#eek you're next

[pitlanepeach]

The Long Way Home I Chapter Two

Oscar Piastri x Harper Grace (OFC)

Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.

It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.

Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!

Notes — Eek, are we soft for them already?

Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist

Maths was a unique kind of enemy.

Harper stared at the page, where a tangle of numbers mocked her in perfect, immovable silence. Quadratic equations. Graphs that looked like abstract art. Somewhere in her notes, her own handwriting had turned against her.

Jane was no help. "Look, I'd love to assist, but I operate strictly in the humanities. You want me to write an essay on why algebra is a metaphor for emotional repression? I got you. Solve for x? That's between x and God."

Harper sighed, banging her forehead on the desk.

Which is exactly how Oscar found her after his endurance run, still in his hoodie, hair damp and cheeks pink from the cold.

"You okay?" He asked.

"No," she mumbled into the table. "I'm dying. Death by numbers."

He peered over her shoulder. "Those are easy."

She raised her head and narrowed her eyes. "You would say that." She glared at him.

Oscar laughed and slid into the seat beside her. "Alright. Come on. I'll show you."

At first, it was just him. Patient, steady, explaining with short, clipped phrases and pencil taps. She wasn't sure if it was his teaching style or just the fact that he wasn't condescending that made it slowly start to make sense.

But by the next evening, word had gotten out.

Somehow.

The dorm common room turned into a weirdly specific academic support group. Oscar's roommate Sam pulled up a chair. Then Cal (Oscar’s engineer) FaceTimed in "for moral support"; and then casually mentioned that he has a masters degree in quantum physics.

Then two boys from Oscar's algebra class wandered over with snacks and just so happened to linger.

By the third night, someone had drawn up a "Harper's Maths Survival Schedule" and taped it to the common room door.

It read:

Monday: Oscar Tuesday: Sam Wednesday: Oscar Thursday: Alfie Friday: Matt

Harper laughed so hard when she saw it, she nearly cried.

And weirdly, somehow — it helped.

Not just the maths—but everything. The pressure. The loneliness. The constant feeling that she was a visitor in someone else's life. Here, she wasn't her mother's daughter, or the less-than-perfect student, or a problem to be fixed.

She was just Harper. And they liked her enough to stick around and actually put effort into helping her get better at maths.

One night, after everyone else had trickled off, Oscar hung around a little longer. She was almost too tired to think, her head tipped back on the sofa, eventually lolling over to rest on his shoulder.

"I don't know how you did it," she murmured.

"Did what?"

"Managed to turn maths practice into something I look forward to."

He laughed lightly. "You just needed to stop being so hard on yourself about it."

She looked over at him, eyes half-lidded. "Thanks, Osc."

He paused for a second too long. "Yeah. You're welcome."

She didn't respond. Just blinked at him, soft and warm.

And when he kissed her, it wasn't shocking.

It just felt... right.

—

Oscar wasn't supposed to be here.

Technically, he could be permanently expelled from the school. Lose his scholarship.

Not that he seemed particularly worried about that as he ducked beneath the low dorm window Harper had jimmied open earlier that week with a pen and a high level of angry rebellion.

"You're late," Jane said from where she sat cross-legged on her bed, dabbing highlighter onto her cheekbones. "Harper said you'd be five minutes."

"I had to wait for your prefect to leave," Oscar replied, swinging a leg inside. "She was sniffing around like a bloodhound."

"You're lucky you're cute," Jane muttered, not looking up.

Oscar took in the room; two mismatched duvets, makeup scattered across the long desk, fairy lights tangled above a heart shaped mirror. The air smelled like vanilla body lotion and expensive shampoo and some kind of spice he couldn't place. Cinnamon, maybe.

Harper was perched on the windowsill, brushing her hair into a ponytail with one hand, holding a lip balm in the other. She was wearing a navy jumper over leggings, ankle tucked under her thigh like she hadn't even noticed he'd arrived—even though the pink high in her cheeks suggested otherwise.

"I feel like I've entered another dimension," Oscar said, warily eyeing an eyelash curler. "What is that?"

Jane brandished it like a weapon. "Beauty, my darling. Don't question the process."

"You're both unwell," he muttered, but he was smiling.

Harper rolled her eyes at him, but had to purse her lips to hide her smile. "You're the one who insisted on coming over."

"Yeah, and now I regret it," Oscar said, perching awkwardly on the edge of Harper's bed. He knew it was hers because her pillowcase was monogrammed with a cursive H. "What are you doing?"

"Makeup," Jane said, blending concealer with terrifying precision. "You should try it."

Harper handed him a compact mirror with a sly smile. "Want some mascara, Osc?"

Oscar caught his own reflection and made a face. "No. I'll stay ugly, thanks."

Harper rolled her eyes at him and nudged him. He noticed that she'd painted her fingernails a glittery pink. He liked them.

Jane tossed an empty crisp packet across the room and it landed somewhere close to the bin.

Harper held up two near-identical shades of what was apparently lip gloss and demanded that Oscar choose.

Oscar chose the darker pink and Harper beamed at him.

Eventually, Jane pulled her riding boots on and announced, "Right. I'm going to grab some water bottles. Don't kiss until I get back — I want to watch."

Oscar opened his mouth to say something — anything, but she was already gone.

And then it was just the two of them, the room suddenly quieter, more tense. Harper turned toward him, one knee bent on the chair, her face lightly painted with makeup, her cheeks flushed from the laughter.

She looked at him, eyes half-lidded. "Thanks for coming, Osc. I missed you this weekend."

He stared for a second too long. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. I wanted to come. I missed you too."

She didn't look away, and suddenly he couldn't hold himself back anymore.

He pushed off of the bed and walked over to her, leaned down and cupped her face in his hand and kissed her. Long and soft and perfectly minty — from his gum or her lipgloss, he wasn't sure. Maybe both.

Teamwork.

When they pulled apart, she exhaled shakily."Okay," she said, so softly it barely existed. "That was nice."

Oscar looked at her for a long moment, his thumb brushing a smudge of mascara off her cheekbone.

Then Jane banged back through the door with a flourish, freezing mid-step at their closeness.

"Oh my God, did you—? You did, didn't you. I missed it again!"

—

Half term at Harper's house felt like walking around in someone else's skin.

Every day was a new performance: a crisp outfit, polite laughter, perfectly timed nods in rooms filled with too-white teeth and names she was supposed to remember. The dining tables were long and silent, the smiles were sharp, and the wine flowed never-ending.

Her mother paraded her through charity galas and luncheons like she was a debutante being rebranded.

"Stand up straighter, Harper."

"Don't speak unless you're spoken to."

"Do not mention anything to do with your schooling. God forbid they ask about your grades."

So Harper swallowed herself down, tucked her sarcasm into her clutch bag, and became exactly the daughter her mother wanted. For six days.

By the seventh, she'd become brittle.

When the train pulled back into the station near school, Harper had barely spoken a word for almost five hours. The Uber to the gates was quiet. Her mother didn't even look up from her phone when she said goodbye.

And then the building appeared—stone and ivy, wind in the trees, the faint smell of grass and cafeteria food.

Home, almost.

She hadn't texted Oscar. So she just walked straight to the common room, her bag still digging into her shoulder, hair pulled into a too-tight twist, like a fingerprint that her mother had left on her.

He was there, leaning against the radiator with his headphones half on, scrolling through something on his phone. He looked up once and blinked like he wasn't sure she was real.

"Hey—"

She dropped her bag before he could finish. Crossed the space in three quick steps.

And then she was in his arms, burying her face into the curve of his neck.

No words. No warning.

Oscar caught her without hesitation, his arms sliding around her, his hands settling at her back like they'd been waiting. He held her tightly.

For a long time, they didn't say anything.

Just her fingers fisting in the back of his hoodie. His chin tucked gently over her hair. The low hum of the radiator and the quiet outside, and the way she was shaking, not crying, not quite, but trembling with the pressure of having to be somebody else for too long.

Eventually, he whispered, "Was it that bad?"

She nodded into his chest.

"I missed you," he said.

She didn't answer; just held on tighter.

It was the first time she'd ever let herself lean on somebody like this. Not perform, not pretend—just be held. And she didn't care who saw or what anyone thought.

Oscar had quietly become her anchor. Her soft place.

And maybe that was terrifying.

She was only fourteen, Oscar fifteen — but God, his arms felt like safety. And warmth. And something else that she couldn't bear to even consider yet.

—

Harper's fifteenth birthday wasn't eventful.

She didn't tell anyone. Not because she didn't want them to know—but because birthdays in her world had always come with strings. Lavish luncheons, social climbing events, gifts that felt like bribes.

She just wanted this one to pass through quietly. Like a train through a tunnel.

Jane, of course, knew anyway. She left a pastry and a glittery crown on Harper's bed with a note that said, "You are legally required to feel loved today. I don't make the rules." The crown had little fake gems and kept slipping off Harper's head, but she wore it anyway during breakfast.

Oscar wasn't there.

He was in Italy. Or Belgium. Somewhere with a name that tasted foreign and exciting. Somewhere chasing corners at 120 miles per hour while she spent the morning trying to translate her messy English notes into a coherent essay.

Her and Oscar still weren't... official.

No labels, no silly promises.

Just soft looks and secret smiles, warm palms pressed together in the dark of the common room. Kisses that stretched time. Late-night texts that made her stomach twist in ways she still didn't know how to name.

But still. It was her birthday.

She didn't expect anything.

Which is why, when Jane dragged her back to their room after dinner, she nearly tripped over the package sitting on her desk.

There was no name on it. Just a strip of tape across the top, and the faint smell of engine oil clinging to the paper.

She tore it open slowly, heartbeat ticking louder with each pull.

Inside: a hoodie. Worn-in, navy blue. She recognised it immediately—it was Oscar's. The one he always wore over his racing suit, with his initials inked inside the collar. It smelled like him. Like soap and sun and sweat.

And tucked inside the folded fabric, a card.

H — Happy birthday. Sorry I'm not there. Don't let Jane make you wear the crown all day. Put this on instead. I'll be back before the end of the week. Save a birthday kiss for me. Osc x

She stared at the messy, awful, hardly eligible handwriting for a long time.

Then she pulled the hoodie on and let it swallow her whole.

Later, when they'd crawled back into the common room to watch a movie and everyone was pretending not to watch her phone light up every three minutes, Jane nudged her.

"You know he's basically your boyfriend, right?"

Harper rolled her eyes. "He's not, though."

Jane shrugged. "Oh, puh-lease. You're always wearing his clothes. You look at him like he's the moon and you're the stars. You guys kiss all the damn time — like you've got nowhere else to be."

"I don't need a label." Harper said.

"No," Jane said, smiling. "But you'll have one soon. I'd put money on it."

As if on cue, Harper's phone buzzed.

A photo. Oscar, in his race suit, grinning with helmet hair and grease on his cheek, holding up a little cupcake with a candle in it.

Wish you were here. Celebrating for you anyway. Happy Birthday, sunshine.

Harper didn't reply right away. Just closed her eyes, let the warmth bloom under her ribs, and whispered, mostly to herself, "I wish I was there too."

—

The night was cool and quiet in the early spring, the kind of night where the world seemed to be holding its breath for a warm day.

Harper waited near the edge of the astro turf, shadows stretching long under the floodlights that were turned off but still gave the field a faint glow from the nearby streetlamps.

Her hoodie was too big, but it felt like a shield—and it smelled like Oscar.

She heard footsteps before she saw him, and when he appeared, the grin he gave her was full of all the things words hadn't managed to say.

"Hey," he said, voice low.

"Hey," she replied, stepping closer.

They settled on the edge of the turf, legs stretched out, the grass synthetic but soft beneath them.

For a while, they just sat. Quiet but close. Hands finding each other like magnets.

Then Oscar broke the silence. "So... uh, us," he started, voice hesitant but steady.

Harper turned her head toward him, watching the way his eyes caught the light, shadows flickering like secrets.

"I don't want to mess this up," he said, his lips curled awkwardly. "But I really like you, Harper. Like... so much."

She took a breath. "I like you too," she whispered. "More than friends."

He grinned, that slow, real smile that made everything else fall away. "So—you want to be my girlfriend?"

She stared at him, her stomach warm and twirling, her lips twitching into a fond, sweet smile. "Yeah, Osc. Yeah. I want to be your girlfriend."

—

The track in Essex was wet. Not just damp — soaked. The kind of cold, miserable damp that clung to your bones and turned the air misty around the edges.

Harper stood at the edge of the paddock with Mark, a steaming takeaway cup with hot chocolate cupped between her hands, the sleeves of Oscar's team hoodie pulled down over her wrists. Her boots were already muddy. Her nose was red. She didn't care one single bit.

Because out there — helmet on, eyes narrow, engine growling beneath him — was Oscar. Fast, fluid, terrifyingly good.

Mark watched silently, arms folded, one eye on the stopwatch. "Final lap," he murmured.

Harper didn't answer. She couldn't. Her heart was in her throat.

Then he crossed the finish line — just ahead, by a fraction of a second.

A cheer broke out across the team tent, someone throwing their arms in the air. Mechanics pounded backs. One of the younger juniors swore loudly in delight.

Oscar skidded into the pit lane and yanked off his helmet. His hair was plastered to his forehead. His face was flushed, wild-eyed, grinning.

Harper barely waited. She ducked under the barrier and ran straight into his arms.

He caught her mid-stride, lifting her clean off the ground with a muddy laugh.

"You did it," she breathed, half-laughing, half-crying.

He held her tighter, nose brushing her temple. "I did it."

Their kiss was messy and cold and perfect.

A few feet away, Mark shook his head with a smile and muttered, "Teenagers."

Later, after the podium and the trophy photos and the engine checks and the interviews he barely paid attention to, Oscar found her again — sitting on a folding chair, wet hair pulled into a messy ponytail, her boots still caked in track dirt.

He dropped down in front of her, ignoring the mud. His hands slid around her knees.

"You cold?" He asked.

"A bit."

He peeled off his jacket and tugged it over her without thinking.

She let her hands drift to his collar. "You really are the best boyfriend ever, aren't you?"

He shrugged. His cheeks flushed a little. "I try my best."

They sat like that in the growing dusk, a boy covered in sweat and rubber and a girl who didn't belong in this world — but somehow fit in it perfectly anyway.

They still hadn't said the words.

But everyone around them already knew.

They could see it.

"Bloody young love, eh?" One of the mechanics said to Mark, giving him a friendly grin.

Mark stared at his protege and the girl he was wrapped around. "Yeah. Young love. A hell of a thing."

—

The Monday morning after Oscar's karting championship win was business as usual — at least for everyone else.

