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back2bluesidex · 2 days ago

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To Be Popular - JJK [Chapter 1]

Pairing: Social Media Influencer! Jungkook X Marketing Manager! Reader ft. Yoongi

Summary:

You love everything about social media - apart from the ever-growing number of social media influencers. You don't understand how these people gain followers and admirers just by installing a camera and doing very basic things in front of it. And you despise how some of them can do anything to gain fame, to be popular - even if it includes uploading their bedroom scene in pornsites aka people like Jeon Jungkook. But when your company launches a new product and your department head tasks you with signing Jeon Jungkook up as an endorsement partner - you have no choice but to chase him like the corporate slave that you are. However, things turn worse when you embroil in a dating rumor with him and have to keep the game going for the sake of everything. is it really for the worse or things will turn in a way you never expected it to?

Theme: Strangers to lovers au, fake dating au, kind of enemies to lover au, angst, smut, fluff.

Full Series Word Count: 26k

Chapter word count: 5.8k+

Warnings: tiny flirting, argument, that's all.

Masterlist | Patreon (For access to the complete series)

Taglist requests are open.

Minors, I am not responsible for what you consume online. So, act more rationally and stay away.

Chapter index: -

Or read the full series right away on Patreon!!

Thanks to the every possible gods out there, you are capable of keeping your poker face even when your insides are burning with rage.

Like right now.

First of all you landed in a proposition with one of the people you don’t even like, that too, with the most insufferable one in question.

Secondly, your superiors are treating him as if he has won a gold medal or something.

Min Yoongi - the man who is known for his nonchalance and quiet wisdom, can’t seemingly stop giving his gummy smile to this guy, Jeon Jungkook.

Mrs. Lee, who is probably double the age of the guy, is ogling him as if it's a zombie apocalypse and she hasn’t seen another male for thirty years or so.

When they both turn to you, you realize they are probably waiting for you to react the same way as them.

Too bad, you are not even the least bit amused.

After greeting both of the superiors, Jeon Jungkook looks at you - with those big ass googly eyes. A kind smile plays on his lips.

He extends his hand with a soft “nice to meet you.”

Well. definitely not the same. You scream internally but you compose yourself and return his smile, somewhat half-assed, as you wrap your small hand around his big veiny ones (the same hand that does those dirty deeds with others of his stature).

“Nice to meet you too.” you murmur only because Yoongi is giving you those eyes you absolutely love and hate at the same time.

Yoongi gestures to Jungkook to take the seat, “So, Mr. Jeon. I assume you have gone through our proposal already?”

“Umm.. yeah. My manager did go through your proposal and briefed me.” Jeon Jungkook says with a voice that doesn’t match that gruff, breathy one from the video.

Why the fuck do I keep thinking of the video? You inhale a long breath.

“Okay so.. Is there any question in your mind? Or do you want me to go through it all once again?” Yoongi adds good naturedly.

“Umm no actually. I came here to decline your offer.” Jungkook drops the bomb. If you are low-key happy then you don’t let it show on your face.

“W-what? Why? Is there any part of the offer that is not up to your liking? We can revise it anytime you want.” Mrs. Lee butts in.

“Uh. no not that. I personally don’t like to use the devices that your company manufactures. All of your laptops are so bulky, the chassis is always too old-fashioned. It’s not something Jeon Jungkook would use, you know what I mean?” Jungkook reasons smugly, as he leans on the backrest of his chair and crosses his legs.

You hear blood rushing to your brain and before any of your superiors can say anything you start speaking, “oh really? Must be tough to carry our laptops to a pornset or something, huh?”

You see Jungkook’s eyes going comically wide as he tries to register what you have just said.

“What? What are you talking about?” he semi-screams. His attention is now trained only and only on you.

“You know very well what I am talking about, Mr. Jeon.” you lean on the table just as smugly. Under the table Yoongi kicks on your shin but you dodge his attack at the right time.

Jungkook laughs. A big, thunderous laugh, “I don’t see it being any of your business to question what I do in my free time, is it?”

You smirk. If he thought you are going to back off that easily, he was wrong, “it definitely is not. But the fact that we chose to offer you this endorsement deal despite your current public reputation, tells a lot about our dedication towards charity.”

“Oh.. so this is a charity huh?” Jungkook narrows his eyes at you, “sorry to tell you but Jeon Jungkook doesn’t need any charity.”

With that Jungkook stands up and gales at you for one last time before he storms out of the room.

Yoongi slams his head directly on the table making you wince at the loud thud.

“Y/N! What do you think you did?” Mrs. Lee screams in horror.

“What?” you shrug in nonchalance, “he was going to say no anyway.”

“Y/N” Yoongi finally says, probably after struggling not to punch himself in the face for inviting you to the meeting, “we could have negotiated if you chose to stay silent.”

“But I only said what’s true. This collaboration could have saved his face. He was the one who chose to be an ass- I mean, inconsiderate.” you argue.

“Oh really? Then why don’t you show him what’s right?” Yoongi says in a sugary voice, one that’s not really good news.

“What do you mean?” you question, suspicion landing on your brain.

“You need to bring him back if you love the year-end appraisal or you can kiss your promotion goodbye.” he says in a collected voice.

“What? Yoongi! You can’t do this!” you stand from your seat, and Yoongi only smirks at you.

“Oh I definitely can. I can also submit a formal complaint against you calming that you have messed up an important deal. Do you want that?”

You stay silent, questioning your life choices, your career choices. Cursing at the every god above for making you a human when you could have been a worm.

No job, no money issues, no Min Yoongi, no Jeon Jungkook - only soil and dirt.

You sit on the chair again, cover your face with both of your hands and curse “fuck everyone”.

Your eyes zero on your phone this time. The insta handle is burning too bright for the darkness of your room. Honestly, tapping the name is currently hurting your pride.

But what can you even do - you are a corporate slave after all. And the crush you have on your direct superior, prevents you from being rebellious.

But more than just that - you know you were wrong.

Your hate towards the social media influencers clan is pretty much ridiculous and apparently has no reason.

Is it due to your underlying insecurity? Is it because you believe you are inferior to them? While they make hundreds of dollars per hour, you make a dime?

You probably hate Jeon Jungkook because he is the same age of yours and yet has everything you don’t? - like an amazing sex life.

As you tap on the story, it takes you into a video with all colors of gleaming lights. Clearly a club. Loud music blares through your phone speaker, almost paralyzing your ears.

You can’t see Jeon Jungkook on the screen, obviously because he is the one recording the video. But you can hear him whooing in the background. There are some girls around him for obvious reasons.

Suddenly you feel jealous of him again.

He is of your age and he is enjoying a night out at a posh club while you are on your bed, with your ugly pajamas on and you can’t go out because you have work tomorrow.

As soon as the word “work” registers in your mind, you remember you have been tasked with bringing Jungkook back.

You look at the screen again. He has added the location, which means you can find the club, find him and apologize (oh god no!) and beg him for another meeting.

Yes. That's a nice plan. You can then mourn for your dead self-respect with a bucket full of ice-cream.

You have picked the shortest possible dress you own.

It’s a shimmery black bodycon that reaches your mid-thigh. The noodle strap of the bodycon dress gives a tempting view of your collar-bone and cleavage.

You have let your hair lose - you look the best like this. A touch of makeup and you are all ready.

You know you are attractive but will that be enough for the bouncers to let you inside that posh club? You pray it’s enough.

When the taxi drops you in front of the well-known club in Gangnam, you spot the line. And thankfully, the queue is not at all terrible.

Since the clock hasn’t hit 10:00 pm yet, the entry is free.

When you reach in front of the bouncers, they give you a once-over, then look at each other. Your hands feel clammy because they have rejected almost everyone before you. If you are not wrong then only two of the visitors were let in.

But then one of them brought the stamp out and held it in front of your face. You gave him your wrist with a squeal of joy.

You let yourself go blind and deaf with the glaring lights and loud music. Wherever you look, you see people attached to people. Some are dancing, some are drinking, some are making out, some are just standing and talking with drinks in their hands.

You don’t think you have seen this amount of strangers all year.

You will admit - you feel alive.

But no! No Y/N! You are here with a motive, you can’t let yourself be distracted!

In the story, Jungkook seemed to be close to the bar island. Even though that was more than an hour ago, you still start looking for the bar island.

“Why are there so many bars?” you mumble to yourself as you scan the entire floor. There are at least four bars here, there must be more on the upper floor.

You start feeling helpless at once. All these strangers around you, wrapped in wealth, some giving you long looks - trigger your social anxiety.

Bad decision. It’s a bad decision. You should probably just run away.

But when you are about to take an u-turn, you see him.

You see Jeon Jungkook on the dance floor, grinding on a red-headed pretty looking girl.

He looks - like a fucking wet dream.

A black baggy jeans, a black t-shirt, some bulky golden chains, his dark hair gleams under the lights. His lip ring shines directly on your eyes and you snap back.

Great. Now that you have found him.. You can proceed with your plan - which is to beg him.

Without a second thought, you start stepping on the dance floor.

There are not a lot of people, so you easily get past everyone and stand there behind him.

Your eyes drop on his ass, then his hands, his veins and you question your life choices.

Somebody just crashes on you making you lurch forward.

Your body slams against Jungkook’s back. You are about to apologize when he reaches behind with his hand and grabs your side. He grinds his ass on you without even looking at your face.

You feel nauseous. This is the second time you are meeting him and the proximity is very scandalous.

Placing your hand on top of his, you break free from his hold.

“Jeon Jungkook, can I please talk to you for a moment?” you scream in his ears.

He doesn’t stop moving, but you know he has heard you.

Jungkook slowly moves on his feet while vibing and then turns to face you.

His mischievous eyes bore into yours as he takes you in slowly. He shamelessly eyes your cleavage then looks back up your face.

“What?” he screams over the music.

“Not here. Can we go somewhere quiet?”

He smirks at you, “oh? Already? Wait- have I seen you before?”

Your blood turns cold, “no. I mean yeah. Actually-”

“You- that obnoxious employee from Techtonic? Right?” his eyes go wide.

“Obnoxious? I am obnoxious? Then what are y-” you inhale, “Yes. I am Y/N. You are right. I am from Techtonic. Can I please have a word with you?”

“No? Why would I spare my precious time on you? So that you can insult me again?” he frowns at your figure before starting to walk away.

You grab onto his hand, “Please. I am here to apologize. I promise.”

He looks back, takes a look at the place you are touching him and then looks at you, “if I give you a chance… What will you give me in return?” Jungkook challenges.

What in the world did you get yourself into?

You don’t have a single drop of alcohol in your veins.

I repeat - you don’t have a single drop of alcohol in your veins then what is making you feel so lightheaded?

If it’s the spicy citrusy smell that Jeon Jungkook’s emitting then you won’t admit it even if you end up dying.

“Tell me, Y/N. What will I get if I give you another chance?” he challenges again. This time his tongue pokes out of that perfectly small round mouth and plays with the glinting lip ring.

You don’t understand the science of hearing him clearly despite the sound of loud music and the loud beating of your heart.

“I- anything. Anything you ask for.” you choke out, uncertainty lacing your voice.

“Anything I ask for?” Jungkook comes impossibly close to your body.

You can see long fingers with even longer nails circling around his torso. The red-headed girl is clinged around him.

“If- If I can afford that.” you choke out again.

“Oh.. you definitely can.” he smirks like a devil. All the smug pride drains from your body at the thought of what he might be asking from you.

“Come with me.” Jungkook whispers briefly as he takes your hand and guides you through the crowd towards the upper floor.

The piece of skin, where his fingers are holding your wrist - burns.

You are ashamed, nervous, afraid - all in all you want to die.

Just a week ago you were scoffing at your laptop watching this guy make fame out of a porn video and now he is leading you god knows where to do god knows what.

Before you could take in your surroundings, Jungkook slams you on the nearest wall. He wastes no time in locking you between his arms.

“You really came here only to convince me? You had no other intention, huh?” He asks with the lowest possible voice. A shiver runs down through the path of your spine.

“No. What intention would I even have? I fucked things up at the meeting so my superiors are making me clean the mess.” Your voice comes out firmer than what you thought you could manage.

“Oh? Really? But I think there is something else to it.” Jungkook comes closer to your body. His chest touches yours. You take a sharp inhale but keep the eye-contact intact.

Jungkook’s eyes dip down to your chest again as he continues, “you want what you watched in that video, don’t you?” he wets his lips once those vile words come out of his mouth.

Your jaw hits the floor almost, “what the fuck? What makes you think I want you?”

Jungkook invades whatever was left off of your personal space and whispers right into your ear, “If you accept it nicely, tell me the truth whether you got turned on or not, I will give your company a chance.”

You gulp at his offer.

If you say you were completely unaffected after watching him fucking his partner so well, then it will be a lie for sure.

So… if you swallow your pride and tell him that he indeed had some kind of effect on you - he will be up for another meeting?

“And what if I tell you the truth?” you question, looking deep into his chocolate eyes. All you see there is mirth.

“I will schedule another meeting with your company. But I will be declining you all again.” Jungkook adds nonchalantly.

You scoff at that, pushing him away and making some space between your bodies, “so you are just going to use my confession and insult me in my workplace?”

“Oooohhhh… You are not dumb, I see?” he muses, stumbling back from your body.

“Wh-what? Dumb? You thought I am dumb? Mind you, Jeon Jungkook, I get paid for doing actual work and not because I keep hollering at a dumb computer screen in front of camera.” anger flares through every vein in your body.

“And yet you came here to beg me?” he shrugs smugly.

“You know what? Fuck you and your stupid followers who feed your stupid ego!” screaming at his face, you take steps away, stomping on the floor even if your heels are killing you already.

This was a bad idea. Indeed a bad idea.

You don’t get paid for dealing with these scumbags. So it’s not your responsibility. It’s better to have your appraisal compromised than falling in the trap of Jeon Jungkook.

You imagine Jungkook’s face in the place of the ice cream tub as you stab your fork in it with as much fierceness as you could find in yourself.

Yes, you are eating ice-cream with a fork, so that you can imagine Jungkook’s face and stab in it.

“Fucking nutjob! What do you even think of yourself!” stab stab stab “Karma will hit you back very soon! You fucking asshole!” stab stab stab.

As if granting your prayers, the cosmos sends a notification to your device. You take the phone to see Yoongi's instagram handle that has sent you a text.

You start blushing instantly.

“Is this the universe’s way of making up for today’s trashy encounter?” you murmur to yourself as you open his text.

It’s a link so maybe it’s one of those cat videos he sends you the links of.

As you tap on the link, it takes to a post that has been made just an hour ago. The post - a video, containing proofs of Kim Doona (the influencer Jungkook fucked) being a high school bully. The video has texts sent by Doona to the victim, threatening her not to reveal anything.

Looks like Karma mistook the address. It should have been Jeon Jungkook!

You go to the comments.

All of their followers are going crazy, it’s just the same shit in different sentences. So you scroll past it all.

But there are two comments that catch your eye, actually one comment and its reply.

Commenter: Can’t believe Jeon Jungkook chose her out of everyone? A class bully? Really Jeon? You could do better.

Reply 1: What are you even saying? Jungkook probably didn’t even know and mind you, none of them confirmed if they were together or not. Reply 2: but girl, they f*cked on camera! Reply 3: How does that confirm their relationship? Reply 4: Jeon Jungkook has a girlfriend, I caught them at the club just a few hours ago. The proof is in my story.

Eh? Kim Doona isn’t his girlfriend? That was a rumor? He has another girlfriend who was with him at the club?

But you were at the club too, you should have seen them. Is it that red-head girl?

All of these questions swirl inside your head as you tap on the person’s story.

The video is taken amid a mass of bodies, trying to be discreet, but you can recognize Jeon Jungkook, leading a woman through the crowd.

Your heart stops beating for a moment when you realize it’s you. Your face is not visible properly, curtained by your hair, and you are thankful for that.

The video continues as Jungkook takes you towards the quiet corner. The person, who’s recording, moves too for getting a clearer view.

Now he is hiding behind the end of the wall that Jungkook had pressed you on. The video shows how he had towered you in, whispered in your ear and smirked at you. But then it gets cut right before you push him away!

“Fuck! I am not his girlfriend! Are you people blind? How do we look like a couple?!” you scream at your phone.

You decide you have had enough humiliation today. Hence, putting your phone in charge and traveling towards dreamland is a better idea.

This fiasco may die down by the morning. People will definitely defy the girlfriend theory because you two don’t look like a couple. And your face wasn’t even properly visible in the video. So yeah let sleep solve your problems.

Except - nothing solves.

When you wake up and take your phone out of charge, you grasp so hard that your phone slips from your hold and lands on the bed with a thud.

You have a thousand new follow requests on your instagram account. There are a ton of texts from various people in Ktalk and most of them have sent you insta links.

You open your younger sister’s text. She has sent everything in caps:

Y/N!!!!!!!! WHAT IS THIS??? [Link] YOU DIDN’T TELL ME YOU ARE DATING JEON JUNGKOOK????????

You type your reply:

Calm down. I am not dating that douchebag.

And then you tap on the link.

The post that the link takes you to, can rival your natal chart. It’s a detailed discussion of who you are, what’s your job, how do you look, where you have probably met Jungkook and your insta handel.

They have also attached a photo of Jungkook talking to you standing in the middle of the dance floor.

“Fuck fuck fuck!!!!” you curse and curse and curse.

Why are these people dragging you into this mess now? Why do they have to link you up with him? What the hell is even happening?

How are you even going to get to work today?

You shoot a quick text to Yoongi saying that you need a off-day today for obvious reasons. He sends one of those rofl emojis along with a thumbs up and you try not to feel down.

Yoongi doesn’t really understand what you feel for him? Does he?

You mean you are embroiled in a dating rumor with someone else and he seems to be just fine?

It’s just another confirmation that he doesn’t reciprocate your stupid crush on him.

Just when you are about to keep your phone aside and sleep some more, you get a call from an unknown number.

You don’t think much before receiving it.

“Hello, who’s this?” your voice is still groggy and your stomach rumbles as you speak on the phone.

A sweet cherry voice rings in your ear, “Hello, is this Y/N?”

“Yes. and you?”

“I am Kim Seokjin, Jeon Jungkook’s manager.”

The remnant of sleep flies away from your eyes as the man introduces himself. Why is Jeon Jungkook’s manager calling you this early in the morning!?

“How can I help you?” you voice, not trying to mask your confusion.

“Y/N, I assume you are aware of the situation, right? I mean the rumors?”

“I am aware and currently waiting for Mr. Jeon to decline the speculations.” you state as firmly as possible.

“About that… Why don’t we discuss before revealing anything?”

You frown at that.

“Discuss? What is there to discuss? You know well that I got to know Mr. Jeon via a professional connection, there is nothing else added to it, except for the fact that I visited the club to convince him for another meeting. And all of these things happened.”

“Exactly. I know it all and I also know that it’s not nice to be dragged into this mess but we, me and Jungkook, have a proposition to make. We can use this situation for both of our benefits for strictly business purposes.”

You sigh, “I don’t understand what you are trying to say Mr. Kim.”

“Yes. That is only natural. So, why don’t we meet face to face and get down on the details of the proposition? You can bring a friend or family if you are not comfortable meeting us alone. How does lunch sound?”

You think for a moment. You could probably take Jimin with you? Even though it’s monday, he will squeeze some time out of his schedule if you promise him free lunch.

“Okay. I will send you a confirmation text in this number.” you reply before cutting the call and directing your fingers towards Jimin’s text.

He has sent you a similar array of texts, so hopefully he won’t have too many questions to ask. He will understand once you give him a brief.

“I will tell you everything, can you meet me for lunch? I need to meet Jeon Jungkook and his manager for obvious reasons. Free lunch will be offered.”

His reply comes within a few moments,

“I’m in. I will pick you up just text me the time.”

You now type a text to Kim Seokjin confirming him the meeting as he texts you the time.

Just when you are about to go to Jimin’s inbox again, another unknown number sends you a text.

Annoyance flares through your veins as you open it. It says:

“See you soon, pornaddict.

– Jeon Jungkook.”

You groan at the choice of nick name, “Fuck you, Jeon!”

You don’t understand many things.

But currently, you don’t understand why this fine-as-fuck man is Jeon Jungkook’s manager slash assistant.

He goes by the name Kim Seokjin.

When he smiles at you, you melt. And to compose your flustered state you look at Jeon Jungkook - the (current) bane of your existence.

He gives you a lopsided smile that obviously is fake, leaning down against the sofa seat absorbing as much sunlight as possible.

You don’t give him any reaction.. Beside you, Jimin introduces himself to both of the men.

“Miss Y/N. Thank you so much for coming.” Seokjin says in a pleasant tone. His voice sounds like honey dripping from a silver spoon.

You nod, “Yeah. Alright, Mr. Kim, can I ask about the proposition you were talking about?”

“Call me seokjin. And sure, let’s get into the important details.” he pauses to give you a sweet smile then opens his ipad and scrolls through something. Jungkook, too, scrolls through his phone so unamusedly as if he has been dragged here without his consent.

“So, as you already know, the situation is out of hand now. We tried to take down the initial posts but the photos and videos spread like fire.” he speaks calmly. You nod along with him, Jimin too gives the older man his utmost attention.

“On the other hand, our Jungkookie has been interacting with people, who are currently embroiled in controversy.” noted: Seokjin called Jungkook as Jungkookie and he is talking about Doona.

You see Jungkook rolling his eyes.

“If it wasn’t not for you, then he would be dragged down in the mess too.” Seokjin continues, “I know it’s not nice to be the center of unwanted attention and it is already causing you damage but… we need your help. Jungkook needs your help.”

Jungkook makes a very unapproving sound from his seat.

“What help? How can I even help you guys?” you are now extremely confused. Why would Jeon Jungkook, out of all people, need your help?

“Date him.” Seokjin proposes.

“What?” you and Jimin scream in unison.

“Not for real. Calm down. I meant to say, if you pretend to be his girlfriend before the world, on social media, it will help Jungkookie in defying possible criticism and hatred.” Seokjin explains calmly.

However, you are anything but calm.

Whatever criticism Jeon Jungkook faces, it is simply his own problem. You have nothing to do with it. What is your benefit by being involved with him?

As if reading your mind Seokjin now states, “in return, Jungkookie will sign an exclusive deal with your company for not only one but any kind of future collaboration your company wants with him, that too, at a discounted price.” he winks at you.

Your jaw hits the floor.

“Hyung! What the fuck! Where is this discount coming from?” Jungkook finally opens his mouth for the first time.

“Cool. I’m in.” you reply in a heartbeat. Jimin clutches your wrist under the table.

“Y/N! Aren’t you even going to think?” he whisper-yells in your ear.

“There is nothing to think about. This is a very good deal, Jiminie. I will be hard-pressed to let such an opportunity go.” you whisper back.

“But-”

“I knew you would be an intelligent one” Seokjin cuts off your friend with a cherry tone, “I look forward to working with you” he extends his hand, you take in him with a shake. The shit-eating grin is lighting up your face.

Jungkook sits there throwing daggers at you with his eyes.

“It’s all because of you! You fucked things up!” Jungkook’s loud voice invades the serenity you were enjoying while waiting for Jimin to show up with his car.

You turn your head in astonishment and give him wide eyes, “My ears must have gone cold. You are saying thanks and I am hearing something completely different.”

“No! You are hearing it right, I said you fucked things up. Only if you didn’t show up at the club-”

“Then people would be dragging you down in twitter and instagram for fucking a school bully on camera.” you finish the sentence for him.

Jungkook clicks his tongue and the smirks, “you know what? I can see how bad you are down for me. Is this all a part of your plan?”

You smirk back, folding your hand in front of your chest, “FYI, your manager reached out to me to help you out. I am doing you a favor and you are returning it. Got it?”

“Again.. Again that nasty attitude of yours.” Jungkook steps towards you, “you know what… I kinda like it.”

He breathes directly on your face.

The puff of his breath lands on the apple of your cheeks making a blush creep up without your notice.

“Make sure you save my number, girlfriend. See you tomorrow.” he leans down and whispers the last words in your ears and then disappears inside the parking lot.

You stand there, catching your breath and questioning your decision for the first time since the proposition landed on your lap.

But wait? What does he mean by ‘see you tomorrow’?

Somebody must have pressed a replay button on the cassette of your life.

If not then it’s certainly a deja vu, because the scene that’s unfolding is exactly the same as what happened last week.

You are sitting inside the conference room, with Yoongi and Mrs. Lee and there is Jeon Jungkook sitting right across from you.

The only thing that seems changed today is his attitude - which is a little more tamed.

And oh… your clothes too.

“This is so nice of you to come forward and ask for a meeting after whatever happened last time.” Mrs. Lee speaks in a sickeningly sweet tone. You wanna roll your eyes but decide against it.

“Ah. no no. Miss Y/N is really competent at what she does. The credit goes to her. Even though things went south for the first time, we figured out that we actually are very compatible and working together will be beneficial for both of us. Right?” Jungkook directs his question towards you.

“Uh- yeah. Hahahaha. Yeah.” you honestly don’t know what to reply. He is obviously faking it and you need to fake it too but Yoongi is sitting right beside you and he is staring at you and you are on the verge of losing your sanity.

“I’m sorry if I am overstepping any boundaries but I can’t help being curious if the rumors are true?” Yoongi barges in. He looks at you and then Jungkook, expecting an answer or a reaction.

Before you can say something - something you don’t even know what, Jungkook decides to answer.

“Only time will tell.” he smiles at Yoongi.

The amount of weird glances you are receiving from your colleagues is astronomical.

For most of them it’s just eyeing you up and down and for some of the brave ones, it’s throwing impromptu comments like “oh, Y/N is a celeb now.”

You want to punch them on their faces.

Nevertheless, you don’t want a new trouble right when you manage to fight one crisis in exchange for your name and relationship status.

You scroll through company social media accounts and start planning for all the new content that’s going to drop as soon as Jungkook’s done with the photoshoot.

Your phone chimes with a notification. When take it in your hand to see it’s a text from the devil himself:

“In front of the parking lot. Come in five minutes.”

Your eyes close in frustration. You haven’t even stepped into the deal properly and he has started ordering you already.

But what can you even do, you dug your own grave after all.

It takes you seven minutes to reach the parking lot - obviously because you work on the sixteenth floor and the elevators don’t run on your will.

When you find Jungkook waiting for you at the mentioned location with his bike, you find him kind of intriguing.

It’s been long, embarrassingly long, since you have had a guy waiting for you. Even though you know it’s fake. You can turn blind eye for a moment and let yourself believe otherwise.

“You are late.” he says with a pout.

You lose your sanity only a little.

“Sorry. The elevator didn’t listen to me when I asked it to run fast.” you reply.

“Haha. very funny.” he replies animatedly then reaches for his backpack and plucks out a document folder.

“What is this?” you question naturally.

“The dating contract for our fake relationship.” he shrugs, extending the folder towards you, “Hyung asked you to go through it meticulously. You can add or reduce any term you don’t see fit. We will finalize it and announce our fake relationship officially once you are done. You have time till Friday.” he recites flatly, “also, you can’t tell anyone just yet. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever-”

“Y/N?” someone calls you and it’s not Jungkook.

You whip your head to see Yoongi is standing a few feets away inside the parking space with keys in his hand.

Your stomach feels funny at his unreadable expression.

And then you feel a pair or lips pressing down on your cheeks.

Jungkook kisses you before parting and saying, “Hasta la vista, baby”

You freeze at your stop. You can see Yoongi’s eyes narrowing on you. Jungkook hops on his bike and leaves within a moment.

You stand there, staring apologetically at the man you like and he sports an expression you can’t comprehend.

“So.. the rumors were true, huh?” Yoongi finally voices after what feels like an eternity.

“No- I-” also, you can’t tell anyone just yet. Got it? Jungkook’s words reel inside your head, “yes” you lie, crossing your fingers behind you.

“Congratulations” Yoongi greets before flashing his gummy smile at you and then leaving you there to look for his car.

“You really don’t care, do you?” you ask him. Even though you know he can’t hear you. There is a mixture of different emotions inside your gut and you are way too tired to name any of those.

@phenomenalgirl9 @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie @mikrokookiex @jjk174 @lallataegi @savageyoongi @jwnghyuns @parapiop7 @futuristicenemychaos @armystay89 @ryryvna @purple-realms

read the full series right away on Patreon!! (Start from part 4)

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fandomobbsessedb · 24 hours ago

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Your Favorite Player’s Favorite Player

Chapter 1 : Prologue.

Warning: Swears, fire, mob like guys, stressful situation, weapons, there may be some age inaccuracy but who the hell cares. It’s entertainment.

“Where have you been?”

I leaned my head down thinking I had my way past him. My snitchy ass older brother Gi-Hun. He’s always in my business. Even though he’s older by like, psh, 30 years at least, he’s always in my business, like he has to take care of me like a parent.

“I wasn’t anywhere oppa” I rolled my eyes at him going to walk past his much taller, lankier frame in the doorway.

“You weren’t wearing the shirt when you went to your friends house this morning, did something happen.” He asked crossing his arms. Knowing he had a soft spot for me, I turned off my attitude and turned on the theatrics. With a sigh I dropped my shoulders.

“Y/N, did something happen?” He asked again, his voice still sounding accusing. I rolled my pack off of my shoulder and pulled out the shirt I had this morning, my friend had offered to pour her juice on it so that I could leave the store wearing the shirt I wanted. Turning around with an upset face I held it out to him feeling his tough calloused hand take it from mine.

“(F/N)’s baby brother spilled his juice all over me earlier so she offered me her shirt to wear in the meantime.” I kept my gaze on the floor. I knew I would laugh in his face if I had to look at how stupid he was.

“Mhm, okay. I’ll just get this washed for you then.” He said with a softer tone.

“Thanks” I quickly turned away ready to shut myself in my room and empty my backpack when he just had to stop me again.

“Where’s F/Ns shirt from? It looks really good on you.” He said. Kissing my teeth I turned back around and shrugged.

“It looks like it’s from Nohant, and it was 50,000 won. Wow.” He added, causing me to whip around to face him, he was closer to me now, holding a ripped tag in his hands. With a surprised face he looked back at me. “At least that’s what this tag says” he pointed to it.

“Ugh, go away Gi-Hun.” I protested in his face, taking my shirt back, when he grabbed at my arm.

“Your stealing again aren’t you?! Damn it Y/N what did we talk about just a few months ago.” He shouted at me, keeping a firm grip on my arm.

“Let me go weirdo.” I struggled against him.

“No y/n, I care about you to much to let you go down this path.” He said harshly, rolling my eyes I met his with scorn.

“And why is that huh? Why DO you care so much, your not mom, you have your own issues, I’m just getting ahead my own way.” I spat in his face before he finally released me to my room.

I slammed my door shut and threw my bag down to start looking at the loot my friend and I had split. I heard a sigh from the door before he spoke up.

“Because, your life hasn’t even really started yet and you’re already sinking.” I heard him say before his footsteps receded into our creeky old house. I shrugged and started trying on jewelry we had snagged today.

Now as I look at myself getting ready for work in the mirror, I still don’t think what I was doing was wrong, because I’m still getting away with it, I mean, it’s not stealing if you don’t get caught.

And Gi-Hun wasn’t even around to catch me. Gi-Hun hadn’t been home for about a week, ever since he went missing for a week three years ago he hasn’t stopped going on about this game he thinks he played where 455 other players all died and he had won 45.6 billion won. Since then he’s been trying to find it again and stop it. I wonder when his cop buddies will give up on him and drop him off at home with a dementia diagnosis.

—— a few hours later——

There was only a few downsides really when your working at one of the shitier hotels in Seoul, Korea. Mostly the pay and the people, we have crooks and wrong doers staying all the time, even some working there. Myself included. When cleaning up one guests room while he was away, my eyes just so happened to meet the shiny watch and wallet sitting right there…. Right on the desk…….. I’ve been needing a new wallet, and that one looks like it would do just nicely.

Another upside is the five finger discount you get on “local” merchandise.

I quickly stashed the pricey looking objects into my bra before I grabbed my cart and left, assuming nobody had seen. However I failed to notice there were two guests staying in the room…. And one was using the bathroom when I came in.

I entered the elevator the next day ready to check into work, when a hand grabbed at the door, stopping it from closing, I went to step out of the way when the same hand grabbed around my throat.

My back was shred up against the wall of the shitty elevator as the thug jumped me. A handful of others walked in creating a shield around the sight. I heard them press a button for the highest floor. As the elevator made its way up, his hand slowly got tighter and tighter.

“Are you sure this is her?” He asked looking over his shoulder to another guy, wearing the clothes I remember dropping off from dry clean just the other day.

“Oh I’m sure, all the maids shoes look the same except hers, she’s got that cute little buckle on the ankle” he said lighting up a cigarette and kicking at my thrashing feet. I clung to his hands trying to pry them away from my neck only to fail miserably.

“Where’s my wallet bitch?” He asked picking my head up using my throat and slamming it on the wall again.

“What wallet, I have no idea-“ as soon as the strangled words left my mouth I felt a cold hard barrel push into my side.

“Need a reminder?” The goon asked close to my ear, I could feel the moisture coming off his breath as he get personally familiar with the tissue of my outer lobe.

I thrash again to get him away only to hear the cock of the gun. “Okay! Okay! I pawned it.” I cried out shakily as the grip on my throat got tighter.

