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tinycoffeeroom · 5 months ago

Text

treat you better | carlos sainz

face claim: none ♡

request: here !

requested: Could I request a Carlos smau where another driver breaks your heart and he’s there to pick up the pieces and make you whole again? Please and thank you ❤️

cw: cheating, bad guy charles, mentions of unwell family members, cursing

a/n: charles and alex i love u guys i promise this is just for the au <3

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November

👤 charles_leclerc liked by fan, fan, and 78,283 others

f1gossip Trouble in paradise for Charles and Y/N? Charles Leclerc was spotted on a long walk on one of Monaco's more secluded islands with a mysterious brunette and his and Y/N's dog, Leo, this weekend. Sources say the pair were often looking to see if there were cameras around, the two of them giggling as they held hands and played with the puppy. Y/N L/N, Charles girlfriend of 2 years, is currently said to be on a trip home to see family, we wonder if the two have broken up or if Charles is back to his old ways?

fan f1gossip tagging charles is so shady i love it

fan when i catch you charles

fan no bc remember when a fan said they met y/n in her hometown and she was visiting her gran bc she's not doing too good? charles u fuckin suck bro ↳ fan wtf really???? oh i hope his tyres stick to the road next race ↳ fan kmag you know what you need to do ↳ fan we put our hopes and prayers in the paddock terror 🙏🙏

fan ok but the girls gorgeous ↳ fan THAT'S YOUR TAKEAWAY FROM THIS? ↳ fan im just saying damn

fan this is not what i meant when i said i wanted silly season to get more interesting

fan *looks around* wow i'm so surprised... not like charles has a bad rep with women or anything

fan i hope y/ns ok... my heart is hurting for her ↳ fan the paddock adore her, charles has got a big storm coming next week

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liked by kellypiquet, carmenmmundt and 25 others

y/npriv my gran is doing so much better (nothing can keep the old girl down), my hometown is still as gorgeous as always and my sister got me a cake :)

kellypiquet my girl :((( i'm so happy your grans ok 🤍 ↳ y/npriv thank u kelly bear 🤍 ↳ kellypiquet did i have to physically hold max back from going after he who shall not be named?? yes... did i consider letting go?? very much so ↳ y/npriv 😭😭 hes not voldemort babe 😭 you should have just let him go ↳ kellypiquet now is that really how you feel? ↳ y/npriv ... no but i wish i did ↳ maxverstappen1 she has to go to sleep at some point, then i shall be free ↳ y/npriv thats so ominous you strange creature (i appreciate you)

carmenmmundt me and george have been keeping your gran in our prayers angel 🩷 ↳ y/npriv i love you carm 🩷 ↳ georgerussell63 and me? ↳ y/npriv i tolerate you :)

flavy.barla esteban nearly joined max ↳ y/npriv love him dearly but este's about as intimidating as a teddy bear ↳ estebanocon ?? hey??? ↳ y/npriv sorry king xo there's a reason your nicknames estie bestie ↳ estebanocon let it DIEEEEE ↳ y/npriv never 🫶

schecoperez I am glad your gran is ok, y/n. Let me or Carola know if you need anything x ↳ y/npriv thank you checo :( give the little ones and carola a big hug from me x ♥️ schecoperez

lilyzneimer he shall d word at my hands ↳ y/npriv i fuckin love you lily

lewishamilton he will never know peace next year. ↳ lewishamilton i am however happy to hear your gran is well x ↳ y/npriv lewis 😭 thank you x

francisca.c.gomes pierre has been shouting at Him on the phone for like an hour... ↳ y/npriv 😭 ... what are they saying ↳ francisca.c.gomes a lot of french and things i don't want delicate eyes (yuki) to read... ↳ y/npriv pierre i appreciate you ↳ pierregasly i'm gonna kill him ↳ y/npriv ok maybe tone it down frenchie

lilymhe alex is setting his zoo on him ↳ y/npriv that's how you know it's serious wow ↳ alex_albon tinky's gonna boot him in the head

sebastianvettel i am very glad to hear your gran is ok, y/n, sending her and you all my love x ↳ y/npriv thank you seb :( miss you x ↳ sebastianvettel come and see us soon! the kids miss you x ↳ y/npriv you got it! x

danielricciardo he's a cunt ↳ danielricciardo and i don't mean that in a nice aussie way ↳ y/npriv DANIEL ↳ oscarpiastri no he's right, in the nasty aussie way, he's a cunt ↳ y/npriv oscar i did not raise you to talk like this ↳ oscarpiastri we are literally like 4 years apart in age... ↳ y/npriv kicking a girl when she's down WOW oscar ↳ oscarpiastri ... i am sorry mother dearest ↳ y/npriv that's better

carlossainz55 hermosa, he may be il predestinato but to me he is carne morta (dead meat) ↳ y/npriv carlos 😭 ↳ carlossainz55 also i'm glad to know your gran is well, send her my love ↳ y/npriv she already fancies you enough as it is ↳ carlossainz55 my plan is working :) ↳ y/npriv what plan? are you seducing my family members??? hiding my mum as we speak ↳ carlossainz55 something like that ;)

yukitsunoda0511 happy to see your gran is ok! and i am sorry about the other thing :((((( ↳ y/npriv yuki my angel you have nothing to be sorry about

kevinmagnussen i know what i have to do ↳ y/npriv kevin NO you're like 2 points away from a race ban!! ↳ kevinmagnussen worth it :) ↳ y/npriv nicohulkenburg pls talk some sense into your teammate ↳ nicohulkenburg unfortunately y/n i too will be joining kevin in his "defense" ↳ y/npriv haas i am so sorry

landonorris i may have done a thing... ↳ y/npriv i am terrified... ↳ landonorris i'll text you :)

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📍Monaco

👤 landonorris, carlossainz55, francisca.c.gomes, kellypiquet, lilymhe, lilynzeimer, flavy.barla, carmenmmundt liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 87,902 others

y/nstagram angel baby, dumb and dumber and my girls 🩷

Comments on this post have been limited

carlossainz55 ... am i dumb or dumber ↳ y/nstagram do you really want to know? 🤨 ↳ carlossainz55 for my own sanity im saying i'm dumb ↳ landonorris why am i dumber????? ↳ carlossainz55 do you really want to know? 🤨

carmenmmundt don't forget about lunch today xx ↳ y/nstagram been looking forward to it since i boarded the plane 🫶

landonorris you're welcome for the lift and the room btw 🙄 ↳ y/nstagram my saviour xx ↳ landonorris and for stealing leo for you ↳ y/nstagram I NEVER ASKED YOU TO STEAL HIM???? 😭 ↳ landonorris well i did because i'm an amazing friend and am willing to sacrifice all my bloody furniture ↳ y/nstagram you leave the baby alone, he was probably stressed :(

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FEBRUARY

(estrellita - little star) (uy, quécarechimba - ugh, that dickhead)

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📍Shanghai

👤 carlossainz55, landonorris liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 89,028 others

y/nstagram did y'all think i would miss the first race week?? ft dumber and roomie x

fan mother has returned!!!!! ♥️ y/nstagram

fan if looks could kill, carlos would be six feet under ... charles was FUMING ↳ fan given the way his girly hid when y/n appeared i would say he has no right to be mad at all ↳ fan if the girl i cheated on rocked up to my teammates garage whilst i was with my side piece i quite frankly would walk onto the track midrace ↳ fan how do we know charles cheated? they've not said anything ↳ fan exactly. if they had been broken up surely they would have put out some sort of announcement to clear things up ????

scuderiaferrari always good to see you in red, y/n ❤️ ↳ y/nstagram FORZA FERRARI SEMPRE!!!!!! 🐎🐎🐎🐎🐎🐎

carlossainz55 i hate this new nickname ↳ y/nstagram what else should i call you? ↳ carlossainz55 yours ↳ fan CARLOS I SAW THAT????????

landonorris i have been demoted from bestie to roomie... this is the thanks i get... ↳ y/nstagram thanks roomie xx btw bins go out on tuesday :)

lewishamilton now you're free of your ferrari obligations, you should come across to mercedes next time ;) ↳ mercedesamgf1 we would love to see you over here y/n! ↳ mclaren um no us next?? ↳ alpinef1team no us!!! ↳ redbullracing come to the winning team :) ↳ scuderiaferrari y/n will always be a ferrari girl, back OFF 🤺🤺🤺 ♥️ carlossainz55

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charles_leclerc added y/nstagram added to their story to their story

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liked by maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and 20 others

y/npriv that bitchass man... idk how he thought he was gonna spin that story but not on my watch

oscarpiastri did you really have to use my meme though? ↳ y/npriv yes it was funny and otherwise i was gonna call him a cheating lying bastard on main so 🤷🏻‍♀️ ↳ oscarpiastri understandable, please continue

danielricciardo lando was laughing so hard i think he bust a rib ↳ landonorris it still hurts to breathe but holy shit y/n i love u ↳ y/npriv love u too stink :) also don't forget to pick up leo's food from the shops ↳ landonorris you do know you can text me this stuff? ↳ y/npriv yeah but reminding everyone we're roomies is funny to me

maxverstappen1 walked past ferrari hospitality and fred was PISSED ↳ y/npriv 👀👀 carlossainz55 can you confirm? ↳ carlossainz55 oh, absolutely... i was worried he was going to have a heart attack or something

francisca.c.gomes ok but did he not even think to talk to you first before posting that? it's literally been months ↳ y/npriv apparently not 🙃 texted him about it and suddenly he was sorry ↳ francisca.c.gomes men 🙄 ↳ pierregasly ???? ↳ francisca.c.gomes i stand by what i said ↳ y/npriv yeah is there a problem gasly? ↳ pierregasly no problem at all ma'am, as you were

scuderiaferrari we had no knowledge charles was going to post that. we love you y/n ↳ danielricciardo FERRARI? why are you on y/ns priv? ↳ y/npriv me and the social media intern are besties xx

carlossainz55 estrellita, lets go for dinner, you deserve it ↳ y/npriv 👀 are you paying? ↳ carlossainz55 of course, i am a gentleman ↳ y/npriv pick me up in an hour :)

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liked by fan, fan and 40,718 others

f1gossip Carlos Sainz and Y/N L/N were spotted at dinner last night. The two enjoyed a meal before taking a stroll along the Monaco pier front where, as pictured, the pair were in high spirits. We're happy to see Y/N looking so happy following the revelation that her ex-boyfriend, and Carlos' current F1 teammate, had cheated on her. The two were then joined by Y/N's current roommate and F1 driver, Lando Norris, who then whisked them off to a local nightclub. We continue to send Y/N our support and hope to see more of her happy side.

fan i don't think i've ever seen y/n laugh like that, we love to see it

fan this coupled with the photos of charles and his girly arguing in the paddock 🤭🤭 we know who won the breakup

fan why do i kinda think carlos and y/n would be cute together ↳ fan woah, she's only been broken up with charles for a few months and under really shitty circumstances, she needs time to heal ↳ fan ofc ofc!!! i just mean when she's over ch*rles, the two would make a really good couple

fan happy y/n and happy carlos, my two favourite things ❤️

fan y/ncarlos fans we rise!!! ↳ fan he would treat her so right ↳ fan the entire time she dated That Man, carlos has always been so nice to her, i wonder if he secretly fancied her all along 👀 ↳ fan or maybe he's just a good guy ↳ fan that too 🤷🏻‍♀️

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APRIL

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📍 Australia

liked by y/nstagram, landonorris and 890,274 others

carlossainz55 swipe across to see me and oomf Another Carlando podium! We know what you guys wanna see and we love to deliver! The car drove like a dream today, shame we couldn't get more points but it's always nice to celebrate a great race with some champagne showers!

See 98,072 other comments

fan WHO TAUGHT CARLOS WHAT OOMF WAS??? ↳ fan either lando or y/n 100% 😭

fan CARLANDO PODIUM!!!!!!!!! WE DREAM OF DAYS LIKE THIS

y/nstagram FORZA FERRARI SEMPRE !!! 🐎🐎🐎🐎 congrats winner 🥳 ↳ carlossainz55 i think i was right when i said you would be my good luck charm 😉 ♥️ y/nstagram ↳ fan oh they're so sick for this ↳ fan y/ncarlos'ers we're so winning

charles_leclerc congrats ↳ fan ik for a fact he was forced to comment

landonorris carlando are back baby!! ↳ landonorris also cant believe im either oomf or roomie... ↳ y/nstagram stop leaving your smelly socks in the bathroom and maybe i'll change the nickname ↳ landonorris oh that was mean

fan "shame we couldn't get more points" carlos you shady shady man

fan who else cheered when kmag pulled through and took * out of the race

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liked by carlossainz55, francisca.c.gomes and 21 others

y/npriv oh we eating good tonight

kellypiquet i'm sure we are 👀 ↳ y/npriv KELLY???

landonorris carlos is so sexy ↳ y/npriv real ↳ landonorris back off my man??? ↳ carlossainz55 i'm gonna hold your hand when i say this lando... ↳ landonorris WOOOOOOW.... i see how it is carlos

carlossainz55 gorgeous as always ↳ y/npriv you can't even see my face in that photo carlos 🤣 ↳ carlossainz55 don't need to see you to know you're gorgeous ↳ maxverstappen1 i hate to say it but that was smooth ↳ danielricciardo they don't call him the smooth operator for no reason

scuderiaferrari power (soon to be (fingers crossed)) couple ↳ carlossainz55 😉 ↳ y/npriv not from the main acc damn

francisca.c.gomes need you biblically ↳ y/npriv come here then babe xx ↳ flavy.barla lemme join ↳ y/npriv i got two hands babygirl ↳ oscarpiastri estebanocon pierregasly you gonna let her snatch both your girls? ↳ estebanocon unfortunately there was a clause when they agreed to date us and it was that y/n is wifey, we are simply the Others ↳ pierregasly ^^

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liked by carlossainz55, lilymhe and 25 others

y/npriv decided to put him out of his misery :)

carlossainz55 and who is that sexy man? ↳ y/npriv idk but he keeps speaking spanish to me even though he knows i dont understand it 🙄 ↳ carlossainz55 but do you like it? 👀 ↳ y/npriv i think you know i do x

francisca.c.gomes AND YOU DIDNT UPDATE THE GROUPCHAT??????? ↳ lilymhe FR!!!! I LITERALLY SAID TELL US AFTER YOU KISS HIM ↳ y/npriv SHUT UP RN ↳ carlossainz55 no do go on ↳ lilymhe what happens in the y/n gf's gc, stays in the y/n gf's gc

carlossainz55 estás muy guapa, vuelve a la cama cariño ❤️ (you look so pretty, come back to bed sweetheart) ↳ maxverstappen1 we have the translate function on ig you horndog ↳ y/npriv don't be mad i snatched ur man ↳ maxverstappen1 ... he'll never forget the redbull days

landonorris RUE WHEN WAS THIS?????? ↳ y/npriv hiiiii lando... um so.... 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️ ↳ landonorris GET BACK HERE U RAT EXPLAIN YOURSELF ↳ landonorris carlossainz55 WHAT ARE U DOING WITH MY ROOMIE ???? ↳ carlossainz55 i mean i could tell you but instagram does have guidelines ↳ landonorris ew ew ew that's so gross i dont even wanna know ↳ landonorris happy for you guys or whatever but ew never tell me anything remotely sexual about y/n or i will vom ↳ y/npriv lando wtf???? ↳ landonorris you're like my annoying sister i'd have to remove my skinsuit if carlos opens his fat mouth ↳ carlossainz55 hey? ↳ y/npriv you're so fuckin weird ily

danielricciardo HE SHOOTS, HE SCORES!!!! ↳ carlossainz55 you were right, they don't call me the smooth operator for no reason ↳ y/npriv you were literally giggling and kicking your feet after i kissed you ↳ carlossainz55 y/n :(((( my reputation :((((((

lilyzneimer wait do was taking the photos? ↳ y/npriv ... self timer ↳ lilyzneimer down horrifically bad wow

scuderiaferrari OH Y/NCARLOS'ERS WE WON!!!!! ↳ y/npriv admin 😭 not u too ↳ scuderiaferrari not even sorry i've been WAITING for this one!!!

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liked by francisca.c.gomes, fan and 30,892 others

f1gossip A surprise twist in the Charles and Y/N drama? Following Sainz's back to back victory in Australia and then Silverstone, Y/N and Carlos shared what looks like a loving kiss. Eagle eyed fans then spotted Charles on camera arguing with a Ferrari employee in the garages following the Y/NCarlos moment. Finally, Carlos was spotted outside where he was soon joined by Y/N, the two leaving the circuit hand in hand. It is noted Charles' new beau was nowhere to be seen.

fan Y/NCARLOS'ERS WE SO WON!!!! ♥️ 10,829 others

fan she upgraded wowow

fan charles throwing a hissy fit was so funny i was cackling watching it

fan kika in the likes... what do you know queen? ♥️ francisca.c.gomes

user not her being a homie hopper 🤢 ↳ carlossainz55 can't be a homie hopper if we're not homies :) ↳ fan CARLOS????? ↳ fan oh he ate them up ↳ fan carlos has not been fucking with ch*rles for a WHILE, even before all the drama

fan y/n's face... she looked so happy my heart is so full ❤️

fan queen y/n we trust your judgement

fan ik the entire grid is cheering rn

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📍 England

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 105,018 others

y/nstagram carlando podium again!!! anything else interesting happen at Silverstone? :)

fan the carlando bears 😭 her boyfriend(?) and bestie 😭 ↳ landonorris roomie* ↳ y/nstagram you love me shut up

fan she's so unbothered im giggling

francisca.c.gomes the last slide... ↳ y/nstagram don't worry baby, he was just dropping me off for our date x ↳ carlossainz55 all i am to you is a glorified taxi driver

landonorris couldn't even post a photo of me for my podium... see how it is ↳ y/nstagram don't want your ugly mug messing up my feed ↳ y/nstagram also grey bin needs to go out on tuesday ↳ landonorris you're on bin duty this week? ↳ y/nstagram actually i'm gonna be on a boat in spain soooo ↳ landonorris i hope y'all break up ↳ fan LANDO ? ↳ y/nstagram he's joking dw he did the whole "big brother" speech with carlos, was kinda funny knowing carlos would flatten him in 2 seconds flat ↳ landonorris oh now i really hope y'all break up

fan y/n please we know you have bf carlos pics... i only ask for one thing ↳ y/nstagram i'll post some soon x ↳ fan the most unserious soft/hard launch

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👤 carlossainz55 liked by carlossainz55, lilyzneimer and 98,017 others

y/nstagram my boyfriends so hot, do you guys mind if i chew on him a lil?

carlossainz55 please don't chew me??? ↳ y/nstagram it's internet sla- never mind, ok mr sainz

fan her captions are always so real i love her

fan unhinged y/n is back, we missed you best friend ♥️ y/nstagram

scuderiaferrari HARD LAUNCH HARD LAUNCH HARD LAUNCH LETS GO Y/NCARLOS'ERS!!!! ↳ y/nstagram i love u admin ❤️ ↳ scuderiaferrari our ferrari girl, forever ❤️

landonorris i hate this ↳ fan your ex and your roomie 😔 ↳ landonorris you get it 😔 ↳ carlossainz55 stop calling me your ex 🙄 ↳ landonorris you dare deny the love we shared?

francisca.c.gomes never mind him, can i chew on you a lil? ↳ kellypiquet ^ ↳ lilymhe ^ ↳ lilyzneimer ^ ↳ flavy.barla ^ ↳ carmenmmundt ^ ↳ y/nstagram everyone grab a limb x ↳ carlossainz55 please don't chew my girlfriend

fan thank you for the pic y/n! sorry for interrupting your holiday 🥺 ↳ y/nstagram don't be silly!! it was lovely to meet you <333 dont forget to send me the link to the dress!! ↳ fan on it!! ↳ fan omg how was it meeting them? ↳ fan they're honestly so sweet, they were just holding hands and walking around and carlos was yapping away and the way y/n was looking at him 🥺 they're endgame fr ↳ fan could actually cry?? ↳ fan also when they were on the beach, carlos twirled her around and they started dancing to the music playing from a nearby bar... it was actually like a movie scene 😭😭

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👤 y/nstagram liked by y/nstagram, scuderiaferrari and 505,287 others

carlossainz55 dicen que ver una estrella fugaz da buena suerte, y tenían razón, mi estrellita ❤️ (they say seeing a shooting star is good luck, and they were right, my little star)

See 198,017 other comments

francisca.c.gomes that first picture... i love my girlfriend ↳ carlossainz55 can't even have peace on my own hard launch ↳ francisca.c.gomes you snatched y/n from her girlfriends, you will never know peace.

fan he bagged a baddie wowow

fan the caption??? oh hes in LOVE ♥️ carlossainz55

y/nstagram 🥺 carlos..i'm so grateful to have you in my life ❤️ ↳ carlossainz55 i am the one who's grateful ❤️

scuderiaferrari heyyy y/n *with rizz* ↳ carlossainz55 even my own teams admin wow... ↳ scuderiaferrari not my fault your girlfriends hot

user homie hopper ↳ carlossainz55 eat glass :) ↳ y/nstagram CARLOS ↳ scuderiaferrari we love that you're happy but please carlos this is still your official account

lilymhe y/n i could treat you so much better ↳ carlossainz55 back off i've waited years for this ↳ y/nstagram YEARS??? ↳ carlossainz55... 🏃🏻‍♂️🏃🏻‍♂️🏃🏻‍♂️ ↳ y/nstagram you're literally sat right next to me ... ↳ y/nstagram he just got up and ran away... ↳ fan this is so fucking funny sddjsdhdk ↳ landonorris danielricciardo what was that about him being a smooth operator? ↳ danielricciardo hes also fucking dumb

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a/n: hope everyone enjoys! i am working hard on part 2 of girlfriend of the enemy so we can have some happy charles <3 also 2-3 posts in one week who AM I? (i'm gonna be busy w work so i'm trying to give u guys some food in case i have to disappear)

#carlos sainz smau #carlos sainz social media au #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #f1 social media au #f1 smau #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic

6K notes · View notes

pastryfication · 3 months ago

Note

oscar x reader who has a cochlear implant

sudden silence | oscar piastri

summary: your cochlear implant isn’t always your best friend, but when it fails you at the worst possible time, you feel panic like never before. note: i hope this is what you imagined!! i researched quite a lot to make it as accurate as possible but please correct me if i’ve written something inaccurate xx

everything was loud around you. the engines roaring to life again and again cut through the air and the crowds erupted in cheers whenever they caught sight of a car. the announcers were talking animatedly over the loudspeakers, their enthusiasm clear even if it was just free practice. and on top of all that, the general hustle and bustle also sounded in the background. the high-octane atmosphere was almost headache-inducing. everything was slowly becoming too much for you, the noise deafening, drowning out your thoughts, until suddenly, everything stopped.

suddenly, everything was completely quiet. not a single sound of oscar’s pit crew talking loudly. not a single tyre screeching on the track. just complete silence.

your hand immediately reached up to the small implant in your ear. don’t panic. you forced yourself to take a deep breath. glitches happen. just count to 10 and it should be working again.

1, 2, 3, 4 . . . you took a deep breath again . . . 8, 9 . . . 10 . . .

nothing happened. the silence lingered, the disorienting feeling wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. one of the engineers started shouting something and suddenly everyone was running around, but you couldn’t hear them. you couldn’t hear anything.

you could feel your heart beating away in your chest while your hands started to tremble, clamminess forming in your palms. you tried to steady your breathing again, tried to calm yourself, but everything was suddenly overwhelming. relax. you thought. you can fix it.

fingers fumbling, you reached for the implant, quickly checking the battery. it was still there. adjusting the settings didn’t work either, and it dawned on you like a comet from the sky. there was nothing you could do.

the panic gripped you from the inside and moved into occupying your entire body. hearing was crucial at the track. not just for communication but for safety as well. what if you missed an important announcement? or something critical happening on the track? what if oscar crashed and nobody could tell you?

the visual stimuli—the flashing lights, the cars zooming by, the people moving around you—became slowly overwhelming without the grounding presence of sound. the sensory overload only added to the panic already formed by your thoughts.

what were you supposed to do? alert some of the employees? no. you couldn’t disturb them from their job. find someone else to help? you mind did a quick once over of the people attending the grand prix, but no one who would be able to help you came to mind.

you were on your own.

୨୧

oscar immediately stressed when he exited the car after fp2, finding out that you were gone from the garage. and no one knew where you were.

you had left somewhere in the middle of the session without telling anyone.

it instantly worried him, and with a frown on his face, he made his way to his small drivers room.

you don’t hear him enter, but suddenly, his figure was standing in front of you, a frown on his face as he said something. you couldn’t hear it. it was as if he was miming the words, no sound escaping his mouth.

he must have noticed something in your facial expression, because suddenly, he stopped talking. his face morphed into an even deeper frown of concern, and his hand moved up to point at his right ear, his question evident in the unspoken.

you only nodded, looking down at your fingers instead of meeting his eyes. was he disappointed that you had left?

you didn’t get long to ponder, because he quickly took a step forward, his hand meeting shoulder first to alert you of his closeness before he pulled you into him, both arms wrapping tightly around your frame and squeezing you against his chest in a hug.

the two of you stayed there for a while, his hand rubbing your back gently as you sniffled slightly, trying to keep the pent up tears at bay.

someone must have knocked on the door, because you felt oscar chest vibrate as he lifted his head to shout something in reply, but he didn’t pull back from you.

there, in oscar’s embrace, with his arms shielding you from the outside world, his lips pressing reassuring kisses into your hair, you knew everything would be fine. you could call the audiologist in a moment, and everything would be fixed. but for a moment you actually enjoyed the silence, because you know that oscar won’t let anything happen. with him, you were completely safe, and as long as you had him, nothing could go completely wrong.

1K notes · View notes

xxblairexxss · 1 year ago

Text

A fresh start

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x singlemom!reader

Theme : Angst, fluff

Word count : 4.2k

Part 2

Requested!

In which Charles had a crush on the new member of the team without knowing he was already a good friend of her toddler.

It gets a little heavy near the end so heads up! Not proofread!

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"There seems to be a problem with the downforce. It kind of eats the tyre quite a lot."

Charles felt a touch on his hip while he was too busy listening to the engineers. Looking down, he saw a small kid patting on his leg, while the other hand seemed to be offering him something. "Hey, are you giving this to me?" He asked, pulling the headset from his ear as he crouched down.

"Yeah! My mom always gives me candy whenever I am stressed with my homework. You can—oh." The little kid fumbled with the wrapping paper that was securely wrapped around the lollipop. "I can’t take the plastic off for you. Sorry…"

"Oh, it’s okay. Let me help you." Charles twiddled with the wrapper as it went loose before he pulled it off. "There! Oh, for me? Are you sure?"

"No stress! Bye bye!" The toddler waved and sprinted off, leaving Charles with the strawberry lollipop in his hand.

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"Any idea who she is?" Charles nudged Joris and tipped his chin towards the girl who was across the room.

"She’s part of the communication executive." Joris took a quick glance and went back to his phone.

"I have never seen her before." His eyes were latched on the girl, seeing the way she talked with her hands, nodding and smiling at whatever the other girl was talking about.

"She just joined the team."

"What’s her name?" Charles nudged Joris again, causing him to heave a sigh and stand up.

"Y/N!" Joris called out.

"Joris! What the fuck?" Charles slapped his friend’s leg and looked away. The phone in his hand seemed to be looking much more interesting, though it wasn’t even turned on. While his fingers were dancing and tapping on any random buttons on his phone, his ears were listening to the conversation—well, more like listening to her voice. It was weird how he had never seen her before, but Joris seemed to be getting along with her very well.

"That was Y/N." Joris gave a smile, stealing a peep from Charles’s phone, and laughed when he saw it was on camera, capturing Charles’s face from an angle below. "Nice picture, by the way. Is that why you couldn’t stop looking at it when she was here?"

"Very unnecessary, Joris. You could have just told me her name." He threw his cap on and stood up to leave the room.

"I thought you wanted to get to know her." Joris exclaimed, seeing his best friend walking away.

"I can figure that one myself!"

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"Charlie!"

"Hey, Adam! Give me a five!" He bent down as the little one hopped and touched their hands together. This has been his fourth time seeing him, and every single time, his visit would get longer and longer. The first time he met the kid, he just dropped by to give him candy and walked away. This time, he came by with candy and shared a few little jokes and games.

"Do you always wander around the paddock alone? Your dad never gets mad." He ripped the top off the candy and handed it to the kid.

"No, mommy won’t be mad if I just stay around the red garage. Oh! Sour!" His face scrunched up, making the driver cackle.

"Oh? You’re with your mom? Dang, this is sour." He made a face and shivered as the sourness hit.

"Yeah, I’m with mommy! Daddy is…" He looked down, his bottom lips jutting out. Charles knew right away it wasn’t something light if this was the reaction coming from a 4-year-old kid, so he cut the topic short.

"You don’t have anything sweet in there? I’m not a fan of sour candy."

Adam patted his pockets and shook his head. "No more candy! I stole that from mommy. Shh, she didn’t know." He put his pointy finger on his lips and giggled.

"Your secret is safe with me, buddy. I have to go. See you around, Adam!" Charles stood up and gave the little one a pat on the head before he went to get Andrea for his short meeting before the press conference.

"This will be your..."

Charles was slapped with what felt like a brick when it was just a file of papers, but the sting was unexpected, causing him to lean back as he covered one side of his face with his hand.

"Oh! I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Did I just slap you?"

Chuckling, he shook his head and pressed his palm on his eyes—the ones that just got slapped on. "No, no. Well, yes, I’m okay. Are you–" Her beauty from up close astounded him, erasing all vocabularies in his head as he went blank. "You are beautiful," he muttered.

"Sorry?"

"Oh? Oh, nothing. Y/N, right?" He offered a handshake with the widest grin. "I’m Charles."

"Everyone knows who you are, Charles." You laughed, accepting the handshake. "How do you know my name? I never properly introduced myself."

"Oh, Joris told me." He answered, his eyes still on her, making him look like a fool without realising it.

"Do you have anything else to say? Because I need to." She pointed the other way. "I need to head there."

He pulled himself back to his senses and stepped aside. "Oh, sorry about that. I’m not going to hold you any longer."

"Sorry about that. Good luck in the qualifying round!"

"Oh, wait! Is this yours?" He crouched down and took the sour candies on his feet. The same one he got from the kid

"Oh, yeah! Must have slipped off my hand. Thank you!"

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"Mommy, look!"

You took the paper that he handed to you and cackled at the drawing. "What is this, sweetheart?"

"Guess, mommy! Look, I drew the moustache too." He pointed at the little lines, wearing the proudest smile.

"A moustache? Is that a cat?"

"Yes! Like the one we used to have!" He started collecting all of his marker pens and coloured pencils, placing them in his small pencil case as he saw you start packing your stuff. "Are we going back already?"

"Yeah, mommy’s all done with my work, so we can head back early. Should we go on a little date and get ice cream?" Shutting down your laptop, you placed them in the case when Adam seemed to be rushing to go somewhere with his little backpack. "Where are you going?"

"Mommy, wait! I haven’t met Charlie!"

"What even is Charlie?" You muttered, picking up the missing marker pens he had missed for rushing.

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"Hey, munchkin! I was waiting for you." Charles grinned and offered his hand for a high five. "Where have you been?"

"Oh! I’m going back already. Wait!" He sneaked his little hand into his pocket and frowned when he couldn’t find the thing he was looking for. Charles then saw him pull his arms off his small backpack and sneak his little hand inside the small compartment. "This is for you!"

"You are going home? Why?" Taking the small Mars bar from the little one, he kept it in his hand as he helped him put on his backpack again.

"Mommy’s done with her work early today, so I’m going out on a date!"

Charles grabbed his little arm before he could sprint away. "You? You are going out on a date? Wait, with who?"

"Adam!"

The driver’s facial expression went blank as he heard the voice. The little arm in his hand slipped off as he saw the little one run and hug the legs of the woman he has been dying to talk to over the past couple of months.

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"Mommy!"

You ruffled his hair as he crashed into you. "Have you met your Charlie?" Bending down, you squeezed his chubby cheeks as you took his hand in yours.

"Yes! That’s Charlie!" He exclaimed, pointing at someone.

You saw Charles still crouching down with a Mars bar in his hand. He was already looking at you as you laid your eyes on him. He looked surprised and stunned, as he didn’t seem to catch the smile you gave.

"He's—he’s yours? Adam, is your kid?" He queried, taking steps closer.

"Yeah, he’s my son. Wait–" Looking down, you cupped his little cheek. "Adam, Charlie, is Charles? Is this the friend you have been giving your candy away to?"

"Yes!" he squealed.

You thought he had been making friends with a cat or any other person, but not with an actual driver, because who would have thought he would have the most time in the world to be friends with a 4-year-old kid? "I’m so sorry if he had been bothering you. I truly had no idea about that.”

"It’s okay, Y/N. I got free candies." He showed the Mars bar he had in his hand, making you chuckle.

"I am going out on a date with mommy. Do you want to come?"

His words became a mumble as you quickly covered his mouth. "Charlie is busy, Adam." Tilting your head back and facing the driver, you asked the little one to wave before walking away. "I’ll get going now. Say bye, Adam."

"Bye, Charlie!"

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"What’s with that smile?" Joris peeked his head to look at the little kid, who kept looking back every now and then to wave his little hand at the driver.

"Nothing." Charles ripped off the Mars bar in his hand and took a bite of it, cocking his brow at Joris, who seemed to have more questions. "What?"

"Nothing." He mimicked Charles’s expression and moved away before he could get hit in the head.

"You didn’t tell me she had a kid." Charles blurted.

"I thought you wanted to figure it out yourself. Why? Does it change anything?"

"What do you mean?" He queried, taking another bite from the chocolate bar.

"Does it change your little crush on her now that you know she has a kid?"