The cafeteria stank of burnt toast and unripened bananas. Someone's rugby kit had been left to rot in the corridor again. Teachers were barking about mock exams and how important breakfast was for concentration.

Rain pattered against the high windows.

The whispers had started the moment they walked in — not mean, just curious. A mix of respect and amusement. He's the karting kid who actually did it. And she was the girl who'd been there.

They didn't hold hands in front of everyone, they were both too awkward for that, but they walked close. His bag brushed hers. Their shoulders kept touching. She caught him glancing at her more than once, and she blushed every damn time.

They sat at their usual table; Jane joined them, already mid-rant about the biology quiz, and Oscar slid into the seat beside Harper like it was instinct. A few of his mates clapped him on the back, one of them tossing out, "Bloody hell, Piastri. Gonna forget us little people soon?"

Oscar grinned but didn't rise to it. His hand brushed Harper's knee under the table.

After breakfast, Harper slipped away early. Sometimes, the morning noise was too much. She wandered toward the astro, the damp still clinging to the edges of the pitch, her trainers leaving faint impressions on the stone pathway.

A minute later, she heard footsteps behind her.

"You always going to run off without me?" Oscar's voice, soft, teasing.

She turned and squinted at him. "I wasn't running," she said.

He stepped closer, hands in his pockets. "You okay, babe?"

Babe.

Babe. Babe. Babe.

"No," she said. "Yes. No. I don't know. I just needed to breathe."

He stepped up beside her, both of them facing the empty turf.

"You think my mum's going to be pissed when she finds out?" She asked after a minute.

He glanced sideways at her. "About you going to the race?"

"No. Yes. But I meant more about us."

Oscar was quiet for a moment. "Yeah. She probably will."

She looked at him; saw the mud-streaked, medal-wearing, boy-who-won-the-thing him. The one who kissed her under floodlights and held her on her worst days. The one she'd never trade for any high-brow, suit-wearing finance guy in any universe.

"You really aren't going anywhere, are you?" She whispered. "

He shook his head. "Not unless you're coming with me."

She stepped into his chest and sniffled a little, then looked up and lifted onto her tiptoes to let him kiss her.

—

It started as a joke.

One day in maths, Harper made a face so violently pained at the sight of a clock diagram on a worksheet that Jane nearly fell off her chair laughing.

That evening, Oscar mentioned it to the guys — just casually, in that offhand way that somehow made them all very invested in Harper's educational redemption arc.

By the weekend, there was a printed-out worksheet titled "MISSION: TEACH HARPER TO READ A CLOCK" taped to the common room wall.

It escalated quickly.

Now, every Tuesday evening, the boys' dorm turned into a chaotic, loving, entirely misguided tutoring group.

Like an off-brand of the maths tutoring program they'd thrown together for her — but with more interest.

There was Oscar, naturally, trying to be the patient one. Then Alfie, who thought yelling was teaching. Ethan, who brought snacks. And Matt, who had made a papier-mâché clock face out of a pizza box. With arrows.

Harper sat in the middle of them like a hostage.

"I'm telling you," she said, pointing wildly at the pizza box. "That one's ten. I swear. It's a ten."

Oscar, sitting cross-legged beside her, gently rotated the cardboard. "Harper, the big hand is on the two. That means it's ten past the hour. Not ten o'clock."

"Okay but how am I meant to know which hand is the minute hand? They're both just... hands."

Alfie groaned. "The minute hand is the longer one! Like, always! What do you mean 'just hands'?"

"They're not labelled!" She cried. "If someone handed you two spoons and said one was for soup and one was for jazz, would you know the difference?"

Everyone stopped.

Matt blinked. "Why would I have a jazz spoon?"

Oscar covered his mouth and tried not to laugh.

Ethan passed Harper a cookie. "Here."

She took it. "I'm just saying — numbers on a clock move. They're not meant to move." She grumbled and gave herself a frustrated forehead tap. "God, I'm so stupid."

Oscar leaned his shoulder gently against hers. "No you're not. You know that you're not, Harper. You know you're brilliant at a million other things."

She glanced at him suspiciously. "Like what?"

"You have perfect spatial memory. You memorised my whole kart setup after watching one session. You've mastered a million different coding languages already. You're good with people. You know how to read a room faster than anyone I've ever met. And," he added, deadpan, "you've successfully confused four teenage boys into thinking teaching time is a fun group activity."

She laughed then, warm and tired. "Well. Can't say I'm not a good influence, can the?"

"You're just a bit of a lost cause when it comes to clocks," Alfie muttered, re-taping the pizza clock for the fifth time.

But Harper didn't care about clocks. Not really.

Because she was surrounded. Because they kept showing up — Oscar with his soft corrections, Alfie with his shouting, Jane peeking in with popcorn halfway through every session. They all knew. About the dyscalculia, about the clocks, about her brain doing loop-de-loops over simple sums.

And none of them ever made her feel stupid for it.

Just... loved.

Even if she still couldn't tell the difference between three-forty-five and quarter past the hour (because what the hell did that even mean?).

—

It happened on the following Wednesday.

Halfway through the day, Harper was pulled from class. A quiet word from a teaching assistant, a murmured excuse. No one offered a reason why.

She thought it might be something small. Maybe Jane had accidentally set off the fire alarm again.

But then she stepped into the front office — and saw her mother sitting there, spine straight, legs crossed, lips pursed in thin, unimpressed silence.

Harper's stomach dropped.

"Come," her mother said, standing. "We'll talk in the car."

⸻

The car was parked on the far side of the lot, a sleek black town car that looked like it belonged outside a private gallery in Mayfair. Not a school car park.

Harper slid in, cold air brushing her ankles, heart thudding in her chest like it already knew what was coming.

Her mother didn't speak until the door shut.

"A karting race?" Her voice was like glass. "Karting, Harper?"

Harper blinked. "How do you—?"

"I got a call," she said, cutting her off. "From someone on the board. They saw photos. You, standing in the dirt with oil on your jeans. Smiling like you'd won the lottery. Holding hands with some, boy, in a racing suit. Do you understand how humiliating that was for me?"

"It's not—"

Her mother turned, eyes sharp and glittering. "Do you have any idea how much I've done to protect your name? Your future? And you're throwing it away for... boys who drive go-karts and call it a sport?"

Harper's hands curled in her lap. "He's not just a boy," she said quietly. "And it is a sport."

"Oh," her mother sneered, "is he your boyfriend now? Do you want to bring him to your cousin's wedding in Vienna next month? Shall we seat him between a baroness and a venture capitalist and see how long he lasts before talking about gear ratios?"

Harper flinched. "Stop."

But she didn't.

"You are not one of them, Harper. You are not some muddy little pitlane girlfriend who throws her life away for some boy with too much money and a ridiculous dream. I will not let you become a story people whisper about."

"I'm happy," Harper said, voice rising. "For once in my life, I'm actually—"

"Enough." Her mother's voice was like a slap. "We're withdrawing you at the end of term. I've already spoken to Madame Viard. There's a place for you at Lausanne International. You leave for Switzerland in January."

The silence after was suffocating.

Harper sat frozen, winded, as if someone had punched all the air out of her.

Her mother adjusted a glove, calm again. "You'll thank me someday."

But Harper wasn't listening anymore.

Her mother's jaw was clenched so tightly that a vein twitched in her temple.

"Fine," Harper said, voice low but steady.

The word dropped like a weight in the space between them.

Her mother blinked, surprised by the ease of her surrender.

But then Harper looked up — and there was fire behind her eyes. Her voice was calm, controlled, but every word burned.

"But you should know," she said, leaning forward just slightly, "that when Oscar's driving in Formula One — not if, when — and he's one of the most successful athletes in the world, I won't look back. I won't give you an inch. I'll let you sit in your wrongness and stew in it forever."

Her mother went bright red. "Do you think you're making this better for yourself?"

Harper laughed — a bitter, tired sound. "No. I know I'm making it worse. I'm very aware of how this works, Mum. I step out of line, and you slam the gates shut. But what else can I do?"

She paused, chest heaving slightly now.

"You don't listen to me. You never have. You just tell me what my life is going to be. What I wear. Who I talk to. Where I study. Who I sit next to at dinner parties like I'm some sort of accessory you place on a chair next to a financier's son. You talk through me like I'm not a human being. Like I don't have wants and desires and dreams of my own."

"Harper—"

"No. You don't get to talk now."

She didn't raise her voice — didn't need to. Every word sliced clean and deliberate.

"The worst part? The part that actually makes me want to scream? Is that I know Dad would be so happy I found someone like Oscar. That I found someone who likes me in the quietest, most awkward, most real way."

Her breath hitched — not from tears, but from the pressure of keeping them in.

"He's so bad at it. At being romantic. He blushes when I look at him for too long. He stammers when he's nervous. He opens doors and fixes my hair without saying a word. He doesn't like PDA. He frowns when he's concentrating and forgets to drink water and spends more time worrying about everyone else's lap times than his own."

She looked her mother dead in the eye.

"And yeah — he races karts. But he moved all the way here from Australia on his own at fourteen. He trains his body every single day for hours on end. He's braver than anyone I've ever met. Can you name one of your friends' sons who would've had the guts to do that? Or who would sit with me for an hour to explain how to read an analogue clock without laughing at me? Or who lets me cry without asking questions because he knows I hate explaining myself?"

Silence crackled in the car.

Her mother's lips parted — but nothing came out.

So Harper filled the space.

"You raised me to care more about perception than truth. To be polished. Obedient. Photogenic. And I'm done."

She reached for the door handle, voice like steel. "You want to send me to Switzerland? Fine. But you'll have to drag me there. Kicking and screaming."

She opened the door, letting in the sharp slap of cold air, and turned back one last time.

"Because I've finally found something that's mine. And I'm not giving it up for you. Not this time."

Then she stepped out of the car and walked back to class.

NEXT CHAPTER

[jellykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Entry : 057 - Lover! Sung Jinwoo x Fem! Reader: Drabbles ◛⑅·˚ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

╰┈➤ ❝ [ Every Little Thing You Are ] ¡! ❞

[ Why are you still awake? ] [ I don't have my online status on how'd u know:0? ] [ Instinct. ] [ Lmfao what is that supposed to mean? ] [ Get off the game. ] [ DD:] [ I'm picking you up in five minutes, we're taking a walk ]

Why does your boyfriend suddenly sound like a mom out of nowhere, hahah? No wonder Jin-ah occasionally complains to you, her brother is basically an annoying mama hen habitually.

So, you awkwardly dress for the cold outside on top of your pajamas and wait for Jinwoo to arrive on your front door.

You really only waited for three minutes and he's already there, pressing the doorbell.

"You are such a handful"— Was the first thing Jinwoo said when you opened the door for him. "You stay up until late at night and then complain the next day that you feel drowsy and tired."

"...Okay, mom" You pout, earning a flick on the forehead from your own lover before intertwining your fingers together.

"I'm your boyfriend" He corrects,

"Well, it's not my fault you appear more like a mom sometimes" You quip back and he could only sigh at your stubborness

꒰ .... ꒱

Midnight walks was Jinwoo's preferred method of easing you into the night. He knew you had trouble sleeping on most nights due to stress and anxiety. He wasn't the kind of boyfriend who would bug you to tell him about your day, he lets you vent to him when he knows you're ready to start explaining how your day is comptely terrible.

When you're agitated, he doesn't enjoy it.

Not that you take your anger out on your beloved.

Of course not, neither of you will ever land a hand on one another. Well, to be frank, even if you do hit Jinwoo— he wouldn't really care.

But tonight? The priority is to tire you out for an instant knockout.

The only thing that broke the serene silence between the both of you is the crunching of grass and gravel underneath the both of you as the chilly breeze whistles on the air.

You could feel Jinwoo squeeze your hand more, as if reminding you that you aren't alone at the moment and you don't have to be so stiff in the face of such the cast darkness of the park you're both taking your walk in.

"Hey, take a look" Jinwoo peers behind a bush where a frog is croaking.

"Eek!" You squeak, backing up immeadiately.

"???" Your lover blinks, "It's just a frog"

Well it's a slimy little thing but it's not bad compared to the horrors he had gone through with the gates before regressing through time.

"Sung Jinwoo, put that down right now!" You cry out as Jinwoo picked up the frog with his gloved left hand.

"Come on, it's a bit cute actually" Jinwoo smiles, as if he was brewing evil in that stupidly fluffy head of his.

And just like you expected, he started chasing you around with the frog croaking (maybe crying). While you sob for mercy, Jinwoo is laughing in bliss at messing around.

"What are you, five?!"

"Nah, it's just cute at how scared you are"

"I'm breaking up with you!"

"Hahah, nice try"

You were about to ball out of the park until Jinwoo yanked you back by your waist.

"Ew, ew, ew!" You squirm, "Don't hold me with your slimy hand!"

He mused, "I removed the glove, why are you still so cranky?"

"No!"

You whine and attempt to free yourself but his hold on you is as steady and unmoving as a mountain.

"Done?" Jinwoo asks, rubbing your stomach affectionately when you finally stopped struggling against him.

"You just brought me out here to make fun of me" You glare at him,

Jinwoo chuckles, pecking your lips briefly. "Maybe?"

"I'm really breaking up with you"

"Very funny."

He knows you'll never leave him anyway, just as he is in too deep in this whirlwind of love— So are you.

Only that Jinwoo is willing to do so much more in the name of his affections for you.

But that's a story for another day and another time, right now— He just wants to indulge in you underneath this moonlit evening.

꒰ 🪼 A/N: I'm very burnt out atm, I'll rest up for a bit before I start doing more fics and such. I have a lot of things in mind to do including lads and hsr. I'm very tired atm for no reason ahahahsa I jst wanna sleep. So please excuse me for this terrible short fluff ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[kryptznnn]

♛- Could've fooled me

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

➸ INTERESTS; -timeskip/pro-hero!katsuki bakugo x f!reader

➸ BACKGROUND; - Little drabble/blurb about Bakugo, and how much he claims to hate you. Considering you as someone who's nothing, but an obstacle for him, but like all obstacles you constantly get in his way, and he loves it.

➸ WARNINGS; - wc.1k, mentions of hatred/dislike, indecisiveness, romantic and sexual tension, smut, p in v, oral sex f!recieving, masturbation m!engaging, kissing, orgasms (both f and m engaging), mentions of arguing, hating/disliking to liking/loving relations.

➸a.i; - omg new blurb everyone wake up eek, working on 3 masterlists rn so sad eugh, but i hope u guys enjoy.

༊࿐ ͎. ｡˚ ° ⊹ ˚. ༊࿐ ͎. ｡˚ ° ⊹ ˚.

