#also this more setting up the next fic in the series than anything else

[ihavethedreamies]

Easy | Felix | Easy to Expert (1)

Lee Yongbok (Felix - Stray Kιds)

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~5k

Pairing: Felix x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Reader-Insert, Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Oral (F! Receiving), Fingering, Biting, One Singular Spank, He Gets a Bit Rough, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom! Don't do what they do.)

Summary: In which you can't normally get off and Felix doesn't like this one bit.

Author's Note: Imagine trying to write something like this with a straight face because you are at your uncle's house in the living room with everyone else there and you can't go anywhere else...

Also your friend's name is Yuna here and she's not a reference to any idol or anything, this was just the name that came to mind.

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"He had the stamina of a work horse; I thought I was going to die."

"Really?" You weren't convinced.

"No, seriously. I had never came that many times in one session." Your friend shook her head and you blinked. You watched her take a swig of beer and you took another bite of chicken.

"You started without us?" Someone whined behind you, and you turned to see Jisung and Minho coming up to your table. The younger man pouted as he sat down in the empty chair next to you while Minho sat on his other side.

"You guys are half an hour late." Yuna sneered at them, waving a drumstick aggressively.

"Where's everyone else?" you asked.

"Seungmin can't make it, Jeongin is sick. Chan and Changbin are on their way from the studio. Felix and Hyunjin just left campus after dance practice." Minho listed off, waving his hand up to get the auntie's attention to get beer.

"Is Jinnie going to shower first? Poor thing looks like he fell in a pond after dance practice." Yuna bounced a bit as she talked since the waitress brought over the order of Tteokbokki you had ordered.

"That's why they're late." Jisung spoke around a mouthful.

"Anyway, he ended up breaking up with me because I apparently wasn't enough for his libido." Yuna continued her story despite the fact two of the boys had arrived and Chan and Changbin were arriving.

"Woah, what?" Chan laughed setting his bag down next to her and the other man sat across from Minho.

"Is this the same guy who said he wished he had two dicks to fuck twice as much?" Changbin asked as you watched his shirt tighten over his chest as he took his jacket off. Everything he wore was so tight…You were taken out of your zone-out when he scoffed, "My eyes are up here (Y/N)." Everyone laughed at you and your face tingled a bit, you took a sip of beer not meeting his eyes.

"Wait, what?" Chan asked again and Yuna rolled her eyes.

"Yeah. I think he was possessed by a sex demon or something, geez."

"Who are we talking about?" The oldest man asked. Yuna then recapped everything she had told you to Chan who stared blankly at her the whole time.

"Okay, way more than I ever needed to know." He shook his head and grabbed his chopsticks.

"You don't even know the half of it." Changbin huffed and the other girl gasped dramatically.

"You asked me to tell you most of it!"

"Not everything! I really didn't care about who you did everything with first, that was a long ass list."

"A list of asses?" Minho seemed to tune in at a very specific time.

"Do I want to know?" A new voice groaned as Hyunjin sat at the end of the table. Felix came around to the other end near you and took a seat.

"Yuna is sharing WAY too much again." Jisung's eyes got big to emphasize his point.

"Well, this started because (Y/N)-"

"NO!" You almost leaped across the table to shut her up. That unfortunately made the boys all the more curious and it was getting steadily louder as they urged you to share. If not but to spare the rest of the patrons and workers, you finally relented.

"I just told her that I didn't see too much point in rushing into sex in a relationship because I don't get much out of it." You didn't look at anyone, just cast a glare at Yuna, then back at your beer bottle.

"Well, you need to find someone else then." Minho told you matter-of-factly.

"It doesn’t matter, and it's not like partners haven't tried…I just can't…I-I can't finish…" You mumbled the last part, and it went deathly silent. You could feel the eyes on you but for some reason, the ones to your left were burning. Glancing up to meet Felix's stare, you're startled by his expression. He looked…intense. You shifted under his gaze. He knew you liked him, and you knew he liked you, but not much had come of it. You two kissed briefly a few weeks ago but it was interrupted, and it hadn’t happened since.

"Wait, seriously? Have you ever?" Chan asked, he had stopped eating. This was serious to him.

"Yeah, but it took forever. I had to do it myself and it wasn't easy." You shrugged. Because of this fact you hadn't had very many sexual encounters or partners. It’s just frustrating when nothing ever came of it.

"So that's when I told her that my last boyfriend might be able to do it since he got me off like six times at once." Yuna explained as she shoved more food in her mouth.

"Did you ex ever do it?" Jisung asked and you nodded.

"Once." That wasn't why you had broken up; he had moved away for work and long distance didn't work too well so you drifted apart.

"Have I ever told you guys about my college roommate's girlfriend?" Hyunjin cut in and quickly everyone was diverted over to his story of the fact that this girl was not loyal by any means. And neither was her boyfriend. Unfortunately for Hyunjin, he was both of their type and he ended up having to switch rooms. The night continued and as more food was eaten, more alcohol was consumed. The rowdiness became too much, and you were more or less kicked out. Yuna was drunk and Changbin promised to get her home in one piece, so he left with her on his back. Chan, Jisung, and Hyunjin followed suit since they all were going to the same place, and you were left with Minho and Felix.

"I'll walk her home. Go check on Jeongin, he might be asleep already but he's not texting back." Felix told the older man who nodded and said goodbye so you two were left alone. You had only one beer that night and Felix didn't even finish his, so you were not even tipsy.

"I-I can get home okay, I didn't drink much." You tried to wave him off.

"It’s okay. Just because you're sober doesn't mean I should let you go alone." He smiled softly and you internally gushed over how pretty he was.

"Thanks." Beginning to head in the opposite direction of everyone else, you two walked in silence for most of the time, but it was companionable. In your head you just kept replaying the small kiss from a few weeks before, not really sure why you were looping on it. When you got to your building, you expected him to leave you at the door, but he opened the door for you and led you toward the elevator.

"D-Do you want to come in? I have some cheesecake left that I can't finish on my own…" You couldn't meet his gaze as you waited for the elevator.

"Sure, thanks." His deep voice was so warming, and you wondered what it would sound like whispering in your ear. You shook your head to clear the thought and got in the lift to get to your floor. Keying in your pin code, the door chimed, and you let him into your apartment. You lived alone and so your place had some clutter about. You hung your coat and bag up, changed to slippers, then moved to clear the papers and pens off the couch. After moving the stuff into a more organized pile on the coffee table, you stood and turned to go to the kitchen, but instead ran into Felix's chest. He was wearing a grey turtleneck that was way tighter than you though it would be on him. His sleeves were already rolled up to his elbows and his hand moved to steady you when you stumbled in surprise at his proximity. Compared to other men, he wasn't very tall, but he was still quite a bit taller than you. When the hands that steadied you moved from your arms to your waist, you were pulled to him even closer. Your breath hitched and your hands instinctually gripped the fabric of his shirt at his shoulders. When your eyes met, he leaned in and as his lips hovered over yours, his deep voice rumbled through you.

"Can I?"

"Y-yes." Your hands moved to rest closer to his neck and he kissed you. This one was different than before. Last time was chaste and soft, but this was growing heated fast. Felix tilted his head more and licked at your bottom lip prompting you to open your mouth. You moaned softly as his tongue invaded your mouth and when he groaned back it was like thunder shook you. Reluctantly, you let him pull away so you both could take a breather.

"Was what you said true? You really can't cum?"

"M-most of the time." It was embarrassing to talk about it in front of everyone, but for some reason it seemed like Felix took it personally.

"Hm. If you let me, I might be able to help." He leaned down some to say this right into your ear, then he sucked on your ear lobe. You shuddered and tilted your head to let him get better access to your neck. He laid searing kisses along your skin, and you swallowed hard.

"O-okay." You were a bit reluctant since it hadn't worked well before. At the same time, he was turning you on way faster than anyone or anything else before. You were not blind, or deaf, he was incredibly attractive, and you would be stupid to say no. Felix's lips pulled into a smile against your throat and he sucked on that spot hard, his teeth digging in slightly. You moaned louder than you meant to, and he could feel your throat vibrate as you did. Not realizing he could pull you closer, when he did you felt him hard against your stomach. His lips moved from your neck, which now had at least three bruises on it, back to your mouth and he dominated the kiss, taking complete control. Finally, to gain more oxygen, he pulled away from you and your head was swimming. He could sense that you were dazed, so he wrapped his arms around you and picked you up, carrying you to your room. Setting you down at the end of your bed, he kneeled before you, the look on his face shocked you. You were expecting a fire there, lust, but it was so warm and soft, and you weren't sure how to react.

"I'm doing this because I like you so much. I hate that no one's made you feel good like you deserve. But at the same time…" The hand on your waist dug into your flesh and his expression sharpened, "I want to be able to say I'm the only one that can say he did. Easy." His confession made your walls clench around nothing.

"Will you let me?" Felix asked.

"Of…of course. I like you too-" He cut you off with another devouring kiss and his hands wandered under your sweater and helped you take it off. If you had known this was going to happen, you wouldn't have worn such a plain set of underwear. As the make-out session continued he also removed your socks and pants and he finally pulled back to take his own clothes off. You watched with rapt attention as his turtleneck came off, and…damn. Felix was way more ripped than you thought he would be. Not quite to the level of Chan or Changbin…You were even more enthralled as he took his belt off and undid his jeans to let them fall. His hard cock was straining against the black fabric of his tight briefs, but he left them on as he kneeled before you again. He stood as high as he could on his knees, making him eye level with you.

"Can I?" He reached around your back, and you nodded so he could unhook your plain nude bra. As he took it off, he gently bumped his forehead against yours and flashed a smile.

"You're so pretty." He cooed and you huffed, looking away in embarrassment.

"That's the pot calling the kettle black." You mumbled and he giggled. Felix laid a soft kiss on your lips then began to move down. To your neck, collarbone, sternum, then down your right breast where he latched his mouth around your nipple. You exhaled and let him do what he wanted. He didn't garner much of a reaction, but it felt better than it normally did. He hummed in thought and then he laved his tongue around the peak of your breast, then his teeth slightly dug in, and you gasped. The corners of his mouth pulled into a smile, and he sucked hard on your nipple again and your skin tingled. Goosebumps rose on your arms, and he pulled away with a pop and moved to do the same to the other side. Your breathing was getting a bit heavier and as he pulled away from your chest, he pressed his hand on your sternum, telling you to lay back. You did so and as you did; he straight up bit your left breast on the swell of the flesh. This pulled a surprised moan from you, and he smirked, pulling back.

"You left a mark!" You scoffed and he laughed, "You're going to end up with a lot more, love." You gaped at him and before you could answer, his mouth was back on you, kissing over your ribs. You sighed and he moved down to your belly button, then licked a path up to under your breasts. His actions heated your skin, and he moved back down to the waistband of your panties.

"You okay with this?" His fingers had slipped under the fabric to run along your butt, his face close to your covered pussy. He could smell your arousal already and couldn't wait to bury his tongue inside you.

"Yes. How about I tell you if I'm not and you just do whatever you want." You finally told him. You loved that he asked and made sure, but you just wanted him to keep going.

"Whatever I want?" He whispered to himself, and his intense gaze met yours.

"Are you sure, love?"

"Y-yes." You felt like a small furry creature about to be devoured by a tiger.

"Hm." He smirked and his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, dragging you to the end of the bed. Felix pressed his face into your covered cunt and licked at your clit through the fabric. You twitched a bit, but not enough for his liking. He clicked his tongue and instead of pulling your panties off, he tore them off. The side hem was fraying a bit and it allowed him to rip the fabric and he tossed the remnant away. You would have complained if it was a nicer pair. The display of strength was incredibly attractive. Once again, Felix's hands gripped your ass, hauling you closer and immediately shoved his tongue into your cunt. You exhaled harshly, laying back. It was if he was a man lost in the desert and you an oasis. He was practically drinking from you, devouring you. His nose bumped your clit as his tongue reached as deep as he could get it. You grunted slightly, surprised at how good it felt. He noticed that every time the tip of his nose hit your button that you flinched very slightly. Removing his face from between your legs for a moment, he took his thumbs and spread you open, and you squealed. It was embarrassing, but you didn't say anything, so he kept going, smirking as you covered your face. Licking another stripe from your core to your clit, he sealed his lips around the little bud and sucked as hard as he could. Your hips jumped slightly, and your breathing picked up, but it wasn't enough yet. Furrowing his brow, he pulled back again, tipping his head. If he wasn't doing what he was it would have been rather cute. He had one more trick up his sleeve. He took his thumb once again and rubbed a circle over your clit to see how you reacted. Glancing up he pushed harder against it to fully expose it, then he leaned forward to suck again. It was a stronger feeling than before and it made your hips jump again but then he did something unexpected, he placed your clit between his teeth and bit down a bit.

"Fuck!" You twitched hard, he wrapped his arm around your hips to hold them down, then he sucked again and gave another little nibble.

"F-Felix-" You gasped, and you were getting close. It was a different feeling than even the few times before. As he abused your poor little clit, he quickly inserted two fingers in your rapidly wetting cunt. This made you gasp again, and he could feel how tight you would be, but he was figuring out you needed a little bit of pain. Once more, he nibbled down, and at the same time he crooked his fingers up hard against your sweet spot and you fell apart. You saw white, you had never felt anything to that extent before. You had slammed your hand over your mouth, but he could still hear you nearly scream out a moan and he smiled cockily; your pussy walls clenched hard around his fingers and cum spurted out of your cunt. He held your hips down, feeling the muscles twitch and spasm. It seemed like it lasted forever and when you finally came down, you were panting hard. He kneeled straighter, pulling his fingers out of you, and noted that you had draped your arm over your eyes, and he couldn't tell if there were tears or sweat flowing down your cheeks. As he stood, Felix licked his fingers clean, and he kneeled over you some and pried your arm from your face. You looked dazed, and he still couldn't tell if it was sweat or tears.

"You did so good, love." He stroked the hairs back that were stuck to your forehead.

"How the actual fuck did you do that?" You gaped and he guffawed.

"It seems you like it to hurt a bit?"

"Hurt? It didn’t?" You seemed genuinely confused. Were you really that insensitive? With how tight your cunt was around his fingers he thought for sure it would have stung a bit. Most of the time getting bit somewhere that tender would hurt some even if it felt good.

"Interesting…" He thought for a second then looked back down at you.

"Do you wanna keep going?" Felix brushed a drop of the moisture from your cheek and you glanced at him.

"Why wouldn't I?" He huffed at that.

"You look like you just ran a marathon."

"Felix, if you can make me come, I'm going to let you do it as many times as possible." You deadpanned and his shocked expression softened, and he hummed. He bent over and kissed your forehead gently. His hand grabbed yours and he brought your knuckles to his lips so he could press another kiss there.

"(Y/N), I just want you to know, that I really like you, and I want to just hold you and love you all night." He admitted and your heart began to thud.

"But I think what you need is to be fucked senseless." His voice deepened even further, and his gaze sharpened. Your heart raced even more, and it seemed he was waiting for permission.

"Oh, god, please." You said quickly and he chuckled.

"Scoot up." He kissed your hand once more then let go and he got off the bed, letting you do as he requested. He went and turned your lamp on and shut the big overhead light off. He came over as you pulled your nightstand drawer open to make sure you did have condoms and that they weren't expired.

"What's this?" He had stopped next to you as you grabbed the box and his hand reached in a grabbed something else.

"Oh, uh-" Before you could answer he opened the box. He knew what it was before he asked. Inside there was a series of sex toys and it seemed none of them could do the trick. Bullet vibrator, one looked like a rose with suction, there was a rabbit vibrator, but the one that shocked him the most was the butt plug. It vibrated too and the plastic still hadn't been taken off of the box.

"Woah." He teased, pulling it out and you groaned.

"Haven't tried it?"

"I…Nothing else worked so I figured it was worth a try but I got nervous…"

"Hmm." He was thinking something, and you weren't sure you liked the look on his face.

"Another time." He shook his head and dropped it back in the box and put it in the drawer again and took the condom box from you.

"Hm." He hummed again and you shot him a look.

"What?"

"Have you tried anything with like ribbing or whatever?"

"Yes…didn't do jack. Even did the ones with like warming lube and stuff."

"…I have an idea but only if you're okay with it?"

"What?"

"I know it’s good to be double sure, but you're on the pill, yeah?"

"Yes."

"It seems you have trouble feeling stuff there, you would probably feel more without this." He rattled the box. He had a point, the only reason you used both was for security.

"We can get the morning after thing if you want-"

"That's fine." He seemed to know what he was doing, and you weren't overly worried about it.

"You sure?"

"Yes, Felix." You assured and he nodded, dropping the box back into the drawer, "They're the wrong size anyway." He muttered that to himself, but you caught it. Closing the drawer, he crawled back onto the bed and kneeled at your feet, then cast you a look. You nodded and he pulled your knees apart and for some reason it was still embarrassing even though his tongue had literally been inside you. You were neither a virgin nor a prude, but for some reason, since it was Felix, it felt different.

"Relax, love." He smiled, pressing his lips to yours again and his tongue slipped into your mouth. You whined when he pulled back and he chuckled, then maneuvered and removed his underwear and threw them somewhere.

"Fuck." You whined and you wanted him in your mouth.

"This is about you, love, not me." He pinched your nose, able to tell what you were thinking from the expression on your face.

"Fine." You pouted and his fingers went back to your cunt and gathered the wetness there and you watched as he stroked himself to get ready. What the fuck was he fed that despite his small size his cock was that big? Whatever it was also probably made his voice as deep as it was as well.

"Ready? I'm going to be rough with you." He warned, his sharp gaze rehardened, the softness still there underneath.

"Please." You let him just grab you, he spread your legs open wide, a slight burn in your hamstrings. There was very little time between the head of his cock meeting your cunt and him burying all the way to the hilt. It took your breath away and he grunted at how tight your hot core felt around him. He had honestly never had sex without a condom before either. After being inside your wet heat with no barrier, he didn't think he could ever do anything but, especially since he planned on being with you longer than he consciously realized. You were shivering at the sensation, his hot flesh searing through you, spreading you open so much so instantly. It stung some but it felt better than any other time and you weren't sure if it was because he was fucking you raw or that he was that big. You didn't even want to know how much bigger Chan supposedly was. He contemplated letting you get used to him, but Felix was losing control fast, and it seemed like you liked it rough. His hands on your thighs spreading them open gripped the flesh, easily swinging your legs up so he folded you in half, your knees at your ears.

"Hold on, love." Using his dancing skills, he snapped his hips as hard as he could, and your next orgasm hit you. If you whited out before, you practically blacked out that time. It was like water rushed over your head, your rapid pulse thudding in your ears, your blood audibly racing. He grunted and you could barely hear it through the ringing in your ears and he dug his fingers hard into the flesh of your thighs to hold back his own orgasm. Your walls were hugging his cock so tight, and you were practically gushing around him. He hoped that he had pulled some kind of seal off of you, and that he could get you to fall apart over and over and over. He wanted to be the one that could say he fucked you stupid and that no one could ever finish you simply because they weren't him. His ego shot through the roof, and he wanted to ruin you. When he first thought of going through with this, the plan was to show you how much he loved you, what you meant to him. But he had no idea what you liked and what would finally get you off. If you needed rough, he would do it. Looping his thoughts to keep distracted from the vice of your cunt, he finally felt you relax, and you nearly went boneless, your legs in his grip losing all strength. You were heaving for air again, not sure which way was up or down, how old you were, or even your own name. All you could think of was Felix.

"No!" You yiped as he pulled out, but he rolled you over onto your stomach, hauled your hips up, your face buried in the pillow and he buried his cock back into your needy pussy, making you white knuckled the sheets. He began a truly relentless pace, and it was the best thing anyone had ever done to you.

"You like my cock, love?"

"Fuck, yes!" You managed to get out, each thrust made you silently scream, forming words became nearly impossible. Maybe the fact that he got you to orgasm allowed you to be more sensitive; then maybe because you had tried for so hard for so long with no success, your body could finally let go. Felix had the key to not only your heart, it seemed, but your cunt as well.

Leaning forward, he gripped the frame of your bed for leverage and kept his thrusts just as hard but extremely shallow. The fat head of his cock beat against your back walls so hard that you were sure they would forever be molded to only him. You felt another climax rising and your own hands scrambled to grip the wooden rods of your bed frame as well.

"F-Felix!" You managed to get out and you watched one of his hands leave the frame above you, and he smacked your right ass cheek and upper thigh hard, and you fell over the edge again. This time, he couldn't hold back either, and he fucked as deep into you as he could and filled your womb with his cum. That sensation made your climax flare to max again even though it had begun to dissipate, and your fluttering canal helped him ride out his own orgasm. You thanked the Lord birth control existed because you never wanted him to cum anywhere but inside after that. As you both caught your breath, he slowly pulled out of you and the adrenaline left you and now you were sore. Your clit, your pussy, where he had smacked you, everything. You didn't think you would be able to walk tomorrow. When he had fully withdrew, your hips slumped down and you flopped flat onto the bed, not able to move.

"Hold on, love." He leaned over you and kissed your hot cheek, covered in tears from the intensity of what he just reeked on you. You felt him wipe your used cunt off with a towel and you whined when he moved you to pull the blanket out from under you. He made a note to remove the comforter before fucking you on the bed again, because he sure was planning on doing it again.

"You're fine, pretty girl." He chuckled and crawled into bed with you. He shut the lamp off and the room was cast in shadow before your eyes got used to the dull light of the streetlights behind the curtain. Getting settled, he saw you had laid on your side already, the only way you could fall asleep. Smiling he curled around you, wiggling his arm under your head and wrapped his other around your middle. He rested his hand on your tummy, holding you close. He had to be careful, your cute little butt pressed against his now-covered groin was enough on its own to get him riled back up. The arm under your head bent so his hand could rest on your forehead, and he kissed the back of your head.

"Goodnight, love." Felix hugged you as close as possible, loving being your big spoon.

"I won’t be able to walk tomorrow." You mumbled and buried his nose in your hair and smiled smugly.

"If you can I won’t have done my job right."

"Thank you, 'Lix."

"Of course, sweet." Another kiss to your head.

"Go to sleep. I'll take care of you tomorrow. And every day after that you'll have me." His deep but quiet voice rumbled next to your ear, and you linked your fingers with his on the hand on your stomach.

"I'll have you always, Felix."

"Good, because you're stuck with me now."

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[arcanefox207]

The Wolf You Feed (Part 1)

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 8k

Part 1 / ? (Ongoing Series)

Summary: Set in fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter.

Warnings: No Outbreak, AU but with TLoU characters, Large age gap (Reader is 29. Joel is 50). This chapter includes smut with fingering and cum eating. Dominant Joel. Eventual Angst. Drinking Alcohol. Pet names but no use of Y/N. Reader is smaller than Joel and has hair he can grab. 

Chapter Excerpt: He presses a gentle kiss behind your ear and another one drags to your jawline and to the soft meat of your neck. His coarse beard scrapes against your skin and makes you shudder. You press your ass into him and feel him hard against your lower back. He responds by pressing into you firmly and brings his mouth to your ear. 

“You feel what you do to me, beautiful girl?” He asks with his low, gravely voice and presses another kiss into you. His heat is searing into you.

A/N: Please hang in there. This chapter has a lot of setup and is a bit of a slow burn. Its also my first fic and I am pouring my heart and soul into it.

A O 3 | M A S T E R L I S T | N O T I F I C A T I O N

“Remember, if you need anything you can ask Joel. He knows his way around the house” your mother reminds you. 

“Thanks, I will be fine but I’ll keep that in mind.” You appease her but have no intention of bothering her neighbor.

“Love you, honey. Talk later!”

“Bye mom. Love you.” You end the call and slump back against the couch. This was going to be your home for the next few months. Your parents had gone south to avoid the brutal New England winter and had offered their summer vacation home in Kineo to you in the interim. No rent and plenty of free time to figure out what to do with your life next. All you had to do was pay the utilities and keep an eye on things.

The offer was genuine but also came from a place of concern. You had spent the last few years living a more-or-less nomadic life and poorly indulging your dreams of adventure. Your bachelors degree in Liberal Arts proving to be as useless as everyone told you it would be. It got you jobs easy enough but nothing that felt like a long term career. It all felt directionless but you also had been hell bent on proving everyone else wrong and keeping up the appearance that you were doing just fine. 

Your past relationships were nothing too exciting either. Months of casually dating someone and it not really going anywhere or random hookups that you regretted the next day. One or two guys you were getting serious with but ultimately scared you off when they started talking about a family in their big picture. You were starting to get cynical about any compatible prospects.

You are only 29 and wonder if a midlife crisis before your 30’s is normal. At least, that is what it felt like was happening. You had been treading water for too long and felt like you were too tired to keep swimming.

Your mother finally wore you down enough when your lease was up at your Boston apartment and you had no real obligations. You hated your current job, your roommates were little more than acquaintances and the busy city life scene was starting to lose its charm especially when it was astronomically expensive to live there. It was getting harder to say no so you agreed to her offer. 

You had to admit living in the country sounded like a nice change. You had a few months to figure stuff out and the thought of something new was exciting to you. Even if it meant continuing to endure the bitter winter, you had a chance to start fresh somewhere new. Something different. 

You didn’t grow up here and spent most of your life living in suburban homes with slightly warmer climates. Your parents had bought a small one bedroom vacation home in a sleepy New England town that they mostly only enjoyed in the prime summer months. The home sat mostly vacant otherwise. They would rent it out for weeks at a time but in the winter months no one from away wanted to go there. Too far from ski resorts and civilization to be of interest to a casual vacationer. It had a lake that drew much attention from outsiders only when it wasn’t frozen. The town was reduced to just the year-round locals in the coldest months.

Your new residence was outside the main populous of Kineo and nearby the lake. In fact, you could see the lake peeking through the thick pine trees out the front window if you looked hard enough. 

The closest and only neighbor in sight was the handyman your parents raved about across the street. He kept an eye on the place while they were away. You had never interacted with him on your occasional summer visits, but knew he had been kind to your folks and heard about him often enough. You occasionally saw him out in his yard from afar and he would give a lazy wave to your parents in passing. You never really got a good look at him up close but from what you could see he looked rugged and fit and always wore jeans and work boots. He had a modest waterfront cabin across the street and seemed to keep to himself.

You had arrived just a few days ago and already had a job lined up at the local coffee shop, Grind. You were getting your caffeine fix and saw a help wanted sign in their window and you had no trouble securing the job when you chatted with the owner. She hired you on the spot and seemed desperate but grateful that you actually had enthusiasm for coffee and knew your Americanos from your Lattes. Grind Coffee House was on the main drag along with some other quaint shops. It was charming enough and an easy 10 minute drive from your house. The pay was pitiful but would be enough to get by. Things seemed to be lining up perfectly.

You went to bed early that night and felt optimistic that this was going to be good for you. This was going to be the reset that you craved. A new adventure. It was like nothing you had experienced before and maybe that was exactly what you needed.

–

Shit. Your first day working at Grind and you can’t even get the car to start. 

It was freezing cold. The kind of cold that hurts when it touches your exposed skin. You turn the key in the ignition again and the engine makes a pathetic attempt to turn over. Nothing. Fuck. 

You turn the key again. Nothing. Fuck fuck fuck. You pull out your phone and realize you have no idea what to do other than call your new boss and make a horrible first impression. No, that wasn’t going to do. You look in the rearview mirror and see across the street that lights are on at your neighbors house, despite the early hour. As quickly as the thought crosses your mind you push it away. No. No way were you going to bother him at this hour. You hadn’t even officially met the guy yet.

You pull up Google on your phone and scan the first few results for “car won’t start” and narrow it down to engine troubles or dead battery. Either outcome is something you are not equipped to handle. 

A few moments pass and you reluctantly weigh the options. Would a garage even be open this early? How long would that take to get someone out there? You were wasting time and had to do something. You curse to yourself and go back inside the house.

You walk over to the fridge where a note is hanging front and center “Joel Miller” with a phone number neatly printed. Your mothers careful handwriting to contact the poor neighbor that she probably harasses all the time. You sigh and open your phone to dial the number.

It rings a few times, and then you hear a gravelly voice that catches you off guard. 

“Hello?” A deep and thick, unfamiliar accent answers. Not what you were expecting. 

“Hi, Mr. Miller.” a long pause and you stumble over your words. “I uh, I’m sorry to call you so early. I'm Rick and Linda’s daughter.” and mumble your name. Another pause. 

“Ah, right. Whatcha need, kid?” He asks with little expression in his tone. You can’t tell if he is annoyed or just sounded that way. 

“My car won’t start and I–” you pause, not too sure how to ask for help from a stranger. “I don’t know what to do...” Your voice trails off with uncertainty on how to ask for help or what you are even expecting. 

You hear a long exhale on the other end, like he is letting all the air out of his lungs while he is thinking on it. 

“Dead battery most likely… on a day like this. I’ll be right over.” He hangs up the phone before you can say another word and instead say thank you out loud to yourself and let your voice trail off. You instantly regret making the call.

You zip up your coat, pull your knit hat snug over your ears and head back outside when you see a black Ford pickup truck ease into your driveway. A tall man wearing a brown suede jacket approaches. The morning light is faint but you can make out that he is much older and has some silver streaking his hair and beard. He looks weathered and rugged but also has a warmness about him that is hard to reconcile with his rough exterior.     

“Joel Miller, I presume?” you nervously laugh and awkwardly introduce yourself for the second time. You attempt to be extra friendly and maybe penetrate his bristly wall. It seems to help when he notices you are a young woman and not some bratty teenager that your parents probably made you out to be. He takes a step forward and reaches a hand out towards you, nodding. He firmly shakes your hand and you are taken aback by how his grasp seems to engulf you.

“Pleasure to meet you, darling.” His voice is smooth and polite and has the tiniest hint of playfulness in his tone. You can’t place his accent, but you know it isn’t from around here and only someone from away would say ‘Darling’ so casually to a stranger. 

His dark brown eyes hold your gaze for a moment and he has the faintest smirk as he subtly scans your body. It sends goosebumps down your spine. You are grateful that you made an extra effort to look cute for your first day of work. You realize your hands are still embraced and nervously laugh as you pull away. He gets right down to business, but not before stealing another peek of your body when he thinks you aren’t looking.  

“Lets see what we got here.'' He climbs into the driver's seat and in no time confirms it's the battery when he hears your car's engine protest. He walks over to his tailgate and brings back some jumper cables. 

You stand there with your arms wrapped around your body trying to hold in as much warmth as possible. Your bare hands clenched in a fist and tucked in as far as they could in your jacket sleeve to shelter from the cold. Your teeth chattering as you try to stand out of the way but want to be nearby too. At least give the illusion you can be helpful if he needs something. You regret your first meeting being a clueless damsel in distress, but maybe he liked that sort of thing. His tune did seem to change once he saw you. 

Joel returns and leans over the edge of the seat leaving the door wide open, his large palm dragging up slowly from the floor to the steering column, searching for the hood release. His finger catches on the button and he pops the hood. It’s hard not to stare at him while he slides his expert hands with reckless abandon.

His eyes find yours and the corner of his mouth raises slightly. You question if you are mistaking his caught you watching me look for more than what it was. He seems to enjoy you watching him work. He steps away from the seat and pulls a pair of work gloves from his back pocket as he works to connect your car to his truck with the jumper cables. He starts his truck back up and approaches you. Your breath and his making little frozen clouds as you exhale. 

“You can sit in my truck if you want, it’s plenty warm in there.” He gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. “This will just be a minute.” You thank him and take him up on his offer and climb into his passenger seat. He has a classical rock station playing on the radio. A thermos sitting in the center console. You glance in the back seat and see some neatly organized tools and miscellaneous junk on the floor. It smells metallic and leathery. 

You outstretch your hands to the vents that are pouring warm air into the cabin and relish the heat.  

A few moments pass and you don’t see much of what’s going on with the hood of the truck blocking your view. You doom scroll on Instagram to keep yourself busy but your mind keeps thinking about Joel. You were in no way prepared for your neighbor to be so fucking handsome. It felt absurd to be so turned on by him.

He’s too old. You tell yourself. Don’t even think about it. 

Your thoughts are interrupted as the hood slams shut and Joel opens the driver's door. He reaches his arm out to grab his thermos while he climbs into the seat with a groan. The door shuts hard behind him and a blast of cold air invades your space briefly.  

“Damn cold one today” He says it with a huff as more of an observation than a complaint. He takes a sip of his coffee and looks over to you. You nod in agreement and find yourself caught up in what to say to him. He pulls off his gloves and tosses them in his backseat. He rests his arm along the back of the seat and it is nearly touching your shoulder. The way his body takes up the space makes you feel small and helpless. Then, you remember you are small and helpless compared to him. He doesn’t feel threatening towards you but you certainly does give off the aura that he could be intense in the right circumstance. You find that undeniably attractive.

“Your folks called me last week. Told me you were gonna be staying here a while.” His eyes are back focused on you. “Meant to come over this weekend and introduce myself.” he seems a little nervous and takes another sip of his coffee. “Didn’t wanna bother you, though.” 

You feel a small smile start to grow on your face. The thought that he shared the same reservations brought comfort. Joel rests his thermos between his legs while still holding it with one hand. He looks like he is hesitating to say something but does it anyway. He looks over at you with tender eyes, 

“Didn’t expect.. You know...” He makes an unreadable expression as he is searching for the words and scans your body up and down. “Someone like you.” You were not entirely sure what he meant by that, but his smoldered stare on your body made you feel hot inside and your cheeks flush. He looked at you with intrigue and it made you feel good. It made you feel wanted. It had been too long since you felt that way.  

In fact, it has been too long since you had any sort of relationship. Even a casual lay.  

“You really saved my ass this morning. Thank you.” You pause and feel yourself giving a sultry gaze back at him. “I owe you one.” Joel makes a no big deal gesture with his hand and a cocky smile as he chews the inside of his cheek. In that brief moment you feel something between the two of you. The desire to flirt; tempt a man with at least 20 years on you. An unexpected but undeniable magnetic pull. A curiosity to learn what lies beneath. A forbidden fruit that is ripe and beckoning for you to take a bite. Something different. Something exciting. Something you know you should stifle before it even begins.  

His eyes reflect the same sentiment but also harbor concern and restraint. It’s a bad idea. The brief silence between you looms loudly. The elephant in the room. 

“Where ya’ off to so early anyways?” he asks, eager to change the subject. He takes another sip of his coffee while you reply.

“Oh, first day working at Grind. You know it?” Joel's demeanor changes in a subtle way that you may not have seen if you weren’t so focused on trying to read him.  

“Oh. Yeah..” he chides and looks down, pensive in thought as he brings his hand to the back of his neck and rakes it through his hair. “I know the place.” He glances back up and avoids eye contact. The bite in his voice does not go unnoticed, but you don’t pry. 

An uncomfortable subject; noted.   

“Better coffee than this I reckon” he says as he places his thermos back in the center console. He attempts to lighten the tone and then glances at his watch.

“I gotta get to work, sweetheart. Keep your car runnin’ for a bit and you should be all set. Probably get that battery replaced.” His tone is more serious now, more business-like. You realize you had been waiting in his truck longer than necessary. You really have to get to work anyways. 

You thank him again and return to your car. He waits for you to get in and raises his fingers off his steering wheel in a lazy wave to signal he was leaving. He backs out of your driveway and heads down the road towards town.

You take a deep breath and adjust the knobs in your car. Joel had put everything on high heat and full blast for you and your car was now unbearably toasty. You tune your radio and ease into the road and on your way to work. 

All the while your mind can’t stop thinking about your charming, handyman neighbor. 

So that's Joel Miller. You smile to yourself and faintly feel butterflies in your stomach. Anxious thoughts that excite and frighten you.  

–

It took Marlene all of five minutes to become your new work bestie. She was efficient and smart and knew her way around the place. She was the only one working when you arrived and despite the line of customers she was friendly and teased you for arriving late on your first day. 

Marlene had great rapport with everyone. It was apparent that the customers were all regulars and she wasted no time introducing you to them. She had a somewhat forward style but it was well received because she knew exactly what she was doing and didn’t waste time being flowery and over the top. It reminded you of the brashness of Boston.

After the morning rush things were relatively calm. You had time to chat and get to know her a little more while she was showing you the ropes. It wasn’t complicated and you were a quick study.

By mid afternoon it was time to close up shop. The hours were a perk. You were scheduled to work weekdays from open till close and would have to occasionally help out on Saturdays. Marlene worked the same shift and the weekends were mostly covered by high schoolers. 

It was just after 2 o’clock when the owner, Tess, stopped by. 

“How did it go?” she asks you both as she takes a seat and rests her bag on the counter. Marlene had no intention of telling her you were late and talked you up, pleased with your presence. Tess had a few other properties she owned so her time at the coffee shop was only as needed and Marlene you learnt was more or less the one who ran things day to day. 

You recap the day and thank her again for the job. You did genuinely enjoy the work. It was easy. Simple and straightforward. You got to know lots of town folk and everyone was curious and interested in meeting the new girl in town.

Tess seemed pleased enough and was quick to head out. She was friendly but brief and gave the impression she had other responsibilities that demanded her attention. She joins you behind the counter briefly and pours herself a black hot coffee in a to-go cup. Another perk of the job was indulging in all the free coffee. 

“Let me know if you guys need anything!” She says energetically as she collects her bag and heads out the door. She flips the sign to “closed” as she leaves. 

“Tess is cool. She doesn’t interfere too much and we only see her a few times a week, if that.” You nod to acknowledge Marlene. “Lets finish cleaning up and get out of here.”

It was nice leaving with the sun bright and warm. Winter meant shorter days, so getting out of work with a few hours of daylight felt luxurious. The bitter cold from the morning had made its departure. 

You had been so focused with work it wasn’t until you got back to your car that you allowed yourself to think about Joel again. You know you shouldn’t but can’t help feeling turned on at the thought of him. He was handsome in that brooding, mysterious way and he emanated competence. It was refreshing and welcomed. 

You decided to send him a text message. You had his number in your recent contacts after all and you were curious if he would play along. You were certain that there was something sparked between the two of you, but unsure if he would act on it. Unsure if there were too many obstacles between you.

You keep it simple and friendly.   

You: Thanks again for your help! 

Your car starts up with no issue and you head home. When you arrive you glance down to your phone to see a simple reply. 

Joel: Anytime

It was brief but you couldn’t help but read it with that low, southern drawl. His voice was so distinct. Polite but stern. You add him as a contact in your phone and wonder if he did the same. 

You take a shower, make some dinner and get comfortable in your bed. It’s early and you watch some TV when you hear your phone chime. You glance at your phone and see Joel Miller has you on his mind as he revives the conversation with you. 

Joel: So how did it go? 

You smile and recount this feeling like you were a teenager talking to your crush. You want to gush about your first day but you play it cool and brief. 

You: Went good, I think I’ll like it there

A few minutes pass. Against your better judgment you start to go into details but delete it before you hit send. You recalled his strange reaction earlier when you brought up Grind. This man has you second guessing yourself and you don’t want to blow it before it even begins. He replies instead before you elaborate.

Joel: Glad to hear. Thought you would. 

You: I’m exhausted though, getting to bed

You decide to be playful and see how he reacts. 

You: Goodnight, Mr. Miller.  

Joel: Just Joel. 

Joel: Goodnight darling

Darling. Even if it was just a typical Southern phrase it made you wild. It was uncommon to hear in the north and felt so endearing and warm. The knots in your stomach return as you struggle to fall asleep. Your mind is too excited to see where things go from here. You knew he was interested in you enough to keep talking. It would have been easy for him to end the conversation there and keep things formal and neighborly. 

Your mind wanders thinking about how truly handsome he is. How badly you want his manly, rough hands on your body. How his voice makes you melt. How his domineering  presence makes you tingle in your core. You feel yourself starting to get wet just at the thought of his body and what you wanted to do to it. What you wanted him to do to you. Sinful thoughts.

You slide your hand between your legs and feel yourself already wet and wanting. Your delicate fingers tease circles over your clit and it doesn’t take long before you get off. You feel ashamed to be lusting over an old man you barely know, but nevertheless wish it was Joel’s rough hands on you.   

You wonder if he is doing the same thing and sharing the same thoughts about you.

–

A few uneventful days go by and now it’s Friday. You haven’t seen much of Joel other than his truck occasionally driving off, but he had been stuck on your mind all week. Lonely nights accompanied by dirty thoughts of Joel that only fueled your yearning to get closer to him. Your inhibitions regarding age and disapproval of your parents were blinded by your building desire. It still weighed on you though. Your parents would be appalled and probably disown you if they knew. It would just be another tick on the disappointment list.   

Work is busy and the day flies by. Just a few hours to go. You are taking a break, sitting at one of the tables by the front window and snacking on a blueberry scone. You reason with yourself that tonight is as good as any to try to make something happen. 

You: You doing anything tonight?

An agonizing hour passes and no reply. Your message is on read. Marlene takes notice of your change in demeanor. When things finally slow down and its just the two of you waiting around to close up she presses you.

“So.. whats going on? You look distant.” 

“Just trying to… make friends here.” You pause. “A friend in particular.” Your voice trails off. Marlene catches on quick and she had suspected you were starting to fall for someone. 

“Anyone I know?” Marlene knows everyone. You don’t want her judgment on the matter so you keep it vague.

“My neighbor. He doesn’t seem the type to come to a place like this though.” Your phone chimes and you try to play down your excitement as you look down and see it’s from Joel. You can barely contain a smile. 

Joel: Just got done a job. No plans

Marlene searches your face and rolls her eyes.  

“Just go over then. Easy enough.” she was right. 

“Yeah, I think I will.” 

The rest of the shift goes by quickly and you are both out the door by 3 o’clock.

You sit in your car and decide to just call him already. You were craving to hear his voice again and you wanted to put him on the spot. He answers quickly.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Joel. I still owe you, you know for helping me out earlier.” Joel sighs in defeat. 

“I see you aint lettin’ that go. What did ya have in mind?” 

“Can I come over tonight? I’ll bring over drinks.” Your offer was more forward than you intended, but you went with it.

“Yeah, ok. Sounds good.” He pauses and has a counter offer for you. “Come over for dinner first?” You melt at the thought and realize you haven’t responded and there is a silence while you are getting lost in your thoughts. “Grilling steaks. Nothin’ fancy.”

“Yeah. Sounds good.” You can feel your smile spilling into the phone. That sounds more than good. It sounds really fucking good.  

“Alright. Come over ‘round 7.” 

“Ok. See you tonight.” You end the call and take a deep breath. Your heart is beating out of your chest in excitement. 

–

Getting ready for the night you attempted a relaxed look. You wanted to look nice, but approachable. You had some worn jeans that tucked neatly into your Bean boots. A button down flannel that you left undone over an intentionally low cut, fitted shirt. It accented your chest just right. You wore your hair down and went light on the makeup. You threw on a light leather jacket and grabbed the six pack of beer as you head across the street. 