"No, not at all. I like her even more now." He chuckled and did a double take on his friend. "Wait, how do you know I have a crush on her?"

"Because you aren’t being too discreet about it. I bet Adam knew it too. Give me that." Joris snatched the chocolate bar from the driver’s hand and took the last bite. "You shouldn’t eat too much sweet for your diet, you know."

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"Adam, I need your help." The sound of music in the room was cut off when the driver finally spoke what had been in his head for weeks. Charles was lying down on the couch in his driver room with his little friend, while the little one was too busy colouring the dinosaur from his book.

"More candy?" He asked, switching to a different colour pencil from his case.

"No, not candy. I wanted to ask your mom on a date." He put his phone away and sat up, looking at the little one full of anticipation.

"No."

"Wait, what? Why?" Charles stood up and took a seat by Adam’s side. He casually started participating in the colouring activity as he took a blue pencil and started filling in the tail section of the dinosaur. "I thought we were friends?"

"Mommy only goes on a date with me."

"She might want to go on a date with me." He assured him, helping him change to a different coloured pencil.

"I don’t want mommy to cry again, so, no. I need to go now!" He stood up and packed his colourful stuff inside his little backpack with the help of the driver.

"I won’t make her cry, Adam." Charles handed him his colouring book as the toddler stood up to leave.

"That’s what Daddy used to say too. Bye bye, Charlie!"

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"Charlie hurt?"

"Yes, sweetheart. He crashed today, so you shouldn’t bug him, okay? Just stay here." You pinched his little cheek before handing him his iPad. "Not too long. Turn it off when mommy says so, alright?"

Adam did listen to you and stayed in the break room while you sorted out a few things before race day tomorrow. There wasn’t any meeting until the next hour, so you got to do your work while listening to your kid watch Coco ten times this weekend.

Until you heard a knock on the door,

"Hi. Uhm, I’m looking for Adam." Your eyes widened as the driver peeked his head inside the room.

"Charlie!" He put his iPad to the side and hopped off the couch to run straight into Charles’s arms.

"Why didn’t you come to see me?"

"Mommy said I shouldn’t bug you. Are you okay?" You chuckled when he cupped the driver’s cheeks with his small hands.

"Yeah, I’m okay. Wait, actually, not really."

To that, Adam gasped and covered his mouth with his hands. "Oh, no! You need candy?"

"Come here." Charles pulled your son to the end of the room, so you were no longer able to eavesdrop on the conversation.

You saw those two start whispering something, giggling, and laughing while you were left out. "Bye Charlie!" He waved as the driver trod, leaving the break room.

"Bye, munchkin. See you, Y/N. You look beautiful in a ponytail, by the way."

You were taken back by the sudden compliment, and your hand went to stroke your hair now that he mentioned it. "But I always have my hair tied?"

"Yeah, that’s what I meant." He gave a wink before walking away, leaving you and your toddler, who seemed to find the whole situation funny.

"What did he tell you?" You tried to pry into their business, acting casual by going back to your work.

"It’s a secret!" He winked, which looked more like a face scrunch as he went back on his iPad, making you frown in confusion.

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"Go! Open the door!"

"I can’t. Give me a second."

"Why?"

"I’m nervous, buddy."

"I’ll open it for you!"

"No, no!"

You were staying in the break room, playing with your phone while your little one stayed outside, watching an army of people in the paddock celebrate the drivers on the podium. He had promised to stay just outside the room so you wouldn’t have to worry about him being in the crowd, but minutes later, you kept hearing whispers right outside the door. You weren’t sure who the owner of the other one was, but you were so sure one of them belonged to your son.

"Mommy?"

"The door is not locked, love. Just come in." You replied and went back to your phone, expecting him to walk in, but he didn’t.

"Go, Charlie!”

"Is there anything wrong?" Placing the phone away, you pushed the door open and saw that your toddler kept on pushing the driver towards your door. "Charles? Do you need anything?"

"Y/N. Actually–"

"Charlie wants to ask you out on a date!" Adam cut in.

The words made you flabbergasted. That was impossible. Why would he ask you out on a date when every woman he met on a daily basis dressed up way better and had better body shape than you?

And they were single. While you were a divorcee, you even had a kid.

"Stop joking around, Adam. Leave Charlie alone, okay?" Adam hid behind the driver as you tried to grab his arm, giggling while hugging Charles’s legs.

"Would you go out on a date with me?"

You gave a dry smile and shook your head right away. "Sorry, Charles. I have a kid, remember? Who’s going to take care of him if I—“

"Joris will play with me! Right, Charlie?" He pulled on the Ferrari’s shirt, chuckling as he felt Charles’s hand on his neck.

"Joris agreed to take care of Adam for one night. They are best friends." Charles assured.

"I can’t, Charles. I’m so sorry."

He followed you inside while Adam stayed outside to find Joris. "But why?" You ignored him. "Y/N, why?"

"I should be asking you that. Why me? I don’t get it. I have a kid, Charles." You took your phone and started taking your laptop bag.

"And what’s wrong with that?"

"Nothing’s wrong, but you have all those hot girls ready for you to ask them out. I am way out of your league, Charles."

He held your arm to stop you from walking out of the room. "I got Adam’s permission, and I promised him that I was going to take you out. Please give me a chance."

"How did you get his permission?"

You saw him awkwardly smile as he scratched the back of his neck. "He promised me his permission if I ended up in the top 5 this weekend."

Laughing, you rolled your eyes at how ridiculous the deal was.

"Is that a yes?" He tilted his head, having a little faith in how the tension in the room seemed to die down.

"Fine. Just one date."

To that, he bit his lips and threw up a fist. "Yes! You’ll be in Maranello next weekend, yeah? I’ll pick up."

"Sure, I’ll send you the address."

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"Be nice to Joris, alright?"

"Mommy looks very pretty!" He placed both of his palms on your cheeks and gave you a kiss before hugging you by the neck. "Have fun with Charlie! Let me know if he makes you cry, and I’ll." He showed you his little fist. "I’ll hit him!"

Giggling, you kiss him back on his cheek. "I thought you said he was nice."

"Yeah, Charlie is very nice. That’s why I let him take mommy out on a date." He ran towards the main door as Joris helped put his sneakers on. "Bye mommy!"

Back then, when he was born, you always worried if you were able to raise him all on your own. If you could take on both responsibilities as his mother and father figure at a young age, You were grateful enough, as he had grown up to be a very gentle and cheerful kid, despite what he had witnessed occasionally whenever your ex-husband paid a visit. He was never a good dad. He never wanted to be one. Adam barely called him dad. He never knew what it felt like to have a dad, but he would always reassure you that he was glad enough to have the perfect mom. Though you tried to keep your marriage problems between you and your ex-husband, Adam was smart enough to figure out what his dad was like. Whenever your ex-husband came by, you would always get bruises on your body. Maybe that was why your little one grew up to be very protective of you, despite his age.

Charles had told you he was a few minutes away, so you weren’t expecting to see your former spouse when you opened the door.

"Where are you going?" He pushed the door and walked inside as if he had any right to do so.

"It’s none of your business. Please leave."

"It’s my house. Where’s Adam? And why are you all dressed up?" He scanned you up and down, smirking as if you looked humorous.

"Leave, please."

"Come on, baby. I haven’t seen you for months. I have missed you."

You pressed your lips into a thin line, feeling the tears well up in your eyes. Whenever you were home, he would always come by to ask for sex. He would beat you up if you ever resisted any of his attempts, but you would rather get beaten than be in the same bed with him again. You were just glad Adam wasn’t here to witness it all again. "Leave me alone!" You yelled, pushing him off from pinning your body against the wall.

"You fucking bitc—who’s that?" His hand, which was about to hit you in the face, came to an abrupt stop when the doorbell rang.

"It’s no one." The doorbell rang again.

"Go and open the door. It’s fucking annoying." He pushed you on your head, making you jerk forward towards the door.

You wiped on your tears that rolled down your cheeks before twisting the lock as you were greeted by Charles, with his dimples that went shallow as soon as he saw you.

"Y/N? Are you crying?"

You let out a sob and tilted your face away from the tears that rolled down your cheeks again. "I’m sorry, I can’t make it today."

"What’s wrong? Did something happen?" He gently tilted your face and felt his stomach drop when he saw your broken expression. "What happened, Y/N?"

"I–" You sobbed again.

"She wants you to leave, kid."

Charles pushed the door wider as he walked in and stood in front of you. "Who are you?"

"I’m her husband."

You felt his hand on your arm as he pulled you closer; his gaze was still locked on the older guy.

Charles let out a chuckle, seeing how absurd this whole situation was. "So, you are the ex-husband. Well, I don’t think it was me who wasn’t supposed to be in here."

"Kid, this is my house, and that bitch that you are touching is mine." He snarled.

"Don’t call me that. And she’s not yours." Charles furrowed at the man, feeling your hand gripping his arm.

"Ah, so she’s yours now? Did you claim her yet?"

"She’s not mine. She’s no one's possession because she’s not a fucking item. You should leave." His teeth were clenched as his gaze pierced the man. "Leave before I call the cops on you."

"I’ll get going first, baby. See you when this motherfucker is gone, yeah?" You flinched when you felt his cold skin on your cheek.

"Don’t fucking touch her." Charles yanked his hand away and locked the door after the older man was gone, leaving you and him alone.

"Did he hurt you?" Charles cupped on your face, heaving a sigh of relief when there wasn’t anything serious as you shook your head at his question.

Charles wanted to ask a lot of questions, but you were still shaken up by the whole thing, so he grabbed you by your hand as both of you settled down on the couch.

"You can leave, Charles. I’m sorry for ruining your night."

"It wasn’t your fault, Y/N. And who said the date was ruined? Adam told me you love pizza, so are you up for a pizza night?" He found himself grinning when he saw that little smile on your beautiful face.

It was supposed to be a romantic dinner date; instead, you were sitting on the couch with a box of pizza while watching a Disney movie. Charles had to pick out the pineapple on every slice of pizza and vocally judged you on your preference because there was no way he could eat a pizza with a pineapple together.

But it was a very fun night. It was enough to make you completely forget what had happened earlier, but enough to not make the day all about that.

"Y/N, can I ask something?" He picked out another pineapple, trying so hard not to make a disgusted face, which made you laugh.

"Is this about what happened?" You confirmed.

"Yeah, but if you don’t feel comfortable answering, then it’s fine." Charles took a bite of his now pineapple-free pizza.

"No, it’s okay. You can ask." You collected the pineapple he picked off and ate it on its own.

"How long?"

"How long has it been since he did that? It was on and off. If he got a new girlfriend, he would stop coming by for a couple of months." You saw the look he had on you, and it made you feel sad at how bad your life has turned out to be.

"You didn’t report to the police?"

"I did, but I never got any further updates. I even tried to move away, but he always managed to find me back. Which is why I’m always happy whenever I have to travel for work. That way, he won’t be able to ruin my life, and Adam could live his life as a child without having to worry about me." You looked away as you started to clean up the empty box as an excuse so you wouldn’t have to look at his face any longer or you would be crying again.

"I’ll see what I can do. It’s about time for the authority to take action about this. I promise I’ll help you."

"Thank you, Charles. I owe you a lot. I really don’t know how to pay you back." You beamed and dipped your hand in the small box.

"You still owe me a proper date?"

"Fine, make it the second date. Do you want candy?" You handed him one as you popped one in your mouth.

"Ah!" Charles blurted it out, making you jump. "How could I miss this?" He took the sour candy and burst out laughing. It was the same candy that he had been getting from Adam way before he found out he was related to you. "Adam had been stealing your sour candies all this time to share them with me."

"Really?" You laughed along, connecting the dots as to why your candy seemed to be way less than it should have been.

"Guess I love sour candies now." He threw one into his mouth and shivered at the sourness.

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coco-loco-nut · 7 months ago

Text

Revelations

pairing: Daniel x reader

summary: Daniel casually mentions his wife after 11 YEARS OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP. Danny Ric comeback. 2025 season, he is back on rbr

request are open pookie masterlist part 2

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Being an engineer for Red Bull was something else. You have been with them since you graduated college, and truthfully you never want to leave, the team is your family, having been with them for 11 years.

You met your husband through your job, both starting at the ripe old age of 23, and despite the potential HR violations, Christian Horner practically set the two of you up on a date after being oblivious about each other’s crushes. Thus began Red Bull’s best kept secret.

“Happy 10 years, Danny,” you kiss your husband, him watching you analyze data. Christian made him promise to never use you as a mole, and the two of you very quickly agreed. Even when he was on Renault and McLaren, work talk was kept quiet. Daniel had a great season last year and was brought back to Red Bull Racing, Christian promoted you to be his race engineer, knowing Daniel would listen to you.

“Happy 10 years, my love,” he hugs you tight. Your children are home in Australia with their grandparents for the weekend.

“Good morning, Ricciardos. Happy wedding anniversary,” Christian greets you, sitting for the pre-race meeting. Christian celebrates your wedding anniversary almost as much as you do, but he is a part of the family. He officiated your wedding at this track 10 years ago today, and he is the godfather of your eldest.

“Good morning, I printed out some data sheets so we can determine strategy. I noticed some unusual tyre degradation, while it could be from the unusually high track temperatures yesterday, it is something we should plan for today,” you start, passing out the papers. Daniel will never not be able to admire you. Sometimes he misses what people say because he stares at you, the exact reason Christian helped get you two together.

“Let’s grab some coffee then go on a track walk,” Daniel holds his hand out to you after the strategy meeting, you happily take it. After your lap around the track, you meet with the other engineers while Daniel warms up and does media. As you are watching the F2 race for valuable data, someone from PR comes over to you.

“Watch this clip,” she says and you oblige.

Daniel, you seem in better spirits than usual, care to share?

I don’t know mate, I am usually a pretty happy person.

Here I was thinking that maybe you finally had a girlfriend

Nah, I don’t think my wife would be happy about that… I wasn’t really supposed to say that. If you are watching, sorry! I’ll make it up to you, love.

Well, I hope there isn’t a couch in your future. Good luck today.

Thanks, but she’s put up with me for 11 years, I doubt there will be a couch in the future.

“Oh, he might have the couch tonight,” you laugh a little, honestly surprised it took 11 years for him to accidentally say something.

“Looking back at all the photos, he is wearing a wedding ring, how did we not see that?” You hear one of the Mercedes drivers say outside the garage.

“You saw the video?” Daniel asks as you playfully glare at him.

“I did. I have a winning strategy for you, so maybe you can move off the couch tonight. Lose and you stay there longer,” you tease. Being his race engineer helps so much because you can subtly say things and no one picks it up, and any interactions between you seem normal.

“Yes, Mrs. Ricciardo,” he smiles and goes to get changed for the race.

Last car in, good luck Daniel

I don’t need luck, I have you guiding my race

Ok, Daniel, whatever you say

The strategy works out well, and planning for the hotter heat was a smart move. Christian hasn’t told you not to race with Max, so you push Daniel for the overtake.

“Come on, honey badger,” you whisper. Daniel has had the better strategy and better pacing, all day so he easily overtakes and keeps the lead through the final five laps.

Okay Daniel, last lap, Verstappen behind, keep the pace.

Does this mean I’m off the couch?

Focus.

Sorry.

And that’s P1, P1 very good, Daniel. Red Bull 1-2. You are officially off of the couch.

LET’S GO! Thank you team! I couldn’t have done it without you guys. Thanks for the brilliant strategy, and for letting me off the couch. Best wife ever.

Mhmm. Happy 10 years. Parc Ferme is clear for you, pull in so the team can celebrate.

Let’s just say that F1 TV streaming your radio broke the internet, and the drivers when they all got out of their cars and into the garages. You followed the team to wear Daniel was parking and the team pushed you to the front. Daniel celebrated there with the team, taking his helmet off and kissing you. The team wolf whistles around you.

“Go to the podium, we will celebrate with you there,” you push him in the direction of where he needs to go. Unknowingly to Daniel, Red Bull chooses you to represent them for the Constructors Trophy.

“Mate, how did you keep that a secret?” Oscar asks Daniel in the debrief room.

“It wasn’t much of a secret. Everyone in Red Bull knows most of the relationship,” Max says and Daniel nods along.

“Honestly, I don’t know how people didn’t know,” Daniel laughs. The FIA tells them to start heading out to the Podium and Daniel searches the crowd for you when he steps out, but can’t find you. He’s shocked but extremely delighted when you step out and stand beside Oscar for the Constructors trophy. The mischievous glint in his eye is a loud warning that you will be sprayed with champagne. You happily stand through the national anthems, clap when Daniel is handed the trophy, and beam with joy as you are handed the second trophy. Soon enough you are presented with champagne and the go ahead to spray it is given.

“Max!” you squeal and hide behind him as you both spray Daniel.

“Quit hiding my wife!” Daniel laughs and in a split second, your cover is gone as Max moves to spray Oscar. You and Daniel both pour the champagne in each other’s mouth.

“Ew, that’s almost as bad as if you guys were to kiss,” Max laughs. Daniel gives you a devilish smile, pulling you close to him and capturing you lips with his.

“The kids are going to be so grossed out,” you laugh and Oscar looks almost horrified.

“THE KIDS?!”

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo imagines #oscar piastri #max verstappen #christian horner

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scrollonso · 7 months ago

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"Fernando's too old he needs to retire" you just dont get him like i do.

Fernando Alonso who was the youngest ever race winner in 2003. after that win he said "im 22 years old and i have my first victory in (my) pocket so i hope (for) a long career here in formula 1 with more victories"

Fernando Alonso who won his FIRST world championship in 2005 he broke MICHAEL SCHUMACHERS 5 year long winning streak after being in formula one for 4 years. His whole F1 career at that point had been solely dominated by Schumi.

Fernando Alonso who's a 2 time world champion and has been racing longer than Oscar has been alive and has been in more scandals than races

Fernando Alonso who said he knew Michael Schumacher would step on the brakes because he had a wife and kids at home and FERNANDO DIDN'T.

Fernando Alonso who is one of 15 Spanish F1 drivers ever.

Fernando Alonso who is the only Spanish F1 driver to win a WDC (and not just one, TWO.)

Fernando Alonso who's been in 385 gp's (3x as many as Pedo De La Rosa)

Fernando Alonso who's scored 2,298 points in his career (67% of the total F1 points scored by all Spanish drivers)

Fernando Alonso who's not only raced in F1, but also Indy, 24 hours of Le Mans, and the World Endurance Championship.

Fernando Alonso who drove his first go-kart at 3 YEARS OLD.

Fernando Alonso who's family didn't have enough money to buy wet tyres so he had to TEACH HIMSELF to drive on a wet track on slick tyres.

Fernando Alonso who's mother made his racing clothes herself because they didn't have enough money.

Fernando Alonso who won his first karting race at SEVEN. (Daniel Ricciardo, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, Yuki Tsunoda, and more drivers on the grid weren't even in karts at seven.)

Fernando Alonso who's managed to stay as passionate (if not more) about F1 in his 23 year career no matter his performance.

#Fernando Alonso #the man you are.#im his biggest fan #fernando hate is kat hate #we're one in the same #f1 #formula 1 #fernando alonso #aston martin #fa14 #i love him #my man fr #we go way back #(he was in f1 the year i was born)#(and i like f1 so we're bsfs)

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thearchercore · 9 months ago

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in bahrain max:

asked "what happened to charles" immediately

maxplained to carlos charles' entire pit/tyre strategy

laughed when they showed charles defending when carlos wanted to overtake him initially

told carlos "oh you had to pass charles 2 times? but he was on those tyres longer"

ignored carlos on the podium

cropped carlos out of his ig post

#charles leclerc #lestappen #max verstappen #formula 1 #f1 #bahrain gp 2024

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orchidyoonkook · 2 months ago

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PG | KTH

Title: PG

Pairing: Older Brother's Best Friend!Kim Taehyung x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Touches of Fluff

Summary: You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up.

But that’s about it. Nothing more. And reality is something you’re able to keep a solid grasp on when it comes to him. You don’t let it go for the sake of acting on a one sided and unrequited feeling you know will pass… eventually.

Warnings: nicknames! a disgusting amount, language, assholes being assholes but being put in their place, brotherly love, sibling antics, tae is a swimmer and knows judo, also a Dan is--for the lack of better phrasing--a high belt level in judo. think of it like a black belt, OC cant keep it in her pants and neither can tae, mutual pining, lots of great gatsby references because I'm tyring to be that bitch (I am joking), tae has tats, OC's brother is an overprotective idiot but we love him anyway, slight physical abuse not by tae or reader or fourteen--basically someone grips an arm too harshly, some panic but no panic attack,

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 11,521

Release Date: September 15, 2024. 12:00PM

A/N 1: The biggest most huge thank you to @violetsiren90 for being my sounding board, tech support and beta. She's a real one and y'all are sleeping on her work if you haven't alread read it. Go check her out!

A/N 2: My access to the adobe suite was aha....revoked. So! this is my first time making a banner and divider without photoshop. Therfore, the banner and the divider are a bit different than what I'm used to having XD. Tumblr is also absolutely destroying the qualty which is sooooo great. It looks wonky and blurry to me on desktop but fine on mobile so it is what it is. If i ever get adobe access again I'll probably come back and update the graphics.

Explicit Warnings: *ahem* nicknames, teasing, kissing, biting, marking (several ways), hand and finger kink (duh), voice kinklet (duhhhh), hair 'pulling' (m rec), semi public if you squint, hella foreplay, tae has a big dick, penetrative sex, oral (m+f rec), fingering, handjob?, multiple orgasms, body worship, switch like activities but mostly dominant tae, posessiveness, confessions, reader takes what she wants but so does tae, exhibitionism if you squint, slight cum play/eating, implied squirting, choking, cream pie. Pretty sure thats all of them. i never reailse how many i need to put until the list is done and wow *chuckes while blushing*

“Oi, can you fucking not? My sister’s right fucking there,” your older brother, Fourteen—nicknamed for his forever mental age—ridiculously and unneededly overprotective as always, says.

It is especially unneeded and ridiculous as he’s saying it to Tae, when all he’s doing is taking off his shirt to go for a swim in your pool. Like he’s been doing since you were tweens.

Well.

Since you were a tween and they were nearing the legal drinking age. But that’s besides the point.

Best friend to your knuckle head of an older brother, you honest to god have no idea how they became friends.

Taehyung is poetry and jazz and button up cotton shirts. Old book smell and expensive cologne, ringed fingers and whiskey, neat. The kind of vibe someone would get from being raised by a very successful lawyer for a father and a top ranking university professor of literature for a mother, while Fourteen is… your older brother.

Maybe it’s a younger sister thing to not understand how her older brother has any friends. Considering you grew up with him, know all of his weird and gross habits, have a lovely dash of sibling bullying thrown in that you two share equally, and more. Yet, by some miracle, he and Tae manage to balance one another out.

Tae—fucking somehow—makes your brother into a more presentable human being. He showers more than twice a week and wears deodorant every day now—even puts the seat down after peeing, a habit you’ve been screaming at him to stop doing since you could use the toilet. While Fourteen gives Tae a rougher edge he previously never seemed to be able to grasp, despite trying his best too.

For example, the several delicate tattoos he now has all over his body, your favourite of which is an old timey record player on the inside of his forearm. They were something he’d been wanting to do for years, but only finally bit the bullet on and did once Fourteen took him when they were twenty two.

Since then the collection’s only grown, much to your inner glee and mental dismay.

And don’t even get you started on the delicate, thin rimmed glasses he occasionally wears—golden and the perfect shape for his face—or the ear piercings that just really fucking cement the tortured poet look that makes your heart clench every. single. time. you look at him.

Similarly to what it’s doing right now, though no one ever knows due to your truly oscar worthy talent for acting completely oblivious to the beautiful shirtless man about to dive in. Call it over a decades worth of practice, and the fact that it’s also nothing you hadn’t gloriously taken in all teenagehood long.

Every time you could get it.

Which was a lot because Tae was on the high school swim team.

For four years.

And then the university swim team.

For another four.

Teenage you was a lucky bitch. Now you’re only blessed with this sight when he comes over to swim laps or attempt to drown Fourteen. Which, admittedly, was still often. But not nearly as much as back then.

The sight in question however, is curled black hair that frames eyes so warm you swear the sun’s relocated to his irises, and a jawline that makes the Statue of David’s pathetic in comparison. It’s fingers that make your mouth water from the way they flip book pages and thighs that make you think thoughts and things you never thought you would.

It’s the scribbled text: ‘To err is human; to forgive, divine’ tattooed across his ribs, and a lean torso, muscled but not outrageously so. Just enough to have you forcing yourself not to stare at the delicate lines of his abdomen every time he comes over for a swim.

Thank god for sunglasses.

“Nah, I’m sure PG can handle it, Dumbass. I’ve only been using your pool every summer for the last 15 years give or take,” Tae says with a quirked brow and a half smile directed at you.

Behind your sunnies, you heat up a touch, and internally sigh. Have you mentioned his smile yet?

Because oh yeah, his fucking smile.

Tae’s a nickname kind of person, hence why even you call your brother ‘Fourteen’. Taehyung’s called him Fourteen for so long now that calling your brother by his birth name just feels wrong.

This being said, PG is Tae’s nickname for you.

It stands for the TV rating ‘Parental Guidance’ because you’re younger by enough that when you were still under the age of 18, they—see: your brother and Tae because they’ve been joined at the hip since they met—were usually assigned babysitting duty. Very much the ‘take your sister with you’ sibling, but they never complained. Not once.

As much as you and Fourteen bully one another, you’re actually quite close when you aren’t verbally sparring—which is where his annoying overprotectiveness comes in. Even when it comes to Taehyung.

“Yeah, Dumbass,” you copy, earning a smirk from Tae as he leans down to take his shoes off. “It’s just Tae.”

“It’s not about that YN, it’s about respect. You’re my little sister, and Fuckass over here,” you brother jabs a thumb in Tae’s direction, which earns you a second hidden smirk from the Fuckass in question, “Still doesn’t know how to respect that fact even after a decade and a half apparently.”

You shrug as Fourteen finishes his point and narrows his eyes at his best friend. Tae gives him a shit eating grin that screams ‘what are you going to do about it’ and your brother gives him a two fingered salute before shaking his head and taking off his own shirt.

You take that as your cue to put your head back down because you don’t need to see that.

Currently in very comfortable linen shorts and tank, you’re sitting on a padded pool lounger, rereading The Great Gatsby for the hundredth time. It’s one of the classics that never gets old for you, has the benefit of being a shorter read—therefore perfect for the poolside—and happens to be the copy Tae’d gotten you for Christmas a couple years ago. Pure coincidence, you tell yourself. Nothing more.

With the beautiful addition of your very darkly glassed sunnies, it also makes the perfect decoy as you watch Tae over the top of the open book without risk of being caught.

You firmly follow the rule of a little looking can’t hurt.

You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up—see: current shirt stripping debacle. It’s not the first nor the last time he’ll do something like it, and you’re pretty sure you and Tae have an unspoken agreement at this point to push as many of Fourteen’s buttons as you can together, just to see how far he’ll let it go before freaking out.

Despite the flames that rage and roar on in your heart.

Despite the green light on the dock across the way tackling your brother under the water.

You hold on. And only in these little moments of in between do you allow yourself to look. Pockets of time where a peek won’t be seen or recorded, and a moment of self indulgence keeps your sanity from trying to escape its tightly locked box.

You look and look and look until the green light is covered in fog once more, and the lid of the box seals tight.

Another day, another glorious abuse of best friend privileges, Taehyung thinks to himself as he continues his butterfly down the imaginary lanes in Fourteen’s pool.

He tries to come over at least three times a week. Four or five if he’s able, the more he’s over the higher chance he has to see you, not just Fourteen. But he’s rarely able to these days.

Though the wind appears to have shifted in his favour today. You’re sitting on the lounge chairs again, reading away in the afternoon sun.

It’s his favourite view. And it’s sweetened by the fact that you’re in the shorts he loves and reading a book he gave you. Something he’s done since before he could remember, really.

Christmases and birthdays, he’s always given you a book. Usually a classic, sometimes something else. If it caught his eye or reminded him of you, he’d grab it and save it until the next Christmas or the next birthday, whichever came first. And you’ve always loved them, so he’s never stopped.

They’re gifts that seem harmless to Fourteen, and for the most part they are. But these last few have been…different. Had deeper thought put into them. The titles, the story lines, the prose. He swears you notice it, but maybe that’s just his own wishful thinking.

And he sure as fuck can’t be doing any of that.

This cold water isn’t doing its job well enough.

Finishing his set, Tae swims over to rest before starting on his front stroke. Forearms hold him up on the edge of the pool, his chin balancing on stacked knuckles while his breath catches.

He also uses this little break as an excuse to talk to you. He only ever freely can when Fourteen isn’t around, and right now his best friend is inside grabbing drinks, towels and probably relieving himself–which, knowing Fourteen—could take anywhere from thirty seconds to thirty minutes. So he has to take advantage of every moment he gets.

“Got any new recommendations for me PG?”

Books are an easy starting point when it comes to you. Fourteen may be a graphic novel at best kind of guy, but your brain can’t seem to inhale enough books to satiate it. And just the thought makes his temples rush with heat.

He should dunk his head again.

You lower your Fitzgerald by one inch and raise an eyebrow to counter it. Just like your brother, you’re always one to give him a hard time. Make him work for every millimeter of ground conquered. And he’s pretty sure you have a smirk hiding behind the pages, though he can’t be certain due to the sunglasses hiding your eyes.

“Maybe,” you say. “What do I get in return?”

Answering that question about fifty different ways in his head, Tae decides none can be said out loud. He seriously needs to fucking reel himself in. Fourteen could return at any moment and the last thing Tae needs to have is a problem between his legs because you never make it easy for him.

But rather than listening to his very rational thoughts and very logical brain, he instead decides to say fuck it, and croons in the voice that used to fluster you as a teenager.

“What do you want in return, PG?” Hoping to soften you up, even the playing field a bit.

And it works like a charm.

Your body releases its tension on an exhale, your page is marked, book set to the side, and your legs extend and stretch before crossing at the ankle. It makes him wonder if your little girlhood crush on him still exists somewhere in the back of your mind. Probably not.

Scratch that.

Definitely not.

“What if I wanted a new nickname?” you ask.

Both his eyebrows raise in surprise. “What’s wrong with PG?”

“It makes me feel like I’m eleven,” you explain. And then hit him with a dose of his own medicine as you croon, “I’m not eleven anymore, Tae.”

No you sure as hell are not. And it kills him in a way that has him wanting to die over and over again.

He could consider it. But he doesn’t think he’ll change it, not when PG can stand for so many wonderful things. Things you would never think he’d let it when addressing you. Things that would have Fourteen trying for drowning attempt number two thousand four hundred sixty three, and succeeding.

“I’ll think about it—Fair?”

You ponder before agreeing. “Fair.”

“Now about those recommendations…” He reminds you, and that’s all it takes to get you going.

Fourteen comes out about ten minutes later, but by then, Tae has a new list of books to grab from the store, two laps under him with eight more to go, and you’re reading again—one bare leg bent at the knee he’s trying very hard to ignore when he comes up for air.

By the time he’s due for another breather, you’re talking to your brother about plans for the weekend.

“I’m going out early on Friday for Rei’s birthday, remember? And I’ll probably crash at her place after,” you say.

Fourteen is sitting on the second lounge chair across from you, most likely playing a game on his phone if Tae had to guess. But at your reminder, your brother looks up.

“Fuck that’s right. Okay so no dinner then, I’ll just grab something on my way in.”

“Sounds good. What about tonight?”

Fourteen gives it about two seconds of thought. “How about Don’s?”

Your face lights up at the suggestion. “Fuck yes! I’ve been craving their milkshakes for like a week. Hey Tae!” you call to him. “Don’s for dinner? There’s a chocolate shake with your name on it if you’re down.”

Tae pushes himself out of the water onto the pavement and doesn’t miss the sly once over you give him while Fourteen chucks a towel at his chest, covering your eyes with his other hand.

He catches the projectile before it can knock him back into the pool, and uses it to dry his hair.

“Dude! Seriously? Go find a fucking shirt or something, no one wants to see that.”

You swat your sibling’s hand away and give him a look that screams ‘grow up’ while Tae drapes the towel over her shoulders, a hand gripping at each end.

“I’m only down if Dumbass is paying,” he says, smirking at your brother.

“—What—”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” you agree, holding out your hand in his direction.

“—Hey wait a seco—”

Tae grabs and shakes just to watch the steam flee Fourteen’s ears at the contact. He meets your eyes conspiratorially, and you both nod before rushing Fourteen.

“—You fuckers!—” is all he gets out before Tae and you are grabbing an arm and a leg each and throwing Fourteen’s fully clothed ass in the pool.

He curses the both of you out several times as he treads, drenched and dripping, up the stairs and out of the water. Tae throws him the towel.

“You’ll pay for that, Asshole,” Fourteen tells Tae, and Tae grins.

“Oh, I’m counting on it. Worth it though.”

“And you!” Fourteen says, eyes on you. “What the fuck dude? The betrayal to your darling, one and only brother hurts. I’m wounded,” he lays it on thick, walking up directly beside you.

You're a hairsbreadth too late to realize when he shakes his hair out directly over top of you and you shriek, pulling your knees up, protecting the book under your shirt and behind your legs at all costs.

“Fourteen! The book! I will kill you if you damage it!”

Fourteen chuckles. “Payback’s a bitch Little Sister.”

You sneer at him, checking your prized possession for injury. Not a scratch.

“And sopping wet is your colour, Jackass.”

“Big words for someone who can just as easily be thrown in the pool.”

You pause. Eyeing him directly.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

Your brother looks at Tae with an evil plot in his eyes and you screech as they both nod once. You drop your book behind you as they yank you up by your arms and fling you into the pool, too much momentum from them and not enough resistance from you leaving you matching your darling, one and only brother.

