankie a minute to adjust to the contrast between the exterior of Will’s building and the interior of his apartment, and tonight is no exception. The small, one-bedroom’s white walls look like they’ve been freshly painted. The sofa’s cushions are puffed as if no one has ever sat on it. Every surface is spotless, not a dust particle flying. The coffee table is bare, no glass of water, not even the remote control lying on it. 

Matching frames lined methodically on the living-room walls display family pictures, chronologically arranged, as well as a couple of shots from their time together in the Army. Frankie catches a glimpse of his younger self, cropped curls, sharper jaw, smoother grin. His arm is wrapped around Pope’s shoulders. He averts his gaze. 

In the kitchen, the stainless-steel sink is shiny and empty, clean dishes neatly stored away in the overhead glass cabinets. The stove looks like it was just delivered. 

Frankie knows himself to be tidier than most. When they started dating, Lupe would often tell him it was one of her favorite traits of his. 

But Will’s ability to inhabit a seemingly unlived place is unsettling.   

They take their usual seats around the small, round kitchen table. The two brothers fill up the room. Benny’s presence is bright, cheerful, in complementary contrast with his brother’s density and observing silence. Frankie lands somewhere in the middle. Like a bridge. Like a common ground.

The conversation flows between them, effortless. It would be easy to believe nothing has changed. Up until nine months ago, they used to meet at least once a week. Fight nights, bar nights, gym nights... Pope was rarely in town, Tom busy trying to make ends meet, so it was often just the three of them. 

Now, Frankie seldom sees the Millers more than once a month. But after thirteen years, ten of which they’ve spent serving side by side, he knows them well enough to notice the invisible changes. 

There’s a new sort of gravity to Benny’s demeanor. His laughter isn’t as loud, not as immediate. A loss in spontaneity. There’s Will's unusual patience and leniency toward the young man. The nervous glances at his watch whenever his brother’s late. 

Lately, Frankie has caught himself envying the two men’s bond. The many quiet ways in which they look out for one another. A tightly packed unit. Blood tied. 

He could call his sister. Hell, he could even hop on a plane with Lua and fly across the country to visit her, Lupe could probably use the break. His sister would listen. She already has. And she never judged. 

Will places three more cans of beer on the table. Frankie hesitates. He doesn’t need a DIU in his Christmas stocking.

“What are you guys doing for Christmas? Going back to Colorado?” he asks, stalling.

“Yeah, we’re flying tomorrow,” Benny answers with a slow nod. “Can’t leave mom alone.”

Frankie finds himself trapped under Will’s gaze again. It’s charged, with what, he cannot tell yet, but he’s ready to bet he’ll find out before the evening ends. That fourth beer is really tempting. Instead, his thumb finds the target tattooed on his left hand, blunt nail worrying at it. 

“Say, Fish,” Will starts. 

Here it comes.

“I met Lupe the other day at the grocery store.”

Frankie nods, steeling himself. Chin up, to meet his friend’s eyes. There’s the metallic crunch of a tall boy cracked open, followed by the bubbly, high-pitched hiss of the beer.

“Wanna tell me why she’s under the impression that we see each other every Friday evening?”

A second pair of storm-blue eyes dart to his face. If he wasn’t caught in the middle of it, Frankie could find the scene almost comical.

“Wait,” Benny cuts in, “you guys are back together?”

Frankie shakes his head. “No. No, we’re not.”

“But you still live together,” Will states, impassive, carrying on with his interrogation.

“For Lua,” Frankie says flatly. 

Those two words have come out of his mouth for what feels like a thousand times in the past nine months, to family, close friends, colleagues, and acquaintances alike. Today, for the first time, he realizes how incomprehensible, how irrational it might have sounded to all of them. 

“Why are you lying to her, then?” Will leans in closer, his face contrasted in harsh shadows under the overhead suspension. 

“Look Will,” Frankie starts, his tone a notch too defensive, “I appreciate your concern, I know this comes from a good place, but I’m not on anything, ok? So you can– you can drop it.”

The request is rhetorical. Desperate, really. Ironhead is not known for letting go, once he has latched onto something. Across from Frankie, Benny drinks up in silence, eyes flickering between the two men and the growing tension that hangs like smoke between them. 

An ugly apprehension creeps up along Frankie’s nape. 

“I know you’re not using. I can tell. You look better than I’ve seen you looking in a while, aside from the fact that you’re wound up pretty tight. But we’re in this fucking aftermath together, Fish, so I gotta ask: what the fuck is it that you do every Friday evening?”

Frankie sits up straight, folding his arms over his chest, blood simmering. 

“Are you saying you don’t trust me?” he asks, keeping his voice even.

“No. That’s not what I’m saying.” Will cocks his chin toward Benny as he adds, “I trust you with mine and my brother’s life.”

“But not with mine,” Frankie whispers, comprehension finally dawning on him, and somehow, his friend’s concern hits him harder than an unlikely lack of trust. Something snaps and goes slack between his shoulders. 

Benny moves suddenly, his massive frame leaning forward. Propping his forearms on the table, he lets out a long, low whistle. 

“Holy shit, man,” he says, “Fish got himself a new girl.”

Will frowns. His eyes do a quick back and forth between his brother and Frankie, who hangs his head, hiding under the brim of his hat, hissing an angered fuck.

Benny erupts in thundering laughter. Around them, the tension bursts open, the entire atmosphere dripping with it, the air moving again. 

“No. No, I don’t,” Frankie mutters, shaking his head.

His denial is drowned under Benny’s booming voice.

“Come on! Look at yourself, old man, you’re fucking blushing! You got yourself some pussy!”

“Do you? Did you meet someone?” Will presses, trying to lock eyes with him. 

Frankie gives it to him. Raises his head and looks him dead in the eyes, shaking his head still, a vein ready to pop in his corded neck. 

“I didn’t meet anyone. She’s not a girl. I’m not talking about her here,” he grits.

Will leans back in his chair. It creaks loud and tired under his weight. He lets out a heavy sigh, of relief perhaps, or deepened worry.

“Come on, Fish! Give us something. At least tell us what she looks like,” Benny teases. 

He opens another beer and slides it over to Frankie across the table. 

Will’s eyes have yet to leave his face.

“Why don’t you tell Lupe about it? She’s the one who broke up with you,” he remarks. 

“Less than nine months ago. After I fucked up, yet again. She’s the mother of my kid, Will, she’s been through enough on my account.”

Will nods in silence, apparently satisfied with this explanation. 

“Anyway, it’s nothing. There’s nothing to tell,” Frankie adds, swallowing the bitter taste that sits at the back of his tongue.

Silence settles over the three of them. Frankie grabs the can and brings it to his lips, downing half of its content in long gulps. 

Your scent is there, right there, meshed into the fabric of his jacket. It takes all of his willpower not to turn his head and breathe you in.

“She’s married, is she?” Benny asks with a shit-eating grin. 

Will’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline in sheer horror. 

“Is she?” he asks, plunging forward to look at him. 

Frankie grinds his teeth, jaw flexing, eyes clenching shut. 

“Fish, is she married?” Will repeats, a shrill undertone in his usual low drawl.

“Well, I, for one, am not judging you,” Benny declares, giving his brother a pointed look and raising his can as if to toast Frankie.

Frankie sighs. 

He’s never going back to that motel.

—

You don’t like champagne, but that’s all Adrian’s parents ever serve you. It’s fine. For once, you don’t mind. You’ll be driving later today, so you need your mind clear and your reflexes sharp.

You cradle the tall glass in your hand. The taste has long gone stale, the liquid lukewarm in the warmth of your palm. The bubbles are flat. On your lap, your phone buzzes quietly with a new message. Across the table, Adrian’s eyes dart in your direction, annoyance darkening them. 

You swipe your thumb across the screen, and a smile plays on your lips at the sight of Ava and Polly grinning for the camera. They’re sitting in the middle of a large group of women, you quickly count twelve of them, wearing a rainbow of paper crowns. 

They’re gathered in front of a festive table. A small living-room, brightly lit, cluttered with art, lamps, and plants. A Christmas tree stands in the left corner. In front of them, the plates are loaded with what looks like turkey and roasted vegetables. Napkins, cutlery, candles, and decorative pine tree branches scattered on the table. There’s a large cake dish at the center, on top of which sits the highest lemon meringue cake you’ve ever seen, the topping at least three inches high, clearly homemade. 

Some of the women are holding wine glasses, white or red, half full, lipstick smeared on the rim. The photograph has captured them mid-cheers, their lips pursed around a word that’s not yet a smile. The picture is all crinkling eyes, ringing laughter, colorful clothes and flushed cheeks. 

You tap your thumb on the screen in fast motions. 

Gorgeous! All of you!

Wait, is that turkey vegan?

You add a winking emoji to clarify your tone before pressing send.

The three dots blink briefly and the dark-haired, shrugging emoji pops up on the screen. 

You chuckle. 

It’s Xmas!!!!! Lexi’s filling is fkg delicious!!!!! 

What abt u? U holding up????

The little round yellow face, with its mouth turned downward, stirs guilt in your gut. 

Ava was tearing up again, when you dropped her at the airport two days ago, despite your many reassurances that you would be perfectly alright. It’s not your first Christmas apart, but it’s the first one with over a thousand miles between you. You want to put her mind at ease. For her to remain carefree as long as life allows her to be. 

I’m good, pup ♥ But I’d be even better if I was about to eat that meringue cake, OMG!

It’s not a lie, not exactly. Of course, it’s the first time in decades you’re completely sober to face the ordeal that is Christmas diner at Adrian’s parents. It’s almost an outer body experience. But strangely, not the nerve-racking one you feared. You anticipated worse. For every sensation to be impossibly loud, blinding, sharp. For your mind to spiral downward at the first uncomfortable interaction. 

It hasn’t. You’re nervous, but also focused. And that grip provides you with just enough balance. This year, you’ve got a clear course of action. At least for the upcoming couple of days. One step at a time.

Pinching the screen, you zoom in on Ava’s face, before your eyes flicker up to the dining table you’re sitting at and the people around it. 

Everything’s beige. From the tablecloth linen to the leftovers growing cold on the plates. From the Christmas tree and the guests’ clothing to Adrian’s mother’s hair.

Beige, bland, boring. Ashen.

The only touch of color is on Adrian’s face. Those ruby-colored specks spreading to his cheeks from the neck, standing out in his pale carnation. A reaction you only seem to arouse when he’s furious with you. 

His mother announces dessert will be served in the jardin d’hiver, which is how Beatrice insists on calling the back porch. 

Your phone vibrates, signaling another text from Ava. You slide it in the pocket of your jumpsuit without opening it. Adrian glowers at you a second longer before walking over to the end of the table to assist his grandmother. 

His brother nearly races him to it. You watch the grown-up man in his bespoke Armani suit get up so fast he nearly trips over the legs of his chair. 

Their motivation is not honorable. Affection doesn’t play into their eagerness. There isn’t a member of the Mountcastle family who harbors love or respect for the 92 year old, acrimonious matriarch. In their defense, she’s a dried-up, nasty piece of bigotry, built on pure, solid hatred, even by their conservative standards and values. 

But she owns the estate and she holds the money. And so the two Mountcastle spawns scramble to their feet to make a show of their devotion.

The whole clan gets up to form a procession behind the old woman’s frail, hunched silhouette. Parents, aunts and uncles, in-laws and cousins, children in ruffled dresses and short dress pants flittering around them. Your so-called family. You can barely tell them apart. 

Detached, you stride slowly behind, toward the back of the house. You haven't worn heels in two weeks. It’s quite surprising how fast you got unused to them. Your slick, black pumps press uncomfortably on your little toes, rubbing your skin raw. But you won’t be wearing them much longer. So you suck in the pain. You let it ground you. 

Your choice of outfit elicited a stern glance from Adrian when you slipped it on this morning. He hovered behind you, disapproving and silent, still riled up from your earlier confrontation when you had announced you’d be driving your car to his parents’ house, so you could leave early. 

You stood in front of the mirror, rigid and hesitant, sliding up the side zipper. A sleeveless black jumpsuit with a V-cut cleavage in the front, and a deeper one exposing your back, bought in a thrift store ages ago, when you were still in college. You exhumed it from the depth of your closet, in hopes it would convoke the boldness you had briefly experienced during this short period of your life. You’re done dressing to please anyone but yourself. 

The help walks briskly past you through the double, ornate-glass doors leading to the porch. She lays a porcelain tray on the console near the railing. 

“La bûche de Noël!” Beatrice declares triumphantly, opening her arms to gesture theatrically at the brown mass on the tray. 

A wave of blond heads undulates toward the console, blue eyes in every nuance darting at the dish where a log-shaped lump of a cake sits.  

“What is this monstrosity?” her mother-in-law croaks. 

The entire family falls silent. Your eyes grow wide and you bite down on your grin.

Beatrice instantly loses her carefully crafted composure. It’s never been obvious to you until now, how vacant her gaze turns whenever something upsets her. You briefly wonder what’s her drug of choice to escape. You sure hope she has one.

“Oh but it’s French, Abigail,” she murmurs. “It’s a delicacy. I bought it from Sucré Table, on Kennedy Boulevard.”

“What’s wrong with an American pecan pie?” the matriarch spits out without so much as a  look for her daughter-in-law.

Beatrice smiles her empty smile, sharp yellowed teeth, hardened gray eyes. You can’t bear to look at her any longer. You turn your head, and your gaze meets Agatha’s. 

The young girl instantly lightens up, straightening her back in her baby-blue seersucker dress, smiling at you with something you can only describe as relief. She raises a little hand and wriggles her thin fingers. The ten year old is your favorite. You love her dearly. Her bubbly personality and burgeoning sense of humor have seen you through many family gatherings. 

Today, it hurts you to admit, you’ve kept her at arm’s length, selfishly preserving yourself from Beatrice’s favorite question: when will you have a child of your own?

With a slight wince, you blink away the vision of Frankie holding his little girl in the photo booth picture. Their full heads of curls. Their dimpled grins. 

Charles, Adrian’s father, is the first to break the uneasy silence, with a playful albeit daring remark on his mother’s failing sense of adventure. The assembly lets out a collective breath. Beatrice takes a seat on one of the cushioned wicker chairs, curtly signaling the help to cut the bûche and serve it.

You exhale slowly through parted lips. If you wait any longer, courage will fail you. 

Smoothing your palms over your belly, you make your way to Adrian, where he’s leaning against the railing at the rear end of the porch. 

“I’ll be going, now,” you whisper, eyes not quite meeting his. 

He sighs, something constrained and hostile, facing away toward the sprawling, lush garden, hydrangeas, willow trees. Tension rolls off his lanky frame. Your stomach turns, your mind swivels, grasping for words of reassurance. 

Incomprehensibly, you want him to talk to you, even though you’re terrified of what he might say. The poisoned words he’s capable of, somehow preferable to his irate silence. 

“I’ll excuse myself to your mother before leaving. I’ll be discreet. I promise. I won’t do anything to jeopardize your–”

He turns to face you so fast it startles you. 

“You could at least tell me where you’re going.”

You look up at him, taken aback by his pained expression. Under his pinched brow, his features are twisted in an unfamiliar expression. He slithers a hand around your waist, drawing you close, and it strikes you: he’s pleading. 

A breath hitches inside your chest. From this close, you can see the flecks of green in his pale blue irises. You had forgotten their complexity. Their refined beauty. He tightens his grip on you, fingers curling into your tender flesh. The lie tumbles out of you before you can hold it. 

“I’m just going to check in on Ava. It’s her first Christmas on her own.” 

You catch a glimpse of his mother in your peripheral, handing out Bone China dessert plates. The heady perfume of the hydrangea bushes is going to your head. The day is swirling inside your brain, around you, jardin d’hiver, French dessert, delicacy. Agatha’s desperate little wave, her loneliness, your cowardice. Adrian’s eyes of green and their angry plea. 

Your lungs constrict, not letting you breathe.

Adrian tilts down his face, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath skates your skin when he speaks. 

“What happened to us, babe?” 

His lips brush against the edge of your jaw. Static scrambles your brain; your hand motions upward of its own volition to rest on his back. The pain, the remorse in his voice sits like a razor blade inside your throat. You have to talk around the taste of your blood, voice unrecognizable. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise.”

It’s not a lie. You will be back tomorrow. Facing a blank page, the rest of your life to figure out, to navigate with what you’ve learned about yourself. 

His hand moves, sliding down to rest in the small of your back, the muscles of his back flexing under your light touch, and your palm, your entire body registers the difference. In sensation, in mass, in warmth. 

“I miss you,” he whispers against your lips. 

—

The car stereo plays a classical rendition of Let it snow. Ten minutes into driving, you gave up trying to find a station that would broadcast something other than Christmas tunes. 

The traffic is fluid, the roads eerily deserted. The windows on both sides are cracked open, and the warm, late afternoon air that wafts in soothes your sore rib cage. 

Your mind keeps wandering to the previous Friday, when you sat nestled into Frankie’s side as he drove aimlessly. To the smooth fabric of his jacket under your cheek, to the heat of his chest, to his solid breadth. 

You stop it.

The memory is always a thought away. But it shouldn’t be summoned at random. You can’t risk its erosion. There won’t be another one. 

You’re disappointed to find a lanky young man sitting in Raul’s place behind the counter of the motel’s office. His blond hair is tied in a bun on top of his head, and his phone blasts pop tunes in audio slices of fifteen seconds through revolving TikTok videos. You want to cover your ears. Or smash up his phone. 

He hands you the key, and you all but rush out of the office, only slowing once you’ve reached the front door of your room. 

Before stepping inside, you halt under the porch. 

Beyond the parking lot, beyond the road, over the horizon, dusk descends in dark tangerine over the canopy of trees. Slowly, the sky turns saffron in seamless gradations. The air feels textured, grainy like an old photograph, like long-gone, sunny vacations, like faded memories. The evening breeze is pleasant. The night envelops you, violet-blue, regrets and losses. 

Inside room number 2, you draw the yellow curtains. You stand still for a few moments, confused, your routine disrupted, since you’re not expecting him.  

It’s too early to sleep, but the tension that has run through you throughout the week, culminating with Adrian’s kiss, is now flowing out of your body, leaving you limp. 