Joel opens the door and leans in the doorframe with a casual figure, taking you in while he bites his lip,

“Evening' sweetheart” He steps back and holds the door open for you and gestures to come in. He was definitely a gentleman. You normally are not a fan of the pet names, but he worked them into his vocabulary so smoothly it was welcomed. 

You step inside and turn around, holding up the six pack of beer.

“Sam Adams. That ok?” He shuts the door and nods in approval. “Figured I’d bring some Boston culture over.” You step further inside. His kitchen is just off the main entrance and has an island with some bar stools at it. You make your way over and take a seat and rest the case on the countertop. 

Your eyes scan the room. His kitchen is tidy, save the spot where he prepped the steaks. You see an empty whiskey glass. Evidence that he had at least one stiff drink before you came over. You panic a little and regret not doing the same.  

“That where you lived before this?” He interrupts your thought as he stands across you at the island. His crossed forearms holding him up as he leans towards you with intrigue. He is dressed plainly in a pair of worn jeans and a plain navy blue t-shirt that hugs his arms just right. His biceps bulge as he is leaning forward and your mind is now preoccupied with just how broad his shoulders are. You almost forgot he asked you a question.

“Yeah, for a few years anyways.” You briefly recount, distracted when Joel takes a beer bottle from the case and effortlessly pops the cap with his large, calloused hands. A satisfying hiss escapes the bottle followed by a clink as the cap falls to the countertop. He slides it over to you and repeats the motion again for himself.

“Oh, wow.” you say out loud, without realizing it. Joel has that cocky side smirk again, well aware of his impressive party trick. He holds the bottle up and towards you and you do the same, clanking bottle necks together and taking a sip. Your eyes are locked on each other for a moment; trying to read each other's intentions.  

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna put the steaks on.” he gestures his head to the back door that leads onto the deck. He grabs his suede jacket off the back of a chair and walks towards the back entrance. You trail behind and this was the first time you really noticed just how beautiful his home was. 

His open living room and kitchen had a vaulted ceiling with massive windows lining the whole back side of the cabin. It faced the lake and you could imagine how serene it would be to watch the sunrise. The cedar walls and flooring made it feel cozy and inviting. There was a large wood stove in the center of the living room and an open loft above the back of the living room. The deck seemed to wrap along a good part of the home. 

“Your home is beautiful.” It had looked so much more discrete from the road; tucked behind some pines and a long driveway. The backyard was a short distance to the lake and sloped slightly down to a dock. Joel probably had a boat parked there in the summer. The cabin was perched perfectly with a breathtaking view; isolated and private from the world.

“Thank you. I built it myself. Me and my brother Tommy.” 

“Thats… impressive.” 

“Eh, just comes with being a contractor. Made more sense to build my own place the way I wanted.” There it was again, that feeling in your core that excites you. Joel likes to be in control, and he has the skill set to back it up making it all the more alluring. 

Its a cool night, but not uncomfortably cold to be outside for a few minutes with a jacket. In fact, you are grateful to have the crisp air to help ground you and calm you down. It was embarrassing how easily Joel could work you up. You lean over the railing and gaze out over the lake while he tends to the grill for a moment and then joins you at the railing.

“I spent a few years there myself. Boston.” This was news to you, but you were still curious about his Southern accent. 

“And… before?” 

“Texas.” He takes a sip of his beer. “Most my life.” You smile and give a slight laugh. 

“Well, that certainly explains things. You don’t exactly sound like a New Englander” you tease him. Joel laughs and looks a little distant. Something you have come to realize about Joel is that he has a lot on his mind he doesn’t say out loud. His mysterious demeanor was something you found as attractive as it was frustrating. 

“You like it here so far?” He asks.

“I do. Its simple and peaceful. Life is easy here.” you realize while saying this out loud that you mean it. You really are enjoying your time in Kineo more than you ever had expected. “And… my neighbor isn’t so bad.” You tease. Joel rolls his eyes and returns to the grill, pulling the steaks off.

“Mine is a pain in the ass.” He jokes as he closes the grill. He wasn’t wrong. You were persistent if anything. 

–

Dinner is laid back and enjoyable. He has a small dining room table but you choose to sit next to each other at the island drinking your Sam Adams and enjoying your ribeye steaks. Joel cooked them to perfection. You stay seated long after you are done eating, getting carried away with conversation. Your bodies are facing each other and knees knocking into his as you get animated with your storytelling. 

Joel mostly listens while you ramble on. The more you drink the lower your inhibitions get. You are a lightweight to begin with and it doesn’t take much. You don’t even notice that he isn’t really listening to you anymore. His focus has left your well intended words and shifted to your body. He’s looking at your low-cut shirt teasing him. The way you brush your hair out of your face when you laugh. How your neck looks so inviting when you tilt your head back to take a sip of beer, You don’t register that he is eyeing you crudely like you are a piece of meat. That he is fighting every urge inside him to just lose himself with you. 

He inches his hand along the countertop closer to yours until he is grazing your wrist with a light touch and dragging his fingers back across yours. It sends a shiver through your body as you become aware how he is looking at you and how painfully reserved his touch is. It is polite but intrusive. He watches how it makes you feel. How you start to come undone. 

Your pent up feelings are starting to overwhelm you and you excuse yourself reluctantly. Your heart starts to race and you wonder if he can hear it beating. 

You get up and bring your plate over to the sink to wash it. It is a distraction more than anything while you gather yourself. Joel watches you from behind for a moment. You can feel his gaze burning into you and brace yourself against the counter. You like the way it feels. The way he makes you feel wanted. 

That loud silence returns. The air in the room feels heavy. He joins you at the sink and you can feel his heat envelop you as he approaches you from behind. His broad body boxes you in and makes you feel small and vulnerable. 

Joel takes his hands and dances his fingers down your arms lightly. His touch starts a fire inside you and you crave a heavier hold. You need him like you need air in your lungs. He presses a gentle kiss behind your ear and another one drags to your jawline and to the soft meat of your neck. His coarse beard scrapes against your skin and makes you shudder. You press your ass into him and feel him hard against your lower back. He responds by pressing into you firmly and brings his mouth to your ear. 

“You feel what you do to me, beautiful girl?” He asks with his low, gravely voice and presses another kiss into you. His heat is searing into you. 

He agonizingly slides his hands down to your hips and turns you to face him. He pushes your body gently against the countertop and moves one of his hands up to caress your face. He presses his hips into you and holds your chin gently between his thumb and finger. He stares down at you with a thirst in his eyes. He narrows his focus to try to get a reading on you. Your mouths are just inches apart. There is a hunger he is resisting but the wolf inside is slowly starting to win over reason. 

“I want this, Joel.” You stare up at him and make sure he can see the desire in your eyes and that you are serious. You want to remove any hesitations he has on your account. You try to rock your hips into him but he has you pinned. He can feel your needy attempt.  

“We shouldn’t…” Joel pleads, but his words are empty and not speaking the same language as his body. 

Your age, your parents, your unfamiliarity with one another all should be reason enough to quelch this flame, but it just makes you want it that much more. He has wanted you since he first laid eyes on you that morning he came to your rescue. He wants to be respectful but fails, instead teasing you with how much he wants you. The hesitance is an illusion that he has kept up until that moment. Your body is trapped against his and he is looking at you like you are prey in his clutches. You had suspected and even hoped that Joel was a dominant lover with how confident he carried himself.   

You seize the opportunity to show him just what he is doing to you. 

You push your tongue into him and taste him; sweet and malty. His warm and wet mouth is inviting and intense. All reluctancy fades away as he gives in to you and takes control with his tongue. You can feel his cock is hard and straining against his jeans as he rocks into you. Your arms hang around his neck and tangle into his hair as you grind against each other. The friction of both your bodies sending each other into a frenzy.

He drags his mouth away, biting at your lower lip as he moves along your jawline to the soft skin at your neck. You stretch your head back giving him full access to your bare neck as he nips at you hungrily. His scruffy beard rubs roughly against your supple skin and feels so good. One hand roams up your shirt while his mouth traces lower and lower down to your collarbone. He thumbs and circles over your nipple. He can feel it harden through your bra and engulfs your breast with his large hand. His touch is brazen but you welcome it. You can feel just how badly he wants to devour you and it makes you moan.   

He slides his expert hand from your breast and drags it down to your jeans. He unbuttons them hastily with force and works his hand slowly inside. Your underwear is already wet from your arousal. He pulls his mouth away from you and has a devilish grin as he grabs at your pussy and narrows his eyes on you.

“You’re so wet for me.” He says breathlessly with anticipation while he has you in his grasp. 

He slides his hand inside your waistband and teases your clit as his hand slides against you. You want to reply to him but your words are trapped beneath the moans caught in your throat. He brings a finger to your opening and slowly pushes the tip inside you. The pressure from his large, calloused fingers makes you buck into him. He rubs his thumb over your clit as he slowly teases your entrance with his finger. He takes it slow and when he thinks you are ready he slips another one inside.

You can feel your walls clench around his obscenely thick fingers and he pushes deeper. Twisting and playing at your entrance and thrusting in. Your hips writhe in his grasp. While one hand is busy with your cunt the other has an iron grip on the back of your neck. His mouth messily returns to the soft skin above your collarbone and into the crook of your neck. You are completely at his mercy and can’t imagine any other place you’d want to be. 

You are so tight but he stretches you open artfully. Moans escape your lips as you gasp when his fingers dip further into you, reaching that perfect part deep inside. 

“Come for me.” He pants into you with a snarl as you convulse on him.  

He doesn’t let up and fucks you relentlessly with his fingers until you are coming and moaning his name. Incoherent expletives escape you while you soak him.   

You ride the wave of pleasure for as long as you can. It has been too long since you had fucked around with someone. However, no one had ever so masterfully gotten you off with just their fingers. The way he handled your body and worshiped you with his mouth was intoxicating. 

As you come down from your high he slides his wet fingers from inside you and pulls his mouth away with a final ravenous kiss on your swollen lips. He places a kiss on top of your head and pulls you in close for an embrace. The hard protrusion against your body makes itself painfully known.   

Joel presses his forehead against yours as he works to unzip his jeans and free himself. His fingers are wet with your slick. He smirks at you as his hand glides over his swollen cock and rubs your wetness all over his length. His breathing shallows as he strokes himself with one hand and braces his body on the countertop with the other. His swollen head grazes your belly with each thrust into his fist. 

You watch him wantonly as he palms himself with more vigor. Joel’s cock is thick and intimidating, but you crave it in the worst way. It is by far the largest you have ever seen. It glistens in your slick and the precum that was beading at the head. A desire builds inside you and you yearn for more of Joel. Want him in your hands, your mouth, your cunt.  

“Let me, please?” your voice comes out barely above a whisper. His hand slows and comes to a stop. He stretches out his arms to hold him up against the counter as he hovers above you and lets you take over. 

You reach out and grab on to him. You marvel at its size and how weighty it feels in your hands as you start to rub them up and down. His skin is hot and velvety smooth and pulled tightly. Your pace is much slower but more precise. You feel the veins bulge under your grasp as your fingers glide up and down his length.  

A moan hitches in his throat as you rub your thumb over his sensitive tip. You do it again and again. Teasing Joel Miller feels dangerous. You can feel how ragged he is and how close he is to coming. You want to make him come undone.  

“God, damn it.” Joel grunts under his breath. He peels back your hand and painfully pulls it off of him. His cock twitches at the loss of your touch. He stands up straight and towers over you as you shrink back.  

“Get on your knees.” He commands with his hand firmly on your wrist as he pulls your face closer to his. It sends a shiver through your body and you oblige. Any warmth in his eyes has been lost and he is staring at you; dark and menacing. He throws your wrist away and grips his hand along the side of your neck. His touch is rough and urgent. His fingers snake around to the back of your neck as he pulls you closer to him while you drop down. They twist into your hair and he has a hold on the back of your head. It doesn’t hurt, but his grasp is firm and might if you tried to fight it.  

He takes his cock back in his grasp with his other hand and pumps it. His movements are jerky and his breathing is labored. You can tell he is so close. He roughly pulls your head back by your hair to look up at him.

“You gonna’ finish what you started?” he asks with darkened eyes. “Then open up.” He commands you through clenched teeth. 

You respond with an uncontainable smirk. You part your mouth slowly and let your tongue hang out, never taking your eyes off his. You sit back onto your knees so that you are slightly under him and wait patiently. He widens his stance. His hand slides to the top of your head and tangles in your hair. You can feel him slowly starting to lose control and come undone before you while he strokes himself. You brace yourself, hooking your fingers into the back of his thighs and clawing at his jeans. You can smell his sex and feel his heat but he holds you just out of reach and makes you wait while your thirst grows. 

Finally he taps the head of his weighty cock against your tongue and you lick at his slit, sending him over the edge. He groans as his thick spend coats your tongue and drips messily onto your chin. You close your mouth around him as he begins to stall out and swallow, pulling the final drops of cum from him while you choke his cock with your mouth. 

“Good girl.” He rasps at you. “So fucking good.” His grip on you loosens and he tenderly drags his hand along your jawline. You relax your mouth and let him slide himself out. He groans when your tongue licks the underside of him as he pulls out. 

He thumbs over some of his mess that falls out of your mouth and curls his thumb over your bottom lip. You lick him clean and he moves to hold your face in his hands while you look up at him.

“My good girl.” His words shoot straight to your core and make you weak. He brushes your hair behind your ear and helps you up. He places another kiss on your head and wraps his arms around you. His hot and heavy body feels so good against yours. You tilt your head up and press your mouth into him one more time.

“Are we even now?” you joke. Joel smiles. Everything about him feels warmer. He peels himself away from you and steps back, leaning against the island. You adjust your clothes and zip yourself back up while he does the same.

“Actually… think I might owe you now.” Joel says with a playful tone. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and shakes his head at you like he can’t believe his predicament. You like the idea of Joel owing you. 

–

You don’t spend the night. He offers to walk you home but you opt to go alone. It felt good to get some fresh air, to clear your head and recap the night. You also wanted to leave him wanting more.

You weren’t sure what would come from this situation with Joel, but you knew you barely scratched the surface with him. He was rough around the edges but you liked that about him. You liked that a lot. 

END CHAPTER

(Part 2!)

A/N: More to come! Undecided how many chapters but I have quite a bit mapped out. Please be kind. This is my first fic and it is nerve wrecking to post! If you loved it, PLEASE let me know. I'd love to know your thoughts so far! What did you like? What do you want more of? How much angst can your heart take? I aim to test it in future chapters. Comments/Reblogs are appreciated so much. Thank you all

Also special thanks to @magpiepills for the lovely cover photo (and her mood board inspirations she helped with along the way!) and to both her and @legendary-pink-dot for reading my first draft and giving their feedback AND courage to post this.

If you wish to know when I post the next chapter, please follow @ArcaneFoxFics and turn on notifications!

If you are here for my gifs only and are like WTF I dont want to see this mature content... you can follow me over at @ArcaneFoxGifs which will ONLY be reposts of my gif sets.

Love to my friends who give me the courage and support to do all the things @magpiepillsjunior @legendary-pink-dot @exquisiteserotonin @youandmeand5bucks @redhotkitchen @sparklefarts38 @pink-whiskey-woman @for-a-longlongtime @secretelephanttattoo

[glitterjay]

ENEMIES TO LOVERS | 이희승.LHS

summary: heeseung finds himself drawn to the girl he initially clashed with. two competitive rivals notice the sparks that fly every time they encounter each other. beneath the surface of their hatred lies a hidden chemistry drawing them closer despite their efforts to resist. could love possibly fire up from sparks?

genre: feuding families, a little bit of everything (smut, fluff, angst), enemies to lovers

warnings: will contain smut, heeeseung and reader are in their late 20s, more to be added.

in case of wanting to be part of taglist, please send an ask with what fic you would like to get @ for as I will be making one list for each one. series masterlist

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lee incorporated, one of the biggest companies to rule the world, was now facing trouble with its sales—something never seen before in the many years the company has been in operation.

its success had been ongoing throughout the years, making it impossible for new competitors to even make it as such—until the last few years.

the feud between the two companies had been going on publicly, only adding to the sales of each one as well as increasing their popularity.

heeseung didn't understand why the other company seemed never to give up and, in fact, kept shooting up in sales before his very eyes. his family was counting on him to keep the legacy of lee incorporated, but he was beginning to think it was impossible.

throughout the last year, you've been meeting up with different investors who seem to be interested in having some kind of connection with your company. you've also had the opportunity to be in the same room as heeseung, the future owner of your competition.

it was evident how frustrated he would get when an investor would set up a meeting with the both of you, thus making it easier for them to see which company would be the better option. his eyes shot glares at you every time, as if every look was a dagger thrown straight at your back.

that was the case now. both of you stood side by side as you gave a presentation as to why the investors should choose one over the other. you were both professional enough to keep it calm but couldn't help glaring at each other from time to time.

"thank you for your time, both of you. we will be reaching out to the candidate we like most, and we wish the other party the best of luck."

both of you bowed politely until the meeting room was empty, leaving only the two of you in the room. you sighed, taking a seat in one of the chairs that had been occupied moments ago.

"if you're that tired, just give up," heeseung said, fixing the sleeves of his white button-down.

you scoffed, grabbing a fistful of hair to tie it into a bun. "as if."

every encounter ended almost like this. sometimes you would exchange more than two words; other times you would bicker until someone else caught both of your attentions; or sometimes you wouldn’t say anything at all, one of you walking out of the room right away.

there was a spark you felt between the both of you that only lit up in such moments. heeseung felt it, too. but it was only normal to feel such hatred when your enemy is in the same room as you.

© glitterjay | tumblr

if you could leave any type of feedback—whether it be an ask, reblog, or comment—that would help me a lot.

[narumi-gens]

The L Word

Miya Osamu x f!Reader

summary: Love makes people stupid. Osamu knows it firsthand.

warnings: minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, established relationship, love confessions, fluff with a teeny hint of angst, happy ending, small miscommunication bc Osamu is an idiot but it gets cleared up, Atsumu to the rescue, Osamu being the dumber Miya twin for a change, Osamu really goes through it in this fic but it's all okay bc you love him

notes: literally wrote this entire thing today bc Osamu just does something to me. this takes place earlier on in the Meet the Miyas couple's relationship and you don't have to read the other fics to get this one, but I sure would like you to.

words: 3.6k

part of the Meet the Miyas series

Osamu’s date with you was meant to be a quick dinner. If he was thinking more clearly, he wouldn’t have suggested seeing each other that night at all. It’s been a hectic week for the both of you and he knows that you have to catch an early morning train for a meeting out of town the next day. 

But he can’t think clearly when it comes to you. Because he loves you. He doesn’t know when exactly it happened, but he knows it was probably after only a couple of dates, which he also knows is crazy. 

Again, he can never think clearly when it comes to you.

It means that he’s spent the last few months in a love-induced haze of happiness as your budding relationship has progressed. It’s even been enough to dull the irritation he would normally feel at how smug Atsumu has been about being the one to set the two of you up in the first place.

Of course, none of that is on his mind now. The only thing he can currently think about is how much he doesn't want your evening together to end. 

It’s a desire of his that you’re more than willing to indulge in as your time at the restaurant stretches on long past dessert. When he offers to walk you home even though you live in opposite directions, you don’t even bother to give a perfunctory protest. You merely nod with a wide grin, happily accepting the arm he wraps around your shoulders as you curl into his side. 

And what began as a sweet kiss goodnight outside of your building is now bordering on something inappropriate for a public setting, even on an empty street. 

Your soft lips move against his and his tongue slips into your mouth to taste you. One of your hands rests against his neck, while the other runs through his hair, making him shiver at the sensation of your fingernails gently running against his scalp. Both of his are tightly holding onto your waist, holding you as close as he possibly can so that the only thing separating you two is the clothing you both are wearing. 

“Come upstairs,” you breathe as he begins to trail his lips from yours to the spot just below your ear that always has your knees feeling weak whenever he lavishes it with attention. 

Unfortunately, Osamu has just enough of his sanity left to know what the responsible choice is.

“Ya need to sleep,” he murmurs against your skin before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck that makes you sharply inhale. “Yer meeting tomorrow is important. Gotta be well rested.”

“So thoughtful,” you tease as you guide his lips back to yours to give him another heated kiss, only to pause for air a moment later. “I promise. No funny business. We can just sleep.”

He can’t hold back his snort at your suggestion or his laugh when you pout at his reaction. He rests his forehead against yours, looking at you with a fond smile on his shining and slightly swollen lips. 

“We never ‘just sleep’ when I come up,” he reminds you and your pout deepens.

“But I don’t want to say goodbye yet,” you tell him, and damn if his heart doesn’t ache with how full of love it is for you.

“Okay. We don’t have to say goodbye,” he agrees and your expression lights up. However, it falls as he continues to speak. “We’ll just say goodnight instead.”

“Osamu,” you whine and he presses a soft kiss to your lips before you can say anything else.

“Goodnight,” he says.

When you open your mouth again, he gives you another smiling kiss.

“Goodnight.”

You open your mouth again, a smile of your own tugging at your lips, which he kisses again.

He loves you. 

“Goodnight.”

You playfully open your mouth as you pretend to say something. He kisses you.

He loves you.

“Goodnight.”

Another attempt on your part to protest. Another kiss to silence you.

He loves you.

“Goodnight.”

Your mouth opens. He gives you a kiss. 

He loves you.

“I love you.”

He freezes, but not because he’s accidentally spoken the words that have been on his mind these past months. 

It’s because the words don’t come out in his voice. They come out in yours.  

His eyes snap open to find you gazing up at him with a small hint of nervousness, but otherwise nothing but pure affection and fondness and love. It’s everything he’s been dreaming of — literally. He has literally been dreaming about this exact scenario.

But in his dreams, he gently murmurs that he loves you in return and softly runs his thumb along the apple of your cheek. The two of you then kiss beneath the first soft snowflakes of winter or the floating spring cherry blossoms or a drizzle of summer rain.

Reality is much worse. Because in his shock and disbelief, all he can do is open and close his mouth, struggling to put all of his joy and excitement and love in return into words. And the longer the silence stretches on, the touch of hesitation that was initially present on your face slowly begins to morph into sheer horror.

Your embarrassment is visible at his lack of a response and when you force out a small, self-conscious laugh, he knows that you’re regretting ever speaking those three beautiful words aloud.

“Sorry,” you wince and a cold shard of ice pierces his heart.

No, no, no. Don’t apologize. Never apologize. Not for loving him. Not when he loves you, too. 

You clumsily try to extricate yourself from his hold and he’s too wrapped up in his own mortification over how stupid he is that he easily lets you. 

“I don’t…s-sorry!”

Your voice breaks as you stumble over your unnecessary apology and even while you refuse to meet his gaze, he can see how quickly your eyelashes are fluttering as you try to blink back the tears that he’s caused.

“Night, Osamu,” you manage to say through a soft sniffle before hurrying towards the steps of your building.

The only thing worse than the panic and anger that he’s feeling towards himself is whatever it is that you’re feeling. You opened yourself up to him, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and trusting that he would keep your heart safe.

And he was too much of an idiot to be able to offer his own heart in return. 

He just needs to get the words out. Just get the words out.

Just get the fuckin’ words out, ya big fuckin’ pussy.

Relief floods through his veins when he’s finally able to blurt your name as he calls after you. He can fix this. He can tell you that he loves you and that he was just so elated that he was physically incapable of putting any words together. 

You stop, your foot on the bottom step as you turn towards him. While your eyes are shining with tears, he can also the hope in them as you silently plead with him to continue. 

A deep breath releases from his lungs. He hasn’t ruined it yet. You’re willing to listen to him. You’ll give him a chance to make things right and prove to you that he deserves you. He’s so fucking grateful to you. 

“Thank you!”

He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Maybe a car will pass by and run him over. Could he be lucky enough for a freak thunderstorm and to be struck by lightning? When nothing happens, he contemplates dropping to his knees and banging his head repeatedly against the concrete sidewalk. 

All of it would feel better than watching how quickly he’s shattered the last remaining pieces of hope that you were desperately clinging onto. You stay still just long enough for him to see your lower lip tremble before you dart up the stairs of your building.

And because of how the stupid apartment buildings in this country are designed, he gets a perfect view of you racing up the exterior staircase and then towards your apartment, pausing only to unlock the door, which then slams loudly shut behind you. The sound echoes through the quiet street, reverberating against the pavement and buildings, but also in his mind. 

Osamu takes a slow, deep breath and holds it before exhaling. He then buries his face his hands, his fingers tugging at his hair, and lets out an unintelligible scream that’s filled with a nauseating mixture of frustration and embarrassment. The noise is louder than the slamming of your door and a dog starts to bark in the distance. 

In a daze, he somehow manages to make it to his bus stop. Likewise, his phone is now somehow held up against his ear. And somehow, Atsumu’s screeching voice answers on the other end.

“Thank you?” he greets angrily and Osamu loudly groans as he slumps forward so far that his head is practically between his knees. “My best friend, the woman yer totally in love with, says she loves ya and all ya can do is thank her?”

“I was just so excited, I couldn’t think straight. I’m a fuckin’ idiot. I know, okay?” he mumbles. He hears a bus pull up to the curb but he’s too distraught to even look up and see if it’s his as he lets it pass. “She already told ya?”

“She’s on the other fuckin’ line right now, crying because of you, ya scrub,” Atsumu bites back and somehow, after everything that’s happened in the past ten minutes, Osamu manages to feel even worse. 

There’s a long pause and his guilt and mortification must be so bad that his brother can hear it through the phone because Atsumu gives a sigh of pity.

“Look, just make it right. We share the same DNA. Ya must have gotten a little bit of my ability to be romantic.” 

In any other situation, Osamu would scoff and roll his eyes. But right now, he doesn’t have the right to make fun of anyone, not even his twin. Instead, he simply nods even though Atsumu can’t see it over the call. 

“Can ya find out what time her train gets in tomorrow?” he asks pitifully. 

“Okay, sure,” the setter offers before sighing again. “I gotta go.”

“Yeah, don’t keep her waitin’.” 

He wonders if you know that it’s him Atsumu is talking to. You must. But Atsumu is a pretty good liar, much better than Osamu anyway. He’s had plenty of practice lying over every little thing under the sun since they were young. Surely, he can convince you that it was a teammate or his agent or anyone else but the man responsible for your distress.

“Same goes for you, Samu,” Atsumu warns him, but there’s at least a gentle undertone of sympathy in his voice that he probably only extends because they shared a womb.

“Thanks,” he says, feeling truly grateful to his brother in a way he hasn’t felt since he set the two of you up.

“I think ya said that enough tonight, ya scrub.” Atsumu then ends the call and Osamu’s gratitude dwindles. 

But Atsumu does come through for him, texting him the information on your train, which Osamu reacts to with a mere thumbs up, knowing that any form of thanks will have him being called a scrub for the third time that night. 

The next day, Osamu closes the shop early. It’s for the better as he keeps getting orders wrong and has to offer so many discounts in apology that if he stayed open any later, he would probably end the day at a loss. 

His mind has been so preoccupied that there’s no room left in it for onigiri. All he’s been able to think about is his plan to make it up to you. He’ll go home and change into his nicest suit. He’ll go to the florist and buy the nicest bouquet they have. He’ll stop by the bakery near your apartment on the way and order a slice of your favorite cake. 

And then you’ll come home to find him waiting for you outside of your building, where he’ll give you the speech he spent all day on. He’ll tell you how sorry he is and explain how much of an idiot he was and tell you that of course, he loves you. He’s even written down exactly what he wants to say on an order sheet from the restaurant so he doesn’t forget a word.

But apparently, the universe has decided that it wants to laugh even more at his expense. 

Everything starts smoothly. Despite not having worn it in over a year, his suit fits as perfectly as it did when he bought it. And after a quick iron, it looks like he just picked it up from the dry cleaner. When he arrives at the flower shop, the kindly older woman working there helps him make a custom bouquet filled with flowers that all represent some form of love and apology. 

It’s at the bakery where things start to go wrong. 

First, it’s so late in the afternoon that the display window is picked clean over. Your favorite cake has sold out entirely and all that’s left are a variety of croissants, donuts, and croquettes. He stupidly decides to buy a donut anyway, because although the image of him giving you a donut is much less romantic, he’s always believed that food is the best way to show you care about someone. 

Then, just as he’s finished paying and in his rush to make sure he gets to your apartment before you do, he runs right into a teenager holding a bright green melon soda, which spills all over the front of his clean, white dress shirt. The girl gasps in horror and immediately begins to apologize, repeatedly bowing as she offers him the napkins in her hand.

However, he knows it was his fault and that he can’t make another girl cry in less than 24 hours. He assures her that she wasn’t to blame and after patting his shirt dry to the best of his ability, he buys her a new drink and then helps the employee clean up the spill. He leaves the bakery with a squished donut and an obscenely green, large stain on his shirt. 

And of course, he gets one block away from the bakery when it starts to rain. It’s not the soft, romantic drizzle that he’s imagined might color such an important moment in your relationship. It’s a true downpour that has people ducking into stores and under doorways. For just a moment, he considers stopping at a konbini and buying an umbrella but he’s already drenched and when he sees how long the line is, he decides that it wouldn’t be worth it if he has to miss you. 

It’s another block away from the konbini that the bag holding the donut breaks, dropping the baked good into the gutter where it’s quickly washed away by the rainwater. As he looks at the soggy remains of the bag in his hand, he decides not to worry about it and shoves the mess into his pocket. The flowers are enough on his own.

The flowers, which he’s just now realizing aren’t in his hand and weren’t with him at the bakery. The flowers that he remembers setting down on the bench at the bus stop but doesn’t remember picking back up when he got onto the bus. 

The voice in his head is frantic as it tries to assure him that everything is fine. If you really love him then you don’t need flowers or baked goods or him in a dry, unstained suit. You’ll love him just as he is when you find him waiting to greet you after a long day.

He’s thankful that the sound of rain falling is loud enough to mask the panicked, high-pitched whine he lets out when he turns the corner onto your block to find that you’ve beaten him to your place and are already standing on the bottom step of your building’s staircase, protected from the rain as you shake the worst of the water from your dripping umbrella. 

There’s the smallest part of him that wants to just go back home and hide beneath the blankets like he used to do after losing a volleyball match. 

But then, without his consent, your name leaves his lips and his feet begin moving on their own to meet you. You freeze mid-umbrella shake and look up at him in shock, clearly not having expected him, and definitely not in this state if the way your eyes widen is anything to go by. 

Your senses come back to you quicker than his did to him last night and you open your umbrella back up and rush out to meet him, hurrying to finally protect him from the rain.

“Osamu, what are you doing? It’s pouring,” you say with a mixture of disbelief and confusion. You look him over from head to toe and frown. “Why are you so green? You look like you spilled a melon soda all over your shirt.”

It’s okay. He still has his speech. He’ll win you over with his words. Whether it was volleyball or opening his own restaurant, when has he ever given up?

Instead of answering you, he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out the order slip. He’s relieved that it’s held up better than the bakery bag and vows to keep buying order pads from the same supplier for the rest of his life. 

At least until he unfolds the paper and finds that the ink he wrote in has run because of the rain that soaked through his jacket. His shoulders sag as he sighs in defeat. 

“Osamu?” you ask with a timidness he hasn’t heard from you before and it’s enough to snap him from his own wallowing. His idiocy left you in tears last night.

The flowers, the suit, the pastry, the speech, this entire big, grand gesture he was trying to make all boil down to one thing.

“I love ya,” he says and it feels so good to finally be able to say the words aloud to you for the first time. It feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest, leaving room for how big his heart has grown with all the love it holds for you. “I’m so sorry about last night. I’ve been in love with ya since, like, our third date but I knew I’d seem crazy if I said it that early. And when ya said it first, I just couldn’t believe it and I was so stupidly happy that I just couldn’t say anything.” 

Now that he’s started talking, the words won’t seem to stop. But from the way you’re looking up at him with so much warmth and affection and love, he doesn’t think you want him to.

“And then I started to panic because I couldn’t say anything, which made it harder to say anything else. So, I came up with this big plan to win ya back with flowers and cake and a big speech but literally everything went wrong.”

“Osamu,” you try to gently interrupt him, but by this point, he couldn’t hold anything in even if he wanted to.

“I forget yer flowers at the bus stop and the bakery was out of cake. Then I almost made this teenager cry so I had to make that right. And of course, this fuckin’ monsoon had to sweep in outta nowhere. And my speech got all ruined, too,” he complains, holding out the order sheet for you to see the proof. 

“Osamu,” you try again. Only he’s too wrapped up now in this bizarre, stream-of-consciousness monologue to even take in the adoring way that you’re looking at him.

“If it was gonna rain, couldn’t it at least have been a soft, romantic type of rain? But I guess nothing says romance like a flash flood warning. It’s a good thing ya live on a higher floor with how much it’s comin’ down,” he continues. “All this little love confession is missing are some warning sirens—”

“You love me?”

The question finally shuts him up. But it’s a different kind of silence than the one from last night. Because you look so utterly happy as the three words occupy the space between you. His own expression softens and he crumples up the paper in his hand before shoving it into his pocket. 

His hand now free, he tenderly cups your face and presses the softest, sweetest kiss to your lips as the rain continues to come down in sheets around you, only your small travel-size umbrella keeping you both safe. 

As his lips part from yours, he rests his forehead on yours, an almost mirror image how you two were wrapped up in each other last night. 

“Yeah, I love ya,” he whispers as he affectionately brushes his nose against yours. You smile back at him and his heart pounds with excitement at hearing you repeat the sentiment back to him. 

But then, your eyes begin to sparkle mischievously as they always do when you tease him.

“Thank you,” you say and he thinks he’s somehow managed to fall even further in love with you.  

[sissylittlefeather]

Double fic day...

It Feels So Right (how can it be wrong?): Part 2

A/N: This mini series is SO FUN. Just a reminder this is the one where ghost!Elvis possesses Austin during the filming of Elvis (2022). If you need to get caught up, read Part 1 here. Enjoy this second installment!

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex

Word count: ~2.5k

Elvis is nervous about how Austin will react when he finds out he used his body to go out with you, but what's done is done. And he has every intention of begging to let it happen again.

******

The next day at work, you deliver your coffees like you always do.

Elvis hasn't found a way to tell Austin what happened. Austin can tell something is going on, but he assumes it's just some weird ghost business and doesn't pry into why Elvis is acting strange.

But when you walk up to Austin, Elvis tries to catch his attention.

"Austin. Man, I-"

"Hey!" He looks at you and then looks around to make sure you're talking to him.

"Hi..."

"I brought you a coffee. You said you like two creams and two sugars, right?" Elvis puts his face in his hand. That's his coffee order. He's not even sure what Austin would want.

"Oh... umm..." You look at him and your smile falls. You thought something special happened last night, but maybe it was just another in a long line of one night stands for him.

"Anyway. Here." You hand him the coffee and then walk back to where you normally stand, waiting for someone else to tell you what to do. You take a deep breath and try to make sure you don't let the tears that are trying to gather fall down your face.

"Goddamnit." Elvis whispers under his breath. Austin turns to him.

"What the hell was that?"

"You really don't remember anything when I'm... in you... do you?"

"No. What did you do?!" Elvis sighs and tries to think of how he can explain what happened between you last night.

"Well..."

"Elvis. They're going to call for me on set soon. Start talking."

"We went out last night."

"We?!"

"Me and her. But she thinks it was you..."

"You just thought you'd borrow me for the evening?"

"Look, I'm sorry, but I really like her and it was... it was really great."

"Elvis, did you have sex with her in my body?" Elvis cringes and looks down at the floor.

"Mayyybeee..."

"Elvis! What the hell?!"

"I'm sorry! You said no and I just really like her..."

"If you'd asked again, I probably would've said yes."

"Wait? Really?"

"Yes. But you didn't ask-"

"I know. I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I promise."

"We had sex?"

"... yes..."

"It was good?"

"Austin, it was incredible. She's amazing-"

"It's my turn."

"What?"

"I'm taking her out tonight. And you stay out. I wanted to ask her out, so I'm going to." Elvis stands there speechless. This is not what he expected. He expected anger or permission to continue. But this is something totally different. He did not expect competition. Austin takes a sip of the coffee you brought him and winces.

"Two creams and two sugars, dude? Have you never heard of a latte?"

Elvis rolls his eyes and Austin turns and walks towards you.

"Hey! I'm sorry I was awkward. Thank you for the coffee. What are you doing tonight?" You look up suddenly, a bright smile on your face.

"Oh, nothing! You wanna hang out?"

"Yeah, that'd be awesome. Can I pick you up around 7?"

"Yes!" He leans forward and kisses your cheek and whispers in your ear.

"I'll see you then." He walks out to the set and you blush. You try to focus on what you're supposed to be doing but the only thing in your head is the fact that you might actually be dating Austin Butler.

What you don't see is the smirk Austin shoots to Elvis. As he passes him to get to where he's going, he whispers.

"Game on, man."

******

That night, Austin shows up at your door dressed far more casually than the night before. Also, his hair is messier and he seems more confident.

"Hey, baby. You ready?" You nod. Apparently sleeping with you was an ego boost of some kind, but you're not exactly complaining. He seems to be more at home in himself and the confidence is hot.

For your date, he first takes you to a small restaurant he's found while he's been in town. It's a hole-in-the-wall type of place, but the food is amazing. Next, he takes you for cocktails at a local bar. It's small and intimate, but upscale nonetheless. After that, you find yourself back at his place on his couch.

This date somehow feels completely opposite of the one last night, but it's not bad, it's just different. He's just as sweet and thoughtful as he was the night before. He settles onto the couch next to you and throws his arm around you.

"You wanna watch something?"

"Sure. What did you have in mind?"

"Anything you want, baby."

What you don't know about this date is that Elvis is there the whole time. He tries to stay quiet, but throughout the evening he finds himself giving tips to Austin about what you like and don't like. The competitive side of him is begging him to shut up, but he also wants to see you taken care of. Austin is doing his best to ignore him, though. He wants to earn your affection in his own right.

"Well. What's your favorite Elvis media?" You ask. Elvis laughs.

"Ha! She's still thinking about me." Austin looks at him and rolls his eyes. He wants to yell at him that she didn't know it was him, but he also doesn't want to appear crazy.

"That feels like work for me, baby. We can watch something if you want, though..."

"Oh, no! I'm sorry. I didn't even think of it that way. We can watch whatever you want."

"How about some music?"

"Yes! Even better." He stands up and walks over to a record player and starts flipping through albums.

"Most everything I have is oldies. Is that okay?" You smile. Elvis scoffs. Oldies.

"That's the music I grew up with."

"Alright then. Fleetwood Mac, Three Dog Night, America, or Elton John?"

"Oh, man. That might be the hardest question anyone's ever asked me." Austin looks at you softly. You really are something else. "America. I'm in a mood tonight."

"I love it." Austin smiles. Elvis wishes you'd asked for something a little more his style, but he respects that you like what you like. The greatest hits album plays and Austin sits down next to you on the couch again. He fidgets with your hair on your shoulder absentmindedly. You turn to face him and you feel the energy between you become charged with something. He leans in slowly and presses his lips to yours. His hand cups your cheek and he kisses you again softly. The next time he leans in, it's an open-mouth kiss and his tongue slides into your mouth passionately.

But something is different. You can't quite put your finger on what it is, but the way he's kissing you is slightly different from last night. As he kisses down your neck, you decide that maybe you're just remembering wrong. Besides, this is excellent. Why would you complain? He sucks lightly on a spot near your collarbone.

"I don't think she'll like that." Elvis is still standing next to the couch. He's trying not to watch but his curiosity gets the best of him. Austin wants to ask if he plans to stay the whole time, but he can't really do that without freaking you out.

You moan softly as Austin's hands go to your breasts and he lays you down on the couch, situating himself on top of you. He pulls your shirt off quickly and then takes his off and you're shocked that he's moving this quickly. Last night you had to practically force him to touch you and tonight he's already got you half naked. Maybe it's just because this isn't the first time you've been together. His lips are all over your body as he kisses and licks your chest.

Elvis scoffs.

"You're paying too much attention to her top. Move down." Austin is trying so hard not to hear what Elvis is saying, but it's really starting to drive him crazy.

"Give me just a second, baby." Austin stands up and walks over to the record player. As he does, he mouths to Elvis. "GO. AWAY."

"What? It's not like she can see me. Besides, it looks like you need the help." He turns the music up really loud and walks back over to the couch. You look at him a little strangely and he smiles.

"Sorry, I just... wanted it... loud..." Elvis cracks up laughing at Austin trying to cover for his weird behavior. Austin goes back to kissing you and slides your pants down and off. Elvis rolls his eyes and turns his back. He doesn't really want to watch you with another man. Austin looks at you naked on the couch and shakes his head.

"Goddamn, baby, you're gorgeous." You smile. That sounds like him. He settles between your thighs on the couch and lowers his mouth to your clit. Your back arches as he moves his tongue over and around your sensitive bud. He pushes two fingers into you and spreads them, stretching you out as he licks you. That's new, but it feels good, so you don't protest. You feel your orgasm building as he keeps working his mouth on you.

"Oh, God, Austin." You moan.

"She's about to cum. Don't stop." Elvis hollers over the music. He can tell even without looking. Austin has to use every ounce of his acting skills to keep it together and stay focused on you. But Elvis is right. Your hand goes to his hair as you shudder and pulse around his fingers, your orgasm washing over you like a curtain of intense pleasure. He pulls back and wipes his mouth with his hand.

"You want me to fuck you, baby?" That's a slightly shocking difference from last night, but it's still hot, so you nod as he drops his pants and crawls on top of you. Elvis puts his face in his palm. He's wracking his brain for a way to get Austin to stop, but he can't think of anything. Instead, he stands faced away looking up at the ceiling while Austin pushes into you and begins to fuck you steadily.

"Yes! Yes!" You cry out breathlessly and Elvis hollers again.

"She's gonna cum again." Austin is so close to his own orgasm that he finally loses control.

"GODDAMNIT ELVIS DO YOU WANT TO DO THIS?!" He pulls out and sits up, looking at Elvis, who turns around slowly.

"You were doing just fine-"

"And yet you couldn't keep your mouth shut!" You look at Austin and over in the corner where he's looking. There's nothing there.

"Austin, what the hell-"

"I can see Elvis! Okay? I see him. He's here."

"You..."

"And sometimes he possesses me and does some of the movie. Last night, he thought he would take me for a joy ride and go out with you. That was him last night. Not me." Elvis looks between you to see how you'll respond to this information.

"Austin, I know you've worked really hard to get into this role..."

"No- I mean I have- but this is not that. I swear he's right over there." He gestures to Elvis in the corner who waves awkwardly, but you can't see him. That's when you realize that you're naked and grab your shirt to cover yourself.

"Tell her I've already seen her naked. She doesn't have to cover up for me." Austin rolls his eyes.

"Elvis says he's already seen you naked."

"Oh. Wait. He's really actually here?"

"Yep."

"And he takes over your body sometimes?"

"He does."

"And that was him last night and not you?!"