Katsuki hates how much you tail or tag around him, no matter how many times he's told you to leave him alone you just keep coming back.

Katsuki also hates the amount of attention you attract whenever you're out, whether a small story the girls are bringing up about random people approaching you, or even if he's stuck in a situation with you himself. He knew better than to bring it up to your attention through an argument though, you can't help who you attract. He just considers you lucky that he's always there at the right times.

He despises how kind you are, it almost seems as if you do it to mock him. You're not nice, but kind, kind to random people you've met, people you've had issues with and even him. It bothers him more like anything before, maybe it's because he believes he's the only person that should be getting that attention.

He isn't fond of how much you two share in common aside from your opposite attitudes. It's almost as if you two were meant to clash with one another. Arguments would always disperse between the two of you, and honestly, it fired him up in a way even he wouldn't expect.

He hates how he's back at his place now, his sweatpants pulled down to his thighs as his wifebeater was now rolled up over his belly button. His breath hitched as he was 'relieving himself of his anger' from your argument prior. He wasn't sure if he was going crazy or was just too caught up in the moment, but when he pictured you on your knees with your mouth wide open it sent him straight to climax, huffing and grunting softly to himself.

Don't get Katsuki started on the entire phrase others repeat to him. 'Opposites attract', he finds it a bunch of bullshit, he hates how often he hears it. Even if whatever he felt for you was what everyone else thought there's no way it was reciprocated. From all of his messes he had to clean up (like last night's mess) there was no way he'd take the risk.

He hates how he wasn't able to realize it sooner, your small remarks and subtle comments were pointers. You did reciprocate whatever he was feeling towards you, and he knew that by how much you were babbling underneath him while he fucked you.

Katsuki loves how you feel around his cock, it's like you're trying to suck him in any deeper from the inside. There wasn't any deeper, his breath was ragged as you were a moaning mess by how his tip kissed your cervix with every thrust.

"Katsuki please, I- ah, I can't" you cry. Oh, he loves how much you try to fight him over it, it's practically making him harder than he was. He could tell you were close; no one just denies their pleasure if an orgasm isn't close.

He's quick to lift up one of your legs, pressing down on the back of your thigh as he pistols himself within you now, your cries getting louder as your clawing at his shoulders and back now. He hates how easily whipped you are for him, one minute you invite him into your place and the next your spread out on your couch.

He hates that you attempt to cover your mouth while he's drilling you so quickly, you're sure that the condom he has on will either snap or come off. He's quick to grab your hands and hold them over your head with his much larger one.

He doesn't like how good you feel now, because now he's getting vocal. He hates being vocal more than anything, and with the other girls he's fucked it hadn't been a problem until right now with you. The way you were biting and clawing at him made something in the pit of his stomach flutter, maybe it was something he ate.

He loves how you kiss him when you come undone, biting his lip softly as you whine and twitch through your orgasm. His thrusts becoming sloppy after your orgasm. You now applied pressure and spoke him through his own orgasm, and even clamped down on him, and it wasn't helping.

He likes the fact that he's doing this to you, that this moment is being shared between the two of you. At first when you two started you admitted out of shame this was your first time, he only looked at you in awe, to him this was an honor.

He hated how much you squirmed and moved around when he ate you out when you started. His tongue never leaving your clit as he dug his fingers deep into you, one by one. He wanted to keep you still, he didn't like how you pushed and turned, but it was all worth it when he made you cum, the first time out of many for the night.

"Ha, are you close? Your- mmm, you're going faster" you moan into him, as he buries his head within your neck and nods slightly. He isn't a man of many words, the two of you knew this already, but for you he wanted to. Maybe the thought was stupid or funny to ridicule him for, but he wishes for this moment to never end, and he hates that.

Katsuki was just on the edge, no words were shared between you two, more importantly him, as he climaxed. His grunts and breathing were as heavy as ever as he cradled into your shoulder, you only rubbed his back and moaned along with him, easing him through it. He hated how you babied him, even though you were younger than him.

Maybe he hated the fact that he secretly loved what you were doing, you weren't able to see it, but after the high faded he smiled. Katsuki smiled at the fact of how happy he was to share such a moment like this with you, but yet again it was going to take a lot to even get a confession from him.

As of now, not even Katsuki Bakugo himself could tell you whether or not he still hated you. Hating someone for who they are and hating someone for what they do are two different things, but maybe it wasn't even you. Katsuki hates how he feels for you because it drives him off in such an animalistic way, he just can't ever get enough of you.

And he loves it.

༊࿐ ͎. ｡˚ ° ⊹ ˚. ༊࿐ ͎. ｡˚ ° ⊹ ˚.

✴🕷 please do not copy, plagiarize, edit, or translate any works submitted by me. all works are originated and all other pictures used within those works are online images. thank you!! @kryptznnn 🌸my main navigation

[etherealrin]

꩜ .ᐟ blue.

summer 2006.

you know, you and satoru both do, that you're not supposed to be enjoying it this much. this whole beach trip in okinawa, all of this sightseeing—none of it was really for your pleasure nor enjoyment.

riko amanai looks at you thoughtfully. "something up?"

"nope! let's keep going!" you fake a smile, dragging her back towards the shoreline where the ocean was ravaging the sand.

"eek! it's cold!" the black haired girl cries, cringing at the sensation. you'd have to agree, squeezing her hand in reassurance.

out of the blue, you're both rudely splashed by a truckload of the frigid water.

"SATORU!" you exclaim, turning to stare at the white haired male, currently sniggering with glee. suguru stands next to him, an obvious accomplice by the sight of the huge dragon which had caused the wave.

"you'll never get us, losers!" the two boys had run too far along the seashore for you and riko to have any hope of catching—and even if you did, satoru would surely turn on his infinity.

not that he'd turned it off since leaving riko's school. you can sense it in his eyes, how they're just a little bit duller. he must be dead exhausted underneath that facade, you know it.

his gaze catches yours, and as if by fate's intention, suguru and riko are called away by kuroi, leaving the two of you alone. you walk to him, sand shuffling under bare toes. satoru is oddly quiet, eyes never leaving you for even a second.

"you gonna stop staring? it's a bit awkward for me, y'know?" you lightly punch his arm when you finally reach him, sighing.

"it's weird, isn't it? to feel this normal. gives me a bad premonition, actually." his fingers are fidgeting at nothing in the air, now looking up at the blueness of the sky.

you're standing shoulder to shoulder but it feels like there's an impossible distance between you two. he seems distant, lost in the world of his own thoughts somewhere far away.

"what are you thinking about?" you question softly. "i know you might believe you have to handle everything by yourself, because you're the strongest or whatever, but that's just your superiority complex talking." that gets a chuckle out of him. but he still doesn't feel like the satoru you know.

"what i'm thinking about, huh?" he falters, pale hair ruffled by the salty breeze of air. you swear you can hear both his and your heartbeats, drumming in sync. "i'm thinking—well, imagining, that we fell in love on a day just like this, by the ocean."

when the words leave his lips, you suddenly see it. everything he imagines, you want to believe so badly.

"is that what you wish for? that we were regular humans?"

"sometimes." it's a confession from the strongest. "but mostly no. i'd hate to be weak," he feigns disgust in an attempt to joke.

you can't stop the smile from spreading across your face, reaching both hands out to capture one of his. satoru stiffens immediately, impossibly blue eyes widening.

so he did turn off his infinity for you.

"it's alright. like you said, you're the strongest, right?"

the glimmer of the ocean's waves reflect across his face, painting him aquamarine. the moment is so blue, in both emotion and color.

if you could have said it then, you would have told him instead that he could leave his heart with you. you'd keep it safe for him, and your love wouldn't ever falter. that the universe would always bring you two back together.

but you don't. you can't, knowing that if something ever happened to the either of you it would only hurt even more.

instead, you allow him to rest his head against you, quietly praying to a higher power that everything would be okay, listening to the soft splashes of the water.

a/n: this is the beach scene in hidden inventory yes! gojo art is by @ shachi0515 on yt!

ılılılılılılı now playing: blue by yung kai, blue by keshi (do we sense a theme here?)

masterlist. can be read as a continuation of this fic!

[dragon-ascent]

It's hard to bully Zhongli when he's in his dragon form.

"I'm going to eat you!" you announce, dashing out of the house and towards your husband, a pair of chopsticks at the ready. It's one thing to try and tease him while he's in his usual state, but right now he's stretched out as a big dragon who merely watches you, amused. "I'm going to pluck all your scales one by one for dinner!"

Zhongli barely even feels anything as your chopsticks poke at his side. He utters a low, reverberating chuckle. "You are adorable."

You pout. "Can you at least try to be scared?"

"Ah, I am terrified," he complies, nuzzling you happily.

You huff and switch tactics - you start gently nibbling on him, but Zhongli doesn't find this disarming in the slightest. Again, he can't even feel it. You're like a fly. A cute, silly, and endearing fly.

Wrapping his tail around you, your dragon husband plucks you off the ground. You yelp. "Shall I nibble on you as well?" he asks, bemused, bringing you closer to his open and waiting mouth.

"Eek! No!" Wriggling around in futility, you glower at Zhongli. "Fight me! Fight me!"

"Darling, you cannot take me in a fight," he answers, nuzzling you again. "My silly baobei."

You shake your head. "Nah, I'd win. Because I'm a fairy! And dragons are weak to fairies!"

Zhongli's eyes crinkle in mischief. "Oh? If you are a fairy, then you must have powers of flight." He holds you up before a tree. "Shall I set you down on the highest branch so you can flutter down by yourself, oh honorable fairy?"

You spend the next five minutes screaming and thrashing while Zhongli is the one bullying you, waving you around in that fluffy vice he calls a tail.

[askoverkill]

You weren't paying much attention but the Director mentioned something about his age before, didn't she?

transcript below:

(You weren't paying much attention but the Director mentioned something about his age before, didn't she?)

(...) (Blind it, you can't remember xir answer.)

(Maybe next loop you could get Odile to-)

(NO, NO, NO, you can't do that.) (Odile will just forfeit and get scared again.) (You're not going to put her through that.)

(But maybe...?) (Maybe you could ask him during the date?) (There are a few more things you'd like to ask them.) (It might be useful.)

(...Right.) (The date.) (The date with the Director.) (That date.)

...Mirabelle.

Eek! Are you okay?!

Ah, yes, I'm fine???

It's just, your face -never mind, what is it?

(Eugh, how humiliating!)

Could I borrow some lipstick?

...

...Lipstick? Is that what you said?

Yes.

Right now???

YES?!!?

O-Okay?

What.

[minminbunny]

I have a request if you're accepting them that is. Well it's in all actuality two requests but I'll send them in parts.

would you think about possibly writing a drabble or fic on your main

1) bunny hybrid reader with Dom Chan. They're just cuddling together and the reader wants to munch on carrots so he gets the reader some carrot slices and feeds her but ends up dropping a slice on his lap and the reader not thinking anything about it bends down and eats it. (Doesn't have to be NSFW)

-🖤🤍🐇🐶 (it not taken)

Owner! Bang Chan/Bunny Hybrid Gender Neutral! Reader

💕Drabble Masterlist

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

"You're home!" you exclaimed, leaping into his arms. Chan chuckled, bracing your sudden impact, "Master's home, little bun. What have you been up to, hm?" he asked, carrying you to the sofa. You straddled him lap, your fluffy tail twitching from excitement, "Bun cleaned the house, played games, read stuff and made a nest upstairs," you rambled, bouncing in his lap. Chan cooed, rubbing his hands up your plush thighs, "Such a busy bunny," he said, patting your skin. You nodded, "Ahm, bun did a lot today," you said, squeaking as he scratched your ear. "Good bunny," Chan praised, stroking your cheek. You beamed, your ears perking up, "Master, can I have treats?" you asked, thumping your feet against the sofa. A smirk etched on Chan's lips, "Do you think you deserve it, bunny?" he asked, adoring the way you sulked immediately. You looked up at him, batting your pretty lashes, "Bun been good," you whined, hoping he'd give into your plea. "Okay, okay. Get into position, bun. I'll get your treats," Chan said, lifting you off his lap.

You kneeled into position, your hands placed on your thighs as you waited. Chan hummed, his voice deep and proud, "Good bunny, so obedient for me," he said, patting your head. You squeaked, nudging into his palm, "Treat, please," you said, your eyes sparkling under the ceiling lights. Chan felt his breath hitch, "Come cuddle up, bunny," he whispered, sitting next to you. "Carrots!" you squeaked, nuzzling into his side. Chan chuckled, holding you close, "Say ah," he said, tapping the carrot slices on your bottom lip. You instantly took a chomp, loving the sweet juices from the carrot slices with each bite "Mmh," you moaned, licking your lips. Chan gulped, rubbing the back of his nape as he fed you. "Eek!" you squeaked, missing a carrot slice from his fingertips. Chan chuckled, his hand about to pick up the slice but you beat him to it.

"Nom," you said, biting the carrot slice above his bulge. Chan choked on his spit, his eyes widened at your seeming innocent gesture. You tilted your head, parting your lips, "Ah," you said, waiting for another slice. Chan gulped, his hands fidgeting on his lap, "Do you want another type of treat, bunny?" he asked, setting the carrots aside. You beamed, "What type of treat?" you asked, curiosity flooding your mind. Chan chuckled, "Well, it's warm. A bit salty at first but it gets sweeter and sweeter the more you suck," he said, rubbing your ears. "Ooh, bun wants some," you said, your tailing wiggling in anticipation. Chan's voice turned breathy, a smug smirk etched on his lips, "Lay your head on Master's lap, bunny," he said, gently tugging your ears. You did as told, obediently waiting for the new treat. Chan popped a salty lemon drop in your mouth, "Suck on it, bun. Doesn't it taste good?" he asked, brushing back your fur. (Heh)

NSFW BELOW CUT

Chan unzipped his pants, his cock throbbing beneath his boxers, "Doesn't it look tasty?" he said, his voice husky. You nodded, aching to get your lips wrapped around his leaky tip. His precum dripping down the sides of his shaft, making his cock glisten under the lights. You gulped, waiting patiently for Chan to slip his cockhead between your lips. Chan cooed, tapping the tip of his cock against your bottom lip, "You love Master's cock pacifier don't you, bunny? You always get so messy when we have scenes like these," he teased, stroking your hair as you suckled his throbbing cockhead. You hummed, pressing your tongue against the underside of his cock as you sucked. Chan hissed, patting your hair, "That's it, pretty bun. Keep sucking like it's a pacifier. Let it soothe your needy little brain," he said, loving the way your eyes flutter shut into a blissful haze.