Adrian hadn’t held you like that in years. With passion and intent. Perhaps even sincerity. He’d never done that, attempted to use your nostalgic heart to his benefit. Intimidation had usually sufficed.  

Toeing off your shoes, you slowly undress. You fold your clothes in a neat little pile, similar to the one you found on the desk last Saturday. Military-like. 

The questions you never asked Frankie flood your brain. All the things about him you will never have the time to learn. They form a lump in the dip of your collarbone. They prickle under your eyelids. 

You clench your eyes shut, and invoke the image of his daughter’s face, trying to picture their Christmas celebration to strengthen your resolve. Pecan pies and half-nibbled, minute portions of roasted turkey. Red boxes wrapped in white ribbons under the blinking tree. A teddy bear. Jigsaw puzzles with large pieces. Plastic toys with pushing buttons and synthetic lullabies. A rocking horse, maybe. 

The image of him with that little girl has plagued you, continuously, throughout the week. Pain cloaking you like mist, seeping inside you, breaching the molecular structure of your flesh. Redefining it. Until you woke up one night, drenched in cold sweat, with a certitude ringing out inside your head: you had to give him up. Give him back, back to his wife and daughter. 

You’d go to the motel one last time, one last indulgence, to say goodbye to the idea of him, and you’d give him back to his family.

When your heart rate has slowed down, you walk over to the bathroom to wash your face clean. You’ll miss your reflection in that black-edged mirror. You don’t smile and say, “Stop me.”

The bedspread is gross. The polyester fabric, once a peach shade of orange, is darkened in multiple places by stains of various shapes and consistencies. You’re probably responsible for most of it. 

Grabbing a corner of the heavy quilt, you slide it off the bed entirely. The white linen underneath seems clean enough. 

You climb into bed, and repress a shiver. You switch off the lights and pull up the sheet to your chin. The fabric is threadbare, starchy. 

How can you be so cold, in the mild evening?

Lying curled up on your side, eyes strained on the curtains, you don’t feel yourself falling asleep. 

Soon, you’re miles away from the motel, your naked body drifting into the Pacific Ocean. You’re half-immersed, but afloat. The undercurrent is strong underneath the white crests of the violent waves, but you’re not scared. As long as you lie in the water, as long as you don’t try to resist, you’ll be fine. Ears beneath the surface, you’re isolated by the silence of the dark abyss, eyes staring up into the immensity above you. 

It’s a different kind of sunset. Flamboyant, carmine, and the whole sky is ablaze with it. The horizon is on fire, but you’re safe in the water. 

A vague intuition roils your peace. You’re supposed to look for something. How, you don’t know, because you cannot shift from your position, or you’ll sink. 

Suddenly, something tailspins across the sky in a fast downward fall. Too small to be a bird, too slow for a shooting star. Thick streaks of ominous gray fumes trail behind it in its descent.

Should you be scared? Should you try to get away from it? It’s so far in the distance, it can’t be much of a threat. It’s too late, now, anyway, you tilt your head to the side in time to watch it collide with the surface of the ocean. 

You feel the impact in the undertow. Something too big stirs between your lungs, and you gasp as the muted sound of the collision reaches you in a vibrating shockwave. 

The ripples of the impact are crawling fast over the surface, in your direction. A sense of dread, of impending doom, scrambles your brain. You jolt upward to a vertical position, legs and hands beating against the current, pushing against the water. 

The balance is fractured. You’re pulled under.  

You’re sinking fast, as fast as that thing fell into the ocean, and above the surface, the crimson sky is turning dim. 

Instinctually, you rebel against it, screaming for help but it’s water, not air, that fills your lungs. Salty, cold, abrading your throat when you choke on it. 

You’re dying, or you’re dead already, because something firm and soft radiates heat against your back. 

“Shhh, it’s ok.”

A strong arm bands firmly around your chest, warm palm, splayed fingers, pulling you flush against warm skin. 

“I got you, baby.”

Your eyes shoot open. The dark bedroom materializes in your blurred vision, the silhouette of the bedside table and the lamp, the pale square of the window. Its shape detached from the wall, dancing in the darkness. 

“Frankie?”

Frankie presses you into him, a short, strong squeeze of an answer. 

But your dream is clinging to the edges of your consciousness, salty water sloshing at the bottom of your lungs. 

“‘S that really you?” you ask again, words slurred through sleep, panic in the inflection of your question. 

His hand wraps around your breast. He slots his face into the curve of your neck, the scruff of his jaw a tickle against your bare skin. 

“Why, you were expecting someone else?” 

You close your eyes, tears rising, sudden, like the tide of the Pacific Ocean. 

“I’m not still dreaming?” you breathe out. 

His response is immediate. His teeth graze the slope of your shoulder. The bite is shallow, but firm, and you let out a little sound, between a surprised gasp and a relieved exhale. 

“See? Not dreaming. Go back to sleep, I’ll take care of you in the morning,” he mouths against your skin before kissing it better. A pointed kiss, plush, parted lips. A promise. 

The impact of that thing on the surface of the ocean is still pulsating through you. Ricocheting around your rib cage. You wiggle into his hold to turn around and face him, your palms finding the plane of his broad chest. 

Your entire body registers the difference. In sensation, in mass, in warmth.

In the semidarkness, you can only make out the outline of his sharp features. You scoot closer, tucking your face into his neck, taming the vibration with his scent. 

“Will you still be here in the morning?” 

You feel the thick swallow in his throat against your temple. It’s a beat before he moves, tilting his head to rest his chin on the crown of your head, both arms circling your waist. Engulfing you in his hold. 

“I will.”

—

Frankie knew you’d be at the motel. Instinctually so. A gut feeling, unnerving in its clarity. 

He hadn’t planned on going when he headed out. He had decided never to set a foot there ever again, and he was going to stand by his decision. After he’d put his daughter to bed, he just needed to get out of the house. Escape the charged atmosphere. 

It was Lua’s second Christmas, and he hadn't even managed to keep his family together that long. 

Lupe was watching a movie in the living-room. He’d leaned against the door frame, already in his hat and jacket. She hated his hat. She had forbidden him to wear it inside the house when they started dating, and he still abided by that rule. A belated mark of respect. 

“I’m heading out,” he announced, as neutral as possible. “Not sure when I’ll be back, don’t worry, ok?”

She was done being worried about him. He knew this much. He understood. He accepted. 

They still shared a roof, however. Bills, deadlines, and most importantly, responsibilities regarding the child they had brought into this world. He owed her basic information on his whereabouts. He may have lied about where he went, but he had always been back home before Lua woke up, as agreed between them.

“Yeah, ok,” she answered, without lifting her eyes from the TV screen. 

As he pushed away from the lintel, she turned to face him, as if remembering something. 

“Wait, Francisco?”

She hadn’t called him Frankie since she’d broken up with him. 

“Yea?” he said, backtracking to stand on the threshold. 

Her dark eyes glimmered, lit up by the TV screen’s flickering light. She was beautiful. A superior kind of beauty. Like gilded age Hollywood nobility. Dolores Del Rio, Linda Darnell. Even when tired, even with a bare face, and sitting in her pajamas with a bowl of chips between her crossed legs. Frankie hoped Lua would grow up to look like her. To be like her. And not take from him and his rough features. And his fucked up brain. 

“Could you stay in to take care of Lua next weekend? I know Friday’s your night, but I— I’ve got an opportunity to get away for the weekend. I might not be back until the 2nd.”

He recognized it in her demeanor. In the way she tried facing him without being able to look straight at him. The discreet, unconscious fiddling of the hem of her t-shirt. The concealment. Handing out a part, but not all the truth. Only what’s convenient. 

He briefly wondered if he’d been this obvious when he was running around on drugs. Probably even more so. How she didn’t kick him in the jaw was still a mystery to him. He owed her so much for her patience alone. 

“No problem, I’ll be here. Happy to do it for you,” he said in earnest, hoping it didn’t sound too awkward. Hoping she’d get the meaning behind it: she deserved someone else. Someone better. 

“Ok. Cool.” She paused before she added, “Appreciate it.”

He nodded in silence and turned around, walking toward the front door. 

Originally, the plan had been to drive without a goal. Pop an old Jefferson Airplane album into the truck’s stereo and listen to the music, drifting into the night. Slowly ease down from the day’s tensions. 

Your scent had eventually dissipated from the cab. It’d been eight days. He was never going back to that motel, and with her request, Lupe had just made his resolution easier to translate into action. 

The words formed inside his mind. He pronounced them out loud. 

I’m never going back to that motel. 

And he knew. You were there, at this very moment. He couldn’t explain how, but he knew. You’d said you couldn’t come, but it was Christmas evening, not Christmas Eve. Most families were done with the celebrations, heading home, cleaning up, storing away the china until next Thanksgiving. 

He pictured you sitting on the edge of the bed, a lonely silhouette peering out into the twilight beyond the yellow curtains, and a violent pain shot through his chest. He thought he was having a heart attack, the way his heart squeezed and sank. 

It hadn’t been more than a split second between his vision and his decision. He hit the brakes, ignoring the white SUV honking and swerving behind him, and U-turned on Ocean to head toward the 589 northbound. 

When he pulled into the parking lot, the night was pitch dark. Your gray sedan appeared in his headlights. He let out a sigh of relief as he parked behind it. The pain inside his chest was only starting to ebb. 

He got out fast and climbed onto the porch in front of room number 2. You hadn’t even locked the door. 

—

Dawn wakes you. The light gently tugging at your consciousness, little by little. Pale but insistent, nudging your eyes open. 

The room looks so different in the daylight. A miracle you have yet to tire of. Dust particles dancing in the grazing sunbeams of an early winter morning. Quiet and peace.

It’s been a long while since you last slept this well. You sigh at the cliché. A good-hearted, full-chested sigh.

Frankie’s heat behind you is nearly too much. His chest pressed against your back, his left arm, limp and heavy, resting across your waist. 

His breathing is deep. Slow, and steady. With each rise and fall of his chest, a thin sheen of sweat glides between your two bodies. His breath ruffles the thin hair on your nape in a gentle tickle.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, you try peeling his arm off you. You’ve almost made it when he suddenly brings it back down. 

“Nope,” he mumbles with closed eyes. The word is sleep-heavy, but the corner of his lips are twitching.

You stifle a delighted giggle.

“I have to use the bathroom.” 

“Mmh.” 

There’s a pause as he considers it, as you vainly try to bite down on your childlike grin.

“Ok,” he finally says, with exaggerated reluctance. 

He doesn’t move his arm, though. You have to wiggle yourself out of his hold. 

When you exit the bathroom, he’s still in the same position. The room is flooded with light. The sun darts its rays into his sleep-mussed hair. From golden strands to darker depth, his curls are pointing in every direction. 

You tiptoe in silence, doing your very best to climb back on the bed without disturbing his slumber. You want this. More than anything you’ve ever wanted. This tranquil moment to yourself, alone with his sleeping body. 

Kneeled behind him on the mattress, you take in his breadth, impressive even in this position as he lies on his side. You breathe in his scent, leather, cedar wood, and the musk of his skin, warm from sleep, from the morning sun, from your own body. 

There’s a larger freckle on the left side of his neck. Your fingers hover over it, curious, tempted. Drifting higher, your gaze uncovers a faded tattoo behind his ear. You can’t make out what it represents. The green ink is blurred, as if smeared underneath his skin. You doubt it was professionally done. It tugs at your heart with a sharp little pang of a pain to imagine him as a teenager. Tall and lean, smooth cheeks, smooth skin, a friend hunched over him with a needle and an ink pen.  

There’s another one on his left hand. This one, you know well. You’ve kissed it. Licked it. Held on to it. It’s nestled on the muscle between his thumb and index finger. Two circles and a dot in their center. A target, you assume, but you can’t be certain. The pile of clothes folded in military fashion springs to mind. 

Your eyes continue their exploration, flicking to his other wrist, with its inked arabesque, but it’s over in a second. 

You let out a sharp gasp, and he moves so fast you can’t deflect. His arm seizes you by the  waist, strong and unyielding. He drags you over his body, and you stumble onto the mattress in front of him. 

“What are you doing, back there?” he husks, a smile in his tone, and you giggle, again. 

He pulls you in close to him. 

“I’m looking at my Christmas present,” you answer.

He lets out a low chuckle. You made him laugh. Pride flares up in your chest. He smiles a dimpled smile, and you suck in a shaky breath, more pain blooming inside your rib cage. 

“You’re so pretty in this light,” you whisper in wonderment.

“You’re pretty in every light.”

“How would you know, you haven’t opened your eyes yet,” you tease.

You tease. Your levity makes you dizzy. 

His eyebrows disappear in his soft curls. He lifts one eyelid, pursing his lips. The morning sun catches at the mahogany of his iris. 

“You questioning my judgment here?” 

Smiling, you move your hips closer to his, to where you want to feel him. The low rasp of his voice is dripping down inside you, slowly, surely. Swirling like honey. Thick, rich trickles of amber, sticky and sweet. Like the light playing on his freckled skin. Like his warmth under your hands. Too much and not enough, pooling down between your legs. 

Reaching up, you scratch your nails in his beard, tracing the heart-shaped, bare patch on his jaw with your fingertips.  

“Is it ok that you’re still here? At this hour?” you ask, focusing on the tip of your finger.

“I don’t know. I hope my truck is not gonna turn into a pumpkin,” he answers, giving your waist a little pinch.

“I hope not. I like your truck.” 

Your fingers travel down along his strong neck. 

“How’s your head?” he asks. 

The bobbing of his throat is mesmerizing. It’s a minute before you’re able to answer.

“You still don’t believe I fell, do you?”

“I believe you. It’s him I don’t trust.”

You’re brought back, violently so, under Beatrice’s porch, into Adrian’s arms and his lips pressed to yours, prying them open. To his taste on your tongue, bitter like stale champagne. Yesterday afternoon. Forever ago. 

Perhaps he sees the memory clouding your gaze, because his leg wedges between yours, his body curling around your body. Protective, possessive. He nuzzles into the curve of your shoulder, taking in a deep, full breath. His lips trail open-mouth kisses, tickling and wet, along the line of your throat. You burrow into his chest, into his hold, into his world.

The words bubble up from the depth of your chest, from where they formed between your lungs, where the creature is purring, lapping honey, warm and content. 

“My name is Lee.”

Frankie pulls back immediately with a wide-eyed stare. You see, more than you hear, the name rolling around the tip of his tongue, as he tastes it on his palate. 

“Lee. Lee. Lee.”

On the third occurrence, his hand circles your hip and slides down to the round of your ass, grasping your flesh as if to hold you down. Make sure you won’t vanish. There’s that perpetual crease between his brow. His heart is thrumming hard and fast against yours. You grow restless between his arms.  

“I hate it,” you say.

“What?”

You swallow thickly, mouth cardboard dry. 

“My name.”

He props himself up on his elbow to better face your scowling expression, eyes piercing you under his deep frown. 

“Why?”

“They gave me my grandfather’s name. Lee Abbott. Lee Abbott & Son, import export,” you recite. “It’s not even mine.”

Your eyes flicker, scanning his face, trying to read the ticking of his jaw, the widening of his pupils. 

“I think it’s perfect. Lee’s perfect.”

His voice is breathy, like he just took a punch to the gut, and it sends your mind reeling. Is this what he sounds like when he’s lying?

“How?” You wrestle the question out of your throat, and it’s still barely audible.

“It’s fearless. It’s fucking badass,” he answers without missing a beat, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard it. 

“What?” you scoff incredulously. You shake your head on the starched pillowcase. “I’m not badass. I’m not fearless, Frankie, I can guarantee you that.”

The pink tip of his tongue darts between his lips as he narrows his gaze on you. His hand leaves your hip. He brings it up to your face, and he pauses. An inch from your skin, like he’s taming an animal, scared, wild or wounded, or all three, before brushing his knuckles to your cheek. 

It’s overwhelming, his body hunched over yours. Crowding your senses. Filling your vision. His rhythmic strokes, rough hand, gentle touch. It’s something you had foreseen but weren’t quite ready to experience: his ability for tenderness. 

You’re cornered. Entirely. You should probably be scared. To some extent, you are. But you know you’re safe, the feeling instinctive. You must trust the waves, trust the tide of this deep dark ocean. It’ll keep you afloat. Embrace the impact. Embrace its concentric ripples. 

“Ok,” he starts. “Here’s how I see it. Marion… Marion, she’s hiding. She’s running away with something that’s not hers, right? Something she stole. Whereas Lee… Lee got out there and she took chances. She got what she wanted. She made it hers.”

Your heart beats inside your throat, blood flushing your face and rushing through your ears with a deafening roar. 

“Did she?”

He nods. 

“Yea. Yea, she did.” 

He leans down, slowly lowering his lips to yours. His kiss is patient, reverent, slow-building. Plush lips wrapped around yours, tongue gently prodding, softly coaxing you open. Between your arms, his shoulders tremble under the force of his restraint. 

When you ease into it with a quiet whimper, he draws you in closer. You arch up in his embrace, fingers threading through his curls, right leg brushing up along his. 

His mouth crushes yours with a groan. He licks inside you, tongues entwined, swirling. Honey dripping down your spine, fire licking up your core, electricity tingling along your limbs. 

Kisses that are more teeth than lips, when he trails the line of your jaw, the coarse hair of his beard scrapping your cheeks. Calloused hands spamming the expanse of your smooth skin, cupping your breasts, rough and needy, and you feel the hot press of his hard length against your belly as he rocks against you. 

Your heart is impossibly light. Like it’s going to rip through your rib cage and fly away. Like you’ll be left without one, and the wild creature, always demanding more, will take its place. Because that’s what it’s been waiting for, since the very beginning. 

Forgotten, your good will and resolutions, weak promises you made to yourself. Pushed back, pushed down, guilt and photo booth pictures of his dimpled baby girl. Drowned, intrusive memories, blue eyes, white porch, French delicacy. 

He’s yours, he said so himself, didn’t he? For the first time ever, something’s yours, wholly. You got him, because of everything you surrendered. 

And it matters not that you’re lying to yourself. That, really, he belongs to somebody else. It matters not when his mouth is all over you, greedy, taking. Devouring you. When his fingers are gliding through your soaked folds, breaching your entrance. When they’re buried inside you, thick and curled and pumping. 