"Yes."

"Prove it." Elvis and Austin answer at the same time.

"What?"

"Prove it. What did you call me last night?"

"What do you mean?"

"You called me a specific pet name all night. What was it?"

"I don't know. Honey? I know he says honey a lot."

"Nope. Wrong. Let me talk to him." Austin stands up and pulls his pants back on. Then he looks over at Elvis.

"You heard the lady. Come on." Elvis nods slowly and then jumps. He opens his eyes in Austin's body. He sits down next to you on the couch and reaches his hand out to touch your cheek. He'll never get enough of the way your skin feels.

"Hey, doll." You close your eyes and lean into his touch.

"It really is you."

"It's me. And I called you doll."

"That's why everything has been so different tonight."

"Yes, I've been trying to tell him-"

"Wait. You've been here the whole time. Were you watching us-"

"No! I swear I turned my back. You can ask Austin." You look at him suspiciously.

"Can I talk to Austin?"

"I'll have to jump out and then you won't be able to see or hear me."

"But he will. So he can tell me what you say. If he lies, just come back."

"Alright then. Can I kiss you first?" You nod and he leans in and presses his lips to yours. He kisses you softly a few times and then pulls back. Elvis pulls himself out of Austin and sits on the other side of you on the couch. Austin shakes his head and blinks.

"Do you remember what happens when he's possessing you?"

"I don't."

"That's why you were so weird about the coffee this morning."

"Yes! Also I drink a vanilla latte. Elvis drinks coffee."

"Wow." You sit for a second trying to absorb what just happened.

"So which one does she pick?" Elvis asks Austin tentatively.

"I don't know, man." He turns to you. "He wants to know which one of us you pick."

"Pick?"

"To date." Elvis nods to Austin, who nods back. "We both want to know."

"Why do I have to pick? What if I want you both?"

"You can't even see Elvis!"

"No, but I can when he possesses you. I want you both." You stand up and put your clothes on while the two men sit dumbfounded on the couch. Once you're dressed, you turn and face Austin on the couch. "Where is he?"

"He's here next to me on the couch."

"Alright then." You look where you think he is and then back at Austin. "Figure it out, boys. Make a schedule or something. But I want you both."

You lean down and kiss Austin on the cheek. Then you turn to the other side of the couch and blow a kiss to Elvis.

"I'll see you in the morning. Y'all have fun coming up with a plan for how this will work." You walk to the front door and slip out, closing it behind you.

Elvis and Austin look at each other and bust out laughing. When they stop, Austin sighs and Elvis clicks his tongue. Elvis speaks first.

"Man, she's somethin' else."

"You got that right."

"I guess we better figure it out."

"I guess so..."

******

Until Part 3

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @returntopresley

[littlemissmiller]

Bird in a Cage

Part 4: Under His Spell

Pairing: dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

Summary: You’ve been Coriolanus’s guest for a while now, yet you still feel drawn to him rather than wanting to escape. One evening after you express how much you miss your family, Coriolanus decides to get your mind off things and shows off his lab.

Word count: 3.4k

Warning: 21+ (use of drugs), mentions of smut, non-con, degeneration, nicknames(slut, good girl), mentions of oral (f! receiving), use of aphrodisiacs, stalking, possession, dark themes, toxic themes, kidnapping

A/N: omg…I can’t believe i’m back to posting. i can’t believe y’all are still reading and some have been waiting a while for an update on anything so…here. this series is will be finished first before i get to Summer Highs and everything else i promised. it’s been such a struggle since i last put anything out, and im still working on feeling mentally better, but i do want to get back into writing. i hope you guys enjoy this and my suggestions are still open. i’m also welcoming any ideas for Summer Highs or a Joel fic and i may start writing for Nicholas Alexander Chavez 👀 so stayed tuned ♥︎

P.S. this was inspired by the Michael’s crafts white Halloween decor so iykyk

Series Masterlist

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After that morning, you felt different. Different about him and to a certain extent, the circumstances that brought you here.

Over the next two weeks, you slowly give up on your plans to escape. Seeing as you were under constant guard and his own watchful eye, escape felt impossible and eventually your family had been told that President Snow was hosting people near his palace as The Games approach. And somehow his web of lies worked. You still hadn’t seen them and you were starting to miss them dearly.

Coriolanus notices and does his absolute best to distract you. He sets up modeling gigs for you during most of the week, then he starts to pamper you. Every night treating you to the most scrumptious meals and the most relaxing baths. He starts to dress you more often, making sure to adorn you in the finest silk, cashmere, cotton and jewelry Panem has. He makes sure you get plenty of sleep and makes sure that the modeling gigs keep you front and center in the fashion magazines. This is all you could have dreamed of. You fall under his spell, yet the idea of freedom lingers in your mind. At the same time, it seems to miraculously fade away the moment he lays you down on his bed. In addition to luxurious treatment, Coriolanus knew how to take a woman to bed. His tongue was a drug, his mouth, a vice. He would lay you on your back, spread your legs and spend hours pleasing you. He loves your taste. Slightly bitter, but oh so sweet. He would take his time, dancing his tongue against your folds and diving into your cunt. He loves to make you moan and squeal.

Coriolanus always makes sure you let it out. He wants the whole palace to hear how good he makes you feel. He would hold you down, sometimes tie your wrists to the bed. He loves the power he holds over you, and loves seeing you bare on his bed. And you were starting to look forward to him inviting you into his room every evening. Your core was always throbbing for him, wanting to feel his full length buried deep inside you. He loved to feel your tight warmth, he loved how you clenched and gripped him. He loved how your face scrunched up, distorted from feeling so good. He would sometimes plunge a finger or two into your mouth, making you suck on them while he picks up the pace. His hips slamming into you as he commanded you to degrade yourself.

“Tell me you’re a good little slut.”

“I’m a good little slut, sir.”

He liked when you called him that. Even though he told you to call him Coriolanus, in the bedroom he required Mr. President or Sir.

“Tell me how good it feels.”

“Your cock feels so good Mr. President. So so good”

“Good girl”

One night at dinner, you stare thoughtfully at the young blonde and take small sips of your Gazpacho. Coriolanus notices and stops eating. You raise and eyebrow at him.

“Sir…?” You question. He looks up at you. “Coriolanus.” You correct yourself and he smiles

“What’s wrong my dear?”

“N-n-nothing is wrong. I just have something on my mind”

“Well…tell me.” He demands

“It’s just…it’s been a while since I’ve seen my family…I’ve been missing them.”

“I bet you have, but my darling…” he holds out his hand and you take it “Not quite yet…” he tells you, giving you a playful smile.

“When though…I feel like they must be worried about me and I just want- “

Coriolanus’s face drops and he gives you a stern look, squeezing your hand. You whine at the pain.

“Watch it, my dear…you are getting ahead of yourself now. You have been so good for me. Do not mess it up.”

“But I just want- “

“It’s not about what you want. Don’t you understand?”

Your heart sinks and eyes well with tears. You want to cry but won’t in front of him. You won’t show that weakness. You collect yourself quickly and nod.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll be able to see them again. When I think you’re ready. Am I clear?”

You nod your head and look down in your lap. He clears his throat, and you look back up at him.

“I said, am I clear?”

“Yes sir” you quip up.

“Good girl. I have something to show you after dinner.”

“I look forward to it” you tremble slightly as you say it.

After dinner, he stands up and walks next to you, holding out his hand.

“I want you to follow me.”

You nod and obey. He holds your hand, guides you up and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a silk black blindfold and smiles. Without a word, you turn around and he places it over your eyes.

“I’ve noticed how your eyes wander whenever we walk through the palace. I’ve seen eyes like that before. And they always leave me. Or try to. I’m not ready to let you go quite yet and I really don’t want to have to punish you if you have any ideas.”

“I-“

“You don’t have to explain yourself. I can tell you’re wanting to settle in. But I see your eyes. And how they linger and plot.”

“I-I’m sorry…it’s just my family, my life, everything has slipped away from me.”

Then you feel his firm grip wrap under your chin. He pulls you against his chest and nestles his face in the crook of your neck. He places a delicate kiss under your chin then whispers in your ear.

“My darling, I know you surely miss the life you had, but have I not shown you enough of what this life offers. Are you not satisfied with what I’ve given you? What more I could give. I’ll always take care of you. Don’t you want that?”

You sigh and nod almost unconsciously. You’re completely under his trance.

“Good. Now come with me.”

He takes your hand, guiding you through the palace. You intensely listen to the clapping of your collective footsteps as you pace down the hall. After a few moments the air grows cold and quiet. You hear an old iron door creek open, then slam shut as you both walk inside. Coriolanus steps behind you and takes off your blindfold. You blink and look around. The room is ghostly white, as if it’s been draped in old sheets. A chill crawls down your spine and Coriolanus soaks in your look of terror and confusion. As you look around the room, you notice a variety of statues and decor. It almost looks like it could be a dungeon or a crypt.

“What is this place?”

“This is my lab. I’m quite fond of experimenting.”

“Experimenting?”

“A habit from my school days. I used to study under Dr. Volumnia Gaul. She would always have something new she was working on. Especially during the Hunger Games season.”

“Oh-“ you gasp

He pauses and watches you as you walk around the room. You are immediately drawn to the back where a tall statue of a woman sitting, draped in a veil, and holding a skull. You recognize the stone as marble, feeling haunted by its stillness. At the base lies a bouquet of faded pink flowers, not quite as white as the ones in the garden. These flowers almost look dead, but still have a bit of life left. Next to her, a row of glass cabinets. You glance at them and inside is a variety of test tubes, flasks, and cylinders. Upon a closer look, some of the test tubes are filled up with what appears to be crystals, rocks, some mushrooms, butterfly wings, spider legs, and other dead bugs. You grimace and look away. Next to the tubes are a variety of silver tools hung up on the wall. A variety of scissors, knives, and scapulas, which are all polished and reflect back at you.

You turn around and look at the other side of the room. Another statue stands tall. Another veiled woman, like a bride, holding out her own stone bouquet. At her base, a skull with a snake weaving out of the eye socket and through the mouth. Feeling slightly terrified, you look away and immediately your eyes fall upon the shelves littered with small animal bones, skulls, more jars of dead insects, gems, jewelry, and coins. Everything seems to have its place. Then you glance over to Coriolanus, standing as still as the statues. He watches you intensely with a sly smile across his face.

“Why did you bring me here?”

Without a word, he walks over to one of his glass cases and opens it. He pulls out a small vial filled with a dark red liquid.

“I have a new concoction. I made my first sample yesterday.” He holds the vial up delicately in his hand.

Your eyes widen and you give him a puzzling look.

“What is it?”

“Well based on the ingredients, a wave of euphoria, a calming sensation throughout your whole body. Similar to the chocolate I gave you, but more long lasting and with a bit more visuals…”

“Visuals?” You question

“Yes, normal everyday things may look more interesting, more intense. You’ll be fine of course. I’ll be hear, watching after you.”

“W-why do you want me to try?”

“Because, I think you’d like this. It heightens your sensations in a way I think will be good for you….”

“So you’re using me as a test subject.”

“No. I always try it on myself first if I can, and then…I like to share.”

“And what happens if I say…no…” you hesitate

He looks at you with confusion, striding over to you. His eyes never leave your own as a chill creeps down your spine. He pauses, his face inches away from your own. He tucks a hair behind your ear and kisses you gently. He pulls back, hand caressing your chin.

“Then you say no…” he kisses you again quickly. He holds the vial up to you, looking at it like it’s a delicious treat. You look at him then the vial. In a moment of pure impulse, you take it from his fingers. He abruptly turns to face you, and you make full eye contact with him, sipping the red liquid. The taste is so strong, and warm. As it slides down your throat it almost burns your esophagus like acid and you hold back a cough. He gazes upon you in awe, smirking at you, eyeing you

“Good girl”

“H-how long until the effects kick in?”

“About thirty to forty five minutes. We will stay here for now.”

You nod and slowly lean into his lips. This time you kiss him. It’s slow, graceful, and unexpected. Coriolanus revels in it, he loves that you are starting to love him back. He chuckles to himself and pulls back.

“I love when you kiss me and mean it. I love that you want me.”

“It comforts me in a way. To have formed a relationship with you. Even though you…you..”

“Stole you away?” He finishes your sentence

You nod and look away. He grabs your chin and forces you to look at him.

“But you’ve seen what I can offer you. Haven’t you. You can’t resist it. You can’t resist me. Can you?”

You nod slowly as he captures your lips in a fierce manner. You can barely breathe as his lips move against yours. You welcome it all the same. His aggression. His passion. He wants to consume you. Own you. And he does.

“You love it…don’t you..”

“Y-Y-yes, this has truly been the most luxurious and cared for I’ve felt in my life.”

“Good, as it should be.” He resumes his lips, consuming your own. You and him stay like this for a while. Passionately clinging to each other's lips. His hands move to clutch your hips and he eventually pulls back again to look at you.

“How do you feel?”

You take a moment to look at your surroundings. Things feel normal. Until they don’t. The room looks different. The lights feel more intense, and then when you stare too long, things begin to swirl. Only slightly. Only enough to make you intrigued by what was seemingly normal surroundings. Everything has become the most interesting thing that you could look at right now. As you continue to look around the room, looking at the various glass cabinets, lab experiments, everything, even the statues, seems to move. As if they are growing and swirling in the space around you. Time feels like it slows down and your immediate reaction is to smile at it all. Something about the way the room moves makes you giggle, and feel light.

“Good” you nod

“You’re starting to feel the effects aren’t you”

“I-I think so yes…”

“Good. It made me feel curious. Do you feel curious?”

You nod and he grabs your chin again.

“Speak up”

“Yes, Coriolanus, it makes me feel good. I feel curious as well.”

“Let me give you a tour of the lab now that you’re in the right mindset.”

He takes your hand and walks you around his lab. He tells you about the various experiments, tools, and ingredients that he uses. Even in this state, you can see how passionate he is. How much he enjoys talking about this side of himself, sharing it with you specifically. And just as he told you, you do find yourself curious in a new way under the influence of the concoction. Everything that you observe feels as though it has its own personality and yet somehow it’s all connected to the other experiments and the whole room. You can’t really explain it.

Then he takes you over to another set of cabinets. Only this time. They are locked behind an iron cage, painted white to match everything else in the room. He pulls a key from his pocket. Coriolanus unlocks the cabinet and behind the doors are rows and rows of vials similar to the one that he showed you, except each one is labeled differently. They are all different colors as well, ranging from red to purple to green and even midnight black. Yet, one vial sticks out to you in particular. It’s as clear as the glass that contains it and for a second, you’re not even sure that there’s anything in it. Upon further inspection, you can see the rim of liquid that fills to the top just below the cork. It intrigues and entices you. You wonder what it is. Coriolanus, picks up on your curiosity.

“I called that one liquid death”

“Liquid death?” you ask

“Yes, it took me a while to finally come up with the perfect concoction, especially to make it appear as it does. I wanted to make something that was hidden in plain sight so that when one's… enemies need to be… eliminated… They would never know what is coming. So, I was able to create a tasteless, colorless, concoction that can take ones…problems out in an instant.” He explains

You look at him with a hit of fear, then you smile and giggle.

“That’s so smart, Coriolanus.” But you only half mean it

He smiles back, giddy at your excitement. Meanwhile, in the back of your mind the sound of freedom rings again. This could be your answer. You could poison him and be free. How would you get to it though, how would you get back here without him knowing? And how would you get the key to the lab? Is it the same key as the one to open this cabinet? Your thoughts shift as he takes your hand again leading you out of the room. He locks up the cabinet quickly. You still feel the effects of the concoction he gave and as he pulls you away you look back one last time at the lab. You look at the silver key, in his hand, but only for a brief moment before he stops to stand in front of you. He pulls the blindfold out of his pocket and wraps it around your eyes as he slips the key into his pocket. You try to commit the key to memory, the shine, the shape. It’s the same one he used for the cabinet, and he uses it now to close up the lab.

“Let’s go to the garden. I think you’ll like it under this state.”

When you arrive at the garden, he takes the blindfold off and you feel the cool air hit your face. You look out onto the familiar white roses. As you walk around, taking a closer look, they appear to swirl and dance. You let out a small laugh of disbelief and amazement.

“You like it?” He asks

You nod and he takes your hand. He guides you around and even though you’ve become quite familiar, it feels like a whole new experience.

“So how long will the effects last?” You ask

“About another hour, then you’ll feel normal, well almost normal.”

“What does that mean?” You question

“Well, when I took it I felt…needy for you after.”

“Needy for me?”

“Mhmm…but you were modeling so I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Oh…” you say plainly

“So..” he kisses your knuckles. “I do hope you will join me in my bedroom tonight.”

And just like that he switches the flip. You blush, and feel vulnerable to his charm. You let out a soft, innocent. laugh and look away.

“I thought that was a given”

“Well my dear, I hope you know, you always have a choice. And it seems like you keep choosing me…”

You gaze back up at him, smiling slightly. You lean up and kiss him. This time you make it soft and sweet. You slowly move your lips against his, letting him savor you. His hands move to your waist and pull you closer to him. After one last soft kiss he leans back and sighs.

“You’re so much different than the others. You want to escape, but don’t. Yet, you don’t praise me in the way the others conceded. And even then, some part of you cares about me. Do you realize how perfect you are?”

“I-I don’t think I’m perfect.”

“You are for me…I always wanted to find someone who could challenge me in a way. You are so curious to me. Do you know how many times the girls I’ve had stay here, try to run away the next day. Or how many times they gave in, thinking that I would choose them and let them have their lives back. But you, you just wait, wait to see what my next move will be and you’ve grown to become fond of me.”

He kisses your cheek.

“I know you do want your life back, I know this isn’t how you envisioned yourself, but it’s growing on you. I can see.”

“You are much kinder than I would have thought given how you…”

“Like to take what isn’t mine.” He finishes your sentence

You nod. He brushes your hair behind your ear and smiles. He gives you a quick kiss, then steps back to look at you fully.

“So, as I said, I hope to see you in my chambers tonight.”

He squeezes your hand and walks away. As he does, you watch him. When he returns inside, two guards come out. They stay at the top of the stairs, yet you know they aren’t just guarding the building. You sigh and look around at the garden.

Everything is still swirling and swimming around you. You glance up at the stars and gasp. The twinkling lights look as if they glitter in the sky. You are in awe and aren’t sure how long you stand to look, but eventually you get cold and tired. As you walk in, the effect of the concoction begins to wear off and you feel less sleepy than you expect. Instead, just as Coriolanus predicted, you get extremely needy. You haven’t felt this on edge in years and you Immediately think of Coriolanus's tongue soaking your pussy. As you make your way inside, the guards stop you.

“Do you wish to sleep in your chamber’s or the President’s tonight?”

“President Snow’s” you answer simply.

꧁🝮꧂

Next Chapter

[cialovesklopp]

une journée a trois ➻ k.mbappe

summary – they had always been two. but now that they were about to be three, they were starting a new journee. the path of parenthood. ah, the joy of pregnancy

pairing – kylian mbappé x amara imani (oc)

warnings – a somewhat detailed description of childbirth, pregnancy, mentions of morning sickness, labor, breastfeeding

word count — 10.1k

author's note – i guess this is my last official chapter for the mon amour series before i am officially starting my trent fic and the first spin off to this series. i will also be taking mon amour to wattpad where i'll add some more social media since here it came a bit short. there will be a lot of redecorating for my fics in the next time. as a heads-up: i don't know anything about childbirth, my entire knowledge is from google so i am very sorry if i got something wrong. hope you enjoy &lt;3

    ( masterlist )

it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. she liked to have her life planned out to the finest detail. she wasn’t organized to the smallest but she liked to live her life in a certain order. so this was not supposed to happen now. there was no in-between for her situation. either women were happy or their lives were destroyed right now. and yet she found herself between the two scenarios.

she had been careful. she had put her career first and it had worked in every damn relationship she had ever had (which had not been a lot). she had made it clear that the success of her career was the most important thing and after the whole evan fiasco, she had sworn to herself that no matter how many times she fell in love, she would never lose sight again of her priorities. and it had worked till now.

it was a small mistake that led to her situation now. a moment of a certain emotional weakness that was the reason why she found herself in the bathroom on the floor with her back leaning against the bathtub as she stared into nothing.

kylian had introduced her to a new world of love. one where longing became sometimes too hard and the moment they found each other again, all rational thoughts were thrown out the window. he had shown her what love really felt like and that it was so much more than just endless fights and screaming matches. so… of course she had lost sights of her priorities and acted after her emotions when her heart had missed him too much.

her situation resulted from a sudden stay in the same city. he had been there to play an important match, she had two nights in that same city to tour and overwhelm her fans with her music. it had been three months that they hadn’t seen each other in person so the moment they had known they were at the same place, all sane thoughts had been thrown out the window. they had missed each other too much to even think about anything else than be close again. feel the other again. and now, not even two months later, she found herself on the floor in the bathroom with a stick in her hand. a small piece of plastic that held the weight of the world. two small blue lines that seemed to throw everything out of order. there seemed to be life growing inside of her now.

she wasn’t crying but rather staring into the air. her eyes held no emotion as she held the positive test in her hands. somehow it didn’t seem to set in that she carried life now in her body. that someone was breathing inside her and had their own heartbeat. it appeared surreal to her. the realization that one of her biggest fears had become true.

amara didn’t fear his reaction. that was probably the least of her problems. he had always expressed his desire for children, no matter at which point in his career he would be. he would support her, no matter what. she was the problem.

there had been warnings for this situation. women with so much potential that had been destroyed or ruined because of a child. and it wasn’t just an empty warning. she had seen it with her own eyes. linda, evan’s mother, had been the proof she had needed. a beautiful woman, beautiful and intelligent — a cunning lawyer who was at the peak of her career. but her pregnancy had ruined her and had turned her into a housewife. the vision, evan had always had of her. being pregnant just before she was about to start the second leg of her tour was the most unfortunate moment, this little gift could have come. it threw all plans out of the window.

she absolutely did not want to become one of those women who were at the peak of their career and then got it ruined by an unplanned pregnancy. it was her biggest fear. especially because she was living on the high of it at the moment. everything was going well, — she was breaking record after record — and now everything was about to stop. because she knew she would never bring it over her heart to kill the small human that seemed to be growing in her. it was a part of her now. and she could never take that decision alone.

time passed and she still found herself in the same position, her mind still processing the news. she didn’t notice kylian coming home from training and calling her name. her senses picked up his smell and noticed his presence but her brain felt disconnected to the outside world. her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting and complicated thoughts she just couldn’t work through.

if he was surprised to find her in the bathroom, he didn’t show it. kylian called her name but there was no response except an occasional small hum. the room felt smaller and the atmosphere was uncomfortable with the big news looming over them.

“cherié, tout va bien?” he asked her softly, eyes filled with worry as he kneeled a bit down and remarked how hers seemed to just stare into nowhere with a numb expression in them. she didn’t find the strength in herself to say her fears out. it was paralyzing her from deeply inside and forming a big lump in her throat that prevented her from being vocal. instead she only handed him the positive test, the two lines glowing dimly under the bathroom light. — honey, is everything okay

there was a confused expression on his face that turned into a mix of shock and slight happiness. but any emotion disappeared when he was met with her expression. “this is a surprise,” he said out loud and turned towards her. “are you happy?” his question hung in the air but she couldn’t find an answer.

“i don’t know. i don’t know what i’m going to do.” she admitted, her voice quiet. there was a certain nervousness and fear that underlined her voice, portraying the weight that she carried on her shoulders now. there were so many possibilities and challenges, so many hills and rocks they would have to climb now. she wished she was fearless like all the other women that were over the moon when they got the positive news.

“i was about to leave for a whole year. the second part of my tour is starting in a month. and now i’m…” her throat became dry as the lump became bigger. the words seemed stuck, as if speaking them out would actually make it real. “i’m pregnant.”

she didn’t have to say more for kylian to understand her. that’s just how they were. he seemed to comprehend that she wasn’t mad at the pregnancy. after all, she adored children. she was amazing with them and they both knew they wanted kids. she just feared the impact it could have on her career.

“je ne sais pas quoi faire,” she mumbled under her breath, her lips barely moving. “it wasn’t supposed to happen now. everything was going soo… well, i guess. i don’t want it to end. i don’t want to lose my career.” — i don’t know what to do

he let out a sigh, his back sliding down the wall as he sat down next to her. one hand still held the positive test while the other wrapped around his girlfriend’s waist, pulling her closer to him. “why would this ruin your career? you’re the most successful artist i know. nothing could ruin this now.”

“you’re supposed to say that. but you haven’t seen that pregnancy does to women. i don’t want my career to be ruined, not with the way the world treats women. how am i supposed to be a good mum and a successful woman in the music industry?” she shook her head and put it down on his shoulder, resting it there. she appreciated his efforts to comfort her but he was a man— they would never truly understand a woman’s suffering, no matter how hard they tried.

“we could stay home both if you want that. i take a break from football and i could be home for the both of you,” he suggested and amara looked at him incredulously. it was strange for her how he had accepted it so quickly already, that they were about to be three while she still struggled to comprehend the situation.

she shook her head firmly. “i could never ask you to stop for me. i know how much you love football. it’s your life. this is a me-problem.”

“une grossese n’est pas un probleme d’une personne. tu n'es pas seule. je te promets que rien ne va se gâcher. ta carrière est remarquable est elle le sera toujours. no matter what you do,” he consoled her, pressing soft kisses on her temple. “je t’aime tellement. mais ça, c’est ta decision et tu es la seule avec le choix. soo… are you happy?” — a pregnancy is not a problem of one person. you’re not alone. i promise you, nothing is going to get ruined. your career is remarkable and will be

— i love you so much. but this is your decision and only you can take it.

she shrugged, the unexpected twist in her plans still burning through her mind. she just couldn’t understand how there was a small human being growing inside her now. something that was breathing inside her. even though it felt unreal — and all at once she knew what she was going to do. what she would have to do now. her world would revolve around that little human being now. and she would do everything in her power to love that little baby that was living inside her. even if it the feeling of surrealism would never truly leave her.

maybe her mind should have adapted to it by now but it still felt disconnected to the situation. as if she was living two lives now. they hadn’t told anyone yet, preferring to keep it their little secret for the moment. especially because they still hadn’t settled in on the idea of getting a family addition.

kylian had noticed her struggles. how she couldn’t work around it. he would find her sometimes in front of the mirror, staring at her stomach. and even then it looked like she still hadn’t made her peace with the situation. amara had come up with several excuses why she had been going softer on training and why she avoided her pr for the second leg of the tour so much at the moment. kylian seemed to have calmed her down a bit about the pregnancy but the fears and rocks it would bring still hadn’t been overcome. even more when she still didn’t feel a thorough connection to the baby in her stomach.

the first ultrasound had been their reality check. that whatever they had been dancing around, was actually happening. there was a grateful look in her eyes when kylian grabbed her hand while their doctor applied the cold gel on her. it was terrifying for her to say the least. their nurse was friendly, nice — she must have sensed amara’s nervousness with the way she had been trying to calm the singer down. it had been risky getting an appointment but kylian had made sure to be extra careful. to make sure that nothing would come out to the press. the least she needed right now was for the time that should’ve been the happiest in her life to be without any media presence.

hearing the heartbeat was a sharp reminder that they weren’t alone anymore. the sound appeared to be precise evidence of life within her, the real confirmation for her pregnancy. it was a new experience for them, a new chapter that was starting soon in their lives. the impending parenthood that was installing its way into their life. several emotions were rushing through them as they made contact for the first time with their baby. and yet, despite the huge importance of the moment, amara’s emotions refused to truly correspond to the situation because of a missing connection between her and the baby.

she looked at the ultrasound screens, her eyes specifically fixing the point the doctor had shown them was their baby. she was registering the moment but struggled to find an emotional place for it. and it wasn’t because amara didn’t love the growing human in her body enough. there was no lack of love or commitment. her brain was just going into panic mode and refused to acknowledge the incoming changes. an automatic self-defense response from her mind who thought it needed to protect her. because even if she knew her career was good, it didn’t take away her fear of having all of that ruined.

as the doctor left them to offer them some privacy, there seemed to be just them now and the sound of a heartbeat. amara didn’t have to look at kylian to know that his cheeks were probably hurting from smiling so much. that his eyes were probably a bit teary from hearing the heartbeat of their unborn child. his hand found hers and he subconsciously intertwined them, his mind still clouded by all the emotions running through his body. she smiled at him, happy to know that at least he seemed to be able to form a special memory with the moment. for her, everything still felt surreal.

and the feeling of it did not leave her, not even in the night.

they were in bed, cuddled together under blankets when amara suddenly woke up from a slight movement. she turned a bit to look at kylian but her boyfriend still seemed to sleep peacefully. as she felt it again, amara looked down and found kylian’s hand on her stomach. casually laying there all protectively. and somehow, it was exactly what she needed to realise that it would be okay.

a small smile formed on her face and she put her hand on her stomach too. this was going to happen and she would be prepared for it. she wasn’t sure whether babies could already hear but it was stronger than her. the urge to promise her baby the world.

“i don’t know whether i’m going to be a good mum to you,” she began softly, speaking low to not wake up kylian. “but i can promise you, you’ll be in good hands with your dad.” she chuckled, the thought of kylian playing with a small mini-him or mini-her exciting her. “i’m sorry that you’re stuck with a mum who doesn’t know what she wants. but i’m trying. i’m trying for you… to be the best version of myself that you’ll need.”

they began slowly, the changes. at first barely remarkable and now they were plainly obvious. life seemed to radiate from her. she possessed a kind of positive aura around her that even the blind could see. she had truly grown into the start of her pregnancy as she entered her second trimester.

amara found herself balancing her life before and during her pregnancy. she had to get used now to the fact that her body was adapting for the small human being in her stomach and that it included good and bad changes. she had overcome her struggles with the pregnancy and the lack of emotion she had had towards it. now she suddenly felt overwhelmed but happy. nearly excited to start this new chapter.

she was four months pregnant and with that also came the first differences that made this pregnancy real. that made it more than just a statement on a paper. a small, noticeable bump had formed on her stomach — it wasn’t very big but remarkably enough that it had made them nearly cry when they had seen it. now kylian’s hoodies had become her go-to attire to hide the small curve on her stomach. his sweatshirts engulfed her completely, serving as a comfortable shield for her womb and a cover up. after all, they still hadn’t told anyone and the little human growing in her body was still their secret.

and just as she progressed into her pregnancy, so did the unfortunate changes like morning sickness or strange food cravings. instead of spending her mornings in bed, spooning with her boyfriend, she now found herself hung over the toilet as soon as the sun came up, with kylian holding her hair. he whispered sweet encouragements and gentle circles which was now a habit for them every morning as she finished her first trimester to enter the second. it was exhausting, crucifying even and drained her. the doctor had told them it would stop soon but she found no change. she would just have to endure it.

even worse were the sudden food cravings. eating had already become hard enough with nothing staying in her body but her strange food cravings made it ten times worse. strawberries were her first sacrifice that came with nurturing life followed by sushi and chinese food. now even the slightest smell of take-out food had her running to the toilet. it was hard and what made it even more hard was the fact that she couldn’t ask anyone for advice other than her doctor.

they hadn’t told anyone of the pregnancy. she had canceled the second leg of her tour without any reason other than the “personal reasons” she had stated in her statement. it had been a heart-wrenching decision, stopping to travel around the world and illuminate people with her music but it was necessary. another sacrifice for her new life she was entering. they had left the world — including their own families — in the dark as they chose to live in their small pink bubble, far away from the harsh reality. amara would never admit it but she was glad. grateful that she didn’t have to share what was supposed to be the happiest time of her life with the world. she wanted it to be their private little moment.

pregnancy did not only change the way they lived. it changed them completely. amara knew kylian loved her but he had changed his love language. he had gone from sweet words and giving gifts to affection and touching her constantly. it had started small, with small caresses on her back and intertwining their hands subconsciously to gentle circles drawn on her hands now soft strokes. and most of them were always centered around her stomach. it was his new way of expressing his unconditional love that was now not only directed towards her but also towards the tiny life growing inside her. they had adapted to parenthood together and it made her fall in love even more.

especially when he talked to their small little miracle when he thought she was asleep. it had started as small confessions towards their baby and had turned into full one-sided conversations now. it warmed her heart when she listened to him, heard how he expressed some of his fears — that amara found were completely unreasonable— and talked about how excited he was. no matter which gender their little bundle of joy would have. only they mattered to them, her, him and the small unborn baby. their bubble was complete.

but the couple knew that their bubble would burst soon and they would rather be the ones to do it than an outsider. after spending one month at home, shielded from the outside, she had decided to come out. and her first official appearance was no other place than kylian’s match. her parents had surprised her with a visit and both knew, they couldn’t hide it any longer now. they hadn’t exactly spoken about a way they would announce it but it was clear that they would have to share it with their families now.

along with her parents she was seated in their usual reserved spots for the families of the players, next to them kylian’s parents and his brother with his children. she played with kylian’s nephew, bouncing him on her lap while her mind wandered off to thinking about how it would be in a few months. when she would be cheering him on with their small bundle of joy.

their eyes met and she watched his smile grow bigger as he spotted her with his nephew — no doubt, the same image of her with their baby was running through his mind. again, there was an overwhelming sense of pride and excitement. amara turned to her mother, who had redirected a question towards her, wondering why her daughter was glowing so positively. and all she could do was grin. they would know later.

though later appeared to be very close as their secrecy came to an end with the opening score. he had hit a beautiful goal after dribbling his way through the penalty area and instead of hitting his usual celebration, he went for the ball. there were shocked gasps around her along with a roar of cheer when he ran around with the ball under his shirt and sent a heart her way. everyone instantly put the pieces together — after all there weren’t many possibilities what it could signify — and immediately they all turned towards her.

“don’t tell me…” her mother trailed off in shock and amara nodded, grinning widely.

“surprise,” she exclaimed, a cheeky smile adorning her face. she lifted the sweatshirt a bit and revealed her four-month old belly that she had been hiding for the past month now.

fayza immediately pulled her into a hug, kissing amara’s temple gently. “félicitation ma fille. oh je suis tellement contente.” — congraulation, my daughter. i’m soo happy

one by one, they hugged her, all expressing their felicitations. even the others that were around to support their player on the pitch threw a happy congratulations towards her.

“how far along are you?” her father asked her, pulling his daughter in for another hug.

she smiled into the hug, the feeling of home spreading through her body. “nearly five months now. i finished my first trimester a few weeks ago.”

“now it makes sense why you couldn’t go out with me,” alice realized and amara sent a wink in her direction.

“how could you keep this from us?” her mother asked in a shocked tone, looking at her daughter incredulously. “amaghị m ma m ga-akụ gị maka idobere m ya ka ọ bụ naanị nwee obi ụtọ. ihe a abughi ihe i zonari nne gi ada.” — i don't know whether i'm supposed to hit you for keeping it from me or just be happy. this is not something you hide from your mother.

amara shrugged. “it was our little secret.”

𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐌

amara.imani and k.mbappe

liked by liyah_clark, achrafhakimi and 26.304.752 others

amara.imani secret is finally out. the reason i had to cancel the second leg of my tour. i’ll back soon but in the meantime, baby imani-mbappé is coming

view all 293.753 comments

liyah_clark the audacity to not tell your best friends that we’re becoming aunts

graceywood can’t believe she hid it from us 😔, i think we don’t mean anything to her anymore

amara.imani I APOLOGIZED ALREADY

amara.imani i even told you the gender, what more do you want?

username project mbappe is officially starting

username man really said, i’m starting my own mini-me

psg félicitation a vous deux ❤️💙

equipedefrance félicitation de toute l'équipe de france

username news of the year

antogriezmann félicitation mon frère

sza i can’t waittttt

kipembe3 la bébé de la team va avoir un bébé, trop hâte

paulpogba kyks le daron, qui aurait cru

cynthia_e so excited to become an aunt to this angel

username please say sike

username i don’t wanna lose my (imaginal) wife

username omg now it makes sense why she was always spotted in sweatshirts

kehlani ohh i’m gonna be auntie kehlani soon 🥹

charles_leclerc new member to the amara imani squad

landonorris best news of the week

graceywood auntie grace is ready for her duties

liyah_clark auntie liyah and uncle charles report for duties too

username i’m not even mad anymore she canceled her tour

username fr, i’m too excited for this

achrafhakimi finally. it was so hard keeping it a secret and not telling you i knew

amara.imani how did you know?

achrafhakimi you never decline a glass of red wine

username omg they’re gonna be parents 🥹🥹

tchaga_ felicitations a vous deux. je vous souhaite le meilleur

k.mbappe 🫶🏾

the news had spread like a wildfire and even people who weren’t interested in the football or music industry knew that amara imani was pregnant. their names had been mentioned in every article for three weeks straight, wondering over the gender of the baby and when exactly it could maybe arrive. her phone was now silent everyday to drown out the constant vibrations of notifications. it was spammed with articles and posts mentioning her — everyone had something to say about her pregnancy.

even players she hadn’t ever interacted with had slid into her dms to wish her and kylian well. not to forget the french national team who had called to congratulate them as well. they had instantly launched a group call, to also include those who played overseas and wished their two friends well. everyone bombarded her with questions about the impending arrival of their baby — their new protégé as they liked to call it now. a warm feeling spread through her body as she thought about the way, their baby already had so many uncles that loved their coming bundle and would help them. they were a big family after all.

as she advanced in her pregnancy and her bump grew bigger, kylian also grew more protective around her. he didn’t allow her to lift a finger to do anything around the house anymore except go to pee. he cooked now and send his mother to drop off food when he was busy or away for a game. his chauffeur had now become something like their housekeeper, occasionally checking in on her when she was home alone. kylian had even hired her a personal shopper that would go shopping for her when she didn’t feel like online shopping. he was doing everything to protect her from doing too much.

and amara understood where he was coming from so she couldn’t even be mad at him. after their latest doctor’s appointment, where they had been told that there was a risk of giving birth prematurely, her own fears had reappeared again. they had never truly left her but now they were living in her brain again. her pregnancy had already been complicated with her uterus apparently refusing to grow to give the baby more space. she had been told it was a protective response of her body after a certain kind of trauma she must have endured — a trauma that her body now refused to live again so it took protective measures. she had been ordered two weeks of bed rest and after that, to do the most to go easy on her body. spare it from hard work.

seven months into what should have been the happiest time of her life and she found herself afraid of her own body and what could happen if she gave birth prematurely. she had worked through the fears concerning her career and now she would have to manage the fears of not being ready to give birth.

and adding to that fear that hovered over her now, pregnancy had also become harder for her. what had seemed to be a small curve before now looked like a midsized watermelon shoved into her stomach. the toll on her body became more prominent now — daily ingestions of vitamins, eating twice the amount of what pregnant women usually consumed — measures like that had become routines for her. she had been warned of a complicated pregnancy but none of what she had been told measured up to what she was feeling.

nonetheless, her pregnancy was also marked with good moments, happy moments where both just got ready for parenthood. moments that had put light on the situation they were living in at the moment. painting the room had been a day where they had created lots of memories they cherished. the singer had been visiting friends of hers who had been staying in the city of love and had come home to find kylian with a screwdriver in his hand while achraf was reading him the instructions for the crib.

“you’re supposed to put it like this.”

“i’m doing that. it won’t go in.”

the two hadn’t even noticed her arrival their focus laying purely on the crib. turned out, he had left training early and had dedicated the entire day to constructing the crib and getting the room finished. her heart had grown twice its size that day. there were so many memories they had already created in that room (looking past their messy make-out session because she was feeling horny) and painting the room of their coming bundle of joy was just an addition to that.

the realization of parenthood and their new addition to the family had somehow wriggled into their lives. during her first trimester, she had pushed the thought of pregnancy at the back of her head, hoping to procrastinate everything that concerned it. now she was excited for the arrival of their little bean and was planning each detail as finely as she could. they were navigating their way around it with the new flow of emotions they were experiencing. as she progressed and her bump became bigger, so got the question about the name their unborn child would carry. it was clear to both of them that their baby would not carry a double-name; they held no importance if the only place where they appeared was on official documents. they would settle on a single name their baby would be known through the world.

he had the entire world scream his name and wear it on their shirts to express their support for him, she had people sing her music all over the world and express themselves to it. both names carried big weighs all around the world and no matter which name it got, there would always be expectations that would have to be reached. yet she sensed that it was more important for him — the matter of the name. so they chose mbappé for their last name. but the problem of the forename still linged.

that’s how they found themselves awake in bed at four in the morning with the question of the name preventing them from sleeping (in addition to amara craving for tacos at two in the morning). they were surrounded by baby name books while their phones had websites for baby names open.

“what do we think of kylian mbappe jr?” he proposed jokingly, grinning at her as he stole another of her sweet potato fries.

she rolled her eyes. “of course, why not? and while we’re already at it, why not instantly start project mbappe and put it into the academy instantly after i give birth?”

he held his hands up on surrender. “it was just a suggestion.”

“a stupid one,” a small giggle left her lips as she declines his proposition. she was kind of glad that he wasn’t stressing so much about the pregnancy as much as she was now. one of them needed to be the easy parent and she knew it was just in her nature to be the stricter person.

“what about… malouanne ?” he read out loud from his phone which earned him a pillow thrown his way. “what? it’s a mix of the names marie, louise and anne. fits perfectly if you ask me.”

“as beautiful as the name may sound, do you want our kid to be bullied at school?” amara instantly retorted back, continuing to read in her book to find a name.

that was how they spend the night, searching for names that would fit their little human and create their identity. the question of the name was always a difficult one because somehow nothing seemed to fit. nothing was enough for their baby. they were looking for a name that just screamed their bundle of joy; that upon hearing it would immediately make them think of it.

“should we add a middle name?” he asked her, putting his phone down to look at her. his hand instantly placed itself on her stomach, stroking it gently. “should we give you a middle name,” he asked softly towards the stomach. a smile made its way on his face when he felt a kick at the spot where his hand laid and amara hissed slightly.

“i think we need a middle name,” kylian told her slyly. “our little bean clearly agrees with me.”

“they agrees on everything with you. i swear i have a daddy’s girl in my stomach.”

her boyfriend grinned at her, cradling her stomach. “well, they are their father’s child” his grin widened when he felt a kick again.

she shook her head in disbelief but knew he was right. bidding him goodnight and placing a last small kiss on his lips, she waltzed a bit around to find the perfect position to sleep in. with her belly growing, so did the matter of finding a good position to sleep in but the huge pregnancy pillow that kylian had bought her seemed to help. still it didn’t take away the ordeal of finding the position. she was nearly asleep, her mind already drifting away when kylian finally closed the books and turned off the light. his hand wrapped around her waist to feel closer to her as he got comfortable in bed.

she had nearly missed his suggestion, already dozing off when she heard his voice. it was barely above a whisper but loud enough to hear.