As you come up for air, two colossal splashes ricochet from the left and right. Tae and Fourteen having both cannonballed in on either side of you. You choke on splattered water for a second before you’re attacking them with splashes, merciless in your pursuit for revenge.

“You both suck!” you half giggle half yell.

“Yet you love us anyway!” your brother falsely—correctly—claims.

You roll your eyes before trudging out, heavier and dripping with your soaked clothes.

And it's not until weekend plans are cast aside for current memories, Taehyung treating you all to dinner, and you treating everyone to milkshakes, that all is forgiven.

It turns out Rei’s dad knows the manager of the most exclusive club in the city—Youth—and managed to call in a favour. So now you, her, and your other bestie, Lea, are all on the dancefloor to celebrate her birthday.

Rei’s first request for the night besides not paying for a single drink, was to dress up in the hottest, sluttiest outfits the club's dress code would allow for.

This, for you, meant a black, square necked, low cut, and thin strapped satin slip dress that hugged you in all the right ways, matching heels adored with ankle strap bows and a sultry makeup look. Lea chose a dark blue shimmery number with a high leg split, vibrant graphic eyeliner, and wedges, while the birthday girl found the skimpiest forest green mini dress you’ve ever seen paired with heels that wrap ribbons up her legs, and a subtle dewy look on her lids.

She’s glowing, and needless to say, they both look hot and so do you.

Rei’s second request for the night was to dance until you either collapsed or threw up, whichever came first. A goal you were all making a steady descent towards as the night progressed.

That is, until your blood runs cold at the sight of your cheating ex boyfriend making his way through the crowd in a direct beeline towards you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

You’re alone right now. Rei and Lea are taking a bathroom break.

You insisted you’d be fine for ten minutes. It was just ten minutes. What could possibly go wrong in ten minutes?

But apparently god just loves to play jokes because here you are, three shots in, not emotionally prepared enough to be near him, let alone speak to him, and by yourself in this huge crowd of strangers while he’s making very good time on his route to you.

Fuck! You do not want to deal with him right now or—fucking ever, actually.

He’d cheated on you four times that he admitted too throughout your two and a half year relationship, all while faking being blindingly happy directly to your face. He’d lied to you and hurt you and made you wonder what you did wrong for him to do that to you. It took all of your third year of university and more therapy sessions than you care to admit to realize you were never the problem, and that he was a piece of shit.

So, with the fifteen feet between you two quickly shrinking, you try your best to hide from him in the crowd, only to run directly into him when you duck past a fellow club goer.

Son of a b—

“Heyyy Y/N, how’ve you been?” he says like he didn’t destroy your entire sense of self worth for a couple quick fucks.

You want to down three more shots just to be able to puke all over him. Intentionally, you haven’t seen him in years and just the reek of his stale ass cologne has you close.

“Fuck off Micah, don’t you have somewhere you need to be sticking your dick—like a garbage disposal?” You snark, doing your damndest to not let him get close. But the throng of bodies surrounding you have other ideas and you’re thrown against your least favourite person in existence.

Delusional as ever, Micah sleezes, “Doesn’t seem like you want me to leave just yet, Kitten,” and you shove him off you as hard as you can while bile rises at the horrible name you used to beg him not to call you.

You need to get off the dance floor.

Now.

Before you can, Micah grabs your arm and he pulls you back into him, hard.

Tae watches you out of the corner of his eye, wondering why in the hell you came to this club, of all the clubs out there.

The club he was at. Wearing that and truly testing the limits of his self control.

Music blasts through speakers that move the ocean on the dancefloor. Bodies sway like waves, some crashing into one another with teeth and tongues and passion, others pushing with the current, grinding and gripping and grabbing at anything they can get their hands on. The louder and faster the notes whirl over their swells, the harsher the storm rages on, people flowing in and out of the eye when needed.

He’s sitting at a booth on a dais high enough to watch you in the hurricane whilst being out of eyesight, notably with one or two faces he barely recognizes enough to most likely be your friends.

They appear to be currents. They drag you into deeper waters and you let them, helpless to their siren call. Leading you to your place amongst the sea life, and reveling in the way the melodies wash over you again and again with every song that plays.

His eyes follow you as you dance, curious if Fourteen knows you’re here before flinging the thought out of his head as quickly as it entered. You’re grown now, don’t need protection anymore. A lesson he learned the day you returned from university after graduating.

No longer his best friend's kid sister who they kept an eye on, but a woman who was and still is growing into herself beautifully. A woman who is steadfast, strong and more often than not, correct in her opinions. A woman who is well read and equally if not more so well spoken when she deigns to acknowledge his existence. A woman who knows how and when to turn all of that off in order to team up with him in a roast battle for the books against her brother.

He thinks of that day as the beginning of his downfall.

He can humbly admit that his intelligence, demeanor and education are things that have been nurtured into existence by his parents and carefully maintained by himself with practice and both mental and physical exercise. He takes care of himself, inside and out. Exercises regularly, eats well, has good hygiene. He’s level headed and patient. Respectful and responsible. Controlled and competent.

He prides himself on these things. Actively works towards keeping them maintained.

And yet.

Somehow when it comes to you, he is little more than a single brain celled idiot.

All of the things he uses to measure his self worth evaporate whenever you enter his field of vision and he becomes fucking ravenous. And all of his focus goes into controlling himself.

He’d never noticed before, never thought of you in the way he does now. How when your currents break from formation and head towards the bathrooms, their outgoing force creates a riptide that some fuckhead with a stupid haircut uses to sweep in and dance with you.

But you push him away.

He doesn’t get the memo, and the mophead tries his best to yank you out to sea again.

Magma flows through Taehyung's veins, thunder cracks in his ears and all he can think about is storming through the crowd to steal you from said fuckhead by claiming you for himself.

But he won’t.

Can’t.

All because of his darling best friend.

Fourteen doesn’t know about his feelings for you of course. And Tae rather likes being alive and in one piece, two things he most definitely would not remain should he act on any of these feelings.

You are wholly off limits, forbidden. A little too young, a little too immediately related to his best friend, a little too perfectly his fucking type. It kills him every time he can’t even look at you without Fourteen going into what he calls ‘asshole mode’.

So you remain in his very close periphery. Untouchable to the fingertips he aches to caress you with as you dangle your existence in front of him. Your wicked tongue, your delicious intelligence, your sexy fucking legs—fuck!

He has to stop thinking about you like this.

But that only makes him want you more.

It’s like the gods handcrafted you for him. Every piece, every detail of you immaculate, but he committed one to many sins in his past life, and now they’ve locked you away forever as punishment.

You float across the night sky, stuck in a golden cell. Its fourteen bars hold you hostage amongst the stars, all while he’s chained to the bottom of the ocean floor gasping for air.

But fuck the gods and fuck their gilded cages.

He’d break from his chains, swim to the surface of the sea and grow wings. Would break your prison apart with the sheer force of his wanting, then drag you down to the depths if it meant he got to keep you for himself.

He would. He really, really fucking would. If his world wouldn’t implode completely if he did.

So he keeps these thoughts to himself. Forces them down as they try their damndest to bubble over and burn him, because they will if he lets them. If any of them get outside these little moments, the ones where he allows himself to feel, he would burn and burn and burn until there was nothing left.

Therefore, Taehyung has never been more grateful that his best friend was stuck on the night shift while he watched you dance and enjoy yourself, because it granted him this sliver of time to pretend like your brother doesn’t exist.

That you are something he could let himself have, if you wanted him to.

And he’s solid in his decision to only observe, to stay inside his little moment, until fuckhead doesn’t get the message for the third time and Taehyung is out of his seat before he can think.

Because Fourteen isn't here.

And old habits die hard.

“What the hell? Let me go, Micah!” You see his eyes then, red rimmed and glazed. He definitely has more than one thing in his system as his grip on you hardens further. The more you struggle, the tighter he grasps and—ouch, ouch, ouch, yank, fuck! Ow!—it’s really starting to hurt.

“Just give me one more chance Kitten, I promise I’ll do better,” he whisper in your ear over the music, and you cringe back from how loud he is. But that doesn’t stop him from continuing, “I fucked up, I know I did. But that was years ago, and I learned my lesson. Just one more chance Kitten, just one more, and I—I promise. I promise it won’t happen again. It won’t. I really miss y–AH! What the fuck!?”

The hand on your arm releases the second Micah yelps in pain. You look down to see familiar ringed fingers around Micah’s wrist, clutching so hard they’re white knuckled and skin bruising.

A broad chest comes to rest at your back, and an arm snakes around you. Its large palm rests on your stomach and hip as it pulls you tightly against its owner.

Words covered in sharpest ice are spoken from behind you, their baritone so recognizable they have you melting back into him.

Safe.

You’re safe.

Exhale.

“Do. Not. Touch. Her.” Taehyung growls so deeply, so powerfully, you feel the rumble from behind his sternum reverberate into your body.

Micah’s focus shifts from his wrist to the man several inches taller and several years his senior still holding it. You watch as his face contorts from pained to confused and then to murderous.

“The fuck are you to tell me not to touch my girlfriend?” Micah seethes, and you stiffen because no the fuck you are not, and haven’t been for several years.

How blitzed out of his mind is he right now?

You don’t even get the chance to deny his words before Taehyung’s on Micah like fire to dried grass.

“Don’t make me laugh, Asshole. No way in hell an pig faced looking fucker like you could pull a woman like her. Now,” Tae roughly shoves Micah’s hand back to him, and it forces Micah to stumble into the people behind with the force. “Get the fuck away from My Girl before I make you My Problem. And trust me,” Tae says in a tone so dangerous, you’ve never heard him sound so terrifying in the fifteen plus years you’ve known him, “You don’t want me to make you my problem.”

And you realize, that this isn’t the Taehyung you’ve grown up with; seen through his awkward teen years and watched come into his adult life with. This isn’t jazz music and poetry Taehyung.

This Taehyung has only ever come out the handful of times you’ve ever been in trouble. The one who studied Judo with Fourteen growing up, the one who has his fourth Dan.

The one who does not play when it comes to you and your safety.

It’s enough to know that Taehyung is more than pissed off, and more than a little ready to beat the absolute shit out of Micah, if the whiskey on his breath says anything about his loosened inhibitions.

Micah seems to sense this too, and decides to back off. But not without a stupid macho expression and two middle fingers directed at both of you as he disappears into the crowd, and out of sight.

You can feel the tension radiating off Taehyung in waves, a coil so tightly wound that a gentle breeze could set him loose, so you turn around and attempt to safely unwind. His hand moves from your stomach to your lower back, and you ignore the trail of wildfire it leaves in its wake because Tae’s eyes haven’t wavered from the spot where Micah just stood.

“Don’t.” You say, loud enough for him to hear. And his flame filled irises snap to yours, burning. “He’s not worth it.”

Your words seem to bring him back somewhat because Tae sniggers. “Damn right he’s not,” then softens. “Are you okay?”

You look anywhere but at him, the reality of the last three minutes crashing down onto your head like broken glass while the both of you are still caught in the middle of the dancefloor.

The people around you seem to understand something’s happened, and you’re left mostly untouched aside from the gentle nudges of inebriated party goers whose balance isn’t the best at the moment.

Like the mellowed waves in the eye of a storm.

Taehyung seems to make sense of this at the same time you do, and lifts his free hand for you to take. Slipping your fingers into his, he leads you to an unused and out of the way emergency exit hallway somewhere in the back of the club. It’s completely empty and dark, undisturbed besides the occasional server passing by.

It’s private.

It’s safe.

You’re safe.

He lets go of your hand and looks at you again. “Now, are you okay?”

The adrenaline is wearing off, and you can feel yourself start to shake. You ignore it. Sort of.

“I’m okay,” you say. But he’s eyeing you suspiciously and rightly so, so you repeat yourself, trying to convince your own brain more than his right now.

“I’m okay, really! I’m good. I’m–” you exhale a shaky breath and he doesn’t ask before pulling you to his chest. Wrapping both his arms around you, one around your back while the other holds your head protectively to him. Your own go around his waist as you grip him back tighter.

“I’ve got you,” he says.

“I’m okay,” you say again, muffled into his black high necked shirt, taking deep breaths of his soothing, familiar scent. You do it and again, and again. Repeating the pretty lie to yourself again and again until it becomes the truth.

He doesn’t let go until you do, and you don’t let go until you’ve finally stopped shaking.

You look up into his eyes, and all signs of his previous wrath are gone. It seems the hug didn’t ground just you, it grounded him too. Got him out of the headspace that would’ve been required for action first, words later. But now the sun is back, it shines down on you, and you bask in its warmth.

“I’m good now. Thank you,” you say in an even and unwavering voice, because you are. The panic and immense relief having washed over you, and you’re once again simply, pleasantly buzzed.

Though you do have a new problem in the form of the warmth pooling low from the feeling of both his hands still on your lower back.

You’re trying to convince yourself it’s his way of keeping you safe.

But the lock on your box has the key inside it, and it’s just begging for you to turn it.

“Good,” he replies, still not letting go. And it’s chipping away at your sanity. “Who was that guy? I only caught the last bit of his pathetic ramblings.”

You wince. Due to a lovely combination of not being very active on social media, not being much of a picture taker, and the newly dyed hair Micah seemed to be sporting tonight, you’re not surprised Tae didn’t recognize him.

“Ah. Uhm…That was...Micah,” you admit, unable to meet his eyes again. That’s when you notice his outfit tonight is all black.

Oh you are so fucked.

“As in Micah, Micah?” Tae asks neutrally, familiar with what your ex had done, just not what he looked like.

“...Yeah...”

“I see.”

“Yeah...” You say again. Because what else could you say?

Tae cracks a smile. “Should’ve let me kick his ass. The balls on him not only to approach you, but to call you his—” he cuts himself off, biting the inside of his cheek before continuing in a hushed, caring tone. “After everything he’s done to you, you should’ve let me, PG. Consequences be damned.”

Your cheeks flame at the nickname so close to your ears. So tenderly said. And you honestly can’t tell if you still hate it in this moment, or if it’s only adding kindling to the fire his hands are fueling at the base of your spine.

The new name he’d called you earlier, its ignition point.

My Girl.

You swear, even in your panicked state, you’d momentarily forgotten how to breathe before inhaling far too much all at once.

Fuck, what you won’t give to hear him say it again. But you’re 98.9% sure that’s the three shots of vodka talking. Trying their best to turn the damn key. And maybe they succeed in turning it half way—hell, maybe all the way, because you look him back in the eyes and hear yourself say,

“Maybe I should’ve, but I was far too distracted by the new nickname you finally gave me to give a single fuck about anyone else.”

The moment the last word is out Taehyung stiffens beneath your touch, fingers locked on your back, and you’re very pretty sure you just fucked absolutely everything up.

Years of good behaviour, of keeping yourself in check. Of pockets of time and side long glances and knowing nothing would ever happen, stolen from you. By your own big, fat, adrenaline depleted, vodka loosened mouth.

You're a second away from damage control before his grip shifts from your lower back to your hips.

Higher. Tighter. Controlling. Oh fuck.

He leans down to murmur, “Liked the new name, did you?” in your ear.

Shivers shoot from your crown to your core and down to your toes. Having his deep, deliciously inviting voice so fucking close to your pulse point has you millimeters away from drowning in it. You know he can feel it course through you, just like you can hear the smile it makes him display away from your eyesight as he does.

“You did then,” he responds for you, a cat toying with its meal as he lifts his head once more to look into your eyes.

You don’t need a mirror to know the state of your pupils. Your gaze is glazed over in the sinful kind of way.

“I did,” you needlessly confirm, looking up into similarly blown out ones.

The fingers twined behind him release, and make their way around to his abdomen. They pause to splay for just a second at the defined ridges, before slowly crawling up his chest and meeting again at the nape of his neck.

They play with the soft hair there, gently scratching their nails at the skin beneath where it grows and you watch as your ministrations cause his eyes to roll back, flutter shut, and his head to meet the wall behind him. A barely audible moan escapes the confines of his lips before he swallows, the divine bob of his adams apple as he tries to regain his composure is the dawn of your undoing.

“Fuck, PG that isn’t fair,” he groans towards the ceiling, his hands on your waist clamping down harder, pulling you so close your bodies touch in more places they definitely shouldn’t be. The contact has you reeling and all you want is more, more, more of it.

More of him.

“PG isn’t the name you called me earlier,” you hum, yanking on a single loose strand and Tae sucks in a steep breath, biting the corner of his smirking lip with a canine.

You want to hear him say it again. Badly. So you release the sensual grip you have on his nape, and let his head lul slowly back down to where it was, his deepening amber wholly fixated on your now entirely onyx. Your heart is begging for release from your chest, and for a moment you wonder if he can see your pulse thrumming in your eyes, because you sure as hell can feel it.

“No, it’s not. But it also hasn’t meant to me what it means to you for quite some time now,” his voice like honey, thick and dripping its way over your body. It’s making you dizzy and weighty with want. It has your mouth opening slightly as he leans closer still, knocking his nose gently with your own. Inhaling in your exhales. Teasing you. Making you work for it.

“And what does it mean to you?” you ask, barely above a whisper, irises never straying from his as your bottom lip brushes against his in one solitary, intoxicating moment that has you more buzzed in one touch than three shots has had you all night.

“Pretty Girl,” he breathes onto your lips, pushing his thigh between your legs at the same time he pulls you impossibly closer. You hear yourself moan ‘fuck’ at the contact it gives your throbbing cunt. Too focused on the need coursing through you like a live wire—your body pure water—to think about what you’re saying.

It’s a sweet sound and a violent pleasure he devours as his lips finally, finally, finally crash into yours, pinning you in place and allowing him to take every piece of you he wants. One hand slithers up your naked spine to hold you, your backless dress doing you every favour imaginable as his other continues to help you grind over his thigh.

His tongue slips into your mouth and you suck on it, causing him to jerk into you once with the rapidly growing want pressing into your lower belly. But your hands hold firm at his neck as you pull him into you, a knee lifting to meet his hip. Needing more contact.

The electricity filled pathways his fingers leave down your back, over your ass and across the bottom of your thigh to support your search for pleasure do nothing but spur on the overwhelming need to touch him everywhere.

No holds barred. No clothes worn. Nothing stopping you.

He uses his new grip to spin you around and press his hips into yours as your shoulders meet the wall. You’re left to moan sickly sweet sounds of bliss into his ear as Taehyung frees your mouth in favour of your jaw and neck, sucking gentle purple hues down the column of your throat and onto your collarbone.

“Pretty Girl,” he whispers between love bites, “My Pretty Girl.” Over and over and it has you melting so far into him, the only thing keeping you apart is fabric and a potential audience. Though from the colour you’re going to have to cover with far too much concealer tomorrow, you don’t think he quite cares about that last part.

It drives you farther into insanity. Years of want and restraint and pretty white lies you told yourself are crashing down on one another and it shows in the fervor of your touch, your wants, your pleads.

“Fuck, Tae—please. Please, I need you— please,” you beg, and the bite he leaves at the junction where your neck meets your shoulder has you gasping for air that refuses to be consumed gently.

But Taehyung is a man on a mission. One who will not be deterred, and you can’t tell if he will be your pinnacle or your inevitable end.

With what is very clearly great effort, Tae pulls himself back from your decolletage, only to kiss your lips once more. Open mouthed and dirty, tongue clinging to you like the only thing he’s concerned about is swallowing down as much of you as he can while you’ll let him, and you’ve never felt more desired in your life.

He’s hoarse as he says, “Not here. Not for the first time. Not…not here.”

“Then where,” you ask, near impatient and far too eager as you let your hands roam wherever they want. And you find your thumbs tracing the waistline of his pants, dipping a nails width below where they should. They trail over the indented V of muscle you know is hiding under his shirt. He shudders.

It makes you smile wickedly.

“Then where, Taehyung,” you murmur into his neck with that wicked smile in your words as you trace your nose along his jaw.

“Fuck, you’re something,” he says, almost pained, bringing you immense delight. To know you affect him as much as he does you. That you have him as much as he has you.

Sly hands slowly pull his shirt from his trousers in an attempt to urge him on. It works, and his response is quick.

“My place. It’s a ten minu—fuck PG,” he almost scolds as your digits toy with the hair at his navel, dipping lower—enough to feel the beginnings of something—but not low enough to discern anything.

Yet.

“Can you behave for that long?”

You smirk.

Retracting your hands, you hold them up to show you can be good, do a quick once over to make sure you're decent and spin on your heel to walk towards your booth. Tae is behind you immediately, hand placed low on your back, thumb rubbing circles on the sliver of skin it touches. You ignore the goose bumps that arise.

Rei and Lea are at your table, thankfully. You explain to them you ran into Micah and that it really shook you, so Tae’s going to take you home. They know who Tae is, so they’re not worried when they give you goodbye hugs or when they tell you to text them when you're home safe.

You promise you will, and hope that the rest of Rei’s birthday goes well.

True to his word, it’s a ten minute rideshare before you’re pulling up to a tall, black windowed apartment building.

You’ve only been to Tae’s a handful of times with your brother, mostly for things like pick ups for concerts and such, but now that you’re here—alone with him—you’re trying hard not to jump him in the fucking lobby.

The pulsing between your legs has only worsened since you removed your hands from his waistline, and you’re close to crawling out of your skin with need.

His hand stays in its place at your lower back as the elevator climbs.

It’s not helping and completely helping at the same time.

Fuck.

Tae lives on the sixteenth floor and the view is incredible. It’s the first thing you see past the island when you walk in the front door. There’s the kitchen to the left past the entrance, which turns into the living space that’s furnished in a way you can only describe as pure Tae.

Books littering every surface, warm neutral toned furniture to counterbalance the colourful artwork he keeps on the walls. There’s an old record player with a collection of vinyls in the corner and what you assume is this morning's coffee mug on the art book filled coffee table.

To the right of the living space is the bedroom. It’s a studio apartment, but Tae’s managed to keep the flow of the place beautifully with some creatively put, gorgeously decorated room dividers. And the tall floor to ceiling windows wrap around it all, showcasing the lights of the city as they blend into the stars in the night sky.

Mesmerizing.

Just like the man locking his door behind you.

A kiss is placed on the back of your neck as you slide out of your shoes at the front door. You angle your head to allow more space, letting the arm that folds around you bring you closer to him. The feel of his arousal begins to grow behind you once more and you push back against him. A faint grunt meets the shell of your ear before his hand delicately slides up from your lower stomach and past your sternum. It teases your neck for just a moment before it meets your jaw to turn your lips towards his.

He captures them in a brutal kiss, drinking you in for all you’re worth and then some as his other hand replaces the one that now holds your jaw in place. He pulls you into him but you spin in his hold, throwing your arms around his neck once more and dragging him towards the living space. He sheds his jacket in the process, uncaring of where it lands on his floor so long as you are still kissing him.

You only stop when your ass meets the top of the couch and Taehyung palms the back of your thighs to lift you, your legs wrapping themselves around his hips as you sit on its edge.

He growls at the contact and it has you raking your nails down his neck and over his shirt as you open for him once more, tongues clashing and teeth scraping at the desperate nature you both share. You yank his shirt up and he breaks from your embrace for only the amount of time it takes for the fabric to hit the floor before he’s back on you, adding twin bruises to the other side of your throat.

You let the strings holding up your dress fall naturally to the side, revealing your chest to him, and a low, “Fucking hell,” is murmured somewhere below your ear before a nipple is in his mouth and you’re arching into his touch, slices of need shooting straight downwards. Giving no mercy to your attempts to draw out the pleasure.

One large hand cups a breast, molding it to his wanting before he switches and you’re groaning into the air above you, begging him for more, determined to have his tongue anywhere and everywhere you can get it. He lavs at your peaked bud, roaming over the sensitive flesh, making you squirm at the sensations he’s drawing from you.

You never want it to end as he makes his way back up to your mouth, dragging his bottom lip over all of the freshly deepend skin it trails in its wake, making you hazy with the feel of him and his marks.

His delicate touch wanders the insides of your thighs and your cunt aches for it the higher it climbs. But it slides up not down, reaching around to your ass and hoisting you onto his hips.

Turning, he walks the eight paces to his bed, places a knee on the mattress for support before setting you down. His lips never leave yours he crawls over you, settling his hips over yours for mere moments, allowing you to thrust only twice before he’s removing himself completely and sinking to his knees.

The fingers you’ve spent way too much time thinking about can’t get enough of your skin as they skate down your sides, taking the dress bunched at your hips with them. You raise your hips to help him get the scrap of fabric off, leaving a delicate, black lace thong the only thing keeping any of your remaining modesty intact.

You watch as his now fully blackened gaze takes you in, jaw dropped in slight at the sight of you with your legs opened on his bed. Like you were the prize he’s been waiting years to claim, and now that you're here and that you’re his his, he can’t quite believe it.

It’s then you realize that he wants you, and has been wanting you. That your attempts to stay in reality these last couple years weren’t just harder for you, but for him as well.

It hasn’t been one sided.

He wants you.

Taehyung.

Off limits, older brother’s best friend, swim club participating, jazz and poetry loving, judo knowing, book gifting, perfect smile having, protective, Taehyung.

Wants you.

You can physically feel the gush that rushes from your core at the thought and you know Tae can see it through the lace.

“Holy fuck…you’re fucking drenched and I haven’t even properly touched you yet,” he rasps, unbelieving.

“Then touch me and find out just how much I want this,” you whisper. Begging, pleading, praying your words have their intended effect. “How much I want you, Taehyung.”

The sound that leaves his throat is a mixture of a whimper, a groan, and a guttural noise indicative of pure desperate want as he takes hold of your legs and spreads them further. Those mother fucking fingers trace from your ankles to your knees accompanied by the occasional light kiss, back up your inner thighs, and finally to the spot where you’ve been weeping for him for the better part of thirty minutes with a heaping side of ten years yearned.

He places one open mouthed kiss on the top of your clothed clit and that simple touch has you arching, lightning crackling through your veins with the pleasure it brings. Tae slides one single finger down your covered slit before pushing it under and pulling it to the side.

At the mere sight of you he’s swearing so fiercely under his breath that you involuntarily clench and he can’t fucking take it anymore.

His mouth is on you and you buck at the sensation. Yielding you no mercy, his tongue swipes from opening to clit in one long lick that has you gasping, clutching bed sheets above and below your head to keep from screaming.

“Oh my—Fuck—Tae. Ohmygodohmy—” you’re rambling. Incoherent. A mess.

He’s consuming your very being, no nerve left untouched, no reaction too minimal for his learning as he snakes his hands around your legs to haul you closer, pull you deeper into his mouth and you can’t fucking take it. You’re screaming out at the intensity he circles you with, and you can feel your impending orgasm come rushing to the surface. You’ve barely even processed it’s begun before you’re spasming so hard Tae has to remove an arm from your leg to throw around your pelvis.

His devious fucking eyes meet yours for one earth shattering moment as he slips two fingers inside and begins a secondary merciless pursuit on your already overwhelmed senses. Using the pads to press upwards in time to the motions he never ceased with his tongue, a second wave is cresting before the first has ceased and you feel yourself clamping down, legs holding him in place as the intensity of your release climaxes.

You’ve never felt a pressure so intense before, it’s like your body is a volcano and you’re erupting for the first time while someone sets off fireworks from its peak. The lava flows in waves, your hand holding his hair as you ride his face, shuddering at the vibrations his moan into your cunt leaves on the most sensitive parts of your body.

Gentle strokes and licks calm as your pleasure begins to wane and you can breathe in more than just stuttered inhales again.

“Holy fu–” you try to get out, but your voice is hoarse, like you’ve been screaming the entire time.

And fuck, maybe you have been. You sure as hell can’t remember or think of anything more than the warm fuzzy feeling currently radiating from every single pore in your body. The damningly deliciously dizzying feeling in your head not allowing for coherent thoughts to pass. Your limbs are loose, your body wholly relaxed.

You’re…Well. You’re fucking perfect right now. If you could stay in this moment forever you would without second thought. Locked in this room with him for all time sounds like the best way to live out the rest of your days.

Until you wince as Tae blows warm breath on your core and he chuckles, then does it again.

“Hey,” you say, sounding much clearer now, “Stop that and come here.”

You slip your hand down his face and grab him by the jaw, pulling him up and over you. Tae tastes like fire and whiskey and ambrosia and you as you kiss him with abandon, near feral as you take what you want from him and he revels in it.

He’s on his elbows and a knee over you, and you use it to your full advantage to palm him over his pants and—Fuck he’s big. No wonder he was so thorough on you. This is going to hurt no matter how much prep either of you did.

He hisses at the contact and that only spurs you on, grasping firmly at his base and roving up and over the head with the heel of your palm, squeezing gently in time with his reactions.

“Christ PG, if you keep doing that I’m going to cum in my pants,” Tae laughs into your neck before rising to sit back on his heels. He gets as far as undoing his belt buckle and button before you take over, sitting up and pulling him out.

He is disastrously beautiful, just like the rest of him, and your mouth waters at just the idea of him in your mouth.

Licking your lips, you hear him curse quite colourfully as you take the tip into your mouth and swish your tongue over the head. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Tae raises one hand to his eyes and the other behind him to hold him up as you take him deeper, shaking from restraining himself so hard, murmuring to himself, “Oh fuck. Fuck me, can’t believe—so fucking good, pretty—perfect—ohmygod,” and you seal the motherfucking deal by taking him into the back of your throat and looking up into his eyes at the same time.

Taehyung barks and bucks once into your throat before removing himself and throwing you down onto the bed. He looks furious in the way that gets your heart racing, your cunt thrumming and your breathing so fast your chest feels like it might shatter from the crosscurrents.

He grabs each of your hands and raises them above your head, sliding his fingers up your wrists and between your own, holding them in place on his pillow.

Leaning down, he uses his lowest timber to speak darkly into your ear, teasing your swollen clit with the tip of his cock. Sliding back and forth, sending bolts of white hot need through you.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he starts, thrusting, teasing, torturing. And you moan at the contact.

“You make me want to throw away a decades old friendship just for the chance to touch you.”

Thrust, tease, jolt, whine.

“And what’s worst of all is you’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted, the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and you turn me into a complete idiot the second you enter the room. It’s like your fucking presence takes away all the working functions in my brain and leaves me with only the incurable fucking desire to make you cum until you can’t remember you own fucking name. Only mine.”

Thrust, squeeze, glide, jolt. “Tae...” you whine, delirious with pleasure, drunk on his greed and delighted by his torture.

“I call you PG because it’s the only way I can get away with calling you anything more than your name around him.” He sounds almost angry with how low he growls. “And it means so much more than you could think.”

He leans further into you, so close now that his lips brush your ear as he speaks.

“My Pretty Girl,” thrust, “My Precious Girl,” moan, “My Perfect Fucking Girl.”

He releases one hand to line himself up with your entrance. “That’s who you are to me. That’s what I’m calling you when I call you PG. My Pretty, Precious, Perfect Girl. My Girl.” He slips past your walls, sinking deep and you both groan in euphoric unison. “Mine.”

Tae pulls out, slow and controlled.

Blissful.

Then pushes back in, methodically.

Torturous.

Feeling every inch you can take, which is every single fucking one.

Inevitable.

Bottoming out for the second time, you whisper, “Yours,” into his ear, and he turns fucking ravenous.

Setting an absolutely ruthless pace, he claims your body, taking what’s so clearly always been his. Your legs wrap around him again, digging a heel into his ass as you drive him closer, harder with every push. Then lay claim to the one thing you’re able to, taking his lips with yours and biting down hard enough to draw the most sinful groan from the back of his throat. Hoarse, deep, almost broken with how raw it is.

One hand bruises its fingerprints into your hip while the other holds him up over you, and you use this to your advantage, slipping one leg around his and flipping the both of you over.

You trail your tongue down his jaw to his clavicle, he tastes of sweat and lust and sex and it is the most intoxicating thing you’ve ever consumed. Creating your own gardens of little blooming flowers down one side of his neck and up the other, Taehyung moans greedily into your ear as your ride to match his thrusts, sending him deeper while you decorate your willing canvas.

Because as much as he wishes to lay claim to your body, you want to claim his as well.

“Mine,” you say, positioning yourself to take over completely, using the springs of the mattress to do most of the work for you.

“Yes,” he says. But that’s not good enough.

“Mine,” you demand, and let loose, pressing down on the mattress with your knees rapidly, creating the glorious effect you wanted. You watch as the up force from the mattress causes Taehyung to be driven into you so quickly he throws his head back, mouth dropped in pure ecstasy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, YN, What the fuck—” he rambles, lost to the pleasure, biting his lip, going slackjawed, clenching and unclenching his fists into bedsheets that already have your handprints seared into them.

And you keep going, a little torture creation of your own.

“Mine,” you demand again, and this time, it clicks.

“Yours! Fuck, yours. All yours, only yours,” he surrenders and you slow back down to a regular pace, breathless.

It’s a great move but it’s exerting.

You all but collapse on his chest and he takes over, thrillingly pissed off due to your power play.

“So that’s how it’s going to be?” he asks, and you clench at his tone.

He removes himself and you whimper, but he’s maneuvering you like a ragdoll on the bed and you’re more than fucking willing to be thrown around.

He’s kneeling on the bed, lifting your hips and sliding into you in a doggy style, but then he’s doing the most insane thing you think you’ve ever seen. With an arm around your stomach he brings your back to his torso and twists you both to face the open floor to ceiling windows. One of your legs is thrown over his that’s up to splay you wide for the skyline to see, and you can see your reflection in the glass.

You look beyond fucked out, and so does he, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. But then his hand is sliding to your throat, and a whispered, “Is this okay?” finds your ears. You nod.

Gripping the sides of your throat, he slides his other hand to graze your clit before beginning his own version of the move you just pulled. Pumping into you at a pace that has your g-spot screaming from all of the attention it’s receiving, his fingers swiping deftly over the bundled nerves at the apex of your thigh whilst lightly cutting off the blood supply to your brain.