When you’re blooming sticky and wet, pretty and dazed, bursting open under his touch, moaning his name. 

He’s yours now. In this room. In the gift of your name. In your heart that’s flying away from you as you clench and shatter on his hand. 

He pulls up, blown out pupils, damp wild curls falling on his forehead. He drags his fingers out of you and the emptiness prickles at the corner of your eyelids. His eyes are trained on you as he licks them. As he smiles, a cocky grin stretches his gorgeous lips and dimples his pretty face, and perhaps this is as close as you’ll ever get to see him looking like his teenage self. That smug smile. All pride and confidence. 

You’re sinking into that shitty mattress, weighed down by melancholy and pleasure and regrets. And something else. Something more stubborn than you, that you still cannot name. 

Frankie fastens his mouth to yours, sharing your taste with you, wedging his body between your legs, spreading your hips with his waist. 

Your emptiness is throbbing at the center of you. 

“Frankie please, please.”

“Yes, baby. Told you I was gonna take care of you.”

Flexing his hips, he rubs his length against your scorching heat, coating himself in your slick. Anticipation tingles through the blunt edges of your previous release. You squirm under the weight of him, knees touching the mattress, cracked open, vibrating. 

He lines up at your entrance, dark eyes focused on your face, and oh god, the fucking size of him. The fucking stretch. The burn as he inches in, excruciatingly slow. It has you blinking away tears of pain and gratitude, it has you whining his name. 

He’s all blown-out pupils, taut muscles, and slack jaw, as he sheathes his cock inside your heat, all the way in. Round head nudging at your cervix. The sight of him, nearly wrecked, control waning, as he makes room for himself inside you rips through you. 

“You feel so damn good, Lee,” he says, impossibly soft, and you feel it inside your chest, with the way he’s lying on you. 

It’s a stretching glide, when he starts moving. A spreading grind. You can feel every vein, every ridge of him. He hooks an arm under your knee and folds you around him. He’s not fully pulling out, he can’t, he needs you wrapped around him, this much you understand, clearly, through the annihilation of his deep strokes. 

Forehead to forehead, chest to chest, you can’t breathe and your body’s a thinning envelope between your heart and Frankie’s. It’s too much, his weight inside and over you, his breath in your mouth, his smell everywhere. 

You’re overwhelmed, forced to surrender to the fire coiling inside you. With the coarse hair at his base scraping against the sensitive bud of your clit, with his cock, hot and heavy, dragging against your walls. 

Your body jerks underneath him, fingernails digging into the meat of his shoulder to draw him closer, your other hand pushing him away and he moves fast, strong fingers circling your wrist and sliding your hand above your head, twining your fingers. You’re pinned down. Helpless. Willing. Unmoored by the intensity of the building impact. 

He feels it, feels your frantic flutter around his cock and the frenzied racing of your pulse and he drives in deeper, faster, harder. The room fills up with the sound of his sweat-damp skin slapping against yours. Louder than the creaking bed, louder than the headboard’s thud on the wall. 

“Oh god!” you cry.

“Come on, baby, give it to me,” he grunts into your mouth.  

—

Frankie sees the plea in your eyes, shiny with tears, too wide, too glassy. Come with me, you’re begging him, come inside. He’s never fucked you like that, not you, not anyone, he’s never bared himself so fully. He’s gonna lose himself for good, this time. 

You’re breaking up under his rolling hips, bucking hard against the press of his body. Eyes rolling to the back of your skull, clenching cunt, clenched eyelids. 

Something blares up in the back of his head. A signal. An alarm. 

He can’t even fuck you through it. You let out a broken cry when he pulls out, spurting dense ropes of come on your mound with a tense “fuck.”

A dry little sob rattles through your chest. Muffled, apologetic. 

He untangles his fingers from yours, unhooks your leg from his arm. Pushes away from you on the rumpled sheets, and it’s etched on your face, in your pinched brow, in your quivering lip. The disillusion. The void he’s failed to fill. 

That fucking heart attack of a pain squeezes at his chest again. 

He rolls onto his back, freeing you, and you gulp in a large breath. 

In the room, the air is stifling. Charged with the coppery smell of sex. The daylight is unforgiving with the chipped furniture and the moth-eaten curtains. With that ugly painting of the Appalachian. 

“Let’s go clean you up,” he says, sitting up with a cinch. Unable to bear your silence. 

“No,” you whisper. “I need a minute.”

You shut your eyes close. You retreat. He watches you disappear beyond the shore of your inner island. Where he cannot follow you. 

There’s noise coming through the paper thin walls from next door. Several voices, a television, maybe. Further away, the low humming of a vacuum cleaner. 

How long until room-service robs you from him?

He lies back down. Stares at your profile, still and absent, cut out in amber against the light from the window. 

Lee. 

The most beautiful name he’s ever heard. He briefly noted the similarities: three letters, starting with an L. Lee. Lua. A perfect balance. 

It tastes like honey. You said, “My name is Lee” but what you meant was, “I trust you.” 

What has he done with your trust? 

How could he ever imagine himself capable of living without this? Without you? Without this room, even? 

His mind drifts to his early morning routine, Lua curled up on his lap, drinking her bottle with those hungry, little grunting noises. Chubby little fingers wrapped around his thumb. 

He was always an early riser. Which was practical during his time in the Army. The nightmares, the drugs, they disrupted that. He could be up, without being awake. Without being there. 

But lately, he’s the first to rise again, no matter how late sleep finds him. 

He loves that Lua seems to know he’s awake. She never cried in the morning. When she was just a newborn baby, she would make those quiet babbling noises. Now she calls his name. Papa. 

He comes into her room with her bottle ready. Most mornings, she’s up, already, holding herself upright with the bars of her crib. That smile she gives him, when she sees him. That’s his morning sun. 

He picks her up with one hand, she weighs so little, and yet so much. He covers her face in tickling smooches until she stops giggling and starts pushing him away, making grabby hand gestures at her bottle. 

These moments of a peace he doesn’t deserve, in the early, blue hours, he owes them to you. You’ve smothered the nightmares. You’ve quietened his mind. Patiently chipped away at the walls he had erected between himself and happiness, with your quiet, determined strength. 

Fuck. 

You’re getting up. He watches you climb off the bed and saunter off to the bathroom. He doesn’t want to stay alone on this bed, in this room. Without you. 

So he follows you, standing on the threshold, leaning on the door frame of the windowless bathroom, looking at you as you clean yourself with a towel. 

The paint is coming off on the lintel. The small neon above the sink lights up shit. The shower head is crusty with limestone. Humidity speckles the ceiling in black, hairy dots above the bathtub. 

He hates himself for taking you here. 

Back in September, he had chosen the place because it seemed sufficiently remote. Because he hoped it would deter you. Scare you away. 

He hates that you didn’t even flinch. 

He hates that he’s grown fond of this shithole. 

You turn and hand him a glass of water. He steps inside with you. You watch him drink up, head tilted and your big, searching eyes on him. The resolve that sharpens them, that he witnessed emerging, Friday night after Friday night, as resignation receded. That’s what guides him now. 

There’s something intrinsically soft, a new kind of intimacy, about standing together in that bathroom. Soon, you’ll have to part. The imminent separation hangs heavy and silent between you. Tangible. He wants you again, already.

You’ve sensed the storm raging inside his head. He can tell, because it’s as though you’re trying to absorb it with your calm demeanor. He resents that. Doesn’t want you to. His moods are not your burden to carry. 

You take the glass from him and run the water over it to clean it. As if the cleaning service won’t do it once you vacate the place. 

His eyes flicker up to that mirror, to your dim reflection. Mussed hair, relaxed shoulders. Your face, solemn, illegible. And his, darker looking. A trick of the weak lighting. Pitch-black eyes, flexing jaw. Towering over you. Threatening. 

The reflection is like an old photograph, a decayed daguerreotype that reveals a ghost. A girl and her demon.

He moves forward to crowd you, until your hips knock against the sink, his own pressing against your cheeks, his cock half-hard already. The glass falls into the sink with a clatter when he grasps the hinge of your jaw, twisting your head upward and to the side. 

“You like it when I spit in your mouth, Lee?”

You nod. “I do.” 

He gathers it inside his mouth, and you open yours, diligent, hungry, pulling your tongue out with a soft whimper, and his cock twitches in the small of your back. His spit rolls down his tongue to yours. You raise to your tiptoes with a needy little moan. He watches your reflection as you swallow. 

His mouth crashes over your lips, sloppy kiss, scraping teeth. Hands kneading rough at your tits, rubbing their hardening peaks between his fingers. 

“I want to fuck you in that shower,” he growls, teeth finding the edge of your jaw. 

You arch back into him with a broken moan, but to his surprise, you say, “We can’t.”

His hand skates down your front, down the slope of your belly, fingers roughly parting your folds and fuck. You’re soaked. You’re dripping for him.  

“Why?” he brushes against the shell of your ear. “There’s time. I want you again, Lee.”

“I want you too, Frankie, I—” you try to move away from the sink, your strength a poor match for his. “We can’t because we literally can’t, that shower is impossible.”

Your laughter startles him. Stepping back, he gives you room, and you move immediately, sitting on the edge of the tub to demonstrate. Smeared with your arousal, his fingers circle his cock, absentmindedly, brain fogged in a lustful haze as you run the tap. 

“There’s no hot water. Well, there is, a little, but look, there’s only pressure with cold water. And…” you look up at him with a cheeky grin, “that’s kind of where I draw the line.” 

There’s a glimmer of pride in your eyes as you deliver your joke.  

His heart fucking sinks. He’ll get that heart-attack, eventually. 

“You’ve showered in there, with that broken tap, all this time?”

You nod with a bemused smile before you shrug, comfortable, easy. 

“Well, at the beginning. I haven’t in a while.” You pause before you add quietly, “I like to keep you on me.”

Frankie lets out a long sigh. His cock resting thick and heavy against his thigh. You make him so fucking hard. You make him stupidly soft. You drive him out of his goddamn mind. 

The words come out of him before he gets the chance to think them over. 

“I’ll bring my tools next time. I can probably fix it, if I can access the boiler.”

Getting up, you close the distance between you. 

“You could fix it?” you ask, wide eyes gazing at him in amazement. 

He chuckles, a velvety rumble from his chest, something assertive and low, the sound of which he had forgotten. He considers telling you about his engineering degree. Enumerating all the aircraft he can fly. Fucking boast about it. Because he wants you to know. 

The memory of the crashed Mi-8 in the middle of the coca field invades his mind. Twisted rotor, broken hull. Smoking motor, shattered glass. He can smell the gasoline. Feel the sting of his own sweat and blood in his left eye. 

You skim your hands up along his arms. Bring him back to you, to room number 2. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grits through a clenched jaw. 

“Like what?” you ask, voice honey sweet. 

You curl your fingers around his biceps.

“Like I can ask you anything.”

“Why not? You can.”

He has to tell you. Tell you he cannot come next week, but that he’ll be back the week after. And the following. As long as you’ll have him. 

Only he catches it before he has a chance to speak. That shadow that plays across your face. The beginning of your retreat, behind the clouding of your eyes. 

“What is it?” he asks, and he has to swallow down the taste of dirt in his mouth. 

You let your hands drop to your sides. You can’t even look at him. 

“Hey, what is it?” he presses, cupping your face. 

“Can’t come next week.” 

You’re so quiet, leaning into his palm, no more than a whisper, and it fucking breaks him. 

“I’m going to that— stupid ski resort. Every year, I– I don’t even ski. I hate it. I just hate it. All I do is wait around all day.”

Eventually, you raise your eyes to his face as he flexes his jaw. He sees you police your expression for him.

“It’s not that bad. I get time to read,” you backtrack. 

Like you triggered the fury his eyes are burning with, and not that piece of shit of a man who takes you to places where you don’t want to be, just to keep you around fucking waiting. 

But his anger subsides abruptly. Everything falls into place. Your presence here last night, your sudden sadness. Like him, you had decided not to come here again.

“Were you going to tell me?” he asks, trying to suppress the resigned sorrow from his tone.

He doesn’t need you to answer. He knows the refrain. He’s never going back to this motel. 

“I saw the picture in your wallet, Frankie. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. But I did.”

Three letters. Starting with an L. A perfect balance. 

“And what does it change?”

His grip tightens, hands sliding through your hair to the back of your skull, thumbs rubbing circles into your cheeks. You’re cold to the touch. You grasp his wrists, hold on to him, like you did last week in the parking lot. Eyes glimmering, a first tear dangling from your lashes. 

“Listen,” he starts, “if you want to stop… this, obviously, I won’t hold you back. But—”

He has to pause. Rake his brain for words, words that fail him, words to express the sadness and the loss and the fear. 

He breathes deep, and your scent fills his lungs. A pale shade of yellow, and celadon green. 

“But I will miss you, Lee. I will miss you so fucking much.”

That tear breaks free. Rolls down your cheek, and he catches it on his thumb.  

“I’ll miss you too,” you whisper.

“Then come back to me. Keep coming back to me, baby.”

There’s that pull. The violence of it like a blow. And you must feel it too, because you leap up to him as he leans into you, and your mouths collide. He’s crushing your lips, licking into you, cocking your head to deepen the kiss. Fingers digging into your waist, into your hips, down your thighs as they roam. A harsh, restless furrow. Looking to bruise, to leave a mark, an imprint of him. 

Your arms fold around his shoulders, pulling him in, nails denting little red crescents into his skin, and he groans into it. A primal sound that rumbles around you and bounces off the dirty tiles. 

His mouth drags wet and hard along your throat. Biting down, sucking in, teeth sinking into your pulse point. He follows it down to your heart. The beating thud, the flowing bloodstream. Hunched over you, lips trailing to your sternum, face burying between your breasts. He bites into the swell of it, pushing the flesh of it into his mouth, latching onto your nipple. A hard suck. Sharp. Painful. 

You keen. Folding over him when he falls to his knees. Threading your fingers through his curls with a choked off moan when his teeth scrape the soft flesh of your belly, where you still taste of him. He can smell your sex, rubbed pink and raw from when he fucked you earlier, less than twenty minutes ago. 

He bites into the tender skin of your inner thigh, around the long, thin scar you hide there, and you spread your legs wider. 

“Good girl,” he grunts.

There’s a knock on the front door. Someone calling “room-service” from outside, and you gasp, hand flying to clasp over your mouth. He couldn’t care less. 

“Don’t fucking move,” he growls into your skin. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you answer, voice high and breezy, and it shoots straight to his cock.

He lifts your leg, slides it over his shoulder, and you grip the sink for balance with a little shriek as he dives between your folds, fingers curled around the swell of your ass. It’s not soft, it’s not tender, there’s no Stop me. It’s urgent and commanding. It’s messy, desperate, demanding. 

His mouth is hard, wide open, cupping your cunt, his neck pulled taut. Tongue curling around your clit, flickering, plunging into your wet, hot center. Licking your slick straight from your walls, drinking you up. You buck into it, riding his tongue, your pleasure, his face, and he groans into your heat. 

His face presses up into you until you nearly topple over. You’re all ragged breaths and wanton whimpers. He wants more, wants to feel you from the inside, and it’s a need, really. Your skin melding with his. Your sex scorching him raw. 

It’s your louder cry, loud enough to cover the repeating knocking, when he pulls away.

“Gotta fuck you, baby,” he rasps, getting up, grabbing you by the waist to turn you around. 

His voice sounds wrecked, as wrecked as he feels. Cock throbbing angrily between his legs. 

“Fuck,” you pant, “I want— I want you to— want you to fuck me.”

He watches you, transfixed, as you face away from him, bracing your hands on the slippery porcelain of the sink. Back bowed, ass perked up. Offered. Waiting. Wanting.

“Oh shit,” he pants. “Fuck.”

He catches his reflection in the dark mirror. Black eyes, hungry. Lips shining with your arousal. A carnivorous expression. It scares him. Like he’s about to eat you whole, eat you raw. A girl and her demon. No one to stop him. 

Circling his cock, he spits down on it, smearing the saliva down his length with a couple of strokes, and he’s at your entrance, hot like a fever, leaking wet and sticky for him. 

Hand brushing up your arched back to curl around your nape, holding you still for him, he drives into you to the hilt with all his strength. 

A broken cry rips through your chest. He pauses inside you, sweat breaking on his forehead, eyes trained on where he disappears inside you, forcing you open for him. Less to let you adjust than to revel into it, the feel of you from the inside, clenching around him. Gripping him, breathing heavily with the stretch of him. 

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” he husks with an obscene smirk, something akin to pride at how well you take him. 

Your head dips between your shoulders and he hears your breathless laughter. 

He pulls out of you, cock catching thick and stiff at your entrance, glistening with your slick, and thrusts right back in. He keeps moving. Long, thorough strokes, fast and steady, dragging along your walls, bumping against your cervix. His other hand a bruising hold on your hip, and those little grunts tearing through your throat with every slap of his hips against your ass. 

You’re standing on your tiptoes, legs trembling, but pushing back into him. Meeting him thrust for thrust, with your small hands braced around the edge of the sink in a white-knuckle grip, and he can’t take his eyes off it. Off that line pulled taut between your shoulders, your grip, your grit. 

Your greed for him. Your fucking determination. 

There’s that pull again, that hunger for more of you, all of you. He bands an arm between your breasts and draws your back flush to his chest. You’re always so pliant. His hand a careful wrap around your throat to hold you upright and fuck. You’re a sight to behold. In that black-edged mirror. You’re a fucking vision. The mess he’s made of you. Fucked out, flushed skin, cock drunk. Sweat-damp hair glued to your beautiful face. 

You’re gripping his arms with both hands, holding on to him, and your eyes find his in the reflection, burning a hole through his soul like they did all those months ago, back in the bar. His heart trips. It swells furious and pounding inside him, how good you look together, how right this feels, your two bodies entwined, surrendering to each other. 

“I feel so good, Frankie, so good when you’re moving inside me,” you tell him, eyes fluttering. Your voice trickling like honey inside him, your sweet slick dribbling around him, soaking the hair at his base. He can hear it with every one of his thrusts. Can taste it where it lingers on his tongue. Lick it from his lips. 

It’s gonna fuck him up. How much he wants to be yours. Fuck up his sanity and everything he’s got that he hasn’t yet destroyed, just how fucking much he wants you to belong to him. Only him. 