“i think ada would suit her perfectly as a middle name in case it’s a girl. the perfect mix of you. and you said you wanted to honor your mother.”

needless to say that she fell asleep with a smile on her face. one problem less now in what was supposed to be the happiest time of her life.

a sharp pain shot through her body. she had been seated on the couch, excitingly watching kylian play when suddenly all she could focus on was the feeling of agony that spread through her body. she tries to ignore it but it’s stronger than her. her hands immediately go down to hold her bump as she leans forward, pain rushing through her entire body and making it impossible to think. her mind is consumed with the feeling of crucifying agony and she can’t think of anything else.

as quick as it comes, it subsided again and she takes a deep breath, trying to regain her composure— before it starts all over again. her first thoughts are that she’s experiencing preparation labor — the famous braxton hicks, that her doctor had warned her of and that she had been victim to during her seventh month. but this pain felt different. the match had been long forgotten as she found herself on the floor, tears starting to fall down her cheeks. her body felt weak, too heavy for her to carry to even try to sit up. the salty substance of her eyes had already started to stain the white carpet and she was able to taste her tears. her eyes travel around the room, as she looks for her phone and desperation fills her as she sees it on the other side of the room, charging. she tries to get up, to at least manage to crawl to it but another pain prevented her.

her eyes close, too weak to have them open as soft sobs leave her trembling lips. she’s wallowing in pain, hoping that someone will find her; that kylian will come home soon. she had always been afraid of giving birth in bad conditions, especially as she was early and her due date was supposed to be in two weeks. her arms wrapped around her stomach as she tried to comfort herself by whispering sweet encouragements, hoping that they would at least help her calm down a bit. but the pain did not leave her.

she doesn’t know how long she’s suffering in agonizing pain when she suddenly hears the apartment door opening and someone entering. pearls of sweat are running down her forehead as she’s compressed to the floor, her arms hugging her belly close to her. the solitude had amplified her situation, made it worse as fears had taken over her mind; the fear of having to give birth alone. and she couldn’t be mad at kylian. after all, the due date was supposed to be in two weeks and even that was much earlier than expected. she tries to ignore the pain and at least try to lift her head to see who just came in but the waves of pain that stream through her body are stronger. like electric waves rushing through her body and hitting her everywhere.

it’s his driver that gives her a bit of hope again when she hears his voice. he immediately rushed towards her, kneeling down as he took in the scene.

“i don’t… i don’t want to give birth..” she managed to croak out, pain preventing her from speaking clearly. her voice was filled with agony as small sobs left her lips. "je veux kylian.” — i want kylian

there was no hesitation, no time to panic or doubt. she was sobbing as she tried to catch her breath while he swiftly retrieved his phone to dial the emergency services. while his other hand held the phone, the other was softly stroking her back, hoping to transfer some solace to her. a bystander would have interpreted the scene in front of them completely different but right now, it comforted amara. calmed her down knowing she wasn’t going through this alone anymore.

he also called kylian but he soon realized it was of little avail, when his eyes caught the screen where the camera had just zoomed on the french striker. the feeling of desperation now seemed to have caught onto him too as he quickly grabbed amara’s phone to place another urgent call. this time to his brother who had not been selected for the match. their call was not very long, only sharing the most important details. his heart lightened a bit when he saw the sudden substitution of kylian. but the feeling of relief was as quickly gone as it came when his eyes fell on the woman next to him, who seemed to take the pain harder with every second that passed.

staying conscious started to become hard for her. she felt a bit of relief when the medics had finally arrived, instantly carrying her to bring her to the closest hospital. but he was still not there and it freaked her out. she couldn’t give birth alone. not without him. there was chaos around her, several voices as she was rushed into the hospital and yet her brain only focused on one thought: she needed him here. she had been put into a private room to not attire a lot of attention as they were aware of her identity. they had told her she would soon be ready for the next phase of this journey but she didn’t want to start it. not without him so even though her body was killing her, she held onto the pain till he would be there.

they tried to calm her down as her contractions intensified but it was to no avail. she needed him to be there and hold her hand. be her sanctuary to guide her through her fears. every reassurance that was spoken to her didn’t mean anything to her cause they weren’t whispered by his lips. she wanted him and no one else.

kylian had instantly run to the changing rooms to get his things as soon as he had been informed of the news. there was confusion at first, when he suddenly saw his number on the changing boards but the small explanation from his coach was enough to suddenly hug enrique and rush out as quickly as possible.

there was no time to care about any traffic rules. she was more important. they were what mattered now. short messages had been sent to his families to inform them of the situation before he ran into the hospital, looking to support his girlfriend during this important moment. he didn’t care whether he hadn’t parked right or how many speed limits he had crossed, all he wanted was to hold amara’s hand.

from the reception desk he had instantly been taken to her room where he rushed to her and engulfed her into a close hug. he had seen her in so many states before but this was new to him. unknown territory like each time he went to play on an adversary’s side that he had never crossed paths with. his heart hurt as he took in her appearance; her face scrunched together because of the crucifying pain, the sweat pearls that rolled down her face along with her tears and the small sobs that left her trembling lips. amara was truly in pain.

“t’es- tu est la…” she managed to croak out before another sharp flash of pain shot through her, making her scream in agony. — you’re … here

he wiped her tears from her face and pressed a soft kiss onto her cheek, able to taste the salty taste of her tears. his heart broke as he thought about all the time she must have spent here without anyone close to her and in pain. she had always been scared of facing labor alone, just the thought of it made her doubt everything but he had always been able to calm her down. promises had been exchanged when she had longed for the reassurance that no matter what came, he would always be there for her— in this moment. she would never have to go through this alone.

“je suis venu le plus vite possible,” he mumbled, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. hoping that the solace and feeling of warmth the act usually transferred would calm her down a bit. she cried again, this time though she wasn’t sure whether it was due to his presence or the pain that her body had to endure at the moment. — i came as quick as possible

he lifted their intertwined hands to meet his lips and pressed a kiss on it. “je te l’avais promis. je serai là.” — i promised you. i will be there.

she nodded, another contraction hitting her and preventing her from speaking. her body was overwhelmed with emotions; pain, fear. comfort all present in her body. a bit of solace had been found from kylian being there but the feeling disappeared when the doctor came in agan. when she announced that it was showtime and should have to push now. there was no going back, no time to have second thoughts. it was all happening in this instant now.

labor was hard. jolts of pain were shooting through her body in short periods and each time she had to push through them. she didn’t care if the entire hospital heard her screams or whether she was breaking kylian’s entire hand with the amount of force she was squeezing it. she couldn’t see anything except pain. and what her desperate even more was the fact that nothing seemed to change.

the nurses and doctors were telling her that she was doing a fantastic job but she still felt as if she hadn’t even pushed once. as if nothing had changed. no matter how much she pressed.

“you’re doing so well ma belle,” kylian encouraged her as another of her screams pierced through the room. “you’re so close.”

“why doesn’t it feel like this?” she yelled out in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks. she was hot, her forehead was sweaty and her body felt weak. she couldn’t push anymore.

“miss, you’re nearly done. we can already see the head,” their doctor tried to motivate her. “we just need two more big pushes.”

her surroundings drowned out as she gathered all the strength that was left in her body to push. everything around her became blurry, colors, shapes, persons. her mind was too tired to make her sight clear and she had no energy left anymore to try to focus.

“we need one last push,” they called out to her as she nearly broke down on the bed.

“i’m tired, ky,” she cried tiredly. her eyes barely open. she looked desperately at him. “it hurts so much. i can’t do it anymore. i just want this to be over but it hurts so much,” her sobs left her body and his heart ached as he listened to her.

“t’es la femme la plus courageuse que je connais. et je vais pas te mentir, je ne sais pas dans quelle douleur tu es. mais je sais que tu es la seule à pouvoir le faire. bientôt on aura notre bébé dans le main. one last push and it’s over, okay?” their eyes mirrored every emotion present in the room. the fatigue but also the exhaustion. pain but also love: there was everything. — you’re the strongest woman i know. and i won't lie to you, i don’t know what the pain you’re in feels like. but i know you’re the only one who can do it. soon we’ll have our baby in our hands.

amara nodded as she took a deep breath to push again. she’s clutching kylian’s hand with every last remaining strength as he continues to encourage her. the pain she’s feeling now was much higher than what she experienced the last five hours. suddenly she feels everything. as if her senses have been amplified. there was a sharp pain accompanied by an agonizing scream and suddenly there's a new voice in the room.

she’s asked to hold her arms out as kylian’s eyes fill with tears and all of sudden she’s holding her baby. their little girl. the joy of their life they’ve been dying to meet.

her eyes are filled with tears as the realization hit her. all the pain is suddenly forgotten, as if it never existed. now her body’s only consumed with happiness. she’s crying hysterically as her baby continues to let out cries. the sign of life. that everything was going well. she didn’t need to look at him to know that he was crying as well.

every of her muscles is feeling exhausted when they take their new child away to do its first medical care. kylian himself wasn’t one to often feel very emotional but when he had been asked to cut the chord that had connected amara and their bundle of joy for nine months. she’s finally here and he suddenly understood the feeling of surrealism that amara had told him about.

after the first checks had been done, their daughter had been placed into her arms again. and somehow she must have had still some liquid in her body as her eyes began to water again when she truly held her daughter for the first time.

“she doesn’t seem like a faith,” amara whispered, holding her daughter who was covered in a soft, fluffy, pink blanket. she had opened her eyes for the first time and again, a few years left her eyes when she stared into her daughter’s beautiful eyes. they had her eye shape but all she saw looking into them was kylian. she had inherited her father’s eyes. the fact that she could reference to kylian as dad now spread a new kind of warmth through her body.

“no. it kinda feels wrong,” he agreed. as he gently trailed a finger over her delicate face, he couldn’t help but fall more in love with the woman in front of him. he had always known that he would always love her, no matter in which reality they found themselves. and he had fallen in love with every one of her versions. and now he found himself falling for her new role. he had fallen deeply for amara in her role as mom. he couldn’t believe he had ever doubted. she was perfect. “what was the second name we chose again?”

“are you talking about anaïs?”

kylian’s smile grew bigger as he continued to stare at his daughter. he had learned the meaning of infinite love with amara but the term of unconditional love. it was this small human that taught him what it meant. what people were talking about when they talked about loving someone unconditionally. “yeah. i think she looks more like an anaïs.”

and looking at her, amara understood. she had stopped crying and was looking at her, as if she was taking in her new surroundings. she had been removed from the safe comfort of her mother’s womb and had now to get used to the outside. “anaïs-ada mbappe. welcome into the world.”

she pressed a soft kiss to her cheek before turning to look at kylian and both smiled. they had done it.

“t’es prête papa?” she asked him teasingly and motioned for him to step closer. “take off your shirt. it’s your time now.” — are you ready papa

she was tired. exhausted. there was fatigue written all over her face and yet her face still wore a smile as she watched kylian take off his shirt to have his first skin-to-skin with their daughter. he gently took anaïs out of her hands and sat down on the bed next to her.

he had her cradled against his chest, the warmth of his chest spreading was a connection between them. an expression of love sacred to only them. their phones were vibrating but they ignored it. only their little family mattered now. “salut ma princesse,” he whispered to her softly as she wrapped her hand around his finger. “moi, je suis ton papa. et je t’aime tellement.” — hello my princess. i’m your dad. and i love so much.

their tiny miracle was held in his warm embrace as time around them seemed to pause. no one else existed in their bubble that shielded them from reality going on outside. it was only them. and somehow, as they held their daughter in their hands, the idea of parenthood didn’t seem so scary anymore. amara fell happily asleep, knowing that they were going to do this chapter together.

𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐌

amara.imani and k.mbappe

liked by achrafhakimi, graceywood and 28.763.541 others

k.mbappe bienvenue au monde anaïs mbappé

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it was their first day at home. and with the first day also came the first night and the first cries.

it still felt so unreal to them how they had left their home as two and had come back with another person. their family addition that represented the proof of their love. putting her down for the first time in her room filled the air with a warm atmosphere. there was so much love around them as she placed anaïs in her bed after putting her to sleep. a small light of the nightlight they had bought cast a yellowish glow around the room, revealing a few of the fine details they had put into the room. their eyes did not leave their daughter, they were too much in awe of what they had created.

she’s woken up by anaïs’ soft cries in the night. a quick glance at the small clock next to the bed told her it was just one in the morning. she’s tired and every bone is begging her to stay in bed but her motherly intuition prevents her. turning, she saw kylian still sleeping profoundly next to her as she gets up to calm down their daughter.

“you’re hungry, aren’t you,” she asked her daughter in a gentle tone as she picked the small baby up and sat down with her on an armchair next to the crib. she thanked kylian’s brilliance for having had the idea of installing one next to the crib. “ça va, maman est là. maman va s’occuper de toi,” she soothed anaïs’ cries as she got ready to feed the little human in her arms. — it’s okay, mummy here. mummy is gonna take care of you

just as she had predicted, hunger had been the cause for her awakening as she watched anais latch onto her breasts, hands grabbing onto each side. her cries quickly subsided as the little girl got fed while amara tenderly stroked her cheek. she waited for a bit longer after making sure anais had burped and rocked her little princess back to sleep before joining her own bed again. she couldn’t even find it in herself to be mad at the way kylian was sleeping so profoundly, as if he hadn’t heard her cries. it was her first time experiencing motherly intuition and tending to her responsibilities. she placed a soft peck on his forehead before falling asleep again, her mind drifting away before she had even truly placed down her head on the pillow.

the second time anais woke up, it was kylian who tended to her needs. amara stirred, ready to get up but the french striker tells her to go back to sleep. that she was already exhausted enough and her body needed some rest. after changing her diaper, he instantly took off his shirt before picking up his daughter and putting her close to his chest. immediately her cries stopped when she felt her father’s warmth and comfort as his fingers gently brushed against her head. they stood in the same position for the next thirty minutes before anais fell asleep again, their small bond blossoming through moments like this. amara’s still heavily asleep when he slips back into bed again, wrapping his arm around her waist to find sleep again.

but his sleep didn't last for very long before they heard her cries again. this time though they had managed to find three more hours to sleep with the clock indicating that it was already eight in the morning. amara was about to get up to look after their daughter when kylian grabbed her hand, motioning for her to stay in bed.

“you went last time,” amara muttered tiredly, already looking for her slippers but kylian shook his head.

“go back to sleep cherie,” he interjected, putting a shirt on. “you need it more than me.”

“your holidays are over tomorrow. if anyone needs sleep it’s you.”

he shrugged, standing up and ready to go look after anais. “and you just gave birth a week ago. repose toi un peu,” he convinced her and she nodded, knowing it was useless to argue with him. she gave him a last kiss before closing her eyes again, fatigue instantly taking over. she didn’t know what had been the matter this time but since her cries quickly stopped at the sight of her father, she knew he had everything under control, her instincts could relax as she slept a bit more. — get some rest

she woke up to an empty bed the next morning. it’s the feeling of coldness next to her that managed to bring her out of her sleep even though she was still tired. she knows that kylian must be around somewhere with anaïs but she enjoyed staying in bed for the first time since she gave birth. regain all her forces.

there was an instant smile on her face when she saw her daughter in kylian’s hands while walking out their bedroom. her heart grew twice its size when spotted them on the sofa with kylian talking to her and anaïs having her eyes wide open. as if she was understanding or at least trying to follow what her father was telling her.

“regarde qui s’est réveillée,” he said softly to his daughter, noticing amara’s presence. “tu as vu maman?” — look who woke up

— did you see mummy?

“vous êtes trop beau ensemble,” she greeted him with a kiss as she sat down next to him and reached for their daughter. anaïs calmly got comfortable in her mother’s arms, not making much of a fuss as she got ready to eat. — you’re too beautiful together

she had a fond smile adorning her lips, looking at her daughter. this tiny human being that changed their lives around. even though she was only a week old, they could already recognize that she was her father’s photocopy. that she would be his except for the shape of her eyes. the one thing anaïs had inherited from her.

“t’es la femme la plus forte que je connais. je ne sais pas comment t’as fait. comment tu fais…,” he told her completely in awe which made amara chuckle. — you’re the strongest woman i know. i don’t know how you did it, how you do it

“et toi tu es l’homme le plus beau, magnifique de toute cette terre. no one i would rather have than you as the father of my baby. — you’re the most beautiful, amazing man on this earth

“she makes everything better,” kylian chuckled as he got up to prepare breakfast for them.

amara nodded, softly cradling her daughter while she breastfed her. her small little hands were placed firmly (as firm as they could be for a one week old) as she drank the breast milk.

“weird how i’m ready to go to war for someone i’ve practically known a week. and yet she’s the answer to everything.”

he understood that feeling better than anyone. if the world turned around him before, now his world turned around her. he was ready climb mountains, cross jungles or put the world on fire if it was necessary for his daughter’s happiness. he would do anything for her. “i love you two more than anything.”

his eyes held that famous sparkle as he spoke and amara leaned in to place a kiss on his lips. in the span of a week their lives had changed and they had been thrown into the world of parenthood. the one thing no matter how much one studied, there was never the perfect preparation. one would never know how parenthood actually worked out till they were parents. it was a new path to life.

amara and kylian had each other to overcome the hills and rocks that may have been put onto their way. anaïs was the confirmation of what they had always been. a family. their bubble was finished and perfect now. they had everything they needed.

taglist: @lorarri @aechii

[abbeym28]

I Will

Second drabble! This one is more centered around the reader and Megumi's relationship as the reader raises him with Satoru. 1,408 words this time <3 It does end with Gojo getting sealed and there is some angst, and I promise that Gojo is actually in it lol! Again can be read as a stand alone fic or in a series, but how I'm writing them right now there really isn't an order to them.

Megumi snuggled closer into your side. You two were on a blanket looking up at the stars while Satoru was busy picking up Tsumiki from her after school clubs. They had run a little late, and with it being fall, the sun had left the sky and there were more things to look up at.

You know that Megumi really enjoys the night and the stars. He has told you about every other constellation and the history behind them on nights like this before, but tonight, he was just silent.

“What’s on your mind, sweet boy?” Megumi let one of your hands gently comb through the spikes of his hair. He hated when Satoru touched his hair, but he found it easy to trust you and let you mess it up.

“I… I’m really… glad you and Gojo got together. And that you are raising us.” A soft smile spread across your face without you knowing as you pulled him a bit closer.

“Oh Megumi. We are also so glad to have you with us. Have I ever told you that you are my favorite person in the whole world?” There was a small pout on his lips that made his cheeks chubbier as he lifted his head more so he could look at you.

Megumi didn’t ever really share things like this often, and it worried you a bit. Was something wrong? He slightly tugged on your sleeve, and you let him fiddle with it while you waited for him to say something else in response.

“Am I really your favorite person? Like, do you, like, love me more than Gojo? And Tsumiki?” You laughed a bit as you lifted the hand that wasn’t in his hair to his cheek as you stroked it softly. He leaned into your hand a bit, unconsciously. Your heart melted a bit.

Satoru did that too. They were a lot more alike than either of them would ever admit.

“Of course. Don’t tell either of them, but you are. Satoru and Tsumiki have each other, so that means you get to be my little boy.” he giggled slightly as you started pressing small kisses all over his face and when your hands started to gently tickle his sides. “You will always have me on your side, ‘k?” Megumi nodded as a rare look of joy was spread over his normally grumpy face.

“I will be on your side too. When you and Gojo get divorced, I’m going to live with you!” the sparkles in his eyes and smile on his face as he said that made you choke out a disbelieved laugh.

“Divorce? Sweety, we would need to be married first.” he just hummed in agreement as he again began to snuggle in closer to you. He must have been getting cold, so you grabbed your jacket that was laying next to you and set it over him. He curled up a bit more so that way he could get more warmth.

“Okay. Once you guy’s get married, I will take your last name, that way you really are my parent.” Scratch what you said earlier about him being quieter.

And where was he hearing all of this stuff?

“If we do get married, we don't all have to have the same last name. If that is okay with you and your sister, you guys could keep your own last name. And Satoru's clan would be upset if I married and didn't take the Gojo name. But if that is the case, you can’t call Satoru Gojo anymore. Otherwise, it will get confusing.”

Megumi’s eyebrows furrowed at that. Satoru had been trying for a solid year to get Megumi to call him anything other than Gojo (ie- his first name, dad, great protector, strongest one.)

The closest he’s come is the nicknames bitch and idiot.

(You suspect he got that from his school- you don’t like it but Gojo insists that it has a good educational system. You suppose that the only other school option you have is jujutsu high, but even with Megumi’s family lineage and cursed technique you have been doing your best to keep both of the kids away from that life. Besides, Satoru and Shoko both have dirty mouths that sometimes slip in front of the kids.)

“I don’t care for Satoru. I think we should kick him out.” That was a lie, and you both knew that it was. Despite his harsh words, Megumi cared for his “surrogate” dad even though he was still incredibly salty to him.

“I don’t think so. I still love him.” He let out a sigh that suggested he was both too tired and sick of this constant talk of your boyfriend.

The two of you lapsed back into silence.

That was until the front door was heard opening and you heard Satoru’s voice yell out, calling your names.

“Honey, I’m home!” You untangled yourself from Megumi as you both got up to greet the other two at the door.

“Hey.” you took bag the he was holding (Tsumiki’s school bag) as Satoru put Tsumiki on the ground after previously being on his shoulders. She ran into another room, most likely the kitchen, as Satoru got down knees and opened his arms.

You watched as he wiggled his eyebrows towards Megumi, who was standing on the sideline.

Megumi shook his head as a look of fear took over his features.

Satoru’s grin widened as he moved closer, close enough so that way he could sweep his feet off the floor as he pressed a flurry of wet kisses all over his kiss.

This was probably bad. Too much affection would probably stop the poor boy's heart. But soon enough both of their giggles filled up the space as Megumi called out uncle. He took a few seconds to catch his breath and readjust his clothes, but once he composed himself he sent a glare at Satoru.

“This is why I hate you. You are my least favorite person.” he then turned around and stalked off to his room. Satoru turned to you, his smile still very much on his face.

“I guess he’s reaching that age. Do you think it will get any easier once they are teenagers?"

“I do”

His eyes softened as he looked into yours, and one of his arms circled around your waist as he pulled you towards him.

He pulled in for a soft kiss, one that made you feel every gallon of he has for you and your small family of four, along for the future you all had together.

Once he pulled away, he kept his forehead against yours as he swayed back and forth a little.

“I don’t know what I would do without you.” Those whispered words warmed your heart. It seemed like today was a day of sweet confessions.

You didn’t know how this had happened.

You held Megumi close to your chest as you felt his tears sink through your uniform.

Nanami was dead, Nobara’s condition was very unstable, some old curse had taken control of the body of an old friend, and your love had been sealed into a box.

Shibuya had gone wrong in all of the worst ways, in ways that led to you comforting your normally emotionless son as he weeped for a person he had spent his young years scheming against. Tears slipped past your eyes as you pressed a kiss on to the top of his head.

Itadori had eaten a lot of fingers, the Zenin clan had come to an end, Tsumiki was now in the culling games, and Principal Yaga had died at the hands of an unfair sentence.

“He’s the strongest. He’ll get out, right?” Megumi whispered the words, and they were almost too muffled for you to hear, but you heard them anyway.

The way he said sounded so hopeful, just as if he was back to being a boy who was scared by thunderstorms but who knew it would end soon.

“Of course he will, sweet boy. He will always come back to us.”

But even if your words let go of some of the tension from your son's shoulders, you almost found it hard to believe yourself. You didn’t doubt your husband, but this was a whole nother situation you had never thought of or prepared for.

This was not the future you had wanted for your family.

[alphabetboyluvr]

throttle │ jjk - one

this fic is my baby and has just hit 400k over on wp, so I'm sharing her here too he he

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - jungkook is blonde <3, he's also a bit of an asshole. dangerous driving, alcohol consumption, nothing major, we're setting scenes, building worlds just to ruin them woohoo. mentions of violence, gang dynamics. both the oc and jk swear like sailors.

word count - 17.8k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

The bell above the gas station door always chimes just a little bit louder than is really necessary. 

In fact, the shrill clang of metal is so intrusive, that it feels borderline rude every single time a customer swings the door open. It's only natural for you to ignore it now, affronted by the way it distracts your focus.

It's not like you're ever doing anything important. Just flicking through the day's newspapers or counting stock. 

Although, come to think of it, you're never actually counting stock, either. You leave that job for Jieun, because you know she's a stickler for the rules, and likes feeling accomplished after her shifts are finished.

You're not really sure how much accomplishment can be derived from a part-time job at a GS25 attached to a gas station forecourt, but she seems to enjoy it.

This job really isn't for you - but it's better than following your father into local politics, and nepotism is all you really have going for you, considering you flunked the college entrance exam. An act of rebellion, for the corruption scandal your father had chosen to embroil himself in during your senior year, you had refused to write a single word on the paper. 

You thought it would embarrass him - and it did. Just at your expense.

And so, while it may not be your childhood dream of being a pop star, or a vet, or anything of any significance, ringing up bills at the gas station is how you're able to pay your own bills. It'll do for now.

You ignore the chime of the bell as the door to the service station opens once more. 

It's the start of the year, and the breeze is bitter whenever it rushes in. This time, the wind is accompanied by a guy in his mid-thirties. Dark slacks, burgundy jumper. His off-brand sliders scuff across the floor as he traipses round to the refrigerator, bottle clinking as he picks up a little soju and some beer for his evening. It's not an uncommon occurrence for men his age.

You hypothesise his next move. To the snack section to pick up something for his kids? Maybe straight to the kiosk to pay for his fuel? You check the screen, and notice he's barely added enough gas to cover the minimum charge. 

A scornful mutter of 'priorities' laces your lips, as you see him put back the soju and reach for the whisky instead.

Still, you can't blame him. It's fucking freezing. A little whisky to warm him up will probably be as cost-effective as getting a new boiler that actually works.

It's all just an assumption of course. 

You don't know this man, and you don't have a clue if his boiler works or not - but thinking about the lives of the people you meet for split fractions of time always helps to make your shift go quicker. 

He comes to the counter, pays, and leaves. 

You wonder if he's made up a life for you in his head, too.

Probably not. He probably already has an actual life to distract him from his thoughts. Maybe that's what the whisky is for.

And there you go again; hypothesising. Thinking. Putting your assumptions onto strangers.

The next customer is a girl around your age, wearing a fluffy pink coat and hoops big enough to be worn as bangles. She arrives on foot, pushing the swing door open without much care for excessive force. 

You decide, all rather quickly, that she must work at the gentlemen's club around the corner from the gas station. She's buying a coffee, iced, and nothing else. 

It's when she's at the kiosk that you realise your make-believe life for her is terribly inaccurate. She fumbles with her purse, dropping her staff I.D. card.

She's a nurse. Paediatric nurse, to be specific. The coffee she's picked up isn't for a boost before a shift on the poles, but to keep her going through a night on the wards.

And yet despite how your assumptions are so often so wrong, you still consider yourself to be a good judge of character.

It's a flaw, the way you always seem to think you can read people; think you can look at their demeanour, their clothes, and assume their financial status, what they do after the sun sets, and if they're going home to an empty house or not.

Your thoughts become lore. The gas station you work in is the thick leather cover that protects your make-believe world from outsiders.

When the bell chimes again, you don't look up. 

It's a habit. You don't want to make eye contact. It breaks the illusion that these people are just characters in your head.

Instead, you glance up to the curved mirror in the far corner of the shop. It acts as a second pair of eyes, and is ignored by pretty much all of the customers - except for the teenage girls who like to take selfies in it.

Tall, you assess when you finally find the new customer in the mirror. Broad. 

His posture a little sloped, but all things considered, he carries himself well. He heads for the refrigerators, just like every man above the age of 19 seems to do on a Friday night. There's that clink again, and you guess he's going for soju. He's young, so it seems apt. Whatever's cheapest seems to be the drink of choice for the guys your age, and you can't blame them.

You watch, cautious to not catch his gaze, as he heads to the food fridge. 

Gimbap, you guess. Tuna, not chicken. One roll, not two. 

He pulls out his phone to check a notification, and you notice just how hard his gaze is. There's a ridge between his brows, and a couple silver ballbearings accenting the brow farthest from you. Whatever he's reading on his phone, he doesn't like.

Girlfriend, you guess again. No. An ex. No, no. A FWB turned far-too-clingy. 

He looks like the type to be after something a little casual. 

The tattoos on his hands are nothing special - you've seen hands like his in countless 'sneaky' Instagram stories; a hand on the thigh, holding a bag. Y'know, the ones. The kind of shit girls post with the caption 'private, not secret' - but you both know there's nothing really 'private' about it. The owner of the hands will be blocked within a week or two, once the girl realises he's nothing special, just like his hands.

You hear him mutter beneath his breath. You can't quite make it out, but the way he shakes his head lets you know that it was most likely a curse. He locks his phone, tucks it into the back pocket of his jeans, and carries on looking for something to eat. 

You watch as his gaze lifts and falls.

That's it, you urge silently. Go for the gimbap.

You want to be proven right. 

He's already got a green bottle tucked into the pocket of his black bomber jacket, so you know you've got his choice of drink correct. You're assuming that your guess about his phone is correct, too, so you only need one more right to get a full house.

As he looks across the snacks - gimbap, vacuum-sealed meats, cheese, strawberry sandwiches and enough microwavable food to feed an orphanage - he pushes his hair out of his face. The way it falls back down almost instantly makes you smile. 

He needs a haircut - but you bet that his FWB (turned far-too-clingy lover) loves it, so he keeps it long for her satisfaction. It's bleached; pale as the sticky rice balls he's eyeing up, with dark roots that let you know he's trouble. No boy with hair like that has ever been good news. Especially not the ones who look like him.

Or so you guess look like him. He's wearing a mask. It's black, to match his outfit, cinched at the nose, hooked around ears that are studded up the sides. He must have, what? Five? Six? Little square studs in there. Airport security must be a nightmare.

You smile to yourself as he reaches for gimbap. One roll, not two. Tuna, not chicken. Bingo.

"Pump six," he says as he approaches the counter. You already know. It's been waiting on the screen since he walked in. There's no one else in the forecourt. "And these."

He tosses down the gimbap, and pulls the soju from his pocket, an old receipt coming with it. Kang's Auto Repairs it reads, but he stuffs it back into his pocket before you can read anything else.

"We're cheaper," you note, not really caring for revealing just how incredibly nosey you are. There's a perspex screen between you, which always makes you feel protected - from people, their judgements and whatever other airborne diseases they might be carrying. From the looks of him, the only diseases he'll be carrying are the ones found beneath the sheets. He's too well-built to be suffering from any ailments - but equally, too well built to not to be fucking about. "Cheaper than Kang's, I mean. He'll charge you an arm and a leg for the honour of his service."

"Hmm?" He raises a brow, obviously just wanting to pay for his shit and go. "Thanks, but I like Kang's. Been going there for years."

You hold back a laugh. He's no older than you. 24? 25? Yet he's talking like he's been loyal to that over-priced, under-qualified garage for decades. The neighbourhood is littered with garages, scrap part dealers and gas stations, and yet Kang's is the main competitor for your place. It's not even in this neighbourhood - it's across the river, which is a different district entirely, but the proximity is close enough. Your boss will never miss an opportunity to shit talk Old Man Kang and his 'con-artist' car mechanics. He doesn't think any of them are actually trained.

"Yeah, well," you smile, scanning his items, pretending there's a fault with the barcode on his gimbap just to be a little annoying. "Our guy, Yoongi, he's a specialist with those." You nod out of the window and towards the car by pump six. It's red; a little bit brash, but a classic. "Pony, right? Hyundai? '80?"

"Pony," he nods, tone neutral but eyes a little narrow. Doesn't know why, but he didn't expect you to know - and then he remembers you work at a garage. Of course you know. Got the year wrong, though."It's an '83. A mark two. I'll keep the suggestion in mind," he adds, though you both know he's lying. "How much do I owe you?"

He doesn't really listen as you list off the figure. Just hands you his card, hums when you ask for his signature - sign of a big spender, must be a full tank - and says little else. His phone buzzes on the counter as he stuffs his purchases back into his pockets, and you glance down - again, not caring for the discretion of your nosey tendencies.

KNJ. (1)   New Message.

Sneaky bastard, you think. How rude of him not to have his message previews displayed.

You're not sure if he caught you looking, but he snaps his phone up regardless and shoves it into his back pocket.

"Cheers," he nods, before he sets off into the night. Car unlocked, he slides into the driver's seat and empties his pockets onto the passengers' side. You watch on for a moment, before there's a rattle of his exhaust pipe, engine roaring into action - and like that, he's gone. You assume he's not on his way to his FWB (turned far-too-clingy lover). Wouldn't have bought tuna if he was. Then again, he's a guy. You don't expect him to care about such social cues.

Maybe he's just left hers. His neck did seem a little red, but then again, it's cold. Minus 3. The river you walk across to get to work is frozen over, and has been for about two weeks now. You've got a heat pack stuffed in either pocket of your work jacket. 

Well, Yoongi's work jacket. It's his name stitched into the breast pocket - but it's bigger than yours, so you can fit a few more layers beneath it. If the boss saw you in it, he'd have a bitch fit for 'not following company protocols,' and for not caring about the 'company brand image'. Which is true. You're neither following protocols, nor do you care about the company nor its brand image. 

It's just gone nine on a Friday night, though, and the boss clocked out a few hours ago with a bottle of makgeolli and the day's newspaper under his arm. He's not gonna see. And if he does, what's he gonna do? Fire you? Good luck to him finding anyone else who wants to spend their winter nights freezing half-to-death in this shit hole of a gas station.

By the time midnight hits, you've been yawning for at least an hour. Keeping yourself warm is a laboursome task.

"You're gonna catch a cold," Yoongi acknowledges as he enters the shop through the back entrance. He's still wrapped up in a calf-length puffa jacket, all warm and cosy. He heads out past the kiosks as normal, up to the fridges. Bagged americano and a cup of ice. You know his score - and you're proven right. "Tell me why I agreed to cover your night shift, again?" he says with a slight shiver as he scans through his own items.

Though he's typically out fixing up cars behind the service station, he helps you out at the kiosk too. Normally just when there are staff shortages - which in all fairness, occur more frequently than you'd expect.

"'Cause you love me," you sing, knowing that it's entirely plausible. 

Yoongi - stone-cold, stoic, as emotionally inept as you'd expect a bachelor verging on his 30s to be - could very much be in love with you. It's not like he really speaks to many other women, and he's never given you a reason to believe he's not interested. 

But he does give you his jacket, cuts you slack on the days you feel like shit, and covers the shifts you don't want to work without asking any questions. Sometimes he sneaks you the food that was meant to be tossed in the bin overnight, and other times he makes sure there's a peach tea waiting for you when you clock in.

"It's 'cause I love money," he corrects, as if the extra 30,000 won he'll make from the last three hours of your shift is really an incentive. He's already spent 3,000 on his coffee. "Now scram. Get yourself home. Fucking freezing tonight. Want me to call you a cab?"

That'll be an extra 7,000 to his evenings' expenses. You really don't think he does love the money. At least not enough for it to be a reasonable excuse.

"It's good," you shake your head. "You know I'm not far away."

He nods, not really fighting your choices. It's not like you ever accept his offer anyway. He learned quite a long time ago that if you want something done, you'll do it for yourself.

Y'see, you're not the only one who watches.

Yoongi watches you too, as you tap through on the screen to log yourself out and cash up the till. 

You've only run 260,000 through your till in the last four hours, barely enough to make ends meet for the gas station. No wonder the place hasn't had any upgrades - with the exception of tills and a new fridge every now and again - since the mid-noughties. The signs are rusting, and Yoongi still has to change the fuel prices by hand every morning.

On the rare shifts you work together, you like to make assumptions together. You guess what people are gonna buy, hypothesise where they're going, who they're going with. When you hear bottles clink, you guess which flavour soju they're going for, as if you don't only have 4 flavours stocked. During the summer, you like to guess who's filling up their tanks to go to the coast.

The door chimes as a new customer walks in, and Yoongi knocks his head back. "Go on, out. I'll cash your till up. It's all good."

You ask if he's sure, to which he smiles and tells you to leave again - so you do. Not without thanking him, and fluttering your lashes a little. Maybe it is your fault, just a little, that Yoongi might be a tiny bit in love with you. 

"I owe you the world!" You squeal as you skip out the door. He laughs, but says nothing. He just wants you home and safe as quickly as possible.

Yoongi doesn't mind covering your shifts, not this late at night. He knows this area doesn't have the best reputation, and despite your sharp tongue, he knows that you'd stand absolutely no chance if someone decided that it seemed like a good place to commit a felony or two. 

It's a debate you've had a few times before. You know he's right, but you fight against him regardless. It always makes him smile, and only adds to your theory that he might be a little bit in love with you.

You forget the quiet thrum in your chest as soon as the cold air hits you. Yoongi traded his jacket with you before you left; him now in his work uniform, and you in his thick puffa which reaches down to your ankles. Hands stuffed into his pockets, your shoulders hunch as you walk, a mask covering your face just to keep the heat in. Your scarf is wrapped around you so tightly that you might just suffocate, but it would be worth it, you think. You hate this time of year. So fucking cold, and for what?

The bridge lights are off by the time you reach it, illuminated only by a couple of cars. They're sat up towards the far end, facing you, and you sigh. Every fucking weekend.

It's not always the same cars, but quite often it is - or some variation of the same group, at least. They sit, waiting for traffic to die down and the lights to cut off, before turning the bridge into their own little speedway.

You should have guessed from the sound of that asshole's exhaust earlier that evening that he'd be one of them. 

The fact he goes to Kang's, too. 

It's obvious, when you think about it now. 

Guys his age never fill up their tanks - but he did. Filled it up just to spit it all out again, painting the road in iridescent speckles of gas.

You can see the Pony. It's the car farthest away from you, next to a black SsangYong. 

You can't make out the model of the SsangYong, but it looks fast. It's lowered, windows tinted, exhaust tampered with, just to create an almighty roar - which screams 'I have a tiny cock'. 

At least with the Pony, you can tell that the sound being delivered comes from his engine. Credit where it's due, and all that. He could still very much have a tiny cock, but at least he's better at hiding it.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you hug into yourself to preserve heat. The lights of the cars make you a little self-conscious, aware that you're the only thing in sight that's disturbing their peace. There's ice on the road, but you pay it no notice, knowing that there's no point in worrying about one of the cars swerving off-road as they inevitably shoot past you. 

If it happens, it happens.

The SsangYong is loud. Obnoxiously, so. You can hear pressure being put down and released on the gas pedal, clutch raised. He's teasing you. Warning you. Hurry up. 

Next to it, the Pony hums. He doesn't seem interested in taunting you as if you could fight a two-tonne vehicle as it hurtles towards you. That, or he doesn't want to waste his gas. Lord knows he'll be wasting enough of it tonight as it is.

"Try me, fucker," you mumble under your breath, eyes trained on the black car. You can't make out its driver, nor do you really care. 

It's at this point you notice a guy on the opposite side of the road. 

He flashes the torch of his phone, once, twice. The Pony kicks into gear now, too, revving to rival the SsangYong. You're halfway across the bridge, wishing they could have just waited, like, one more minute. But whatever. Assholes will be assholes.

The torch guy is out of your line of vision by the time you hear tyres screech against the ice-cold road, rubber-burning regardless. The Ssangyong bolts, fumes from the exhaust fogging in the air behind it. You expect the Pony to do the same.

It takes you half a second to realise it's stagnated, and another half to realise that things aren't going to plan for Mr Gimbap.

There's a thud from the back wheels as they lock and release, causing the wheels to spin out. You've seen enough wheel spins now to know one, and as the Pony lurches forward, you know that's exactly what it is - but you also know the road is icy. 

The fun of a wheel spin, or so Yoongi likes to tell you, is that brief moment of lost control. He likes to do it whenever he gives you a lift home, because he finds the way you freak out funny - but he's always in command of his vehicle. He's never done it with you in the car during the winter. He knows better. Doesn't actually want to lose control.

At least, not like the dude in the driver's seat of the Pony currently is. 

The back kicks out, sending him swerving. The front wheels are a fucking mess, his hands twisting the wheel in an attempt to rectify his fuck up. It's fruitless. He's off the clutch, the wheels aren't spinning, but he's already on the ice, and he's hurtling towards you.

You're aware you should run, but like the river, you're stuck. Frozen in place. 

Maybe you should have accepted Yoongi's offer of a taxi. RIP.

There's another biting screech as you're doused in headlights, and you're pretty sure that this is what people mean when they say you see the light before you die. Fucking blinding. No way those lamps are regulation approved.

It's as you're bracing yourself for the inevitable end (and thinking about how embarrassing it's going to be when your family is tasked with clearing out your apartment after your demise - you haven't cleaned for weeks, laundry has been sat in the washer for two days, and there's a pizza box that you don't dare look in sitting next to the bin) that miracle seems to strike.

The Pony hits an uniced patch just in time for the driver to slam on his breaks. Handbrake, by the sound of it, but you're not sure. Not really sure of anything. Your heart is beating in your throat.

Steam is coming from the heat of the tyres, but the air around you is frozen, and so are you. You're not sure if it's from the cold or from the shock. A bit of both probably. You don't shake out of it until the driver's door pops open.

"The fuck are you doing?" He shouts. His mask is off now, not like it had been in the store. Light glimmers off yet more metal stuck in face, this time a ring around his plump bottom lip. His nose, though well proportioned, is blushed. "I could have fucking hit you!"

"Uh, yeah?" You almost laugh, too stunned to compute the fact that he was shouting at you. "Yeah, you could have fucking hit me, you asshole-"

"The fuck are you doing on the bridge? This late? Wearing all fucking black? I know you work around here, so I know you know what this place is used for-"

"Yeah, it's a bridge," you deadpan. It's notorious for racing, but who cares? It's not like you're in the wrong here. He's the one breaking laws. You're just trying to go home. "It's used to cross rivers. So, yanno, people working night shifts can walk home without rowing a fucking boat. Pretty neat actually, invented by the Greeks."

"Don't be smart," he scolds. "You saw us gearing up, you knew what was about to ha-"

"I'm sorry," you really are laughing now. "Are you telling me that I'm in the wrong? You? The asshole who's racing his shitty car on an icy fucking bridge? The asshole who can't control his aforementioned shitty car-"

"Can control it," he snaps. "If I couldn't, you'd be fucking dead."

"Oh, well thank you very much! How kind of you to not kill me as a result of your reckless driving. No, really. I appreciate it so much. How ever can I repay you?"

"You know what?" He calls after you when you begin to walk away. As far as you're concerned, the conversion is done. "Next time, I will just hit you."

"Be my fucking guest!" You shout back, holding your middle finger up to wave goodbye. "Stick to Kang's next time, you pretentious, self-absorbed cunt."

"Gladly."

"Oh, and by the way," you begin to say in a sickly sweet tone, which you just know is going to piss him off. You turn to find him standing, facing the bridge wall, looking at the river that's illuminated only by the headlamps of his car, like two little moons. The real one is hidden by clouds. "You'll have better control if you release the clutch a little slower. Wheelspin like that? Yeah, someone needs to practise their clutch control."