It has you twitching and hazy and dizzy in seconds. You can see yourself losing to the feeling so steadily building at the base of your spine in the glass. Mouth open, body willing, the man who’s been at the center of your wanting for longer than you can remember, its deliverance.

Dark, sex tousled hair, muscled forearms holding you up and driving you insane. Blackened eyes focused on you and only you through the mirror the darkness of the night’s sky has created for you.

It’s that visual that sets you over the edge when he releases your throat, and you feel a gush flowing from where you two meet.

“Fuuuck yes. My Perfect Girl, cum all over my sheets, drench my cock. That’s it,” he purrs in your ear and it’s doing nothing but sending shock after shock into your already over sensitive and pulsing cunt, letting your consciousness float somewhere above or below you, you don’t really care.

All you know is that you feel light as a feather and not of this earthly plane.

Taehyung removes himself and lies you down gently. He’s back inside soon after and it just feels right as he fills you, like it’s where he’s meant to be.

He hovers over you once more, and you lift a single knee to his hip, mimicking your position from the club as he thrusts into you with fervor, chasing his own high after delivering three mind shattering ones to you.

Reaching one hand to his cheek, you hold him as he kisses you, working himself to completion.

Using your other to deliver a few expert circles to your clit, so you can come together, you breathe in each other's release and drown in once another’s embrace.

You leave his name on your tongue this time. A gift. A cry so delicate that a tear falls from your cheek and he kisses it away.

Taehyung inhales sharply, before stuttering his exhale and an exquisite warmth fills you.

“F-f-uu-ckkk,” he shudders as he lets the aftershocks of his release claim you in the most basic and animalistic of ways. You drink in the vulnerable sound, taking his mouth with yours one final time as you bask in each other's pleasure. Silent but for catching breaths, exertion evident as you hold one another.

Taehyung rests on your chest. Lines are sketched gently with your nails up and down his spine and into his hair as he comes down, content in the afterglow, where nothing is wrong and everything is perfect.

Before consequences kick in and regrets form.

When he decides he’s ready, Tae lifts and removes himself from you and you can feel the remnants of your combined efforts slide down to the bedsheets.

Tae takes a single finger and gathers it up before pressing it back in. You hiss at the now tender flesh. Though the pain doesn’t stop the warmth newly pooling at the sight and feel and meaning.

He pumps it back in once, twice before removing his finger and placing it in his mouth to clean off. Your cunt flutters at the sight and Tae smirks, leaning forward to share his findings with you in the form of a filthy, open mouthed, tongue filled kiss. It’s slightly salty, slightly metallic but you pull him back for one last lick when he tries to pull away.

Watching him kneeling there, in the glow of moonlight, you realize just how truly beautiful he is. The shape of his illuminated profile, the expanse of his chest as he breathes in, the colour of his skin under silver rays. He’s stunning.

You smile up at him, spent, sated and so astronomically fucked if your brother ever finds out.

Tae must see the thought on your face, because he says, “Don’t worry about him. I’ll handle it.”

But you honestly don’t give a fuck about that right now. That’s a tomorrow issue. What you want to know is, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what, exactly?” He specifies.

You sit up, eye to eye as he sits on the edge of the bed, one leg on the ground.

“All of it. Any of it.”

There.

Now it was out in the open. And the rest is up to him.

You could drag yourself back down to reality. Chalk this night up to booze and bad timing and perfect timing. Could convince yourself it was just one night and that it would have to be enou—

“All of it,” he interrupts, the most sincere expression you’ve ever seen on him on full display. “Definitely all of it. Every last fucking word.”

You slump on your exhale, so fucking relieved you didn’t have to keep trying to lie to yourself that you could forget this happened.

You’re laughing before you can fight it off, shoulders shaking. Smiling so wide it hurts.

“Uh..YN?” Tae asks, clearly not sure how to take your reaction and you compose yourself.

“That’s PG to you,” you say as you crawl onto his lap, and kiss him into oblivion.

It’s interesting to finally sit on the dock across the way in East Egg.

The fog is gone, the sky is a brilliant blue, and the little box you kept sits open next to you, the lock and its key lost somewhere to the depths below your feet. Funny how harmless it seems now that there’s nothing locked inside anymore, like it could never really have hurt you in the first place.

You take in your newly emptied creation, and quirk a brow when you see it move.

A wiggle at first, before it’s shaking and spinning and shrinking, turning from a box into a glass windowed locket. Golden and delicate and beautiful, with a matching chain. You ponder for a moment what it could be for, before turning to look down at the green light to your right.

An idea strikes.

Unclasping the little window, you lift the opened pendant to the green light. And to your delight, the emerald hue hops into its new home, closing its tiny windowed door.

You smile at the clever little light, lacing the chain around your neck, resting it on the middle of your sternum, right above your heart. Its brilliant hue shining brightly through the pane for all to see.

Funny how the green light you so longed for, longed for you back, and is now yours for keeps.

A/N 2.5: This is what has been rotting in my brain for the better half of two weeks so please enjoy, it was supposed to be short and trope filled to cure my writers block but apparently I am incapable of short. But trope filled it clearly is. Overall tho, I'm quite pleased with this one.

A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

Masterlist

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megalony · 3 months ago

Text

Exploding Emotions

As promised, this is the new Evan Buckley imagine I have been working on, I am very happy with this one and I hope you will all like it.

Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Part 2

Summary: While out on a call, an accident gives (Y/n) flashbacks to the night her husband got trapped beneath the fire truck and what happened to her while he was stuck.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Okay, what have we got?"

The team clambered out the truck one by one, each sorting their gloves and reaching for their helmets while they followed after Bobby. The Captain led them away from the truck and towards the scene they were here to assist.

(Y/n) could feel her legs starting to ache and she was beginning to lag behind. This was their fifth call and they weren't even halfway through their shift yet, and they had come here straight after their last call. They hadn't been back to the station for a drink or a snack or had a moment's peace.

Added to the fact that this was an evening shift, (Y/n) felt like dropping down here and now in the middle of the road.

She shrugged on her florescent jacket and stood near Ravi, looking out at the scene.

Each of them could feel their shoulders sagging and a grimace flooded their faces in turn when they looked around.

A lorry had crashed at an intersection. The large metal lorry was now on its side right in the centre, with a mangled up car resting in front of the bonnet. There were at least four other cars scattered around who had either crashed together, hit posts or swerved and burst a tyre trying to get out of the firing line.

"Hen, Chim, head for the lorry and the collision car in the centre, those drivers will be the worst off. Everyone else, fan out around. If anyone can walk, guide them to safety and get them off the scene."

Bobby's orders fell upon deaf ears when (Y/n) looked at the scene ahead of her.

The hairs on the back of her neck started to prickle and stand on end as a cold shiver passed through her blood. She could feel her lungs tightening and closing up and her eyes zoned in on the lorry.

It was the same crimson shade as the fire truck. Those bright headlights were shining in her direction, they were calling out to her.

It looked just like the scene over a year ago that (Y/n) had to endure watching over the news.

The scene that tore out her heart and made her feel like she was witnessing the end of the world with no way of helping. Being a firefighter meant it was in (Y/n)'s nature to help people. She wasn't used to sitting back and watching from the sidelines, unable to do anything at all. And when it had involved the one person who meant the entire world to her, everything else had become insignificant.

Dread clawed at (Y/n)'s lungs as she felt herself beginning to shake. It felt like a decade had passed since that night, but standing here, staring ahead at that crumpled lorry in the middle of the road, in the dead of night, (Y/n) suddenly felt as if the last year had evaporated into dust.

She felt like she had been transported back one year with her wish of being able to be on scene and do something to help. To look after Evan and get him out.

Was he there? Was Evan laid out on the concrete with one leg practically split apart and a hundred tons of metal crushing down on him? Was he pinned to the floor, unable to move in any direction? Was he screaming until his lips were blue and his lungs were on the verge of giving out? Was Evan in mass agony, violently screaming for someone to do something to help him when no one stepped forward to save him?

"(Y/n)? Everything okay?"

A quiet round of "He's not here," murmured beneath her breath, so quiet that her dad didn't catch a word.

But he could see by the faint, distant look in her constricted eyes and the trembling that set in her body that she wasn't here. She wasn't on scene with them, not mentally. Her mind had gone somewhere else and although he didn't know where, he could see she needed a few moments to come back to the present.

His eyes widened when he watched her suddenly stumble before she crashed down to her knees. Her arms were pinned around her waist with her head lolled to one side, but Bobby could see her eyes were intently focused on the scene ahead of them.

They couldn't see any of the number plates from this far away and there weren't any casualties yet or anyone they knew here on scene. So (Y/n) couldn't be panicking about having family or friends meddled up in this collision.

He hurriedly crouched down in front of her, moving his hands to hold her arms while he leaned his head to try and get within her line of sight. But even when he was in her view, it was like she was looking through him rather than at him. She wasn't here, she was lost.

"Honey, talk to me. Are you okay?"

Relief overtook Bobby when (Y/n) managed to nod her head. She could hear him. She hadn't collapsed in pain or mass agony, she wasn't having some kind of stroke or seizure or some sort of episode. Something was clearly going on, but it didn't seem to be a dire emergency.

Bobby couldn't be doing with any more emergencies. Not after this last year with Evan and all his operations on his leg and him and (Y/n) struggling to cope with those and a newborn baby. (Y/n) had only just come back to work from maternity leave while Evan's return to work date was still to be determined.

His daughter and son-in-law had been through enough.

"I just… I need- need a minute." Her voice sounded distant even to herself and she kept leaning her head to the right until she could look around her dad and stare back at the lorry that was looking more and more like a fire truck to her hazy eyes.

"You sit this one out, get back in the truck. I'll be back in five minutes, if you need help, radio through."

Bobby looked like he was going to try and help her up into the truck behind her, but she shook her head. She wanted to stay where she was, knelt down on the floor. She was okay, but she didn't have the willpower or the energy to get up yet. She couldn't move. She had to stay here.

He seemed dubious about leaving her, but (Y/n) clearly didn't want help right now and they were two men down with Eddie being on holiday and Evan currently off work. And if (Y/n) was sitting this call out, Bobby needed to get back out there and control the situation and help so they could be back at the station as soon as possible.

(Y/n) barely heard her dad whisper that he would be back soon and she tried to lean closer when he kissed her temple. His touch lingered for a few moments, giving away how badly he wanted to stay with her and truly make sure she was alright. But the faint smile she tried to muster told him she might just be okay for a few minutes while he got this scene under control.

All she could do was lean her shoulders back against the truck and close her eyes, but the image was still there. Those beaming headlights were aimed at her. They were shining on her, blinking at her, flashing for her attention and the light shone through her closed eyes that were illuminated into bright red lines. With the image of Evan burned into her cornias until the day she died.

The image of Evan laid out on his stomach, gloved fingers desperately clawing at the floor. Nails splitting apart beneath the gloves, fingertips wearing down and the skin rubbing off as he tried to prize himself free.

His lips, sodden with sweat and dirt and the odd speckle of blood, screaming until he was froffing at the mouth and his throat felt drier than the desert.

His eyes, shedding so manny tears he could have had his own ocean named after him. Red circles beneath his eyes, veins prominent in the whites of his eyes, cheeks glistening with little white tracks where tears had wiped through the dirt covering his face.

(Y/n) could hear those screams. She could see the blood creating a puddle beneath him. She could see people moving to lift the truck and she could hear the agony in her husband's shrieks when their team finally dragged him from the wreckage and prized him free too late for (Y/n)'s liking.

Tears began to streak down her own face before she could stop them and she found her trembling hands rattling through her inside jacket pocket, searching for her phone.

She had to make sure he was okay.

She had to call Evan.

She had to know he wasn't in danger.

To stop herself from staring at the scene ahead that was only inflating her panic and agony, (Y/n) snapped her eyes closed. She closed them so tightly pins and needles flooded her face and had her squirming from the tight pain ebbing away at her eyes. It didn't stop the tears from falling, but they were only silent tears of fading panic and old anguish she was trying to push away.

The line didn't ring for long and (Y/n) was suddenly overwhelmed. Usually when it didn't ring for more than three beeps it meant Evan's phone was switched off or he rejected the call because he was busy on a call. And if the line had rung and rung with no answer, (Y/n) wasn't sure what her panicked brain would do in that scenario.

"Hey baby, everything okay?"

Evan's voice was the calm after the storm. (Y/n) could feel more silent tears beginning to stream down her face when she listened to his lulling voice with that slight rough edge that implied he may have taken a nap with Lilah at some point tonight.

He wasn't quite used to being at home while (Y/n) was at work. It had been the other way around when (Y/n) took early maternity leave and Evan had been the one to call her while he was at work. Just so he could hear her voice or listen to how her day had been to take his mind off a rough or an oddly quiet shift.

He didn't like being the one stuck at home, not able to do his job. But now he didn't have a pot running from his toes midway up his thigh, it was easier to be at home. No one had to be here helping him hobble about the house, he didn't need (Y/n) to help him wash or help him up out of bed and down the stairs.

He didn't need Maddie coming round to babysit him and now he could walk- although with a limp for now- he could properly care for Lilah.

It crushed Evan to not be able to carry his baby girl or bathe her or take her for a walk when he had been on crutches. Seeing (Y/n) or Maddie or even Bobby come round and help with Lilah had been killing him. But now, until he was signed off for work, Evan was spending as much time as he could with his baby girl.

"Babe, you there?" There was a slight chuckle at the end of his words as if he thought (Y/n) may have called him by accident or not realised she was now on the phone to him.

"Hm."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah… just- just wanted to hear your voice." Her voice sounded steadier than she had hoped and it made her relieved. She didn't want to worry Evan unnecessarily and make him panic or think something was wrong.

Because nothing was wrong, not really. A moment of panic had now been quenched by the sound of Evan's voice. (Y/n) could carry on, she could pick herself back up and get out there and try to actually do her job and hope none of the team had noticed her lapse in concentration.

"Why, what's going on?" There was a softness to his tone and (Y/n) could just imagine him sat there smiling.

She wasn't going to worry him. There was no point when telling Evan why she had worriedly called him would only serve to upset him. And there was no way to open up that conversation and tell him she had a brief panic at the thought of his accident.

"Nothing, just missed you."

"You're sweet." He tilted his head back, sliding further down the sofa he was reclined on with both legs hanging over the other side. And he shuffled Lilah who was laid on his chest with her head just beneath his collar bone. "Who's on the phone? Is it mummy?"

He got a little babbling response, a jumbled sound that was drowsy and showed that the toddler was about to fall asleep at any moment. But it was enough to have Evan smiling as he kissed her temple and ran his hand up and down her back, holding his phone closer to his ear with the other hand.

"So, you're missing me, huh?"

(Y/n) allowed a smile to pull at her lips. She felt better already.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(One year ago)

Lifting her head, (Y/n) looked up at Athena through blurry eyes when they both heard a knock at the door.

She reached her hand out to give her mum's hand a tight squeeze and the calming smile on Athena's face did wonders for (Y/n)'s raging nerves. They both had the same thought in mind. They both prayed it was Evan at the front door.

Athena leaned over to peck (Y/n)'s temple before she got up from the sofa and hurried out into the hall to open the door.

Just as Athena dipped out the room, (Y/n) leaned forward with one hand gripping the arm of the sofa and her other hand clutching at her stomach. she hunched over as much as she could until her stomach was pressing into her thighs and her head was tilted down.

God, these contractions were going to be the death of her.

A quiet groan burned at the back of her throat and she could feel tears welling up in her eyes but she willed them away. She couldn't be crying yet, not when she wasn't even fully dilated or at the point of pushing yet. But she couldn't help it.

She wanted Evan. She wanted him to come home.

She was two weeks away from her due date and had gone into labour right when Evan was in the middle of a night shift with the rest of the team. (Y/n) had been extremely lucky that when she rang her mum, Athena hadn't been on shift tonight. She had come straight over and when neither of them could get hold of Evan or Bobby, Athena called the next best person.

She rang Maddie who was on shift at dispatch and they kindly asked her to get the message across to the 118 that Evan would have to end his shift early. He needed to come home and be here when (Y/n) had their baby.

When the contraction subsided, (Y/n) let out a groan and started to rub circles along her stomach in the vain hope that it would take her mind off the budding pains. And the ache in her heart from not having Evan here. He promised to be here. He had been subtly whispering to her bump, telling the baby to make an appearance when Evan was home and that they had to wait patiently for him.

(Y/n) had playfully told Evan off two weeks ago when he had been talking to the baby and asked them to arrive promptly last week so Evan wouldn't have to go to dinner with his parents for his dad's birthday. It didn't happen. They all suffered through dinner together anyway. If (Y/n) went into labour then, at least Evan would have been by her side rather than on shift like he was now.

"Is- is that him?" (Y/n) tried to look over her shoulder but she couldn't see Athena in the hall from where she was sat in the living room.

But she couldn't hear voices either. Athena was speaking in hushed tones with whoever was at the door. That must mean it wasn't Evan, if it was he would have burst through the doors and found (Y/n) immediately.

With pursed lips set into a deep frown, (Y/n) reached across for the tv remote and promptly changed the channel. The stupid sitcom that had been on in the background was steadily getting on (Y/n)'s nerves. The gag lines were silly, the jokes weren't funny and the audience laughing was irritating her to no end.

She flicked through three channels, about to look through a few more until a headline on the late night news caught her attention.

LAFD Bombing.

Her head tilted to one side and her eyes narrowed as she watched the camera zoom in, clearly live recording from a helicopter hovering at the scene.

Someone had tried to blow up a fire truck. They were sectioning off the street while the fire brigade talked to the bomber who was actually on the scene. a few people had been hurt in the blast. Someone was trapped. One of the firemen was still stuck in the fire truck that had exploded on-route.

"We can't tell her-"

Maddie lost her train of thought and whatever she was about to say when a horrifying, gut-wrenching scream shook the walls of the house. She clutched the doorframe, her eyes locking with Athena as the pair of them bolted from the hall and into the living room.

It was too late.

More tears streamed down Maddie's face, despite the fact that she had been crying for over twenty minutes now since the news reel first started and showed her little brother in peril.

She had come straight over to help Athena take (Y/n) to hospital and be here with her while Evan couldn't. She had tried to explain what had happened, she didn't want (Y/n) to know. She didn't want her sister in law to panic or be in distress, not when she was already overwhelmed and in labour. But it seemed too late now.

Both of them scurried into the living room to find (Y/n) down on her knees in front of the coffee table. One hand gripping the table while the other clutched the tv remote close to her chest. She turned the volume up until all of them were wincing at the abrupt noises of the helicopter and the news reporters.

She had seen. (Y/n) had seen her husband, lying there on the floor with the entire fire truck crushing down on his leg.

No wonder he wasn't here already. He wasn't going to be here. Evan wasn't coming home, he was stuck. He was pinned down to the road like a fly trapped in a spider's web. Her husband was being crushed while she was splitting apart, about to have their first baby without him. There was no way Evan was going to be here to hold her hand or be by her side.

Did he even know she had gone into labour? Had he been told before this accident happened or was he still oblivious? What did it matter? Labour seemed insignificant compared to the horror Evan was going through.

Why were they broadcasting his anguish to the world?

"(Y/n)-"

"Oh honey."

A gurgling sob left (Y/n)'s lips as she pushed forward until her forehead was pressing down on the edge of the coffee table harsh enough that it was going to leave a mark soon.

When she felt Athena and Maddie reaching out for her, she roughly shook them off, but it wasn't like she could move very far. Not when her aching knees were now glued to the carpet and her stomach was tightening with every passing second.

"He- he's hurt!" The urgency in (Y/n)'s voice took Athena by surprise and only made fresh tears pour down Maddie's face.

This is what she had been afraid of. She had been worried about (Y/n) finding out and sending herself into a state of distress which wouldn't do her or the baby any good. She had hoped to keep (Y/n) ignorant and try to tell her that Evan had been caught up in a situation at work. Maybe tell her there was a bomber out there and the team were trying to diffuse the situation. She thought it would be easier to tell (Y/n) once she'd had the baby or once Evan was taken to hospital, whatever happened first.

"They're going to look after him, he'll be okay." Maddie looped her arm around (Y/n)'s shoulders and gently reeled her sister in law into her chest. She pecked the top of (Y/n)'s head and tried to rub her hand up and down her back, but she could see she wasn't helping very much.

Sobs continued to wrack (Y/n)'s body that was now trembling and when she reeled up, she looked back at the tv which was now zooming in on her husband's peril.

Showing Evan in all his anguish and agony, bright red in the face, spit dribbling down his chin as he screamed. Hands clawing at the road to try and drag himself free to no avail.

"Why isn't someone helping him?!" The words tore past (Y/n)'s lips with a violent scream before she launched the remote in her hand far across the room. Watching with anger and disgust as the remote hit the wall, rebounded into a picture frame and knocked it to the floor.

The shattering glass somehow made (Y/n) feel a little better. Something else other than her and Evan was shattering.

Why wasn't there someone knelt down beside her husband, telling him everything was going to be okay? Why wasn't someone holding his hand? Why was no one trying to move the truck and free her husband? How could they just stand back and leave him there like that, allowing the camera to get a closer view than the rest of them? That wasn't fair. They couldn't leave him in agony like that.

"We have t-to help him. I need to be there- be there with him." Each word came out with a hitched breath until (Y/n) was barely breathing and reduced to panting and gasping instead.

She moved her hands to the coffee table and tried her best to push up from where she was knelt on the floor. But both her legs were shaking and the moment she was on her feet, a cry errupted from her lips and her hands cupped her stomach that was twisting in agony.

She felt Athena rush to grab her arm and steady her and she allowed herself to lean into her mum's touch, letting Athena hold up some of her weight.

"Honey, we need to go to the hospital, these contractions are getting closer." Athena shakily brushed her free hand along (Y/n)'s cheek and leaned over to kiss her temple. (Y/n) was like another daughter to her. Since the moment she married Bobby, she had taken (Y/n) in as her own like Bobby had grown close to May and Harry.

She hated to see (Y/n) in distress like this much the same as she couldn't look at the tv and see Evan be trapped beneath that truck.

"No. No, I w-" She broke off with another cry as Maddie reached out for her waist to stop her from going back down on her knees. "Evan! He needs us."

Maddie couldn't stop her lower lip from wobbling and she sucked in a deep breath, doing her best to stop from bursting into another fit of tears. How could any of this be happening? How could her little brother be stuck in peril like that? How could (Y/n) be in labour at the exact same moment? How could they be separated in a moment where they should both be together? When they had both been planning to do this as one since the moment they found out about this baby.

"Buck has the team with him to look after him, and he wouldn't stand for you having his baby in the middle of the street, now would he?" The firm tone to Athena's voice made (Y/n) shiver and feel like she was a child being told the rules of the game.

Her head fell onto Athena's shoulder and a low whine passed her lips as she began to cry.

"Your dad is there with him, I'll call him when we're at the hospital to find out what's happening. And as soon as Buck is at the hospital with us, we can sort everything out. But we need to get you to the hospital to look after you and this baby."

"Buck will be taken to the hospital soon, better to be there waiting for him than stuck in traffic trying to reach him, hm?" Maddie's words made sense and seemed to calm down one of (Y/n)'s many erratic nerves.

The roads would be gridlocked. They had to get going now and it was lucky that Athena had sirens in her car so she could override the traffic that would undoubtedly be on the streets.

Rather than trying to get to Evan, by which time he could be transported to the hospital, they may as well get there first and wait for him. (Y/n) could be seen by the midwife, her and the baby would be safe and as soon as Evan was there, they would find out what was happening and get news of if he was alright or not.

They would wait for him at the hospital. And (Y/n) would try and hold on as long as she could. She didn't want this baby on her own, she wanted to know Evan was okay.

She wanted to see him before she gave birth.

***

"Why don't we sit down-"

"No."

Both (Y/n)'s hands planted down on the bed in front of her. Her lower back arched out and she leaned forward until her legs were ready to cave in beneath her and give way. Her knees were trembling. Her arms were rattling against the bedframe. She wanted to be sick.

She had shed so many tears she could have a river named after her. Both eyes were puffy and begging for rest, for a moment to sleep or fall closed and recover and to stop crying, but (Y/n) didn't know how. She didn't know how to stop crying when she could see her husband in dire distress, but she couldn't do anything to help him.

She didn't want to sit down, (Y/n) didn't want to be here in the first place. She changed her mind as soon as they arrived at the hospital. She wanted to turn round and go find Evan, she wanted to be there with him, to talk to him and tell him that she was here. She was nearby and she wanted him to know she wanted to help but she just didn't know how.

Another cry tumbled past her lips as her hands fisted in the bedsheets. She wasn't sure whether it was Maddie or Athena who was reaching out for her, but she didn't care. Their gentle touches and vain attempts to get her to move from her crouched position weren't working.

When the pain finally wore off, (Y/n) lifted her head and looked up at the tv in the corner of the room.

The news reel was playing. (Y/n) had been glued to watching any screen she could, looking at any monitor that was recording the live event and giving her a view of her husband in turmoil.

People had finally started to move to try and help him. Evan was no longer sprawled out on the floor on his own, in mass agony, with no way of getting himself free. The rest of the team had managed to pull themselves together and were trying to move the truck. As if any of them could lift that ten ton of steel and and equipment and oversized engine.

"How are we doing in here?" The same midwife who had showed them in peeked her head round the door. She had been doing regular checks and kept trying to insist (Y/n) try to sit and calm down because this was doing her blood pressure and the baby's heartbeat no favours. But (Y/n) wasn't in any fit state to listen.

(Y/n) didn't bother answering, she kept her gaze intently focused on the tv. She couldn't believe Evan hadn't passed out by now and she couldn't believe no one had gotten him free yet.

If they'd of gotten him out by now he could have been in the hospital. (Y/n) could have been with him, she could of held his hand and promised him everything was going to be okay.

She wished there was a way to pause her body and stop labour until Evan was in a fit state to be here, but that wasn't possible.

When another pain hit, (Y/n) couldn't stop her knees from giving out on her and she crumpled down into a squatting position. She thrust more weight onto her arms, quivering through the pain as Maddie tried to stop her from kneeling on the floor and Athena's hands held onto her waist to try and coil her up.

"If you're pushing, we really need to get you on the bed." There was a sense of urgency in the midwife's voice and she got as close as she could considering Maddie and Athena were crowding her like bodyguards.

(Y/n) didn't have the willpower to argue with them anymore.

Her hands clawed at the bed once the pain wore off and left her cramping and aching and splitting apart in dull infrequent waves. It didn't feel good to be sitting down like it did to be crouching or pacing around the room. Pacing kept her mind busy and gave her something to do.

And (Y/n) was fearful that as soon as she sat down, she would progress further and have the baby without Evan, although that seemed inevitable now.

"I think you're ready, let's get settled to push, shall we?" The sympathy in the midwife's voice did nothing to settle the anguish in (Y/n)'s heart.

Her head began to shake and her lower lip wobbled as a horrid sob wracked her chest. This wasn't how things were supposed to play out. She was supposed to be safe at home with Evan when she went into labour. He was supposed to time the contractions and take her to hospital and hold her hand and help her through this.

He was supposed to be here making jokes and kissing her hand and telling her all the random facts about labour and kids that he had learned to go along with all the pregnancy facts he had been telling her the last few months.

Evan wasn't supposed to be stuck with their entire damn fire truck crumpling down on his leg and people desperately trying to set him free.

"I c- I can't have this baby yet-" Her head began to shake and she tugged on Athena's hand as if her mum could somehow do something to rectify this situation.

"Honey, you don't have much of a choice."

Maddie sat down on the left side of the bed and let (Y/n) deadlock their hands together. She reached out with her free hand and gently ran her fingers through (Y/n)'s damp, matted hair, brushing the strands away from her face as she herself was in tears once again.

She hadn't expected to be here when (Y/n) gave birth, she had expected to have the most overjoyed, hyper phone call from her little brother telling her when (Y/n) went into labour. And then another call to ask her to come down to the hospital once her niece or nephew was born.

But when she came along to bring (Y/n) down here, (Y/n) hadn't let go of her hand and Maddie took that as a silent hint that (Y/n) didn't want her to go. And she didn't want to go either. Maddie didn't want to go home and wait anxiously in vain for news of both (Y/n) and Evan.

She had to be here, whether that was in the room right now giving (Y/n) support or just sitting in the hallway waiting for news on either her or Evan. Being in here made Maddie feel useful and it was a distraction.

"You can push on the next contraction."

(Y/n) didn't reply, but she did as she was told and started to push. Her knees coiled up, she pulled both Athena and Maddie's hands towards her chest and she leaned forward as much as she could to see if it would help.

But she stopped, every part of her body going rigid and becoming tense as her head snapped up to the tv.

A small 'oh' left her lips before a round of "Evan!" croaked into the air causing the other girls to look up at the tv.

Dozens upon dozens of passers by in the street were pushing the fire truck. Everyone was leaning against it, forcing all of their weight onto the structure to try and get Evan free.

(Y/n) ignored the next contraction, droning out the midwife's nervous instructions and she tried not to push as she put all of her focus on the tv. Silent sobs wracked her lips and had her trembling back and forth as she watched Hen and Eddie reach out for Evan to try and pull him free, while every other civilian there pushed on the truck.

What hurt (Y/n) the most was seeing Evan scrape his hand against the road. He was trying to help. He had hundreds of pounds of metal crushing down on his leg, pinning him to the road, he was in more agony than he ever had been in his life. And there he was, trying to help get himself free, trying to drag himself along the road to make it easier on everyone else.

The news reporter was close enough that Evan's horrid scream of terror managed to get broadcast on the tv and (Y/n)'s only response was to cry his name through wet lips as another contraction hit and she started to push.

"He- he's free."

"They've got him, they've got him honey."

"He'll be okay now." Maddie leaned forward when (Y/n) dropped her head onto her sister's shoulder and Maddie kissed the top of her head, weaving her other arm around (Y/n)'s waist.

(Y/n) coiled her legs up tighter until her knees were pressing into her stomach and she pushed. Unable to stop herself from muttering Evan's name on a loop as if it was the only thing she could understand. She was almost there, she was about to have her baby in her arms, and the one person she wanted here with her was nowhere to be seen.

The news reel changed to a wider angle of the whole scene and the reporter switched back to someone in the studio. Evan was free, they weren't going to record the team getting him into an ambulance and racing him away from the scene. But he was free. He was free from the constraints of the fire truck and now he would be here within ten minutes, all being well.

But he was still going to miss the birth.

***

"We're here! Buck, we're here." Reaching down, Bobby gripped Evan's arm and did his best to try and smile, but he couldn't manage it. Not when he could see the damage done to his son in law's leg.

He could see the dramatic sight where skin and muscle had been split apart and the bone was visible. He could see breaks in the bone and splinters of bone pushing out at odd angles. He could see through the gauze that was moulding into Evan's wound from soaking up all the blood that the strap around his thigh couldn't cut off.

It didn't look good.

Both Eddie and Hen had been doing their best to make him comfortable on the ride down here, but it was hard. They couldn't give him any morphine, not when he was going to need X-rays and scans and an emergency operation. Morphine and anaesthetic didn't always mix well and Evan had a bad track history with medications causing severe reactions.

All they could give him was the gas and air tube to breathe through and although it had done nothing to take the edge off, Evan had been breathing it in since the moment they got him in the ambulance.

"Let's get you inside, you're gonna be just fine." Hen's voice was soothing, but Evan couldn't believe her words.

He didn't feel fine.

He didn't feel as if he was going to be fine or make a swift recovery from this.

He felt like he was going to be put under anaesthetic and wake up with one leg. He could feel each piece of tattered skin desperately trying to cling to his leg. He could feel his leg pulsing and aching from where the blood supply had been cut off mid-way down his thigh. Evan felt like his body was on fire, his leg was disconnected and each breath was becoming harder to take.

When Eddie reached across to try and take the gas and air tube from his grip, a deep growl emmited from Evan's lips and he clenched his hand tight around the tube.

He pulled the strange looking mask back to his lips and inhaled three fast, choked breaths. The tubes were always switched and cleaned out after every use, but Evan had a feeling they would have to bin this one. He had chomped down so hard on the tube that he had left puncture indents in the plastic.

"No! It f-fucking kills-"

"Buck, you can have more pain relief once you're inside, I swear. Mate please, please we have to move you now." Eddie felt horrible when he had to prize Evan's fingers from the gas and air and as soon as he let go, they clipped off the breaks and moved the stretcher.

Bobby leaned down and took Evan's hand once they all climbed down and Chimney rushed from the driver's seat. He held Evan's hand high to his chest as Evan started to thrash around on the gurney.

His chest stuttered up and down and repeatedly pushed back to the point the gurney was shaking and about to unlock and lower down. His free hand curled into a fist and slammed into the metal frame harsh enough to split some of the skin around his knuckles.

He was in agony. He needed it to stop.

"(Y/n). Have- have you- fuck. (Y/n)." Evan couldn't get his thoughts in order, the only thing in his head and the one word that could properly be muttered from his lips was his wife's name.

They had been on their way back to the station when the bomb hit. They had been going back specifically because Maddie came through the radio and said (Y/n) had gone into labour. That was the call Evan had been waiting for and dreading at the same time. He had been anxious about when (Y/n) would go into labour and if it would happen while he was at work.

He had been ecstatic. He had been bouncing in his seat, riding shotgun in the truck for the first time in ages and he and Bobby had been debating whether it would be a boy or a girl.

Now, Evan had no idea what was happening. He didn't know who was with (Y/n) or if she was alone right now. He didn't know if she was still home or if someone had taken her to the maternity ward. He didn't know if she was in agony, if anything had gone wrong, if she was having complications or sailing through labour without him.

Bobby tightened his hand around Evan's and leaned down so he could talk to him better because he knew Evan was now having a hard time concentrating and taking things in. Who wouldn't in his state?

"Athena and Maddie brought her to the hospital, once you're inside I'll go find them. She'll be okay."