He will carve you into his shape if he can’t carve you out of him. 

He skates his hand down to your mound, kneading your soft flesh along the way, the bone of your hip, the small slope of your belly. He finds the hardened peak of your clit, fingers gliding around it. 

Driving into you in deep harsh strokes, he presses his lips against the shell of your ear, hot breath fanning your skin.

“Gonna fucking ruin you for him, baby. Won’t let you go until you’re fucked full of me.” 

“Oh god yes!”

You clench around him, cunt impossibly tight when he shoves you down on it. He sees the tears streaking your cheeks. Feels the shallow bite of your nails into the tense muscles of his forearms when he grinds against your soft cheeks.

“Watch me, Lee. Watch me fuck you full of my come. Gonna fuck it so deep inside you, you’ll be leaking me for days.”

You suck in a sharp breath. Mouth gone slack, eyes locked on him in the mirror, wild and craving. Everything else disappears, the world fades around your two bodies. There’s nothing but your weight between his arms, the feel of you around him. 

Hand wrapped around your neck, he angles up his hips, reaching deeper than he’s ever been, into that spot that makes you cry. His fingers rubbing at your clit, more slick gushing out of you. 

There’s a fast coiling heat in his loins. A fire, licking up his spine, balls drawing tight, cock swelling. 

“I’m coming,” you whine, “Frankie please—”

The words stretch out of you as you trash into his arms, crashing hard around him. He follows with a grunt, loud, primal, possessive. Pumping his come, thick and searing, deep inside your gripping cunt. His vision darkens. 

There’s blinding pleasure. Your skin. Your scent. 

The knowledge that you're his.  

****

[adragonprinceswhore]

The Way I Feel Under Your Command

Chapter II: Magic Between You and I Prev

Aemond Targaryen x Reader (she/her pronouns)

Summary: Aemond stays true to his promise, and hates himself for it. Our dance instructor does the best with what she's given, even if that is Westeros' most off-putting and pretentious Valyrian.

Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, Aemond is a condescending a-hole (but you already knew that), Aegon slander, sexual tension, dry humping, thigh riding, blue balls but make it AFAB

A/N: Chapter one and two are basically a deep-dive into the psyche of Aemond in this modern setting, but I promise some dirty dancing at the end of this chapter 🕺🏼 and just imagine how much better the smutty, sexy stuff will hit when we’ve built their dynamic 😙 bear with me! Enjoy!

Aemond would never admit to his brother that his goading got to him. 

He wouldn’t even fully admit it to himself. How different would his life be if he hadn’t allowed his temper to be dependent on Aegon? If he didn’t feel like being berated by his older brother sent him back to when they were kids and he’d do anything to impress him? To make him see him as a brother, an equal, and not a plaything? 

He shakes his head to kick the thought away. 

His head’s still pounding, just as it had an hour ago when he woke. Noticing how strange his tongue feels in his mouth, he realises that he’s thirstier than he’d been in a long time. 

Fucking Aegon. 

He’d never be here, walking towards the boathouse, if not for his brother dragging him to that party yesterday and force-feeding him alcohol. 

Pushing him out of his comfort zone. 

Making him feel less than.

As always.

There were several reasons Aemond didn’t like to get drunk. 

One was the gradual loss of control he felt as the alcohol made his usually sharp mind slow down.

Another was his temper; something he’d disciplined himself to control after years of practice. 

As a child, he’d been the kind to cry when his brother and nephews ‘jokes’ got to him, or when he scored low on a dressage test. 

Wearing his frustrations on the outside only taught him how awful being looked at with pity can be. That specific type of vulnerability and shame you feel when someone looks at you and thinks: “poor thing”. 

Therefore, he’s grown used to being in control of himself; of his moods and urges. 

Until he’s drunk. 

He spots her where she said she’d be, right next to the boathouse, stretching her legs. She’s definitely in better shape than him; hardly appearing different from yesterday evening. 

Locking eyes with her, she seems surprised to see him. 

Did she expect me not to come?

To Aemond’s recollection, she’d practically begged for a dance partner. He had said yes, mostly due to his intoxicated state, but also because of Aegon’s insults. 

She smiles as he comes closer, “How we feeling today?”

“Fine”

“Okay”, her smile falters at his short, unfriendly answer, 

“Let’s get started then”

Her routine is simple; an original piece she’d put together to showcase her greatest strengths as a dancer, 

“Despite only making the reserve list”, she jokes, but the forced smile doesn’t reach her eyes. 

She gives him a quick run-through of it; going into detail about the meaning behind her dance, how she got started, why she chose the movements she did. 

Aemond barely listens. 

His head is throbbing, pain elevated by the sharp sting erratically stabbing the nerves behind his left eye. His features don’t change as he half-heartedly listens to what she says, occasionally nodding. 

Whatever, can’t be that hard. 

“You’re posture is great”, she compliments him, eyes scanning him critically, “try to relax your shoulders a bit more” 

He does as he’s told, yet the tension in his back doesn’t fully ease. He can’t truly shake his internal stiffness; he’s always on alert. 

She continues to guide him, freely grabbing his hands to place them on her body, causing him to briefly recoil at the sudden heat of her skin. 

How long has it been since someone touched me like this? 

“I think we can finish here for today. Great work!”

Her hand is still holding onto his as she gives him an approving smile. There’s something different about how she looks at him now; she seems more relaxed, like they’re familiar with each other. 

“I really appreciate you doing this for me”

Aemond feels his cheeks heat up. His mouth is drier and palm, still in her grip, damper. 

He jerks away from her, causing her hand to slip out of his. His head is still pounding furiously, and without a word, he turns around to go back to the Targaryen villa. 

Every corner of Red Lake Resort is carefully curated. 

It may not seem like it; in the way the vibrant flowers appear to grow widely on the sides of the houses, stretching all the way up to the pillar-enclosed balconies reminiscent of a time when the castle ruins, now hosting the elite of Westeros each summer, used to host House Crane of the Reach. Still, every flower, every branch, every leaf, was there for a reason; for the ‘Monet-esque’ beauty created by the slight chaos of stoney ruins, colourful greenery, and sporadic ponds scattered between the large buildings. 

There is an understanding that, at Red Lake, residents can forget the stressors of their everyday lives. For the esteemed guests 'comfortable’ enough to afford a stay there, such stressors might include running an enterprise, hosting a charity gala, or berating an underpaid maid for not polishing the silver thoroughly enough. 

It was a place where ‘the customer is always right’ got hammered into the staff with such ferocity that they could almost feel the nails of submission penetrate their skulls. 

The perfect place for those who did not wish for the hierarchy they sat at the top of in their everyday lives to sway even in the slightest. 

A comfortable place for the current head of Targaryen Holdings to spend sparse time with his family. 

Ever a man of comfort, Viserys Targaryen’s distaste for change means that the Targaryen-Hightowers always stay in the same villa, big enough to host not only the family but any guests they may invite. 

Aemond always stays in the same room, located at the end of the hallway of the second floor, tucked in a corner. He had chosen that exact one since it was the only room dark enough for him to comfortably hide in when his head hurt from an old eye injury he had since childhood, and one of the privileges of being the ‘broken’ child was that he got first pick of trivial things such as room assignment. 

Aegon and Daeron share the room next to his, and Helaena’s is next to theirs.

As an anxious child, the only downside of his secluded corner had been the nights he woke up in cold sweat, mind plagued with night terrors and head pounding. Then, the short distance walking past his siblings' rooms to his mother’s felt colossal. 

Now he revelled in the privacy, preferring to stay in and get lost in his thoughts as often as possible. Spending time with his family was just too draining. 

Yet for some reason, today he craves distraction from his pounding head and strange inner sensation. And if there’s something that can pull him out of his thoughts, often by force, it’s his family. 

Most times when he sought a distraction, he’d bury his head in work, preferring to stay ever productive. 

He knows that there’s always something that needs to be done; some nearly disastrous hypothetical fire threatening to burn the Targaryen empire down to ashes. 

That’s one of the reasons why Viserys insists on staying in the same villa each year; the large office on the first floor is the perfect place for him and Otto Hightower, Aemond’s grandfather, to spend the entire holiday working. 

It has always been Otto that’s been keen on having Aemond join the company, proudly laying a hand on his shoulder as he showcases the skills he’s acquired to please his father. Viserys, on the other hand, is not as easily impressed, nor does he seem to think much of Aemond’s diligent work. 

In his current state, however, Aemond knows that he won’t produce the results he’d want, and that kind of embarrassment and potential spiralling into an afternoon filled with dwelling in self-hatred was better avoided. 

Entering the large open-plan kitchen and living room of the villa, he spots the family menace snoring with an open mouth on the sofa, TV turned on to some brain-dead reality show and an open bag of crisps resting on his stomach. 

His older brother is somewhat of an enigma to Aemond. How could someone with so many opportunities, so much handed to him on a silver platter, fumble everything given to him so badly? 

Aegon’s always been volatile, and prone to getting into trouble, but his destructive tendencies have mellowed out somewhat since he promised to not do drugs anymore, a lifestyle change prompted by his mother telling him she’d revoke his access to his trust fund. Aemond knew better than to smile at his brother's misery in front of his mum, but seeing her scold him for his pathetic life choices felt so gratifying he’d had to hide the grin breaking out across his face behind his hand. 

Something about seeing Aegon miserable made Aemond feel a sick sense of satisfaction, like the one you have after indulging in too many sweets and consequently left feeling like you’ll be sick. 

Overindulging in self-righteousness.  

He spots Helaena in the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of sparkling water and placing it in the crocheted bag hanging off her shoulder.

“You alright, Aemond?”, her gentle voice asks, smiling faintly as she observes him.

“Yeah”, he says, too exhausted to even begin to explain the whirlwind of occurrences happening in the last 12 hours, “Where are you off to?”

Her eyes light up in an instant, “Oh, I heard from Grandfather that the large oak tree we saw by the restaurant yesterday is positively teeming with bugs”

Aemond spots the art supplies in her bag; acrylic pastel colours, brushes of varying sizes and a block of thick, white paper. 

“Mind if I join you?”

“Actually, I need some time alone. You understand”, she replies in her usual sweet tone, leaving her younger brother alone once again. Helaena had always been blunt, maybe even a bit too much so for most people’s liking. Aemond knows that she means no harm by it, she just prefers to communicate her needs frankly with him. 

Still, he wishes she’d had entertained him by allowing him to join her, if even just for an hour. 

His search for distraction continues, leading him to wander around the large villa in hopes of running into his younger brother. 

When Aemond left his room at 6.45, looking more similar to a ghost than his usual carefully curated image, the only other family member awake had been Daeron, always cheery and on his way to meet up with some guys he’d acquainted days prior for an early morning rock climbing session. 

He’s probably not even back yet. 

Aemond curses himself for the second time today. His usual instinct would be to go with his younger brother; to do sometimes productive and fulfilling rather than attending a party filled with senseless idiots looking for no more stimulation than that of an easy fuck. 

Fucking Aegon! 

His footsteps grow harsher as he heads up to his secluded room to grab his pack of Marlboros, half-running down the stairs again to quickly get out of the villa and onto the gratuitous patio. 

His mother hates when he smokes too close to the inside living space, but seeing as she’s not here, he doesn’t bother to walk the extra metres he usually grants her. 

Instead, he slouches against the facade of the extravagant holiday home, gazes out over the resort and inhales the strange mixture of cigarette smoke and roses. The entire front of the building is covered in heirloom rose bushes, causing not only the patio, but the kitchen and living room as well, to bathe in the familiar scent. 

To Aemond, roses mean summer homework, family dinners, swimming in Red Lake, looking for bugs with Helaena, playing tennis with Daeron, listening to Aegon chat his ear off, 

And her. 

There she is again. Surrounded by a group of elderly guests dressed in flower-printed dresses, linen suits, and trilby hats. 

She’s in the arms of some melting, old skinbag, with a belly so round it prevents the geezer from truly pressing her body against his. 

The smile on his face causes Aemond’s hungover stomach to flip, and the hand he’s placed on her waist seems to want to squeeze her flesh a bit more than necessary. 

She laughs at something he says, giving the old man a friendly pat on the shoulder. 

To Aemond, it looks like she enjoys the attention. 

Revels in it. 

He crushes the bud of the cigarette against the white, stone wall, exhaling a low scoff before turning around. 

Figures. 

“So, yesterday I noticed you were a bit stiff” 

She has to stretch her neck to meet his eyes; one lilac and one deep blue. 

Does he have heterochromia? 

They’re in the same place, at the same time. This morning, however, Aemond has pulled his long, Valyrian hair back into a low bun, causing her gaze to shamefully flicker down to his sharp jaw and strong, masculine neck. There’s one delicate, blue-green vein running down the side of it; from his ear to his shoulder, and for some reason the sight of it makes her flustered. 

His eyes stay trained on hers, waiting for her to continue. 

She already feels like she has a good grasp of who he is. 

He is a man of few words, preferring to answer in grunts and hums. 

He is intense, evident from his stare never leaving her; evident in how it emits from him like smoke; latent vehemence. 

It excites and frightens her in equal measure, a strange cocktail of sensations and impressions swirling in her stomach after only knowing him for less than 72 hours. 

She’d initially gone with her regular approach to new dance partners; flattery in the form of exaggerated praise, so that the inevitable criticism doesn’t sting as badly. 

It had not worked on Aemond Targaryen, however, who’s stoic face and nonchalant attitude did not waver or crack down even after the 20th “Great work!”

Might as well enjoy the straightforwardness of going right into the critique. 

“When you dance you need to be precise”, she explains, 

“You need to have good posture, and be aware of your entire body, but it still needs to seem like you are just naturally moving this way out of coincidence”, her voice falters somewhat as she sees his eyebrows raise ever so slightly in question, 

“It's not supposed to look as calculated as it is”, she clarifies. 

Aemond hums. The non-verbal standard reply almost irks her, but she bites her lip and forces it into a smile. 

If she had any other option; any other person who could help her with the audition, she’d probably thank Mr Targaryen for his time and ask him to go back to being sulky and rude at parties. Regrettably, he happens to be one of the few men at Red Lake who’s under 60 and has the physique and the durability to actually do her routine. He doesn’t need to be perfect, he just needs to be her sturdy backdrop. 

Besides, she’s more than used to demanding dance partners. 

He’ll budge too. 

He has to. 

“You know at the party… Did you see how we were dancing?”

“Hm”

“It’s a great way to get you to loosen up and really use those hips, you’ll need to learn how to move like that for the routine to work”

His gaze almost makes her cower; incredibly stern and thoroughly unimpressed. 

Still, she stands her ground, moving closer to him to place her legs on either side of one of his. 

“Like this”, she says, voice coming out far lower than she’d planned for. 

Don’t let him intimidate you! 

“A-, and then you place your hands on my hips”, she continues, grabbing his hands and placing them on herself. 

His hands are soft and hard at the same time; roughened with strength yet his skin is soft. And warm. Her fingers linger on his for a second too long before she places her own hands on his shoulders.

His eyes never leave her face.

Is he studying me? 

Waiting for a mistake?

“Since you’ve done horseback riding, I’m sure you’ll catch on quickly”, she says with a anxious smile.

Fuck, why does he make me so nervous!?

“When you gallop, you move together with the horse in a steady movement, right?”

One of her hands slip down the side of his arm, travelling from his shoulder to his hip. 

Roughened with strength yet his skin is soft.

She moves her body slightly in a slow rhythm, pushing on his hip to guide him with her, “Like this”

His persistent eye contact burns; surely leaving a hole in her head. His features don’t change, but she knows he’s paying attention to her instructions from the way his hips start to move in tandem with hers. 

She has danced with so many people, in so many settings, yet this makes her cheeks heat up.

Her tongue comes out to wet her drying lips, eyes still locked with his. 

“Good, you’re getting the hang of it”, she praises, hoping he’ll relax a bit at the compliment. 

In truth he’s still quite stiff, but not in the uncomfortable way she cannot help but be. He’s still on alert, refusing to let his guard down, even as he stands with her between his legs and grinds. 

One of his eyes, the lilac one, appears to darken, narrowing in challenge at her. 

She feels his hands on her hips tighten as he picks up the pace, dancing with more vigour than before; than her. Suddenly he’s leading them as he rolls his hips at her and moves her body to match his pace with his firm grip. 

His demanding hold on her forces her closer to him, and with each movement a spark of pleasure runs up her core. 

Panic washes over her like a cold shower at the realisation, still she can’t abruptly stop. 

Do I want to stop? 

With every push of his leg against her hidden, swollen clit, she feels hot; on edge.

She’s no longer on the grass field by the boathouse. She’s somewhere else, somewhere he’s taken her. 

All she senses is him. 

His lean arms on each side of her, flexing as he moves her body. His eyes, looking down at her with that same intensity that has her head spinning. 

They’re locked together. It’s all too fast, too slow, too long, too short. 

Aemond, after what feels like an eternity, breaks eye contact to duck his head down, body still dancing with hers. 

His lips ghost over the shell of her ear. She feels his breath fan over the delicate skin there. Another bolt of want shoots through her.  

Fuck!

In a low, borderline mocking voice, he softly asks, “You think I don’t know how to do this?”

He delivers one final, harsh and precise thrust between her legs before withdrawing completely, turning around to grab his bag and hastily walk away from her panting silhouette. 

Left is the smell of cigarettes, sandalwood and.. roses?

A/N: This is your sign to put on Hungry Eyes and lose your shit at the fantastic saxophone solo! Thank you for reading, kisses!

[h5eavenly]

Fallen Star┃Jake Sim

twelve - were angels meant to look this somber? warnings: smut , unprotected sex (stay safe!)

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Serenity fills your body, mingling through your soul and travelling all around your being. Its touch warm and gentle. Like feathers that graze the skin of your wrist. And it presses right down on your pulse. The warmth seems to intensify at the sign of your life enough to pull you out of your darkness, opening your eyes to a pair of worried eyes that stare back at you. Despite the tiredness pulling at you, you feel a weird pain sneaking its way into your heart. It pulls at it so nimbly and your eyes close shut killing your confusion just as quick.

Were angels always meant to look this somber?