“There’s no need to make this so hard you two.” A voice from behind spoke up. Just as I saw small dots in the corners of my eyes I was let go and kicked to my knees, the fall caused my tights to rip right at my inner thigh, when I tried to scramble away a loafer stepped on the tip of my tights causing my pull to bust even more of the seams. A well dressed man attached to the foot inside the shoe bent at his waist down to my level.

“I’m to assume you pawned it recently then correct? Must’ve given you a pretty sum in return, it was brand new too.” He softly spoke in my face taking my cheek softer than the other man had taken my neck. I nodded fearfully as my lip quivered.

“Knowing a pretty little thing like you has probably never seen that big of an amount in her life I’m going to assume you didn’t know what to do and just have it locked away at home right?” He asked. I nodded again my body growing shakier.

“Then I’ll tell you what, you go and get that wallet back, and this whole thing will have never happened.” He replied with a stoic face standing back up, releasing my tights. Nodding I leaned back against the wall.

“Until then however-“ he got cut off as the goon with the gun yanked my purse from me, “We’re going to hang onto this for some insurance” he said holding his hand out to the man to look through it. Opening my wallet they found my debit card, and a small picture of my brother and I from when I was little on the inside.

“Don’t let this take too long, otherwise- we’ll have to hold something else for insurance.” He quietly spoke, leaning really close to my face with the picture before using his lighter to catch the corner. I heard the bell ring signaling the top floor they where staying on. As all his men retreated from the door, right before the man followed he took one last look at me and dropped the now flaming picture onto the floor.

He pressed the button to shut the door and quickly jumping out of the way of the closing door as the machine once again descended.

With an aching sigh I sat up hugging myself. What was I going to do? I had spent the money. I used it to pay off some personal bills and previous expenses, it was only enough to chip at it though and if I didn’t have the money back from the wallet and its contents… it might just be easier for them to kill me.

Changing out of my work outfit back in the housekeeper locker room, I quickly left the building for the train station to go home. To try and figure out a plan.

When I got there I sat down on a bench far from the entrance and other riders. As I sat waiting, I took out my phone and considered… texting my brother…. I don’t know how he got all that money but he had it, I could borrow some from him just to pay off those guys or to buy the wallet again and give it back. But then I would owe Gi-Hun, I didn’t need that added stress right now. I felt a soft hand on my shoulder before I looked up.

“Miss is everything okay?” He asked, he had slicked back hair and a nice suit on, thinking he was a goon from before I jumped away from him grabbing for my pocket knife.

“Who are you, where you with those guys in the elevator,” I rushed out wielding my knife at him. Making a shocked face he simply smiled at me and said…

“I just wanted to ask if you might play a game with me. How does a game of ddakji sound?”

After having lost one too many of an easy kids game I felt a need for redemption. I stared at the number on the back of the card as I walked home. Was this that thing Gi-Hun was talking about before? I doubt it that was one measly kids game, almost half a hundred dozen people couldn’t have died from just that.

Walking into the house I sat at the table with a sigh as I cradled my face in my hands, thumbing at my sore throat. I stood to grab a bag of ice for my neck when I heard a creek from behind me. Whipping around and seeing nothing, I quickly shoved the card into my purse and quietly slunk to the counter to grab a kitchen knife. I quietly creeped towards the halls entrance as I heard the creeks of the one floor board getting closer and closer. When a body flushed past me at the entrance I swung out the arm with the knife only to be grabbed at my wrist.

“It’s just me Y/N.” Taking a glance at his starchy brown eyes in the soft light from the kitchen, Jun-ho released me and took the knife into his own hand.

“Oh, you had me worried” I sighed out resting my hands on my hips, “I thought some creeper had gotten In.”

“Is everything okay?” Gi-Hun spoke from his doorway making his way to meet us in the hall. With a groan I turned around to grab my purse from the table.

“I stand corrected” I mumbled hoisting my heavy purse over my shoulder once again.

“What happened to your neck y/n?” Gi-Hun asked me looking down at me concerningly.

Shoving him away from me I grabbed my purse from the table and walked to my room.

“Nothing” I mumbled trying to breach past him, only for him to gram my arm again, with a sigh I did the only thing I could think of.

“Really oppa, I’m fine.” I said again clearer, playing on his soft side, hoping he would just drop it. Luckily for me he sighed as well and released me. I big my goodbye to Jun-Ho giving my brother a small hug on his arm in goodbye, before he could hug back though I quickly left.

Later that day once I heard the both of them leave the house, I picked up my purse once again and dialed the given number.

“Do you wish to participate in the game? If you wish to participate, please state your name and birthdate…”

AN: AH OKAY THIS IS CHAPTER 1 what do ya’ll think? Too long? Too short? HOPE U ENJOY!! Stay tuned for chapter 2!!!!!

Yours truly

~ FandomObbsessedB

TAGLIST: @jamiewritesfanfiction-blog @blacksnape123 @newtsniffles @missmollya

#squid game imagine #squid game #jun ho #gi hun x reader #in ho x reader #gi hun #x reader #series

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bitkahuna · 3 days ago

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“I don’t know what you’re doing, but it won’t work.” He wanted to be firm, but he wasn’t sure he has the strength he needed. Fighting was hard. Weakness was easy.

Thranduil smiled, a soft curve of his lips that did not reach his eyes but still managed to seem sincere. "Oh, but Master Baggins, I am merely expressing my admiration. There is no artifice here." He leaned closer, the scent of pine and age-old wisdom enveloping Bilbo like a cloak. “You see, Master Baggins, in you, I see what so many of us have lost over the endless years: passion for life. A genuine joy. Appreciation of those little and quiet moments. I find you compelling.”

Bilbo’s breathing picked up. This was a mistake. A horrible mistake. While the dwarves could give him everything he never knew he wanted, there was something horrifyingly familiar in this moment. It was the romance and seduction Bilbo had always read about. Always dreamed of. The tender words and blurry mornings that led to messy beds. Yavanna help him, he didn’t want to say no. More than anything, he wanted to allow himself this. It was so perfect. So real. He could reach out and touch it. It could touch him. But a single touch, he knew, would end him.

“The words you speak to me, I’ve only ever read.” His heart lurched as he fought to keep it within his chest. Would he really choose this? Would he choose impending violence and a cold mountain over the warmth of this bright morning?

He could bargain, no doubt. Offer his body, his mind, his soul, his spirit, one or all to the elf king in exchange for his friends’ release. Tell them the bargain required him to stay behind and wish them well. Forget it all. Stay here. Lay back in the comfy haze and let the king do as he pleased.

“Which is precisely why I cannot let this continue.”

Rather than offense, more than anything, the king was curious.

“This is everything a hobbit could ever dream of. And I do not doubt that I intrigue you in the way you say. But just because I look a young fool does not mean I am one.” He shook his head. “This isn’t real. You want what you’ve lost because you cannot accept what you have. I would never be that for you, because I do not hate you enough to trap you in your past.” Bilbo stood in rejection of the sun.

———

The chambers were silent. Every hobbit in each room was sat before Bilbo, bated breath, as one of their own rejected an elf king.

“How could you?” Someone whispered, horrified.

Bilbo tried to smile, but it was flat. Tears threatened his eyes. His heart swelled. All he could think of was Thorin’s face in the moonlight. “I cannot explain.”

Bilbo would sit there, lost. Wondering. He could have had it all. He could have had so much. Yet that stinking dwarf in the dungeon, with his promise of a dragon's fire and a vague notion of a crown, kept him rooted in the ground in such a way that the sunlight’s haze would never have been able to take him. He was the cool glow of the moon.

Something weighed deep in Bilbo, and he took another sip of alcohol flavored with raspberries.

Was he mourning?

What did he mourn?

Why did he ache to think of Thorin when the man was only down the hall, perfectly safe and happy to be with him?

Or was it the end that never was? The haunting possibility that Bilbo could have made the wrong choice. He could have chosen to stay, and lost the dwarf forever. It was that very thought, he realized, that made him mourn for some version of himself that couldn’t have what he did now.

But the tears didn’t fall from his eyes until they landed on Mirabella Brandybuck. A spry and wise woman of nearly seventy, still appearing as in her late-middle age, as all elder hobbits do. She looked beautiful and radiant. But there was a sadness in her eyes. A knowing.

She lost her dwarf decades ago. Bilbo had his.

In that moment of brief eye contact, they both knew.

He sat by her, and she took his hands in her own.

“You know, Bilbo. I see the way that dwarf king eyes you.” She muttered, wanting to keep this between themselves. “I understand the choices you made.”

His lower lip trembled at the deep sadness within her voice.

“I had my own husband, my own children.” She trailed off as she fought back her shame. “And I did love him. My husband was a dear man, and he will always be in my heart.” She covered her reddening face with one fist, not wanting to show her sadness. Her hate. Her mourning. Was she truly allowed to love another man after her husband passed? They were only gifted ten years together before he passed in Fell Winter, and she was left with a small horde of cold fauntlings. “My children are my truest love.” She nodded firmly, calming herself despite the way her heart sank in its disgrace. “But I fear I’ve fallen in love with a ghost.” She shook her head. “He’s likely passed on as well.”

“Do you regret not chasing him?”

“No. Never.” She didn’t hesitate even a moment. “The children I had with Gorbadoc Brandybuck are the greatest joy I have ever known. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” Mirabella let a small smile come about her. “But, that charming dwarf.” Her eyes closed a moment, letting the tears fall so she could quickly wipe them away. “He may always haunt me as the greatest what-if of my life. I only hope I was able to haunt him the same.”

And so it was that they would both mourn for things that never were.

———

It was literally supposed to be a funny chapter about Bilbo telling the other hobbits about how Thranduil had hit on him to get him to admit why the dwarves were passing through Mirkwood but I wrote something else instead.

#bagginshield fic #the hobbit fanfiction #bilbo x thorin #bamf bilbo baggins #bilbo #bagginshield #bilbo baggins #thorin x bilbo #the hobbit bilbo #the hobbit #fanfiction #fanfic

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atlafan · 23 hours ago

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Bad Medicine - Prologue + Part 1

a/n: you can read this 8-part, completed fic on Patreon now! I always like to post the first part of a completed work here to give yall a taste. Consider joining my Patreon today to read the rest of this fic, and the many others I have on there. Happy Friday! Warnings: grief, funerals, a ton of sexual tension. best friend's little sister/brother's best friend trope Words: 10K Patreon

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Prologue

Harry

It was sudden and unexpected. But even when you’re given the time to prepare, you still fall apart when it happens, so there’s no difference.

My best friend died. We’re only thirty-one, this shouldn’t be happening yet. But a brain aneurysm doesn’t care how old you are, apparently. Tim hadn’t felt well one afternoon. We all thought he was dehydrated, so he went to lay down. When his mother went upstairs to check on him, his body was unmoving, and he had no pulse.

The Bakers are a close family. I had the privilege of being pulled in when Tim and I became friends. Tim’s father, Adam, died a long time ago, it was a mixture of lung cancer and high cholesterol. When he died, he left quite a bit of land to Tim and I. Tim’s mother, Georgette, had already known about this, but it came as a complete shock to Tim and I.

“It’s so you two can build the ranch back up, make it better.” Georgette had smiled somberly. “We didn’t think you’d be getting it quite so soon.”

My grandmother had raised me, but when she got too old to take care of herself, we had to sell our home. I moved her into the best assisted living facility I could find, and the Bakers invited me to come live with them. I barely needed to take them up on their offer because this happened around when Tim and I were set to go to college. We both got football scholarships at the same school. It was perfect. But I’d stay with them when I’d come home on breaks, and I had been going to their house since I was five. The Bakers have always been family.

Since Adam died when we were fifteen, our after-school jobs became mowing, fence mending, dirt packing, stall mucking, and so on. We worked our asses off to bring Black Beauty Ranch to life. Georgette was a big help with the logistics. She had grown up on a cattle ranch, so she knew the ins and outs of buying and selling cattle, horses, chickens, and so on. She knew the best vets to come in and check on the animals, she knew how to help the animal through giving birth, and she knew how to give horse riding lessons. She of course taught us all of that too, so by the time Tim and I graduated from college, we were ready to take the reins.

We built a big, beautiful house for ourselves. The land wasn’t too far from the Baker’s original house, so we created a throughway and had Georgette stay living there, while Tim and I lived in our big house. We call Georgette’s house Girl House, and we call mine and Tim’s Boy House. It was stupid, but because Tim’s little sister stayed with Georgette, and they were girls, it made sense for that to be called the girl house because that’s what it was. Rowan was actually the one to give us the idea. Not living with Georgette gave us the much needed independence we craved. We didn’t want to have to answer to anyone about who may or may not be sleeping over, and Tim didn’t want Rowan seeing random women coming and going.

After we built the boy house, we worked on smaller, ranch-style homes that the ranch hands could live in, if they so choose. We used several as Air BnB’s to offset different costs, and we even converted one of the barns into an event space so people could have their wedding receptions or parties here.

Families rented our horse stables, our horses too, and we offered lessons. The ranch hands did a superb job of keeping the cattle healthy, along with the other animals. We’ve made this place into a well-oiled machine. Even Rowan stepped up a few years back to do some freelance social media management for us. She set up an email marketing schedule, ads on different social networking sites, all of that shit. I don’t understand much of it. I think I only have Instagram and Facebook as apps on my phone, and that’s just to stay in touch with a few people and to switch into the business accounts to answer questions.

It wasn’t until a little later that it was revealed as to why Adam left his nearly 6,000 acres to us. His brother, Glen, thought he was going to get everything since the Baker home had been a generational family home. He only got the Baker General Store in town, and he ended up having to sell it because of the 2008 recession. He had that little bit of cash and nothing else. He’s tried to weasel his way into Black Beauty Ranch, but Georgette has been good about keeping him out of our business. The land was in a trust, split between me and Tim. Glen was pretty pissed when we met with the family attorney to go over Adam’s will.

“How could he do this to me, I’m his brother! That boy isn’t even related to us!” Glen had shouted, scaring Rowan. I’ll never forget seeing her little body tremble as she hung on to Tim.

“It doesn’t matter! This is what Adam and I wanted. We wanted to ensure the kids would be set up for long after we’re gone. Tim needed a partner, and Harry’s practically family. His grandmother babysat you and Adam when you were kids, remember?”

“So that makes him family?”

“Maybe I should go.” I had said, not wanting to cause any drama.

“Harry, it’s alright. Glen’s just being a baby.” Georgette said, then looked at Glen. “You’re getting the general store, what’s the big deal?”

“I already had the general store.”

“You had half of the general store. Adam left you his share. You only want the acreage so you can convert it into a subdivision and sell bits and pieces of it for people to build shitty homes on. The land will be a better use for Black Beauty.”

“What a stupid name.” Glen seethed.

“I picked it out.” Little Rowan had mustered the courage to say. “The boys let me.”

“It’s her favorite movie.” Tim said. “And we wanted her to feel like she had a say in things.”

“There are, like, eight different Black Beauty movies.” Glen ran a hand down his face. “This is insane!”

“It doesn’t matter. This is what Adam wanted, and I signed off on it when we put all of this together.” Georgette said. “This isn’t something you can contest. My husband died.” She took a step towards him. “The love of my life is gone forever, you don’t want to fuck with me right now, Glen.”

It was the first time I had ever heard Georgette use a curse word. The room fell completely silent, and that was that.

The ranch is really starting to turn a profit now. It’s been good for the town of Hawthorn, thanks to all of the jobs the ranch created. Other ranches and farms buy our cattle to sell to markets because ours aren’t pumped full of hormones or other bullshit. And even though somedays it feels like back-breaking labor, I love what I do.

But Tim’s dead now, so I have no idea how I’m going to manage the ranch on my own. Sure, Georgette is still here to help, but I can’t rely on her forever. I’m going to need to talk to Rowan when she gets here for the funeral. Maybe she can help out in the interim. She hasn’t lived at home in quite some time, but maybe she wouldn’t mind not paying rent for a while, that could sweeten the deal a bit considering she lives in LA where the rent is astronomical.

We all decided to meet at the boy house since that’s where everyone will go after the service. Georgette is already down in my kitchen. I’m just getting my tie tied when I hear Georgette exclaim, “She’s here!”. Hopefully her loud voice didn’t send my Granny into shock. She’s ninety, she can’t handle much these days.

I make my way downstairs, give Granny a kiss on the top of her head before topping up her coffee, and then the wind is knocked out of me when Georgette brings Rowan into the house.

She looks the most grown up I’ve ever seen her, like…like a real woman. All she has on is a simple, black dress, but there’s something different about her.

Before I can greet her, she’s throwing herself into me, crying, “Oh, Harry!” She sobs into my chest, and I have no idea what to do. I don’t want to hold her too tight. She’s already pressed up against me, I don’t need to feel any more of her than I already do. I decide to just pat at her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I know you all are sad too, I just don’t know how I’m going to get through this.” She pulls back and wipes under her eyes. “I can’t believe he’s really gone. Oh! Hi, Granny Styles.” She throws her arms around Granny. “How are you feeling?”

“Any time I sit, I have to sit on a donut or else my back hurts for a week. How the hell do you think I’m feeling?”

“Granny.” I can’t help but laugh. “Don’t be nasty to Ro, hm? Her brother died.”

Granny rolls her eyes. Losing a sibling is child’s play to her. She was forced to bury her son and daughter-in-law on the same day. There’s really no coming back from that kind of grief. But the upside is, Georgette has someone to talk to about what it feels like to lose a child.

“The town car is here.” Georgette says. “I’ll sit with Granny in the second row of seats, you two can sit in the back row. It’s nice that no one will have to sit up front with the driver. When Adam died, they wouldn’t let Ro sit on my lap, so they made Glen go sit up front. Come to think of it, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.”

“I’m glad he’s not riding with us to the cemetery.” Rowan says. “Why isn’t he, though? Since he’s immediate family.”

“I asked the undertaker if they could send a separate car to his house since your aunt and cousins are coming.”

We all head outside to the car, and I help Granny inside before rounding the car to open the other door for Georgette. Then I open the door for Rowan before going around the car again to get in on the other side. We’re all quiet, knowing that if we speak at this point, we’ll all just burst into tears. I, for one, would prefer to save my tears for the service.

We’re not late by any means, but we’re not the first to arrive. A few of the ranch hands are already here, as well as some friends from high school, and Tim’s ex-girlfriend, Delia.

Fuck. They broke up about six months ago, she must be devastated. I leave Georgette, Rowan, and Granny to go over to her.

“Hey.” I say.

“Hi.” Her voice cracks and I open my arms to hug her. She comes to me easily. When I feel her stomach meet mine rather quickly, I step back and look down. She’s wearing a long coat. She notices me looking at her stomach and she sighs, opening her jacket. “I was going to tell him.” She takes a deep breath and closes her jacket back up. “I wanted to wait until I knew if I even wanted to keep it or not. I didn’t know if I wanted to be attached to Tim for the rest of my life. But…when a few months went by, I thought about how much of a great dad he would be. So…so I was going to come here and tell him, and…and see if he wanted to try to make things work. I can’t believe I waited so long. I…” She buries her face back into my chest and I hold her.

“How far along are you, exactly?” I can’t help but ask.

“Almost five months. We had one last spontaneous romp when we bumped into each other at a concert. We both had been drinking and…well, you know, sometimes these things happen.”

“I have to ask the uncomfortable question: are you sure it’s his?”

“That’s valid.” She sighs. “I haven’t slept with anyone else. I went on a few dates after Tim and I broke up, but when I found out I was pregnant, I decided to focus on myself.”

“Alright.” I run a hand through my hair. “Tensions are high today. Come back to the house after the service. I think Georgette will be really excited about having a grandbaby. And we can give you a place to live, money towards pre-natal care, stuff like that, if you need it. I know how conservative your parents are…do they know?”

“No, I’m going to tell them after the baby’s born. I’m afraid they’d find a way to push me down the stairs or something. Your kindness and hospitality is much appreciated.”

“It’s what Tim would want.” I smile softly.

“I can’t believe how grown-up Rowan looks.” Delia nods towards her. “I mean, I know she’s twenty-six, but this is one of the first times it’s hit me that she’s not a little girl anymore.”

“I was thinking the same thing earlier.”

“Yeah? You were checking her out?” Delia smirks, and I feel my cheeks grow hot.

“No.” I say defensively. “Don’t be gross, Dee.” I shake off my embarrassment when I see Glen, his wife Priscilla, his son Malcom, and his daughter Elma. “I better go say hi to them. There are chairs if you need to sit.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

I go over to Glen and his family just as they’re wrapping up their hellos. I shake his hand and do my best to smile at my surrogate aunt and cousins. Me, Tim, and Malcom all graduated in the same year. I think Malcom was always jealous that Tim and I were closer, but the three of us did just about everything together for a while. And for the most part, we got along just fine.

“Isn’t it just terrible that funerals are the only times we really get together?” Elma dabs her eyes with a tissue. She’s three years younger than us. And even though I was never interested, Malcom gave me the, ‘don’t ever touch my sister’, talk when we were in high school, and he reminded me again when she turned eighteen. Then he got offended when I told him I’d never want to go out with Elma.

Malcom is just like his father in that he never understood why Tim and I never cut him in for partial ownership of the ranch. He claimed he could help and be useful, but this was something Adam had left to only Tim and myself, probably for a good reason, so we never cut Malcom in. Malcom is successful in his own right, having opened up his own real estate agency, not so cleverly called, Baker Realty. Elma is his accountant. Despite her faults, she’s a fucking whiz with numbers, I have to give her that. Neither of them are married with kids.

“Mrs. Baker.” The reverend comes over to us, addressing Georgette and not Priscilla. “We’ve filled in considerably. I think it’s time you all take your seats so we can begin. I believe Mrs. Styles is already sitting.”

“Yeah, Granny sat down right away.” I say and give Georgette my arm. I almost trip when Rowan takes my other arm. We all sit down in the front row of seats. I sit by Granny, Georgette sits next to me, and Rowan is on her other side. The rest of the family fills in the other seats. Delia sits behind us. I’m glad she’ll be off her feet for a bit. I feel Granny put her hand over mine and I turn to look at her. All she does is look at me and give me a soft smile. “Are you alright?” I whisper.

“It’s a terrible thing, to bury your child. It’s bringing back some tough memories, but I’m more so worried about you. You and Tim were attached at the hip. So, you just squeeze Granny’s hand any time it becomes to be too much, just like you did at your parents’ funeral.”

I kiss her temple then interlock our fingers. I don’t know what I’m gonna do when she eventually kicks the bucket.

The second the reverend begins, I feel my eyes water. Out of my peripheral, I can see tears sliding down Georgette’s cheeks. Rev talks about how we should look at things as a celebration of life and the ways we can keep Tim alive in our hearts going forward. Then he steps aside so others can speak. I take a deep breath and stand up first.

“To quote Emily Dickinson, ‘my friends are my estate’. This was true for Tim. Land, money…none of that mattered to him as long as his family was happy and healthy. Tim had to grow up fast after his father died. He stepped into the ‘man of the house’ role seamlessly. He took on a lot and never complained. Tim and I have been friends since kindergarten. I was instantly pulled in as a member of the Baker family. I’ll always be grateful to him for giving me a sense of normalcy. The world will be different without Tim.” Tears start sliding down my face, but I’m still able to speak without hiccups. “It hasn’t completely set in that I’ll never be able to go fishing with him, or go for a ride on our horses, or even muck out a stall with him again. Tim was my best friend, my brother…and I loved him.” I look back at his casket. “I’ll miss you, buddy.” I sit back down and Georgette mouths, ‘thank you’.

Rowan goes up next, but she’s only able to get a few sentences out before she has to sit back down. A couple of other friends share some kind words about Tim, and then we’re all standing up as he’s lowered into the ground. Rowan’s sob breaks me out of my trance. She sounds like she’s been stabbed. Turning to her, I open my arms and let her hug and hold onto me. She clutches to the lapels of my suit jacket, and I wrap my arms around her, resting my chin on the top of her head.

“It’s okay, honeybee.” I say, just above a whisper, “We’ll get through this.”

I see Malcom and he’s already looking at me, narrowing his eyes. I have no idea why.

We’re all eventually pried away from the gravesite, and back at the boy house. People are eating and drinking and sharing more stories about Tim. Some people are still crying, but it seems like everyone has a shoulder to lean on. I head into my home office for a minute alone, and to grab a beer out of the minifridge. Tim and I shared this space. We always joked around that it looked like an old detective’s office, with the desks pressed back-to-back.

Just as I’m taking the cap off my beer, Rowan comes in and closes the door behind her.

“We’re doing everything with the will tomorrow. Your mom figured Glen would put up a stink, and we didn’t want that happening today.”

“I wasn’t coming in here to talk about that. Delia just told us she’s pregnant and that you said she could live here if she needed to.”

“I’ll have her stay in your mom’s house. I don’t want her coming to me as some sort of surrogate boyfriend, or father to her baby.”

“I’m…gonna have to move back here to help out…aren’t I.” It’s not a question.

“I’m sure your mom would appreciate it.”

“The second I come back here, she’s going to-“

“Rowan, now really isn’t the time to be a whiny brat.” I snap. “None of this matters right now. Your brother died, can we just get through his funeral before we make things all about you?” I take a swig of my beer before setting it down. “I know you have a whole other life in LA. I’m not gonna twist your arm to make you come back, but it sure as shit would be nice if you did. I can’t run the ranch by myself, and I can’t rely on your mom. Tim would have wanted you to take over his share, and I’m fairly certain that’s stated in his will.”

“I’ll have to quit my job…I wouldn’t be able to come back right away. I’ll need to drive my car back. I’ll need help.”

“I’ll have your mom fly out to help you, and then she can drive back with you.”

“Not you?”

“No, I’ll be needed here.”

“Where would I live? If Delia’s gonna move in with Ma…are any of the smaller ranch houses available? You must save a couple for the Air BnB.”

“They’re all booked out, and all of the other houses are taken. If one opens up, it’ll go to Delia. She’ll only want to live with your mom for so long.”

“So…I’d live here?”

“What’s wrong with your house? It’s not like Delia’s taking over your room.”

“I cannot live under the same roof as my mother again.”

“Cut her some slack.”

“Right now, I have all the freedom in the world. If I move back in with her, she’s gonna start up with house rules and other bullshit.”

“And you think there wouldn’t be rules here with me?” I smirk, crossing my arms over my chest. “Because let me tell you, young lady, I have rules.”

“Oh?” She smiles, and it’s rather…flirty. I’m suddenly aware that we’re alone in a room with the door closed. “And what might those be?”

“You really want to live with me? This house is huge, but it’s not like every bedroom has an en suite. We’d be sharing a bathroom, this office-“

“I won’t mind being around you so much. I never have.” There she goes, being flirty again.

“Let’s just cross that bridge when we come to it, okay?”

“Okay.” She sighs. “Anyways, I only came in here to take a break from everyone. Thank you for speaking so nicely before. I wish I could’ve gotten all my words out.”

“You did your best. It’s not easy.”

“I should go check on Delia. She and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

I watch Rowan leave, biting into my cheek as I watch her hips sway. Did she have to wear such a tight dress? It’s completely appropriate with its high neckline, and it goes down just above her knees, but the way it accentuates her…assets…

I sit down at my desk and sigh, feeling sad when I look up and don’t see Tim sitting across from me. It’s at this time, I notice an envelope on my desk with my name on it. It’s Tim’s handwriting. I open it immediately:

“Harry, if I’m to perish in an untimely manor, there’s something you need to know. If I’m not around, then I won’t be there to make sure Rowan is alright. Even though she doesn’t come home as often, if something happens to me, she’ll come home. I want you to look out for her the same way I did. She’ll need a positive male force in her life, and I don’t want Uncle Glen or Malcom trying to do that. It has to be you.

This isn’t my secret to tell, but you should know that Rowan has a major crush on you. She does a good job to hide it, but I’m not an idiot, it’s clear from the way she looks at you. I don’t think you ever would, but my wish is that you never start a romantic relationship with her.

My reasoning behind this isn’t because you can be sort of promiscuous. I’ve seen you have wonderful relationships, so it’s not that I don’t think you’re capable. And it’s not because I don’t think you’re worthy of my sister. But if you were to ever get together, and it didn’t work out, there would be a rift between you and my family going forward. Tensions would rise, and it could ruin the peace we’ve built at Black Beauty. Even if you fall in love with her and truly think you could make it, don’t go after her. If she flirts with you or asks you out, turn her down. It’ll hurt and it’ll suck, but it’s what has to be done.

I know this seems insane, but I never want you to be on bad terms with my family. So, please, honor this wish of mine.”

I’m stunned. Did he really think I would ever jeopardize everything we’ve worked for? Flush sixteen years of work down the toilet just so I could fuck his sister? I don’t even like Rowan like that. And what was all that shit about her having a crush on me? I suppose the flirting makes sense, but that could also just be playfulness. I’ve never noticed her looking at me or anything. But then again, I was never looking at her.

Not until today.

What else is odd is that Tim never verbally spoke with me about this. Since Rowan is a decent chunk younger than us, he never had to give me the ‘don’t touch my sister’ talk the way Malcom felt the need to do with Elma. And why wouldn’t John just give this to me tomorrow when he reads out the will? Who found this, and who put it here?

This is not good. Not good at all.

Part One

Rowan

When my mother called to tell me that Tim had died suddenly, I was in a state of shock. I didn’t believe it, but also put her on speaker so I could immediately book my flight out to Hawthorn.

I only come home sporadically, for certain holidays. I wanted so much more out of life than smelling like horse shit and dirt. I went to college in LA, and pretty much never came home, moving there full time after graduation. I have a great job doing social media metrics and analysis. I work the job remotely, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do it and help out on the ranch at the same time. I’ll have to talk to my supervisor. I know I’ll have to move back here for good. Harry’s right, he needs me to take Tim’s share.

I suppose it won’t be all bad, being around Harry all the time. I’ve missed him. The way he held me today and just let me cry into him was everything I didn’t know I needed. I’m sure he still just sees me as Tim’s baby sister, but I could have sworn there was something different in his eyes when he looked at me today. It was like he was seeing me clearly for the first time in his life. It sent a wave of confidence running through me.

Five years is a big age difference. I knew that growing up. I knew nothing would ever happen between us, not until we were older, at least. Thirty-one and twenty-six doesn’t seem as huge. We’ve both matured, especially me. I’ve learned to take care of myself. That’s partially why I don’t want to move into my mother’s home. She’ll take everything I’ve done and squash it in a matter of minutes.

I love my mother, and it’s not that I don’t get along with her, but I have reasons as to why I moved away. I needed to breathe.

Every other minute, I get hit with a wave of reality. My brother is gone. He’s never coming back. I haven’t felt this lost or sad since my dad died. I was only nine when that happened. Tim took on so much and never complained, just as Harry said. He was so much more than a big brother to me. He and Harry taught me how to fish, start a fire at a campsite, to swim…Tim was always there for me. But so was Harry. He’ll make coming home much easier. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll start seeing me as more than just Tim’s little sister. We can deal with our grief together and help each other, and I can show him how adult I’ve become. I’m not a little girl anymore. I haven’t been for a very long time.

“Rowan, Tim’s share of the ranch goes to you.” John, our family’s attorney says. We’re all in the home office, listening. Harry’s barely looked in my direction. But I’m not holding anything against him. It’s a weird time. “If after a year you want out, Harry, and only Harry,” he looks at Malcom and Glen, “can buy you out.”

Okay, so if I hate it, I only have to stick around for a year. That’s not so bad.

“How does that make any sense?” Glen asks.

“Because the ranch is in a trust, and myself and Tim are the only ones allowed to sell and buy and do things with it, you jackass. Now it’ll be Rowan and I.” Harry huffs. “John, please continue.”

“The boy house is yours, of course. The girl house is still Georgette’s, but it’ll go to you and Rowan when she’s done with it. Tim leaves his personal affects to you, Harry, to do whatever you want to them. Is there a Delia Anderson present?”

“That’s me.” Delia raises her hand. I didn’t think my brother would have left anything for her. He didn’t know she was pregnant. “Tim…mentioned me in his will?”

“He stated that in the event of an untimely pass, he wanted to give you the money he had saved for an…engagement ring.”

“Oh my god.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, clearly trying not to cry. “I can’t believe I fucked up so badly with him.” She buries her face in her hands and sobs. My mother goes to her quickly, rubbing her back.

“Dee, you didn’t know this was going to happen.” Harry says softly. “You can do whatever you want with the money. Can set up a retirement account, or something for the baby.”

“Right.” Delia sniffles. “Thank you.”

“I thought Tim didn’t know you were pregnant.” Malcom says.

“He didn’t.” Delia snaps. “That’s just the kind of guy he was. We were together for four years. We still loved each other. We just needed to take a break.”

“John, is there anything else?” Harry asks.

“That was the last item.”

“Great, meeting adjourned.” Harry claps his hands together. “Everyone can leave now.” He looks at Glen and Malcom as he says this. “Bye, see you at the next holiday gathering. Malcom, we’ll get beers later in the week, yeah?”

“Alright.” Malcom nods with a sigh.

“So,” my mother says once the other Bakers are gone, “Rowan, how quickly do you think you’ll be able to pack and wrap things up at work?”

“I don’t know. At least two weeks.”

“Alright, I’ll fly out when you’re ready and we’ll drive back together.” Ma says. “That shouldn’t take more than a couple of days if we set our minds to it.”

“Okay.” I look at Harry who’s looking anywhere but me. “Harry, should we sit and go over things, like, what you’ll need me to do around here and all that?”

