#but the rest of everything she took it way too far and even in the beginning she started it by making that comment about holly j being

[skelesnakesposts]

Ok so I ended up writing 12k words, I'll put the first chapter in here and link the ao3 bellow because I'm not gonna make people read all of that.

Chapter 1:

After what felt like an eternity, the bell finally rang, signalling the end of class. Lily had just survived the most boring math lesson of her life, and she was beyond relieved to be free. She packed her books as fast as she could while the teacher reminded everyone about the test on Friday.

She filed out with the rest of her classmates and made a beeline for her locker across the hall. As she was packing up to go home, Eve approached.

“Hey, Lily. I’m really sorry—I have to cancel again. My mom wants me home. Some family stuff came up.”

“Okay… Do you know when you’ll actually be able to work on the project? It’s due next week, and Ms. Maken will kill us if we don’t get it done. It’s like fifty percent of our final grade.”

“I know, I’m really sorry. I’m not sure when I’ll have time, but I’ll let you know as soon as I can, okay?”

“Fine. I’m going to start on my section—it’ll take a while anyway. Just send me your part whenever you get the chance. I’ll handle the formatting,��� Lily said, obviously annoyed.

“Thank you so much, Lily. You’re a lifesaver,” Eve replied with forced gratitude—her tone made it obvious she wasn’t planning to contribute much.

“I’d better go. See you Monday, Eve. Hopefully, everything’s okay with your family.”

“Thanks. See you Monday.”   Eve turned and walked away.

Not long after, Lily headed home. She had a mountain of work waiting for her and couldn’t afford to waste time. Wanting to beat the early evening darkness, she decided to take a shortcut.

The alley between the vape shop and one of the dozen nearly identical phone stores shaved several minutes off her walk. It let out just a block or two from her house—close enough to feel convenient, not far enough to feel dangerous.

At least, not usually.

Halfway down the alley, she spotted a couple of shadowy figures. She paused. Should she really walk toward them?

“Whatever,” she muttered. “It’s fine.”

It was not fine. Walking toward strangers in a sketchy alley was objectively a terrible decision.

As she got closer, the figures began arguing—loudly.

“What do you mean you lost it? You had one job!”

Lily stopped cold.   She knew that voice.   “Uncle David?”

He didn’t turn, too caught up in yelling at the stranger.

“You think I meant to? I worked my ass off to get that! You seriously think I’d just hand it over?”

Lily opened her mouth to call out again—but then she saw something that made her freeze.

Plants—real plants—were snaking up around the stranger’s neck.

She blinked.

She had to be imagining this. Where would plants even come from in the middle of a concrete alley?

Then the man collapsed.

David turned—and saw her.

His face changed instantly. Panic. Regret. Guilt.

Lily’s heart was hammering. That wasn’t just anyone. That was her uncle. And she had just watched him kill someone?

She took a step back.

“Wait! Lily, it’s not what it looks like!” David called.

“Oh really?” she snapped, eyes wide. “Because it looked like you just murdered someone.”

David raised his hands, staying where he was. “Okay, it was—kind of. But you can’t tell anyone. It’s not like they’ll believe you anyway. You’ll end up in a mental hospital, they’ll think you’re insane.”

Lily stared at him. “You’re my uncle, David. How am I supposed to process the fact that you just choked a guy with plants? What even is that?”

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” he muttered.

“You think that makes it better?” she said, her voice high and shaky. “How the hell am I supposed to act normal after this? I could still call the police and say you strangled him with a rope or something. That’d be enough to get you arrested.”

David let out a slow, tired sigh.

“Okay, but… are you really going to do all that?”

The way he said it—so calm, so certain—made her stomach twist.   And, frustratingly, he wasn’t wrong. Her brain was still catching up.

The alley was silent now, thick with tension.

After a long pause, David spoke again.

“Look, I know this is a lot. But what you saw wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“You mean the part where vines came out of nowhere and strangled a man?” she said, arms crossed. “Yeah. Not exactly the family reunion I expected.”

David nodded wearily. “Right. So, let’s start over. I’ll explain. But I have so many questions.”

“Shoot”

She narrowed her eyes. “So that thing with the vines… that was magic, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It was.”

Lily exhaled, trying to centre herself. “Okay. So magic is real. Cool. Just what I needed to round out my week.”

David gave a tired smile. “You’re handling this better than I thought.”

“Well, I haven’t passed out yet, so that’s something.”

“Yeah that’s a good sign. You said you had a lot of questions, you may as well keep going.”

“Yeah ok. How did you even know you could do magic? And what about me? Is there a chance I could do it too?”

“There’s a test for that.”

“Seriously? It’s that simple?”

“Pretty much. All we need is a piece of paper, a drop of your blood, and a basic spell.”

“That’s it?”

“You sound disappointed. We’ve got better tools these days. No full ritual required.”

She rolled her eyes. “So… when and where are we doing this? Because I want to know but I need to be home before my parents start asking questions.”

“I know a guy. He’s about ten minutes from here, and the test only takes five. I can bring you in and get the test done, but if you don’t test positive you have to forget that all of this ever happened. I’ll have you home right after. Deal?”

“Fine. Let’s go.”

and here's the link for the rest if you want to read more:

Wait, are you saying that magic is real?" "Yes." "And you can test if I have magical potential?" "Yes. It's simple: a piece of paper, a drop of your blood, and a simple spell."

[gay-dorito-dust]

‘Have you seen Bob?’ Yelena asked as she poked her head into the kitchen.

You frowned. ‘No, why?’

Yelena sighed. ‘He’s not in his room and nobody has seen him anywhere and it’s obvious he hasn’t gone out of the tower, that much is clear.’ She didn’t know how it was possible for a man like Bob to easily evade detection like he has now, she had originally hoped that you had seen him, seeing as how you and him tended to be joint at the hip from the moment you met but seeing as you haven’t Yelena found her options having become even more limited then before.

You hummed in agreement with her as you added. ‘And the tower is ridiculous with all of it’s floors, so he could literally be in any one of them and we wouldn’t know where to start. It could take us hours or even days at best and I’m not even trying to exaggerate.’ You tried to rack your own brain in hopes of coming up with an answer to lead Yelena elsewhere, and also hope that you’re acting skills were enough to fool her as you did in fact know where Bob was and weren’t planning on letting anyone know where he was just yet for a very good reason.

Yelena sighs. ‘I’ve checked over all the floors with the system and it said that he’s on this very floor, but yet when I asked where it wouldn’t tell me as if said it’s been asked specifically not to tell anyone.’ She adds and you tried not to let your facade slip as you made a face of confusion, all the while trying to discreetly hide the two mugs of steaming chamomile tea just behind you that you were fully intending to take back to your room before the blonde assassin caught a glimpse of you.

‘That’s very strange,’ you trailed off before clapping your hands together, ‘but I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for you and let you know when and if I see him, he can’t have gone far Yelena I know he wouldn’t and he knows that too.’ Yelena started at you for a while, getting a good read of you from her stance in the doorway and getting this feeling that you were hiding something from her, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was as you were acting in a way that made it seem that you were as just none the wiser as the rest of them. So she decided to give you a bit of leniency and said ‘okay’ before leaving to continue her search.

Once you heard her footsteps fade down the hall and waited even more so until they faded completely into obscurity to then grab the two mugs of tea behind you, making your way out of the kitchen and towards your bedroom with hurried steps before opening the door and smiling when you saw that Bob was where you last left him; sitting on your bed as he played with the mint coloured axolotl plush with a small smile gracing his lips.

‘What took you so long?’ He asked, setting aside the plush as he moved from your bed to take one of the mugs of tea from your hand, cupping it between his larger, sweater covered ones as he blew on it before taking a tiny sip and making a noise of content as his eyes closed briefly.

Bob had been having trouble sleeping recently and you had offered up your room to be his safe haven when he finds that he couldn’t sleep in his own room, where you’d talk about anything and everything until you both feel asleep in the others presence, this situation has happened so often that you’ve made the Tower system prevent anyone but you from knowing where he was in hopes of letting him have some privacy from the likes of Ava, John, Alexei and Yelena. You loved your team but they were a nosy and overbearing bunch that you knew would overwhelm an poor sleep deprived, nightmare riddled Bob who just wanted to shut off his mind and be allowed to sleep in peace.

‘Let’s just say your frequent nightly escapades to my room might have caused Yelena to think that you’ve been disappearing to god knows where in the tower.’ You replied as Bob looked as though he wanted to hide away in the depths of his sweater, never to be seen again as his face burned red like cherry tomatoes and his eyes showed embarrassment.

‘I knew this wasn’t going to go unnoticed sooner or later, the others are bound to catch on.’ He says as he takes another sip of the tea in hopes of its calming properties would smooth his nerves, but it did little compared to your reassuring hand on his arm and soft smile that brought him back to reality on more occasions then not.

‘It’s fine sweetheart, I’d gladly get in trouble for hoarding you away in my room so selfishly.’ You joked halfheartedly before adding in a serious tone. ‘You deserve rest and I wasn’t about to let the others hound you for wanting something so simple as sleep, you deserve it so I’m more then willing for the choice words I’ll get for lying to Yelena sooner or later,’ you squeezed his forearm, ‘but for now let’s enjoy our teas before Alexei starts singing and demanding that we all eat breakfast together okay?’

‘Okay.’ Bob says softly with a smile as you and him return to your bed, the mint coloured axolotl sitting in between you both as you had your mugs of tea in relative peace, only ever trading conversation when Bob asked about certain things within your room, with you responding by going in depth about how important they were to you. It was what you wanted in the mornings within the Watchtower, moments where you get to have Bob selfishly and he got to have a couple of hours with you before everyone else does, smiling happily as a comforting silence then followed afterwards.

Only for you and Bob to have somehow found the silence a little too comforting as you both fell asleep once more with the mint axolotl squished between you both, your mugs sat side by side on the bedside table with matching smiles upon your faces, just as the morning truly began with Alexei loudly demanding that everyone was needed in the kitchen to start your day as a family as he walked down the hallway; compelled bypassing your room without stopping to see why you and Bob were cuddled cutely and tightly together.

[anythinggoesbutme]

A Gentle Invasion

Chapter two of the White Gloves & Coal Dust series

Peacekeeper!Coriolanus Snow x Everdeen!Reader

Previous Chapters: Click Here

Warnings: Obsession disguised as affection, stalking, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, predatory undertones, mild deception

Synopsis: Coriolanus Snow deepens his quiet pursuit of her, escalating from watchful glances to carefully orchestrated encounters—until one quiet afternoon, he shows up at her doorstep with a basket of lies and good intentions.

Word Count: 2,311

The name lingers like a secret between his teeth.

Y/N.

Simple. Common, almost, like the coal dust that stained the boots of every man in District 12. But it sounded different in his mind. Sharp-edged. Delicate. Her name did not belong here, among the broken tracks and broken people.

Coriolanus Snow had heard many names in his life. Names spoken in fear, in reverence, in false warmth. But this one—hers—slipped inside his head and didn’t leave.

It was irrational. Dangerous, even. He knew that. Knew how quickly unchecked obsession curdled into weakness. He’d seen it in the Capitol, in the pathetic cling of desperate men trying to impress women far above—or beneath—them. He had sworn he’d never become them.

And yet…

He was standing behind the half-cracked slats of a boarded window in the bakery across from the market, watching her.

Again.

She wore a dress that had been mended at the hem, the color dulled from too many washings. Her hair was braided today, though a few curls had broken free, clinging to her cheeks in the wind. She held a basket, half-empty, and moved from stall to stall without looking anyone in the eye.

She didn’t know he was here.

At least, he hoped she didn’t.

After that first interaction—after she’d introduced herself with cold civility and eyes that made it very clear she wanted nothing to do with him—Coriolanus had pulled back. Not entirely. Just enough to keep her from noticing the way he lingered at the edges of her world.

He knew where she went most mornings. The path she took between the bakery and the schoolhouse. That she sometimes visited the memorial wall where her father’s name was carved into the stone—just above the sootline.

She never stayed long.

She didn’t cry.

He respected that.

Still, he could not quite explain the way his chest burned when he saw her. A flicker of defiance, of life, that made her stand apart from the rest of this bleak place.

He had no business wanting anything from her. His assignment here as Peacekeeper wasn’t permanent; it was punishment. One last test from Dr. Gaul’s twisted sense of justice. He was supposed to learn something from this place, to get his hands dirty with the people the Capitol scraped from its heel.

But she wasn’t dirt.

She was fury disguised as fragility.

And he wanted to be the one to unravel it.

Coriolanus had been clever about it so far. Never approached her twice in a row. Never walked too close behind her. But he had eyes all over District 12—other Peacekeepers who didn’t ask questions, merchants who owed him favors, children easily bribed with sugar cubes.

She’d gone to the woods last week with her brother. Stayed too long near the fence. Had come back with a scratch on her ankle and a handful of pine needles in her braid.

He knew everything.

And it wasn’t enough.

The truth he didn’t like to admit—what crawled under his skin late at night when the barracks were too quiet—was that she occupied his thoughts far more than the Capitol ever had. Far more than Tigris. Or his dying grandmother. Or anything that mattered.

She was unimportant. She should have stayed unimportant.

But Y/N Everdeen refused to fade.

And it was starting to get to him.

“Sir?” One of the junior Peacekeepers appeared in the corner of the bakery. He was a blocky boy from Two—thick accent, thinner brain. “A patrol’s been requested by the coal foreman. Miners started grumbling again about the curfew extension.”

Coriolanus didn’t look away from the window.

“Tell him I’m indisposed. I’ll handle it later.”

The other boy hesitated. “Should I tell him why?”

Snow turned, finally. His face was a mask of calm—composure forged in Capitol silver and sharpened by war. His tone dropped low. “No. You should not.”

The Peacekeeper paled and nodded, vanishing with the efficiency of someone who’d just seen a glimpse of what made Snow dangerous.

Coriolanus turned back toward the window. But she was gone.

Vanished into the mist of late afternoon, her shadow erased like chalk beneath a careless boot.

His jaw clenched.

Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow he’d find her again.

But this time, it wouldn’t just be observation.

He’d speak to her again.

He could be patient. Gentle. Charming.

It was, after all, a gentle invasion.

And she wouldn’t even see it coming.

⸻

She wasn’t supposed to be there.

The rain had started falling in wide, heavy sheets just after noon, scattering most of the market crowd. The stalls closed early. Mothers tugged children home by the hand. Even the Peacekeepers pulled back, lingering only under doorframes and tin awnings. No one stayed in the square when the skies opened like this—except her.

He recognized her coat first.

The same worn thing she always wore in early spring, patched with a different shade of green at the elbows. It clung to her like ivy, damp and shapeless, and yet Coriolanus found himself still. Watching.

She was standing at the edge of the bakery, alone, hair soaked, lashes dripping. The braids she usually wore had unraveled into tangled curls, now sticking to her neck and temples. Her boots were muddy. Her hands, clenched at her sides, red from the cold.

Coriolanus watched from beneath a dark wooden overhang, arms crossed behind his back, half-shielded in shadow. The rain created a curtain between them—visible but unreachable. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

And then she turned.

Her gaze swept across the square, not searching—just tracking movement like someone who’d learned to stay alert out of necessity, not instinct. Her eyes paused on him. Just briefly.

Not long enough to recognize.

But enough to register.

He stepped forward.

She stiffened.

He kept walking.

She stood her ground.

They met in the middle of the square where the stone dipped slightly and rainwater pooled at their boots. Her expression didn’t change. Not when she looked up at him. Not when he spoke.

“You’ll catch a fever standing in the rain like this.”

Her voice was flat. “Don’t care.”

“You should.”

Her jaw tensed. “Why do you?”

Coriolanus let the silence stretch. Most girls would’ve softened under his gaze, cracked under the smoothness of his voice or the sharp cut of his uniform. But not her. She looked at him like he was the storm.

“I remember your name,” he said finally. “Y/N, wasn’t it?”

She didn’t nod. Didn’t confirm it. “That doesn’t mean I want to talk to you.”

“I gathered,” he said, smiling like the rain didn’t soak through his sleeves. “Still, I thought it’d be impolite not to say hello.”

She looked away.

Rain dripped from her lashes, tracing her cheekbones like silver.

“I know who you are,” she said after a long pause. “I know what you all are.”

Coriolanus tilted his head slightly. “Peacekeepers?”

“Killers,” she corrected. “Thieves in gray armor.”

There it was—that fire. It lived in her voice, quiet but jagged. He shouldn’t have liked the way it sounded. But he did.

“My father,” she added, her eyes cutting to his face. “He died because one of you got trigger-happy outside the mine gates. He wasn’t even armed.”

“I know,” he said.

She blinked. Once.

“I mean,” he continued, smoothly, “I read the reports. It happened before I was assigned here, but… his name was Burrow Everdeen, wasn’t it?”

She didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry,” he added, voice soft. “You have every right to be angry.”

Her laugh was bitter. “Don’t pretend you care.”

“I don’t pretend,” he said. “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be out here speaking to you.”

“Why are you?” she asked, finally meeting his gaze again.

And for a moment, just one moment, Coriolanus felt the urge to tell her the truth. To confess how long he’d watched her. How often he thought about the girl with her chin held high and her boots soaked through. How deeply he hated seeing her look so cold, so tired, so alone.

But he didn’t.

“I like to know the people who matter,” he said instead.

“I don’t matter.”

“You do to me.”

The moment snapped like a wire. Her eyes narrowed.

“I want nothing from you,” she said.

“But I wonder,” Coriolanus replied softly, “what would you do if I offered something anyway?”

She didn’t respond.

Didn’t move.

And for a breathless second, they simply stood in the downpour. The only two figures in a ghost town of wet cobblestone and flickering lamps.

Then she turned.

Didn’t say goodbye.

Didn’t look back.

And Coriolanus let her go—only because he knew she’d linger in his thoughts far longer than this rain ever would.

⸻

It had rained again that morning.

The trees outside the Everdeen home still wept quietly, heavy droplets rolling off leaves and tapping against the wood-framed windows. District 12 was sluggish after weather like that—the streets too muddy, the mines delayed, the air thick with the scent of ash and damp bark.

Coriolanus didn’t mind.

He walked in silence down the narrow hill path, a basket slung in one gloved hand, his boots carefully sidestepping the deepest grooves of mud. His breath curled white in the late afternoon chill. By the time the house came into view—small, sloped roof, smoke spiraling thinly from the chimney—he had rehearsed what he’d say three different ways.

The rations weren’t supposed to come here.

They were meant for an older woman on the outskirts of town—a widow, half-blind, who’d already missed the collection window twice. Coriolanus had volunteered to deliver them. It hadn’t been questioned. Most of the Peacekeepers hated domestic errands.

He simply changed the address.

Swapped one slip of paper for another in the barracks filing cabinet.

And now he stood at the Everdeen front door, exhaling once before knocking gently with the back of his knuckles.

It didn’t take long.

The woman who answered wasn’t her.

She was older, but still youthful around the eyes, her gray-streaked braid tossed over one shoulder. Her hands were damp from dough—wiping them quickly on the apron tied around her waist. And when she opened the door and found him standing there, dressed crisp and clean in his gray uniform, basket in hand, she blinked in surprise.

“Oh,” she said, caught off guard. “Is there… is something wrong?”

“No, ma’am,” Coriolanus replied with a warmth he’d perfected. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

He lifted the basket ever so slightly.

“I’m here with a ration delivery. Just a small one.”

She furrowed her brow, glancing from him to the basket. “We didn’t request one.”

“No,” he said easily. “But there was a surplus this week—dry goods mostly. My captain thought your family could make good use of them.”

That was a lie. Every word of it.

But it was a kind-sounding lie, and kind-sounding lies could open doors faster than truth ever would.

“Oh,” she said again, hesitating now with a hand on the frame. “Well, that’s very… kind of him.”

She stepped back, motioning for him to come inside. “Would you like to set it down in the kitchen?”

“If that’s alright.”

The Everdeen home was modest—two rooms wide, wood-walled and warm with firelight. A pot simmered low on the hearth, filling the air with the scent of root vegetables and broth. The floor creaked beneath his boots. From somewhere deeper in the house, he thought he heard the sound of boots being kicked off—hers?

The thought spurred something in him. A flicker of anticipation beneath his ribs.

He placed the basket gently on the kitchen table. Inside: dried lentils, a block of cheese, a tin of oil, even a sealed jar of syrup he’d bartered for from a merchant outside the district lines. It was generous. Suspiciously so.

“Please thank your captain for us,” her mother said, sounding a little flustered now, smoothing her apron. “We weren’t expecting anything, and… well, Burdock’s been taking extra shifts lately. It’ll help.”

Burdock. The older brother.

That was the third time he’d heard the name in a week, always murmured with quiet respect around the district. He was stubborn, proud, fiercely protective. A threat, Coriolanus suspected. But one that could be neutralized.

“I’ll be sure to pass along your thanks,” Coriolanus said smoothly. “He’ll be glad to hear it.”

There was a pause.

Then her mother smiled—soft and tired, but genuine. “You don’t sound like the others.”

He raised a brow slightly.

“Peacekeepers,” she clarified. “Most of them don’t talk unless they’re shouting.”

“Well,” he said with a shallow laugh, “I’d like to think we’re not all bad.”

Her smile widened just a little. “I suppose not.”

“I’m Coriolanus, by the way,” he said, extending a gloved hand. “Snow.”

Her brow lifted faintly at the name, but she took his hand and shook it.

“Hazelle Everdeen.”

“I’ve seen your daughter around the square,” he said carefully, watching her face. “She carries herself differently.”

Hazelle’s smile didn’t falter, but her gaze sharpened—barely.

“She gets that from her father.”

“Of course.”

Another beat of quiet, during which Coriolanus heard the creak of a floorboard above them—movement. Slow. Careful.

Hazelle glanced toward the noise, then back to him. “Thank you again. We’ll make this last.”

He inclined his head. “It’s the least we could do.”

He didn’t overstay.

Didn’t look around.

Didn’t ask where her daughter was, even though he already knew. Her room was likely tucked above the hearth, one of the few with a window that faced the woods. He’d watched the light flicker in that pane long enough to know when she was awake.

No—he said goodbye simply, politely, and stepped back into the fading light of the day.

But the image of her mother lingered. The easy smile. The gratefulness.

It was the first seed.

And Coriolanus Snow had always been patient when it came to watering what he wanted.

[whowrotethenote]

𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚈: After a drunk round of Truth or Dare goes wrong, Nani is challenged into getting her first tattoo. The artist in question—an unmoved, cryptic, fine ass stranger. Can she take the pain? Can she take the heat? Can she take him?

𝙿𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶: Roman Reigns (Roman) x Black Fem OC (Nani)

𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂: Profanity // Slight grieving // Age gap // Smut // Depictions/descriptions of tattooing

𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃: 7.5k

Disclaimer // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist // Main Masterlist // Navigation

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮ masochism — a sexual or psychological tendency where individuals derive pleasure from being subjected to pain, suffering or humiliation 

“We gotta do a wrap around the block! We can’t park here!” Mercedes yelled to her best friend from the driver’s seat of her 2020 Jeep Wrangler. One finger pointed to the street sign that explained, no parking on weekends from eleven p.m. to two a.m. 

Nani stood on the sidewalk by her lonesome, following the path to where her friend’s finger was trained. They were right smack in the middle of the no parking zone. At twelve twenty a.m, the burnt tangerine colored streetlight cascaded over the entirety of the otherwise dark block—the humidity that only a mid-June night can usher in casting a glow of almost sweat on their skin. 

The air smelled of city fumes and that earthy smell after a mini rain shower. Evidence of such still on the pavement of the sidewalk and the street. Mercedes’s car decorated in tiny droplets of water with wet tires. 

“Just go in! We’ll be right there!” Samantha aided in the passenger seat. 

“We don’t even know if they take walk-ins!” Something of a pout adorned Nani’s square face. She stood on the side walk, separated from them—wishing either had a heart and would just tell her, “never mind, just hop back in.” 

But she knew in her heart that wasn’t happening. No way in hell did they all jump up from Sam’s room, threw on clothes and drove twenty minutes—risking a DUI amongst other things—just for them to change their minds. She knew better than that. Always the closest thing to innocent amongst them—they chose the perfect dare for the perfect girl to shake shit up.

“Sure we do! I know one of the artist! He does walk-ins all the time!” Samantha answered hanging out the window with both forearms resting on the side of the car. Her sand-colored face burned with a red hue from all the shots the trio took throughout the night. That tipsy smirk with lazy eyes just barely hanging on.

That was another reason Nani knew that what she was about to do was a grave mistake. Not one of them was sober enough to make such a permanent, stoned decision. But still, here they were, in the middle of the night, in front of Dragon’s Lair Tattoo & Piercing shop. The only building, with the exception of the smoke shop at the other corner, still lit up to invite patrons. The red neon sign glowing over the back of Nani’s small frame. 

It was supposed to be harmless fun. The night started off perfect. 

All three girls watched each other blossom on the same block since they were missing teeth and waiting for the adult ones to sprout back in. Side by side through all the major milestones—sweet sixteens, prom, losing their virginities, breakups, heartache, graduation, fall outs, family trauma and everything in between. If you saw one, the other two were on their way. And if you saw two, the other one wasn’t too far behind. 

What started as a fiesta—a ceremony to commemorate completing junior year without a scratch, a baby, or an std—took a sharp left turn. Sharing war stories under the purple LED lights of Sam’s bohemian style room, turned into Drunk Uno, making TikToks to whatever sounds they could find, until the roulette of their first night together landed on Truth or Dare.

Nani had racked up on too many jaw dropping truths. The liquor kicked in and carried her impulse. She chose the dare. And the next words that fell from Sam’s glossy lips had her thinking somebody slipped something into her red cup.

“I dare you…to get a tattoo…tonight!”

It seemed as if with every word, they got slower and deeper—like the sound of a chopped and screwed song. 

“He did Cedes tattoo last summer before y’all left for school, remember?” Sam asked. 

Mercedes leaned over and stretched her left arm where a red dragon saturated the caramel skin of her inner wrist. Nani didn’t need an exhibition. She had seen the tattoo a thousand times before. Merecedes last fuck you to her unrealistically religious and problematic mother, before packing it up and hauling back down to Florida A&M for fall semester. 

While Mercedes voyaged down south, Sam stayed home in Philly opting for community college, all while Nani explored UCLA on the west-coast. All three girls connected by an invisible thread, separated for two whole semesters for three years now, and were home again for the summer and clearly losing their heads from the excitement of reuniting. 

This is not how any of them forecasted ending the night, especially Nani— but here they were. If unpredictable was a parasite, it’d be attached to the three of them. Always in the most unlikely situations just to laugh about such for the years that follow. This night was no different. 

Nani whined and stomped one foot on the pavement. “Come on, y’all! This is just cruel!”

Sam smiled wide like a Cheshire Cat, glancing back at Mercedes. “Girl, you’re the one that’s been talking about wanting a tattoo anyway! Just go and get situated at least! We’ll be right there!” The oversized tires swoosh on the wet ground as she puts the car in drive. Sam waved dainty fingers as they took off and violently turned right at the stop sign. 

The dead silence of the night creeping in as she no longer even heard the roar of her friend’s engine. She turned in place, neck craned up as the red glow blinked and welcomed her in like she stood amongst the devil’s playpen.

“Don’t be pussy,” she mumbled to herself before blowing out all the air in her chest.

The bells above the glass door dinged as she pushed to step inside. Everything was everywhere. A thrumming hip hop beat blasted from somewhere deep within the shop, some rapper with a British accent rapping lyrics aggressively—making it hard to keep up with his words. 

After twirling around like a child in a candy factory—studying the art pieces and pictures of clients— she landed on a woman dressed in all black emerging from the back. Hair darker than black if there is a such thing, with long claws for nails. 

“Hey, love.” Her voice was welcoming. Smile warm reaching her eyes with creases on either side of her mouth, that all of sudden looked like they belonged there. A contradiction to her pale  forearms covered in art, accentuated by the septum hook and darkest, thickest eyeliner she had ever seen on a woman. Something about her was still very feminine, sexy and alluring. Nani had to close her mouth, feeling her jaw go slack almost. “You need some help?” She asked. Nani then noticed the beefy accent that she missed before. Australian.

“Uh, yeah. I wanted to get a tattoo,” she answered. Working double time to appear normal and keeping her voice steady.  

“Okay. You made an appointment?” She raised a brow walking around the glass desk. In the clear display, sparkly and lively jewelry for sale along with aftercare products. 

“N-no. My friends said you do walk-ins?”

“We do.” The girl leans forward and back, trying to gauge the space. “Uh, it looks like most of our artists are busy right now. Ro!” The girl’s sudden switch in volume earned a jolt from Nani. Her nerves mimicked the audio meter of the loudest song you could think of. 

“What?” She heard a deep voice from behind after a beat. 

Turning she found a man. Twice the size of anyone in the shop. Skin tanned and glowing under the bright florescent lights. Arms cut and toned—demonstrating the discipline of daily weight training. A very visible vein running along his inner bicep. One arm covered in ink from his wrist until it disappeared under his black tee. His hair—damp, dark and thick, framing his face and stopping just at his shoulders. 

His eyes. They whispered in spells. A deep brown like burnt honey atop high cheekbones. The bottom of his face dressed in the mustache and goatee combo—two plump, pink lips in the center of it all. A touch of feminism in the throws of his hard masculine features. They made her clit jump just imagining his tip the same shade of pink. She snatched her eyes away from him, realizing she was staring with an open mouth. Heat filling her cheeks. He was easily the most beautiful man she had ever been in the same room as.

“This is…” The girl’s eyebrows rose, expecting a name. 

“—Nani,” she blurted. Her social queues completely off track. A product of the alcohol and jitters. 

“Nani,” she repeated averting her gaze back to the stone cold stranger. His gaze never landing on Nani. “Walk-in. She wants to get tatted.”

“Where?” His eyes were on the dark-haired woman, but somehow Nani knew the question was for her. She hesitated, never thinking about where she wanted the damn thing. It had to be somewhere discreet. She didn’t need the attention from family members. Behind her ear? No, she couldn’t even see it. Her hip? Her wrist?

“Um… I don’t know. My rib?”

“You don’t sound sure.” The woman’s face still plastered with a smile as she leaned her elbows  on the desk. 

“I am sure.” She nodded. 

“You heard her. Her rib.”

“Rhea it’s an hour ’til close. I don’t take walk-ins after midnight.”

Nani frowned hearing him deny her without the respect of eye contact or addressing her directly. She felt invisible. Half of her didn’t mind. She could stare at him in peace without the worry of him catching her. Like a moth to a flame she was drawn to him. She didn’t even know why. Obviously, he was beautiful. In the way that everything on him looks like it was placed there strategically. The weight of his muscles fell around him perfectly. He was just perfect. But he reeked of danger. A do not enter zone. The exact kind of man a father would do everything in his power to keep his daughter on the opposite side of the planet and detached from. Thankfully, Nani didn’t carry those problems…

“You can do one more,” she pushed. “Besides it won’t take that long. It’s small, right?” She winked in Nani’s direction.

“—right,” Nani answered catching her drift. “Not even the size of my fist.” 

He stood with all his weight in one leg, and lips in the straightest line. Both women trained on him. The events of the rest of the night in his hands as they waited for his verdict.

“Come on.”

Rhea beamed for Nani, sticking a tongue out. Nani nodded in a silent thank you, before following his towering frame to the back. He wasn’t even walking fast, but his long legs carried him to their destination faster somehow and she struggled to keep up. They passed at least five different open rooms. Two with groups in them. One, more intimate, with just the client seated with their face buried, as the artist went to work on their back. Another where a girl was preparing a bunch of needles for three different piercings to a man’s tongue. And the last one they passed was shut completely. That left one door at the very end of the hall on the left. 

He stopped and threw a hand up signaling her to enter first. The room was medium sized. A dim glow of light blanketed over it, making her wonder how he even did his job in such sketchy lighting. Pictures of his work—vibrant and intricate pieces on all shades of skin, but mostly Pe’a or Malu. His specialty. 

He had historic, cultural figurines and sculptures lined on the window sill of the furthest wall. Everything about this place, since she walked in was so in your face and blunt. Still, everything left a trail of curiosity in its wake. 

“You can put your stuff in that chair.” He nodded to a small emerald love seat in the corner by a window. 

Throwing her bag on his chair she walked along the wall where the pictures were, while he typed away on his phone. Telling the girl he promised to see after work that he wasn’t going to make it. Last minute walk-in. Truth is, Nani was an angel in disguise. He never wanted to link the girl, anyway. She was just a fuck to him. Something to do in the wee hours of the night. But she talked way too much, seeing as it wasn't her conversation that brought the two together. And he couldn’t fucking stand the smell of her cat’s litter box. So, staying at work to do what he was passionate about was the best thing that could’ve happened. He wouldn’t dare show it, though. 

He placed his phone face down and turned to find her staring at him. Hands clasped in front of her in the middle of the room looking like a lost puppy. 

What Nani perceived as him ignoring her was really him avoiding her. He saw that plump ass sitting between two wide hips the minute he rounded the corner, after being summoned by Rhea. His too cool for anything demeanor, almost breaking when she turned and her front was just as satisfying as her back. 

Doe eyes accentuated by long thick lashes. Two full pouty lips, dripping in gloss, making his dick twitch in his sweats. High cheek bones with a beauty mark resting high up on one of them. All of that beauty centered in a head full of honey blonde highlighted curls.

She was fine as fuck to him, but he could tell she was young. At twenty-six he refused to make himself susceptible to the delusions of a young girl and her heart. Love wasn’t on his radar. He was too busy falling for and perfecting his craft. 

He crossed two muscular arms, one over the other with his butt rested on the counter where he kept most of his supplies. 

“I’m Nani,” she informed.

“I’m aware. You said so out there.” She kicked herself for forgetting something that happened not even three minutes ago. “Nani,” he repeated. Her name rolling off his tongue as if it tasted good to him—like he was savoring it. “This your first time getting a tattoo?” His eyes traced her perimeter finding nothing visible. 

She nodded. “Yup.”

“I’m Roman,” he finally told her. 

“Roman…that fits you.”

He squinted. Her face, a flushed hue of red since the moment he saw her. Like she was burning up. It was hard for her to keep still. Fidgeting constantly. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Twisting her hands. 

“You been drinking, Nani?”

“Not a lot,” she lied. “Why? Is that a problem?” In her head, she silently wished he said yes and turned her away. They stood there, eyeing each other before he decided to speak again. 

“My ass.” He called her bluff immediately. “Babygirl, I can smell the tequila from over here.” He turned back to his station. “I’m not supposed to tatt you, if you’re under the influence. The alcohol—it thins your blood. Which means more blood when the needle hits. Which makes it harder to do my job.” The sound of him tossing tools and supplies around overruled the silence in the pause he took. “Might fuck up how it heals. Infections.” He shook his head. “And I don’t really have time for you or your folks coming in here tomorrow because you did something stupid while you were drunk, that you’re gonna regret tomorrow.” He faced her again with hands on his hips. “When you’re sober.”

“So—you turning me away?” For the quickest second, she envisioned the disappointment and disdain plastered on the faces of her best friends as she staggered back to the jeep with news of rejection. They’d think she was lying. “Come on. Don’t make me go back and tell my friends you told me no.” She forced a laugh. His hard exterior displaying anything but amusement. “They’ll be strolling in any minute now. They’re parking.”

His eyes traveled her silhouette again. His face still impenetrable. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking even if he had speech bubbles growing from his head. 

“Sign this.”

She took it and read quickly. Not able to focus long enough, she just hoped nothing crazy was written in black and white. Taking the pen she held the paper against the wall, turning from him to sign it.

“The air don’t work back here. You care if I take my shirt off?” Nani’s tongue went dry at the revealing of his sculpted back as he removed his shirt before she even had a chance to answer. 

One of them bitches slipped me something for sure, she thought. Every thing about tonight was unconceivable. It’s like she was observing the whole chain of events outside of her own body. Nothing about it seemed real—nothing about it felt like it was happening to her. 

He was fucking beautiful. Like God himself told the angels to lay off because he felt compelled to draw the lines and sculpt this one himself. And damn, did he take his time savoring every minute and making them count. 

Just as she thought, the tattoo spread to the vicinity of his back and broad shoulder. He was already built so hard and the tattoo was just a further testament. A story told in the language of pathways, roads and lined patterns, of a Pacific warrior. 

When she thought it couldn’t get any better, she damn near wet her pants at the sight of him shirtless and facing her. Tattoo stretching to his defined chest. Deep lines, mountains, valleys and ridges mapping different routes to his adonis line. Tiny smooth black hairs peaking over the top of his red underwear, only made visible by his black sweats hanging loosely off his hips. 

He stepped up and held his hand out. Confused at first she just stared at his big palm. Then remembering the paper in her hand, she passed it and the pen back to him.

“You wanna tell me what you want?” Dangerous words from an even more dangerous looking man. 

“I want a tattoo—”

“Obviously.”

“I wasn’t finished.” She squinted at him and folded her arms. Something of a smirk dancing on her lips at his discreet playfulness. “I want a tattoo of a sea turtle,” she told him chin up. “With tribal patterns. Maybe some waves mixed with flower patterns too? You can get creative. Do what you want.”

“Do what I want?” He challenged.

“You’re the artist. I trust you.” They sat in silence for a beat before he pushed off the counter.

“Can I trust you to do this part on your own?” He stood expressionless with a paper towel and roll of tape in one hand extended her way. She looked between the items and him. “I just need you to cover yourself.” His eyes shuffled between the outline of her nipples through her pink Skims top, and she finally understood the assignment. “Leave enough space so that I can do what I gotta do.”

“Okay.” And with that he left out of the same door they came in.

Her nipples and the dark shade of her areolas were probably only the size of a pinball. Ripping two medium sized squares, she placed one over her left nipple in the mirror to make sure nothing that didn’t need to, showed. She didn’t have a clue what enough space was for him to do his job. 

Where the hell are they? They’re the ones that pushed her to do this. Trying to simultaneously control her heartbeat and breathing, while appearing sober, was a daunting task on its own. This was the least they could do for her. 

“I think I’m good!” She yelled to him hoping he was only right outside the door. 

He stepped back in. The sound of his sneakers heavy even over the sound of the music playing from somewhere else in the shop. He walked, eyeing her B cups with the paper towel covering the most sensitive parts. Every time she thought he’d stop, he kept coming until he ended up dangerously close. Eye level to his chest she waited for him to say something as her heart picked up a dangerous pace. Doe eyes looking so innocently up at him. 

A low gasp escaped her as she felt the tape above her right nipple, being disconnected from the sensitive skin. She looked down for just a second, feeling air on her exposed breast, as he moved the tape up higher on her chest.

“Rib is one of the worst places. Straight skin. No fat or extra muscle to go through.” His eyes never left hers. A snake in the garden hypnotizing Eve. She feared consequences if she broke the trance. “I think you can take it.” He rubbed the tape to ensure it stuck, right up against the top of her nipple. Her breath got caught in her throat, trying to suppress the moan that threatened to leave her. 

He ripped the tape off her left nipple. Eyes stuck on hers still. Repeating the same motions as he did for the right side. Using his fingers to place it where he needed it, and smoothing the tape down, without a single glance at his handiwork. 

“Lay down,” he demanded. 

She sat, butt first, high up on the leather table, before laying all the way down. The weight of her breast pushing up toward her collar bones. 

She kept her eyes trained on his every move. “Just taking the hairs off,” he explained holding up a razor before shaving the space under her chest. “Vaseline.” He held it up before smearing it smoothly onto the same spot. He found it best to be transparent and explain every little step to the clients that looked like they might run for the hills. 

The sound of latex stretching and snapping caught her attention and she halfway flinched. He blew a sharp breath out of his nose to cover the amusement that threatened to leave him. “It’s just gloves, baby.” He held his covered hands up. Just breathe, she coached herself. Mercedes and Sam wouldn’t be able to control their laughter at this point. She was glad they’d miss this part. 

He flipped a button and the gun stirred up a loud buzz. She thought she might throw up right then and there. “Just relax.” He tried his best to prepare her. The shock of first connection was always the most unpredictable. His hand was warm even through the material of the latex glove as he spread her skin in preparation. Her square face immediately contorted in pain. Jaw clenched down and eyebrows pinched together.

“Mm,” she groaned. 

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

“What if I say it already is?”

He laughed inside. Stretching her skin to get a sturdier canvas. “You’re doing so good already, though,” he lied. 

“Is it supposed to burn?”

“Yeah. If you can’t take blood I wouldn’t look,” he advised feeling her head rise right near his. “I need you lying all the way back, anyway.” He nudged her head back with his knuckles. Nani was now forced to just listen to the machine responsible for her pain, and the blasting of background music. None of it was overpowering enough. The pain won. After what felt like minutes passing, she broke her silence.

“Is it almost done?”

“Nani, it's only been like two minutes.” She whimpered at his revelation. 

“How long did yours take?”

“A full day.”

“Like twenty-four hours?”

His upper lip tugged in a smirk. The first time anything nearing a smile graced his features and  the sight took her breath away. His cheek bone heightened with a flashed dimple. 

“Nah. Like fifteen with an hour break.” He swiped the blood away and repositioned his hands on her ribs. It didn’t matter that the latex separated him from her. It was useless. She could still feel him—still burned with heat. 

“Wow.” She didn’t know what to say. She was just afraid of the silence paired with the electrical buzzing of his tattoo gun, scaring her straight. “That’s a—that’s a long time.”

“That’s right. Just keep on talking to me. You’re doing good,” he encouraged. Even though every time the needle came off and went back on her, she jumped. And with every swipe as he tried to clear the canvas from the mess of blood, she flinched. 

His words. They weren’t supposed to be, but the rasp in his baritone voice accompanied by his large hands on her—made it sexual. Sounded just like the dominant men she read about in her erotica novels on Kindle. Only, he was live in the flesh in place of words etched on a screen. Finer than anything she could imagine while reading. 

“Why the turtle?” He probed noticing her grow stiff. She was swallowing the beast that was her drunken hormones and he thought she was two seconds from telling him to stop. 

“My uh…my grandmother had one just like it.”

“She’s an islander?”

“She’s Samoan—was. She was.” Nani looked in the opposite direction from where the needle punctured her flesh repeatedly. The alcohol enhancing all her emotions. Not just lust. “She passed away a few months ago.”

Roman swiped her skin again, his brown orbs piercing hers. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he told her sincerely. “You two were close?” The last thing he wanted to do was dissect her brain and get deep. Interrogation with personal questions— unlocking doors to emotions she kept hidden. But she was in desperate need of the distraction. More importantly, he needed her to relax. She was way too tense. The best way he knew how to do that, was to keep the client engaged in conversation. He’d halfway listen, only jumping in and asking another question when they grew quiet again, knowing people loved to talk about themselves.

“Closer than close.” Nani smirked remembering Momma Leya. “She raised me. I don’t know my parents,” she confessed. Her deepest lure that everyone she crossed paths with had to earn the awareness of. And she just handed it to him. 

They conversed some more—but fell back into that pit of silence covered in the machinery and music. He had to focus on the patterns and she was too drawn to the discomfort. 

She tried to focus on exactly where the pain was—the constant keen burn like he was lighting tiny little matches to her skin—but for some odd reason the pain almost felt like pleasure. Like something that hurt so good and you didn’t want it to stop. The curiosity of how far your body could go with the inflection of pain weighing on her. 

Her breathing sped up and she wondered if maybe she was just on the verge of passing out. He had already warned her that alcohol and the gun didn’t mix. 

Her gaze flickered to him. The crease in between his brow as he was so close to the underside of her exposed breast. The hotness of his breath fanning her, giving her chills even though she was blazing from the inside out like she had a fever.

He’d turn his head right, angling to get a closer look at the lines he drew. Eyes in slits. A single lock of thick wavy hair fell out the sleek forest that was the rest of his curls, and over his forehead. 

The tension in the sticky hot room was nothing if not sexual. It was so heavy and suffocating, she just knew he felt it to. Theres no way he didn’t. No way he couldn’t see the hardness of her nipple through the think fabric of the napkin.

The easy part was over. He traced the main lines and perimeter. It was time for the shading—the part where even the toughest men cracked. It wasn’t as simple as the needle traveling from just one spot, down to the other. He had to switch needles—a tighter grouping. Lower the speed and the voltage, which meant dragging the pain out. He was going over the same spot repeatedly. Up and down. Circles. 

Nani hissed quietly every time it became too much. That sensation of pain transforming to something foreign, coming back harder with every stroke of his needle. She couldn’t keep still. Her legs clamped together, trying to clam herself from the desperate need of friction. She could feel the wetness pooling. Her whole body heating up a notch a second. 

“You gotta be still, baby. Otherwise it’ll come out jacked up.” He raised a thick brow, eyes bouncing over her face before focusing back down to the turtle. “I’m trying my best to get the job done regardless—but I can only do so much.”

There was a break in the sensation. The needle hovered over her skin. Their eyes locking. “You alright?” He asked the question with his stare unwavering. Deep voice married with tenderness. Nani couldn’t take it. It's the moment when the water in a tea kettle reaches its highest point and it starts to scream. Begging for attention. Demanding relief. And she was no different. 

It's like they had a radio transmission in their heads for a split second—because as soon as she thought it, he heard it and received it. His head turned down just inches from hers, she clamped her thighs tighter. She must’ve been leaking. He could smell her. 

The muscles in his jaw danced as he grit his teeth. Eyes finding the exact spot where that familiar pungent smell was coming from. He hardened to an uncomfortable degree underneath the fabric of his sweats, noticing how tight she had her legs shut. 

The realization of it all hitting him like a city train full speed. He didn’t know what spirit had possessed him, but he didn’t counter it, as it forced him to rip the tape off her right breast. Her chocolate peak right in front of his mouth.

Sticking a flatted tongue out, his eyes were trained on hers as he rolled the hard skin over his tongue before taking it into his hot mouth. Tongue sliding over it after sucking, earning a whimper from her pretty mouth. Catching it between his teeth and pulling until it snapped back. He noticed the rise in her chest with every action. Exhilaration staged on her small features.

She likes pain. 

His tongue still dancing and doing tricks on her nipple—he watched her struggle to keep still. Gasping—mouth wide, but nothing came out except heavier pants. She craved relief of a different kind, in a different spot. Her small hand found its way under the thick elastic band and into her Skims shorts. 

“Ohh.” The moan finally broke free as rubbed that magic button. All the heat transferring down, leaving her hole clenching on nothing and aching. 

As the thought to fill herself with her fingers passed to fruition, he pulled her hand out by the wrist. Undoing the latex gloves and replacing her. His fingers slid over her clit with ease from her juices covering her.

“So fucking wet,” he mumbled. He played in it. Noises of macaroni and cheese before you bake it, violently traveling up to their ears. Sinking two thick fingers in without warning, she grabbed his wrist. Her back arching off the table. Mouth falling open even wider. Pupils blown as he stared down at her from the bridge of his nose. Studying her. “You like pain,” he uncovered to  the both of them. 

Filling her up, he curved his fingers finding that spot. Plunging in and out. The wetness spilling with every rapid thrust. Sliding all the way out, he rubbed her clit again in painfully slow but calculated circles. Nani’s waist winding like a snake to keep up with him. 

Rising up from the seat, his face hovered over hers. He wanted to kiss her—bad. Her full lips begged for his. But he knew what that came with. Kissing was too intimate in his head. It was too romantic-adjacent. He didn’t even dare collide tongues with half the women he’s laid with. 

“Roman,” she whimpered. His name spilling from her mouth like she had said it numerous times before, under the same circumstances. He wanted to free himself and fuck her into the table, until the legs gave out and they ended up on the floor. That’s what the sound of his name on her tongue did to him. Visceral. It was now him that had reached the top of his mountain.

Hooking long fingers in the waistband of her shorts, he yanked them down her legs in a flash. Her panties coming off with them. A thick glob of stringy wetness between her and the fabric of them. His mouth watered at the sight. If he hadn’t already decided before, his decision was set  in stone right then and there. She wasn’t leaving this room until he got a taste. Consequences be damned. 

He found her eyes again, like he was daring her to stop him. She wasn’t that brave. Nani had no more will or energy to fight with the promise of pleasure, even if it came cloaked in danger. She fought enough the first thirty minutes in this humid room, alone with him, with his rough hands all on her body. 

With her clothes still pooled around her ankles, he hooked his hands on the back of her knees, pushing until they were close against her chest, folding her in half. The flesh of her pussy squished together, lips neatly folded—-waiting and ready. 

He bit down hard on the back of her thigh. She hissed from that familiar burning that danced the thin line of pain and pleasure. Sucking until the light skin bruised. He made a trail of them until he came face to face with her pink, aching flesh. 

He latched onto her like velcro. Like his mouth was made for the sole purpose of connecting with her. Nani saw stars the moment his hot mouth made contact with her center. He took her swollen clit into his mouth and sucked hard. No warming up. She was already well past done. Burning up. 

Hips bucking, chasing that feeling that was already at her front door. He barely did anything and her core was wound tight and ready for release. She wouldn’t last much longer. 

Space rendered between her back and the leather bed as she arched. Hips grinding whichever way felt the best in the moment. His lips smearing into her—entire mouth aiding in the mission to make her come undone on his tongue. She didn’t have a care in the world. Her head twisted and she caught the open door that had slipped her mind like the rest of the world outside of this room. 

She hoped the volume of the music was enough to drown out her moans. If not, she didn’t care. Nothing took precendee over cumming in this moment. Even if someone had walked in, she knew she didn’t want him to stop. What she didn’t know is that he wouldn’t. Roman had been caught in this very room fucking numerous clients. Them giving head or whatever other debauchery as payment. The whole shop knew it. This was different though. Never had he ever been on the other end, not as the receiver. His heavy member pulsed harder like the blood from his heart, picturing someone walking in while he was face first in her. 