[propertyofwicked]

revenge

she just loves to cause chaos on the timeline, especially with the recent news of her best friends unemployment.

fewtrell!reader x platonic!f1grid smau

masterlist the playlist

yourusername has posted!

liked by landonorris, logansargeant and 75,926 others

yourusername training.

view all 5,421 comments

user1 she really said james vowels sleep with one eye open

landonorris timbers? shivered.

⤷ yourusername keep this attitude up and you're next.

⤷ landonorris who's first?

⤷ landonorris does it rhyme with tames towels?

user2 uh oh james is gonna reinstate the y/n williams ban

⤷ user3 there was ban? why?

⤷ user2 it was rumoured that james banned her from williams after australia due to a "heated conversation" about alex driving logan's car eek

⤷ yourusername i prefer the term "defending the innocent"

alex_albon remind me never to get on your bad side

⤷ yourusername as if you need reminding, albon

⤷ alex_albon i said i was sorry :(

⤷ yourusername you were specifically told no eating my cookies, no bullying logan and no bribing him for them either

⤷ yourusername and i caught you shouting "ill give you a tenner for that cookie u evil american bastard"

⤷ logansargeant and how do you plead alex_albon?

⤷ alex_albon ...guilty, your honour 😔

yourusername has posted!

liked by lilymhe, logansargeant and 22,367 others

yourusername 'wanna make him really jealous, wanna make him feel bad...

tagged: lilyzneimer, logansargeant, oscarpiastri

view all 2,511 comments

user2 get him back lyrics in the caption??? what does it mean???

⤷ user4 'get him back' like enacting revenge on jv?

⤷ user3 i was thinking like she's getting pre-traumatised logan back?

⤷ yourusername perchance. mayhaps. potensh.

⤷ user2 you can't just say perchance??

user5 heavy on the "wanna make him feel bad" huh

user6 did someone say...twin bitches?

⤷ yourusername twin bitches.

⤷ logansargeant twin bitches hopping off a jet skiiiiiiii

jensonbutton have a good summer break guys!

alex_albon how burnt is he?

⤷ yourusername he's looking a little red....

⤷ oscarpiastri im covering him in aftersun as we speak

⤷ yourusername he looks like a squashie

⤷ logansargeant tf is a squashie?

⤷ logansargeant nvm i googled it you guys are mean

yourusername has posted!

liked by lilymhe, logansargeant and 13,470 others

yourusername that one unemployed friend on a random tuesday

tagged: landonorris, maxfewtrell, lilymhe, logansargeant

view all 2,713 comments

yourusername p.s why have i been golfing more than once in the last week what has my life come to?

logansargeant too soon....

⤷ oscarpiastri not soon enough

⤷ logansargeant yo?

⤷ oscarpiastri i meant the joke not your career

lilymhe i love you, i love you. lets never go golfing together again.

⤷ yourusername what about pirate themed mini golf?

⤷ lilymhe i could be persuaded, but only if we dress up

⤷ yourusername deal. but i bagsy being a parrot.

landonorris you should stick to minecraft

⤷ yourusername google “lando norris biting the curb in 4k”

maxfewtrell the day you get good at literally any sport is the day i will stand corrected

⤷ yourusername oh yeah? and hows your career in sport going?

⤷ landonorris gagged.

⤷ yourusername the man dubbed no-wins for the majority of his career is piping up?

⤷ landonorris im on your side???

user5 all of y/n's friends absolutely violating her golf skills is sending me

⤷ yourusername friends? bro it's my own flesh and blood

yourusername has posted!

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell and 42,391 others

yourusername my favourite animal is lando resisting the urge to get behind the dj booth

tagged: landonorris, maxfewtrell

view all 1,892 comments

user8 tell him to stop resisting.

pietra.pilao you look so pretty 🤍

⤷ yourusername leave my brother, run away with me 🤍

user6 i don't understand how she knows like everyone??

⤷ user3 she's max's sister, but closer to oscar and logan in age so she met them when max was in f4 & f-renault

⤷ maxfewtrell ...much to my dismay

⤷ user4 logan really out here ensuring lando is never far from a fewtrell

⤷ yourusername truly 🙏 you'd think he'd be more grateful...

logansargeant nice shoes....

⤷ yourusername it’s my payment for being a portable friend, therapist, and comedian

⤷ logansargeant comedian is pushing it - pain in my ass, maybe

⤷ yourusername it'll be my foot in there next if u don't stfu

⤷ logansargeant kinky

maxfewtrell that is my 3rd pair of shoes ruined. you owe me.

⤷ yourusername were you not the one shouting "we should do shots!" anytime i came back to the table????

⤷ maxfewtrell doesnt matter. not everyone has rich friends to buy them news shoes when people throw up on them

⤷ yourusername true, not everyone does - but you do??

⤷ maxfewtrell he’s not my friend. we’re lovers.

⤷ pietra.pilao ???

⤷ landonorris ???

⤷ yourusername ???

creds to @/lecomptedelee on twitter for the picture

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Divus Crewel - Ritzy Fur Coat Vignette

"A full course of disciplinary action"

[Sage‘s Island – Foothill Town]

Sage’s Island Resident: Good morning, Divus-san. You're up pretty early again.

Crewel: Good morning, madam.

Crewel: Also… Good morning, Emma!

Crewel: Your cute spots look so good on you, as always. I am truly lucky to be able to meet with such a stunning beauty so early in the day.

Crewel: …Can I give you some pets, you sweet thing?

Emma: Bark, bark!

Sage’s Island Resident: Fufufu, you're always so doting on our Emma, thank you. Look, she's so happy she's showing her belly.

Crewel: No, I should be thanking you. These fleeting moments I get in the morning are my personal solace.

Crewel: I'm grateful that I am able to see and pet these beautiful little lads and lasses.

Crewel: Especially since I'm unable to see my precious ones until I return to the Queendom of Roses on the weekends.

Sage’s Island Resident: If I recall, you have two friends looking after your dogs back home during the week, right?

Crewel: That's right. They're old friends… Or rather, they've become more like hired hands.

Crewel: I would love nothing more than to bring my dogs to Sage's Island…

Crewel: But my apartment here in Foothill Town is much too small to keep them.

Crewel: Sometime in the future, it would be nice to rent a large home here in this town and live with them together every single day.

Crewel: I'd drive with them in my favorite car on the long road along the ocean… That's the dream.

Sage’s Island Resident: Well, how lovely. I'm looking forward to the day that I'll be able to meet your precious dogs, Divus-san.

Crewel: And I as well, madam. I hope you have another pleasant day today. Bye, Emma.

Crewel: Good morning, my good sir. A strong cup of tea, as per my usual.

Shopkeep: Good morning, Crewel-kun. Would you like some food with that?

Crewel: No, thank you. I don't eat breakfast, as a rule.

Shopkeep: Yes, yes, I know. I thought I'd just ask.

Shopkeep: I can't believe you come to my little establishment so early in the morning just to drink tea instead of our signature coffee blend…

Shopkeep: You're still an odd one, even after becoming a professor at Night Raven College.

Crewel: Hah. Truth be told, I don't come here for the tea.

Crewel: Every Monday morning, if I sit in this seat here, I can watch the ships sail into port. The sight of the sails in a row is beautiful…

Crewel: This tea doesn't even compare to the stuff I can brew, but this view is something I can't replicate back home.

Shopkeep: Hahah! I always knew you were a sharp-tongued devil in your student years, but it seems you've just gotten even more cruel!

Crewel: I think it's more of a shock that you haven't improved your tea brewing skills in 15 years, sir.

Shopkeep: Well, luckily, we're still thriving! Do enjoy your time here.

Crewel: Thanks. …Hm. This respite is quiet and soothing.

Crewel: I should relax while I can. …Because I'm sure today will end up being yet another busy day.

Crewel: Today, I have homeroom plus three other classes. There's also preparations that need to be done for next month's event, a staff meeting, and last week's tests that need grading… Whew.

Crewel: Well. I'll just have to hope those pups won't cause me any issues, at a minimum.

[Laboratory]

Crewel: STAY!!!

Students: EEK!

Crewel: I can't believe this… What have you done?

Crewel: Why are all the ingredients needed for today's experiment scattered all over the floor?

Crewel: Which one of you mangy mutts not only stepped on but also mixed together all those spilled ingredients?

Crewel: I am only asking a simple question, and yet all anyone can yelp is "It wasn't me," or "It was someone else's fault"...

Crewel: PUPS WHO CAN'T OWN UP TO THEIR MISTAKES ARE NO BETTER THAN A MUTT! THEY DON'T EVEN DESERVE TO BE CALLED DOGS!

Students: EEEEP!

Crewel: So tell me, who is the culprit? Tell me truthfully, and you'll only have to deal with a full course of disciplinary action and not a bit more.

Students: Th-That is…

Students: [everyone stares]

Grim: Hm?

Grim: …Wh-Wh-Wh-What? Don't all you be lookin' down on me!

1. I think it'd be better if you just apologize honestly… 2. You'll get a lighter punishment if you just confess now.

Grim: It wasn't me who did that! It's [Yuu], definitely [Yuu]!

Scarabia Student: Don't try to blame [Yuu]. You really don't know how to give up, huh, Grim!

Octavinelle Student: Yeah, you were the one who flipped the table in the first place! There's no way I'm gonna let you take us down with you!

Grim: Heh! Do ya even got any proof that I did it?

Crewel: I see. It definitely won't do to accuse someone of the crime without proper evidence.

Crewel: …By the way, Grim.

Grim: Hm?

Crewel: The fur on your legs have turned black, but why is that? It looks just like that of a black cat.

Grim: Huh? My legs?

Grim: …Woah, you're right! My amazing grey fur's pitch black!

Grim: WH-WHAT'S WITH THIS!? GET RID OF IT FOR MEEE!

Crewel: There's no point in wiping it. The sap from the tree we were to use today turns black upon exposure to air.

Crewel: If it were to touch on your clothes or hair, it wouldn't matter how much you scrub or wash with water, it won't come off.

Crewel: incidentally, to return the blackened part to normal, the fastest method would be to cause another reaction to render it colorless.

Crewel: Look! Everyone see here.

Crewel: When I pour this concoction of herbs onto Grim's blackened legs…

Crewel: See, it returned back to its normal color. Make sure you remember this reaction.

Students: Oooooh.

Crewel: …Now, Grim. Do you have any idea why the ingredients we were to use for today's experiments got on your legs?

Grim: M-M… MYAAAH!

Grim: It ain't my fault! The desk shouldn't've been there!

Crewel: YOU MONGREL! YOU ARE TO STAY AFTER CLASS AND COPY LINES AS PUNISHMENT. UNDERSTAND!?

Crewel: And [Yuu], you're to also stay behind, as Grim's prefect. It would be troublesome if you cannot even look after your own pet!

1. But I have plans after class…

Crewel: Oho, you have plans that take priority over my prescribed discipline? [Yuu shakes their head] …No? A good response from a good boy.

2. I'm sorry…

Crewel: If you truly are sorry, then lets see that as a tangible result. If you can make Grim learn to sit and stay properly as his prefect, then I'll give you a treat.

Crewel: These pups truly are a handful… My beloved pet dogs are much more well behaved.

Crewel: Everyone, sit!

[Crewel magics the ingredients]

Grim: All the stuff I dropped are just floating back on top of the desk. So why's he gotta get on me when he can just fix everything…?

Crewel: The ingredients have been properly prepared once again. I will now explain the procedure for this experiment, so make sure you watch carefully.

Crewel: …I expect all of you to be on your best behavior.

Grim: Urp. He's just glaring at me, now…

[Interior Hallway]

Crewel: Ah, classes are finally over. Today was another tiring day.

Crewel: None of the freshmen listen and the sophomores slack off now that they've gotten used to the classes. And the juniors are teeming with arrogance.

Crewel: If I were a student, I would absolutely have literally knocked some sense into them...

Crewel: However, because of my position, I cannot do that now. I never even thought that I would be more inconvenienced as a professor, than I was as a student.

Crewel: Tch! I knew what I was in for, but still, I hadn't expected being an instructor to be this difficult.

???: And why are you clicking your tongue like that, Crewel-sensei?

Trein: As a professor of this school, I would prefer if you were to carry yourself better, so as to be a good example towards the students.

Crewel: Ugh… And now on top of everything else, someone even fussier has shown up…

Trein: What is with that disgruntled look? Do you take some issue with me?

Crewel: Of course not, don't be absurd! I would never bite back at any commentary you have for me, Trein-sensei.

Trein: Good. We should start to head towards the staff meeting, then.

Trein: Incidentally, you seemed to look rather exhausted a moment ago. Did something happen?

Crewel: No, I wouldn't say there was anything in particular…

Crewel: …I was only thinking of how I could effectively train the students. There are more than a fair share of unruly pups.

Trein: Do you of all people have any right to say that…? Especially since you were one of the rowdiest students during your time here.

Crewel: That was simply youthful ardor. Wasn't I just a charming little thing?

Trein: Don't write it off as simple "youthful ardor." Have a little shame.

Trein: …Well, I suppose it hasn't been too long since you've become a professor, in the end. This year makes… how long?

Crewel: Six years. Have you forgotten our joyous reunion already?

Trein: Hmph. Of course I remember your scowling little, "Oh, professor, were you still here?"

Trein: But only six years, I see… Well, why don't you pat yourself on the back for doing as well as you are for such a short tenure?

Crewel: I'm doing well? …Do you truly think so?

Trein: It is a fact that the rate of students pursuing the sciences have increased since you've arrived. There would be no purpose in denying that your instruction is showing good results.

Crewel: Heh… Heheh, is that right?! Well, I certainly wasn't expecting that coming from you.

Trein: And there you go getting carried away and speaking without any forethought. I do believe I've taught you countless times since your time here as a student to respect your elders, haven't I?

Trein: …Now then, if you're feeling better about yourself, we should get this staff meeting underway. I am keeping Lucius waiting.

[Trein walks off]

Crewel: …How insensitive of you, Trein-sensei.

Crewel: Here I am, patiently enduring everything until I can finally go see my dogs over the weekend, and you say that.

[Alchemy Workshop]

Crewel: Now that the meeting is done with, I should try to finish grading the tests while I can.

Crewel: …The rate of students pursuing the sciences, hm. I suppose it's true that everyone's grades are improving, even if at a slow pace. …A truly slow pace.

Crewel: Heh. I do enjoy seeing these pups grow.

[knock, knock, click]

Grim: Hey! I went 'n did that assignment for ya!

Crewel: What is it that you've done for me...?

1. I'll have him try that again. 2. He just misspoke!

Grim: I-I mean, I finished the assignment ya gave me. I'll put it here on the desk, 'kay?