Your eyes flutter open with a jolt, the unfamiliar roof above you only adds to your panic as you scramble to reach for your phone. The time only plays a smaller part in your rising panic and so you get up in a haste. Realizing you’re alone in Jake’s hotel room has your cheeks growing red in embarrassment, you hadn’t meant to fall asleep and especially not on the couch. You were supposed to check on him and leave yet how did you manage to invade his space and above all that sleep in?

You hurry to move. As if the growing humiliation will die as soon as you’re out of the room.

“Shit,shit,shit” is the only thing falling from your lips like a mantra as you wash your face briskly. It’s only when you’re about to leave the room that you catch sight of the coffee and a couple of bills on the table. You pause, the coffee is still warm when you pick it up despite the lack of a note or any confirmation you know he left it for you.

It’s only a small gesture and yet like a flutter of a butterfly wing that has abraded the surface of your heart it spreads warmth through it. Setting an unfamiliar feeling right at the center, pulling at your heartstrings so easily along with the corner of your lips. They turn upwards with a smile embedded with softness as faint as the chirping of the birds outside.

Then you ensnare yourself in a similar trap, a cage that you just got out of recently and yet you’re now walking back into smiling and so an ever growing darker one follows. Akin to childhood scars that loom on your life. Fear.

On your way to work your mind recalls glimpses of last night, from Jake’s boredom filled expression to later the sight of his worried eyes staring at you. The cold scratched touches you felt against your skin. and yet you remain unsure the longer your thoughts stretch. It only propels the questions further: was the solemn angel looking down at you with broken wings a dream or reality?

You don’t get to think about that same question and instead about a hundred different ones prod at your mind throughout the day when you realize Jake is avoiding you. At first it wasn’t super noticeable or more accurately it wasn’t noticeable to you. It all started with you walking into his dressing room ten minutes late.

“Someone had a wild night,” Sunghoon comments, walking past you with a smirk and you hit his shoulder lightly with a giggle.

“Good morning.” You greet.

Jay tilts his head at you with a nod as a response and your eyes flicker to Jake who is sitting down in his usual seat. Probably minutes away from getting his makeup done. The lack of answer from him doesn’t raise any questions in your head.

However, you grow into concern the longer your gaze settles upon him, despite his face remaining an exuberant beauty the bags under his eyes dragging a bit deeper, eyes a little colder, they’re almost empty and his expression is nothing short of crestfallen.

“You okay?” you ask him, tone so soft that when Jake reaches for his earbuds and puts them on, you aren’t sure if he’s ignoring you or didn’t hear you.

It stirs a weird sense of anxiety within you, you brush it off.

Your anxiety comes back tenfold, brushing against your fingertips and this time you can’t seem to let it go. It’s in the way Jake never looks at you, not even for a spilt second and if he did somehow mess up and stumble upon your gaze, his irises are void of emotions. Like he’s nothing but a soulless body walking around. It’s in the way every time you talk to him, he’ll reply with a word or two, or not even acknowledge your existence as you fiddle with your fingers awkwardly.

Rationally you know you might be embellishing things in your head. You know that your relationship with Jake was never on friendly terms and it’s not like you and him were having delightful daily conversations. If anything, you have probably spent time in the bathroom more than any time talking to him. Yet how come you’re growing anxious over something so transitory? Closer to being notional than non.

Nonetheless you flow with a grave excitement when your phone buzzes and you see a message incoming from him.

my boss is a dick 🙏: Are you stupid? Yn: Huh? my boss is a dick 🙏: why are you carrying these heavy boxes? Ask one of the staff to do it.

You blink at the box you just left on the ground; it was only moments ago that you came across one of the staff struggling to carry boxes inside the building alone. It was a diligent call for help and who were you to ignore it?

Your fingers fly across the screen to type out a reply.

Yn: Oh, the staff looked like they needed help with it, so I decided to do it. my boss is a dick 🙏: you’ll hurt yourself. Leave them. Yn: Don’t worry boss 😤! I’m actually really strong! Read.

Although you kept checking your phone multiple times throughout the day, a reply never comes, and despite you telling yourself that he doesn’t need to reply, that he had left you on read multiple times before. That this is how Jake always acts. Your anxiety still grows tremendously. like thorns pricking at your being.

It drives you into a need to somehow please and tame down an anger that doesn’t even exist. It permeates into you and spreads through the vessels in your brain and you’re nothing if not a slave to your misplaced worries. And so, you stick to Jake’s side all day. Like a puppy following its owner and fetching them anything, ambitious for praises and maybe a pat on the head.

You only manage to get a side eye from him when you open doors for him, or when you’re fixing his chair, his belongings. You went as far as to fix his hair that was out of place. Apart from the weirded-out look he sent your way; you got nothing and it all accumulates to an explosion during lunch time.

“I think Jake is mad at me!” you blurt out, pausing the pacing of your foot back and forth and you chew on your nail nervously.

Sunoo and Sunghoon share a look that you don’t get to witness. Your eyes beholding the back of Jake’s head who’s busy eating his lunch no further than a few meters away from you.

“Why do you think so?” Sunoo asks between full bites of kimbap.

“I don’t know. Doesn’t it seem like he’s avoiding me?”

“He seems pretty normal to me?” Sunghoon says, eyeing the way you start to pace back and forth again.

“He looks a little tired that’s all.” Sunoo adds and you shake your head in complete gainsay. Just as you’re about to go on a full rant on why you think you should dedicate the rest of your life to giving Jake a handwritten apology for everything wrong you’ve ever said to him, your thoughts are interrupted upon hearing his next words:

“Why is this salty?” He’s complaining to Jay. Despite the distance and the loud chatter of the staff members you hear it so very clearly. And you know it’s god’s mercy that have finally fallen onto your lap. A golden ticket is offered to you, and you snatch it with vigor.

Like a being suddenly taken over by superpowers, your senses are heightened (probably by your enormous anxiety) you feel like spiderman when the words Jake’s mutter reach your ears like you’re next to him. And so, you dash towards him leaving behind a very confused Sunoo and Sunghoon,

“Your food is salty?” Jake jolts in surprise at your voice, looking up behind him at your figure that almost seems like it materialized out of nowhere.

“What the fuck?” he mutters, and your lips stretch into a grin, doe eyes widening, taken by a twinkle of a desperate need to please.

“There’s this new Chinese restaurant that opened close by the company. I can head down there and get you something?” he opens his mouth to answer but you don’t even let him, immediately picking up where you left off “I had a little chat with one of the employees earlier and she said they have really good spicy garlic noodles I can grab you some?”

You’re rambling. You realize it when the room grows quieter the longer your words take to fall from your lips. And so, your face burns with heat, turning hot and red in color when you feel multiple eyes are on you. Jake’s eyes are blank as they linger on you.

“I’m fine, yn.” he says so simply as if his words didn’t resemble that same pitying god, you hate so much.

“Oh well- “you cover up your discomfiture with a nervous chuckle, feeling overtaken by embarrassment that you cannot explain how it managed its way into you “I have this pistachio chocolate cupcake I got earlier in my bag I can get it for you.” You go to turn to grab it, but his hand circles your wrist to stop you.

The touch is so strikingly familiar. It has goosebumps erupting on your skin in the span of a heartbeat.

Your body keeps track of everything.

“Are you trying to kill me, bunny?” he deadpans, and you blink stunned.

“What?”

“Jake is allergic to pistachios yn.” Jay speaks from beside him, a soft smile colored in a similar fellow feeling, and you find yourself wishing your face didn’t burn the way it did.

“Oh right.”

You walk away with a smile tinted with pitiful awkwardness, it has you curling onto yourself and wishing to minimize in size. Or maybe blend in with the walls and not have to be perceived for a while.

Your pessimistic emotions only seem to intensify the longer your day drags on.  like a shadow trailing your every step and clinging to your feet. Painting the inside of your mind with an eerie silence and aiding your screaming insecurities to raise above all. Taking over every sense of logical thinking (not like you had any to begin with). Like a whirlwind of negativity that overtakes you they’re nothing but obstructive.

And that’s how you end up right outside of Jake’s waiting room. A cup filled with water and a couple of ice cubs just because you heard him talk about how his water wasn’t cold enough, it probably wasn’t something that salient. If Jake needed a different water, he would have talked to you or got it himself and yet you somehow found yourself way too far in. An it itch in your fingers and your limbs that you cannot seem to resist you rushed with that same ambition to please and got him water. Cosplaying yourself as some sort of a fairy that grants wishes. It’s the only way to persist before your thoughts anyways.

You have never been the type of person to eavesdrop so you aren’t sure why your hand stills against the doorknob when you hear the voices of Jay and Jake talking, it might not even be that much of importance but perhaps it was your unpliable need to know anything that could help quieten your anxiety.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You can leave early I’ll talk to Jennie about it.” you hear Jay ask and you press yourself closer to the door.

“I’m fine.”

“That was the worst attack you have had in a while Jake.”

“I know,” there’s a short silence that settles, your mind starts screaming at you, that you’re being ridiculous and to stop this nonsense yet your fingers flex against the doorknob and pause at his next words “and it had to be in front of her out of all people.”

Is he talking about you?

“Ah. You’re worried about that?”

“Of course, I am. I wish yn wasn’t there.”

Your heart, as weak as ever drops at that, shattering right at your feet and you stare at it, unable to move, unable to collect the pieces.

“I know. "a breath of exhalation escapes Jay "Did you even sleep? You look super fucking tired man.” he adds.

“I did sleep.”

“Jake.”

“For like three hours. I kept waking up because of her.”

“Fuck. I shouldn’t have let her stay back.”

You aren’t sure if their conversation ends there or the scratch forming on your heart has somehow started working as an obstacle to your hearing. Every fiber of your being throbs with a familiar betrayal, an all too known feeling that is always lingering around the corner clambers over you. Disappointment latches itself onto you.

At the sound of rustling behind the door you realize you can’t be standing outside like this and so collecting yourself is a trying task you attempt. And it all falls apart way too quickly, you opening the door and Jake walking out at the same minute. You don’t get a chance to blink or stop yourself before you’re bumping into him. The contents of the glass you’re carrying is splashed all over him. Soaking his shirt and you could only watch with terror as he drips in water.

“Oh my god,”  your hands are frozen in the air unsure if you should be touching him “I’m so sorry Jake – fuck” apologizes flee from your mouth without resistance. You’re overshadowed by liability, and you expect Jake to be angry, to glare at you and even go as far to yell because you deem yourself only worthy of such treatment.

But you don’t expect the apathy coloring his face. His eyes are drained of life and overtaken by exhaustion.

“It’s fine, bunny.” His words are out akin to a sigh and yours dissolve on your tongue. He dawdles past you with another sigh and your shoulders slump, eyes flickering to Jay who watched the whole thing unravel.

“s-should I get him a shirt or something?”

“I think he can manage himself yn.”

The smile Jay sends you is as gentle as ever yet there’s an underlining sympathy that makes you feel as if he knows you heard everything. You’re not indisputable enough to understand anything anymore. But you know that Jake is exhausted, and you have managed to add piles of burden to his already heavy shoulders. It is too late, but you realize then, that you have caught yourself too far in once again. Too much.

It's a familiar relic from a state you’ve always known, always found yourself drowned in. it’s mere moments that plunge you into the frigid truth and you’re constantly treading on recrimination of yourself.

You are but an infuriating entity.

God hated you. You’re sure of it. You must have done something so awful in your past life to end up where you are right now. There’s no other way to explain how you’re outside of Jake’s apartment with his phone between your fingers and you, drenched in water because the sky decided it’s the perfect time to pour the moment you stepped foot outside the company doors.

Jake is god’s favorite. This must be karma for spilling water on him earlier. You knew you were meant to walk into a mess the moment you were getting ready to leave and Jay had found you, an apologetic smile on his face as he told you that Jake had forgotten his phone and if you could take it to him.

You should have said no.

“What are you doing here?” Jake asks as soon as he opens his door, surprise evident in his tone as his eyes take in your trembling figure.

“Your phone,” your voice shakes as you extend your palm to him with the device in it. Jake blinks, taking his phone as he tries to register everything that’s going on, but you don’t give him a chance to linger on any passing thought. Not a chance for his eyes to take in your disheveled state.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry about everything." taking a deep breath in and then like a monster that has been unleashed, your anxiety transforms itself in the only way you know how to be; sorry.

"I’m sorry about pressuring you to see me yesterday. I’m sorry about falling asleep on your couch and I’m sorry about today I know I was being so annoying-“ your apologies fall like confessions, like sins and you’re only awaiting punishment to strike you.

“Woah! Woah, slow down yn.” He interrupts you, eyes fliting across your features in evident concern, and you take another deep breath in. not realizing how quickly your tears have managed to well up in your eyes.

“It’s fine,” he assures when you look down at your feet suddenly growing embarrassed “you’re fine.”

“Okay.” You sniffle, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“Come inside.” he suggests, his fingers envelope your palm and you shake your head.

“I don’t want to annoy you.” You reply in a small voice.

“I’m not letting you leave like this bunny you’re shaking. Come on.”

As Jake leads you inside, you watch with an inquisitive gaze as he immediately places his phone on the counter and heads for the kitchen sink. You stand there for minutes that seem to stretch way too long as he turns on the water and seem to be washing his hands. your eyes dancing across the opulent interior as the sound of running water fills the silence between you two.

Your gaze settles upon the vase of blue colored flowers in the middle of his table. A litheness you don’t expect to see in his belongings. A struck of color in between his blacks and white, it looks out of place.

“What are those flowers called?” When Jake turns the water off and faces you, there’s a distant look in his eyes, as they flicker between you and the flowers. It's solely momentary, yet you capture it.

“Forget me not.”

You grasp how you dislike the way you act around him. Repeatedly stumbling on a cold façade, putting on an overly exaggerated charade that somehow never goes through. While Jake is akin to a strong mountain, unweaving. You feel like the wind, hallow and fleeting.

You’re pushed into feeling like an embarrassing child and the feeling stays even when you end up in his shower. Covered in a scent that isn’t yours but one that you know, one that is strong enough to provoke dark emotions from you. has your cheeks blushing and blooming into things you pretend you don’t know. Even when you’re all clean and dressed in another woman’s clothes that you can’t help but wonder why he has. Your blush remains despite the hideous green sense of foreboding crawling up your spine.

“Fits okay?” he asks once you’re out the bathroom and you hum an approval.

“Why do you have a woman’s clothes though?” the question escapes before you can stop it, your teeth biting down on your lip. And your insides are set ablaze when his eyes dart to them.

“They’re Soojin’s. She stays over sometimes.”

“You guys seem to be close.”

“Yeah,” he hums, brushing past you to the bathroom and your eyes follow him. Watching with intent focus “it’s good that she was there last night when you know..” You trail off, your fingers fiddling with the end of the sweater you’re wearing nervously.

“Soojin is always there. She’s so attentive and observant to the point where it’s annoying at times.”

His words resemble the edge of a blade that’s plunged straight into your chest. His words from earlier swirl around your head and that combined with her remnants lying in his space evokes emotions from you that you wish did not manifest within you.

The sound of running water fills the empty spaces of silence between you once again, you lean your head on the wall and watch as Jake washes his hands once again. Telling yourself it’s not because he just touched your clothes is a trying task you fail.

“How long have you guys known each other?” Your question hangs in the air, unanswered. His speech impairment has you raising an eyebrow in confusion. Jake is staring at nothing in particular, eyes unblinking and clouded. It takes a few tantalizing minutes before he snaps himself out of a daze.

“Huh?”

“I asked how long you guys have known each other?” you repeat, the syllables coming out slower.

In response, Jake closes the water and takes a step forward, his shoulder brushes against yours delicately and you hold your breath without meaning to “a while,” he mumbles, vaguely as he walks back into his room and again you follow.

You feel akin to standing at the edge of a cliff, close to jumping into an ocean filled with nothing but regrets and sorrow when he sits on his bed and his eyes find yours. As if finding the brightest star upon a dark night sky.

“C’mere bunny.” He pats the space in front of him, your knees buckle under you, you hear your heartbeat in your ears.

There’s no way for you to feel safe here, is what you think as you take hesitant steps towards the bed and with a lumbersome feeling clinging to your body. You settle upon the soft sheets, his scent envelopes you and the tilt of his lips is enough to have your cheeks warming up.

“Turn around.”

“What are we doing exactly?” you ask, tone laced with suspicion, and he rolls his eyes at you.

“Your shoulders hurt from carrying those boxes earlier today, don’t they? I have this pain relief gel for you. Turn around.”

You cannot help the surprise that overtakes you, hadn’t expected such a kind gesture from him and so like a thin thread of string you bend so easily. Pulling so effortlessly at your heartstrings, your blush only deepens, a darker feeling lurks beneath the surface.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m okay really.” You reply, a flimsy excuse of defiance.

“Bullshit. Turn around stop making me repeat myself.” His tone is stern and it’s enough to have you growing weaker if possible. You swallow around nothing, giving him your back and nerves creases your features.

With his hand encircling your waist he swiftly pulls you closer to him, raising a gasp from you when you feel his breath hit the back of your neck, eliciting shivers from you and an exhalation.

“I’m gonna lift your shirt up,” he whispers, voice so low it only helps you divulge into desires that you thought you successfully locked away. At your silent nod, he lifts your sweater enough for him to see your bare skin slowly come into view.

His fingers are cold against your shoulder blades, the feeling of his new forming scabs are rough and yet you manage to find tenderness lacing them. It’s anything but pleasant so why does it have heat licking its way up your stomach? Fiery hot and overwhelmingly impossible to ignore.

It’s the way his touch feels the same way it felt in your dream. Like grazing feathers, as soft as you imagine feeling heaven on your skin would be like. It’s as if you’re a delicate flower that he’s too afraid to pressure, to hurt. As if you would fall apart as easy as it is for his fingers to touch and perhaps that’s why it felt so facile for your brain to melt, like running water that is incapable of coming up with a strong enough defense. Conceivably you surrender.

When you turn your head to look back at him his face is mere inches away from yours. His eyes catch yours, capturing them into place and how is it possible for you not will yourself to him when they’re so clear. When they break through you as if you were a trivial piece of glass, you are so fragile you break with the blink of his eye. You fall apart with his rattled breath brushing against your lips, his thumb on your shoulder blade. You’re like a trivial piece of glass, see through and so you spill all your contents to him.