Nani grew hornier with every stroke, flick, and swipe of his warm tongue. The liquor, the rush of sin, running the risk of getting caught, the room vacant of any fresh air—it was all too much. The thrill of exposing and opening herself so intimately to this stranger. This might’ve been the single most enthralling night of her life. She cursed the moment it had to end. 

“Mmm,” he groaned. Moving with the rhythm she set, grinding on his face, letting her control the show for a bit. “That’s right. Use me. Yesss.” His hand—blood pumped veins—came up to cover her left breast. He pinched and tugged on the sensitive skin. “Fine ass.”

Pulling back a little, he admired the view. Her nub peaked out from two fat lips covered in gloss. “Pretty ass pussy,” he muttered to himself just before spitting harshly and licking the mess up before it got to the destination of her ass. He stuck a long stiff tongue inside. Fucking her with it as if it was his dick he was driving in and out of her.

“Oh my god—don’t stop. Fuck, that feels so good.” 

He needed to hang a PhD along the wall, where the rest of his accomplishments lived—because the head was brilliant. Genius. 

Nani had never felt anything like this before. His speed, the switch in tempo, the pressure—all of it was perfect. He gave her just enough to where she felt like she was on the edge, without falling completely off. Making it last. 

She was working up a sweat now. A thin sheen on her throat caught under the dim light as she threw her head back. It matched the same layer of sweat that glowed on the deep line of Roman’s rugged back. 

Those wet, gushy sounds were music to his ears. She was leaking for him. He slid his tongue through her folds and over every part of her with ease. Smearing his lips in it as it coated him like chapstick. For a man that didn’t indulge often, he was taking full advantage. Reveling in it, like a pig in dirt. She was sweet to him. Moaning and whining so prettily. Her fearlessness turned him on. The complete opposite of him. She hid in innocence while his vileness was on full display. They met in the middle somehow. Playing out each other’s mutual vices. 

“You like the way I eat at this pretty pussy. Don’t you?” He growled.

A swollen lip sunk in between her teeth. She could only moan in response to his filthy uncovering. He didn’t even need an answer. The answer was scribed in the wind of her hips into his mouth. The grip she had on his hands. The breathless pants like a bitch in heat. “Say it,” he demanded still. He got a kick out of turning girls out. Pushing them past their comfort zone and making them say and do things they wouldn’t otherwise be able to without his wicked guidance. “Say, I love the way you eat my pussy, Roman.”

In fear that he would arrest her pursuit to pleasure, she obeyed. “I love the way you eat my pussy, Roman,” she mewled. Twisting and contorting her upper body. Unable to hold still as he rewarded her obedience with lightning speed flicks of his tongue. He took her confession and shoved it in the same basket where the rest of his sexual side quests lived in his memory. 

“Doing so good,” he repeated the same praise as he had when his needle was inside of her. “I want you to come in my mouth, baby.” His cheeks hollowed in as he sucked the life out of her, ready for the explosion. No more holding back. He was ready to knock her over the cliff. “You gonna cum for me? Hm?” He questioned. Mouth still full of her. The hum of his voice sending vibrations all through her body.

Shaking her head frantically like a fiend, she held his gaze, peaking over her legs to watch him eat at her. He could’ve asked for the moon and the stars and she’d run out into the night to bring it to him. He had her in the palm of his huge hand. “Do it. Come on. I wanna see you cum all over this fucking tongue. Do it.” He spanked her left ass cheek and squeezed after the harsh sound rang loud. 

It all sent her into overdrive. All that was in her came crashing out. So powerful she had to lock her fingers with his. The flesh of his hands turning white on his tanned skin, from the pressure of her hold. Legs suspended in the air—shaking. Feet arched to a painful degree. The worst and best was done. 

Roman rose like a fallen angel—wet mustache, stroking his damp hair back and out of his face. Still bonded at the ankles, Nani swung her legs down, unbalanced. Reaching for his sweats to free the unnaturally large bulge. She yearned to see it. She just knew it had to be as pretty as he was. 

He let her get all the way there before he swatted her hand away. “Lay back down,” he instructed. She wasn’t running this show. He wanted nothing more than to buss her down right here on the table. Feel her clenching down on this thickness until he came right on that pretty pussy. 

But the bells signaling her friends entering the shop were drowned out by the noise of rap music blanketing the shop.

Rhea’s head rose from where she was buried in her phone at the front desk. “Hi, ladies.” She beamed welcoming the young girls in. “Just so you know we’re closing in about thirty-five minutes.”

“That’s cool,” Mercedes stepped up while Sam admired the collage of photos displaying the work of their artists. “We’re not getting anything. Our friend should be in here. Same height as me. A little lighter. Curly hair.”

“She was a walk-in, right?”

“Yup,” Mercedes nodded. Rhea noticed the girl’s low red eyes and unsolicited smirk. An effect of nature’s medicine. She smiled to herself and nodded to the back. 

“She’s with Roman. Last door on the left down that hall.”

“Thank you,” both girls slurred. 

They gawked in each room, moving at a sedated pace, taking slow strides until they finally reached the last door on the left. Halfway open, Sam pushed it to reveal inside.

The girls stared in horror almost at the scene in front of them. She had really fucking did it. 

“Oh my god, Nani.” Sam peaked over Roman’s shoulder seeing the near finished product with a wide grin. “We just knew you were gonna pussy out and come back to the car. We didn’t think you’d actually fucking do it.”

“What the fuck took y’all so long?” Nani’s eyebrows hiked up. 

“Well,” Mercedes started, throwing her Kurt Geiger bag to the same couch Nani had hers in. “There was no parking for like two blocks. Then when we finally found one, a little package slipped from your hoodie in the backseat.” Both girls snickered. 

“You bitches did not smoke my blunt.”

“Oh, don't worry.” Sam bit her lip. “We left some for you.” She picked up a clay figure of a man with patterns etched into his skin. Saveasi’uleo—Samoan god of the underworld.

“Please don’t touch that.” Sam flinched at his baritone voice, despite it only being an octave over a whisper. Something about the way he said it felt urgent. The fact that he knew she was touching something without looking her way, was enough to scare her into retreating. It clacked on its landing.

That was enough for both girls to just take a seat. They watched like medical students shadowing a doctor, as he shaded in the last of the tattoo for twenty minutes. 

“All done,” he announced. “You gotta be careful. A lot of friction in this area for women. No swimming for a couple weeks. Wash with non-scented soap here. No gym. We don’t want any sweat.” He ran down as many rules he could think of. His mind still in a frenzy. Hard dick tucked. He kept a firm hold on her hip as he had her stand between his spread legs to cover it in plastic wrapping. “It’s gonna itch when it’s healing, but don’t scratch it. Rhea has some stuff up front for you to put on it.” He nudged her away from him. The smell of her arousal still strong. 

The four of them made their way to the front. The shop now empty and silent. Rhea abandoned her closing task of sweeping and rounded the desk to ring the healing ointment up before looking to Roman.

“How much does she owe you?”

His eyes found Nani’s. Stoic demeanor cracking for a split second, smoldering eyes, as he rejoiced in the way she arched for him. The way she pushed into him to feed him. The curve of her breast into the stiff peak of her nipples. The way she took him with no hesitation or pushback. Begging for more when there was none left to give.

“I’ve already been paid.”

𝙰/𝙽: hey, so i came to the conclusion that as long as Biggest Fan is still in progress, i might as well just release whatever else was in progress for him. i'm not wasting my art. this was like 75% done when that big-eared bitch tried to kill me us. i didn't want it to go to waste.

this is during his NXT days. for purposes of the story let's just pretend his tattoo was finished back then.

i barely proofread. i'm tired, sorry lol

as always, if you read it or even just a portion, i am grateful. feedback is always welcomed. k, bye😘

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮ taglist // @trippinsorrows @minsingular @luvrsluxe @vynaissance @cyberdejos2

@cutttteeee @rose-bliss @skyesthebomb @li-da-savage @fearlesschimera

@fame-ass-ers @fairy-cores-world @brwnsugababe @reginawhorge01 @ilovejeyusoooo

@keyera-jackson @baybehkay @alexis2686 @destroyslonelyblog @izzythenaive

@scarlettnoir @jaded-human @juicypinksblog @magnificentbouquetmusic @partypoison00

@tribalchief2112 @emotionalhottiee @reginawhorge01 @chrissyxcx

@raya-hunter01 @annfg8 @trentybenty @rollinssection

@slvttyfied @sheswritingg @mohawkmama @piscesdashcam

@nameless-jamie @tribalchief2112 @sheaabuttaababyy @beccalynns-world @purplementalitybluebird

@transparentphantomface @godblessmeitssumma @thekittysmeow @kelbrave

@mjonthetrack @empressdede @godblessmeitssumma

banner credit — @bernardsbendystraws & @anitalenia

[primluvsbob]

in honor of thunderbolts finally releasing and the fans finally getting old avengers ffs, here’s my little take on some head canons!!

♫ — nothing’ s gonna stop us now - starship

YELENA

— i can honestly see yelena become weirdly obsessed with plants. there would be plants on every windowsill in the campus. her fav would definitely be the tiny succulents. bob would probably ask why shes so into them, and yelena would shrug, give some bland answer like, “they look nice.” but really, it’s because for once, she can hold onto something fragile in her hands and know exactly how to take care of it. something that stays. just like the thunderbolts did.

— has soft spots for animals (as we can clearly tell in thunderbolts when she took the guinea pig with her). if she finds a stray cat wandering around close to campus, she’d give them food and water for the rest of their lives. would most likely take it into the campus too.

— yelena and bob have a tradition that whenever they’re feeling down they watch baking shows together. it usually always ends in the duo trying to make some sort of bread from scratch at 2am.

— since the thunderbolts would all have their own hobbies… yelena didn’t want to be the odd one out and found peace in puzzles. not the small ones that are 100 pieces… but the ones that are 1000 pieces. she’ll sit there for hours in total silence.

BUCKY

— there’s definitely low jazz music playing all throughout the campus, and it’s all bucky’s doing. no one really complains, it becomes kind of comforting, especially when they get back from a particularly draining mission.

— the thunderbolts are the family that bucky always deserved. therefore, whenever one of them gets injured, he seems calm, but deep down, he’s already spiraling, running every worst case scenario in his head. it takes everything in him not to hover 24/7 until they’re okay again.

— he’s the teams handy man. leaky sink? squeaky door? outlet not working? he already noticed and is taking care of it.

— gets way too competitive during board game nights. like, way too serious. bob usually ends up playing mediator because the entire team is just as competitive as bucky is. who’s the final person to flip the board?? it probably switches every weekend.

BOB

— always has one of those massive stanley's in hand and is annoyingly good at reminding people to stay hydrated. "have you had water today yet?" is his catchphrase.

- legos... don't even mention the word around him unless you're prepared to lose an hour of your time. he'll tell you about the latest set he built, exactly how many pieces it had, and how long it took (with yelena as his self appointed timekeeper).

- loves survival games like minecraft, raft, and terraria, and is constantly trying to convince the rest of the team to join him. so far, the only one who's caved in is alexei. alexei definitely died in the games more than five times but bob refuses to lose hope now.

— bob calls everything with pronouns. he sees a tree? "oh, she's so pretty!" a nice car? "he's cool." a really good painting? "she's perfect." at first, the team teased him relentlessly about it but the longer they were around bob, the more it rubbed off on everyone else. now alexei's out here saying "she's a beaut!" about their new flatscreen tv, and ava casually refers to their new mission van as "she" like it's the most normal thing ever. bucky was the only one who didn't pick up on the habit, until bob caught him one day, muttering "she's good." about his motorcycle. bob hasn't let him live it down since.

AVA

— ava is always cold, which explains why she’s constantly stealing hoodies from certain people. she’s usually bundled up in blankets and scarves, especially the one alexei made for the whole team. she takes care of that scarf like it’s part of her lifeline.

— an avid coffee hater. john once accidentally handed her a cup of coffee instead of tea, and she didn’t speak to him for a full week. but, of course, he had no idea… totally.

— constantly scares people since her footsteps are basically silent. bob swears she’s doing it on purpose because it’s always him that jumps, but really… he’s just the only one jumpy enough to get caught off guard every single time.

— secretly the best at remembering birthdays and little anniversaries. she’s the reason the team always has a card or small gift ready in time. every card is picked out by her, and she’s the one making sure the whole team signs it.

ALEXEI

- gets OBSESSED with musicals after a certain someone (yelena) makes him watch wicked. is honestly convinced that he could be a broadway star... his fav musical would probably be hadestown.

— he strikes me as someone who'd be scarily good at card games. everyone's definitely convinced he's cheating.

- if you've seen alexa and katie then: remember that one episode where alexa's dad became obsessed with making the perfect brisket and stayed up hours straight just for it to be perfect for his daughter... yeah alexei would do that for yelena.

- learns how to knit over the year just so he can make the thunderbolts matching scarves to wear for the holidays. <3

JOHN

— a neat freak... if someone misses their chore of the day, even if it's barely past 6am, he's already halfway through doing it. grumbles about how "no one around here cleans up after themselves." but secretly? he kind of loves being productive. and having everything exactly the way he likes.

- hates texting. he's dry all the time, and usually is just straight to the point. his emoji rotation is limited to: 👍, 👎, 👋, and 👌

- acts like he doesn't care about team movie nights but is always the one to show up with an armful of snacks, and sits through the whole movie with minimal complaints.

— he owns exactly one hoodie. it's the perfect size, just the right amount of fluffiness, but still breathable. and somehow, it's always missing. one day yelena's wearing it, the next it's draped over bob's chair, alexei uses it as a fashion choice (wrapped around his waist), ava claims to borrow it for five minutes, bucky acts like he doesn't care but he's definitely stolen it more than once when no one's looking. john never actually brings up the situation... so, its become tradition at this point.

EXTRA:

— everytime one of the thunderbolts gets a new plushie, they always name it after someone on the team.

[caystar13star]

Pic from this post

Every time Pete hears someone refer to her as Penny Benjamin it makes him angry all over again. Her name was Penelope Mitchell, and she was his baby sister.

He remembers how happy his mother was as she danced around the house, getting larger every day it seemed like.

“You’ll have to watch out for the new baby, Petey. You’re their big brother. You can tell them everything they need to know about the world.”

She bled out two days after Penny was born. Two weeks after the men came to tell them his dad was gone.

Pete tried to stay with Penny during the service, his wide green eyes following the movements of everyone as they paid their respects. He didn’t understand the things they whispered as they turned away—traitor, turncoat, damn Mitchell.

Two people stood out to him. The first was a lady named Sandra. She was from somewhere that started with a C, but he didn’t remember the rest. She had asked him several times about their family, if they had grandparents or aunts and uncles. Petey bobbed his head up and down and told her about his Uncle Snake that flew with his daddy.

She got a sad look and asked if there was anyone else. A neighbor, a friend at school maybe? He assured her that he would be just fine, and he could take care of Penny. He had been fixing her bottles since she was born, as their mother was too weak.

Penny had a big appetite.

There was another man there. He looked familiar, and Petey was sure he had met the man at some point. He was taller than Pete’s daddy, bigger muscles too. He had a frown on his face as he stared at the Mitchell siblings, sitting quietly on a chair.

Sandra introduced the man as Lieutenant Benjamin. He had flown with Duke, and Mike, and he had earned a trip home after their infamous mission by way of the shrapnel he picked up in the firefight.

The lieutenant’s wife was enamored with Penny. She called her a beautiful little doll. Petey had to remind her that Penny was his baby. She didn’t seem to appreciate that.

The next few days were confusing. Pete was urged to pack his clothes, and a few pictures. He didn’t know where he was going, but he would take care of Penny wherever he was.

Except, when he arrived at the group home for young boys, Penny wasn’t there. Sandra explained to him that Penny had been ’dopted. Lieutenant Benjamin and his wife were going to raise her now.

They didn’t want Petey.

Pete’s first fights at the group home were because some of the other boys heard him crying about Penny. He fought back with his fists and earned a beating for it.

As Pete grew older, he never forgot about his baby sister. He clung to the one grainy photo he had of them together, taken by Sandra the day of their mother’s funeral.

It took years. Approximately fifteen of them, to be exact. Pete was finally in the Navy, flying like his father, and he was stationed at the same base as Admiral Benjamin.

No one understood his fascination with the man, and he was warned off by many that his daughter was definitely off limits. But Penny was a Mitchell as well.

She snuck out, hopped on the back of Pete’s motorcycle, and he took her back to his assigned housing, and told her where she really came from. He showed her the picture of them, and the few pictures he had of their parents. He was so proud of how beautiful his baby sister was, even if she did have the nerve to already be as tall as he was (good nutrition growing up makes all the difference). She also had braces, but Duke’s teeth were unmistakable.

When Admiral Benjamin found out about them sneaking around, he threatened them both with Pete being posted far away. Pete retaliated by sneaking her into his F-14.

Once Penny was grown and out of the Admiral’s house, she got to know her big brother better. She loved the Bradshaws, and tried her best to be there for Pete and Carole after they lost Nick.

When she married her own (worthless) sailor, she hoped Pete would settle down and stop getting transferred all over the world. She knew it bothered Ice, and she missed him as well. She wanted him to see her daughter grow up.

It took time, and both their tempers cooling some with age, but Pete and Penny would spend their remaining years watching their kids (and grandkids) grow and play.

[nemesyaaa]

feel it coming // older!rafe x daughter's bff! reader

summary : you're maybe not a good friend but at least you're a good girl.

warnings : +18 content. strong age gap. smut. older man/younger girl dynamic. smoking. smut. p in v. oral (f. receiving). friend/dad betrayal. reader isn't guilty. sweet burns by cigarettes. lil fantasy. daughter's best friend trope. sir/young girl nicknames. be aware of the warning before reading.

author's note : none.

You were everything bad, the bad daughter, the bad friend, the bad girl, always needy or whimpering for everything. you were so envious of your best friend because her dad was so kind to her. that's the treatment you've been craving for and always wanted but never received. so you started to want this attention, always beingat the house of your best friend even if she was not there. knowing that rafe was divorced was also such a boost for you because you could act like his wife while no one was there. you were sweet and innocent like a flower, but also very young. the same age as his daughter. you could be her, but you were far better.

So you were at home so often, doing chores, acting sweet and caring. You took care of his laundry, you cooked his meals, you put his beers on the fridge to get them cold, you ironed and took care of his shirts, also, cleaning the house as if it were your own.

Since his ex-wife left, his daughter was somewhere with her boyfriend, you kept Rafe company. It wasn't a pity concern, but he was almost forty and he needed someone to take care of him, but more importantly, to be there for him. You were there for him, you might have done too much, but he never complained.

You were also there for his friends when he invited them over to watch the games at home, bringing new packs of beer and making sure they had enough to eat. You didn't hesitate to cook again, and when you were tired, Rafe would let you rest on his lap, ignoring his best friend's stare.

At first, Rafe wasn't really into corruption. You were fragile, sweet, and kind, so easy to manipulate and break. You were a dangerous temptation, his daughter's best friend. He hated the way your eyes were always tearful and innocent, begging not to be ignored. How was he supposed to care for you when you looked at him like that as such a nervous and little thing, so eager to satisfy and please him?

And you were so young. Literally born in the same year as his daughter. He could bet you were a virgin. How could he not corrupt you when he was already eager to teach you everything ? Was it an old man thing? The urge to teach you everything, how to kiss someone, how to pleasure yourself, how to make you feel good, how better you will be with him rather than the other guys ?

You caught him lost in thought on the front steps of the house, the perfect time to go see him. You held a beer in your hands that you had already capped and you came to sit on his lap with your favorite innocent expression.

He was smoking a cigarette, the smoke blowing over his face. You thought he was gorgeous, and it was unfair, this handsomeness as he was getting older. He was also so big; you could feel it just by sitting on his muscular legs. But also his shirts, which compressed around his muscles. And his hands, you loved playing with them, old man's hands. That was your weakness. They were strong and huge. The veins were large, but they were thicker when Rafe was groping at you.

His gaze fell on you, before he placed the burning end of his cigarette against your bare thigh. You cried out, hurt by the sudden pain of the burns.

"It hurts... really hurts!" You sniffed, as he gently mocked your pout.

"I know it hurts, baby. But It also hurts to see you wearing such vulgar clothes, because you're such an attention whore."

"So you're punishing me?"

He placed his cigarette against the inside of your thigh, watching the light quickly burning your skin. He showed you how short your skirt was by running the nicotine stick along your inner leg.

" It's not like you hate that. " he said while pressing the cigarette against the wet spot of your panties, exposing your sweet lie.

“ You like the pain. " He continued by dragging the stick against your clothed drenching folds, before slowly pushing down the burning side.

Your cooed noisily, your head turning over to the side of your shoulder. Your legs were trembling from the sensation. That was hurting but you wanted more.

" P-please..." You pleaded out, tears running down your cheeks while muffling your pain. “ S-s-stop...we can't do this outside. ”

“ Always bragging your slutty behavior and now acting ashamed about some invisible neighbors ? "

" What about your reputation ? "

" I can fuck who the fuck i want. " He said firmly, switching his place with yours to put himself between your legs.

“ But I'm very young..."

" Right ? " He carefully answered before his fingers slipped into your pussy. " Make sure they know how much then while I'm taking care of your pretty little cunt. “

Your cheeks heated. You know he was better than you at those kinds of things, his fingers were skilled enough to make you feel so good that soft moans were escaping your mouth. He was fingering you softly at the beginning, little and gentle strokes preparing your sweet core for his thicker cock. You loved everything about his hands, but damn, his fingers were insane, they knew how to please you. You can feel the huge ones brushing against the wetness of your hole, ramming back and forth until your slick hang agape everytime he was fucking you. You squirmed when the pad of his thumb played with your throbbing clit, drawing small circles, his skin rubbing gently the swollen bud, while your core was clenched hard around his fast digits.

When you were comfortable enough, his fingers took a quicker pace, speeding his movements so fast that your own hand reached without your consent against his to attempt a slower rhythm.

“ Do that again, and i will make sure all the town know what we're currently doing. ”

You removed your hand so fast and his smile widened over his lips. He was moving so rapidly inside you, the bump of his knuckle hitting you hard, squishy sounds of your pussy getting fucked brushing your ears. you should be ashamed for enjoying the feeling of your best friend’s dad stuffing your sopping core with his fingers, but also for being wet enough to hear your own arousal wetting his skin. that was such a suffocating and weird feeling. but you were fingered too dumb to bother, and it's not like you wanted him to stop. “ Stop thinking. You don't need anything to worry about. ” He said with a hoarse voice, as his thrusts got powerful.

“ You're such a bad friend, little girl. ” He murmured while pushing roughly his fingers in your insides.

“ Think you're a better person for fucking your daughter's friend ? ” You teased back, bucking your hips widely against his soaked hand. “ I never said i was a good friend, but i can be really good , sir. ”

He moved his thumb against your lips to trace the line of your mouth, and also for shushing you. Another little cry came from your eyes because of the sweet attention he gave you, so you kissed the pad of his thumb, before sucking it slowly, your tongue rolling sweetly against his skin. He watched you sucking his finger, getting him wet with saliva and spit, but also disappearing in the inside of your mouth, the gasp sound of your throat following every of your back and forth.

You were such a dangerous temptation, the one that made him lose his mind. You could break his whole world he wanted. But he was still fingering you, pumping his fingers in and out until your folded slick left soaked on his skin.

"Keep that for me," he said, placing his cigarette between your parted lips. "Careful, sweetheart. The ashes burn, but you already know that."

It was cruel to point out your pain, still slightly warm and unhealed. But before you could reply, his mouth traced the outline of your burns, tongue slid against the hot skin while placing small kisses on them, easing the suffocating pain of the heat.

"How does it feel?"

"B-better..." you cried out.

"But you're still crying. Aren't you tired of being a fucking crybaby?"

"You're the one that makes me cry!" you answered and twitched at the hold of his hand on your thigh.

"I'm the only one, yea. Keep this in that dumb mind." he corrected you before pushing his tongue between your walls.

You really had a hard time holding the cigarette between your lips while Rafe's was eating you. His breath was heavy and hot against your dripping cunt, as he was giving you fat licks, swiping all his tongue over your pussy and clit. he's pushing it deep down your core, making sure you feel him inside your walls, while gripping tightly at your hips to make you stay still. all his mouth was over you, sweet rubs from his nose against your clit while his tongue was lolling the inside of your pussy. his hand was resting in your inner thigh, as his face was literally buried against your cunt.

The swirls of his tongue against your folds was enough to make you shiver, and breath senseless. while he was eating you out, his face glistened with your own wetness, his chin coating at your arousal. the taste of your pussy was so sweet that his mouth was sticking to it. he was crazy with his licks and was making you arche widely on the chair. you felt so good, insanely good that it was impossible for you to not move your trembling legs.

The moment he was inside you, you lost it. His dick was huge. you weren't prepared for the fatness of his cock but you couldn't think about it longer because he was driving his whole length inside your cunt, running all his inches step by step on your walls. Since the day his wife left, Rafe haven't sex with someone. you were the first one after such a long time and how bad for you, because he needed to release all the frustration inside your hole. And your pussy was perfect for that, so tight and immaculate. He was the first one inside it and he made sure to leave his print. He was going back and forth, slamming his built hips against your skin. All his thrusts were insanely hard and merciless, running on your fucked core to the point of lefting you dazy.

He knows how to fuck you, because he literally dreamed about this moment since you entered the house. He wanted to fuck your little hole for so long, fisting his own throbbing dick on the bathroom while you were with his daughter on the living room, watching some stupid movies or in her room speaking about useless boys.

And as the sweetheart you always been, you always wanted to help him. With dishes, laundry, dinner, groceries and every domestic task.

But what if he needed you for more ?

And now, he had you. all for him. Squirming and moaning against his hefty body, trying to escape from his evil strokes but you couldn't. He wasn't okay with leaving you, and especially, when he has his full aching cock buried inside your soiled walls.

He was looking at you with no shame while pounding inside you. His phone buzzed on the little table. but he ignored it. All his attention was for you. And you smiled through the pleasurable pain, through the hot tears and falling ashes on your skin.

But the second after, your phone buzzed too. but you decided to ignore it too. it wasn't like you could do a single move, and you didn't want to. You knew damn well who it was, and Rafe too. But the two of you were fucking nasty on here too care.

You literally came on his dick, soaking all his driving length. It didn't take long for him to join you, and release his seeds over your pussy.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't make you pregnant. He had his own limits.

You kissed him on the mouth, making sure to have a taste of his lips before leaving. you always loved the feeling of his warm tongue against yours, and especially this time. after a long make out, his rough muscle was highly soak and limp, following the movements of yours.

“ I really want to be with you. " You confessed. "Your age gap is not that strong..."

“ Not that strong ? I’m the dad of your best friend, angel. I shouldn't be playing around with such a young thing like you . ”

“ She's not that special for making you a dad. I could do this too...if only next time, you accept to breed me…” You said playfully, biting so hard the bottom of your lip while looking at him.

" Don't be a brat. " he warned.

" Then don't force me to be. ”

“ I can't believe i fucked you few minutes ago. ”

“ Too old to trust that dick anymore huh ? ”

“ Yes, I'm old enough, sweetheart but not for your fucking mom, so if you don't want your best friend as your beloved sister, care to shut that bratty mouth of yours before I'm making sure you finally have someone to call dad in your life. Now, go take a shower.”

Sometimes, he could be so mean. And you hated it.

“I’m better than all the women you can have.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I already have such a good relationship with your daughter.”

He almost choked with his breath as he heard your answers, didn't know if you were serious with that fucking attitude.

"I swear, you're really fucked up in the mind, young girl."

“And it’s just the beginning, sir.”

“I thought you were kind of sweet and innocent but you finally showed me your true colors.”

“I just love you so much.” you admitted. “I don't want to let you go with someone else.”

“Why don’t you go around boys your age?”

“Will you let me fuck with stupid boys my age?”

"You're free to do as you want." he lied. “I’m not your man.”

“But I don’t want to be free.” you confessed. “I want to be yours, chained to you. ”

[lqveharrington]

Family Tree | D.M.

summary: Eleven years after the second wizarding war, you find yourself making lifelong decisions on platform 9¾ once more.

pairing: ex!draco malfoy x fem!reader

includes: a LONG fic, daughter’s name is melody, talks about the war, abandonment, pregnancy, implied sex, cursing, hufflepuff slander (i’m a hufflepuff, i’m sorry), Pansy being a fun aunt & friend, teddy lupin mention being the coolest second cousin, melody is a mischievous child, teddy doesn’t like his god father, cursing, mainly angst with some fluff

a/n: i love him, your honor (he was truly my first love) this took way longer than i thought it would, so sorry 🙏

Years after you fought alongside Harry Potter to defend Hogwarts and the rest of the Wizarding World from Voldemort’s wrath, you found yourself packing trunks for Hogwarts once more. However, the trunks you packed were no longer yours. They contained unhoused robes and new textbooks that weren’t marked with your doodles and annotations. The pet carrier didn’t hold your own owl, but instead your daughter’s snowy owl.

Eleven years old. It was finally time for your daughter to attend Hogwarts.

The entire morning — the entire week — she would go on about finally being able to learn the spells and charms that protected the witches and wizards from evil. Just like you.

When you held her hand tightly to enter platform 9¾, she would continue to talk about seeing all the ghosts and paintings that were mentioned in all your stories. Of course, you never told her all the adventures you endured. She didn’t need to know where the Room of Requirements was.

“—And Moaning Myrtle! Is she as annoying as you said she was? I hope she isn’t. I want to ask her so many questions about you—“

“Melody, my love, you can’t bother the ghosts all the time. Hogwarts is a school.” You run your fingers through her platinum blonde hair and smile playfully when she scrunched her nose at you. You dusted off her shoulders and tilted your head, “What?”

“But it’s a magical school, mum. Shouldn’t I be able to ask questions if I have any?” She challenged you with a raised brow, pushing your hand away and adjusting her perfect hair — much like her father. She always wanted to be absolutely flawless, even when presented in front of you.

Your heart clenched at how similar Melody was to her father. Her smile and her mannerisms were all the same. It felt like you were eleven again and meeting him for the first time. The only difference between him and Melody was her eyes. She was born with your eyes — the ones filled with so much emotion with every single look.

Glancing down at your watch, you sighed and cocked your head to the side, fixating your gaze on the train that once took you to a place where you found everything and everyone you loved. Where you found him.

“Don’t miss me too much. I’ll be back every chance I get.” Melody took your hand in hers and squeezed, noticing your far off look. Her thumb traced the silver ring you wore on your left hand. She never knew what the M stood for on your ring — she always assumed it was for her name.

“I promise I’ll send an owl every week.”

“I know you will.” You pressed a kiss to the top of her head before your eyes caught a book being dropped by a young boy — who looked an awful lot like Tonks and Remus. Shaking your head, you bent to pick the book up and handed it to your daughter. “Can you quickly run and hand this to that young man? But come straight back. I want to properly say goodbye before you leave me forever.”

Melody rolled her eyes at your antics, but nothing could hide the smile that came with it. She made swift steps over to the boy before he boarded the train, eyes widening curiously when he faced her. The boy’s hair turned a bright pink as he thanked her, a sheepish smile gracing his lips.

“Are you a Metamorphmagus?” Melody whispered in excitement and watched his hair turned an electric blue. Her grin widened, recalling what you told her a while ago. “My mum says my aunt was one!”

The boy finally took a good look at Melody, a light bulb going off in his head when he realized who he was talking to. He recognized her the Black Family tree back at 12 Grimmauld Place. He opened his mouth to ask her who she was when his friends pulled him into the train without a single glance to whoever he was talking to.

Melody furrowed her brows in confusion before huffing, perfectly styled hair whipping behind her as she left to find you before boarding the express herself. She thought all Hufflepuffs were supposed to be sweet, but these Hufflepuffs seemed to ignore her like she was nothing but an itty bitty fairy.

She hoped she wasn’t put into Hufflepuff.

“My mum was one of the hero’s at Hogwarts.” She muttered to herself and — once again — flicked a piece of her blonde hair behind her shoulder, narrowly avoiding a collision of trolleys to her left. “I’ll tell her all about this.”

Melody made a quick turn to where she last left you before slamming into someone, nearly toppling over from the sheer force. She caught the person’s arm and yanked herself back before she could fall on her arse, mentally cursing herself for not looking at her surroundings.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” She muttered and dusted herself off from invisible dust, looking up at the person only to find a man staring at her with a shocked expression. Was he really that offended by it? He was an adult and she was merely eleven.

The man blinked before shaking his head, schooling his shocked expression to one of nonchalance instead. He looked around and tilted his head at the girl standing in front of him, examining her face like she was someone he recognized before. This girl reminded him of someone he used to know. Someone he used to love dearly.

Melody pursed her lips and rocked on the heel of her Mary Jane’s, avoiding his gaze. She wasn’t exactly uncomfortable with his staring, but she wasn’t comfortable either. Just as Melody was about to excuse herself from the man, she heard your familiar voice ring out, making her visibly relax despite your tone.

“Where were you? I told you to come straight back.” You rushed over to her and ran your fingers through her hair once more, unaware of your surroundings. You were so worried she had left before saying goodbye and it absolutely haunted you.

She looked back at the blonde man behind you for a split second before tilting her head down to the floor. Melody knew that you were waiting for an answer — she just had to suck up the embarrassment.

“I was coming to find you when I knocked into that man.” She gestured behind you and held back a whine when you tilted her head to check her for any cuts and bruises.

Melody made eye contact with the same person she knocked into again and hid her face in your jumper, hating that all the attention kept going back to her. She felt scrutinized under his gaze.

“Mum.”

You sigh softly and turn your attention to the man, still carding your fingers through Melody’s hair. You kept your eyes trained on her until she relaxed, finally looking up to meet the said person when years of memories hit you like a freight train.

“I’m so sorry about Melody. She usually isn’t this distracted — Draco?”

Your throat closed up at the sight of him — Draco Malfoy.

It was your Draco. The one who promised to love you his entire life; the one who promised to never leave your side; the one who left you alone with nothing but a broken heart and an unborn daughter.

Draco swallowed thickly and looked away. He felt horrible leaving you alone all these years, but he couldn’t figure out how to explain to you why he left so abruptly. Especially when you were about to drop your daughter — his daughter — off to Hogwarts.

Everything felt so overwhelming for the small family.

The whistling of the Hogwarts' Express immediately caught Melody's ears, her eyes widening at how little time she had left with you before departing for the next few months until holiday.

“Mum, the express is going to leave soon.” Melody’s voice snapped you out of your stupor, her small hand squeezing your ringed hand — which didn’t escape Draco’s gaze.

You cupped her face with both hands, kissing her forehead. This would be the first time you would be away from her for so long and you didn’t know if you could handle the separation.

“When you have time, send me an owl right away. Include your house in the parchment, alright? Be safe and make smart decisions.“ You instructed.

“I will.” She locked a pinky around yours before wrapping her arms around your neck, breathing in your familiar scent one last time. “I love you, mum.”

“I love you too, my sweet girl.” You held her tightly and made the horrible mistake of meeting Draco’s eyes. You looked away faster than he could mark the emotion in your eyes. “Now get on that train before it leaves without you.”

Melody ran on the train and found a compartment occupied by a couple of other first years, smiling when you waved to her as the Hogwarts’ Express left platform 9¾.

“You didn’t tell me you were pregnant.” Draco spoke and pushed his hair back — the initial shock finally settling in his chest.

You sigh and turn to face him, arms crossed over your chest. Although it had been years, the warmth from his gaze still filled you and you hated it. You hated that all the love you had for him was still stored away.

“Why are you here, Draco?”

He narrowed his eyes at your deflection but answered truthfully. He might as well begin with the truth before anything else.

“I’m the auror assigned to protect the wizards and witches at this platform.” Draco responded before glancing at his watch, frowning at the time it read back. “I’ll be back—“

You put your hand up and stopped his excuses, shaking your head and frowning. Pulling out your own wand, you pointed it at his chest and glared. You would never let yourself be fooled twice.

“That’s what you’re good at doing, Draco.” You tapped your wand on his chest, your heart screaming to stop but your mind blocked out every emotion you felt for him besides pure rage. “You’re good at leaving. That’s all I know about you, and that’s all Melody will ever know about her father.”

Draco’s hands clenched by his sides but made no effort to stop you. He could tell — your eyes betraying your every emotion — that you needed to reprimand him. He could see the way you wanted to scream and shout everything you kept bottled in your mind. Every single memory you had with him building up, ready to explode with any wrong move.

“Love—“

“You have no right.” You whisper at the nickname and shake your head at him, apparating away.

Melody watched in trepidation as first years were sorted into a house after Professor McGonagall read off their names from a long roll of parchment. Each and every one of them grinning brightly at the rest of the student body when the Sorting Hat screamed their respective houses out. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long to be sorted.

After all, her mother blessed her with a last name that wouldn’t take ages to be called up.

“Bellemont, Melody!”

She beamed at the professors as she made her up onto the wooden stool, flicking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her shoulder as the Sorting Hat was placed upon her head. Melody wasn’t sure what to expect when the hat fell, but she knew she would rather move to America than be sorted in Hufflepuff like that group of boys she met at the station. They were all rude except for the Metamorphmagus she held an actual conversation with.

“A Malfoy who isn’t a Malfoy.” The Sorting Hat murmured to itself — and knowingly — Melody. “Clearly, you haven’t been raised with the pureblooded status quo. Perhaps your mother’s doing… But you have your father’s confidence and pride…”

Melody’s face twisted in confusion at the hat’s words. Who was Malfoy? Was that her father? Maybe her grandmother’s previous last name? She didn’t understand the hat, and as if it read her mind — which it could — clarified for the young witch.

“Your father was a broken soul.” The hat tutted and swished around her head like it was revisiting old memories of her parents. “Your mother wormed her way into his heart until she mended him.”

She blinked and looked over at McGonagall, who merely smiled at her. Melody pursed her lips and looked out into the crowd, hoping to find any kind of familiar face. Unfortunately, all her aunts and uncles decided to have children only a few years ago.

Melody frowned as the hat continued to make random comments about her parents, ultimately boring her from the ceremony. She wasn’t sure what the hat was going on about you and her father, but she was sure to send an owl to you soon.

“Nevertheless, your father and mother were in the same house.” The Sorting Hat commented before shouting its decision for everyone in the Great Hall to hear. “SLYTHERIN!”

Melody gave the applauding hall a tight-lipped smile as she walked over to the Slytherin table, finding an empty seat beside an enthusiastic prefect. She was ecstatic to be in the same house as her mother, of course, but now only one thing circled her mind. She didn’t feel the need to ever know about this before. You were all she ever needed. Yet the Sorting Hat planted something in her head, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Who was her father? And who is Malfoy?

“I’ve been getting the same question back from Melody in every single letter. This is starting to get ridiculous.” You throw the recent letter you received from Melody on the kitchen counter, rubbing your face in frustration. “What the hell happened at Hogwarts for her to suddenly be interested in who her father is?”

On a normal day, Melody would never pester you about who her father was. Now, it felt like you got a letter everyday about who her father was. You weren’t sure what the best move was. Either way you went, everything would change drastically.

Pansy shrugged and read the letter, raising her brows at the perfect cursive that could rival Draco’s. “Maybe it’s time you should tell her. It’s been eleven years, and she’s old enough to know about him.“

You spun the stupid Malfoy ring on your finger and huffed. “It’s not about how old she is. I just don’t want her to know that Draco essentially abandoned her. Granted, he left before I could even tell him.” You glared at the silver ring. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pull the piece of jewelry off. “Besides, she already met Draco. It’ll complicate the entire situation if I try to explain it now.”

“Wait — when did Melody meet Draco?” She furrowed her brows and sat up at the new information. Pansy squinted at your expression before gasping, nearly jumping out of her chair at the realization. “At the platform?”

“Yes.” You groan and bury your head in your hands. Even if you did want Melody to know about her father at some point, you didn’t want it to be like that. She doesn’t deserve such an abrupt change right before she hopped on the express for Hogwarts. “Melody bumped into him trying to find me.”

Pansy sighed and took your hands in hers, watching your reaction very closely. “It’s better that you tell her about Draco rather than someone else tell her. I don’t doubt you’ll make the right call about all of this, but please tell her sooner rather than later.” Pansy squeezed your hands and sent you a small smile.

You bit your bottom lip and glanced toward the moving photograph you hung on the wall. It was a picture of you, Pansy, and Blaise right before Draco’s final quidditch game. You were laughing at something Blaise said, but the photo only played that far into the memory before resetting.

Pansy caught your gaze and waved her wand over to the frame, changing the length of the moving photograph. Instead of you laughing at something Blaise said, you were pulling an unamused Draco to sit beside you for the photo.

Your heart clenched at the sight, finally giving into your daughter’s pleads.

“I’ll tell Melody when she comes home for the holidays. I don’t want her to find out via owl.” You sigh and wave your hand toward the photograph, setting it back to the way it was originally.

The photo was taunting you to look back over, but your fragile heart couldn’t take it anymore.

You could always tell yourself you wanted nothing to do with Draco, but everyone knew that you would run back if you found the perfect reason to. Maybe Melody was your perfect reason.

“Melody, wait!”

The girl turned to the sound of her name — blonde locks flawlessly following through — and her arms tightened around the textbooks she held. Out of all the people at Hogwarts, she least expected to see the boy from the train station jogging toward her. She looked behind him for his friends — if you could even call them friends — but it was just the boy. The Metamorphmagus boy.

“Yes?” She tilted her head and creased her eyebrows when his hair turned a horrid shade of green. The color made her feel uneasy, forcing her to wait until it faded back to its original state to speak. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know your — er — name.”

The boy blinked before sticking his hand out, shaking her hand profusely. “I’m Teddy Lupin. I’m so sorry about my friends back on the express months ago. They found an unoccupied compartment and wanted to claim it before someone else took it.”

Melody slowly nodded and glanced at her leather watch, frowning when she realized she was already seconds late to a study session with a couple of first years she befriended. She pursed her lips and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Was that all you needed me for? I need to study for a charms exam.”

“Well — uhm — I don’t want you to not study, but I wanted to ask you if this was you. If it’s not, it looks scarily like you and has the exact same name. Except the last name matches my uncle’s — “

Melody barely processed the rest of his rambling as Teddy pulled out a photograph of a wall she couldn’t recognize. There were bits and pieces of the wall that were burnt and faces that were skeletons rather than perfectly painted — perfectly detailed — faces. It seemed like the wall went on forever until she glanced at the very bottom right.

Melody’s breath lodged in her throat as she read the last name painted beside her legal first name. Her eyes followed the family tree branch up to find — not her mother — but her father’s face painted on the wall. Although your face wasn’t painted, your name was still written underneath one—

“Draco Malfoy.” She whispered and looked up at Teddy with a shocked expression, hands gripping the photograph in confusion.

There was the last name the Sorting Hat kept muttering.

It was the same man she met at the platform months ago. The color of his hair — and the way you acted around him — should’ve been a dead giveaway that he was indeed her father. Melody shook her head and gave Teddy back the photo, determined to understand why you chose to hide this from her for so long.

“You wouldn’t mind helping me figure the rest of this out, would you?”

The wind breezing through platform 9¾ from the Hogwarts’ Express sent your hair flying through the air and your arms tightening around yourself. You were picking Melody up for the holidays and made the awful decision to not bring a stupid coat — thinking you could get out within minutes.

Silently cursing from how cold it was, you watch the students stream out of the train until you saw the platinum blonde hair you knew belonged to your daughter. Instantly, her eyes met yours and she ran. She ran until she knocked herself into your arms, nearly toppling the both of you over.

“Hi, mum.” She murmured into your neck and pulled herself impossibly closer. She tucked her chin in your shoulder, letting herself melt in your arms. “I missed you.”

You blinked away suppressed tears and kissed the side of her head. You didn’t realize how much you missed your sweet girl until she was in your arms again. “I missed you too, my love.”

You adjusted her Slytherin scarf — proudly, you might add — around her neck before pressing a kiss in her hair. You would make the most out of the two weeks you had with her if it was the last thing you did.

The commotion of the platform left the both of you unfazed as you went to grab her trunk from the express. You shrunk the trunk before tucking it away in your pocket, sending Melody a grin when she rolled her eyes at you. But as you went to leave the platform, Melody tugged you back in place with wide eyes.

You furrowed your brows and stared at her with a confused expression, hands ready to grab your wand in case she saw something that was potentially threatening. “What—?”

“Melody!” A boy ran over to your daughter and put a hand up as he took deep breaths, hair flashing many different colors before settling on purple. “I couldn’t find you after you left the compartment.”

You tilted your head at the sudden arrival of a boy before recognizing the face. You could recognize that face anywhere. After all, he was a spitting image of Remus and Tonks.

“Mum, this is Teddy Lupin.” Melody gestured to the tall boy and pushed up on her tippy toes to look past him, a small frown tugging at her lips.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Teddy.” You shake his hand and gently pull Melody back, eyeing her suspiciously before speaking to the young boy once more. “I haven’t seen you since you were an itty bitty baby.”

Teddy felt his heart kick up at the thought of you knowing him before now. You must’ve known him from when he was a mere baby. You probably knew his parents and who his parents were.

“You knew my parents?” He breathed with eyes shimmering with interest.

“Of course, I did. Your father taught me in my third year, and I absolutely adored your mother.” You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and sighed, shaking away the thought of him being orphaned at such a young age. You would forever curse Voldemort for destroying so many families. “How are your studies going, Teddy? I heard—”

“Must we explain everything, mum?” Melody whined and interrupted your friendly demeanor. She didn’t want to stay at the platform any longer than you, but she needed to be here until he showed up, and she didn’t want to spend all that time listening to you being extra polite. It felt weird.

“Did you bring—?”

“He’s making his way over.” Teddy waved his hand in the air and rolled his eyes, slight annoyance filling them. Not because of her but because of his uncle.

He seemed to be taking his sweet time trying to find Teddy after he all but ran toward Melody the second he saw her blonde hair over crowds of reunited families. Although, he had to admit that his uncle was far better on time management than his god father. Harry Potter could save the entire wizarding world yet he still was late to all of Teddy’s milestones.

“He’s making his way through the crowds, although he was quite skeptic on why I suddenly asked him about dinner.”

You looked between the two and knitted your brows together. You knew Melody invited someone over for dinner, but you didn’t expect another person. So who was the other?

Before either of the two could speak, you interrupted with a stern tone. “Him who?”

“Ted, you can’t wander off and not tell me who we’re going to have dinner with — Oh, fuck me.” Draco caught up to his nephew, who he found standing beside the woman he loved all these years. He didn’t think running into you twice at the platform in one year would even be possible.

“Shit.” You mutter and quickly avert your eyes from staring at his disheveled figure, forcing your heart to steady itself.

Looking down at the two children, you crossed your arms and raised a brow. You couldn’t help but think the both of them planned it — and by the looks of their guilty faces — you knew you were right.

“What did you two do?”

Teddy folded before Melody could even utter a single syllable. He jabbed a finger in her direction as his hair turned a bright pink. “Melody did it.”

“Gee, thanks.” The said girl pushed his hand away from her face and met your questioning gaze. She knew she shouldn’t have surprised either of you, but she wanted the truth without you stepping on eggshells every single time. “Uhm…”

You tilted your head and waited for her to continue, feeling Draco’s looming presence right beside you. He was equally as confused by the ambush but was willing to listen to his daughter.

Melody nervously played with the ends of her hair before spilling everything, shutting her eyes tightly when she heard how selfish her plan truly was. If something horrible came out of this, it would’ve been her fault that you were upset and her father would never want to see her again.

“I just really want to know the truth! Teddy showed me the Black Family Tree a while ago and — well — I saw me on there connected to who I suppose my father is. And when I realized it was the same person we saw here, I knew I had to find a way to see him again. I want to know who my dad is, I want to really know him.”

Draco’s face twisted into surprise and looked over at Teddy for confirmation only to whip his head back to Melody.

“And your name was written underneath his, mum.”

Instinctively, you hid your left hand under your arm and bit the inside of your cheek. Though you weren’t officially married to Draco, his family signet indicated that you were promised to one another. Whether you decided to continue with the marriage or not wasn’t a controlling factor.

“You know he’s your father, what else is there to say?”

Melody peeled her eyes open and frowned. You were getting so defensive and she still didn’t know why you never told her about her father. Even Draco looked hurt by your words.

“Why did you never tell me?” She spoke softly — afraid that the only thing she’s ever known could fall apart in an instant. She loved you, but what you kept from her seemed so unfair.

“I promise I was going to tell you this week.” You matched her tone and pursed your lips when you saw her eyes swimming with sadness.

Melody shifted her attention to her father and crossed her arms, tilting her chin up with the same confidence he had at her age. “Did you come to the station on purpose?”

He swallowed thickly and shook his head, tucking his hands into his front pockets, fidgeting from habit. He hated confrontation. “No, I’m an auror stationed here when students head back to Hogwarts and come back.”

Melody looked to Teddy for confirmation — much like her father — and received a curt nod back, making her bite her lip in frustration. Neither of them was giving her the information she wanted needed. All she saw was the tension and the underlying love of two different people.

She wasn’t sure what to do. On one hand, she could press on and continue bothering them. But on the other —

“I didn’t even know your mother was pregnant.”

You perked up at the mention and glared at the blonde, eyes filled with the same anger and disappointment he saw months ago. “And whose fault is that?”

“I’m sorry that I wanted to protect you.” Draco narrowed his eyes at you, his tone challenging yours.

Melody took a small step back. This wasn’t how she planned this to go, but this was more information she received than from the last eleven years.

“You made that decision yourself.” You whispered, voice cracking with hurt. The walls you carefully built around old memories chipped away as you recalled them all — each moment flashing in your mind. “I could’ve helped, Dray. Instead, you pushed me away like I was nothing.”