While waiting for people to help get Evan free, Bobby had answered the third phone call from his wife. All he knew so far was they had brought (Y/n) in and labour was in full swing, they were just waiting for her to dilate. But his daughter was here and she was safe, that was all Bobby needed to know for now while he focused on looking after his son in law.

"I wa- I want-" Evan broke off into an animalistic howl when the gurney jolted over the threshold into the emergency room and the shock sent his leg jerking. Shockwaves rattled up and down his spine and both legs shook as if he had been electrocuted.

He lifted his head and shoulders, doing his best to sit up although he wasn't sure what he was doing, he just wanted to move.

He wanted the pain to stop.

Tears flushed down his face and a broken sob left his lips when he locked onto a familiar frame stood anxiously by the reception desk.

He could see his big sister stood with a bright red face, puffy eyes and tears streaked down her features. She had both hands interlocked in front of her in that panicked manner where she would scratch her nails along the back of her hands until they were rubbed raw. The moment she looked their way, it was as if a light had come and gone in her eyes all at once.

She ran across the floor and grabbed Evan's outstretched hand, pulling it up so she could kiss the back of his hand. Her fingers trailed up and down his arm and her lips wobbled, unable to hold back a sob when she looked at her baby brother who had been more of a son to her at times.

"Oh, oh Buck."

Evan let out another sob while the team paused the gurney in the hallway and Eddie moved to flag someone down. This was a dire emergency, they needed a doctor here now and they needed Evan taken to theatre before he lost his leg.

"W-where's (Y/n)?" Evan had spent the last few hours wondering what was happening with his wife, if she was okay, if he could be taken to her at some point.

He had tried arguing with Bobby on the journey down here, asking if he could see (Y/n) before he went for whatever surgery he was going to need. Of course Bobby said no, that wasn't going to be an option. Evan couldn't delay any form of treatment, not for a minute or an hour. He had to be taken straight to theatre.

"She's on the maternity ward."

"Is she-"

"She's fine… oh Buck, you've got a beautiful little girl." Maddie reached her hand out to brush her finger down his bloodied cheek as a broken smile formed on her lips.

But her smile faded into an open-mouthed, hollow frown when Evan's entire face fell. His jaw loosened and slacked like it had become disconnected, his eyes glossed over and his nose crinkled making him look like a snarling dog.

"I m- I missed it? I- oh God- Bobby-" The most horrid scream any of them ever heard erupted from Evan's lips and shook the walls.

He ripped his hand free from Maddie's hold, slammed his fist down into the frame of the gurney and writhed until he almost toppled off the gurney. He fought and thrashed against all the hands that pinned him down and ignored their panicked screams for a doctor.

He missed it.

He missed his daughter's birth. He hadn't been there. He promised (Y/n) he would be with her from the moment she went into labour to the moment their precious baby would be in their arms. He said he would do anything he could to be there and that he wouldn't let her down, and now, he had broken those promises.

He couldn't see (Y/n), he couldn't hold his daughter. He couldn't cut the cord or hold her for the first time the moment she was born. He wasn't going to see her on her birthday, if he was going for an operation he wouldn't be conscious or lucid enough to see her for another day, possibly two.

A chorus of exploding emotions erupted to life in his chest and wailed past his lips but it didn't feel like anyone was listening to him. And Evan was too far gone into his despair to hear anyone try to comfort him. He didn't want comfort. He wanted a time machine. Evan wanted the chance to go back and make sure this didn't happen.

He wanted to rewind time and sit in the back of the truck with the rest of the team so he could scramble out without being trapped. He wanted to get out of that truck unscathed and rush down to the hospital and hold his wife's hand as she gave birth to their daughter.

This wasn't fair.

Tortured screams left Evan's lips and (Y/n)'s name spat past his lips on repeat as the gurney began to move and hands continued to pin him down.

But the pain in his leg was nothing compared to the agony overwhelming his heart.

#imagine #911 imagine #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley imagine #buck x reader #buck imagine #pregnant! reader #bobby nash #eddie diaz

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ja3yun · 4 months ago

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I'm a Virgin, Not a Murderer | CH.2: Saturn and Uranus

virgin!heeseung x sex worker!reader warnings: smut (mdni), oral (m.rec), slight throat fucking, whiney heeseung, strip club and dances, mentions of alcohol and anxiety, anything else lmk! wc: 18.8k ch.2 synopsis: with you and heeseung fleeing the scene of your accidental crime, you weave through the trials of finding safety and making some cash, leading you straight to saturn strip club. a/n: hi! thank you so so much for the love and support on the first chapter <3 i'm sorry if it seems slow but it picks up the pace in the following chapters so please stick with it! i love this series sm and i am so appreciative of each and every one of you! as always, reblogs, likes, comments, and feedback are all welcome

chapter 1 | masterlist | chapter 3

Your precious car begins to slow down despite your foot firmly pressed on the pedal, causing you to glance at the dashboard quizzically. The needle on the fuel gauge hovers perilously close to empty, a sight that sends a jolt of anxiety through you.

There’s no way it has already run out of petrol, you only filled it up two days ago; then again, you have been driving for the better part of six hours down winding roads. You start to wonder if perhaps you were overly optimistic about that refuelling. There also might be a small, tiny chance that you only filled it up halfway because you ran out of money for an entire tank.

As these thoughts race through your mind, the car gives a tired shudder. The engine's steady hum falters, replaced by a series of splutters. The tail of your vehicle emits a loud, desperate noise, gasping for something to quench its thirst. You turn just in time to see a thin, ominous layer of black smoke drifting from the exhaust pipe.

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, your knuckles turn white as you scan the deserted road ahead for any sign of a petrol station. The vast, empty stretch of asphalt seems to mock your predicament. Panic sets in as you realise the gravity of the situation. The distant horizon offers no solace, just an unending ribbon of road under the setting sun.

“Fuck!” you exclaim, slamming your palm harshly on the steering wheel as the car comes to a halt.

Heeseung twists his head to look at your disgruntled expression before noticing the puff of smoke in his peripheral vision, his eyes widening in fear. The only time he had seen a car fog up like this was when Jongseong decided to do skids in the Tesco car park at 3am after too many Red Bulls and exam stress. The next day, his friend had to replace every tyre and pay a fine after being caught on CCTV.

This consequence might be drastically worse.

“We could phone AA. They can pick us up or fill the tank,” he suggests, as if he can magically conjure a phone booth in front of you.

Huffing, you suppress the silent rage coursing through you due to the recent life events. You sit back, gripping the wheel tightly. “Heeseung,” you begin, keeping your voice slow and steady, “you do realise there is a dead body in the hotel room that has probably been found by now, and they will be looking for us!”

You don’t mean to get agitated with the timid boy, but the gravity of the situation is pushing you to the edge. You don’t even want to think about the scene back at the hotel or who the poor person that found your attacker would be. If it was Kat at reception, she definitely would have already called the police, given a character description, and probably found a way to help them locate your National Insurance number. She always did hate your guts, and it would be a joyous occasion for her to watch your demise unfold with her playing a key part in it.

You grab a bobble from the glove compartment and pull your hair back into a ponytail, closing your eyes briefly as you try to devise a plan. The tension in the car is palpable, a mix of fear and frustration hanging in the air. "I'll walk and see if there's a petrol station nearby," you say, flicking two framing pieces of hair out and holding your hands out to Heeseung. "Can I get some of the money you brought?"

Heeseung looks at you with arched brows. "You don’t have any?" he asks incredulously. It’s not like he expected you to be a billionaire, but with thousands of horny men and a girl as gorgeous as you, he figured you had more than enough cash.

If only he knew you were eating out-of-date beans two weeks ago and that your water was shut off because you couldn’t pay the bill. The reality of your life is far removed from the glamorous facade you sometimes project.

"I only carry £20 with me in case a client tries to rob me. I can't ever be too careful," you explain, understanding the irony in your attempt at safety when you were two seconds away from meeting the man in white at the pearly gates not too long ago.

Heeseung doesn’t fully grasp your logic, but he also isn’t a sex worker, so he trusts your judgement. "Okay, let me grab my..." he begins to say, nodding in agreement and patting his chest in search of his jacket pocket. His eyes bulge, and his heart sinks like a stone in water.

Frantically, he searches his body, as if this would magically make his brown jacket appear. Sweat from his terror seeps from his pores as he chants a few tiny 'fucks', looking around your car with panicked eyes. His breaths become shallow, and you can see the fear creeping into his features.

"What’s wrong?" you ask calmly, not matching his urgent state. Your voice is steady, a stark contrast to the chaos bubbling beneath the surface.

He turns to you slowly, swallowing thickly. He doesn’t know how to tell you the unfortunate information he has just realised, so he stays silent for a moment, leaving you to wonder in the tension-filled car.

“What is it? Just tell me.”

"I...I left my jacket in the hotel room."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Heeseung!" you shout, throwing your hands up in the air to punctuate your disappointment in his forgetfulness. You can’t believe how stupid he is considering you told him to grab his things. When you said that, you meant everything.

Heeseung shoulders the blame but gets defensive at your attitude towards his blunder. "I’m sorry! It’s not every day I kill a man and have to flee with a prostitute, okay? I wasn’t thinking," he exclaims, his voice cracking with stress. He can feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him, making his hands tremble slightly.

"Oh, you think I go around whacking my clients on the regular?" you argue back, eyes burning with a dangerous fury. The absurdity of the situation, coupled with your rising panic, makes your temper flare.

"Well-" he starts but cuts himself off because he doesn’t know how to argue with you. His eyes drop, and he lets out a deep sigh, running his hands through his hair in frustration.“My ID is in the pocket, Y/N. They’ll find me for sure…”

Looking at him, you suddenly wince in sympathy. If the cameras and Kat didn’t rat him out to the authorities, his ID certainly would. The sheer panic on his face is a reminder of how dire your situation truly is.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "We need a plan," you say, your voice steadier now. “We need to walk, it's nearly 9pm and we can’t be out here like sitting ducks.”

“We’ll be walking all night, Y/N. I can’t do this, I can’t…I have an exam on Monday,” he whines, chest heaving up and down as he puts himself in a state of panic by thinking about the final assignments of his academic career - much to your dismay. His eyes dart around frantically as if looking for an escape route that isn’t there.

Out of all the things for him to worry about, his exam should not be taking priority. “Heeseung, that is the least of your concern. We killed a man, me and you - we can’t go back. What part of that do you not fucking understand? Do you seriously think I would be sitting in a dead car with you in the middle of fuck knows where if I could just go back to my flat and move on with my life?”

Your anger is flaring through your nostrils, each breath you take feeling like it’s stoking a fire inside you. The reality of the consequences to your predicament crashes over you in waves.

Heeseung’s face pales, and you can see him physically shrink back, his shoulders hunching as he tries to make himself smaller. He looks at you with wide, scared eyes, clearly cowed by your outburst. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, almost inaudibly, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear and guilt.

You take a moment to look at him and your heart breaks. He never asked for this, the same as you didn’t, so you shouldn’t be yelling at him as if this is all his fault, or that his feelings and worries are any less valid than your own, even if they are misplaced. He came to you looking to lose his virginity, not gain trauma and a criminal record - and that’s exactly what he got all because he saved you.

Closing your eyes, you rub your temples, trying to gather your thoughts. The night is closing in around you, the impending darkness feeling suffocating. The horizon is a blur of shadows, with the last traces of daylight fading into an oppressive twilight. You can’t afford to waste time arguing. You need to move, and you need to move now.

Pondering for a while, you realise your current state of dress isn’t helping the situation. Sitting in nothing but a robe with no bra and only lace panties underneath isn’t practical for a night trek, let alone safe. The robe, which barely provides any warmth or coverage, feels utterly inadequate against the encroaching chill. You glance at Heeseung, who’s still looking down, avoiding your gaze, biting the skin from his lip in anxiety.

“Heeseung,” you say more gently, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice. “Can I borrow your shirt?”

He looks up, confusion clouding his eyes for a moment before he registers your request. “Yeah, sure, anything,” he says, his voice tinged with desperation and a need to atone for his earlier mistake. He hurriedly rids himself of his plaid shirt, almost fumbling in his haste, and hands it over to you. His movements are frantic, a physical manifestation of his internal turmoil.

Even the way he says "anything" makes the guilt suppress the anger towards him. The boy is so sweet and gentle, you never knew someone like him could ever exist, not in this grotty city anyway.

You take your robe off, revealing your erect nipples to him once again, this time in a much less sexually charged atmosphere. The night air feels like icy fingers brushing against your skin, making you shiver involuntarily. With the sun disappearing to let the moon say hello, you rush to get the shirt on, shielding yourself from the settling cold. The plaid shirt, still warm from Heeseung's body heat, provides a semblance of comfort and much needed warmth amidst the chaos.

As you’re getting dressed in Heeseung’s shirt, he tries his best not to look at you and give you even a shred of privacy. He might have seen them earlier but that does not mean you consent to him catching a swatch right now. His gaze remains fixed on the ceiling of the car, his hands clenching and unclenching as he battles with his own thoughts.

But god, he can imagine them now, how perfect and delicious they looked, like something out of his wildest fantasies, the feeling of them cupped in his hands and how squishy they felt. Despite his efforts to maintain some decorum, the images linger in his mind, a thought he desperately tries to push aside. He’s biting the inside of his cheek and shuffling in his seat to adjust the twitch in his balls, he tries to focus on anything else, the guilt gnawing at him.

Once dressed, you notice how Heeseung’s shirt, though oversized, fits snugly enough to offer some semblance of modesty. The fabric, soft and slightly worn, smells faintly of him - a mix of soap and something uniquely his.

“Heeseung, we need to keep moving,” you say, your voice firm but gentle. He nods, swallowing hard but still avoiding your gaze. You can see him fidgeting in his seat, his hand tugging at the zipper of his jeans, seeking relief from the friction.

Stifling a laugh, grateful for the distraction, you snap your fingers playfully. “I know you have a bad case of blue balls, but we need to focus.”

Heeseung’s face turns a vivid shade of red as his eyes widen in shock, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. He can’t believe you noticed him fiddling with his trousers to alleviate the discomfort. Yet, just like you, he welcomes the distraction, though he would have preferred it to come from something less embarrassing.

“We need to ditch this car and find a motel or something,” you suggest determinedly, scanning the deserted road for any signs of life or guidance but there’s nothing but darkness.

You swing open the driver’s door and step onto the slightly damp grass, cringing internally at the cold, wet sensation between your bare toes as you circle around to the boot to rummage through your belongings. You always keep a bag of spare work clothes and some makeup in there for emergencies. In hindsight, you really should have packed proper clothes and not a tiny set of lingerie, but for now, Heeseung’s shirt paired with your six-inch heels will have to do.

As you slam the boot shut, you take a moment to look at your car, preparing yourself to say goodbye. This trusty vehicle has taken you across the country, creating memories filled with both joy and sorrow, all of which have shaped who you are today. This is just another memory to add to the collection, no matter how unpleasant.

You glance at your gleaming custom registration plate, panic rising within you. It’s a beacon, a glaring signal that could lead anyone straight to you. If they’re searching for you, it won’t take them long to find you with a plate like that. Stroking the hood of the car, you pout. “I’m so sorry for this, baby,” you whisper lovingly to the motor before bringing your stiletto down with a harsh crash against the metal. The pain shoots up your leg, but it’s the crack in your heart that hurts the most. You never imagined you’d have to hurt your precious car, let alone abandon it.

Heeseung hears the commotion and scrambles out, his eyes wide with alarm. He sees you attacking the back of the car, unaware of your intentions. Your face is flushed with exertion as you put all your might into battering the plate off its screws. Strands of hair fall out of your ponytail, which you angrily huff away. Despite himself, Heeseung finds this display of dominance strangely attractive. The way you assert control over the metal makes him wonder how you would have treated him if things had gone to plan.

The sight of your heels jamming into the rear only fuels his thoughts further. His mind races with images of you dominating a man, your heel tearing into his flesh like extinguishing a cigarette. The picture causes an ache in Heeseung’s groyne, making him shuffle uncomfortably. This feeling is something he’ll have to explore; perhaps once he gets past his virginity, he can figure out his kinks.

If he ever does lose it, that is.

“W-what are you doing?” he asks shyly, scared to break your concentration.

Huffing, you look up at him, seeing the bewilderment in his eyes. You can’t blame him, you must look deranged like a bull charging at a red flag. “I’m breaking these off so it buys us some time, just in case a cop car comes by,” you explain, wiping sweat from your brow. If you were cold before, you certainly aren’t now.

He watches you soothe your aching leg, his concern genuine and heartfelt. “You need to be careful, Y/N. You could hurt your ankle,” he states, his voice filled with worry.

You’re about to snap at him, but his soft expression and worried eyes make you relent. Taking a deep breath, you calm yourself before replying. “Can you get the one at the front, please?” Your voice is steady, though the aggression of your kick shows you’re not in the mood for further discussion. Heeseung nods and heads to the front of the car, obediently following your instructions.

Heeseung, slightly shaky but determined, crouches down to work on the front plate. You watch him, grateful for his cooperation despite the circumstances. The dim light from the casting moon creates long shadows, and the quiet night amplifies every sound: the rustle of leaves, the distant call of an owl, the metallic clinks as Heeseung fumbles with the screws. The whole scene feels surreal, as if you're in a suspenseful film.

Returning to the back of the car, you take a deep breath and assess the damage. The number plate is now hanging by one screw, bent and battered but still attached. You give it another firm kick, wincing as the stiletto heel digs into the metal. With a final tug, the plate comes off, and you toss it into the nearby bushes, hoping it will be concealed well enough to buy you some time.

“Heeseung, how’s it going up there?” you call out, trying to mask the urgency in your voice.

“Almost done,” he replies, his voice strained. A few moments later, he triumphantly holds up the front plate, looking to you for approval. You nod, giving him a small, encouraging smile. He seems so happy, like he just won a month of free rental at BlockBuster.

This is the first time you’ve seen him smile and it melts your heart, his toothy grin and smile lines accentuating the sun that seems to radiate from his face. He probably smiled like that all the time before all of this, you think to yourself with a pang of remorse.

Following your lead, he tosses it into the high bushes, listening to the rustling leaves as the metal cascades down the intertwined branches. He wipes the fallen paint and dust from his hands on his dark jeans and moves to the back of the car to reach you, his happiness dims a little as he sees you hobble slightly.

Before you can place the coveted bag on your shoulder, Heeseung clasps his big hand around the strap and steals it from you, wrapping it around his neck and shoulder so it can swing idly under his arm. You don’t get to protest at his snatching because he’s already walking forward, stirring up his energy for the long walk ahead.

_____

You haven’t seen a single inch of light or hope in the past two hours of walking along the countryside. The skies, once adorned with a pale twilight, have now succumbed to the inky darkness of night. The narrow dirt path stretches endlessly before you, flanked by skeletal trees and picked-apart bushes. The cold, relentless and unforgiving, seeps into your bones, making each step more laborious than the last. The only sound accompanying your journey is the rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures.

Your soles are burning, a searing pain that intensifies with each agonising step. The God-forsaken heels feel like instruments of torture, biting into your feet and reducing your stride to a painful shuffle. Every uneven stone and hidden root sends jolts of agony through your body, making you wince involuntarily. The cold, having long breached the feeble barriers of Heeseung’s shirt, wraps around you like a cruel, invisible shroud.

Hunger gnaws at your insides, a relentless beast that roars louder with each passing minute. Your stomach grumbles an angry, persistent sound that echoes through the stillness. You're convinced Heeseung can hear it.

And he does.

Heeseung, walking beside you, casts worried glances in your direction. The concern in his eyes is unmistakable, a silent testament to his awareness of your suffering. He can see the pain etched across your face, the way your lips are pressed into a thin line of determination despite the evident exhaustion.

His gaze drops to your feet, noticing how you wince with every step. Your once resolute stride is now reduced to a limping hobble, the back of your shoes digging mercilessly into your sore, blistered skin. Your feet, barely able to withstand the pressure, threaten to give out beneath you. The muscles in your legs tremble with fatigue, each step a monumental effort that pushes you closer to your breaking point.

Heeseung's concern manifests in his actions; he slows his pace to match your faltering steps, offering a steadying hand when you stumble over an unseen obstacle. His presence is a small comfort, a reminder that you are not alone in this desolate landscape. His words, though few, are gentle and encouraging, urging you to hold on just a little longer.

Hating the sight of you in pain, Heeseung places a timid hand on your shoulder, causing you to pause in your steps. “Maybe you should take those off?” he suggests, eyes pointed down to your bruised feet.

“And walk along the British countryside that has needles and shit lying around?” you ask rhetorically, a bite in your voice due to the irritation you’re being overstimulated by, “Unless you want to swap, these heels are staying on.”

Despite only knowing you a few hours, he has grasped that you are a stubborn and independent woman who seldom takes help from those around her. You can hold your own against the world, not a single crutch to lean on; when Heeseung had offered you a piggyback a few miles back, you snapped at him, telling him that as much as you appreciate the gesture, you are not a child in need of comfort.

He never offered again.

That’s why even as he suggests a solution to your problem, he does it with a shaky voice. He has always been scared of women in general, so having to navigate around an angry and short-tempered one who is also hungry is something he is having a problem with.

“Look, I’m fine, Heeseung. Really, just st-”

Your sentence is interrupted by the distant sound of an engine. Both your and Heeseung’s eyes expand at the beautiful noise, each of you having similar thoughts that this could be your get out of jail free card. The sound grows louder, cutting through the oppressive silence of the night like a beacon of hope. Your heart leaps, adrenaline surging through your veins as the possibility of escape becomes tantalisingly real.

Quickly thinking, you unbutton the shirt that covers your most valuable assets in a situation like this and scoop your tits up slightly, to give you a more voluptuous look. You whip the bobble out from your hair and ruffle it to a bouncy state. The cold air hits your exposed skin, sending a shiver down your spine, but you ignore the discomfort, focusing instead on the potential saviour approaching.

Heeseung watches you, his eyes wide with a mixture of astonishment and anxiety. His mouth opens as if to protest, but no words come out. He’s torn between his instinct to protect and his hope that your plan might actually work. But you’re putting yourself in more danger by trying to lure the driver in with your body, and he can’t face whacking another person to ensure your safety.

“Y/N, what are you doing? People don’t do this anymore, not since the 70s,” he argues softly, trying to stand in your way as the headlights illuminate the dark road you walk on.

Pushing him to the side, you shake your head, plastering on a smile and sticking your thumb out. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, Heeseung. We need a lift and I’m making sure we get it,” you retort.

Granted, you have never hitchhiked in your life and the only reason you have an inch of knowledge on how to do this is through movies, some of which end up as well as Heeseung is imagining, but there are two of you and if today has taught you anything, you make a great team when it comes to defending yourself.

The vehicle comes into view, an old pickup truck, its paint chipped and weathered. It slows as it approaches, and for a brief moment, you hold your breath, praying that the driver will stop. With one final push attempt, you jump slightly, flailing your arms around as your bare breasts bounce freely under the shirt. If it doesn’t catch the driver's attention, it quickly catches Heeseung’s, who diverts his eyes up to the starry sky.

Luckily, your tits seem to work and the car pulls up beside you both, the engine purring softly and the exhaust pipe offering you a tiny blanket of warmth. The window rolls down to reveal a man, roughly your age or possibly younger, licking his lips and eyeing you up and down.

“Need a lift?” he asks casually, not bothering to even look at your face.

And Heeseung said it wouldn’t work.

“Yes, please!” you giggle, shifting into one of your many work personas, hiding the irritation and pain that you are in.

Stepping forward, Heeseung attempts to place a hand on your back to urge you to reconsider, perhaps ask the boy for directions and keep trudging forward on your own, but before he can, you are already clambering into the passenger seat, sinking into the comfort and taking the weight of your distressed feet.

Following your lead, even if it’s apprehensively, Heeseung climbs into the back, setting your bag on one of the seats as though it were a passenger itself. Although alarm bells are ringing in his mind, he appreciates the instant envelopment of contentment as his legs relax, the tingles from hours of walking and anxiety slowly leaving his limbs.

The warmth of the truck's interior is a stark contrast to the cold night outside, and you let out a sigh of relief as the heater's warm air washes over you. The driver puts the truck in gear and pulls back onto the road, the engine's hum vibrating around you as you slip into a relaxed state.

The driver glances at Heeseung in the rearview mirror, a curious look in his eyes. “Where are you two headed?” he asks.

“Is there a motel nearby?” Heeseung inquires, buckling his seatbelt with a mix of hope and caution.

Nodding, the man smiles. “There is one about 30 minutes away, just beside the memorial hall.”

The confirmation of a place to rest being within reaching distance makes Heeseung’s heart patter with relief. As you settle into your seat, you can’t help but notice the driver’s striking appearance. He is incredibly handsome, with jet-black hair that catches the faint glow of the dashboard lights, thick, dark eyebrows that frame his intense eyes, and a few beauty freckles scattered across his face that add to his rugged charm. His strong but gentle manner is magnetic, and you find yourself drawn to his presence.

You didn’t know people so gorgeous existed in this country, having thought Heeseung might have been the only exception. Yet, here you are, in a four-wheeler with probably two of the fittest men you’ve ever seen. You glance back at Heeseung, his sharp features softened by the warm glow of the truck’s interior lights. Despite the exhaustion etched on his face, there’s a calmness in his expression that wasn’t there before, a quiet acceptance of the situation.

The driver’s gaze flickers to you occasionally, a hint of curiosity mixed with lust. “You don’t look like you belong here, baby girl,” he says, his voice low and smooth, carrying an undercurrent of intrigue.

Twirling your hair with your pointer finger, you bat your eyelashes and smile sheepishly, becoming the woman most men want you to be, and for him, you just might submit to the role. “Is it that obvious?” you say, giggling softly and biting your lip seductively. “I could say the same to you…” Trailing off, you subtly ask for his name, your voice dripping with playful curiosity.

“Sunghoon,” he replies, his name rolling off his tongue with a confident ease. He extends a hand, which you happily take, intending to shake it, but instead, he lifts the back of your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles. The unexpected gesture sends a shiver through you, making butterflies erupt in your stomach.

The warmth of his touch lingers long after he releases your hand. Sunghoon’s eyes hold yours for a moment longer, a silent exchange of mutual attraction that leaves you feeling both exhilarated and slightly off-balance.

“I’m Y/N, and this is Heeseung,” you offer your names casually, still swimming in his allure. You had set off with the intention that he would fall for you and give you the lift, but now that you’re here, you feel like a bunny trapped by the bear.

Heeseung shifts slightly in the back seat, his eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon. The moment is not lost on him, but he says nothing, simply watching with a guarded expression. He isn’t jealous of your interaction with Sunghoon per se; it’s more that he is envious of how easily the driver has put you under a spell. The boy’s charm even captivates him a little bit, watching as Sunghoon’s eyes return to the road with not an ounce of trepidation or fear of you.

That is who he wants to be, everything that Sunghoon is. He probably has girlfriends and lovers coming out of his ears, all probably just as equally as beautiful as you. It makes Heeseung recoil a little in the seat because the only reason he has been able to talk to you so freely is because of your trauma-bonding experience and the fact he has been stuck with you in the same car for hours.

You and Sunghoon continue to converse for the whole journey, flirting so blatantly that Heeseung starts taking mental notes on how to talk to women just to pass the time; he wishes he had brought his notebook with him. Sunghoon’s easy laughter and smooth compliments weave a web of enchantment, and you find yourself responding with a level of flirtation that surprises even you.

In the distance, you start to see lights shining and you instinctively lean forward, your body craving the need of a grungy motel and some much-needed rest, even if it is only for a few hours. The neon sign flickers invitingly, casting a welcoming glow over the worn facade of the building.

Sunghoon notices your movement and smiles. “We’re almost there,” he says, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

The truck slows as it approaches the motel, and Sunghoon skillfully navigates into the parking lot. He parks and turns to you with a warm, lingering gaze. “Here we are. I hope this place meets your needs.” His tone is sultry, his eyes hooded as they drop to your cleavage.

You lean over, placing a hand on his chest, your fingers crawling their way along his left pec as you move in closer. Your lips are now so close to his that you can feel his warm breath fanning over your face. “Thank you, Sunghoon. You’re the best,” you murmur, your voice low and seductive. You close the distance and press your lips to his and he eagerly responds, his large hand cupping your face and pulling you closer to deepen the kiss.

Sunghoon's tongue swiftly makes its way to play with yours, licking into your mouth with measured ease. The kiss is hot and intense, and if you weren’t on the run for murder and a certain virgin wasn’t in the backseat, you might have taken things further right there in the truck.

But that wasn’t your plan. You had something else in mind.

Heeseung watches with his jaw slack and mouth open. He knows how good your lips feel and how skilful you are with your tongue, having experienced it firsthand. His eyes widen with a mix of awe and something else - perhaps envy or longing - as he observes the passionate exchange between you and Sunghoon.

After what feels like both an eternity and a heartbeat, you pull back, your lips tingling from the kiss. “We should get inside, get some rest,” you whisper, your voice breathy. Sunghoon nods, his eyes still locked on yours. “Thanks for everything, Hoonie,” you say, the nickname rolling off your tongue and making Sunghoon close his eyes in want.

“If I didn’t have to keep driving, I would be coming with you, fucking you so good,” he admits, his voice low and husky. The rawness of his words shocks Heeseung, but you seem unfazed by the idea; rather, you look a little disappointed.

Despite your feelings, you smile and place one more kiss on his lips before waving him goodbye in some sort of hurry. You step out of the car and slam the door behind you with ease. The sound and vibration jolt Heeseung out of his horny trance before he quickly thanks Sunghoon, picking up your bag and following suit, albeit a lot more clumsily than you.

You send him off one final time as his truck pulls out of the motel parking lot. You grin widely and hide the shooting pain that has found its way back to the sole of your feet. God, you cannot wait to get into a room and take the heels of death off.

Turning to Heeseung, you see him looking at the poster underneath the illuminated ‘open’ sign. His face is contorted in a mix of horror and dread, his tongue coming out of his mouth to wet his parched lips as he begins to overheat with worry. “What is it?” you ask, puzzled.

“The motel,” he starts, pointing to the board before him, “It’s £40 a night and we only have £20.”

Smirking, you look up at him innocently before rustling something in your hand, bringing it up to his face as a badge of honour. “No, we don’t.”

Heeseung’s eyes leave the board to meet yours but are quickly pulled astray by the notes that sit snugly between two of your fingers. He has to blink a few times before he truly accepts what he is seeing - at least £80 in tens and twenties invades his vision. “When did you…” he trails off, examining the money closely.

“Sunghoon owed me for the kiss,” you shrug, placing the money in your breast pocket while making your way to the entrance of the motel.

Stuttering, Heeseung carefully grabs your arm and pulls you back before you can enter the building. “Y/N, you stole from him, that’s not okay. He helped us out and you robbed him.” His voice is stern but lacks the confidence to back it up, so it comes across as a little pathetic. Although his conviction is feeble, his morals have always taken precedence over anything else, even in moments like this, he cannot sit by and watch you do this so casually.

“Heeseung,” you shove his hand off your arm, “It’s not like I wanted to steal it, okay? But we are desperate and need it way more than he does. We can’t be law-abiding citizens when we literally murdered a man,” you whisper, eyes pleading with him to see your side of the tracks.

And he does somewhat; he agrees that you guys are in a tough situation and resources won’t come easily to you, but he also thinks there have to be better ways to go about this. Relenting, Heeseung nods. “Okay, this one is fine because we need it, but we have to remember that just because that happened in the hotel room doesn’t mean we need to start acting like we’re criminals. We should still keep our values, Y/N.”

You see the worry etched on his face, his eyes pleading for you to agree. “I know, Heeseung. I promise I’ll try to find better ways,” you say, your voice softer, trying to convey your understanding.

Heeseung exhales deeply, tension easing slightly from his shoulders. “Alright, let’s just get inside and get a room. We can figure things out tomorrow.”

Stepping into the motel foyer instantly blasts you with warmth and the smell of mould, the interior is shabby and the once-white walls are stained yellow with what you can only presume is cigarette smoke. The carpet is damp and you can hear it squelch underneath your heel, the light above the reception desk flickers. Despite all this, it feels like you’re at the Ritz right now due to the exhaustion flowing through your body.

The reception desk is manned by an older man reading the paper, his hair white thinning atop his scalp, his beard in desperate need of a wash, and the remnants of his midnight snack splattered on his light blue shirt.

He doesn’t notice you at first, his nose too far pressed into yesterday’s edition of the Daily Mail to pay attention. Gingerly, you knock on the desk in an attempt to draw his focus to you and Heeseung, but to no avail. Too tired to start a fight about respect, you decide to speak politely.

“Um, can we have a room, please?” you ask, pushing down the disgust you feel towards the man.

Grunting, he reaches for a key with a brown, leather tag on it before throwing it to Heeseung, who scrambles to catch it. The key jumps from one hand to another as though it was hot as lava, eliciting a panicked state within him.

The man points down a dark hallway. “Condoms are in the vending machine at the end. Use one or I’ll charge you for the sheets,” his hoarse voice instructs, clearly assuming you are both there for something other than sleep. To be fair, it is almost 1am, you’re dressed provocatively, and Heeseung is carrying a tiny travel bag. Although you hate the assumption because it is literally none of his business, you bite your tongue and go with it.

Snapping his fingers, he holds his hand out, eyes glued to an article about how the internet is the first step to alien abduction. Heeseung looks at the man with cruel intent, wishing he were stronger and more confident to cuss the receptionist out for treating you with zero regard.

You throw the two £20 notes at him with the same lack of enthusiasm he gave you and walk towards the room that you know is ridiculously overpriced for what you’ll be given.

And unfortunately for you, it is.

As you open the door and switch on the light, your eyes come across a room so bad that you wouldn’t even let your worst enemy spend a night there. Stains cover the walls, a mixture of blood and piss, though you aren’t quite sure which is which. The ceiling light is half hanging down and flickering rapidly, making it hard for your eyes to focus. The bed sheets are an ugly geometric pattern, clearly chosen to hide whatever atrocities have been conceived within these four walls.