“I can have that ready for you for when you get back.” He says. “I need time to really sit and think about it.” He looks down at his watch. “I have to go. A few of us from the football team are meeting up for drinks to honor Tim. I think coach is gonna retire his jersey.”

“Oh, that would be so nice.” Ma says. “Go on, have a good time with the boys.”

With that, Harry leaves.

“Well, I should get my shit packed and get ready for my flight.” I say.

“So, you’re not leaving any friends or boyfriends behind?” Ma asks.

“I mean, I have friends out there, but I still have friends here. And no, I don’t have a boyfriend. I haven’t had a boyfriend in, like, eight months. I’ve been focusing on myself.”

“That’s good.” Delia chimes in. “Smart. I’ll drive you to the airport. It’ll give us time to catch up.”

“I’d like that.”

Two Weeks Later

Three days alone with my mother. It didn’t start off bad. She was happy I rented a U-Haul to hitch to my SUV. I wanted to bring my bed and bedframe home, and it made it easier to pack the U-Haul rather than my car. We stopped for one night and got a motel room. Conversation was surface level, but good. Neither of us wanted to talk about Tim because neither of us wanted to start crying.

We talked about how nice it was that a few of my friends helped me pack all my shit before my mom got there. That led to her asking questions about me not having dated much since my last boyfriend.

“I don’t know, Ma. It was like the more I talked about where I grew up and what I grew up doing, he started to get more condescending. He talked to me like I was simple, like as if I didn’t have an undergraduate degree and a master’s. Any time I asked if he’d come home with me for a holiday, he told me we should go to his family’s. He started mansplaining more and more. I didn’t like it, so I t up with him. He didn’t believe it at first, but I changed my locks, blocked his number, and held firm.”

After telling my mother that story, she told me she was proud of me, and then she started telling me stories about guys she went out with before my dad, and how my dad was a breath of fresh air compared to all those other guys, and how she hopes I’ll find my own breath of fresh air.

As we take the exit off the highway that leads into Hawthorn, she starts fidgeting.

“Honeybee, are you sure you’d rather live in the boy house with Harry? I mean, it’s called ‘The Boy House’, for a reason.”

“It’ll be easier, Ma. Harry and I talked about it. The office is here, we’ll be able to go to the sites together easier. Your house is like half a mile from here.”

“When did you two talk?”

“Last week, he called me and we went over a few things. Why?”

“No reason.” She shrugs. “He just usually keeps me in the loop, that’s all.” I notice her grip the wheel a little tighter. “It’s a little odd to be living with a man you’re not in a relationship with.”

“It’s like having any other kind of roommate.”

“You’ll be sharing that upstairs bathroom.”

“I’m aware.”

“Have you ever shared a bathroom with a man before?”

“Um, yeah, every day when Tim and I were living with you.” I sigh. “Ma, if I really have to go and he’s in there, I’ll go use one of the downstairs bathrooms.”

“What about if he brings a woman home?”

“He’s an adult, he can do whatever he wants.”

“Fine.” She concedes. “If at any time it becomes too much, though, you come home to me and Delia.”

“I will.”

Ma pulls into Black Beauty Ranch, then down the road to the boy house. A ton of people are waiting outside, and there’s a big sign draped along the porch that says, ‘WELCOME HOME, HONEYBEE!’ Times like these, I cherish being from a small town.

“Oh, wow.” I beam as I get out of the car. Sally, Harry and Tim’s executive assistant, is the first to hug me. She’s in her mid-fifties and incredibly sweet.

“Harry and I organized the whole thing.” She tells me. “The ranch hands are here to help. Some of the ladies made food for everyone, plenty to go around. Are all your boxes labeled by room?”

“Of course they are.” I smile.

“Good.” She smiles back at me and kisses my cheek. She looks at Eduardo, the foreman of the ranch hands, and says, “alright, send in the troops!”

Eduardo gives me a big hug after telling the ranch hands to start with the U-Haul.

“We missed you, kid.” He tells me.

“I missed you all too. I’m happy to be home and on the ranch.” A woman comes over to me and gives me a hug.

“Ro, I didn’t get a chance to see you at the funeral, I’m Sarah.”

“Oh! You’re the head of the events team.”

“I am.” She beams. “I was a year below your brother in school. I’m so excited that we’ll be able to work together in person, make all the social media stuff you do even better.”

“Yeah, Harry said I’ll probably be taking over the weekly meeting you have with him. I’m great at project managing. I’m looking forward to working with you too.”

“He said what?” Her smiles falls slightly.

“Well, it’s just that he meets weekly with Sally, and then with Eduardo. It would free up some time for him if I take over your weekly meeting, and I don’t mind. You have others on your team, right? Daryl and Janey, right?”

“Right.” She swallows.

“Sally, where’s Morgan?”

“I sent her off with Harry so I could be here.” Morgan is the admin below Sally. She takes care of more of the day-to-day things like general emails and phone calls. “They had to pick up a few heifers earlier today. They should be back in a bit. He really wanted to be here when you got here, but they couldn’t reschedule the sale.”

“Oh, it’s fine, I get it.” I wave her off. I watch as the ranch hands start bringing boxes into the house. I notice Sarah talking with my mother. My mother looks annoyed, but not with Sarah. She looks annoyed with whatever Sarah just told her.

Hmm. That’s…interesting.

After saying hello to a few more people, I start helping to bring my stuff inside. I’m certainly not going to sit around while everyone does everything.

I’m grateful that so many people made and brought food. We’re all hanging out in the kitchen, stuffing our faces. I told most of the people they could leave once all the boxes were in. I’m not going to let anyone unpack for me. That’s my responsibility. So, it’s just me, Sally, Ma, Eduardo, Sarah, and Delia. Thank fucking God for Delia. I always liked her, and even though she started dating Tim by the time I moved to LA, I still knew of her. She’s just a kind human being. I’m glad she’ll be part of our family again.

“Hello!” I hear Morgan from the mudroom. She comes into the kitchen and squeals. We run towards each other and hug. Morgan and I have been friends forever. I’m glad she’s working at the ranch. “Sorry, I probably smell like cow shit.”

“You don’t.” I laugh. “Are the heifers alright?”

“Yeah, they’re great. Harry’s down at the transition barn, he’ll be up in a few minutes.”

The transition barn is where all the new cattle go to get acquainted with the new surroundings. It’s comfortable and peaceful for the cattle.

“You know,” Morgan says after popping a cherry tomato into her mouth, “he was super anxious all day about getting back here. He really wanted to be part of the warm welcome.”

“He’s sweet like that.” Sally says. “He’s been fretting around the house for the past week making sure everything was in suitable condition for you.”

“Oh, I feel bad. He didn’t have to do anything special for me.” I frown.

“You know Harry.” Eduardo says. “Always looking out for honeybee.” He kisses my temple. “Well, I’m gonna head to my house. My darling wife has plans with her friends, so I need to go take over parent duty.”

“Bye, Ed, thanks so much for your help today.” I give him a hug, and he gives me a good squeeze before heading out.

“I think it’ll be good if we all get going. Rowan needs time to unpack.” Sally says. “Sarah, come on, I’ll drop you off at your car.”

“No, please don’t go yet! Morgan’s staying to help me unpack my room and stuff. You’re all more than welcome to stay.” I tell them.

“I have a better idea, we’ll all go to Georgette’s.” Delia says. “We’ll have some dessert and coffee. Decaf, obviously.” She chuckles and cups her bump.

“Sounds good to me.” Sally says. “Let’s go, ladies.”

Sarah flashes the fakest smile in my direction, then leaves. My mother gives me a hug and goes out with Delia and Sally.

Morgan and I head up to my room.

“It’s not weird for you to be taking over Tim’s room?” She asks me.

“Nah, Harry actually said he preferred it. It’s better than leaving it like a shrine or turning it into an empty room. Besides, the only other bedrooms up here are at the other end of the hall, and this is the only bathroom up here. I love the Jack and Jill style.” I open the door. “It’s kind of cute that they put in a double vanity. I remember when they first showed us the bathroom layout when they were building it, and my mom point blank asked if they were more than just friends.”

“Ha! I know, they lived like two old ladies who have been ‘special friends’ for thirty years.” Morgan smirks. “Do you think he’ll get freaked out with all the girly stuff in the bathroom?” She looks at my box of products and toiletries.

“He’s a modern man, I don’t think a few razors and bottles of various products is going to be an issue.”

“What did LA do to you? You’re like one of those Tik Tok girls who uses like eight products just to wash their face.”

“Stop making fun of me.” I take the box from her and go into the bathroom. “All of this stuff helps. Now, my mini lazy Susan can go in this corner. That’s what I put all my makeup and brushes on. This little shelf organizer is for my mouth products. And this shelf organizer houses my morning and night time skin care routine products.”

“Why do you need sweat bands?”

“They’re not sweat bands.” I laugh and slide them onto my wrists. “They stop the water from running down my arms when I wash my face.”

“Okay, that’s valid.”

“There we go. Clean and organized and not in the way of his stuff. I love how big the counter is. We won’t even bump elbows if we’re in here at the same time.” We head back into my room and start organizing my closet. “I like to keep things color coordinated, and by type of article. So, all tank tops should be together, and so on.”

“You’re like Danny Tanner.”

“A clean and uncluttered room will keep me calm. It’s something I have control over, if that makes sense.”

“It does.” She nods. “I’ll start on this end with your dresses.”

“Thanks.” I smile.

Many hands make light work. One of the last boxes of clothes is what was in my underwear drawer.

“And who exactly were you wearing this sexy thing for?” She flings a thong at me.

“No one.” I laugh. “I wear them with my leggings.”

“That’s a sex thong.”

“It is not.” I pull out a pair of lace panties. “These are sex panties. The cheeky bottoms are the best for sex. They’re not alluring.” I hold them up to my bikini area. “Don’t you just wanna take these off with your teeth.”

“Um…” she covers her mouth, hiding a laugh. She nods to tell me to look behind me.

I turn around, still holding the panties to my crotch. Harry’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, and a smirk on his lips.

“Oh, hi, Harry.” I can feel my cheeks heating up.

“I can see you’ve settled in.” His smirk grows. “Nice panties.”

“Thanks.” I swallow. “I got them on sale at Victoria’s Secret.”

“Good for you.” He looks down at them, then back up at me. “I think they’ll look a lot better in your dresser drawer.”

“Right.” I ball them up and hold them behind my back.

“Do you need the bathroom? I’m desperate to shower.”

“It’s all yours.”

“Morgan, you should get going. You’re probably exhausted.”

“I am exhausted.” She sighs. “I was just waiting until you got in. There’s nothing weirder than being in a new space by yourself. Can’t have my girl feeling lonely.”

“Thanks for all your help.” I tell her and give her a hug.

“Don’t mention it. Night, Har.”

“Night, Morgan.” He watches her leave, then looks at me. “The room alright?”

“Yeah, it feels like my own.”

“Good.” He nods. “And everyone came by and helped? Sally and I organized everything.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“I know, she told me. Everyone was a huge help.”

“Did you, uh, like the banner?”

“I loved it.” I make my way closer, and go to hug him, but he stops me.

“Don’t. Uh…I stink. I’m gonna shower.”

I nod and watch him leave. Even though that was a little awkward, I’m glad he’s home.

I decide to change into an oversized T-shirt and bed shorts, then go downstairs. I never got to have dessert earlier, and I need something sweet.

Harry

Any other guy would’ve been freaked out by all the feminine touches Rowan’s added to the bathroom, but I don’t mind. It makes it feel like home again. I was getting sick of only seeing my stuff around. I packed all of Tim’s stuff up and put it in the attic.

The only thing I need to be mindful of is I can’t walk around in just a towel anymore, or only in my briefs. I made sure to buy a ton of pajama pants and T-shirts. There’s a lady in the house now, I can’t be all exposed.

My stomach growls, so after I get dressed, I head down to the kitchen. Rowan’s already there, sitting up on the counter, eating something right out of the container.

“What’s that?” I ask, smirking.

“Oreo trifle.” She says, licking her spoon. “Want some?”

“Maybe in a bit. I need real food first.”

“How are the heifers?”

“Snug as a bug in a rug.” I sigh. “One of them is little, very cute. They’re all for milking and breeding. No slaughtering.”

“Yeah, we just save the slaughtering for the men.” She grins, and I grin back as I grab some Mac n cheese out of the fridge. I grab a fork and eat out of the dish. If she can do it, then so can I.

“God, Sally’s husband makes the best pulled pork Mac.”

“It was a real crowd pleaser. I made sure to save you some.”

“Thanks, honeybee.” I ruffle the hair on the top of her head, and she swats my hand away.

“Don’t.” She whines. “Can I ask you about Sarah?”

“What’s up?”

“That’s what I want to know. I told her you said I’d be taking over the one on ones with her, and she got sort of upset. Do you guys have a secret thing or something?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then what’s her problem with me?”

“Sarah and I dated for, like, a second in high school. We stayed friends afterwards. She’s great at being the head of the events team, an excellent colleague. But, selfishly, I want you to take over the weekly meetings because I don’t always feel comfortable meeting alone with her.”

“Why not?”

“She’s a little bit attached to me.”

“From having a high school romance?”

“Well, I was sort of her…first.”

“First what, boyfriend?”

“No, her first.”

“Kiss?”

“No.”

“I’m at a loss.”

“Rowan, I was the first guy she had sex with.”

“Oh! Oh my God, I totally forgot people actually had sex in high school.”

“You didn’t?” I don’t know why I’m so surprised.

“No, I was way too scared of getting pregnant and having to drop out. I didn’t have sex until I was nineteen, and on birth control.”

“And somewhere that Tim couldn’t scare off any boyfriends.”

“That too.” She nods. “How old were you?”

“I don’t know, fifteen?”

“That means Sarah was fourteen!”

“What? No.” I laugh. “I was seventeen when I had sex with her, and she was sixteen.”

“You were having sex with multiple people?”

“Well, yeah. Who was gonna stop me, my granny?” I smirk. I seem to be doing a lot of that with Rowan.

“Good point.” She scoops some more trifle onto her spoon, but before she can bring it to her mouth, I snatch her wrist and take the spoonful into my own. “Hey.” She pouts.

She locks eyes with me, and I take the spoon from her. “This is good. Who made it?”

“No idea.”

I shrug and go in for more, but instead of eating it, I hold up the spoon to her mouth, and she takes the dessert into her mouth. She takes the spoon from me, and I lean both of my hands on the counter on either side of her hips. She feeds me another scoop. I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to her before. I can see every little freckle that’s speckled over her nose and cheeks. I stick my finger in the trifle and smear it onto the tip of her nose before standing up straight.

“What’d you do that for?” She laughs.

“I don’t know, felt like it.”

“Ohhhh, okay.” She takes the spoon, that’s full of trifle, and presses it onto my nose so it stays there.

I take a deep breath and remove the spoon. I pick up the container and reach for her head. She squeals and hops down from the counter.

“What’s the matter? I just wanna talk.” I say.

“No, you want to shove my face into that.”

“No, really, I just wanna talk.” She races to the fridge and pulls out a pie. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

“I don’t know.” She walks towards me. “You tell me.”

“Alright, Baker, drop the pie, and no one has to get hurt.”

“Drop that trifle first, Styles.”

“We’ll put them both down on three. One, two, thr-“

“Harry, what’s that?!”

“What?!” I look behind myself and don’t see anything. I turn back to her and then…chocolate cream pie is being thrusted into my face. “Rowan.” I say lowly, wiping pie out of my eyes. “I literally just showered.”

“Guess you’ll have to spend extra time on your skin care routine.” She snatches the trifle from me and puts it back in the fridge.

“You know what? You’re right. I’m so glad you’re here.” I open my arms. “Come give me a hug.”

“No way.” She laughs.

“Come on.” I start walking towards her.

“Harry!” She squeals and I snatch her just in time, and I rub my cheeks all over hers. “Stop, stop!” She laughs, and that’s when I start tickling her sides. “I tap out!” I let her go and wipe my face with my shirt. “Gross.”

“Welp, you’re in the boy house now, darlin’.” I make sure to add my best country accent, and she pushes my shoulder. “Get used to it.”

“Ugh, come on.” She takes my hand and pulls me out of the kitchen.

“Where are we going?”

“To the bathroom.” She tugs me upstairs and into our newly shared bathroom. “Sit.” She pushes me to sit on the lidded toilet. Then, she pushes some sort of head band onto me to pull my hair back. “I’m doing myself first. You can sit there and wait.” She puts an identical headband on, along with two sweatbands on her wrists.

“Sweatbands?”

“Oh my God, Morgan said the same thing. They’re not sweatbands, they help make it so water doesn’t run down my arms.” She flips the hot water on and dabs at her face with a washcloth.

“How many products do you use?”

“Well, first, I fully wash my face.” She does so, and I watch her. “Then, I pat dry. Once the skin is dry, I use a cotton pad and rub cleanser onto my skin, followed by toner.”

“And what do those do?”

“Cleanse the skin-“

“Didn’t you just do that?”

“No, I exfoliated. You exfoliate and then you cleanse. The toner helps with pigmentation and scarring.” She dabs it onto her skin. “Lastly, a light, oil free, nighttime moisturizer.” She fans her face afterwards. She sits up on the counter, then gestures for me to come to her. “Okay.” She dips a new washcloth into the hot water in the sink, then presses it to my face, over and over, getting it wet. Then, she pumps her exfoliant into her hands, rubs them together, and starts working it into my face. “Close your eyes.”

“Sorry.” I close them and try to relax. It feels kind of good to have her massaging my face.

“I’m draining your lymph nodes.” She explains. “Feels good, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You should really get a professional facial done sometime. They’re life changing.”

“Hey, honeybee?” She hums her response. “You’re not in LA anymore.”

“I’m well aware.” She dips the washcloth into the water and starts rinsing my face. “There are spas in Hawthorn.”

“I’d have to go out of town.”

“That can be arranged.” She pats my face dry with a cloth, then starts putting the cleanser on with a cotton pad, followed by the toner. “Some time you should let me put one of those blackhead strips over your nose after a shower.”

“Is it that bad?”

“No, but it wouldn’t hurt to do it occasionally. With all the sunscreen you wear, and all the dirt from the ranch, your pores get clogged like crazy.” She rubs the moisturizer into her hands, then spreads it over my face. “There, all clean.”

“Wow.” I look at myself in the mirror. “M’all glowy.”

“Yup.”

“Are you gonna do this for me every night?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yeah, kinda.” I can’t help but laugh.

“Then you can pitch in for the products. I’m happy to help you with skincare. Just wait until the morning routine.”

“I’ll be counting down the minutes.” I take the headband off. “Is it okay to brush my teeth now, or will that throw everything off?”

“Don’t sass me.” She hops down and grabs her toothbrush. “Brush away.”

We take care of the rest in a comfortable silence, lingering after we’re done.

“Well, I guess…this is goodnight.”

“Did you finish unpacking your room? Do you need help with anything else?”

“Just putting away clothes. All my furniture is built and in place. You’re probably exhausted.”

“I’ve caught a second wind. I’ll come hang out while you finish. You’ll feel better if it’s all done tonight.” I follow her into her bedroom. “Any other lingerie you wanna show me?” I ask as I lay back on her bed, crossing my arms behind my head.

“Very funny.” She rolls her eyes with a smile. “I don’t have a ton of frilly things.” She bends over and picks up a ton of socks to put in her top drawer. I decide to sit up and see what other boxes she has. There’s one that’s labeled, ‘bedside table’, so I open it. I want to be helpful. I notice her double take as I rip the tape open. “Harry, wait!”

“What?” I look down and I feel my cheeks flush.

“Don’t you know that a woman’s bedside table is filled with her…goodies?!”

“Jesus, look at this thing.” I pull out a rather large, purple, silicon dildo. The internal end has ridges on it, and the external attachment is diamond shaped. I’ve never seen one like this before. “This is huge, it actually fits in you?”

“Don’t touch it!” She snatches it, and the box, from me, putting it back in. “Weirdo.”

“We’re adults.” I lean back on my hands. “It’s a bonding experience for us as roommates. Now answer my question.”

“Of course it fits in me. It’s my favorite one. It’s called a g-thumper. The inside thumps and vibrates against my…my spot.”

“Why is the external part diamond shaped? I’ve only ever seen rabbit ears, or those ones that are for suction.”

“It…Harry, this is embarrassing.”

“Just answer the question.”

“It kind of slips between and under the hood, so everything gets stimulated. It vibrates.”

“Ohhhhh.” I nod. “Cool. What else do you have in there?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“You shoved a pie in my face. Show me your goodies.”

“Why? So if you hear me you’ll have a better picture for your imagination?”

“Don’t be gross. I’m not a voyeur.”

“You’re only a voyeur if you’re watching.”

“Whatever, you know what I mean. Come on, teach me what women actually like to use. You just did the same thing with the skincare. You have to unpack the box regardless.”

“Fine.” She kneels on the floor and opens her bedside table drawer. “I have organizers for them and their chargers. I already put those in. Okay, so you’ve met big purple. This one is just for internal use, it thrusts on its own.” She holds up a pink silicon dildo. “And this one is just for external use, but I can never get it to work right, and takes too much effort to use, but it’s nice to use with a partner.”

“Why with a partner?”

“So the guy can focus on the fucking.” She closes the top drawer, then opens the bottom one. “Here’s my toy cleaner. And my different lubes. There, are you happy now?”

“Yup, very.” I lay back down with my arms crossed behind my head. “Continue on with your clothes.”

“Gee, thanks.” She shakes her head. “What toys do you use?”

“I don’t use any on myself.”

“Really?”

“Well, not when I’m alone.”

“Now, why is it okay for you to use one with a partner, but not me?”

“It’s not that it’s not okay, I just don’t think a lady should have to worry about getting herself off. That’s the man’s job. He should be in charge of the toy. Or at least telling you where to use it.”

“Harry?” She sits on the end of the bed.

“Hm?”

“You know what’s nice about not being related to you?”

“No, tell me.”

“I could never have a conversation like this with Tim. It would be weird. I…I was really hoping for us to grow closer with me moving here, really be friends, you know? Even though I’m still five years younger than you, that age difference doesn’t feel so big anymore.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Do you think…I mean, I can’t talk to my mom about Tim, she’ll get sad in a way I can’t even comprehend, but do you think if it’s a particularly hard day that I could come to you, and we could talk about Tim?”

“I’d like that.” I sit up and give her shoulder a squeeze. “I don’t like talking to your mom about him either. It would be nice to have someone to talk to.”

“I’m really glad you’re letting me live here with you.”

“I never would have said no. It’s been so quiet these last two weeks, I’m really glad you’re here.”

She throws her arms around me, and I wrap mine around her. I feel my neck getting wet, she’s crying.

“Sorry.” She lets go of me and wipes her tears.

“Don’t be.” I cup her cheeks and rub her tears away with my thumbs. “It’s okay to cry.”

“Harry…could I ask you to do me a massive favor? It’s going to seem really childish, and you can feel free to say no, but…would you lay with me until I fall asleep? I always have trouble sleeping in a new space for the first time.”

“Yeah, I can lay with you.”

“Thank you.” She leans in and I turn my face, her lips pecking my cheek.

“Go on, get under the blankets.”

She nods and crawls to the other side of the bed. I’m not planning to sleep in here the whole night, so I don’t bother getting under the blankets with her. I turn the light off, and keep my arms crossed behind my head. Rowan cuddles up next to me and rests her head on my chest. I let one of my arms fall around her.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Rowan.”

#bad medicine #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles fic series #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x oc #harry styles x y/n #harry styles y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #rancher!harry #ranchrry

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kcalsforhim · 2 days ago

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𓏲.ೃ࿔❀˙˖ ｡ wednesday 8 jan 2025

༄.°

i weighed myself this morning and i actually weighed 49.2 so i felt kind of proud of myself even tho that’s not even LW yet aha…

i felt sickly and gross, so i ate a breakfast

98g cucumber — 12cal

250ml oreo cola — 0cal

in the fridge were 3 burritos. god i wanted them, i wanted them more than anything, i wanted to eat all 3 even tho the 3rd one had ingredients i didn’t even like and i just. cried for a bit. i would smell the food like a crazed person. took a step back then and eventually threw it away because it was just making everything unnecessarily hard

i actually felt decently good afterwards. i remember not sleeping well the night before you know ? i ate it pretty slow and i was like… wow i feel so much better knowing i didn’t eat those burritos. eventually floods and waves of relief came over me. eli was there for me she also said my meal was mealspo LOL

i did my whole outfit and makeup and. oh. my god. i just felt so huge and fat in that fucking outfit and i was COLD as a motherfucker. i wanted to change but i didn’t and i live to regret it i felt so massive the entire day. i even confided in that insecurity to haku who was even shocked cause by now you guys know i love cool and revealing fashion ?! i told myself its likely the weather cause a lot of my doubts recently have just been the aweful cold sharp wind i can feel in my bones if im not properly dressed…

covered myself up the entire day except for during an exam where i had to take off my jacket and even my apple watch and i felt like EVERYONE had their eyes on my flubbbery ass stomach it was godaweful. i went to the station with haku and there we had such a nice deep conversation and i realised quite a few things about him during that conversation

afterwards we went home and i just took the nearest train. got to the local train station and started walking to my friends house. she owed me money still. we went to return her cans so she could give me the change but she ended up using her can receipts to buy cola and that rlly pissed me off cause she still owed me 2,60 euro :/ didn’t have the energy to be too mad tho i just acted like it was fine

i went home i had gotten some soda too but i could actually afford it LMAO. walked home with my bag being so heavy i felt like the gravity could cut off my arm and i got home. mom made me something good, something safe, so i didn’t mind eating it if i skipped my protein bar.

this diet im on is all about pushing the limits, but preventing binges and staying consistent in the 200-300 cal range is the ultimate goal above all else

100g pumpkin pieces - 15cal

135g of chicken breast - 143cal

124g of cucumber - 17cal

8g of white chocolate - 44cal

1 medjool date - 66cal

oh and the guilt with this, my oh my. you guys have no idea. but, it’s okay, i counted very intently and i ate it room temp cold. i HATE cold chicken so i really thought it was alright, the flavour was of course nice but there’s only so much you can enjoy. the chicken and pumpkin pieces are coated on soy sauce, which is what gives it that color. i promise on my life that’s not potatoes LMAO

the piece of chocolate is cut in half, my mom offered me a whole piece it was from some semiluxury brand. i didn’t know how to handle it so i cut it in half and gave it back to her and i said so she can try it too, aren’t i so thoughtful ? i definitely should’ve binned it…

do you guys like my new pink tray ? i think it’s way cuter than the dinosaur one i had been using before we happened to have in the house. i have 2 sizes and this one is the larger size

i want to retake these photos when im thinner, and after i found these pictures i just started spiralling more and more, i looked at pictures of my old self, then at HW, then i deliberately looked at pictures of myself i can’t even recognise myself in yet i feel the same way he felt. fat and guilty and ugly and every part of him was huge. i still lack willpower just like he did i in actuality didn’t make much progress sadly. i hope i can change by the time summer comes around. i remember crying till i fell asleep LOL

bonus : i had a dream this night about new years, my dream was about me and an old old friend of mine hanging out with my mom and getting her to take courage to see the fireworks. in this dream she was scared of them. but. somehow. my protein bars SNUCK INTO MY DREAM. i was feeding them to her to help her with her restrictive diet in this dream. DUDE

the fact i share a dutch accent / dialect with this genre of music and this kind of guy is going to send me. i found this song on tiktok and it made me laugh so much i gotta

𓏲.ೃ࿔❀˙˖ ｡ stats for today

streak : 3 days !

cals : 297

steps : 19.0k

today was okay but the clothes i picked i am not putting myself thru that again untill spring cause it’s too cold and i am currently fat as a motherfucker.. im actually excited for my protein bar later today guys i want those tiny cals.. about as excited as i can be for… a single bar but ok

༄.°

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changelingsandothernonsense · 3 days ago

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Wip Whenever

I think I might sequester wip posts to once a week on a Thursday (coz it's Thursday). I'll post art and maybe a writing snippet if I'm up for it. Just gotta keep wips low-key.

anyway I got tagged by @skyrim-forever @firefly-factory @pocket-vvardvark Tagging @nyarevar and @archangelsunited. No pressure 🫂 The rest of the post is under the cut.

I've been working on the render that I started in December, just have his hair and some extra lighting details left.

And an idea for the next render

And a snippet from You, where Josh gets harassed by Hircine again.

“Fine,” I finally replied, shoving the ring back in my pocket, “What do you want me to do.”

The spectre nodded again, pleased with my answer, “I see you’ve matured since we last met, Blodskaal. I expected to hear protests?”

I sighed, “An what would refusing the Lord of the Hunt do? I’m old Hircine, I’m too fucking tired to argue.”

“You are a strange one, Nerevarine but I will make use of your—” The spectre paused for a moment and blinked its large eyes at me again, “Compliance.”

I grit my teeth as Hircine continued to rattle on, my hand still clasping the ring that I had shoved into my pocket.

“The one who stole my ring has fled to what he believes is his sanctuary,” Hircine continued, “Just as a bear climbs a tree to escape the hunter but only ends up trapping himself. Seek out this rogue shifter who has lost my favour, flay the skin from his body as you once did centuries ago and make it an offering to me.”

I shook my head as I finally let go of the ring in my pocket and folded my arms, “You want me to do what I did to Heart-Fang? Why should I do that? That kid’s done nothing to me.”

“Did Tharsten Heart-Fang do anything to you in the Hunting Grounds, Blodskaal?” Hircine countered, “Or was he acting on his nature?”

I rolled my eyes, “Heart-Fang attacked me in that maze, I don’t much care for his reasoning. That kid back in the gaols did nothing but annoy me a little. It’s not an equivalent.”

“It hasn’t stopped you before, Blodskaal.”

‘He’s right, Sero—'

‘Shut it,’ I mumbled under my breath. The last thing I needed was Nerevar’s input. It’s his bloodthirstiness that got me into that mess out on Solstheim in the first place. I was content pissing my time away watching that mine.

“Not an equivalent,” I spat, replying to the two of them. I’d killed my fair share of people for ridiculous reasons, sure but I didn’t relish in having blood on my hands. Well, not the part of me that I associated with my old self anyway. There was a part of me that relished it but I’d always attributed that to Nerevar’s influence. A partial melding between the two of us that didn’t quite work in his favour.

It's a part of me that does not mix well with who I want to be. It churns about in my gut and merges with my paranoia like a demented slurry. I’d always tried to push that desire out of my mind, but there's always something that grabs me and throws me back into wanton violence. Then I spend all my fucking time justifying to myself why I did it in the first place. If they attacked me, then I have a reason to kill as I wish.

The thought just makes me feel sick.

“There is no retribution in the hunt, Nerevarine. I do not seek vengeance as you do, no. Merely the glory of the hunt,” Hircine’s voice boomed throughout the clearing, and I struggled not to cup my hands around my ears. That kind of vulnerability in the face of the likes of Hircine would be a grave mistake on my behalf. Though it seems that the spectre noticed my discomfort regardless, “Nerevarine, there are countless others that would gladly accept my favour. They will hunt him while you delay. It is your choice.”

“I’m not looking for your favour,” I replied flatly, “If I recall you orchestrated this whole thing to lure me out of hiding. Why the fuck would I seek you out of my own volition?”

“Be careful with your words, Blodskaal,” Hircine threatened, “Do not think you have the upper hand here just because you possess my artifact. You may have once been favoured by Azura but she has long abandoned you. You crave that favour again. That is why you will do as I command, because you are compelled to do so by your very nature—”

I spat on the ground in front of me, the taste of ash burning in my throat as my fury rose. I hated this sort of tactic, insult aspects of myself that I had no fucking control over and attribute everything I do as an inevitability because of that. As if I was never capable of change. That I needed to be treated like shit just to get me to comply. I was no stranger to it, whether it was my bastard of a grandfather, Orvas Dren, Caius Cosades, Nerevar, the Daedric Princes, the fucking Tribunal! Fuck even you at the end reduced me to nothing but the curse that corrupts my flesh!

Everyone who ever believed in me is either dead or too far away to help me right now. All I had at the end of the day was myself and I’d been fighting alone for two human lifetimes at this point. The only person who could stand up for me is myself and I knew there was one thing this fucker was wrong about.

Azura never truly abandoned me, I abandoned her.

“Fuck this,” I growled, turning away from the spectre. I was done parlaying with a fucking Daedra. It’s rid myself of the ring in some cave or a deep hole or something and hope that it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass again. I heard my guardian move and crackle as Hircine’s voice boomed through the clearing once again.

“You never had a choice.”

And my own voice echoed his words as I hit the forest floor.

#wip whenever #my art #my writing #danger!josh #teldryn sero #dunmer #nerevarine #skyrim #the elder scrolls #hircine #morrowind

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writelives · 2 years ago

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here i am offering some smol little one - liners again !

#⸻ ❛ 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐨𝐰 » ooc.#// and i mean smol like literally smol smol #// you can specify or get who i have muse for #// i am offering lots of these so u can ask for as many as u want #// i only offer because i think i did all the ones from the old one #// and i want to offer more #// as i am about to write things

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teaboot · 9 days ago

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One time my mom took me to a hibachi grill with a bunch of her friends and if you've never been to a hibachi grill basically the draw is that theres a bunch of interactive performance stuff done by the cook who cooks for you at your table, and one of the tricks they did at this one was take a squeeze bottle full of liquor and shoot it into your mouth across the table (with permission)

And now at our table my mom explained this because it was my first time going, and she wanted to make sure to warn me it was liquor because she knows I don't drink- she just said "if he offers to shoot at your mouth, say no because it's alcohol".