Draco furrowed his brows together and shook his head — you were always so stubborn and so correct. “You could’ve gotten killed—“

“I would have died to stay with you.” You instinctively grabbed his hand. “Do you know how long I waited? How long I used to stay up — wondering if you would ever come back?” The tears began to well up as you continued to speak, voice trembling and hands shaking.

Draco quietly listened and stared down at your ringed finger, his family signet shining for all the wizarding world to see. He promised to marry you — to take you away from the mess of the past.

Yet he still left.

“I was praying to whoever was out there for you to come find me.” You quietly spoke and finally dropped his hand. “You left me with nothing.”

The both of you stared at one another with unspoken apologies. No matter how long it’s been, you could still read him and he could still read you. To one another, it was like reading a childhood book that could be recited front to back.

After seconds of stiff silence, you turned back to Melody and Teddy — handing your daughter the miniature trunk and keys to your car. “Melody, take Teddy and wait in the car.”

“Mum—“

“Now.” You cut her off and watch her and Teddy leave the platform. Steadying your breathing once more, you looked back at Draco and twisted your ring. “Do you even have anything to say?”

He looked between your eyes and ran his fingers through his hair, voice small like the seventeen year old Death Eater he once was.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke with so much emotion you swore you could see the colors surrounding him. “I’m so sorry I left without saying anything.”

A noise threatened to leave your lips, but you made no effort to leave your position nor say anything.

“But I was vowed to follow my father’s footsteps by becoming a Death Eater.” He took your hand in his and traced the familiar lines across your palm, effectively calming him and you. “Waking up beside you brought me comfort in all the torture they made me endure. I knew you didn’t deserve to suffer with me, so I left.”

Draco watched your hand delicately hover his arm where the mark was, biting his tongue when you thumbed the space below — something you used to do back in sixth year when he got so overwhelmed with his mission.

“I can’t ever take back the day I decided to leave and never show up again, but I don’t regret it.”

You silently absorbed his words and sniffled — signs that were so clear to Draco about what was to come. He tilted his head down to meet your eyes again, giving you a weak smile.

“You raised an excellent daughter without me.” He tired to cheer you up but frowned when he saw the shimmer of a singular tear streak down your face.

“I needed you.” You frustratedly wipe your tear and look away, knowing that the vulnerability of your heart was completely at stake. “Dray, I was seventeen too.”

He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought of the both of you — so young and restrained by everything.

“I was pregnant and terrified. I didn’t know if I could even raise a child on my own.” You breathed and looked up at the glass roofing, pushing the rest of the tears away. “Imagine how different our life would be if you just stayed.”

Another tear escaped and — suddenly — your barriers crumbled. The mere thought of raising Melody on your own without Draco consumed your every being. And somehow — even with just you — she ended up exactly like her father.

“Yes, Melody is amazing, but I really needed you.”

Draco caught your eyes and instantly pulled you in his arms, tucking your head under his chin — refusing to let go of you ever again. His heart continued to break at your silent sobs, each sniffle and hiccup chiseling the crack that formed years ago.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered and repeated it like a mantra, voice raw with so much sincerity. “I’m so sorry, my love. I’m sorry.”

“I needed you, Draco.” You sobbed and breathed in his familiar scent as you buried your face in his chest. You gripped the lapels of his suit, eyes squeezed shut as if you were afraid he would disappear again. “For more than eleven years, I needed you.”

“I needed you too.” Draco whispered and tilted your head up, thumbing your streaked face. His heart ached from all the time he missed out on. “I’m sorry.”

It felt like ages before you pulled away from him. The only sounds that could be heard was your occasional sniffling and the hisses of the express. You took in a shaky breath and wiped your nose with the sleeve of your jumper, mouth moving before your heart and mind could catch up.

“Would you still have dinner with us? I’m sure you’ve been here all day waiting for the arrival of the express.”

Finally listening to your own words, your freeze before slowly meeting his eyes. You were more shocked at yourself than his answer.

“I would love to have dinner with you and Melody.” He answered truthfully before waving his free hand around with the smallest smile on his face. “And Teddy.”

You match his expression and tilt your head to the right, wringing your hands together. “Maybe you could finally get to know Melody.”

Draco’s lips curled into a fully blown smile, his gray-blue eyes sparkling with delight at the idea of finally knowing his one and only daughter. “I would like that.”

“Me too.” You say softly and — for the first time in a long time — hide the rising warmth forming on your cheek.

Draco Malfoy. The biggest love and loss of your life.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[tarotsoul]

Ghost in the Wind — Part Four

SUMMARY: Struggling to get a grip on your newfound power, Azriel is the only one your magic allows close. And there’s no stopping either of you when you spend the night alone together.

WARNINGS: grieving, mentions of death, swearing, kissing, teasing, fingering, dirty talk, shadow play (hehe)

WORD COUNT: 6.7k

Series Masterlist

Lucien Vanserra knew not to question his mate when she demanded they left for Velaris immediately. Two days of travelling. He had not asked questions—had not doubted his mate’s worry and vision, not even for a moment. 

Elain saw the blast before it occurred. She felt the earth quake beneath her feet, felt the soil and life around her stand still. A power had been awoken. A power so fierce it had shook the lands of even the Day Court. 

She had known of your presence in Prythian. Feyre had sent word to her, promised it had been nothing to worry about, that Nesta had taken you away from Rafe and that you were finally safe. 

Safe. 

That feeling in her stomach promised anything but safety. Two days of travelling. Two days of no rest. And despite her seering abilities, despite the far future she had already glimpsed, nothing could have prepared her for what greeted her arrival.

While Velaris remained as beautiful as ever, as busy and bustling as it had before she and Lucien left to travel just over a year ago…there was nothing but desolation in the air. Every breath was hard to inhale, every step on cobblestones and patchy soil a struggle to walk. 

Something was very, very wrong. 

Those suspicions were confirmed the moment she stepped foot into the River House. An eerie silence settled as soon as she passed the threshold of her High Lord and Lady’s home. Lucien could sense it, too. The hairs on the back of his neck spiked the further he walked through the grand abode. 

Rhysand met them in the foyer, a grave and wanton look to his handsome features. Elain did not apologise as she pushed past him and made for her two sisters. Both stricken with tears and pure dread. Elain struggled to loose a breath, struggled to come to terms with the energy that invaded her. 

“I came as soon as I felt it.” 

Feyre met her gaze, eyes lined with grief. Elain took a step closer. “Where is she?”

Nesta sniffled, raised her head and kept her chin high. But Elain knew her sister, knew she was close to crumbling all over again. She could not speak, could not open her mouth in fear of what animalistic cry might break through. 

Feyre spoke instead. “She’s upstairs, Azriel will not leave her side.” 

Azriel, yes. Elain had seen those visions, too. 

A question rose on the tip of her tongue, one she never considered she’d ever have to ask. She felt Lucien’s presence as he neared, a comforting hand reaching to caress her arm in comfort. She melted into it, though unlike usual, he was not able to settle the dread in her chest. 

“Her heart stopped beating after the blast,” Rhysand spoke softly as he entered the room, reaching for his mate. “However, Madja believes her soul is still in her body. She thinks Y/N is still fighting, despite all else suggesting otherwise.” 

Elain blinked back her tears. It was never supposed to have gone this way. You were never supposed to have died. 

“Madja is looking into some remedies, into the history of your mothers bloodline. For now, all we can do is wait. She has taken samples of blood and hair from Nesta and Feyre, there are no magical markers that match with Y/N’s, though if you’re willing, we’d like to test yours, just to be safe.”

Elain allowed her head to dip in acceptance, though the movement was completely subconscious. This would not be the end of you. Could not be the end. Not after everything Elain had peeked in the future. 

Azriel had not left your side in two days. The moment the blast settled, he shot through the skies to reach you. He did not expect to find that stone mountain covered in soil and tulips.  He did not expect to find your cold, lifeless body collapsed above the rubble.

He had never felt such fear, such despair. And the moment you were laid in his bed, in his room at the River House, he had not left your side. Not for food, water or rest. Not for anything. 

He stayed when Madja came to assess you, when she took samples of your blood and hair, when she smoothed a salve over the marred skin of the crescent moon on your chest. He stayed when Mor came to brush your hair and paint your fingernails. He stayed when Nesta came to read to you, when Feyre laid beside you and prayed. 

He could not leave that room, could not leave your side. 

And when Madja had returned that morning, with a hopeful gleam in her eye that she may have found something to help, he still would not allow himself to hope. 

Fear crippled every ounce of his being. Fear of speaking his hopes into existence, that the mother could be cruel to deny him. So he kept his hope buried deep. So deep that his soul latched onto it and called out to you. 

The taste of your lips still lingered on his, your scent still wrapped around him. But Azriel could not bring himself to touch you, could not dare a feel of your cold skin. Your heart had stopped beating, your chest had stopped rising. 

But he would not allow the idea of your death to linger in his mind. He could feel you, somehow, somewhere. And deep in his soul, he begged for you to hold on, to use whatever power you had to come back.

A gentle knock sounded on the bedroom door, Azriel did not need to turn to know it was Elain. Though he could not scent Lucien beside her. 

She moved like a gentle breeze, every step light and hesitant. He knew how hard it had been for everyone, for your cousins. He wanted to allow Elain a moment alone with you, as he wanted with the others, but just as before, his soul would not allow his leave. 

“Hello, Elain.”

His voice, so cold and distant. It had been a long time since he had addressed her in such a tone. She bowed her head in greeting and took a seat on the other side of your bed. He didn’t watch her, neither did his shadows. Both he and those wisps of darkness fixated on your unmoving body. 

Elain reached for your hand, a breath parting from her pink lips. “She’s cold.”

Azriel closed his eyes, tried to shut out the anguish he wanted to cry. He remained in silence, so did Elain. They sat unmoving, watching you. 

Until Elain spoke again. 

“I have seen a field of tulips. Where the air is fresh and the soil is rich.” Always speaking in cryptic words, nothing ever as simple as it should be. “I have seen what lay beyond the forest. There is a promise of something stronger than I have ever felt. Something soul-binding.” 

Elain did not look at Azriel as she spoke, she did not take her eyes away from you. Uncurling your hand, she placed three seeds in your palm and then curled it shut tight, her fist caressing yours. 

“Did you know that green tulips symbolise hope and rebirth?” She turned to him then, her face void of any emotion. “Brown tulips symbolise resilience and commitment.” Her eyes wandered to Azriel’s scarred hands that sat in his lap.

He watched the middle Archeron for a moment, his mind processing the words she spoke. He watched her gaze travel to your spare hand, the one that seemed to reach for him, palm open in invitation. 

His mind screamed not to touch you, not to hurt his heart like that. But his soul. His soul ached to feel you once more. 

Against his better judgement, he allowed a shaky hand to reach yours—skin cold and lifeless as he held you again. Azriel bit back a cry, willed the tears not to fall. His shadows followed their masters lead, snaking around your fingers and wrist and up your arms. 

Elain removed her hand, her eyes fixated on your fist of seeds. It was then that she opened your palm, and right before their eyes, the seeds bloomed into tulips. One green, one brown, one white. And your chest heaved its first breath in two days. 

Time stopped, Azriel froze. 

And your eyes blinked open. 

The air kissed your skin in a way you had never experienced before. The green of the grass was more vibrant than ever, the fluttering of a robin's wings like music to your ears. The river flowed softly, a hum of a sweet lullaby that soothed your soul. 

This is what it was supposed to feel like. The power, the magic. Was this how you were destined to live? To be one with the earth and feel its life beneath your feet? 

You felt their eyes on you from feet away, felt the way they itched to approach, to hold and soothe you. Elain had been the one to keep everyone back, to allow you a moment to breathe again. 

You felt no pain, no sorrow. 

They had followed you out of the River House and toward the embankment, allowed you a moment to let your magic flow. A sweet relief, to touch the soil and watch the buds of flora bloom. 

Though, you had no control. You did not wield your power to plant in the soil, you did not ask for lily pads to perch on the gentle waters surface. You had no control, but you would. You would find a way to harness it, to wield it. 

Another breath, your final moment alone. You turned to the others, to their hopeful faces and a smile began to stretch across your lips. 

Cassian was the first one to grin, the first one to step forward to join you. But his sudden movement startled something in your gut. And a root of sharp thorns shot from the soil and dared to pierce through Cassian’s brown skin. 

He jumped back, eyes wide and your lips parted in shock. You had not meant to do that, had no thought to hurt Cassian. Your magic acted on impulse, to protect you. 

He stepped back again, hands in the air in surrender. Rhysand watched with a tilted gaze, watched when the vine of thorns sunk back into the ground. 

So your magic would not allow others to approach you uninvited. Perhaps if you approached them instead. 

Your steps were slow, cautious. You held your breath in an attempt to hold down the power that begged to course through your veins. 

You dared another look at your friends. 

“It’s okay,” Mor smiled. “Take your time.” 

Another deep breath, another step. One foot in front of the other, your teeth gritting to keep the power at bay. Three feet away from them, you took another deep breath. This time to calm your racing heart. 

“I have no control over it.” 

Rhysand offered a gentle smile. “That’s to be expected. How do you feel?” 

Your eyes flittered between them all, lingering a moment too long on Azriel before you gazed at the world around you. A tilt upturned your lips. 

“I feel like I can finally breathe. I can feel everything in the soil. It’s like the trees are whispering to me, like the birds are singing.”

You looked back to Rhys, to Feyre. “How am I even alive?” 

Feyre dared a step closer, and you willed your power to understand she would not harm you. None of them would. 

“Madja is looking into it. For now, you need to take it easy. The smallest thing could make your power spiral or act out.” She looked between her family, returning her gaze to you. 

“Perhaps it would be best if only one of us remained by your side, for now. Maybe we can test to see who your magic doesn’t see as a threat.” 

“Well clearly I’m out of the picture,” Cassian mumbled, scuffing his feet against the grass. 

You considered Feyre’s suggestion, perhaps it would be the safest way for now. One step would be enough to see if your power responded, one step enough to create distance just in case. 

“Okay, yeah let’s do that.” 

Feyre took a step first, hesitant but with a gentle and excited smile. Her emotions were palpable, you could feel the relief that you were alive, the excitement of the prospect of you having a newfound strength. 

No one could ever take advantage of you again. 

But your power did not allow Feyre another step closer. It wrapped vines around her ankles, keeping her in place. She did not move, her calmness did not falter. You pinched your eyes shut, begged and pleaded for your magic to release her. 

And after a few moments, it did. 

Feyre returned to her previous position, and Rhysand cleared his throat as he took his turn. 

Your power did not allow him closer. It did not allow Mor, or Elain. Nor Lucien or Nesta. It left only Azriel. And your heart thudded wildly in your chest. 

You met his molten gaze, and you could feel the taste of his lips on yours again. Azriel did not move to begin with, he instead sent a lone shadow to reach you slowly. 

Your magic flickered, but it did not attack. When the shadow weaved through your hair, daisies sprouted in their wake. You didn’t notice Azriel step closer, did not notice until the toes of his boots were just a foot from you and you finally met his gaze again. 

Your breathing hitched, throat tightening. Something stirred in your gut, a simmering feeling of relief and comfort and something you felt far too often in your life. 

Shame. 

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You don’t have to hold it back if it’s too much.” 

You blinked, only now realising that you didn’t need to hold your power back. It was settled deep within you, no longer begging for a release. 

“I’m not.” You shook your head.

His gaze searched your face, shadows touching your hair. He trailed his eyes down your neck, to your chest where he fixated on that marred area of flesh for just a moment. Hazel eyes snapped back to yours. 

It was as though your beauty had been amplified tenfold. Your skin glowed, a lightness in your posture by no longer having such a heavy weight on your shoulders. And your eyes, your eyes gleamed with something he’d never seen before. 

Azriel’s chest tightened. 

He cleared his throat. “Madja is looking for something to help you learn control. The more we understand your magic, the easier it’ll be.” 

You nodded, did not dare to break his gaze. Azriel took another step closer. Just a shuffle of his feet. The toes of his shoes nearly touched yours. 

“Don’t be afraid of it,” he advised. “Your power is part of you. If you accept it as such, it’ll yield itself quicker.” 

Another nod. Another blink. 

A gentle breeze brushed past you, wafting his scent through your senses. Pine and wood and parchment. Mint and a gentle kiss of cinnamon. 

You breathed again. 

Madja had stopped by to check on you later that afternoon, taking another sample of your blood and hair and asking an abundance of questions you did your best to answer. Your magic had not let her get very close and when she’d pierced your skin with the needle, it took every ounce of self-restraint to keep that power at bay. 

Even for just a few moments, it had exhausted you. 

Dinner had gone as well as it could. You’d sat at the furthest end of the table, Azriel close beside you but still allowing you some breathing space. 

You’d suggested it would be safer for Nyx not to attend, having no control over your power, you would not allow him to be in the same room as you. Not until you harnessed it more. 

Your magic flared up twice. Once when Lucien offered you a dish of potatoes. And again when Cassian laughed a little too loudly at something Rhys said. Vines had twisted their way around the legs of the table, creeping over the surface as they slithered to reach the Illyrian. 

Azriel placed a hand over yours, his eyes demanding your gaze. “It’s okay,” he reassured softly. And that power began to retreat. 

You offered Cassian an apologetic look, though you were certain the warrior was beginning to feel a little targeted. He’d brushed it off, waving a hand and stuffing another spoonful of potatoes into his mouth. 

As the night drew to a close, that familiar feeling of discomfort began to bubble in your stomach. The thought of going back to the House of Wind deflated you, suffocated you. 

Away from nature, it no longer at the tips of your fingers. You did not want to be confined to the House in the mountains, despite how much it had begun to feel like a home. 

Azriel must have noticed as such, because he titled his head to catch your gaze. “Would you like to stay at the townhouse tonight?”

Your eyes widened marginally. “Oh, no. It’s fine. I don’t want to intrude in anyone else's home.” 

Azriel’s brows furrowed. “You wouldn’t be intruding. Ever.” There was no room for discussion in his tone. He pulled back slightly, shrugging a shoulder. “Besides, it’s usually empty. I stay there when Nesta and Cassian are…louder than usual.”

A snort slipped past your lips at the innuendo and Azriel had to ignore the way it warmed something in his chest. You’d grown to learn just how loud your cousin and her mate could be. Perhaps the townhouse would be a sweet reprieve from that, too. 

Azriel watched the couple quietly, clearing his throat. “Plus, they’ve been drinking,” his voice lowered to a soft whisper, “I can promise you a restless sleep at the House tonight.” 

Another breathy laugh slipped off your tongue and Azriel’s eyes twinkled at the sound. Perhaps it was selfish of him to try and convince you to stay at the townhouse. With him and only him. But your power would not let others get closer to you, and he wanted to offer at least one night of peace and comfort. 

Especially after all you’d endured. 

You bid your family goodnight from a distance, Mor blowing kisses to you across the table and Rhysand reminding you to reach out if anything feels wrong. 

The walk from the Riverhouse to the townhouse was a short one, though you enjoyed it nonetheless. Walking beside Azriel as the moon lit your way was nothing short of beautiful, and you did not miss the way his shadows intertwined with your fingers. 

“Nuala and Cerridwen have brought some of your things to the townhouse,” Azriel said softly beside you, a lone shadow whispering in his ear. 

You offered him a grateful smile, making a mental note to thank the twins whenever you next saw them. Azriel’s lip quirked. “They’ve run you a bubble bath, too.”

Your smile stretched to a grin. 

By the time you reached the townhouse, you could smell the lavender oils the twins had used for your bath. Azriel led you into the foyer and a sense of warmth surrounded you. 

The townhouse was beautiful. Portraits and trinkets hung on the walls, soft glows of gold and greens as the lamps reflected off the plants. Thick but worn rugs on the floor. You took a breath, your shoulders relaxing. 

This felt like home. 

Azriel closed the door behind you both and his shadows slinked up the stairs and out of sight. He pressed a very gentle hand to the small of your back. “Come, I’ll show you to your room.” 

He guided you with that same hand just above your coxis, up the stairs and to the left and down the hall. It was a large landing, three or four doors that you could see on this side of the townhouse. You wondered how many other rooms were on the other side of the stairs. 

You followed the lavender trail, stopping short outside a door and Azriel turned the knob and pushed it open. This room was much smaller than yours at the House, but Gods was it cosy. 

A four poster bed in the centre of the room, two slim dressers either side, a high-back armchair in the corner with a little bookcase beside it. And to the left of that, was an open door that led to a private bathing chamber. 

You couldn’t help the smile that pulled on your lips. Nor could you help the feeling of comfort that blanketed you. 

Azriel cleared his throat. “I’ll let you bathe and get settled. My room is just opposite yours if you need anything.” He pointed to the door behind you both. 

You thanked him, watched him disappear into his own room before you closed the door and made your way to the bathroom. 

The water soothed every muscle in your body, seeping into your pores and nourishing your skin. A fresh night slip had been left folded on the counter by the sink, a new bamboo toothbrush and a small basket filled with your favourite moisturisers, oils and balms. 

After an hour of scrubbing and soaking, you dried and dressed, applied your creams and combed through your hair. It had been a long time since you’d taken such care of yourself, since you felt relaxed enough to take your time. 

You could not shake how much this townhouse felt like home to you. 

Scrunching your wet hair softly with a cotton towel, you padded into your bedroom when a knock sounded on the door. You didn’t need to open it to know who it was, Azriel had already informed you it would just be the two of you at the townhouse tonight. 

“Come in,” you called over your shoulder. 

But nothing could have prepared Azriel for what he walked into. Your back to him, your tiny night slip barely passing your ass, your wet hair pulled over your shoulder as he took note of your shoulder blades. 

Such a simple thing should not have affected him the way it did. His shadows pinched the mugs of tea from his hands and floated them to a nightstand, returning to their masters shoulders just as you turned to greet them. 

Azriel was no longer wearing his leathers, now adored in a pair of grey sweatpants and a dark blue knitted sweater. It was unusual to see him in something other than black, in something so relaxed. 

But Gods, was he beautiful. His hair was slightly damp and mussed from his own bath. He cleared his throat, pointing to the nightstand. “I brought tea.” Azriel was nervous, you could sense it. Smell it. 

He stood in the centre of the room, large wings tucked close to his back. You almost frowned at the sight and the comment slipped before you could stop it. “Do you feel uncomfortable around me?”

Azriel’s own brows pinched at that. “No, of course not. Quite the opposite, actually.” He tilted his head, taking a slow step forward. “Why?” 

A familiar surge of magic bubbled in the pit of your stomach. Not out of fear or anxiety, and it was not the same as before when it tried to protect you. No. This was different, this felt electric. Excited. 

You shrugged, jutting your chin to the dark membrane. “Your wings. They’re tight against your back.”

Azrie’s shoulders sagged slightly, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his full lips. But he couldn’t bring himself to admit he was uptight because your nipples were pearled and almost cutting through the very thin silk of your slip.

“You’re quite observant,” he noted, “I’m not uncomfortable around you, Y/N. I enjoy your company, your presence. I was trying to give you some space. This room isn’t very big, I didn’t want your power to feel suffocated.” 

Your head tilted at that. “You could never make me feel suffocated, Azriel. I enjoy your company and presence, too.”

His smile grew broader, a row of white teeth gleaming at you and you had no control when your face mirrored his. His heart thumped in his chest at the sight, at the way a sweet scent of lavender and jasmine wafted through the air. 

“You know that night…in the library?” Azriel did not need to ask to know which evening you were referring to. It took every ounce of self-control not to kiss you that night. Only for you to peck his lips in a hasty goodbye just two days later. 

He dipped his head in acknowledgement. 

Your brows furrowed just slightly. “You said you’d come to my room later so we could talk.” He nodded once more, his mind having already replayed every interaction he’d ever shared with you. 

“Can we do that now?” You fiddled with your fingers. “Talk, I mean. If you don’t have other commitments.”

Azriel would drop any prior engagements to spend the night with you. And by the way he gazed into your eyes, it was as though he was silently begging you to understand that. 

He did not need to speak or nod, for you only motioned to your bed and he got the hint. Azriel sat with his wings sprawled across the headboard.

He swallowed thickly, watching you tuck your legs beneath your body, the night slip doing very little to keep you covered. His mind would not stop racing, his shadows would not stop whispering. Dirty thoughts of what you were wearing beneath. If you were wearing anything at all. 

Azriel struggled to stifle his arousal. 

His shadows moved to reach you, caressing every inch of bare skin they could find. A giggle fell from your lips, warmth coating your flesh. 

Azriel could not help himself. “You’re so beautiful when you smile.”

Your grin grew, brows raising, eyes finally meeting his. “Only when I smile?” You teased, a newfound feeling of ease settling in every part of your body. 

He was pleasantly surprised by your response and dared lean a little closer. This was easy, talking with you. “You’re always beautiful. I’ve always thought so.”

You had expected a teasing retort back, not something so sincere and…well…romantic. Your smile faded slightly, a breath stuck in your throat. You swallowed around it. “You have?” 

Azriel nodded. You took in a breath, allowing him to reach for you. His wings spread behind him, drooping just enough to show he did, indeed, feel relaxed around you. He reached for you, tucking hair behind your now pointed ear. 

Your soul began to hum, content and blissful under Azriel’s keen but gentle touch. No male had ever called you beautiful before. No male had ever looked at you the way he was. As though he was besotted, as though he had never seen anything so wonderful in his life before. 

“I had every intention of coming to you that night.” His voice was rough, his tone gentle. It scratched an itch somewhere deep in your core. “Had Rhys not sent me on that mission, I would’ve been there, I would have told you.”

“Told me what?” you breathed. 

He swallowed, his scarred hand cupping the soft skin of your jaw as his thumb smoothed over the apple of your cheek. It took everything in you to fight the fluttering of your eyes. 

“That no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about you. The moment you crossed that wall, you consumed every part of me.” 

Your breathing staggered, your core pulsed. 

“I know you’ve only been here a short time, but I can no longer pretend that I’m not drawn to you. That I don’t crave your touch.” Shadows slinked your skin again, curling at the nape of your neck and imitating a scratching at your scalp. 

Your lips parted, chest heaving. Azriel’s eyes fluttered closed at the scent that oozed from you. Sweet arousal consumed him, dared to drag him under. 

He loosed a breath. “You have no idea what you do to me.” 

Your body felt like it was on fire, an excitement you had never once felt before. Your chest ached, your thighs trembled. And you knew if you parted your legs, you’d find a pool of wetness dribbling from your core.

No part of you felt guilty for it. No part of you tried to deny your body what it craved. Your soul sung to his, your body shifting closer. His hand on your face trailed down to caress your neck, lower to graze your collarbone, then lower again to skim over the marred flesh of your mark. 

Your eyes fluttered closed, a shaky breath sounding from you. You wanted him, needed him. That power surged in the pit of your stomach, desperate. You breathed deeply, the air thicker than before, and full of something you had never once scented. 

It was Azriel’s scent, only stronger. A raw and unfiltered scent that stirred the coil in your gut. Eyes fluttering open, they landed on his lap—on the girth that grew beneath the grey of his sweatpants. 

You swallowed thickly, chest heaving. You began to stir, hips shifting and brows knitted. “Az…” You were breathless, almost panting and his jaw clenched. 

“It’s okay,” he ground out. His fingers toyed with the thin strap of your slip, goosebumps erecting across your skin as his shadows caressed your arms and neck. Your head lulled to the side, eyes hooded. 

“Touch me,” you pleaded through a broken whisper. 

His jaw clenched again, his pupils blown and wings outstretched and tight. He did not move, did not look away. You reached for his wrist, daring to guide his hand over your full breast, over the perk of your nipple. 

A soft moan slipped past your lips. You had never felt arousal like it. Had never felt so needy that you’d resort to begging. Never had you expected to end up in such a state. You never had for Rafe. But this was Azriel. And everything about Azriel was intoxicating. 

With your hand over his, you encouraged him to grope you, to feel you. Azriel allowed you to guide him, would allow you to set the pace so long as you were comfortable and sure. So long as he made you feel good. 

The strap of your gown slipped down your arm, and you tugged the other down along with it. A low growl sounded from the back of Azriel’s throat. He was losing whatever control he had left. And you were desperate to see him snap. 

You shuffled closer on your knees, almost settling in his lap when you pulled his hand away from your breast and allowed the slip to fall past your chest, baring yourself to him. His eyes remained on yours, his chest rising and falling but you did not look away. 

If you want something, despite how wrong that desire may feel at first, take it.

But nothing about this felt wrong. No part of this felt like it wasn’t supposed to be. You did not feel unworthy beneath his gaze, you did not feel guilty for giving into your desires. 

Because the way Azriel looked at you, the way his gaze shifted to your chest, the way his eyes fluttered closed and he inhaled your arousal so deeply…you knew he wanted this just as badly as you did. 

With his eyes still closed, Aziel blindly reached for your hips and dragged you into his lap. A gasp escaped you, your legs parting to wrap around his waist and your soaked cunt sat over his throbbing cock. 

Your fingers tangled in his midnight hair, his head tilting as his breath ghosted your clavicle. Your nipples hardened, back arched. And he swiped his tongue over a pearled nub before suckling it into his warm mouth. 

You arched into him, tugging at his hair and rolling your hips against his. Azriel’s grip on your hips tightened, but he did not control you. He allowed you to move at your own pace, allowed you to decide how far you wanted this to go. 

You tugged at his hair, beckoning him to look at you. He pulled off your breast, eyes blown with a look of undeniable hunger. You stared at him for a moment, basked in his dark gaze and the feel of him pulsing beneath you. 

The weight of your position did not feel heavy, you did not want to stop. But you did not want to rush. You wanted to savour this—him. You wanted to take your time, wanted to understand how sex and intimacy was supposed to feel like. 

And Azriel could read as much in just your eyes alone. He leaned close, noses brushing as his lips ghosted yours. “I don’t need to use my cock to bring you pleasure,” he whispered, enveloping your lips in a searing kiss. 

Azriel’s hands travelled from your hips, up your waist and to your chest, kneading your breasts and pinching at your nipples. You hummed into his mouth, allowing his tongue to massage yours. 

“Let me show you how good it can be. How it’s supposed to feel.”

Your brain felt like it was overgrown in blooms, unable to do anything but nod and hand him the reins. Your magic grew excited, flora sprouting in your damp hair with every kiss he littered down your jaw and neck. 

“Turn around for me.” Azriel helped guide your body to how he wanted you, sat between his parted legs, your back to his chest and his lips breezing against the shell of your ear. 

“Good girl.” 

You were royally fucked. 

He let his hands travel down your covered stomach, fingers reaching for the soft skin of your thighs. You welcomed every touch, basked in the rough skin of his scarred hands. You could hardly breath, so pent up in anticipation. 

Azriel nipped at your ear. “Can you spread your legs for me, baby?” 

A pathetic mewl sounded from your throat and you found yourself nodding obediently and spreading your thighs for him. Azriel’s shadows wrapped around your thighs, down your legs and ankles and slithered back up again. A few rushed back to him, whispering their findings to their master. 

Dripping. Excited. Delicious. 

Azriel took a laboured breath to steady himself, his cock pressing into your ass. He let his hands grip your waist, fingers reaching the hem of your slip and bunching it in a strong fist.

He pulled it away, exposing your sopping heat and your head lulled back against his shoulder. “Can I touch you?” You nodded before he even finished his question, your legs spreading wider for him. 

Azriel snuck a hand between your thighs, cupping your sex as your arousal coated him. His deft fingers rubbed teasingly through your slick folds, spreading the wetness across your entire cunt. 

A shuddered breath escaped you. “Please.” 

With clenched teeth, Azriel appeased you, reaching up to your clit and pressing the pad of his middle finger against it. A gasp slipped from your mouth, his finger rubbing right circles on that puffy bud. 

Rafe had never once touched your clit. 

Your hips bucked into his hand and Azriel began to rub faster. But it wasn’t enough. The pressure built in your lower stomach, a feeling only you had been able to get yourself to, and even then never passed. 

Azriel could sense your need and replaced his finger with his thumb and reached lower. A single digit probed your fluttering hole, swirling in arousal before slowly sinking between your walls. 

You hummed in pleasure, eyes closing as he curled his finger against a spongy spot. Your hips rolled, chest heaving. You had never felt anything so exhilarating in your life. Azriel added a second finger, stretching your cunt deliciously. 

“Gods, Az…” you couldn’t find the words to describe what he was doing to you—how he was making you feel. He hummed, nuzzling his nose up your neck and latching his lips to your jaw; kissing and licking and biting. 

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N. Look how well you’re taking me.”

Azriel’s praise went to your head, your heart, your cunt. You could feel him everywhere. Shadows pinched at your nipples, Az’s hand working tirelessly against your core. Your hips rolled to meet his movements, your legs shook as he curled and scissored. 

You had never imagined it to feel this way. 

You rolled your head back, lips parted as you blindly searched for his. Azriel met you in a searing kiss, his tongue licking the insides of your mouth as you fought to meet his pace. 

Then the shaking started, and the small whimpers and moans turned to cries as you bucked against him. Azriel only kissed you harder, fucked you harder. The sound of his fingers pummeling your cunt were obscene, wet and loud and spurring you toward the edge. 

Your stomach pinched, coiled. A wave of uncontrollable pleasure and power coursed through your very being as you cried out into his mouth. Azriel did not relent his pace, did not offer a moment's reprieve. 

He worked you through it, pumping and pinching, sucking and biting. That tight rope in your abdomen snapped, your jaw slacking and eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

Azriel watched as you came around his fingers, his own release coating his pants as you clenched around him and cried and thrashed. He had never seen anything so fucking beautiful before in his life. 

Your chest heaved, legs trembling. And a flurry of petals rained down on your bodies, clinging to the sheen of sweat on your skin. Azriel reluctantly removed his hand, guiding fingers to his mouth to finally reward himself with a taste. 

He regretted it the moment he did it. Because now he did not know how to live without that taste on his tongue for the rest of his life. His cock hardened again at the thought of tasting you properly. 

Azriel gazed down at you, fluttering lashes and flushed skin. You were catching your breath, unable to speak a coherent sentence. He leaned down to kiss your mouth slowly, your lips mirroring his. You could taste yourself on his tongue and it only made you crave it once more. 

“You doing okay?” He asked gently. 

You hummed, chasing his lips when he tried to pull away. Azriel chuckled at your eagerness, he’d given you a taste and now you were hungry for more. 

“Not tonight,” he told you. 

You couldn’t help the frown, but Azriel planted a kiss to your brow and rested his forehead on yours. 

“I don’t want you to rush yourself into these things. You have consumed me, Y/N. There’s no rush. We have all the time in the world.” 

A tether tugged at your soul, so light you almost missed it. But your magic had responded, wrapping itself around that thin piece of string and humming in approval. 

“You have no idea how scared I was when we found you in the mountains,” he whispered solemnly. “I thought you were gone.” 

You strained your neck to look at him, at the silver that lined those molten honey eyes. Your hand reached for his face, fingers gently striking the stumbled skin of his cheek. 

“I’m okay,” you reassured him. “Different, now…yes. But this is who I’m supposed to be. I have to believe the Mother intended for it to be this way.”

He hummed, and that feeling tugged slightly once more—a little harder this time. Your gut, most likely, butterflies. 

“I won’t let you do something so foolish again.” 

Your head fell back against Azriel’s chest, his shadows working to cover your exposed body again before they tugged the blanket over you. 

And there, in his arms, you became someone else. Someone you were always fated to be. 

A/N: okay so I got slightly carried away with the teasing between Az and Y/N so it ended up a bit longer that the other parts BUT the next part is a very big one and potentially the last :(((( but even if it is, I have some ideas to do some check in fics with them in the future!

If you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a like and reblog, your feedback is always appreciated <3

TAG LIST: @anna-reader-blog @bubybubsters @honethatty12 @angiieguevara @honk4emoboyz @e1jeyy @celestialgilb @rcarbo1 @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @judig92 @moonfawnx @historygeekqueen @idkitsem @horneybeach1 @apenasandorinha @thaynarajejheje @popcornlauncher @mrsjna @fuckingsimp4azriel @kk191327 @babypeapoddd @bluebries81 @secretlyhers @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mixheleee @be-your-coffee-pot @ly–canthrope @acoazlove @camilasstories @yesiamthatwierd @scoliobean @marigold-morelli @mellowmusings @dreaming-lis @prettylittlewrites @optimisticbabydreamer @halo-mystic @curtaincaramba @donnadiddadog @nocasdatsgay @hisonlykiwi @bookishbroadwaybish @peachyxlynch @hungryforbatboys @call-me-evangeline @stqrgirlies-blog @acourtofbatboydreams @pinksmellslikelove @demon-master-zero @more-a-then-i @svearehnn

[buckyalpine]

18+ Sometimes I get an idea in my head and you'll hear 10 versions of the same thing, word for word, I swear (iykyk). I'm sorry. Just a little in coming fluff, angst and smuttt. We're giving him the ending he always deserved. This is a mess of my brain vomit.

Sergeant Barnes who can't help the crush he has on the sweet nurse stationed at his camp, always finding ways to talk to her, even if it means interrupting her in the middle of the way, wagging his finger around the tent because he has a dire papercut.

She'll patch him up every single time with a shake of her head, telling him to be more careful and he'll say yes mam, just to be back in the same cot the next day like clockwork.

Sergeant Barnes who walks her to her quarters every evening and bids her goodnight with a tip of his hat, always a gentleman. He never misses an opportunity to hold the door open, fetch extra supplies, grinning all while she tells him to get back to his work, worried he'll get in trouble for always helping her.

Sergeant Barnes who has a flirty little mouth on him, never missing a moment to tell her how lovely she looks. She dismisses everything he says, after all there's no way he could see her that way when she's sweating, covered in grime and blood aftering bandaging up different men.

Sergeant Barnes who wonders if she feel the same way when catches a tear roll down her cheek the first time she has to sew his injures. Her hands work quick and steadily keeping a straight face until the last dressing is placed across his abdomen. He's seen her do the same thing to plenty of others, sending them on their way right after but not him. She checked over him again and then once more, insisting he rest for an additional night before he was off again.

Sergeant Barnes who didn't realize it would get this far. He only intended to kiss her, he really did but the surprised little whine she let out was too much. How could he left her go when he hands clutched onto his uniform tighter, lips parted, letting his tongue lace with hers.

He made love to her that night.

Sergeant Barnes who took his time touching every bit of her body with softness, laying her in bed and covering her with the sheet when she shyly looked away. He didn't need much more than that, happy to feel her bare skin on his while he felt her lips flutter against his neck, he may as well have died and gone to heaven.

Sergeant Barnes who doesn't rush a thing while he pumps his cock, letting his swollen head rub though her slit while letting her know much he adores her. How perfect she already is. She whispers a please in his ear and he starts to push himself inside, his length already throbbing with need.

"I know angel, I know" He coos at the gasp she lets out, his hand coming up to caress her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin. "S'just me doll, s'just me you're feeling"

He stretches her slowly, after all his sweet angel has never felt anyone else. Her face hides in his neck, panting as he fully sheaths himself, cuddling her body, rubbing her back.

"S-so big, Sergeant" is the best she can get out and he has to force himself to not cum on the spot. He starts to move, holding her tighter because he didn't expect to struggle this much.

"I love you" He rasps out, it's all he can say without running his mouth, spewing all the things that were in his head. He really can't take it. His mind is working faster than he can comprehend. There were a thousand sweet things but that wasn't the issue. He bit his tongue from confessing she caused all his wet dreams, making him feel like a teenager all over again. That her pussy was so tight, he was leaking in her. That it felt too good, he felt like a virgin too, his cock was so sensitive like never before, fuck, she had to unlock her ankles that were wrapped around his waist-

"M'close" He pants, eyes locked with hers hoping she understands- "M'gonna cum, I-fuck, i'm cu-mph" His eyes grow wide in surprise when she tugs his dog tags and pulls him down for a kiss, her legs still wrapped around him, every bit of his cum filling her up.

"I love you too" she nuzzles her nose with his, relaxing in his hold as they drift off to sleep.

He holds her extra tight that night.

There was a war happening and tomorrow wasn't always promised.

Especially not when he had an assignment the next day.

-

Sergeant Barnes who dragged himself through hell and back, limping half sewn up with that cute little blush on his face cause he can't wait to see her again after months of nearly dying, losing men, the only thing that kept him going was getting to see-

Where was she?

"Has anyone seen Nurse y/l/n?" He frowned when the other nurses shook their heads as he searched, his worry increasing when he finds her things gone. He nearly sends off a search party until a close friend of hers quietly gives him an address. She says very little, only sending him off with a wink and a good luck.

He's utterly baffled when he sees the address is that of his own? Surely there was a mistake. That doesn't mean he'll waste anytime. The war was over anyway, injuries be damned, he's moving as fast as he can.

He sets off home, knocking on the door, his can't wait to find her again and he's missed his family soo much-

"Jamie!!" His sister throws her arms around his neck and he stumbles back, hugging her tightly, "Mama, Jamie's home!!" He doesn't let go of her as his mother runs to him from the kitchen, tears already streaming down her face.

"Sweet boy" She takes his face in her hands, looking him up and down. Her baby boy is back in one piece and that's all that matters.

Well, sort of.

"I missed you ma-ow!"

"I raised you better, you worried those poor angels to bits"

Angels?

He isn't given a chance to ask anything when she gives him a wack with a rolled newspaper, ushering him to go to his room, slipping something into his pocket before sending him off.

Sergeant Barnes who can't believe his eyes when he sees her again. Her pretty face. Same perfect eyes. Perfect nose. Perfect lips. All of it turns blurry from unshed tears because the only thing that was different now was a very round baby bump.

"Y'came back" Her voice melts into a sob seeing him standing at the doorway.

"I missed ya" He whispers against her hairline, kissing her repeatedly, his hands cradling her rounded belly, his little baby kicking against his touch. "M'so sorry angel, wish I was here-

"You're here now" she sniffled, inhaling his scent after waiting for him to come back, not knowing if he was hurt or alive, the thought breaking her heart. "We waited"

"Daddy's here" He kisses her tummy, holding her extra close again after months of waiting. Dreaming. Hoping.

He asks her to marry him. His ma wouldn't give him her wedding ring for just anyone.

A baby boy. 2 years later, a little girl. She asks for a kitten. They name her Alpine. Another little boy 3 years later.

Perfect.

[no-144444]

farm girl- o.piastri

summary: what's a better way to a guys attention than shouting at him for being too slow?

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! clarkson farm, farm-hand!! reader

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You weren’t the biggest fan of Jeremy’s reality show, but you enjoyed working the farm, so, as per your agreement, you wouldn’t be featured in episodes as much as possible. You were so far removed in fact, that you didn’t even know that someone else was driving the tractor when you shouted for them to ‘stop being shit’ at driving it. 

“Y/n!” Jeremy shouted. “Stop being rude!”

“What?” you scoffed. “I swear to god, if Finn doesn’t fucking speed up I’m going to-” you started, but stopped yourself when you saw none other than Oscar fucking Piastri in the driver’s seat with an embarrassed and guilty smile on his face. “Sorry,” you offered, internally cursing yourself. “Continue on!” you announced before turning back and continuing on with more of your duties. 

Oscar looked after you as you walked, an amused smile on his face. “Who’s that?”

“Y/n, one of our farmers,” Jeremy explained, a chuckle on his lips. “She’s… fiery.”

“She’s damn good at her job!” someone from off-camera chimed in, making everyone chuckle. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

As his day went on, he caught glimpses of you. You were tending to animals, or showing someone around, or just generally being beautiful and mysterious. He was desperate to know more. He asked a million questions about you, and he was sure everyone was aware of his not-so-secret crush on you.

“You should ask her out, she likes F1,” Jeremy advised as they sat down to lunch. “You’re one of her favourite drivers.”

He still got surprised when people knew him, forgetting sometimes that he is, in fact, a public figure. “Yeah?”

Jeremy laughed. “Yeah,”  he scoffed. “Kids these days…”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

When his day of hard labour came to an end, he made it his plan to seek you out, humoring Jeremy’s theory. 

“Hi,” he smiled, standing just behind you. 

You startled, jumping up from whatever it was that you were doing and cursed. “Fucking hell! Announce yourself!” You let it slip before you could really stop yourself, but you didn’t feel all that bad, he should have announced himself. 

He laughed. “What did you think I was trying to do?!”

“Scare the shit out of me?” you scoffed. “I don’t know.”

“I’m Oscar,” he held out his hand to be shaken. “Nice to meet you.”

You took his hand,shaking it quickly. “Y/n. Sorry about the whole…  tractor thing.”

“Nothing but a bruised ego,” he chuckled. “So what do you do around here?”

You shrugged. “A bit of everything, I guess.”

He nodded, and you both stood in silence for a minute. 

“Did you need something?” you questioned. “-Not to be rude, or anything, I just… I've got to get back to the rest of my stuff so… yeah.”

He smiled, enjoying the fact that you were as awkward as him. “Can I get your number?”

You stared at him for a second, then you broke out into one of the most beautiful smiles he’d ever seen. “Why?”

He stepped closer to you. “I think you’re really pretty,” he explained. “And I want to get to know you more.” 

You nodded. “Give me your phone.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[shy9-29]

Where The Waves Rest 🌊 l.hs

"Love isnt about the rush-it's about the quiet moments that make you stay"

日 - 이희승 x y/n

♫ synopsis: Heeseung, a reckless city boy, moves to quiet Busan and meets you-kind and selfless. What begins as annoyance turns into something deeper, and he realizes Busan isn't just a place but where he finds something real with you ~ wc. 29.9k ✉️ warning: fingering, swearing, bullying, mentions of drinking, partying, hooking up, cumming inside, oral f recieve, kiss, name calling, begging, Seoul and Busan are not actually like what is described in the story.

mdni · smut · proofread · masterlist

Heeseung was never one to stick to plans—especially when they didn’t suit him. At 23, spoiled and used to getting his way, he had fully intended to meet his family that evening. But as the night went on, the thought slipped further from his mind, drowned out by the buzz of alcohol and the thrill of the moment.

One drink turned into two, then three, and before he knew it, he was inviting friends over. What was supposed to be a quiet night quickly spiraled into a full-blown party. Music blasted through the apartment, laughter echoed off the walls, and people—some familiar, some not—kept piling in. A few girls arrived too, making the atmosphere even wilder.

His family? They’d get over it. They always did. Right now, all Heeseung cared about was keeping the night going.

“Fuck, feels so good,” Heeseung groaned softly, sprawled out on the couch as one of his hook ups grinds slowly on his hardening member. The sounds of partying and laugher fill the room. The girl throws her head back as she grips onto Heeseung’s shoulders tightly, quickening the pace.

He was so drunk right now as he leaned his head back, placing it on the couch as he looked at everyone dancing or making out in his apartment. He was sitting on the couch, eyes lazily looking at everyone and everything. His eyes were half-lidded, his cheeks was flushed, his lips was dry and chapped from drinking. He was sitting there, a girl on his lap, and his eyes caught a girl sitting somewhere far away.

The girl on his lap leaned in, pressing her lips against his. Heeseung didn’t hesitate to kiss her back, his eyes slipping shut as his movements grew rougher. His grip tightened around her waist, adjusting her position on his lap as he deepened the kiss.

“So, what’s your name?” she asked with a smirk, tilting her head to press soft kisses against Heeseung’s neck. He shivered slightly, feeling her warm breath ghost over his skin. His hands was on her thighs, his head was tilted to the side as he waited for her response. His eyes were dark as he looked at her, studying her from head to toe, focusing on her face.

But before she could answer, the door suddenly swung open, and Heeseung’s parents walked in. He froze. Shoot, he completely forgot.

His parents had known about his issues before, but they thought he had gotten over it. At least, that’s what he’d told them. The tension in the room thickened as they stood there, eyes widening in disbelief.

Heeseung’s heart sank as his parents stepped into the room, their faces a mix of shock and disbelief. His mother’s eyes widened, her disappointment cutting deeper than anything he’d ever felt. His father’s jaw clenched, his usually calm demeanor completely shattered as he took in the scene before him. They had been waiting for this moment—hoping for a sign of change, a chance to reconnect. But this? This wasn’t what they expected.

“You…” His mother’s voice trembled, and she couldn’t finish the sentence. Her eyes flickered between Heeseung’s face, the girl beside him, and then back to him, as if trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

His father, usually the one to stay composed, stood at the door, glaring at Heeseung with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “You told us you were done with all this,” he said, his voice tight with frustration. “You promised, Heeseung. You promised.”

Heeseung remained silent, the weight of their words pressing down on him. His mind raced. He’d been hiding this for months—the late-night parties, the drinks, the temporary escapes, everything. They never knew. They didn’t see the darker side of him anymore—he’d kept it hidden, convincing them he’d changed. But now? There was no pretending.

His mother wiped away a tear, trying to hold herself together. “We thought you were trying to make something of yourself. But now… this?”

Heeseung’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles white. Anger surged through him, but beneath it, there was a deep, gnawing feeling of shame. They didn’t understand; they never did. They only saw the mask he wore.

“This has gone on long enough, Heeseung,” his father continued, his voice no longer calm. “We’ve decided. You’re going to Busan for the summer. To your grandmas.”

The words hit him like a slap to the face. Busan. The last place he wanted to go. It was everything Seoul wasn’t—quiet, peaceful, and far too simple. There was nothing to do but breathe clean air, to feel trapped in a place that lacked the chaos and freedom of the city. It was nothing like the fast-paced life he thrived in. No parties. No wild nights. Just silence and space. He couldn’t even imagine it.

“No,” Heeseung growled, his voice low with defiance. “I’m not going. I don’t need to—”

His father cut him off with a sharp look, his eyes cold and unwavering. “If you don’t go, you’ll lose everything, Heeseung. Everything. No more money, no more access. No more parties, no more friends. You want to keep living like this? Fine. But we won’t be a part of it. You’ll go to Busan, and you’ll stay there until this attitude of yours changes.”

The threat was clear, hanging in the air like a weight. Heeseung knew what it meant. Without their support, he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the reckless lifestyle he’d come to rely on. The parties, the clubs, the escape—it would all be gone.