Grim: …Hm? There's a book with a fancy cover mixed in with all these boring lookin' books. What's this?

Crewel: Oh, did that catch your eye? That book contains the collection of an apparel brand I worked for in the past.

Crewel: I keep telling them to not send anything to my office, but there are some who just refuse to listen…

Crewel: Not only do I receive their catalogs, but also phone calls, all asking for my advice for the next fashion season.

Crewel: …It's just like your tests, don't you think? I'll have to fix their mistakes later to the best of my abilities.

Grim: Urgh, that sounds annoying. Why don'tcha just ignore 'em?

Crewel: Ignore them… Hahah, that's one idea. I can imagine their panicked and frantic faces.

Crewel: …But no, I do consider this somewhat of a hobby for me.

Crewel: Just because I've become a professor, that does not mean I can fall behind the current fashion. I want to constantly be checking the latest trends.

Crewel: I'm sure even you'd prefer a fashionably cool instructor over some decrepit, antiquated teacher, right?

1. I want a cool teacher.

Crewel: Right? You're quite a lucky one on that account, pup, because you have me as your homeroom teacher!

2. I want a nice teacher.

Crewel: You'll get bored if they're just nice all the time, you know. You might understand what I mean when you get a bit older.

Grim: I don't really get all that hard fashion stuff, but I totally wanna look cooler!

Crewel: Well, I'll consider that good enough for now. Don't you worry, I'll make sure to turn you into polished gems before graduation.

Crewel: You students here at Night Raven College may have a knack for magic, but your fashion senses are severely lacking.

Crewel: …And since I've taken on the duties of being your teacher, I won't allow that to continue.

Crewel: When I first started here, I vowed that I would craft every single one of you into the most fashionable and capable mages you can be.

Crewel: You have a first-class instructor, and first-rate instruction. …It would be impossible for you all to not become fantastic mages.

Grim: Heh. I'm totally gonna become a great mage even without your help!

Crewel: Hahah, you're a cheeky one. …Now then, if you've finished your task, go on. Looks like your friends have arrived to walk you out.

Crewel: Your time as a student may seem long, but it is deceptively short. I will do what I can to support all of you so that you can live your life here without any regrets.

Requested by @revengeofreaper32.

[avaredava]

Okay so I'm a stoner. My husband is a stoner. We often (everyday) fuck (like whores) while high so thats where these thoughts come from.

Let's imagine Suguru.

Best friend Suguru. You smoke all the time together. You're bitching about these men not giving good head. He disagrees. Skip to being on your back, legs spread open and pushed back. Suguru is feasting while you smoke a joint.

OR

Plug!Suguru, but you've probably known each other for a year. He just gets the best bud. You always share a joint - his treat, always free. But man you're so thankful. Skip to being on your knees, between his legs as he sits on the couch, maybe smoking, maybe taking pictures (if you like that, i sure do) while you throat him.

Am I a whore? Hopefully yes.

Kisses ❤️❤️

EEK thats literally such beautiful writing *i say as i slowly pull out my meat* (I'm a girl)

This is the first request and this is the second

୨୧・・・・୨୧

MDNI

Master list's

⯌ Sum

Stoner Suguru and his best friend little miss "I swear to god getting eaten out doesn't feel good!" and he might want to change your mind or head I guess you can say (pun intended)

⯌ Wc

1.2k

⯌Warnings

Drug use (weed), quick eat out with another guy that was lowkey cringe and not good at it, Suguru takes things into his own hands, oral!fem rec, clit stimulation, doing most of it high, some bondage, ate out on the bed in his room, pulling suguru's majestic hair 😖, they are high most of the time, so a shit ton of smoking, fingering, after care

୨୧・・・・୨୧

"Suguru fucking Geto get your ass in here!"

That's what you say to him more than you would like to admit. He takes a bunch of things from you ranging from your weed stash and your other pills to your panties and bras.

He came into your room with the whites of his eyes a bit red. Obvious of what he took. The idiot couldn't lie. "Mmm what's wrong pretty girl?" He mumbles with that stupid high smile on his face.

"Don't call me pretty girl. I'm having someone coming over. So you better not flirt with me. Because I want actually want to have sex." You say with a frown. It's been awhile and you've been horny.

"I can-"

"I'm not having sex with you, your my best friend and roommate and guess what else you are? High. Also I'm mad at you for stealing my shit so- get out." You push him out of your room and go to the front door to let the guy in.

He's tall, and pretty hot. Suguru is sitting on the couch eyeing him down. But he's to slug right now to say anything so he keeps smoking. You bring the boy in your room and you both undress.

He throws you on to the bed and he kisses down your body nothing romantic and then he gets to your pussy and sucks uncomfortably on your vagina no where close to your clit. He licks your folds nothing pleasureful.

You faked moaned try to please him more than yourself. "You close?" He said with a grin. Holy fuck you wanted to throw yourself off a balcony from this shit. This is so fucking disgusting and just overall, devastating for this man.

"Mhmm..?" You let out a sarcastic mhm and the idiot believed it. You let out a small cough to get attention and let out a short. "I came." It was an obvious lie to get him to piss off.

"Are you not gonna make me come to kitten?" What the fuck. "Uhm you can go. Maybe next time." (There will be no next time.) You practically kicked him out of the house and flopped back down with Suguru.

"Those moans were clearly fake." He bluntly states. You feel your face heat up with embarrassment. You were about to back yourself up but he cut you off. "I can make those pretty moans real."

That made you wet. No- soaked. Yes, he's your roommate, more so your best friend. But the way his eyes were so seductive, his soft hair your picturing your self grabbing as he eats you out.

But you do have a problem.

"Suguru no, I've never gotten good head. Yours won't be any better. So don't get your hopes up."

He chuckled with that handsome smile and his messy hair. His eyes were beet red but still so pretty. "If you let me..." He takes a puff. "I'll make you feel so good. I won't force you, you know I never will."

You sucked your breath in and considered. Maybe that tongue piercing might feel good on your pussy. "Fine. But this might ruin our friendship though." You say in a worried tone.

"Pretty, I want you more than just friends and I won't stop until I have you. I hope you know that." he says, in a sappy tone. Being sappy isn't like him but the more his eyes get red and the more inhales explains a lot.

He grabs your hand and brings you to his bedroom. It has band posters all over and a very black theme. You let him lay you flat on the bed and he gently kisses you.

"Good thing I have the munchies." He says in a shallow, joking voice. He kisses down your body after taking off your shirt. He gropes your tits rubbing the nipples.

He pulls down your pants and panties. He sniffs your pussy breathing in deeply. He sticks his tongue out then stops. You sigh disappointed. "I thought you were gonna make me feel good?" You say in a smug and annoyed tone.

You had a feeling this was gonna happen. They either don't know what to do when trying to eat out and just give up and just pull out their dick or just do it bad.

"I will don't worry..." He takes a joint and some weed from your dresser and your brows furrow. He rolls a joint up and lights the tip up and puts it into your mouth.

"Pretty girl I want you to smoke it at the same time. Get you a little high, hm?" He says in a seductive tone. You can never say no to that especially if you want release for your pussy and that tight knot in your stomach.

He kisses your pubic area then slowly kisses your folds. Since he's still high (you're sorta concerned about how much he took) but it's really lazy. He licks your slit, low and sensual. Something about this just made you more wet.

What the hell are you doing?

This is your best friend! Plus it's someone you live with. But all your thoughts crumble to ash as he latches onto your clit and you start to get high. For some reason it made you feel even better.

You were embarrassed to admit but this felt really fucking good. You let out a true moan for the first time being eaten out.

He shoved two of his long fingers inside with black finger nail paint. He found your spongy spot in practically a second. He attacked your g-spot with his fingers, while he sucked on your clit like he wanted to leave a hickey. (Maybe he did.)

Your mind began to get foggy the more you smoked. All you could feel is pleasure at this point. "S-Sugu..." Your eyes brimmed with tears. That was the most you could say or do then shake and moan.

"You close sweetheart?" First time you could never be disgusted by that sentence. You just whined louder as an answer you really couldn't answer. He chuckled into your pussy causing pleasurable vibrations.

The more you smoke the more you relax, so the more you can't run or move. The more you moan and holler. This feels like the best kind of torture.

You pull at his hair and he moans and squeezes his eyes shut. "God woman." He groans. He thrusts his fingers faster while he grins and shuts his eyes the more you pull the faster he trusts and abuses your sweet spot.

"Sugu!" You squeal as you squirt he latches on to your clit again making you practically scream. He massages your thighs with small rubs while he gently sucks.

He licks your juices off drunk on your taste. You feel your eyes get hazy and droopy with the lazy licks after the best fucking orgasm you ever had.

You eventually pass out. Maybe it was the weed or maybe the mind altering orgasm. But he grabbed a wet towel and gently dabbed your pussy making sure it's clean from your cum and his saliva.

He slides your pink lacy panties on and one of his shirts. He crawls up taking the joint out of your mouth and puts it on the night stand beside his bed. He holds you tight against him kissing your forehead.

He licked his lips still drunk on your taste. He pulled the blankets up and kissed your forehead one last time. He whispered into your ear gently trying not to wake you up.

"Is being ate out still not good?"

୨୧・・・・୨୧

[harunayuuka2060]

*It's been days since Malleus and the others returned. They had already planned to pretend to mourn for Kalim and remain on high alert, as that seemed like the most sensible course of action. If it was true that the MC(?) was helping them, they needed to ensure they reciprocated by making sure the doppelgangers wouldn’t catch wind of their plan.*

Malleus: We’ve already lost one. Now there are only six of us left. We need to make sure this doesn’t happen again.

Vil: I'm sure our enemies are feeling confident that they've successfully struck one of us.

Azul: ...

Azul: I still can't believe Kalim is gone... Maybe if we had been more cautious, we could have protected him.

Riddle: ...

Idia: I don't think we could have done anything about it. Malleus and Leona are the only ones here capable of real combat. Vil...

Vil: *looks sternly at him*

Idia: No offense, but you're all about beauty, and even if you know martial arts, it's only for movie stunts.

Idia: Riddle, Azul, and especially me... we're nothing but burdens.

Riddle: Don't say that, Idia-senpai! We can definitely—

Idia: I'm saying this because I might be next—I have no chance of surviving.

Malleus, Leona, and Vil: ...

Riddle and Azul: ...

Azul: *makes an annoyed expression*

MC(?): ...

Riddle(?): ...

Riddle(?): Are you not going to speak up?

MC(?): It's true that Kalim(?) hasn't been around for a while. Do you want me to look for him?

Riddle(?): No. *smiles eerily* Actually, I want him gone for good.

MC(?): ...

MC(?): Is there anything else?

Riddle(?): The hunt is in a few days, but it wouldn’t hurt to start early, would it?

MC(?): ...

Riddle(?): What's your answer?

MC(?): Is there someone you have in mind?

Riddle(?): I heard that one of them has given up on surviving in this place. Bring that person to me.

MC(?): ...

MC(?): *bows their head* I understand.

MC(?): Idia Shroud.

Idia: Eek! Wh-What?

MC(?): Please come with me.

Leona: Oi. Where are you taking him?

MC(?): ...

Idia: ...

Idia: *smiles awkwardly* Is it my time?

Azul: Idia!

Idia: It's okay, Azul... I... If you survive here, tell Ortho that I'm sorry...

Riddle: *looks like in despair* Idia-senpai!

MC(?): Let's go.

Idia: ...

Idia: *quietly goes with MC(?)*

Leona, Vil, Malleus, Riddle, and Azul: ...

Idia: Ugh... This place...

*MC(?) has brought him to a room that reeks of blood.*

MC(?): ...

Riddle(?): Took you long enough.

MC(?): My apologies...

Riddle(?): *looks at Idia and gives him a small smile*

Riddle(?): You'll be part of my collection. Don't worry, I'll make sure your head doesn't rot.

Idia: !!!

MC(?): ...

Riddle(?): *to MC(?)* You may go now.

MC(?): Won’t the others find out?

Riddle(?): Hmm? Of course not. This is my personal space—

MC(?): *swiftly struck his head with a knife, decapitating him instantly*

Idia: *couldn't help but scream*

MC(?): ...

MC(?): *turns to Idia* *extends their hand to him* Let's leave before anyone enters this room.

Idia: ...

Idia: The Fake Riddle... He looks like he's still breathing...

MC(?): He's not dead, but we must leave before he regains memory of this event. By then, the diversion will have already been set.

Idia: Diversion...?

MC(?): Yes. The other Idia Shroud will arrive.

Idia: Lol, but... how does that work?

MC(?): Unfortunately, that's something you’ll never know.

Idia(?): Oi, Riddle. What are you doing down there?

Riddle(?): ...

Riddle(?): Have I fallen asleep?

Idia(?): *chuckles* You really are a psycho. Killing me lulled you to sleep?

Riddle(?): *glances at the corpse to what seems to belong to Idia*

Riddle(?): ...

Riddle(?): This is ridiculous. And here I was hoping to preserve his head.

Idia(?): Scary~ Mwehee.

Malleus: ...

MC(?): *has returned with Idia's bloodied hoodie*

Malleus: ...

Malleus: *takes it*

Riddle, Azul, and Vil: ...

Leona: Tch. You're not here to apologize again, are you?

MC(?): ...

Vil: What happened to his body?

MC(?): His face is unrecognizable, and his body has been disposed of.

Vil: *starts to tear up*

Azul: *comes over to comfort him*

Vil: *sobs*

Malleus: ...

Malleus: Please leave.

MC(?): *bows their head apologetically then exits the room*

Riddle, Leona, and Malleus: *exchanged glances*

Leona: Haa... Tch. This is not good.

Riddle: Idia-senpai...

Azul and Vil: *hiding their smirk*

[pitlanepeach]

The Long Way Home I Chapter One

Oscar Piastri x Harper Grace (OFC)

Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.

It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.

Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!

Notes — Eek, welcome to the chaos! This one is going to be a whirlwind of emotions. Send me all of your thoughts on the fic and of course what you think of our new OFC, Harper!

Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist

Harper had never meant to like it here.

The East dorms smelled like cheap PVA glue and the radiators hissed like they were always pissed-off, and the girls who lived in the room two doors down were always either screaming at eachother or crying; sometimes both.

The shower water was always lukewarm, the food was worse, and the uniform blazer made her shoulders itch.

Still, she stayed on for term after term. Because slowly — it'd become a safe haven. Better than being at home.

And that, she'd long ago decided, was its own twisted kind of victory.