It’s in the way your irises soften in a manner so foreign to him, the tilt of your brows in affectionate rendition is so quick, almost like a ghost floating by that he’s not sure he sees it when this time your castle burns to the ground first. So abrupt, swift, and more than anything destructive your lips seek his as though they didn’t know anything else.

You kiss him and it’s innocent, short yet enough to have you breathless. Your body tingling with overflowing warmth when your hand cups his jaw akin to a delusional trick a sweet lover would pull.

“What was that for?” he asks when you pull away, eyes lidded as they implore into yours.

“I don’t know I just-“ you try to conjure a smart enough of a response. Something that could be passed by as sexy enough to match up with this brittle boldness yet you’re traipsing on your words and then there’s nothing. They melt on your tongue and in the darkening shade of his gaze “I’m sorry I don’t know what I was thinking.” You settle with, bashful like crushed petals of roses have found home on your cheeks.

Your temerity flees before it’s even here, eclipsed by a hallow void, touch starved.

You stitch your pride together with fallacious force, the same one you use to tilt your lips upwards into a faux smile. You attempt with a quivering heart that you pray will turn coarse one day yet today seems to join a chain of failures. That same shakiness runs through your hands as an attempt to collect the ashes of your dignity. You’re barely kept together by anything when his hand is turning your head to face him.

The intensity of his stare is unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed, it could only be inhuman. A beauty so out of this world it feels unjust to for you to behold. Jake is astoundingly breathtaking, exuberant as if every eyelash was carefully crafted by an angel. He is god’s finest work.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, bunny.” His words are whispered right upon your lips, and in a brief exhale, a fluttering of your lashes, he’s nothing sort of angelic and so you go to pieces, unsure if it’s a warning or an entitle of temptation.

You’re nothing but a trivial piece of glass, albeit even when you shatter, you’re rough and you cut into his flesh deep and painful. You turn your body fully to face him, as if controlled by your desire you straddle him, and his hands fall to your hips naturally. His palms itching all over until they are under your shirt, and you shudder.

“Should I finish it then?” you whisper back, wrapping your arms around his neck and your labored breaths are your enlarged lust's giveaway.

A phantom of a smirk starts to form on his pinking lips, and you don’t give room for triumphant to bloom further before crashing your lips into his. The kiss is nothing alike the one before, it’s rough and desperate, all teeth and tongue and you move together as if tranced, lead forward by an overwhelming hunger clawing at you. It makes itself evident in him when his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer into him, pressing himself more against you.

You taste so sweet, dripping with lure and Jake licks it up. Your body fits perfectly into his plan, articulated by his mind’s need to run away.

You feel him smile lazily against your lips when you start grinding down on him in a despairing need, your desire breaks your faith first.

“You want it that bad?” he murmurs, pulling away just enough to let his words out. It is more than enough to irk you, yet you find nothing to say back. Not when his fingertips are venturing under your shirt, grazing the soft skin of your hips.

You roll your eyes in apparent disregard, focusing on the way your body grows hotter by the second and yet Jake remains tenacious.

“Mhm?” He itches for an answer, gaze chasing your wandering one and this time you take his lips for yours in attempts to quieten him. It seems to work because he groans against your mouth, licking inside your lips as his hands move to the swell of your ass.

It works until it doesn’t anymore. Until the way his endless need to annoy you takes over.

“You’re awfully quiet compared to last time.” He says softly, leaning down to place kisses upon your jaw and if he wasn’t smiling you wouldn’t notice the teasing edge.

“And you’re awfully talkative.” You retort, turning your head to give him better access to your skin.

“Mhm.” There’s a pause, tantalizing enough to have you squirming on top of him when his teeth to nibble on your earlobe.

“You missed my cock that much?”

What a fucking arrogant piece of -

“You didn’t last long enough for me to miss it.” He chuckles against your neck, the sound travelling straight to your stomach and goosebumps erupt all over you. you convince yourself it’s because of the feeling of his lips.

“Acting if you weren’t the one who came first.”

“Are you gonna fuck me or what?” you huff, pushing at his shoulder and he follows easily enough to know there’s a catch. It manifests in the way he leans his head against his headboard with that smug smile disperses across his lips. Strands of his dark hair fall over his eyes almost perfectly into place to paint the picture of how a devil would gleam with satisfaction.

“Maybe if you beg me this time. Can you do that?” his words set your insides ablaze and you aren’t sure it it’s anger or just pure lust at this point.

You were never religious enough to go against sins, nor do you wish you were and so you chase after him, blinded by the glamour of him. Your foreheads touch and his eyes are on your lips following every rising breath you let out, his façade almost falls apart by the way you keep grinding against him, his cock is already half hard.it almost falters if your eyes weren’t turning hazy.

“Fuck off.” You breathe out against his lips, all bark no bite and he chuckles incredulously “I could just go and ask anyone else to fuck me.” You’re almost moaning your words out, the shake in your voice gives your want away and that’s why Jake is growing amused, titling his head to watch the way you somehow managed to hang on by the edge of falling apart without him touching you.

“Oh yeah? why don’t you go and do that then?” he replies minutely.

“Maybe I will.”

“Uh huh. Who do you have to ask?”

“a-a lot of people.”

“Like who? Give me names bunny.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I’m just curious since you brought it up.” He coos and you huff in response, your frustration grows adjacent with your lust. You wish upon any star in the night that he’ll shut up and fuck you, his lopsided smirk tells you otherwise.

Your eyes harden into a glare, yet the trembling of your fingers and your heaving chest unravel your weakness for him. It’s all so evident to him.

“They’ll probably make me feel so much better too.” You mumble.

in stark contrast to your expectations, you somehow contrive to dismantle his curtains of indifference, every semblance of fun leaves his body replaced by a parching heat. Akin to anger that turns his stare icy, it has a shiver running down your body and a soft gasp escapes you when he pulls you flush against him.

“You fucking piss me off bunny.” He spits through his teeth and this time you’re the one glistening with elation.

“Good.” You breathe out when he rolls his eyes at you, he shifts your position and before you get a time to blink, to think. You’re on your back against the plush bed sheets.

“Quiet.” His lips are a breath away from yours and you arch into him, a yearning for the taste of him and he compiles. Meeting you in the middle for a kiss, too rough, too messy and yet his hand against your cheek is anything but that. Too gentle, too tender and you feel it in the deepest parts of you.

You loathe it.

You loathe it even more when you’re momentarily separated with your shirt being taken off and when your eyes cross again there’s a flicker in his gaze, they soften for a fleeting moment, his hand caresses your cheek and it’s too lenient for a sexually explicit instant. You almost miss it all, by the twinkling of an eye you dimly register how his eyes glaze over. How there’s a pause in his air as his eyes rake over your body, over your nude breasts, your slender neck and then he’s drowning in you, akin to an ocean he wants to bask in.

You’re almost as pretty as the forget me nots coming to life with full bloom in his living room. However, you’re nothing alike, you smell so much sweeter, cinnamon, and vanilla ricochets off you, and he comes by himself growing dizzy. You’re so cordial, equivalent to the cherry blossoms he witnessed last spring.

You’re almost as pretty as his forget me nots and yet you’re nothing like them at all. There’s no way for someone like you to be anything close to tepid. So, he ignores the question raising in your gaze.

It’s evanescent yet your heart constricts in your chest, painfully so when he leans down and kisses you again, your words are stolen by his soft lips, and he ventures with them just the same. Leaving a trail of kisses in-between your breasts and all the way down.

“Didn’t think you’d have a tattoo,” he speaks against your skin and it’s fairly unjust how you tremble. Your skin feels sensitive under his touch as if they were flames upon you.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Is this the fucking alien from toystory?” his thumb brushes against your hipbone, right where your small piece of ink is at and you groan, overwhelmed by the need to hide your face somewhere.

“What about it?”

“It’s not very well done if I’m being honest.”

“Yeah, because it’s a stick and poke. My friend did it on me when he was like 17.” You look down to glare at him and it falters as quick as it comes, melting away into your arousal. Because the sight of Jake being between your legs is something you couldn’t have prepared for.

Not in this lifetime or the one before.

“Are you still friends with him?”

“Yeah. he’s my best friend.”  You answer with a sigh, falling back into the pillows with a flushed face when you feel Jake’s lips hover over your tattoo before he kisses right above it, slowly enjoying the taste of your skin.

“Jake..” Your voice comes out as soft as a mewl when you thread your fingers through his dark hair, you can’t help but think about how soft it is, how his sheets smell exactly like him. You realize a tad too late that you’ve somehow drowned yourself in pieces of him and it only flusters you further.

“Mhm?”

“What are you doing?” you splutter when your pants are swiftly unbuttoned and pushed down the length of your legs. You grow self-conscious at the realization that you’re almost fully nude in front of him for the first time.

“I’m gonna make you feel good. what does it look like I’m doing?” With bated breath, your thoughts grow overwhelmingly loud with screaming insecurities that you don’t get to register his next words fully;

“I’m not keeping you quiet this time so you can be as loud as you want to be. Let me hear you bunny.” His tone is laced with allure, profoundly ample for you to clench around nothing.

A squeal escapes you when you feel his breath against your clothed cunt and then he’s burying his nose into you, feeling you completely soaked, it’s only added inflation to his ego “J-jake w-wait-“ you sputter with a burning face, your fingers tug at his hair and yet he ignores you. busy with taking your panties off.

“When was the last time you got your pretty pussy eaten, bunny?” you open and close your mouth a couple of times in shock. Somehow your mind cannot keep up with how lewd an angel’s mouth could be.

It is not something you prepared to hear that you almost ebb and flow out of consciousness, your sanity clings by a hair.

“Stop asking me stupid questions Jake!” you groan, burying your burning face in your hands. and much to your annoyance he chuckles in response.

“So, you can be cute too.” Your heart, as delicate as it always has been, throbs against your ribs as if trying to break free. You peek at him through your fingers and his hungry eyes flicker up to yours as if he senses your stare. Their severity is enough for you to fall into a feeble silence.

you feel the hot muscle of his tongue trace over your dripping folds and your lips fall apart with a silent scream fuck! Is the only thing running through your mind when you tug his hair harder, and he groans against your pussy sending vibrations throughout your entire body. tongue pushing into your hole and lips kissing and sucking at your clit.

Every negative thought swirling around your mind moments ago grows faint then it dissipates instead being replaced with your stubborn pettiness that is telling you to keep silent, do not give him the satisfaction of knowing how good it feels.

It's all deemed impossible when he keeps flicking his tongue against your bundle of nerves until it’s pulsating, and you crumble exasperatingly fast.

“F-fuck!- mhm –“ Your body is buzzing with electricity, your sounds forcing themselves out of your mouth as your body withers against his sheets.

It doesn’t help that Jake keeps humming against your pussy, as if you do taste as sweet as he sounds. As if he’s having the time of his life watching you fall apart on his tongue. It only aids the last bit of resolve within you to shatter.

“Jake- oh my god- f-feels so good.” You cry out, hips arching so high off the bed and your toes curl in absolute euphoria. You feel akin to falling off a cliff, like constantly being on the verge of losing your mind when two fingers prod at your clenching entrance, proceeding to push in without warning. It’s all what it took for you to completely implode in ecstasy.

 “c-coming- I’m coming- holy” you attempt to warn him, your trembling fingers trying to pry his head away from your throbbing pussy, but Jake doesn’t relent, instead you feel him smile against you, reinforces his grip on your hips and buries his fingers deeper into you, following every buck and twitch of your hips with ease.

Son of a bitch.

“J-jake!” You aren’t sure how loud your voice goes, aren’t sure of how hard you pulled on his hair and how painful it must have been. You’re only sure of how your mouth falls open and by the end of your orgasm you feel like you’re floating amongst the stars. You whine when he keeps pressing kisses to your puffy folds, your hips bucking away from him.

“s-stop. Too much.” You whimper, with stroke of your fingers through his hair as if your digits have grown apologetic to their radge behavior on their own.

When Jake lifts his head, you catch yourself growing breathless once again at the sight of his face covered in you, nothing could have prepared you for it, nothing could come close to how he manages to look ethereal even while covered in your arousal. How his dilated pupils manage to find a way to cut right through you. you’re trying so hard to breath – equally stolen by your orgasm and how angelic he looks.

“Too much? I haven’t even fucked you yet,” he muses, an arrogant smile taking place onto his handsome face. Your mind is hazy that you don’t find anything to say back, your eyes dancing around his and he arches a brow at your silence and you almost squirm, a growing urge to look away yet your pride grows taller.

“Don’t tell me your shitty excuse of an ex never made you come twice before?”

“I don’t feel like talking about my ex when you’re about to fuck me.”

“Oh? Weren’t you the one talking about other men when I was about to fuck you?” his tone is stagnant, and you look away with hot cheeks. it’s inhuman how piercing his eyes are.

“that’s different.” You mutter weakly. Your mind is too fucked out to think of anything witty to say.

Thankfully Jake doesn’t seem to have anything to say either. Instead, the sound of clothes rustling fills the room as Jake takes off his shirt. When he leans over you, your eyes meet in all too presumptuous severity. It coaxes forth the gentle touch of his rough palm against your cheek and your palms trace his chest. and it’s prodigiously scorching. With a strong impulse, you kiss him first and he chases after your taste like a starved man.

His need grows glaringly obvious, his indifference crumbling albeit much later than yours, it ends up right next to your petty recalcitrant. It has a faint grin dancing upon your lips.

“I need to get a condom.” He whispers, his lips abutting against yours.

“I’m on the pill. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, just fuck me already.”

Despite your demeaning desperation you’re rewarded with a quirk of his lips, his thumb brushes under your bottom lip and when he places a fugitive brush of a kiss there, you grow a hinge to curl into yourself. There’s a divergent gentleness that coats his actions, it has the apples of your cheeks growing warm, tinged with pink. When he leans back his hand works fast to undo his jeans and you allow your eyes to travel across the expanse of his body with appreciation, you’re unable to hide it.

You find yourself growing in awe again, so pretty.

He’s so pretty.

When his lips touch yours, you think that’s what stepping into heaven must feel like, and you could only whimper against his lips when you feel the tip of his cock begin to prod at your entrance. It turns into a broken moan at the feeling of him entering inside you, your head drops back into the pillows and his hands fall on your hips with a bruising grip.

“Jesus, this pussy is gonna drive me fucking crazy.” He growls, thrusts growing faster and harder. Barely giving you any time to adjust or breathe. Your body pushed further up the bed with each thrust, the sound of skin slapping echoes throughout the room and it all grows way too lewd, too quickly.

Soft cries leave your mouth and your body writhes against his, your nails dragging along his back, rough enough to leave evidence for the following couple of days. You don’t have it in you to care, not right now not when he keeps driving his hips into yours, eliciting louder and louder moans from you.

“You’re so loud, bunny. Does it feel that good?” There’s a dark glint in his eyes when he asks, a mean edge to his tone.

“S-shut up- ah!” you try your utmost hardest to glare at him, yet you slip at a particularly hard thrust of his. His cold chuckle only pushes you further into anger. Like it runs in your veins and with your blood. It’s almost patronizing.

“How am I gonna explain this to my neighbors?” with his question he leans closer to you, his lips inches away from yours as they curl into a smile that should be considered evil “mhm?” he taunts and you groan, pushing his face away from yours with your hand.

“Fucking asshole,” you hiss. Resisting the urge to cover your face, you won’t give him the satisfaction of that. It all seems futile though when his grin goes wider. Pressing his lips onto yours with a short kiss, just to see you try to harden your eyes at him again.

To see the same glare melt away and then your brows knit together, turning your head and then you’re attempting to cover your face with a quivering hand, as if harboring a shield from the bullets he carries as his eyes.

“I’m close.”  He murmurs, a tad too sweet as his hands abandon your hips and circles your wrists instead, pressing them into the sheets and his hips are pounding against yours. And you can only gasp in response, your fingers flexing in his brutal grip, sure to leave evidence of his own on your body. Your own orgasm approaches just as fast and almost as intense as your first one.

“You too yeah? I can feel you clenching around me nonstop- holy shit.” you nod furiously. His voice alone is vigorous enough to send shivers of pleasure through your entire body and your eyesight starts to blur with unshed tears.

Jake cannot perfectly recall it, he’s almost sure he was enamored by how you look the first time he saw you but nothing could compare to how you look right now. Nothing could come close to how pretty you look crying on his cock.

It feels dizzying, the way your cunt keeps squeezing him and the way your face screws up, body trembling and mouth falling open it’s all more than enough to send him over the edge.

You don’t expect him to kiss you, but he does, it’s so softly sweet it steals your breath away and you’re growing frustrated because of it. Raking your mind to find a reason as to why and coming back empty handed yet again.

How is it possible for a mere kiss to feel unanticipatedly sinful?

You break it first, failing to look away fast enough not to catch his eyes and yet again you’re stumbling into weird feelings once more with how unweaving his gaze is. Strength that you lack and unlike him you’re constantly trembling. He captivates you with his beauty a second time and you’re more than thankful when he rolls off you with a sigh. It has you letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Despite the silence growing heavy between you two, it doesn’t last very long.

“Get up.” Jake speaks, stumbling out of his bed to change his clothes. A grimace on his face.

“What?” you ask, blinking at him.

“Get up. I need to wash the sheets.” He answers, monotone but not unkindly.

“Can’t we rest and then you can wash them later?”

“No. I’m washing them now so get up,”

But I’m tired.

“Okay.”

Are words you swallow down, realizing you’re probably being a nuisance. You tumbled into his apartment without permission and so you get up. Jake moves to tug off his sheets. As he collects them in his arms he shoots you a look.

You have already given him enough trouble these few days and just as the clouds of lust disappeared, the guilt takes over.

“I’m gonna go wash them in the other bathroom. Use this one to clean up.” At your nod he leaves the room.

You clean up at a speed that cannot be deemed human, putting Soojin’s clothes back on and leave without another word muttered to Jake. You leave with a heavy feeling clinging to the edge of your feet. It paints your whole being and only bleeds out from your eyes when you’re in the back of a cab. Silent tears stream down your face for the first time in quite a while.

It coaxes a deep self-hatred you know runs through your blood. From a trivial piece of glass, you grow to feel more like a graveyard, collecting bodies that never stay, never flourish into life, and mellow down to fleeting moments closer to death than anything else. Your existence feels embarrassing, overwhelming, and utmost cruelly lonely.