His mind raced. He hated the thought of going to Busan, the last place he wanted to be. But what other choice did he have? His pride burned, but the reality of it all was undeniable. If he didn’t go, he’d lose everything.

“You can’t fucking do this to me,” Heeseung spat, but his voice lacked the force it needed. His eyes flicked to the girl sitting beside him, her presence a brief distraction from the storm of thoughts raging in his mind.

“You will go, Heeseung,” his mother said quietly, almost pleading. “We’re doing this because we love you. But if you keep going down this path, you’ll destroy yourself.”

Heeseung swallowed hard, the sting of their words hitting him in the chest. He didn’t know how to fight back. They had already made up their minds. Busan it was.

He felt trapped, his world closing in around him. He had no choice. The anger still bubbled inside him, but it was mixed with something darker—fear. Fear of losing everything. Fear of being stuck in a life he didn’t want.

He gritted his teeth. “Fine. I’ll go. But don’t expect me to change in that shit hole.”

As Heeseung’s words hung in the air, the entire room seemed to still, as if time itself had frozen. The girl sitting beside him, who had been so bold and confident moments before, suddenly seemed distant, her eyes flicking nervously toward the door where Heeseung’s parents stood. The music from the party had faded into the background, and the murmur of conversation turned to silence as everyone in the room, sensing the tension, fell still.

The laughter that had filled the room moments before seemed to vanish, leaving a heavy, uncomfortable quiet in its place. The glow of neon lights from the party didn’t seem so bright now. The laughter and the upbeat energy felt hollow, as if the very vibe of the room had shifted, the weight of Heeseung’s situation pressing down on everyone.

Some of the people near the back of the room exchanged uneasy glances, unsure whether they should even breathe, while others stood frozen, unsure of what to do in the presence of such an awkward confrontation.

Heeseung could feel the eyes of everyone on him—eyes that had once looked up to him as the life of the party, the one who had everything under control. Now, those same eyes only saw a boy being torn apart by the reality he had tried to avoid for so long. The walls seemed to close in around him as the quiet stretched on, and even the pulsing beat of the music couldn’t seem to fill the silence that hung thick in the air.

His parents stood in the doorway, their disappointment palpable, as though they had pulled back the curtain to reveal the truth he had been hiding for so long. And now, it was too late. There was no escaping it.

The girl beside him had been a part of his world, the world he was about to lose, and she could sense it. Heeseung’s heart sank as he realized the gravity of the situation—not just with his parents, but with everyone else in that room.

The weight of their collective gaze pressed into him, and for a brief moment, Heeseung wondered if he was ready to face what was about to come.

Heeseung’s fist clenched involuntarily, his chest tightening with frustration as the room stayed locked in silence. The realization that everyone was watching him—their eyes filled with judgment, curiosity, or just plain discomfort—made him want to scream. Instead, he stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. The sound snapped the spell of silence, but it didn’t seem to break the tension.

“Get out,” Heeseung’s voice was cold, his words cutting through the stillness like a knife. His gaze swept over the partygoers, most of whom looked caught off guard but didn’t dare to challenge him. He wasn’t in the mood to entertain anyone’s doubts or protests, and his patience was wearing thin. “I said, get out. Now.”

A few people hesitated, exchanging glances, but the commanding tone in Heeseung’s voice brooked no argument. Slowly, the guests started to shuffle toward the door, murmuring to one another as they gathered their coats, their drinks, and their things. The hum of the room was replaced by the soft shuffle of feet on the hardwood floor, the clinking of glass, and the quiet rustling of bags. Heeseung’s eyes remained fixed on the floor, not bothering to look up until the last person made their exit.

As the door clicked shut behind the final guest, the room felt eerily quiet. Heeseung ran a hand through his messy hair, a frustrated sigh slipping from his lips. His mind was buzzing—flooded with anger, guilt, and the overwhelming sense of dread.

He looked around the room, his eyes taking in the mess that had been left behind. Empty cups, spilled drinks, scattered confetti, half-eaten snacks, and crushed cigarette butts were strewn everywhere. The room had now had a grim sort of emptiness. His gaze lingered on the overturned bottle of liquor by the couch and the wine glass that had rolled to the far corner of the room. The remnants of the night felt like a mockery now—a reminder of everything he was about to lose.

With another heavy sigh, Heeseung stepped over the mess, his footsteps slow and deliberate as he made his way to the couch, sinking into the cushions. The weight of the situation pressed on him, heavier than the mess in the room. He ran his hand over his face, trying to force the thoughts away, but they only kept coming—his parents, the move to Busan, the future he didn’t want, the life he was being dragged away from.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was slipping through his fingers, one decision at a time. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something. But instead, he just sat there, surrounded by the remnants of his party, the remnants of a life he would never get back.

The sharp knock on Heeseung’s door tore through the hazy fog of sleep, his head throbbing in protest. His eyes fluttered open, the sunlight already streaming through the cracks in the curtains, searing into his skull like a punishment. He groaned, pressing his hands into his temples, trying to stave off the relentless throb. He wasn’t used to waking up this early—hell, he rarely woke up before noon—and certainly not with the pounding headache he had from last night’s excesses.

Another knock, louder this time.

“Heeseung, sir,” came the muffled voice of his butler, Mr. Song, from the other side of the door. “It’s seven o’clock. Your parents are waiting for you to pack. There’s an Uber waiting downstairs to take you to the airport.”

Heeseung groaned, his voice muffled as he rolled over in bed, throwing his pillow over his head in a vain attempt to block out the noise. The weight of last night’s events still hung heavy on him, his thoughts tangled in a chaotic mess. The last thing he wanted to do right now was get up, pack, and face the reality of his parents’ decision. He had expected some kind of pushback, maybe even a day or two of recovery time before the move—but no, they were already moving him out, right now.

“I told you, Mr. Song, it’s too early,” Heeseung muttered, his words slurred from the hangover. He rubbed his face, trying to fight off the dizziness that still clung to him. “Just… give me a few more hours.”

But there was no room for negotiation. The butler’s voice was firm, but still polite. “I’m afraid your parents insist, sir. The Uber is waiting.”

Heeseung swore under his breath. He felt the sharp sting of anger rise in his chest. His parents didn’t even care how he was feeling, how much of a mess he was right now. He wasn’t even sure how he’d function in an hour, let alone pack up his life and head to some backwater town in the middle of nowhere.

With a reluctant groan, Heeseung threw the covers off and staggered out of bed. His body felt stiff, sluggish, like it didn’t want to cooperate with him. The room was spinning as he tried to get dressed in a daze, throwing clothes into his bag without a second thought. Nothing mattered right now except getting out of here, away from this suffocating, overwhelming situation.

Twenty minutes later, Heeseung trudged down the stairs, bag slung over his shoulder, his eyes bloodshot, his hair sticking out in every direction, but still managing to look good. He made his way to the front door, where Mr. Song was waiting, looking as composed and unbothered as always. He didn’t say anything as Heeseung stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The Uber was parked at the curb, a sleek black car that seemed out of place for the mood Heeseung was in. The driver, a middle-aged man with a stoic expression, opened the door for him without a word, his butler following from behind with two of his suitcases.

Heeseung climbed in, slamming the door behind him with more force than necessary. The car pulled away from the curb, and the city—his city—began to fade into the distance. The towering buildings, the crowded streets, the hustle and bustle of Seoul—everything he knew and loved, all of it was being left behind. The thought made his stomach twist, but he couldn’t even bring himself to care. Not right now. Not when everything was already falling apart.

The drive to the airport felt like a blur, the streets empty and quiet at this hour. Heeseung stared out the window, watching the city he once called home disappear behind him, replaced by the distant skyline of skyscrapers, fading away into the horizon. He felt a gnawing emptiness, like something inside of him was already gone, a part of him left back in Seoul, in the chaos and the noise that now felt like a distant memory.

When the Uber finally pulled up at the airport, Heeseung felt like he was in a dream. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, or how much longer it would take before he had to face his new reality. The airport terminal was a blur of people, all rushing to their own destinations, while Heeseung just shuffled through the crowd like a ghost, disconnected from it all.

He was supposed to get on a plane to Busan, where his life was going to change completely. Where the quiet, peaceful life his parents envisioned for him awaited. The idea of it felt suffocating. He couldn’t even picture it. The thought of spending the whole summer there—maybe even longer—made him feel claustrophobic. What could he do in that boring, lifeless town? He couldn’t even begin to imagine how he was supposed to fill the endless quiet of Busan, how he would survive without the chaos of Seoul, without the distractions that had become his life.

As he settled into his seat on the plane, staring out the window as the plane began to taxi down the runway, Heeseung closed his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts swirling in his head. He was leaving everything behind. And for what? To be trapped in a quiet, peaceful town with nothing to do but reflect on everything he was about to lose.

The plane began to ascend into the sky, and Heeseung took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he gazed out at the receding city below. It was gone now, a tiny speck in the distance, and there was no turning back.

As the plane took off, Heeseung leaned back in his seat, feeling the uncomfortable, rigid fabric press against his back. The smell of recycled air mixed with the faint scent of his seat mate’s cologne—sickly sweet and too strong. His eyes flicked to the front of the cabin, where the luxurious first-class seats lay. He’d been accustomed to those kinds of perks, to having everything top-tier, handpicked, and ready to make his life as effortless and glamorous as possible. But today, he was stuffed into a cramped economy seat, barely any space to stretch his legs, wedged between an old man with a coughing fit and a younger guy who seemed to be enjoying the pleasure of his loud, sniffling nose.

It was a far cry from the private jets, the VIP sections, the smooth, uninterrupted flights he was used to. His parents, the ones who used to indulge him with every possible luxury, didn’t even bother to upgrade his seat. He was, to them, just another problem to deal with, a burden they were rushing to get rid of. In the past, they would’ve thrown money at him to make him happy, to give him everything he wanted, but now? Now they were treating him like a peasant, as if he was just some ordinary kid from a small town. He gritted his teeth, fuming silently.

The guy sitting next to him had already started hacking up a storm. Heeseung felt his eyes narrow in disgust as the man coughed loudly, barely covering his mouth. Every breath he took seemed to make Heeseung’s skin crawl, and he could feel his irritation growing with every second. The sickly-sweet cologne made it even worse, mixing with the heavy stench of the man’s apparent cold. Great. Just great. He was stuck with this guy for the next two and a half hours.

The flight felt endless, every minute dragging on as Heeseung fidgeted in his seat. The man next to him coughed again, and Heeseung subtly scooted away, as if trying to create some kind of imaginary barrier between them. His phone buzzed once, but he ignored it, not wanting to engage with anyone. His mind kept drifting back to the fact that he was heading to Busan. The more he thought about it, the more suffocating it felt. Everything he was leaving behind—the clubs, the late nights, the endless possibilities—was being replaced by what? Peace? Quiet? The thought made his stomach churn.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the plane began its descent. Heeseung glanced out the window, his eyes catching the sprawling landscape below. It looked nothing like Seoul—no towering buildings, no lights flashing in every direction. Just rolling hills and small, neat houses scattered across the land. He could already feel the weight of what was coming.

When the plane touched down, Heeseung could barely contain his frustration. He grabbed his bag from the overhead compartment and made his way off the plane with slow, deliberate steps. He had to act like he cared about this trip, like he was excited to be here. But deep down, the last thing he wanted was to spend any more time in this place.

As he entered the terminal, his eyes scanned the crowd, and then—there she was. His grandmother, standing with a bright smile and open arms. She looked so out of place here, in her modest clothes and welcoming demeanor. Heeseung’s stomach twisted slightly as she hurried toward him, arms outstretched, ready to envelop him in a hug. The kind of hug that always made him uncomfortable—too warm, too familiar.

“Heeseung!” she exclaimed, her voice full of joy. “It’s so good to see you, my dear!”

Heeseung couldn’t help but put on a forced smile as she wrapped him in a tight embrace, her arms squeezing him warmly. The smell of her lavender perfume mixed with the fresh air of the airport. It was so… homey, so real—everything that felt so distant and foreign to him now. He stiffened in her arms, allowing the hug to last just a moment longer than necessary before gently pulling away.

“Yeah, it’s great to be here, Grandma,” he said with a strained smile, trying to sound polite despite the frustration brewing underneath. He wasn’t going to let her see how annoyed he was. She was his grandmother, after all, and she was just doing what she thought was best for him. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

He saw the glimmer of joy in her eyes as she looked up at him, so full of hope, as if she hadn’t seen him in years, even though it had only been a few months. “I’ve already prepared your room and your favorite snacks.”

Heeseung gave a small nod, his mind already drifting to the dull, quiet life he was about to begin here. His thoughts raced as his grandmother continued talking, her voice filled with excitement about all the things she’d planned for him in the coming days. He nodded along, pretending to be interested as they made their way to the car. But every part of him just wanted to get this over with.

Busan wasn’t his world. It never had been. But for now, it was the one he was stuck in.

When they arrived at his grandmother’s house, Heeseung couldn’t help but notice how small and cozy everything was. The house, while neat and well-kept, had an old-fashioned charm—wooden floors, soft light filtering through the windows, and the faint scent of lavender that seemed to linger in every corner. It was everything Seoul wasn’t. Peaceful. Quiet. Incredibly… boring.

His grandmother smiled at him as she ushered him inside, immediately making him feel like a guest in a place he didn’t want to be. She moved around the small kitchen with ease, the sound of her soft footsteps on the wooden floor the only noise in the otherwise still house.

“Come, come, sit down. I made your favorite,” she said, her eyes twinkling as she placed a steaming bowl of ramen in front of him. Heeseung’s stomach growled at the sight, but his heart wasn’t in it. He knew his grandmother had made the effort, but he wasn’t ready to feel the warmth of her affection—not now, not in this place.

It was ramen, yes—his favorite—but it wasn’t the instant kind he usually devoured with a hangover back in Seoul. This was homemade, the broth rich and full of flavor, the noodles tender. Despite himself, Heeseung took a bite, the taste instantly familiar, but it did little to comfort him. Everything here felt too… simple. Too real.

“Thanks,” he muttered, not looking up from his bowl. He tried to force a smile, but it came out strained, as if he were pretending for the sake of politeness. He didn’t want to be here, but he couldn’t outright tell her that. She was doing her best, after all.

His grandmother sat down beside him, her hands folded neatly in her lap, watching him with gentle eyes. “You’ve been through so much, my dear. It must be hard, coming all the way here,” she said softly. Heeseung didn’t respond immediately, focusing on his ramen as if it would somehow distract him from the discomfort growing in his chest.

After a few moments of silence, she stood up. “I’m going to prepare dinner for later, but I seem to have run out of a few things. The fridge is a bit empty. Would you mind going to the market to pick up some fruits and vegetables for me?” she asked, her voice gentle, almost apologetic.

Heeseung froze. A few seconds passed before he even looked up at her, blinking as though he’d misheard. “What?” he asked, his tone a bit sharper than he intended.

His grandmother looked at him, slightly confused but still polite. “I just need some basics, fruits and vegetables, you know. It’s just a few minutes’ walk. Would you mind?”

Heeseung’s jaw clenched. A few minutes’ walk? He wasn’t used to walking anywhere, let alone doing errands. Back in Seoul, he had people to do this for him. His assistant, his driver, even his personal shopper—someone always took care of these small tasks. The idea of having to walk down the street to a market, something so… normal, felt beneath him. His fingers tightened around the bowl, his thoughts running wild.

“You want me to go… get groceries?” His voice had a bite to it now, but his grandmother didn’t seem to notice the irritation creeping in. She simply smiled warmly and nodded.

“Yes, just a few things. I’m sorry, I didn’t plan ahead,” she apologized, genuinely unaware of how much he despised the request. “It won’t take long.”

Heeseung’s mind reeled. This is ridiculous. His gaze flicked to the window, staring out at the serene street beyond, where everything seemed to move at a pace he wasn’t used to. It was like everyone here had all the time in the world—time to do things slowly, with no urgency. That wasn’t him. He wasn’t used to doing things for himself. It made him feel… small.

“Fine,” he muttered, standing up abruptly. His movements were stiff, his mood darkening by the second. He wasn’t used to this—this lack of service, lack of luxury. And here he was, forced to walk down the street for some damn fruit. It was like a slap to the face.

His grandmother beamed at him, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “Thank you, dear. You’re a good boy.”

Heeseung didn’t bother to respond. Instead, he grabbed his jacket from the chair, pulling it on with as much effort as he could muster, before storming out the door without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, and as he stepped out into the quiet streets of Busan, the reality of his situation began to sink in. The silence of the town was almost suffocating. It wasn’t the vibrant, fast-paced life of Seoul, where everything was taken care of for him, where he was the one with the power, the one with the privilege.

Here? Here, he was just another person—doing his own errands, walking around like everyone else. The thought made his stomach turn, and for a brief moment, he hated everything about this place, about his grandmother’s simple, quiet life.

As he walked to the market, Heeseung couldn’t stop the growing resentment from bubbling up inside him. Every step, every moment spent outside of his comfort zone felt like an insult. He wasn’t sure how long he could last in this town, but one thing was certain—he couldn’t wait to get back to Seoul.

The streets of Busan stretched before Heeseung, calm and predictable, a stark contrast to the chaos of Seoul. The ocean breeze carried the scent of salt and freshly baked bread from a nearby shop, and the occasional chatter of pedestrians filled the air. To anyone else, it might have felt peaceful. To Heeseung, it felt painfully dull.

He walked with his hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders hunched forward. His grandmother had sent him out for groceries, claiming the fresh produce here was better than anything he could find in Seoul. He didn’t care—he just wanted to get this over with. Every step felt heavier than the last, the slow pace of Busan gnawing at him, suffocating him with its quiet simplicity.

Just as he turned the corner, something—or rather, someone—slammed straight into him. A force knocked against his chest, sending him stumbling back, and before he could react, he heard it.

A sickening crack against the pavement.

His heart sank. His phone. His only lifeline to Seoul, his only source of entertainment in this slow, uneventful city—gone. His jaw clenched as frustration surged through him. Of course this would happen here.

“Are you kidding me?” he snapped, his voice sharp.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” a flustered voice rushed out.

Heeseung barely registered the words as his eyes dropped to the ground. The dread in his stomach deepened. His phone lay face-up on the pavement, its screen shattered beyond recognition. His fists curled at his sides, and he exhaled harshly. Unbelievable.

You crouched down quickly, picking up the broken device and turning it over in your hands. “I-I didn’t see you there,” you stammered, eyes wide with guilt. “I was in a hurry, I wasn’t looking—”

Heeseung snatched the phone from your grasp, inspecting the damage.

“Yeah, no kidding,” he muttered, his irritation rising.

You winced. “I’m really sorry. Let me take you to a repair shop—I’ll cover the cost.”

Heeseung scoffed, shaking his head. “As if there’s even a decent one around this shitty place.”

“There is,” you insisted, ignoring his attitude. “It’s not far from here. Please, let me fix this.”

Your voice was gentle, sincere. In Seoul, people either avoided responsibility or threw money at problems like this without a second thought. But you… you actually cared. And for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, that irritated him even more.

He glanced at you more carefully now, noticing the bags of groceries you were holding in your arms. What the hell? he thought. What’s she doing with those?

“Wait,” Heeseung began, a new question forming in his mind as he looked down at the bags. “You delivering groceries or something?”

You nodded, your eyes shifting slightly. “Yeah, I deliver groceries to Miss Lee every week. I was a bit late today, that’s why I bumped into you. I’m sorry again.”

Heeseung blinked, the name clicking in his mind. Miss Lee? His grandmother. He paused, feeling something shift inside him. He thought about the grocery list his grandmother had given him that morning. Had she expected you to come? That would explain why she’d sent him out, probably thinking you wouldn’t make it today.

“You… you deliver to my grandmother?” Heeseung asked, the realization hitting him slowly.

You nodded again, but there was a flicker of surprise in your eyes. “Yeah, she’s… really sweet. I’ve been delivering to her for a while now. Actually, I’m kind of shocked she has a grandson. She’s never mentioned you.”

Heeseung’s brows furrowed. She never mentioned me? That hit him harder than it should have. He had assumed his grandmother had at least said something about him, but maybe she hadn’t. It wasn’t like they had a close relationship. She probably didn’t want to bring him up to you. Why would she?

“I guess she never talks about me,” Heeseung muttered, a little annoyed by the thought. “She never told you about me?”

You shook your head. “No, never. She’s always so kind to me—invites me over for dinner every so often, but I never got the sense she had anyone close in her life. Just… her life here in Busan.”

Heeseung felt a strange mix of irritation and guilt at that. She was right—his grandmother had never mentioned him in a way that implied they were anything more than distant. But he hadn’t made the effort either. The thought stung a bit more than he was willing to admit.

You noticed the silence hanging between you and smiled softly. “Look, I know this probably isn’t the best first impression, but if you want, I can take you to that repair shop. It’s really not far, and I’ll cover the cost of fixing your phone.”

Heeseung rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of his frustration finally start to settle. “Fine. Lead the way. And… I guess thanks.”

You smiled in relief, nodding. He followed you as you walked, the bags of groceries still in your arms. His mind kept racing. Maybe it was a coincidence, or maybe it was something more. Either way, this was the first time in a long time that he was actually starting to think twice about his grandmother’s life, and what he might have missed in the years he’d kept his distance. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to be stuck here in Busan, but if things like this kept happening, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. At least, not with you around.

Heeseung followed you into the small shop, still feeling the weight of the broken phone in his hand. He was trying to figure out if this whole thing was a joke. First, he had to leave Seoul, and now, in the middle of this quiet little town, his phone had broken, and this was the only place that could fix it.

The repair shop wasn’t much. The smell of old coffee lingered, and the shelves were lined with spare parts and old phones, like a tiny tech graveyard. Behind the counter stood Jin, a guy with a relaxed vibe, scruffy beard, and a look that said he wasn’t going to let the chaos of life bother him too much.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jin greeted you with a nod, glancing at Heeseung before turning back to the counter. “What’s up today?”

“Hi, Jin. Sorry about the phone,” you said, dropping a bag of groceries on the counter. “It’s his. He’s having a rough morning.”

Heeseung shot you a look, then glanced at the man behind the counter. He couldn’t tell if the guy was serious or just doing his job, but when Jin smiled, he knew something was off.

“No worries,” Jin said, his voice easy. “You know you don’t have to pay for repairs, right?”

“Excuse me?” Heeseung’s voice slipped out without thinking. “What do you mean, no charge? I’m not asking for a freebie here.”

Jin held up his hands. “Relax. Y/N helps me out around here. She’s good people. Honestly, I owe her more than I can give.”

Heeseung blinked, trying to wrap his head around this. Y/N was helping some random guy with his shop… for fun? That didn’t sound like anything he’d ever seen back in Seoul. People helped each other there too, but it was always for a reason, always with something to gain. This? It was just… weird.

Jin chuckled, clearly not fazed by Heeseung’s confusion. “I’m not gonna charge you for the repairs. But you? You’re getting a new phone.”

A new phone? Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “What? You’re just giving me a new one?”

Jin shrugged, a little amused. “Why not? You’re lucky. I can’t think of a better way to repay Y/N for everything she does.”

Heeseung stared at the phone Jin handed him, trying to wrap his mind around what was going on. This wasn’t some charity. No one just gave stuff away like this. But here it was—a brand new phone, way nicer than the broken one in his hand. It was almost as if Jin didn’t even see a reason not to.

“Damn,” Heeseung muttered under his breath, still skeptical. “That’s… unexpected.”

“Yeah, well, Y/N’s a one-in-a-million kind of person,” Jin said with a grin. “Helps me with the shop, takes care of my kid… You won’t find anyone like her in Seoul. I promise you that.”

Heeseung just nodded slowly, the weight of the new phone sinking in. “Right. So… what now?”

Jin gestured toward the counter. “Take it. You’re good to go. Just don’t break this one.”

Heeseung didn’t really know how to respond to that. “I won’t.”

“Well, if you do, just come back. I’ll fix it for free—again,” Jin added, his tone light, like this was all part of some normal routine.

As you gathered your things, Heeseung hesitated for a moment, still not used to this whole vibe. People didn’t just give things away for no reason in Seoul. Here, everything felt different. He wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing yet.

You walked out ahead of him, the groceries still in your arms, and Heeseung followed with the brand-new phone, still staring at it like it was some kind of alien object. “Guess I’ll have to get used to this,” he muttered under his breath.

You turned to him with a half-smile. “You will. It’s not that bad, you know. Just… try to not drop that one on the pavement, okay?”

Heeseung gave a half-hearted chuckle, but it didn’t feel as forced as it would have back in Seoul. “Yeah, sure,” he said, his voice still a little dry. “But don’t expect me to become some… Busan saint overnight.”

You shot him a look, one eyebrow raised. “I’m not asking you to change. Just don’t break the phone again.”

Heeseung smirked, shoving the new device into his pocket, still not sure what he’d just gotten himself into. “Whatever,” he said. “I’ll try to keep it in one piece, I guess. But I’m still not a fan of this town.”

You just shrugged, looking ahead as you walked. “We’ll see. You’ll get used to it.”

Heeseung let out a breath. Maybe. Maybe not. But for now, it was one less thing he had to worry about.

As you both made your way back to his grandmother’s house, the weight of the grocery bags was starting to get to you. They weren’t heavy, but the repetitive strain of carrying them made your arms ache a little. Still, you didn’t mind; this was just another day in Busan. You glanced over at Heeseung, who was walking beside you with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. His posture was stiff, and the way he scanned the surroundings made it clear: he wasn’t used to it here. He wasn’t used to any of it.

The small streets of Busan, with their peaceful rhythm, were a far cry from the chaos of Seoul. You couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable it must be for someone like him. You could see the way he cringed at the silence, how his shoulders were hunched forward, as though he was actively trying to shrink away from the stillness of it all. It was almost funny, how someone so used to the loud, fast-paced life of Seoul could feel so out of place in this small, quaint town.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence as you walked, “tell me about Seoul. What’s it really like? I mean, it sounds like another world from here.”

Heeseung glanced at you, his lips curling into a brief, cynical smirk. “It is. It’s loud. It’s fast. The people don’t care. And it’s always… moving. It’s like you never stop, and it’s just… better, you know?” His words came out sharper than you expected, like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

You nodded, noticing the bitterness in his tone. “Yeah, but why did you hate it so much?”

Heeseung let out a breath and shrugged, his gaze drifting to the ground. “It’s the same shit everyday. It was fun, for a while, but then it just… got boring. No one really gives a damn. It was all just distractions. And I didn’t want that anymore. But this,” he gestured vaguely at the small streets of Busan, “this is just… too quiet. Too nice. It’s like living in a bubble. I can’t stand it.”

You blinked, surprised at the rawness in his voice. “So, you miss it? The chaos, the noise?”

Heeseung didn’t answer right away. He seemed to be weighing something, before he muttered, “Yeah. I miss it. I miss the parties. I miss the drinking. I miss just… having people around. Even if they don’t care about you. At least it felt real. Here? It’s like everyone’s walking around on eggshells, pretending everything’s perfect.” His voice grew more frustrated as he continued, the usual coolness replaced by something deeper. “I get it. I know why my parents sent me here. They think I’ll change, but what’s the point of change if it means… this?” He gestured around at the peaceful, quiet streets, the ocean breeze that filled the air with calm. “I don’t want to be stuck in this goddamn town, living this boring life with nothing to do but watch the world move around me.”

You were quiet for a moment, letting the weight of his words sink in. You’d never met someone who hated a place like this so much. You didn’t understand it completely—after all, Busan had always been home to you, with its slow pace and comforting familiarity. But you could see how someone like Heeseung, someone who thrived on excitement, would feel stifled here.

“So,” you began, trying to shift the mood, “you think you’re going to go back to Seoul anytime soon?”

Heeseung scoffed, running a hand through his hair as he stared ahead. “I wish. But my dad’s made it clear: if I don’t stay here, I’m cut off. No more money, no more fun. Just this life.” His voice was bitter, each word laced with frustration. “It’s either this, or nothing.”

You shrugged, deciding not to press him further. It was clear he didn’t want to be here, but you weren’t sure what kind of life he really wanted either. You couldn’t blame him for feeling out of place, but there had to be more to him than just the party-boy act.

“Well, you could always go back to the city when you’re ready,” you said casually, though you didn’t fully believe it. You’d never seen someone so desperate to run away from something so peaceful.

Heeseung didn’t respond right away. Instead, he glanced over at you as you carried the heavy bags. “You know,” he said with a hint of hesitation, “you don’t have to carry all that yourself. You could’ve asked for help.”

You laughed lightly, not even breaking stride. “Oh, I’m fine. It’s nothing, really.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you always this stubborn? Don’t you have a boyfriend who could help with stuff like this?”

You chuckled at his attempt to steer the conversation away from the heavy topic, and without missing a beat, you shot back, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Heeseung gave you a quick glance, confused. “No boyfriend? Why not?”

You shrugged, your expression neutral. “I’m just waiting for the right person. I haven’t been in love yet, so I’m not in any rush.”

Heeseung scoffed, as if the idea of waiting for “the one” was absurd. “That’s stupid. Love’s just… a distraction. You’re telling me you believe in soulmates?” He seemed genuinely baffled by the idea.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding slightly. “I believe that when the time’s right, someone’s going to show up. Why rush it?”

Heeseung snorted, shaking his head. “Soulmates. That’s a nice fairy tale.”

You shot him a look. “Well, you don’t have to believe in it. But it’s nice to think that someone out there is meant for me, y’know?”

He didn’t answer. His expression softened just a little, but only for a second before he shifted the conversation again. “What about you, though? Why do you do all this stuff for people? I mean, you work for free. You help out with Jin’s shop. You take care of his kid, and for what? What’s in it for you?”

You smiled, the weight of the groceries beginning to feel heavier again, but you didn’t care. “I do it because it makes me feel good. There’s no catch. I just like making people’s lives a little easier, especially when they’re struggling.” You paused, glancing over at him. “Not everyone has the luxury of things coming easily to them.”

Heeseung didn’t reply right away, and for a second, you thought he was going to brush you off. But instead, he turned to you, his expression thoughtful, almost pensive.

“Yeah, well, maybe you’re right,” he muttered. “But… I still think you’re wasting your time.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Maybe. But it’s my time to waste, isn’t it?”

As you continued walking, you couldn’t help but notice that Heeseung was walking just a little bit slower now, his shoulders a little less tense. Maybe it was just the calm of Busan working its way under his skin, or maybe… just maybe, he was starting to understand what you meant. He had a long way to go before he’d admit it, but something in his expression made you think that, despite all his bravado, Heeseung wasn’t as sure of his life as he tried to seem.

When you finally arrived back at Mrs. Lee’s house, your arms were sore from carrying the heavy bags of groceries. You stepped through the door and were greeted by Mrs. Lee, who was in the kitchen preparing something.

“Oh, you’re back already?” she asked, surprised. “I didn’t expect you to bring the groceries. You didn’t come like usual, so I thought you must’ve gotten busy. So, I made him go out and get it for me.”

You glanced over at Heeseung, who was already walking inside with his usual disinterested expression. He seemed completely indifferent, clearly not in the mood for any kind of conversation.

“Well,” you started softly, your voice apologetic, “We kind of bumped into each other on the way here. I wasn’t paying attention, and… I accidentally broke his phone.” You paused, feeling a bit awkward. “I offered to take him to a repair shop to get it fixed, and that’s how this whole thing turned into an impromptu grocery run.”

Mrs. Lee chuckled lightly, giving you a warm smile. “You’re very kind, Y/N. Heeseung usually doesn’t let anyone help him.” She turned to glance at her grandson, who was already walking up the stairs, uninterested in the conversation.

“Well,” Mrs. Lee continued, “since you’re here, could you help Heeseung unpack his things? I’m sure he could use the help.”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Sure, I’ll help him.”

His room wasn’t what you expected. It was neat, organized, and… almost too perfect. The kind of room that looked like it had been arranged by someone who had little interest in making it homey. Everything had its place, and there was no sign of the kind of chaos that usually accompanies someone who had just moved in. Heeseung, on the other hand, stood off to the side, looking as uninterested as ever.

You started unpacking a bag of his things, trying to make the space feel a bit more lived in. As you did, you noticed something on the floor near his bag. You knelt down and picked up a box of condoms, surprised to find it among his clothes. What the hell is he planning on doing with those? you thought to yourself, feeling slightly uncomfortable, your cheeks heating up. You didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but it was hard not to wonder about Heeseung’s lifestyle.

You placed the box back down in its spot, still trying to process the absurdity of it all. “This guy really brought everything with him,” you muttered to yourself.

Heeseung glanced over, his sharp eyes catching yours. “What? Judging the things I bring now?” His voice was cool, though there was a hint of irritation in it. “Something wrong with it?”

You quickly looked away, a little embarrassed. “No, it’s just… never mind.”

He smirked, a small, amused glint in his eyes. “Guess you’re not used to people like me, huh?” He leaned back against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Not everyone’s a small-town angel.”

You continued unpacking Heeseung’s things, your mind wandering as you tried to make sense of the absurdity of it all. His room, his stuff—everything seemed so out of place for someone who had just arrived in this quiet town. As you shifted through the bags, you couldn’t help but glance up at him for a second. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching you silently, looking completely at ease in his space, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Before you could stop yourself, your gaze lingered a little too long on him. Something about the way he looked—like he belonged in a magazine or a K-drama—made it hard not to stare.

You quickly snapped your eyes away, feeling a bit embarrassed, but before you could recover, Heeseung’s voice broke the silence. “You’re staring,” he said nonchalantly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as if it was no big deal.

You blinked, caught off guard. He didn’t even look at you when he said it, his attention still on his phone. “I—uh, sorry,” you stammered, trying to act normal, but his smirk made you feel exposed, like he could tell you were thinking more than you let on.

Heeseung just shrugged, seemingly unbothered. “Whatever.” His voice was casual, but there was a certain sharpness to it that you couldn’t quite shake off. Maybe it was because people in Busan don’t look like him a typical boy born in Seoul.

You focused on putting his things away, doing your best to ignore how your heartbeat had picked up just a little from the way he’d called you out. You weren’t sure why his words got to you so much, but there was something about him—something hard to ignore.

But you pushed the thoughts aside. You had enough to think about. “Let’s just finish this up,” you muttered under your breath, your hands still working, trying to keep your mind from wandering too far.

As you packed the last of his bags into the small wardrobe, you looked over at him again. He wasn’t paying attention to you anymore, his eyes glued to his phone. The way he just detached himself from everything around him was frustrating, but you couldn’t deny how interesting it was, too. He was so different from anyone you had met in Busan. You didn’t even think someone like him could exist here.

“Alright, that’s everything,” you said, trying to break the silence as you stood up. “Is there anything else?”

He looked at you then, like he was actually considering whether or not he had more to say. But before he could answer, his grandmother’s voice floated in from the kitchen.

“Heeseung!” Mrs. Lee called, her tone light and welcoming. “Why don’t you and y/nnie friend come have some tea?”

Heeseung gave you an unreadable look before turning to follow his grandmother into the kitchen. You shrugged, gathering your things as you followed him. Mrs. Lee, ever the gracious host, had already set everything out. The table was small, but cozy, and the warm scent of tea filled the room.

You sat down across from Heeseung, trying to ignore the awkwardness of the situation. It wasn’t your fault he’d been sent here. It wasn’t your fault he didn’t seem to want to be here, either. You weren’t even sure why you’d stuck around this long. But there was something about him—a puzzle you were determined to solve, even if he wasn’t making it easy.

Mrs. Lee beamed at the both of you, her hands clasped in front of her as she poured the tea. “You two must be tired after everything today,” she said with a warm smile. “I’m so glad you met my grandson. Heeseung doesn’t get out much in Seoul, so it’s good for him to have a new friend here.”

You smiled politely, but couldn’t help glancing at Heeseung. His eyes flickered over to you, but he said nothing. He was so quiet, so withdrawn, like he couldn’t care less. It made you want to say something, to ask him what he thought of all this, but you knew it wasn’t that simple.

“So, what do you plan on doing while you’re here in Busan?” you asked casually, trying to keep the conversation going.

He looked at you for a long moment before answering, his voice flat. “Suffer, suffer, and maybe some more suffering.”

“Really?” you said, almost wanting to let out a scoff. “Don’t you want to explore this city? It’s quite beautiful, don’t you think?”

He shrugged, his lips twitching slightly. “Guess you don’t know me very well, do you?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I don’t think anyone does.”

Heeseung just smirked again, as if that was the answer he’d expected. The conversation shifted again as his grandmother asked about your family, but you couldn’t stop thinking about how guarded he was. You weren’t sure if he was scared of opening up or if he simply didn’t care. Either way, you were curious.

As the tea settled between them, you couldn’t help but feel like you were witnessing a slow-moving train wreck. It wasn’t your responsibility to fix Heeseung, but it didn’t stop you from wanting to know more. Whatever his story was, it wasn’t over yet.

The next morning, Heeseung was jolted awake by a knock on his door. Groggily, he glanced at the clock on his nightstand. 9 AM. To most people, that wasn’t so early. But for him? It was still the middle of the night. He let out a loud groan and buried his face in his pillow, the sheets tangled around his legs.

“Who the hell is knocking at this hour?” he muttered under his breath, his eyes barely open as he tried to fall back asleep. The sound of another knock echoed through the room.

“Come on, Heeseung, wake up!” a familiar voice called from outside.

He rolled over to face the door, his face still pressed into the pillow. He didn’t even want to know who it was, but the voice was unmistakable.

It was you.

With a resigned sigh, Heeseung threw off the covers and dragged himself out of bed. His eyes were half-lidded as he trudged over to the door and swung it open, trying to stifle a yawn.

You stood there, smiling brightly, almost too cheerfully for the time of day. You were holding a bag with what appeared to be snacks, and your eyes glimmered with excitement.

“Good morning, Heeseung!” you greeted, unfazed by his obvious lack of enthusiasm. “I hope I didn’t wake you up too early. But I thought today would be a good day to show you around Busan. You’re probably still not used to it here, right?”

Heeseung stared at you for a moment, still processing the fact that you were standing in front of him so early. He groaned again, rubbing his eyes. “Seriously? It’s barely 9 AM…”

“I know, I know,” you said, unfazed by his obvious irritation. “But trust me, it’ll be fun. You’ll get to see the popular beaches, the rivers, all the places people talk about.”

Heeseung had been dreading something like this. He wasn’t here to sightsee, and he definitely wasn’t interested in anything that resembled “fun” at this time of day. He was about to give a lazy refusal when he heard a familiar voice from behind him.

“Heeseung, dear, you should go. It’ll be good for you.” Mrs. Lee’s voice floated from the kitchen. “You don’t want to spend all your time cooped up inside. You might as well get to know Busan better.”

Heeseung sighed, the last thing he wanted to do today was get dragged around a bunch of beaches and tourist spots. But what could he do? His grandmother had that look on her face. The one that told him he’d have to do it, no matter how much he complained.

“Fine,” he muttered, trying to mask his annoyance. “But I swear, if I get dragged to any crowded tourist traps, I’m out.”

You just smiled and handed him a bottle of water. “It’s not like that, I promise. Let’s just go enjoy the day.”

As the day dragged on, Heeseung found himself following you around the streets of Busan, though his mind wasn’t really there. He was hoping for some kind of excuse to get out of this whole ordeal, but as the sun rose higher in the sky, he noticed something. The quiet, peaceful atmosphere of Busan was starting to grow on him, just a little bit. He hated to admit it, but there was something different here. Something that he couldn’t ignore.

You led him to one of the most popular beaches in the area, and for the first time, Heeseung felt a little more relaxed. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was oddly soothing. The salty breeze hit him with a refreshing chill, and the scent of freshly baked bread and seafood lingered in the air.

Still, he wasn’t used to the tranquility of it all. It felt strange. He had never seen a place so peaceful, so unhurried. Seoul was the complete opposite—noisy, busy, everyone always rushing to go somewhere. But here, people just… existed. And you fit into that world perfectly.

As you wandered through the beach, you waved to almost everyone you passed, exchanging greetings with ease. Heeseung watched with a mix of confusion and awe. How did you know so many people?

“Morning, Y/N!” A man called out from a bench, waving as you passed. You returned the gesture, chatting briefly with him before continuing along.

“Hey, Y/N!” A couple of girls greeted, and you stopped to talk to them, laughing at something one of them said before you carried on.

Heeseung had never seen anything like it. People in Seoul didn’t talk to each other like this. There was always a distance between everyone, a sense of hurriedness that kept people from acknowledging one another. But in Busan? It was different.

“How do you know so many people?” Heeseung finally asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

You smiled, unfazed by his question. “I’ve lived here my whole life. You get to know people when you help out around town. It’s a small place, so it’s easy to make connections.”

Heeseung couldn’t help but wonder how many people you helped on a regular basis. You seemed so comfortable in your own skin, so open to the world around you. It was something he wasn’t used to, and he felt a strange sense of admiration for you—though he quickly dismissed it. No, he didn’t need to start feeling anything for someone like you. You were different. Too different.

As the day continued, Heeseung couldn’t ignore the growing warmth in his chest every time someone smiled at you or waved. It wasn’t like anything he had experienced before. It wasn’t the kind of warmth he got from the noise and chaos of his parties back in Seoul, where everything felt empty and fleeting. This was something… real. But what was it?

By the time you had finished showing him the rivers, the markets, and some of the more popular landmarks, Heeseung found himself lost in thought. You were nothing like anyone he knew back home. You were kind, open, and honest in a way that almost made him uncomfortable. But it also made him feel something he wasn’t sure he wanted to feel.

As you stood on the beach, watching the sun slowly set over the horizon, Heeseung glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. You were looking out at the water, your face soft in the fading light. He couldn’t help but feel a strange pull toward you, something unfamiliar that made him uneasy.

What was this? Why did you make him feel like this?

You turned to face him, catching his gaze, and for a brief moment, Heeseung was struck by how easy it was for you to make him feel so… unsettled. He was used to being the one who controlled the situation, who didn’t let anyone in. But here you were, a complete stranger, and somehow, you had gotten under his skin.

But he didn’t want to think about it. It was stupid. It was just the peaceful atmosphere of Busan making him think too much. He couldn’t let himself get distracted by something like this.

So, he shoved the thought aside, letting the warmth in his chest fade away.

“Alright, I’m done,” he said, turning on his heel and starting to walk back toward where you had parked the car.

You smiled to yourself, following after him, though you had no idea what was going on inside his head.

As you both made your way back toward the car, Heeseung stayed a few steps ahead, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. He didn’t say much, and you figured he was still in his mood, probably counting down the minutes until he could return to his usual routine of partying and hooking up. He was still adjusting to this quiet, peaceful life, and you didn’t expect him to suddenly embrace it. Not yet, at least.

But you couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift in his demeanor. The way his eyes lingered on things a little longer than usual, the softening of his features when he wasn’t trying to hide it. Heeseung wasn’t someone who let his guard down easily, but there were moments when he looked almost… peaceful. It was a rare sight, and maybe that’s why you noticed it more than you should have.

“Hey, are you okay?” you asked casually, watching as he glanced at the horizon, his expression unreadable.

Heeseung gave you a sideways glance but didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he shoved his hands further into his pockets and looked away.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice low. But there was something in the way he said it, a tinge of something that made you wonder if he was telling the truth.

“Well, thanks for coming today,” you said, your tone more sincere than you intended. “I know you probably didn’t want to, but I’m glad you did. It’s good to get out once in a while, right?”

Heeseung just grunted, not really acknowledging your words. But you noticed the way his posture softened a bit, like the weight of his frustration from earlier had lifted slightly. You didn’t know if it was from the fresh air, the quiet streets, or maybe just the fact that for once, he didn’t feel so suffocated by the city, but something about him seemed a little… different.

As you reached the car, Heeseung leaned against it, crossing his arms and staring at the ground. His usual cocky demeanor had faded, replaced by something that you couldn’t quite place. Was it discomfort? Was he actually considering what you said? The thought made you pause for a moment.

“So,” you said after a beat, breaking the silence, “you really don’t like it here, huh? Busan, I mean.”

Heeseung didn’t look up. “It’s… too quiet,” he replied simply. “I’m used to Seoul. The noise, the people, the clubs, everything. It’s not the same here.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You don’t think it’s a little… better here? Peaceful, maybe?”

Heeseung snorted. “It’s boring. I don’t need peace. I need life. I need… energy. Excitement.”

You let out a small laugh, though it wasn’t mocking, just amused by his stubbornness. “You know, I think you’re going to need a little more than ‘life’ and ‘energy’ if you really want to make it here.”

Heeseung finally looked at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I can handle myself.”

The way he said it made you wonder if he truly believed it. But you didn’t press him. You could see he was still struggling with the idea of being in Busan, and while you didn’t fully understand his attachment to the chaos of Seoul, you knew better than to push too hard.

“So, what now?” he asked, suddenly more curious than before. “We head back to your grandma’s place, or what?”

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah, we should probably get back. I promised her I’d help with some things.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Wait, what? You’re really that dedicated to helping an old lady?”

You chuckled at the way he phrased it. “Well, Mrs. Lee isn’t just an old lady, you know? She’s been a big part of my life for years. Plus, she’s always there for me when I need something. It’s the least I can do.”

Heeseung scoffed lightly, though there was no real malice behind it. “Yeah, sure, whatever. I guess you’re just one of those ‘do-gooders,’ huh?”

You looked at him with a slightly amused smile. “Is that a bad thing?”

Heeseung shrugged. “I don’t know. Just seems kind of… cheesy.”

You laughed lightly. “You’d be surprised how much people like a little kindness now and then.”

Heeseung didn’t reply, but you noticed the corner of his mouth twitch upwards ever so slightly, like he was fighting the urge to smile. He quickly looked away, as if to hide it.

The drive back was a quiet one, with the occasional comment from Heeseung about how quiet Busan was or how “boring” everything seemed. But you didn’t mind. There was something calming about the quiet between you two, and you could feel the subtle shift in the air. Maybe, just maybe, he was starting to appreciate the small things in life here. Or maybe he was just starting to get used to you.

When you reached Mrs. Lee’s house, you both got out of the car and made your way inside, the peaceful atmosphere of Busan seeming to wrap around you again. But this time, Heeseung didn’t complain. Instead, he followed you inside, and for a brief moment, you saw something different in his eyes—a sense of curiosity that had been absent before.

Maybe he didn’t fully understand it yet, but you could tell that he was beginning to.

Weeks passed since that day at the beach, and Heeseung had reluctantly started to adjust to life in Busan. It wasn’t like he had a choice. His parents had made it clear that he was here to stay until they thought he was ready to go back to Seoul—if that ever happened. He still hated the quiet, the slow pace, and the constant reminder that he was stuck here. But, slowly, he began to get used to it.

There was something about you that he couldn’t quite shake, though. You were always so calm, always so genuinely kind, and for the first time in a long time, Heeseung found himself looking forward to the moments you came over. He didn’t admit it, of course. He was still the same Heeseung—the one who kept his distance, the one who didn’t let anyone in too easily. But he started to warm up to you. He accepted that you were probably the only real friend he had here, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

You both followed each other on Instagram, and he found himself checking your page more than he wanted to. At first, he convinced himself that it was just because you were the only one he knew in Busan. You had a lot of pictures of the places around the city—the markets, the beaches, and the food. Sometimes he’d scroll through your stories, watching you chat with your friends, laughing with them, and living your quiet little life. It made something twist in his stomach that he couldn’t quite identify.

He hated how much he found himself looking at your posts, but it was like a habit he couldn’t shake. There was something about your smile, something about the way you seemed so… content, that had a strange effect on him. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or hated it. Either way, it made him miss you in a way that didn’t make sense to him.

It was a restless night for Heeseung. His mind kept racing, thoughts of you lingering in his head. He couldn’t shake the feeling, the strange sense of longing that made him feel more out of place than ever. He had convinced himself over and over that it was just because you were the only person he knew in Busan, that it was just the loneliness of the city playing tricks on him. But the more he thought about it, the more he knew that wasn’t the case.

He turned over in his bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to block out the thoughts of you. But there they were, your smile, your laugh, the way you made him feel like maybe he wasn’t so far gone after all. He hated that he was thinking about you like this, hated how you’d crept under his skin. It didn’t make sense. Why you? Why now?

He glanced at his phone. It was 3 a.m. His thumb hovered over your contact, hesitation flooding him. He had been lying there for what felt like hours, debating whether or not to reach out to you. It wasn’t like him—Heeseung didn’t just call anyone at this hour, especially not someone like you. But the thought of hearing your voice, of not feeling so damn alone for just a few minutes, was enough to make his decision.

He pressed your name and waited, his heart pounding in his chest.

The phone rang once. Then twice. Before the third ring, your voice cut through the darkness.

“Heeseung?” you answered, your voice quiet but clear, as if you had been waiting for the call. It caught him off guard.

Heeseung didn’t speak right away. There was something about the way you answered, without any hesitation, that made him feel… stupid. Like maybe this wasn’t as big of a deal as he was making it in his head. But before he could gather his thoughts, the silence stretched between them.

Heeseung’s heart pounded in his chest, the silence between them thick and awkward. He stared at the dark room around him, feeling the weight of the night settle on his shoulders. He had no idea why he even called. What was he doing? It was 3 a.m., for God’s sake.

The quiet hum of your voice through the phone pulled him back to reality.

“What are you doing up so late?” you asked, your tone light and filled with that quiet kindness he had come to recognize.

He froze for a moment. He wasn’t sure how to answer. His mind raced, and for once, he was at a loss for words. What could he say? That he couldn’t sleep? That his mind had been running in circles with thoughts of you? That would sound ridiculous. He wasn’t the kind of guy to admit things like that.

He let out a sharp breath, trying to sound casual, as if it wasn’t bothering him at all. “I… I couldn’t sleep,” he muttered, shifting in bed, feeling the tension in his muscles. “Just… thinking.”