And so the chef does his thing and it's all very impressive, but the time does come where he pulls out this squeeze bottle of booze and asks me if I wanna try

I of course say no, because I really don't do alcohol, so he moves on to someone else

And I watch, and slowly come to understand that this is some sort of game, because once someone is drinking from the continuous flow the chef starts counting "ONE! TWO! THREE!"

I realize that we're trying to see who can keep drinking the liquor from three feet away without choking or spilling, and its a bummer cause i kinda wanna try and I CAN'T

But he goes around the table with everyone there, and I think my mom makes it to three, one friend makes it to five, I think my brother got to three as well, and he comes back to me

And I'm REALLY bummed out now but I will not drink alcohol, so I sort of sadly repeat that I can't when he pulls out a SECOND BOTTLE and grins and goes "juice?"

And Im like FUCK YEAH LET'S GO and I'm a bit worried he's gonna spray it into my eye or something but he doesn't, it hits me right at the back of the throat, and I start drinking while the whole fucking table counts "ONE! TWO! THREE!"

And like

It just sorta

Kept going?

And Im looking at the chef and he starts freaking out by the time we get to six, and at around seven I kinda start looking around and my auntie is staring back in shock, my brother is laughing his ass off and my mom has her face in her hands

And then at like nine or ten it gets like. Super tense and quiet, and only the chef is still counting

And I guess it got too much for even him cause we're at eleven and I don't believe in quitting early and it is almost painful how awkward it's getting

So he cuts me off at twelve and raises his hands in the air and everyone else cheers and claps like a dumb movie

and I just sit back in my seat to look back at my mother staring at me surrounded by everyone she knows, bright fucking red in the face and choking with honest to god tears in her eyes and she puts her face back in her palms and starts chanting "I don't want to know. I don't want to know. I don't want to know"

So I give her the biggest, proudest grin and tell her, "I won."

So now every time something suggestive happens in a movie, or in conversation, or something shocking happens around us and she goes to jokingly cover my ears, I just ask her, "Remember when I won?" And she goes face-down and groans, because I know EXACTLY how she thinks I trained to develop that particular skill and she HATES knowing that about me

The truth is though, I'm a whole ass 28 year old virgin. I've never so much as kissed anyone in my life. I had no idea I could do that trick until that exact moment

But she doesn't know that, and I'm never gonna tell her

#EVER #That is the proudest I have ever been #teaboot #teaboot stories

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muntitled · 12 days ago

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Protecting His Investment

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: No one gets to hurt you except him.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Language, Implied Violence, Age gap, God Complex, Brainwashing, Psychopathy, Murder, Blood, Gore, Codependency, Yandere!Salesman, Stalking, Smut (+18) mdni, Voyeurism, Blood Kink, Sadomasocism, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Choking, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Blood Play, fingering, Massive Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Sadism, Punishments, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Squirting, Overstimulation

A/n: I'm not responsible for the media you consume.

This can be read as a continuation of this fic but not strictly

“Shouldn't I be blindfolded?"

If it weren't for the silence simmering between you both, in this monotonous taxi drive, he might’ve not heard you at all and perhaps you should have been more careful with your choice of wording but you were feeling a tiny bit reckless this Wednesday afternoon. He hadn't ever offered to personally fetch you from campus, and you felt incredibly juvenile when you spotted him standing there like a dad, in his grown-up suit while his briefcase hung in his hands in front of him. You'd almost convinced yourself that you were imagining things. That somehow your obsession with the man who kidnaps you every Wednesday to fulfill all his messed up fantasies was truly taking a toll on your mental health.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he was real. And he had come to pick you up and you were feeling awfully giddy as he ushered you both into a taxi while a few of your peers stood and stared.

By now he would've blindfolded you. Keeping you completely clueless to the location he brings you to every Wednesday. See, your Salesman had myriad deep rooted issues. Mania. Sociopathy. Sadism. But the issue that irked you the very most was his inability to trust. Before you know it, you're pouting up a storm as you ask him. "Why aren't we using the blindfold today?"

He slowly removes his gaze from the window, where he had been pondering like the old man he is. He quirks up an eyebrow, letting the intensity of his attention wash completely over you.

"Would you like to be blindfolded?" He asks playfully. His eyes are sparkling with amusement and his lips are quirked up like it usually is when he's being sardonic. Still, you remain cautious as you lean forward. You send one quick glance to the taxi driver, wondering if you were being led in some kind of hearse on the road to your death.

"A-Are you going to kill me?" For the first time, cold, white fear ices the warm blood rushing through your veins. Come to think of it, he did seem far chirpier than usual. Perhaps that should have been your first warning. The flags were blood red but you were wearing rose-tinted glasses.

He only snickers before placing a heavy hand on your head, patting it down.

He doesn't answer you for the duration of the taxi drive, causing you to slip more and more into your thoughts of morbidity and despair. Why else wouldn't he blindfold you if not to end your life once you got there? It seemed dreadfully logical and so on-brand for him. He'd get bored of you sooner or later and then he'd dispose of you. There'd be no need to blindfold you any longer while he took you to his place because you'd soon become a corpse and-

"Doll." The voice cuts through the chatter filling your brain. All at once, the car has stopped, and warm air rushes into the interior as he holds the door open for you. "Get out of the nice man's car." He jests politely, quickly prompting you to unbuckle your seatbelt and scramble out of the taxi.

The second you're out he walks ahead of you. The building that comes into focus before you have your brows crinkling.

You quickly catch up to him, gazing up at his monotonous face. "Why are we here? You never come to my house."

He doesn't respond as you both walk into the foyer. He walks briskly and powerfully, like a man on the move while you send a small wave to the security manning the front desk. You both enter an empty elevator and he presses a button without you ever having to tell him which floor.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

He lowers his gaze to you, one eyebrow quirked up.

"You only die when you disappoint me and as of late," he stares directly ahead, "You haven't disappointed me."

The elevator dings and he steps out. You follow him like a puppy without a leash. "In fact I'd say your work ethic as of late has been-" he blows out a long sigh as he makes it your apartment door- recalling all the weeks you two have spent together in vivid kaleidoscopic images. All the pain you let him inflict on you and pleasure he'd offer as a reward.

"-nothing short of stellar. I'm proud of you." He punches in the code to your apartment and you both enter. The curtains are drawn shut because your roommate hates sunlight. You preferred it but there was no communicating with something like her.

He kicks off his shoes at the door.

"What are we doing here?" You ask nervously, "My roommate will be back soon and she isn't very nice."

"We won't be playing at my place today." He says finally meeting your wild and nervous eyes. He seems so lax and so in control. "We'll be playing here."

"B-But my roommate."

"Is that why you were crying?" His gaze keeps you rooted to the floors, unable to move even if you wanted to, "Because of your roommate?"

"Crying? I wasn't crying-"

"Back at the university," he says, casually removing a microscopic piece of lint from his grey blazer, "Your head was beant and you looked up at me with bloodshot eyes." His eyes shine with amusement as he says, "Usually with our sessions, the crying only comes later on." Then he quirks his head and asks, "What happened?" There's a bang somewhere in the apartment and your head snaps forward. Your eyes scan over the adjoining living room and kitchen but he seems unfazed.

"It's stupid-" you shake your head, "Like who even still gets bullied in uni?"

You laugh pitifully, leaning against the nearest wall. He stands tall before you. A brick wall.

"Your roommate's threatening to kick you out of this apartment to move her boyfriend in?" He asks before adding, "Again."

Your head snaps up to him, "H-How-"

In that moment, he turns rather robotically, making his way deeper into your home. It's clean. Thank God.

"You don't realize how chatty you get when you're about to orgasm." He says before stopping right outside your closed bedroom door.

"My roommate- she... decided last night that- well- she would really like her boyfriend to live here instead-"

"Without consulting you first?" He clarifies, staring blankly ahead at the door, listening very attentively.

"Y-Yes without consulting me." You bring your hand to the doorknob, on your way to open it but he stops you with an iron grip around your wrist. You wince.

“Continue talking.” He says and you do.

"This morning they both kinda sprung on me that they'd like to be living here now. She went behind my back and already placed the deposit down our landlord, well," you clear your throat. "I might be homeless soon." You laugh but then swallow very thickly as the gravity of the situation falls onto your shoulders.

"And still you decided to have our sessions today?"

"If you'll have me," you nod.

"Remarkable." He replies. "Well I've never been very fond of my things or my toys getting dirty." He begins mysteriously as he places his hand directly over yours on the doorknob.

"Pardon?"

"I can't have my favorite toy living out on the street. Who knows what kind of animals would try to rape you or drug you or fucking stick their slimey dicks inside you-" he turns the doorknob, clicking your room open.

You're not even sure when this started happening. These 'private sessions' with your Salesman that quickly bled into something much more concerning. Before you knew it, he was seeping into your brain, polluting you with obsession. There had never ever been anyone else involved.

"What the hell did you do?" You ask, slowly entering your room to find two chairs placed directly in front of your bed. As soon as you enter, you hear the blood curdling, muffled screams being ripped from the throat of the two people strapped to those chairs.

"I'm protecting my investment," Says your Salesman as he pushes the door closed behind you.

Your feet feel like lead as you watch them and their panic-stricken eyes. There in front of you, they sit opposite one another, both with a haggard countenance and tears streaming down their cheeks.

At the sight of you, your roommate screams something horrid but it's muffled by the gag placed in her mouth, a gag the shape of a dog bone.

He's there too. The boyfriend. He's not as loud or as frantic as she is but he's significantly startled. His eyes are wild and vacant. The same gag.

"Oh my god-" you begin but he cuts in front of you, making his way to the couple seated across from each other.

"We're all gonna play a game- a quick one," He says, "Can't play for too long because I've been dying to get inside you since I saw those pretty little bloodshot eyes."

"Sir- I"

If you knew his name you might've screamed it in this moment. 'Sir' is your only point of reference to address the manic man in front of you.

This isn't right.

Right?

You're so confused, you barely register than you've thought out loud. It hits you as he slowly shrugs his blazer off.

"What isn't right is them thinking they can rape this apartment from underneath you." He says, folding it and placing it meticulously over your desk.

"I- have neighbors!?" You begin but he has a plan for that too.

"I had your room soundproofed since our first session." You're pushed into even more confusion.

"WHAT!? When did you even-"

"While you were at school-" he says before uncovering a handgun from his briefcase. A handgun and a silencer.

"Point is, Doll, I'm going to need you to play a game for me, ok?"

"DOLL!?" Comes your roommates' mortified and muffled cries.

"I need you to make one tiny decision for me." He says, screwing on the silencer onto the barrel of the revolver. It strikes you then that even when the mask is off, and the worst workings of his personality are on display for all to gaze upon, you still find him breathtakingly attractive.

"If-" tears burn the back of your throat, "If this room is soundproof why-why do you need a silencer?"

"I'm nothing if not a cautious man, you know this." Then his expression turns very grave and very dark as he says. "Don't you?"

“Yes, Sir,” you reply almost automatically. Like your need to respond to him- to please him, greatly overpowered your moral compass. “You're extremely cautious.”

Your roommate releases a shrill noise from the very back of her throat, her eyes pleading with the humanity she desperately tries to find in yours.

“Out of these two, he's my least favourite,” Your Salesman says, standing beside you. Eyes wild as he points his gun to the boyfriend's head.

“But this isn't about me,” he turns to face you, slowly dragging you gaze away from the victims that had once been your tormentors. You look up at him with a broken sob slipping through your lips. “I need you to choose.”

There it is.

His words seem to detonate what little fate you had in his humanity. There is nothing in his eyes except hedonism and violence.

"I'm going to have you to choose very quickly, baby-”

You're already shaking your head as frazzled braids tickle your shoulders. Your eyes find theirs and you immediately say, “I'm not going to do it.”

When you look at him again, you're almost horrified to find the smile that had once been on his face, completely wiped away. His face is a shadow and it strikes you way more than anything ever has. Something in you scolds you. It gnaws at you to make things right.

“Don't do that.” He says darkly. “Don't disappoint me.”

His hands -one still holding a gun- moves to cup both your cheeks. He cranes your neck further back, gazing deeply. “I can't have you living on the street.”

“You don't have to kill anyone-”

His jaw ticks, “Pick.”

“Sir…”

“You're disappointing me.”

All it takes is those three words to have your world crashing to the floor. Tears blur your vision as you raise a trembling finger.

“Him. I pick him.”

It's the first time you realized that you were brimming with codependency

Or stupidity.

Or maybe both

“That's a good girl.” He coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The father you never had.

He lets his eyes meet that of the boyfriend who is shaking and writhing in seat.

“What a good fucking girl I have, wouldn't you agree?” He asks the boyfriend yet he only cries and cries and cries. Meanwhile, you're bathing in the warm, milky words of praise.

"I suppose you wouldn't be able to agree to much in a second-"

He raises the gun.

Wait-" but the trigger is already pulled, and the bullet slices through the air and the deed is done.

It's remarkable how fast it travels. The speed of the bullet. Like it's competing with light itself. One moment his head is there and his brain is inside it, functioning like usual and the next moment, it's splattered all across my bedroom wall, coating your stuffed animals and drenching your pink bedding.

“You killed someone…”

“We killed someone, and you did such a good job. Now we're real rich people-”

You shake your head.

“Oh my fucking god we killed someone-”

It's stupid, but the first thought that comes to mind is-

“How- How am I gonna get the stain out!?”

“I'll get you new sheets, Doll, I promise…”

Meanwhile the roommate is crying and screaming her throat hoarse. You watch gravely as vomit soaks her gag.

“That's fucking disgusting.” He says before turning back to you. A spray of blood scatters across the side of his handsome face. He'd just committed murder and yet you still describe him as handsome.

“You're not disgusting at all.” He says, “You're so clean and beautiful.” His large hands rub over your face. “And now this apartment's yours. Ours. Maybe.”

Ours.

That word somehow affects you more than the murder you'd just lay witness to. It has you staring up at him with grateful, love-filled eyes. You're still scared but, you were his. And that was a powerful feeling. You'd never belonged to anyone before. Certainly not any man as handsome or smart as this. This isn't rose-tinted glasses anymore, it's rose-tinted vision.

“We killed someone.” You say. Solidifying the fact that you were a couple.

Your heart rages in its cage when his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head.

“Fuck yes we did,” he moans before smashing his lips down onto yours. Confusion and discomfort wage a terrific and bloody war inside you as he kisses you absolutely dizzy. Your insides are swirling and your stomach is turning at the sight of the blood drenching your walls.

he tips your head up, forcing his tongue in and he moans when you let him. Your tongues touch and coax and he pulls you in close.

“You know how good you looked when I picked you up earlier, Doll? I loved seeing those bloodshot eyes of yours.” He mumbles, “I just hated not being the one to make you cry.”

You sob something awful. The sound escapes you while your lips are still plastered to his.

“But this is all me,” he says proudly, gazing down at your watery eyes as he pins you up against the wall. “This is all me.”

Your roommate sits in a daze. Over his wide shoulder, her eyes stare blankly into yours and you almost find yourself mouthing the words 'I'm sorry'.

Almost. But you never do.

Your brain is too clouded by feelings of fear, regret, pleasure and… satisfaction. In your defense her boyfriend really fucking sucked.

"Take this off." He groans, lowering his large build to the floor to shove your shorts and underwear down. Undressing you almost formally as he lifts your one leg out followed by the other.

Your eyes are still on her.

Every vile word she's said to you. Every occasion she'd bring her equally cruel friends over and they'd gossip about you loud enough for their words to carry through the walls.

You realize very gravely that your care is waning.

That humanity that was still left inside you is thinning.

And he's pressing wet kisses against your legs, worshipping the soft cellulite at your thighs.

A man in a suit at his knees for you and she's forced to watch.

It makes you feel so-

"Fucking beautiful, fuck." He groans.

The more riled up he is, the less care he gives to how crass his language becomes. As if trapped in a daze, with your eyes still on your tormentor -your bully- you hook your fingers into his hair. Parting your legs you lead his mouth to your exposed cunt and he slurps you up for all your worth.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he eats you out with vigor. He flattens his tongue and suctions his mouth against your clit, causing a deep and guttural moan to spill from your lips.

He pulls back, breathing raggedly, "Fuck my face," he commands, before placing both hands on your ass, enough to have your cunt riding his open mouth. It feels so fucking good your eyes are stinging with tears. You let them fall because you'd know he'd appreciate it. He appreciates every tear in your confidence. Every waver in your air-tight judgement. It undoes him completely to see you so fucking pathetic.

He looks up at you while you're riding him. Those morally black eyes are urging you to hump his face and you do.

At the sight of your tears falling his nails dig into your ass and you moan more. All the sounds you're able to make are in intelligible sounds of pleasure. But you force yourself to come to your senses. Just long enough to whisper

"Th-Thank you, Sir,"

He stills. Completely stunned.

You come. It crashes down on you all while your roommate tries to squeeze her crying eyes shut, shaking her head as if trying to delude herself into believing none of this is real.

"You are fucking fire, you know that?" He croaks, slowly rising. You're breathing oh so quickly and it only speeds up at the sight of your arousal casting his jaw.

“I wanna fucking hurt you so bad. I wanna eat you. I wanna fuck you. I wanna do so many unspeakable things to you- you're so perfect.”

He throws one more gaze over his shoulder. His almond eyes scan over the body, then the girl and he groans, furiously undoing his belt.

"How the fuck did I get so lucky?” he says, almost to himself.

"Answer me." He presses his body firmly against yours, until your spine is straight against the wall. "Fucking answer me when I talk to you."

He growls before bringing a hand up to your chin. It's painful the way he grabs you, but you're so used to pain. It lives here now. Between you both.

"I-I- don't know-" you really don't know and he melts at that.

"I'll tell you how, Princess. " he wraps your leg around his waist, "People like me- people we call crazy and evil-” His eyes are so wide, his smile too. -we get nice things. And people like that-" he quirks his head backwards, “The weak? Those people on the streets, they die.” He says, grinding his cock agaisnt your cunt, “And we don't die, yeah?"

"Oh fuck." You're seeing stars when his cock sinks into your cunt. It's hard and raging and he's already doing multiple shallow thrusts to force it deeper. "S-So big-" you can't talk, you hardly ever can when he's like this. Fucking you into an absolute frenzy.

"You gonna squirt for me, Doll?” he grits his teeth, hips stuttering as he ravages you against the wall. "F-Fuck." Some

“She's a really good squirter-” he turns his head to watch your roommate over his shoulder. Her head is slumped forward, she's fainted perhaps.

After weeks of trying to impress him, to show him that you were not the weak little thing he had first kidnapped- you realize it's paid off. He caveman grunts as he fucks you deeper and harder and a cry rips itself from your throat.

“Y-You want me?” You ask with trembling lips.

“Baby,” he breathes directly into your mouth. “I need you.”

"F-Fuck-" your orgasm sneaks up on you and he watches with immense gratification as you come undone on his cock.

“You're making a mess on my cock-” clear liquid streams out of hou, threatinging tk lush his cock out but he fucks you through it.

“Gonna fucking cum inside you, baby. You're gonna take it, aren't you? My good girl's gonna fucking take it,” he throws his head back as his eyes flutter closed and soon he's fucking spurts of warm cum into you.

It fills you completely until the mess is coating your thighs. Through your wave of endless euphoria you see stars, the planets and him in the very centre of it all, guiding you and coaxing you through the bountiful high.

Even when he's done, his cock is still nestled deep inside you, pushing you over the brink of stimulation.

"You're very promising.” He admits, “Always have been.”

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abysswalkerastraea1 · 3 months ago

Text

Sporadic Contingency

The predicament you found yourself in was utterly unfathomable. Death was yet to come for you, perhaps it was because you had a lot to offer the clown; he in turn reciprocated. Perhaps he thought you were amusing, for now.

Your morals must be twisted because one thing was for certain: There was no denying the unshakeable, terrifying tension building between the two of you.

12,400 words

Slow burn

Rough sex (obviously!!)

Art being a fucking dom

The predicament you found yourself in was utterly unfathomable. In fact, thinking back through foggy thoughts, you couldn't really trace back to where this started.

You supposed fate aligned correctly for you. Logically speaking, you had a lot to offer the clown, and he in turn reciprocated favours.

Living within the vast forest adjacent to miles county, not many people ventured into the thick greenery. You had resided here for some time, at first with your father and then on your own once he passed.

You're grateful for the fact that your father had such a lively business. If not for that, you doubt you'd ever be able to live so well and comfortably all alone on the outskirts of the county.

You lived in an old cottage with ample firewood to stay warm and luscious land that stretched afar. A lot of it you used to keep animals.

You were accustomed to fattening the pigs up through spring while they birthed their young and slaughtering them in the winter for food supply. It was just another day at work for you; not that you had to work. You could live amiably without any need of strenuous hard work like farming, but you enjoyed it.

It was more of a passionate hobby than a job.

You travelled into town for any necessities you may need in your fathers old truck, but largely remained to yourself and a chunk of the townspeople knew that.

Some called you crazy for living in nature while that killer was on the loose, but you moving into town didn't necessarily change your chances of survival.

Thus you stayed put.

It wasn't until one clear night just after Halloween did you hear a disgusting squeal coming from one of your pigs. It was the sound of a slow death, and it startled you enough to grab your late fathers shotgun and storm outside courageously to see just what the hell was stealing your livestock.

You expected an animal. What you found instead shocked you.

A man, tall and lumbering and clad in a monochromatic clown costume kneeled hunched over one of your pigs, it's body twitching and steaming as it's hot innards met the chill of the outside air.

You heard the wet sound of his hands delving into the pigs guts and gripping a handful before bringing the meat to his lips.

This stranger was eating your livestock. Devouring them like an animal, raw and uncooked and grotesquely bloody.

You remained frozen, shotgun pointed, glancing at the black bag that lay beside him full of various menacing tools stained crimson.

If your father taught you one thing, it's that you should treat people with kindness, especially the strange ones.

The weirdos are the most dangerous, and living out here all alone meant that if one ever wandered into your land, it was probably best to treat them as a guest and act amicably, if only for your own safety.

Steeling your nerves, you cocked your head at the man, seeing the gap appear in the pigs abdomen as it's organs were devoured.

"Might want to cook that, stranger." You spoke gently, shotgun lowered to the floor.

The freakish clown paused, fingers laced in guts, head turning slowly and deliberately to the side.

"Tastes better that way, personally. Cooked, I mean." You shifted nervously from foot to foot, the chill of the autumn air getting through your pyjamas.

Maybe coming out here in nothing but some bottoms and a vest wasn't such a good idea.

The mans side profile was lanky even while crouched. His face held extremely prominent features, and you began to wonder if they were prosthetic or not.

You dared to step directly behind the stranger, his blood shot eye staring at you from the corner, pig entrails held frozen. They were cold now.

"Come with me. I can cook that right up for you, throw a few herbs and spices in and make that a great dish."

The clown let the guts slip through his fingers, gloves tainted red, and stood to his feet slowly. Your breath froze in your throat at the way his height seemed to grow and grow as he extended fully, back straight and rigid, and turned around almost menacingly to stare down at you with a dirty grimace.

Apart from the bizarre clown face paint, he appeared incredibly beat up. His one eye was completely red, and you wondered if it was simply shut from injury or if it had been gouged out. It was hard to tell with the amount of blood covering it.

He had a few large gashes littering his body in various places too. His clown costume was ripped terribly.

You both stood silently, your body shivering lightly at the blustery wind and your hair tousling gently. The clown remained unperturbed to the elements.

His good eye was narrowed into a glare, face contorting in an ugly fashion, eyeing your bare feet, your lowered shotgun, up to your bare shoulders and then finally back to your face.

An ominous smirk began to stretch across the strangers visage. It was actually rather unsettling, even without the pigs blood covering him. Merely the smirk alone set your nerves on edge.

You cocked your hip, hand resting on it comfortably as you stared up at him. "So, what do you say? It's a cold night, and you're looking a little worse for wear. Come on in, I'll help you out." Your words were true, and you think the stranger sensed that, but he seemed keenly aware of the way your voice shook.

You don't know how you knew that. Maybe it was the way his lifeless eyes shined dimly at the way it shook. Eventually, the clown nodded slowly, wordless.

You offered him a smile and a nod of finality. "Great. Follow me, if you would." You dared to turn away from this maniac, though you supposed if he wanted to kill you he could easily do that while you were looking at him; He was huge.

Not in the muscular sense, but in height he was at least a head and a half taller than you. Incredibly lanky and thin but from the way he was devouring that pig, he definitely had strength.

Walking a few steps, you paused suddenly and spun around, your silent guest directly behind you. It startled you but you tried not to let it show. "Mind grabbing the rest of the pig? Wouldn't want it going to waste. I'd do it myself, but you know how a lady gets.", you chuckled breathily; it was hard to speak when his void eyes were staring at you, smirk still somehow present and frozen on his face.

"--Don't want to dirty these pyjamas, they're my favourite. And, pardon me for saying but you're already dirty, and you'd no doubt be able to pick it up with ease, so..", you finished lamely, smiling as genuinely as you could.

It felt forced that time. He was starting to unnerve you.

Finally, the clowns expression fell into one of light thought, doing a visual sweep of your stature. It embarrassed you slightly, maybe he was judging your pyjamas. They were simple, but your favourite. Or maybe he silently agreed that yes, he could easily pick the animal up compared to you.

Dead weight was heavy, after all. And he was a big guy, in a sense.

The clown grinned this time, large and sharp, showcasing bloodied teeth, before nodding vigorously. Clapping excitedly, he hunched down to gather up the pig remains and nodded at you, as though to say 'lead the way'.

Smiling in return, you turned and led him to your home.

As soon as your back faced him, your expression morphed into one of doubt and anxiety.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

That was some time ago. It was mid winter now, and Art - the odd clown that had spelled his name to you in blood on your window - was no where to be seen.

You hadn't seen him for two weeks, he often appeared when he wanted and left for days on end too.

You had both settled into an accord of sorts.

The clown was a maniac, yes, and had often tricked and teased and terrified you with knives and hammers, pretending to finally put an end to you only to stop millimeters from your face, laughing silently and slapping his knee dramatically.

You screamed each time, gripping your chest in terror but forcing a breathy laugh to escape you, shaking your head. "Got me again, Art. When will I ever learn?" You tutted, voice shaking and body trembling.

You knew it was only a matter of time before he killed you, surely. So, you did things to keep him happy.

Like offering your old, worn out barn as his work place to fix up his weapons or create new traps. It was dingy and damp, but Art didn't even mind. His mouth opened into a perfect 'o' shape, eyebrows high in surprise, pointing to himself and then to the barn.

"Yes," you had confirmed to him, "the barn is yours. Do what you like with it, I.." you had paused. Art sensed something was left out and cocked his head at you with a menacing smile, hand under his chin as though he was ready to listen to you spill a secret.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Art. Im happy to give you the barn, you do what you want in there and I won't ask questions, but in return I was wondering if now and again, when you're free to of course, if you could help me around the place?", you asked softly, sweetly, your round eyes staring up at him so innocently he often wondered if he should pinch your cheeks until the flesh tears off or flail you.

Maybe not yet. He liked having you around for now. You were sweet and entertaining, and cooked good meals.

Art tilted his head left and right in deep thought, eyes rolling up to the sky as though truly debating with himself, before his large hands suddenly slammed down onto your shoulders heavily, causing you to gasp aloud, eyes wide.

Art began to silently laugh, lifting a finger and thumb to roughly tug at your cheek, before nodding excitedly.

You sighed in relief. Well, you couldn't very well ask him to spare your life as a favour, so you supposed asking him to help you with chores was your only option.

In a way, you think he was amused by how ballsy you were. He was terrifying, after all.

Thinking back to the present day, you hadnt seen him for two weeks, which meant he was either out on a killing spree or recuperating after a nasty fight.

You've since gathered that this man, this thing, isn't really human. He eats because he enjoys it, but you've seen him go weeks without food. This thing you've allowed into your home was demonic, and its sick how fond of him youre growing.

Sighing, you felt fatigue catching up with you as you had spent the last few hours tending to the fields, animals, and other chores such as gathering wood and cutting them into pieces.

Mindlessly lost in thought, you bent down to pick up a log, putting it into place and heaving the axe up ready to cut it. Your arms were shaking; how long ago did you eat? Well, it was around 4pm now, and you've been busy since around 7am, so it's been far too long, and you were ridiculously sweaty even in the mild winters day.

You lifted the axe, elbows suffering and shaking, before huffing loudly and dropping it back down. You really needed a break but you also really needed to start getting this wood ready for the cold winter nights.

Determination taking over your features, you lifted it again, fatigue overwhelming you but to hell with it because you had things to do before nightfall. Inhaling deeply, you lifted it high, stumbling forward as you let the axe split the wood sloppily; it was very off mark, and if your father was here right now he'd make you do it again.

The axe embedded itself into the surface below, and with both hands you gripped the handle to try and wrench it out but to no avail.

Huffing agitatedly, you gritted your teeth and tried again.

The sound of a honk startled you, your entire body jumping and a yelp escaping your throat as you spund around with a hand held to your chest.

"Art!", your tone held accusation but you still laughed. "How long have you been standing there? Please dont tell me you witnessed my horrible attempt at cutting wood.."

Art shrugged, picking up the pathetic attempt at cutting the log in half and scrutinizing it. He shook his head and closed his eyes as though disappointed.

You flushed in embarrassment. "Yeah, that really was a sorry attempt..", you turned back to the axe, gripping it and tugging. It didn't budge.

Suddenly, a pale, gloved hand gripped the handle and ripped it out with ease. You blinked at him in shock, watching at how he slyly looked down at the axe in his hands and then at you, rolling his eyes as though to say 'have I got to do everything around here?'

For a speechless clown, he was sassy. And terrifying.

You smiled tiredly. "Thanks. I'm so hungry and sweaty and gross and ugh--", you shook your head, "ignore me. Are you hungry? I'll go and--"

Fingertips touched your lips to silence you, and then a finger shot into the air, telling you to wait. The clown eagerly knelt down to rummage through his bag of..mysteries.

He excitedly rubbed his hands together as he found what he was looking for, and delved in to grab it tightly.

The clown spun around to face you, item hidden in box, and closed his eyes dramatically, then stared at you pointedly.

"Oh, um..Close my eyes?", the clown nodded happily at you being able to understand.

Your pulse increased, fear gripping you. You wouldn't refuse him. Closing your eyes slowly, you held your hands out. "I-I trust you, Art. No funny games, okay? Please.", you pouted.

Art cocked his head at your pouting lips and shaking hands. He had that unexplainable urge to squeeze you tightly and also cut your lips off with a scissors. You were adorable, he'd admit that. He wondered if a day would ever come where you'd flutter your cute eyelashes at him and he'd grab a knife and burst your dazzling blue orbs.

Maybe one day, but not today.

It was only on rare occasion that you'd catch the sadistic killer of miles county choosing to not act with violence.

You were the only rare occasion.

Pushing those tempting thoughts away, Art held the box excitedly and tip toed over to you dramatically. He was eager for you to see his gift.

Firm hands gripped your own as a box was dropped into it, only a small box.

You smiled uncertainly, eyes closed, and felt the box with your hands. Art poked at your eyelids gently for you to open them.

The box was black. Tattered. You lifted the lid slowly.

A multitude of emotions filled you. You didn't know which ones to show. Art watched eagerly, excitedly, though you could still see the sharpness of his eyes.

The box was filled to the brim with Beatles. They were squirming and hurrying over one another in an ugly display, some spilling out onto your arms before falling on the floor. Luckily, you weren't terrified of insects.

Looking at Art, he began mimicking holding an imaginary box and shaking it hard, then pointed at you.

You shook the box hard, the Beatles scattering everywhere, and gazed into the box.

Your blood ran cold.

A decapitated fox head stared at you, eyeless and bloodied with its tongue cut out and shoved into one of its eye sockets. Beatles crawled throughout its skull.

"A..Fox."

Art nodded aggressively, pointing animatedly at your chickens cooing in their pen, then at the fox, then at himself.

"Oh! You killed the fox that has been hunting my hens?"

Art clapped silently and his eyes dazzled as though screaming 'bingo! Finally!', then pointing and laughing at your pale expression and wide eyes. His gruesome smile was held wide, cutting sharp, as he buckled over in silent laughter.

Your mouth quirked upwards in amusement. Well, he was certainly keeping his end of the bargain. The fox was a pest, after all, even if his method of killing was a little..unorthodox. Not that you'd ever complain.

You couldn't help but giggle at this absurd man. "Thank you, Art. I appreciate that. Now with my hens remaining alive and well, I can make you some more of those pancakes you like once they lay their eggs."

Arts mouth opened in surprise, eyebrows raised high. He tipped his hat in a gentlemanly fashion, nodding at you as though to say it's a job well done. You agreed that it was.

Putting the box down, you gripped the axe once more, ready to return it to the shed. "Well, I'm going to have a quick shower, then how about I make us some supper?"

Art wiggled his eyebrows at you suggestively, and heat lightly warmed your cheeks. Before you could reply, the axe was ripped from your hands and Art had already gotten to work with cutting some more wood. He did it flawlessly.

He shooed you away dramatically, wiggling his eyebrows one more time before chopping through the wood efficiently.

Conflicted in how easily he embarrassed you, you made your way tiredly to the bathroom. You really needed that shower.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You let the hot water wash away the stress of the day, eyes closed as you nourished an apple smelling conditioner through your hair.