You realize it then, it was never Jake, or anyone else at that. It was always you.

When Jake comes back to his room there’s a bottled water and a protein bar in his hand that are deemed useless as soon as he sees that you’re nowhere to be found.

“What the fuck?” He mutters to no one, to himself and perhaps to the thoughts coming back to invade his mind like a parasite.

His disappointment doesn’t linger very long, it goes away with the shake of his head.

You realize chaos is unfolding the moment you’re in the corridor leading to your apartment. The sound of music is so loud that it cannot be coming from anywhere else. and you’re right because when you’re inside, bottles of alcohol lying everywhere are more than enough evidence to tell you so. And the smell of smoke greets you.

“What the fuck guys?” you exclaim, hand on your hips while a very high and drunk npp stare back at you. Jungwon is lying on your couch upside down, while Heeseung blinks at you with a joint between his fingers.

“What? We’re just having fun.” Ryujin defends with a giggle, words slurring together.

“I can see that.” You reply nonchalantly. With a sigh you go to turn off the music and a loud and in union “NO!” has you jumping startled, a look of horror washes over your face.

“Why do you have to kill the fun?” Niki whines.

“Your so-called fun is gonna get me kicked out. I could hear the music all the way down the hall.”

“Woah,” Jungwon speaks suddenly, stealing everyone’s attention “your tits look huge like this.” He says amusement colors his voice and really, you’ve long made peace with the fact that your friends are insufferable.

Yet it is moments like these that have you questioning why you kept them around for so long.

Niki with criminal like eyes, grabs a pillow and hits Jungwon in the face multiple times with it until it looks like he’s on the verge of suffocating him. You swivel your head away from them, you cannot be a witness to a crime you didn’t see.

“Come on! Let loose a little you need it as much as we do.” Ryujin says, walking to you and wrapping you into an embrace with an arm around your shoulders. She nuzzles her cheek against yours with a pout and you hate how your heart warms up immediately at the gesture.

“Yeah, you look tense as fuck Lilo.” Heeseung stands on your other side, his arm wraps around your waist and a bottle of soju in his other hand. Your eyes flit to it momentarily.

Instead of having an angel and a devil on your shoulders you wonder how you end up having two devils. Perhaps it was the unyielding urge to hit your head against your wall, or just the desire to walk to a mirror, steal a glance at your reflection and then watch it smash to pieces. It was the immense desire to run away. From yourself, from everything. And that’s why you end up snatching Heeseung’s bottle, chugging it down with one breath.

“Yeah! that’s my girl!” Heeseung whistles with a cheer and Ryujin turns to the music back up. It reverberates through your living room.

Out of nowhere, all your words feel too much inside of you. like your chest is so heavy and you need to unload it somehow. They come up to your throat so immensely fast there’s no way to stop them.

“I can’t believe I just fucked my boss again.” You blurt out.

You’d think that the sound of music was loud enough for them not to hear you clearly but maybe it was the same mockery that god liked to put you through every single day that manifests right now. A pregnant silence commences. Long enough for your confession to dawn on you,

Niki gasps and Jungwon tumbles off the couch with a thud loud enough for Ryujin to go check on him.

“What?!” Niki sputters, a mortified expression on his face.

“Again?” Heeseung looks at you, contrary to your brother he looks somewhat impressed. with a wiggle of his brows and a smirk tilting his lips.

“First time was at work and second time was like an hour ago.”

“Whore.” Jungwon mutters on the floor and you kick a pillow at him.

“I don’t think fucking your boss is a good idea yn.” you groan at Niki’s words.

“ugh I know!”

“Damn I wish I could fuck my boss.” Heeseung says and then there’s a heavy pause that follows.

“Your dad is your boss hee.” Ryujin replies with a disgusted frown.

It’s only a few hours later with more drinks in your system than you can count that you find yourself dancing around your living room with Heeseung. To You by Mallrat plays in the background and with his arms around your waist and yours around his neck. There’s a pleasurable buzz settling in your blood, drowning out the self-pity and hatred you were in withering in not long ago. And when he spins you around, with giggles erupting from you and a smile so big it starts hurting.

A feeling so close to peace nestles its way into you and stays for a while.

Holding on to you

Is all I want to do

The lyrics engrave themselves into your brain and even when the song is over and you’re still twirling around with Heeseung. They come back to you all night even when you’re so tired you end up passing out in the middle of your friends.

You’ve long made peace with the fact that your friends are completely insufferable.

Yet it is moments like these that make you thankful you kept them around for so long.

→ taglist : @slutforsjy @wonwoos-wineparty @nxzz-skz @piripurora @vousty

@realrintaro @slut4hee @chartrucewhore @iveivory @hearteyesforseungsung

@jooniesbears-blog @hee4lifer @pretty-bluntz @babrieeee @mandoscyare

@stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @softieluvsyou @seunghancore @chaewonshoney @chaeyunloveeee

@beommii @fuxktaekook @antonsgirlfriend @rockyhedgehog @lukeys-giggle

@arikazu @jakeyverse @not-very-slay-of-you @chlodavids @belovedsthings

@vveebee @pochamocharoll @direxila @nessas-archive

@riksaes @niniissus

[vanya-evergreen]

How to Remember (Chapter 3)

Relationship: Batfam x reader (platonic)

Summary: At the age of 11, you woke up in an other world without any guidance and all the money you once lacked. You were left with only your memeories and your other memories.

You tired to remember, their life, but it seemed like they didn't want you too. So when trying to navigate the intricate sides of an elite school, but you always got in trouble when it came to faces and names.

Cw: Slight disassociation

No use of Y/n

Wc: 5.8k

Masterlist

<Prev Next>

VROOOOOM

The drive back to the manor was silent. The night is slowly moving on as they cruise along the tunnel leading back to the manor. This isn’t unusual for Bruce and Damian. They would always get in some type of fight with each other causing them to ignore each other, but this time is different. Bruce seems off. Damian knows that his father would never let his emotions show  easily. So picking up on something being off with him, even if only Damian could see a glimpse of it, is a rare moment.

Damian observes his father. Bruce didn’t move to speech, only blankly staring down the tunnel. Damian knows only one thing would make him so stuck, you. He isn’t sure why but it has to be you. From the photo on the wall to the way Bruce seemed far more concerned with your well being after tonight then he would for any normal civilian. You mean something to Bruce, and Damian hates that he doesn’t know why. Sure, you are very interesting to watch, and seem to have a decent head on your shoulders, for most things.

 But why you? 

What makes you the one to make Bruce Wayne, The Batman, lose his indifferent attitude? He always cares for the people they are saving but never in the way Bruce seems to be so concerned with you. When they pull into the Batcave, Bruce wastes no time getting out of the car and on to the Computer. Alfred stands idly by with medical equipment, and tea in hand.

 “Good evening to you too master Bruce.” Alfred says with an abundance of sarcasm, his eyes follow Bruce across the room. “What has you in such a hurry tonight?” Alfred was pouring a cup of tea and handing it to Damian as he approached him. Bruce doesn’t respond, he is pulling up all known social media sites looking for the same thing ‘Gotham drone fight’. The screen is flooded with videos of you early that night, of you. Alfred drops trays when he sees you, He stares at your face on the computer, the way you smile. “Is that…”

“___, Yes.” Bruce grabs his chins and leans bad in his chair. Alfred quickly starts to clean up the dropped tray and its content, he places them to the side as he walks closer to the computer. “They are different.”

“They are difficult.” Damian states matter-of-factly. He sets the empty tea cup aside as he walks over to the computer. He watches the video of you punching the man, you claimed you knew how to fight from martial arts but this seemed more like something someone would learn to survive, it was too inconsistent of material arts. Your kick is from material arts, it was clean and precise. “Father, how do you know them?”

“It doesn’t matter Damian” Bruce stares at the video for a while longer before he moves it to the side and brings up records for you. They all seem to be outdated as they only have a photo of you when you were younger. God, you looked depressed as a child. He starts clicking on other files bringing them, comparing and contrasting them to the video of today.

“I think it does matter when you can’t even think when they are in danger” Damian points out. He always knew how to get under his father's skin. Bruce stops, and slowly turns his chair towards Damian. “Don't think I didn’t see how you froze up when they had a knife against their throat.” 

“That was nothing," Bruce dismisses Damian's accusation as he turns back around to the computer, clicking on different files. For a few moments there is only the sound of typing and clicking in the room. Damian was trying to get a read on his father, what was he thinking at this very moment? He looks at the computer, most of this stuff was things he had found in his earlier research. Bruce reads the files so intently that it was almost like he was reading about someone from their family. Damian continues to watch his father, until a family portrait, or a photo of one.

It is a photo of a damaged portrait from both a fire and some type of tear, it looked like it was from a police investigation. Damian stares at it, there is a family of 3 in that portrait, only a mother and child are recognizably human, the father didn’t have and upper half. The mothers face is unrecognizable due to the damage, but the child has a bit more of a face then the mother. He moves closer to the computer. Bruce is too distracted by the other file and photos to notice Damian looking over his shoulder. Alfred, on the other hand, is watching Damian closely, he tensed up as Damian's eyes grew sharper.

 Damian looks closely and the child’s face, only half of their face is barely intact. The child’s looks as if they are staring into his soul, reading all of his secrets, they have a detached look in their eyes. Damian almost missed the familiarity because of the unsettling eyes. Damian feels Alfred's eye on him, but he has had enough of them avoiding his questions “Who is the-” Damian starts, but before he could get another word out Alfred pushes him toward the exit of the cave. “Alfred, what's going on?” He tries to dig his feet into the floor with little success.

“It is almost 8:00 am, Master Damian.” Alfred is rather abrupt, he is in a rush. “While master Bruce should also go to bed, he is an adult and I can't make that decision for him but I can for you.” Alfred ushered Damian to the exit even quicker. 

“Father, are you going to let him do this?” Damian holds back Alfred for a moment to see if he can get a reaction out of him.

“Alfred is right Damian, you should go to bed, we have a big day ahead of us.” Bruce nods as he continues to read over things. Alfred pushes Damian into the elevator and pushes the button to go up. 

“Master Damian, please don’t ask Master Bruce about this, at least not today.” Alfred states in a hushed tone, he gives Damian an earnest expression. Alfred hopes Damian could understand, maybe one day. Damian folds his arms as the doors close, leaving Alfred and Bruce in the Batcave to continue their work. 

Damian is furious. What make you so important to them? Damian is greeted by Titus waiting for him outside of the entrance. Damian pets his head quickly as he exits the elevator. He knows something is up now, and what his father and Alfred are hiding has something to do with you. He wants to know, no. He needs to know. He will know. Instead of walking to his room to sleep, he walks into the kitchen to feed his pets before he goes to sleep. When he walks into the kitchen, he meets 2 other people in there. One of them is grabbing food from the fridge as his laptop is resting on the countertop with his phone being right next to with articles pulled up on, and the other one is eating cereal while scrolling through his phone. 

“Good morning, Damian” Duke takes another bite of his cereal as his clicks on another video of last nights fight. “How was patrol last night?” Duke looks over his phone at Damian, smirking. Damian clenched his fist and grits his teeth. Duke, laughs at him . Damian takes a deep breathe and closes eyes, he doesn’t have the energy to deal with this. He walks over to a cabinet, opens it and takes out food for Titus, as well as his other pets.

“It was fine, Thomas, just busy.” Wow did he sound like his father with the vague answers. He picks up Titus’s bowl and pours some kibble in it. 

“Oh really, Nothing 

He stops and looks at Tim still standing in front of the fridge with the door wide open. “Drake, What are you doing?” He puts the bowl of food in front of Titus and walks over to Tim, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

Tim jumps at the sudden contact, he quickly turns his head and holds his breathe. “Oh,” He lets out a sigh of relief and annoyance, because it was only Damian, and it was Damian. “I am grabbing food.” He pulls out an apple and a slice of cheese. Damian raises an eyebrow, Tim looks tired. Well he almost always is but he looks like he is trying to break the world record for the amount of time a human goes without sleep. Tim looks at his hands and puts back the slice of cheese and takes out the milk instead.  

“Drake, you should really think about something more nutritional than cereal.” Damian snaps at Tim as he walks out of the kitchen. Duke stop mid bite and looks down at his food. Duke turns to say something but Damian is already half down the hall.

Damian is getting really tired of this cat mouse game when it comes to information about you. He is going to find out the truth, even if that means going to you.

“Okay,” Percy clasps they hands together and exhales “ So you fought the man that held a knife to your throat, in front of Batman and Robin, and it went viral?” Percy says through their gritted teeth. You were looking through one of the multiple clothing rank of formal clothing that take up most of your foyer, which was already pretty large in itself. You sway back an forth, trying to avoid answering the question.

“Uh, I guess you could say that…” You slowly turn you back to them trying to act like you are looking at other clothes, 

“Of course.” Precy shout exacerbated, throwing their arms up into the air. 

“I can never understand how you change up so fast ___” Val laughs softly as he pats Percy’s shoulder, “I have never seen someone go from cry on my shoulder to being almost completely normal in less than 24 hours.”

“Maybe it’s because I have my therapy appointment on monday” You suggest “and we all that when I go longer then 3 week without talking to her I go completely off the rail, ” you gesture toward the rows and rows of clothes. 

“Then why are you going at all!” Percy screams gripping their hair and pulls on it. You giggle and and shrug you shoulders. “No thats bullshit. Tell me the real reason now.” 

“Fine-” you roll your eye, “I meet damian wayne yesterday at school, by running into him, we talked, and I want to mess with him” you look away from them. Their mouth drops wide open in utter horror. Val looks away the other, because his not sure if he might witness a crime tonight. You knew Percy wouldn't be happy with you but hey it fun, sort of. 

“You are utterly insane” they laugh, “Listen i know you aren't from this world, but everyone know that the wayne’s are the equivalent to royalty in Gotham” You look at them blankly. “Of course you didn’t know.” You nod your head. “Okay, we will come back to this.” They crack their knuckle nervously as their eyes dart around the room before landing on you. “Go put those on!” They wave their hand at you as you run off to the bathroom giggling. They fall down into a squat after you leave the room. 

“Percy, I will never know how you got everything together so fast.” Val sighs, he watches them as the are hunched over kneeling. “You do a lot for us.” 

“Tt- you don’t have to say that again.” they take a few deep breathes “But i would do anything for them” Val hums, agreeing with Percy. They were alway hopelessly devoted to you. They sit in silence for a while before finally Val break that tension.

“Do you really think we should let ___ go to their gala?” Val held a bit animosity in his voice when speaking of ‘them’.  Percy hold tightens their grip on their arms.

“They have no memories of them so it is a dangerous bet,” You were walking back as they are talking, you stop at the mention of you. You hide behind a wall to continue to listen “ but we might be able to play off because of how things ended with the original ___ but I have my doubts.” Percy furrows their eyebrows. Your heart tightens. You remain quite as you peak around the corner.  They walk over to a rack over on the far end of the rack and pick out two suit that didn’t look like they were meant for you.

“What are the suits for?” Val question walking over to them.

“Us,” Percy hands a suit Val “You didn’t think I was going to let them go on their own did you?” Val’s mouth drops, but then he smiles and takes the suit from them.

“You are just as attractive as the day I meet you” He teases. They roll their eye and smile. You take this chance to walk out, you were quick to put on a cheerful smile as you quickly walk out from behind the wall. They turn to look at you.

“Maybe you should save the flirting for later, lover boy.” Percy pats Val’s cheek and walk towards you. They looks over your outfit just making sure everything is in place. “Perfect, now don't forget your shoes, and to brush your teeth”

“Wow, can't you just compliment me?” You sigh, “you will never stop nagging you.” you laugh softly. Percy’s eyes soften as you laugh, they place a hand on you cheek and smile. It’s rare a genuine smile from them and not some strand laugh or tight smile when someone annoys them. It’s a real smile, not big or bright but a smile all the same.

“You look amazing.” they whisper to you,  they pat you cheek and  retract their hand  “now go up stair and brush your teeth. Your breath stinks” 

“Of course you would do that.” You shake your head “You two should get dressed, I wanna eat something before we go to the gala” 

“Of course” Val and Percy say in unison

Val and Percy go towards to separate bathrooms to change before you walk up to your room. You still feel the fresh air from you broken window, ‘replace within the next day my ass’. You walk in to your bathroom, everything was out of place thanks to Robin from the night before. You mentally note to take care of this later. You start brushing your teeth and let your mind wonder. It was about half past six in the evening now and you had only woken up maybe four hours ago, but really you got up with Percy arrived. You had never slept for over 12 hours, or not since you first came here. 

You think back to the conversation that you over heard between Percy and Val, you knew the Waynes at some point and it ended badly. So does that mean they might recognize you and if so, how would they react? You had no solid idea of how you are going to get the answers you want out of this party, but maybe you could at least figure were you stand with the prince of gotham himself, Bruce Wayne. That’s if you could close to him, maybe you shouldn’t shoot for the biggest target. You would go for Damian but he probably knows as much as you do, and you don’t really want to be interrogated again. So maybe you could try one of the older kids, if they show. You have read that it’s kind of a gamble of which Wayne siblings will show up, official and unofficial.

But, you have also read so of th gossip columns that say the entire Waynes family will be there for this one. You weren’t sure why.

You spit out the toothpaste and wipe you mouth on a hand towel discarded on the floor, while turing on the sink to wash it down the drain You look in the mirror fixing you outfit and hair. You alway wonder what it would’ve been like to see you mom here with you. 

What would she have said, done, and how she would’ve she looked at you. She probably would’ve come with you to the gala, she would be protective and scare of all the weird people that come near you two. Val and Percy would actually be able to enjoy the party. You always would want the impossible to be possible. This is only a far off dream of your, having to people you hold dear now and the person you have always held dear in the same world could never happen.

You let out a breathe you didn’t know you were holding. You exits your bathroom returning downstairs. Percy and Val still seem to be changing to so you take this as your que to grab a snack from the pantry, and scroll through social media. You, as you predicted, went viral, some love you, some hate you, and some are able to just admit they are jealous. It didn’t really matter what they thought, you are just having fun with it. You come across serval post about the Wayne gala to night, mostly from gothamites. They are mostly posting about the drama and fashion that comes from events like this, but a few did raise a good point about how even if it is of charity, there was no need for it to be so fancy and exclusive. You kind of agreed with them.