You were quiet for a moment, probably waiting for more, but Heeseung wasn’t sure how to explain any of this. He didn’t even fully understand it himself.

Finally, he broke the silence again, forcing himself to sound a little less awkward. “Anyway, I just—well, I guess I needed to hear a familiar voice.”

The words hung in the air, and Heeseung instantly regretted saying them.

Heeseung sat up in bed, the glow of his phone lighting up his face in the darkness of his room. He wasn’t sure why he’d called, and the more he thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed. He could feel the silence stretching between the two of you before you finally spoke.

“What are you doing up so late?” you asked, your voice soft and warm through the phone.

Heeseung hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He wasn’t used to being vulnerable, and right now, all he wanted was to avoid it. His gaze flicked toward the window, the quiet, still streets of Busan mocking him as if reminding him of just how different this place was from Seoul.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. “Just… thinking.”

He didn’t know why that seemed like the most acceptable answer, but it was the truth, in a way. His mind had been racing ever since he’d gotten off the phone with his parents earlier that day, the weight of his situation still pressing down on him.

He heard you pause, then you teased him. “I thought you said my voice was annoying? What did you say I sounded like? A-”

Heeseung quickly cut you off, his voice low and defensive, “I didn’t mean that. I was just messing around, alright?”

You were silent for a moment, and he could almost picture you smirking on the other end, and that somehow irritated him. Why was he so flustered? Why had he even called?

He shifted again, a small laugh escaping your lips through the phone. “You’re such a liar. I knew you didn’t mean it. No one can resist my voice for too long.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes, leaning back against the headboard. He didn’t know how to respond to that, especially when the truth was that his thoughts had been consumed with you ever since you’d showed him around the town. He didn’t get it. Why was he thinking about you now? He didn’t even know you that well.

“I’m serious,” he muttered, feeling that strange mix of frustration and confusion bubbling inside him. “It’s just… different here, you know?”

You responded with understanding. “Busan’s a lot quieter than Seoul. You’ll get used to it. It just takes time.”

Heeseung wasn’t sure if he believed that, but hearing your voice and your gentle words made him feel a little lighter, even though he hated to admit it. You had that effect on him, and he hated it.

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, trying to brush it off. “I’m still not used to it.”

There was a long pause. He almost thought you’d hang up, but then you spoke again, quieter this time.

“You’ll be okay,” you said. “I know it’s not easy, but things will change, Heeseung. Just… take it one step at a time.”

Heeseung didn’t respond immediately. He didn’t know how to respond to something so simple, so calm. He wasn’t sure if it was because of your words or because he didn’t want to admit it, but something inside him shifted, just a little. Maybe he could make it through this place after all. And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad with you around.

Heeseung leaned back against the headboard, feeling a strange, uncomfortable tightness in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain. The silence between you both felt different now—not awkward, but almost… too comfortable. It was something he didn’t know how to deal with, not when he was still trying to make sense of everything in his head.

“I guess I’ll… try to get some sleep,” he said, his voice trailing off.

He heard you sigh softly on the other end, and there was that warmth again, the kind that only you seemed to give him, even when he wasn’t asking for it.

“I’m sure you will,” you replied, your tone light but with a softness to it. “But if you can’t, you know where to find me.”

For some reason, those words hit him harder than they should have. He wasn’t used to this—this kindness, this genuine care. You weren’t just some stranger anymore. You were someone he relied on, whether he wanted to admit it or not. And it made him feel… weird. Confused. Like he was losing control of something he didn’t want to lose.

“I’ll be fine,” he said quickly, trying to shake the feeling. “You should get some sleep too.”

There was a pause, and when you spoke again, he could almost feel the smile on your face. “I’m already asleep, Heeseung. You’re just dreaming.”

He let out a soft, surprised laugh, despite himself. “Yeah, right. Maybe it’s a nightmare.”

“Is that so?” you teased lightly. “Well, if you ever need help with that, you know where I am.”

Heeseung let out a breath, trying to steady himself. Your voice was too calm, too soothing. And it made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. Things he couldn’t explain.

“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, his tone a little quieter than usual. It felt like there was something more he should have said, something more he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how to put it into words.

There was a soft pause before you replied, and when you did, it was simple: “Goodnight, Heeseung.”

Your voice was gentle, the way it always was, and for a moment, Heeseung just sat there in silence, phone pressed to his ear. He wanted to say something back, but the words didn’t come. He didn’t know what to say anymore, not when his mind felt like a mess.

The line went quiet, and Heeseung just stayed there, staring at the ceiling in the dark, his thoughts racing. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what else to say. Maybe it was better that way.

Eventually, the call ended, and all Heeseung was left with was the quiet of the room and the confusing feeling in his chest. It was so stupid. He was being stupid. He just needed to sleep, but his mind wouldn’t let him. Not when you were still there, lingering in his thoughts.

The room felt too quiet now. Too still.

He closed his eyes, trying to shut it all out, but the silence was deafening.

The morning light filtered through the window, and Heeseung woke up with a strange heaviness in his chest. His first thought, as ridiculous as it seemed, was of you. He couldn’t help it. Every time he tried to focus on something else, your voice, your smile, or even the way you always seemed to look at him like you actually cared—it was all there, stuck in his mind. It bothered him. And, somehow, it felt… nice?

He tried shaking it off, getting up to do something—anything—to distract himself. He needed to forget about last night, about that stupid, confusing conversation, and the fact that he wanted to hear your voice again. But it lingered.

Around lunchtime, he thought about calling you. He almost grabbed his phone, thumb hovering over your contact, but then he stopped himself. He was being ridiculous. He couldn’t face whatever was happening inside his head. He didn’t want to think about it, especially not today.

So he sat there, doing his best to avoid thinking about the way his heart skipped whenever he thought about you.

But then the doorbell rang, snapping him out of his thoughts. His grandma was out, and he didn’t expect anyone else. He walked to the door, pulling it open, and there you stood—holding a bag of instant ramen. His favorite, of course.

“I brought you some ramen,” you said with a soft smile, almost like you’d read his mind. “I know you don’t have anything else, and it’s your favorite. I figured you’d be starving.”

He blinked, momentarily speechless. What was going on? He never expected you to show up with something like this. Maybe it was because his grandma had been gone, or maybe it was just because… well, you cared.

“Uh, thanks,” Heeseung mumbled, trying to sound unaffected, but something in his chest tightened again. “You really didn’t have to.”

You shrugged, not even fazed by his cool demeanor. “I don’t mind. Besides, I’m the one who taught you how to cook ramen anyway.”

He didn’t say anything to that, just followed you into the kitchen. You both started to prepare the noodles, the kitchen filled with the sound of boiling water and the small clinks of metal as you moved around. You even hummed a little, and Heeseung couldn’t help but notice how much more relaxed you were compared to him. You just moved like everything was easy—like things weren’t as complicated as he made them.

You handed him the ramen packets, asking, “Hey, do you want to pour in the sauce packets, or should I?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Sauce packets?” He hadn’t even noticed that you were about to clean up the mess. The weird thing was—he didn’t mind.

Usually, he’d make a face and just leave it, or walk away, letting someone else clean up after him. But now?

Without thinking, he reached for the packets, uncapping them and adding them to the noodles. He glanced up at you. “I’ll clean up,” he said, surprising even himself.

You froze for a second, then let out a quiet laugh. “Oh, wow. Heeseung actually cleaning up? Someone must’ve slipped something into your ramen.”

He shot you a playful glare, even though he couldn’t help but feel a little defensive. “I’m not that bad.”

“You sure about that?” you teased lightly, though there was no malice in your tone. “I mean, I’ve seen you leave a mess all over the place. I guess I just didn’t expect this.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes but found himself laughing despite the teasing. It felt different—normal. Comfortable. “Well, guess you’re in for a surprise then,” he said, a bit of a smirk tugging at his lips.

You laughed again, shaking your head. “I never thought I’d see the day when you offered to clean up after yourself.”

He just shrugged, his gaze shifting away from you. “Maybe I’m not as bad as you think.”

You gave him a small smile, and for a moment, Heeseung felt a weird warmth in his chest again. Maybe, just maybe, he was starting to like it here. Maybe it wasn’t so bad.

But he wasn’t about to admit that out loud.

“Thanks,” he said quietly as you set the ramen down on the counter. You didn’t respond immediately, just gave him a glance before turning back to the stove.

In the silence that followed, Heeseung couldn’t help but feel that annoying little feeling again, the one he couldn’t shake. The one that made his chest tighten whenever you smiled, or laughed, or even when you teased him. He didn’t want to think about it, but he couldn’t help it.

Maybe he was just getting used to you, or maybe it was something else. Something more than that. But Heeseung didn’t know how to deal with that. Not yet. He wasn’t ready for it.

As you stirred the ramen, the smell of the rich broth mixing with the scent of the seasoning packets filled the air. You could feel Heeseung’s gaze on you, even without looking at him. It was the way he lingered in the corner of your vision, the way his silence weighed in the room. The kitchen felt warm, but not just from the stove.

You ignored it, of course. What else could you do? You told yourself it was just his usual quiet presence, the way he existed in a space without ever really being present. But there was something different today. His gaze lingered longer than usual. Maybe it was just your imagination, but you couldn’t help but feel like he was watching you a little more closely.

“Something on my face?” you asked without looking up, trying to sound casual as you added a little more seasoning to the pot.

He didn’t answer immediately. You could feel him hesitate, as if unsure whether to respond or not. You turned, meeting his eyes briefly, and caught that familiar look. He was staring again. But he didn’t say anything this time, and you didn’t press him either.

Why would he be staring at you? He was so… different. The contrast between you two was glaring. Heeseung was everything that this town wasn’t. He was loud, a little reckless, and far too aware of his looks. His life in Seoul, all the people and parties and chaos, it was so far from the peaceful rhythm of Busan. And then there was you. You were nothing like that. Quiet, simple, and someone who knew how to exist without drawing attention. The thought that he might actually be… interested? That he might want to spend time with you? It didn’t make sense.

You shrugged it off, stirring the ramen again, pretending like it didn’t matter. But deep down, a small part of you wondered why he was still here, in this small, warm kitchen with you.

Your mind started to wander, your hands working mechanically while your thoughts drifted. Why would a guy like Heeseung, someone who could have anyone, even care about someone like me? You weren’t bad-looking, not by any means. But compared to him? He had that perfect, effortless charm. His looks were always on display. He walked with that confidence, like he owned every room he walked into. His smile had the ability to make girls swoon, and there was a certain edge to him that made people take notice. You, on the other hand, had always preferred to stay out of the spotlight. You liked being quiet, making others feel comfortable. You didn’t need to stand out. Yet, here he was, staring at you like you were worth his attention.

It doesn’t make sense.

You told yourself to focus on the ramen, but the weight of his gaze felt heavy, even when you weren’t looking. His presence, the slight tension in the air whenever he was near, was starting to become something you couldn’t ignore. It was unsettling, yet somehow comforting, a paradox that you didn’t want to unpack.

“Do you need anything else?” you asked, still trying to distract yourself from the thoughts swirling in your head. You were determined to act like everything was normal, to keep the conversation light. After all, you were doing a favor for his grandmother, not trying to figure out why Heeseung was suddenly acting different.

Heeseung didn’t respond immediately, his eyes still fixed on you. You could feel the weight of his attention, how his eyes lingered a little too long. Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached for a nearby towel, his voice low but steady.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.”

For a moment, the room was quiet again, only the sound of the ramen bubbling in the pot filling the space. You glanced at him briefly, only to catch him staring at you again, a faint smirk playing on his lips, almost like he was amused by something only he understood.

You forced yourself to look away, rolling your eyes internally. What is wrong with me?

It felt like something had shifted between you two in the past few days. At first, he’d been distant, almost standoffish. Now, it seemed like he was getting comfortable, letting his guard down little by little. It wasn’t much—just small moments here and there. A shared laugh, the way he’d offered to clean up without being asked, or how he didn’t argue when you came over to make him food. Even now, in this small kitchen, there was something different in the air.

But that didn’t change the fact that Heeseung was Heeseung, and you were just you. You were calm, introverted, and didn’t crave the drama or excitement he thrived on. His world was fast-paced, filled with people, parties, and noise. Your world was quieter, simpler, and more peaceful.

You tried to push away the irrational thought that he might actually be interested in you. What would someone like him even see in you? You weren’t glamorous or bold. You weren’t someone who had a reputation to uphold or a past that people whispered about. But Heeseung… He was different. Or maybe, you told yourself, you were seeing him differently than before. It was just a stupid feeling. Right?

Heeseung cleared his throat suddenly, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Did you just… laugh?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the question. “What?”

“Back there,” Heeseung repeated. “When I said I’d clean up, you laughed.”

You were silent for a moment, realizing that yes, you had laughed. But it wasn’t a mean laugh, or a mocking one—it was lighthearted. “I wasn’t laughing at you,” you said, trying to make it sound casual. “It’s just… you usually don’t offer to clean up. You’re more of a ‘leave it for someone else’ type of guy.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow at you, then leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “So, what, you think I’m lazy or something?”

You shrugged, pretending to be unfazed. “I didn’t say that. I just think it’s funny how you suddenly care about cleaning up.”

He snorted, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Guess you just don’t know me as well as you think, huh?”

You wanted to roll your eyes again but bit your lip to keep yourself from doing it. Instead, you just smiled, this time a little less guarded. Maybe it was because the conversation wasn’t so awkward anymore. Maybe it was because he wasn’t so cold anymore.

“Maybe you’re right,” you said quietly, “Maybe I don’t know you at all.”

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? You were starting to feel like you wanted to know him. The thought caught you off guard as you looked at him once again—like you really did want to understand why he acted the way he did. But how could you? Heeseung was nothing like you. He was loud, brash, and unpredictable.

But still… you couldn’t help the way your heart did this weird thing every time he looked at you, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was starting to notice you, too. And for reasons you still didn’t understand, that was starting to matter to you more than you cared to admit.

It was getting late, and the kitchen was starting to feel a little more cramped with the fading daylight. The last of the dishes had been cleared, the ramen long finished, and you were getting ready to head out. Heeseung was still there, leaning against the counter, looking a bit more relaxed than when you first arrived. You’d helped a family with their kid earlier—something you did every now and then, especially since Mrs. Lee had asked you to stop by and help with a few errands. It was one of those little things you did that made you feel like you belonged here, in Busan.

You stood by the door, gathering your things, feeling that slight pull in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to leave—it was just… something felt different now. The way Heeseung had looked at you earlier, like he was thinking about something, made you wonder. Maybe it was just because you spent time together today, or maybe because you were finally starting to see another side of him.

Heeseung glanced at you as you put your jacket on, his voice breaking the silence.

“You leaving?” he asked, his tone casual, but there was something more there that you couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah, I promised I’d stop by and help with a few things for a family,” you replied with a soft smile. “I’ll be back later in the week though.”

He nodded, his eyes lingering on you for just a moment too long. You weren’t sure what to make of it, so you just gave him a nod in return, about to step out the door when—

“Hey, wait.”

You paused, turning back toward him.

Heeseung shifted uncomfortably, his hand reaching out slightly as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite get the words out. “You… um, you’re alright? I mean, you’re okay with everything, right?”

You were a little surprised by his sudden change in tone. His usual cool demeanor had softened, just slightly. It was almost like he was… checking in.

“I’m good,” you said, smiling a bit more genuinely now. “Don’t worry about me. You take care, alright?”

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering down to the floor before meeting your eyes again. “I will,” he muttered, almost as if he wasn’t sure whether to say more.

You left his house, and as the night crept in, a strange feeling gnawed at you. You kept thinking back to how he’d looked at you, how he’d asked if you were okay. You tried to shake it off, telling yourself it was just the way he was—his complicated mix of coolness and uncertainty. But then, as you reached your place, something else crossed your mind.

Heeseung was still in Busan. He wasn’t going back to Seoul anytime soon. And you were starting to realize that, even though you tried not to admit it, you did care about how he felt.

Heeseung lay in bed, the sheets tangled around his legs, staring at the ceiling. The night was too quiet, too still. He couldn’t sleep. His mind was buzzing with thoughts, most of them about you. It had been a strange day. Well, not strange, but different. He didn’t usually feel like this—like there was something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that kept him on edge.

He didn’t know why he called you earlier. Maybe it was the silence of the house or the way his thoughts kept drifting to you. Maybe it was the feeling that, despite all the people in Busan, you were the only one who had made an effort to get to know him. He wasn’t used to that.

The way he’d looked at you earlier today, how he’d felt something when you smiled or when you said something that made him laugh—it was all new. And for some reason, it made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t explain.

He should’ve been thinking about how much he missed Seoul, the chaos, the late nights, the parties. That’s what he was used to, what he craved. Busan was too quiet, too peaceful. Too… different. But with you, things felt different too. In a way he wasn’t sure he liked.

He could feel your absence even now, like the air was too empty without your voice, without your presence.

The clock on his phone blinked 2:16 AM. He stared at it for a moment, feeling the weight of the silence pressing down on him. He didn’t know why, but his thumb hovered over your contact.

He tapped your name before he could think twice.

The call rang twice before he heard you pick up.

“Yeah?” Your voice came through the phone, soft and clear, like nothing had happened. Like everything was normal.

For a moment, Heeseung couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He felt stupid for even calling. What did he want from you? Was it just loneliness? Or was it something else?

“I… Yeah. I don’t know why I called,” he admitted, his voice trailing off. “It’s late. I just… thought about you, I guess.”

His words felt like a confession, and it made him uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to this. Not used to admitting he’d been thinking about someone else. His mind was trying to make sense of it all, but nothing was fitting into place.

He didn’t wait for you to answer immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch on for a few seconds, his heart racing in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge.

On the other end, you hadn’t spoken either. He could hear you breathing, the small, steady rhythm that felt so calm, so different from his own thoughts.

And that’s when he realized something. He didn’t want this silence to end. Not yet. Not when he was still trying to figure out why he felt so unsettled when it came to you.

“Are you still there?” Heeseung asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper.

You responded, your voice warm but tinged with confusion. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said, the words escaping before he could stop them. He sounded almost embarrassed. But the truth was, he didn’t. He didn’t know why he’d called, or why you were on his mind more than he cared to admit.

You didn’t say anything at first. Maybe you were still processing it, like he was. Or maybe you didn’t know how to respond. But after a few beats, you finally spoke again.

“I thought you said my voice was annoying,” you said lightly, teasing but not in a mean way. “What did you say I sounded like?”

Heeseung froze for a second, his mind flashing back to earlier when he had made that joke about your voice. Damn, he didn’t expect you to bring that up now.

He almost laughed, but it came out more like a groan. “I was just messing around,” he said, cutting you off. “It wasn’t like that. It’s just—”

Just what? He had no idea. He didn’t know why he was acting so awkward all of a sudden, or why he couldn’t just let himself relax when he was talking to you.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head even though you couldn’t see him. “I guess I just… wanted to hear your voice. That’s all.”

The words came out too easily, and for a moment, he regretted saying them. But something about it felt right too. It was true—he did want to hear your voice. He wanted to talk to you more. He just didn’t know what this was.

There was another long silence between you two, but it wasn’t awkward. Not really. Just… something else, something he couldn’t quite place.

After a while, Heeseung realized he couldn’t keep lying to himself about how he felt. There was something between you and him, something that was more than just friendship. More than just shared moments. And maybe that was what scared him the most.

But for now, he didn’t want to overthink it. He didn’t want to analyze the situation or try to make sense of something that didn’t need to be explained.

For once, he just wanted to hear your voice again.

The next day, Heeseung woke up to his phone buzzing, the bright morning light filtering through the blinds. The events of last night were still fresh in his mind—more than he cared to admit. He couldn’t stop thinking about that phone call. You were still on his mind, in that odd, unexpected way.

It wasn’t like him to care about someone like that. But here he was, wondering how your voice could be so easy to listen to, how something as small as a text or call from you could have him feeling all kinds of things he wasn’t prepared for.

He glanced at the clock—just after noon. Normally, he would still be in bed, lounging with no plans, letting the day slip by. But today, something was different. The thought of calling you felt like an impulse he couldn’t ignore anymore.

Before he could overthink it, he grabbed his phone and tapped on your contact.

It rang once. Twice.

“Hey,” he said when you picked up, his voice a little raspy. “It’s me.”

There was a brief pause before you answered. “Hey, you. What’s up? It’s still early for you.”

He rubbed his face, still half asleep. “Yeah, just woke up… couldn’t sleep last night.”

“Oh, really?” You sounded surprised, your voice light. “What kept you up?”

He ran a hand through his hair, leaning back against the wall. “I don’t know… just stuff. Can’t really explain it.” He let out a soft sigh, realizing how little sense that made. “I’ve been thinking a lot.”

“About what?” you asked, and Heeseung could almost hear the curiosity in your voice.

He hesitated, unsure how to explain what was happening in his head. “I don’t really know. Just… things. It’s nothing. Whatever.” He waved his hand in the air as if you could see him through the phone.

“Okay…” you replied, then added, “So, what’s going on? You feeling alright?”

There was something about the way you said it, like you genuinely cared. And it made Heeseung uncomfortable, in the way that the truth always did. He scratched the back of his neck and exhaled, still unsure how to phrase it.

“I was wondering,” he started, voice trailing off. “If you, uh, wanted to hang out or something. I don’t know… like… do you want to get some coffee or whatever?”

There was a long pause on the other end, and Heeseung immediately regretted asking. He was being an idiot, right? Why would you want to spend time with him?

Then you spoke, your voice surprised, but also a little amused. “Wait, hold on. You… want to hang out with me? That’s a first.”

Heeseung’s face flushed slightly, a mix of annoyance and embarrassment creeping up on him. He rubbed his temple, trying to hide the fact that his heart had skipped a beat. “Yeah, yeah. I mean, it’s not a big deal. I just thought… I don’t know, it’d be cool.”

You chuckled softly, and Heeseung couldn’t tell if it was a good laugh or one of those teasing ones. But he didn’t mind, for some reason. “Alright, alright,” you said after a moment. “I’m down. I guess I’ll meet you in an hour at the park near the beach? We can grab some coffee afterward.”

Heeseung exhaled in relief, trying to hide the fact that he was more excited than he should’ve been. “Sounds good,” he said casually. “I’ll see you there.”

After ending the call, Heeseung leaned back against the wall, staring at his phone for a moment. That was easy, he thought. Why was he overthinking it so much? Hanging out with you didn’t feel as weird as he imagined.

As he moved to get ready, he realized that it didn’t matter what his reasons were. He just wanted to spend time with you.

So, maybe it was a first. But it definitely wouldn’t be the last.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the beach. Heeseung and you had made your way down to the shore, where you laid out a picnic mat, the soft sound of waves crashing against the sand filling the air. The sky above was a clear canvas, fading into shades of pink and orange as the day began to wind down. It was peaceful, calming—everything that Seoul was not.

You sat cross-legged on the mat, your hair flowing in the breeze as you nibbled on some snacks you’d brought along. Heeseung had settled beside you, his eyes initially drawn to the vast horizon, but his gaze would inevitably return to you. You were so at ease, so calm. It felt different from anything he was used to back in Seoul. There, everything moved so fast—life was a blur of people, noise, and fleeting connections. But here, with you, there was something real. Something still and genuine.

Heeseung leaned back on his elbows, watching as you hummed lightly to yourself, your eyes lost in thought as you gazed at the ocean. The way you were so comfortable with everything around you, so familiar with the peace of this place, made him feel out of place. He shifted on the mat, moving a little closer to you, not really sure why. But something about you, about this town, felt like it was chipping away at his walls.

He cleared his throat, breaking the comfortable silence. “So, tell me, do you do this all the time? Come here and just… chill?”

You turned to him, a small smile on your lips. “Yeah, I guess so. Busan’s pretty laid-back. It’s kind of hard not to just enjoy the calm every now and then, right?”

Heeseung nodded, though his expression remained a little guarded. “I get it,” he muttered, his voice low. “It’s just… different, you know? I’m used to the noise, the chaos.”

You looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. “And you don’t like it here?”

Heeseung hesitated for a moment before answering. “I don’t know. It’s just… too quiet sometimes.”

You chuckled, and for a moment, he felt like maybe he could let his guard down just a little. But then, without warning, his eyes caught yours, and there was something in the way you looked at him that made his heart skip a beat. He didn’t know why, but he suddenly found himself leaning in, just a little closer, and before he knew what was happening, his lips brushed against yours in a soft, sudden kiss.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t something he expected. It just… happened. And for that brief moment, everything around him—the ocean, the beach, the sun—faded away, and all he could focus on was you.

When he pulled away, he noticed the shock in your eyes. You were frozen for a moment, clearly caught off guard, and Heeseung’s heart dropped. What did that mean? Was it just an impulsive thing? Or something else? His mind raced, but he didn’t have time to process it before you stood up, your face flushed with surprise.

“I… I have to go,” you said quickly, your voice shaky as you took a few steps back. “I… I’ll see you later.”

Before Heeseung could say anything, you turned and started running down the beach, your footsteps quick and light on the sand. His breath caught in his throat as he watched you go, the confusion eating at him. What the hell just happened?

He sat there for a moment, staring after you. His heart was still pounding in his chest, and his mind was a blur of thoughts. What was that kiss? Why did it feel so… different from everything else in his life? And why did he feel like a total idiot?

He looked at the spot where you had been sitting, the picnic mat still partially sprawled out on the sand. The gentle breeze tugged at the corners, and Heeseung couldn’t shake the feeling that something had just shifted. He hadn’t expected to feel anything—especially not like this—but he did. And it left him feeling vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to.

After a few moments, he stood up, brushing the sand off his pants. His mind was still racing. Why did he kiss you? What was that about? And why did it feel like the world had suddenly gotten a little bit quieter, even after you’d left?

He stood still for a while longer, trying to make sense of everything, but there was no answer. Only the waves crashing in the distance, the soft sand under his feet, and the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him.

As the sun began to set, Heeseung couldn’t help but wonder if this would be the last time things felt simple. Maybe that was the way it always went with him—he was used to chaos, to distractions, to the fast-paced life of Seoul. But now, in this peaceful town, with you, things felt different. Too different. And it scared him.

It was another restless night. Heeseung lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, the familiar weight of uncertainty pressing on him. The thoughts wouldn’t stop. His mind kept replaying the moment you ran off from the beach after that kiss. The look on your face—shocked, confused, maybe even a little hurt—lingered in his mind. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. He didn’t plan it. But he couldn’t ignore the way his heart had raced the second his lips met yours, and how everything felt so… right, despite the chaos in his head.

He turned over, grabbing his phone from the nightstand, his thumb hovering over your contact. He wanted to hear your voice. He wanted to know if you were okay, if everything was alright after that awkward moment. He needed to know.

But when he hit the call button and waited, the phone rang… and rang… and rang.

He furrowed his brow, his thumb tapping impatiently on the screen. The ringing continued, and he frowned deeper. Normally, you always picked up. Even if it was late, you would answer, offering him some kind of comfort, even if it was just through a simple greeting.

But not tonight.

Heeseung bit his lip, frustration building in his chest. What if something happened? What if you were mad? What if something was wrong? Why wasn’t you picking up? You always did.

The silence in his room felt suffocating. The weight of his thoughts, his confusion, his stupid mistake on the beach all added up in the heavy silence. He couldn’t lie to himself. He was worried. Not just because of the kiss, but because the thought of you being upset—or worse, hurt—bothered him more than it should have.

The ringing stopped, and the voicemail greeting came on, the sound of your voice filling his ears. “Hey, it’s me. Leave a message!”

He didn’t even bother leaving a message. What could he say? He wasn’t sure what he was feeling himself.

He hung up abruptly, frustration bubbling up inside him.

Without thinking, he shoved his phone back into his pocket, threw off the covers, and got out of bed. He had to do something. He couldn’t just lie there, wondering, waiting for an answer that didn’t come.

He quietly slipped out of the room, careful not to wake up his grandmother, who was probably already fast asleep. The house was eerily quiet. His footsteps were muffled on the hardwood floor as he crept toward the door, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on him.

He was being ridiculous.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling in his chest, that gnawing, aching feeling that something was wrong. He didn’t know why he felt it, but he did. And now, standing outside in the cool night air, he found himself walking down the street toward where you lived.

It was late, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t just sit around. He couldn’t let his stupid feelings take over his head, especially not after he’d already messed things up.

As he walked, his mind raced. What if you were still angry? What if you didn’t want to see him? He clenched his fists at his sides, pushing those thoughts away. This wasn’t about that. This was about making sure you were okay. Because, damn it, he cared.

The streets of Busan were quiet, the only sounds being his footsteps and the occasional rustling of leaves in the breeze. His heart pounded in his chest, and with each step, the feeling of anxiety grew. What the hell was he even doing?

When he finally reached your place, he paused at the gate, looking up at the dark windows. He felt like an idiot. But there he was, standing in front of your house, unsure of what to do next. Should he knock? Should he just go home?

The thought of just turning around and leaving made his stomach churn. He couldn’t. Not when he was this unsure of what was going on between you two.

With a deep breath, Heeseung made up his mind. He wasn’t going to leave until he knew you were okay. And that meant doing something he wasn’t used to: admitting that he cared.

He stood there for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. Should he just text you? No, he had to hear your voice. He had to know you were safe, that you weren’t upset, that you hadn’t disappeared from his life for good.

With one last glance at the still-dark windows, Heeseung walked up to the front door and stood there, his hand hovering over the doorknob, wondering if he was making a huge mistake. But, in that moment, the only thing he could think of was you. And the only thing he wanted was for you to be okay.

The soft creak of the door echoed through the night as you opened it, and Heeseung froze, his heartbeat louder than ever. You stood there in your side braids, eyes tired but wide awake, a sight he never thought he’d find himself looking at in the middle of the night. He was at a loss for words, but there you were, standing in front of him.

His mouth opened, but no words came out. It wasn’t until you broke the silence that Heeseung realized how much he had been holding back.

“I—” You started, your voice quiet but steady. “I’m sorry for… running off earlier. I just… overreacted.”

Heeseung blinked, caught off guard by how calm you sounded. He wanted to say something, but he just stood there, unsure of how to express himself.

You looked down for a moment, gathering your thoughts, then met his eyes again. “I’ve never kissed anyone before,” you admitted. “And I guess I wasn’t ready for it. It… kind of threw me off, but I shouldn’t have run away like that. I’m really sorry.”

Heeseung’s heart pounded. He could feel a weight lifting off his chest, but at the same time, the confusion remained. You… hadn’t kissed anyone? That made everything even more complicated. And yet, the way you spoke—so sincere, so vulnerable—only made him want to reach out to you more.

You hesitated. “I do feel the same way. I just… didn’t know how to react.”

The words hung in the air between you both. The same way. Heeseung’s chest tightened at the thought. He had been so confused about his feelings toward you, but hearing that, hearing you say you felt the same—it was like a dam breaking.

He stepped closer, his voice shaky but genuine, “It’s okay. I didn’t know how to handle it either. I… I wasn’t expecting this. But, I really like you. I do. I’ve never met anyone like you before.” His breath hitched as he continued, “You’re… pure. And beautiful. In a way that’s different from anything I’ve ever known.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, and Heeseung could feel the weight of his words settling in the air. He had never said anything like that to anyone, especially not like this. But for some reason, it felt right. He had never felt this drawn to someone before.

You took a slow breath, processing what he said. The silence stretched between you, neither of you knowing exactly what to say next. Heeseung looked at you—really looked at you—and everything that had been swirling in his mind began to make sense. He didn’t know how he felt about being in Busan. He didn’t know how he felt about his past. But he knew, without a doubt, that right now, in this moment, you were the one thing he didn’t want to lose.

Finally, you spoke again, your voice soft and a little hesitant, but still sincere. “I… I guess that’s why I ran off earlier. I’ve never been in this situation before. You’re so… different from everyone I know. And it’s just… it’s scary, Heeseung.”

Heeseung’s heart clenched at the vulnerability in your voice. He didn’t expect this from you, and it made him admire you even more. You weren’t playing games; you were being real. And that, for some reason, scared him, too.

“I understand,” Heeseung murmured. “I really do.”

He stepped even closer, his hand slowly reaching for yours. For a brief moment, he was scared to make a move, but then, he couldn’t stop himself. “But I want to figure this out. With you. If you’ll let me.”

There was a long pause, and for a moment, Heeseung was convinced you were going to back away. But then you nodded, your gaze softening as you looked at him.

“I’d like that,” you said quietly.

Heeseung smiled, his heart finally easing. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was something real. He didn’t know exactly where it would go, but for the first time in a long time, he felt like he could breathe.

“I never thought I’d meet someone like you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You tilted your head slightly, your eyes still wide but soft. “Someone like me?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice steadying. “Someone... Different. In a good way.”

You blinked, the tiniest smile creeping onto your face as you looked at him. Heeseung didn’t know what to do with himself anymore. All the things he had been feeling, all the questions he had about why you mattered so much, all of it felt like it was making sense. And he didn’t want to let that go.

“I’ve never met anyone like you either,” you said softly, your voice almost shy now.

Heeseung felt a warmth spread through him at your words. This… this was unexpected. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he knew he didn’t want to lose this. He didn’t want to lose you.

There was another pause, and you cleared your throat. “So… do you wanna come in?”

He blinked at you, still in a daze from everything that had just happened. “Yeah. I… I’d like that.”

Heeseung stepped inside, his heart still racing from the conversation. The cool night air felt a lot warmer now, and everything around him seemed to fade into the background. All that mattered was that you were standing in front of him, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty—just as confused as he was, but somehow more composed. It was comforting and disorienting all at once.

You closed the door behind him with a soft click, and there was a brief silence as the two of you stood in the hallway, unsure of what to do next.

“So, uh,” Heeseung finally broke the silence, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “What now?”

You let out a small laugh, still standing near the door. “I’m… I’m not sure either. I wasn’t exactly expecting you to come here in the middle of the night.”

Heeseung smirked, but it wasn’t teasing this time. It was more of a nervous, unsure kind of smile. “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting myself to either.”

The both of you fell into another pause, neither of you quite knowing how to fill the space. But, for once, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just… quiet. But a good kind of quiet.

You broke the silence once more, this time more seriously. “You know, I’ve never really been in a situation like this before. I mean, I don’t even know what this is exactly. But I can’t ignore how I feel either.”

Heeseung nodded slowly. “Same. I don’t know what to call this either. But I like it. I don’t know why, but I do.”

You looked at him, your eyes thoughtful. “I don’t think we need to figure it out right away. I’m still trying to figure out what I feel. But… I do like you, Heeseung.”

Heeseung felt something inside him soften at your words. He hadn’t been expecting to hear that. The uncertainty he had been carrying for so long seemed to melt away in that moment.

“I like you too,” he murmured, almost in disbelief. “I didn’t think I’d ever… feel this way. Especially not after everything I’ve been through.”

You smiled slightly, sensing the vulnerability in his voice. “What do you mean?”

Heeseung hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should share this side of himself. But something about you made him feel like he could. “Back home in Seoul, I never really connected with anyone like this. I’ve always been surrounded by people, but it was… shallow. I never really let anyone in. But with you… it’s different. You make me feel like I’m not just some… guy passing through.”

Your expression softened, and you stepped closer to him. “I think you’re more than that. You just have to let yourself see it.”

Heeseung couldn’t help but stare at you, his heart beating a little faster. “I never thought anyone would say that to me. Especially not you.”

“Well, now you know,” you said with a soft, teasing smile.

Heeseung felt a lump form in his throat. It was strange—he had never felt this way before, so exposed. But there was something about you that made him feel safe, even when everything else felt uncertain.

Without thinking, he took another step closer to you, his gaze locked on yours. “I want to be someone you can rely on. I don’t know what the future holds, but… I want to try.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Heeseung wasn’t thinking about what he had left behind in Seoul, or how much he missed his old life. He was thinking about you, about this moment, about how much he wanted to make it last.

You smiled softly, your eyes reflecting something he couldn’t quite place. “We’ll figure it out together, Heeseung.”

And in that moment, he knew that whatever happened, he wasn’t alone anymore.

It had been a few days since everything changed between Heeseung and you. The late-night calls, the stolen kisses, and the soft, lingering moments shared in the quiet of Busan. Things had settled into a routine, though it was a new kind of routine neither of you had expected. Heeseung had slowly started warming up to the idea of being with you, and you—well, you were finding yourself getting more comfortable with him every day, even if you still got flustered by the smallest things.

Heeseung had invited you over to his room, a casual invitation that made your heart skip a beat. You hadn’t expected it, but you couldn’t turn it down. And here you were, standing in front of him, holding a bowl of instant ramen, the steam rising and filling the air with a comforting, familiar scent.

“Ramen again?” Heeseung asked with a small smile, clearly amused. “You’ve got a thing for this stuff, huh?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You’re the one who loves it. Don’t act like I’m the only one obsessed here.”

Heeseung chuckled and gestured for you to sit on his bed. You did so, placing the bowl of ramen in your hands, while Heeseung sat beside you. His eyes immediately found their way to you, and you could feel his gaze on you.

“What?” you asked, trying to brush it off, though you felt a flutter in your stomach from the way he was looking at you.

Heeseung didn’t immediately reply. He just stared at you, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re just so pretty right now.”

Your cheeks flushed instantly, and you quickly covered your face with your hands, trying to hide the warmth spreading across your skin. “I—stop it,” you stammered, your voice soft.

Heeseung gently took your hands in his, pulling them away from your face. His touch was light, almost teasing as he said, “Move them. Let me see your face.”

You hesitated for a moment, but when he didn’t let go, you slowly lowered your hands. The way he was looking at you made your heart race. He was so close, and you could feel the heat between you both.

“So cute,” he added, his voice low and sincere. The word made your heart skip another beat, and you couldn’t help but look away, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

“Stop it,” you mumbled, trying to hide the embarrassment you felt.

Heeseung just smiled, his gaze still soft but undeniably affectionate. He leaned in slightly, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I mean it, though. You really are.”

Your heart fluttered, your hands still in his, and you couldn’t help but smile. There was something about the way he made you feel—something that made you forget about all the awkwardness you usually felt around guys, something that made you feel special in a way you never had before.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you finally said, your voice quieter, more confident now that you weren’t so embarrassed by his words.

Heeseung smirked, leaning back against the bed with a playful gleam in his eyes. “Well, I’m glad you think so. But I think you might be biased.”

You shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m still right.”

Heeseung chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re really something else, Y/n.”

For a moment, the two of you just sat there, laughing quietly, the comfortable silence stretching between you. But in that silence, something was shifting again. Something you both had begun to recognize but hadn’t quite put into words yet.

“I still can’t believe you told your grandma about us,” you teased, trying to shift the focus to something else to avoid getting lost in the intensity of the moment.

Heeseung groaned, his face reddening slightly. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

You grinned, nudging him with your elbow. “Nope. But she was cute about it, though.”

“Cute? She was totally shocked! She started teasing me right away.”

“Well, I’m sure she’s happy for you,” you said, your smile softening as you spoke. “She seems like she knows what’s best for you.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung said, his tone quiet, more thoughtful now. “I think she does.”

As the night wore on, the two of you fell into a quiet rhythm, sharing food, talking about everything and nothing, and just enjoying each other’s company. Heeseung had started to open up in a way he hadn’t before, and even though he still had his moments of being cold and distant, you could see the change in him.

And maybe—just maybe—you were starting to realize that you didn’t need all the answers right away. You didn’t need to label this, to rush into figuring out what was between you. All you needed was to enjoy the moments you had with him.

And, for once, that felt enough.

You didn’t notice how close he was until you felt his hand on your thigh, gently moving it up and down. Your heart skipped a beat at the gesture, and you looked up at him. His gaze was intense, his eyes fixated on you.

He leaned in a little closer, his face just inches away from yours. “Y/n,” he whispered, his voice low and rough.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart racing. You couldn’t look away from him, his presence overwhelming in the best way possible.

Heeseung moved even closer, his hand still on your thigh, his touch causing goose bumps to form on your skin. His breath was warm against your cheek as he spoke. “Can I…?”

You didn’t need him to finish the question to know what he was asking, but you still nodded, your heart racing even faster. He leaned in even more, his hand still on your thigh, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

And then, he kissed you.

It was soft, tentative at first—his lips lightly brushing against yours. And then, he deepened the kiss, his hand on your thigh moving to the small of your back, pulling you closer to him. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you melted into the kiss, your own hands reaching up to touch him, your fingers running through his hair.

The world seemed to fall away as you two kissed, the intensity between you growing stronger with each passing second. Heeseung’s arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly against him, and you couldn’t help but lean into him, craving the closeness.

The kiss slowed as he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes were still fixed on you, and you could see the mix of tenderness and desire in his gaze.

“Y/n,” he whispered your name, his voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze, your heart fluttering at his confession. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest.

He kissed you again, a little harder this time, his hands moving to your hips, lifting you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him back with equal fervor.

As the kiss deepened, Heeseung’s hands began to roam, exploring your body, his touch leaving a trail of heat on your skin. His fingers found the hem of your shirt, creeping under it, his touch feather-light yet leaving you breathless.

You gasped at the feel of his hands on your bare skin, and the sound only made Heeseung deepen the kiss further. His hands continued their journey up your sides, tracing the curves of your body and leaving you wanting more.

Finally, Heeseung broke the kiss, taking a moment to catch his breath. He rested his forehead against yours once more, his hands still on your waist, his grip firm but gentle.

He looked at you, his eyes searching your face, as if memorizing every detail. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice tinged with amazement and desire.

Heeseung's hand stayed on your thigh, his touch growing bolder as he raised an eyebrow, tugging on your shirt.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your mind swirling with anticipation and nervousness. You knew what he was asking, and the fact that he was asking instead of assuming made your heart flutter even more.

You nodded, giving him a small, shaky smile. "Yeah...go ahead."

His hand moved slowly, leaving your thigh and making its way to the hem of your shirt. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending tingles up your spine. He looked at you, his eyes seeking permission, and you nodded again, your breath catching in your throat.

Heiseung lifted the hem of your shirt, his hands exploring the newly exposed skin. His touch was light, his eyes tracing the curves and lines of your body.

You couldn't help yourself, your fingers tugging on the fabric of his shirt, a desperate, silent plea.

Heeseung chuckled lowly, that sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Eager, are we?" he teased.

His hands stilled as he looked down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of mockery and desire. But then he shrugged off his shirt, his muscles flexing as he discarded it on the floor.

You couldn't help but stare at his bare chest, the sight of him taking your breath away. His skin was golden in the low light, the planes of his chest and abdominal muscles well-defined and sculpted.

Heeseung caught you staring, a smirk on his face. "See something you like?" he teased, his voice low and rough.

You blushed, trying to look away but finding yourself unable to. Your fingers itched to touch him, to explore the smooth skin of his chest. You could feel the heat radiating from him, drawing you closer.

"Shut up," you pout, your voice barely above a whisper. "You know I do."

Heeseung's smirk widened as he leaned in closer, his gaze fixed on you. "Is that so?" he said, the teasing edge in his voice causing your cheeks to heat up even more.

Before you could answer, he pulled you in closer, pressing soft trail of kisses onto your neck. “Oh god, Hee-“ you sighed as you tilted your head to give him better access.

Heeseung's mouth found a sensitive spot on your neck, and you couldn't help but sigh again. "Mmm," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot.

His hands were on your waist, pulling you even closer to him. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his body pressed against yours as he continued to kiss and nibble at your neck.

Feeling the tension between you growing, an uncontrollable need started building up inside you, like an itch begging to be scratched.

Heeseung's mouth was still on your neck, his kisses becoming more urgent, his hands still firmly holding your waist.

Unable to resist, you started moving, your hips grinding against him, trying to ease the tension. You could hear his breath catch as you moved, and he pulled away from your neck to look at you.

“Fuck,” he groaned into your ear as he leaned his head against the headboard. “Y/n I’m going to cum like this if you keep moving like this.”

You felt your cheeks getting hot, not realizing the effect you had on him. “I-I’m sorry,” you replied sheepishly, looking down. “It’s my first time and—“

“No, no,” he interrupted as he tilts your chin back up. “Hey, look at me. You’re doing great.”

Heeseung’s eyes were intense as he looked at you, the desire in them only growing stronger. "Don’t apologize," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "It’s perfect, you’re perfect. Just keep going. I want to feel you."

His words were like an electric shock through your body, your skin tingling all over. You couldn’t help but shiver at the intensity in his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest.

Heeseung leaned in again, his gaze still intense as he closed the distance between your lips. This time, the kiss was urgent and needy, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that mirrored your own.

Your bodies were pressed hard against against each other, the heat between you growing even hotter. Your hands were in his hair, fingers tugging at the soft strands, while his hands were on your hips, holding you tightly against him.

Heeseung’s hands moved to your back, his fingers trailing up your spine, leaving a trail of heat as they went. They found the clasp of your bra, his touch gentle but sure as he unclips it. He pulled back for just a moment, his eyes locking with yours, as if asking permission.

You felt exposed under his gaze but nodded, your breath hitching in your throat as he slid the straps of your bra down your arms, discarding it on the floor.

Heeseung's eyes darkened as he looked at you, his teeth biting down on his lower lip. You could feel his arousal growing stronger, his body tensing under your touch.

His hands started roaming, one hand moving up your back, the other tracing down your side to your hip. He pulled you closer, his breath hot against your skin as he moved his lips to your throat, leaving a trail of kisses down to your collarbone.

Heeseung's hand moved down to your chest, his touch light but possessive as he gently squeezed your tits, his palm cupping it. His fingers started to move in slow, circular motions, as he took in your reaction. His gaze darkened with desire as he watched the way you responded to his touch, his expression stoic but his eyes alive with heat.

You could feel the tension building like a coiled spring, the need for more growing with each passing moment. You looked up at him, your gaze heavy-lidded and filled with desire.

"Heeseung," you murmured, your voice a little breathless. "Please...I want-"

Heeseung silenced you with a kiss, his lips covering yours in an urgent, heated kiss. He understood what you wanted, and he was more than willing to give it to you.

He kissed you deeply, his tongue seeking yours, as his hand continued to move over your boobs, gently squeezing and teasing your sensitive skin.

Heeseung gently pushed you onto the bed, his body hovering over you, his eyes locked on yours. He was taking control, and you were more than willing to let him.

He leaned down, his lips finding your neck again as his hands started to move, skimming down your sides, tracing the curves of your body. You felt him reach the hem of your skirt, his fingers teasing at the edge.

He looked at you, his eyes smoldering, asking permission once again.

You nodded, your body trembling with anticipation, your breath coming in short gasps. Heeseung smirked, his fingers slipping under the hem of your skirt, slowly pulling it up off your legs, the cool air hitting your skin making you shiver.

As the skirt came off, Heeseung’s hand lingered on your thigh, his touch light but possessive. He looked at you again, his eyes roaming over your body, taking in every inch of you.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Heeseung please,” you whined, and that was all he needed as he pushed your panties aside, shoving in two of his fingers inside your core, making you let out a loud moan.

Your hands gripped the bedsheets, your mouth forming an ‘o’ shape. “Hee- feels so good,” you said shakily. He smirks at your reaction, but focused more on your pleasure. “Yeah? Do you want me to add another?” He replied, his voice lowered.

"Yes," you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please, Heeseung, I want more."

He didn't hesitate, inserting another finger with ease. The motion was so fluid, it sent a shiver down your spine. "You feel so wet for me," he murmured, his voice dark with desire. He pressed closer to you, his body hot against yours, as he continued to move his fingers inside you.

As he moved his fingers, he kept searching for that one spot inside of you - the one that would make your body quiver and shake with pleasure. He curled his fingers, sliding them in and out of you, searching for that one spot inside you that would make you cry out in pleasure.

With every movement, he was getting closer and closer to finding it. "Relax," he whispered, "let me make you feel good."

He slowly withdrew his fingers, his gaze fixed on you as he replaced them with his mouth. He started with gentle kisses, his lips moving over your skin, making you shiver in anticipation.

And then his tongue replaced his fingers, slipping inside of you, exploring you with practiced ease. He knew what he was doing, and it was driving you wild. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the muscles in his back tenses.

You covered your mouth with your hand as you looked at Heeseung in between your legs. Something you never thought was possible. “I’m so close,” you whimpered, bucking your hips up unintentionally.

He didn’t stop, if anything his pace quickened, his hands gripping your thighs. “Cum for me baby,” he said, his voice was low and rough. He locked eyes with you, his gaze filled with so much desire it was hard to look away.

You could feel your body coiling tighter and tighter. He knew exactly what to do, exactly what to say, and it was too much. “Please Heeseung,” you pleaded, your head falling back onto the pillows. “Please I can’t-“

“Yes you can princess,” he murmured, giving you just enough friction to drive you wild without quite sending you over the edge. He continued working you with single-minded intensity, his mouth and hands working in the perfect sync to bring you to the very edge.

“H-hee, please no more, c-can’t take it anymore...” you stuttered, your body arching off the bed as your fingers tightened in heeseung’s hair. His mouth, a warm, wet heaven between your legs, his tongue moving in fast, deliberate circles that drive you closer to the edge. But your pleas fall on deaf ears, a smirk playing on his lips as he pulls away just long enough to let your trembling thighs fall apart once more.

Your skin is flushed and sticky with sweat, your heart racing as he kissed the inside of your thigh, leaving a trail of pecks that makes you shiver. “you can take it, baby, you know you can,” he praised, the sound of his voice sending another shockwave through your body. you want to argue, but all that comes out is a whine as his mouth finds your clit again, sucking gently.

His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud, the pressure just shy of painful. Your muscles clench around his fingers, which are buried deep within you, moving in a rhythm that matches his mouth. It is overwhelming, the sensation of being so close to the peak again, especially when your body is so sensitive from your lack of experience. Your toes curl into the bedsheets, and you bite down on your lower lip, trying to stifle the moan that wants to escape.