You sighed, feeling ten times better already, muscles sore from the strenuous chores you barely managed to finish today.

Standing in the warm confinement of water and steam, you began to wonder if Art was still cutting wood. This led to thoughts about how bizarre it was having a murderer in your residence while you showered vulnerably. He didn't appear to want to kill you yet, and you wanted to keep it that way.

Wrapping a towel around your hair and body, you stared at your tired complexion in the mirror and frowned.

You really shouldn't be so comfortable with his ominous presence, but..

There was something quirky and charming about him, you guessed.

You soon froze at the sound of an alarm blaring.

You ran to the bathroom door, tearing it open. What was--

Was that your fire alarm blaring? But why? You had meat in your slow cooker, yes, but--

Panic surged through you as you darted out of your bathroom and bolted down the stairs. You didn't know how or why but you prayed that your kitchen was in tact.

Barreling through your living room and into the kitchen, you scrutinized the area, seeing no smoke, no fire, nothing.

Eyes wide, you ran to the slow cooker and switched it off. There wasn't even any smoke coming from it, how had your alarm gone off? Bending to check in your oven, you confirmed what you already knew - there was nothing in there.

Standing straight, hands on your hips in annoyance at that blaring alarm, you sighed aloud. Your towel remained upon your head, however loose hair had managed to escape and fall upon your shoulders from your erratic movements.

Glancing around desperately, Art was no where to be found. With his height, he could probably reach the alarm on your ceiling and deactivate it. You spent no time waiting for his possible arrival and grabbed a chair.

Lugging it over to the centre of the room, you gripped the top of it and shakily stood tall upon the chair. Reaching up high, you fiddled with the alarm, attempting to get a good grip to be able to remove it.

You huffed, making a sound of aggravation as your towel somehow remained firm around your figure, even if it was short. The water from the shower was cold on your body now and it only seemed to worsen your mood.

Finally managing to rip the damn thing from the ceiling, you removed the batteries and tossed it to the floor with a scowl. Stupid faulty alarm.

In a less than desirable mood, your hand gripped the chair to steady yourself. Before you could even put a foot on the floor, a honk sounded so close to you it had you yelping; you hadn't even sensed him let alone heard him.

Wide eyed, you stared down at the clown. His shoulder was practically brushing your outer thigh as you stood high. "Oh, Art, I didn't see you--"

A hand being thrust out to you interrupted you. He was offering his large hand to you, and although uncertain, you couldn't deny that he had a peculiar charm. Smiling, you gripped his hand with your own to steady yourself, lifting one leg to put on the floor.

Except you never did. You barely caught the malicious grin the clown gave you, eyes narrowed into slits and teeth bared as he lifted one foot backwards and kicked the chair out from under you.

The leg of the chair shattered from the force, splintering and bending as you began to topple to the floor. You screamed, eyes squeezed shut.

You thought you had whiplash at the way your hand was wrenched painfully towards his body, your figure pressed up against his as your head butted into his chest.

He had an arm around your waist, suspending your weight in the air against his body with no difficulty.

The clown remained frozen, grin still as wide and terrifying. Your feet barely brushed the floor. "Art!", you screeched, body shaking from adrenaline, hair towel fallen to the floor.

The clowns eyes snapped to yours disturbingly. Before you could berate him further, you were tossed upwards until dexterous hands rested at your shoulders and below your knees. He was holding you bridal style and it terrified you.

You cried out in shock, gripping his clown suit between white knuckles, bath towel beginning to slip ever so slightly. You felt a mixture of terror and embarrassment at being in the brutal arms of the county killer.

And the terror only increased tenfold as the clown removed his grip from supporting your shoulders for mere seconds, your body heading straight for the floor, before securing his arms around you again before you could make impact, shoulders moving in silent laughter.

You truly screamed that time, legs kicking out and arms wrapping around his neck instinctively. Your eyes squeezed shut, towel slipping even more; it mortified you.

"Oh my goodness, Art, you terrified me! And I bet it was you that set off my alarm?", you accused in a high pitched, shaky tone, grasping him incredibly tight as you felt his fingers teasingly loosen just to scare you.

Art nodded vigorously, proud and excited that he had been caught, and snapped his head down at you. His grin of sinister glee slowly morphed into a knowing, filthy smirk.

You blinked up at him vulnerably, wide and glassy eyed, rigid in his arms, before realising that oh my God, you were in a towel this entire time, a short towel that surely moved during the commotion--

He must have noticed the sudden panic in your eyes, for his lecherous smirk stretched terrifyingly, eyes narrowed.

Surprisingly pervertedly, Art glanced down at your body swiftly. Once, twice. An indication that you should probably take a look. His eyebrows wiggled, and without needing to look, your cheeks reddened, lips parted in shock.

Head snapping down at yourself, a flush spread from your neck to your cheeks. The towel had dropped so low your breasts were threatening to spill out obscenely. It didn't help that you were of ample size.

And although everything else vital was covered, the way your upper thigh was exposed had you squirming desperately to try and make some distance.

"Ah!", you cried, "my towel! Put me down!" You demanded helplessly, overcome by embarrassment as Art snickered silently at your need to protect your intimates.

Art dropped the arm holding your legs, letting them crash upon the floor painfully. The sudden downward motion had you squealing, gripping him hard. You were grateful that he supported your upper body, you supposed.

The way your body dropped had your towel falling fully for a split second before you ripped it back up to cover your modesty.

You tore yourself away from him - he let you - and stared at him with wide eyes, chest panting in fear and fluttering peculiarly.

Your hands shook as you gripped your towel, knees knocking together, withering under the intense stare of the clown as he foregone his usual dramatic, knee slapping laugh and instead almost seemed to chuckle in amusement, brows as low as they could go, head tilting in fascination at your half naked state.

He expected anger, frustration, undeniable fear at his actions towards you. What intrigued him was the way your round cheeks flared crimson and how your eyes, usually relatively confident when regarding him, fluttered everywhere but him.

Yes, he decided, head tilting left and right slowly, deciphering. You seemed incredibly flustered.

He felt lust, often. For blood, violence, but rarely sexually. Pain was sweeter than pleasure, he thought, but regarding you now, languidly staring at you from head to toe, an idea struck his mind...

An idea you couldn't decipher, but the way his eyes lit up and his eyebrows rose pleasantly sent heat flaring through you.

You didn't allow it to consume you any further as you darted up the stairs and into your room.

On the way past him, you saw his shoulders moving in a silent, mean laughter.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

That had been two days ago. Since then, you continued on as normal..

Or as normal as can be.

Art remained busy in the old barn, the sounds of hammering and God knows what else permeating the quiet air at all hours of the day, and oftentimes there would be silence; He had left.

It had been a full day and a half since you last took sight of him. It was unusual how domesticated you felt, preparing enough food for two with a little extra leftover, keeping only the dark towels in the bathroom from when he no doubt came strolling in covered in blood and took a shower.

You came to notice he was meticulously clean about things he deemed worthy, such as his clown suit and himself. He loved to bathe in his victims blood, yes, but after a fun days work, you often found him spotless. Well, apart from his teeth. Bizarrely, he didn't utterly stink, and you come to the conclusion that he chose his terrifying mouth to look that way on purpose.

That was good. You appreciated that even if he didn't necessarily do it for you.

The only thing you had gently persuaded him on was allowing you to at least dry his clown suit before putting it on. With a roll of his eyes, he allowed it.

There were very few things he allowed genuinely, and you seemed to believe he had grown accustomed to your gentle naggings of 'Art, please don't touch that with blood on your hands', or 'There was no need to trail bloody footprints all over my kitchen'

You never demanded. That probably helped. Of course he had days where he'd grin mischievously and smear blood across your mirrors and door handles, knowing you'd have to touch it and clean it.

You could live with that. Thankfully, after a night of killing, he was reasonably tame, eating whatever food you kept in your cupboards with a calm expression.

That wasn't to say that he wasn't unpredictable. He could snap on times and come at you with a knife, chasing you around the kitchen as you screeched and whined for him to stop, all the while watching him laugh with glee.

And on real scary nights when he seemed bored, well..

Anything could happen then. Even still, Art remained tame as of yet in comparison to the things he is capable of. He clearly saw a need in you, and repaid your generous cooking, cleaning and fixing up his costume for him with keeping you alive and leaving you mostly unharmed.

A cut here or there, yeah, and definitely a bruise but you were alive and well.

The only real affect he had on you was terror, he did enjoy popping up randomly in the dark when you had got up for a glass of water, hand roughly pushed over your mouth as your screams muffled into his hand before realising who had caught you.

Or the times you'd check on him in the old barn, just to see if he was around for dinner, calling his name out. Venturing in, you'd freeze as the door shut behind you, darkness enveloping the entire area, only for the sound of a flame thrower igniting near you making you scream and cover your mouth in terror.

Each time you'd ramble something like 'Art, stop it! I-Im making beef for dinner and I just wanted to check that you wanted some!'

The clown would tug on your cheeks with both hands, patting your head as though to say 'how adorable are you?' before pushing you surprisingly gently towards the door and shooing you away.

You'd run back to the house with your chest beating so loudly you could hear it in your ears.

Presently, you were wearing a cute brown dress, tights covering your legs as you cleaned around the place. Loving the winter, you brought out your cosy candles and fairy lights, loving the gentle glow as the nights grew longer and the sun faded earlier. It wasn't quite time to decorate for Christmas yet, so this will do.

In fact, having a little break from the clown had allowed you to really tidy everything up, get your chores done, see to the animals and bake some brownies in the oven.

All in all you felt refreshed and well, truly in your element. It allowed you to push.. peculiar thoughts of Art from your mind.

Time carried on, and the brownies were cooling on the baking tray as you sat comfortably on your settee, a white blanket decorated in pumpkins covering you. You loved Halloween, too.

Dropping off to sleep, your mind felt at peace until a muffled sound was heard from outside. Lifting your head, you didn't react as you awaited Art to barge in at any moment, only..nothing.

Sitting up, you waited silently, hearing that muffling once again.

You frowned. Art was a master of silence, if he didn't want you to even hear the rustling of his bag, you wouldn't.

So why did you hear leaves crunching loudly, and..

Oh.

That wasn't Art.

You could hear voices mumbling now, close to your window, though unintelligible. You wondered who it could be. You had no known close relatives, and no friends, really.

Not close enough to appear unannounced on a late Friday evening, anyway.

Living in the middle of no where, you learned to be cautious of such sounds. You had no neighbours, and hardly anyone ever passed your cottage. Those that did tended to knock politely, not skirt around your perimeter sneakily.

Aside from Art; he's different.

Standing swiftly, you opened a drawer, gripping a handgun. You could never be too careful out here all alone, and you doubted it would go down easy if you stood with your shotgun aimed at them.

Handgun it is. Hiding it furtively, you stepped outside with confidence.

The sight of two men dressed head to toe in black greeted you, peeking through your curtains.

"Can I help you?", you began politely, causing them to bolt upright and spin around to face you. You couldn't see their faces.

They weren't amicable strangers, that was for certain.

"That truck yours?", the tallest indicated with a nod of his head.

"It is."

"You, uh..you live alone?"

You smiled.

"I do."

The two men sprung into action. "You do, do you? Be a good girl and chuck me the keys."

"Why would I ever do that?" You remained calm, pulse elevating, adrenaline begining to grow.

"Why?", the other repeated with a scoff, and swiftly pulled a knife out from his pocket, "because I want to see your round ass walk away like a good bitch, so go grab those fucking keys before I cut your face off."

Talk about overboard.

Nodding politely, you backstepped. "I understand. I don't want any trouble, give me one moment, please."

You backstepped further into your house, keeping the door open.

As you did, you heard one of the men hiss 'im not a fucking murderer, let's just get the truck and fucking go!'

You had a few options here.

You could run, hide, call the police.

You shook your head and steeled your nerves. Hell no. This was your damn property.

The two men looked around cautiously, impatient. "Where the fuck is she? We should've gone in with her."

"She's terrified, bitch probably can't find the keys."

They heard the sound of a gun cocking. Loudly.

Turning back to the door, you supposed they never thought to see a shotgun aiming directly at them. You could see their eyes widen behind a black robber mask.

"Woah, hey, keep the fucking keys--", one began, hands in the air, knife dropped to the floor.

You remember holding this very shotgun the night you met Art. You smartly lowered it, knowing true evil and terror when you saw it.

But these two? They had nothing on Art. Just average men, trying hard to terrify a woman. A nasty smirk broke out on your face, one of anger and satisfaction.

"I'll tell you what's going to happen. You're going to get the fuck off my property before I blow a hole in your chest. How's that sound?"

The scared one nodded vigorously, hands jittering as he backstepped, ready to bolt. The other, however..

"You wouldn't do that. You don't have it in you.", the other tried calling your bluff, taking a leap forward. It started you, but you remained strong.

"Wouldn't I? Out here in the middle of no where, who'd ever come looking for you?"

The man shrugged. "You might be right, but whose going to look for you?"

Before you could respond a hand grabbed from behind, reaching out and gripping the barrel of your shotgun and forcing it to the sky.

You instinctively pulled the trigger, sound blasting through the forest loudly causing birds to flutter away.

How the hell did he get in the house?

The assailant was stronger than you, tearing the weapon to the floor before gripping you by the hair roughly.

You grunted in pain, hands frantically searching for the handgun on your person as the man at the bottom of your steps began coming at you too.

You managed to shoot him in the thigh, hearing him cry out and collapse.

The scared one took off in a sprint, never turning back.

The aggressive one currently ripping strands of hair from the root wrestled you to the floor after shooting his friend, boot pressing firmly on the hand that held the gun and kicking it away.

He got on top of you and held you down as you struggled and fought against his hold, head reeling to the side as he back handed you, hard.

Furniture and anything close by moved and was tossed over as you fought back, unwilling to let him pin your hands to the floor, punching a fist into his groin to get him to crumple slightly so you could lug him off with all your might.

You scrambled to your feet and made a dash to the door, barely getting halfway before a strong body wrestled you back to the floor, your hands aching from the wall as he ripped your dress from the back to keep a hold on you.

You continued scrambling ahead, reaching out for anything, hands gripping the large sewing needle you had lost some time ago and turning to stab it into his cheek.

The man hissed, face turned into an ugly snarl as he staggered back in pain, holding the wound.

You up and ran, panting and panicking as you frantically made it outside.

The man didn't let up, he ruthlessly grabbed your hair causing you to cry out and slapped you so hard across the face you saw stars.

Blood dripped from your mouth as you stumbled back, held upright by the man's grip on you.

He grabbed your cheeks hard, squeezing the blood from your mouth, snarling. "Pretty thing, I'm going to put you in your fucking place--"

You cried out a sharp 'no!', kicking him between the legs and pushing him away.

You both fought tooth and nail for a while, you managing to run a short distance before being dragged back and hit even harder in the face.

This time you gasped helplessly for breath, blood spurting out of your nose and down your mouth.

What scared you the most was a hand gripping your thighs and trying to spread them.

"I'm going to fuck you before I kill you, bitch. And it's going to hurt." The man seethed the ugly promise, tearing your dress up high and grabbing your tights to rip a hole in then.

You cried out, kicking him in the jaw but to no avail. Without any weapons you had no chance in winning against his strength.

You saw an opening as he stumbled back at your kick and bolted it as fast as you could towards the trees. You knew this land well, so you knew where to hide.

Frightful and shaking, tears littered your cheeks as you heard the sound of the man getting to his feet to chase after you.

You gasped painfully, unable to breathe, and all but screamed bloody murder as you ran directly into a chest.

An arm wrapped around your struggling body, a hand smothering your scream as you fought and cried out desperately against another assailant. This one was like a brick wall, unmovable to your attempted attacks, even if he himself wasn't attacking you.

Two hands gripped your shoulders and shook you hard, causing you to look up at his face in terror only to pause, wide eyed.

That familiar, monochromatic clown tilted his head down at you in a thoughtful frown, mild confusion pooling in his irises as he studied you from head to toe, moving a gloved finger to wipe at the blood trickling down your chin.

"Art!", you cried, chest heaving up and down, "Theres--These men--attacked me and--and tried to-to--"

You could barely get your words out, watching as Art cocked a surprised eyebrow up and attempted to decipher your rambled sentences.

He didn't really need to. Upon further inspection, he could see the bruising of your face, the very blatant tear of your tights which showed a lot of skin, and how your dress had been ripped.

He knew something was off when he heard the sound of gunshots. He knew you had guns, but for you to use one meant something was amiss. Something compelled him to come and look, dropping the dead body he had been mutilating in the woods, eager and..somewhat impatient, to get to you.

That was a foreign feeling, and now having actually studied your shaking hands that gripped his costume and the amount of blood that covered your face as tears dribbled down fatly, staring up at him in utter relief, he was unused to such an expression, and truly didnt mind it coming from you.

Gazing outwards at the forest, an intense ire began to build in him. You weren't going to die today, he doubted you ever would because you were his, and only his.

Having finally made a decision, Art grinned cruelly, fingers eager and twitching excitedly to meet this so called attacker.

Letting his arms drop from you, he took a step forward to make his way to the house, stopping as you gripped his arm in fear.

"W-wait, please don't leave me--"

Art held up a hand calmly, shushing you, and went through his black bag, retrieving a hammer. He patted your head, as though telling you not to worry, and made his way towards your home. He walked excitedly with a bounce in his step.

You knew what that meant.

You were so happy to see him, as fucked up as that is, but he clearly made the decision to protect you. You felt relief and fondness, sitting against a tree with your knees up to your chest, waiting.

You wanted them dead, truth be told, but may God have mercy on them for what Art is about to do..

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You remembered hearing gut wrenching screams and splatters of vomit as various tools were used to maim the trespassers.

You remember your body moving on auto pilot as you entered your home, Art briefly stopping his flaying of the man who threatened assault on you, to lift a hand and wave at you, fingers dancing playfully.

You waved back slowly, trudging up the steps and into your home where your living room was a mess from the commotion. There were patches of your blood on the floor, a lamp upturned and glass shattered messily.

Body and mind exhausted, you laid down on the settee and fell asleep dreamlessly. You didn't even awaken to the sounds of a chainsaw and guttural screaming.

You don't know how long you slept for. You were in and out of consciousness for a while, waking up to your ribs aching from the attack, or your lips burning from being split, the blood drying on them and irritating them.

You were still a mess, hair dishevelled and face bruised, dried blood flaking off your face and your clothes in almost tatters.

Your face was still puffy from crying, eyes opening slowly and slightly bloodshot. Moaning weakly, you stretched your legs out and hissed as your ripped tights dug into a deep cut in your thigh.

The TV was on. You barely registered the comforting hum of some early Christmas film that was on, volume low and tranquil.

Slowly standing, you made your way to the kitchen. Your chest fluttered at the sight of Art, sitting calmly at the table with a plate of sweet treats you had in the cupboards, including biscuits and cake, and what looked to be a cup of hot chocolate.

He was eating them very civilised, too. You were proud of that. It wasn't like he needed to eat, at least you thought, but he really did enjoy sweet food. Same as you.

Clad in a surprisingly clean clown suit, he waved at you, his hands stained red. He must have cleaned himself up for the most part, and..looking around, you sighted a mop bucket, so he must've really made a mess and cleaned up after him.

That was oddly..sweet. It made you smile.

"I must have been asleep a while." You gathered aloud, taking a seat at the table across from him.

The clown shrugged, held up a hand with 4 fingers. So you slept for about 4 hours then.

You rubbed your eyes, exhausted. The clown tilted his head at you slowly, frowning softly in thought with a finger to his chin.

"Yeah, I'm a mess. I can't believe those guys." You huffed, glaring down at yourself. Your anger spiked at the sight of your attire.

"He ruined my favourite fucking dress!" You exclaimed, arms folding frustratedly. You were a mixture of huffs and mutters as the clown cocked a calm eyebrow - how had you both switched places? - and listened to you curse and swear which he had never heard before.

It made him chuckle silently, head in hand as he watched you. Feeling eyes on you, your frown softened. "Im sorry, I'm not myself. I thought I had it all under control when I saw the two of them."

Your gaze dropped lower to the floor, reminiscing. "I didn't really notice the third. I have no idea how he got in." You almost whispered defeatedly, eyes misted and glassy as you remembered the way that man treated you and touched you.

You suddenly felt incredibly dirty. What if you hadn't managed to outrun him? He was about to violate you. And what if Art had never showed up? He'd--

Your thoughts draw to a pause as Art taps your hand gently, points to himself and does a stabbing motion, then points outside.

It made your lips quirk. "Their dead?"

Art nodded excitedly, grinning wide as his fingers tickle your hand. You begin to giggle, and grip onto his hand. "I'm glad you turned up. I mean, I managed to fight him off barely, but imagine if..."

You froze, eyes staring at your intertwined hands, and shook your head. "Assholes."

Art suddenly lit up like a lightbulb, face making one of surprise as he held a hand up to wait. Comically running out of the room, you awaited his return as he came near you with one of the robbers mask. Something was wrapped inside it.

Art got down on one knee and presented it to you with arms outstretched, wiggling his eyebrows, and you giggled again. Gripping the fabric, you found it soaked with blood. Opening it, a human heart stared back at you. It was relatively fresh.

You blinked slowly, not at all feeling usual feelings of repulsion and fear. Instead you felt..warm. The symbolic meaning of presenting you with the heart of your attacker wasn't lost on you, and as fucked up as it was, you blushed faintly.

"I.."

You smiled incredibly gently, Art thought. It made him happy to see your face finally light up after those filthy, rotten humans dared to touch what was his.

"I'm incredibly grateful for that. Thank you, Art. Who'd have thought you'd make such a great protector?" You winked playfully, laughing when he returned it dramatically with a nod.

"Oh! I almost forgot!", you rose and grabbed a nearby dish. "I made brownies!", you pouted at the fact that they weren't warm and delicious anymore, and Art thought that if you kept acting so cute he'd have to hurt you. In a good way, of course. He was still confused about that.

Art revealed one of his rare smiles, lacking it's usual slyness or sinisterness, and grabbed a brownie delightedly. It made you beam.

There you both sat, his hands bloodied and your face bruised with a heart sitting between you both as you shared the brownies.

There was an undeniable connection, and as you cuddled up in your blankets after a fresh shower, staring up at the ceiling, you thought about that.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The dynamic had shifted. Art could still be sly and mean in his ways of scaring you, but he certainly toned it down. He seemed to want to hear your laughter more, launching tickle attacks on you until you were a squealing mess on the settee, wriggling and fighting against his grip as tears of laughter wet your cheeks.

"Please!", you squealed, "no more! You win!", you'd shriek, body contorting until his fingers finally stopped and he stared down at you smugly.

For a moment, you both stared in silence, you catching your breath and him observant as ever.

With a burst of excited energy, you fled his slack grip and bolted to the other side of the living room, jumping in your spot. "Just kidding! I got away so I won!" You giggled ecstatically, watching as the clown slowly stood to his tall height.

Your laughter died down, nervous excitement replacing it. He held a glint in his eye that could only mean trouble. Art tilted his head dramatically, finger to his lips as though saying 'Oh, you've won, have you?'

You shook your head in panic, hands held up in surrender. "i-i didn't mean that! Honestly!"

Art mimiced your panicked face, holding his hands up in surrender as he jumped towards you. You jolted, stumbling back as an uncertain laughter bubbled up.

"Believe me, I know I could never outrun you..", you glanced towards the kitchen door, plotting.

Art lifted a hand to his chin, silently humming in thought, before holding up a hand with fingers spread wide.

He dropped a finger, holding up 4.

Then 3.

"Wait--wait why are you counting?!"

Art froze, grin held wide as he remained unmoving. You shifted nervously, about to say something before Art suddenly came to life again and darted towards you.

You screamed and bolted away, running instead to the stairs that were closer and hoping to make it to your room.

You did, and as you ran through it and turned to slam the door shut, Art was already in the doorway and wrapping his arms around you as you shrieked and cried out apologies for challenging him.

Art showed you no mercy, throwing you to the bed and holding you down with ease as he assaulted your ribs again with his fingers.

He laughed silently at your torture, gleeful and delighted at your non stop screaming and laughing.

"Art! Wait! I can't take it anymore!--" you wheezed, grabbing his wrists and pushing as hard as you could.

He didn't even budge. He was like a stone wall. Art paused, cocking his head down at your futile efforts and back up to your terrified face.

You froze, realising that you just challenged him again.

With a flash of black and white, Art jumped atop you, straddling your hips as he held your wrists down with one of his hands, watching you squirm and whine.

He chuckled evilly, silently, eyebrows low and grin spreading wide.

But there was that same look from the other day again. Peering down at you, he watched you analyse the position you were in, eyes fluttering up to his face in shock as a flush tainted your pretty skin.

Art knew that look. He was very meticulous when it came to the human body and the emotions it can feel.

You were panting, chest fluttering and warmth radiating off of you as Art smirked down at you knowingly. He raised his eyebrows, hand to mouth in shock as though to say 'Are those dirty thoughts in your head?'

Although silent, it was as though you knew that he knew what you were thinking. You felt dazed, so red and undeniably enjoying the vision of him above you, holding you down.

There was no denying the guilty thoughts you had had of him in the privacy of your bedroom at night, faceless men turning into monochromatic, super natural clowns each time you reached your peak.

You felt vile at first. But after his protection against those men the other day, your feelings definitely shifted, and since then you couldn't stop your thoughts from trailing to him..

The sexual ones, too. The private ones where you thought about pale, strong hands holding your head down against the bed as you were taken from behind.

The ones where your head was wrenched back by an iron fist in your hair, too euphoric to the point that you could only babble words.

You knew he could take you there. And his incessant flirting in real life, where he'd wiggle his eyebrows at you if you passed in a towel or if you bent over, or where he'd stand teasingly in your way of a doorway, forcing you to squeeze past him as he smirks and winks. Those things made the thoughts all the stronger, and at times you wondered if he knew what you were going to do once you got back to your room.

Sometimes, the way he smirked and waved at you with a wiggle of his fingertips just after you finished getting yourself off made you wonder. He must've known, this freakish demonic man.

The memories brought heat spreading down to your neck, your tongue tied as you struggled to break the tension. You struggled to get a word out, eyes fluttering in nervous anticipation. It was hard not to romanticise this charming clown.

"I--"

The clown leaned down close, void eyes staring into yours that were so full of emotion, raw and naked. His strong hand that was capable of such violence began tracing your jawline delicately, as though you were porcelain.

You inhaled shakily, feeling the digits drop to your neck, pressing against your fluttering, rapid pulse.

From anyone else, that would feel uncomfortable. But Art doing that felt so suffocatingly intimate you didn't know how to react, eyebrows drawn together in mild confusion at your feelings.

The way Art smirked made you realise he knew exactly what he was doing. Lifting his hand to his mouth, he gripped the glove with his teeth and tugged it off, freeing his pale, veiny hand and bringing it to your cheek, thumb tenderly rubbing the area.

You felt like your head was going to burst from how red you were. You think its because the utter shock at having Art act in a way that wholly juxtaposes him and touch you delicately made you feel so exquisitely special that you didn't know how to register it.

How can a mere innocent touch melt you so much?

His fingers traced the lines and curves of your face in fascination. There was no doubt a morbidity to his thoughts, but there was also mild, genuine adoration in his lifeless eyes.

Your pulse quickened, butterflies dancing in your belly at the thumb that now traced your plush lips. Body reacting faster than your thoughts, your tongue wet the tip of his thumb.

A glint began to shine in his eyes, ferocious and wanting. He tilted his head down at you, unsmiling but not in a scary way; he appeared quite tranquil, and something else.

His thumb dipped into your mouth slightly, experimentally, and he was pleased at the way you wholly accepted him in, swirling your tongue intimately around his digit.

Your eyelids drooped, overcome by this display of raw connection, your lips glistening as he slowly retrieved his thumb, giving your lips one final stroke before gliding his hand down your neck again, tickling the skin with gentle fingertips before moving down to your collarbone.

You held your breath, biting your lip as the usually menacing clown above you glided further down, and down, until his hand brushed the outline of your breast, barely skimming across your nipple.

You inhaled sharply, how were you this sensitive? You could feel heat pooling between your thighs already.

Art tilted his head, examining the large, soft globes that hid beneath your clothes. Eyes flickering up at you, Art smirked before gripping the front of your shirt and tearing it open with ease.

You gasped aloud, eyes wide and mouth agape as your breasts bounced free, nipples hard and begging for attention.

You flushed so deeply red that your face began resonating heat. You were so embarrassed at being half naked in front of him, and you didn't know why. Maybe it was because of the teasing way he winked appreciatively, removing the other glove from his hand swiftly before grazing your breasts barely, hands gripping handfuls of them boldly soon after.

His thumbs skimmed over your pebbled nipples, watching your head loll back against the pillow as you inhaled and exhaled shakily. Bolts of arousal were shooting to the junction of your thighs every time his calloused thumbs teased your perk nipples.

Art was entranced by your visible display of arousal, so sensitive and so wanting; he had never felt this way about a person. Even he knew he was being unnaturally kind, inducing you with pleasure that was sure to have you tingling.

Art never did things unless he wanted to. He didn't want to hurt you. No, his dominance and roughness that he could just tell you craved would come later. For now, he wanted you wet and yearning.

He was proficient in knowing how to hurt the human body, which means he's acutely aware of how to pleasure it; that simply came hand in hand.

And, glancing down at you, having been brought from his thoughts by your breathy exhale, he could tell that what he was doing was incredibly pleasurable. You squirmed, legs widening and relaxing unconsciously below him, your pretty green skirt riding up your thighs.

"Art-", you whined in a whisper, nerve endings alight and tingling, begging to be touched.

Art flashed a smile, head tilting once more as though wondering what to do with you. He could leave you here, undeniably wet and sticky and yearning, begging sweetly, or he could indulge, nudge your pretty thighs apart and fuck you like you've wanted him to for a while now.

You didn't hide it well, especially after touching yourself mere minutes before seeing him, pupils blown wide, hair tousled and sweaty, legs lightly shaking. You should probably stop leaving your wet, soft underwear on your bedroom floor too. That's a big give away, if you didn't already know.

The sarcastic thought had him grinning, and after moving his head back and forth in thought, weighing out his options, he flicked his thumbs over your nipples a few more times, watching you react immediately and arch your back towards his hands.

"Ah-", you gasped, shuddering, gnawing at your lip with hooded eyes.

Art rolled his eyes up at the ceiling, then shrugged lightly to himself. He wasn't necessarily a sexual creature, but he was still in the body of a man. Tweaking your nipples teasingly, Art nodded.

He wanted to fuck you, hard.

But he wanted to tease you first.

Arts eyes dropped to the way your legs had spread for him, dark underwear on display from the way your skirt had ridden up your thighs.

Trailing a hand down your waist and to your hips, Art studied you as his hand moved lower, teasing your inner thighs, pinching the fatty flesh there before pressing two fingers against your apex.

You reacted immediately, shuddering a breath in and out as your legs spread fully, bent at the knee.

Pale fingers traced your soft, wet lips through your underwear, tickling from where your hole would be and up towards your pulsating clit, circling the bud with light pressure.

You moaned quietly, legs squirming slightly as you yearned for a direct touch, his teasing becoming relentless. Your hands balled into fists as white hot tingling sensations barreled through your stomach and your clit, demanding to be touched but to no avail.

Art knew this, and pressed two fingers firmly against your clit, circling.

"Oh--yes--", you whined, looking fucked out with your head lolled back when Art had barely done anything. He wondered how you'd react to the plans he had for you later if this is how you were after a few strokes.

His teasing continued, trailing down to your hole and dipping in slightly, soaking your underwear, before running his finger to the edge of the useless garment and hooking two fingers in, tearing it apart.

This time, Art used both hands to grip your thighs, spreading them far. He studied your pink, exposed slit with incredible interest. The mess of wetness was excessive, coating the length of your sex, your inner thighs and gliding down to your tight rim.

You squirmed in his hands at his staring, to which he tightened his grip, making you shudder.

"Art..", you whined

His eyes snapped up to yours expectantly.

"Please, I--", you gasped at his fingers tracing maddeningly around your labia, refusing to touch you directly. "Please touch me. Please, I--..I need it so bad.", tears filled your eyes with frustration, "so fucking bad, you have no idea.."

But Art did know. He's always known, and just to prove his point he searched for something in his pockets, retreaving it and dangling it in front of your face.

You froze. It was your used underwear from yesterday, when you masturbated before a shower, throwing the garment to the floor. You thought you had imagined throwing it to the floor, because upon coming back to the bedroom, it was gone.

You looked mortified, hands covering your face. "You've known all along?" You whined, unable to face his grin. You felt humiliation creep up your chest at being caught red handed, biting your lip hard to ground yourself. Pathetic tears threatened to fall in frustration.

You gasped as two hands gripped your own and pinned them above your head, using one to keep them there while the other hand wagged it's finger back and fore, Art shaking his head and tutting silently.

You were forced to face his smug, teasing stare, your own face pouting. Art lifted two fingers, wiggled them, before bringing them to your lips.

You accepted, swirling your tongue around them, before they were retrieved swiftly. Wiggling them again, Art made a show of demonstrating just what he was about to do to you to bring that smile back.

Winking in a way that had you melting in a puddle of embarrassment, Art pressed two fingers to your wet entrance, grinning before gliding them into your wanton hole.

Your reaction was instantaneous, a keening 'oh!' torn from your throat, back arching as you squirmed beneath the hand that pinned you down.