You turn off you phone, and place it down as you are finishing up the snack. You look over at the pile of mail on the table, still unsorted. The invitation is still where you left it, you didn’t really read it all, you leave your phone and snack on the counter and walk over to table and pick up the invitation

“___, Where are you?” Percy calls, from another room. “We need to get going soon.” Percy is  getting closer to you as they continue to talk.

“I am in the kitchen Percy, needed a snack,” You quickly slip the invite into a safe place, while you walk back over your snack. You finish eating and throw away the wrapper right as Percy enter the kitchen. They are a very elegant person, you honestly were in awe when first meeting them. You rarely seem them dress so formally, but it was nice. They were adjusting their earring when they walked in, you smile softly at them. “Wow, you look amazing.”

“Thank you,” They run their hand over their suit to flatten our wrinkles “now if Val could just hurry up.” They raise their voice so that Val could hear them, but val round the corner right as they finish.

“Calm down you cant rush perfect, now.” Val smirk at Percy, they roll their eyes and walk away from you and him. Val’s face falls and you laugh “What did i do wrong?” He turns to you with a defeated look. 

“You have an ego” you yell back as you walk past him following Percy towards the front door. He stands the for a moment before following after you as you are leaving the apartment. The three of you enter the elevator, Percy presses the button for the ground floor

“So how are we getting there?” Val asks “It doesn’t feel right taking the normal car.” he nervously adjust the sleeve of his suit, cars always made him nervous.

“You’re right about that,”Percy replies, as the grab his sleeve and re-adjusts it for him.  “___ was really excited to drive their Lambo” a cold sweat rolls down Val’s face after hearing that you would be driving. 

“Haha, don’t worry I wont drive fast” the elevator doors open you leave Val in utter shock while a stressed Percy drags him as they follow behind you into the lobby.

“We are joking.” Percy smirks as a reluctant Val is struggling to form words. “We are taking one of the Mercedes and I am driving.”

“Was it really necessary for you to do that?” Val pats his chest. 

“Sorry not sorry.” You stick out your tongue. “You probably would've been the same way if you heard I was driving on my own” You smile as he quickly try to regain his composure from your idiocy. Percy chuckles as they walks up to the  valet, leaving you and Val alone. Val takes a moment long to calm his hear, then he looks at you, concerned.

“Are you sure you want to go?” He looks at you in your eyes. For a moment you really consider if this is what you really want. You don’t really know why you are going in first place, you could easily have a simple weekend and do nothing but basking in your new social media fame while eating Batburger for the 3rd time this week. 

“Yes,” You stop, “mostly” Val’s stare really wears you down quickly “Not really but I feel like I am too far in.” 

“But are you really going to just annoy Damian? It seems like your doing to much for a guy you just meet.” he place a hand on your shoulder and give you a reassuring squeeze. 

You mentally want to hit yourself for lying to Val, but you (sort of) have a plan.

“I hate when you’re right.” You look at Percy who already seems to be losing hair, you feel bad but you feel like this is needed. “But i am already kinda committed to it you know?” Val’s face falls a bit. 

“Fine, but we can leave whenever you want.” Val let’s go of your shoulder as Percy returns with the keys. 

“Of course” You dig your finger nails in to your hand. Sometimes wish you be more honest with them, but you don’t want to get too close. 

“Well come on,” Percy interjects, “We have a car waiting for us.” Percy starts lightly pushing you and Val towards the door. “And the sooner we can be back here the better.”

“Okay okay” Val laughs he climb into the passenger seat, while Percy forces you are in back. Percy runs around the car, and hope in the driver’s seat and starts the car.

“Why are you in such a rush? It’s only like a five min drive.” You groan as you were basically thrown into the back seat.

“ it started a hour ago and, that means there going to be more people on the red carpet harder to avoid… people.” Percy fastens their seat belt and starts the car “Pull on you seat belts, please.” You are Val both put on your seat belts as they pull out on to the street. You can see Percy’s gaze had sharpened because of said people.

“Well, are you guys going to try to have a bit of fun?” You watch Percy carefully, “Like maybe, talk to some other people, or drink a little while I wonder around?”  they only seem to tense more when you suggest that.

“No, the alcohol they have their is too light me, and Percy hasn’t been much of a drinker” Val looks back at you “So we are probably just going hangout on the side, and keep an eye on you.” Val smiles. 

“I-” Percy clears their throat “I don’t think we should stand to the side, It can be very dangerous for them.” their eyes are now looking back at you. They have alway been a little weird about these type of events with you since you have no idea of how to navigate the social etiquette and traditions. Not that they tried to teach you.

“Percy,” you move closer to the drivers seat.. “I can handle this on my own!” You need them to back off, just for tonight. “I am old enough to drive and live on my own. I don’t need one of my assistants to stand behind me.”

“Are you old enough? Because if I remember correctly you were fighting for your life just last night.” Percy voice bubble with frustration. “You may think you know a lot, but I don’t want you to get in to something you can’t get out of.”

“Why must you always think that I need a guiding hand whenever you are with me? Is it because of what happen with your version of me?” Percy harshly stop the car at a red light and turn to you. They are shaking, as they continued to grip the wheel with one hand. The light turns green, they turn back to the road and continue to drive.

“You know nothing about that,” Percy is quieter now “and it doesn’t concern you. We have to focus and the here and the now.” You narrow your eyes at them before turning to face out the window.  Val look in between you and Percy. You and Percy don’t argue much, there are some disagreements, but they were always sorted out in the same conversation. So when you do argue, it’s always hard to mediate it, and the responsibility will always fall to Val

 “Percy, don’t you remember what it was like when you were their age?” Val normally takes a neutral stance but he feel like you need some room from them tonight. “You didn’t want someone older than you following you around.” Percy remains quiet. “And you probably learned a lot too, so maybe we should do that with you.”

“You’re right” they loosen their grip on the steering wheel as their eyes soften. “But let’s see how they deal with the red carpet first.” Percy stops and gets out of the car before you have the chance to ask what they mean. You and Val look at each other concerned before getting of the car.

The paparazzi lines the stair, lights flashing as you get out. The red carpet is busy with serval celebrities and business officials posing and taking interviews There already seems to be a commotion a bit further up, you try to look to see who it might be but the flashes blinds you.

“You would think they might not use the flash as much” you use your hand to cover you eyes as you turn away from the red carpet. Percy walks to you left side and leans in covering their mouth with their hand.

“Maybe you were here 15 minutes ago you wouldn’t have had to deal with this” they jest at you “You seem to be upstaged by a Wayne member who just arrived” You roll your eyes as you squint harder to try to make out which member it might be. Val approaches you on the right.

“I think you should start moving instead of acting like you are apart of the paparazzi” He gently pushes you forward a step in front of him and Percy “You can’t act too star struck now, you didn’t even know the wayne two days ago” Val laughs. 

“I am not star struck,” You start walk up the stairs moving around the people posing “just trying to see if it’s damian so I can annoy him faster” Percy and Val let out a heavy sigh trying to hide their laughter. You see a man in a suit a talking to a news anchor as you walk up the stairs, you can easily assume that is the mentioned Wayne. It wasn’t damian, he was too happy to be talking to someone, you almost immediately lose interest. You look toward the paparazzi, they were all focused on the Wayne. You start to feel pressure behind your eyes as they go in and out of focus. 

“At least we won’t have to deal with the media” Val lightly nudges you to the side, you blink a few times before you look up at him. He gives you a sly grin, “We wouldn't need theses sharks looking for fresh blood on out door step.” You are quick to get back in to moment.

“Hey!” you slap his arm “How dare you compare sharks to these people? At least shark are cute!” He let’s out a low laugh as percy was pinches their nose

“You really need to start moving rather then just stand here.” Percy whispers into your ear, you nod your head to acknowledge them, all while rolling your eyes as you starts walking up the stairs.   

You look straight forward for the most part. You know its better to keep a low profile rather then make your presents know, but of course you are meant to make a mistake. You look over for no more then ten seconds, and yet they recognize you. You almost immediately look forward again but it is already to late, someone recognizes you. It is a a domino effect after this. Slowly, each reporter and photographer are trying to get you to pay attention to them.

“Shit” you sneer out as Percy quickly guides you through the crowd avoiding the sides as best as possible while Val follows closely behind trying to shield you. But with your luck you run in to someone separating you and Percy. You try to find you way back to them however you are met with a wall of mics. 

Oh well isn’t this just perfect?

You don’t know what to do in front of camera when they have people behind them, so what’s better then giving them two thumbs up and a half assed smile? Anything. So that’s what you do as the cameras click away. 

“Who are you?”  a reporter loudly asks, you feel the panic start to set in.

“Uh…” You can feel your mind turn to mush. It alway decided to turn off when you actually need it.

“Don’t say anything.” Val and Percy simultaneously yell at you in a panic 

“ I am ___ ” Their words reach your brain a second too late. Instant regret fills your mind. They start call out your name being followed by serval variation of the same question. Your head is spinning from the crowd. You start to move up the stairs once again trying to avoid answering anymore questions. Val and Percy quickly follow after you. 

You bump into the wayne who was now paying more attention to the commotion you caused then then person interviewing him. Percy quickly guides you away from him as you barley see his eyes meet yours as you are being usher into the building. You feel sick. You quickly find a place to sit down. Val and percy talk a bit before, Percy takes out their phone and calls someone.

You are unable to walk from uneasiness that grows in your heart. You feel as if thousands of hands are crawling up your back, all while someone is forcefully keeping your eyes open to watch a fast moving filming . His eyes, you know them, you knew them. You always want to remember the life of the other you, but when you did it is always painful. The memories are never clear enough to understand, but the emotions are. You can’t even deal with your own issues to adding on someone else's makes it worst.

Fuck, this is going to bite you in the ass this week.

“Wow, that was something.” You play with your fingers staring at the floor as Percy is on the phone pacing while Val is trying to get you to say something. “Are you okay? They didn’t try to grab you right?” You nod your head, not looking up at him. Percy ends the call and sighs.

“Okay,” Percy claps their hands together “ we will have people to help us get out of here when you are ready to.” you don’t respond. They put their phone away in a pocket of their suit, then sit next you. “Are you..?” they gently and slowly wrap their arms around your back. You flinch away, before looking up at them and then to Val. 

“No, no. I am here. I am fine.” You shake out your hands, then wipe them on your clothes as you get up quickly. Pushing their arm off of you. “Thank you for getting people for after.” You smile at them, “sorry to cause so much concern”

“Its okay.” They stand up and pat your back. “We should have done this to begin with.” Val nods in agreement. You try to ignore the way the memories make your head throb. 

“We underestimated the impact of social media” Val looks towards the door. Many of them are still attempting to take photos of you in the lobby. You use your hand to shield your eyes from the flashes of the camera. 

“You wouldn’t say.” You look at Val from the side of your eyes before you look around the lobby. The receptionists have gone home and it was only a few rich people in far off corners of the room. Some of them are starting at all of you as you are in the middle of the lobby. “Let’s just get up stairs.”  

“I agree.” Percy grabs Val’s arm and walks him over to the elevator waiting for you. You give the lobby one last glance before you walk over to elevator. You press the button to call for the elevator. The elevator couldn’t have come at any later, the Wayne from earlier entered the lobby. You can feel the memories trying to rip away the fog put up by the other you, but it is easier to handle now. You take a glance at him just to try and figure out which Wayne it was. 

It was difficult to tell with most of the boys because majority of them are copies of Bruce with no biological relation, so it would be better to go off of age. He looks older than you, around 20-25, closer to 23. With process of elimination you safely assume that it is Tim Drake, famous for being just as smart as Bruce, maybe even smarter. He has his own personal fortune thanks to his parents, so he is familiar with the upper-class environment. Basically, avoid him because of the headache and having no experience in ‘high society’. He seems to be to more consumed by the crowd of rich people who had left their corners. They are like shiver of sharks coming at him as if he is fresh prey.  You grin and bite your inner lip as you recall the nature document you used to watch in public school.

“Percy, What do always you compare theses events to?” You turn your eyes away from Tim as you look at Percy. They look at you from the corner of their eyes.

“It is like toddlers and tiara, but it’s only the overbearing adults who couldn’t fill their need for attention.” Percy looks toward the crowd growing around Tim. You cover your face as you are giggling quietly. “But this seems to be more like the pageants and its the adults competing instead.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” You clear your throat like you have to cough trying to conceal your laughs. You look back over for a moment to try and get another visual of the crowd, but you are surprised to see Tim pushing his way to the elevators, towards you. 

Why did i decide to be so difficult for myself?

You drag your eyes away from him. Right on que, there was the blessed ding of the elevator. The doors open and you are quick to step in, while trying to get Percy and Val to get on so you could close the doors. As much as you would love to understand the connection, you don’t really want to have to deal with emotions of the memories, and the possibility that he might recognize you, if he knew the other you. 

You weren’t quick enough of course, he steps on right as the doors star closing. You hide your face as he turns back to all of you guys. “What flo-” he stops mid sentence. Shit. “Percy?” your eyes go wide, he recognizes percy? You turn your head slightly, only enough to see percy out of the side of your eye. They did not look happy in the slightest, they look almost hateful to him.

“What floor do you think?” they fold their arms and doesn’t even try to hide their annoyance behind their smile. “There’s really only one floor we could be going to.” They push him to the side as the press the button for the 72nd floor. 

“Yeah of course.” Tim awkwardly turns a back a round. You go back to staring at the wall of the elevator, it was surprisingly fun to look at, but the ride seems to be endlessly slow. Percy and Val move in front of you blocking his view of you. “I saw __ with you early,” you freeze up as the elevator grows more tense  “did they already go to the gala without you?”

“I don’t think you need to know.” Val speaks up. unlike Percy. he is trying to hide his emotions with a calmer tone. Why are they trying to hide you?

“Well I mean it kind of is, seeing as I am a ward of the hosting family.” TIm snaps back with a stranded smile. Val and percy are both about to respond as the elevator door open. A woman stands in front of elevator.

“Invitations please” she smiles.

Quick A/N- Just to clarify the ages of batfam, and reader + co. (i did age up and age down some for story purposes sorry if this bothers you)

Damian - 15

Duke - 17 (same grade as reader)

reader's friend group - 17-18

Reader - 18

Cass- 19

Steph- 20

Tim- 21 (i think tim is meant to be 6 to 7 years older than damian so he is finally not 17 )

Jason- 24

Barbara - 31

Dick- 30

Percy- 38

Val- 40

Bruce- 44

Alfred- 63.

Taglist: @problematicreblogger @mileskisser @hoeinthehouse @luminous011 @enjisthings @earth-to-mee @thereeallink @pasta-warlord @just-here-reading

[theskit]

Stickers AU

Important!!!

Direct linking gets rid of the readmore cuts!

If you came here via direct link, or wish to use the direct links to another part of the story, and DO NOT want to spoil the surprise stickers, please click on my blog name to go to the actual post after using the link.

Part 7

《Prev Next》

Sitting on the hotel roof as he tried to calm down from the high-speed flight away from Batman, Danny looked over his ill-gotten gains.

Ooh, candy! Why did Batman have candy? Did he have a problem with his blood sugar? Shrugging, Danny popped a sucker into his mouth. What else did he get?

Fiddling with one piece of a thin stack of black metal, he managed to click a concealed switch that caused the sides to expand from an unobtrusive oval to razor-sharp, wing shaped edges. Ow!

Shaking the sting from his left hand, Danny inspected the thin, shallow slice on his finger before holding it to the edge of his hoodie to keep his blood off things until he got back to the room for a band-aid.

Getting the now obviously a batarang to collapse back down, Danny beamed. Score! He'd gotten four of the things, one each for himself, Ellie, Sam, and Tucker. He didn't think Jazz would mind not getting a vigilante throwing weapon as a souvenir. She usually used the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick or the Boo-Staff, having been mostly banned from long-range weaponry on account of her inheriting Dad's aim...

Shuddering, Danny banished the memories accompanied by that thought in favor of the last item. Looking it over, it seemed like an airpod? Did he grab one half of Batman's headpho-... Oh, Ancients that was a communicator! Could they track it? Who was he kidding, of *course* they could track it!

Freaking out juuuust a little, Danny stuffed everything else into his pockets, grabbed the comm unit, and high tailed it, phasing through walls and floors in his hurry to get back to the room.

Once there he dove for his luggage, pulling out the Thermos he'd brought along just in case, and dumped the ear piece in before locking it down.

There. Heaving a sigh of relief, Danny slumped down against the side of the bed he'd claimed when they first checked in. The ecto-shielding on the Thermos should block any incoming or outgoing signals until he could get Tucker to look at it and make sure no one could trace the comm back to him.

Wincing against the light as the bedside lamp on the other side of the room flared to life, he saw Jazz squinting at him fuzzily, one hand on the Anti-Creep Stick propped up on wall beside the bed. "Danny? Izzat you?"

"Yeah, Jazz, it's just me. I just got back, sorry for waking you. I'm gunna wash up and head to bed. You can go back to sleep." Danny felt bad that he'd woken Jazz up after she'd had a long day helping set up the Fenton convention booth and gently riding herd on their parents' over enthusiastic responses to the other 'ghost hunters'.

"Okay Danny, glad you're back safe. Night," Jazz mumbled as she turned out the light and laid back down. Danny smiled at her softly before turning to gather his things. It had been a good night, if more eventful than he had planned when he first went out exploring.

Batman had traced the comm unit's signal to one of the larger, more popular hotels in the area before the strangely fluctuating signal had cut out entirely.

Inspecting the roof, he caught sight of a dim glow. Kneeling down, he collected what looked to be a few drops of fresh blood with a swab kit. It appeared that whoever had taken his gear had rested here for a bit before leaving again, possibly to check what all they had taken, then finding and disabling the comm unit. He hoped they hadn't injured themselves too badly, probably on the batarangs, if it was indeed their blood he'd found.

The dimly glowing sticker, still on its backing paper with a drop of blood on the corner, caught half under an air conditioning unit, pointed to it being the same person. Picking it up, Batman inspected it for a moment before dropping it into a separate evidence bag. He'd put both samples through analysis back at the cave.

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