He paused, looking up at you with those bambi eyes. “Moan for me, baby. I wanna hear how much you love this,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. your cheeks burn with a mix of pleasure and embarrassment, but you nod, feeling the heat of his gaze on you.

His mouth returned to your clit, his tongue flicking against it rapidly. your eyes roll back in your head and had you seeing stars. You can't help but let out a high pitched moan. he chuckles against your sensitive folds, the vibration sending sparks of sensation shooting through you. Your hips rock upward, seeking more, but he keeps his rhythm, not giving you the full force you crave just yet.

His fingers inside you started to move faster, curling and stroking, hitting that spot deep within you that makes your legs quiver. you moaned louder now, unable to hold it back. your hands tighten in his hair, urging him closer, but he's unfazed, maintaining his relentless pace. “Please, yes, right there,” you panted, your voice hoarse from all the moaning and begging.

His eyes locked onto yours, the smirk on his face growing wider. “you look so beautiful like this,” he said, his voice filled with admiration. Your heart swells with love for him, making the pleasure he’s giving you even more intense. He added a third finger, stretching you just enough to make you gasp. Your body starts to tremble uncontrollably, the tension coiling tighter with every passing moment.

You felt the orgasm building again. your nails dig into his scalp, the pain mixing with the pleasure. Heeseung’s eyes darken with desire as he watches your reaction, his own breathing heavy and ragged. he knows he's pushing you to the edge, and it only spurs him on. Your moans become more frequent, filling the room with the sweet sound of your release.

His tongue presses harder against your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you with a fervent pace. your body starts to convulse, muscles tightening around his fingers. The pressure builds, and just when you think you can't take anymore, it hits. with a cry, you squirt all over his face, the warm liquid spilling out of you. his eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t miss a beat, lapping it up eagerly. Embarrassment hit as you realize what you had just done, but fades with ease as he handled it nonchalantly. The feeling is so intense, you can't help but thrash on the bed, your legs shaking uncontrollably.

Your eyes popped open, watching him with a mix of shock and arousal. “Yes, baby, so good,” he murmured, his voice muffled by your folds. your chest heaves with every breath you take, your heart hammering in your ears. he licks you clean, his movements slowing as your orgasm subsides. then, he looks up, his nose and chin covered in your juices.

His eyes sparkle with mischief and satisfaction. “you taste so good,” he said, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. the sight of him like that, so raw and hungry for you, sends a fresh wave of desire through your body. you can’t help but feel a bit smug, knowing you’ve driven him to this point.

"You make me insane, you know that?" he murmured, his voice rough. "I can't get enough of you." He leaned down, his body heat melding with yours, his arms caging you in. his lips found yours again, and the kiss was hot and needy, a reflection of the hunger that was still coursing through him.

Heeseung smirked, his gaze fixed on you. "You're doing so good for your first, you know?" he said, his voice thick with desire. You look away from him, muttering “no I’m not,” but you know that hes right. In one fluid motion, he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them off, his boxers following suit.

He was now totally naked in front of you, and the sight was enough to take your breath away. His body was toned and muscular. Every contour and dip and ridge seemed perfectly defined. Every inch of him was beautiful. He then opened his side table drawer and pulled out the box of condoms. “I told you I’d have use of them somehow,” he smirked while you scoffed in disbelief.

He laughs at your reaction as he positions his cock in front of your leaking pussy. He could see your hands gripping on the sheets as his cock is already half way in. “Heeseung-“ you whimpered, your breath shaken.

"Just relax," he whispered, his voice soft now. "I'll go slow. I want you to feel good, okay?" He was being tender, his eyes fixed on your every expression.

He moved slowly, his hands on your hips to help guide him deeper into you. Inch by inch, he filled you, the stretch sending waves of pleasure through you. He paused for a moment, giving you time to adjust to the sensation. His eyes never strayed away from you.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he murmured, his voice strained. You could hear the need in his words, the sheer effort it took for him to hold back. You knew he was trying to be careful, trying to be gentle, but you could feel the hunger in him, the need to take you, to claim you.

“Relax for me, baby. I’ve got you.” He leaned down, his mouth finding your neck, his lips trailing kisses across your skin. He nipped and sucked just below your ear, knowing exactly the effect he had on you.

His hand slowly reached down, finding your clit, and he started rubbing small, soft circles that set your body on fire. His mouth moved lower, his lips tracing a trail across your collarbone, then your chest, finding your nipple and swirling his tongue around it. “I'm gonna make you feel so good,” he promised, his voice muffled against your skin. His words sent a shiver down your spine, the promise in them making your heart race.

You looked up at him, your body trembling with pleasure, and managed to say through uneven breaths. "Please... I.. I can't take it anymore."

He felt your body relax under his touch, and he knew you were ready for more. His eyes darkened with lust as he looked down at you. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice low and rough. “Want me to fuck you harder like the slut you are?”

You could only nod, your words failing you. He didn't wait for a verbal response, his body already in motion, his grip on your hips firm and possessive. He began a steady rhythm, his thrusts growing faster and rougher with each passing minute. “You like it like this, don't you?” he murmured against your skin, his teeth grazing your earlobe. “You like letting me fill your virgin cunt up?” The ways he’s saying it makes you whimper. You’ve never seen him like this.

Loud and rhythmic, the wet slapping noises filled the room, punctuating every movement with a sharp slap. It was the only sound that broke the deep silence, except for the occasional gasp or whimper from inside the room.

You could feel the tension building, the coil in your belly wound so tight it was almost painful. Heeseung’s breaths were coming in short, quick gasps, his rhythm growing more and more irregular. “You close, princess?”

You could only nod again, your words failing you once more. He knew he was close too, the tension and need in him palpable. "Cum for me, baby," he murmured, his lips right against your ear. "I want to hear you."

That was all it took, the sound of his voice so close, the dirty words in your ear. You felt the coil snap inside you, pleasure exploding through you, so intense you couldn't help but cry out.

He followed you over the edge, his body rigid as he came, his grip on you tight. He panted in your ear, trying to catch his breath.

"You did so good y/n," he murmured, his voice rough.

"Yeah?" you replied, your voice soft and shaky. "You really think so?" You looked at him, your cheeks flushed, your eyes wide and vulnerable.

He leaned in, giving you a deep, deep kiss. It was tender and loving, his lips moving slowly against yours. He held you tight, cradling your face gently in his hands.

"Of course," he whispered when he finally pulled away, his eyes fixed on you. "you were perfect."

You woke up to the soft glow of the morning sun slipping through the curtains, casting a golden hue over the room. Your body felt heavy, warm from sleep, but something else made you freeze. A weight beside you. Slow, steady breathing.

Your heart pounded.

Heeseung.

The realization hit you all at once.

Carefully, you turned your head, barely daring to move. He was lying next to you, his bare shoulders peeking out from beneath the sheets, his messy hair falling into his face. His features were relaxed, peaceful—so different from the teasing smirks and sharp remarks you were used to.

Heat rushed to your face as last night replayed in your mind. The way his lips felt against yours, the way he touched you like you were the only thing that mattered. The way you had wanted him just as much.

Oh god.

What were you supposed to do now?

Your fingers clutched the blanket, pulling it up higher as if that could somehow shield you from reality. You had never been in this situation before—waking up beside someone like this. Did you get up and leave? Pretend to still be asleep? Say something?

Before you could decide, Heeseung shifted beside you, his breathing changing. A few seconds later, his eyes fluttered open, hazy with sleep as they landed on you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, a lazy smirk tugged at his lips. “Morning.”

Your throat felt dry. “Morning.”

A beat of silence.

“You look like you’re about to freak out,” he murmured, his voice rough from sleep.

“I—I’m not,” you lied, though your stiff posture said otherwise.

Heeseung chuckled, rubbing his eyes before looking at you again, his gaze softer now. “Regretting it?”

You swallowed hard, lips parting, but no words came out. Did you regret it? No. But did you know what to do now? Also no.

Seeing your hesitation, Heeseung sighed, propping himself up on his elbow. “Relax. It’s just me.”

That was the problem. It was him. Heeseung, the guy you never thought you’d fall for, yet somehow had.

“I just…” you hesitated, finally meeting his gaze. “I don’t know what happens now.”

Heeseung studied you for a moment before reaching out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. The casual intimacy of it sent a shiver down your spine.

“We do whatever we want,” he said simply. “No pressure.”

No pressure.

You exhaled slowly, nodding. Maybe this didn’t have to be so terrifying.

Heeseung grinned, dropping back onto the pillow. “Good. Now come back here, ‘cause I’m not ready to get up yet.”

You hesitated, but when he tugged you closer, you let yourself relax—just a little—letting the warmth between you melt away the uncertainty.

As Heeseung lay beside you, staring up at the ceiling, he couldn’t shake the confusion settling in his chest.

He liked you. That much was obvious. The way he looked for you in every crowd, the way his mood instantly lifted whenever you were around, the way he always found himself wanting to call you late at night just to hear your voice.

But how did this happen? How did he, a guy who once lived for parties, hook-ups, and never staying in one place too long, end up here—in bed with someone like you?

You were his complete opposite.

Soft-spoken. Kind. Pure.

The kind of person who spent their time helping others, who believed in soulmates, who didn’t just give their heart away to anyone.

So how the hell did someone like you fall for someone like him?

Heeseung turned his head slightly, watching as you stared at the sheets, lost in your own thoughts. Your fingers fidgeted with the blanket, lips pressed together in that way you always did when you were nervous.

Were you regretting this?

The thought made something twist in his chest.

Because for the first time in his life, Heeseung didn’t want this to be just another night he could forget.

And that scared him.

His whole life, he had avoided anything that tied him down. Commitment, feelings, relationships—it all seemed pointless to him. But now, here you were, tangled up in his sheets, making him question everything.

His gaze drifted down to where your bare shoulder peeked from beneath the blanket. The marks he had left on your skin were still there, proof that last night had been real. Proof that you were his, even if just for a moment.

You shifted slightly, and he tore his eyes away before you could catch him staring.

“…What are you thinking about?” your voice was soft, hesitant.

Heeseung exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his messy hair. “Honestly? Trying to figure out how the hell we ended up here.”

You let out a small laugh, but there was uncertainty in your eyes. “Yeah… me too.”

Silence settled between you.

And then, before he could stop himself, Heeseung muttered, “But I do know one thing.”

You looked at him, waiting.

He hesitated, feeling almost stupid for admitting it. But screw it.

“I like you,” he said, voice quieter now. “A lot.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and for a second, he thought maybe he had said the wrong thing. But then, slowly, your lips curled into the softest smile.

“I like you too, Heeseung.”

And just like that, some of the confusion faded.

Because maybe, even if it didn’t make sense, this—whatever it was between you—was real.

Heeseung never thought he’d say it, but as he lay there beside you, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on your wrist, the words slipped out before he could even think them through.

“Maybe I’ll stay in Busan.”

You blinked, turning your head to face him, eyes searching his as if you weren’t sure if he was joking.

“You?” you asked, almost in disbelief. “Stay here?”

Heeseung huffed a quiet laugh, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, I know. Sounds crazy, right?”

You didn’t say anything, just watched him carefully, waiting for him to continue.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know… I used to hate it here. It was too quiet, too slow, too different from Seoul. I thought I’d lose my mind if I had to stay any longer.”

He turned his head, meeting your gaze.

“But then I met you.”

Your lips parted slightly, but you still didn’t say anything.

Heeseung exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “And now… I don’t know. Maybe quiet isn’t so bad. Maybe different isn’t so bad. Maybe—” He hesitated. “Maybe I don’t want to leave anymore.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and for the first time in a long time, Heeseung wasn’t scared of what came next.

Days passed, and something between you and Heeseung settled into place. It wasn’t just fleeting glances or hesitant touches anymore. It was real—comfortable, yet exhilarating in a way neither of you had expected.

Heeseung still missed Seoul sometimes, but not in the same way. The urge to escape had faded. Busan, once dull and suffocating, now felt different. Warmer. Brighter. And he knew it had everything to do with you.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in soft oranges and purples, you both sat on the beach, side by side. The waves crashed gently, the breeze cool against your skin.

“You ever think about what would’ve happened if we never met?” you asked, hugging your knees to your chest.

Heeseung glanced at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I’d probably still be a spoiled asshole waiting to run back to Seoul.”

You laughed softly. “And now?”

Heeseung was quiet for a moment before exhaling through his nose. “Now… I don’t know. But I know I don’t regret staying.”

Your heart swelled at his words. Heeseung wasn’t someone who opened up easily, but the fact that he was here—choosing this, choosing you—meant everything.

He turned to face you fully, his expression softer than you’d ever seen. “You changed things for me,” he admitted. “I don’t know how, but you did.”

You met his gaze, the sincerity in his eyes making your breath hitch.

“You changed things for me, too,” you whispered.

Heeseung leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your lips. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was steady, certain.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, a lazy grin on his face. “Guess that means I’m stuck here now, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him playfully. “Guess so.”

And for the first time in a long time, Heeseung wasn’t looking for a way out. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

Heeseung had only planned to be in Seoul for a couple of days—just enough time to grab some of his things. But the moment he stepped foot back in the city, something felt off.

It was the same as always—fast, loud, and chaotic. The neon lights of the clubs still flickered, the streets were still packed with people looking for a good time, and his phone buzzed with texts from old friends asking if he was back for good.

A few months ago, he would’ve thrown himself right back into it. He would’ve called up a few people, gotten drunk until the sun rose, and woken up with a headache and no memory of the night before.

But now? He just felt… disconnected.

Walking past the places he used to love—the bars, the high-end restaurants, the luxury stores—he realized something. This had been his whole world, but it didn’t feel like home anymore.

Busan was quiet. Peaceful. Boring, he used to think.

But it had you.

And for some reason, that made all the difference.

Before heading back, he stopped by one of the luxury boutiques he used to frequent. The staff recognized him instantly, greeting him with polished smiles.

“Mr. Lee! It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, barely paying attention as he browsed the shelves.

He didn’t even know what he was looking for at first—just something nice for you. You never asked for anything, which only made him want to give you everything.

After some time, he settled on a delicate gold necklace, a designer handbag, and a few other things. Any other girl he knew would’ve gone crazy for them.

Satisfied, he paid without thinking twice. Money had never been an issue for him.

But you—you were about to prove to him just how different you really were.

When Heeseung finally returned to Busan, he was exhausted from the trip, but instead of going home to rest, he went straight to your place.

He knocked, and a few seconds later, you opened the door, eyes lighting up at the sight of him. “You’re back!”

“Missed me already, baby?” he teased, smirking.

Your face flushed at the nickname, but you rolled your eyes. “You wish.”

He chuckled, stepping inside and handing you a few bags. “Got you something.”

You blinked, looking down at them, then back up at him. “You… got me something?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged like it was nothing. “Just open it.”

You hesitated before peeking inside, pulling out the small jewelry box first. When you flipped it open, a delicate gold necklace shimmered in the light.

“Heeseung…” you breathed, staring at it in disbelief. Then you looked inside the other bags, finding an expensive handbag and a few other luxury accessories.

Your stomach twisted.

“This is… this is too much,” you finally said.

He frowned, tilting his head. “What do you mean?”

You set the bags down gently, chewing on your lip. “I mean, these are beautiful, and I really appreciate it, but… I can’t accept them.”

He let out a short laugh, confused. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t need expensive things to be happy,” you said simply, pushing the bags back toward him. “You didn’t have to do this.”

For a moment, he just stared at you.

Any other girl would’ve squealed, thrown their arms around him, maybe posted about it online. But you? You weren’t impressed.

“You really don’t want them?” he asked, almost in disbelief.

You gave him a soft smile. “I just think there are better things to spend money on.”

Heeseung blinked, completely taken aback.

Then, unexpectedly, he started laughing. Not out of mockery, but pure disbelief.

“You’re insane,” he muttered, shaking his head.

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. “No, I just don’t think money is everything.”

Heeseung studied you, his amusement slowly fading into something more serious.

He had spent his whole life surrounded by people who only cared about status, wealth, and what he could offer them. People who stuck around when it was convenient.

But you… you weren’t like that.

You weren’t impressed by designer bags or expensive gifts. You weren’t drawn to him for his money.

You just liked him. For him.

And for the first time in his life, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—he had been chasing all the wrong things.

He exhaled, shaking his head with a small smirk. “You’re really something else, Y/n.”

You laughed softly, nudging his arm. “Guess you’ll just have to get used to it.”

Heeseung looked at you—really looked at you.

Maybe he would get used to it.

Maybe he didn’t mind the idea of staying in Busan a little while longer.

A few days had passed since Heeseung returned from Seoul, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the way you had turned down his gifts so easily.

Most girls he had been with would’ve taken them without a second thought. They would’ve kissed him, called him the best boyfriend ever, maybe even hinted at what else they wanted next.

But you? You looked almost uncomfortable, like you hated the idea of him spending so much on you.

And for some reason, that drove him insane.

Now, as he lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, he felt that familiar urge again.

I should call her.

It had become a habit—late-night calls with you, staying up until you were barely keeping your eyes open. A dangerous habit, but one he wasn’t willing to break.

Just as he reached for his phone, a knock at his door made him groan. He was about to ignore it when his grandma’s voice called out.

“Heeseung, dear, someone’s here for you!”

Frowning, he sat up. Who the hell would be here this late?

Dragging himself out of bed, he ran a hand through his messy hair before heading toward the door. And when he opened it, he was surprised to see you.

Holding a plastic bag.

“You… brought ramen again?” Heeseung blinked.

You nodded, looking almost shy. “You didn’t eat yet, right?”

Heeseung stared at you, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “You worried about me, princess?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Just take the food, Heeseung.”

“Come inside,” he said, stepping back to let you in.

You hesitated for only a second before walking in, making your way to the kitchen like you had done so many times before.

Heeseung leaned against the counter, watching as you pulled out the ramen packets. You always moved so effortlessly in his house, as if you belonged here.

Shit. That was a dangerous thought.

“Why do you keep bringing me food?” Heeseung asked, crossing his arms.

You paused, then shrugged. “I just… want to make sure you’re eating properly.”

Heeseung scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re weird, you know that?”

You smiled, unfazed. “I’ve been told.”

As you started boiling the water, Heeseung found himself staring again.

The way the light from the kitchen made your skin glow. The way your fingers worked so delicately, even when handling something as simple as instant ramen.

It wasn’t the first time he thought you looked beautiful. But every time, it hit him like a damn train.

“You’re staring,” you said suddenly, not even looking up.

Heeseung smirked. “You’re just so pretty right now.”

Your cheeks burned. “Heeseung—”

“Seriously.” He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make me wanna stay.”

Your breath hitched.

And just like that, Heeseung knew—

He didn’t just want to stay.

He needed to.

🏷️ @tender-is-the-moon @nithxhoon @gvtdoll @kayjiguki @yagsoobin @nesquikluvr @swytstars @cloud-lyy @m1kkso @isagistar @clandestineself @honestlyatomicpanda @immelissaaa @ikeuwoniee @dearestdreamies @jakessrealwife @lannadray @punchbug9-blog @kittympirty @getoxo @heeseungissm @mheretoreadff @highway-143 @starcandybby @evorlaah

[iluvmattsbeard]

innocence (c.s)

master list

popular!chris x quiet!reader

warnings: smut/car sex/virginity loss/fingering/p in v/angst/asshole chris

preview: you and chris sat next to each other in class. he liked that you weren’t like the rest of the girls. though he’s in denial of his feelings. what happens when one day he gives you a ride home?

a/n: sorry i stay slacking guys 🙁 forgive me. FRAT BOY CHRISSSSS. also, listen to song as you read. i actually can’t believe how good this song is.

Chris and you are sat in class quietly. your heart aches every time you guys meet each other's gaze. it's been nearly a month since the incident. the incident that you didn't expect to happen. you knew it was too good to be true but, there was a sliver of hope you felt. the way he sweet talked you, the way he took care of you, and how gentle he was. you never expected it to turn south so quickly. he treated you like you were invisible after it all. it broke you immensely but, you felt stupid for even having that small bit of hope that you would actually be different. how could you be different in his eyes?

you were nothing compared to those popular girls who basically threw themselves at him. the way their hairs sat perfectly, the way their outfits were carefully thought of, and how good they spoke. especially when they flutter their eyes and have that small soft grin when they flirt with Chris. you were nothing like them; you tried so hard to push the feelings away but, your mind replays the same memory over and over again.

-flashback-

you were standing there dumbfounded, your heart breaking as you speak up shakily, "a mistake?" you look at him with hurt in your eyes. his expression falters for a second but he quickly regains his cold demeanor. he looks away and sighs, "yes. a mistake." he whispers. you look away slowly, shaking your head slightly in denial, "h-how could it be a mistake? you told me it was the best you ever had-." you were quickly cut off, "I was just caught up in the moment okay?" he says sternly. you look back at him, you felt yourself getting weaker from every word that came out of his mouth. you open your mouth slightly, about to speak but, he just continues, "just-," he sighs, "just keep your mouth shut about it okay? I can't have people knowing." he says, while avoiding eye contact.

keep your mouth shut? how could he just say that? is it because it would effect his image? "why? because you're embarrassed?" you let out shakily. there was a moment of silence but he nods, "yes." he says bluntly. there was that feeling again, getting worse by the second. you nod slowly, "got it." you whisper before turning around to walk away.

Chris looks up at the sight of you walking away. secretly, he felt terrible for hurting your feelings but, he knew he couldn't show it. he turns around and walks the opposite direction, scolding himself in the inside. why did he let it get so far if this is what he had to do? why did he care so much? his friends would ridicule him for god knows how long, if they ever found out what happened between you two. as much as he's hurting in secret, he knew he couldn't be seen with you or associated with you.

-end of flashback-

the bell rings, snapping you out of your deep thought. you move slowly to put your books in your bag. Chris was secretly taking small glances over at you, he still felt terrible for everything. he bites his lip softly before getting up, looking away slinging his backpack onto his shoulder. he walks out of class, making you look up at him go. your heart dropping but, you quickly shake it off.

you get up and walk out of class, your head dropping down to your feet as you took steps. there you were in deep thought once again but, it was quickly interrupted by a thud. you look up startled, you meet eyes with an irritated girl. you had just bumped into her as she scoffs slightly, "move." she scolds as you nod, "sorry." you mumble about to walk past her but she stops you, "what was that?" she says, "speak louder you freak." you look around to quickly realize that now everyone was watching, even Chris. he's stood there with a group of friends as he watches with a blank expression.

"i'm sorry..." you spit out nervously as she mocks you, "i'm sorry- yeah you should be. next time pay attention." you nod slowly before walking away, your cheeks flustered by embarrassment. Chris deep down felt angered for you. he never understood why anyone would pick on you but, obviously he kept that to himself. "dude something is up with that girl." one of his friends says, catching Chris's attention. he clears his throat before nodding in agreement, "right. try being sat next to her." he chuckles a bit as he ridicules you to his friends. which deep down he didn't feel right doing but, he felt the need to. you turn your head around to meet eyes with Chris, hurt from the words that came out of his mouth. his expression falters slightly, realizing you heard him.

how could he act like that? you thought to yourself. you turn back around as you continue your steps down the hallway. how could he talk about you like that with his friends when you both knew what happened between you two? it was all making your head spiral. you thought of yourself as a fool for falling for his ways. like said before, too good to be true.

at the end of the day, Chris heads out the school doors as he begins to say bye to his friends. he walks towards his car, unlocking it, and getting inside with a small sigh. as he's about to start his car, he looks up slightly, doing a double take as he watches you from afar, walking by yourself. you always walked home and he always felt bad deep down that you had to. he bites his lip slightly before looking up at his rear view mirror, staring into the back seat. he gulps slightly before the memory floods his head.

-flashback-

you sit quietly at your desk. you rummage through your backpack as you begin to pull out your notebook for class. Chris walks into class as he looks around for a seat. the teacher then speaks up to him, "you are sitting next to Y/n. over there." she points. you lift your head up, meeting Chris's gaze as he takes in your appearance. you had doe eyes, with flustered red cheeks, and your lips matched the shade of it. he nods at the teacher before walking over to sit next to you. he takes off his backpack as he leans back into his seat. you focus your attention forward, trying to avoid his presence. he glances at you, looking at you up and down before he speaks up quietly, "i'm Chris."

you glance at him slightly before continuing to face forward. he chuckles softly before leaning forward and resting his arms on the desk, keeping his eyes on you, "you hear me or you just ignoring me?" he asks. you sigh quietly before turning to face him, "I know who you are." you mumble. "oh so you were ignoring me?" he teases, slightly cocking up an eyebrow. "didn't mean to." you mumble quietly as you focus your gaze down at your notebook. "right... so your name is Y/n?" he asks curiously, making you nod slowly, "yup." you respond dryly.

this intrigued him, usually girls would fall to their knees to have a conversation with him but, you? you treated him like he was just whoever. "playing hard to get or are you just not much of a talker?" he says playfully, fiddling with his pencil. you stay silent as you look up at the board. "okay so not much a talker." he speaks up again. you sigh once again before looking at him, why was he trying so hard to get you to talk? "look, yes, i'm not much of a talker but also, I just don't feel the need to talk to you okay?" you say bluntly before turning your gaze back to the board.

he grins slightly before putting both his hands up in defense, "got it." he says leaning back into his seat. you paid attention to the lesson as you carefully took notes as the teacher spoke. meanwhile, Chris would just roll his eyes in boredom, still taking glances at you when he got the chance.

as much as you didn't want to speak to him, as days passed by with him sat next to you, you had no choice but to give in and speak to him. he mostly rambled about non sense but, you just let him. you started to realize he wasn't that bad to talk to, even though he did most of the talking, you felt like you could say anything to him without feeling judged. deep down, he was really understanding and down to earth. he was respectful and when you did speak, he would keep his eyes on you, blocking everyone out. it didn't take very long for you to start feeling some type of way towards him. in your defense, he was the only guy who really kept a strong conversation with you.

one day, the weather took an unexpected route. you always walked home from school and today as you begin to walk, you feel droplets fall onto your head. you look up at the cloudy sky as it begins to pour rain. you stop in your place as you sigh, looking back ahead of you. it takes you almost about 30 minutes to get home. this was going to suck, you thought. to make it worse, you were wearing only a thin long sleeve shirt and jeans. the cold air mixed with the cold water hitting you, made you walk extremely slow.

Chris gets in his car quickly as he starts it, immediately turning on the windshield wipers. he throws his back pack into the passenger seat as he begins to drive. what an odd day for rain, he thought to himself. he wasn't driving for long as he does a double take at your figure, walking alone the rain. "is that Y/n?" he whispers to himself before rolling down the window, driving slowly near you, "Y/n!" he calls out, making you turn your head to face whoever has called you. you squint your eyes slightly, due to the heavy rain. didn't take you long to figure out it's Chris. "Chris?" you call out, bringing your hand up to your forehead as you continue to squint.

you were soaked from the rain, slightly shivering, "get in!" Chris calls out. you hesitate, "what? no it's okay! i'm soaked." you reply about to continue walking. "get in Y/n! i'm not letting you walk in this rain!" he says. you look at him again as you nod slowly before walking around to the passenger seat, getting in. you felt some relief as you felt the warmth of his car but, sitting in soaking wet clothes was uncomfortable.

"shit- I don't think I can drive in this weather." he says as he tries to look forward but, the windshield wipers couldn't even help to clear the view. he decides to pull over so that hopefully this all subsides. you sit there quietly as you look at him. he takes his key out of the ignition before looking back at you. "do you have to be home at a specific time or..." he asks quietly. you shake your head slowly, "no i'm good." you respond, still uncomfortable from the condition of your clothes. "sorry, should I start the car up again?" he asks about to put his key back, "no, it's fine Chris." you say reassuringly as he leans back into his seat and sigh. "I wasn't expecting this weather." he begins to start small talk. "me neither." you say quietly. you both were feeling a bit awkward, unsure what to do in this situation.

the weather was quite terrible and being stuck in a car soaking wet was not ideal for you. as you look down at your hands, you're oblivious to Chris glancing over at you. sometimes his gaze a little longer than the last but, he couldn't help it. the way your damp hair stuck onto your face, your cheeks were flushed red from the coldness, and he couldn't help but watch the way you trembled slightly. "so we're back to this?" he breaks the silence with a small laugh. you look up at him confused, "back to what?" you ask curiously. "you being so quiet." he teases, making you roll your eyes, "well this isn't quite an ideal situation." you shoot back. "you're right. sorry." he says staying silent for a bit but, that obviously didn't last long, "answer me one thing."

your eyes dart to him again confused, "okay..." you say quietly trailing off. Chris meets your gaze, gulping slightly before asking his question, "why do you keep to yourself? so quiet all the time?" you stay silent, caught off guard by his blunt question. why did you? you look back down at your hands, trying to figure out how to respond. “well… I just choose to.” you let out, making Chris shake his head slightly, “elaborate.” he says. you sigh softly before speaking up again, “I guess I choose to stay silent because it’s not like anyone bothers to have a conversation with me.” you pause, playing with your fingers nervously, “why should I waste my breath on people who don’t even bother trying? it saves me the embarrassment.” you mutter quietly.

Chris’s expression falters and he gulps once again, “well you need to give yourself more credit. why do you think you would be embarrassed? when I talk to you, it’s easy and I think people will realize that as well if you try.” he advices, keeping his eyes on you. trying to read your expression. you stay silent, taking in what he just said. “don’t know if you realized but, I am sort of the school’s easy target.” you convey quietly. maybe he’ll understand but, he shakes his head, “easy target? bullshit. don’t take anyone’s shit Y/n.” he says making you scoff with humor, “easier said than done.” you mumble.

you’re caught off guard by what he does next, he lifts your chin up slowly to meet his eyes. “i’m serious. you’re a good person, quite interesting in my eyes.” he says quietly. you swallow a bit, nervous as he runs his thumb across your bottom lip gently. his eyes taking in the sight. “w-what are you doing?” you whisper nervously. “not sure…” he mumbles quietly, “something is just drawing me to you. even from the start.” he adds on in a small whisper.

you look away, pulling your face away from his hand. he sits there a bit shock from your sudden movement, “did I say something wrong?” he asks. you look down at your feet as you shake your head slowly, “n-no it’s just… i’m not trying to be apart of your game…” you admit in a small whisper. he raises his eyebrows a bit, “what game?” he asks still confused. “i’m not stupid Chris.” you turn to face him, “what do you mean something is pulling you to me? is that what you say to every girl?” you continue. “do you think I just get with every girl? I mean what I say Y/n. ever since from the start, I felt drawn to you. your demeanor.” he admits, hoping you’d understand. “I-I don’t know…” you whisper quietly. he places his hand on your cheek gently, his touch cold as he makes you face him. “I mean it.” he says quietly. it felt genuine to you but, what if it’s too good to be true?

silence filled the air. the tension between you was obvious as you let out a shaky breath, slowly looking down at his lips and back up to his eyes. you lean in slowly, something about him was now drawing you in, were you falling for his trap? but how can someone sound so genuine? you feel his lips attach onto yours softly, making your heart beat fast. both yours and his lips moved in such synchronization. his hand eventually move away from your cheek as it snakes behind your neck. Chris deepens the kiss, making you place your hands on his shoulders hesitantly. you couldn’t help but think, he’s so good at this, of course he was. he then pulls away suddenly, trying to read your expression, “is this okay?” he whispers. making you nod slightly with a gulp. he unbuckles his seat belt, bringing his hand back behind your neck, kissing you once again, this time more eager than the last.

you moan softly against his lips, making him run his hands down your shoulders, down to your waist. the kiss is nothing like you’ve ever experienced and his touch was gentle. you take the initiative to crawl onto him, both your legs straddling him as you do it without breaking the kiss. his hands run down your back slowly. you move your hips slowly, not meaning to grind against his dick but, you do and it was obvious how hard he is. he places his hands on your ass gently, caressing it slowly as he works his mouth against you with growing hunger. you pull away breathlessly, about to speak up but he gets to it first, “let’s get in the back seat?” he suggests. your eyes linger to the back, making you a little nervous, “u-um… sure…” you whisper. “we don’t have to if you aren’t comfortable-.” he starts off but, you cut him off, “no. i’m comfortable with it.” he nods keeping his eyes on you. you make your way to the back seat, him following shortly after. you sit there in silence as the thoughts begin to eat at you again. how many girls have been back here? you see Chris begin to take off his shoes, making you do the same.

he gently holds you by the waist, laying you down carefully. his eyes never left yours as he whispers, “you’re so beautiful.” you feel your cheeks heat up as you whisper back, “thank you…” he leans down to your face as he begins to kiss you once again. this time, his hand lingers down your thigh. he then brings his mouth to your neck, kissing it delicately. his hand then goes up under your shirt slightly, feeling his cold hand graze your lower stomach, making you shiver slightly. he then brings his lips back to yours as he deepens the kiss, moving his hand down your pants slowly, making his fingers slowly rub up and down your clothed heat. you let out a small breath in between the kiss as you open your eyes and push him away slightly. “w-wait.” you whisper breathlessly. he looks down at you, his features barely lit up by the gloomy atmosphere from the outside, “what’s wrong?” he asks concerned. “it’s just…” you look down at his hand in your pants, “i’ve never done this…” you confess. his face softens as he whispers, “are you sure you want this?” even though you’ve been hesitant, you want it so bad. “yes.” you mutter slightly confident. he nods, “i’ll be gentle okay?” he whispers, continuing his hand movement, he slowly brings his hand into your underwear, running his fingers up and down your folds slowly, “you’re already so wet beautiful.” he says quietly, his eyes still never leaving yours.

“i’m going to stretch you out a bit first. is that okay sweetheart?” he asks softly. you feel your heart about to pound out of your chest from the pet name, “y-yes.” you let out with a soft breath. he remains eye contact as he brings his fingers near your entrance. he pushes one finger in first, his fingers were long and you feel your chest rise and fall from the sudden sensation. he pumps his finger slowly as he watches you carefully. your eyes flutter shut as you take in the new feeling. you moan softly, which to him was angelic. your eyebrows furrow slightly as he continues to pump slowly. “okay i’m going to add another finger. is that alright beautiful?” he whispers. you swallow and nod, your eyes still shut. he adds a another finger making you gasp quietly, “you okay sweetheart?” you nod at his words as he now pumps in and out of your soaking core slowly. “does it feel good?” he coos soothingly. “y-yes Chris.” you moan out as his fingers begin to redouble it’s efforts. he begins to pump his fingers a bit faster, making your thighs close in slightly, “C-Chris.” you stutter at the sensation. he uses his other hand to pry your legs apart slowly as he whispers, “you’re doing so good f’me.” he then uses his thumb to rub small circles on your clit, making you gasp once more. how did he know how to do this so well? how did he know the right places?

he uses his other hand to rub my cheek delicately as he whispers, “you’re so pretty under my touch.” your eyes meet his as your eyebrows furrow more, your eyes glossy from the pleasure. you feel the knot in your stomach form, signifying how close you are. “I-I’m going to cum Chris.” you whine out, making him grin slowly, “be a good girl and cum all over my fingers sweetheart.” he says, making the knot in your stomach snap, letting out ragged gasps, your back arching a bit at the high. “oh my god.” he lets out breathless, “you’re so perfect.” he says taking out his fingers, bringing it up to his mouth, cleaning his fingers dry, “tastes s’good.” he says with small groan. he then places his hand on the button of your jeans, “may i?” he asks huskily. you nod as you watch him begin to unbutton your jeans and tug them down slowly, along with your underwear. his eyes dart at your now exposed core. you feel your heartbeat speeding up as you feel slightly ashamed. “you’re perfect.” he reassures as he licks his lips slightly. he then unbuttons his jeans, pulling them down. leaving his boxers still on. the obvious boner is peaking through it. your eyes widen slightly. even though he was still covered, it was obvious how big he was. he then moves his gaze to the glove compartment, opening it to pull out a condom. of course he has a stash in his car. how often does he do this to be so prepared?

you watch as he meets your eyes once again, pulling his boxers down. the tip of his dick hitting his stomach slightly. you gulp nervously. you couldn’t believe this was happening right now. about to lose your innocence in the back seat of the most popular guy in school. he rips open the condom wrapper, pulling it out and handing it to me, “put it on me.” he says, making you sit up and look at his dick, now close to you. you begin to roll it down his length slowly, “i-is it going to fit?” you ask nervously. he chuckles softly before rubbing your cheek, “it’ll fit sweetheart. you tell me if it hurts too much.” he says as he lays you back down gently. the sound of rain escapes your ears, due to how loud your heart pounding. he spreads your legs open as he aligns in between you, “i’ll put the tip in only for now okay?” he says quietly. you nod hesitantly as you look down at his cock. he runs his hand on it at first before lowering it in front of your entrance. he lubricates the tip of his protected cock by rubbing it up and down your folds slowly. he then pushes his tip in gently, his eyes flickering up to your face. you bite your lip a bit hard as your facial expression betrays the pain you feel.

he stops and whispers, “it’ll only hurt for a bit. i promise it’ll feel better okay? just breathe f’me.” you nod as you do as he says. he thrusts his tip in and out slowly, you begin to ease slightly. you continue to watch his tip disappear and reappear in you as he watches your face closely. after a bit, he then speaks up, “i’m going to go further okay?” you nod in response, still nervous it won’t fit fully. he begins to push into you further, slowly stretching you out more. your mouth opens, a small whimper escaping, “C-Chris it’s too big.” he looks at you as he stops, “it’s okay sweetheart. just be a good girl okay? you’re doing good so far.” he says. you swallow as you flicker your eyes from his face to the scene happening. he behind to move slowly, a grunt coming from his mouth, “shit. you feel so good around me baby.” he looks down at the sight of his cock going in and out of you slowly, “you’re doing good.” he reassures. he continues his slow and deep thrusts, making you throw your head back slowly. moans flying out of your mouth from the burning sensation. “so beautiful baby.” he moans lowly as he continues to watch his movements. “y-you can go faster.” you let out shakily.

“are you sure?” he asks with a bit of worry, “I don’t want to hurt you.” you nod, “i’ll be okay.” you whisper. he nods as he begins to pick up the pace. his hand rests behind your neck as he rests his forehead against yours. his thrusts are fast and deep, hitting your g spot with every movement. “so fucking good.” he mumbles close to your face. you attach your lips onto his as he does the same back. with this, he begins to slam into you at a rough pace. making you moan loudly against his lips, “Chris!” “you’re doing s’good baby. keep taking it like a good girl.” he moans lowly as he continues. the car is filled with the sounds of your skins slapping against each other. you grip his shoulders a bit hard, making him hiss slightly against your lips. he leans back up a bit as he places his hand on your chin, his thumb resting on your lip. “who knew you could take dick so good.” he lets out as his thrusts continue to progress. you moan loudly as he grips your chin a bit harder, “open your mouth sweetheart.” you do as he says as he pushes his thumb into your mouth.

“such a good girl obeying me.” he says as he moves his thumb in and out of your mouth, still pounding into you. you gurgle slightly as your eyes shut tightly from the feeling of his cock, hitting your g spot so good. the pleasure is nothing you’ve ever felt before. you didn’t want this to end. he was so careful with you, so reassuring, and thoughtful. he knew how to work your body perfectly. he then removes his thumb from your mouth as he grips your jaw gently, “you’re s’good wrapped around me.” he groans as he then pulls your thighs up to his chest, pounding into you at a more fast pace. you gasp loudly as you swallow harshly, “ah! fuck!” you moan loudly. you forgot that it was still daylight, if the rain clears up anytime soon, you guys would for sure be caught. “what baby? you like that?” he asks sweetly. you whine with a nod, the feeling was unbelievable. the way you both rock together was something you never expected. the noises that came out of his mouth, made you feel great. not only were you feeling incredible, you knew he was too. how many girls have seen him like this? you feel the knot in your stomach appear again as he doesn’t hold back with his thrusts. “I-I’m so close!” you moan loudly. “cum all over this dick sweetheart.” he says with a grunt following. you start to feel your legs shake as the knot snaps once again, letting you release all over his dick. he feels you clench around him as you shudder, your face contorting into pure ecstasy. he watches you fall apart under him, making his face turn into slight submission. he continues to pound into you before one final thrust, releasing his hot cum into the condom inside of you. he moans loudly as he rides out his climax, “fuck such a good girl.” he grunts.

when regaining strength, he looks down at you, you both were sweaty. he moves your hair from your face, making it unstick as he smiles softly, “you’re incredible. i’ve never felt this good before.” he whispers. you look up at him as you swallow, “r-really?” he nods, “yes really.” you both eventually lay there in silence, taking each other in as he places soft kisses on your forehead. the windows were all fogged up and you start to hear the rain again. your heart beating fast still as he lays onto of you. what could get any better than this?

the next few days, you notice Chris a bit distant. he would barely talk to you in class and you were starting to feel like something was up. one day, you follow him, calling out for him, “Chris!” he turns around and looks at you but, he quickly looks around nervously, “what?” he asks. “why are you acting so weird? you’ve been treating me differently.” you say confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he says before turning around about to continue walking. “seriously? what we fuck and all of the sudden i’m nothing?” you ask slightly hurt. he turns around and looks at you with a harden expression, “can you keep your voice down? look, it was a mistake.” he reveals, your face dropping.

-end of flashback-

so not only do you think about it, Chris does too. he has been thinking about it. it eats him up inside but he can’t help but try to ignore it, to keep up his reputation. he looks away from the rear view mirror as he sighs. no one knew he was hurting like this. he hated the fact he pushed you away. he lied to you and said it was a mistake but, it was further from the truth. it wasn’t a mistake to him. he meant what he said, it was the best he’s ever felt. he couldn’t fight back his underlying emotions in that moment. he glances back up at the mirror, taking in the back seat again before looking down at his phone. he pulls up your contact and immediately texts you.

Chris

‘i’m sorry Y/n. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

he sees you read it but, he gets no response.

Chris

‘please talk to me. it wasn’t a mistake. i’m sorry it took me so long to admit it.’

he sits there desperately as he waits.

Y/n

‘it’s fine but, you made me realize it really was a mistake.’

Chris

‘no don’t say that please. it was a dick move of me. please believe me.’

Y/n

‘I fell for your game. I can’t believe I fell for your sweet talk.’

Chris

‘Y/n believe me. everything I said to you that day, I meant every bit of it. I know it’s hard for you to believe but, I went everyday beating myself up for it. you are more than you think and I want to prove to you I can do better.’

Y/n

‘yeah how?’

Chris

‘just let me be the man for you. I don’t care what anybody says. let me prove that to you that I won’t let my reputation get in the way.’

Chris’s attention is soon interrupted by a knock at his car door window. he looks up from his phone and sees you standing there. he opens the door quickly and embraces you, “i’m really sorry okay?” he whispers, “I don’t want to lose you again.” you melt into his touch as you sigh, “it really hurt Chris.” “I know but-.” he pulls away pausing for a bit as he looks down at you, “I really will do anything to make it up to you.” he whispers. you look up at him as you try to read his expression, last time you didn’t know what was real or not. will he make it up to you? or does he just want more of your innocence? you just stay silent as you rest your head on his chest.

a/n: sorry if it’s so long! hope you enjoyed. likes, comments, and reblogs are so highly appreciated. love you guys.

tags! (comment if want to be added)

@jnkvivi @fuckshitslover @nickgetsmewetter @mwahsturns @sturniolo-fann @etvar12 @hxnnah24 @strnlxlqve @sturncakez @sturnioloremarker @3lizaluvs @lanaswifeyy @dirtylittleheart333 @luzsturniolo @sturnpooks @sturnioq @c6ina @jetaimevous @mattsbrowser @sweetangelgirl7 @fratbrochrisgf @l0vergrlll @deadiish

[halfmoonaria]

the cost of hate

pairing: tara carpenter & gp!fem!reader

summary: tara always knew you drove her crazy — she just never expected it to go this far

warnings: smut 18+ / NSFW content (explicit sexual content), angry sex, alcohol intoxication.

author’s note: this was a request and turned out extremely long so buckle up.

Tara wasn't sure when exactly you became her nemesis.

It could've been the time you called her "Tinkerbell with anger issues" in front of the whole group — completely unprovoked, by the way.

Or maybe it was the fact that you always showed up to group hangouts exactly eight minutes late. Not seven. Not ten. Eight. Like you were trying to be casually inconvenient on purpose.

And somehow, you always had an iced coffee in hand and sunglasses on, even if it was dark outside, looking like you were arriving for an interview you didn't need to prepare for.

Whatever the origin story was, all Tara knew was that you were insufferable. Loud, cocky, always smirking like you were the punchline to a joke only you found funny.

And worse? You flirted with everyone. Constantly. Half the time you weren't even saying anything particularly charming — just leaning too close, dragging out compliments, tilting your head like you were always three seconds from kissing someone just because you could.

And people loved you for it. Chad thought you were the funniest person alive. Mindy treated you like some chaotic little science experiment she'd adopted. Anika had actually said the words "I think she 's kinda iconic" once, and Tara had nearly choked on her drink.

She didn't get it. She didn't want to get it.

You were the kind of person who made her blood boil and her eye twitch. She'd convinced herself that every time you opened your mouth, it shaved at least a day off her lifespan. You always had to have the last word. You always pushed the exact button you knew would get a reaction.

And worst of all, you did it with that face — that smug, slow-smiling, resting-brat expression that made Tara want to throw something heavy at you. Preferably a chair.

She'd tried ignoring you. She really had. But you made it impossible. You talked too much, laughed too loud, spread out across the couch like you paid rent there, and had the nerve to act like she was the uptight one whenever she snapped at you. You acted like everything she said was just part of some game you were both playing — like you didn't even take her seriously.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because sometimes, late at night, Tara would catch herself replaying your dumb little one-liners, thinking of all the better insults she could've said. And sometimes, she'd spend way too long trying to decide whether you actually meant it when you told her she looked "surprisingly good" that one night in her new jeans.

She told herself it didn't matter.

Because you were not funny. You were not charming.

And if anyone thought otherwise, they were probably just under the influence of your freakish ability to spin basic, mediocre nonsense into something that sounded clever. It wasn't wit. It was volume control and eyebrow raises. That was your whole personality — speaking like you were narrating a scene and reacting like you knew you had an audience.

Tara hated that you always acted like you had the upper hand. Even when she was clearly, objectively winning an argument, you'd throw out some offhand line like "You're cute when you're wrong" and somehow — somehow — everyone would laugh like you were the second coming of George Carlin. It made her want to scream. Or hit you. Or both.

You always took up space without asking. You sat on counters like chairs didn't exist. You interrupted people with questions no one asked and nicknamed her things like "Captain Cranky" or "Tiny Terror," depending on your mood. There was never a day you didn't have some quip ready, like your entire goal in life was to make her feel just annoyed enough to snap in front of other people.

And the worst part was how good you were at pretending it was all harmless. Like she was the only one taking it seriously. You'd look at her with that stupid half-lidded stare, eyebrows lifted, head tilted like you were trying to figure her out. Like she was the one being weird.

God, it was infuriating. You were infuriating.

And yet, somehow, her brain had decided you deserved this much mental real estate. Which wasn't fair. Because she didn't like you. She wasn't even curious about you. She just... needed to understand why you bothered her so much.

Yeah. That was it. She was just trying to understand you.

Which is totally normal.

Totally sane.

Totally not bordering on a hyperfixation.

Tara blinked, the sun catching the edge of her vision as the sharp buzz of lunch chatter brought her back into the moment. She was sitting on one of those uncomfortable benches in the quad, elbow resting on the table, a half-eaten sandwich in front of her that she'd mostly forgotten about. The group was scattered around her — Mindy sprawled with her laptop open even though no one believed she was doing homework, Chad snacking on something loud, Anika sipping from a thermos and pretending she wasn't eavesdropping on everyone at once.

And you — of course — were across from her, leaned back like the bench was a recliner, sunglasses pushed up into your hair. Your mouth was moving, which meant Tara was already irritated.

"...I'm just saying," you were saying, mid-rant about something that had nothing to do with anything, "if I wanted to scam someone, it'd be super easy. Like, I could sell people fake concert tickets and just vanish. New name, new identity, new city. Easy."

Chad looked genuinely impressed. "Wait, you've thought about this?"

"I have a backup plan for my backup plan," you said, proud.

Tara didn't look up from her phone as she muttered, "Yeah, the plan is called 'being an idiot with too much confidence.'"

Anika pressed her lips together like she was trying not to laugh. Mindy glanced up, half-interested, just in time to see your face twist into that annoying little smirk you always pulled when Tara spoke.

You leaned forward slightly, tapping the table with your fingers. "Aw, don't be mad just 'cause your only backup plan is murder."

Tara looked up at that — slow and unamused. "If I ever do commit murder, guess who's at the top of the list?"

"Oh, I hope it's me," you said without missing a beat. "You thinking about me in your darkest hours is kind of hot."

Mindy muttered a faint Jesus Christ into her drink. Chad quietly asked Anika what the hell was happening.

Tara rolled her eyes and went back to her phone, but her ears were hot. And unfortunately, she knew you noticed that. Because you were watching her. Still.

Always.

Tara told herself she wasn't going to engage again. She had already given you one line — that was one too many. But you were still there, grinning like you'd just won something, like her irritation was a gift, and it was taking everything in her not to throw her sandwich directly at your stupid face.

God, she hated you.

She hated the way you always found a way to make the conversation about yourself — like you were the main character and everyone else was lucky to exist in your orbit. She hated your fake-deep takes on random topics, your smug little shrugs, and how you somehow got away with doing absolutely zero schoolwork but still passed everything. She hated how you never used a phone case. She hated your handwriting. She hated that you had a fanbase in school like this was a Netflix original.

And most of all, she hated that you always sat across from her.

"Okay, but if you had to pick someone in this group to survive the apocalypse with," Anika was saying, gesturing dramatically with a carrot stick, "who would it be? And you can't say me, because obviously I'd carry all of you."