A sour, musty smell permeates the air, a blend of mildew and neglect. The carpet looks damp, suggesting that it’s soaked up more than just water over the years. You gingerly make your way to the bed, pulling back the covers to reveal dingy, threadbare sheets that have seen far better days.

Heeseung stands awkwardly in the doorway, looking around the room with wide eyes. “This place is... something else,” he mutters, the understatement of the century.

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to keep your voice light despite the overwhelming urge to retch. “But at least we have a roof over our heads for the night.”

Heeseung nods, though his expression remains dubious. He drops the bag near the foot of the bed and wanders around the room, looking for any cameras of rats hiding in plain sight. “We’ll make do,” he says, more to reassure himself than you. He has been in far too many dodgy hotels in the last 24 hours.

You sit on the end of the bed, groaning as you take off your heels, your toes happily wiggling with freedom as they thump in agonising pain. Now that you have a moment to relax, your feet are developijg their own heartbeat, banging against your nerves as they scream in pain.

Heeseung notices the blisters, some just forming and some already burst. There are dark purple bruises on the base of your foot which has now turned bright crimson. He knew the heels were damaging your feet but he never expected it to look like a massacre - it looks like your feet have been put in a shredder during a workplace accident and he’s ready to call on your behalf for some compensation.

“Are you okay?” he asks, knowing the answer already.

“I’m okay, I just need to let them breathe for a minute,” you reply, massaging your feet before they begin to swell any further.

Finding the bathroom, he rummages around for something while you ease your pain. You accidentally run your thumbs too harshly over one of the forming blisters and yelp out, tears pricking your eyes.

Heeseung comes out from the bathroom, sees a tear slip past your cheek, and instantly shifts into caring mode. He kneels before you, taking the foot that you are grasping and gently lifting it up, pressing a cold compress to your wounds. While he was in the bathroom, he found a face cloth and dampened it, hoping the cooling sensation will somehow ease the pain you’re feeling.

He washes your feet with so much care that it makes your heart do a front flip, the feeling of someone looking after you is almost so foreign that your body doesn’t know how to take it. You could have guessed Heeseung was the caring type, what with how he offered to carry you until you found a place to rest or how he took your bag from your grasp so you had one less thing to worry about. He was so gentle that you mourn all the women who missed out on him because he was too shy.

After a few minutes of silence, Heeseung speaks up. “It’s impressive,” he states simply, keeping his eyes and hands on the task of easing your pain.

Tilting your head, you look at him quizically, “What is?”

“Being able to walk in heels. Particularly ones like those.” His head points to the devil shoes beside him, shuddering at even the thought of you having to put them back on at some point.

“I think you would look good in them, or maybe a pair of Mary Janes is more your style?” you laugh, albeit followed by a suppressed wince as he tries to press out a knot in the arch of your sole.

Heeseung cocks an eyebrow and scoffs. “You might as well give me a pair of stilts, I’d do a better job with them.”

The casual conversation is desperately needed, the tension in your bones slowly fading as you relax. There hasn’t been time to breathe or process anything that has happened, or even share a normal conversation with Heeseung, your minds too busy focusing on getting away with murder, so you welcome the moment to breathe.

Your feet are beginning to feel better, his magical touch is bringing the nerves in your feet back to a normal state. “You’re good at this,” you say fondly, admiring his work.

“One of my friends is a football player, he asks me to do this all the time for him,” he says, sharing a piece of his life with you.

“Was that the one on the phone when you called me?”

“No, that was Jongseong. He would rather play guitar than play football,” he smiles, thinking of his friend. But that gleeful smile quickly fades into a sorrowful one as he remembers there is a high possibility that he will never see his best friend again.

The boy he has grown up with, the one he used to play basketball with at the park just by the rundown council estate, the scheme he used to call home. He won’t ever get to taste his cooking again or wear matching pyjamas on sleepover nights that they host because ‘it looks so much fun when girls do it’, and he certainly won’t get to hug him again when he needs someone to lean on; the boy is his saving grace and he can’t even speak to him about all of this.

Heeseung’s breath shakes as he thinks about the implications of his actions. What if Jongseong sees him differently after all of this? Will he believe that it was all in self-defence? Surely after knowing one another for nearly 20 years would warrant some understanding or rationalising.

Quickly, Heeseung clears his throat and shakes his head, blinking back his tears as he stands up and avoids your eyes. You’re confused for a moment but then you observe the upset features and understand. You don’t have friends or family so talking about them would have little to no effect on you or your mind, but Heeseung must have had a bustling friend group and a supportive family, talking about Jongseong must have triggered something inside him, an awakening to the situation that you both find yourselves in.

Reaching out, you try to take his hand but he moves away before you can offer him any solace, heading towards the bathroom. “I’m…going to shower,” he informs you, already making his way to the mould and limescale-filled bathroom.

Unfortunately, the silence he has left in his wake now allows you to dwell in your own dark thoughts. Rather than what Heeseung is feeling regarding friends and family, you’re having to process the fact that while he will have people searching for him, clearing his name because he is ‘too sweet’ and ‘gentle’ to do such a thing, no one will bat an eyelid at you or your character.

You’re a sex worker with no real goals or aspirations, just trying your hardest to get by. No family because they’re either dead or won’t speak to you, the only friends you have are those in the brothel but they quietly distanced themselves once you left, envious of the independent life you chose while they work for half their earnings and have no such thing as flexibility to pick and choose.

When the news eventually breaks out, what will they say? ‘Prostitute Turned a Good Boy Bad in Sexual Murder Fantasy’? You’ll be pinned for all the blame but not for the right reason. Heeseung protected you by murdering that man, he has run away for you so you don’t get caught and charged. He could have gotten away with this, pleaded self-defence just like he said yet you’re the one that forced him to run with you for your selfish reasons.

This is all your fault.

As the weight of your situation crashes down on you, a tear escapes your glossy eyes. You catch it quickly, composing yourself before Heeseung returns. You are determined not to show your weak side too much in front of him; you have to be strong for both of you. God knows his kind and wholesome nature isn’t up for carrying the burdens that this journey will entail.

Hearing the water turn off, you quickly wipe your eyes and sit up straighter, putting on a brave face. It’s difficult to be tough in these situations but for your sanity and hit, you will have to.

Emerging from the shower, Heeseung is draped in a low-hanging towel, his toned tummy now fully visible to you for the first time. His skin is a delicious shade of honey and whiskey and the water droplets running from his chest to his pubic area make it look sweet and inviting. His muscles aren’t overly prominent but just enough to flex and reveal some veins, and his stature somehow looks longer, taller than when he is clothed.

You can’t help but admire the sight before you, feeling an involuntary tug of desire. The damp hair clings to his forehead, and the fresh scent of soap mingles with the steam still lingering from the shower. He looks almost ethereal in the dim light, a contrast to the grimy room surrounding you both.

Your mind drifts to a tantalising fantasy - crawling towards him, begging him to let you take his virginity right here on the filthy, stained bed. The thought sends a shiver down your spine but you know there is a time and a place for such thoughts, and now isn’t ideal.

He pats some of the water from his left ear before shaking his hair like a dog coming in from the rain. Pushing his hair back, he catches you staring at him and immediately blushes, a tint of rose travelling from his neck to his cheeks.

“Sorry, I should have put my clothes back on,” he says bashfully, quickly retreating to the bathroom to grab his boxers.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts and respond to his statement. “No, no. We only have one set of clothes each, so it’s best we don’t sleep in them for now,” you say, offering a pragmatic approach to the sleepwear arrangement.

Taking off his shirt from your body, you stand up and hand it to him. “Thank you for letting me borrow this. I might need it again tomorrow though.” You walk over to him, handing the material back.

His eyes hover on your chest for a second before quickly looking away, careful not to meet your gaze or make eye contact with your erect nipples. Inside, his internal monologue is screaming at even the prospect of seeing your boobs again, but just like in the car, he wants to remain respectful.

You cock your head in surprise at his reaction, not understanding why he won’t even spare you a glance. Looking down at your bare chest, you inhale in understanding and let out a small, huffed laugh. “Heeseung, you were holding my tits not even 14 hours ago, you can look at them.”

“I know, but I still need to be respectful,” he replies, his eyes still not daring to look at any part of your body. It’s not that he doesn’t want to; it’s simply the fact that he wants you to feel comfortable. And how comfortable can a woman be with a man’s prying eyes all over her?

Heeseung might be the most considerate man you have ever met, so hearing him say even the word respect in your presence fills your heart with warmth.

“Do you want me to put it back on?” you ask, waving the shirt in his face. You also have to respect him, and if he’s uncomfortable with you being topless, you need to honour his wishes.

Those Bambi eyes come out once again as he shakes his head. “No, if you’re comfortable, then so am I.”

You smile at his genuine concern. The room’s dim light casts soft shadows on his face, accentuating his gentle features. “You really are something else, Heeseung. You’re so sweet,” you say softly, feeling a sense of comfort in his presence.

Heeseung’s blush deepens, and he shifts slightly, clearly not used to receiving compliments. “I just want you to feel safe,” he mumbles, his eyes still focused on anything but you.

“Thank you,” you reply sincerely. Reaching up to his cheek, you gently pull him to look at you. “I haven’t felt this safe in a long time.”

It’s true. Sure, you might have the police on your trail by now and there is no working lock on the motel room door, but with Heeseung, you feel protected, even if just emotionally. And as Heeseung leans into your touch, you know he feels the same.

If there was anyone to be in this nightmare with, you’re glad it’s him.

“Why don’t we go to bed?” you suggest, pinching his cheek ever so slightly before removing your hand from his face. His cheek wishes to follow you, to keep the heat and easement of its touch, the cold air from the draught now washing over him uncomfortably but that could be due to the fact that he is still only in a towel.

“You don’t want to shower? It might help your feet,” the boy suggests.

“No, I just…I need to rest right now.” The thought of going in for a shower and spending any more time on your feet makes your skin crawl. You’ll shower in the morning but right now, you need to lie down and drift out of this nightmare, even if only for a couple of hours.

Heeseung nods, trying to muster a smile despite the obvious discomfort from the chill and the situation. He stands, turning away slightly to hide his lingering embarrassment as he slips into his boxers, leaving his upper body bare. He twists to turn the overhead light off and makes his way to the uncomfortable bed.

You, meanwhile, pull the blanket up and over your shoulders, creating a small cocoon of warmth and a barrier between your tits and his eyes, just in case he overheats at the sight of them in his face. As you settle in, you can’t help but glance at Heeseung, his body now framed by the dim light of the moonlight and his ass is just peachy enough to make you want to grab it. He slips under the blanket beside you before your mind can wander away once again, careful to maintain a respectful distance.

The bed is small, forcing you both closer than you might have intended but the shared warmth is a welcome relief from the chill. You can hear the steady rhythm of Heeseung’s breathing, a sound that somehow manages to soothe your frayed nerves. He turns his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours and you offer him a reassuring smile.

Heeseung can’t help but admire your beauty, your eyes that speak of the strong woman you are, how you have handled yourself so well throughout all of this, and yet he can still see the vulnerability in your pupils. He believes that there isn’t a woman as beautiful as you in this entire world and he wishes under different circumstances things could be different for both of you.

With a trembling hand, he reaches to push the strayed hairs from your face, a caring gesture that your heart isn’t acquainted with. His fingertips ghost your forehead so lightly that a butterfly could do more damage. You smile and find your body melting, even if only slightly, caving into the comfort.

He smiles back at you, a little more confident in his touch once he sees you visibly at ease. He won’t let you know how much his heart is racing or how the water from his back is out of nervous sweating and not the lukewarm shower he just took. He is nervous to even be in this bed with you, yet he knows you don’t need to hear about that right now, you just need someone to lean on and Heeseung will make damn sure to be that person for you.

“Heeseung?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m really sorry,” you begin, voice breaking a tiny bit as you apologise to him. “This is all my fault and I dragged you into this mess. You should be sitting that exam on Monday and you sure as fuck shouldn’t be with me in this shithole of a motel, god knows how far away from home.”

Your words make Heeseung’s heart break, the cracks allowing his empathy to seep through into his touch. His hand cups your face, his thumb gently stroking the apples of your cheeks, each caress a silent kiss of reassurance.

“Y/N, you couldn’t have known all of this was going to happen,” he says softly, his voice laced with sympathy. He knows you’ll shoulder the blame, even though you never asked for the brute of a man to almost murder you.

Your hand covers his, and you clasp it, bringing it to rest between you both. “I think I did, in some way. He didn’t take it very well when I told him to shove his money and never come back.” The memory of the man’s red-clad face and angry words winces in your chest as you speak.

“What did he do? Did he…hurt you?” Heeseung swallows the last part of the sentence, already aware of the horrors that can happen in your line of work. His heart sinks into his stomach as you sit in silence, contemplating what to tell him. Part of him wishes he hadn’t asked, fearing the confirmation that the man’s earlier attack wasn’t his first attempt to harm you. Heeseung might have approached this life with pure intentions, but he knows other men certainly do not.

You look down at your interlocked hands and squeeze his fingers tightly. “He was a nice guy at first, paid well and always respected my boundaries. Then one day, he asked me to do something I wasn’t comfortable with, almost forcing me to,” you choke back the tear-filled lump in your throat and close your eyes, the memory overwhelming you. You haven’t spoken out loud about what happened, making it difficult to process emotionally.

Seeing you struggle internally, Heeseung brings your hand to his mouth and kisses it softly, taking a leaf from Sunghoon’s book in an attempt to console you. The meaning behind his gesture compared to the drivers is vastly different and you can even feel it in how tenderly his lips press on your knuckles.

There is a rumble in your chest as you look at Heeseung who is staring back at you with a shy grin, hoping that his attempt to comfort you has worked. Somehow, it has, and the tears that threatened to spill now make their way back to the ducts as you blink them away. It’s amazing how quickly a simple comforting touch can change the direction of your emotions. As quickly as you want to break down and succumb to the negative emotions, Heeseung has turned the plane around into overwhelming thankfulness.

Breathing in, you compose yourself again and return his smile. “Thank you. I’m really okay,” liar, “I’m just…sorry I got you into this mess and took you away from your friends and family.”

"Hey, stop apologising. This is no one’s fault but that scum of a dickhead,” Heeseung replies almost instantly, not giving you a chance to take the blame any longer.

You unclasp your hand from his and tuck his long hair behind his ear. His face instantly reddens at the intimate action, the blush spreading rapidly across his cheeks. How he swallows dryly and closes his eyes to calm himself down makes you giggle. “You really haven’t been around girls, have you?” you ask with one eyebrow raised, genuinely curious. You believe him, but you also don’t understand how someone so attractive and kind-hearted has gone 22 years without catching the interest of even one girl.

“No, I haven’t,” he admits, his voice matter-of-fact. But as he sees your eyes urging him to elaborate, he continues, “You’re all just so amazing and beautiful that even thinking about you all puts me in a cold sweat. Every time I talk to a girl, I stutter.”

“Well, with how sweet you are and how big your cock is, you’re doing my kind a disservice here,” you chuckle and he soon follows, although his titter is one filled with nerves due to you mentioning his cock, never mind complimenting it.

Even this subtle moment of laughter eases the sadness that engulfs the small, suffocating room. Your body relaxes instantly as you share the tender moment, the worries subsiding if only for a few seconds. You truly believe that with Heeseung here with you, there might be a white light at the end of the tunnel.

“We will get through this, yeah?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly, betraying the nerves beneath your bravado.

Heeseung, lying beside you, feels an overwhelming rush of emotion at your words. The term ‘we’ makes his knees buckle and his body melt, even in his reclined position. The idea that you are now a ‘we’ fills him with a strange pride; it feels right. In the midst of the chaos and uncertainty, this newly formed bond with you is the one thing that makes sense.

Taking your hand gently, he brings it up from under the covers, the warmth of your touch grounding him. He holds out his pinky, a simple yet powerful gesture of solidarity, and intertwines it with yours. “Together,” he murmurs, his voice steady and filled with conviction for the first time since you met.

You squeeze his pinky, conveying a depth of emotion that words cannot. The weight of the world still presses down on you both but in this moment you feel a sense of unity and strength that gives you hope.

Heeseung's gaze softens as he looks at you, his eyes reflecting the unspoken promises and shared resolve between you. “We’ll face whatever comes,” he continues, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. We’ll find a way through this.”

A lump forms in your throat, deeply moved by his sincerity. “Thank you, Heeseung,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “For everything.”

You lean forward and press a tender kiss to his lips, shocking him still before he responds. His lips are soft and warm against yours, and you can feel the initial surprise melt into a gentle acceptance. He moves his lips timidly against your gentle motions, embracing your bottom lip between his. When you pull back, your foreheads rest against each other, and you can feel his breath, a soft, comforting rhythm against your skin.

Heeseung's eyes flutter open, filled with a mixture of awe and tenderness. “Y/N,” he breathes, his voice low. “I... I don’t....”

“I won’t charge you for that one, don’t worry,” you joke, eyes shrinking in size as you smile at him with adoration.

“You can add it to my bill,” he jabs back, the ease between you both settling softly in his heart. He’s in this with you for however long you can both keep running; he’ll never run out of breath with you by his side.

You both settle back down, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with you. As you lie there, facing one another, the connection between you creates a sanctuary, a haven amid the storm..

“Goodnight, Heeseung,” you murmur, your eyes closing as sleep begins to pull you under.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replies softly, pressing another nervous gentle kiss to your forehead, hoping you don’t mind it. “Sweet dreams.”

_____

It has been three days since you and Heeseung embarked on this desperate journey. The days blur together into a surreal montage of fleeting rides in strangers’ cars, restless nights spent in makeshift shelters, and scavenging through lost and found bins for essentials. The denim booty shorts were a tight fit, the crop top strained against your curves, and the trainers were a comically mismatched pair that made walking more of a challenge than usual. But they were clothes and that counted for something; you’re just thankful to keep your heels firmly off your feet.

On the plus side, the witch hunt hasn’t caught up with you yet. There have been no news articles or TV broadcasts with your faces plastered on them, which means the authorities are probably still focusing their search on your home city. Maybe they think you’re hiding out somewhere familiar, not realising you’ve already slipped away. There’s also a slight comfort in knowing you’re not their top priority, what with a lunatic serial killer on the loose taking up most of their attention. The murder of a local cheater seems low on their list, giving you a small, but temporary, reprieve.

But you can’t afford to get too comfortable. It’s only a matter of time before they widen their search and your faces become recognisable as wanted criminals. Every day, you wake up with a jolt, wondering if today will be the day they catch up to you. Fear is a constant companion.

You’ve settled into a rough routine. By day, you move from place to place, never staying too long in one spot. By night, you find whatever shelter you can and try to get some rest. Sleep doesn’t come easy, not with the constant worry of being found, but having Heeseung beside you helps. You take turns keeping watch and your trust in each other grows stronger with each passing day.

There’s an unspoken bond between you now, forged by the hardships you’ve faced together. You’ve seen each other at your lowest, your most vulnerable, and yet there’s a strength in that vulnerability. You’ve learned to rely on each other in ways you never thought possible, and it’s this reliance that keeps you going, even when everything else seems bleak.

Heeseung has also gotten over the virgin nerves and talks to you casually, the stuttering and awkward glances to you now significantly less.However, his newfound ease doesn’t extend to other girls. One driver you hitched a ride from was a beautiful brunette with tanned skin and tattoos along her neck. At first, you thought he might have been nervous due to her rugged appearance, but that was quickly debunked when you caught him fumbling over his sentences, even when she asked for something as simple as his name. He was clearly taken aback by her beauty. You can't help but slightly miss how he used to be like that around you, though you have more pressing concerns at the moment.

As you both approach a convenience store, you turn to Heeseung. "Do we have enough money to buy ciggies?"

Heeseung sighs, shaking his head. "No, we don’t. We used the last £2 we had on the bottles of water and that pack of Opal Fruits," he replies, the defeat in his voice palpable. The thought of no more delicious fruit-flavoured cubed treats to munch on for a burst of energy or to get the taste of dehydration from his mouth makes him want to whine out like a displeased child.

The convenience store is a small, rundown building with flickering lights. As you step inside, the smell of stale bread and cleaning detergent hits you. The fluorescent lights cast a harsh glare on the faded linoleum floor. You glance around, hoping to find something cheap enough to stave off your hunger, but your pockets are painfully empty.

Heeseung starts browsing the shelves, his eyes lingering on the snacks and drinks you can't afford. You both know stealing isn’t an option - not between Heeseung’s morals and the possibility that getting caught could mean the end of your freedom. Still, the gnawing hunger and the need for a smoke make it hard to ignore the tempting sight of cigarettes behind the counter.

You notice Heeseung's gaze fixed on a pack of Hobnob biscuits, his expression is a mix of longing and resignation. “Maybe we can find some loose change outside,” he suggests half-heartedly, already knowing it’s a long shot. None of you have found even 20p in all the time you’ve been walking.

The shopkeeper, a grumpy-looking old man with glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose, eyes you both suspiciously, your raggy clothes and dishevelled appearance enough to put any shop owner on high alert. You try to ignore the weight of his stare, feeling more like fugitives with each passing second.

"Let's just go," you mutter, pulling Heeseung towards the door. "We'll figure something out."

Outside, the scorching sun beats down relentlessly, turning the air into a furnace that makes your skin tingle and your clothes cling uncomfortably. There’s not much around besides the convenience store, a few gas pumps, and an old, forgotten bus stop that provides a meagre shelter from the blistering heat. Exhausted and desperate, you flop down onto the narrow seat of the bus stop, letting out a sigh of relief tinged with despair.

Resting your head against the plastic shelter, you shield your eyes from the glaring sun with your hand. In a swift move, Heeseung positions himself in front of you, casting a cool shadow that eases the strain on your eyes. The reprieve is brief but welcome in this sweltering heat.

While taking a moment to catch your breath, something catches your eye - a flyer hanging askew on the bus stop wall. It flutters in the hot breeze, its edges worn and corners curling from exposure to the elements. You reach out and grab it, fingers brushing against the weathered paper. Despite its faded appearance, the bold, colourful graphics are still discernible, and your heart skips a beat as you read the headline:

��Saturn Club: Where the Stars Align for a Stellar Time.”

Your eyes widen as you scan the flyer. It's an advertisement for a local strip club, promising quick cash for performers. The advert is as though it was made for you, what with all the countless times you’ve had to do strip teases for clients.

"Heeseung, look at this," you say, handing him the flyer with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "There is a strip club not far from here!” you exclaim. Never in your life did you think you would be so happy to see a strip club in rundown Britain, yet, it might as well be a casino in Vegas for you both right now.

Taking the poster from your hand, Heeseung inspects it carefully and his brows furrow in contemplation between concern and pragmatic consideration. “Y/N, this…are you sure? The men at these places can get pretty handsy.”

“I’m a sex worker, Heeseung, all I know is handsy,” you laugh, still elated by the idea of earning enough money to survive even just a little longer. “It’s only one night and the least I ever made was £300.”

Heeseung sighs, torn between his protective instincts and the harsh reality of your current situation. The thought of you subjected to the leering eyes and groping hands of strangers doesn't sit well with him, but he knows you both need the money urgently, and he can’t exactly argue that £300, or even £50, wouldn’t do you both the world of good.

"We need the money," you add softly, seeing the turmoil in his eyes. "And right now, this might be our best shot. Let me do this."

Heeseung nods reluctantly, handing the flyer back to you. "Okay, if this is what we have to do," his voice is tinged with resignation. Deep down, he wishes there were another way, a safer way for you to earn the cash you need.

“You need to sell me though,” you say, already trying to fix your hair in the reflection of the shelter window panes.

Tilting his head, he looks at you quizzically. “What the hell do you mean ‘sell’ you.”

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before explaining. "I mean, I have to look appealing, desirable. These places thrive on attraction, Heeseung. Men only want what they think is in high demand," you say earnestly, meeting his concerned gaze. "So I need you to present me to the owner, assuming it's a man. Tell him that I'm highly wanted all over South London. That should seal the deal."

Wanted was not an intentional word choice but technically then, Heeseung wasn’t lying. You technically are wanted.

“You mean you want me to pimp you out?” he gasps, clutching onto your bag with might as he fathoms the idea. He doesn’t want to ‘sell’ you, he wants you to go in there, sit on a few laps and then dip.

But when he looks into your pleading eyes, he knows there is no point in arguing with you. You’re going to that club whether he likes it or not, he might as well support you, protect you. Although he doesn’t know if he’ll be any use, you do a damn good job at that all on your own.

Heeseung takes a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Alright," he says, his voice more resolute. "Let's do this. But I'll be right there with you, okay? I'm not leaving your side for a second."

“Good, you can watch me in action,” you smile, winking as you begin the walk to the sleazy club.

_____

After a twenty-minute walk and Heeseung running his fingers through your hair to make it look presentable, you both stand outside Saturn strip club. The sign above the entrance flickers with an image of a planet and rings, casting an ethereal blue and orange glow that adds to the futuristic atmosphere. Despite it being only late afternoon, the music is already blaring, and the car park is packed with vehicles, a testament to the club's popularity; which means more money for you and Heeseung.

Grabbing your hand, Heeseung pulls you back before you head to the bouncer, causing you to whip around. His iris’ gleam with apprehension as he eyes you one last time. “If anyone touches you or does something you don’t like, give me a signal and I’ll be the first one there,” he says calmly, though his voice box shakes slightly. It’s one thing to imagine you in an uncomfortable predicament, but somehow knowing he is benefiting from this too makes him feel queasy.

You squeeze his hand reassuringly, the warmth of his touch grounding you. “I promise, you’ll be the first I run to,” you say, offering him a wide grin to ease his nerves. You want him to know that you’re ready for whatever lies behind those black double doors.

Heeseung nods, taking a deep breath as he lets you go. The bouncer gives you a brief nod and opens the door, letting you both step inside the entrance area of the club. The interior is even more dazzling than you anticipated, with laser lights cutting through artificial smoke, creating an atmosphere that feels otherworldly. You wouldn’t think it was broad daylight outside, so much so you have to adjust your eyes.

An eager host comes up to greet you, her eyes already trained on Heeseung only. She is gorgeous, more beautiful than you could ever imagine being which makes you wonder how on earth she ended up in a place like this.

You take her in, unable to resist admiring her curves in the skimpy outfit she clearly chose to maximise tips. She is adorned in white leather, her bra providing minimal coverage and accentuating her cleavage. Pastel pink buckles run along the seams of the cups, matching the pretty pink buckled collar around her neck. The bottom half of her outfit is equally provocative: a white leather thong, complemented by pink straps on either side of her hips. Her thighs are wrapped in matching buckled straps that draw your gaze directly to the intricate cherry blossom tattoo on her thigh. The overall effect is mesmerising, her outfit both alluring and carefully crafted to captivate attention.

And attention she has gained, particularly from your tall companion, whose mouth hangs open as he twists his neck, a telltale sign of his overstimulation. The girl places her hands on his chest, rubbing his pecs slightly, her touch both confident and teasing. Heeseung's eyes widen, his breath hitching as he tries to process the sudden intimacy. The girl smirks, clearly enjoying the effect she has on him, her fingers tracing gentle patterns over his shirt.

"What's your name, handsome?" she purrs, her voice low and sultry.

Heeseung stammers, trying to find his voice. "H-Heeseung," he finally manages to say, his cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. He thinks you’re beautiful - no, he knows you’re beautiful. But this girl is like something off the VHS tapes he keeps under his bed. Her full lips and honey-toned skin are enough to send him into overdrive, never mind how good her touch feels.

“Pretty name, I’m Mars,” she whispers, looking up at him with innocent yet deadly eyes.

“Like the p-planet?” he stutters. He had thought he got over this - speaking with you so freely, seeing your body more times than he could have ever imagined. It was easy with you. But now this girl, Mars, had booked him a ticket right back into Loserville.

Giggling, she pushes her chest into his, bringing her lips to his ear. “Yeah, like the planet. Do you want to explore it, baby?” Her teeth nibble slightly at his lobe and he swears he starts to hear colours as his cock leaps for joy.

The sultry invitation has Heeseung frozen in place, his mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts and sensations. He's completely out of his depth, his body betraying him as he tries to maintain some semblance of composure. His breath comes in shallow gasps, and he struggles to form coherent words.

You watch as Mars absolutely devours Heeseung’s ability to do anything, and jealousy spikes inside you. Are you envious of the way she makes him feel? Absolutely, and you’re doing a poor job of hiding it. Your face twists in disgust as you glare at the girl, feeling a pang of possessiveness.

“Mars? Hi,” you say, tapping her shoulder with exaggerated politeness. “We’re actually here to see your manager. I need a job.” Your tone is sharp and direct, devoid of any negative emotions toward the hardworking girl. It’s not her fault she’s pining over Heeseung - who wouldn’t? But it doesn’t make it sting any less just because you understand she has a job to do and that your partner in crime is insanely attractive and innocent.

Mars blinks, momentarily taken aback by your interruption. She recovers quickly, though, flashing you a fake professional smile. “Of course, babe. Follow me,” she says, stepping away from Heeseung and giving you a small nod of acknowledgment.

You follow Mars through the club, feeling Heeseung's presence close behind you, his hand constantly on your back for assurance, for him more so than you. The music grows louder as you weave through the throng of patrons, the air thick with the scent of perfume and sweat. Neon lights cast an otherworldly glow on the scene, dancers moving with hypnotic grace under the cosmic-themed decorations.

Reaching a door marked "Manager," Mars knocks lightly before pushing it open. “Boss, I’ve got someone here who’s interested in a job,” she announces, stepping aside to let you and Heeseung enter.

Before Mars shuts the door behind her, she lets her hand trail down Heeseung’s arm, creating a fleeting contact that sends a shiver over his body. “Come find me when you’re done here, hmm? I’ll take you to the stars,” she whispers with a sultry smile, her words hanging in the air like a promise.

Heeseung audibly gulps, caught off guard by Mars’s bold flirtation. His cheeks flush pink as he nods in response, his movements almost automatic under her gaze. Mars gives him a knowing smile before finally closing the door, leaving you and Heeseung alone with the club manager.

The manager, a stern-looking man with a grizzled beard and piercing eyes, studies you both intently. He gestures for you to take a seat opposite his desk, the room lit dimly by a solitary desk lamp that casts deep shadows across his face.

“So, you’re looking for a job as a dancer?” he asks, his voice gruff yet measured.

“Yes, just for tonight,” you reply, in hopes that it sweetens the deal. “Heeseung will tell you, I’ve done this gig before, tell him.” You pinch Heeseung’s elbow to get him out of his Mars-like trance and he stands to attention, nodding eagerly.

The manager sits forward, waiting to hear Heeseung’s pitch, stroking his beard as he assesses the nervous boy in front of him. Nudging him forward, you look at Heeseung with desperation. It’s humiliating, having to rely on a man to get you work but that’s the business in this day in age. Perhaps one day, women will be able to take the reigns of sex work and enjoy the industry freely without judgment or men involved.

Heeseung shifts nervously, feeling the weight of his words as he describes you to the manager. "Y/N, she is uh…" He pauses, searching for the right thing to say that will convey admiration without making you uncomfortable. "She’s gorgeous, more beautiful than any of the women you have here already," he continues earnestly, his cheeks tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "Her body is to die for, seriously. She’s got curves in all the right places, and there’s this cute little freckle on her ass, like a beauty mark. And her smile…she can pull you in so easily with it."

The honesty in his voice shocks you a little and melts your heart all the same. He’s talking about your body but not once did he make you feel like a piece of meat, his words oddly sending a fleet of butterflies to your stomach. His cheeks tinted rosé only add to the sincerity of his words, showing that he's not accustomed to vocalising such thoughts openly. It's clear he's navigating unfamiliar territory, trying his best to convey his admiration without crossing any boundaries.

“Okay, enough lovey-dovey shit. Turn around for me, Princess,” the manager's gruff directive breaks the tender moment, pulling you sharply back into the stark reality of the strip club's business. His blunt manner contrasts sharply with Heeseung's earlier sincerity, reminding you of the transactional nature of this environment. Swallowing your discomfort, you comply with his request, turning slowly as instructed.

"I have my own lingerie and I can dance to any music," you assert, trying to negotiate terms that will give you some control over the situation. Your eyes plead with him, hoping to strike a balance between earning your keep and maintaining a semblance of autonomy. “I’ll give you 10% of my tips, directly to you, not including the commission from private dances.”

Now that makes the man's ears perk up. Clasping his hands and rubbing them together, the sound mimicking that of two sandpapers, he nods. “Start now. 10% fees and your boyfriend stays away from you.”

"Deal!" you exclaim, relief flooding through you at the prospect of securing work for the night. The excitement in your voice is genuine, tempered by the grim reality of your circumstances. You know there are far better things to be enthusiastic about than exposing yourself for money, but the promise of earning enough for basic needs like a hot meal and a decent bed feels like a small victory in this moment of desperation.

You grasp Heeseung's hand firmly as you exit the manager's office, eager to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere and find some privacy to prepare for your unexpected performance. The hallway is dimly lit, the walls adorned with faded posters advertising past events at the club, their colours muted under the flickering red lights.

"Heeseung, come on," you urge, your voice a hushed whisper tinged with urgency. You guide him down the narrow corridor, following the manager's directions to the dressing room where you can change into the lingerie you brought along. “Can you pass me my bag?” you ask, already shedding the clothes that have clung to you for far too long.

You don’t miss the thongs or the bra, but god did you hate the clothes you were stuck with.

Heeseung nods, silently searching in the bag. His brow furrows slightly as he retrieves your heels, recalling the pain you endured on your first night on the run. Next, he carefully pulls out the baby blue lingerie, decorated with delicate lace details and dainty white bows. Fortunately, you had packed a garter belt and matching fishnet stockings, adding a touch of allure to the ensemble. This was the outfit meant for your most generous client, designed to be slowly peeled away piece by piece to maximise his enjoyment.