He looks like he wants to say something, but instead, he just flares his nostrils and grates his jaw. He knows you're right. Knows he missed the mark - but he'd been distracted when he noticed you on the bridge. You threw him off his game.

Equally, you know he's a good driver. The way he gained control of his car on the ice was borderline expert. Impressive. You won't go as far to say life-saving, because if it wasn't for his driving in the first place, your life wouldn't have needed any God Damn saving.

You walk backwards for a step or two, just to gloat in the knowledge you've gotten the last word. He glares at you, but stays silent. Victory.

"Oi, Kook. The fuck was that about?" A distant voice yells. The SsangYong driver, you assume.

"Nothin'," he yells back. His eyes are still on you, watching as you hunch a little, folding your arms over your chest. You must be freezing, he thinks. Stupid, too. The area is littered with taxis on Friday nights. Why anyone would choose to walk is beyond him. He casts you one final stare, his chest heaving from the adrenaline, before he turns away from you. "Stupid bitch almost got herself killed. Starting line. Let's go again."

────────────

You don't mention your near-death experience to Yoongi when you see him at work the following Monday. You know he'll just worry, and then he'll really start insisting on ordering cabs for you.

Worse yet, you think he might just order them to arrive when your shift finishes, and then you'll have to take them. No point in making mountains out of molehills.

Customers are always steady on Mondays; people fuelling up for the working week, replenishing stocks wasted on the weekends.

By the time it hits four, school kids are piling in. They're picking up snacks, something to fuel them between mandatory classes and the additional ones they've picked up at hagwons. Poor suckers, you always think.

It's been years since you did the same grind, and you still don't fully understand just why you worked yourself to the bone, only to end up working in a fucking service station. 

It had never been the dream. Still isn't - but it beats being hired on account of nepotism, thanks to a father with an unlawful influence in the city. 

Your family name - which you don't go by, these days - is on the side of buildings, in the list of hospital beneficiaries, even on the local soccer team's fucking shirts. You're cursed with it; no identity of your own. Even when did try to get a job without the backing of your family, people still knew. Your face has been at God knows how many press junkets, playing the role of the Mayor's darling daughter.

All bullshit, of course.

Your father is just as good at saving face as he is at making investments. Turns out there really is nothing money can't buy; support for a mayoral campaign, the silence of a nanny - of whom he started fucking when you were still in middle school - and enough pearls to keep your mother happy after she found out.

Cars, houses, material goods? You'd wanted for nothing as a kid.

Privilege. It's a funny little thing. You had the world, and yet none of it was yours. Not really. And so, as soon as you were of legal age, you were out of the family home, trying to find some concrete meaning for your life.

All you'd found so far was the harrowing knowledge that your father's mayoral tenure had been hell for those without the privileges you'd been raised with, and therefore you'd distanced yourself so far from your family that you weren't even sure they'd recognise you, anymore.

"You good?" Yoongi asks, around about the time the clock hits five. He's by the back entrance, wiping his oil-covered hands on an old rag. "Just finishing up."

"Good," you nod in response to his question. You give him a fond smile to let him know that the perplexed expression he'd caught on your face was nothing to be worried about, and then you ask him his plans for the evening.

There are only a few more hours left on the clock for you. It's a mid-shift, someone else coming in to work the night rotation. You've never liked these shifts - the highest influx of customers, but by far the least interesting interactions.

They come and go so quickly that it's hard to make up a fake life for them, before they're replaced by the next sullen face, wanting to get in and out as quickly as possible.

"Gimmie a call if you need a lift," Yoongi calls over as he gets his jacket to leave. Off comes his work one, tossed over to you, replaced with the black puffa you returned that morning.

"Will do," you nod - and you both know you're lying. Still, he's a gentleman through and through. Wouldn't have felt right if he didn't at least offer. The bell on the entryway door chimes, but you don't look over to see the customer, choosing to smile at your friend instead. "Catch ya later, Yoongs."

"Yeah, you too," he smiles back, zipping up his coat and pulling up his mask. He's walking home, too, but it's still light. It will be dark by the time nine hits, and even though he doesn't know about last Friday night, he still doesn't like the idea of you walking home alone.

You hear the clink of glasses by the fridge, but the view is obscured by an obnoxious advertising standee your boss has insisted you put up inside the store. You tried telling him that the whole point was to draw customers in, not block them from even entering, but he was having none of it. Doesn't trust the kids in the neighbourhood not to nick it.

There's a crunch as the lid of the chest freezer is slid open, a cup of ice rattling as it's pulled from the stack. You only filled it up half an hour ago. 

Annoying. And who the fuck is drinking an iced drink on a day like today? You think, as if Yoongi doesn't reach for an iced americano before each and every shift. You're just as bad. Your peach tea habit is becoming an issue.

You glance to the forecourt to check which pump to ring through - and that's when you see it. 

Sat in bay six, as proud as the paint is bright, is that stupid fucking Pony again. With a small scoff, you pull up the balance - just over 30,000. Half a tank. Already.

Hardly a surprise, with the way he had been ragging it about on Friday evening. Must be a common occurrence.

As he comes into your line of vision, you busy yourself. 

Turning your back to the kiosk, you're arranging cigarettes that don't need to be arranged, purely so that you don't have to look at him. The bottom of his soju bottle clinks against the counter, the ice and a coffee bag following suit. You still don't turn around, instead opting to look through the 'how-to' manual for the lottery machine, just to really reinforce the fact that serving him is the last thing you want to do.

Had you not told him to stick to Kang's?

"Ahem," he coughs.

You pause mid-page turn and look vacantly into the distance for a moment, before facing him with a smile so insincere it's almost comical.

"Sorry, didn't see you there."

He nods, but doesn't say anything further. He's in all black again, this time with a sweater beneath his bomber. Air quality is still bad, thanks to the cold temperatures and lack of rain to clear the skies, so he's wearing a mask again, but it's perched beneath his jaw. His poker face holds up well.

You ring up his total, ignoring the fact he's chosen to go for a peach tea, not coffee like you'd assumed, and ask if he wants a receipt. He declines, and heads on his way, scooping up his soju bottle, leaving the peach tea.

"Oi," you call after him, but he ignores you."Oi."

Still, nothing. He pushes the door open with his knuckles that are wrapped tightly around the neck of his bottle, not paying you any attention. He's just being a dick at this point. You know he can hear you.

"Oi," you shout again, sliding out from behind the kiosk and following him to the door. You don't grab his drink - he can go back and pick it up himself, the asshole. 

"Kook," you shout, remembering the name the SsangYong driver had called him by.

He stops now.

"Oh," he turns, lips pursed, before throwing your words right back at you. "Sorry, didn't see you there."

Neither of you say anything. It's fucking freezing, and you can see your breath as you huddle yourself together. His eyes are soft, expression gentle, to suggest he's only teasing, but you can't work him out.

"You left your drink."

He shakes his head. Holds up his soju. "No, I didn't. That's yours. You like them, right? It's what you were drinking the other day?"

You narrow your eyes, only for him to raise his brows. You aren't the only nosey one, doll.

"Bit weird," you tell him.

Retrospectively, he thinks you're probably right. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. He hadn't intended for it to be so strange - he just isn't great at admitting when he's in the wrong, so a peace offering is a far more tempting solution.

He digs a hand into his pocket, almost as if he's searching for the remains of his dignity, but simply shrugs. "I know I was a bit of a prick."

Acknowledgements of flaws are always welcome by you, but you really don't fancy just forgiving and forgetting. As stupid as it all seems, it was a life or death situation. A peach fucking tea wouldn't have resurrected you or uncrushed your bones.

"Yeah," you nod, biting down on your lip, a little unsure of how to handle the situation. "You were. And not just 'a bit' of a prick. Massive prick, actually."

He repeats your correction, and adds, "You just took me by surprise. I panicked. I'm not usually that..."

"Unreasonable? Arsey? Unable to control your clutch?"

"All of the above," he smiles, and you notice that he has dimples. Asshole. "Look, I won't bother you again. It just wasn't sitting right with me, the way I behaved. My mother would have been rolling in her grave if she heard me speak to a girl like that, especially so late at night. It was a dick move... and so," he inhales, looking at the ground before briefly meeting your eyes again. They're round and wide, almost as if he's incapable of telling lies. "I'm sorry."

There's silence for a moment, and then there's the flash of headlights as a second car rolls into the forecourt. You both turn to check the car, but it's just a standard family saloon. Nothing worth checking out, but it's enough to end the conversation.

"Stick to Kang's," you simply say as he pops open the door to his car. "I appreciate the sentiment, though. Was sweet."

He nods, fully intending on sticking to Kang's. He just needed to do this before he could move on from things. 

Or at least, that's the assumption that you make as he drives away. 

You wait for a little while, ignoring the man clicking the gas nozzle into the side of his car, just watching the now empty road where the small red car had sped off from. You wonder where he's going, but determine he's most likely going to that FWB you've decided he has.

Turning on your heels slowly, you let your body weight fall into the swing door, pushing it open with your shoulder. The bell jingles, like always, and for some reason, it kind of feels like the sound has settled in your stomach. It's all jittery and annoying, and you don't quite understand it. You definitely don't like it, whatever this feeling is.

It's the same feeling that washes over you next Thursday afternoon, when the bell chimes and you glance out the window, only to see a red Hyundai fucking Pony sat in bay six.

He begins to make a habit of it. Neither of you really address it. He just keeps showing up, filling his tank up, and buying whatever tickles his fancy from the snack fridge. It's nearly always gimbap. Occasionally he'll pick up something a little more substantial, and it's always accompanied with soju on Friday nights.

It takes about three weeks for you to be able to distinguish the way in which he opens the shop door. The bell chimes a little slower than normal, his casually cool demeanour preventing him from using too much force to open it. It will always 'ding' for just a bit longer than when other people push open the door. Doesn't matter where you are in the shop, what time it is. You always know when it's him.

It's a Saturday when you hear the unmistakable sound of him again, 4 weeks since that first time.

You can't see him, thanks to the standee that is still obstructing your view, but you can hear the fridges. One, two, bottles of soju. There's another clang. Three? Unusual. It's when he heads to the snack fridge that you realise you're off your game.

He's holding beers - four of them. Making the most of the four for 10,000 deal, you muse. The bottles are green, so you assume Terra, but there are some foreign imports in the fridge, too. You kind of stop guessing at this point, too busy watching. His hair is messy, like aways, and the flannel shirt he's wearing is in need of an iron, but you have to admit - there's a certain charm about him.

Your eyes flick to the door to check that nobody else has entered, and are proven correct - so why does your stomach still feel like that bloody bell chiming?

"Am I good to leave these here?" He asks, drawing your attention back to him. He's already putting the beers down on the counter, so it's not really like you can say no. "Haven't filled up yet, just wanted to check that you had what I was after, first."

"Beers?" You laugh almost immediately. "It's a GS25, dude. Course we have beers."

"Right," he nods, scrunching his nose up a little as he smiles. It was a stupid excuse, and he knew it. Part of you thinks he actually looks a little bashful. It's sweet. Confusing - but sweet, nonetheless. "I'll just go fill up."

"Uh-huh," you nod, when he doesn't leave immediately, almost as if he's waiting for permission. He laughs, and so do you. It's awkward, and you don't know why but you find yourself dropping his gaze. "Just go fill up your car."

"Yeah, yeah," he says. "Fill up. Right."

You move his bottles to the side just in case of another customer, and set about making yourself look busy, but you're a simple being. It's hard to do anything other than wistfully stare when a boy that pretty is stood in your forecourt. 

He pays you no notice as he unscrews his gas cap and positions the nozzle against the opening of his car.

There's a casual nature to his posture, leaning back ever so slightly as he slides the length of the nozzle into his car, displaying just how in tune he is with doing such a menial task. It's second nature at this point.

He watches the nozzle, then lifts his gaze above the car and out towards the road. His eyes are hard, focused almost, that little line forming between his brows again. Almost like he's looking for something.

There's a click as his gas reaches its limit, and he withdraws the nozzle slightly, letting the excess drip into the tank. He knocks it once, twice, against the entrance to be sure that he's emptied it of every last drop, before he slides it out and hooks it back into its holder.

You finally avert your eyes as he screws the cap back into place, your fingers working nimbly to bring up his total on the screen.

There's that ringing feeling again when you notice he's barely reached the minimum spend, yet you could hear the tell-tale sign of a full tank from the forecourt. He hadn't needed gas at all.

He could have just gotten a few bottles of beer from any of the convenience stores in the area - and yet for some reason, he made his excuse to come to you.

The silage of his aftershave lingers by the kiosk, and you remind yourself that he's probably off to see a girl you've made up in your head. The beers are probably to be drunk with her. The flannel shirt is still creased because what's the point in ironing something that will just end up on the floor, anyway?

It's these thoughts that have you acting a little frosty again when he returns. You ring up his total, instruct him to put his card in the machine, as if he doesn't know what he's doing, and then you offer him a receipt.

He's a little confused by the fact you're as cold as the air outside.

Had your interactions not developed past the point of a typical cashier-customer relationship? Maybe he'd read the situation a little wrong.

"Kang's have beer," he finally adds, accepting his receipt, studying it, just to see if it has your name listed under the cashier ID. It does. He takes his time to fold it up, instead of just stuffing it into his back pocket. He's biding time. Making more for himself. "But I'm a bit of a liar," he says, ending his statement with your name. The way he says it, hanging onto the last syllable, taking claim of your identity as his gaze meets your eyes, has that stupid ringing feeling back in your stomach. "I'm not here for beers."

"No?" you ask, almost nonchalant. You're divided by a perspex screen, and you've never been more thankful. It's cutting the tension for you.

"No," he shakes his head. He's about to speak, when the bell of the door goes again - for real, this time. Not just in your stomach. 

He steps aside to let the customer pay for their gas. It's a simple transaction, no added extras like Flannel Boy always has.

He stands awkwardly, toying at the bagged sweets with his ring adorned fingers. You decide that even if your assumptions about him are wrong, there's one that must be right: he knows he's hot.

The way he turns and smirks after the customer leaves, and says, "where were we?", only confirms this.

"You were saying how you weren't here for beer," you remind him, not that he actually needs it.

The perspex screen feels like a thick brick wall. You're simultaneously thankful for and annoyed by it.

"Ah, that's right," he nods. "You were saying how you're going to call in sick tomorrow night and meet me downtown."

"I'm gonna do what now?" You laugh, caught off guard by his boldness. He's smooth, you'll give him that much.

"You're gonna meet me downtown," he says simply, before adding, "Jungangno underground, exit two. The one near CGV. I can draw you a map-"

"Shut up," you laugh, blissfully ignoring the fact he's flirting with you. "I know Jungangno."

"So you'll meet me there?"

"I didn't say that."

He begins to gather up his beers, two in either hand, a smile etched on his cheeks. "So I'll see you tomorrow, at, hmm, say, 8?"

"No," you laugh.

"Yes," he grins back, walking away so that you don't have even more opportunities to reject his advances.

"No, you won't."

You sound so full of conviction when you say it. Determined. Self-assured.

Idiot.

────────────

You tell yourself that you're not going to go.

You told Mr Gimbap that, too, before he left the gas station, not that he was listening.

You tell yourself it again when you're thinking about what you could wear, and then you repeat it like an oath when you're texting Yoongi to see if he can cover your shift.

It's not like you're actually going to go.

You just want to check out your options.

And yet, somehow, you find yourself sitting on a bench outside a shitty burger chain at seven-fifty-six the next evening.

You're dressed casually, in a pair of jeans and a slouchy sweater which is a few sizes too big, but you think it looks cute. It's covered by a thick puffa jacket, regardless - cropped to your hips, unlike Yoongi's mammoth calf-length one.

He told you he'd be happy to cover your shift tonight when you asked, but you still feel a little guilty.

Mainly because when he asked why, you panicked and lied, telling him it was a friend's birthday. 

You then also told yourself that you're definitely going to hell - but it's not like that's news to you. 

It's still freezing, and you're thankful that you changed out of your converse and into a pair of boots before you left your apartment. Your hair is clipped up, make up the same as it normally is, just with a little more mascara than normal. You don't want to make it look like you've actually made an effort - but you definitely have.

You're about a mile and a half from work, but you can feel that bloody door chime in your stomach, again.

Should you walk away, a little? You don't want him to see you waiting.

Appearing too keen is the least of your desires. 

Desperation isn't a good look for anyone. If anything, he should be the one waiting for you. Kind of rude that he isn't, actually. So you get up, and pace around a little, before thinking fuck it. 

You hop on the elevator and head down into Jungangno underground mall, painfully aware of your stomach doing that stupid ringing thing again. Maybe it's vertigo. From, like, the change in altitude, or some shit like that. You're almost able to convince yourself that it's plausible. Almost. 

The shops in the underground mall are a welcome distraction. Ajummas stand in dated clothing stores, offering low-quality clothes for even lower prices. It's crowded, and stuffy, but you're enjoying the distraction. You head for your favourite jewellery place, an emporium filled floor to ceiling with what must be thousands of jewellery pieces, and fumble through the racks of earrings. 

You aren't wearing any, and remember that he - Kook, though you're not entirely sure that's actually his name - wore enough to open up his own jewellery store. You settle on a simple pair, just a couple silver hoops. It's a subtle difference, but one that makes you feel a little more confident. A little more willing to awkwardly say hello, and go on a date (if you can call it that) with a guy you barely know.

Pulling your phone out, you check the time. Seven past eight. Do-able. A little late, but not so late that it's rude. You head up the stairs, and are greeted with almost the exact same scene you had left ten minutes earlier. 

Perhaps he's just running late. It's not embarrassing to be the first one waiting, not now that it's gone past the meeting time, but you can feel that ringing in your stomach begin to grate against your insides. 

It hits eight-fifteen, and you're feeling anxious. Embarrassed. Even if he does show up now, it's obvious that you've been waiting there like a tragic, desperate excuse of a woman. 

Five more minutes, you tell yourself. 

But five turns into ten, and then another fifteen, and then it's nearly nine. 

You pull out your phone and are barely able to type, thanks to how bloody cold it is.

How long until lateness turns into being stood up?

Opinions vary, but everyone on the little online forum you're reading seems to be of agreement that 45 minutes is the cut off point. 45 cold, lonely, mortifying minutes. 

You imagine he's watching you, laughing from the warmth of a cafe, with that friends-with-benefits girl you've convinced yourself is definitely real. 

God, you must look like a twat. You've been sat here for so fucking long. Your hands are numb, arse too, and you know you're gonna wake up with a cold - but none of these compare to your hurt pride. Not by a country mile.

With a sigh, you stand, admitting defeat. Being a jerk, you could get over. But this? Deliberately being cruel? You're proven right, after all. The guy is an asshole.

You hop on the 503 out of the downtown area and back towards home. The ride is lonely, city lights reflecting in your eyes as you gaze out the window and wonder at which point your life became this bleak. You work at a gas station, and got stood up by a guy who drives a fucking Pony. Mortifying.

The ding of the bus as it rolls into its stops reminds you of the chime of the gas station door - so you stay on for a few extra stops past your apartment building. 

You're gentle as you press the red button to let the driver know you'd like to get off, but there's a little more traffic than normal, so he lets you off ahead of schedule. Odd. The roads are never normally blocked, not at this time of night. 

You're only a couple hundred steps away from the bridge, but you notice the red and blue flashing lights across it almost instantly. 

Your heart sinks to your stomach, right into the pit where the chime has been grating your insides apart. Still, you keep on walking. It's only the road that's blocked. Not the path. One foot in front of the next, you keep going, until your pace begins to increase. You can see the police cars now, and where they're parked. 

Fuck the kid you barely know, fuck feeling sorry for yourself. 

All you can think about is Yoongi. 

There are four cars sitting outside your place of work, and you can hear an ambulance blast its sirens away from the gas station in an attempt to get through the crowd. 

You're gonna be sick. You can feel it - or is that just the chime resting too far up in your oesophagus, now? You ignore it though, and begin to run, faster, faster, faster, boots clicking against the pavement as you draw closer to the gas station. Your boss is there, locked in conversation with a police officer, but Yoongi is nowhere to be seen.

A cop notices you approach, grabbing onto you as you attempt to run past the tape and into the store.

"Woah, woah, woah. Calm down, little lady-"

"Where is he?" You panic, not even caring to offended by the officers choice in tone. "Min Yoongi. The guy who was working. Yoongi, where is he?"

"Who are you?" The officer counters, and you want to scream.

"Where is he?!" You struggle against his grip, kicking out, but the officer is firm. He's trained to handle situations like this; girls like you. The little but fierce. The kind of girls Shakespeare wrote about. "Where the fuck is he?"

From across the forecourt, your boss calls over. "She's one of mine. Was meant to be working this shift. Did a last minute switch with Min Yoongi."

The officer nods, understanding the situation, but not easing his grip. "In that case, I'm gonna need you to come with me to the station. Need you to answer some questions."

You stop struggling. "I- What?"

"You're not under arrest. It's voluntary, but we'll have to go to the station," he speaks calmly, straight to the point. You notice that his nose is slightly crooked. You wonder how many people have punched it. Quite a few, probably, considering that you'd quite like to do the same.

"Just go," your boss calls over, not even looking in your direction. Asshole, you seethe internally. City is full of fucking assholes.

"Where the fuck is Yoongi?!" You demand to know, this time shouting towards your boss, who looks like he's in desperate need of a cigarette. He just fucking shrugs.

"C'mon, station," the officer says, deciding that enough is enough. 

You don't know your rights. You can't fight back, not really, and you're starting to tear up, and everything feels like such a fucking mess. You just wanna know that Yoongi is safe, that he's well, that he's okay. If he's not, it's all your fault, and you don't even know how to process that. 

In fact, you don't know how to process any of this. Your cheeks are wet before you're even sitting in the back of the police car. The engine rumbles, and before you know it, you're back downtown, but this time you're at the city's main police office. 

It's hard to comprehend anything. You practically feel like you're dragged from the car and then dumped in the witness interrogation room. Some rookie cop is asking you questions, and you find yourself not wanting to answer a single one of them.

They're stupid fucking questions, for starters. Dumb shit.

Why did you switch your shift? Were you aware of a planned hold up at your place of work? Is that why you swapped? Who were you going on a date with? Why did you lie to Min Yoongi about your activities this evening? How do you not know the name of your date? Says on your file that you legally changed your name six years ago? Why? Anyone know of your family ties to politics? 

Dumb questions reap dumb answers though, so once they realise they're getting nothing of any substance from you, they admit defeat. Tell you they'll be in touch if they need to follow up.

And then, after they've watched you cry for an hour and half over Yoongi, they tell you he's fine. Came in for routine questioning, but was released without charge (obviously) and drove back. 

He's waiting for you in the lobby. 

That temptation to break the officer's nose? Yeah. Intensifies. 

"God, you fucking idiot," Yoongi speaks softly as you come into view, face all red and puffy from tears cried over him. He pulls you into his chest, and you can hear his heart thud, thud, thud, against your head. "Why did you go to work? Shouldda just gone home."

He calls you an idiot again, and you sniffle into his chest. There's a comforting scent to his clothes, a mix of gasoline and cotton, and it makes you feel a little calmer. 

You pull away, and inspect his face. There's a small graze on his cheekbone, which is beginning to bruise, and a little dried blood crusting around his nostrils. Other than that, he seems okay. 

He's silent as your fingers trace the pink flesh of his cheeks, lips resting a little ajar, unsure. Uncertain. He doesn't know what to make of such an outward display of concern - so he simply brushes it off. 

"I'm fine, trouble," he promises, bringing his hands up to clasp your wrists and stop your hands from roaming. Doesn't wanna stop you. Not really. Just knows that he should. "C'mon, let's get you home."

And it's ridiculous, 'cause Yoongi was the one who had been held at knifepoint by three men that evening, the tills forcefully emptied and his life threatened if he didn't tell them where 'the girl' was. 

He doesn't tell you that last part when he tells you what happened, though. Doesn't want to scare you. He's scared enough, himself.

It replays in his head, the way the guy with the knife doubled-down when Yoongi said he had no clue where you were. The clatter of the knife against the counter, the hands that tangled in his hair and slammed his face against the surface... yeah, they weren't memories he'd be forgetting any time soon.

Yoongi has few regrets in life, but taking the perspex screen down at the beginning of his shift to clean it definitely makes the list.

A conversation plays on loop, though, which scares him more than anything else. 

"You said she'd be here. She ain't fuckin' here!" "Well she normally is. You know I've been keeping watch for weeks-" "Not hard enough." "Oh fuck you, you do it next time, prick." 

Doesn't take a genius to work it out - and Yoongi's pretty smart, regardless. For whatever reason, they'd been hoping you'd be on shift.

"Do me a favour?" Yoongi asks as he rolls his car into your neighbourhood. He only lives around the corner from you, but it's too far, he thinks. 

"Mhmm?"

"Kind of feel a bit..." he pauses, but doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to. You already know. "Don't really wanna be alone."

"Stay at mine," you offer, straight off the bat, not giving it a second thought.

He shakes his head. Makes some excuse about your place being small. Avoids mentioning the fact he's scared that someones keeping tabs on you. 

"I've got a spare room," he adds. "Makes more sense."

You'd be forgiven for thinking this is just another sign that the poor boy is helplessly infatuated with you. He knows he isn't really all that inconspicuous, but he also knows that the pair of you would never work. He just can't seem to help himself.

And so you end up in his bed, while he takes the pull out sofa in his spare room, because he's far too much of a gent to make you sleep on something so crappy. He leaves the heater on in your room, because you're always complaining about the cold, and tells you not to worry when you pout and mention the fact it will hike his heating bill. It's a small price to pay. 

"All the money I've saved when you refuse taxis can go on the heater, instead."

Still, you click it off as soon as you're confident Yoongi won't be back in to check on you.

In the morning, when his hair is all fluffy and cheeks puffy from a crappy sleep, he orders breakfast and double-checks that you're okay to work the shift you're scheduled on for. You remind him that he was the one held at knifepoint. Not you.

You're not surprised to learn that Yoongi thinks two iced americanos and half a bagel each qualifies as 'breakfast', but you appreciate it nonetheless. 

"I can cover, if needs be," he rambles, bagel in one hand, americano in the other, while you watch on with a smile. His cheek has bruised rather spectacularly, and you wonder if it aches as much as your heart does. "Boss gave me a couple days off, but I don't love the idea of you being there alone-"

The guilt of asking him to cover the night before is eating you alive. You don't think you'll ever ask him to cover for you again. Karma will catch up with you, you're sure, but for now, you'll be your own Saturn. 

"I'll be fine," you smile. "Lightning never strikes twice." 

────────────

When Jungkook drives, he drives alone. 

No music, no radio, just him and the open road. He likes to hear the way the tarmac sounds beneath his tyres, and how the engine purrs a little louder when he steps on the gas. It's therapy in a way - though, with the amount that he spends on gas, he's pretty certain that an actual therapist would probably be cheaper.

The roads are empty, morning sun breaking beyond the mountains that line Daegu, as he makes his way past the bridge over the river, and out towards Kang's. There's a boxing studio next door, owned by Old Man Kang himself, a little decrepit and definitely not the kind of place you end up by chance. 

It's the kind of place that's bestowed upon those who need it; the people looking for a home. A family. A cult, some like to joke, though Jungkook thinks they're half right. For him, it's somewhere to hide when the world gets too invasive; a shadow in the spotlight. 

Old Man Kang's boxing club is a shit hole, when Jungkook looks at it objectively. Wires hang from the ceiling, and the walls have needed a paint ever since he'd first stepped foot into the place six years ago. He thinks about doing it sometimes, just showing up early before anyone else arrives, with a can of white emulsion from Daiso and a few brushes. Never does it, though. Would be a thankless job. Old Man Kang probably wouldn't even notice. 

And if he did? He'd probably make Jungkook pay for 'defacing his property.' 

As he pulls his car into the forecourt, parking up by the air compressors, Jungkook sighs. He isn't expecting anyone else to be here so early, but he's having trouble sleeping. Pulling down on his sun visor, he's rough as he slides the mirror cover across to study his face.

He's not looking too bad - lip a little split, but alright, all things considered. Could have been a lot worse. Namjoon has a mean left hook, after all.

His thumb presses down on the buckle of his seatbelt, releasing it as he reaches over for his duffle bag in the footwell of his passenger seat. There's a clink as he does so, half a dozen bottles of soju ready to be transferred into the fridge by the entrance to the locker room. It's a free for all, used by all the members of the boxing club, but no one ever knows who actually stocks it up. It just kind of... replenishes. Like Christmas presents, or coins under pillows in place of lost teeth.

Admittedly, Jungkook never used to know, either. He still doesn't know who stocks up the waters. He knows who stocks the soju, though. Or at least, he's known for the last few weeks, now.

Where else is he gonna put all the bottles he buys from your store? It's not like he ever drinks them. He just needs an excuse to visit so frequently. 

"You're early," a voice says from the back entrance, as Jungkook is shuffling around with the bottles. The fridge light hums, illuminating his face, as he lets his perfectionism take priority when arranging the bottles. He doesn't turn to look, knowing the tone by heart.

"So are you, Minnie."

Minnie by name, mini by nature, Park Jimin is a 5'7 (though he swears blind he's 5'9 with shoes on) force to be reckoned with. He likes to get to the club early, before his shifts at the fishmongers. It gets his blood pumping, ready for a day of hacking away at marine carcases. 

"I'm always early," he teases, as he tosses his bag on an old wicker chair in the corner of the room. 

It's a large space - a disused rice store that was repurposed in the 80's, and taken over by Old Man Kang after the last owner gambled it away during a back alley game of poker. A large square ring is in the middle, red ropes a little tatty, but still usable. There are a few machines dotted around the corners of the room, but most people opt to use the plethora of punching bags hung up by the far wall.

Jungkook smiles softly as he begins to wrap his hands up. He's dressed down in just a black t-shirt and a pair of grey sweats. They're tapered towards his ankles, where they meet his beat-up black high tops. His laces are pulled tight, wrapped around the classic star logo, and tied in hasty bows on the back of his ankles. Double knotted, as always. "Couldn't sleep."

For how much of a liar he is, Jungkook is always honest with Jimin. 

Well. Nearly always.

Jimin heads for the far corner, where a skipping rope is strung up on a rusty nail embedded into the wall. He nods, figuring as much. "Joon isn't happy."

Jungkook rolls his eyes as he stretches out his back. He couldn't give a fuck if Namjoon is happy or not, especially not after-

"You should talk to him."

Squaring up to the coffee-brown punching bag, Jungkook knocks his head to the side. His jaw clenches as he gently presses against the leather to get a feel for the weight. He bounces, left, right, and then throws a punch. The smack of his hand against the weighted bag echoes into the room.

"Or not," Jimin adds, sensing that Jungkook is in no mood to talk to anyone - and definitely not Namjoon.

Unsolicited advice is never received well by Jungkook. If he wants it, he'll ask for it. Jimin knows this.

There's an art to the way his body moves, recoiling a little with every punch thrown until he disciplines himself. Back broad and triangular, calves strong and tense, it's clear to see that Jungkook can defend his own. If he had wanted to fight back against Namjoon, he could have. 

But Jungkook is a man of honour. Integrity. Respect. He'd never fight against Namjoon, no matter how much he disagreed with him - so instead, he takes it out on a punching bag that is so old it may as well be an antique. The echo of his assault against the leather rings in his ears like a warning bell. A siren. A chime. 

It's funny, 'cause a few roads over - just past the bridge and down the lane  - there's a ringing in your ears too. 

For you, it actually is a chime - the one of the gas station door, and it's a scathing reminder of how badly you fucked up by asking Yoongi to cover your shift.

You spend your morning lamenting, hypothesising. You're so busy thinking about the stupid boy who drives that god-awful red car, that you don't even bother making assumptions about other customers.

They're all about him. Where he was, who he was with. Why he did what he did. 

You decide that he grew up in a single-parent household. He's already mentioned his late mother, and suggested that she influenced his need to apologise, so a father figure didn't really seem to fit the profile you have of him. 

He wears so much black because he's scared of having an actual personality. Scared that it makes him vulnerable. Or so you assume. In fact, you decide that 'scared' is the best way to describe him. 

A scaredy-cat. A chicken. A pussy. No balls. 

After all, he was too scared to show up, and didn't even have the bottle to find a way to let you know. Did he have your number? No - but perhaps that was deliberate on his part, too.

Your final assessment of his character comes in the form of his FWB (turned far-too-clingy lover). If she's real, which again, you've decided she is, then you don't think it's her fault that she's developed an unhealthy dependency on him. He seems to be the type to lift others up, only to drag them back down with him.

Enough thoughts about him, though. 

If you're not worthy of his time, then why should he be worthy of yours?

The next few days are spent in a subliminal haze; body moving, mind still. It's Wednesday before you know it.

Jieun is on shift with you, after she complained about not wanting to work alone following the raid. You told her that no one would be stupid enough to rush the place again so soon after the first time, but she's having none of it.

"We don't get paid enough to put our lives at risk," she states whenever the topic of conversation is mentioned. And she's right - you don't.

But as you look at the grainy CCTV footage still-image that's taped up above the counter, you can't help but think they wouldn't have actually killed either you or Jieun. Realistically, they barely left a scratch on Yoongi. Physically, at least. Mentally, he's a little more wounded. 

There had been three of them; two rather tall, the third shorter. About Yoongi's height, you guess. Dressed in all black, it's hard to really distinguish any features or their bodies, let alone their faces, which had been covered in ski masks. Run of the mill robbers. The kind you see in crappy action films. Background characters. Just a way to move the plot along, no real personalities, no actual significance to the lives of the protagonists, other than causing a mild inconvenience.

You don't even realise when you're making assumptions, these days.  You think in hypothesis more often than not.

The thieves had run off on foot and down the back alley behind the shop, which is where the trail to find them ends. The CCTV for the alley has been out for months. The boss didn't deem it a necessary investment - "Well, we'd never been robbed before!" - so it had fallen to the bottom of his priority list. The issue with the back alley is that it leads to an underpass with so many blind spots that it's easy - almost too easy - to slip into nothingness. 

It's when you're staring at them, thinking about the assumptions you could make for your mystery men of misdemeanours, that the door chimes. 

You don't ignore it, anymore. The raid has spooked you. So you look towards it, and are met with the sight a broad back. The shoulders, strong and well-defined, are covered in a brown flannel shirt. It's tucked into a pair of jeans, that cling to the contours of the customer's legs. He's not wearing a coat - just hopped out of his car, where the aircon is keeping him toasty - and you realise you recognise his posture. 

The mop of bleached hair is pretty damn recognisable, too. 

"Jieun," you hiss quietly, drawing her attention from the stock she's counting in front of the kiosk. She glances towards you, eyes startled by your tone. You beckon your head back, and she scurries over to you.

"Can you man the till?"

She looks confused for a second. "Why?"

"Girl issues," you lie, knowing she won't be able to say no. "Just came on my period. Need to, yanno-"

"Go, go, go," she nods, hurrying behind the counter, ushering you away and towards the staff room door. 

As you leave, you glance to the curved mirror in the far corner; the one that only you look in. It's your second pair of eyes - but you find another pair staring back at you. It's brief, and his gaze drops as soon as he sees you focus on him, blonde hair covering his dark eyes from your view. He's looking at the gimbap again, now.  Pretending like he never saw you.

Good, you think. Fuck off. 

It's been three days since he stood you up; three days since you jeopardised one of your best friends lives to see him, only for him to be M.I.A. You don't know the kid, not really. Why waste any more of your time on him?

You stay in the bathroom for upwards of five minutes. Just enough time for him to leave. Jieun must be wondering what you're doing, but you'll just explain it away.

You're quite good at that. Lying. Just little ones, white lies. Porkies. Fibs. Never anything that will harm another person, just things that will protect you instead. 

"Who's the blonde dude?" Jieun asks when you return. You furrow your brows and play dumb. "The one with the brow piercing," she adds, as if you need any clarification. Blonde dudes aren't really the norm around these parts. He sticks out like a sore fucking thumb. "Tattoos."

"Dunno," you say with a smile. It's the same one that laces all of your little lies.

For once, Jieun looks at you, her thick brows hard and poised, as if she knows you're lying. 

And then she nods towards the counter, where a peach tea and a cup of ice sits. "Left this for you."

"Hmm," you purr. "Must think I'm someone I'm not."

Yeah, you think scornfully. Must think I'm an idiot.

It worked as an apology once before - but it's a pattern of behaviour, now. He's a leopard, spots unchanged as he runs away from the consequences of his actions, suffocating you in the dust clouds he leaves behind.

"He's cute," Jieun muses.

"No," you smile. It's the same one. That little one full of lies. "He's not."

────────────

The peach tea sits on the counter by the till for two days. It's tucked behind a box of pocket money candies, which are waiting to be restocked; hidden in such a way so that only you know it's there.

Y'see, you've been making assumptions again - though you wouldn't really call this one an assumption. It's acceptance of a habit that's been proven: he will return.

He always does, it seems. 

And sure enough, that afternoon, two days after you'd last been graced with his presence, he returns.

Jieun spots him first, eyes darting immediately towards yours. You're like a deer in headlights, ready to bolt - but she doesn't let you.

"Gotta go," she squeaks, before mouthing 'girl issues' to you, with a smile she reserves moments like these; her little victories. 

He does his usual rounds, and you're already mentally ringing it up: a bottle of soju, and a tuna gimbap roll. You glance out to the forecourt, towards pump six - but it's empty. Not a single car in sight, let alone his trusty red pony. You're confused. Brows furrowed, nostrils a little flared. Lips pouty. You big baby. 

When he eventually comes to the kiosk, it takes all of your strength not to ask, 'why the fuck are you here?'

And just like all of your assumptions about him, you're wrong. Again. 

No soju, no gimbap. Banana milk and bibimyun ramyeon, instead. A great combination by all accounts, but you're not gonna give him the satisfaction of letting him know you think his choice is elite. 

As far as you're concerned, he can take his banana milk and shove it up his ass.

Frustratingly, he appears to find amusement in your outward expression of annoyance. There seems to be a small grin on his face, cheeks appled beneath his mask, as if he's not aware that it's painfully awkward between the pair of you.  

He has no manners, you decide. No spine. No awareness of social cues, either. A triple whammy. What a catch.

But you believe that silence is a virtue, so you say nothing as you ring up his items. You don't even tell him his total - just nod towards the card machine. He follows your line of sight, watching the machine light up for a moment, before putting his card in the slot. 

While he does so, you reach for the peach tea and add it to his stockpile. 

"You forgot your drink again."

He looks at the pouch of tea, then up towards you. And then he repeats it, several times.

"Ouch," he says, ending his declaration of pain with a small laugh. You've got half a mind to rip the pouch open and pour it all over his shitty flannel shirt. It's blue today, paired with sweats, because apparently that's fashionable? 

Boy looks like he got dressed in the dark, you think scornfully - but really, you're just annoyed with how hot you think he looks. Unreasonably hot. He's the bloody Sahara storming through Daegu's coldest winter. He's melting the river, leaving everyone wet in the process. 

Or maybe not. Maybe just you-

"What's the grin for?" he teases, and you realise that you've been paying too much attention to your thoughts.

"No grin," you snap, face flushed.

"Service with a smile, as always."

"Your transaction is done," you say, this time smiling as if butter wouldn't melt. "You can leave, now."

He holds up his pot of ramyeon and shrugs, before glancing over to the food station, where the hot water and microwaves are waiting for him. "Actually, I think I'm just gonna eat here."

Without even so much as a glance back towards you, the asshole picks up a pair of chopsticks, wrapped in thin paper, and heads towards the food station. You're in a state of disbelief. Entitled prick.

Jieun returns almost as soon as he's left the counter. She still doesn't have a clue about whatever's happened between the pair of you, but she did see you hiding up the peach tea a couple of days ago, so she figured it was something. 

"You gonna take it to him?" she asks, nodding down towards the tea, which he's left at the counter, again.

"No."

"Take him the tea."

"No."

"Take it."

"No.

"Fine," she huffs. "If you don't, I will-"

"Fine!" you whisper, though it's definitely a shout. You might not want anything to do with him, but you also don't want to watch him work his charms on Jieun. For her benefit. Not yours. Definitely not because you don't want to see him flirting with her instead.

Him, with his stupid tattoos, and dumb blonde hair, and annoying smile and-

"Go," she grins. 

"Just... give me a minute."

You watch as he fills up his ramyeon bowl, hot air steaming around the jet of water. It's been a while since you ate, and you're a little jealous. Your break isn't for another few hours yet, though, so smelling his food throughout the store will be torture. Asshole.

He sits down, and Jieun pesters you a little more, but you're trying to wait it out. If a customer comes in, then you can just deal with them instead - but the forecourt is empty, just like it always is at this awkward time of day. After lunch, but before the end of school. This is the real ghost shift of a gas station - after midnight is when it comes alive. 

Admittedly, it was a little too lively the night of the raid. You make a mental note to text Yoongi on your break, just to check-in, and then you glare at Jieun and her shit-eating grin, before heading towards gimbap-less Mr Gimbap. 

Tossing the bag down onto the cheap plastic table, you're indifferent as you speak. "Like I said. This is yours."

"Is it?" he asks, unpierced brow raised. "Doesn't look like mine."

"Well, it is," you say, clearly fed up with him. "And just while we're talking - where's your car?"

His eyes narrow ever so briefly. Almost like he knows you're onto him. For what? No clue. But something.

"Taillights out. Just needs a repair."

You nod. Seems plausible. At least he sticks to the highway code - even if he does break it after the clock strikes twelve every other weekend. 

You're not quite sure what to make of him as he looks at you, eyes only lingering for long enough to let you know that there's something he's not telling you. 

The air quality isn't bad today. There's no need for him to be wearing a mask, but he's hiding. From you? From something else? You can't work him out.

Perhaps it's shame. 

After all, this is a boy who came and apologised to you for being a little bit mean in the heat of the moment. Being deliberately cruel doesn't really seem like his motive, no matter how cold his demeanour is.

And so, instead of just letting your assumptions fester, you voice them.

"You're hiding something." 

You're met with silence. 

"Behind that mask," you clarify, before repeating yourself. "You're hiding something."

He looks at you for a moment, before dropping your gaze, and glancing towards the door. 

Thinking about making a run for it, you lament internally - but he's not. He just doesn't like how sometimes - just sometimes - your assumptions are entirely correct.

He lifts his ringed index finger to his ear, unhooking the thin black elastic that keeps his mask in place, before letting it fall. His skin is clammy beneath it from the heat of his breath, and the chill of the winter breeze outside, but your eyes fall to his bottom lip. 

It's split, the centre crease darker than the soft pink flesh around it. There's a bruise beneath it, still tender and sore. You don't mean to, but you gasp at the sight of it. It's no worse than Yoongi's graze, the placement makes it so much more bothersome.