She sat curled on the window ledge, bony knees pulled to her chest, one cheek pressed against the cold glass. Down below, the grassy stretch was all muddy edges and stone paths. There were a few boys dragging suitcases across it with frowns and hunched shoulders — like they'd rather be anywhere else.

"New intake," said Jane, her roommate, from behind a cloud of dry shampoo and Juicy Couture perfume.

Harper didn't turn around. She just scrunched up her nose and gave the boys another curious kind of look. "Bit late for January, innit?"

"A few brats who've just come back from spending the winter in the Alps. And some kid from Australia — sports scholarship. Karting prodigy or whatever. They've already decided he's going to be the next Hamilton."

Harper snorted. "Because nothing says motorsport champion like dragging your arse to this hellhole."

Jane laughed and rolled her eyes. "You're such a debbie-downer."

Harper didn't answer. She just stared at the last boy stepping out of a black car — tallish, quiet-looking, a duffle slung over one shoulder. He didn't glance up at the windows or anything like that.

Smart.

Most people stared at the building like it was Hogwarts, and were met with heckles for their trouble.

But not him.

Something in her stomach — something small and sudden, like a hiccup of curiosity.

She ignored it.

She moved out of the window and picked up her biology folder. "Come on, Janie. If we're late again, Mr Jones might spank you in the cleaning cupboard."

Jane shrieked. "Shut up, Harper! I told you already — that was just a stupid rumour!"

—

That night, Harper couldn't sleep.

She never slept well in winter. The wind scraped at the windows like it was trying to get in, and the heating clicked off at midnight like clockwork. Their bedroom was pitch black, quiet except for Jane’s breathing and the occasional fox scream from outside.

She slid her notebook out from under her pillow — soft cover, edges frayed, ink smudges all along the bottom corner where her hand dragged. The majority of the pages were full of doodles and fragments: half-written poems, to-do lists, thoughts that she would never say out loud.

Things I Am:     •    Hard Work     •    Sarcastic     •    Ungrateful

Things I Am Not:     •    Dumb     •    Ugly     •    My mother

She paused, pen hovering.

Then, she flipped the page and started sketching instead; a silly half-formed thing. A boy with a duffle bag and a face you could never forget.

⸻

The next morning, they crossed paths.

It wasn't dramatic. Just two kids reaching for the same packet of Weetabix in the dining hall, and then awkwardly backing off. He nodded. She didn't.

"You take it," he said, accent all weird and sunny like it hadn't registered the grey skies yet.

She shrugged and took the box without saying thank you.

Harper didn't do small talk before 9am. Or at all, really.

She wasn't mean. Or snobby. Or any of the other things that people liked to label her as.

She just didn't have the patience required to be the kind of girl with all soft edges.

⸻

Later, in English Literature, he was there again.

Mr. Callahan gestured toward the front of the room. Smiled with his sweetcorn coloured teeth. Gestured with his wrinkled, age-spotted hands. "Mr. Piastri, care to introduce yourself to your new classmates?"

There it was. The ritual humiliation. Worse than being the new kid — being the new kid asked to introduce yourself.

Harper didn't look up, didn't want to make it worse for him by adding another set of eyes. She just stared at the blank margin of her workbook, pen poised like she might be taking notes. She wasn't.

"I'm Oscar Piastri," he said. Accent clipped and his words a bit slanted — probably because he was embarrassed. "I'm from Melbourne. In Australia. I like maths. I, uh, moved to England to work on my career."

The class rippled with whispers. A few people snorted derivatively. Someone in the back muttered something about "wannabe Mark Webber," and a boy near the window pretended to rev a car engine.

Harper bit her lip.

I like maths.

Brave thing to say in front of Mr. Callahan, a man who had once declared long division "the enemy of poetic soul."

Still, it was honest. Or maybe just literal. Boys like him — boys who were not British — usually were.

Moved to England to work on my career.

Not many people her age had a single clue what they wanted to do with their lives — let alone any of them actually have the guts to travel halfway across the world and actually do something worthwhile for the sake of their futures.

She imagined what it might've looked like for him — saying goodbye to his mum at an airport gate, suitcase heavier than his bones, chasing speed across countries when most kids their age couldn't catch a bus on time.

Harper's pen shook. Just for a second.

Mr. Callahan cleared his throat. "Thank you, Mr. Piastri. Seat behind Harper, second row."

She felt, more than saw, the shift as he passed her. Quiet footsteps. A soft cough. And then the sensation of being watched — not in a creepy way, just... watched.

For the rest of the lesson, Harper didn't turn around. But she caught herself pressing harder into the page than usual, the letters carved into the page instead of written.

He smelled good.

Like soap and something else that she couldn't put her finger on.

It was a nice change from the boys who usually just stank of B.O and cheap beer.

—

That night, curled into a ball on her side in bed, she added something new to her notebook.

People to pay attention to:     •    Oscar Piastri

—

The next morning, the Weetabix basket was empty.

Harper stood in front of the cereal shelf, arms crossed and expression soured. Rows of sad Cornflakes and soggy-looking bran flakes mocked her.

Someone had left a single Shreddies square on the counter like a bad joke.

She didn't say anything. Didn't need to. Her pout said it for her — the subtle downturn of her mouth, the slight tightening around her eyes, the way her shoulder rose just a touch as she turned to walk away, resigned to jam on toast or something equally as boring.

"Hey."

She turned around.

Oscar Piastri was stood a few feet away, breakfast tray in hand, holding a fresh, unopened box of Weetabix. He offered it toward her without a word, just a faint shrug, like no big deal.

Harper blinked. "What, you just... found it?"

"Got it just now," he said, quiet and a bit sheepish. "Last one. Figured you might want it."

Harper stared at him for a second too long. Not in a swoony way; she'd never admit to that, but in a what-kind-of-person-actually-thinks-that-far-ahead kind of way.

"You were thinking about me?" She asked dryly, reaching for the box. Her tone was classic Harper: half-defensive, half-a-test.

Oscar didn't flinch. "Nah. Just noticed you looked kinda gutted yesterday when there was almost none left."

She stared at him.

Noticed.

Most people only noticed Harper when she said something sharp or raised her voice. Not when she was quiet. Not when her disappointment stayed on the inside of her mouth.

"Thanks," she mumbled, trying not to sound like it hurt to say. Then, a little louder, with a tilt of her head. "You're nice."

He smiled; barely. "Yeah. People say that a lot."

They stood in the middle of the cafeteria; two awkward kids who weren't quite sure what to do next. Harper shifted her tray from one hand to the other.

"You sitting with anyone?"

Oscar glanced around. "Nah."

"Cool. You can sit with me, but don't talk for the first ten minutes. It's a no-chat zone until I've eaten my cereal and drank my juice."

He nodded sagely, like she'd given him an important instruction and not a ridiculous one. "Understood."

They walked side by side toward the back table where Harper usually sat, their footsteps quiet, their trays clinking with spoons and silence.

And Harper didn't say it aloud, obviously. But that morning, for some weird and unnamable reason, her Weetabix tasted better than usual.

—

Three weeks later, breakfast had quietly become a thing.

Neither of them ever said it out loud, least of all Harper, but it was a foregone conclusion.

Oscar always got there early and saved her at least one box of Weetabix. She gave him half of her toast when the dining hall ran out of the nice raspberry jam. They sat at a table toward the back windows, never exactly chatting, but never not aware of each-other.

He'd wait for her before eating every single morning — even if she was running late. She'd roll her eyes like he was somehow annoying for doing it. Then she'd sit down next to him and they'd divvy out their trays like it was the most normal thing in the world.

This morning, she dropped her tray beside him and flopped into her usual seat with a tired mumble of 'Morning'.

He held out the box wordlessly.

She took it and gave his bed head an amused glance. "Nice hair," she said, poking the corner of the cereal box with her thumbnail.

Oscar shrugged, chewing on a bite of toast. "Grew it myself."

"Fuck off." She said. "Were all the pancakes gone?"

He swallowed. "Probably. You're later than usual."

She made a face. "Yeah. Sorry. I got stuck queuing for the bloody shower block. Jacqueline, you know her? The blonde one with the red lipstick? Yeah. She was hogging the third stall all morning, and everyone knows that the third stall is the only one that has warm water in the mornings."

He scratched at the back of his neck. "Boys showers are disgusting so I just... avoid them at all costs. Middle of the night is safest, right after the cleaners have been."

She hummed. "I peeked my head in there once. Wanted to see if you guys had more room than us — you know, sexism and all that. All I managed to actually see was three inches of disappointment and enough steam to know for a fact that you get way more hot water than us."

He gave her that awkward half-smile he did sometimes, like he wasn't totally sure if he was joking or being serious.

They ate in silence for a bit after that. Harper mashed her weetabix into her milk and then set it aside for a second to thicken up.

Oscar tilted his head toward her notebook, which was sat open on the table beside her tray.

"Is that the code for that website you're building?"

Harper tensed — just slightly. "You can read upside down now?"

He blinked. "Sorry. Didn't mean to be nosy."

She stared at him, then exhaled. "Sorry. Got defensive. It's still early. But — yeah. It is."

He peered over at it again. "It all looks... really complicated."

"It's not." She shrugged.

"You say that like it doesn't look like the Matrix just threw up in your notebook."

She cracked a reluctant smile — God, he was so dry. So unfunny. "It's just logic, Osc."

Oscar squinted at the page. "But that's, like... maths."

"No," she said sharply. Then, after a beat, she softened and said. "Well — yeah. But no."

He frowned at her.

"I suck at maths," she added, quieter this time. "You know that already. It's why I'm in a lower bracket than you even though we're the same age. And it's not like... normal bad either. It's 'wired differently' bad."

Oscar's brow creased.

She sighed. "It's called dyscalculia. It's like dyslexia, but with numbers. Different for everyone, but I can't read clocks properly. I count on my fingers, even if it's just like seven plus two. I fail every single timed test they set. I swap digits in equations and don't even realise I've done it." She took a breath and gave her weetabix a poke with her spoon. "I used to think I was just stupid. Teachers thought I wasn't trying. My mum used to just call me lazy, which, in hindsight, is hilarious. Because I haven't been relaxed since I was eight."

Oscar's lips tugged up slightly — a bit wry.

"But coding," she continued, "that makes sense to me. It's all structure. No weird fractions or mental math traps. Just... clear instructions and consistent answers."

She expected him to nod absently, like he'd stopped listening a while ago. Or change the subject. Or say something vaguely patronising.

But Oscar just said, "That's kind of cool."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "That I'm a functionally useless human being?"

"Well, no, you're not." He argued flatly. "But I meant that I think it's cool that your brain works differently and you still taught it to do that." He waved at her notebook.

Harper blinked. For a second, she forgot to be sarcastic. "You're so weird," she muttered, but there was no venom in it.

"Thanks," he said, smiling into his spoon like he didn't know what else to do with his mouth.

She looked back at her code. Then at him.

He was chewing on his toast and staring at his phone. He had the latest iPhone. It had a blue case.

His t-shirt was creased and his hair was still an absolute mess.

And still, she couldn't stop looking at him.

—

It was a Saturday, grey and windy, and Harper was buried under a school-issued fleece blanket in the common room, laptop on her knees, headphones on.

She wasn't working on anything important — just cleaning up a chatbot code, fiddling with syntax like it was a loose tooth. Her headphones were playing some lo-fi thing she didn't even like. She just needed the white noise to help her focus.

Across the room, the door creaked open. She didn't look up until someone said, "You'll get square eyes."

Oscar.

She paused her music and pushed her headphones off, raising an eyebrow at him. "Yeah? Fucking ace. I'll go on Britains Got Talent and become a niche celebrity."

He grinned sheepishly, his cheeks going a bit red, and then nodded behind him. "Didn't come alone."

Behind Oscar stood a man in a zipped-up jacket, casual slacks, and sneakers that were too clean to belong to a teenager. Same posture as Oscar. Same gentle eyes.

"This is my dad," Oscar said. "Chris."

Chris stepped forward and offered a hand to shake, like Harper was a grown-up and not a fourteen-year-old-girl who'd spent the last two nights using toothpaste on her forehead acne to try and get rid of it. "You must be Harper. Oscar's told me about you."

"Oh. Right. Cool," she said. Then she stumbled to her feet, abandoned her laptop and her headphones and the fleece, and hastily shook his hand before it become awkward. "I'm Harper."

Chris laughed, warm and unbothered. "I know. Oscar told me you've been helping him with his English work."

Oscar made a noise of protest. "Dad, come on."

"I'm yeah," Harper said. "He's awful at it. Can't string together a sentence to save his life." She gave Oscar a teasing glance.

Chris turned to his son. "One failed class and you're risking your scholarship. Don't let that happen."

Oscar stared at him. "I won't fail any of my classes." He said, without missing a beat.

She bit her lip and looked between them — the way Oscar didn't shrink even a little bit around his dad. The way he could be quiet and awkward and it was fine. Safe.

"Anyway," Chris continued, "just wanted to say hi before I head home. I fly out tomorrow."

Harper blinked. "Back to Australia?"

"Yeah. Stuck around to help Oscar settle in. Make sure his gear arrived in one piece, check out the karting circuits, learn how to pronounce Hertfordshire without offending the locals."

Oscar rolled his eyes. "He's still saying 'Hurt-Fard-Sheyre'"

Chris laughed. "Don't let the Brits fool you, son. They put vowels in weird places on purpose."

Harper smiled before she could stop herself.

Chris checked his watch. "Right. I'm going to have a word with the headmaster about Oscar's travel plans, but it was really nice meeting you, Harper."

"Yeah. You too." She said.

Oscar sat down next to her, picking at the corner of the couch cushion.

"Your dad's cool," she said, and meant it.

"Yeah," he replied, but his voice was smaller now. "He is."

"You okay?"

Oscar hesitated. Then nodded, but not very convincingly. "Just weird. Makes the whole staying here on my own thing feel more... real. Now that he's leaving too."

Harper looked at him carefully. "You can call him whenever, though, right?"

He snorted. "Yeah. And about seven backup methods. He's the type to send a courier pigeon if I don't answer a text within ten minutes."

She wanted to say 'you're lucky'. But that would make it sound like she was bitter. And she wasn't. Not exactly. So she just said, "That's... nice."

They sat in silence for a beat.

Then Oscar added, a bit shyly, "He liked you."

Harper shot him a look. "I was terrible. I don't know how to socialise with adults who don't expect me to be, like, all stuck-up and perfect."

"Right." Oscar said, a bit awkwardly. "I mean, he just — I think he's glad I've made a friend, you know?"

Harper's chest clenched. She didn't know what to say to that — so she didn't. She nudged his knee with hers instead. "You're not bad," she said.

Oscar smiled at her.