Turning to Heeseung, you take the outfit and begin to dress yourself. He feels a pang of discomfort on your behalf, averting his eyes as you start to remove your denim shorts and underwear. He catches himself thinking about how much he’s seen of you and vice versa, how much you’ve shared on this chaotic journey together. Perhaps you are closer than he initially realised, having been through so much in such a short period. Yet, he respects your privacy and understands there are parts of you that should remain yours alone.

As you adjust the lingerie, ensuring everything fits just right, you steal a glance at Heeseung. His cheeks are flushed, and he shifts awkwardly, clearly grappling with conflicting emotions. “Heeseung, how do I look?”

His heart skips a beat at your question, grateful for the permission to openly admire you. You look even more beautiful than the day he first met you, the soft blue hue of the lingerie complementing your skin perfectly. The garters and fishnet stockings add an allure that both excites and unsettles him, stirring desires he’s tried to suppress amidst the chaos of your circumstances.

“Well?” you prompt, twirling gracefully, a playful smile dancing on your lips. His breath catches as he watches you spin, a sight that simultaneously ignites a fierce longing and a protective instinct.

“You look… stunning,” he manages, his voice soft yet filled with sincerity. “Ready.”

He tacks on the last word to offer you more than a mere compliment; it’s a declaration of ability, a reassurance that you’re prepared for whatever lies ahead. Despite the ache in his chest and the turmoil in his mind, Heeseung’s smile remains steadfast.

You meet his gaze, gratitude reflected in your features. His encouragement steadies you, reminding you that despite the circumstances, you are more than capable of taking control of your destiny tonight. You are Y/N L/N, and you can do this.

“Thank you, Heeseung,” you say softly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. His touch grounds you, a tangible anchor in the stormy sea of uncertainties that surrounds you both. “I’ll try and make as much money as I can.”

“And if anyone makes you uncomfortable—”

“Call to you, I know,” you finish his sentence with a sheepish smile, not accustomed to being under someone’s protective watch but grateful for it nonetheless. You lean in and place a gentle kiss on his cheek, feeling a sense of ease knowing he’s there for you.

With a final nod and a reassuring squeeze of his hand, you turn towards the door leading back into the club. The music pulses louder now, beckoning you into the atmosphere of flashing lights and swirling bodies. Adjusting your mindset and your bra strap, you step forward, ready to face the night.

_____

Four hours later, Heeseung remains firmly planted in the same velvet-covered seat, his nerves fraying with each passing minute. The club is now teeming with activity, a veritable circus of swirling bodies, flashing lights, and pounding music. Businessmen in expensive suits mingle with scantily-clad dancers, the scent of perfume and cologne blending into a heady cocktail that fills the air.

Heeseung's leg bounces incessantly, a physical manifestation of his anxiety. He's on edge, eyes darting around the room, trying to avoid making eye contact with the dancers who occasionally drift his way. Each time, he mumbles a polite yet firm, "Not here for that," and though some of the girls give him puzzled or slightly annoyed looks, they leave him alone, recognising a dry well when they see one.

His mind keeps drifting back to you, wondering how you're holding up. The thought of you out there, flaunting your body for money, makes his stomach churn, but he knows there's no other choice. You need this, and he has to be strong for you. He can’t help but glance at the clock every few minutes, each tick of the second hand stretching his patience thinner.

Despite his tension, each time you return from a private dance, your presence alone is enough to soothe his tempered nerves momentarily. Your face is a beacon in the dim, neon-lit haze, glowing with a mixture of triumph and exhaustion. You shoot him a gleeful smile and a thumbs up, your eyes sparkling with excitement and relief, signalling that you're making a decent amount of money.

Heeseung feels a mixture of pride and concern. Pride because you're handling this so well, dancing with grace and charm, turning a dire situation into an opportunity. Concern because he knows the toll this must be taking on you, physically and emotionally. Each time you disappear into the back rooms, he holds his breath, praying silently for your safety.

His focus is jarred back to the present as a particularly loud group of businessmen settles into the seats next to him. Their raucous laughter and crude jokes only amplify his discomfort. He shifts in his seat, trying to block out their conversation, but their words seep through, unfortunately. This is just one of the times he wishes that he had a backbone and could tell them to stop being derogatory but he’s already on a boat without a paddle in this place and if he gets kicked out then he can’t be here for you, so he sits quietly and focuses on your upcoming performance.

You’ve done so well over the past couple of hours that the manager has given you the go-ahead for a special 'one night only' stage performance. This is where the punters can throw as much or as little money as they want, as long as the club gets half of your earnings. In Heeseung’s mind, it’s not worth the effort, but you know even with the cut, you could easily make at least £200 from this one dance alone.

Heeseung’s anxiety spikes as the announcement is made, attention from everyone in Saturn is now glued to the stage. However, just as he is about to get comfy, he’s barely settled back into his velvet seat when suddenly, there’s a weight on his lap - unfamiliar but not unpleasant. His heart skips a beat and he tenses.

Looking down, he finds Mars, the sultry hostess from earlier, perched comfortably on his thighs. Her perfume envelops him, a heady mix of vanilla and spice that adds to his already heightened senses. She smiles seductively, her eyes glinting with mischief as she twirls a lock of her hair around her finger.

“You looked a little lonely,” she observes, her eyes trailing up and down his body. She brings a shot glass to his face. “Here, have a drink on me, you seem a bit dehydrated.”

“I-I don’t drink, sorry,” Heeseung stammers awkwardly, avoiding eye contact and focusing on the stage as he waits for you to appear. He isn’t exactly uncomfortable in her presence, but he doesn’t know what to do. Talking to women is still an issue for him, so what is he to do now that Aphrodite’s daughter is on his lap and showing him interest?

Mars giggles and shoots the shot of tequila back herself, shrugging as she places the glass on the table in front of them. “You’re a good boy, huh?”

Heeseung shifts nervously, his hands resting awkwardly on the sides of the chair in a desperate attempt not to touch her. "I just...don't really drink," he explains, his voice barely audible over the swell of the music.

Mars leans in closer, her breath warm against his ear. "That's okay," she whispers, her tone playful yet reassuring. "I like good boys."

Heeseung's cheeks flush even deeper, his mind a chaotic whirl of emotions. He's trying to focus on the stage, waiting for your performance to start, but Mars's proximity and the beautiful tone of her voice are incredibly distracting. He wishes he had the confidence to brush her off more assertively, but he's too polite and too nervous to do anything but sit there, stiff as a board.

The first few notes of ‘I Touch Myself’ by Divinyls send a shiver down his spine, and his attention is immediately captured. The stage lights dim, creating an atmosphere of anticipation. Then, you step into the spotlight. The transformation is immediate; you move with confidence and grace that mesmerises everyone in the room, including Heeseung.

The baby blue lingerie hugs your curves perfectly, the lace and bows adding an innocent allure to your otherwise sultry appearance. The garter and fishnets complete the look, drawing appreciative murmurs and wolf whistles from the crowd.

Mars shifts slightly, pressing closer to Heeseung in an attempt to lure his attention away from you, but he’s too engrossed in your performance to pay her much attention. You meet his gaze briefly, and the connection is electric. Your smile, despite the suggestive dance, is warm and genuine, a silent reassurance that you’re okay, in fact, you’re enjoying yourself.

You didn’t get the chance to perform like this much at your old job, in front of a crowd and void of clammy hands roaming all over your body. It was a nice change to just perform and feel comfortable. The clients here are actually quite respectful, each of the men you’ve taken for a private dance has only asked for what’s on the menu and nothing more. They’ve respected your boundaries, which is more than you can say for the men you usually encounter in your line of work.

This dance wasn’t even necessary in terms of making money; you have made more than enough for you and Heeseung to get by for at least a week. But as you look at Heeseung, who hasn’t taken his eyes off of you despite the eager house girl doing everything in her power to grab his attention, you feel even happier you decided to do this.

There is no denying in your mind that you’ve grown fond of Heeseung, maybe you like him even a little bit, so to have him captivated like this is boosting your ego and putting an extra beat in your step. He isn’t your boyfriend or lover but he makes you feel content like one should.

That probably explains the jealousy creeping up in you. Despite his avoidance of the girl touching his chest and arms, you can’t help but feel like that should be you, that you should be the one to have him squirming and swallowing thickly as you whisper sensual words in his ear.

Why do you feel like this all of a sudden? Maybe due to the fact that it’s the first time you’ve seen him with a girl since you’ve known him and it’s bringing a protective instinct out in you, maybe it’s because you see him as more than the partner in crime you keep painting him to be.

Whatever the reason, you can’t stand by and watch it happen any longer.

Despite the manager's warning for Heeseung to stay away, you can't help but devise a plan to draw him away from Mars while also delivering an unforgettable performance for the eager men ready to spend their money. Determined to keep Heeseung's attentiveness and secure a hefty tip from the men beside hin, you approach the pole with calculated confidence.

Gripping the cool, polished metal, you begin your routine with a graceful twist, your body moving fluidly. As you spin, your leg wraps around the pole, securing you in a seamless motion. Your movements are deliberate and skilled, every turn and twirl executed with precision. The pole becomes an extension of your body, allowing you to showcase your strength and agility.

Using the momentum, you propel yourself into a daring inversion, your legs splitting elegantly as you hold yourself upside down. The crowd's cheers and whistles grow louder, their excitement palpable. The money flows your way with ease, but your focus is on a bigger prize.

You glance over at Heeseung, seeing him mesmerised, his eyes locked on you. The sight spurs you on, and you walk to the edge of the stage, elongating your legs and exaggerating each movement, your gaze never leaving his. You bend down slowly, getting on your hands and knees, crawling across the stage with the slow, sleek grace of a lioness stalking her prey. Tonight, your prey is Lee Heeseung.

And fuck, does he know it.

Heeseung sits up straight, his eyes glued to yours as you draw him in, smiling at him half innocently, half predatorily. His reaction causes Mars to stumble off his lap, forcing her to catch herself on the arm of the chair. He doesn’t mean to cause the disruption and should rightfully apologise, but all he sees is you. It's as if you're casting a spell on him, and as you beckon him forward with the curl of your finger, he stands up like a mindless zombie, following your request without hesitation.

Your seductive crawl leaves the audience in awe and the anticipation in the room heightens, you can feel the collective breaths being held. As Heeseung approaches the stage, the connection between you two becomes electric, a tangible force that captivates everyone watching.

You reach out, taking his hand and guiding him up onto the stage. The crowd's whistles and catcalls reach a fever pitch, but all that matters is the look in Heeseung's eyes, a mixture of awe, desire, and something deeper. This is your moment, and you savour every second of it, knowing that you've not only captivated the audience but also claimed Heeseung's undivided attention.

Pushing him gently so his back is against the stripper pole, you smile at him softly. “Just enjoy it, yeah?” you murmur, your voice a seductive purr that sends goosebumps all over his skin. He nods quickly, trying to ignore the sweat trickling down his forehead as he attempts to relax, however, the strain of his cock tingling in his boxers is proving it rather difficult.

You begin to sway in front of him, your hands splayed across his chest, moving them slowly downward past his stomach and hips. Hooking your fingers into his belt loops, you sit back on your heels, looking up at him through your long lashes. The crowd is mesmerised, their attention entirely on you, wondering what you plan to do next and wishing it was going to happen to them.

With a fluid motion, you rise and turn your back to Heeseung, pressing yourself against him as you grind slowly. The sensation of your body moving against his is almost too much for him to handle, and he clenches his fists to maintain some semblance of control. If he pops a boner in front of at least 30 grown men and the dancers, he might just die on the spot. You glance over your shoulder, catching his gaze and giving him a playful wink.

Heeseung’s eyes widen as you slink your hands down your body and to your thigh, slipping off one of your garters, the lacy fabric sliding down your leg with ease. You twirl it in your fingers, dangling it in front of the shocked boy’s face before wrapping it around his wrists. He watches, transfixed, as you skillfully tie his hands behind the pole, effectively rendering him unable to touch you. The act is both tantalising and torturous for him, his desire evident in the way his body tenses and legs shuffle to find any sort of distraction from his throbbing cock.

Addressing the audience, you wag your finger playfully, utilising your drama skills from the youth centre to emphasise that the bound man can't lay a finger on you, much to the delight of the eager crowd.

You continue your dance with hypnotic grace, the fabric keeping Heeseung firmly restrained. Your hands explore your curves, accentuating every movement, while the lyrics echo the theme of self-indulgence, allowing you to lose yourself in the performance.

Turning away from the audience, you unclasp your bra, your back now fully exposed. The crowd's eegerness grows as you slowly let the straps slide off your shoulders. With a flick of your wrist, you toss the bra aside, eliciting cheers and whistles from the captivated onlookers.

Your eyes are fixed on Heeseung as you approach the finale of the routine, striding towards him with confident allure. “You’re doing so good for me, baby,” you purr, the affectionate nickname slipping out so naturally that it momentarily stuns him. Yet, the look in his eyes tells you he’s far from displeased.

With a few grinds and touches to Heeseung, the routine comes to an end and you face your adoring fans, the money showering onto the stage in notes of £10s and £20s. You smile and blow kisses to some of the men, bouncing slightly to make your tits clap, earning you a few more whistles and cheers.

Striding back to Heeseung, you untie the garter from his wrists and pull him to the back, both of your chests heaving in exhilaration.

“Oh my god, Heeseung! I couldn’t even see the floor for money,” you exclaim, clapping in excitement. With the private dances and your most recent performance, you’ve easily earned over £500, enough for a warm meal and then some.

Heeseung looks at you, smiling shyly, hoping you don’t notice the bulge forming in his trousers. He’s never encountered anyone like you before and can hardly believe he had the privilege of you grinding on him for a good two minutes. The dryness in his mouth is a testament to how long he stood there, mouth agape, watching you perform. If this was his first and last strip show, he’s glad it was yours.

“You did amazing, Y/N,” he says sincerely, causing you to turn your head to face him. His eyes are filled with adoration, but you can see the lust ghosting over them. “I almost busted in my pants out there,” he adds, attempting to joke, but you know he isn’t lying.

Smiling, you step forward, gently pushing him to sit on one of the white tables behind him. The shock is evident on his face. “How about…you bust somewhere else?”

“W-what?” His eyes widen as your fingers begin to fiddle with the button of his trousers.

“Well, you did so well, and I do owe you, considering we got interrupted last time.” Heeseung shakes his head, mouth moving but no words coming out. You laugh softly, finally unbuttoning his jeans. “I’m not taking your virginity in a sleazy strip club,” you assure him in a teasing tone, “But how about I give you some relief?”

His breath hitches as your hand slips beneath the fabric, his body reacting instantly to your touch. Heeseung’s eyes flutter closed, his head tipping back as he surrenders to the sensation. Your fingers wrap around his shaft loosely, to the point you might as well not even be touching it, only driving him further to need.

You kneel in front of him and Heeseung’s breath quickens, your fingers deftly working to free him from his trousers, and his erection springs forth, eager and ready, his tip already on the edge of exploding. You glance up at him, your eyes locking onto his, and the anticipation in the air is suffocating. He can’t believe this is happening and he is just praying to whatever higher power will listen that you won’t get stopped by a maniac trying to kill you.

Slowly, you lean forward, your lips parting as you take him into your mouth. Heeseung lets out a choked gasp, his hands instinctively reaching for the edge of the table to steady himself. The warmth and wetness of your mouth envelop him, and he can hardly believe the pleasure that courses through his body. Somehow, this feels so much better than it did the first time, perhaps because he didn’t spend hours worrying over it and instead, the spontaneity of it all is only adding to his arousal - the less time he has to think, the easier it is to let himself go.

Your tongue swirls around the tip, teasing him with delicate flicks and licks. Heeseung’s eyes roll back, and his grip on the table tightens. Every movement of your mouth sends waves of ecstasy through him, and he’s powerless to do anything but feel.

And what a sensational feeling it is.

You hollow your cheeks, creating a delicious suction as you take him deeper, your tongue pressing and swirling against the underside of his shaft. Heeseung’s breathing becomes ragged, each exhale a desperate moan. You can sense his restraint, the tension in his muscles as he fights the urge to thrust into your mouth. It’s cute how wriggly he is, how even just your mouth is enough to get him fumbling beneath you.

“Oh, shit,” he hisses out, biting his bottom lip just harsh enough to break skin. “This is what heaven feels like, I know it.” He speaks his inner dialogue, the words slipping out by accident as he loses all sense of control to your skilled mouth.

Your hands gently massage his thighs, adding to the sensory overload. You glance up, watching his expressions shift between pleasure and awe, his face red in embarrassment as he whimpers a succession of tiny pleads, willing you to go faster.

The sight of him unravelling heightens your own arousal, spurring you to intensify your efforts. As you bob your head, your right hand wraps around the base, stroking in tandem with your mouth. Heeseung’s body begins to tremble, his legs shaking as he edges closer to release. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m so close,” You quicken your pace, the sounds of your movements filling the room.

Grabbing his hand, you guide it to hold your head, puppeting his fingers to grasp at your head. The silent instruction computes itself to Heeseung’s dazed self and he wraps your hair around his hand, gripping onto you for dear life as you quicken your pace.

You squeeze the bottom of his shaft and thigh in sync, causing the boy to jerk his hips up and his cock to hit the back of your throat. “Fuck!” he yelps out, his length throbbing in your mouth at the action so much that you can feel it on your tongue. You hum around him which only adds to his pleasure.

“Y/N, please, I’m cumming, fuck, I’m cumming,” he whines as his voice hits a higher octave. His hips shallowly jitter, forcing his cock deep into your mouth, taking away half the work as you let him control the situation. For the first time in his life, he is free of embarrassment and nerves, the only feeling he has now is pure need and desire, and it’s all thanks to your mouth.

With a final, deep thrust, Heeseung lets out a guttural moan, his release hitting hard and fast as his balls tighten and the vein that lays underside of his cock protrudes. You feel the warm spurt of his climax run down your throat and fill your mouth, which you swallow eagerly, your tongue continuing to caress him as he rides out his orgasm. The overflow of his cum drips down your chin and onto your bare breasts. The whole scene would turn anyone on and you hope you can get a copy of the CCTV when you’re done.

When he finally begins to relax, you pull back slowly, giving him one last long, teasing lick up his shaft, swirling it around his bell to collect the rest of his glaze before releasing him completely. You look up with a satisfied smile, your lips glistening with the remnants of his seed. Personally, you think it’s the nicest lip gloss you could ever wear, and Heeseung agrees.

Heeseung’s chest heaves as he catches his breath, his eyes wide with a mixture of wonderment and gratitude. He can’t ever repay you for helping him out like this, for giving him his first ever orgasm that was at the hands of someone else.

“Feel better?” you ask playfully, already knowing the answer.

Heeseung nods, a dazed smile spreading across his face, his eyes glazing over with satisfaction. “Much better,” he murmurs, his voice filled with thanks and amazement. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know but you helped me out and I couldn’t have you going out there with a raging hard on, not with Mars about. She’d bounce on it all night and we’d never get out of here,” you jokingly explain.

Heeseung tucks his cock back in his trousers and zips it up, eyes staring at you the whole time. “You think she would have?” His question doesn’t come from bewilderment but rather curiosity, causing you to roll your eyes and walk away.

“Come on, let's get our money.”

_____

Counting the £565 you made from the club, you smile wide, the ends of your mouth splitting your cheeks. The night has been exhilarating, and the weight of the money in your hand feels like a victory. You and Heeseung are making your way back to the convenience store to buy supplies, the thrill of the night still buzzing in your veins.

Heeseung walks beside you, his steps a bit unsteady, still reeling from the intensity of the experience of being in a strip club for half of his day and then getting the best head he thinks he will ever get in his life. He steals glances at you, his expression a mix of admiration and bashfulness. “I still can’t believe how incredible you were,” he says, his voice tinged with awe.

You chuckle, the sound light and happy. “Thanks, Heeseung. I couldn’t have done it without you. You were amazing too. Y’know, you looked really good tied up.” The playful compliment brings a blush to his cheeks, and you can’t help but find his shyness endearing.

As you approach the convenience store, the lights casting a soft glow on the pavement, you feel a sense of contentment when suddenly, someone stops you in your tracks, hand in front of you pointing accusatorily. The gesture makes you feel uneasy, and you grasp Heeseung’s hand with your left and hold onto the money tightly with your right.

“Hey, do I know you two from somewhere?” the man asks in a rugged voice and thick Liverpudlian accent. His eyes are sharp, scrutinising, and it sends a chill down your spine.

Heeseung sees your nervousness and steps forward protectively. “I don’t think so, mate. Sorry,” he says, his voice firm but polite. He gently pulls you out of the man’s way, his grip reassuring on your hand. The words Heeseung spoke are enough to have the man leave you alone, but the encounter leaves you both on edge.

Quickly, you pocket the money in your daisy dukes’ front pocket, keeping your eye on the man as he fades into the night. You have grown accustomed to shady men at night, what with being on the run for nearly four days, but never has one spoken to you so blatantly, especially to ask you a question like that. Unless he was at Saturn earlier, you don’t know how he could know you.

Unfortunately, Heeseung does. Detaching his hand from yours, he looks through the store window to stare at the TV, arms hanging loosely by his side as though he could no longer feel them. In fact, he couldn’t feel any part of his body.

Sensing his tension, you look up at him. “What’s wrong? The guy is gone now,” you reassure, but that isn’t what he is worried about. You follow his gaze to the low-resolution TV perched in the top corner of the store and suddenly, you’re feeling sick and weak, the ground falling beneath you as you read the headline scrolling at the bottom of the screen, pictures plastered as clear as day to complement the words.

BREAKING NEWS: Search begins throughout the UK for suspects Y/N L/N and Lee Heeseung in a brutal passionate murder of local man, aged 56. Authorities say the two fled the scene a few days ago and urge caution to the public. If anyone knows anything please contact Scotland Yard.

Falling back a little, you shake your head in disbelief.

“They’re looking for us…

taglist (closed): @yzzyhee @intromortal @zerobaseone-zhanghao @hooniehon @deobitifull @alvojake @sageryuri @slut4hee @binniesbabe @vveebee @minniejenseo @jebetwo @seunghancore @laurradoesloveu @yongbokified @jaehoonii @jaeyunluvr @melonvrs @criminalyun @enhastolemyheart @fakeuwus @flwrhoes @rayofsunshineeee @moonlighthoon @jaehyuniewifeu @en-ternals @haechonly @got-sunghooned @brownsugarbaybee @heeseungspookie @sunpov @who-tf-soddhi @bambangan

#enhypen smut #enha smut #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #aj writes #iavnam #enha x reader #enhypen x reader

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imagine-darksiders · 4 months ago

Text

Transformers Prime: Optimus + Reader. Chapter 1.

So, I read @lovinglonerhybrid 's post here. And it absolutely had me in a chokehold, so this is based off that premise. I'm in the UK so please excuse my ignorance of American states lmao.

So, there is a part 2 to this, but I'm going away for 4 days and wanted to get some of it posted before then.

You've broken down fifteen miles short of Jasper's city limits in the dead of night. Deciding to hike in to town, you feel the earth rumble beneath you, and over the horizon, something enormous approaches...

Chapter 1: 9352 words.

-------

It’s a rare and covetous thing, to find even a single moment of peace in the midst of an intergalactic war.

The gap from one of those precious moments to the next seems to grow wider and wider every time, until their frequency is so negligible, it becomes hard to recognise them for what they are anymore.

For everything Earth could have offered Optimus Prime, he hadn’t been expecting it to relinquish the gift of peace so willingly. But he’s glad – more than glad – to accept them when they come, even if he’s only stealing glimpses of tranquillity on the sand-swept road leading out of Jasper.

Low-beam headlights lazily trace over the faded tarmac ahead of Optimus’s tyres as he trundles along Highway 49, one of only two roads that surround the small, sleepy city of Jasper. It’s a very routine patrol, one he obligingly excused Bumblebee from taking after his poor scout all but begged Optimus to give it to someone else, beeping out promises that he’ll take double shift tomorrow night, if need be.

All this on the back of Miko announcing another of her ‘slumber parties’ at the base, much to Ratchet’s noisy chagrin and Optimus’s private amusement. And, of course, when Bumblebee found out that Rafael would be staying the night too… Well…

‘You’re too indulging,’ their old medic had admonished from his workstation, the broad expanse of his back turned to the Prime, ‘He ought to learn he can’t always have his way.’

But it was a harmless indulgence, and Prime was more than happy to take over the patrol in this instance.

Besides, he had an arguably selfish reason for doing so.

If he’d admitted as much out loud, Ratchet would have scoffed and sent a pulse of chiding dismissal crashing into Optimus’s EM field. ‘You don’t have a selfish component in your body,’ he might say.

But this… Optimus muses, gazing skyward as he trundles down the highway in vehicle mode, letting the crisp, night air slide through his grill and cool his powerful engine… This is the appeal of a solo patrol.

Every now and then, there are times when the Decepticon activity goes quiet, Fowler has nothing to report, and Optimus can almost pretend that he’s just another Cybertronian enjoying a long, quiet drive through the Mojave wilderness. And while he remains ever vigilant, keeping every sensor poised outwardly in a constant surveillance of his surroundings, the old bot still permits at least one sense to wander.

Somehow, it’s always his sight.

Oftentimes he catches himself doing it. Other times, on nights that are quiet and still and clear like this one, there’s a wire-deep longing that overrides his logic gates, and the Prime won’t notice that he isn’t keeping his processor and his optics on the dusty road ahead of him. He’s too busy stealing long, pensive looks at the stars above him, scattered like a-hundred-billion souls sprawling across a curtain of crushed velvet.

It’s out there… somewhere… riding a lonely orbit on the furthest reaches of the galaxy’s Centaurus arm.

Cybertron.

Home.

Their first home, he amends gently, depressing his accelerator to speed up when he realises he’s starting to crawl. Earth is as much their home now as Cybertron ever was.

Sagging on his suspension with a low hiss, Optimus drags his hidden optics back to the road ahead, and all at once, he nearly lurches to a halt, his exhaust pipes sputtering out a hollow sound to betray his surprise.

There, parked several feet from the road a few hundred yards ahead of him, is a vehicle.

Prime’s senses sharpen to a startling focus.

Pumping his brakes, he slows down again, and the roar of his engine fades to a fluctuating hum.

A Decepticon…?

He doesn’t feel anything trying to breach his EM field, nor does he pick up on any resistance when his scanners hone in on the vehicle – ‘Ford. F250. A Pickup truck.’ Year….? Optimus’s focus narrows to a pinprick… ‘Eighty-seven.’

It’s red - a faded, dusky red like some of the sun-baked sandstone at Red Rock Canyon. As Prime’s massive form rumbles on through the night, looming closer and closer to the mysterious truck, his lights reflect off something situated above its rear bumper, the presence of which quells his flaring codes and eases his rigid frame.

A number plate.

Thick, black numbers and letters stand out against the white rectangle, though it isn’t the sequence that alleviates Optimus’s suspicion, it’s their mere presence.

No Decepticon he knows would ever suffer the ‘indignity’ of having a human number plate stapled to their bumpers.

Primus, even the Autobots have foregone the accessory after Fowler gave up trying to keep Bumblebee from losing his, Ratchet from ‘misplacing’ his, and Bulkhead from bending his irreparably whenever he transformed. Optimus had given it a go, for a time… mainly because he was growing worried that their overworked liaison would quite simply combust if he had to intercept one more phone call from ‘concerned civilians’ who were reporting a semi-truck driving through Jasper without its registration.

The Prime’s number plate came to its own crumpled end when he sat down on his berth one evening without removing it first.

One genuine, slightly sheepish apology to a very fed-up liaison later, and Optimus was informed that he and his team no longer needed to wear the plates.

So, the presence of one on this truck is a good sign. It’s less likely to transform and cause an incident.

That does, however, open up an entirely new avenue for concern to creep in.

A crash, perhaps?

Several dark skid marks indicate that it must have veered off the road after a hard, panicked brake.

He can’t pick up any biological signatures either. Even when he casts a wider net, all his sensors catch are the heat signatures of a few tiny, Earthen mammals scurrying about over the sand before they dart into various rock formations when he rolls by. But just because he isn’t picking up the presence of a living human, it doesn’t negate the possibility of a human being inside…

Frame suddenly taut, Optimus trundles to a cautious halt on the road alongside the truck, his engine idling like some great, murmuring beast in the quiet of the desert.

A throaty hum seems to escape his smokestacks as he peers down at the smaller truck, contemplative… considering… Then finally, relieved. There doesn’t appear to be anyone inside, judging by what his headlights illuminate through the cab windows.

What is it doing out here?

It definitely wasn’t here yesterday when he made the drive into Jasper. It isn’t a vehicle he recognises either, and he’s been doubly vigilant of late regarding all the civilian cars, bikes, trucks, vans, and even agricultural vehicles in and around the town.

Privately, he’s been compiling a catalogue of them all, for his own reference.

If there’s a threat to his human charges lurking about in their hometown, Optimus needs to know about it. A Decepticon disguised as a civilian vehicle would be an effective method of infiltration.

Casting one more, cursory ping out into the night to check that he’s definitely alone, he at last begins to unfurl himself into his bipedal mode. Metal plating slides away from his grill, pulling back and rolling along the body of the semi as he rises onto newly revealed pedes. The mechanical whines, whirrs and buzzes are terribly loud and alien amongst the desert’s natural ambiance, but soon enough, the air falls still once again, and a monolithic Cybertronian stands in the place where a Peterbilt used to be.

Soft, cerulean light spills over the abandoned truck as Optimus settles his optics upon it, easing his enormous frame down into a crouch and draping one arm across his knee with a ‘clunk.’

At first glance, he hadn’t noticed anything especially odd about the truck save for its unexpected presence. Leaning sideways, he casts an optic over the front bumper and finds nothing out of place, no damage to indicate a crash, no broken headlights or crushed bonnet.

It’s the same story with the truck’s bed. Only when Optimus hauls himself upright and treads carefully around it to inspect the other side does he notices the glaring problem.

The whole vehicle is canting onto its offside front tyre, a tyre that sports a rather sizeable puncture, considering how flat it is. And from the looks of it, this one was only ever meant to be used as a temporary spare. A quick glance into the truck’s bed reveals what he assumes must be the original tyre, flat as well, with the silver head of a nail jutting from the centre tread block.

Optimus clicks his glossa softly for the owner’s run of bad luck.

Right away, he sends a ping to his team, advising them to be wary of stray nails along this stretch…

He receives several pings in return. Immediately comes Bumblebee’s frustration, buzzed over the airwaves like a sulking sparkling who’s been told his toy was broken. Given the Scout’s inclination to race at top speed all over these roads, Optimus doesn’t doubt he’s just vexed at the shuddersome notion of having to slow down.

Arcee and Bulkhead respond in kind as their leader absently moves his attention to something strange obscuring part of driver’s window, letting their concern wash over his field.

‘Popped a tyre, Boss?’ Bulkhead’s message hits his comm, informal and probing, but with the warmth of care behind it.

Optimus is quick to send a pulse of reassurance back through their shared channel. He’s fine. If one little nail was all it took to take a Prime out of commission, they’d all be in serious, serious trouble.

The channels go quiet after Arcee and Ratchet send their short, concise responses, and once again, Optimus is alone on the road, peering down at a small sheet of paper that’s been taped to the inside of the truck’s front window.

Gradually, he furrows his optical ridges until they almost click together into one, solid line, the apertures inside each optic whirring and shrinking as he reads the words scribbled on the paper.

He recalls the first time he encountered the languages of Earth as they were written. The looping letters, graceful and elegant, chasing one another across the front of the letter Agent Fowler gave him as part of an unofficial welcome to the United States.

Optimus had held the paper so delicately between two of his digits, blinking down at the dark ink soaked into repurposed cellulose fibre. It was beautiful.

When he remarked as such, Fowler made a noncommittal comment that you could tell a lot about humans from their handwriting.

Optimus would sometimes find himself glancing over the children’s homework when they left their books out unattended on the table in their recreational area.

Jack’s neat and sensible cursive. Miko’s chaotic, glittery script that rose and fell and ventured outside the lines because she was usually paying more attention to her music than the words she wrote in her textbook. And Rafael, of course, with his quick, almost frantic stokes of the pen as he tried to scribble his thoughts down as fast as his brain could make them, only to end up losing his confidence halfway through a sentence, doubled back, drew a single line through the words, and started again on a fresh page.

This handwriting though… written in blue, splotchy ink and stuck with a piece of scotch tape to the truck’s window, makes Fowler’s words ring true in Optimus’s processor.

He can tell a lot about the human who wrote it.

‘Please don’t steal/break into my truck,’ it reads. The word ‘please’ has been underlined several times. ‘Not worth much, it’s all I’ve got. Tyre is flat, spare tyre too, so can’t get far anyway. Walking to town to find help bcos phone died and I don’t have a charger. Be back soon. Thanks.’

The ink has run in several places and rendered some of the letters illegible, as if water has been dropped on them from above.

Optimus isn’t naïve. He’s seen the children cry, more times than he can bear.

Then underneath all that, in much smaller writing stuffed underneath the first message like an afterthought they forgot to leave enough space for…

‘P.s, if the truck is still here in 3 days, assume I’m dead.’

With a sudden groan of his metal frame, Optimus braces a servo on his knee and hurriedly pushes himself to his pedes once again, helm swivelling sideways to stare down the length of the road.

The truck’s nose is pointed in the direction of Jasper, but the town itself is still about a fifteen-mile drive…

Surely they wouldn’t make the journey on foot…

But if the note is any indication, then…

His processor flashes again to the children; Miko in particular, and the alarming disregard she has for her own safety. The boys are guilty of that as well, though to a lesser degree.