Mindy snorted. "You? You panic when the WiFi goes out."

"I have emotional strength," Anika shot back.

"Emotional strength doesn't reload a crossbow," Mindy said.

"Wait, wait—" you leaned forward like you were about to say something important, which already annoyed Tara, "—do we mean zombie apocalypse or, like, nuclear winter? Because that changes everything."

Tara didn't even look up. "Why do you sound like you've practiced for both?"

You didn't miss a beat. "Why do you sound jealous?" That earned a soft laugh from Chad. Tara glared at him.

Mindy was already shaking her head. "This is why you two can't sit next to each other. It's like watching a romcom written by sociopaths."

"Excuse you," you said, hand on your chest. "I bring levity to this group. I'm the charming one."

"You're the delusional one," Tara muttered.

Chad leaned back. "Speaking of delusion — is everyone still going to that party Friday night?”

Tara finally looked up again. "You mean the one at that junior's house? Josh-something?"

"Josh Valera," Mindy supplied. "He was in that weird film class last semester. Wears too much cologne. Thinks Letterboxd is a personality."

"That's the one," Chad said. "Apparently he's got a pool and like five kegs."

Anika perked up. "Five?"

"Two of them are root beer, but still," Chad added.

You shrugged. "I'm going. I like chaos.”

Tara rolled her eyes. "Of course you do. You are chaos."

You grinned at her again. "Flirting already? Slow down, Carpenter. Buy me a drink first."

Tara didn't respond. She just reached over and stole a grape off your tray.

You blinked. "Hey."

"Shut up," she said, chewing slowly.

You didn't argue. You just gave her that look — the one that made her want to throw you into traffic. Or maybe into a wall. Hard to say.

Tara turned back to the group, pretending like the grape theft had ended the interaction, but her thoughts didn't exactly follow. Her fingers tapped absently against the table as Mindy and Chad started debating whether keg root beer was a crime or a revelation, voices blending into background noise.

She wasn't even sure she wanted to go to this party.

It wasn't her scene. Too loud, too messy, too many people trying to be seen. She'd already told herself she might flake. She had a paper she could use as an excuse. A headache she could fake. A completely made-up allergy to chlorine if anyone asked about the pool.

But now you were going — and somehow that made her want to not go even more, and also want to go twice as hard just to make sure you didn't say something so dumb no one could recover from it.

That was the thing about you. You made her feel like she had to be there. To monitor the chaos. To fact-check your nonsense in real time. And sure, yeah, maybe parties were a little more fun when you were around — but only because watching you try to dance and hit on people like a malfunctioning dating sim was basically free entertainment.

She wasn't going because of you.

Obviously not.

She was going because she was invited. Because all her friends were going. Because maybe she deserved a night out after surviving another week of your voice echoing through every goddamn group hangout like a mosquito that wouldn't die.

Totally normal reasons.

Mindy was saying something again, something about outfit coordination or theme or whatever, but Tara barely caught it. Her eyes flicked back across the table where you'd gone back to talking with Anika — animated, leaning in, saying something Tara couldn't hear but that made Anika snort.

You looked relaxed. Stupidly relaxed. Sunglasses still pushed up on your head, like you hadn't even noticed the sun or the way it bounced off your smile or how annoying it was that you smiled that much.

God, Tara hated people like you. The kind who didn't try and still got attention. The kind who didn't care and still got invited to everything. The kind who never shut up — ever — but somehow never got told to.

And now you were going to be at the party too.

Great.

Because of course you were. Of course you'd show up, talk too loud, drink too much, and somehow still end the night with everyone thinking you were fun. And Tara would have to deal with it. Like always.

Totally fine.

She could survive one night. As long as you didn't say anything too stupid.

Or try to talk to her.

Or exist within her peripheral vision.

___

Tara didn't even know why she was standing in front of her closet like that. Like she was frozen. Like any of this actually mattered.

It wasn't her first party. Wasn't even the first one this month. She knew exactly what to expect — same drinks, same music, same people. She wasn't nervous. She wasn't trying to impress anyone. She wasn't standing there for any reason at all, really.

Still, she'd been flipping through the same six hangers for almost ten minutes.

She wasn't overthinking it. She just didn't feel like hearing some dumb comment about how she wore the same shirt every time. Not that she cared what Mindy said — Mindy had zero taste and even less room to talk — but still. It wasn't about the top. It was just... the principle.

She grabbed a black crop top. Put it on. Looked at herself. Took it off.

Not because she didn't like it. She just didn't feel like dealing with it right now.

Tried something else. Looked fine. Took it off again.

God.

She tugged her hair into a loose ponytail, held it there for a second, then let it fall. Stared at herself in the mirror. Walked away. Came back. Tried on the black again. Threw it on the bed.

Her phone buzzed. Again.

The group chat was full-blown chaos now — Mindy sending voice notes nobody asked for, Chad trying to be funny and failing, Anika suggesting shots before they even left the dorm. Tara rolled her eyes. She opened the chat, typed something halfway, deleted it, then checked her lockscreen out of habit.

And of course, your name was sitting right there. With another voice note. Two, actually.

She played the first one, not because she wanted to hear it, but because it auto-played when she tapped it. That's what she told herself anyway. Not like she was listening. Not like she replayed it when it cut off halfway through because she didn't have her volume up.

She didn't even laugh. Not really. Just that weird half-smirk thing she did when she was trying not to give anyone credit for being funny.

Whatever.

She tossed her phone across the bed and sat down next to it with a dramatic flop she'd never admit was on purpose. Let her head fall back. Closed her eyes.

This wasn't her being weird. It was just her getting in the right headspace. That's all. Normal pre-party stuff. Not dread. Not anything serious. Just the kind of minor, manageable irritation that came with the territory.

People were going to be annoying. The room was going to be too hot. Someone was going to spill beer on her shoes again. And yeah, maybe you'd be there, being loud and smug and pretending like you didn't love hearing your own voice. But so what? Tara could handle that.

She always handled that.

And if she didn't, it wasn't like anyone noticed.

She'd gotten good at that — at faking it. At keeping it light. Whatever the opposite of spiraling was, that's what she did in public. Kept things casual. Played it off. Made the right faces. Said the right things. The trick was not to stop moving. Not to let people look for too long. Not to give anyone time to ask questions.

And if something slipped — if her voice cracked, if her hands shook — well, that's what alcohol was for.

It made things easier. Smoother. People didn't ask why you were acting weird if you were drinking. They just laughed and passed the bottle and told you to take another one. And Tara? Tara could always take another one.

She never had to explain anything if she was drunk.

It was a cover. A convenient excuse. And sometimes, yeah, it worked a little too well — like when she woke up still in her jeans or couldn't remember who had walked her home. But that was part of the deal. Part of the plan. She'd rather feel nothing at all than have it spill.

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and rubbed her hands over her face.

Tonight wouldn't be different. It wasn't going to be some dramatic thing. Just another night where she drank enough to not think too hard. Just enough to laugh too loud and say something kind of mean and not care if you looked at her like you wanted to say something back.

Just another night. Same as always.

That's what she told herself as she pulled on her jacket and stepped out into the dark. She didn't rush. Didn't think too hard about it. The door clicked shut behind her, and for a second, she just stood there, her hands buried in her pockets, the quiet pressing in from all sides. Not a calm kind of quiet — not peaceful — more like the kind that made her feel too aware of everything. Her breath. Her pulse. The buzz in her ears that hadn't gone away since last week.

She started walking.

The streets were mostly empty. A few cars passed. Somewhere in the distance, someone was laughing way too loud, maybe already drunk. She didn't look. Just kept moving. It was muscle memory at this point — her feet knew where to go, even if her mind wasn't really in it yet.

She used to put music on for walks like this. Something loud, something fast. Something to drown things out. But now she didn't bother. Now she liked the silence better. Or maybe she just didn't want to give herself the chance to start assigning meaning to lyrics again. She hated when she did that. It made everything feel too obvious.

So she walked in silence. Past the same corner store, the same flickering streetlamp, the same crooked fence that probably still hadn't been fixed. Her fingers itched for a cigarette even though she didn't smoke. She was just used to the image — used to pretending she was the kind of person who'd do that. Careless. Detached. In control.

By the time she turned onto the right block, she could already hear the music. Not loud enough to be annoying yet. Just enough to feel like a warning. Like a reminder of what came next.

She didn't slow down.

The house wasn't far. Just a few blocks down — she could already hear the thump of music by the time she reached the corner. That same playlist they always used. That same vibrating bassline that never quite matched the beat. Someone had left the front door cracked open, and warm air hit her in the face the second she stepped inside, carrying with it a wave of voices, sweat, perfume, and cheap alcohol.

Same as always.

She didn't stop at the entrance. Didn't hesitate. She shoved her hands in her pockets and headed straight for the back — toward the kitchen, toward the glass sliding door with the broken lock, toward the corner that had somehow, over time, become theirs.

Mindy spotted her first.

"Tara!" she shouted, like they hadn't spoken that morning, already tipsy and holding a Solo cup with something suspiciously pink inside. She lunged in for a hug Tara barely returned, then immediately started talking about something she didn't really understand. Chad followed, grinning wide and already pulling her into one of those awkward side-hugs he gave everyone, like he was too big to fully aim.

And then there was you.

You leaned back against the counter like you owned it, one eyebrow raised, drink in hand. You didn't even say hi at first. Just let your gaze drag up and down her outfit — slow, deliberately unimpressed — before you spoke.

"Wow," you said. "She changed out of the hoodie. What's the occasion? You get drafted?"

Tara blinked once. "Wow," she repeated, tone deadpan. "That was almost funny. You've been practicing, huh?"

Mindy laughed. You grinned. Chad muttered something about not starting again.

But it was too late. The ritual had begun.

Tara took the drink Mindy offered, clinked it lightly against yours in some mock toast, and took a long sip without breaking eye contact. It tasted like something toxic, but she didn't flinch.

The circle closed around her again, just like it always did — warm, messy, loud, familiar. Anika slid in beside her and started complaining about the DJ. Mindy was yelling about rules for flip cup that no one asked for. Chad had already disappeared, probably looking for food. And you... you stayed exactly where you were, always within arm's reach, always with something to say.

It felt normal.

Same as every other night. Same drink in her hand. Same laughter around her. Same practiced smile on her face, tight but believable. And if she stayed moving, stayed distracted, stayed loud enough or quiet enough or just enough of something — then no one noticed anything at all. Not even you. Who noticed everything.

Anika was halfway through telling the story — apparently Chad had knocked over a whole drink onto the stereo setup earlier, and they all thought the music was going to short out and ruin the night. Mindy kept cutting in to dramatize it, claiming Chad had "shrieked like a toddler," and Chad, who was now camped out by the snacks, shouted back through a mouthful of chips that it wasn't that loud.

You half-listened, swirling the last of your drink around in the cup. Your focus kept drifting back to Tara, who had slouched into the armchair next to you without much enthusiasm, tapping the bottom of her cup against her knee like she was counting down the minutes until she could leave.

"Yeah, you missed it," you said finally, tossing it casually in her direction. "You took so long getting here we were about to send out a search party."

Tara didn't answer right away. She shifted a little in her seat, tapping her cup once more, before muttering, "Sorry people have other shit to do besides drink themselves stupid."

You smirked at the sharpness in her tone. That was the thing about Tara — she always bit back, even when it only made it worse for her.

"And here I thought you were just busy picking out an outfit," you said, resting your elbow lazily against the back of the couch. "Took you forever and you're still the worst dressed one here."

Mindy barely looked up from her phone. "Okay, but to be fair, Y/N would say that no matter what she wore."

You clicked your tongue like you were hurt, but Tara beat you to it, lifting her cup and aiming a lazy smile at Mindy.

"At least someone around here has taste," she said, clinking her drink lightly in Mindy's direction.

You eyed Tara's outfit again — black jeans, black top, black jacket. Somehow three different shades.

"Taste?" you echoed, eyebrows lifting. "You're wearing two different blacks right now. You look like a printer error."

Tara exhaled through her nose — not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. "Right, because I should take fashion advice from someone who thinks jean shorts are business casual."

The reaction from the group was instant — a few low laughs, Mindy muttering something under her breath you didn't catch. Tara just shook her head like she was so done, but you could see the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth, like she was holding back a smile she didn't want to give you.

Still, she couldn't leave it alone. She never could.

"You know what?" you said, straightening up like you'd just remembered something crucial. "At least I show up on time. Not everyone's gotta wait around pretending to enjoy freshmen karaoke because someone can't figure out how to use Google Maps."

That one hit — a few more chuckles around the room. Tara narrowed her eyes, shifting forward in her seat.

"It's a five-minute walk," she said, her voice dripping with disbelief. "Even you could find your way here, and you still get lost inside a Target."

You gasped like it was an outrage, slapping a hand to your chest. "Oh my god. I got lost one time."

"Three times," Anika corrected, not even looking up from the cup she was fiddling with.

You turned your betrayal onto her with a dramatic glare. "That's because Target is a maze. They do it on purpose. Like a trap.”

Tara was already leaning back, tipping her head against the wall like she was exhausted by your stupidity. "You're just dumb," she said sweetly, smiling over the rim of her cup.

You smiled wider, teeth and all, like you had been waiting for it.

"Yeah?" you said. "You got an F in Health class, Tara. You're basically a public hazard."

It was immediate — a loud snort from Mindy, Anika covering her mouth in a poor attempt to hide her laugh. Tara, for once, didn't have anything fast enough to say back. She just gave you a look — all narrowed eyes and simmering annoyance — and took a long, deliberate sip of her drink instead.

You leaned back into the couch, pleased, letting the laughter fade around you. Tara was still glaring at you from behind her cup, and you shot her a wink just to twist the knife a little deeper.

Like always — you got the last word. And like always — she hated you for it. God, she hated you.

She hated the way you acted like you didn't care, like nothing ever touched you. She hated the way you could tear her apart without even raising your voice, how you never got rattled no matter how hard she tried to knock you off balance. How you smiled at her like you liked seeing her lose.

She hated your mouth — sharp and quick and always moving — and the way you dressed, like you didn't even try but still somehow won. Tight black tube top stretched over your chest, low-slung jeans clinging just right, a little messy, a little dangerous, a lot hotter than she could stand to admit.

Tara let her gaze slide sideways, just for a second. You were leaning back against the kitchen counter now, a red solo cup dangling carelessly from your fingers, grinning lazily, legs crossed at the ankle like you couldn't have been more at home. The hem of your jeans was frayed, the belt slung low across your hips, the sharp lines of your body slouching there like it wasn't killing her.

You looked like every bad decision she had ever barely survived. And you knew it.

Tara took another long sip of her drink, swallowing down the burn. She told herself she was just annoyed — just irritated by you — that the flush creeping up the back of her neck was from the alcohol, not from the way you kept laughing, easy and bright, with everyone except her.

Not because you looked good.

Not because you made her want something she was supposed to hate.

She tapped her cup against the edge of the counter again, harder this time, trying to shake it off.

Trying to ignore the way you shifted your weight, the way the band of your belt caught the low light, the sharp gleam in your eye every time you caught her looking.

God, she hated you. And if she didn't, she was going to have to start lying a whole lot harder.

Tara cracked an eye open at the sound, her gaze dragging over you — slow, irritated, and just a little too heavy. She could already feel the alcohol blooming hot under her skin, prickling at the back of her neck, tightening in her chest like it wanted to crawl out. Definitely more than she usually drank. Way more.

But what was she supposed to do? Stand here stone-cold sober while you — in all your smug, infuriating glory — kept shooting her that half-smile like you knew you were winning just by existing?

No chance.

She shifted her weight, letting her shoulder knock loosely against the cabinet behind her, and took another sip even though she didn't want it. The liquor was starting to taste stale. Bitter. And it still wasn't working. Still wasn't shutting off the sharp, gnawing awareness of you — standing there way too close, belt catching the light, black tube top doing absolutely nothing to not make her night worse.

She blamed the red in your eyes on the alcohol too. Had to. Because the alternative — that you were already three steps ahead of her, soft and glassy and loose-limbed and still managing to make her look like the idiot — was something she wasn't about to deal with tonight.

You caught her looking again. Of course you did. You tilted your head just slightly, a silent challenge, your fingers toying lazily with the rim of your cup.

"Just you and me then, princess," you said, smirking around the rim of your cup.

Tara scoffed, hard, eyes narrowing. "Don't call me that."

You blinked innocently. "No? What about...Pissy Missy?"

She made a face like she just swallowed something sour. "Worse."

You grinned wider, pushing off the counter to face her more fully. "Snappy?"

She shot you a look that could've cut glass. "Try again and I'm breaking your nose."

You lifted your free hand, pretending to think it over, pretending to take it seriously. "Mmm... Crankzilla?"

"Jesus Christ," she muttered under her breath, rubbing her temples like the very sound of your voice was giving her a migraine.

You pushed yourself up onto the counter with a little hop, drink sloshing slightly in your hand but somehow you didn't spill a drop. You perched there like you owned the whole damn room, legs swinging loosely, head tilted just enough to seem amused, still grinning, refusing to let up. "Tantrum Tot?"

Tara let out a short, humorless laugh. "You are the last person who's allowed to call me that."

Your smile turned sly. You leaned in just a little — enough to make it annoying, enough to make it clear you were doing it on purpose. "Mean Bean?"

Tara actually recoiled like you'd slapped her. "I will literally throw you out the window."

You laughed under your breath, couldn't help it. "So that's a no?"

She shook her head, looking half-ready to murder you, half-ready to laugh. She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol making everything feel looser around the edges — the thrum in her veins, the heat crawling up her neck — or just you being a stubborn, smug little shit, the way you always were.

You looked at her, feigning disappointment. "Guess I'll just stick to 'princess.' You seemed to like that one the best."

She let out a sharp, disbelieving breath — not quite a laugh, not quite a groan — and nudged your knee with her hand as she stepped past you to grab another drink. "God, you're insufferable."

But her mouth twitched at the corner when she said it. Just barely.

And you caught it.

Of course you did.

Your eyebrows lifted, slow and smug, and you tipped your cup toward her like a lazy kind of toast before taking a sip — dragging it out just enough to make sure she noticed.

Tara rolled her eyes, whipping her head to the side like she could physically shake you out of her sight. But it was too late — you'd already seen it.

The tiny, reluctant pull of a smile at the corner of her mouth. Like she hated you, God, she hated you — but sometimes you were just... so stupid, it scraped a laugh out of her before she could stop it.

Not a full laugh — just a quick breath through her nose, a barely-there twist of her mouth — but enough to make you catch it.

And enough to make your smirk deepen.

You leaned back against the counter a little more comfortably, soaking it in, almost like you were proud of yourself for chipping away at her.

Which, of course, you were.

The room around you buzzed louder — people laughing, shot glasses clinking together somewhere across the kitchen. You turned your head lazily toward the noise, watching as a group gathered by the kitchen island, shouting numbers and already spilling cheap liquor across the counters.

Your gaze shifted back to Tara, a lazy spark lighting behind your eyes.

"Let's take a shot," you said, voice low and smooth, like you were suggesting something way worse.

Tara blinked at you, like she genuinely thought she had misheard. "What?"

You shrugged one shoulder, your smirk never dropping.

"Scared you can't keep up?"

This time, the laugh actually escaped her — a short, incredulous sound, almost more like a scoff.

"You wish," she said, shooting you a look so sharp it could've taken your head off if you were standing any closer.

You pushed off the counter, setting your drink down without a second thought, already moving toward the mess of bottles and half-filled glasses at the island.

You didn't even have to look back — you could feel her eyes burning into your back, feel the weight of her decision hanging thick in the air.

For a second, you thought maybe she was going to be stubborn — dig her heels in and refuse, just to spite you. But when you slowed up near the table, pretending like you hadn't even noticed she hadn't followed yet, you heard her exhale sharply.

You didn't have to look to know she was giving in.

You grabbed two shot glasses from the cluttered island, ignoring how sticky the counter had gotten, and poured quickly — a lazy, messy hand on the bottle.

You very obviously tipped a little more into hers, the clear liquid sloshing closer to the rim, before sliding it across the counter toward her spot without a word.

Tara caught it, narrowing her eyes immediately — but she didn't say anything. She just adjusted her grip like she was already planning how to get you back later.

You grinned, picking up your own glass, and tilted it toward her expectantly.

"C'mon," you said, nudging the rim of yours toward hers. "Don't be rude."

She rolled her eyes but lifted hers too, clearly ready to just get this over with — but you didn't let it stay casual.

You smacked the two glasses together a little harder than you should have, enough that a splash of alcohol flew up and splattered across her hand and wrist.

"Asshole," she laughed — real this time, but quick and rough like she didn't mean to let it out — wiping her hand absently on the side of her skirt.

You shrugged, pretending like it hadn't been on purpose at all, and tipped your glass up.

Tara followed a beat later.

The tequila hit her tongue hot — too hot.

Not the smooth burn she was used to — the kind that melted into your chest and stayed there — but something sharper, harsher, like her whole mouth dried up at once and she was still somehow drowning.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she swallowed it, scrunching her nose instinctively after.

She'd taken shots a hundred times before. But right now, it felt... different.

Maybe it was the amount she'd already had tonight — more than she usually would've touched.

Or maybe it was the way the room spun a little when she tipped her head back down, how everything felt just slightly off-balance, like the floor under her feet was shifting.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that you were standing there, cocky and stupid and smirking at her like you knew she was going to keep saying yes to every little thing you dared her to do.

Maybe it was that.

Either way — she wasn't about to let you win again.

You were already reaching for the bottle again, tipping it over both your glasses without even asking.

You didn't even look at her — just poured like it was obvious she was going to stay.

Tara moved automatically at first, grabbing her glass to pull it away — but she hesitated halfway through. Her fingers tightened around the rim instead, her mouth tightening too, like she couldn't believe she was actually doing this.

She was shotting with you. Standing next to you — just you — out of her own free will.

Nobody forcing her, nobody dragging her by the wrist, nobody making a joke or daring her into it.

She could have walked away fifteen minutes ago. Hell, she could have never said yes in the first place. But here she was.

And the worst part — the part that made her want to throw the shot straight in your face — was that it didn't even feel completely insufferable.

It should have. God, it should have.

Instead, there was a lightness to it. A weird, easy kind of tension that didn't make her want to throw a punch — not really. Just... knock your stupid smirk off your face a little.

You caught her staring, of course — because you always caught everything — and shot her a look like you were already laughing at her inside your head.

You smirked wider, raised your glass, and clinked it against hers again.

"Cheers, princess," you said, all slow and mocking.

Tara narrowed her eyes — but when you both tipped your heads back and took the second shot, she was smiling.

She hated it.

But she smiled anyway.

The first shot was already starting to hum under her skin — or maybe it was the second, she didn't know. She told herself that was why she was still standing there with you. Why she hadn't already shoved past you and disappeared into the crowd.

It wasn't because it felt good — leaning there, beside you, the air crackling faintly between your arms whenever you shifted too close. It wasn't because of the way you kept glancing at her, like you were waiting for her to crack first.

It wasn't because the tiny part of her — the tiny, traitorous part — kind of liked it.

No.

It was just the alcohol.

That's what she decided as she placed her empty shot glass back down, a little too hard.

That's what she decided when her head swayed slightly, and the room tipped for a second too long before steadying.

When the blurry edges of the world made it easier not to think too hard about anything.

You were leaning your hip lazily against the edge of the folding table now, one foot hooked behind the other, like you didn't have a single worry in the world. One hand still cradling your drink, the other tapping a slow, easy rhythm against your thigh.

You were too relaxed.

Too comfortable.

Like standing next to her wasn't supposed to be the most aggravating part of your night.

It made her jaw clench — and at the same time, her stomach twist in a way she didn't really want to name.

She didn't realize she was staring until you turned your head, catching her again — always catching her — and cocked your eyebrow slightly, like you could read every thought she hadn't even figured out herself yet.

You didn't say anything for a second — just kept leaning there, easy and casual, like you didn't notice the way she was barely keeping herself upright. But then your smirk deepened a little, sharp and taunting.

"Want to dance?"you said, tipping your head toward the living room, where the music was still loud and heavy.

Tara almost laughed in your face.

Almost.

But the alcohol made the floor feel softer under her sneakers.

It made the flicker of lights around the room seem farther away, easier to ignore. And it made the idea of saying no — of staying here while you went off and smiled at someone else — feel unbearable.

So she rolled her eyes, muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like "fuck you," and shoved off the table to follow.

The bass was pounding when you reached the middle of the room, people already packed tight enough that there wasn't really much space to move properly.

You didn't seem to care. You just spun around to face her, stepping backward into the crowd and waiting, daring her, with a tilt of your head.

Tara hesitated — but only for half a second.

Because fuck it. It was just dancing.

And it was definitely just the alcohol making her heart trip when your hand brushed lightly against her wrist.

You didn't grab her. You didn't even really touch her again.

You just started moving, lazy and easy, like you knew she was going to fall in step with you eventually.

And the worst part — the part that made Tara want to rip the stupid black tube top off your body — was that she did.

The music was loud enough to drown everything else out.

The lights blurred. The people around you blurred. And suddenly it was just you.

The way you moved. The way your jeans clung low on your hips. The flash of your belt buckle when you twisted just right. The way your shirt stretched tight across your stomach, showing off every sharp line of you.

Tara's mouth went dry. And just like that, the anger was back.

Because of course this was happening. Of course the second she let her guard down for half a second, you had to go and be hot.

She blamed the alcohol. She blamed the shitty lighting. She blamed the way the air felt sticky and electric. She blamed everything — except herself.

Because there was no fucking way she was actually starting to want you.

Tara moved half a beat off from you, just enough to look casual — just enough to hide the way her eyes kept flickering up, catching on you every other second.

The lights kept shifting overhead, blurring everything in flashes of purple and red, but somehow you stayed sharp.

The slope of your neck when you tossed your head back, laughing at something someone said behind you.

The way your shirt bunched and stretched with every shift of your hips.

The way your fingers hooked lazily through your belt loops, casual, cocky, like you owned the whole fucking room.

It all felt like slow motion.

Too vivid. Too loud inside her own head.

Tara gritted her teeth and forced herself to move, let the music drag her along so she didn't freeze up completely.

Because she could not let you catch her staring. She could not give you that satisfaction.

But even as she danced — even as she made herself sway to the pounding bass — her hands curled into fists at her sides.

She wanted to slap herself across the face. Or better — slap you.

Because you weren't even doing anything. You were just existing — just breathing and smiling and moving like you didn't have a single thought in your stupid, pretty head — and it was wrecking her.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fucking fair that you could get under her skin like this without even trying.

And it made her furious.

Furious that she couldn't look away.

Furious that you looked so good under the lights, all effortless and smug and just a little wild.

Furious that her pulse stuttered every time you shifted closer.

Furious that a tiny, traitorous part of her — deep, deep down — almost didn't hate it.

Of course this was happening. Of course it was.

It wasn't like she hadn't seen it coming — not really. Not with the way you hovered around the edges of her life now, like a bad habit she couldn't kick. Not with the way the bickering had started sounding less like hatred and more like a language only the two of you spoke.

But this — this heat licking up her spine every time you so much as shifted in her direction —

This wasn't supposed to happen.

It couldn't happen.

Not when she hated you.

Not when she'd spent months convincing herself you were a mistake — a fluke — an accident she was smarter than to repeat.

You were cocky. You were smug.

You were a walking disaster, and you didn't even try to hide it.

You made her want to scream into her pillow and punch holes through walls and maybe — maybe —pull you closer by your stupid shirt and kiss you until she forgot how much she hated you.

And that was exactly the problem.

Because if there was even the smallest chance she could want you — even for a second —even with the alcohol burning through her bloodstream and the lights spinning overhead —then everything she thought she knew about you — about herself —was a lie.

And Tara Carpenter didn't lose.

She didn't fold.

She didn't want things she wasn't supposed to want.

Especially not you.

Her head buzzed — heavy and slow — like she was moving a few beats behind everything else. Every noise — every shout, every laugh, every thud of bass — felt a little too loud, rattling inside her skull like a marble in a glass jar. She blinked hard, trying to clear the static clouding her brain, but it only made the lights streak across her vision worse.

She caught herself swaying a little where she stood, the floor tilting under her feet, and scowled hard at nothing.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides — like maybe she could squeeze the dizziness out of herself if she tried hard enough.

Great.

Exactly what she needed.

As if this wasn't already a fucking disaster.

The music thumped louder, vibrating up through the soles of her shoes, knocking against her ribs like a second heartbeat. Someone bumped into her shoulder, laughing, a drink sloshing over their hand, and Tara barely managed not to stumble sideways.

She realized she wasn't even really dancing anymore — just standing there, stuck, her pulse pounding too close to the surface, her breath coming quicker than she wanted.

Everything felt too hot. Too close. Too slow and too fast all at once. She needed to move.

She needed to get away from you — your stupid mouth and your stupid smirk and your stupid eyes.

Without thinking, she spun on her heel and pushed away from the crowd, her boots scraping hard against the sticky floor.

The bodies around her blurred together, all sweat-slick skin and flashing lights. She shoved her way through without caring, elbowing past groups hunched over drinks, sidestepping half-hearted apologies she barely heard.

The smell of cheap liquor and something burnt clung to the air, thick enough to choke on. Every step felt heavier than the last, like her boots were sinking into the floor, dragging her down.

She squinted through the chaos, trying to find somewhere — anywhere — less suffocating, her hands flexing uselessly at her sides.

Her eyes caught on a worn-out couch shoved against the wall, sagging in the middle, a mess of abandoned jackets and empty cups piled onto one side. It was barely any quieter over there — the music still thudding through the walls — but it was better than standing around like an idiot.

She stumbled her way toward it, weaving through the crowd, her shoulder clipping someone's arm without so much as a sorry. By the time she dropped onto the couch, the seat gave a tired creak under her weight, and she let herself slump back — her legs sprawling.

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, willing the dizziness to settle, the roaring in her ears to die down.

The world kept tilting anyway.

She hated this.

Hated the way the night felt like it was slipping out of her hands.

Hated the heat clinging to her skin.

Hated you for making it worse without even trying.

She didn't even hear you approach — not at first.

But she felt it — the shift in the air, the invisible pull of you stepping closer.

That same stupid electricity sparking just from you being near.

Tara gritted her teeth, dropping her hands back onto her knees like she hadn't noticed anything at all. Like you weren't already there, lingering behind her, all smug and cocky and impossible to ignore.

She barely had time to slump back before you caught up, dropping down onto the couch beside her like you belonged there.

Your voice was low and stupidly smug in her ear.

"What's wrong? Can't keep up?"

Tara flipped you off over her shoulder without even bothering to look at you.

The motion was sloppy — her middle finger wobbling a little in the air — and she hated how you immediately laughed under your breath like you thought it was cute.

She scowled harder at the wall in front of her.

God. She hated this.

You didn't let up, of course.

You just shifted lazily closer, sprawling back like you had all the time in the world, your knee knocking against hers.

"What," you teased, voice low and impossible to ignore, "not used to anything outside of Beethoven?"

Tara whipped her head toward you — or tried to — but the whole room lurched sideways and she had to slam a hand down on the seat cushion to steady herself.

You laughed — actually laughed — and it was so stupid and smug that Tara couldn't help it.

A tiny, treacherous snort escaped out of her before she could stop it.

She immediately clamped her lips together, furious at herself — but it was too late.

You'd definitely heard it.

And worse, you were already grinning like you'd just won some invisible game she didn't even realize she was playing.

Tara cracked her eyes open again — a mistake — and immediately caught you staring right back at her.

Her chest tightened, too hot under her skin, and she tried to look away — but it was already too late.

Your eyes locked.

The air between you stretched tight — tight enough to snap — and Tara felt her own gaze flicker down, stupid and uncontrollable.

Straight to your mouth.

God, your lips were glossy — pink and wet under the shitty lights — and she hated that she noticed.

Hated the way the thought hit her like a punch:

That she could just lean over and kiss you.

That she could wipe that stupid fucking smirk right off your face with her mouth.

The thought should have mortified her.

Instead, it just burned — angry and wild, crackling in her chest like static.

She didn't chase the thought away. She didn't even try. She just sat there, letting it ruin her, letting it make her crazy.

Because it wasn't like you could hear what was happening in her head.

It wasn't like you knew.

But then you spoke — low, lazy, almost bored — and she realized you absolutely knew.

"Wanna make out?" you said.

The words weren't even really a question — more like a taunt — sliding off your tongue slow and smooth, like you already knew the answer.

Tara's whole body locked up at once.

Her fists clenched hard against her thighs.

Her heart slammed against her ribs like it was trying to break out.

She stared at you, open-mouthed, furious —

Furious at you, at herself, at the alcohol humming thick under her skin.

And the worst part — the absolute worst fucking part —was that her first instinct wasn't to say no.

It was to say yes.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

Because it wasn't just the alcohol talking.

Not just the warmth in her chest or the slow spin of the room.

It was the way the air felt heavy around her, the way your knee brushed against hers on the couch and she didn't pull away. The way her eyes kept dragging to your mouth and how she couldn't, for the life of her, seem to stop.

Her thoughts were sticky and slow, crawling through her head like syrup.

Everything around her — the voices, the music, the clatter of cups and laughter from the next room — had started to melt together, one indistinct blur of sound.

But you?

You were sharp. Clear. The only thing not spinning. And that pissed her off.

Because you weren't supposed to look like that — not here, not now.

You weren't supposed to be this version of yourself.

Not flushed and grinning and leaning back on someone else's couch like it belonged to you.

Not with those fucking glossy lips and the heat in your eyes and that low, teasing voice that kept sliding under her skin like it knew how to get there.

You looked good.

Too good.

Not in the annoying, arrogant way she was used to seeing you at school — mouthing off in class, flashing smug looks from across the cafeteria like you knew everything.

Now, in this lighting — under the soft yellow bulbs and the flicker of whatever movie someone had left playing in the background — you looked warm.

Inviting.

Your shirt slightly rumpled from dancing, your lashes casting shadows on your cheeks when you blinked.

And your mouth.

God, your mouth.

Tara's eyes flicked to your lips before she could stop them, catching the faint sheen of gloss that hadn't completely worn off yet.

She wanted to blame the shot.

Both of them.

The burn still lingering in her throat, the warmth still spreading in her chest.

She felt high.

Not drunk — high.

The kind of high that made her limbs feel light and disconnected, her fingers slightly numb where they fidgeted in her lap.

She felt like if she moved too fast, her body would tip right off the edge of the world.

And you had the audacity to say it like it meant nothing — like you hadn't just thrown a live wire into her already scrambled brain.

Like it was funny.

Like it wasn't about to ruin everything.

She froze — only for a second — but it felt longer than that.

Long enough for her brain to scramble for something.

Some reason, some excuse, any explanation that didn't end with her admitting what she was actually thinking.

None of it will matter tomorrow.

You're drunk. She's drunk.

This isn't real.

You wouldn't even say something like that if you were sober.

So she didn't have to take it seriously.

She didn't have to mean it.

She let her head fall back against the couch — the real kind of surrender — and turned it lazily to the side so she could look at you without making it obvious.

You were already watching her.

Her gaze dropped again, and this time, she didn't pretend it was an accident.

Your lips looked soft.

Mocking.

Like they were daring her.

And for just a second, she imagined what it'd be like to shut you up with a kiss.

Hard.

Fast.

Just to wipe that look off your face.

The thought made her stomach flip.

It made her angry, how easily her mind went there.

But you weren't going to hear those thoughts.

So what did it matter?

Her lips curled before she could stop them — a slow, crooked smirk — and she finally gave in.

"Sure," she said, her voice low and dry.

Your eyebrows ticked up, just slightly.

And then you leaned in, already smiling like you knew.

Tara barely had a second to breathe.

Your face was suddenly so close — the heat of you, the smell of your skin, some mix of alcohol and mint gum and whatever lotion you used.

Too close.

And then your mouth touched hers.

It was hesitant at first. Just a press. A test.

But it was warm — soft — and her breath caught in her throat.

You tilted your head just slightly, and her lips followed without thinking.

They parted for yours like they knew how.

The kiss deepened.

Slower than she expected.

Sloppy, yes — but controlled.

You kissed like you were making sure she felt it.

Every inch of it.

Tara's lips moved with yours, instinct kicking in where reason had checked out.

She shifted her weight, angling closer, and felt your hand graze her knee before sliding up to her hip, anchoring her there.

You adjusted, one elbow slipping up along the back of the couch — the actual term she was too drunk to think of — your fingers brushing her shoulder as you leaned in further.

It made your bodies press together in a way that sent sparks shooting down her spine.

She kissed you harder.

Or maybe you kissed her harder.

She didn't know anymore.

All she could feel was the warmth of your mouth — wet, slow, maddeningly soft — moving against hers.

It wasn't clean or careful.

It was messy.

Unsteady.

Like neither of you really knew where the rhythm started or ended, just that you didn't want to stop.

Your lips parted again, and she followed.

Breath hitched.

Tongues touched.

Tara's fingers dug into the edge of the couch cushion, her balance swaying between you and the seat, and she didn't care.

Your lips tasted like cheap liquor and something sweeter underneath.

Your teeth grazed her bottom lip and she inhaled sharp through her nose — just enough for you to notice — before kissing you again.

It was chaotic.

Uncoordinated.

Hot.

Her heart was hammering.

You kept kissing her like it was easy. Like you weren't even thinking about it.

And she couldn't stand how badly she wanted to keep going.

How her body leaned into yours like it needed to.

Every second of it was wrong.

Every second of it felt too good.

But Tara didn't pull away.

Not yet.

Your hand was still resting at her hip, light but grounding, and her fingers curled unconsciously against your leg, needing something solid to hold onto. Her lips moved against yours again — slower this time, deeper. Like she couldn't help it. Like the heat simmering in her chest had nowhere else to go.

She didn't even try to think anymore.

Didn't care.

Her thoughts were loud — messy, tangled, barely strung together.

She shouldn't be doing this.

She shouldn't want this.

But she did.

God, she did.

She kissed you harder, angling her head to the side, and you met her without hesitation — like you'd been waiting for that exact pressure, that exact urgency.

Her legs shifted against the couch, thighs tightening involuntarily as your hand brushed up her side — not even high, not even skin — and still it sent a jolt right through her.

She was drunk.

That had to be it.

It had to be.

Because she could feel it now.

Low in her stomach. Between her legs.

A slow, pulsing heat — the kind that wouldn't go away. That never just went away.

It was ridiculous.

So fucking ridiculous.

But you tasted good.

You felt good.

And when your lips dragged slightly down to the corner of her mouth — just enough to make her breath hitch — Tara realized she didn't just want to kiss you.

She wanted more.

Her mind raced.

Images flashing too fast to stop — her hands gripping your shirt, your mouth lower, your body under hers — and she wanted to shake herself.

Yell.

Do something.

But all she did was kiss you again. Again and again and again.

She could barely think, barely breathe, could feel herself pooling between her legs — warm, aching, needy in a way that made her want to scream.

It was humiliating. It was infuriating.

And it wasn't stopping.

You shifted slightly, pulling her closer without even trying — and Tara let you.

Let you kiss her like you owned her.

Let your tongue slide against hers with that same cocky rhythm.

She wanted to push you back.

Push you down. Pull your hair. Something. Anything.

Because she needed more.

Even if she couldn't say it.

Even if it killed her.

The thought alone made her dizzy.

Not the alcohol. Not the heat.

Just you.

You, sitting there like you hadn't just lit her whole body on fire.

You, staring at her with those eyes like you knew exactly what she wanted and how badly she wanted it.

And fuck — she hated that she couldn't hide it anymore.

Not with her lips swollen from yours, not with her chest rising too fast, not with that hungry, throbbing pull between her legs that wouldn't stop gnawing at her.

Her mind twisted in circles — a thousand reasons why she should stop, why she had to stop.

This wasn't her.

She didn't do this.

She didn't want this.

But that voice was buried now — drowned under the heat, the rush, the way her thighs squeezed together like they had a mind of their own.

The only thing louder than her thoughts was the ache.

She wanted to lean back in.

Wanted to taste your lip gloss again, to bite your bottom lip and hear you gasp.

Wanted to see just how far you'd let her take it.

Instead, her body moved on instinct.

Sharp. Sudden.

She pulled away — barely — lips parting from yours with a sound too soft for how hard her heart was beating.

She sat there for a second, just breathing.

Just staring.

Your eyes locked with hers, confused but already glinting with that same smugness you always had.

And still — she couldn't look away.

Her hand twitched. Fingers curled.

"Come on," she muttered — voice low, tight, like the words cost her something.

Then she grabbed your wrist.

Not rough. Not gentle.

Just determined.

You didn't say a word.

Didn't ask where you were going.

You just followed.

She pulled you through the crowd, heat and bass and sweat pressing in from every side.

Bodies crushed together — laughing, moving, swaying — and Tara didn't look at a single one of them.

She didn't care.

Didn't slow down.

Her grip on your hand tightened as she shoved through, weaving past shoulders and spilled drinks and sticky floors.

The music was louder now, the air thicker, and she could barely breathe — but she didn't stop.

Because you were still behind her. And your hand was still in hers. And she needed more.

Wherever this was going —

Whatever happened next —

She needed more.

And oh, did she get it.

She barely registered the room as she dragged you inside — the faint whir of a ceiling fan, the messy tangle of an unmade bed in the corner, a dresser with half-open drawers.

It didn't matter. None of it did.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, Tara's hands were on you again — shoving you back against it hard enough to rattle the frame.

You let out a breathy laugh — smirking — and Tara wanted to punch it off your face.

Or kiss it.

Apparently her body decided for her.

Because the next thing she knew, her mouth was on yours again, hot and rough and starving.

She felt you grin against her lips — cocky and pleased — and it made something furious and electric twist deep inside her.

She kissed you harder.

Sloppier.

Your bodies crashed together, uncoordinated and messy.

It was all teeth and heat, lips sliding and tugging, hands scrabbling for something to hold onto.

Tara barely remembered how to breathe.

Her hands fisted in the hem of your shirt, tugging you closer, feeling the way your body molded into hers.

You were warm — too warm — and the heady smell of you, your perfume and sweat and beer, filled her lungs until she was drunk off it.

Drunker than she already was.

You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, and Tara almost whimpered — feeling it all the way down to her knees.

The way your tongue brushed against hers, teasing, coaxing.

The way you bit down gently on her bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth for just a second before letting go.

Fuck.

She pressed her whole body against you, chasing the feeling, desperate to steal more.

And all she could think — all she could fucking think — was:

More.

More.

More.

Her hands moved before her brain could catch up — yanking at the hem of your shirt, dragging it upward in one rough pull.

You didn't resist — you even raised your arms to make it easier — and Tara barely tossed it somewhere across the room before her eyes dropped automatically, hungrily.

You were wearing a black bandeau bra — simple, tight, strapless. It hugged your chest perfectly, the curve of your breasts pressed up and together — smooth and effortless and unfairly fucking hot.

Tara stared for a second longer than she meant to, heat punching through her chest so sharp it almost hurt.

And then she was on you again.

Her hands framed your face, grabbing you roughly, and she crashed her mouth back onto yours like she could erase the thoughts racing through her head if she just kissed you hard enough.

You made a low sound in the back of your throat — something between a laugh and a moan — and suddenly, you started walking forward, guiding her with you.

Tara stumbled a step back, caught off-guard, but didn't think, didn't care — she just followed, letting herself be pulled wherever you wanted her.

It was messy, chaotic, bumping into furniture, nearly tripping over shoes left on the floor. The floor kept tilting under her feet, the alcohol swirling through her blood like fire.

But none of it mattered.

You didn't give her time to overthink.

Before she could fully process it, the back of her legs hit the edge of the bed —

And your fingers were already at the hem of her shirt, bunching it up and over her ribs.

Tara didn't move at first.

Didn't breathe.

She just let you.

Arms raising slightly, letting you peel the fabric up and off — another piece of herself surrendered without even a second thought.

Her head spun so violently it almost made her laugh.

And then your eyes flickered down — blatantly — lingering at her chest. Tara didn't even have time to brace for it.

She was wearing a black lace bra — something strappy, barely-there, a little too much push-up if she was being honest.

The way your gaze darkened made heat lick straight down her spine. You smirked, slow and lazy, like you had all the time in the world.

"Fancy, Carpenter," you murmured, voice low and teasing.

Tara opened her mouth — maybe to tell you to shut the fuck up — but then you tilted your head, grinning even wider.

"Did you pick this out just for me?"

Your hands slid up without warning — fingers tracing lightly over her ribs before cupping her breasts through the lace.

It wasn't even that rough, but it didn't have to be.

Tara almost moaned.

Almost.

Her knees went a little weak, her body flaring hot all over — and god, it pissed her off how easily you could get to her.

Instead of giving you the satisfaction of hearing her fall apart, she grabbed your face again — rough, desperate — and pulled you back into her.

"Don't remind me that you're you,” she growled into your mouth.

And then she kissed you — hard, messy, almost feral — her hands fisting tight in your hair like she needed something to hold onto just to keep herself grounded.

Tara kissed you like she was trying to knock the smugness right off your face — open-mouthed and clumsy and a little too desperate.

Your hands stayed right where she hated them — cupping, teasing — your thumbs brushing over the lace in a way that made her hips stutter forward without meaning to.

And somewhere in the swirling, drunken haze of it all, Tara had the fleeting, stupid thought that maybe she regretted what she said. Because doing this — this — with you didn't make her hate you more.

It made it hotter.

Made her want to crawl out of her own skin.

Before she could sink too deep into that terrifying realization, your hands slid down to her waist — gripping tight — and without warning, you pushed.

Tara stumbled backward with a sharp gasp, the backs of her knees hitting the bed.

She let herself fall — dropping onto the mattress with a bounce — glaring up at you like she wanted to murder you and kiss you at the same time.

You just smirked down at her, maddeningly calm, stepping in even closer. Your knees bumped against the edge of the bed, and for half a second, neither of you moved — the air thick between you, your breathing ragged and shallow.

And then — slowly, lazily — Tara spread her legs apart, leaving just enough space for you to step between.

She tilted her head back against the bed, looking up at you with dark, furious eyes — like she was daring you to fucking do something about it. Tara could already feel herself slipping.

Her thighs tensed where they framed your hips, her chest heaving with every shallow breath.

She didn't know what it was — the alcohol, the heat, you — but she needed something.

Needed you to move, to touch her, to do something.

If that meant bending her over and fucking her until she forgot her own name, then so be it.

She didn't care. She just needed it.

Her whole body ached with it — restless, buzzing, desperate — and she barely lasted ten seconds under the weight of your stare before her patience snapped clean in half.

"Are you just going to stand there fucking stare," she snarled, her voice low and wrecked, "or are you going to fuck me?"

Tara propped herself up on her elbows like it might make her look tougher —like it might somehow hide how desperate she was underneath all the glaring.

Your mouth fell open slightly at her words, caught somewhere between a smirk and actual shock —like you hadn't expected her to say it out loud.

You let your gaze rake down her body, slow and lazy, and when you looked back up at her, your smile was downright cruel.

"Wow," you said, voice dripping with mock-sweetness. "Someone's needy, huh?"

You leaned in, one hand bracing on the bed beside her hip, your mouth just barely brushing her ear.

"Poor little princess," you whispered. "Should I help you out?"

Tara muttered a "fuck you"under her breath — something sharp and furious— but her hands were already moving.

Shaky, rushed, desperate.

She grabbed at your belt first, fumbling with the buckle like it personally offended her, her fingers clumsy with alcohol and want. She yanked it loose hard enough to make the metal clatter, then popped open the button of your jeans, dragging the zipper down in one rough pull.

And fuck, there it was — hard and heavy against the fabric, clear as fucking day.

The sight made her head spin worse, made something low and tight pull deep in her stomach, but she didn't let herself stop to think about it — not even for a second. She shoved at your jeans until you stepped out of them, until they hit the floor with a messy thud.

Her heart thundered, wild and wrecked against her ribs, but she didn't move away — not yet.

Her hands hovered there for half a second, like she was caught between hating herself and wanting you more than she'd ever wanted anything.

Tara's mouth actually watered — hot and heavy and shameful — and she clenched her jaw tight like that could somehow make it stop.

Before she could even think about it, you were already moving again — your hands sliding down her sides, gripping tight at her hips. And then you were tugging at her skirt, so much easier than the fight she'd had with your jeans.

All it took was a little lift of her hips, and the fabric slid right off, pooling somewhere forgotten at the edge of the bed.

And fuck — she was wet.

She knew it.

You probably knew it too.

The thin black lace of her panties — delicate and stretched tight over her — left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Tiny little bows sat at each hip, the material riding low enough to make her look even more wrecked than she already was.

Your eyes dragged down her body slowly, like you were memorizing every goddamn inch.

And Tara, stubborn as ever, tilted her chin up — like she wasn't seconds away from begging you to touch her already. You didn't even hesitate.

Your fingers hooked into the delicate black lace at her hips and tugged, slow and deliberate, dragging the soaked fabric down her thighs. Tara didn't move at first — didn't even breathe — but the second they were off, she let her head fall back against the bed, her elbows still propping her up, gaze tilting up toward the ceiling.

The room spun around her, thick and heavy and slow, but she didn't care.

Not when she could hear the faint shuffle of you undressing too, stripping off that last piece of clothing between you.

She didn't even have to look to know you were naked now.

She felt it — the heat rolling off your body, the slow, deliberate weight of your gaze dragging across every inch of her.

Her chest rose and fell fast, uneven.

Her thighs pressed together for just a second — instinctive — but then she forced herself to relax them again, stubborn even now.

Waiting for you to make your move.

You still weren't doing anything.

You were just standing there, hovering over her, like you had all the time in the world — and it made her insane.

Tara threw her head up from the bed, snapping in a wrecked, furious voice, "God, could you be any slower?"

But she barely had the words out before you finally pushed into her.

Her breath punched out in a strangled, desperate moan, her head falling back again, slamming lightly against the mattress.