And then Harper opened her laptop again, and when Oscar picked up her legs to drape them over his legs so he could sit back on the sofa, she didn't even blink.

—

The chill of the late Hertfordshire night nipped at Harper's cheeks as she and Jane sprinted across the empty quad, sneakers barely squeaking against the dew-slick paving stones. Their hushed giggles echoed in the dark. Jane, always the instigator, had convinced her to sneak out—"Just for five minutes! I swear!"—to the locked astroturf behind the science block.

They slipped through a gap in the fence, flashlights off, relying on moonlight and adrenaline. Harper dropped to the ground, fingers brushing the fake grass. "Feels like we're on another planet," she whispered. Jane flopped down beside her, smirking. "The planet of the incredibly bored."

Ten minutes later, just as Harper dared to close her eyes and breathe in the strange peace, floodlights blazed to life like a stadium mid-match. "Run!" Jane hissed.

They didn't get far.

Now, Harper sat in the back of a golf cart, arms crossed, heart racing, as one of the groundskeepers muttered something about "ridiculous girls" and "Headmaster's office come morning." Jane had managed to charm her way into walking.

Across the dormitory court, high up in the boys' wing, a window cracked open.

Oscar, hoodie drawn up, leaned on the sill. He squinted into the brightness—and there she was. Harper. Eyes wide, lip curled in protest, being hauled across the lawn like a criminal. The surreal procession made him chuckle despite himself.

She looked furious. Or maybe mortified.

Their eyes met, briefly.

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

Harper, red-faced, stuck her tongue out at him.

—

Harper sat on the edge of her narrow dorm bed, fingers frozen around her phone. The headmaster had promised one call home "just to inform," but of course her mother had demanded a personal conversation. She always did. Control disguised as concern.

The line clicked.

"Harper Grace," her mother's voice hissed like steam through a cracked teapot. "I knew leaving you at that school was a mistake. God forbid I get one term without a phone call from some smug administrator telling me my daughter is playing fugitive on school property!"

Harper clenched her jaw. "It wasn't like that."

"No? Then do explain it to me. You snuck out. You trespassed. You embarrassed yourself and—by extension—me. Again."

Harper swallowed the ache in her throat. "It was just the astroturf. Jane—"

"Oh. Jane. Of course. I knew that girl was trouble the minute I saw her on your Instagram. She's got you playing shadow to someone else's mess — just like you always do. No spine. No judgment."

There was a pause. Harper didn't speak. That was the trap—engage, and her mother won.

"You're wasting every opportunity I've broken my back to give you," her mother continued, voice tightening. "You are not some ordinary girl, Harper. Do you think your tuition fee grows on trees? Do you think I work hard every single day so you could roll around on fake grass like a delinquent?"

Harper stared at the ceiling, eyes hot. "No, Mum."

"Exactly. So you'll fix this. You'll write an apology letter to the headmaster. You'll stay away from that Jane girl. And you'll remember who you are. Because I will not have my daughter become another pathetic little scandal. Do I make myself clear?"

A long silence stretched between them.

"Yes," Harper said softly. "You're clear."

"Good," her mother snapped, already moving on. "Now go and do something useful, will you? Preferable something that won't ruin your life and discredit our family name."

The call ended.

Harper sat frozen, the low hum of the disconnected line ringing louder than the yelling ever had. She didn't cry. She hadn't because of her mum in years. But her chest felt splintered all the same—like something small and important had cracked.

From the hallway, she heard Jane's laugh—unapologetic, alive. For a moment, Harper wished she could step into her skin and exist in the peace for just one beautiful day.

Then she put her phone face down and stared out the window, toward the corner of the West building, where Oscar's light was still on.

—

Saturday breakfast at Haileybury was always quieter than weekdays—no teachers barking about uniforms, no ridiculous assemblies looming. Just a murmur of voices, the clink of spoons on bowls, and the comforting scent of burnt toast and cheap blackcurrant cordial.

Harper found Oscar already at their usual corner table, grey school hoodie half-zipped, one hand absently twirling a spoon through a rapidly dissolving Weetabix. She slid in across from him without asking.

He looked up. "Hello, criminal."

She rolled her eyes. "Very funny."

"Did they handcuff you?"

"I was in a golf cart. Not a police car."

"Same thing."

She tried to suppress a smile, then gave up and let it bloom. "Shut up."

Oscar nudged a plate of toast toward her without looking. She took a slice. Their fingers brushed but neither of them blinked.

The conversation, such as it was, drifted between silence and occasional muttered words. Harper hated explaining herself, and Oscar never asked too many questions. She liked that. He was content to just exist, solid and easy.

She reached for the plate of butter and jam packets; he slid it toward her before she could ask. A beat later, her socked foot bumped his under the table, and when she didn't move it, neither did he.

Oscar leaned his elbow on the table, close enough that their arms almost touched. His pinky brushed hers once, twice. Stayed.

"You're quiet," he said, not looking at her. "Did you get in actual trouble?"

Harper shrugged, chewing toast like it was a strategy. "No. Just a warning. I'm just... tired."

"Yeah." A pause. Then, "Your mum?"

She hesitated—long enough that Oscar glanced at her. She didn't meet his eyes, but her hand drifted over the table between them, her fingers brushing the cuff of his sleeve. Light, thoughtless. He didn't pull away.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "She was... her usual self."

He didn't say sorry. Didn't offer advice. Instead, his hand turned slightly under hers, letting their fingers rest together for a moment—awkward, warm, electric.

Harper blinked. Neither of them looked down.

Somewhere across the room, Jane shouted something about hashbrowns. Plates clattered. The world moved on.

But at their table, it seemed to pause. Just for a brief moment.

—

It wasn't a date.

That's what Harper told herself when Oscar muttered, barely above a mumble, "If you're not doing anything tomorrow... I've got a session. Karting. Local place. You could come, if you want."

She hadn't answered right away—just nodded and said, "Sure," like it wasn't the most exciting offer she'd received in months.

Now she stood behind a sagging wire fence at Rye House Kart Raceway, the tang of petrol thick in the air, her hands jammed into her coat pockets. The morning was all grey light and loud engines, but something about it felt oddly calm. Like a different frequency from school life. Like she'd somehow stepped into Oscar's world and it'd welcomed her with open arms.

He was already out there when she arrived—helmeted, gloved, tucked low into the kart like it'd been built around him. She might not know the first thing about apexes or tires, but she could tell that he was fast. Efficient. Focused.

The kart didn't fight him; it moved with him.

One of the mechanics, a guy with oil-stained hands and a thick Northern accent, noticed her hovering. "You Harper?"

She blinked. "Yeah?"

"Well, shit. He told us you might show up today. Nice to meet you. Kid doesn't stop talking about you."

Harper flushed. "Oh."

The man grinned and pointed toward the pit lane. "You can stand closer. He won't mind. Nobody will say anything — I'll make sure of it."

So she did.

She leaned against the low rail as Oscar pulled in, lifting his visor with one hand. His hair was plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed red from the cold and the adrenaline.

"You came," he said when he saw her, his eyes slightly wide.

"You invited me." She said with a shrug.

"Didn't think you would actually come." He admitted.

She raised an eyebrow. "Do I seem that unreliable?"

He gave her a sarcastic once over. "A little bit."

She nudged him with her shoulder. He nudged back—more of a lean, really, casual and warm, his helmet tucked under his arm.

He glanced down at her hand, fiddling with the cuff of her coat. "You wanna sit in it?"

She froze. "What?"

"The kart. You'll fit. You're smaller than me. Won't make you drive it. You can just... sit. See what it's like."

Her heart kicked up—something small but definite. "Okay."

He guided her by the wrist, gently, like he didn't even realise he was doing it. The kart was lower than she expected, more cramped. When she settled in, Oscar crouched beside it, adjusting a loose strap around her shoulder like it mattered; even though she wasn't even moving.

"Suits you," he said, voice cracking. His cheeks flamed red as he cleared his throat.

She looked up at him, her knees scrunched and her spine stiff against the plastic shell of the seat. "I feel like I'm going to get a foot cramp."

Oscar snorted. "Yeah. You get used to that." He crouched beside her, the team-branded grease-stained hoodie pulled over his head, a smudge of oil near his temple he hadn't noticed—or didn't care to. He leaned on the side of the kart like it was his second skin, completely at home here.

Harper squinted up at him. "You don't look like you've ever had a cramp in your life."

"Permanent state of cramp, actually," he said. "But the adrenaline outweighs the pain."

She rolled her eyes and laughed. The sound seemed to catch the attention of the crew around them.

One of the younger mechanics, a guy maybe nineteen with bleached tips and a cheeky grin, sauntered over. "So this the infamous Harper, yeah?"

Oscar looked vaguely alarmed. "Don't call her that."

The guy stuck out his hand. "I'm Cal. Oscar's part-time therapist-slash-punching bag. You hungry? We usually get a delivery of sausage rolls around eleven."

She blinked. "I mean... yeah. I wouldn't say no to a sausage roll."

That was all it took.

Within half an hour, Harper had been half-dragged, half-adopted into the garage crew's rhythm. Someone threw her a hoodie—two sizes too big, slightly smelling of petrol.

Someone else tossed her a bottle of orange Lucozade. They didn't ask who she was or where she came from. No grilling. No polite smiles that felt like there razors hidden underneath.

They just let her be.

Oscar didn't hover. He just looked over now and then between runs on the track—when she laughed at Cal's bad imitation of an Aussie accent, when she actually tried the sausage roll and grumbled in bliss at the greasy goodness, when she leaned back against a stack of tires, hoodie sleeves rolled over her fingers like she belonged there.

He caught her eye once across the pit, and her smile was quieter. Less amused, more... settled.

After the second session, she walked the track with him, boots crunching on gravel, their shoulders brushing once, twice, until finally she just left hers pressed against his.

"You l like them," he said, not a question.

"They're..." She trailed off. Words felt clumsy again. "They're nice. Kind. Easy."

Oscar glanced at her sideways. "Not like the people you normally meet, then?"

She shook her head. "My mum would have a full meltdown if she saw this place. She's big on etiquette and thinks that men belong in office buildings."

He let out a bark of laughter. "What does that mean?"

Harper smiled, but it was the sad kind. "It means I grew up learning how to be a cold-hearted bitch instead of... a good person."

Oscar didn't say anything for a while. Just walked next to her, silent. Then, in a voice barely above the hum of tires cooling nearby, "I think you're a good person."

She blinked hard at the ground, heart tight in her chest.

And then she reached out, without thinking, and hooked her pinky through his.

He didn't look at her.

He didn't let go, either.

—

By the third weekend — no one blinked when Harper appeared trackside.

She knew where the best shade was. Knew which toolbox to sit on without getting yelled at. She'd learned to nod like she understood when Cal rattled off tire compound jargon, and even managed to not flinch when someone dropped a torque wrench three feet from her head.

Oscar never really invited her anymore; she just showed up. Like clockwork. Like she belonged.

And the weird part? She kind of felt like she did.

Today, the garage buzzed louder than usual. Something was off; not in a bad way, just... more charged.

Harper felt it before Oscar even pulled back into the garage from the track. A couple of the guys were cleaning things that didn't need cleaning. Cal was actually wearing a clean team polo. And it'd been ironed.

Harper raised an amused eyebrow. "Who died?"

"No one died, mate," Cal said. "It's who's coming."

Before she could even ask, a black SUV pulled up just beyond the gravel lot. Out stepped a tall, broad-shouldered man in dark jeans and aviators.

Oscar appeared seconds later, clambering out of the kart and instinctively holding out his hands for Harper to unstrap his gloves.

She did so without thinking, keeping her eyes on the guest of honour. "That's..." Harper frowned. "Is that Mark Webber?"

Oscar nodded. "Yeah. He's my manager. Mentor. Basically part-time third parent." He shrugged. "No big deal. Hey." He said to Mark as he approached.

Mark clapped Oscar on the shoulder, firm and familiar. "Hey, kid." Then his gaze drifted to Harper. "And this is?" His Aussie accent was smoother than expected.

Harper stood quickly, brushing dirt from her jeans. "I'm Harper. I, uh—I go to school with Oscar. I just, kind of... hang around here. Sometimes. Sir."

"Yeah. She's really good at it," Oscar teased, smirking.

Mark offered her his hand. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Harper."

She laughed, nervous but charmed. "Yeah. You too."

Later, after a test stint that had the crew whispering about sector times and potential upgrades, Oscar was called over to one of the race officials' tents. When he came back, his expression was unreadable.

Harper swung her legs over the tire stack she'd claimed and watched him approach.

"What did they say?" She asked.

He didn't tell her anything right away. Just stood there, squinting against the sun. "They offered me a spot in WSK. Full calendar."

Her mouth parted slightly. "Oscar... that's—oh my god."

He nodded. "Yeah." He exhaled.

There was a long pause. People moved around them, laughing, working, shouting. But in the middle of it, everything else blurred.

"You're gonna take it, right?" She asked, trying to sound excited, not scared.

He didn't answer at first. Just looked at her for a long time. Like he was memorizing her.

"I think I have to," he laughed dryly.

She nodded, heart thudding too hard. "Yeah. You do."

Oscar took a step closer. Close enough that she could see the flecks of black in his eyes. "You'll still come to watch me practice, yeah?"

"If I'm allowed." She bit her lip.

"You're always allowed." He said; like he was daring anyone to say something different.

She smiled. And without thinking, she reached up and fixed the strap of his race suit, the way she'd seen him do a hundred times.

It wasn't a kiss. It wasn't even a hug. 

But when their fingers touched, briefly and completely, it felt like something.

NEXT CHAPTER

[evangelical04]

A Single Daffodil || 4

Summary: Getting arranged to be married to your long-time crush wasn't exactly the fairy tale romance you were hoping for. Nor is the dynamic of the marriage, with your husband treating you like you don't exist. But you're going to make this work, whether he cares about you or not. And he definitely doesn't...right?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Word Count: 12.5K

Genre: angst, romance, unrequited love, smut, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, businessman yoongi

Warnings: parental trauma, sibling trauma, toxic parents, unrequited love, explicit language, alcohol usage, yoongi's kind of mean, future smut, body image issues

Author's Note: sorry this is being posted almost a month later! i was on a road trip with my friends but I wanted to get this out before my birthday (it's on the 17th eek!!) but I hope you guys like it! as usual, please tell me what you guys think! i'd love to hear your opinions <33 also I'm sorry if this chapter seems kinda boring, but the next one is gonna have some drama!! oooo

Taglist:

@yoongisducky @kam9404 @sumzysworld @tarahardcore @viankiss @babystarcandylovejk @ktownshizzle @futuristicenemychaos @igot7fairlyoddparents @baechugff @pb89nv @peachytokki @ratherbfangirling @themwordsblog @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs @kimmalik @honeyypages @captainchrisstan @khaimahfe @yoongibaybee @kooklovee @whoa-jo @familiarlikemymirror3 @blueberriesm @llallaaa @weareatthebadlands @purpleheartsandarock1 @lillmeowmeowsblog @this-most-assuredly-counts @kayleefriedchicken @ur-grandmum @praetae @sylviamuela

previous / masterlist / next

Waking up in an unfamiliar room was jarring, initially. It took you a couple of rounds of rubbing your eyes to realize that you were no longer in your cozy two-bedroom apartment with soft lighting and warm-colored pillows. You awoke to harsh sunlight hitting your face, blank walls, and beige furniture. You leaned back against the light brown headboard of your bed and ran your hands through your messy tangles of hair, having forgone brushing it out the previous night. Glancing at your phone beside you, you noted the time being only a bit past nine.