Art began to thrust his fingers deeply, pulling out to the tip before delving back in, watching you writhe and gasp. You were desperate for more, hips lifting higher.

Art pulled his fingers out of you, showing the wet lubrication that coated them, scissoring them apart to watch the way it attached his fingers with stringy gooeyness.

You released a frustrated whine this time, fighting beneath his one hand. "No, no don't pull them out, please--" you pouted pathetically, desperately.

Art wanted to torment you more, but his desire to see you screaming in pleasure outweighed that at the moment. He wanted to break you.

Shrugging innocently as though to say 'well, you asked for it', Arts two fingers sunk into you to the knuckle, pumping in and out firmly and roughly, curling rhythmically against that spongy area he knew would have you seeing stars.

"Oh--Oh!", you cried, hips tilted up into his assault, the lewd sound of your wet hole permeating the air as his fingers went in and out, in and out, restlessly and roughly, giving you exactly what you wanted.

Art smirked darkly, increasing the pace rapidly, so fast he had to hold your kicking legs down as he brought you too much pleasure, too much torment in the sweetest way he could give.

You cried out loudly now, unable to hold your voice back, body convulsing lightly as your peak approached.

"A-Art, Oh, Ohh--" you moaned, panting and thrashing back and fore as his fingers forced an orgasm out of you, intense and sudden, squirting down his wrist and soaking your bed.

You gasped for air, legs falling slack as your mind felt like it was floating.

You didn't have any time to think as Art gripped your hips tightly, flipping you over effortlessly and pulling your ass into the air. He smoothed the skin gently, before giving it a slap, watching you jolt.

You were soaked, legs quivering as you braced yourself. Your knees knocked together, staring back at him desperately.

You had dreamed of this for some time, you thought, gnawing at your lip anxiously. Judging by the sudden, bare feel of his hard cock against your folds, you knew you were in for a ride; he felt huge.

He was definitely thick, but even more than that is that he was incredible in length. He wasn't an ordinary man, so you shouldn't be surprised, but a tingle of fear and excitement gnaws through you all the same.

"W-will that fit?", you whispered in awe, salivating, and Art merely shrugged, wiggling his eyebrows as though to say 'ill make it fit', before putting a hand on your head and pushing your face into the bed.

You felt arousal course through you at his actions, being pinned down and bared for him to use. You pushed your round ass into him as much as you could, desperate and whorish, feeling his body judder with silent laughter.

He teased you at first, pushing the tip in, then retrieving, only to push just a little bit more in, and then retrieving again.

You huffed, unable to hide your frustration, but choked on it as Art slowly pulled out, then slid all the way in to the hilt.

You cried out loudly, hands balled into fists in your blanket, head pushed into the bed hard as Art gave you no time to adjust and began fucking you.

Your insides were on fire, pain and pleasure at his large intrusion mixing together, pulling moan after moan out of you. You could barely breathe, struggling to say his name as Art now gripped both of your hips and bred you.

A hand was lifted from you before coming down hard on your jiggling flesh, one stroke after another, getting harder and harder until you were writhing and whining.

He didn't stop, testing just how far he could go, switching to the other cheek when he felt your screams were getting particularly painful.

The stinging was unbearable, but it made you so wet, so pliant for him to absolutely manhandle you into the bed, gripping a fistful of your hair before he ravaged you just the way you wanted.

You were already a babbling mess, cock drunk when Art had hardly done anything. He rolled his eyes at you, though he was definitely amused at the unintelligible song you sang for him, something about his large cock and something else about breeding you.

You filthy girl.

Arts hand tangled rougher into your locks, before he gripped it hard and wrenched your head back, spine arching.

Your whines increased, becoming incredibly high pitch and feminine for him as he forced your head back.

Your neck was burning, but you loved this feeling, having a firm hand tug your hair back and an incredible, curved dick hit your insides just right.

The way he fucked you hard made you want to pretend to be bratty in the future, just so he could put you in your place. In fact, maybe one day when you're feeling particularly moody or low, you could get him to fuck it out of you, sweeten you up. The thought of being forced to take him deep as he fucked the brattiness out of you had you sopping, thighs drenched and shaking and barely standing.

"Ahh--Art, it feels so-", you moaned brokenly, thighs collapsing as the demon above you took to forcing your face back into the bed, other hand forcing your wrists above your head.

Having your thighs together now made his cock feel utterly massive, forcing the air out of you as he glided in between your plush cheeks, invading your sodden hole.

It made you feral.

"Oh my God oh my God--", you cried weakly, sobbing. Tears rolled down your cheeks in over stimulation, and Art leaned his body over yours, pushing you into the bed as he used one hand to smother your mouth, hooking his fingers into it.

You babbled, sucking his fingers desperately as you drooled down his wrist and your chin.

His fingers stuffed your mouth, thick length now ramming into you harder. You could barely hold your head up anymore, resting weakly against his wrist as you cried and whimpered, mascara blackening your eyes and cheeks messily.

Suddenly your hips were gripped and your body was forced onto it's back. You whined at the loss of him inside you, legs wrapping obscenely around his trim waist, needing more.

"Fuck me, please fuck me-", you breathed, head lolling back as fat tears burned your eyes, soaking your cheeks. Your lips were formed into a frustrated pout, fists clenched as though you were about to have a tantrum unless his dick resumed fucking you.

Art grinned truly maniacally down at you, gleeful and amused at your cries. It was a stunning sight, seeing your usual reserved self acting like such a slut.

He pouted right back at you, holding two fists up to his eyes and rotating them back and forth to impersonate dramatic crying. He was mocking you cruelly, laughing at your fucked out expression.

Forcing his fingers into your mouth again, Art pushed them down your throat, watching your eyes widen as you gagged and choked. Saliva pooled in your mouth excessively, and he scooped it out with both fingers to smear it messily over your cheeks and down your chin, laughing silently and pointing.

"No, please stop mocking me..", you whimpered quietly, lips wobbling as you pleaded at him with your big eyes. Your hips bucked desperately, thighs sticky and warm.

Art dropped his grin and rolled his eyes at your antics. You really wanted him to fuck you? Sure.

A malicious glint lit up his eyes, tenderly wiping the black tears staining your cheeks from your makeup.

Before you could blink, a strong hand was wrapped around your throat roughly, and a moment later his hot cock was pummeling into you mercilessly.

You couldn't even scream, sounds trapped in your throat and escaping in high pitched exhales, your head falling back against the bed as he strangled you.

It terrified you, but as your breathing became less and your head became clouded, a sudden, indescribable pleasure ripped through you so powerfully your eyes rolled back into your head, drool openly gliding down your cheek.

Your body felt weak and unresponsive, unable to even grip at his wrists for some reprieve, but the pleasure..

The fucking pleasure was mind numbing.

Your eyes drooped, face turning almost purple as he fucked you so deep you felt sick.

You couldn't gasp anymore, weak breaths barely getting past the brutal grip on your throat.

You were delirious now, feeling in a dream like state, ecstasy exploding behind your eyes and lighting your nerves on such a burning fire. You felt like your soul was ripped out of your mortal shell, experiencing the biggest high of your entire life.

Art cackled madly, silently, a sick adoration twisting in his eyes at the way your consciousness began to slip. He held your neck dangerously tight, tighter than he planned but judging by the way your hot, wet pussy gripped at him, he knew you loved it.

The sounds of your joining bodies was obscene and lewd, squelching and loud as his cock forced your lubrication out of your body.

Art gritted his teeth at the morbidly stunning view of you drooling excessive saliva, tears soaking his hands and mascara clumping your eyelashes, your eyes now bloodshot and heavy.

They rolled back, and soon you become quiet.

Bringing you to the very edge, Art removed your hand and allowed air to enter your lungs.

You gasped painfully, choking and sobbing as you were given no time to inhale greedily, instead getting ravaged inhumanly fast.

You couldn't lift your head, eyes blinking dazedly up at Art, who lifted a hand to wave at you mockingly.

You tried to speak but couldn't, mouth held open in permanent ecstasy. Your hips snapped upright as fingers roughly rubbed at your engorged clitoris, abusing the greedy nub.

A cry tore from your raw throat, head thrashing side to side and legs shaking violently as your orgasm rendered you incoherent.

You screamed out, squirting almost violently down your quivering thighs and over Arts rigid, brutal cock.

You sobbed, face screwing up pathetically as genuine, uncontrollable cries wracked your form. You could barely intake breath, body and nerves unable to handle the level of soul wrenching pleasure and borderline pain that was inflicted upon you.

Art gripped your shaking thighs and lifted them above his shoulders, face devoid of his usual smirk and instead scowling down at you with smouldering eyes. He fucked you harder, faster, animalistic before his hips stuttered once, twice, and a hot, thick load of cum filled your gaping pussy.

The amount was unnatural, not human, but your body lapped it up all the same as your insides convulsed and quivered. You moaned weakly, keening in a higher pitch as your lips wobbled and your eyes remained misted and delirious.

You didn't even feel Art pull out, stuck in a dream like state as aftershocks lit your body up. Your legs were dropped from his shoulders, falling unceremoniously to the bed, wide open.

You babbled incoherently, arm covering your face. Art stared down at you serenely, gazing from your dick dumb espression to the mess of cum coating your thighs, globs of it dripping down to your asshole. Your hole gaped and twitched, greedily gulping up all that it could take, thoroughly fucked and bred.

You felt two fingers scooping up the mess and pushing it filthily back into your pussy.

You whined, dropping the arm from your eyes to finally look at the demonic clown that had surely taken grip of your soul and tore it out.

Art smirked down at you, winking playfully. He revelled in the mess he made of you.

"Art that was--I--Mmm--", you moaned, responding to the gentle caress of your clit with his fingers. You were so wet and full of cum, biting your lip.

You didn't move as you felt his form pull away from you. You were so out of it you felt drunk.

You didn't feel him tucking you into bed, only remembered being beneath the blankets as he tilted his head down at you contemplatively.

He felt something foreign, that was for certain. He felt a possessive adoration over you, wanting to break you into a crying, sobbing mess, strangle you until you stood on the precipice of death like earlier, but also..

Watching you now, eyes drooping as you gripped his hand softly, tiredly, he made the final decision that he wanted more tender moments like this.

You were the rare occasion, the only occasion.

He was going to consume you whole.

#terrifier #terrifier 3 #damien leone #art the clown #art the clown x reader #art the clown smut #terrifier smut #terrifer x you

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inkedells · 4 months ago

Text

pairing: old!logan x f!reader

Logan is sick and tired of you treating him like he's fragile. He'll ignore his relentless pain to show you what it's like to be taken apart, rough and slow, then fast and agonizing.

wc: 3.5k of pure smut

warnings: heavy smut, lap sitting, fingering, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), dirty talk, facials, p in v, ruined orgasms, snowballing, kind of angsty, the claws come out, logan is angry with you, kinda toxic, definitely mean, but still kind of sweet, pwp basically, blood, but it's not bloodplay, it's just logan not caring if he's hurt, if i missed any let me know.

Logan comes home and throws himself back on that torn-up leather sofa, thumb flicking his lighter while the other holds a cigar. It’s less of a distraction from the ache in his bones, and more of a device to push you away. Because if you think he’s tired or angry or hurting, you won’t ask him to fuck you.

It’s not like he doesn’t want you. Of course he does. It’s the sympathy in your eyes when he gets tired from just a couple of minutes of thrusting that he hates. The whispered, “It’s okay. baby, I can ride you.” The gentle touches across his body and his neck and his face and his beard. It all reeks of pity. And if you were to sit him down one day and ask him why he hates being taken care of, he wouldn’t have an answer. He would push the voice in his head down into the void that all the strength he had left fell in, the voice shrinking until it’s nothing as it screams, because I’ve never been taken care of, and I would’ve loved it back when being taken care of wasn’t my only choice.

But it’s fine. You wouldn’t ever ask him that question because he knows for a fact that you don’t know. If you did, you wouldn’t be climbing onto his lap quietly, hands rubbing his sides as you press kisses to his neck.

“I missed you, Logan,” You whisper. Your hips aren’t moving; He knows he sat here like this to avoid fucking you, but he almost wishes you were seeking exactly that. Sex, as embarrassing as it would be for him, is better than your sick love. He doesn’t think you love in the way lovers do. It’s the kind of love meant for sick puppies, or the lonely old woman sitting on the bus with all her belongings in plastic bags.

He turns his head to take a drag of his cigar. Silence.

You hold his face, forcing him to look at you as you kiss him. Slow, chaste, no tongue. He feels scrutinized by your touches, and something nervous seats itself deep in his belly.

“How was your day?” You ask, your gaze snapping between his eyes.

Logan closes them. “I’m tired,” He says flatly.

“I know. It’s okay.”

There it is again. Pity.

He scoffs. It’s quiet. Barely there. He didn’t mean to. He watches your face fall the smallest bit. A year ago, he wouldn’t have noticed, and if he would’ve, he would blurt out an apology. Now, he does notice, but he secretly wants to watch it fall even further if it means you’ll realize how much you’ve been hurting him.

You swallow, your thumb rubbing his cheekbone. “I found an American poetry anthology in the basement today. 20th Century. My favorite poem was in it.”

He mumbles, “In a Station of the Metro. T.S. Elliot.” Remembering the poem you told him about months ago sounds too much like sorry. He wishes he’d pretended to forget.

“Ezra Pound,” You correct. Your smile tells him he’s forgiven for an apology he never offered. “If you can recite it I’ll be impressed.”

“I’m not reciting a goddamn poem.” He sounds sarcastic, and it relieves you, but then you kiss him and he’s wound tight again.

You sigh as you pull back. “What’s bothering you, baby?”

“Nothing’s bothering—”

“What’s bothering you?” You interject.

He shakes his head, clenching his jaw. He makes the decision to sacrifice his dignity for the sake of stopping this conversation. You never could resist an orgasm, especially one caused by him. “Enough of that.”

“What?”

But he’s putting out his cigar and lifting you off his lap with a suppressed grunt, then pushing you down on the couch.

“Logan,” You protest.

He continues undoing the drawstring of your pajamas, with a kind of slippery urgency that tells you he's trying to shut you up more than he's trying to satiate his own desire.

You sit up straight, swatting his hand away. “Stop.”

He withdraws immediately, breathing hard through his nose as he looks down at the floor. He was wrong, before, about you not knowing. You definitely know, because you don’t place a loving hand on his thigh and you don’t kiss his shoulder. He’s grateful.

Instead, you observe his profile, then the quiet tremor in his hand. The impossible stillness of the rest of him. He tends to do that when his nerves are on fire. Thinks being a statue is what people who aren’t in chronic pain do.

“Don’t do that,” He mumbles, feeling your eyes on him. “I don’t need you feeling sorry, or whatever—whatever the fuck else goes through your head when you’re around me.”

You say nothing. That’s the most he’s said about his feelings in a while. He knows it, so he forces himself to say nothing, too. It doesn’t last long.

“I’m not dying.” His voice cracks a little at the end and he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.

“I know.” The words come out in a tumble, as if you’re rushing to participate in his lie.

“Then stop looking at me like I’m dying.”

“Okay.” Tears prickle your eyes but you blink them away.

“Okay,” He repeats.

You take a deep breath. “But it’s okay to be cared for, Logan.”

He laughs incredulously, and suddenly his volume is rising and his voice is firm. “Would you just—Would you just quit being my fuckin’ mommy? Would you?”

He only lets your silence marinate for a second before he rushes in to kiss you, ignoring the cramps in his muscles as he tugs your neck forward roughly. You squeak against his mouth, fighting his impossible grip on you, but you give up with a shaky exhale through your nose when your efforts prove useless.

“I can take care of you, too,” He grits out. It would sound sweet if it weren’t for the frustration in his tone. He pushes you onto the couch the same way he did moments before as he opens your legs by your knees and settles between them. He sucks a dark mark onto your neck, his fingers digging bruises in your ribs.

“I know you can,” You reassure him. You can see where this is going. “And I love when you do.” You gasp when he pulls your shirt up over the curve of your breasts.

“No. You don’t.” He pinches one of your nipples and sucks the other into his mouth for a brief second. “It’s okay. I’ll show you so you don’t forget again. You won’t want to get ruined any other way.”

“Logan,” You sigh.

He hums against the soft skin just underneath your breast as his hands ravage your body. He begins to unsheathe the adamantium claws in one of his hands so he can rip your top open. It’s slow and excruciating, so he closes his eyes, but the pain is over too soon and his suspicions are confirmed when he opens his eyes to see them stuck halfway.

You don’t expect him to lean back and individually tug each blade free. There’s blood, and now it’s dripping onto your belly, and he mumbles something that sounds like an apology as he wipes the dots of red away with his thumb.

But the hazel in his eyes is alive again. You hope it’s you that did that. Hope it’s not the pain or the sight of his own blood. You want to ask him, just to make sure. You don’t like hurting, right? You just really like me—

He slices through your shirt, careful not to graze your skin, and you try to ignore the fact that he’s never that cautious with himself, but you can’t.

“Logan, you’re bleeding.” Your voice is unstable.

“It’ll heal,” He says quickly, passively. He wipes his burning palm on his wifebeater.

“But that takes a long time now.”

He meets your eyes, his movements frozen. He’s angry and you’re not stupid. You’re pitying him again. He needs you to stop fucking pitying him. When he speaks, his voice is deep and rough and slow, and you would be scared if he wasn’t your Logan. “Are you done?”

You don’t know what to say, so you just close your eyes and nod. You hear his claws retract faster than when they came out, and almost simultaneously, he’s shoving that same hand under your waistband as two of his calloused fingers push themselves into your cunt.

You arch toward him involuntarily, a ragged moan falling from your lips as he tugs your pajamas off your legs and spits on your pussy to ease the slide of his fingers.

Each groan he pulls from your throat is a step toward dispelling the doubt from your body. Doubt of his capabilities, of his strength, of his devotion to you.

“Beg me to fuck you,” He demands, fingering you roughly.

Your mind is cloudy at this point, from sadness or arousal or both, but you give him what he wants. “Fuck me,” You whisper, your eyelids about to flutter shut as you shed a tear.

But then you catch Logan smiling.

He grabs your jaw with his free hand, and you look at him immediately. “You’re gonna let me use it, right? Get myself off?” You lazily trace his features with your gaze—His nose, his wrinkles, his beard—because you know if it were your fingers instead he’d mistake it for tenderness and get mad again.

You nod, but it’s weak with how hazy everything is.

“Good girl.”

“Please,” You sigh, “I need you inside of me. I need to—I need it.”

“I know. I know what you’re feeling before you feel it.” He lets the pad of his thumb draw quick circles on your clit. “What? Thought I couldn’t hear you playing with yourself in the shower? If I can hear your heartbeat when I walk through the door, what makes you think I wouldn’t have heard you whining my name?”

“Logan,” You sigh, your hips lifting off the couch, coaxing his fingers deeper for as long as possible before he’s shoving you back down with the heel of his palm.

“I’m gonna play with you now. I’ll fuck you after, don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

“What do you mean, play with me?” You breathe, fighting to keep your eyes open as he finds your g-spot.

He grins dirtily, in a way that makes your head spin and your thighs clench around his hand. You’re barely processing his words as he bends down to mumble in your ear, “Right when you’re about to make a mess on my fingers, I’m gonna stop. Then I’m gonna go down on you. And I’m gonna lick your pretty pussy, maybe even fuck you with my tongue if you’re good. And guess what? Guess what I’m gonna do when you’re this close?”

“You’re gonna stop,” You whine.

“I’m gonna stop,” He nods, and it’s mocking, but it’s gentle, and he’s fucking killing you with the way he’s talking right now. “But I’m not mean. I’ll give you a break. You can calm down when my dick is in your mouth, okay?”

“Okay,” You breathe, your hips unabashedly grinding on his fingers. But you want to reassure him he is mean, and you especially want to tell him how much you love it. “Logan, I’m gonna—”

He withdraws his fingers from you so fast it almost burns. You clench around nothing, your lower half spasming as your orgasm barely approaches before falling away again. Only a hint of pleasure is able to make it through the cracks, and you cling onto it, hoping if you focus hard enough, the wave will come back. It doesn’t. You should regret warning Logan that you were about to finish, but all you feel is comfort now that he’s finally proud of you again.

Another tear streams down the side of your face, landing in your hair. Logan’s watching you as he pets your thigh, his lips parted when he leans down over you. He kisses your wet cheek softly, his beard rough on your skin. It’s unlike him to offer you affection this gracefully during sex. It’s always shaky limbs and suppressed groans and dirty kisses. Both of you know it.

He moves down your body, until his face is hovering over your cunt. He doesn’t have his reading glasses on, so he has to pull his head back and squint as he spreads your folds with his thumbs, studying what you look like. He licks a stripe over you. A second, longer one, before he zeroes in on your clit. You can do nothing except lay there and take it as your hips twitch from overstimulation under his firm hands.

“Oh my god,” You whisper, your fingers twisting in his hair. “F-Fuck.”

He moans at that, pressed right up against you, the sound deep and delicious and vibrating. “Feel good?” He asks teasingly with a nip to your inner thigh.

“What do—What the fuck do you think?”

He breathes a laugh. It’s short and airy, not frustrated like before, and a warmth ignites itself in the back of your mind. It’s overpowering even the feeling of his mouth licking and sucking your most sensitive area; It’s the relief that he’s still hiding the Logan you fell in love with somewhere in there.

You wind your fingers in his hair and scratch his scalp. You try to do it lovingly, although it comes across as sexual and Logan’s breath hitches in pleasure against your pussy instead. So as you suppress a gasp from the pure skill of his tongue, you show your affection differently—you hold the wounded hand he has resting face-up beside your hip. The cuts embedded there are easy to avoid as your thumb rubs the lines of his palm, because even though you can’t see his hand, the puffiness surrounding each slash on his skin are your cues.

He doesn’t move his hand away, but his tongue falters for a fraction of a second before slowing down.

The kind of love you’re pressing into Logan’s skin with each gentle stroke is unrecognizable to him. It’s not the pitiful love he’s so used to. He thinks it might be the opposite. Admiration. Reverence.

“I’m so empty,” You whisper, bringing your hands to grope Logan’s biceps. They’re sweaty and hard and flexing under your touch, and you wonder if he would let you ride them one day.

When your climax starts to creep up on you, it’s thanks to the image of Logan forcing you to lick your arousal clean off his bicep. Indulgently swirling your tongue along his pronounced veins, savoring the taste of his sweat mixed with yourself. He’d probably say somthing like, fuckin’ filthy. Getting yourself off on my arm. Who does that? Are you that obsessed with me?

Logan feels you squeezing his tongue, harder than all the other times before, so he withdraws at the last moment, ruining your orgasm once again.

You convulse silently, your breath coming out stuttered with your twitching jaw. As if he can read your mind, he unbuckles his belt and removes his pants and boxers. But he doesn’t strip himself of his wifebeater, stained with blood.

It’s the hottest thing in the world.

You blink, and suddenly Logan is hovering above you with his cock over your face. He rubs his leaking tip on your cheeks first, then your lips, and when you open your mouth to take him, he moves his cock away and nudges your jaw shut with his free hand, shaking his head.

“Not yet.”

A whine lodges itself in your throat as Logan spreads his pre-come over the plush of your lips. It escapes only when he lets go of his cock in favor of massaging his wetness across your lips and on your tongue with his thumb. His hard cock is bobbing above you, almost tantalizingly, the occasional drip of arousal landing itself somewhere near your eyes, then your hair, then your mouth, and you watch Logan’s brow furrow as you try to lick whatever you can.

His resolve snaps. A calloused hand squeezes at your cheeks until your jaw falls open. His cock is in your mouth before you can process it, thick and heavy and wet. So. Incredibly. Wet. You start to wonder how it’s even possible that he’s this hard at his age, but you know he wouldn’t want you to be wondering that, so you happily push the thought away.

You suck your cheeks in, swirling your tongue around his tip as you bob your head to meet the subtle, almost imperceivable thrust of his hips. You’re taking it well, you know you are. So you keep taking it, until Logan can no longer successfully suppress his moans and his hips are jerking out of rhythm.

He moves back until his cock slips out of your mouth. “I don’t wanna come like this. Wanna fuck you.”

“Yeah, yes. Fuck me. Please.”

He stands up and turns you on your front, your knees pressing into the soft couch cushions with your ass in the air.

“Logan,” You plead as you feel his tip pressing at your entrance.

“I’ve got you,” He says quietly, pushing in until half of his cock is comfortably squeezed by your cunt. Both your breathing is loud and labored, and there’s a specific kind of intimacy in knowing you’re both feeling this identical need. Overwhelming and hot and unquenchable by anything other than each other.

His first thrust is shallow, but it ruins you all the same. With how thick he is, it should feel like an intrusion, and it does. But all you can think about is how perfectly he fits inside of you, filling you extraordinarily with only a few inches.

“Fuck,” Logan breathes. “Look at that.” He traces around your entrance with his thumb. “Stretching so wide to take me.”

You moan, pressing your cheek against the sofa as you rock with his thrusts. He still hasn’t pressed all the way in yet, and you’re growing impatient. “Come on,” You urge, pushing yourself back to force more of his cock into you.

You expect him to chastise you for being so greedy, but he listens to you instead with a slow, full thrust. His tip nudges your cervix with how deep he is, and a ragged moan escapes you. “Yes,” You whine, “Oh god, yes.”

Logan’s breaths are coming out heavy through his nose, quick and occasionally intertwined with a grunt. His thrusts are getting quicker, and it’s starting to burn, but you welcome every sensation he has to offer you. He pulls out, spits on his cock, then shoves himself back inside, and this time you’re both unabashedly moaning the minute you’re joined again.

His fingers dig in the plush of your ass as he observes himself disappearing into you. It hurts, but you love it. He knows you do, so he spanks you quickly before gripping you and rutting against you again.

“I love when you fuck me,” You whisper, feeling ashamed as soon as the confession leave you. “When you properly fuck me.”

He slows for a moment so he can watch his cock glisten with how wet you are. “I know.” He picks back up his punishing pace.

Your eyes begin to water, from pain or pleasure, you can’t tell. “I love you.”

“I know,” He repeats, this time breathier. His hips stutter. You can tell he’s close.

“I want it on my face,” You tell him quickly, his impending orgasm giving you no time to worry about being too forward.

He pulls out again, letting you turn onto your back as he shifts up your body. He jerks himself furiously, but you swat his hand away and take it upon yourself to stroke him.

“Come for me,” You tell him honestly, softly. His eyes squeeze shut and his lips part around a trembling exhale.

He groans as his release coats your face in long stripes. Some of it even lands in your hair, but you don’t care. Your own fingers work your clit as you stick your tongue out and taste him. Logan bends down to kiss you, chest heaving and hands shaky, and you rub yourself faster as you swap his release between the two of you with a hum. He pulls back to let you swallow, then he kisses your cheeks with his rough beard, uncaring about the mess on your face.

You don’t know you’re coming until it’s over and you’re breathless, and it’s almost excruciating with how much he’s ruined you, but you’re so exhausted you can’t find it in yourself to dwell on it a second longer.

You wrap your arms around his neck and tug him down for another kiss because you can hardly remember the one he just gave you.

“I’m sorry I had been treating you all wrong,” You say carefully.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” His voice is rough.

You nod, your lips brushing his as you smooth sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead. These touches are hard for him. Any variation of your chaste affection is a reminder that he’s not really Logan anymore.

But the shame in it is gone. Replaced by the reassurance that he can still surround you with safety and firm hands and blatant desire;

And for a moment, he’s his old self again.

A/N: it's been so long since i've written anything, but logan has been consuming my brain for weeks so i had to get this out. i hope it's true to his character. <3 also, my asks are open, so feel free to request anything you want to read about.

#hugh jackman #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #hugh jackman x reader #wolverine smut #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett #x men #old!logan x reader #old man logan #old man logan x reader

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astonmartinii · 5 days ago

Text

other side of the moon - chapter one | formula one imagine

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

chapter one: an offer you can refuse

years of solitude has led y/n y/ln down a dark path following her career-ending injury in 2022 but one rookie seems dead set on bringing her back into the fray

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

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“have you seen this?”

it’s too early in the day to be subjected to twitter in y/n’s opinion, but her manager - the one she’s always insisted in not needing - insists upon it. sara’s hand shakes as she hands over her phone, the video already playing loudly.

the video is a poorly clipped together compilation of kimi antonelli, for no better word, gushing about her. it’s earnest and even cute, but not cute enough. the formula one paddock was a vulture pit, one y/n had only escaped three years earlier with her life - barely.

“it’s cool. that’s all it is though,” y/n moves towards the door, picking up her coat and refusing to turn back towards sara, “i’ve told you since jenson insisted i hire you, there’s no way in hell i will ever go back to that paddock. and that’s the end of it, please. i’ll do any stupid vitamin ad or female empowerment talk if it makes you happy, but i can’t go back there.”

y/n grabbed her keys and left the apartment, leaving sara in her wake. sara reached into her pocket and pulled out a tattered letter with ‘y/n’ scrawled on the front in awful handwriting. she left it on the kitchen island and left, understanding this was likely to be her last time in this apartment - there's stupid and there's what she was doing right now, there was no way she would still be employed in the morning.

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girlsonthegrid

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and 103,478 others

tagged: yourusername

girlsonthegrid: today we look back at the biggest what if for women in formula one - y/n y/ln. the 26-year-old drove for mclaren from 2020 to 2022 before she sustained a career-ending injury at silverstone. y/ln was the first ever female f1 race winner with her emphatic victory at monza in 2021 and the first ever female formula 2 champion with her win in 2019. her career lasted just 30 races and she hasn't been seen in the paddock or around any drivers since the crash. there have been reports that she has been approached about a mentor role but considering how fast her management rejected and shut down sky sports about a commentary role, this is also unlikely. what would you like to see from her if she ever comes out of hiding?

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user1: i mourn for her everyday

user2: the way she paved the way for so many but can't stand to be in the paddock to see what she did for the sport

user3: i really don't blame her

user4: doriane is the mercedes reserve and abbi is alpine's! her work is there even if she isn't and i know i'll always be grateful for that

user5: she's so overrated, if she didn't crash she still would've been out of formula 1 by now

user6: me when i'm the most wrong ever

user7: i can't believe there are still men to this day that think she wasn't great? literal world champions like max, lewis, fernando, seb and jenson have all said that she could've won a championship

user8: i mean no shade to lando but i think y/n would've made it 100x harder for max this season in that mclaren

user9: the way jenson tried to say that in the nicest way possible in las vegas lol

user10: and max agreed with him LOL

user11: the way it wasn't even proper lando shade or oscar shade like twitter painted it to be but like max just praising his bestie

user12: he does not play about her as he should

user13: i mean he's the only one we know y/n still actually talks to

user14: i can't wait for the tell-all biography that exposes half the grid because like how much have you must have fucked up for her to never speak to you again

user15: when twitter likes were public she was caught liking a bunch of tweets bout mick when he got his first points so like she doesn't even have hard feelings to the guy who put her in the barrier sooo

user16: it was proven it was break failure???? mick did nothing wrong that's why she still likes things praising him

user17: that crash really robbed us of the best ever f1 relationship with y/n and lando

user18: you know that's part of the reason that she doesn't speak to lando right?

user19: because she wished it was him not her?

user20: NO! because she hated that whole 'ship'

user21: and lando leaned into it way too much

user22: it made me a bit uncomfortable and i'm not even y/n

user23: AND she said on the beyond the grid podcast that she thought those rumours were really reductive and relegated her to just a love interest of her teammate rather than a race winner

user24: kimi antonelli please bring her back to us

user25: praying she'll listen to the literal child

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texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and max verstappen (italics)

did u give them my fucking address

my lawyer says to always deny everything?

i also actually have no idea what you are talking about…

i just got home and there’s a fucking letter from KIMI ANTONELLI on my kitchen counter

it’s creepy and a mad invasion of privacy

i did NOT give them your address?

i gave them sara’s contact details so they wouldn’t be able to directly get to you and i honestly thought she would be too scared to ask you

she showed me all the clips of him praising me.

it didn’t work.

it’s been three years y/n…

and it still hasn’t been long enough.

all i’m saying is read the letter, as creepy as it might be, he is just an 18 year old entering the lion’s den you could at least reply to him even if you don’t take up the offer

although i read they were going to pay you £10 million a year??? was that real?

unfortunately it is very real.

i didn’t think i was still worth that much

you are worth that and more, just give him a chance. we’ve both met him, he’s a sweet kid.

for now.