Uncomfortable with the way you're looking at him - like you feel sorry for him - he hooks his mask back up again. 

"Happy now?" he asks, knowing that you just love to be proven right.

You scoff, a little offended. "Obviously not. What happened?" You take the seat opposite his. "Are you okay?"

"Nothing happened," he lies, avoiding your eyes as he does so. It's funny how you haven't noticed that little trait of his yet. You will. Just not yet. "I'm fine."

"You're quite clearly not fine."

"Quite clearly am," he bickers, before nodding to the food on the table. "Just hungry."

Ouch. You're just trying to make sure he's okay, but if he wants to be hostile again, then fine. No skin off your back. 

You nod, looking away. It's awkward, and when the bell chimes to indicate another customer entering the shop, you find your stomach lurching. 

Still, he toys with the softening noodles in their pot, as if they're the most fascinating things in the world. 

This isn't how he wanted this conversation to go. Hell, he doesn't even know what the outcome should be. He's just feeling uneasy, as if he's making all the wrong choices.

"I heard about the raid."

You nod. It's been on all the local radio stations. Thankfully Yoongi is the only employee being name-checked. You aren't ready to give up your own personal paradise just yet, which is exactly what will happen the second your family gets notice of where you're spending your days.

"Yeah, me too," you deadpan. It's a fault of yours, giving back the same energy you receive, unable to just suck things up and be nice all the time.

Thankfully, he smiles. You kind of expected that he would. He seems to get you, get your humour. It's something you both share, like a little secret. A smile rests on his lips as he glances up towards you, like he's a school kid trying not to giggle in class.

And then you find yourself making assumptions again. You wonder what he would have been like in school, if he would have been just as charming. You bet that he was the kind of kid who could get away with murder in class. All he'd have to do was flash those of eyes of his, and he'd be off the hook.

Sort of like how he does with you. Why else would you be giving him the time of day after he stood you up?

"Oh really?" He entertains your attitude."What did you hear?"

You lean against the table, a little bit provocative, but only 'cause his tone of voice matched it. "Heard that I'm lucky some prick asked me out, even if he did leave me waiting for hours in the dark."

His smile falters a little, but only for a fraction of a second. He likes the flirt; doesn't like the acknowledgement of what he did. "Hours?"

"Nah," you scrunch your nose up, and sit up straight again. You're still smiling, to let him know that you're feeling fine about it, now. "Didn't stick around for that long. What?" You laugh when he raises a brow, and begin to tell white lies. He'll see through them, but you want him to. "You think I don't have other eligible bachelors lining up, trying to take me on dates?"

He shrugs, and you can tell that he's pouting a little behind his mask. "I'm still the one you skived off work for, am I not?"

"That's neither here nor there."

"Yeah, it is," he speaks softly, leaning forward on the table. Closer. "What time do you clock off today? I wanna talk. Properly."

"Are we not talking properly now?" You say, unable to resist being difficult. It takes everything within his power not to roll those pretty eyes of his - but you're grinning, and he finds himself doing the same back. His mouth may be covered by his mask, but you can still tell.

He thinks about his response for a moment. If he's being honest, he wants to make some crude remark; tell you that he wants to get you talking just so he can think of ways to shut you up. You're not at that level yet, though. Coming on strong is unfavoured by him, so he opts for something a little cooler.

"We're talking about talking," he reminds you, picking up the pot up and leaning over to the sink by the food station to drain the excess water. "I wanna talk about... well, anything else."

You purse your lips, folding your arms across your chest. There's part of you that really wants to say no, to tell him to go fuck himself. But there's a teeny tiny part of you that wants to say-

"Nine. I'm off at nine."

"Nine," he nods. "I'll be here."

"Sure you will," you tease.

"I will."

"Yeah, yeah. Course. You're really good at that." You're nodding enthusiastically, a stupid smile on your face, eyes all wide as if you couldn't be more naive. You can tell he's smiling again, and it's like that door chime in your stomach is bloody broken. "Yanno, the whole showing up when you say you will, thing."

"Shut up," he laughs, but it catches in his throat like a low growl. "I'll be here, but not if you keep being a little bitch."

Your teeth cushion themselves on your bottom lip, and you nod. "See you at nine... Kook?" You question, realising that you're yet to actually ask his name.

"Jungkook. But Kook works, too. Just depends on how well acquainted you're planning on getting."

He doesn't give you a chance to reply, simply standing as he pushes the pot of noodles over to you. "Eat up. You look hungry."

Turning on his heel, he heads for the door. 

The bell chimes, and it's like it's harmonising with the feeling in your stomach.

You prod around at the noodles, and sigh, posture defeated. This is not good.

────────────

The rest of your shift trudges on. It's slow, the hands of the clock seemingly frozen - until, suddenly, it's nine.

"You're late," Jungkook greets you, perched on a bollard by the side of the forecourt. He's wearing a coat, now, wrapped up a little warmer than he had been earlier. His sweats have been traded for jeans, but he's still in that big blue flannel shirt. You like it. 

And he's not wrong - cashing up your till took a little longer than normal, thanks to an old note that wouldn't read properly in the sorter. Just another thing your boss refuses to upgrade.

"At least I'm here," you quip back.

"Touché." He holds out his arm, almost as if he expects you to link yours with his. "Shall we?"

You look at his arm, then up towards him. And then you repeat it, letting out a soft laugh, not accepting his arm, instead turning to walk in the direction of home. "C'mon," you call back. "You walking me home or not?"

It's his turn to laugh now as he ups his pace to catch up with you. "Not."

"Not?"

"Not," he repeats, seemingly unable to say anything else - until, of course, he does. "My cars around the corner. Wanna go for a drive?"

"Sorted the taillight?" You ask, curious, figuring that it would have been at Kang's overnight.

Jungkook hums a response, not really saying yes or no, but as you turn the corner and it comes into vision, you can see that his taillights seem fine - not that you can really judge. A car as old as his doesn't come with central locking systems, so it's not like you'll see the lights flash as it-

Oh. Nevermind.

There's a beep, and the car flashes in front of you, mocking those damn assumptions of yours.

"Since when do Pony's have electric locks?" You ask defensively, almost as a reflex for having your assumptions disproven.

"Since I decided to install them," he says, as if it's the simplest job in the world. You've heard Yoongi mutter 'bastard locks' enough times to know otherwise.

"Kang's must make a killing from you," you joke as he nods towards the passenger side, indicating for you to get in.

"Kang's don't make shit from me when it comes to the wires."

You wait for him to pop his door open before you do the same. The interior is leather, all black, and is cold to the touch as you get in. The windscreen begins to fog almost instantly, the minimal heat you're letting off proving just how cold it's been getting lately. 

It's curious, you think. There should be a little heat left in the car from his drive to meet you.

"No?" you question, choosing to ignore the temperature of the car. It's below zero, you rationalise. Of course it cooled quickly.

"No," he shakes his head, turning the key in the ignition.

The car rumbles - purrs - softly. You can tell he's listening to the engine, making sure that it sounds okay before he sets off. Standard old car problems. Running gas through the motor before it warms up only causes issues.

Like his locking system, you notice that the stereo isn't exactly true to the era in which the car was built (even if the lack of insulation is). It's got an aux cord hanging from the headphone jack, which he picks up and places in your lap. "Don't put anything shit on."

He avoids clarifying your question, and it annoys you - so you choose to be direct about it, not plugging your phone in at all. If he doesn't want to listen to shit music, he should be a more specific.

You're stewing, clearly irritated, but you're also casually enamoured, watching him as he carefully observes the dashboard, checking the revs, trying to heat the car up a little.

"Just the electrics? What about everything else?"

He doesn't look your way as he replies. "Just the electrics. Put your seatbelt on."

"Why?"

He's still not looking at you. "'Cause if I crash, you'll go straight through the windshield."

"Not the seatbelt," you reply, though he's got a point. You haven't clicked it into its buckle yet. Nor has he, though. "The electrics."

Still. Not. Looking. At. You.

It's not even like it's an important question. You couldn't give a flying fuck about his shitty car's electrics. You just don't like that he's deliberately avoiding answering something so simple, as if you're asking him how old he was when he lost his virginity.

Eventually, he cracks. It's as he's sliding his seatbelt down, the smooth noise of  fabric scruffing against plastic filling the car. He's bargaining - hopes that if he does his belt up, then you will too. 

Then again, he knows that you're difficult, and that you'll probably use it as a bargaining tool. You won't do it up until he gives you an answer.

"Electrician by trade," he says with a little sigh, before turning to face you finally. "Happy?"

You don't want to say yes - but you are. You're smug in the knowledge that you know just as much about him now as he does you.

"By trade?" You push a little further as your buckle clicks into place.

"By trade," he answers, in that annoying way he so often does, not really giving you an answer, just confirming what you already know. "I'm in between jobs at the moment."

"Ah," you smile, finally putting the aux into your phone. The windows are beginning to clear. "That explains why you're always in the garage at such weird hours."

It doesn't. There's an entirely different explanation for that. Not one that he'll give, though.

He hums a response, not wanting to tell more lies. He knocks the car into first, and lets the handbrake down, easing the car into motion as it rolls gently from the curb and into the road. 

It's at this point you realise you're in the car with a near-stranger, and that it's probably the dumbest thing you've done in a while. You're smarter than this. Been raised better.

Jungkook smiles at your statement, though. "You ever stop making assumptions?"

A laugh falters in the back of your throat. "No," you muse. "I don't think I do."

His palm rests on the gear stick, thigh pressing down against his seat as he dips the clutch. There's a simple joy to be found in watching his movements like this, as if you're getting to see something reserved for very few people. He's smiling as he knocks it into second gear. Smiles a lot around you, actually. 

Perhaps he's just like this all the time. Naturally light natured, despite the dark clothes and even darker eyes.

"Tell me mine," he says as the car moves from the slightly beat up side road, towards the main street that leads up to the bridge. There's a change in pressure beneath the tyres, the new road far smoother, far easier, than the one you'd been on previously. "Your assumptions. I wanna hear them."

"I can't," you reply, as if they're some closely guarded secret. In a way, they are. You've built up this idea of Jungkook; of who he is, who he associates with, what he does in the dark.

If he confirms or denies a single one of these assumptions, then it could all be in tatters.

"Can't? Or don't want to?"

You watch his hands as he flicks on an indicator. There's no one else on the road. Seems redundant. It's interesting, though, how he seems to care about the rules of the road now that you're in the passenger seat.

"Why can't it be both?"

And just like that, you're going round in circles again. Always talking, but never quite saying anything. It's a strange little dance you like to do, one that you don't know the steps to, but seem to get right anyway.

He uses the palm of his hand to turn the wheel, back on the bridge now. It's less icy today, but you find your heart resting in your chest just like it did the first time you were here with him. He glances over to you, but you keep your eyes straight ahead.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "About that time. When we were here, yanno?"

You nod. It's a weird thing to think about. You could have died. Came pretty fucking close to it - and yet all that really lingers in your mind from that night is the way he stared you down.

"Mhmm," you press your lips together, and cross your legs.

He doesn't like it. The way your body sort of angles away from his. It's cold. Cruel, almost.

So he lifts his hand from the gear stick and taps your knee. A request, not a demand. He's gentle as he nudges, encouraging your legs to unhook, until they're back in their original position. You just kind of let him. Neither of you say anything, but there's an awareness that he doesn't want you to close off from him.

Your arms move instead, without much thought, crossing over themselves.

"Don't."

The silence is so loud you think the windows might shatter.

"Please," he follows it up, then decides that he needs something to fill the void that you're leaving in the conversation. "Put some music on," he says, before backtracking on his earlier statement. "I don't mind if it's shit."

It earns a small smile from you, an exhale from your nose letting him know that you find humour in his words.

You unlock your phone and head to spotify, confronted with more playlists than you know what to do with, and settle on the one you use when Yoongi lets you control the music in his car. It's pretty inoffensive, you think. Nothing too shit. No noughties classics, at least, though there are a couple from the 80's. If he complains, you'll just remind him of how old his car is.

"So what's the deal?"

The fact you only start talking as he exits the bridge isn't lost on Jungkook.

"No deal," he replies just as casually as you asked.

"Well you aren't taking me home," you muse, glancing over to him. There's a smile on his face. Dimples present. "And I'm hoping that you're not chauffeuring me to a date with the Grim Reaper - so where are we going?"

"We-" He turns to face you, now. Just briefly. Just a glance with a smile that has a chime sounding in your tummy again. "-are heading into town. I don't think the Grim Reaper's gonna be there, but you never know with that dude. Always showing up at the worst of times."

"Mm," you agree with a small laugh. "His social skills are atrocious."

"You give him a run for his money, yanno," Jungkook teases you.

It's reflex, more than anything, that has you swatting at his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt is soft, and there's a waft of his aftershave as you draw your hand back to your lap. Oaky. Mature. Probably more than he seems to be.

"My social skills are fine. You're just shitty company."

"Me?!" He sounds affronted now, but there's a grin plastered all over his pretty little face. "Sorry, little miss clutch control. Forgot you were queen of making casual conversation."

"Uh-huh," you say as you shift in your seat, body angled towards his. The smile on his face grows. There's one on yours too. A pretty fuckin' big one, at that. "That's why they hired me. Could see I'd be great with the customers."

He snorts, crown of his head tipping against the back of his seat. "Oh, yeah?"

You hum an affirmation, and Jungkook looks towards you briefly, chin lifted, eyes narrow, curious of what you'll say next. 

"Well, I seem to have done alright with one of the customers, at least."

His teeth begin to show as he looks towards the road again. "Poor fucker. I'd hate to be him."

And then you're both laughing. 

It's how it remains for the rest of the evening. 

You're laughing when he parks in the furthest corner of the lot, just to make sure no one scrapes his paintwork. You're laughing when he can't figure out the QR code for the automatic parking fee, and you're laughing when he tells you to fuck off for laughing. 

But he's laughing too. 

Laughs when you can't figure out the apron in the dakgalbi place off the side of the main shopping street, and laughs when the middle-aged lady running the shop comes to help you out. Jungkook had refused. He was enjoying the struggle too much.

See, your cheeks go all red when you get flustered. He's never seen that look on you before. You get a similar look once you realise the spice of the galbi is a little hotter than what you're used to, and you get it again after you've had a few shots of soju.

He matches you, shot for shot, but also makes sure to keep filling up your stainless steel water cup. In fact, he fills it more than he fills his own.

Unlike you, and your perceived ability to judge characters, Jungkook actually can read people pretty well. He knows his limits, and he's guessing at yours, but doing a good job doing so.

It's not until Jungkook's paying that you realise just how many bottles the pair of you have gotten through. You're steady on your feet, but you can feel the alcohol in your system, and know that he must be the same.

"How we getting home?" You ask, as the chime of the door rings behind you. Within seconds you're pulling your arms over your chest, trying to preserve heat. You fucking hate January.

"C'mon," he mumbles, looping his arm around your shoulders, rubbing at the side of it quickly to build up some heat. He's all hunched up too, clearly feeling the cold. "Taxi? I can pick my car up in the morning."

It's gone twelve on a week night. You both know there's no way in hell you'll be able to score a taxi, not without a 45 minute wait, at least. The curse of downtown Daegu. Should have just gone to eat in your neighbourhood, but Jungkook felt like he had a point to prove. He wanted to make it up to you. Properly.

You drop Yoongi a text as you load up your taxi app, just checking in, letting him know that you're all good. He replies pretty much instantly, but you're distracted by Jungkook letting you know that his app says no cabs are available.

"Shit," you hiss, bouncing around on the balls of your feet, trying to keep warm.

Jungkook weighs up his options. On the one hand, he knows he needs to get you home. On the other, you're hopping around like a fucking bunny. It's borderline cruel to keep you out in the cold like this. Especially when his place is only a ten minute walk away, in the heart of town, compared to your hour long trek back to the outskirts.

"My place isn't too far."

The suggestion is out of his mouth before he knows any better. He's getting himself in too deep already. All it's taken is a couple weeks of awkward flirting across a gas station kiosk and exactly one (1) shared dakgalbi. Maybe the 6 bottles of soju didn't help.

"You can wait it out in the warm for a taxi, at least," he adds on, before realising that you're both as tipsy as one another. Both hovering a little too close to one another. Both feeling that weird pull, of which he's telling himself to ignore, but he just can't seem to help himself.

He's a simple man, of simple pleasures - and sex is the most simple of them all.

If he wants it, then you probably do, too.

Might do, he corrects himself. Best not to make assumptions about things like these.

"Wait it out," you nod, a little grin resting on your lips. They're a little plumper than normal, partially thanks to the galbi spice, but also thanks to the you've been biting down on them all evening. It's okay, though. Jungkook's lips are just as bad. All plump and pretty and - fuck. You know you're staring but it's kind of hard not to.

He knocks his head to the side and holds out his hand for you to take. "C'mon. I'm this way."

And so you do take it. Fingers neatly linking between his, hooking on and holding close as if it isn't the first time that it's happening. It's been so long since you did this with another person that you're almost not sure you're doing it right. His grip adjusts, and then his other hand reaches behind your shoulders to prop the hood of your jacket over your hair.

"For the wind," he says. 

Definitely not so that the pair of you are a little more incognito. 

It's why he puts his hood up, too... For the wind. 

After all, he's not hiding behind his mask like he was earlier. Not hiding from you. 

But he's hiding from something.

And you should be, too.

────────────

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen - Seven

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

Javi P got a lot of attention last week, both his visit to the bakery and for the many Pickled Peña fics he starred in. Thank you so much for all the lovely comments! It really means more than you probably reaslise! It's been a rough week and I feel lucky to have found a great community here and to have found so much fun and enjoyment in writing to keep my mind off things.

This week's Pedro boy is dedicated to my lovely friend @secretelephanttattoo who is not only an amazing writer, but also one of the best people I've meet on Tumblr. Love you ❤

Series Master List

Working in a bakery almost every day means you pick up on people’s habits, whether they come into the shop or not. You know the bookshop owner across the streets always arrives ten minutes late on Tuesdays. The bodega owner next to your bakery always picks up his dry cleaning on Fridays and the dry cleaning lady always throws out her trash on Thursday evening. And you know that the cute guy with a dimpled smile always walks past your shop at about eight forty-five every weekday morning. 

He hasn’t always walked past, it started just a few weeks ago, but now it’s routine. You’d first noticed him when he stumbled over something on the sidewalk, smacking his hand against your window to keep his balance, and making you jump. He’d given you an apologetic smile, that’s how you know he’s got a deep dimple on his left cheek. And a really, really, great smile. 

The next morning you noticed him again as he glanced in through the window and smiled, a quick wave as he hurried down the street. And the same thing the next morning and then it was a routine. Around eight forty-five, between customers, you’d keep glancing over at the window until you see him walk past in his well fitted business suit, always a tie flapping in the breeze. He has a routine with those too you notice; a blue tartan pattern on Mondays, slate gray on Tuesdays, navy blue with white dots on Wednesday and the then tartan one again on Thursdays before he ditches the ties on Fridays. You wouldn’t go as far as saying that seeing him is the highlight of your day, but when one day he doesn’t pass by, you notice. And when the rest of the week passes and he doesn’t show up at all, you feel a little bit sad, even though you never even spoke with him. 

Monday morning, eight thirty, and you’re working your way through the morning rush, serving coffee and selling croissants and cinnamon rolls, he suddenly appears again. But this time he’s in front of your counter, holding on to a credit card as he smiles down at you. 

“Hi,” he says, the dimple deep in his cheek, “I thought it was about time I stopped by and said hello properly.” 

“Hi,” you say, a little breathless, he’s even cuter, and handsome, up close, and you’re suddenly very aware of your shiny face, straggly hair and stained apron. 

“I’m Marcus, Marcus Pike,” he says, holding out his hand, “I’m the creepy guy who slams into your window and never comes inside.” 

“Hi Marcus,” you reply, taking his hand, hoping yours isn’t too sweaty and clammy, “I’m the creepy baker who stares at you every morning.” 

He laughs at that, a warm sound that makes your spine tingle as his eyes crinkle at the corners, a wide smile making another dimple pop on his cheek. 

“I guess we need to be less creepy then,” he chuckles, “maybe I can start by buying a coffee like a normal customer?” 

“That sounds like a good start,” you smile back at him, “what would you like?” 

“A cappuccino, please,” he glances up at the coffee menu behind you. 

“Coming right up, anything else?” You motion at the fresh croissants and pain au chocolat piled up on the counter and he looks at them with longing. 

“I would love too, really…but my job, we’ve got this fitness test thing in a few weeks and I’ve got to be in shape for that. That’s why I started walking to work, instead of taking the metro.” 

“Come back when the test is done then, if you pass, it’ll be on the house,” you wink at him over your shoulder as you start preparing his cappuccino. 

“Now there’s the motivation I need,” Marcus laughs, stepping back and glancing over the selection inside the display cases, “But you don’t have my favorite I think.” 

“No? What’s your favorite then?” you ask, “No, wait, don’t tell me, let me guess.” 

“Ok,” Marucs smiles as you hand him the cappuccino in a takeaway cup,” what’s my favorite?” 

You look him up and down, and he grins and takes a step back so that you can see all of him, holding out his arms and giving you a little spin. 

“Hmm…business suit, always a tie, well polished shoes and a job that requires fitness tests…” you hum, enjoying the chance he’s given you at properly taking him in. His suit stretches almost  tight over his broad shoulders, hugging his biceps, and when he holds out his arms, the shirt underneath hangs on for dear life. The suit jacket lifts up over his butt as he turns and you’re given the privilege of eyeing it for the first time. It’s just as cute as the rest of him and you have to mentally chastise yourself for ogling. 

“What’s your guess?” he smiles, coming to a stop in front of you again. 

“Carrot cake, but you wipe off the frosting to stay healthy,” you say and he manages to look both cute, amused and offended at the same time. 

“No way, I would never sacrifice the frosting!” he says, pretending to be insulted as he grins, “but nice try, I really like carrot cake, but it’s not my favorite.” 

“Hmm…maybe-”

“No,” he interrupts you with a wave of his hand, “you get only one guess per day, you can guess again tomorrow.” He gives you a warm smile and as he taps his credit card to pay for the coffee.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, keep guessing,” he says, stepping aside to let the man who’s just stepped into the shop approach the counter. With a final wave he disappears out through the door. 

The next morning he turns up again, as the morning rush dies down, and orders another cappuccino. 

“Canéles,” you say, pointing at him. “Fancy, French, just the thing a guy in a smart, well tailored suit would like.” 

Marcus grins and shakes his head, “I don’t even know what they are, but keep guessing!”

“Give me more clues then!” you protest as he takes a sip of the coffee you just handed him. 

“Hmm…I used to play bass in a band in college,” he says and you raise your eyebrows. He does not look like a bass player, or any kind of band member for that matter. 

“Special brownies?” you ask with a wink and Marcus almost spits out his coffee. 

“Definitely not,” he splutters, chuckling as he wipes his chin, “and you only get one guess per day.” 

“Says who?” you ask, but you already know the answer, Marcus’s grin tells you. 

“I do, my game, my rules,” he gives you a wink and heads for the door, “see you tomorrow!” 

Wednesday he comes in a little bit earlier and hands you a travel mug. 

“This looks brand new,” you say and he nods. 

“Decided I should save on the environment, and your takeaway mugs,” he smiles, leaning on the counter while you start preparing his coffee, “What’s your guess today then?” 

“Cinnabons,” you say, glancing over your shoulder, feeling butterflies erupt in your belly when his face splits into a wide grin. But he shakes his head and you give him a mock scowl. 

“You’re impossible to guess!” 

“Keep trying, gives me a reason to come in every morning,” he replies, “Not that I need a reason though,” he adds, a pink flush suddenly creeping up from beneath his shirt collar as he gives you an uncharacteristically shy smile. 

“I’ll keep trying if you promise to keep coming in,” you smile back at him, you can feel heat creeping up your own cheeks as you hand him his travel mug. And of course his fingers touch yours, just a light brush, but enough for both of you to glance down at your hands. You jump a little as his breath catches and when you look up at him again, his lips are parted and you see the tip of his tongue peak out, just for a split second, before he composes himself. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he smiles, “thanks for the coffee again.” 

Thursday he’s a little bit late, and he hurries through the door with his tie hanging around his neck, untied. 

“Sorry, I worked late last night and slept through my alarm this morning,” he huffs as he reaches the counter. 

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” you smile, “I only sell you your coffee,” you hand him the cappuccino you’ve already made him and he gives you a grateful look, “and let me fix your tie while you caffeinate yourself.” 

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” he sighs and takes a long sip of the coffee as you walk around the counter and stand in front of him. You look up at him, taking hold of each end of his tie, and you suddenly realize you’ve never been this close to him before. There’s always been a counter between the two of you. Now he’s standing barely a foot away and you can smell his aftershave, warm and woody, as you adjust the tie. 

“Over…under…over again…” you mumble to yourself, trying to remember what your dad taught you, “up through the neck and down…there, got it,” you say, gently tightening the tie up against the collar as Marcus lifts his chin up, “but you might want to adjust it.” 

“No, it feels perfect,” he says, giving you a warm smile, “thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” you smile back at him, tilting your head up a little to be able to meet his eyes now that he’s standing so close. You should really move back but he smells good and his eyes are so soft looking, the way he just smiles at you. 

“What’s your guess?” he asks, smoothing his hand down over his tie as you drop yours to the side. 

“What?” you mumble, slightly distracted by how his throat bobs just over the knot in the tie where your hands just where. 

“What’s your guess for my favorite baked thing?” Marcus says again and you blink, catching on. 

“Oh, of course! Uhmm…brownies? But real brownies, gooey in the middle and crunchy corners?” 

“Oh….that is definitely high up on my list, but not my absolute favorite, you’re getting close though,” he grins at you, putting down his coffee mug on the counter. 

“I’ve got to run, but….are you free tomorrow, after work?” he asks, his eyebrows knotting together as he waits for your answer. 

“Yeah, I’m free,” you say, you can’t stop the smile breaking out on your face at the question and he smiles back at you. 

“If you want, I’d really like to have dinner with you, maybe we can both drink something this time?” 

“That sounds nice, I’d like that, Marcus,” you reply, butterflies multiplying in your belly as he gently puts his hand on your arm, “and I’ll definitely figure out what your favorite is by then.” 

“It’s a date then,” he grins, “you supply my favorite and I’ll sort the rest, I’ll come by at closing, ok?” 

You nod and before you know it, he’s leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on your cheek, “I’ll see you tomorrow evening.” 

Friday morning Marcus stops by and buys his, by now, regular coffee, “So what’s my favorite?” he asks with a cheeky grin and you stick your tongue out at him. 

“Not telling you,” you smirk at him, “I’ll serve it tonight, I’m pretty sure I’ve got it figured out now.”

“I can’t wait,” he chuckles, winking at you before he grabs his travel mug and hurries off to work. 

Your day drags on and your nerves tingle every time you glance up at the clock at the wall. When the shop quietens down after lunch you prepare what you hope is Marcus’s favorite dessert, putting it in the fridge for baking later. 

Just a few minutes before the clock hits closing time you hear the jingle of the doorbell and look up to see Marcus step through it. He’s changed out of his usual business suit and is wearing a leather jacket over a gray t-shirt and jeans, a bright smile as he gives you a wave. You ring up your final customer, bidding them a nice weekend as Marcus lingers to the side, and then you get a chance to say hello to him as you go to lock the door and flip the sign. 

“Hi Marcus,” you smile at him as he steps forward.

“Hi,” he says, leaning down and brushing his lips against your cheek, leaving the spot tingling and your skin warm. When he straightens up he smiles at you, his eyes soft and crinkling at the corners, “I hope you don’t mind, but I have a slightly unusual plan,” he says, pointing to the duffel bag he’s got hanging from his shoulder, “Dinner’s on me, but in your kitchen.” 

“You’re cooking for me?” you ask and he nods. 

“Seems only fair, you’re making dessert, so I do the rest….well…” he gives a little embarrassed shrug, “with a little bit of help from my favorite restaurant.” 

“Sounds like a nice plan,” you say, putting your hand on his arm and his smile brightens again, “come, let me show you the kitchen then.” 

You lead him past the counter and into the back room, the kitchen clean and ready for tomorrow, except the dessert for Marcus. “What do you need?” you ask, “Help yourself to anything.” 

“First of all, I need you to sit down,” he says with a smile, looking around the kitchen for a chair and spotting only the stool with wheels on, “Not many places to sit in here, huh?” 

“When would I have time to just sit around?,” you laugh, taking your apron off and throwing it in the dirty laundry basket in the back room, “I usually just sit on the counter.” You heave yourself up onto the large workbench as Marcus starts unpacking his duffel bag. He’s hung his jacket on the hook by the door and now he’s crouched down, digging through the content at his feet. The gray t-shirt hugs his shoulders, stretching tight over his back and riding up, exposing a strip of bare skin just above his jeans. It’s so far from the man in the well fitted business suits you’ve been seeing every morning for the past few weeks, a much more relaxed Marcus. 

“Do you wear the suits every day because your job requires you too?” you ask, taking the opportunity to stretch your tired back as you get settled on the counter, baking all day takes a toll on your body. 

“Yeah, I don’t mind them but I prefer the days when I don’t have to wear them,” he answers, standing up and placing a stack of boxes next to you on the counter. “No peeking,” he says in a stern voice, smirking at you and you hold up your hands. 

“I’m not touching anything,” you reply, “But I never asked what you work with?” 

“I work at the FBI, with art theft,” he says and you widen your eyes. 

“Don’t tell me you’re an FBI agent?”

“Yeah,” he furrows his brow as he looks over at you, “do you..is- is that a problem?” 

“No, no, not at all, I’ve just never met an FBI agent. It makes being a baker seem very tame is all.” 

“Maybe tame is good sometimes,” he chuckles and looks around the kitchen and his brow furrows again, “Hhmm…hang on, I’ll be right back,” he says, grabbing the bag and going out into the shop again, “No peeking!”. 

“What are you doing?” you call out to him as you hear tables and chairs being moved around. 

“Nothing, just setting things up, just wait there,” he calls back and a few minutes later he comes back to the kitchen. 

“Now, let’s get dinner ready,” he smiles, “Plates and a small saucepan?” 

You direct him to them and soon he’s arranging food on two smaller plates. 

“Miss,” he says, winking at you and holding out his arm, “Let me show you to your table.” 

“How nice, please lead the way,” you smile at him and slip off the counter, taking his arm. He brings you out into the café part of the bakery and leads you to one of the small round tables by the window. He’s put a white table cloth on it and set two candles in the middle, another few candles arranged around the shop. The sun is setting outside and in the dim light of the shop the candles spread a golden glow, giving it an atmosphere you’ve never seen before. 

“Marcus…this is lovely, I’ve never had my shop look so nice before,” you say, sitting down as he pulls out the chair for you, “It’s so…romantic,” you let it slip out without thinking but Marcus puffs up a little and beams down at you.  

“I’m glad you like it, I really like your shop,” he smiles, “and I really like the shop owner, I wanted to make it special for you.”  

“You might be my very favorite customer, Marcus,” you smile back up at him, your cheeks heating up and he grins. 

“First course is coming right up,” he says with a smile and disappears into the kitchen. 

“You should give food walking tours of the city,” you joke as Marcus smiles at you from across the table. “I’m so full but I still want to go and eat at all your favorite places right now.” 

“I’d take them here first,” he says, “and make sure everyone knows where the best bakery in town is, but…” he leans forwards and grins at you, “Speaking of baking, I want to know if you’ve guessed my favorite dessert yet.” 

You give him a soft laugh and mimic his movement, leaning forward to meet him across the table, “I think I might have, I just need to go and turn on the oven and then they’ll be ready in a few minutes. But I just realized, you never said what my reward would be for guessing correctly.” 

Marcus hums, tapping his long fingers on his chin as he looks at you, a mischievous smile making the corner of his mouth curl up. 

“I don’t think we agreed on anything, but if you go turn on the oven and I’ll come up with something good,” he says, his smile widening, making your skin heat up as his eyes seem to suggest something enticing. 

Thank god for your industrial oven, it turns on and heats up to the right temperature in no time. While you pull out the dessert plates and take the ice cream out to soften, it hums to life and pings. The dessert goes in and you set a timer and go back out to Marcus, sitting down at the table again. 

“It just needs a few minutes,” you tell him, “did you come up with a reward?” 

“Yeah, I did, but what if you guess wrong?” he asks, “I need a reward too.” 

“If I’m wrong…” you say, thinking out loud, “you tell me your favorite, and no matter what it is, I’ll make it for you.” 

“That’s a nice idea,” Marcus smiles, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, the t-shirt stretching tight over his biceps, you swear you can hear a seam ripping behind him, “but I like my idea better.” 

“What’s your idea then?” you ask, giving him a suspicious look, he’s got a very happy grin as he looks at you. 

“If you guess wrong, I can take you on a second date,” he says and you laugh, that’s probably the easiest reward he could’ve asked for and you see the corners of his eyes crinkle as he sees your laughter.

“Hardly a difficult reward, Marcus,” you smile at him and he gives you a warm smile back, “But what if I guess right, what’s my reward then?” 

“If you guess right, you get to take me on a second date,” he grins and you feel little happy bubbles in your chest as his soft eyes stay locked with yours, you can’t help but smile widely back at him. 

“Deal, Marcus,” you say, holding out your hand to him. He leans forward and takes it, his large hand enveloping yours, thick fingers gently closing around yours as you both shake on it. 

“I can smell chocolate,” he grins, glancing at the kitchen, “I think you’re on the right track.” 

“I know you, Marcus,” you laugh, “all serious business suits on the outside, but a wild child on the inside, bass player and all.” 

“Hardly the definition of a ‘wild child’,” Marcus chuckles, “now, if I’d been lead singer or lead guitar, then maybe.” 

“Well, the dessert is only a little bit of a wild child, the defining factor is that at its heart, it’s very romantic, just like you.” 

Marcus gives you a slightly embarrassed smile, “It’s that obvious, huh?” 

“That you’re a romantic? Of course, but I like it,” you smile softly back at him, turning off the timer that’s just gone off, “Moment of truth. Did I guess right or not?” 

“Doesn’t matter, I’m getting a second date either way,” he says, winking at you as you stand up and head to the kitchen. 

Pulling them out of the oven you quickly plate the dessert and scoop up the vanilla ice cream, finishing with a light dusting of cocoa. Your hip bumps open the door to the shop and Marcus watches you eagerly as you bring the plates over and set them down on the table. 

“If this is what I think it is, you’ve got yourself a second date,” he jokes and grins up at you. 

“That’s not helpful, Marcus,” you laugh, “either way, you’ve got yourself a second date.” 

“I know, that’s the beauty of this deal,” he chuckles, picking up his dessert spoon and looking at you expectantly, “Can I guess?” 

“Sure, go ahead,” you smile and he pokes the dessert lightly. 

“Chocolate fondant?” he asks, looking up at you, raising his eyebrows, before he digs the spoon in and cuts it open. The soft chocolate cake exterior gives way to a thick river of chocolate that pours out of the interior of the little cake. Marcus giggles and scoops up a bite of both cake and sauce and puts the spoon in his mouth, humming at the flavor and closing his eyes. You watch with pride as he tips his head back and moans, the spoon still in his mouth as he sucks it clean. 

“How did you know?” he asks, a bright smile on his face when he’s finally done with his first bite. 

You shrug and smile back at him, “You’re not a health freak, you didn’t recognise the more complicated French pastry, you like gooey brownies and you’re a romantic. Chocolate fondant seemed like the obvious choice. Decadent, sweet and just the right amount of fancy,” you grin at him. 

You take a spoonful from your own fondant and put it in your mouth, watching the chocolate flow out from the inside, just the right amount of undercooked to keep the inside flowing and warm. The chocolate flavor spreads across your tongue, paired with a hint of vanilla and salt, rich and warm and you let an involuntary moan escape. When you glance up you don’t miss the dark look Marcus gives you, his eyes fixed on your mouth as he takes another spoonful. 

“You really guessed right, I love chocolate fondant, but I’ve never had one this good before,” he says, humming around the big piece in his mouth. “How come you don’t have them in the shop? Actually, don’t have them in the shop, I’d buy them all every week.” 

You giggle at his blissed out face as he takes another big bite, dropping his head into the palm of his hand as he sucks the spoon clean, “It’s like hot chocolate, brownie and chocolate sauce all in one fluffy soft shell of cake.” 

“I’m glad I guessed right, seeing your happy face makes me happy,” you smile at him and the tips of his ears go a pink in the dim light as he clears his throat and chuckles. 

“Coming to your bakery makes me happy,” he smiles, scraping the last bit of fondant from the plate while he looks up at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners and it’s your time to feel the heat rise in your face, his grin widens as he sees you shift awkwardly in your chair and glance at him with a smile.  

“Really, getting my morning coffee has become the highlight of my day,” Marcus says, “How sad isn’t that?” 

“Not sad, you coming into the bakery every morning has been the highlight of my day,” you say, finishing off the fondant and putting the spoon down while Marcus watches you with a smile. He suddenly pushes his chair back and stands up, holding his hand out to you. 

“Dance with me,” he says, the warmth of his hand spreading across your palm and down your arm as he pulls you to your feet. 

“There’s no music, Marcus,” you laugh but he just grins and spins you around before catching you in his arms, one around your waist, the other still holding on to your hand as you put your own hand on his shoulder. 

“Who cares about the music,” he says, gently swaying you back and forth while he gives you a soft smile, “it was just a clever ruse to get to hold you.” His hand on the small of your back is lightly stroking the fabric of your shirt and you’re very close to him, pressed up against his chest as he holds you near, moving slowly in a circle. You can smell his aftershave, mixed in with the dark chocolate of the dessert and without thinking, your hand slips into the soft looking curls at the back of his neck. Marcus tilts his head as your fingers play with the silky strands, letting go of your hand and moving it slowly to cup your face, his thumb stroking the soft skin on your cheek as he seems to inhale slightly and dip his head to yours.  

His lips are just as soft as you’ve imagined them, warm, gentle, as he parts them and tastes you. His steady hand holds you close, the curve of his strong nose brushing up against your cheek as he angles his head to better kiss you. You feel your fingers gripping his hair, willing him to press you even closer to him. All of his warm, solid body is pressed up against yours, his hand at the small of your back sliding up to hold you closer to him, your own hand gripping his shoulder, steadying yourself as you feel like melting into his touch.  

He’s still swaying the two of you gently, your lips moving slowly together, tasting the chocolate on each other's tongues. Heat is creeping through your body, wrapping around you, as you feel him tighten his hold on you, his breath skating over your lips as he exhales, a quiet groan leaving his throat. 

“You taste so sweet, even sweeter than the dessert,” he mumbles, his mouth close to yours, “I never want to stop kissing you.” 

You stand on your tiptoes to reach more of him, your hand around his neck, and part your lips for him, letting his tongue lick into your mouth with more fervor. He also tastes sweet and the way he pulls you closer as you steady yourself against his chest makes you moan under his increasingly heated kisses. He’s not swaying you anymore, instead he lets you melt into his body, his arm holding you up, as he bends his head, another groan slipping from him as he feels your tongue slip around his own. 

Marcus’s kisses make you forget the time, where you are, and not until he pulls away with a sigh, do you open your eyes and look up at him. His eyes are dark, filled with lust, and it’s mirrored in the way his body feels against yours, his arousal a clear presence between you. And you can feel your own fill your core with heat, a slow shiver as you touch upon the thought of having him even closer. 

Marcus keeps his eyes locked on you, his warm hand gently stroking your cheek as he seems to take a deep breath, composing himself. Your fingers are still toying with the impossibly soft curls at the back of his neck, letting them slip through your fingers, and you feel like you might drown in his dark brown eyes if he doesn’t release you soon. 

“Is it too soon to ask for a second date tomorrow?” he whispers, his eyes dropping down to your lips again, and then back to your eyes as you shake your head. 

“No, tomorrow sounds like a very good idea,” you mumble, slightly hazy from the way his hands never stop touching you, warming your body and sending shivers to your core. 

“Ok,” he mumbles back, “can I kiss you again?” 

“If you do, we might not get out of here tonight, Marcus,” you smile at him and he chuckles, nodding and pulling back a little. 

“You’re very right, maybe it’s best to save more kisses for tomorrow.” 

“I look forward to them though,” you say, letting your fingers slip from his hair and down over his shoulder, caressing his arm, his wrist, and finally his hand. He takes your hand then, enveloping it in his larger one,  and brings it to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to it. 

“Tomorrow then,” he smiles. 

Part Eight

@harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers

[ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult]

Unpredictable, Part 2-Limoreau x black!fem!reader fic

A/N: Thanks for all the love on the first part! I decided to use feminine and masculine pronouns to refer to Jordan when they are in those respective forms but they/them when referring to them as a person (it'll make sense when you read it). Also, I accidentally made it a slow burn.

Warnings: Drug and alcohol use, swearing, and sensuality.

Word count: 6.6k

Series Masterlist

Getting ready to go out could be stressful but it was meditative for me. The extra care in the shower, paying more attention to how I applied lotion and other skincare to my skin, and taking my time with my makeup was like a mini therapy session. Twice’s “Moonlight Sunrise” filled my room as I carefully sprayed braid spray on sections of my scalp. When I was halfway done with my edges, my phone started buzzing.

E: Are u busy?

I quickly typed back, Kind of but what’s up?

E: Can you come by my dorm ASAP? M needs help getting ready 2 go out.

I nearly messed up my edges over her words despite my previous premonition. While the premonition did not have to come true or mean anything, the buzzing underneath my skin would not stop. Though I tried seven times, I could not get anything else about what would happen tonight.

If only you were stronger, a voice hissed in the back of my head.

It was irritating not being able to see what I wanted when I wanted but, that was a large reason I applied to Godolkin in the first place. This was the place where supes perfected their abilities, whether they got into the Seven or not.  So, with years of practice under my belt, I shoved all the thoughts deep down into my subconscious and texted Emma that I would be there in about twenty minutes.

As I was heading downstairs, Alina, and Sasha, the third and fourth most important sorority members, were laughing and talking in the foyer. They both wore white crop tops and dark jeans with wedges.

Alina spotted me first and smiled. “Y/N, looking as amazing as usual.” Her dark brown hair was flat-ironed to frame her sculpted face.

“Oh my gosh, is that a Blumarine dress?” Sasha gushed, green eyes boring into the pink ruffle halter dress I wore.

“Yes, I’m so glad that I found it when I did,” I replied.

When I finally got to face them, I somehow felt as though they were looking down on me even though I was a couple of inches taller than all of them. Their bright veneers could fool anyone and did so on a regular basis.

“Where are you off to? A date?” Alina asked.

 It was always easier to lie to them.

 “Yes, he’s taking me to that sushi place off campus I’ve been dying to try,” I affirmed.

 “Is it Andre? That would make so much sense, you’d be such a cute couple!” Alina cheered.