Suddenly, there’s a very high likelihood that there might be a human wondering through the vast Mojave, alone. Worse still, Bumblebee had reported just last week that there’s been an increase in Decepticon patrols in the area around Jasper. No doubt Megatron has been ramping up his efforts to locate the Autobot base. Their growing presence in the vicinity of town makes these roads particularly treacherous…

Optimus ex-vents roughly, more troubled than frustrated.

Blue optics narrow at the road ahead, and once again, the peace of the desert night is filled by the sounds of living metal collapsing back in on itself.

A powerful engine roars to life. Somewhere nearby, a startled jackrabbit darts beneath the safety of a sagebrush, hiding herself amongst its silvery leaves.

Unblinking, her wild eyes stare after the great, thrumming beast as it moves on down the road.

—————-

You’ve had a lot of ideas in your life.

Some good. Some bad. Some that have paid off, but most that have gone nowhere at all.

Perhaps you were growing tired of going nowhere…

What else would have possessed you to up and move all the way to the middle of Nevada state on the back of a job offer that came from a man your uncle purported to know?

‘Oh yeah, Terry? Did a job with him a few years back for some cattle baron out in the sticks. ‘Course, Terry always wanted his own dairy… Want me to tell him you’re lookin’ for work?’

Turns out, Terry did end up getting that dairy he always wanted. And as it happened, he was looking for a farm hand.

Does it count as nepotism if you’re fairly sure your uncle had only met your future employer once?

Beyond a certain point, you simply couldn’t care less.

A job is a job, even if it is out here in the desert near a town you’d never heard of a month ago.

Dust-caked trainers trudge to a weary halt in front of a large, green road sign.

The moon, thankfully, hangs fat and luminous in the cloudless sky. So at least you don’t need a torch to see, not now that your eyes have had time to adjust the darkness cloaked over the desert.

With your run of bad luck, you half assumed the heavens would have opened by now and given the Mojave a nice, little dose of rain.

“Well,” you mutter aloud to yourself, peering up at the green sign with a grimace, “Could be worse…”

‘Jasper – 10 miles,’ reads like a slap to the face.

Still… It’s better than the fifteen miles.

You must have walked at least five already, dragging your legs behind you like extra baggage that doesn’t want to cooperate.

It has to be beyond midnight now. Well beyond, you suppose.

You’ve been walking for the better part of two hours, slow and sluggish and exhausted. The journey getting to Nevada had been tiring enough, then as soon as you crossed state lines, your tyre caught a puncture going over a particularly nasty pothole that had snuck up on you.

After an hour spent in the blazing sun jacking up the truck and changing to the spare, you set off again for another several hours of travel. Then, twenty miles out of Jasper, just as you dared to celebrate being home-free, the unthinkable had happened.

Who hits a pothole and drives over a nail in the same, damn day? Apparently, the same person who forgot to buy a charger adaptor for the truck.

No charger? No phone.

No phone…? No calling for help…

Your chest expands and deflates with a bone-tired sigh, turning your gaze back onto the long, dark road ahead of you. Tears sting at the inside of your eyelids, and for a moment, you consider letting them fall, if only to ease some of the pressure building up behind your temples. But crying hysterically about the unfairness of the world hadn’t un-punctured your spare tyre, so why would it help the situation now.

“Come on,” you coax yourself, hauling one leg out in front of the other. Rinse. Repeat. “Not far now.”

Just a few more hours…

The going is slow, tough, draining. Even the dark shapes of rocks start to look enticing as you pass them, letting your eyes slide over to them as you wonder just how safe it would be to fall asleep in the desert by the side of a road.

Ever since you broke down a few hours ago, you haven’t seen one, single vehicle out here.

‘Which,’ you hum, pursing your lips and tipping your head back to peer up at the bleary sky far above you, ‘Isn’t so bad…’

The stars are numerous, and startlingly clear out in the wilderness. The moon as well seems brighter here, unobscured by clouds. She makes for a quiet companion on your journey towards Jasper, her starry brethren endlessly stretching out to each corner of the horizon.

Suddenly, you feel very small. A hopeless traveller trying to find port in a sea of sand and rock.

Swallowing roughly, you hike your tattered rucksack high onto your shoulder and tear your gaze from the stars.

It’s quiet out here, save for the rustle of sage bushes disturbed by the warm breeze, and the skittering of rocks as night-time animals go about their hunts.

Perhaps that natural silence is why the sudden introduction of an entirely new sound unnerves you so much.

You jerk to a halt, ears straining to hear something approaching from the distance. Underneath the thin, worn soles of your shoes, you start to feel it; the road thrumming with gentle vibrations, growing stronger every second.

Lighting quick, you whirl around to face the way you’d come, hands flying up to grip anxiously at the straps of your rucksack.

You’d have thought you’d be excited to see those headlights rise up above the horizon line. At last! A stroke of luck! A potential ride! Potential help.

Instead, it’s as though the sudden appearance of two, dazzling lights blooming into view as they crest over the hill finally jar some sense back into your dizzy head.

The haze of fatigue lifts slightly, pushed away by little bursts of adrenaline as your brain fights to wake you up to an unconscious threat.

You’re alone out here. Defenceless, phoneless. You don’t know the area. Nobody knows you’ve broken down… You try so hard to think the best of people, but now that you’ve had one doubt, a hundred others start to scurry around in your brain, demanding attention.

You can see the vehicle, or their lights at least, but you doubt they can see you yet, this far down the road. You wonder what it is. Car? Truck?

… Alien spacecraft? Despite yourself, you let out a snort at that. Isn’t that infamous military base supposed to be in Nevada? The one hiding alien activity?

Right. Sure.

Despite your scepticism however, a thrill of fear rushes down the length of your spine as if to say, ‘Oh? But are you sure sure?’

Gulping audibly, you take a few steps sideways off the road, stealing a glance at a cluster of large rocks that sit conveniently just several yards to your rear.

You have a decision to make.

Maybe you’ve been alone on the road for too long, and isolation has bred a paranoia in you that’s so deeply rooted, you can’t shift it at a moment’s notice. If the sun was out, perhaps you’d be less apprehensive, but the night, no matter where you are, makes everything seem so much more… treacherous. It hides things. People, motivations, monsters.

And though it pains you to do so, you swiftly decide to err on the side of personal safety.

The vehicle is closer now, and your blood trembles as the roar of a loud, formidable engine thunders over the tarmac. Yet you’re still certain it isn’t close enough to have caught you in its high-beams.

On sluggish legs, you haul yourself about and make a clumsy dash for the rocks, clenching a fist around one strap of the rucksack and using your other hand to grab the closest rock and swing yourself behind it. Dropping to your backside, you flatten your spine against the cool, solid surface, eyes wide, heart beating hard against the cage of ribs keeping it from leaping up into your throat.

‘Coward,’ a voice in the back of your head scoffs, sounding suspiciously like your father. You shake it loose. Now is not the time to be bothered by old ghosts.

The thundering engine draws nearer, rumbling in your chest as it seems to creep towards your hiding spot at a pace even a glacier would be impressed by.

Around the corner of the rock, you can finally see the glow of its headlights smoothing over the tarmac, illuminating the sand and brush all around you. Hurriedly, you tuck your toes right into the shadow cast by your rock, keeping a breath held hostage behind clenched teeth.

“Come on… Come on,” you urge it frustratedly, aware that every second you spend not moving is another second towards sunrise. If you’re not on the dairy ready for work by then…

The vehicle rolls to a stop.

It stops.

The temptation to let out a frustrated scream is only held in check by your tongue getting stuck to the roof of bone-dry mouth.

They saw you. They must have seen you. There’s no way they could have known you were here otherwise.

Idiot!

Wasting time on the decision has only taken it right out of your hands in the end.

A bead of sweat escapes your hairline and rolls down the side of your face, following the curve of your cheek. Should you run? Keep hiding? Did they stop by coincidence? If they meant no harm, they’d have seen you hide and kept on driving, wouldn’t they? Stopping is suspicious. It conveys a desire to engage.

And then something really strange happens.

“Excuse me?”

And… Well, you’re… not entirely proud of the choked gasp that jumps out of you, nor the way you flinch as if you’d been struck.

When did they – He? It’s a low voice, deeper than anything you’ve heard in a long while, full of bass but soft like distant brontide.

When did he get out of the vehicle? You didn’t hear a door open, nor close.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he speaks again.

“I’ve frightened you…” Despite how gentle the timbre is, his voice is loud, like he’s speaking all around you, not just behind you. “I apologise,” the stranger continues, “That is the last thing I meant to do.”

What the Hell is he talking about?

There’s a long, unpleasant stretch of time until he speaks again.

“Was that your… Ford?” he asks, like he’s testing the word on his tongue, “Up the road?”

Shit. You’re starting to regret leaving that note. He must have read it and knew someone would be walking into town, alone and vulnerable.

The vehicle's powerful engine is still idling, strong and steady, buzzing along the ground and up through the soles of your feet.

It goes against your nature to ignore someone when they’re talking to you, but there’s still a part of you clinging to the hope that he’ll just give up and move on if you don’t respond or show yourself. Perhaps he’ll think you were just a figment of an overtired imagination…

Of course, instead, he persists. “Please.”

Jesus, he almost squeezes the word out, oozing dejection.

“You have nothing to fear from me… I’m a friend.”

A friend indeed. You huff quietly to yourself. You don’t even know him. He doesn’t know you. He’s trying to coax you out of hiding after watching you flee from his vehicle. Hardly the foundation for a good friendship. Still, you have to wonder why he doesn’t just come around the rock to stand over you if he’s so keen.

After another few seconds of stubborn silence on your part, the voice speaks again.

“Will you at least step back from the rock?”

What?

“There are scorpions on it, and I fear you’ll get-“

You don’t think you’ve moved so fast in quite some time. One moment you’re pressing yourself to the rock, and the next, you’re scrabbling to your feet with gusto, lurching away from your prior hiding space and spinning around, skin already crawling.

Sure enough, a pair of giant scorpions are scuttling around on the flat top, their tails held aloft, proud and large in the moonlight.

“-Hurt,” the stranger finishes.

Snatching your head up, you find yourself staring right into the vehicle’s headlights, and you instantly grunt with discomfort, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the light.

“Oh.” There’s a pause, the vehicle’s engine skips, and the lights suddenly dim, plunging you into almost darkness save for the dim glow of residual light. “Forgive me. Is that better?”

“Much. Thanks,” you respond automatically, only to turn rigid once you realise you’ve spoken aloud.

Well. He’s already seen you. No point pretending you can’t talk either…

Again, the stranger’s vehicle makes an odd noise, it’s engine hums gently, and as you lower your arm to seek out the man you’ve just opened a line of conversation with, you finally see what you’d been hiding from.

A monstrous Peterbilt sits squarely across the width of the road, entirely alien in the barren, rocky landscape. Smokestacks on either side of its cab reach towards the sky, glinting silver in the moonlight. It looks red under the meagre glow, with lighter panelling on the main body and dark, blue accents on the wheel trims and storage compartment. The grill is, in a word, massive, standing taller than you are, sporting a logo you don’t recognise on the front.

All in all, it’s a hell of a truck. Powerful, you imagine. Expensive too.

You try not to let your mouth hang ajar.

“Where-” Your voice cracks, still dry. “Ahem…! Where are you?”

Glancing around, your hackles start to rise. You can’t see the speaker anywhere. Which is why you let out an embarrassingly shrill yelp when his voice rumbles directly from the semi.

“I’m right here,” he assures you, polite enough not to show his amusement whilst you flap your mouth open and closed.

No, you shake your head. No, that is too weird. “What, are there like… speakers on the outside of your truck or something?”

There’s the tiniest of pauses, followed by a simple, concise, “There are.”

Oh. Well, then. That answers that burning question.

“Okay? So, um… Can I… help you?” you ask awkwardly, screwing one side of your face up.

The man seems to hesitate, allowing a pregnant pause to hang in the air between you before he replies, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Somehow, your expression twists even further south, and you begin casting your eyes over the semi, squinting through its dark windshield to try and catch a glimpse of what’s on the other side.

“I saw your truck on the side of the road,” the unseen man continues, “I feared you might have been hurt in a crash, so, I stopped to check that you weren’t still inside the vehicle. Then I found your note.”

He falls silent, and the air is dominated once again by the purring of his semi’s engine.

“Okay?” you prompt, still unsure of his motivations.

“It said you need help.”

He trails off, waiting. You’re promptly struck by the idea that he’s trying to guide you to some conclusion he hasn’t yet revealed. Finally, just as you start to grow restless, he forges ahead, “These roads can be hazardous for a lone hu-“

Suddenly, the truck’s engine revs, drowning out his voice for a second and sending you leaping backwards, startled.

“- A lone traveller…” he clears his throat just after the roar of its exhaust cuts out. Then, “Ah, If I may be so bold...”

All of a sudden, the passenger side door unlatches and swings open, and you’re presented with a clear invitation into the darkened cab. “May I offer you a ride into town?”

You wonder if he can see you turn stiff at his suggestion. Your body all but pleads on hands and knees for you to accept. What’s the worst that could happen, after all?

Well. You’ve watched several documentaries and movies that give you a pretty good indication of what ‘the Worst’ entails, thank you very much. You don’t like that he’s inviting you into his truck without showing his face to you yet. You’d like to gauge the person you’re speaking to. Get a bead on him. Is he big? Strong? Tall? Could you overpower him if it came down to it? Does he look like he’s hiding a weapon on him?

All these questions only serve to dry the moisture in your throat.

“I… That’s… very kind of you,” you admit, wringing your hands together as you take a small step away from the semi, “But I’m sure it’ll be okay, it isn’t that far.”

“At an average speed of three miles per hour, you will reach the outskirts of town in just under three and a half hours.”

You blink, caught off guard. ‘And they said we’d never need to use equations after we graduated.’

“Maths guy, huh?” you cock a hip, laying a hand across it and shooting the truck’s windshield a tentative smile, “Maybe I walk at four miles an hour.”

“Two and a half then,” he quips back just as smoothly, the door to his semi still hanging open. When he continues, you can’t help but notice that the cadence of his baritone voice rumbling through the speakers has turned to something a little more sombre, quieter, like he’s trying to impress upon you the gravity of a situation you don’t yet know about. “But time and distance aside, I do not wish to leave you to walk into Jasper by yourself, particularly at this time of night.”

He speaks like he’s been to elocution lessons. Every word seems to be carefully selected, every vowel and consonant articulate and refined.

It’s disarming. He’s disarming. But you’re still not convinced.

“Listen… Thank you, again. But…” It feels rude, like you’re committing some kind of faux pas in turning your back on the semi, yet you can’t shake the nagging voice at the back of your head, telling you that there’s something not quite right about the man in the truck. Not bad, just… off.

“It’s a kind offer,” you tell him again lamely, turning on your heel. And so, you recommence your weary march for Jasper, tossing one last sentiment over your shoulder, “But I’m sure I can make it on my own. Take care, okay?”

You almost expect him to argue, but all you can hear is the now familiar drone of the semi’s almighty engine. For several paces, you can feel a pair of eyes watching you, scrutinising and pensive, if a little baffled by your short yet polite dismissal.

When you make it another ten feet, heaving your tired legs after you over the tarmac, your ears perk up to the sound of an engine revving.

Smokestacks chugging, the massive truck pulls out of its standstill, unseen behind you.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you keep your gaze fixed to the ground ahead and raise a hand, flapping it about in an apologetic farewell as you meander further off the road and onto the sand, giving him plenty of space to get past.

You start to frown when you make it twenty paces without being overtaken by the truck.

That frown only grows deeper when the engine keeps churring away behind you, rubber tyres crunching tiny particles of sand under their treads as it crawls along in your wake.

Is he…?

Tearing your eyes off the toes of your shoes, you send a fleeting glance over your shoulder, surprised – but not much – to find the nose of the Peterbilt creeping slowly along in your peripheral vision, keeping pace with you.

Your frown eases back, and you quirk a brow at him instead, calmly asking, “What are you doing?”

And just as easily, the voice returns, “If you will not allow me to drive you, I will happily escort you to your destination.”

You can’t help yourself.

“Ha! ‘Escort.’” The snicker jumps out of you faster than you can raise your hands to press your fingertips against an unbidden grin. “Sorry,” you immediately try to amend, “You just sounded so serious.”

“… I… am serious?”

Letting your hand flop back to your side, you give your head a shake, still grinning. You really do meet all sorts on the road.

“Regardless, I’m sure you have far better things to be doing with your time.”

How the truck matches your walking speed without his engine faltering or sputtering, you’ll never know.

A strange noise gurgles from its exhaust, almost perfectly reminiscent of a troubled hum.

“On the contrary,” the driver responds, pulling forwards a little until only the grill overtakes you, and for a moment, you worry he’s about to drive across your path, “There is nothing at the moment that concerns me more than getting you safely where you need to go.”

Huh. Of all the genuine, stubborn…

“Look.” Your shoes scuff up a cloud of sand as you draw to an abrupt and decisive halt, turning bodily towards the truck. Hands splayed on your hips, you glare at the windscreen, aiming approximately for the driver. A second later, he must have hit the brakes because the semi lurches to a stop as well, hissing noisily.

Still, he doesn’t step out.

“You seem like a nice guy,” you start, trying to keep your chin raised and your tone stern. You fail, of course. Your voice cracks nervously, but at least you try. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you finally elect to stop beating around the bush and just address the elephant in the room – or desert, as it were.

“But I don’t make it a habit to get into random trucks with strangers.” You make it a point not to directly accuse him of having ulterior motives, but you hope you’ve at least driven home your main concern. At best, he’ll grow offended that you’d think him capable of such a thing and – hopefully – move on. At worst… Well. You brace yourself for that, teeth grit so tightly, your jaw starts to ache as you flick your eyes over towards the truck’s driver-side door, waiting.

The truck in question does something odd then. It… sinks? At least you think it does, lowering on its axles by a few inches like the wheels have just deflated. It’s difficult to tell in the dim moonlight though, and it’s over so quickly, you can’t be sure you saw anything at all that wasn’t just a trick of the desert.

How long have you been awake?

You’re busy calculating the hours you were driving when the stranger’s voice is kicked out over the speakers again.

“You assume I mean you harm…” he utters.

And just like that, the stern, rigid scowl is instantly wiped off your face.

He sounds…

…sad.

Not offended. Not angered by your thinly-veiled implication.

Just sad. Dispirited, even. As if it’s only just occurred to him that you might have perceived him as a threat.

It’s almost painful when the pair of you dissolve into an uncomfortable silence that lasts for several beats of your rapid-fire heart.

Biting down on the inside of your cheek, your brows drift apart whilst you try to think of something to say. Trouble is, you’re afraid that speaking again will only make things worse.

You have no idea what’s going through his head. What if his dejected tone is followed by something worse?

“I’m sorry,” you backtrack, pressing your lips together and chiding yourself for faltering, “It’s nothing personal, just… I-I should probably get going before I fall asleep standing up.” You give a stilted laugh, but it soon turns into an awkward sound made at the back of your throat, lips pulled over your teeth in a grimace.

Dipping your head, you swallow thickly and grip the straps of your rucksack again. But just as you make to turn away, the semi’s wheels abruptly twist towards you. It’s ever so slight, just enough that the truck rolls a few paces in your direction before it stops again, its grill pointed straight at you.

With an audible gulp, you go to take another step back, staring at the metal in anticipation. Your retreat is soon halted by the mellow rumble of his voice.

“I understand your hesitation. And I know that the word of a stranger may not hold much weight,” he begins slowly. The Peterbilt inches forwards again. “But I can assure you, you have nothing to fear from me…”

Shifting on your feet, you let go of your bag and clutch instead at your elbows, brows tipped up indecisively. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. He also speaks with a candour you’ve never encountered outside of a film or a storybook. Frank and forthright in a way you’ve never been privy to. Is that why you’re hesitating? Is that why he seems ‘off?’ Because his level of sincerity doesn’t have a place in your world?

Perhaps you’ve been spending so much time by yourself, it’s turned you distrustful. Maybe you’re just getting cynical. Looking back on your journey here, you realise that only other person who you’ve spoken to was a disinterested server who took your order at a drive-thru… That was four days ago. How long before that did you listen to someone who wasn’t the people on your truck’s radio?

Why is it so suspicious that this trucker wants to help? Hell, you’d be concerned as well if you saw some poor bastard hiking alone through the desert at night without a friend in the world.

Christ, you need some perspective.

The driver must see the conflict painted like a brand across your expression.

“Would it reassure you to know that this vehicle is operated entirely remotely?” he pipes up.

You blink once. Then again to wake yourself up a little more, pulled from your inner turmoil. “What?”

“This vehicle,” he tells you, “It is an unmanned vehicle.”

Curiosity overtakes suspicion faster than you can uncross your arms and stare at the grill dumbly, face opening up in surprise. “Wait. You mean it’s one of those self-driving things?”

“In a sense.” The semi’s engine rumbles softly, and the not-driver adds, “I am what you might call… the safety driver.”

Now that is curious.

You don’t even realise you’ve taken a step closer. “Really? But I thought that sort of tech was still in testing?”

“It is,” he replies, “We are, however, attempting to advance to field-tests, to see if these vehicles can autonomously haul freight in areas with sparser populations, to minimise the risk of collision.”

“Hence why you’re driving it out here in the middle of the night,” you realise aloud, raising an inquisitive brow at the windscreen, “So you’re really not in there? You’re driving it from somewhere else?”

“Would you care to see for yourself?” he asks kindly.

Your wide eyes flit to the passenger door when it eases open once again, though this time, it seems far less foreboding than before.

Tugging a loose piece of skin between your teeth, you give the silver steps leading to the door a scrutinising glance.

That does reassure you…

Slowly, still at least a little wary, you coax your legs to move, and they begrudgingly carry you onto the road. You approach the semi-truck with all the caution of a doe crossing an open meadow.

As you venture closer, its engine kicks up a notch, emitting a steady, gentle purr as if the vehicle itself is pleased with your acquiescence.

Suddenly, as you move along to the open door, you’re dazzled by a light flickering on inside the cab, bathing what you can see from this angle in a calm, golden hue.

From down here, it looks… just like an ordinary interior.

And lo and behold, as you stand on your tiptoes to see in, you find the driver’s seat is eerily devoid of its occupant.

You let out a breath that emerges shakier than you would have liked it to.

“Wow,” you laugh, impressed.

Maybe just a quick peek…

A vast chunk of apprehension breaks away from your chest and vanishes into the ether as you shuffle towards the steps, raising an arm and stretching your fingers across the space to the grab handle that sits invitingly just beside the open door.

This side of the truck is bathed in silver moonlight, and it’s only now that you’re this close that you happen to notice something you hadn’t before.

You almost wince when you spot them.

Although shiny and speckled with only the lightest dusting of desert sand, the metal panelling on the semi is covered in signs of wear and tear.

Enough to give you pause, at least.

For a moment, you’re taken aback, turning bodily away from the open door and cocking your head at the myriad of scratches that criss-cross their way up towards the semi’s roof.

All the paint in the world couldn’t hide some of those shallow nicks and lines that have been scraped out of the metal. In any case, something big must have scuffed it. Perhaps another driver in their own Peterbilt? Or perhaps it’s all damage sustained in testing the vehicle’s automated capabilities.

Clicking your tongue, you absently raise a hand to stroke your fingertips gingerly along the length of a particularly prominent scratch by the door.

“Oh dear,” you tut softly at the side of the truck, “You’ve been in the wars, haven’t you?”

Without warning, the engine that had been buzzing so gently suddenly ramps up and starts to vibrate firmly beneath your fingers, so strong you can even feel it judder the ground through the soles of your feet.

Recoiling like you’ve been zapped, you whip your head around to peer through the open door, half expecting the driver to admonish you for touching his vehicle.

As swiftly as it started however, the thrumming engine dies down, and the truck returns to its soft, benign idling. “My apologies,” comes that gentle voice again through the speakers, “Just an overactive combustion chamber.”

“Is it... safe to ride in?” you retort, giving the back of the truck a sidelong glance.

“You will find very few vehicles safer than this one,” he tells you patiently, “I will not allow any harm to befall you, as I would not allow it to befall any of my passengers.”

Your shoulders jump with a silent laugh. “Befall,” you parrot, fighting a smile, “I love the way you talk.”

“… You do?” His speakers buzz with a pleasant hum.

Fingers flexing anxiously, you reach out once again and slide them around the grab handle beside the door, finding that it’s unexpectedly warm under your palm.

“So, I just… get in?” you ask, only to cringe immediately, realising you probably sound like a fool who’s forgotten how to get into a truck.

Before you can rebuke yourself harshly though, the absent stranger offers his response. “Do you require assistance?”

“No, no,” you rush out, placing one foot on the first, silver step and hoisting yourself up off the ground, bringing yourself level with the cab’s seats.

Your eyes grow wide with wonder as you take in the interior.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe, suddenly hesitant to pull yourself up those last few feet.

“Is there something wrong?”

“It’s just… It’s so clean!”

Laid out before you is a perfectly ordinary truck cabin. Soft, grey leather covers the seats, with the same dark colouration on the roof, doors and most of the glovebox, interspersed by a rich, black steering wheel. The soft light, you discover, is emitted by multiple strips of blue neon LEDs that the driver must have fitted underneath the radio dials and dashboard, casting the truck’s interior in a cool, soothing glow.

But most astonishingly, for as much as you search, you can’t spot a single thing out of place. It’s absolutely immaculate. There isn’t one receipt stuffed in the door pockets, no traces of sand or gravel dirtying the footwells, no loose change tossed into the centre console…

Dumbfounded, you glance into the back, but all you find it a dark, grey panel and a shelf set back into the semi’s rear wall, meant for use as a bed, you surmise. It’s empty, unsurprisingly. Not a blanket or a pillow in sight.

Finally, your suspicions are put to rest. This truck doesn’t look lived in at all. He really is operating it remotely.

“God, it looks brand new in here,” you marvel aloud, suddenly hyper-conscious of the abysmal state of your old pickup. The scratches on this semi’s exterior play briefly on your mind but you brush your musings aside, too fatigued to consider the contradictions of a worn exterior but an immaculate interior.

Instead, you feel a frown crease the skin between your brows.

It really is immaculate in here…

Glancing down, you scowl disdainfully at your filthy shoes, the tank-top that’s stained irreparably by dropped food and greasy finger-smears, and trousers that are tattered and worn at their hems.

“Is everything all right?” the ‘driver’ asks again. His voice must emerge from the speakers on each door, low and warm, filling up the cabin.

“My shoes are dirty,” you admit out loud, your grip on the handle turning slack until you sink a few inches back to the first step, “I’m dirty. I-I don’t want to get sand and crap all over your truck.”

“I don’t mind.”

Spoken with more consideration than you’ve heard in a long, long time.

You pause at once, brows tipping up in the centre of your forehead.

A deep inhale through your nose brings with it the unobtrusive scent of leather, with the faintest undertone of adhesive sealers, giving the interior that ‘new truck smell’ that so many drivers try to replicate artificially.

Comparatively, it’s been several days since you passed a rest stop that had showering facilities. Those that did asked for a hefty charge. You’d glanced down at the handful of coppers in your centre console and decided you could go without. Now, you’re starting to regret that decision. Every now and then, whenever you raised your arms to stretch or flip the visor down in your pickup, you’d catch an unpleasant whiff of yourself wafting out from under your light, cotton shirt.

Embarrassed as you are to confess that you’ve been severely neglecting your personal hygiene, you swallow past a lump in your throat and croak, “I… haven’t exactly washed for a couple of days… I wouldn’t want to make your truck smell…”

And in a tone so kind it threatens to brings a tear to your eye, the stranger answers consolingly, “I think your scent is perfectly fine.”

It’s so damnably genuine, you can’t even find it in yourself to point out that he isn’t here to smell you, so his point is moot.

“I…” One more cop-out strikes you. “I don’t have any money,” you murmur truthfully, ashamed, “I can’t pay you for the fuel, or-“

“-I ask for nothing in return but your company,” is all he says, cutting you off as gently as his profound voice will allow.

And just like that, you’re out of viable excuses. Or perhaps your body has noticed the comfortable seats right in front of it and you don’t have enough fight left in you to deny it a sit down. Besides, any reasons you come up with to dip are likely to be met with a counterpoint.

Even so, you can’t help but hesitate for one more question, hand clasping and unclasping around the grab handle. “Are you sure it’s okay? I’m not going to get you in trouble or anything am I?”

The next sound that hums through his speakers is so soft and rich, you think it’s the truck’s engine playing up again, at least until the stranger cuts the noise off by saying, “You do not look like trouble to me.”

If he only knew.

The sound prior, you realise, was a chuckle, the first one you’ve heard out of him yet. Something in the measure of it settles the last of your nerves, only slightly, just long enough to have you throwing caution to the wind. With a final heave, you pull yourself the rest of the way inside, sliding gingerly into the comfortable passenger seat. You never notice how the metal below your foot shifts microscopically, lifting you closer to the cab.

It takes a lot of restraint not to let your eyes drift closed, nor to slump backwards into the wondrously giving material on your spine.

Instead, you sit stiffly with your rucksack keeping you upright, legs pressed together, hands folded neatly in your lap. If you make any kind of mess in here, you’ll be mortified.

After a moment, you remember to close the door, but just as you turn and peel a hand off your thigh, you jolt, staring agog at the door as it swings slowly shut with a dull ‘click.’ All of its own accord.

“Full remote access,” the voice pipes up as the engine below you roars to life, and then you’re moving, and all you can do is stare through the window at the desert drifting by whilst trying to ignore the uninvited ache in your chest.

“Seatbelt.”

His gentle prompt spurs you to reach over and grab the fabric near your shoulder, tugging it across your body and fumbling a little to slot it into place. Suddenly, you feel an invisible pull on the belt, and the metal buckle finds its way into the socket on your next pass.

‘Must be magnetic,’ you muse distractedly.

“Are you comfortable?”

Blinking back the moisture in your eyes, you turn to glance at the empty driver’s seat. It’s bizarre, and more than a little unsettling to see the steering wheel turn itself around as the truck pulls back onto the road, driven by unseen hands.

When you don’t immediately respond to his query, the man continues just as patiently as before. “If it is too cold, I can turn up the heater. Or… perhaps you are too warm…” He hums to himself, thoughtful. “You have been exerting yourself.”

You instantly become aware of the light sheen of sweat that hasn’t quite dried on your forehead. Puckering your face up into a solemn smile, you shake your head and at last respond. “Not to worry. It’s very comfortable in here.”

What follows is a poignant moment of hesitation before the voice speaks again. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but… You do not seem comfortable…”

The open-ended statement fades into silence, and you’re left casting nervous glances around the cabin again. “How do you-?” you start, tugging your shirt further down your arms, “Can you see me? Like… in here?”

Again, there’s a pause, barely longer than a second, yet long enough for you to notice it.

“Cameras,” comes his measured response, “Both external and internal. They’re how I spotted you on the road.”

“Oh, I hadn’t even considered that… Of course.”

Suddenly self-conscious, you reach up and begin to paw uselessly at your dishevelled hair, humming though a thin-lipped smile. “I must look a sight,” you half joke.

“You look tired…” he replies diplomatically, and there’s nothing in it for you to be offended by.

Rubbing a thumb over the wrinkle slowly carving a home between your brows, you heave a dreary sigh. “It’s been a long journey.”

“I can only imagine… And… Where does it culminate, if I may?”

“Terry’s Dairy?” you offer, “Uh, it’s this little farm just on the outskirts of Jasper.”

The truck beneath you gives a reverberating thrum. “I know the pastures, but I’m afraid you will find they lay beyond the ‘outskirts’ of the city.”

Letting out a groan, you knock your head back against the seat behind you, staring bleakly up at the ceiling. “Of course… How far?”

“Only a few miles, to the East of Jasper. We’re coming in from the Northwest highway. I can get you there in twenty-five minutes.”

“Twenty- Oh, no, no. You really don’t have to do that,” you protest, shifting in the seat to frown at the empty driver’s seat in lieu of anywhere else to look, “Just drop me off in town and I’ll walk the rest. You’re already going out of your way for a stranger.”

“I am dropping you off at your destination and not a mile before,” he tells you steadily.

His uncompromising tone brooks no argument.

You stare at the spot a person should be for several, long moments, debating how much you could push an argument. He’s already coaxed you into his truck, his powers of persuasion are rather good. What chance do you have, sleep-deprived as you are?

Conceding sullenly, yet appreciatively, you let your back touch the seat, settling into it a little less hesitantly. “You won’t be taking no for an answer, I assume?”

He only lapses into a stubborn silence, an answer in and of itself.

That quiet is broken, however, when you suddenly let out all the air from your lungs, a smile growing across the width of your face as the breath escapes your nostrils in a sigh. “Thank you for this… Really. You’re saving me a lot of grief.”

The blue neons on his dashboard seem to flare a bit brighter for all of a second before they dim again. “I am glad to be of service,” he replies warmly.

“Oh my god,” you blurt without warning, leaning forwards in the seat and staring through the windscreen with wide eyes, “I’m so sorry, you’re being so nice and I’m so rude – I never asked your name.”

“Nor did I yours,” he points out, “You may call me Op-“

Suddenly, a burst of static buzzes through the radio. You shoot it a funny look.

“Optimus,” the stranger admits over the static with a hesitance you pick up on right away, drawing your gaze from the dash, “My name is Optimus.”

“Optimus?” you repeat incredulously, a small smile quirking at the edges of your mouth, “Wow… You must have had creative parents.”

“I appreciate that it might seem… an unusual name…”

“It is,” you agree pleasantly, “I like it. Makes you sound cool. Unique. My parents just stuck me with Y/n.”

At once, Optimus echoes your name, and you’re jarred by the sound of it coming from someone else’s lips, reverberating around the truck. It’s been a while since anyone used it.

“Y/n,” he says again in his velvety timbre, “It’s a fine name. I like yours too.”

#Optimus Prime #TFP #optimus x reader #Reader #Fluff #protective optimus #Nevada

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