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it was cold in her apartment, y/n hadn’t shut the window from when she opened them that morning. in fact she hadn’t moved from the kitchen since she set eyes on the letter. it was bold she’d give him that.

the letter was crumpled as if it had gone through hell to get to her (it probably had) and the handwriting was a serious reminder of just how young kimi is. y/n had wondered if her maternal instincts would ever kick in like all the older women in her life insisted it would. sure she had felt intense feelings of love for her childhood cats and had cared her formula one cars (regina and heather, they were named after mean girls, because that is who they had to be on track) like they were children. but that true maternal feeling had never come to her, until now.

all y/n could think about was kimi. how young he was, how much he was set to lose. not everyone was her, the worst thing wasn’t going to happen to everyone - it just always seemed to happen to her.

her loud phone alarm jolted her out of her daydream, reminding her to take her painkillers. as she poured herself a glass of water, y/n slammed down the glass and ripped open the letter.

dear miss y/n y/ln my name is andrea kimi antonelli and i am going to be driving for mercedes amg f1 team in 2025. we met very briefly after i won all three races at mugello and lifted the italian f4 championship trophy. i know you were there on mclaren PR but for me it changed my life. you have always been my biggest inspiration alongside michael schumacher (i am italian, you must understand). it was always my dream to race alongside you and maybe even be teammates, i’d even betray toto and leave mercedes to make that happen (please don’t tell him i told you that). i know that can never happen now, but it could happen in another way? i know like me you grew up seeing niki lauda supporting and mentoring the mercedes drivers and i was wondering if you would be my mentor - who cares about george anyway. i know you’ve never come back to the paddock and are unlikely to do so for little old me. but if you could just think about it that would be great, if you don’t ask, you’ll never get! i hope this letter wasn’t horribly offensive, i mean it when i say you’re my favourite!!! love, kimi (p.s. i was at monza 2021, so you could even consider me a good luck charm) (p.p.s you won monza 2021 completely on merit but i was there) (p.p.p.s please don’t think i’m an idiot) (p.p.p.p.s i also loved interlagos 2020 that’s a super underrated drive)

with tears in her eyes, y/n placed the letter back on the counter, grabbed the glass of water and made her way to her bedroom. painkillers taken with a wince, she still hadn’t gotten used to the size of the pills even three years into taking them, y/n shuffled under the duvet.

the offer was there and it seemed sincere. her accountant would tell her that the money was worth the mental turmoil, even if she just did it for one season and returned to her little cave in west london.

there was no doubt she felt something for kimi - a kinship, a frienship or a maternal yearning - but was it worth ripping off all the bandages and opening herself back up to all the scrutiny again?

she would sleep on it.

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63 and 10,567,388 others

yourusername: much to think about these days. like how the fuck this app works now?

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user1: first post in three years and it’s THIS?

user2: i am not complaining

user3: i am savouring every little piece in case she goes missing for another three years

mclarenf1: the queen has returned

user4: no thanks to you

user5: how about we keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth

user6: socials admin i know it is not you specifically but i really don’t know how you can post up here like you’re completely absolved of your involvement in this. your car had break failure that broke her fucking back - it is a miracle she is even still walking! and you still don’t accept any responsibility for it

user7: i love y/n but like how is it mclaren’s fault? break failure happens all the time?

user8: well it’s in one part the fact that they were using her as a test dummy because it was a new faulty part that mclaren was experimenting with that was on her car and NOT lando’s and the fact that to this day when they feel like it they’ll heap guilt onto mick schumacher

user9: without being disrespectful there were two formula one careers that were ended that day because mclaren have kept to the narrative that it was mick that put her into the barriers eventhough siedel admitted when he left mclaren that it was a faulty break part that caused it.

user10: clock it

user11: yes clock it but maybe on a different post because it’s y/n’s return to the internet and all yall can talk about is the most traumatic event in her life?

kimiantonelli: i also love clairo

user12: what is bro doing?

user13: be quiet he’s our best hope of y/n coming back to the paddock let him cook

user14: name three songs local

kimiantonelli: bags (live), alewife and blouse

user15: this motherfucker might just do it

maxverstappen1: i miss brando :/

yourusername: you know my address

yourusername: use it since you like to give it out so much

maxverstappen1: I DID NOT GIVE THEM YOUR ADDRESS

user16: y/lnstappen friendship is BACK

user17: it was never gone?

user18: but now we get to see it :P

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when she woke the next morning, y/n knew she had to read the letter again before jumping into anything. in her sleep she was plagued with memories of the past, but not the usual ones that haunted her in the dark. there were no flames, no hospitals, no career-ending injuries. no, this time she was transported back to 2020 and her first few races of her formula one career.

march 2020.

the paddock was much bigger in formula one than it had been in formula two with hundreds more people running around, barging through crowds, hitting y/n on the way through and not even stopping to apologise. she had thought briefly that she would be making more noise as the first female racer to take part in a race since forever - y/n even thought that she’d made a bit of a splash during preseason testing, nestled between her teammate lando and alex in the red bull in fifth.

but she was invisible. even with the garish orange path to follow to the mclaren garage, y/n struggled to get through the crowds of people brandishing their paddock passes. her trainer had gone ahead to set up her driver room which left y/n to push through and arrive to briefing ten minutes late.

“i’m so sorry, i got lost and by the time i was going in the right direction the paddock had filled up?”

y/n stammered, not quite able to make eye contact with zak brown. the american wasn’t tall in comparison to the general public but he towered over y/n and the disapproving stare didn’t do much to help.

“just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

zak snipped, waving his hand in y/n’s direction, telling her to take a seat. y/n rushed to the nearest empty seat and looked for her teammate in the room. lando was sat just three seats to her right on a small table. y/n tried to make eye contact with lando but he avoided her gaze like it was burning him, so much for the ‘big brother’ act he had put on at the car launch.

the engineers stood in front of the screen and started their long-winded presentation about the prospects for the season ahead. y/n pulled her note book out and frantically started taking notes, she didn’t know if that was normal for formula one drivers, but knowing as much as possible couldn’t hurt.

y/n copied down the warnings about possible tyre wear in turn three when she heard some soft sniggers, like someone was trying to stifle their laughter. this drew y/n out of her focus on the presentation, looking around the meeting room to locate the perpetrator.

lando caught her eye immediately. he had a light blush across his face and his mouth was covered by his hand. he looked guilty, guiltier than the rest of the room who were listening intently to the engineers. y/n raised her eyebrow in question.

“i’m sorry are we distracting you two?”

zak interrupted the presentation, turning to look at y/n and lando.

“no, sorry sir,” y/n replied turning her chair back to face the screen. “lando?” zak pressed.

“i’m sorry zak but y/n was distracting me with her note-taking,” lando forced out between his boyish giggles. “i’ve never taken notes, i didn’t realise you would be sucking up to the engineers this early on?”

“i’ve always taken notes? is it a problem? i’m sorry if i was distracting you lando.”

“yeah we’ll see how much those notes help you on track, rookie.”

lando spat over the table. it was uncharacteristically mean for the lando she had seen in the mclaren social content and the lando she spoke with at the car launch. y/n felt tears prickle in her eyes but she swallowed them down, she couldn’t cry yet - or at least not in view of all the most important people on the team.

“right. we’ll get back to business then.”

the rest of the meeting went by in a blur for y/n, but despite the outburst from lando, she continued to take her notes, she would be damned if some comments from lando would fuck up her entire race weekend routine. y/n took her time when zak dismissed them from the meeting, not wanting to look unprofessional.

moving towards the door, y/n’s shoulder hit someone else’s. she looked up to make eye contact with lando yet again.

“you better not make a habit of making contact with me, rookie,” lando said, a slight smirk but a harsh look in his eyes.

“are you like okay?”

“why wouldn’t i be?” lando replied pushing past through the door.

“i don’t know, you’re just a little frosty this morning? did i do something?”

“why would i be thinking about you, seriously? this is my team, know your place and we’ll get on just fine”.

with that lando was gone and y/n was left puzzled. i guess PR really does work wonders, y/n thought before making her own way to her drivers room.

her trainer, luca, wasn’t there when she managed to locate the room but all of her gear was already neatly put away like they had discussed. y/n cracked open an electrolyte drink and opened her notebook to study the meeting points.

there was a loud knock at the door and before y/n could even utter a “come in”, the mystery visitor barged into the room. daniel ricciardo announced his arrival with a packet of tim tams thrown at y/n and a quick “howdy” before he started rifling through her stuff and studying her helmet.

“ah, another cool dude who has a cuddly guy on their helmet,” daniel said, picking up her helmet, pointing at the cartoon version of her childhood cat.

“oh that’s schumi, when we travelled for karting we always brought him up until he died of old age, but i still want him with me whenever i race.” y/n said, nervous that the heartfelt explanation would be deemed uncool by one of the coolest racers she had ever seen.

“oh that’s surprisingly cute, i bet schumi was a big hit in the paddock back in the day.”

“he sure was, he’s how i charmed max into not hating me after i took him out once,” y/n chuckled thinking back to the race where max stormed up to her with angry tears in his eyes until y/n practically threw schumi at him. in just five seconds, max had calmed down and schumi was happily purring in the young dutchman’s lap.

“that sounds like max. but speaking of the other young whippersnappers in the paddock, how is our lando treating you? i bet zak and that can’t keep up with you two…” daniel asked, slumping to the floor, taking one of her drinks from the mini fridge.

“oh. i am getting used to him, we’ll put it that way?”

“he’s not being rude is he?”

“no! well. he insists on calling me rookie and keeps making comments about me crashing into him and made fun of me taking notes in briefing but i’m sure that such the british banter.”

“you’re british?”

“well. um. yeah, you got me there.”

daniel grabbed her hands, forcing y/n to look him in the eyes rather than her very interesting shoes.

“i know lando is like some media darling, but so are you. don’t let him push you around, he may have been in this team a while but you’re just as good as him if not better. you’re here to prove yourself, not to play second fiddle, okay?”

it was the first time someone had actually tried to talk to her properly since getting to the paddock. again, tears climbed to her eyes, but this time she let one creep out. daniel wiped it away.

“we made the mistake of isolating max when he was young and new, we won’t make the same mistake - we can’t have two of you running rampant around here,” y/n let out a wet laugh which daniel returned, “just come to renault if you need anything from me. max will be there for you, you know, and seb, kimi, fernando and all the old men will listen to you. don’t rot in your drivers room or hotel suite and think you’re not wanted here.”

y/n nodded, feeling some butterflies in her stomach. she was actually here - a formula one driver. a seven-time race winner wants her here, world champions want her here. a private-school fuckboy wasn’t going to ruin her first ever race weeekend.

“thank you daniel.”

“i have to dash, but i’m serious, we’re here for you. and i would be honoured to kick that little shit’s ass for you, okay?”

the australian left in just as loud fashion as he came, but in the remaining silence, y/n finally felt some peace. this was her chance, and she wasn’t going to mess it up.

present.

y/n couldn’t let that happen to kimi. the young italian was just so unbelievably earnest in his letter that y/n couldn’t bear the thought of his kindness being taken advantage of. george russell had never been outwardly callous but with his attack on max late last season and his complete radio silence with y/n since her crash made her suspicious.

as she prepared to ask max for kimi’s number, sara (who did actually still have a job) sent her a link.

sara: zak brown believes mclaren has the strongest pairing on the grid with no more childish recklessness like in the early 2020s

sara: do you want us to put out a statement or ignore as usual?

y/n clicked on the link, even though she knew it would just annoy her to the point that her phone might become closely acquainted with the thames.

as the formula one world gears up for the 2025 season, zak brown has already stated his confidence for mclaren this season. the papaya team will be coming into the 2025 season as reigning constructors champions and lando norris and oscar piastri will be aiming to add the world drivers championship to that as well.

when zak brown sat down with us earlier this week, the mclaren ceo did not beat around the bush, stating that mclaren have the strongest pairing on the grid. with red bull promoting liam lawson in a test and, mercedes putting unproven kimi antonelli next to george russell and ferrari gambling with charles leclerc and lewis hamilton, brown might just be right.

in their journey to constructors champions, brown recognised that as a team they had straightened out all of their ‘growing pains’. this is exemplified in oscar piastri completing all laps in the 2024 season.

like they usually do, y/n y/ln’s particularly rabid twitter fans will probably detect some ‘shade’ towards the former driver. brown did touch on the prior mclaren drivers during his reign as ceo, saying that the team had some childish recklessness, but now they have a team that all know their place.

y/n y/ln hasn’t spoken about anything formula one related since her retirement, even forgoing the opportunity to congratulate the team that took the chance on her for winning the championship - something brown did not mince his words on off camera. brown lamented about y/ln’s silence, labelling her a brat and ungrateful for not still thanking him for allowing a woman to compete in formula one.

will mclaren make it back-to-back constructors championships? and will they sweep both championships this season?

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

she needed that loud-mouthed american’s head on a silver platter. the letter had almost sucked her back into the world of formula one, only for the man who discarded her like a broken toy when his car had malfunctioned and smashed her and her career into a concrete wall to call her an ungrateful brat.

fuck him. fuck mclaren. and fuck that dumbass reporter for giving him the time of day.

y/n didn’t throw her phone from her balcony but pulled up her texts with max.

texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and max verstappen (italic)

have you read this absolute hogwash

zak brown believes mclaren has the strongest pairing on the grid with no more childish recklessness like in the early 2020s

i 100% get why you wanted to put him in a wall last season

you watched last season?

shut up not the time

did you text me just to call your old tyrannical boss a fraud?

i was going to ask for kimi’s number but now i’m back at square one

noooooooo

i want to be there for him, the way no one was for us.

but this is the bs they write about me when i haven’t been seen or heard from in three years, imagine the shite they come up with when i’m the paddock every weekend

WHEN?

no no no

i’ll give you kimi’s number

contact: kimi antonelli (mercedes)

you decide what you want to do

as much as i would kill to have you around the paddock again… even in the vicinity of george

i want you to do what you are comfortable with

thanks max

i’m not giving you a yes but i’m definitely thinking about it

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

fin.

note: omg that's part one??????? i had this idea and have been planning and adding to it for a couple days. no spoilers but there will be multiple love interests, backstabbing and all that lovely stuff - i just love the drama !!! (yes i will finish guilty as sin at some point as well). i hope you enjoy the prose as well - first time writing that way on here lol ?! let me know if you liked it, who you'd like to see her with and what you'd like to see happen!

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #f1 social media au #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #other side of the moon #astonmartinii

2K notes · View notes

5sospenguinqueen · 8 months ago

Text

Princess Party | Lando Norris x Best Friend! Reader

Summary: Lando enjoys participating in all night life has to offer, particularly with his best friend. When Y/N falls pregnant after one drunken night, he panics. After all, why should he trade a club party for a princess party?

Warnings: Swearing. Angst. Baby fever. Loss of friendship. Pregnancy. Lando is not great in this.

Blonde female reader with various faceclaims. Pics found on Pinterest.

Main Masterlist

next.

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YourUserName just posted

liked by mclaren, lnfour and others

YourUserName a podium for my favourite boy 🍾🧡#AustralianGP tagged: landonorris

5,778 comments

YourUserName and another huge well done to my other papaya pookie @ oscarpiastri for p4 🥳

→ oscarpiastri i thought we agreed you’d stop calling me that

→ YourUserName WE agreed to nothing

→ landonorris um i should be your only papaya pookie

→ oscarpiastri disrespected in my home town

georgerussell63 excuse me, why don’t you make posts like this about me

→ YourUserName when was the last time you were on a podium

→ alex_albon hahaha

→ georgerussell63 @ alex_albon hey, i’m closer than you are

→ YourUserName now, now, children, behave

User1 is this his girlfriend?

→ User2 no, just his childhood friend. she comes to most races to support him as she’s been there since his karting days

→ User3 and she’s really close with the the grid, but particularly the 2019 rookies

danielricciardo well done, mate. well deserved

carlossainz55 always nice to share a podium with you

User4 i'm sorry but i can’t believe her and lando are just friends when she takes the most boyfriend-coded pictures of him

mclaren petition to hire y/n as lando’s full time photographer

→ alex_albon no, because i need her to be mine considering she actually managed to make lando look good

liked by YourUserName

→ landonorris oi!

YourUserName posted a new story

landonorris posted a new story

maxverstappen1 posted a new story

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User5 i KNEW they were more than friends

User6 oh so now she realises her ‘feelings’, now that he’s winning trophies

→ User7 bitch she’s been by his side since baby karting days

User8 you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me (the asylum being tricked into thinking y/n and lando were nothing more than friends)

User9 not max deleting his story after waking up and realising the consequences of his drunken actions

User10 y/nlando shippers rise! we’ve been waiting YEARS for this day to come

User11 what a gross invasion of privacy from that staff member. i hope they find out who it was and fire them

alex_albon @ LandoNorris awfully cryptic of you

danielricciardo @ LandoNorris how are you still alive

→ LandoNorris ‘cause I’m not old like you

User12 @ LandoNorris mr norris, tell us what you did

→ georgerussell63 more like who

(this comment has been deleted)

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A month later

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User1 looks like she removed everyone she didn’t personally know and made her insta private

User2 lando no longer follows her either

User3 what is going on in the house of commons

User4 maybe they truly weren’t dating but sleeping together screwed up their friendship

User5 looks like the rest of the grid still follow her tho?

→ User6 guys guys. GR63 isn’t following lando anymore either?!

→ User7 at least we know which side he picked in the divorce

→ User8 i'm worried this means lando did something wrong because whilst i love him, i can’t look past him screwing up their friendship just because he was thinking with his dick

User9 good, she wasn’t good enough for him anyway

→ User10 relax, he’s not going to shag you

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YourUserName just posted

liked by zbrownceo, flonorris and others

YourUserName me and you against the world. little bean coming soon tagged: yoursister

1,200 comments

YourUserName i think aunty @ yoursister might be more excited to meet you

francisca.cgomes can’t wait to meet little y/l/n

georgerussell63 me and carmen are so excited. She’s buying baby clothes already

lilymhe i call godmother

→ francisca.cgomes nuh uh

→ alex_albon get in line

→ yoursister we all know i win this battle

→ georgerussell63 whoa whoa whoa, back off, you already get aunt

charles_leclerc so excited for you, y/n/n

carlossainz55 congratulations

danielricciardo heck yeah! i can’t wait to meet the bean

maxverstappen1 do i see a red bull onesie in the baby’s future?

→ charles_leclerc try a ferrari one

→ alex_albon we all know it’ll be williams

→ oscarpiastri racing baby!

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Baby Fever Angst Series

Tag list

@lav3nder-haze @minkyungseokie @callsignwidow @luvrrish @fall-bambi @evans-dejong @sadsierra2 @justdreamersdream @spookystitchery @dark-night-sky-99 @elijahslover @hc-dutch @mxdi0 @buckybarnessweetheart @ironmaiden1313 @dreamercrowd @yourbane @glow-ish @reguluscrystals

3K notes · View notes

lovieku · 18 days ago

Text

TRUE LOVE ⋆ 정국

when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.

⋆⁺₊❅. 5/6 from christmas & chill

pairing tattoo artist!jk x fem reader

genre fluff, smut, grumpy & sunshine, somewhat f2l

warnings jk 24 | oc 24, jk thinks he’s too cool for love, oc suffers from a chronic case of “i can fix him”, she eventually does, oc simps HARDDD and jk only pretends to be unaffected, yea he’s a bit of a dick sometimes but he’s also Very funny, brief description of panic attacks, male masturbation, kissing, idk what else to add i just rly rly love them and will think of them for the entirety of xmas season

word count 10.2k

author’s note hi lovies 🩷 it’s my last time with c&c 🙁 i’m kinda emotional omg… it’s been such a fun, warm and lovely week, and i love each one of you for showing endless support to this project <33 i’ll keep trying to not disappoint… please tell me if you like this!!! thank u always and always 🩷 luv u <3

banner by the gorgeous @awrkive ⊹₊⟡⋆

On the first day of December, your path crosses with thee Jeon Jeongguk’s after enough years for your brain to trip slightly before recognising him. But it would have been impossible not to—there’s likely a whole, well-preserved section of your thinking organ dedicated to that mortifying phase of high school, when your hormones turned life into an endless internal tug-of-war.

The moment your eyes widen at having him stand in front of you, you’re yanked unceremoniously into the past, brought back to buried, locked and left to gather dust feelings that have your teenage self’s screams echoing within you in a chorus of delight and cringe.

Jeongguk, on the other hand, is simply following his duties as a tattoo artist. When he catches sight of you next to his appointed client on such a breezy day, the cold December air starting to find its space even in the confines of his studio, he only nods his chin upward at you in slow recognition.

It’s awkward, at first. Only because you make it.

You’d volunteered to accompany Eunbi, your best friend, to get her first tattoo as an early Christmas self-gift. Your mission was clear: support her, hold her hand if the pain became unbearable (though you’re probably the least dependable person when it comes to making clarity in situations of panic, as seen right now), and be the first to bask in her excitement as she finally sees what she’s always pictured to be inked on the skin of her forearm. A blue whale tattoo, large enough to make you wince just thinking about the needlework.

You’d never go through something like that. Never.

And that’s exactly what’s showing on your face when you’re met with Jeongguk’s full sleeve of tattoos, leaving you rooted to the spot.

You’d always known him to be the different kid, the quiet one with forced sharp eyes that canonically listened to alternative rock and glared at anyone who dared approach, whether to tease him or befriend him. He’d convinced himself that no one could ever understand him.

See, you’d instead fooled yourself into thinking you were the exception. That you did understand him.

Fourteen-year-old you had gone through some weird phases, and the one that resurfaces now at the vision of his adult self is the one centered entirely around him. You unashamedly had the biggest crush on Jeongguk. To you, he was mysterious and edgy—in an effortlessly cool way.

You’d tried everything. Offered him your lunch more times than you were left with any for yourself. Even cut your bangs to have them fall over your eyes to mimic his fringe, dyed a strand in blue, overhauled your wardrobe to align with his back-and-grey one. None of it worked. He never noticed.

But, thinking of it now, there’s no way he didn't. He definitely did. How could any boy turn a blind eye to a lovesick girl’s heartfelt Valentine’s letter, a hopeless romantic girl who almost cried on the spot when she got rejected? Jeongguk just chose to willingly ignore it.

These are all valid reasons as to why your functions seem to slow down in his unexpected presence. And you’re not going to deny nor fake that his calm, almost detached demeanor doesn’t flow through your body and right to your left eye, making it twitch with a slight tremor.

Yet, you must also admit that your teenage self was onto something. Jeongguk has changed drastically but he’s also stayed the same. You think fourteen-year-old him would be proud of where he is right now. Two piercings on his lower lip and one on his eyebrow, intricate ink tracing up his muscled arm, his… muscled arms. Wow. And then, his studio. His own studio, a place for him and his passion, one that he made into his job. That’s undeniably cool.

Maybe just not cool enough for you to be gaping like an idiot as he moves with purpose, adjusting your friend’s arm to position the stencil he had prepared, perfectly fitting in the space she had chosen. His muscles flex with every shift, and it’s impossible for you to go past that with the way the black beater he’s wearing is loose on his torso, but still clinging on his chest.

Eunbi notices, of course. You don’t have time to feel embarrassed and in return she doesn’t even try to hide her amusement when your usual chatter dries up entirely, only gulping obnoxiously noisily and alternating that with nervous silences. Jeongguk, too, catches on.

He’d always known you as obnoxious and noisy. In, huh, a good way. Or whatever.

Jeongguk just agrees that you were (and probably still are, if the pastel yellow skirt softly flowing down your legs paired with a cozy cream sweater and the full toothed grin you shoot at your friend are any indicators) the pinpoint embodiment of his opposite. You’ve always been talkative, smiley, and friendly, eager to help and to receive help, not in the slightest ever turning down the opportunity to blabber on, and on, and on.

Honestly, Jeongguk doesn’t think he ever truly listened to a single word of your rambling back in the day, especially during those times when you’d bounce up to him and launch into enthusiastic rants about obscure alternative bands he himself hadn’t even heard of. He respected the hustle, though. He’d always wondered where you found the time and energy to immerse yourself in music like that.

He much preferred when you were less trying so hard to be him and mirror his tastes, more when you gave up on impressing him and simply stayed true to yourself, the girl whose heart belonged to Justin Bieber and One Direction. Truthfully, he fucked with them. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. His quiet, brooding image wouldn’t survive that revelation.

What he respected the most was your resilience. After all the times he rejected you and your awkward blurts of confessions, you still didn’t think it was enough of a reason for your villain origin story to take off, and instead remained the same frustratingly positive ray of sunshine you’d always been.

Now, as Jeongguk works on the tattoo in front of him, the very design that caused all these long-buried memories to rise back, his dark eyes flick toward you sitting on a stool in a near corner every now and then, a hint of confusion in his expression each time you take more than five seconds to reply to his small talk.

It’s just, you’re a bit taken aback. Since when does he do small talk? The foreign smoothness with which Jeongguk handles interactions is so far removed from the sullen boy you used to know. You’re not prepared for this version of him. It’s disarming, to say the least.

Enough time has passed for you to settle into the odd scenario, your current best friend and your long-standing high school crush in the same room. Slowly but surely, your curiosity sparkles again, and the signature tendency to let thoughts tumble out of your mouth unchecked returns to you naturally.

“Ouch, that looks painful.”

Jeongguk snorts, eyes trained on Eunbi’s arm as he glides the tattoo needle with precise strokes that have his brows pinching and the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips, a habit you remember from the past but one you’ve never found quite so distracting before.

Still, he multitasks and responds without missing a beat, “Wanna try?”

Wow. This is, like, the longest conversation you’ve ever had with him. It spurs you on to do anything it takes to hear more of his voice, the sound of it definitely deeper than the shy tones you struggled to coax out of him ten years ago.

That is probably why you literally lie, “Hm. Maybe. I was thinking of getting one actually. In the future.”

Eunbi chokes on her spit, her chest coughing with the sudden, blatantly fake revelation, and Jeongguk promptly pauses, lifting the needle from her skin as his tattooist reflexes kick in. While your friend apologizes between a clearing of her throat and sinks back into the chair, she doesn’t keep from glaring at you, her expression screaming What the hell are you doing?

You deadpan. You’ll explain everything later and it’ll all make sense. And you know this will inevitably end up being added to the list of the many embarrassing facts she knows about you and threatens you with when she wants to go clubbing and you don’t.

Jeongguk uses the brief interruption to glance up at where you’re perched in the corner of his peripheral vision, just to square you up and down with a skeptical arch of his brow, “Really?”

You scoff, smoothing out the creases on your skirt as if the fabric is somehow responsible for the lie you just told, “Is that shocking?”

He hums, returning to his work with the buzz of the needle filling the studio again, his voice padded the more he gets closer to Eunbi’s forearm, “I just find it hard to believe such a princess like you could handle any pain.”

You gulp.

What you’re getting from this conversation is that Jeongguk has always had an idea of who you are in his mind all along. That he’s always perceived you in some way. As much as your inner fourteen-year-old is swooning at the attention, gobbling up each of the tiny crumbles he’s giving you, it doesn’t sit right with you. What exactly does he think of you?

“Test me.”

He shrugs, eyes fixated on the shade he’s perfectioning with black ink, “Busy now.”

“I’ll go pay for mine. I saw you have one last free spot today,” you announce, the words tumbling out with more confidence than you feel. You’re already on your feet before the sentence is fully formed, betraying the fact that your nosy tendencies had gotten the better of you earlier. You’d discreetly glanced at his appointment book when Jeongguk and Eunbi were finalizing her tattoo details and negotiating the final price at the desk.

He hums, head tilting slightly, “And I wanted to spend it bumming around.”

“Too bad. You’ll have to postpone that.”

You walked into this studio swearing you’d never let a needle even brush you.

Now you’re stretched out on a leather bench, Jeongguk leaning over you with a stencil in hand, gloved fingers moving with careful precision.

The design you’d chosen came from his portfolio—a delicate illustration of two butterflies in motion, their soft threads intertwining. You’d flipped through countless pages of bold skulls and intricate linework before settling on this.

The spot you’d chosen for the tattoo was the flat, firm plane between your breasts. It wasn’t a conscious decision, just a place you’d always liked. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that nature hadn’t exactly blessed you in the cleavage department. Subconsciously, perhaps, you thought that adding something there might give the illusion of more.

“Tehe,” you can’t stop the breathy giggle that escapes as the cool paper brushes against your skin. Your hand is pressed to your bra, holding it in place as best you can, though the situation feels so surreal it’s hard to focus on anything but the ridiculousness of it all.

Jeongguk glances up at you with a glare that’s more exasperated than angry before returning to the delicate task at hand, “What’s funny?”

Your voice wobbles, “I just— I tend to laugh during serious moments.”

“Oh. Weird.”

“Sorry.”

With a small sigh, he smooths the stencil, and once it’s transferred he hands you a square mirror, waiting for your approval. You nod, the butterflies now perfectly poised in their eternal dance, and Jeongguk doesn’t waste a moment.

The buzz of the needle fills the room as he leans closer, one gloved hand resting on the upper part of your chest to steady himself. He’s mere seconds from beginning the inking process when another laugh bubbles out of you.

Jeongguk sits back abruptly, dropping his pen onto the metal tray with an audible clink. Tilting his head, he levels you with a look of thinly veiled irritation. “I really can’t work if your chest keeps moving.”

“Sorry,” you blurt again, turning your head to face the wall. You clamp your lips together tightly, mentally scrolling through every sad memory you can conjure. Think of something awful. Your childhood dog dying. Okay, maybe not that sad—

“You haven’t changed a bit since high school. Always smiling like you live surrounded by flowers and rainbows,” Jeongguk’s mutter vibrates against your chest, warm breath fanning over the cold skin, distracting you from your no-giggling mission.

The unexpected observation has your brows furrowing in a mildly offended frown, and banter is ready on your tongue. “You’re just the same too, Gguk. The emo boy who thinks he’s too cool for a smile.”

“I’m not an emo boy. The fuck,” he scoffs, kissing his teeth and murmuring more of his indignation under his breath.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night. I can teach you.”

The whirring needle glides across your skin with a slightly firmer touch, making you hiss softly under your breath. He seems unbothered by the reaction, and instead bothered by your words, “Teach me what.”

“How to smile a bit more,” you reply, your voice laced with mockery as you keep your gaze firmly fixed on the wall. The smirk playing on your lips is triumphant; he walked right into your little jab, hehe.

Your mind is already racing, piecing together the beginning of a sarcastic rant about how his perpetual scowl probably contributed to his mysterious high school persona. For the sake of his ego, you won’t add how it worked in his favor, how more than one girl (your own self) found his untouchable vibe completely irresistible.

Even though, thinking back, he looked ridiculous. His big, round, slightly scared-of-the-world eyes truly didn’t belong with the heavy black eyeliner.

But before you can get a single word out, Jeongguk straightens his posture, pulling away from your chest. With a practiced motion, he tosses one of his gloves onto the counter behind him, his expression cool and indifferent. “It’s done.”

“Done?!” you exclaim, tilting your chin down to look at your chest. You go slightly cross-eyed trying to catch a glimpse of the design now inked onto your skin. Forever.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t even feel it.”

Jeongguk seems equally done with small talk, transitioning into a professional explanation of the tattoo’s aftercare step. His tone is calm but clipped, and you can’t tell if it’s his usual demeanor or just reserved for you. He also hands you a small tube of cream of which you’re not sure the use of, too enthralled by the vision of his colored sleeve this up close.

And still laying on the leather bed, you almost reach to trace one of the many lines with your finger before he interrupts, “You can pay with Yoongi at the entrance.”

Clearing your throat, you sit up, brushing imaginary dust off your skirt as Jeongguk turns his back to you, his focus already back on cleaning his tools. You still are not over, “Thank you, Jeongguk. Can I— huh. Can I get your number?”

He pauses mid-motion, just long enough for the silence to stretch thin and taut. Turning around to study your features, he stares you up and down with knitted brows and a hostile kind of confusion painting his expression. “… For what exactly?”

“In case anything happens with the tattoo.”

Jeongguk stills for a second, eyes narrowing slightly, then turns back to what’s keeping him so occupied with a noncommittal grunt, “Huh. Sure. Yoongi has my business cards at the desk. You can ask him. Have a good day.”

With Eunbi practically dragging you out of the room, you don’t have the chance to say anything more, though your chest burns with indignation. It’s not that you expect him to fall over himself at the chance to catch up, but the sheer indifference is maddening.

Should you pretend you don’t care either? You could. But really, who are you fooling? You still have those old diaries buried somewhere in your closet, their pages crammed with his name written in looping, lovesick cursive. That little girl in you never truly died.

On the fourth day of December, you finally text him. It’s about your tattoo, of course. There’s not much else to say to him, but when his only reply to your picture of the healing process is a yellow thumbs up, you find your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Words start forming before you’ve fully processed them, and before you know it, you hit send.

You [3:39 p.m]: btw u still friends with kim tae?

jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Yes

jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: He’s my best friend

You [3:43 p.m.]: ohhh, cool

jeongguk [3:45 p.m.]: You want his number?

You [3:46 p.m.]: no… i’m good with yours ☺️

You can’t help but giggle at how his typing bubbles appear and then fade for a whole minute, biting your lower lip with a sheepish grin, savoring the silent victory. You’re doing this for your fourteen-year-old self, who would’ve squealed at the thought of making Jeon Jeongguk flustered. But you’re a different girl now. You’ve changed. No man could ever reject—

jeongguk [3:48 p.m.]: If there’s nothing else about the tattoo then 👋

“Hmph,” your frown is so pronounced that you feel your chin aching and your wrinkles prematurely deepening. Well, this is not the first time you come face first with his sour antics. Only now, you’re prepared.

You [3:48 p.m.]: yall hanging out soon? let me join

jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: Why lol

jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: He barely even remembers you probs

You [3:50 p.m.]: who would not remember me

jeongguk [3:50 p.m.]: The only thing i’m now remembering about you is how I couldn’t stand your ass

You gasp, hand coming up to brush against your parted lips. With a huff, you hastily click at your keyboard, “Mean. Sent. Ugh.”

On the sixth day of December, your persistence pays off, and you find yourself at a random bar you’d never been to before, seated with both Jeongguk and Taehyung.

Between Jeongguk’s cigarette breaks—forcing the three of you to brave the cold outside—and brief moments in corners of the cramped place where the music feels muffled against the walls, you manage to catch up with Taehyung. The rest of the time though, the noise inside is so deafening that it makes any kind of meaningful conversation impossible.