 Sasha stepped towards me and placed her French-manicured hand on my shoulder. “Remember, Y/N, it’s important to have fun but you are a representative of Si Chi and you must uphold everything that means no matter the setting.”

Despite the smile and warmth in her eyes, I knew that there was a viper ready to strike at any second.  

I smiled. “I would not dream of doing anything else.”

“Great. Besides, you have to use your connections wisely.” She turned and waltzed back towards her friends, the scent of her Juicy perfume fresh in my nose.

“Do you two have plans tonight?” I asked.

Alina nodded. “We’re going to meet a few of the Phi Beta Pi girls and go to a kegger at Alpha Tau.”

Sounds horrible.

“Be safe and don’t forget that you’re representatives of the house,” I called over my shoulder as I made my way out of the house.

Seconds after Emma opened the door, her face fell.

“Of course, you’re also going out with the Top Five,” she joked while letting me in.

“I can text Cate and see if it’s cool if you come,” I offered.

Emma shook her head. “No, I’ll be okay.”

I narrowed my eyes at her too-wide smile and overeager eyes. As good as she was at comedic acting, she was a horrible liar. It would have been nice if she could have come along too.

“Next time, okay?”

“Sure, if I’m not busy.” Emma flipped her blonde bob and I laughed.

Then, I turned to Marie, who was standing on the other side of the room, looking at herself in the mirror. She was wearing a pair of flared blue pants with platform boots and a gold jacket. It was something I was positive Emma wore to one of the many graduation parties she insisted on attending.

“You look good,�� I complimented.

Marie jumped and turned to me, raising her eyebrows at me. “Thanks, and you look…wow, um, really good.”

My stomach flipped at her words, and I mentally shook my head as I accepted her compliment. “You look ready to me so why did you summon me, Emma?”

“Because I’m bad at makeup,” Emma deadpanned as she flopped onto her desk chair. “But, you’re good at the whole looks-like-skincare-but-glam thing.”

I turned to Marie. “You don’t need makeup, though.”

“Neither do you but, I thought I would put in a little effort,” she admitted.

“Ooh, are you trying to impress someone? Luke’s ass really is that spectacular,” Emma sang while wiggling her eyebrows.

“Shut up!” Marie yelped, eyes widening.

 I laughed at her response and she glanced at me, looking sheepish. “If you insist, come lie down.” I gestured to her bed.

Marie followed my lead and I forced myself to exhale as normal as possible as I straddled her waist. I set my makeup bag within a reachable distance and started rifling for products.

“Do you have anything on your face now?” I asked.

“Uh, soap and lotion?” Marie replied.

I almost dropped my Fenty highlighter and stared at her. “You don’t have a skincare routine?”

Marie shook her head. “Is that bad?”

“Kind of, and it’s unfair since your skin is good.” I slowly set the items I wanted on the bed and turned back to her. “What kind of look are you going for?”

“Can you make her look like Rihanna?” Emma asked.

 “I can only do so much with makeup,” I called back.

“Something like what you have would be okay. Nothing too much,” Marie requested.

“Fine, just know I can’t do the exact same thing since we have different undertones and coloring. Just relax.”

Marie nodded and closed her eyes. I zoned out a bit as I carefully applied primer and concealer to her face and dusted highlighter on her cheeks.

“So, who invited you out?” I asked as I applied a light layer of gold eyeshadow to Marie’s eyelids.

“Oh, Andre. I ran into him earlier tonight and we kind of stopped a crazy guy together,” she recounted.

“Wait, what?” I sat up and Marie opened her eyes.

“Yeah, there was this guy running around talking about not going back to the woods,” Marie explained.

“Someone was off their meds, I mean that as sensitively as possible,” Emma commented.

 “And Andre and I stopped him from hurting himself or anyone else,” Marie concluded.

 Knowing Andre, he was definitely going to brag about it for most of the night. We got along fine but his pride got the better of him sometimes.

“Well, it looks like you’re already proving you should be in crim with me,” I asserted.

 Marie smiled slowly and I urged her to lay back down so that I could finish her makeup. She nearly head-butted me when I started spraying the setting spray, but my reflexes were too quick.

 “Chill, it’s setting spray,” Emma joked.

 “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting that,” Marie muttered.

 “I’ll warn you next time. But you are officially ready to go.” I slipped off her bed and pulled my strappy heels back on. “I’ll pick up my makeup bag later.”

 “Sounds good.” Emma jumped out of her chair and grabbed Marie’s hands. “Please remember to have fun because you’re not just doing this for you.”

  Marie laughed. “Okay, I’ll remember that.”

  I pulled their door open with one hand and grabbed Marie’s hand with the other. “And I’ll remember to make sure that you don’t do everything Emma would do.”

 Emma quirked a brow. “So, there’s a chance?”

 I rolled my eyes at my friend and tugged Marie into the hallway. As we walked, we passed some rooms with loud bass heavy music, and some making noises that I did not think were humanly possible. One made it hard for me to contain my laughter and I let out a snort.

 “Wow,” Marie commented.

  I apologized quickly.

  “There’s nothing to apologize for; I just didn’t think you were capable of making a noise like that.”

  As I moved to playfully nudge her, I realized that our hands were still clasped together. How long had it been, twenty or thirty seconds? That was longer than I held hands with anybody. I carefully let go of her hand.

  “My bad,” I apologized.

  “No, it’s fine,” she insisted.

   Nights like these were nice since the campus was mostly empty, save for the handful of students boldly wandering around campus inebriated. There was the occasional excited scream or cheer during our walk to the parking lot. At one point, Marie and I had to high-five some drunk guys as they rushed past.

   “Do you ever get used to it?” Marie asked.

  “The drunk kids? It’s kind of required,” I answered.

  “I mean all this stuff.” Marie gestured to the campus. “Keeping up with everything must be exhausting.”

 “I guess you’re forced to if you want to be successful here.”

  A cool breeze whipped past us, and a chill ran from the base of my spine to the rest of my body. I folded my arms over my chest in a feeble attempt to keep warm.

“You sure you don’t want to go back for a jacket?” Marie asked.

“I’ll be fine, it’s what liquor jackets are for anyway,” I replied.

 “So, what should I expect for tonight?”

“Have you ever seen a Pitbull music video?”

 “Maybe once.”

 “So that mixed with molly, coke, and whatever they have on hand.” I turned to her and noticed the frown between her eyebrows. “Hey, you’ll be great tonight, everyone’s gonna love you.”

 “Not if Jordan’s a part of it,” Marie scoffed.

 Of course, Andre did not tell her about who was coming on this night out.

 “Try not to worry about them. This could be a chance for you two to get to know each other better,” I tried.

  Marie stopped and looked at me. “They’re coming tonight?”

 “Yeah, they are number two.”

  Marie groaned. “They better not ruin my night.”

 “It’s okay, Andre already likes you, Cate and Luke will like you too, and you have me,” I said, extending an arm.

  Marie glanced at it for a moment before looping her arm through mine and we continued our walk. It was a nice, peaceful silence between us and I did not know whether I wanted to break it or relish it. At home, there was no such thing as peaceful silence; just the calm before all the cursing.

  “Hey, Y/N,” Marie started.

   I hummed in response.

  “What’s your deal with Jordan?”

  “We’re…friends, I think. Last year, I didn’t want to go near them for the longest time, but Cate invited me to train with all of them once. After that, they were nicer to me.”

   Marie nodded. “You seemed really comfortable with them.”

   “It’s really fun to mess with them.”

   Marie looked at me as if I was crazy and I grinned in response. Jordan was always wound up and they could not always rely on drugs to decompress. I could not pinpoint when I started being more playful with them since it sort of started out of nowhere. At least they were receptive.

   “Your heartbeat’s picking up,” Marie shared.

   I exhaled, “I always get anxious before social stuff, even if I know everyone who will be there.”

  “That sucks. How do you deal with it?”

   “Alcohol, when it’s available, and dancing. My mom thought dance lessons would help me build more confidence than therapy. Plus, it’s basically guaranteed to be acceptable in any setting.”

   After a few more minutes, we finally reached the parking lot and I ignored the chill on my back as we approached Luke, Cate, Andre, and Jordan. They were all standing around Luke’s car, but Jordan and Cate were passing a joint while Luke and Andre were laughing. Andre was the first to notice us and grinned.

  “Hey, you made it,” Andre greeted.

  “Yeah, Y/N is a great guide,” Marie complimented.

  Cate smiled and handed the joint back to Jordan before walking over and hugging me. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you. You look all grown up now.”

 “It’s been three months, Cate,” I laughed as I slowly pulled away from her. “I love the corset.”

 “Thanks, nice earrings,” she replied.

  “Y/N, are you trying to steal my girlfriend?” Luke teased as he approached us.

  I shook my head and couldn’t help the stupid grin that worked its way on my face. “I would never think about it.”

  His hug was a lot stronger than Cate’s, which made sense considering his ability. Despite his status, Luke was always nice to everyone, including Cate’s little mentee.

  Andre made quick work of introducing Marie to everyone and I stiffened when he got to Jordan. “Have you met Jordan?”

  Jordan narrowed his eyes at Marie. “Yeah, we’ve met.”

  “Are you going to reject me from this outing too?” she shot back.

  “Love too.”

  I wandered over to Jordan and put my hand on his shoulder. “Please play nice.”

 “I can’t promise anything,” he muttered.

 “Well, I like both of you and hope you can get along for a couple of hours.” I turned to Marie, mustering the best puppy eyes I could, and she smiled softly.

  “Fine with me.”

  Jordan rolled his eyes, agreed, and took another hit from the joint. He smirked as he extended it towards me. “What do you say, freshie?”

  “I am a year younger than you!” I griped.

  “And you’ll always be my little freshman,” he teased.

   “Anyway, a Si Chi girl would never be caught smoking or vaping.”

 “And you’re a good little Si Chi girl.”

 “I’m the secretary!”

 “As much as I hate to interrupt this,” Andre interjected, “I’d like to get the night started.”

 “How are we all gonna fit?” Marie asked as we made our way to the car.

 “We’ll make it work,” Luke replied as he slid into the front seat.

  Obviously, Cate took the front passenger seat, leaving Jordan, Andre, Marie, and me in the back. Jordan climbed in first, I followed him, Marie followed me, and Andre squeezed in last. I glanced at Marie and began pushing myself to sit on her lap when a strong arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me in the other direction. Seconds later, I glanced down at Jordan who eyed me expectantly.

 “Why do you look so surprised?” he teased.

 “I just thought it’d be easier if Marie and I were together,” I stated as Luke pulled out of the parking lot.

  Jordan took his time rolling down the window. Then, he took a hit and exhaled the smoke out of it. “Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

 Another shiver ran up my spine and I turned away from Jordan in time for Cate to hand me her phone, which was connected to the aux cord. As soon as I saw “Get Ur Freak On”, I hit play and handed the phone back to her.

 “Nice choice,” Andre complimented before taking a swig from his flask and handing it to me.

 I accepted the flask. “Thank you.”

 The familiar burn down my throat was almost comforting but that also could have been due to the top-shelf whiskey in the flask. When I sat up, I noticed Marie eyeing the flask in my hand curiously.

  “Want some?” I asked.

  “No, thank you,” Marie kindly rejected.

  “Did you just fail to corrupt a freshman?” Jordan rasped in my ear.  

  Reflexively, I swatted Jordan’s shoulder and assured Marie she did not have to do anything she didn’t want to. Fortunately, Andre’s whiskey helped dissolve the tension between the two, or maybe it was just my perception.

   Before I knew it, Cate wiped the host at an exclusive club downtown to give us a booth and as much champagne as we wanted. The place was as crowded as it was in my mind, filled with people, the strobe lights catching the occasional sequin or shiny suit. The music was so loud that it was hard to recognize the songs but I felt like my brain was swimming either way. When we got to our booth, Cate, Andre, and Luke sat on one side while I sat in between Marie and Jordan on the other.

   Seconds after we sat, a hostess in a tiny bandage dress set bottles of champagne and crystal flutes on our table.

  “I love your eyeliner,” I complimented as she began to walk away.

  She thanked me before disappearing into the crowd and Luke laughed.

  “How are you already drunk?” Luke asked.

  “I’m not, I’m just nice.” My argument probably would have been better if I didn’t trip over the “c”.

  “You did drink half of my flask, Y/N,” Andre pointed out.

  I opened my mouth in shock. “Well, it’s not my fault that these two,” I gestured to Cate and Jordan, “didn’t contribute.”

 Luke and Andre busted out laughing while Cate slowly rolled her eyes.

 “Leave her alone, Y/N needs to let loose,” Cate interrupted.

 “Thank you.”

  Luke must have gotten over his earlier comment since he poured three flutes of champagne and handed me one. Immediately I started sipping and giggled as the bubbles burst in my mouth. There must have been something in the air but I felt so light, like I would float away at any second.

   “Is that coke?” Marie’s voice dragged me back to the group.

   In that second, I noticed Cate hand a baggie of powder to Jordan and saw her eyes were slightly red.

    Jordan shook his head. “We did all the coke. This is molly.”

   Marie’s eyes widened and she glanced at me.

  “I can’t do uppers, messes with my powers,” I explained.

  “And we do not want a repeat of New Year’s,” Cate added.

  I bristled at the foggy memory.

  Luke leaned towards Marie. “I don’t really do hard drugs but I microdose shrooms.” He flicked the baggie for emphasis.

   Marie shook her head and smiled. “No, thanks.”

  “Aw, she’s so polite,” Jordan mocked.

  I finished my drink and pushed the flute towards Luke. “Leave her alone, she doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to.”

  The last thing I wanted was for Marie to feel pressured into doing anything with them and me by extension. However, she was comfortable enough to drink and even showed off her powers a little bit. We were all in awe when Marie made a droplet of blood from a pinprick on her finger float into a tiny ball before disappearing back into her finger.

  “That’s badass,” Andre declared with a nod as he sipped some champagne.

  “Not bad, Moreau,” Luke added.

   Cate nodded her approval before doing some more molly while Jordan stared at Marie.

   “Come on, you can say it,” I fake encouraged.

   “Fine, she’s decent,” Jordan admitted.

   I leaned my head towards him. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

   Jordan gently swatted me away and I laughed as I finished off my glass of champagne. Things were already going better than I expected. The night got even better when “American Boy” blared through the speakers.

   Immediately, I yelped as I jumped to my feet, Cate quickly joining with a mischievous smile on her face.  

   “We’ll be out there,” Cate said, gesturing to the dance floor.

    Luke quickly pecked her lips. “Have fun.”

   As I passed Marie, I grabbed her hand. “Come on.”

  She looked a little apprehensive but grinned as she followed me onto the dancefloor. It was warm and there were so many people to push past but it didn’t matter. The beat was infectious as I began to spin, arms above my head. My braids flowed around me as I tossed my head from side to side. In the middle of a spin, I felt a gloved hand grab one of my arms and pull me towards someone.

  When I opened my eyes, Cate’s big blue ones were staring back at me. Red rimmed her irises and her hands moved to my hips. We moved in time together and I couldn’t stop laughing as we did.

  “You’re welcome for saving you from that creep dancing behind you,” she yelled over the music.

  “You will always be my hero,” I gushed.

  She spun me and I giggled as I faced Marie. Marie was swaying to the music, eyes closed, but she looked blissful. My hands found hers and I pulled her to dance with me. She was not a bad dancer at all but I took the lead, swiveling my hips and bobbing my head. At one point, I wrapped my arms around her neck and hugged her.  Slowly, her arms wrapped around my waist, and I hummed at the warmth.

  Cate leaned over me. “Sorry, she’s an affectionate drunk.”

  I gasped but did not move. “I am not drunk!”

  “It’s okay,” Marie laughed.

  “Seriously, I’m not even tipsy,” I added. “I can move if you want, though.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  The pit of my stomach suddenly felt warm and fuzzy as I danced with my two friends. I closed my eyes and giggled as the champagne bubbles carried my thoughts away. Was this what it was like not to think all the time?

  “Jordan can’t take his eyes off you.” Cate’s whisper jolted me out of my reverie and I pulled away from Marie.

  “What?” I uttered.

  Cate gave me a weird look and nodded her head towards the table. My eyes wandered in that direction and Jordan was staring back at me. Andre was the only one besides him at the table and he was busy flirting with the hostess but Jordan did not look at them. His eyes were like a hawk’s and I felt like a little mouse.

  “They’re watching us dance, it’s fine!” I shouted over the music.

  Cate shook her head. “He’s not looking at all of us.”

   As much as I enjoyed dancing to the next five songs, I could not get Cate’s words out of my head. This was supposed to be my night not to think about anything, but I could feel the rumination looming.

  But there’s nothing to think about. We’re just friends if we’re anything at all and Cate’s been on this since I joined the group, I thought, squashing any others.

  Once “Like That” ended, I let Marie and Cate know I was going to take a break before making my way back to the booth and plopping down next to Jordan.

  “Having fun?” I panted.

  “Yeah, but not as much as you,” he replied.

  “You should join us next time.” I huffed as I flipped my braids over one shoulder and sat up. “Where’re the others?”

  “Luke went off somewhere and Andre is making some girls suffer through his coin trick.”  

  “And you don’t have anyone you like?”

  I thought Jordan paused but he shook his head. “No, but you’ve been entertaining me.”

  Something jolted in my chest like I’d been shocked. I had another sip of champagne to get rid of the feeling and Jordan’s silver rings caught my eyes. Slowly, my fingers slipped over the ones on his middle and right ring fingers.

  “These are pretty,” I mused.

  “Thanks.”

  As my fingers continued slipping over the rings, he moved so that we were holding hands and a chuckle escaped me.

  Jordan’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “You have man hands,” I chortled.

 “Seriously, freshie?” Jordan sighed.

 “It’s true!”

  I couldn’t stop laughing at how his hand engulfed mine, but it was comforting in a way too. It took me a minute to calm down and when I did, my eyes found Marie and Cate on the dancefloor.

  “I’m glad she came tonight,” I said.

  “Yeah, she’s really nice,” he agreed.

  “See, not all strangers are horrible.”  

  “Okay, you were right.”

  I gasped and put my free hand on my chest. “I must be really drunk because you just admitted I was right about something.”

  “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” Jordan groaned.

  “I should’ve been recording because no one will ever believe that Jordan Li admitted they were wrong about something,” I cheered.

  Jordan shook his head. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

  “It’s already there.”

  I didn’t know how long I sat there, laughing and watching Marie and Cate dance. There was something fascinating about seeing Marie in the element and getting along with everyone. She seemed so…free but it was so genuine. How did she manage that?

  “Do you like her?” Jordan asked.

  I blinked and looked back at him. “Huh?”

 “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been flirting with her all night.”  “I have not! I’m being welcoming.”

  “Really, because I’ve never seen you look at anyone like you do with her.”

  “Are you jealous that I’m getting along with someone else?”

  “Why would I be jealous? You’re not going anywhere.”

  Something was off about his tone but I couldn’t put a finger on it. Why would Jordan say that? Marie was my friend and I’ve been treating her like a friend. Why would they care how I acted anyway?

  “I’m thirsty,” I declared.

 “You want me to get you water?”

 I shook my head. “I need Casamigos.”

 Jordan smiled widely. “You sure?”

 “Mmhmm.”

 Jordan stood, pulled me to my feet, and started leading me to the bar. Halfway there, they shifted into their feminine form, becoming even more adept at navigating the crowds. Once we got to the bar, she got the attention of the bartender and ordered the shots. At some point, I started bouncing on my heels as we waited.

 “Hi, Barbie,” a gruff voice sounded behind me.

 I jumped, nearly running into the bar. The man was tall and his mustard yellow suit washed out his pale skin and blonde hair. His smile was all wrong and made my stomach churn.

 “Um, hi, Planters Guy?”

 Jordan burst out laughing next to me, making the man glare at her for a second. She waved her hand in apology and turned towards the bar.

 “It’s Michael, actually, can I get your name?” he stepped closer to me.

 I opened my mouth to respond but Jordan answered.

 “She’s with me.” Her hand slowly slid to the small of my back and pulled me into her side.

 “What if I bought you a drink?” Michael offered.

 I glanced at Jordan. “Well, I guess that’s alright.”

 Jordan rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

The bartender set two trays of shots in front of us and Jordan and I each grabbed one and turned to Michael.

“Thanks for the drinks!”

 Once we got far away enough for him to hear, I burst out laughing and tried not to spill anything.

 “Works every time,” Jordan stated.

 “What am I gonna do when you graduate next year?” I mused.

 “Aw, are you gonna miss me?”

 “I’ll miss how easy it is to get free drinks with you.”

 My face warmed and I ignored the warmth in my stomach. Andre was waiting for us back at the table.

  “Jordan, why’d you change?” Andre asked curiously.

 “Makes it easier to get free drinks,” she answered.

 I plucked a shot from a tray and leaned on Jordan’s shoulder. “I appreciate them in both forms.”

 Jordan seemed to tense under the contact, and I leaned back up, wondering if I’d done something wrong. If I had, she did not act like it as she grabbed a shot and made Andre grab one.

 “Cheers to another year?” Andre suggested.

 “The year Y/N breaks into the Top Fifteen?” Jordan joked, raising an eyebrow.

 I grinned. “Who knows, maybe this is the year I take your spot.”

 “Ooh, bold, Y/N, I like it,” Andre cheered.

 “I’d be more scared if your punches didn’t feel like a kitten pawing at me.”

 “Just cheers!”

  She laughed as the three of us clinked glasses and did the shots. The tequila was smooth as it ran down my throat and I was practically buzzing as I went for the second one.

  “Whoa, are you sure you don’t want to slow down?” Jordan asked.

  “It’s fine, I ate before we went out, I’m not even tipsy,” I insisted.

  Around the third shot, Andre disappeared and by the fifth, everything was blurry, like one of my visions. I think I pouted at the thought.

  Then, the starting chords of “Standing Next to You” filled my ears and my body moved on its own, jumping to my feet.

  “Oh my gosh, they’re playing Jungkook, we have to dance!” I yelled.

 “Okay, calm down,” she said, setting down her glass and letting me pull her onto the dancefloor.

  My body kept moving on its own, body rolling and feet shimmying. The song was entrancing and I was lost in it, singing as well as I could. Jordan spun me a couple of times before pulling me closer and I laughed as I wrapped my arms around her neck.

   I couldn’t remember the last time I was this close to Jordan. She had such pretty features but her eyes were amazing, like molten pools of dark chocolate.

  “Thanks.”

  I gasped and clamped my hand over my mouth. “Oh my gosh.”

  “It’s cute, you like my eyes?”

  “Stoooop,” I whined.

  “Oh no, I’m never letting this go,” she teased.

  In that moment, I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole, but I did not get what I wanted. Instead, Jordan’s hands pulled me flush against them, fingers tapping against my hips.

  “Come on, you were so bold a second ago,” she whispered.

  “That was different,” I muttered.

  “But I want to know what else my little freshman likes about me.”

   Their mocking tone made my body heat rise and I did not know how to stop it. Even in their feminine form, Jordan was stronger than me and it would take a lot of effort to get out of their grip.

 “I’m not a freshman.”

 Suddenly, we stopped moving while everyone else around us was making out or dancing. Somehow, no one bumped into us and I wondered if there was some sort of invisible field blocking it from happening. My eyes wandered away from Jordan, glancing at the colorful lights and feathers on someone’s dress. That did not last long as I felt her soft fingers move a braid away from my face.

    I could hear my heartbeat in my ears as I turned back to her. Jordan seemed so soft as her hand trailed behind my ear before finally resting on my shoulder. Any words I could have said dried up on my tongue and I couldn’t think as our faces got closer to each other.

   Her woodsy cologne filled my senses, and I wondered what she could sense. Just as I closed my eyes, a terrifying scream broke through the crowd. When I opened my eyes, everything was a blur. At one moment, Jordan was in their masculine form and tugging me through the crowd. In the next, Andre was pushing me back into Luke’s car.

  Jordan, Andre, and Luke were yelling or talking but I couldn’t understand any of it. Cate seemed panicked in the front, but I had no idea what she was saying.

  “Where’s Marie?” I asked.

  Darkness overtook everything before anyone answered my question.

 The throbbing in my temples the next morning made me want to strangle George Clooney. My head weighed a thousand pounds, and it took even more effort to push myself up in bed. Thankfully, the curtains were drawn on my windows and only some rays of sunlight peaked through.

  When I was finally able to open my eyes, I noticed the bottle of Vought Water on my dresser and two aspirin. It was too early to ask any questions and I took the medicine and almost cried at the relief. Then, I did my best to walk to the bathroom without aggravating my spinning head.

  As soon as I turned on the light, I noticed the red and black jacket around my shoulders and gasped.

  This was Jordan’s.

  If they brought me home how messed up was I? I groaned at the thought and carefully hung the jacket on the hook on my door.

  My morning routine was plagued by all the possibilities from last night and what I’d said. I remembered vaguely gushing over Jordan’s eyes and dancing with Marie and Cate and…

   Almost kissing Jordan.

  How was I going to live that down? What had even come over me? It had to be the tequila and champagne. Thanks to that combination, Jordan was going to have material to tease me for at least a few months.

  After pulling on a baby blue short-sleeved fuzzy crop top and matching linen shorts, I slipped on my white Stan Smiths and went downstairs for breakfast. Per usual, it was buffet style with an option of fresh fruits, turkey bacon, steel-cut oatmeal, or toast. Sydney, Alina, and Sasha were the only ones in the dining room, all wearing matching Alo Yoga sets.

  I took the seat next to Sasha and forced myself to eat the oatmeal. “Good morning, everyone.”

 “Good morning, Y/N,” they all replied.

  “How was your night?” I asked Alina.

  “Fun,” she replied.

  “But not nearly as fun as yours,” Sasha commented.

  I stiffened and tried to cover it up with a sip of coffee. “What makes you say that?”

 “For one thing, you’re not ready to join us for Ashtanga yoga. Second, Jordan Li had to walk you to your room.” Sasha emphasized Jordan’s name with the biggest Cheshire cat grin on her face.

  “I’m glad you have such a good friend,” Sydney expressed, flicking a curly strawberry blonde hair out of her green eyes. “You always need those when Si Chi sisters can’t attend the same events.”

  “Thanks, I’m glad they’re my friend too.” I smiled as kindly as I could without side eyeing Sasha.

  Fifteen seconds passed before Alina broke the silence.

 “Did you hear what happened with that freshman last night?” she asked.

 Sasha groaned. “It’s been all over my timeline.”

 I frowned. “What happened?”

 “This freshman got caught off campus at a club,” Alina said as though it was the greatest gossip known to man.

  “Didn’t she save someone’s life, though? They had some kind of accident?” Sydney added as she popped a grape in her mouth.

  In that moment, the caffeine must have hit my brain because I almost yelped at the realization. We’d left Marie at the club last night, I had abandoned her. I grabbed my phone from my bag and started texting Emma.

 Y/N: Hey, did Marie make it back last night? Lost track of her.

 Emma responded back pretty quickly.

E: Yeah. She got a weird email from school. Ohw to Lamplighter.

My stomach churned and I willed myself to settle it. For a second, I closed my eyes and focused on Marie, but I couldn’t get a clear image of her.

 “Shit,” I muttered.

 Alina, Sasha, and Sydney turned to me, microbladed brows raised.

 “I’m sorry, I just realized that I forgot to read a chapter for a class today.”

   The girls may have said something as I quickly finished my breakfast and left the dining room, but I couldn’t hear them over my racing thoughts. Twenty minutes later, I was walking into the Crimefighting building with two iced coffees from Jitterbean in my hands and Jordan’s jacket slung over one of my arms.

  There were only a couple of people milling about the people, professors making final touches on lectures, and students cramming. I paid none of them any mind as I came across a sulking Jordan. They were in their feminine form and if they were hungover, they did not look like it.

  “Hi,” I greeted once we got close.

  “Hey,” she replied.

  “Um, I brought you coffee and your jacket as a thank you for last night. I heard you had to take me home and I’m sorry about that.”

  I handed her both items and she nodded. “It’s fine but you do owe me.”

  Her tone wasn’t as light as usual. Even when they were hungover, Jordan never missed an opportunity to go back and forth. This had to be about that almost kiss. As much as I wanted to avoid it, I had no choice.

  “About that, uh, kiss,” I whispered.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jordan affirmed.

  “Are you sure? Because----”

  “Seriously, it’s fine, we were drunk, well, you were wasted but it’s okay.”

 They did not sound nor look “okay” and they spoke as if they wanted me to drop it as soon as possible. Earlier, I wanted to erase it from my memory but their response made me want to shrink into a corner. Why did I even care? It’s one issue resolved.

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “Anyway, have you seen Marie today? I can’t get in touch with her.”

  “No, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “Telling me not to worry doesn’t make it go away. I feel bad about leaving her last night.”

  Jordan glanced around us before pulling me off to the side. “You should’ve told her the risks before having her join us. You know none of us can get caught breaking the rules,” she hissed.

  “I didn’t think abandoning her would be a possibility,” I muttered.

  “She’ll be fine. You should know to look out for yourself by now, freshie.”

  For a moment, I narrowed my eyes at Jordan, who was suddenly more focused than they’d been since we started talking. They had a point, they and the rest of the Top Five always covered themselves but that typically never meant someone got hurt.

  “Would you have done the same thing if it were me instead of Marie?” I asked.

   Jordan flinched and her silence was all the answer I needed. Tears threatened to burn in the corner of my eyes, but I turned before she could see them. I thought I heard her say something and I mumbled about seeing her in class later. Just as I was about to make my way out of the building, Marie flew in, eyes flaring.

   “Did you know about this?” she questioned.

   “About what?” I asked.

   “They’re expelling me to cover up for you.” She looked behind me. “And you.”

   “Wait, what?” Jordan replied.

   “That doesn’t make any sense. You didn’t do anything wrong,” I gently argued.

   “Well, I guess I did because I thought you were different from them.”

   Her cold words felt worse than the time a girl with ice powers caught me in the shoulder during a training session. For a second, I couldn’t speak, and I thought I heard buzzing in my ears. Nothing was going the way I thought or envisioned it would. What was the point of having these powers if I couldn’t help my friends or figure out who were fake friends?  

   “Marie,” I started.

    She pushed past me and Jordan, storming towards Brink’s office. As I turned around to go back to my room and lick my wounds, a vision flashed in my head.

   Bright yellow flames covered Luke’s body and he had a murderous look in his eye as he approached someone. The perspective switched to a frightened Marie stumbling out of Brink’s office with Luke trailing behind her, his flames growing larger and more sporadic. Then, Jordan appeared.

   As soon as it appeared, it left and I had a sinking feeling in my chest as I whirled around.

   “MARIE, DON’T!”

[wonwoosthetic]

could you do joel and younger gf/wife (like in her early/mid twenties) and some young guy hits on her while they’re together in like one of sarah’s soccer games or soemthing and joel gets all jealous and insecure

Only You, Only Me

a/n – <3 thank you for the request, I hope you and everyone else enjoys this ˙ᵕ˙ also: having to call football soccer in this fic hurt my European heart haha😭 pre-outbreak!joel was a softy, you cannot convince me otherwise

pairing – pre-outbreak!joel miller x female!reader

warnings – slight jealousy and insecurities, but besides that A LOT of fluff ˙ᵕ˙, a quick mention of sex

word count – 7.1k

series masterlist

2000

You had sprinted half the way from the bus stop to the soccer field, running the other half, only coming to a stop when you finally reached the entrance. The dress you had chosen to wear had started turning into a slight regret as you had to hold it down from flashing everyone behind you, but the weather didn't let you wear anything below knee height.

With a few more steps forward, greeting the people by the footstalls and other parents with smiles, you finally found yourself right in front of the field, your eyes immediately raking over the space, trying to find the set of bouncy chocolate curls you knew all too well. Sarah was quick to find, making the smile on your face widen instantly as you watched her sprint towards the ball rolling over the grass. You could watch her in her element every free minute of your life. Even though she wasn't right next to you, you could hear her giggles as they had engraved themselves into your brain.

For a second, you directed your attention toward the far back on the right, where your partner's usual seat was, only to find him another second later. A handsome face like his just stands out from the crowd. You grinned to yourself once you noticed he hadn't caught onto your arrival yet, getting to see his perfectly shaped side profile as he watched his daughter and her team hopefully win on another sunny day.

With a grin decorating your face, you almost skipped over to your boyfriend who was sitting on one of the benches at the lowest height, while the other parents had occupied the higher seats on the platform. Passing one grandstand and walking along the length of the entire field before you'd reach the one Joel was sitting on. Too focused on what was going on right in front of his eyes, he didn't even notice your figure coming closer and closer. It was only when you had almost sat down, and your perfume reached his nose that he turned his head to the side.

"Well, look who's finally here," he greeted you with a smile, opening his left arm to welcome you into the space right next to him. 

"Finally? You know damn well I rushed out of my class to be here on time." With a roll of your eyes and a slight chuckle, you joined him on the bench, sliding into his arm swiftly. Sadly, as the new college year had just started, your work as a TA was more asked than ever. Multiple students had enrolled in your tutoring sessions - many more than you expected, explaining why you had to create an extra class for this Saturday, not finding any other available spots during the week. That's why you had been slightly late to the usual Saturday game that you would usually always attend hand-in-hand with Joel.

With a quick peck on the lips after a mumble of, "I know, I know," by your partner, the welcome wagon was finished, and your focus was back on the field. Joel's hand had quickly found its comfort spot on your thigh.

"What's the score?" You asked him, setting down the bag you had carried on your left shoulder.

A proud grin made his lips curl up. "1 to 0. Sarah assisted the first goal."

With a nod, you copied his facial expression. "Well done," you spoke quietly, eyes trained on the girl ahead of you. 

"How were the kids?" To anybody else, his question would let one believe that you worked in a kindergarten or primary school, not at a college where the students were barely a few years younger than you. But you knew what he meant. It still made you chuckle.

Your hands found his, running your softer fingers over his dry knuckles. You always told him to start using hand cream since his work forced him to use his hands so much, and yet he never did.

"Surprisingly motivated, not gonna lie. For a Saturday. I expected like no motivation, no raised hands, no answers or questions, or anything really. But they were really up on everything and seemed genuinely interested," you explained to him.

Joel couldn't help but chuckle, taking your hand into his much bigger one, and turning his head slightly towards you. "Well, if I had a hot TA that turned up in summer dresses to class, I'd also be motivated to go on a Saturday." His comment caught your attention as you grinned shyly at him, pressing your lips together.

"Wow," you nodded along. "Thanks for telling me they only want to be there because of my looks and not because I'm a good TA, and they can actually understand the material better thanks to me." Adding a joking scoff at the end, getting a chuckle from him in return.

His hand came up to brush over your hair, "I would never doubt your ability as a TA. I know you're the smartest person I've ever come across.", He pulled you in so he could place a kiss on your temple, whispering into your ear, "But I just wanted to make sure you know how beautiful you look."

A chuckle escaped your lips as you straightened the hem of your dress. "I think you showed me that today already in the bathroom, huh?" Grinning teasingly at him as you reminded him of his inability of holding himself back when it came to certain outfits you'd wear - one of them being dresses, specifically summer dresses. The inability, that had made you almost late for class today as he just had to take you in the bathroom, in front of the mirror, bent over the sink, interrupting you as you tried to get ready and look presentable for the day. You weren't complaining though. You'd never complain.

A smug smile made its way onto his lips as his fingers dug back into the flesh of your thighs, the grip almost surprising you.

"And I'd gladly show you again later, darlin'." His remark earned him a slap on the upper arm as you told him to focus back on his daughter's competition, the smiles not leaving either one of your faces.

Thanks to all the running, you noticed your throat had started to run dry, and you were in a very sudden but desperate urge to find something to drink. Glancing around the seat, you tried to find out if Joel had gotten himself something, only to your dismay to find absolutely nothing.

You got his attention with a quick slap to his upper leg, "I'm gonna go get something to drink, do you want anything?"

Without hesitation, your partner reached with his right hand into the back pocket of his jeans. "Should I go?" 

But you declined his offer, "No, no, it's fine, I'll be quick. Do you want something?"

He handed you over his wallet as he shook his head. "No, I'm good, thank you." Squeezing your thigh one last time before letting you stand up. Once your frame left the seating area, he noticed your bag laying on the bench and pulled it in closer, setting it down on his right side to keep an eye on it.

While you were making your way a little further back to where you had come from, the echoes of shouting and clapping became quieter and quieter with each step, making you turn around every now and then to make sure you wouldn't miss anything important.

You waltzed up to the woman in the snack truck and ordered two water bottles, knowing Joel would eventually want something to drink as well and Sarah still had hers in her backpack. As you waited for her to get them, the sound of a whistle ringing over the field reached your ear, indicating that the first half of the match was finished and they'd have a break now. Perfect timing.

You paid, thanked her one more time, and left to go back to your seat, getting a glimpse of the group of girls by the side of the field getting a speech of motivation before breaching out to find each of their parents to spend the break with. As you had your head down, remembering the slightly uneven side of the field where you were walking, you didn't catch the figure taking a few steps back. Not until you walked right into them. You immediately started to apologize and looked up, only to find Sarah's coach looking down at you, his hand on your upper arms as if he was afraid you'd trip.

"Oh, I- sorry, sorry I didn't look where I was going," you stumbled over your words, slightly embarrassed by what had happened.

The blonde man shook his head, a million-dollar smile wide on his face. "No, don't worry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have walked backwards, I don't know what I was thinking." His hands were still very evidently on your skin.

You chuckled, "What? Why were you walking backwards?"

He just shrugged, "I don't even know anymore." Laughing along with his comment. "Ben, by the way. Ben Miller." He dropped his hands, only to reach out with his right one for you to accept. Of course, you knew who he was. Sarah had been going to the training sessions of this team for a good year now, and the day she came home, beaming from ear to ear, talking all about how much fun her coach was, you knew they had found the perfect team for the little girl. You remembered her telling you all about the coincidence of meeting someone else with the same last name as her. Neither Joel nor you had the heart to tell her how common their last name had been in the US.

"Oh, yeah, I know," you let your palms touch, shaking his hand as you introduced yourself, holding on to the water bottles with your left arm, already feeling the condensation wetting the material of your dress.

"So," Ben cleared his throat. "You're Sarah's sister, right?"

His question almost made you choke on air. You knew you weren't the same age as most of the parents here, and the age gap between you and Joel had been a big subject to literally everyone but the two of you, but you had never gotten mistaken for that.

"Sister?! No, no, no," you quickly stopped him, trying to play off the continuous embarrassment with more laughter.

While you continued your conversation with the coach, hoping to leave a good impression as the woman taking care of Sarah and loving her father, the duo was in their own little world.

The youngest Miller skipped over to where Joel was now standing up, her backpack tucked underneath his seat as he held out her water bottle.

"Daddy, daddy, did you see? Did you see me?" The excitement was radiating off her, making the father smile brightly as his daughter ran into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"Yes, baby girl, I saw you," he petted the top of her hair, noticing the few strands that had fallen out of her ponytail. "You wanna redo your hair?"

Sarah jumped back, "No!" Touching her head.

"No?" Joel repeated.

"My hair is okay," she assured him with a hand sign she cutely formed, making him chuckle and nod as he sat back down, finally handing her over the bottle so she could down the cold water.

"Did you see Y/N arrive?" He asked her, wanting to make sure she was aware of the fact that you didn't dare to miss out on her match.

Sarah smiled brightly and started nodding her head up and down quickly. "And she's talking to coach Ben."

"No, she went to go get some water. It's hot, you know? You need to stay hydrated," he made sure to add a little anecdote as he straightened out the small jersey she was wearing.

But the little girl shook her head as she pointed straight forward to the right. "No, she's talking to Coach Ben right now." Joel's ears perked up. His head snapped towards the direction, his eyes immediately finding your figure, only half covered by the frame of the man in front of you. He couldn't read lips, so God knows what the two of you were talking about, but he didn't need to know. Your bright smile and clear giggles didn't need a translation.

Joel wasn't a stranger to jealousy. I mean, how could he. You were beautiful, inside and out, incredibly smart - he knew he was the luckiest man alive to be able to call you his. He never missed the glances you'd get from each man passing you on the street or the ogling eyes from one of Tommy's friends. Even back when the two of you met, he had wondered what a young and pretty girl was doing sitting there with him, only talking to him, glancing directly into his eyes when you could have had the attention of at least four other men at the table. He had considered himself the luckiest guy in the world back then and still did. But he also knew what you were worth. And he was very well aware that, partially, he couldn't give you that. Even though, the reassuring sound of your voice, sweet like honey words falling from your lips were still marked on him, letting him know just how much you adored him, every part of his body, face, and personality, he still couldn't get, who in his past life he must've saved to deserve an angel like you now by his side.

Joel tried to keep his cool as best as he could. Tried to look past your crossed legs as you looked up at the other man, slightly hunching over, covering your mouth as you laughed at something he said. He couldn't have been that funny...

Ben was a good-looking man. Young, fit, and definitely a feast for the eyes. Every man would get jealous watching him talk to their other half. Right?... What could be oh-so-interesting coming from some blonde-frat-boy-looking guy that you'd grin at him like that?

He reminded himself once again... You were his. But then... Ben was exactly that type of guy strangers would expect you to be with. Not some older dude like him. Tommy loved reminding him of that. He could recall every double take people had to do when glancing at the two of you. Every eye up-down he got from women - the judgement just screaming from the look on their faces. It never seemed to bother you though. If anything, it would only make you hold on tighter to his arm or give his cheek an extra kiss. Almost as if you were jealous at every look he'd get from another woman that was a second too long for your liking. He could almost laugh at that thought. You had absolutely no reason to be jealous. There would be nobody ever to compare to you. Joel, on the other hand, had every reason to envy other guys staring at you. Because while you were all of that, he was just Joel.

The voice of his daughter got him back into the present.

"Dad!" She pushed her water bottle into his chest, catching him off guard. "Why don't you say hi to Coach Ben?"

"I already said hi to him when I came here, babygirl," he explained monotone, tucking the bottle back into the backpack before storing it under the bench again. Sarah didn't need to know the bad feeling he had gotten from the blonde man right from the start. Something was just... not right. The moment Tommy mentioned liking him and thinking about inviting him for drinks after he had picked up his niece from training one day, Joel knew he wasn't to trust. If Tommy liked someone, he immediately knew they'd be bad news. God, if Tommy wasn't his brother, he wouldn't even trust him.

"Hi, Y/N!" The youngest Miller suddenly jolted up and ran over to where you were now coming closer to the both of them.

You were quick to kneel down, opening your arms wide to welcome the little girl as she wrapped her small arms around your neck, pulling you in tightly, so your cheeks were squished together - something she had been doing to you for quite a while now.

You greeted her just as ecstatically, letting go so the two of you could continue your journey back to her father together while you kept asking her about the match.

"You're not tired yet, sweetie?" You wondered, settling back down next to Joel.

Sarah shook her head with a giggle, "No, that's why we practice, Y/N." She reminded you, making you chuckle.