Her bare legs immediately wrapped themselves around your waist, locking you in place, like she couldn't stand the thought of you pulling away even for a second.

"Fuck," she gasped, low and broken, her voice raspy from how much she needed this — from how much she hated how good you felt inside her.

Without thinking, she tried to grind up into you, desperate for more, desperate to chase the dizzying pleasure curling in her stomach —but your hands clamped down on her hips, hard enough to bruise, forcing her to stop.

You didn't let her set the pace. You didn't even let her move.

You held her exactly where you wanted her — then shoved her hips deeper against yours, guiding her exactly how you wanted it: hard, rough, relentless.

Pushing her into you, dragging her back, pushing her forward again — over and over, like you were using her body to fuck yourself, like she wasn't even given a choice.

And God, it was good.

Every drag, every thrust was blinding —

Tara could feel you everywhere, splitting her open, filling her until her thighs were trembling from the force of it.

She bit down on a moan, fingers clawing uselessly at the sheets beside her, barely able to breathe through how fucking good it felt —how good you felt —how much she hated it and loved it and needed more anyway.

The rhythm was brutal.

Your hips crashed into hers again and again, rough and relentless, dragging these helpless, wrecked sounds out of her throat with every thrust. The bed squeaked under the force of it, your bodies slamming together, slick and messy and perfect.

It felt fucking fantastic.

Tara couldn't stop herself — couldn't even try to stop — moaning over and over again, broken, desperate sounds ripping free of her lungs like she had no control over them anymore.

It was euphoric. It was almost too good.

Her mind was spinning so violently she swore she might black out, the pleasure building under her skin like fire.

Fuck, you were so good at this. FUCK

So fucking good it made her angry.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight, tried to ground herself — but when she opened them again, when she saw the way you were looking down at her —so cocky, so goddamn smug, so fucking hot — she had to throw her head back again, moaning even louder, because fuck, she couldn't take it.

Her body betrayed her, gave her away completely, hips bucking up to meet yours every time you snapped forward into her.

And even if her brain was screaming at her not to say it —not to admit it —every single wrecked, desperate sound coming out of her mouth was saying it for her.

You were making noises too — low, heavy grunts punched out from your chest — but Tara barely even noticed. She was too far gone, too consumed by the feeling of your cock stretching her open again and again, your body pinning her down so perfectly she never wanted you to stop.

And then, of course — you just had to fucking smirk.

"Geez, Tara," you said between rough breaths, that infuriating grin tugging at your mouth, "if I knew this would shut you up, I would've done it ages ago."

You shifted your hips with a brutal snap, driving yourself harder into her just as she opened her mouth to fire back — and the only thing that came out was a wrecked, desperate moan.

"Yeah, well— maybe you should've—" Her voice cracked, the words collapsing into a breathless whimper when you slammed deeper, grinding mercilessly against that perfect, aching spot inside her.

Tara's head fell back against the mattress, her whole body jolting with every sharp, perfect thrust. She tried to scramble for the sheets again, tried to cling to anything to ground herself, but her hands were useless, clutching nothing but air.

Every time you moved, it was overwhelming — relentless and raw and fucking perfect — and it made her legs tighten around your waist like she was scared you might pull away.

Her breath was stuttering now, spilling out in broken little gasps that only made you smirk harder. And when you pushed in again, harder, rougher, she whimpered so loudly it almost sounded like a sob.

Fuck, she hated how good it felt.

Fuck, she hated how fucking good you felt.

Her hands scrambled uselessly against the bed — grabbing fistfuls of the messy sheets, tangling in her own hair, clawing at her flushed face — but nothing grounded her, nothing eased the brutal, overwhelming way you were slamming into her.

She felt like she was going to snap.

She wanted to snap.

The bed creaked under the force of it all, the air thick with rough breaths and low grunts. Tara's entire body burned — from rage, from need, from how fucking good you felt ruining her.

And you just kept going. Kept fucking talking.

"You sound so pretty when you're desperate," you panted against her ear, smirking because you knew what you were doing to her.

Tara's jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Her whole body tensed under you — furious and humiliated and desperate all at once.

"God," she snarled, her voice low and wrecked, "shut the fuck up.”

You just chuckled darkly under your breath — and pushed even deeper, harder, like you were punishing her for even thinking she had the right to tell you what to do.

Tara threw her head back against the bed, a choked moan breaking out of her throat — furious at herself for how fucking good it felt, furious that she was the one begging now, without even needing to say a word.

And it only got worse.

Rougher.

Harder.

Better.

The slap of your bodies hitting echoed in the room, each thrust forcing little desperate sounds out of her no matter how tightly she bit her lip to hold them back. Her thighs shook where they were wrapped tight around your waist, the sheets she clawed at were useless under her hands, and fuck —that heat in her lower stomach was starting to grow.

A dangerous, simmering pit that started as a little thrum — a warning — and then kept building, sharp and dizzy and huge, way bigger than anything she was used to feeling.

She knew what it was.

She knew she was about to come — fuck, she was about to come — and it scared her how fast and hard it was coming.

It was like her whole body had turned traitor. It was like she couldn't stop it even if she wanted to.

And you must have felt it too — the way her body started tightening around you, the way her nails dug harder into the sheets — because you only fucked her rougher, dirtier, faster.

And Tara couldn't hold back anymore.

She gasped out something — something wrecked and half-broken — her head pressing back harder into the bed, her mouth falling open on a silent cry.

You were right there with her, dragging her closer and closer to the edge, like you wanted to watch her fall apart. Like you fucking needed it.

And Tara didn't stand a fucking chance.

One more thrust — brutal, rough, deep — and she was gone.

Her whole body tensed hard, legs locking tighter around your waist, her back arching sharply off the bed as a broken moan ripped straight from her chest.

It slammed into her all at once — fast, wrecking, almost violent — like something had snapped inside her. Her vision went white around the edges, her fingers clawing helplessly at the sheets, at her own hair, at anything she could grab.

Her hips bucked without her even meaning to, grinding desperately against you like she still needed more even as her orgasm ripped through her.

And you —fuck, you lost it too.

The second her body clamped down around you, tight and soaking wet and shaking, you cursed low under your breath and slammed into her one final time, burying yourself as deep as you could go.

You spilled inside her with a wrecked grunt, your hips grinding into hers, trying to ride it out as your body shuddered with the force of it.

It wasn't clean. It wasn't soft.

It was messy and hot and frantic — both of you coming so hard it almost hurt, both of you falling apart into each other like you didn't care if it fucking killed you.

Tara barely even realized she was whining until it was already out of her — high and wrecked and fucking needy, her whole body trembling as you finally, finally stilled.

And for a second, neither of you could breathe.

The only sounds were the wet, sticky slap of skin, the broken, panting breaths you both tried to catch, and the furious hammering of Tara's heart in her ears.

You pulled out of her slowly, dragging a low whimper from Tara's throat that she tried — and failed — to swallow down.

The second you were gone, she let herself collapse fully onto the bed, chest heaving, skin flushed and slick with sweat.

You hovered above her for a moment, both of you panting, just staring at each other. Tara glared up at you — or at least, she tried to.

But her anger didn't land the way it usually did; she was too fucking tired, too wrecked, too spent for her eyes to sharpen into proper daggers.

It was more of a seething, half-lidded glare now. One that didn't scare you at all.

And that was when it hit her —what had just happened.

What she'd just fucking done.

It felt like the alcohol evaporated out of her bloodstream in one horrifying instant.

Her heart hammered in a completely different way now — heavy and sick. For a second, she thought she might be sick.

What the fuck had she done?

The shame hit her first — hot and brutal — almost strong enough to drown her.

She hated herself for it. Hated you for it.

Hated how fucking good it had felt.

And that was what saved her —the memory of how good it felt. The sharp edge of her panic dulled, just a little.

The anger simmered lower, curling into something she could almost stomach.

Still — she had to get the fuck out of there. Now.

Tara shot upright so fast it made her dizzy, scrambling across the bed, snatching up her underwear and yanking it up her shaky legs.

Her skirt came next — wrinkled and inside out, but she didn't give a shit — she just needed it on.

As she struggled to tug it back into place, she looked up at you —still half-naked, still smirking like the smug piece of shit you were.

"Not a word about this to anyone," she snapped, her voice low and wrecked and shaky, "Okay?"

And you — of course — just smirked wider.

___

At first, Tara didn't think much of it.

She figured she was just still hungover — the party had been brutal, after all. She hadn't exactly treated her body well that night.

Half a bottle of vodka, God knew how many shots after, plus whatever the hell she'd eaten off some random guy's plate at three in the morning... it made sense she still felt like shit days later.

That was all it was. Hangover.

Or maybe she ate something bad.

Maybe that sketchy half-burnt pizza from the gas station.

Maybe some stomach bug going around campus.

Or maybe — worst case scenario — she was just getting sick. Some late-winter flu. Something that would pass in a few days if she just drank enough Gatorade and slept it off.

Because seriously, what else could it possibly be?

She shoved the thought away. Refused to let herself even consider anything bigger than that.

But then the days passed.

And the nausea didn't go away. It just got worse.

Creeping up on her in the middle of class — making her have to fake-cough into her sleeve just so she wouldn't gag in front of everyone.

Gnawing at her stomach late at night when she tried to sleep, making her curl tighter under the blankets, teeth clenched, trying to will the feeling away.

It felt like her body was rejecting something. Like it wasn't even hers anymore.

By day five, even the smell of coffee — something that usually got her through her worst mornings — made her stomach flip.

By day six, brushing her teeth made her gag so hard she had to sit down on the bathroom floor for ten minutes after.

Still, she told herself it was nothing.

Stress, she thought, scrubbing her face at the bathroom mirror with angry hands. College. Lack of sleep. Nerves.

Maybe her immune system was just wrecked.

Maybe it was her period coming and being a bitch about it.

It had to be something like that.

It had to be.

She kept telling herself that —over and over, louder and louder —right up until she opened her calendar app one morning and her whole body went cold.

Because she was late.

Really fucking late.

Her stomach twisted.

Not from nausea this time — from panic.

She counted again.

And again.

Counting on her fingers like a dumbass because her brain couldn't make the math make sense.

No matter how she spun it, it had been almost two months.

Tara had sat back against her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, trying not to hyperventilate.

Trying to tell herself she was wrong.

That it was still stress, still nerves, still something normal.

It's not that, she told herself, breathing through her nose, gripping the blanket so tightly her knuckles turned white. It's not that. It's not that. It's not that.

But deep down —deep, deep down —she already knew exactly what it was.

She could keep lying to herself.

She really could.

And maybe she would've kept lying, would've shoved it down and ignored it and pretended it wasn't real,

if it hadn't been for that night.

The night she ended up hunched over the toilet, sweating and shaking, the taste of acid clawing up her throat.

No warning. No time to pretend it was something else.

It hit her halfway through brushing her teeth — one second she was fine, the next she was dropping her toothbrush into the sink and bolting for the bathroom like she was being hunted.

And as she wiped her mouth, breathing hard, hands clutching uselessly at the cold tile floor —it sank in.

Cold.

Sick.

Unavoidable.

No more excuses.

She didn't remember making the decision.

Not really.

One minute she was pacing her room, hands trembling, heart crawling up her throat —

and the next, she was standing in some grimy drugstore aisle, blinking under the too-bright fluorescent lights, staring at a wall of small pink boxes like they were a firing squad.

She grabbed the first one she saw.

Didn't read the label.

Didn't check the price.

Just threw it into her basket, keeping her head down, as if someone — anyone — might see her.

Might know.

The walk to the register was a blur.

The cashier barely looked up.

She paid in cash.

She didn't even wait to get home.

She just —well.

The bathroom at the back of the store was disgusting.

The kind of disgusting that made her hover awkwardly over the toilet, chewing on her thumbnail, breathing through her mouth because the smell was so bad.

She didn't care.

She couldn't care.

The box was torn open with shaky fingers.

The instructions were left crumpled on the floor.

She didn't need to read them anyway.

Everyone knew how these things worked.

It was over before she even realized she had started.

A few minutes that felt like years.

She sat there — cold, half-numb — perched on the closed toilet lid, arms wrapped tight around herself like it could somehow keep everything from slipping out of her control.

She didn't look at it at first.

She couldn't.

Just sat there, staring at the wall, feeling the seconds bleed out slow and awful, until every heartbeat felt like it could crack her ribs wide open.

And when she finally forced herself to glance down —just a glance, nothing more —it was there.

Blunt.

Undeniable.

Positive.

Tara didn't even have time to think.

Her stomach lurched viciously, and she was barely able to twist around and yank the toilet lid up before she was gagging into the bowl, retching hard enough that her whole body trembled.

It wasn't the same kind of nausea as before.

This was something worse — something heavier.

Shock.

Terror.

Grief.

When she finished, she just stayed there — bent over, forehead resting against her forearm, the test lying on the counter behind her like some cruel, stupid joke she couldn't wake up from.

She didn't know how long she stayed there.

Five minutes? Ten? An hour?

Time didn't feel real anymore.

Eventually, she forced herself up, stumbling to her feet on shaky legs.

She paced the small bathroom, bare feet slapping against the tile, hands buried deep in her hair like she could physically tear the panic out of herself if she just pulled hard enough.

Muttering under her breath.

Cursing herself.

Cursing you.

"What the fuck," she whispered hoarsely, dragging her hands down her face. "What the fuck."

She couldn't breathe right.

Her chest felt too tight.

Her mind kept spinning in wild, useless circles.

Who the fuck was she supposed to tell?

Sam?

Absolutely not — Sam would kill her. Not even just yell — actually kill her.

Mindy?

No way. Mindy would ask a million questions. She'd want to know who. When. How.

Anika?

Same thing. Just softer. And worse.

Chad?

Tara almost laughed — a sharp, broken noise that didn't sound right at all.

Chad wouldn't even listen for more than ten seconds.

He'd probably just high-five her over the sex and completely miss the part where her whole fucking life was falling apart.

Which left you.

The last option.

The last person she wanted to talk to.

Because this?

This was your fault.

Maybe partly hers, sure — she wasn't stupid — but mostly yours.

And the thought of calling you made her stomach churn all over again.

She didn't even remember saving your number.

She didn't even remember getting it.

But there it was — staring back at her from the cracked screen of her phone, mocking her.

Her thumb hovered over the call button.

Her heart pounded so hard it hurt.

And then, before she could think better of it, she pressed it.

She pressed call.

And every second that the phone rang, her panic grew louder, shrieking inside her chest.

One ring.

Two.

Three —

You answered, your voice so casual it made her want to scream.

"Well, well," you drawled, smug and slow, like you were grinning already. "Couldn't get enough, huh? Already calling me back?"

Tara swallowed.

Hard.

The words sat like a rock in her throat.

She opened her mouth — nothing came out.

Because saying it out loud would make it real.

Saying it out loud would shatter whatever thin, desperate hope she still had that this was some sick mistake.

You didn't say anything either.

The teasing dropped into silence — just the faint crackle of the line between you, waiting.

And then you said, more cautious this time, "...Hello?"

Tara squeezed her eyes shut.

Felt her hands start to shake.

And before she could stop herself — before she could take it back — she forced it out in a broken whisper:

"I'm pregnant."

[bunny-jpeg]

team principal

max verstappen - team principal au

cw: smut/pwp, driver!reader, team principal!max, age gap (20/45), power dynamic, (slight) bratty behavior, groping, driver's room sex, oral sex (max receives)

as requested by anon: Driver!reader asking team principal max verstappen for a custom line of all pink and feminine merch because the orange just “washes her out” so he does. And he goes ALL out, bright pink Verstappen Racing flare leggings, and baby tee’s with the MV logo plastered on the chest bc what she wants she gets.

like the fic? leave a comment! really like the fic? suggest your own! <3

being part of verstappen racing meant wearing their logo. it had been the logo that max verstappen himself raced with. the 'm' and the 'v' were known prior to the establishment of the f1 team. every team had their logo from ferrari's stallion to red bull's, well, bulls. even teams like hamilton motorsports had their logo.

the problem with max verstappen's merch wasn't the logo, it was how god awful ugly it was. you had a selection of some of the ugliest merch on the planet. why was it all orange?

you had been convinced that your team principal, your boss, only saw the world through orange hues. that was everything was a shade of orange so awful that it would make mclaren blush!

"this is ugly. this is ugly. this is somehow worse! this looks like a halloween collection rather than actual merch. mister verstappen you make more money than anyone i know, hire someone with design sense!" you shook the shirts in your hand.

you knew that almost every driver on the grid couldn't talk to their boss like that. but it was an poorly kept secret that max verstappen had a soft spot for you. he also fucked you two ways to sunday on a weekly, if not daily basis.

max chuckled and leaned back a little in his office chair, "brand integrity is important, schat. a recognizable brand is important to its value."

you made a face, "well, your brand looks like spirit halloween threw up all over the place." then put the items down forcefully. you put your hands on your hips, "and shouldn't brands take risks? try something new? all of you use the same colours, cuts and styles. it's boring!"

max asked, "then what do you have in mind? since you know so much about a brand. i've been doing this since i was seventeen. almost thirty years, schat. longer than you've known how to walk let alone drive." he raised his eyebrows, "since you know so much, dazzle me with your proposal."

max would let his precious driver bark like a yapping dog. but he knew how to keep you quiet. he watched you cower for a moment, realizing that you took it a step too far. max smiled with his face rested against his fist.

you swallowed, "maybe something a little more... feminine.. pink. something cute." you leaned forward at his desk a little, the shirt you wore was his and was a little big on you. your movements revealed the start of a hickey he left on your shoulder the night prior, "mister verstappen, you have the first female driver in a long time. we... could lean into that a little. make it cute!"

max leaned forward in his chair and rested his arms on his desk, "cute? verstappen racing is supposed to imposing. strength on the track, and you want pink." he chuckled a little, "the alternate logo besides the initials is a lion. lions aren't cute."

you looked at him, "what about that lion stuffed animal you got me? that's cute. i sleep with it every night." you then pouted a little, a look that always made max weak. you shrugged your shoulders a little as you had your hands behind your back. you swayed a little and suggested, "plus, i could model it as well."

max may have known how to shut you up, but you knew how to make the older man weak in the knees. he sighed and kept his gaze on you, his expression a little softer, "fine. we'll see what we can do, schat. maybe you're right about needing to do something a little different. but i hope you know, whatever item we end up with. you have to show off for me."

your pout dropped and was replaced with a smile. you leaned over the desk to be closer to him and kissed him on the mouth. you held his face and smiled against the kiss. when you eventually pulled away, max watched your turn around to skip out of his office. you said to him as you looked over your shoulder, "thank you, mister verstappen."

-

max verstappen had seen enough in his over forty years on this planet. he had seen many beautiful women over the years, but when he walked into your driver's room and saw you in the newest verstappen merch, he almost fell on his ass. he had seen the line of merch before it got into your hands, but to see you in them was another story.

you were in a pink skirt from home that was almost the exact colour of the baby pink of the baby tee that you were wearing. laid out on the couch of the room was the rest of the merch. the flare leggings, the bucket hat, the baseball cap, a form fitting tank top and even an oversized button up.

all in sickening baby pink.

so much for verstappen being predators on the track. not when you were sickeningly beautiful in the clothing. max held onto the door to the room for a moment to compose himself before he stepped in and shut the door loudly behind him.

"oh!" you perked up as you turned away from the mirror to look at your boss. you smiled at him, "hello, sir." seeing the logo of the team across your tits made his eyes go wide.

"hi." he said as he swallowed, "did they give you the wrong size?" he stepped forward and reached out for you, "and where did you get this skirt?"

you smiled, "oh! this is supposed to be my right size. that's just how the tee are!" he could see your curves and a bit of your stomach. you then added, "and the skirt is from home. i bought it for a matching outfit thing." you swayed your hips from side to side.

this was supposed to be your outfit for media day. something to show off the brand. max scratched the back of his neck and stepped forward. he placed his hands on your hips and gazed at you.

"you're not going out like this. no, no. there has to be something else to wear." he approved all of the items. he saw them from concept to final product. and now you were in the driver's room looking like a whore.

"what about it?" you pouted.

he pulled at the bottom of your shirt and you yelped as it was taken over your head. he made a small disappointed noise as he tossed the shirt to the side. he licked his lips at the sight of your breasts. this was beyond any code violation. if you two got caught. but it was better than you walking around the media section in that shirt.

"you look like you're selling sex rather than the brand! you look like a whore." he said as he held onto your hips. he could feel the leap in his chest at the sight of your breasts on full display for him. only for him.

"doesn't sex sell, mister verstappen?" you said as you pouted a little and you were pulled up against him. your hands on the front of his button up, with his logo on it. you spread your hand across his chest, he noticed that your nails were painted the same pretty pink as the merch. you held onto him as he took you by the ass to press up against him.

"not this kind of sex. this is an invitation for you to cause problems. what if that skirt flips up? what if your nipples poke through the shirt. what is the press got the wrong idea and thought you were a slut." he explained. he spoke like you were a bratty girl who needed to be scolded. to be taught the right way.

you pouted further, "i'm not a slut."

max pushed up your pink tennis skirt over your ass and grabbed handfuls of your ass. it made you yelp and max closed in the space between your lips. before he kissed he said, "i know you're not. but, when you dress like this, you look like one." then kissed you deeply.

his strong hands groped your ass as you felt his cock up against your middle. you shuddered at the feeling of it. you knew that max was quite big. you squirmed a little against him and kissed him deeper.

when he pulled away, he got you down on the couch roughly. you bounced a little and looked up at him. you stuck your chest out a little more and max looked down at you as he rubbed his cock through his slacks. for one of the top racers in the world, you sure looked beautiful below him.

"mister verstappen." you said before you were met with his cock in your face. you didn't say much else but rather wrapped your lips around his cock and let him hold the back of your head. you placed your hands on his strong thighs for support as you took his cock as deep as you could take it.

max shuddered at the feeling of you. you felt like a dream in his grasp. a beauty beyond all others. despite the age gap and the power dynamics, max knew that he could make you top of the grid. you'd be winning championships that would make other drivers jealous.

as you sucked his cock, max saw your future. world champion of formula one. pretty trophies in your apartment in monaco. he already had you in a multi-year contract and no clause to get out of it. first wear the verstappen racing logo then have the verstappen last name. only fitting for a champion after all.

a strong driver needs a strong last name. and as you looked up at him with that soft gaze of yours he panted a little heavier. all dolled up for him, in his merch. you were right about the need for cuter clothes, that orange washed you out. you looked cuter in the soft pinks.

"you look good like this." he said as he tapped your nose and you made a playful noise. too precious, too beautiful for him. he loved the sight of you seated with his cock in your mouth.

you continued to suck him off and max got both hands in your hair. he pressed you up against him a little tighter and let your throat clench around his cock. he remembered the first time you sputtered and coughed when he came in your mouth. but now you took it all like the champion he knew you were.

"you're going to do so well for the press." he said, "answer all their questions. be a good girl. you know you will be. just like you are now, taking me so beautifully." he patted your cheek lovingly before he pulled you further onto his cock once more.

he watched you shudder against him as you tried to take his entire length. you could almost feel his pubic hair against your nose as you whined against him. you whined a little bit from the back of your throat and continued to suck him off. you brought him pleasure that made the team principal see stars.

he cupped your face in those large hands for a moment, "you like that don't you? having me in your throat, you're so beautiful. i don't know if anyone told you about the bidding war to get you on my team." your eyes fluttered shut and he exhaled deeply, "had to play dirty."

you whimpered in response. you didn't know about the bidding war for you a year earlier. you knew that you had a few offers when you ended up in formula one.

those blue eyes looked down at you and max licked his lips. you could feel his gaze on you as he continued to rock up into your throat. he panted a little, he could feel his shirt cling to his toned back from the sweat. "not easy to get under hamilton's skin. but i got him to back off, the same with red bull. i only wanted the best and i got it. now she's sucking my cock and wearing my logo."

you whined a little bit and it was music to max's ears. you were his prize. your teammate was good too, but max didn't hear church bells when he was around. you were max's pet project, that he just simply happened to fuck often.

he'd make you a champion. team principals played favourites all the time, and max in a way was no better than them. at least max got something else out of it. those pretty soft lips around his cock. he held onto you tightly as he continued to thrust into your mouth.

you clung to him as you could feel the ache in your throat. you kept your eyes closed and you were wet between the thighs. max briefly got more aggressive with his thrusts before he finished in your mouth. you whimpered and swallowed it eagerly.

the salty taste in your mouth was familiar and you opened your eyes to look at your boss. when you pulled your mouth off of his cock. you kissed the tip and smiled at him a little.

if max had more time, he'd be making a full mess of you. but the press would want to see the star of the track soon enough. he rubbed his cock up against your lips and nose before he said, "i want you to wear the merch next time i fuck you. you're mine, got it?"

you nodded softly and said, "yes, mister verstappen. always."

when you did the interview, you still wore the outfit. despite protests from your boss. you were all smiles for the camera, but max lingered close by. just in case someone got the wrong idea. as if max's name and logo weren't plastered across your pretty tits. but, it did get the older man thinking as he watched from a short distance.

max's mind wandered to other ways to have you wear his logo. he wondered if collars and chokers were still popular with young women. he wondered if he could get you in something with a tag with his name on it. maybe it wouldn't be sold as merch for the public, but he wouldn't mind if his star driver wore it. <3

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Six

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, still quite angsty (sry), strong language.

Notes — Lots of plot, we're closing out the 2019 year in this one! Not much Lando in this one (Im still mad at him). This gets crazy. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

2019

Two weeks after Spa, Amelia stood outside her dad’s office at the MTC with a manila file in her hands and the taste of copper in her mouth.

The door was open, but she still knocked.

Zak looked up, startled, like he wasn’t used to seeing her there anymore — and maybe he wasn’t. She’d stayed away from the MTC for the past few weeks.

“Hey,” he said, getting up too quickly. “You want to come in?”

She stepped inside, cringing when her new trainers squeaked against the floor. Her arms were stiff from holding the file too tight. “Brought you something,” she said, and handed it over. No eye contact. She stared at a plaque on his shelf instead — a dusty one from 2007, still etched with a podium that felt like another lifetime.

Zak took the file and sat back down behind his desk. “You put this together?”

She nodded once. “It’s just data. Analysis. Trends.”

He opened the folder and started flipping through, slower than she wanted, be he was a much slower reader than she was. Pages of her notes, charts, predictive modelling, comparative pace metrics, aero versus power unit deltas from the season so far. Even some basic projections based on engine supplier performance curves over the last six years.

He hesitated, eyes scanning the pages. “What is this, Amelia?”

“McLaren’s had a better season,” she said, not bothering to hide the way her nose scrunched. “You’ll probably finish fourth in the Constructors’. Best of the rest. Everyone is going to be very happy.”

He looked up at her, sensing the ‘but’ before she even said it.

“I am not,” she said. “I don’t think we should be happy with fourth. I think we should be aiming for much higher.”

Zak leaned back slightly in his chair, file still open in front of him. “Amelia…”

“I think we should drop Renault after next season,” she said, cutting him off.

He blinked. “Jesus,” he muttered. “That’s a big swing.”

“I’ve run the numbers,” she said, a little sharper now. “Reliability. Raw power. Upgrade cycles. Driver feedback. Even manufacturer investment in long-term hybrid development. Renault is… not consistent, and they’re not progressing fast enough. Mercedes is more efficient, more stable, more scalable. If we want consistent podiums, a chance at race wins, then we need to align with a manufacturer that knows how to win. Not just how to score points.”

Zak sat back again, slower this time, like the weight of the idea was physically pressing into him. He tapped the edge of the file absently with his fingers.

“You know how much this would rock the boat, right?” he said. “We’ve spent years building this partnership. Renault’s got skin in the game. Contracts. Commitments. There’ll be consequences if we walk away.”

“I know,” she said. “But you always said we should act like a front-running team, even when we weren’t. So act like one. Make a decision like one.”

Zak was quiet. Still.

“I started working on this after Hockenheim,” she added, voice lower now. “I just… didn’t show anyone.”

He closed the file. “This isn’t a light suggestion, Amelia.” He sighed. 

“I know,” she said again. “But I think it’s the right one.”

He exhaled slowly and rubbed a hand across his mouth, then looked at her; really looked at her.

She was calmer than she’d been the last time they’d spoken. Still paler than usual, still guarded, but steadier somehow. Like something had hardened and solidified inside her in the silence of the past few weeks.

“I’ll take it to the board,” he said finally. “Quietly. Just to test the water. No promises.”

“Okay,” she said.

There was a beat. She stared at the paperweight on his desk, the one she’d bought him for Father’s Day when she was thirteen.

“I just want us to stop being afraid of wanting more,” she added, softer now. “That’s all.”

Zak didn’t respond right away.

And as she turned to go, hand already on the doorframe, he couldn’t help but ask, “You didn’t just do this for him, did you?”

She paused. “No,” she said. “I did it for the team. I did it for you.”

She walked out. 

— 

The press release dropped on a Thursday.

A neatly timed, efficiently worded, professionally curated announcement: McLaren Racing to become Mercedes-AMG Powertrain customer team from 2021 onwards.

Quotes from her dad. From Toto. From Andreas.

A photo of a handshake she wasn’t in.

No mention of the folder. No mention of the analysis. No mention of her. 

Of course there wasn’t. She hadn’t expected it.

Not really.

And yet she sat at her desk, surrounded by pages and pages of sketches of cooling architecture redesigns, and felt… strange.

Not angry. Not exactly.

Not proud either.

Mostly just quiet.

She clicked out of the article. Closed her browser. Opened a new tab, then immediately forgot why.

When she'd handed her dad the folder two weeks ago, it hadn’t even been about recognition. She hadn’t cared about credit. She’d just wanted them to be better. To try harder. To take a worthwhile risk. 

And when he’d said, I’ll take it to the board, she’d believed him.

She just didn’t think that would be the end of it.

He hadn’t spoken to her about it since. No follow-up. No texts. No update. No “you were right.” Not even a half-hearted thank-you over dinner or a passing “good job” in the hallway.

The decision had come. And it had come without her.

Which made sense. She wasn’t a department head. She wasn’t on the executive team. She didn’t even have an official job title.

She wasn’t owed anything.

But still… still, she sat there with her heart lodged high in her throat and her fingernails digging crescents into the seam of her jeans, wondering why she suddenly felt like a ghost.

Why it felt like this was supposed to mean something.

And why it hurt so much to realise that her dad was okay with taking her work, her time, her thinking, the thing she’d built, and not giving her even a whisper of recognition.

Because he was used to it.

Used to her just handing things over for free.

And the worst part was, he wasn’t the only one.

She’d been doing this for years, hadn’t she? Offering up all the sharpest pieces of herself like they were scraps. Little theories, little fixes, the way she could spot patterns no one else could, pick through race data like thread. Suggestions left on the kitchen counter, ideas floated during test weekends, whispers passed to engineers when no one else was listening. Quiet contributions, all of them. Invisible fingerprints.

She’d given it away. All of it. Every clever thought, every hard-earned observation; just laid it down, like it didn’t belong to her in the first place.

And now someone else got the credit. Again. And she wasn’t even surprised.

She was just tired. And quietly furious.

— 

The house smelled like woodsmoke and dog shampoo. Roscoe was already halfway into Amelia’s lap, snoring, his head heavy against her stomach as Lewis slid a mug of tea across the coffee table.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he said, settling into the armchair across from her. “He’ll try and sleep there all day.”

“I won’t complain about that,” she murmured, scratching behind Roscoe’s ears. He was a big dog, solid and heavy. He felt a bit like her weighted blanket. Anchoring. 

Outside the windows, snow clung to the corners of Lewis’ sprawling. Quiet. Still. The way winter was meant to be. Amelia pulled her sleeves down over her hands and stared at the steaming mug.

Lewis leaned back, watching her over the rim of his cup. “You keeping up with the silly season chaos this year?”

“As always.” She nodded. 

“Gasly back to AlphaTauri, Hulkenberg out, Ocon sliding into Renault. There will be a bit of a bloodbath next year.” He said. 

She nodded, though her mind was elsewhere.

Lewis gave her a second longer before asking, “What about Lando? You two—”

“I don’t want to talk about Lando,” she said quickly, too quickly. Her eyes stayed on Roscoe’s fur.

Lewis didn’t press. He just leaned forward, brows faintly furrowed. “Right. Okay.” 

They let the silence settle again. Roscoe shifted in his sleep, his paws twitching as if chasing something through a dream. Then, quietly, Amelia spoke. “The Mercedes-McLaren deal,” she said, voice low. “That was mine.”

Lewis blinked, gave himself a second to repeat her words in his head, and then said. “What?”

“McLaren dropping Renault, becoming a Mercedes customer team.” She rubbed a thumb over Roscoe’s collar. “I ran all the projections. Power unit deltas, reliability, development pace, all of it. I put together the entire case. Handed it to my dad in a file. And two weeks later, they made the announcement.”

Lewis stared at her. “You’re serious?”

She nodded, swallowing. “No one said anything. Not to me. And I wasn’t… part of the meeting, or the rollout. He never even followed up. I just saw it in the press release like everyone else.” Her voice wavered, but didn’t break. “And I know I don’t work for McLaren. But I thought; I thought maybe it would mean something.” 

Lewis’s jaw twitched and his eyes looked darker than they usually did. “Amelia. That… that’s a big deal, you know that? That was your intellectual property.” 

“I know.” She hugged her arms tight around herself. “It just… it feels wrong to be angry. Like I should’ve known better. Like it’s my fault for not asking for anything in return. For just giving it away.”

“That’s not on you,” Lewis said, voice hardening. “That’s on him. Your dad. And on the team. They’ve taken advantage of you. You should get credit. You should get a bloody job offer and a signing bonus. Not… whatever the fuck this is.” 

She sniffed. “I don’t have a degree.”

Lewis scoffed. “So what? Since when does a piece of paper mean more than years of proven genius?”

That made her pause.

“You are one of the sharpest minds I’ve seen in this sport,” he said. “And I’ve been in it a long time. You see things before they happen. You think ahead of the curve. That’s what teams dream of having. And if McLaren can’t see that, if your own dad can’t see that, it’s not because it’s not there. It’s because he doesn’t know how to recognise it in you.”

She nodded. She already knew exactly what the problem was. “He doesn’t know how to see me as anything but his daughter.”

“Toto does,” Lewis said. “And that offer is still on the table, by the way.” 

Amelia looked away, cheeks flushing. 

“I’m not trying to pressure you. I just want you to know that you’ve got options,” Lewis said, softer now. “Real ones. And you don’t have to keep waiting around for your dad to finally recognise your potential.” 

She didn’t answer, but her hands were steady on Roscoe’s back now. And when she finally did glance at him, there was something a little sharp in her chest. Something that felt a lot like clarity.

— 

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2019 F1 Grid

Lewis H. @Lando You are an absolute prick.

Sebastian V. Good morning to you too?

Daniel R. Shit. What’d he do this time?

Charles L. Ah, this does not seem good.

Lando N. what the fuck did i do

Lewis H. You ghosted her. Like a child.

Carlos S. What??????????

George R. Wait are you serious?

Lewis H. Dead serious.

Lando N. oh my god can you not it’s literally none of your business ok

Max V. You’re an idiot, Norris.

Pierre G. Landooooo bro.

Alex A. Yeah nah that’s rough. You ghosted her? I actually thought you liked her, man.

Daniel R. She was so nice. Bet she feels like shit now.

Sebastian V. Is she okay? @Lewis

Lewis H. She’s fine. Too good for him anyway.

George R. I can’t believe this. Didn’t he literally write his racing number on her shoes? Or was that a fever dream??

Max V. @George He did. He’s just a right dickhead.

Carlos S. 😐 Told you not to screw it up, @Lando

Lando N. ok fucksake i get it You can all stop now i already feel like a piece of shit

Charles L. Why would you ghost her when she is so pretty and smart? I do not understand.

Daniel R. He’s still a kid. Dumb as hell. He’ll regret it in a few months, trust me.

Lewis H. He should be regretting it already.

Max V. Extremely dumb move. I wouldn’t have ghosted her and I’m famously difficult.

Sebastian V. Maybe I will set her up with my younger brother. He’s very clever. And rich.

George R. Is it weird if I throw my uncle’s name in the hat? He’s only 24. Really lovely guy.

Carlos S. My cousin Carlo is already in love. He will be thrilled to know she’s single.

Lando N. fuck off i get it I’m the villain Jesus christ can we drop it now

Daniel R. Glad you’re finally on the same page, mate!

Alex A. You could’ve just talked to her. Didn’t need to ghost her. That was cold, man.

Kimi R. 👍

— 

Interlagos was hot and loud and humming with tension, and Amelia made sure to stay pressed to the edges of it; a shadow against the garage walls, an expressionless face hidden behind a pair of black sunglasses.

It was her first time at any track since before Belgium. Her first time being in the same place as Lando since he’d decided that she was not worth knowing. And she was careful. Careful to keep to service corridors and briefing rooms, careful not to risk running into him. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she looked did. 

Nothing, probably. He would just ignore her, like he had been for two months. 

She had just slipped away from the hospitality bar, iced-coffee in hand, when a voice called out to her from the outside deck; warm, accented.

“Chica! Are you too busy to stop and talk with a very ignorant old man?”

She turned and found Carlos Sainz Sr. waving her over, a bottle of water in one hand and a wary smile on his sun-worn face.

“I was just—” she started, but he was already rising from his seat, gesturing for her to come join him. 

“Come, come. Sit. I have good seats here.”

She hesitated for a breath, then nodded and climbed the short steps up to the guest viewing area. The chaos of pit lane sprawled out below. Mechanics scrambled. Tyres stacked like soldiers. Race engines sang in the background, vicious and alive.

“Gracias,” she murmured, sliding into the chair beside him.

He nodded, then stared at her for a long, quiet second. “I wanted to say,” he said, his English thick with Madrid roots, but kind. “I think that… earlier in the year, I judged you too quickly.”

Amelia frowned at him. “Yes, you did.”

He sighed and nodded. “I assumed that you were just a pretty girl in the paddock.” He said. “And you see, my son has a terrible habit of becoming fixated on pretty things. But I realise now that I was wrong. You were there to, eh, help. To fix.” He sounded worn, like he’d had to work hard to say that out loud. 

She shrugged, staring out at the grandstands. They were full. “I was upset about it, I think. But it was not a big deal.”

“It was,” Carlos said, serious now. “It was a very big deal. My son made that clear to me. You are very clever. A real asset to the McLaren team.” He told her, firm and steady. 

She didn’t have anything to say to that. Just gave him a tight, (hopefully) polite smile and turned her eyes to the pit-lane as the cars peeled out of the garage to line up on the grid.

The race was long, and she stayed on the balcony throughout it all. Heat shimmered off the asphalt. Pit strategies flexed and fractured as the laps ticked down, and through it all, Amelia sat with her hands still in her lap, her mind sharper than the TV graphics overhead.

And when Carlos Sainz, the younger one, made it to third after a messy, brilliant final few laps, when the checkered flag waved and the paddock exploded into cheers and disbelief, she turned to his father and smiled, truly smiled, for the first time all day.

“Felicidades,” she said, voice soft but real. “That was very well done.”

Carlos Sr. beamed, pride etched into every line of his face. He stood up quickly, hurrying down to find his son and the rest of the team.

Amelia stayed.

The viewing deck emptied fast. Celebration echoed below. But she just slipped back into the motorhome, past the catering crew and out of the line of sight, into a quiet alcove near the storage lockers where no one would think to look for her.

She sat down on the floor, pressed her back against the cool wall, and closed her eyes.

She was proud. Of Carlos. Of the car she had helped make faster. Of the whisper of her fingerprints across the strategy that had put him on the podium.

But the truth still sat heavy on her ribs; that it had all happened without her. That even here, even now, she felt like a ghost.

— 

The paddock at night after a race was one of her favourite places in the world. Empty water bottles clattered in the wind, discarded tyre blankets lay forgotten in corners, and the once-buzzing garages now hummed low and tired beneath the fluorescent lights. Amelia walked slowly, hands in her pockets, trainers scuffing against the tarmac, the cool Brazilian evening pulling the heat from her skin.

She passed the Mercedes motorhome, its sleek black exterior reflecting the dim light. Through the tinted glass, she caught a glimpse of Toto Wolff, head bent in conversation with one of his engineers. Calm. Assured. In control.

She didn’t stop walking, but something in her twisted. Guilt, maybe. Or the quiet ache of uncertainty.

Red Bull had been circling for a while. Quiet at first; emails she half-dismissed, a few engineers asking her strangely specific questions, casual feelers through people she didn’t realise even knew her name. Then Christian on Dutch TV, mentioning her potential. Helmut at COTA, watching her from the edge of the pit wall like a cowboy evaluating livestock. And Adrian Newey, who bypassed all of them and emailed her directly in early November. Short. Direct. Complimentary in a way that didn’t feel rehearsed.

She hadn’t told her dad. Not yet.

Nothing was official, anyway.

“Brown,” came a voice behind her.

She turned, blinking as Max strode over from the Red Bull suite. His jacket was unzipped, and he still reeked faintly of champagne. Hair a bit damp. Grin lazy.

“Christian asked me to make sure you knew where to go,” he said, lifting his brows. “You’ve got ten minutes before Jos starts vibrating.”

She pulled a face. “Is everyone going to be there? Like… your dad is going to be there?”

“Obviously. It’s Red Bull. We are very theatric,” he said, deadpan. “Zusje, you are the most in-demand person in Formula 1 right now, of course everybody wants to be in the room when we finally win the battle for your brain.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t call me that. Zusje. I don’t know what it means.”

“Little sister,” he said, Dutch accent thick, shrugging as he fell into step beside her. “It suits you. You talk just as much as I do, and you are equally annoying as me. We will give Christian many headaches, I think.”

“I always carry ibuprofen in my handbag.” She tried to joke, but it came out flat. 

Max looked at her for a moment, but then he grinned, so she imagined he must have thought her joke was funny. At least somewhat. “Adrian’s been trying to steal you since Canada.” He told her. 

She sighed. “That explains the espresso machine he sent to me during the summer break. I was very confused.”

He gave her a look. “You kept it?” He asked curiously. 

She nodded. “It is a good machine. Expensive.”

“Of course it was. It’s Adrian.” Max shrugged. 

They stopped a few feet from the Red Bull motorhome, which buzzed under the night lights like it was wired into a different voltage. Something kinetic hung in the air; possibility, maybe. Restlessness. Momentum.

She stared. “This feels like betrayal.”

Max rolled his eyes. “It is not betrayal.”

He nudged her shoulder. She recoiled, glaring at him. He raised his hands in defence. “Sorry. Sorry.” Then, quieter, he said. “You’ve outgrown the shadows, zusje. It is not your fault that your dad doesn’t know what to do with you. But we do. Adrian does. Christian definitely does. You belong somewhere that doesn’t try to keep you small.” 

She started to chew on her bottom lip anxiously, “Do you really think that I am worth all of this?”

He didn’t even blink. “I think you’re going to make me a world champion, Amelia Brown.”

— 

The Yas Marina Circuit gleamed beneath the Abu Dhabi sun, all smooth marble floors and overly modern hospitality suites. It felt more like a luxury mall than a racetrack, but Amelia liked it. Everything was polished, controlled. 

She slipped through the back corridors of the McLaren unit with practiced ease, unnoticed as usual. It was early, quiet, the calm before the chaos of FP1.

In Carlos’s driver room, she placed a neatly bound packet on the table beneath the television. His telemetry from the entire season, annotated and colour-coded: green for improvements, yellow for repeat tendencies, red for danger zones. She’d included braking inconsistencies, corner exit deltas, and fuel load trends, with suggestions tailored to the 2020 chassis.

He’d get it. He always did. Carlos read data like scripture.

In Lando’s room, she left the same. A different binder. Different tendencies. More throttle hesitation in traffic, sharper degradation when chasing, lapses in tire preservation across high-deg circuits. A note in the front, written in her smallest, sharpest handwriting.

You are an asshole. You are also better than your instincts. Learn the difference between fast and frantic. Good luck.

She didn’t linger. She didn’t need to. No one would know she’d been there except the two of them, and even then, it didn’t matter anymore. She’d done it. Helped them. One last time.

She turned down the corridor toward the exit, and almost walked straight into a man who was standing too stiffly in her path.

He was older, expensively dressed, with the familiar face of someone she’d seen on enough pit walls to know he didn’t belong there out of curiosity. Adam Norris. 

He looked her up and down, his voice clipped. “Ah. Amelia, is it?”

“That’s right.” She muttered. 

“I suppose we haven’t met.” He said. 

“No,” she said. “Not really.”

He hesitated. A beat passed. Two.

“I’ve… heard you’re very capable,” he said finally. “Talented. Bright.” He said it like he didn’t really believe it. 

She tilted her head. Frowned at him. “Did you tell Lando to stay away from me?”

He flinched, just barely. “I advised him to focus on his career.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It wasn’t a happy smile. “You should teach your son better manners.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She stepped around him, slow, deliberate, and kept walking. Past the orange panels, past the McLaren logo, past the team she’d poured her entire self into. 

By the time the sun dipped below the grandstands and the lights came on for the weekend's final showdown, she was long gone from the paddock. A flight booked for her under a new team name. A seat at a new table. A blank page waiting for her red inked scrawl.

Red Bull knew she was coming.

They just didn’t know what she was prepared to become.

— 

The Browns’ living room was filled with the scent of cinnamon, pine, and whatever Christmas candle Tracy had been obsessed with that week. The fireplace crackled softly, fairy lights twinkled around the windows, and somewhere in the background, Ella Fitzgerald was crooning something vintage and sentimental.

Amelia sat cross-legged on the floor in sweatpants and a hoodie, half-watching as her dad unwrapped a book about American muscle cars from the 1960s. He grinned like a kid, holding it up for Tracy to see.

“This is great,” Zak said. “I’ve been looking for this one.”

“I know,” Tracy said, leaning in to kiss his cheek before returning to her place at the table with a glass of wine. “I listen, you know. I’m a good wife.”

Amelia smiled faintly. She hadn’t said much all day. She’d made breakfast. Helped put the chicken in the oven. Unwrapped the gifts they handed her; socks, a new set of sketching pencils, a silver pen engraved with her initials, and said thank you each time. But the weight in her chest hadn’t lifted, not even when her mother handed her a plate stacked high with garlicky roast potatoes. 

Zak was still talking, flipping through the book, animated now. “I’ve got such a good feeling about next season,” he said, his eyes bright. “The team’s in a good place. Carlos is dialled in, Lando’s matured a lot. And the Mercedes power unit; I know we’re still with Renault this year, but it’ll be a game-changer for us in twenty-one. Might be the year we really start bothering the top three again.”

Amelia swallowed hard. Her fork hovered above her plate, untouched. She glanced down at her food. It was getting cold. Her stomach turned.

Across the table, Tracy watched her. Her gaze was soft but sharp, a mother’s intuition in full force.

“Everything okay, Amelia?” She asked gently.

Amelia nodded. “Yeah,” she said, quickly. “Just tired. Long few months.”

Tracy didn’t push, but Amelia could tell she wasn’t convinced.

Her phone buzzed once, facedown on the table beside her glass of water. She flipped it over, half expecting a message from Carlos, or worse, from her dad, who had a terrible habit of sending her random articles from F1Tech like she wasn’t sitting five feet away.

But it wasn’t Carlos.

iMessage — 17:02pm

Vrolijk Kerstfeest,

Can’t wait for you to build my championship-winning car. – M.V. 

She exhaled, barely more than a breath. The corner of her mouth lifted. Not a smile, not really, but the closest she’d come to one all day. She tapped her fingers against the table, hiding the message beneath her palm.

Of all the gifts she’d been given that morning — the socks, the pen, the awkward hug from her dad that still smelled faintly of cinnamon and gasoline — this was the only one that made her feel something. Recognition.

She glanced at her dad, still rambling about wind tunnel simulations and team morale like the world hadn’t shifted beneath their feet. Then she looked back down at her plate, her fork still untouched.

She hadn’t told him yet. She didn’t know when she would.

Maybe she wouldn’t at all.

Maybe she’d take a page out of his book. 

— 

“Red Bull Racing Hire Amelia Brown as Technical Design Intern, Working Under Adrian Newey”

— Motorsport.com

Red Bull Racing Announces Amelia Brown as New Technical Design Intern “Mini Newey” Joins Office of the CTO Ahead of 2020 F1 Season

Red Bull Racing has officially confirmed the addition of Amelia Brown to its technical department, naming her as a Technical Design Intern working directly under Chief Technical Officer Adrian Newey.

Brown, 19, has quietly gained a reputation in Formula 1 circles for her analytical precision and instinctive approach to problem-solving. Though never officially affiliated with a team, her behind-the-scenes contributions have turned heads up and down the paddock — especially within the aerodynamic development community.

“She’s one of the sharpest minds I’ve come across in years,” said Newey in a brief statement. “She has an innate understanding of car behaviour, balance, and airflow mapping that’s rare at any level of engineering, let alone someone so early in their career.”

While her appointment as an “intern” may sound modest, Red Bull insiders are already referring to Brown as “Mini Newey,” a nod to the technical savant under whom she will be working and a reflection of the high expectations within the team.

Team Principal Christian Horner added, “We’ve always prided ourselves on fostering talent, and Amelia represents the next generation of creative engineering thought. Her insight, even during early informal conversations, has already helped shape some of our thinking going into 2020.”

When asked about her appointment, Brown declined to comment directly, but sources inside the team say she will be working across simulation, aero development, and design review cycles throughout the season.

“She’s not here to make coffee,” said Gianpiero Lambiase, Verstappen's race engineer. “She’s here to change the game.”

Red Bull Racing’s 2020 challenger is set to be unveiled in Bahrain next month. Whether Brown’s influence will be visible from day one remains to be seen — but if early whispers are any indication, she won’t stay behind the curtain for long.

NEXT CHAPTER