Even more when a random girl slides into the booth next to him, capturing his attention entirely, leaving you and Jeongguk in paradoxical silence.

The tattoo artist has been glued to his phone with his head down for the last 20 minutes, and now you alternate between observing his side profile, roughened by the piercings and a more defined jawline, and analysing the weird dynamic that is beginning to form between Taehyung and the girl, sitting in front of you.

Alone with your thoughts and, well, the pulsating music, you feel yourself getting unreasonably closer to symptoms you know all too well, that threaten to have you spiraling. You shake your head, forcing it to stop. There’s no reason for anxiety to visit you at such an inconvenient time.

But of course, the little voice in your head starts listing all the totally valid motives why this is indeed the perfect time for it to visit you.

The bar feels suffocating on your skin.

Your dress clings too tightly.

The couple facing you is shamelessly close to making out.

Jeongguk sighs in visible boredom.

You shouldn’t have come. Hell, you shouldn't have suggested it in the first place. A smarter version of yourself would have brought Eunbi for balance, for comfort. But in your foolishness, you thought this could be an opportunity for you and Jeongguk to catch up. Instead, you feel foreign to him, foreign to this pub booth, and the air begins to feel foreign to your lungs. You’ve never liked bars, clubs, or places with loud music.

You sniffle, looking down at your lap. Then up at the ceiling. Then around the room. It keeps spinning and booming with volume that only adds to the feeling of helplessness. Quick, quick, quick.

What are five things that you can see?

Five. Your gaze falls on Taehyung and the girl, their lips and tongues clumsily entangled as they laugh between sloppy kisses. No help there. The air catches harder in your throat.

Four. Your empty glass, its smudged rim a reminder of the single drink you had, now sitting uncomfortably in your stomach.

Three. Your scuffed heels, their tips worn to the nub despite your best efforts to hide it with a marker.

Two. The swirling lights above the bar, dizzying as they flash brighter and brighter.

One. Jeongguk’s tattooed hand on your thigh.

His fingers dig into the skin, shaking you alarmedly, with a force you’ve never known from him, not even when it came to stopping your shaking stomach as you were laying on the studio’s leather bed.

Head snapping up to face him, you’re met with a perfect resemblance of how you must look right now. Wide eyes, knitted brows, nose flaring and exhaling, and you try to follow the movements of his mouth, but they jumble together annoyingly in your brain. You lean closer, narrowed orbs still fixated on his lips to try and read them. Are… you… ok—

“___, you’re scaring me. Hey, hello? Are you okay?”

Jeongguk moves from your thigh to your shoulders, jolting you gently but firmly from the fog that is threatening to cloud up your brain. The sudden clarity hits you, but you still stumble forward, your weight toppling over his chest. With it, your head dips rapidly, hurtling toward the sharp edge of the table, and before Jeongguk knows it his instinct snaps and he catches you promptly.

The next steps blur together. You vaguely register the boy next to you standing up and pulling you along with him, his broad shoulders supporting one of your arms while his inked one secures around the small of your waist, holding you firmly against him.

Then, it’s nothing but brief flashes. Jeongguk pressing a water bottle to your lips. Sitting you down on the stairs outside the pub. Holding your hair back as you double over, emptying the contents of your stomach onto the pavement. Cracking a smile to make you laugh, showing off his tattoos in exaggerated detail like it’s the grandest tour of your life. Opening the door to his car and gently easing you into the passenger seat, ensuring the seatbelt clicks into place.

Inside his car, you slowly feel your senses come back to you.

At a redlight that you recognise as the one near your apartment complex, you muster a small and hoarse thank you. Jeongguk only hums low, eyes fixated on the road and fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.

Before a sheepish smile can make its way on your lips and spread across your face, your head twitches back as your brows furrow. Your thoughts suddenly catch up with you, “Hey, how do you know the way to my flat?”

His gaze briefly flicks toward you in annoyance, then back to the road. “You literally just told me.”

“Oh.” A beat passes before you giggle softly. “Don’t remember.”

Jeongguk mutters something intelligible under his breath, and next thing you know he’s turning down your street and slowing in front of the building that matches the number you gave him. Given your current state, he begins to question if that is even the right one.

“This one!” You point at the tall front gate with an almost childlike excitement, back shifting slightly from the seat as your grin stretches wide. Jeongguk grimaces. Why the fuck do you look like you’ve been reuinted with your home after years apart, as if you weren’t there just a couple hours ago?

“Right. Huh, you good with going back on your own?”

“Yes. I’d hate to bother you further. I’m sorry for this, I… was getting better, I guess.”

The sad confession doesn’t land with the weight it should, softened by the smile painted on your lips and the chuckle you let out as if it were nothing. Jeongguk’s eyelid twitches, unsettled by the unnecessary happiness that always seems to drip from you, even when it doesn’t belong.

“‘S okay. Have a good night,” he awkwardly bows his head, waiting for you to exit the car. When you stay still, he clears his throat, adding just to fill the silence, and perhaps because he means it, “Huh, and make sure to rest a lot.”

You take a moment, maybe longer than you should, to study his features up this close. You particularly fixate on the way his eyes dart everywhere but never land on yours. Then, with your signature toothy grin, you bow back and open the car door, leaving with a string of thank yous, and get home safe, and I’ll text you, and please, reply to me, and bye.

Jeongguk has to fight a smile of his own.

On the tenth day of December, you realise you want him. Even more badly than your fourteen-year-old self ever did. Which is frankly insane.

You don’t know if it was the natural way he looked after you during your episode, or his dry sarcasm as he actually started replying to your random updates throughout the day.

But no, it was definitely the selfie he sent you after what he said was a long day. Messy hair, tired eyes, a hint of a smile. You’d struggled to even gulp down your saliva when the picture popped up in your chat, and maniacally stared at it with eyes glued to the bright screen before sending one of your own. He had replied with Cute. followed by Your hair pin is cute.

That is why you find yourself facing… Yoongi? If you remember correctly. The guy at the front desk of Jeongguk’s studio.

You beam at him, and what you’re met with instead is a confused stare. You inhale, “Hi. Is Jeongguk in?”

Yoongi scratches his head, muttering, “He’s busy with a client.”

“Oh. It’s okay,” you wave off his concern. “Can I wait here?”

The boy hesitates, looks unsure the more your interaction develops, and he glances between you and the empty waiting area. He relents with furrowed brows, “Sure… Huh, It’s a back tattoo, so it’ll take him a while.”

You shrug and plop yourself onto the leather sofa, seemingly unfazed, “I like waiting.”

Crossing your legs, you take in the studio’s atmosphere, eyes drifting to the dark walls lined with framed artwork and certificates. You spot Jeongguk’s name on many of those.

For the next fifteen minutes, you try distracting yourself by flipping through the stack of tattoo magazines on the coffee table. You wince at inked heads, faces, butts, and even… more private parts. Deciding this world is definitely not for you, you slam the book shut.

By the time an hour passes, you’re fighting a battle with your lack of sleep. The third yawn you manage to stifle, but the fourth escapes before you can stop it. Yoongi, seated at the desk, doesn’t bother hiding his unimpressed stare. Still, he’s polite enough to offer you a glass of water, a coffee, or even a chance to join him for a cigarette break.

You decline all of it, though your throat does feel dry.

Maybe you should have planned this with a bit of rationality. Or at least gotten more sleep. Now, your every blink is slower, eyelids batting to shut and taking longer to flutter open again. Hm, this feels nice. You’ll just let them rest for a bit longer. And longer. And a bit more.

The next time you open your eyes, Jeongguk’s face is inches away, his warm hand resting firmly on your arm. You jolt upright with a startled yelp.

“Jeongguk.”

He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an unmistakably mocking smirk. “Hey. You don’t have a bed?”

You sit up, forcing Jeongguk to step back and straighten to his full height. Your neck cranes upward to glare at him, brows furrowed in what you hope is an intimidating glare, though you sport a pout that is all but menacing, “Shut up.”

He clicks his tongue, turning back to round the desk and fiddle with the appointment book, clearly unbothered. You take the moment to rub your eyes—only to remember, too late, that you’d worn makeup. A quick glance around reveals how much has changed since you last let your eyelids flutter open. The lights in the studio are dim, the hallway is dark, and every door is shut. Yoongi is nowhere in sight. It’s just the two of you in the deathly quiet space.

You gasp, pressing a hand to your parted lips, “Did I fall asleep? I'm so sorry. I was probably really tired from yesterday.”

Jeongguk hums, focus still locked on the book in front of him, eyes narrowed. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t ask why you came here in the first place, and doesn’t acknowledge your apology. Ugh. This is humiliating.

Before you can stand, you feel something heavy draped over your body. It’s a jacket. Definitely not yours, since you never took it off. At least not consciously. No, this is a worn black leather one on which his scent lingers. You tug it closer, puzzled, and then look up at him, holding it out. “Did I steal this in my sleep?”

Jeongguk scrunches his nose, “Ew, are you a sleepwalker?” Locking the till, he strolls over to you and plucks the jacket from you, casually slipping it on. “No, I put it on you. Wanted to see how long someone could feel safe enough to pass out in my studio. Thinking of turning this place into a daycare. I’ll have you play in the morning, get some lunch, nap time...”

There’s a beat of silence in which his sarcasm lingers in the air, and you stare at him, unamused. He shrugs, smirk unwavering.

You huff, “I regret coming here.”

“Yeah, why did you come here?”

Smoothing down your pink wool sweater, you stand up to stretch with zero shame. Then, fluttering your lashes at him, you assert with a smile, “You’re coming with me to the Christmas markets. This Sunday.”

Jeongguk groans like the idea physically pains him, “Oh, I would fucking hate that.”

Ignoring him, you zip up your puffer jacket and rock on your toes, “Pick me up at seven, okay?”

He glares, unimpressed at your excitement, before heading toward the entrance and pulling a hefty set of keys from his pocket, “I don’t even remember where you live.”

You hurry after him, following him outside and shuffling closer in your coat at the cold air hitting you. Watching as he locks the door and pulls down the rolling shutter with its red-and-black skull graffiti, you chirp, “You’ll have to text me for that.”

Jeongguk rises up again, giving you a slow once-over. He seems distracted by your hair before snorting, “You’re talking like I’m the one who spent their afternoon napping in my studio just to drop this bomb and leave. Couldn’t you just text me this?”

You shrug innocently. He sighs, reaching out for you, “Do you need a ride hom—”

“Bye!”

You spin on your heel and skip off in the opposite direction before he can let his own greeting out, waving a gloved hand behind you. Jeongguk stays where he is, arm still held out.

Do you even have a car? He hopes so—it’s freezing out.

With another sigh, he shakes his head and tugs his jacket tighter around himself. Why are you so fucking weird?

On the fourteenth day of December, your arm is looped tightly through Jeongguk’s as you stroll through the Christmas markets, burying your face further in your scarf to shield against the icy air, and with each few step you gasp at things that the boy next to you finds utterly unimpressive.

You stop at nearly every stand, eyes glowing with the warm Christmas fairy lights strung all around, effortlessly picking up conversations with the vendors and melting even the most stoic faces with the scrunching of your nose at every grin and the exaggerated nods following descriptions of their crafts.

Through all of it, Jeongguk remains put at your side, his arm linked with yours and a subtle pout on his lips. When you tease him about it, he simply shrugs, and you figure it’s just his natural expression. You find that oddly endearing.

He still humors your enthusiasm, offering low hums or murmured praise whenever you exclaim you’ve finally found what you’ve been searching for everywhere, and he offers to pay every time, the gesture so casual that he doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.

When you bow to the nth seller, clutching yet another bag of sweet treats tightly to your chest, Jeongguk exhales and resumes slow walking beside you, “I don't like these places.”

You glance up at him, fluffy hat almost slipping off before he promptly secures it back on your head with a gesture so smooth you hardly notice it. You instead wonder, “Then why are we here now?”

He slips his hand into his pocket, “Because you threatened me.”

“With a really good time.”

“If this is your version of a good time, you might as well kick me in the balls. That probably feels better.”

You gasp, halting in your tracks to glare at him. When he lets a small chuckle topple out of him, you think you might forgive him. No, you’re more than sure with the way his smile lingers. You sheepishly look away, muttering, “Don’t tempt me, emo boy.”

“I’m not—”

“Oh yes, you are,” you interrupt, snapping your face back to his. Clearing your throat, you prepare your best imitation of him, exaggerating a frown and lowering your voice, “I’m so different, I hate Christmas.”

Jeongguk scoffs, pulling you tighter to him when a scooter unexpectedly zips past you. You yelp, instinctively shuffling closer to his arm. He continues the conversation casually, unaffected, “That’s the worst impression of me I’ve ever heard. And also, I never said that.”

Releasing the breath you held for a moment too long, you uncertainly keep your slow stroll going, only narrowing your orbs at him, “It’s written all over your face.”

“I love Christmas.”

The admission is small, his voice soft and almost reluctant, like it pains him to reveal something so simple and obvious as loving Christmas. When you lean your chin on the puffed arm of his jacket, he doesn’t look down at you, his gaze fixed ahead, guiding the two of you through the chaos of the busy street.

You chirp, your steps stumbling, “Really?

Only then he shifts his attention to you, steadying you with his other arm wrapping around your figure in what seems like a hug, before he lifts you up by the neck of your coat and retreats just enough to face you. His lips press into a straight line as he nods, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes the more he stares in yours, “Yeah, really. I just don’t like… crowded spaces.”

You can’t help but think back to what happened just a week ago. The exact reason why the spirals in your brain wouldn’t stop twisting and tangling is now slipping from his lips in a voice that quietens as he seems to grasp the delicacy of his own confession.

He doesn’t like the way you’re looking at him. Drawn-up brows over wide and sparkling eyes—the only part of your face visible beneath your scarf—stare at him with something too tender, too focused, that makes him uneasy. He turns his head to the side, the tips of his ears red not only from the cold, and pulls you along toward another stand, an almost nervous distraction.

It’s your turn to frown. Maybe the one that’s permanently plastered on his face tonight isn’t just a reflection of his usual sullen demeanor. With a knot tightening in your chest, you can’t help but feel like you dragged him into something he truly hated, and that he wasn’t just pretending to.

What if this isn’t just your evil inner voice talking? What if this isn’t just overthinking, but the factual truth of your current reality? He’s hating every second of this but still enduring it because— you catch your breath with a long and strained inhale, because—

“Hey, dimples. You okay?”

Jeongguk moves to stand in front of you, his hands settling gently on your shoulders, a stance eerily reminiscent of that night you were just thinking back to. He nods at you, “Breathe with me, hm?”

You find yourself quickly adjusting to his comforting aura, drawn in by the reassurance in his eyes trained on you, never wavering, watching closely as you begin to mirror the measured rise and fall of his chest, your breathing gradually syncing with his until the tightness in your chest starts to ease.

When you feel your feet touching the ground again, you offer a small, apologetic smile. “I’m okay. Sorry. Just…” You quickly scan your surroundings, eyes landing on a colorful stand, “Wait here a second, okay?”

Jeongguk lets you slip away, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. He takes a few hesitant steps closer, careful not to crowd you but unable to tear his eyes away from your next actions, how your grin comes back on your lips with unpracticed ease, lighting up your face as easy talk flows between you and the seller. A few coins trade hands, and soon you’re holding two churros, their chocolate-dipped ends threatening to drip onto the ground.

You don’t hesitate, biting into one of them before it has the chance to make a mess, and with a quick nod of your head you motion for Jeongguk to follow. He does so, only after taking the churros from your hands, and letting you seek his warmth again with an arm snaking under his. He’s only letting you do this because it’s fucking cold, no other reason.

You walk, and walk, guiding him along until you find a quieter corner, away from the bustle, where you two stand isolated from the rest. The dim lighting casts a softer glow, and the distant hum of chatter and music fades into a gentle background noise.

Glancing up at him, you flash a playful smile before leaning in to bite another chunk of the churro he’s holding, your laughter spilling out as he grimaces in exaggerated disgust and pulls the sweet out of your reach. You settle onto a nearby bench, patting the empty spot beside you invitingly.

Jeongguk is unsure of what this means. He takes slow steps towards you, handing you your churro—which you take eagerly, already chewing on it—before tilting his head back in mild confusion, “But… you wanted to visit the markets.”

You shake your head, your bug eyes meeting his as you speak around a mouthful of sugar and chocolate, “There’s no point if you’re not going to enjoy it.”

The look you’re giving him is one he’s seen countless times before—familiar, and annoyingly reminiscent of ten years ago. It’s the same look that, he’s convinced, is solely responsible for making his knees weak and his fingers jittery, no longer something he can blame on the cold. You’re unbelievably frustrating.

He clicks his tongue, looking away, “You’re fucking weird.”

You giggle, humming, “If weird is a synonym for whipped, then sure.”

He has to fight the twitch of his lips. Fakes a gag instead. You chuckle louder. Only then, he hints at a smile, “C’mon. Let’s go check out some other stuff.”

“But—”

He interrupts, pulling you up by your forearm, “I’m hungry.”

The next hour you spend wandering around is made of Jeongguk’s small, imperceptible ways of cracking: his pout less prominent, more replaced by lips pulled into a tight line or in a mildly pursued scowl as you ask him which beanie looks better—the pink or purple one; his so evident sarcasm as he comments on how the old vendor was totally flirting with you, or when he mockingly adds to your over-the-top excitement every time you spot a dog. All in all, he’s more relaxed. More himself.

You then find yourself standing in front of the churros stall from earlier, the warm scent tugging you closer. Without hesitation, you ask the lady behind the counter for another four churros—this time with extra sugar. You add two thank yous.

To fill the waiting, you pick up casual conversation with the woman, until she pauses mid-sentence, wrinkled hand coming to rest over her heart as her gaze flits between you and Jeongguk, her crinkled eyes lighting with a sudden fondness and a quiet, content smile finds its space on her chapped lips, “You two look perfect together.”

Jeongguk snorts, “Oh, we’re not—”

“Thank you, auntie!” You chirp, and your grin is so wide it squeezes your eyes into crescents. You accept the first churro she hands over, biting into it and talking through it, “These are delicious. Is the recipe a secret or can you share it with me?”

The woman laughs, clearly flustered by your energy, and leans in with a conspiratorial expression, though she gives in pretty soon, “It is a secret, but… Oh, c’mon. A pretty lady like you deserves to know.”

You burst into chuckles, joined by auntie’s own rolling and carrying a contrasting warmth to the cold air. Jeongguk, for his part, stands slightly to the side, observing. You still cling to his arm, even as the vendor reaches over to gently smooth her fingers through your curls, complimenting the way they frame your face. You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation, but there’s a dimpled smile stretching on your cheeks that gives you away.

Before you leave, the lady points to Jeongguk, voice growing earnest, “You, handsome. I can see you’re a good guy, so you probably don’t need my advice. But treat her right, yes?”

Jeongguk stills for a second and stumbles over an awkward nod, managing to force a smile that has you stifling a laugh under your scarf. You tug him away with a cheerful wave to your new friend, promising her you’ll come visit again before Christmas.

Once you’re at a safe distance, he mutters, “Why did you not tell her that we’re not together?”

You tilt your head considering his question, “It’s not like she knows us. She looked like she adored you. I didn’t want to ruin that for her. Maybe seeing a young couple like us really means a lot to her.”

Jeongguk observes how the more you explain, the more you’re convincing yourself as much as him, eventually solidifying your reasoning as you nod, muttering some more under your breath. He scoffs, looking away to hide his lips twitching.

When he turns back he’s frowning, though it doesn’t quite match the way he lets you hook arms again, your pastel pink bag hanging from his shoulders. Still, he sulks as though the mere thought of your observation has him shivering, and not with the cold, “We’re not a couple.”

Jeongguk barely gets to let his unnecessarily petty comment out before you drag him with an unusual strength over to another stand, his voice not even touching your ears, “Oh, let’s go over there, Gguk!”

On the twenty-first day or December, you send him a picture of your tattoo.

You had been talking non-stop ever since your… date? Or was it just a hangout? Whatever it was, it’s been a week, and Jeongguk finds himself smiling at a fucking screen too many times a day for his linking. It’s irritating. Even brings his phone with him to the bathroom in case you text him. Not because he cares. No, it’s practical. What if you ever had an emergency and he was the only one who could help?

Most of the time it’s just you sending TikToks, but he clicks on the links with the same urgency he’d reply to a genuine plea for help. He doesn’t really want to think of the reason why.

Now, this picture—it catches Jeongguk off guard.

It doesn’t even look like it’s about the tattoo. Not really. It feels like an excuse, a flimsy pretext for you to show yourself to him. The tattoo—the one he himself inked—is there, yes. But it’s not at all the main focus of the photo that tightens his grip on his phone.

You’re wearing a thin, pink tank top with delicate lace trim, the straps barely clinging to your shoulders. Your fingers hook under the neckline, tugging it down just enough to expose the tattoo nestled between the soft curve of your breasts. The angle of the shot is deliberate, he can tell. Your back arches slightly off what he assumes is your bed, and your face is cropped out, save for your glossed lips, full and slightly parted, catching the dim light.

Jeongguk blinks, hard. Then again. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, the low light of his phone screen doing little to soften the image burning itself into his mind. His eyes dart upward, scanning his surroundings, just to make sure everything is in place. The shop is empty, the door is closed, the hum of quiet settles over the space.

Looking down, the picture still stares back at him paired with a single message.

Annoying [11:39 p.m.]: do you think it’s healed? idk about this stuff, need your help 🥺

He’s not stupid. He knows exactly what this is. He alternates between the photo and your words, jaw ticking and tightening more with the seconds flowing.

It’s almost cruel, the way you’re testing him like this. He tries to push the feeling down, to reject the buzz of heat pooling low in his stomach. You know him well enough to be aware that he won’t reply to something like this. A stupid, unnecessary message. The tattoo is healed—he told you that a week ago, clear as day. There’s no reason for you to ask again.

What’s the purpose of this?

He gets a distorted idea when he shifts uncomfortably in place, the dull ache tightening his pants almost unbearable now.

Jeongguk groans and locks his phone, tossing it onto the counter as if that will put an end to this. He tries to refocus on his tasks, the last ones before he clocks off. Cleaning needles, tossing used stencils.

But his heavy balls keep sending desperate, silent prayers to his brain, to please let them have this. Just this once.

It’s been a bad day. Two of his appointments canceled last minute, leaving him to sit around bored. The last client showed up drunk and wouldn’t stop trying to flirt with him. His coworkers were loud and distracting, and to top it all off, the heater broke, leaving the studio freezing cold.

It’s been such a bad day.

So, would there be any harm? It’s not like anyone will know. Not you, not his friends. He’s the only one that will. And he’s far more willing to live with this dirty secret rather than with his hard dick straining achingly in its confines.

Jeongguk abruptly snatches up his phone again, unlocking it to the same picture that caused him to brush the device aside just minutes ago. He lets out a shaky breath, thumb hovering over the screen. You won’t get no reply to him. But if you knew what he was up to right now, you would probably geek. Tease him, with your warm smile that digs dimples in your cheek, hopping on your toes to poke at his chest playfully, with those perfectly manicured hands of yours.

“Shit,” his free hand is already pushing the jeans down along with his boxers, and he drops his weight onto the nearest stool as he grips at the base of his thick cock, eyes devouring the image of you in the empty chat.

He doesn’t zoom in. That would feel too shameless. But he finds it oddly better like this. Is it weird that your text, so innocently worded, is turning him on? That the simple idea of you needing his help is enough to have his hips jerking?

What could you possibly need his help for? Fuck. The different ideas that pool his mind have him squeezing harder at his stinging tip.

Jeongguk focuses on your dainty hand, slim pointer finger snaking under the collar of your flimsy shirt to show yourself to him, and your small boobs spill from the sides with a delicious, soft swell. He hisses when he pictures that same hand working on him instead, his warm mouth stuffed with your stiff nipples, visible through the sheer material.

He can’t help the loud groan leaving his lips, wrist flickering up and down in a motion that feels sloppy way too soon, hips jutting up to fuck into his tight fist. Throwing his head back, he sees you even behind closed eyelids.

He pictures your delicate figure sprawled on his bed, long lashes batting up at him as you sheepishly hide with your cheek to your shoulder. Can clearly make out how you’d sit on his lap instead, unsteady breath fanning over his lips, using his long shaft to make yourself cum. The whole time, he sees the tattoo on your chest, the one that is forever on you, eternally a reminder of him.

When he lets his head topple forward again, his bright screen still stares at him, only because a new message pops up in the chat. He startles, and his cock throbs in his hand.

Annoying [11:52 p.m.]: oh, and i miss you.

“Oh, fuck,” the curse is strained through a loud whine, and only followed by more of his full moans filling the room. His brows knit as his hand moves rapidly, palm collecting the precum spreading embarrassingly fast on his tip and rolling it down his length.

He focuses on your parted lips, the soft curve of your breast, your hard nipples begging to be sucked and spit on. Your last text has flashes of your bug-like eyes staring up at him seizing his mind.

That’s what undoes him. He’s delirious as he lets out his every sound, freely, unchecked, not caring about how loud he is, whimpering as he gets closer to his climax. When he thinks of those eyes locking with his, kneeling before him, eager and willing to swallow his every drop, he cums. Hard.

Jeongguk pumps everything he can out of him, and it’s messy—spilling over his hand, staining his clothes, pooling on the floor. His chest heaves with the effort, and the sensation of abandon he feels is so pleasurable, energy drained but leaving him with a lightness that threatens to make his cock hard again.

Fuck. He can’t afford that happening if you’re not the one attending his needs. This won’t be enough, not until it’s you. He’s insatiable.

Jeongguk needs to hear your voice.

It’s an instinct, and he bends to it. He’s careful, making sure not to tap on the FaceTime option, because if you were to see him right now it’d be glaringly obvious.

When he looks to the side, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the long mirror, and he visibly grimaces at the way his cheeks are flushed, the pearls of sweat coating his forehead causing his bangs to stick uncomfortably to the skin.

Guilty doesn’t even begin to cover it.

With the phone to his ear beeping to eternity, he hesitates, contemplates ending the call before you can answer. But just then, you do.

“Jeongguk! Is everything okay?”

Your voice is familiarly soft, but there’s a trace of concern. Blinking, he brings the device closer again and gulps thickly when he can make out your panting breaths. He clears his throat and puts on his best nonchalant act, “Huh— Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know… You just never call. Or text first. This is weird. You sure you’re okay?”

Oh. Is that really what it is like?

Jeongguk never realized this was how he came across—so detached that a simple phone call feels out of character. Your naive honesty hits him square in the chest. God, he needs to get better at this. The irony stings: he just fucking jerked off to your picture and the simple thought of you, while you’re on the other side thinking he’s just a careless piece of shit who doesn’t even know how to call.

The long stretch of silence registers in his brain, and he coughs to buy time, “Yes, I’m sure. I— huh,” he thinks of stuff you usually ask to keep the conversation flowing. Not out of courtesy, but out of genuine interest, the curiosity that makes people want to open up. He’s still not used to that. Still finds it weird.

“How… How was your day?”

It must be equally weird for you because it takes you a longer beat to reply. In that quiet moment, he clenches his eyes shut and feels his jaw tick with shame. And embarrassment. And this icky feeling that makes him feel too mushy for his liking. Hell, what is he doing? He’s never been like this, he’s not supposed to be like this.

But you recover quickly, as you always do, and you smooth over the moment. Fix it all for him like you were born to be just that. Make him feel like he fits in ways that have him exhaling shakily.

Jeongguk senses a foreign drumming in his stomach, and it’s warm but odd, and he loves it but he doesn’t want to.

On the twenty-fifth day of December, cheekily under a mistletoe, Jeongguk realizes he wants you. There’s parts of him that probably knew way sooner. But the parts of him that didn’t, fighting tooth and nail to suppress the mere thought, are just now finally surrendering.

Jeongguk has always found you admirable, back in high school. You had this determination to you. Not only when it came to him. It shone particularly when you catered to others, always finding ways to help, to mend, to offer yourself with nothing less than a fully toothed smile.

But he’s also always thought you two were—and still are—too different to work. He can’t be what you want, let alone what you deserve: someone who can match your enthusiasm and unwavering smiles, your frustrating positivity; someone who sees the world the way you do. No black, no grey, no shades in between. Just bright, hopeful white. Blinding white.

It’s the white making him dizzy, shifting his perspective, having him believing the opposite of what he’s always known. Pushing to be a little more egoistical, deceiving himself that he’s right for you. Because he wants to be. He oh, so selfishly wants people to know he’s the one who finally gets to have you, the one gifted with such a light, unfairly deserving of all the love you carry into every room you walk into.

Just a few days ago, during another one of your increasingly frequent phone calls, you asked him what he was doing for Christmas. He could have lied, come up with something on the spot.

But with how you so easily, and always coax the truth out of him, he let it slip. He told you he’d be alone, words subtly heavy. But they didn’t have the chance to even drop their weight before you were already inviting him to your friend’s party, insisting that he would be the most welcome.

And he’s here, and he sits beside you, and every time you laugh you lean your weight over him, and the room vibrates with the energy you fill it with, and each one of your friends is so enamoured with you, and for reasons he can’t fully understand it fills him with a sense of pride that shouldn’t belong to him. But it does, and it comes with so many other feelings.

You don’t push him to talk. You never force him into the spotlight when he takes a step back, quietly observing, choosing to stay in the background. Because you read him like it’s in your nature to do so, your soul seems to intuitively melt with his, and it intertwines in such a tight knot that he feels it constrict his throat. He knows he’s still alive because his heart is beating, just a little faster with each time you flash your dimples at him.

“Dimples. What are you doing, hm?”

Now, he’s in front of you, a small smile on his lips as you stand on your tiptoes, trying to dangle the mistletoe over both your heads. You’re struggling just a little, your hand unable to reach high enough, and the fake plant awkwardly brushes his hair, the tickling sensation causing his nose to scrunch. You laugh.

Looking up at your swinging movements, you lose your balance for the slightest second. Jeongguk’s hands move instinctively, catching you promptly by the waist to steady your body. But even after that, he doesn’t shift, his warm palms stilling. And when you face him, he’s closer and his chest brushes against yours. From this proximity, he witnesses the Christmas lights painting a galaxy of their own in your orbs.

You beam, “What does it look like? We have to kiss now.”

Jeongguk stares in your expectant eyes, brows wiggling and all. The more his mouth keeps in a straight line, the more the wiggling slows. You eventually come down from your tiptoes, letting the mistletoe fall to the side, tilting your head.

He snorts, looking away briefly to hide an embarrassingly wide grin behind his hand. When he turns back to you, your pout is enough to have him scrambling to meet your gaze.

“On one condition, though.”

You chirp, “Yeah?”

He licks his teeth, reserving you with a smug look, “Admit that you were scared to get your tattoo.”

Your smile vanishes in an instant, your expression falling into mock offense. With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you turn on your heel, pretending to walk away from him. Pretending, only because you know he won’t let you. And you’re proven right when his fingers wrap around your arm, tugging you back with enough force to spin you into him. Suddenly, you’re pressed so close you can feel the heat radiating from him. Your chin nearly touches his chest as you glare up at him, narrowed eyes meeting the mischievous glint in his.

He bites a smile, lips twitching, “C’mon, princess. You wanted to act all tough and shit, but I could feel you shaking.”

Your scoff is loud and incredulous, “You’re such a bitch.”

He only shrugs, “You want my kiss, no?”

“Oh my god,” groaning, it’s your turn to face the side to hide a grin, “Are you always this cocky?”

His chin tilts upward slightly, and you can tell he’s enjoying this, “Say it.”

You whip back around to meet him with a seriousness he hardly ever sees on you, and you even clear your throat, channeling every ounce of the determination he knows you for, every drop of resolve that makes you you. “Yes. I was scared shitless, Jeongguk.”

Foreign excitement brims out of him, not before his eyes widen just a fraction, and his nose scrunches the more he leans closer to you, inches from you, swinging side to side with exaggerated mockery and a grin splitting his face, “See! I knew—hmph.”

There’s no other second to waste.

The condition has been met, and now all the requirements for you to claim what you were promised, your reward, are there. Even more when kissing him means catching him mid-taunt and silencing whatever teasing remark he had ready.

Your lips touch his in effortless ease, breaking the air as they press together. It’s tentative at first, almost uncertain as you feel Jeongguk remain still.

But it doesn’t take him longer to move, mouth molding against yours in a sickeningly sweet hug, tasting each other with quiet curiosity, taking your time to adjust and melt, instructing your bodies to imitate the dance.

Your arms lock around his neck, his stronger and tattooed ones circle your waist, and the way you click together feels so right, almost too perfect, so perfect it scares you. When you arch yourself further into him, even the non-existent space between you unbearable, he accompanies the motion with his wide palms gliding along your back, squeezing you into him, feeling the curve of your hips.

The soft whine that scratches your throat and vibrates against his lips betrays you, along with the useless effort to contain the intensity of what you’re feeling. The emotion disarms you, the sound gasping in your chest, but in Jeongguk’s arms it feels safe to let go.

On Christmas day, you crown a youthful fantasy, the kind you’ll look back to even when you’re older. Jeongguk feels like he’d be the right person to stand by you to do so.

When he reluctantly detaches from you, his face keeps at a safe distance that’d allow him to go back and taste you, not before resting his forehead on yours and whispering, “Merry Christmas.”

You giggle. “Merry Christmas, Gguk.”

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