"Right, right." You smiled before wanting to hand Joel one of the water bottles, but he pushed it back.

"I don't need it."

You rolled your eyes, "Just take it, I know you'll want it later." With a huff he accepted. You decided to ignore the slight sudden change in demeanour, brushing it off as your mind playing tricks on you.

Before the three of you could get into a full conversation again, the sound of the whistle hit your ear, letting you know the break was over. Sarah jumped up, kissing both you and her father on the cheek before running back onto the field, into the group of girls that were surrounding the coach again.

Joel knew better than to start a fight right now. He didn't want to know about what had gotten you so giddily while talking to Ben only a few feet away from him. But he couldn't fully push down the anger that had started to rumble up his body, making him turn quiet.

If only you didn't have to bring it up.

"You know," you started after having taken a sip from your water bottle. "Ben kinda reminds me of Tommy. Are you sure you guys aren't related?" Even though he knew it was supposed to be a joke, the scoff just tumbled from his lips as he sighed,

"God, fuck, I hope not."

You chuckled, not realising how much truth was in his comment. "Yeah, you already got your hands full with one troubled Miller." Placing a hand on his back, only then noticing the slight tension his body held. "He said Sarah's been doing really well, and she might even be able to go up a league next year. That would be cool, huh?" You glanced over at him, but Joel kept his eye on the field, watching his daughter race from one end to the other, the ball right by her feet.

"Mm," he grunted. "What else did he say that got you to giggle like a schoolgirl?"

You scoffed with a chuckle, "What? I didn't giggle like a schoolgirl." Noticing he wasn't grinning like you expected him to, meaning he wasn't teasing you. You scrunched your eyebrows. "What's gotten you so grumpy, old man?"

Every other day, this would've gotten you a snort from him return before he'd start tickling the soul out of you or would attack your neck in kisses, continuously teasing you for calling him that, knowing that the age gap between the two of you was something you'd like to play with every now and then, giving you a slight kick. Why, was still a mystery to Joel because he found himself anything but attractive with each passing year. Whatever you saw in him was now even more confusing to him than ever before.

His eyes fell down to where your hand had found its way to his thigh, covering it with his warm palm, petting it once before he took it, only to drop it back into your lap, mumbling a quick,

"Nothin', don't worry 'bout it." Before his attention was back on the game ahead of you.

Alright... you thought, weird, but... alright. You realised, there was definitely something going on in that head of his, but also knew that the Saturday match of his daughter was not the place to discuss it. You'd wait until you were back home.

-

The two of you spent the rest of the game in silence, proudly shouting and clapping for Sarah when she missed the goal by just an inch, hyping her up, hoping to motivate her to keep going. The car ride was filled with the youngest Miller's rambling about the match and the team they played against as well as the homework she'd need help with once they got home.

Before you left the field, Joel definitely didn't miss the smug nod Ben sent you before he disappeared as well, making him roll his eyes as you just waved, telling Sarah to do the same as he pushed you forward with a gentle hand on your lower back, making sure that it was low enough to send a quick non-verbal message to the young Coach.

At home, Joel decided to get started with the dishes while you helped Sarah with her Math homework, knowing you'd be much more of a help, thanks to your education and line of work than he'd ever be. Time passed thankfully quite quickly, and after making sure the little one got a good dinner, you sent her up to shower off the dirt and sweat from the hot day.

All while the older Miller was in the kitchen, scrubbing every single dish in fury, knowing how ridiculous others would find him if they could take a look inside his brain. He was so done with it. 

The disgustingly smug face of that coach kept showing up in front of his eyes, reminding him of just how pathetic he felt. He wasn't even mad at you. Or was he? God, not even he himself knew, what was making him react like this. Just the mere thought of any other man by your side made his blood boil. It had happened in the past. His primal instincts would just take over - he wasn't necessarily proud of it, but it was just the person he was.

Joel just couldn't get it out of his head. It wasn't the first time you had talked to a younger good-looking man, and it most definitely wouldn't be the last. He wasn't 12 anymore, he knew people, no matter the gender, would want to get along with each other. You even had to deal with people around your age every single day at work. Suddenly, that thought got him even more unweary. He tried to shake it off quickly.

Each day you'd come home to him, exhausted and complaining about some of your students. Never about the professor you worked for. It was always the students, specifically male students. Guys your age. The way you'd whine about their lack of motivation and focus would make you fall onto the couch, right into Joel's comforting embrace as he tried to calm you down, talking down on those exact guys, reminding you of the fact that college stuff was the last thing on a guys' mind during that age. It always made you groan. Each time. It would make him proud, now to think of it. Proud that rather than expressing your admiration for someone your age, you'd complain about their childishness, reminding him how grateful you were to have found him - a man, not a guy. But you talking to Ben seemed like anything but burdensome to you. It looked too natural for Joel's liking. But he knew to trust you, having had multiple conversations with you about the future. But even then...

He caught himself drifting off, snapping back into the presence quickly. Joel was already starting to dart way too low, reaching a level of dark thoughts he'd much rather not have. The two of you were a melodic couple. A couple that spoke to each other freely, he reminded himself. You always assured each other that nothing should be left unsaid and getting everything out is better than keeping everything in, no matter how embarrassing or pathetic it might be because there are no such things in a relationship. He remembered a conversation you had once dropped during a cuddle session on the couch. For some reason, it stuck with him:

-

"You know, Barbs broke up with her boyfriend." You suddenly threw in the room.

Joel raised an eyebrow, quickly having to remind himself that Barbs was one of your girlfriends that you had met up with for a Brunch date with the rest of your friend group.

"Why?" You knew he could probably care less about it, but he still wondered. If only you knew how much he actually just enjoyed listening to you talk.

You sat up from your half-lying position where your head had rested on his shoulder. Waiting until he had turned his head from the TV, he found your serious glance on him.

"Because she hasn't come even once during sex in the four months they've been together."

Joel took a deep breath, his eyebrows scrunched together. "Shit... poor guy."

"Poor guy?!" You exclaimed, hitting his chest, and making him flinch slightly. "Poor her! She's always had to finish herself off in the bathroom."

"Honey," he sighed, "I don't think you should tell me all that much about your friends." Joel would never complain about you sharing your life with him, but some information about your girlfriends should possibly stay between girls.

"No, you should know about this," you complained back, making him look at you with raised eyebrows.

"Oh? You tryna tell me something here, darlin'?"

His question made you giggle as you shoved him slightly, giving him the opportunity to hold onto your arm to pull you back into him.

"Please," you rolled your eyes, "You'd know if I was faking it."

"Yeah, I know," he mumbled into your hair as he placed multiple kisses all along your hairline. He laid your head onto his lap, your gaze up at him as he looked down at you, the palm of his running up down the side of your torso.

"But like... I asked her why she didn't just, you know, talk to him about it. They were so perfect for each other in every other way, and I'm pretty sure that could've gotten fixed too. I mean, there's hardly anything that can't get fixed, and I know I wasn't present for like every second of their relationship, but I don't know. Anyways-" Joel chuckled at your rambling. "I asked her, and all of my friends turned to me and looked at me like I... just told them, I don't know- the only reason I have five toes on my left foot was because I ate the sixth one when I was a kid."

"Darlin'," Joel laughed at your comment. Your way with words would never bore him.

"What?" You chuckled back at him. "I'm serious. They looked at me so weirdly." He let you continue, his hand now comfortable on your stomach as your fingers found his to play with. "But they all understood her. They said that instead of talking to their partners about that, they'd much rather just end it."

The oldest Miller shrugged, "Yeah, but I mean if it's uncomfortable for them."

"But it shouldn't be," you argued. "Right?" You waited for him to lower his gaze. "I thought in a relationship you shouldn't feel awkward to talk about anything. I wouldn't want you to hold back on talking to me about something just because you think it's ridiculous or whatever."

"You'd want me to tell you that I haven't come in the time we've been together?" You nodded along to his question. "You don't think that would make you feel weird?" You shook your head.

"I mean," a quick thought shut you up for a second before continuing. "The thing is, I'd question why you wouldn't have talked to me about it earlier, but... I'd still want to solve that problem together, you know?" You waited for a nod coming from him, but he only tilted his head slightly. "I don't think there should be anything you'd keep from your partner. If you're in a relationship, you're already sharing so much with each other, like, you're literally giving over your body to trust another person with it, but then you don't want to talk about stuff like that? I don't know, seems weird to me."

His knuckles came up to brush over your cheek. "You get shy when I talk about what I want to do with you as soon as I get my hands on you too though." 

You couldn't help but to grin. "Because you tease!" Getting a hold of his hand, you tried to push it away from you with a giggle. "That's different," you argued. "But if you have something that's bothering you or something and you think it's ridiculous or whatever, and that's the reason why you don't want to talk to me about it... I don't like that," you shrugged, making your point.

Joel nodded, a slight smirk still on his lips. "Alright, I promise, I'll let you know once you stop making me come, okay?" 

You jumped up with a laugh, slapping him once again. "Can you be serious for once?! You idiot!" Giggling as he tried to dodge your hits only to pull you in closer again, not wanting to be apart from your body for even a second. You groaned jokingly, "Ugh, I hate you sometimes."

"I know," he looked at your lovingly, throwing you back onto the couch, hovering above you as he pinned down your arms, "I love you too." Leaning down to kiss you.

-

With a huff, he dropped the now wet washcloth onto the counter, ready to make his way upstairs, knowing you were most likely already getting ready for bed as well.

Even though your conversation back then was filled with laughter and banter, he understood the seriousness of it. You wanted this relationship to work, just as much as he did. And the only way to make that happen was through talking. As much as Joel hated it, hated using his words, never knowing what the right thing to say would be, he knew he had to jump over his ego this time. With grunts, he moved up the stairs, hearing the shower in the master bathroom being turned off right when he entered your shared bedroom. He pulled up his shirt, throwing it into the basket in the corner, a purchase you had made once you moved in.

You opened the bathroom door, letting the steam escape as you turned to the mirror, wiping it down before you got ready for your skincare routine. Joel knew, if he shied away from the conversation any longer, he'd never get to it. So, it was now or never.

Taking step after step until he reached the door frame to lean on, he could feel his heart almost up to his neck, swallowing hard. You saw his figure coming closer from the corner of your eye as you applied your serum, turning your head once he came to a stop.

"You okay?" You wondered once again, hoping to maybe get an answer in return this time around.

He didn't even dare to look into your eyes, finding the floor much more interesting. Joel took a deep breath. He crossed his arms and lifted his head to look straight ahead into the wall, past you.

"You ever think about dating someone younger?" He rushed over his words, hoping to get this over as quickly as possible. You stopped mid-movement at the sudden question being thrown into the room. With confusion written all over your face, you turned to the right, his body still resting against the doorframe.

"What?" Was all you could let out. You understood the question acoustically, yet hoped to have misheard it still.

With a sigh, he started again, "Do- ugh, you know what? Forget it." He blurred it out just as quickly, his back facing you right away as he moved back into the bedroom, walking towards the drawer to get boxers for the night.

"Joel," you were quick to rush after him, "What did you just ask me?"

"Nothing, forget about it," he shrugged it off, looking around the drawer. Before he could even put his hand inside it, you closed it, positioning yourself between the piece of furniture and him.

"Why did you just ask me that?" Your concerned voice tugged at his heart. You were too good for him. 

You understood that Joel could possibly be insecure, just as much as anyone else was allowed to be, just like you were too sometimes. But you never expected such a question to come from him.

Joel placed both of his hands on top of your head to push it down slightly, placing a loving kiss on top of your hair.

"Nothin'. It doesn't matter, it's stupid." With a sigh, he walked over to the bed, sitting down on his side, his back once again turned towards you.

"Joel," you were definitely just going to let this slide, "You know exactly what I think of that 'it's stupid' shit."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as his hands brushed over his face, a soft groan tumbling from his lips. "Yeah," he groaned, "I know, trust me. You have no idea how long I've been debating over asking you that shit."

That's when the switch in your head flicked. "Is that why you've been so quiet?" He only nodded.

With a sad sigh, you rounded the corner, coming to a halt in front of his hunched-over figure.

"What's got you thinking about something like that all of a sudden?" With another step forward, you were right in between his legs as he almost automatically let his hands drop to let you come closer, your fingers brushing through his hair. 

"It's a stupid question-"

You immediately shushed him by placing your hand over his mouth. "There are no stupid questions. You know that."

A slight grin crept up on his face as you lowered your hand again. "You really are a teacher, huh?" You tilted your head with a smirk you tried to hold back, not wanting to let go of the seriousness of the conversation.

"Come on," you petted his cheek, "Tell me." His hands found their way to your hips, riding up underneath his shirt you had decided to put on for the evening, pulling you in just a little bit closer.

With another deep breath in, Joel glanced to the side, trying to think about the right words, but his head was too occupied to think about that right now. "That stupid Ben fucker, I swear to God..." he cursed as he mumbled, making you almost unable to hear him clearly. But you still caught it, thanks to the silence in the room.

"Ben? Ben Miller? Sarah's coach?" You pushed his face to make him look up at you. "What did he say to you?"

He shook his head, taking your hands off his cheeks to hold onto them, kissing your knuckles. "No, no he didn't say anything."

"Then wh-"

"I saw you two talking together. Well, Sarah saw you first, but then I looked over too," he started explaining, still avoiding your eyes while you kept your gaze on him. "And, I don't know, something in me just snapped, I guess... watching him talk to you... just... yeah..."

"You don't like him?" You carefully asked, unsure if he was finished with his statement.

Joel shook his head, "Not really."

You nodded along, "Good. That makes two of us." His head snapped up at your comments.

"What?" You just nodded again.

"He's pathetic, it's... like, I know we shouldn't judge people, but God..."

Joel's eyebrows scrunched in confusion, "Then why were you laughing so much with him?"

"Because I wanted him to like me."

"Why's that so important to you?"

"Because of Sarah!" You explained, "She really likes him, and I want to leave a good impression on him because I don't want him to maybe treat her differently or whatever just because I wasn't nice to him. I- what, did you think I was flirting with him?"

The oldest Miller stayed quiet. Sometimes no answer is also an answer. And this time it was answer enough for you.

"Joel!" You whined out.

"What?" He looked up at you as you took a step back. "Look at you. You tryna tell me he wouldn't be tryin' something on a beautiful woman like you. You deserve someone like him!"

"Someone like him?"

"Someone young. And good-looking. And Jesus, I don't even wanna know what else," he threw his right hand up in frustration.

"Joel..."

"Look," he stopped you. "I understand it, okay? I don't believe you'd do something like that," he assured you before pointing to his head, "But the guys up here don't get it."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, slightly concerned, "What?"

He shook his head with a groan, "I don't know..." Joel just couldn't find the right words. He would never accuse you of cheating or leaving him just like that, he got that. But... there was just something...

For a second, the two of you decided to stay silent. But you couldn't bear watching your boyfriend, your life partner, on the bed, sitting in frustration.

"Joel," you started again, taking that one step closer to be in between his legs again, making him look up. "Why would I want a dude in his early twenties that works at a gym just so he can use their stuff for free and brags about having a lonely huge ass apartment, and the only reason he's the coach of a girl's soccer team is because his dad forces him to, otherwise he'd stop paying his rent."

Joel glanced at you bedazzled. Gazing up at you as you returned to raking your fingers through his hair while his hands held onto your outer thighs.

"What?"

You nodded, your lips pressed into a tight line. "That's Ben Miller."

Another wave of silence washed over the two of you before you decided to go one step further.

"Why would I want someone like that when I have a trustful man that is mature, incredibly handsome, one of the funniest people I've ever met, who makes me feel like I might truly be the most beautiful woman he has ever seen." You lowered yourself, placing a knee on each side of him to take a seat in his lap, your fingers never leaving his dark curls. "Who is the most amazing father to a wonderful little girl, has a good job, a house, a well-planned future, who knows how to treat women with respect, who I know would never hurt me in any way," you had started to lock eye with him, "who loves me for me and who makes me the happiest I've ever been." Joel's fingers were digging into the flesh of your ass, making you lean forward just a slight bit more. "Why would I ever want to have someone else?" You let your right pointer finger slowly run over the side of his face. "I couldn't care less about Ben or any other guy like that. They're all the same," you rolled your eyes, making him chuckle. "I love you. And only you. And they can look at me all they want, I only care about one man." You finished your speech before leaning in to place a kiss on his lips that have already been screaming for you. The plan for it to only be a quick peck was quickly thrown out the window when Joel's grip on you tightened, pulling you in as close as he possibly could.

You separated with heavy breaths from both of you.

Joel let go of your ass, his right hand sliding up your back, just a bit. "So," he smirked, "You only wanted me for my house?" The sudden question made you giggle out loud, holding onto his shoulders as you stared into his dark brown eyes.

"Exactly," you nodded.

The oldest Miller let himself enjoy the moment just a bit more as he took in your appearance. No make-up, hair ready for bed, in one of his t-shirts with underwear covering you. Perfect. And all his.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I didn't doubt you, I really didn't. Just...," A heavy sigh fell from his lips. "There are so many young men that you could-"

"Boys," you interrupted him.

"Boys?" He chuckled.

"If they're around my age, they don't deserve the title of a man yet. And I don't need that," you made clear, following him with a smile as well.

Joel dared to look down for a second. "I just..." glancing up, to find your eyes never leaving him, your kind eyes still brightly shining right at him. "I thought about what Tommy used to say about you and his friends fitting together way better than us two-"

"And Tommy better shut his damn mouth if he knows what's good for him," your comment got a chuckle from him in return.

"And your dad wasn't all too happy about us either."

You nodded. "And my dad also cheated on my mom. Twice. You really think I'm gonna take dating advice from him?" He knew your relationship with him was... wobbly.

"I know, I know," he mumbled, his hands now rubbing up and down your body as you snaked your arms around his neck, making sure you had him close to your body.

"I only want you, Joel," you whispered, your eyes passionately interlocked with his as you leaned in for another peck. Your action made him smile, tightening his arms around you too. "And your house," you giggled against his lips. Joel couldn't hold back the chuckle as he let himself fall back into the mattress, pulling you along with him.

joel taglist: @corvusmorte @aniia-x3

pedro taglist: @leslieelainetrask

[hlficlibrary]

✤ Girl Direction ✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Fics -

1️⃣ Who Run the World? (Girls!) by dolce_piccante {M, 11k}

A femslash take on the beginning of Relief Next To Me, complete with girl!Direction, lots of tongue action, and lots of hints to the original work.

2️⃣ Tell Me This Is Paradise by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird {E, 19k}

Harry Styles has been lucky in love but unlucky in the bedroom with all of her previous boyfriends. When her best friend Niall finds out that she's never had an orgasm, she knows just what Harry needs: Louis Tomlinson. Niall sets Harry up to get sorted out.

3️⃣ that good girl faith (and a tight little skirt) by ariadne_odair {E, 43k}

“What the fuck did you do to my shampoo?” Harry shouts, brandishing the offending bottle like it’s a vial of poison. “Is this fucking mud? Did you honestly replace my shampoo with mud?” “Not just your shampoo,” Louis says calmly, then cracks up when Harry visibly pales.  

Harry and Louis are camp counsellors. They hate each other. The amount of sex they have in the camp showers probably contradicts that.

4️⃣ I love your demons (like devils can) by ariadne_odair {E, 60k}

"I am right here," she says loudly, and she can almost hear the crack when Louis' head whips around to stare at her.

"Why?" Louis asks, and Harry feels her insides shrivel up and die.

Harry didn’t plan to join the football team. She didn’t plan to sleep with the captain of the football team. She definitely didn’t plan to sleep with the closeted captain of the football team, who promptly acted as if nothing happened and left Harry a pathetic, pining mess.

5️⃣ the wheel breaks the butterfly by embodied / @crossnecklace {E, 4k}

“Out with it, Styles,” Louis groans. Harry’s suddenly regretting this whole thing, and she’s sure she’s beet red now, so she just blurts it out so fast she’s not sure if Louis even understands her right away.   “I’ve never gotten head before.”

AU. harry and louis are roommates. girls' night ends a little differently than usual.

HIDDEN GEMS:

💎 You Make Lovin' Fun by @homosociallyyours {E, 109k}

Harry is a 28 year old travel writer at a gay magazine who gets the assignment to go a lesbian cruise. She figures it's a nice chance to have some fun in the sun, but she's not expecting much else-- even if her partner and best friend are both encouraging her to hook up with someone while she's there.

When she locks eyes with a gorgeous silver fox from across the room, she starts to think she could've been wrong. There are lots of things standing in the way of anything real happening with her and Louis, but that doesn't stop them from falling for one another. True love isn't always easy, but they do make lovin' fun.

💎 That Smile and That Midnight Laugh by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright {T, 50k}

Harry’s never noticed how lovely Louis really is. Maybe it’s just that she’s usually so guarded – a little tense, a little irritated, a little put out. At least when she’s at school, and also usually when she’s around Nick, which are the only times Harry has really seen her. Until tonight. Tonight Harry’s seen her with her guard completely down. Too busy laughing and enjoying herself to remember to be prickly, maybe. She seems different.

It feels different.

A Ferris Bueller's Day Off AU that picks up right where the movie leaves off, and imagines what might happen if Ferris' girlfriend and sister become friends. And maybe something more, too.

💎 'tis the damn season by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf {E, 17k}

Harry returns to her small hometown over the holiday season and starts to think about the road not taken.

💎 bambi legs by @disgruntledkittenface {NR, 11k}

“Oh my god,” Zayn says, rolling her eyes and standing up. “You do know what this means, right?” 

“Yes?” Harry tries, looking up pathetically and hoping Zayn will take pity on her. 

“This means she doesn’t even need the fabric she buys from you every other week,” Zayn says slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “She doesn’t come here for the fabric. She comes here for you.” 

Harry works at her family’s fabric store sometimes and always sells the most interesting fabrics to Louis. Louis is the wannabe fashion designer who keeps buying fabric she doesn’t necessarily need just to find a way to talk to Harry.

💎 in my head we can love forever by @beardyboyzx {E, 1k}

It's official: this is creepy. She's creepy. It's not like anything is going to happen just because Louis is a lesbian too. Harry's got to stop touching herself while thinking about her roommate.

Except that she can't.

Or: Harry might be a bit in love with her roommate.

[desiderio-dixon]

Darkest Before the Dawn

Chapter 7 : I'd Rather Go Blind

Pairing : Daryl Dixon x f!reader (endgame), (unrequited) Glenn Rhee x f!reader

Series summary : When Glenn Rhee comes into your life, you become convinced he's a guardian angel sent by your late best friend. You think he's your soulmate. But then he falls for the farmer's daughter, and you find that your own angel may be a little more blatant than expected; wings and all.

Chapter summary : Leaving the CDC in the rearview mirror, the group faces further obstacles: A misunderstanding arises between the reader and Daryl, Sophia goes missing, tensions build between reader and Shane, Carl gets shot, and Glenn begins the heartbreak saga.

Chapter warnings : uhhh jealousy, heartbreak, misunderstandings, illusions to sex, shane being a creep, sophia goes missing, grief, lmk if I missed anything! <33

Word count : 2.8k

A/N : OKAY SO THIS ONE TOOK FOREVERRR I'm so sorry!! To be fair though, something super serious happened to a family member of mine so my life has just been absolute chaos the last couple weeks. BUT TRUST ME THAT I DIDNT ABANDON THIS FIC!!! Love u guys! (also there may or may not be a Dean spicy fic on the way to all those who voted yes to that poll I made hehe)

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

The next morning, you woke to a knock on your door. Groggy and hungover, you wrapped your naked body in blankets and stumbled to the door. You opened it to find Glenn, his head hung low and eyes sunken. He was equally, perhaps more, hungover. He made no effort to greet you, just groaned at you and pushed past into your room. He flopped himself down on your bed, face in the pillows. You sighed, leaving the door open and moving to sit on the bed, still only in a puddle of blankets.

"My head is gonna explode." Glenn cries out. You hum tiredly. Outside of the room you can hear everyone waking, wandering out of their rooms. Part of you wants to kick Glenn out and fall back into sleep. But you don't. You two sit quietly for a few minutes, you're certain Glenn has fallen asleep.

And then, there's a crinkle in your doorway. You look over, surprised to see Daryl. He stands, fully dressed and ready for the day, with a waterbottle clutched in his hand. He'd brought it for you, you knew that somehow. But you watched his gaze rake over your bare shoulders, and the onto the figure laid in your bed. He doesn't say anything, and neither do you. For some reason you feel like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't. He crouches down, setting the waterbottle in your doorway. And then he's turning, leaving.

The CDC is a blur after that. A blur of confusion, panic, anger. Screams and explosions. And an overwhelming loss. Jacqui died, Jenner and the sanctuary you thought you'd found went with her.

You'd never seen something explode like that. What was once there, simply wasn't anymore. No longer an impressive and futuristic building, but a mess of fire and ash. It shook everything. The ground, the air, even your insides felt like they were vibrating within you.

You weren't even sure whose car you'd piled into, simply just eager for cover, but you'd realized too late that it was Daryl's truck, and this was going to be an awkward ride. Though, neither of you said a word. Not about the drunken conversation you'd shared, or him seemingly finding you and Glenn in bed together. There's an air of shock that only silence seems appropriate for. Still, when the caravan stops due to the RV hose again, you break it. Digging into your back pocket, you produce the crumpled pack of cigarettes. "Here, I, uh, found them. Figured you'd like them." Daryl grunts, slapping his hand over yours to grab the pack. Nothing else is said, so you both climb out.

The traffic build up seems to go on forever, cars for as long as you can see. Everyone drifts off into groups to scavenge through the cars. You end up by yourself, sorting through a mini van. The sight of the empty toddler car seat brings a sense of dread washing over your body. You try to shake it off. Surely there's a chance the baby lived, just moved on to another place.

You find a box on the floor, overflowing with clothes. Winter will come quicker than you think, so you begin to rifle through, looking for anything thick and comfortable. Instead, you find a pretty dress. A sundress, with wildflowers printed all over and a dipped neckline. You're not sure that it's something you'd have worn before, but something calls you to it. It's exactly your size. Something tells you to take it, even if it's not exactly practical. So you shove it into your bag.

Then you hear Glenn's laugh, an excited and relieved laugh. You decide you need a little joy in your life, so you seek him out. There, you find him and Shane, drenching themselves with water off a truck. "You guys not gonna share?" You tease. Glenn ushers you forward to stand under a spout, then he releases the cap. You squeal at the sensation, water soaking through your clothes. Your eyes are closed, enjoying the cooling sensation when a hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you to the floor.

You smell them first, the horde of dead stumbling through the traffic jam. You roll under the truck with Glenn and Shane, making panicked eye contact with each of them back and forth. Then you hear them, groaning and shuffling. And finally, you see their feet as they move past. Most of their shoes are muddied and falling apart, ankle skin falling off the bone like good barbecue. When it's finally passed, your heart shatters.

Where you expected silence, you found the cries of a distressed mother. Carol, screaming after Sophia. You crawl out just in time to watch Rick run after her, Lori holding a sobbing Carol.

You want to pull her into a hug, hold her sorrow in your hands to take it off her shoulders. But you're soaking wet, and you're sure she doesn't need a cold on top of everything. You settle instead for a hand on her shoulder, telling her a gentle, "Rick will bring her back." You're not sure you believe it. You have faith in Rick, though you're not sure about Sophia. She's a smart girl, sweet like sugar, and you adore her. It's just that a scared adult is unpredictable, let alone a scared child. Still, you want to hope.

It's only a few minutes, maybe ten. Rick emerges from the forest and you wait with bated breath for Sophia to trail after him--but she doesn't. Carol's sob sends a lightning bolt right through your heart.

Rick gathers a few people up to go look for her: Glenn, Shane and Daryl. While they gather up their things, you stand with Glenn. You feel eyes on you, heavy in their gaze. Turning, you find who'd been staring at you. Shane. He meets your eyes, and something about it turns your stomach. His eyes are dark, and he doesn't look away. You break the eye contact yourself, looking to your shoes.

"You okay?" Glenn asks. You hum, nodding your head. But truthfully, you can't shake the feeling of unease that has washed over you.

Then, just as everyone is geared up to leave, Daryl trots up to you. He tosses something at you. You catch it, unfolding it to reveal a flannel shirt. "Cover up a bit, huh?" He says, looking at you before his eyes flick to Shane. For a moment, you're confused. Then, you look down to your shirt--your soaked, white shirt that has now turned see-through. Your ears burn with a sudden rush of blood, and you hurry to throw on the flannel he gave you. It has the sleeves cut off, because of course it does. It looks ridiculous on you, you're sure, but it works well enough.

You stand, dumbfounded for a bit while the group pushes forward. Another one of Carol's sobs throws you out of your daze.

She stands, hands covering her mouth as sobs pour openly out of it, leaning against Lori. Lori has tears of her own streaming her cheeks, but she stares coldly ahead at the treeline her husband disappeared into. Although the sight of them squeezes your chest, it's the sight behind them that hammers the final nail into your heart.

Carl, a few feet behind his mother, looking sorrowful with tears of his own silently falling, but a determination in his eyes unlike any you'd seen. You walk to him, grazing your hand over Carol's arm gently as you pass. When you reach Carl, you pull him into a hug. His arms wrap weakly around you as you crouch, and he lets out a sob into your chest. "They'll find her. And if they don't--me and you will." You whisper to him, squeezing him tight.

It's not long before Shane and Glenn return. Glenn looks solemn, which quickly gives away that their leads aren't solid. Shane barks orders immediately upon return to search and move cars. You rifle through more cars, coming up mostly empty time after time. After an hour, you produced three items. A leather jacket, thick; good for winter and to stop bites. A box of granola bars, unfortunately your least favorite flavor. And an unopened limited edition Barbie.

The Barbie came from a car with no sign of children, and given how old it is, you assume it's someone's antique. You feel better taking it, given you don't think you're stealing from a dead child. It'll be nice for Sophia, you think. It's the exact thing you'd have loved as a girl. Big, poofy white dress with black polka dots and heaps of frill. A classic red lip and a pair of cute little heels. She's absolutely fabulous. You tuck her carefully into your bag, making sure to not dent the box.

As you weave through the cars to find your next hidden treasure, you spy Lori and Shane. The tension is thick in the air as they whisper-yell back and forth to each other. It's not hard to piece together the contents, despite you not being able to hear them. Surely it's about what once was between them, and what never can be now with Rick's return. Still, the sight sends bolts of unease through your spine. Especially with the way Shane slams his fist against a cars hood, fire burning behind his dark eyes.

You enter some beat down sedan, crawling into the drivers seat and letting your head drop down to the steering wheel. 'Please let Rick and Daryl come back safe with Sophia.' You think to yourself. You're beyond anxious, chest feeling as though a pile of rocks sit in your lungs. Moving on from this stupid highway with your group intact would be the greatest gift.

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

It's almost dark now, though the humidity still weighs down the air, thick and heavy. A thin sheen of sweat collects over your skin as you sit and wait. "Oh, God. They're back." Glenn says. Your heart leaps to your throat. Rick comes first, then Daryl, then... Nothing. No Sophia. Just as quick as your heart rose, it sank to your feet like an anvil.

"You didn't find her?" Carol squeaks, sounding small like a scared child.

Rick shakes his head, guilt written in the way his lips draw tight and his eyes drop to the floor. "Her trail went cold. We'll pick it up again at first light." You knew they didn't find her, but even so, the confirmation feels like a hammer bashing into your heart.

"You can't leave my daughter out there on her own to spend the night alone in the woods." Carol cries desperately.

Daryl glances to you, then the floor. Shaking his head, he responds. "Out in the dark's no good. We'd just be trippin' over ourselves. More people get lost." You know he's right. He's smart with these things, a natural. But you also know hearing this hurts Carol. Truthfully, it hurts you too. A part of you wants to stray from the group right now, tear the forrest apart until your hands are bloodied to find Sophia and bring her home to her mother.

But Daryl's right--so you stay.

The next morning is early, sun barely up. Dew slides over the morning grass, tickling your ankles as you all trudge through the forest. The air is damp and crickets chirp around you. It reminds you of early wakings during your school days as a child. Up before the sun so you could drown your stomach with sugary cereal before the bus called your name. It's nostalgic in such a bitter way. Sophia will never get that again, whether you find her or not.

The only two that hadn't come on the search were Dale and T-dog. Dale, to fix up the RV, and T-dog to rest. He'd landed himself a nasty gash on his arm during the herds passing. You're thankful Daryl was there.

Everyone else in the group, even including little Carl were gathered around you. Daryl, Shane, and Rick mainly led the charge-- but everyone was equal in effort of looking for signs. You'd lost count already how many times you'd crouched to inspect the dirt, trying your hardest to search for small shoeprints.

The search had been null, up until you found a campsite. Carol had called out, and you all held your breath in anticipation. When nothing came, Daryl investigated. Nothing but a man who'd been dead for a long while.

Now, you stare at Daryl. He's disappointed, maybe even frustrated. You guess he must feel pressure, feel that it's on him to do the tracking and finding. Your feet seem to move on their own, stalking towards him on shaky feet. He doesn't notice you coming, doesn't look up from his boots. But still, you reach a hand out, just mere moments away from touching his bare bicep--until the bells ring.

You freeze, catching Daryl's eyes immediately as he shoots up. And then, as if reality had snapped back into motion, you all run.

The church is a grim scene, the pews loaded with rotting corpses, staring lifelessly at the cross. When you swing the doors, they groan, turning and shuffling loudly across the wooden floors. The smell is overpowering. The air is thick with rot, moist and sickening.

It's fitting. Fitting to the soulless feeling of tearing through walker after walker, only to at the end be met with nothing but a pile of corpses; no Sophia in sight. Carol prays in front of the statue of Jesus, and you can't judge her for turning to faith in a time like this, but something about it turns your stomach.

How could a God allow a mother to be without her child? Suddenly, the air in the church feels like it's no longer air at all. You feel suffocated. You rush out, hand covering your mouth as a nauseous feeling rises. Falling to your knees in the grass, you huff breath after breath of fresh air. When will the constant loss end?

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

It's only a couple hours later when you're trudging through the forest, chatting with Glenn absentmindedly as Daryl leads your group back to the highway. And then, like a flash of lightning, a woman appears. The heavy thudding of her horse's hooves matches the rapid beating of your heart, and then she's yelling. Yelling that Carl has been shot. Then, you feel as if your heart stops at the same time the horse skids to a halt. He's stable, she says, but it's still a weight you're not sure you can handle.

You want to cry, to collapse, to give up. You want to curl into someone and share in your sorrow. When you turn to Glenn, your stomach swirls in sickness at his expression. Well, perhaps not the expression alone, but that the expression isn't being sent to you.

There, frozen in place, he stands. Awestruck eyes gazing up at the woman on the horse, jaw open. Your eyes fly between the two of them, time moving in slow motion. You can't even blame him. She's beautiful. Big, green eyes wide in urgency, tan skin slick with sweat, shining in the sunlight.

You can't blame him--but it hurts so bad.

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

⤿Taglist (Open)

@celtic-crossbow @scudslut @itwasntaphasema @ryoujoking @i-wear-wet-socks313 @daryldixmedown @duffmckagansbandana @secretsicanthideanymore

[ominus-potato]

Hi, just wanted some advice about fanfics on ao3, how do you write them? and how can I make my one shot fic impactful for the readers. I'm planning on making a fic but since it's my first time making I kinda don't know where to start.. It's fine if you don't know though! just thought of asking cause you're writing's really good imo.

Sneak peak of the next part of the Pining Mario series at the end!

Well when I write, I don’t do it on AO3. I draft my work on Wattpad and then cross-post it to AO3. This is because AO3 is a bit more complicated, can be dodgy with saving works and only work when I have Wi-Fi. With Wattpad, I can write offline which is very helpful. Some people also draft on google docs so there’s that as well.

In terms of ACTUAL writing, there are two ways to leave an impression on the reader. There’s the way liked with angst, pain and maybe a bit of comfort; and there’s the way of making a story so sickeningly sweet that the reader is gushing over every cute moment. The length of the story also plays a factor. If it’s under 4000 I’d recommend avoiding angst bc you don’t have much time to set it up and at it off effectively.

Personally, I pretty much never write angst unless I genuinely believe it’ll make a story better. I’ve read fics before where the author will just throw in a shit ton of angst for no reason other than to make the reader feel bad for the mc and it just feels really cheap. It’s hard to do angst right and it’s really tempting to just give everyone a super fucked up backstory and make them depressed or something but imo it’s just overdone to the point of exhaustion. It can make a story depressing and no longer a fun read.

Whenever I write angst, it’s a small part of a mostly fluff-filled story. Take the pining Mario series for example. 19,000 words of silly pining hyjinx with a few small drops of angst. Then have the angst bubble over a little in Shots and Cowboys, Mario has a small breakdown since we’ve been keeping up with the story from his perspective mostly. That then allows me to forward the story and give character a new motivation.

If youre going to use angst to get an emotional reaction, you MUST have good set up and pay off. Especially if it’s a longer story. Also, you don’t have to do this, but I’d recommend against adding angst unless it’s necessary. Don’t just throw it in there Willy nilly yk?

If you wanna know how I do my stories, I really enjoy making them sweet and adorable with a little bit of drama and comedy. Like “Love is not a foreign language” where it’s just Mario and Mr Puzzles being adorable as hell for 6000 words. Then the drama comes when Puzzles reveals he can understand Mario and that only leads to more cutesy love.

A lot of it comes down to the story you’re trying to tell and how you want your reader to react. When I write a story, I want my readers to be invested in the drama and rising tensions, enjoying the little spurts of comedy here and there and ultimately, finding the main ship really cute in the end. I try to make people happy with my work bc I write the kinda stuff I would love to read! Because if I would read it, someone else definitely would.

Also, I feel like I must add that I have only ever written ship stories. If you wanted advice on stories in general with no shipping then I wouldn’t really know how to advise you on that. I love relationships between characters. Whether it’s ships or friendships. It’s my favourite part of any fandom so it’s where I specialise in my work.

Sorry I don’t really have like a plan or anything. I just keep it all in my head, know a few plot points I want to hit, and write to them. I try to get around 3-5 plot points for my longer stories and then just 1 or maybe 2 for the shorter ones. I sometimes add them as I go if I think it’ll make the story better!

For example, my plot points in Shots and Cowboys were:

•Mario tries to buy Puzzles a drink

•Mario and Mr Puzzles are interrupted by Wren and Mario is jealous

•Mario and Wren do something to fight for Puzzles’ affection (IE, play pool)

•Mario looses Puzzles to Wren, sees them kiss and is devastated.

•Mr Puzzles thinks that Mario is heartbroken over SMG4 and promises to help him move on.

Then if I get any smaller points like certain ships, lines, dynamics or interactions I wanna add I just sprinkle them in where I can.

I don’t really have much advice outside of that. I tend to just think of a scene or an idea I’d love to write and then more ideas pop up around it. It’s just one major point that gets built around. IE, Mario being jealous was the premise of SAC purely just because there were a few jealous Puzzles stories and I wanted to see if I could switch the dynamic.

Sorry for the long wall of text. I just wanna make sure it’s detailed enough for you. Just make it up as you go along and write what you wanna read. I re-read my stuff all the time because I genuinely enjoy what I write and it gives me exactly what I want. Have fun with it!

And if you’re worried about it being terrible, I’d advise you to read my old Lego Ninjago fanfiction that I wrote when I was 13. My god it was awful. But it shows development!

First story:

Latest story:

Enjoy that sneak peak of the next part of the Pining Mario series :D

[jeeyuns]

writing patterns

tagged by @exhuastedpigeon ✨

rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 8 posted fics and see if there's a pattern!

Buck's Coma vs. Real World Checklist

0.3k | rated G | multimedia art Turn over & look at the digital alarm clock. If the numbers can all be read, this is real. Try to breathe through a fully closed nose. If impossible, this is real.

morning glory

2.6k | rated E | buddie non-linear: the morning after the night before He wakes up slow as molasses trickling out of the pan. A line of warmth is searing down the length of him from the back of his neck to the ticklish points behind his knees. Buck can tell the sun is up too by the weak bands of light creeping their way over the bed and just inside his field of vision.

hope is a sword 

5.5k | rated T | whumptober 2023 prompt #5, debris, pinned down, "It's broken." The next call sounds through their radios and A shift is in the engine as one in the next minute, all jammed in like sardines with sweat trickling down their backs, grins and bellies sharp with hunger. There’s no other place in the world Eddie would rather be (aside from his couch with his son and Buck, but that’s a story for another time).

proof of concept: ach tagais 'nós na hoíche

part 1 of a series | 8.2k | rated E | eddie helps buck through a bad drop Buck’s just closed his utensil drawer as softly as it will let him, hardly gripping the edge of the kitchen counter with his other hand, when his phone chirps. The unexpectedly piercing ding of his message tone rends straight through the eardrums, making him gasp and lose his grasp on the edge of the granite.

slouching towards bethlehem to be born

ch 3/8 | 23.7k | rated M | eddie is haunted by memories that don't belong to him Awareness blows through his eardrums and he’s rudely yanked back into the ability to chronicle two of his senses. “Come on, Eddie! Eddie, hang on. Eddie–” the pleading, formless voice blooms out and begs him. 

eros 

3.1k | rated E | buddie feelings realization and a demonstration They find themselves, like any other easy, lazy night, on Eddie’s couch. Buck looks over from his usual sprawl, attention already drifting past the moody resolve of John Wick choosing violence over the death of his dog Daisy on the Diaz’s TV screen.

slip like freudian

4.5k | rated T | slightly cracky: eddie is taught a lesson by a witch After a rather sideways, unusual morning, Eddie finally makes it to the station parking lot. He’s somehow five minutes early, so he allots three whole minutes to lightly smacking his head against the steering wheel. 

how life goes on the way it does 

ch 12/12 | 39.6k | rated E | buddie & past lives movie au Ravi’s just finished collecting the last of the devices ready for the probie charging pool when a woman with a wild halo of curls strolls into the station’s engine bay. “Hi! Can I help you with anything?” he calls out to her. 

definitely love to set the scene with descriptions that i always hope can help you visualize...feel like you're plopped right in the middle of a scene with a character. also like to switch povs every time i switch fics. indivdually, i can't do multiple povs within one story though. i feel like i take my cues from screenwriting more than anything when i set out to put words on the page. this is making me hungry to blow dust off my fics again!

no pressure tagging: @kitkatpancakestack, @transboybuckley, @shitouttabuck, @eddiebabygirldiaz, @devirnis, @malewifediaz, @spagheddiediaz, @puppyboybuckley, @pirrusstuff, @cal-daisies-and-briars, @pantsaretherealheroes, @lemonzestywrites, @thewolvesof1998, @captain-hen, @rewritetheending, @athenagranted, @butchdiaz, @housewifebuck, @honestlydarkprincess, @homerforsure, @anakinfallen and anyone else who wants to! it's been an age and a half since i tagged anyone for anything. mwah! 💞