You needed tea, warm tea. 

You shuffled out of bed, feeling the cold air nip at your bare legs, but you couldn’t find the motivation to change into warm clothing. You tied your hair into a messy ponytail, deciding to attend to it later, and exited your room, facing the cold and unfriendly hallway. There was a faint sound of quiet jazz from the kitchen, likely Mrs. Lim, and you descended the stairs. As you reached the bottom, you groaned internally, lamenting the fact that your favorite teas were still in your apartment. 

Rounding the corner into view of the kitchen had you stopping in your tracks. Yoongi was sat atop one of the counter stools, peacefully scrolling on his phone in the same clothes you’d seen him in last night during your discussion. The unexpected sight had you stumbling backwards, bumping into the large recliner that sat behind you. The sound alerted him to your presence, his eyes turning to find your form. 

“Um, hi,” you stuttered, “I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

Yoongi hummed, eyes trailing up and down your figure, mouth upturned. You shifted your weight onto the other foot, feeling uncomfortable, before crossing your arms over your chest. You shouldn’t be this comfortable to walk around braless yet, you internally scolded. 

“Well, it is the weekend,” Yoongi mused, still not taking his eyes off your chilled form. You laughed awkwardly, nodding, “Yeah, I suppose it is, isn’t it? I’ll be right back, actually, I forgot my phone upstairs.”

You didn’t wait to see his response before turning around and rushing back up the stairs. Reaching your room and closing the door behind you, you breathed heavily. What was that? You buried your head in your hands, sliding down the door to sit with your knees pulled to your chest, you should’ve expected him in his own goddamn house. Your cheeks burned at the memory of his eyes tracing your silhouette. How embarrassing. You wallowed in your self-pity a bit longer before rising and entering your large closet. 

You picked out a simple cropped grey sweatshirt and black sweatpants, not finding a need to appear any more formal. You wanted to appear casual after the embarrassing display you started the morning off with. Plus, if Yoongi said this marriage meant nothing, you could walk around his house in loungewear. As long as your mother didn’t find out.

The thick cotton felt much more comfortable and warm, considering the slightly chilly air in the house. Yoongi must like it to be a bit colder, you thought absently. As you finished your morning routine, brushing your teeth and combing through your hair, making sure to pat on some moisturizer and acne treatment, your thoughts wandered back to seeing Yoongi earlier.

The way he had been looking at you was strange, much like Hoseok had mentioned. You weren’t dense, you knew the intention hidden behind a gaze like that, you’d been on the giving and receiving end before. What had you so puzzled was why Yoongi would be looking at you like that. Wasn’t he the one to draw such a clear line between you two? 

Aside from the reason as to why he would be tracing the edges of your curves with his eyes was the effect that it had on you. Frustratingly, Yoongi’s hungry gaze sent warmth through your veins, and excitement pooled in your stomach. It was an embarrassing response, considering how he’d treated you before. At the same time, it felt expected. You had been pining after this man for so long and now he was showing the slightest bit of reciprocation, albeit, with more physical intentions than you. It only felt natural that it would leave you giddy with warm cheeks. It made you happy to think that Yoongi could be seeing you in a similar light.

Your dizzy smile faded as you looked in the mirror at your flushed face. What were you doing? The last eight months had been spent trying to drill into yourself that Yoongi would never like you that way because you couldn’t afford to get your hopes up. Why were you entertaining the idea again after one sultry stare? You felt pathetic, you had folded so easily as you always did when it came to him. 

Smacking your cheeks a couple of times, you readied yourself to head back downstairs. He was just a man, no matter how attractive. Descending the stairs once more, you noticed Yoongi had moved to the couch, leaning back with his coffee on the table next to him, scrolling away on his phone. He hadn’t noticed your reentrance just yet and you awkwardly hovered by the edge of the couch, trying to get his attention. 

Awkwardly clearing your throat did the trick and his gaze turned toward you, an eyebrow raised at your changed appearance. 

“Do you, um, do you have any tea,” you mumbled out, avoiding his intense stare. You heard him hum, likely considering his kitchen inventory, before answering, “Sorry, no, just coffee. Would you like me to order some? There’s also coffee and juice if you want that instead.”

You quickly shook your head at his offer of ordering tea, “That’s fine, I’ll just have some warm water, thanks,” and quickly made your way into the kitchen, reaching the fridge. The metal box was massive, towering over you and quite wide, with a sleek, silver finish. There were no magnets or pictures adorning the exterior, though. Pulling it open, your eyes raked over the full contents, spotting a pitcher of what seemed like orange juice, but no Britta Filter or something of the like. Glancing at the sink, you noticed a second spout seemingly for filtered water. Shrugging, you supposed that Yoongi would be able to afford that and not have to have a water filter jug. 

Next, you hunted for a kettle, which wasn’t too difficult to find, placed in a corner of the countertop. You took it out, setting it on the counter next to an outlet, but soon realized you had no idea where the cups were. The sheer amount of cupboards was overwhelming and you had no idea where to start looking, never mind the embarrassment of rifling through the kitchen in front of Yoongi. 

Opening up cabinets as quietly as possible was not the easiest task when you could so heavily feel Yoongi’s presence in the living room. The anxiety in your chest built as you couldn’t tell whether or not he was watching you struggle to find a single mug. Coming to another cabinet above you, you opened it, spotting a mug or two on the edge of the top shelf portion. Just your luck. You hadn’t spotted a step stool anywhere and you were far too embarrassed already to climb on top of the counter to reach it. Your arm stretched out as you stood on your toes, fingers grasping at the edge of the shelf before you felt warmth envelop your back.

Freezing in place, you quickly identified Yoongi behind you, evidently assisting you in reaching the mugs. He didn’t seem quite tall enough either, you deduced, because he lifted his heels slightly, pushing further into you. Your breath stuttered and you almost had to brace yourself against the counter, you hadn’t really been this close to him before. You could feel his warm breath against the top of your hair, making your nape break out into goosebumps. 

His fingers finally curled around the handle of the mug and he set his feet fully on the ground, but not moving away from you. You turned to face him, steadying your hands by grasping the edge of the countertop and lifted your head to look at him.

“Um, thank you,” you stuttered, unable to make full eye contact, instead opting for looking straight at his ear. He was too close and you couldn’t handle it. His other hand rested on the countertop, just beside yours, and his face was only inches away. How were you supposed to focus? Your gaze only lowered further, making your head turn slightly away. There was a second or two of just silence.

“No problem,” he responded bluntly, moving away and placing the mug down on the other counter that sat in the middle of the kitchen. You let out a heavy breath, finally being able to breathe something in other than Yoongi’s subtle cologne. Resisting the urge to question his sudden close proximity, you instead opted for, “Would you like some as well?

Yoongi only raised an eyebrow and gestured towards the living room where his coffee mug sat waiting. Your mouth clamped shut and you stuttered a nod, “Right, well I’ll just, um, finish doing this.”

God, could you be any more awkward?

Yoongi simply nodded and walked back to the living room, leaving you in the kitchen with warm cheeks and many regrets. You went through the motions of filling the kettle and starting it, waiting for it to boil before pouring it into the mug. The warm water was at least comforting in the chilly atmosphere, despite having no flavor. You stood in the kitchen, unsure of where you should go. Should you join Yoongi in the living room or go back to your room? Or should you stay in the kitchen? Nothing in your life had prepared you for the social expectations in a situation like this.

You decided on your room, not wanting to spend more time in Yoongi’s presence after the embarrassing display in the kitchen. As you made your way to the stairs, walking past Yoongi’s form on the couch, he called out to you.

“Y/N, can you sit for a moment?”

You turned towards him and nervously nodded, taking a seat on the same loveseat as the night prior. It was quite comfortable even though you had been the epitome of uncomfortable each time you’d sat in it so far. You looked up at Yoongi, silently gesturing for him to continue. 

“Some of my friends are coming over tonight, the same that made up my groomsmen. If you don’t mind, are you able to stay in your room?”

“Oh, sure,” you nodded, that was all? You were nervous for nothing. 

“Thanks,” Yoongi almost smiled at you, “They’ll be here around seven.”

“Sounds good,” you said while standing up, you couldn’t get out of there quickly enough. In your rush to get back to your room, you didn’t notice Yoongi’s gaze lingering on your retreating form.

Closing your bedroom door behind you, you breathed a sigh of relief. What a day, and it wasn’t even noon yet. Adjusting to life with Yoongi was definitely going to be a learning curve. 

Since you were off work for the next two weeks, you weren’t exactly sure what to do with your time. You couldn’t exactly relax in the living room and watch a movie, not with your husband occupying the couch. Things certainly felt stifled in Yoongi’s home. His presence was overwhelming and nerve-wracking, you couldn’t relax around him at all. The earlier interaction in the kitchen still weighed on your mind. 

Why did he get so close to you? Wasn’t he the one who proposed that the two of you stay as far apart as possible? Maybe he didn’t see his closeness to you as something that went against that principle. You sighed. It felt impossible to read him or know what he was thinking at all. His impassive expressions and ambivalent demeanor were starting to get to you. 

Even though you’d resolved to take on an emotionally removed approach like him, you still craved some sort of transparency in his confusing actions that stirred mixed emotions within you. Some of the things he was doing would point towards him harboring some sort of affection toward you but he had been so adamant in keeping your lives separated. What you needed was a clear message from him about how he felt and actions that aligned with that. 

Not that you thought that was going to happen. 

After setting your mug down on your bedside table, you collapsed onto the soft comforters of your bed. The ceiling above you was plain unlike the one in your apartment and you found yourself missing the nights of tracing along the popcorn pattern in your warm and comfy bed. Speaking of your apartment though, you thought, you should probably check in on how Hoseok’s doing. 

You patted your hand around for your phone, finding it beside you, and dialed Hoseok’s number, setting it to speaker and letting the phone sit beside your head. It only rang twice before he answered.

“Well, hello Mrs. Min,” came his teasing voice. 

You groaned, kicking your legs up in the air, “Shut up, don’t remind me.”

“Aren’t you living the dream, though? Married to your long-time crush?”

“Hardly,” you scoffed, recalling your husband’s cold and calculating exterior.

“Well, what’s up, how’s the first morning? Are you sore,” Hoseok questioned, you could hear him shuffling around, likely lying down on the bed himself. 

“I guess? My calves are kind of sore, those heels fucking hurt after the first hour,” you responded, massaging your aching feet. 

“No,” Hoseok laughed, “Are you sore from your consummation? Tell me how it was!”

“Gross,” you exclaimed, sitting up on the bed incredulously, “We did not have sex! I can barely look at him for fuck’s sake, how am I supposed to sleep with him?”

“That’s your fault for not taking advantage of the situation,” he hummed on the other end, “The opportunity was right there.”

“Dude, c’mon, he can barely stand me. We wouldn’t have been sleeping together even if I could look him in the eye.”

“You’ll get there,” Hoseok chimed optimistically, making you desperately want to change the subject.

“How’s your apartment hunting going,” you asked, grasping at any other topic you could.

“Smooth,” he laughed but acquiesced and answered your question, “Good, I think. I’ve got a couple of showings in a few days that seem promising. Rent here is way more expensive than Busan though.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “Tell me about it. I don’t know how Yoongi affords this place.”

“He probably owns it.”

“Damn, you’re probably right. Should a peasant like me even be allowed in here,” you half-joked.

Hoseok only scoffed in response, “As if you’re not literally the daughter of chaebols.”

You hummed, nodding, “Touche.”

“Oh, I did talk to my old boss and he said there was an old student of his in Seoul who was also looking to open up a dance studio. Apparently, he’s just finishing up his MBA so I’m going to talk to him and see if he wants to become partners,” Hoseok excitedly detailed.

“That’s so cool! I’m sure he’ll say yes,” you responded happily. Hoseok deserved to succeed after how hard he’d worked and if this other guy knew anything, he’d say yes to Hoseok in a heartbeat. 

“How is everything else,” Hoseok asked, prompting you to sigh.

“It’s fine, I guess,” you said tiredly, wondering if you should divulge what had happened during the wedding and this morning.

“Tell me about it,” he said quietly, encouraging you.

“Alright,” you huffed, settling in for the long haul of recounting the previous day and the conversation when you’d gotten to Yoongi’s penthouse. You finished by detailing the events this morning and the fact that his friends were coming over later. 

Hoseok listened diligently, making sure to have the appropriate reactions at the right moments. When you finished retelling the events of that morning, Hoseok laughed, “How cliche. This really feels like your own movie romance.”

You shook your head, laughing along, “I guess it was pretty cliche. Everything feels so cliche with him, like the first time I’m falling in love as a teenager or something. It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not embarrassing to like someone, Y/N,” Hoseok says, changing his tone to be a bit softer, “Having a crush isn’t all that immature, it’s the way you act on it that can be.”

“You’re surprisingly profound,” you joked, but you knew he had a point. You had been beating yourself up about feeling anything for Yoongi and feeling embarrassed whenever you became flustered. It felt childish and you hated feeling so vulnerable and disadvantaged. 

“Well, I have my moments,” Hoseok chuckled, “But seriously, don’t be so hard on yourself. Let yourself feel and then choose how to deal with it. If that means moving on, then do that, slowly. And it’s okay if it means keeping the feelings, as long as you're not hurting yourself or anyone else.”

“Thanks, Hobi,” you smiled, he really did have his moments. 

“Anytime, Y/N-ie,” Hoseok responded fondly, making you smile widen at the affectionate nickname.

“But I do have to go now. I’ve got some calls to make about my old apartment. They’re trying to keep my deposit,” he huffed.

“Yikes, good luck with that, let me know how it goes,” you give him a sweet goodbye before hanging up. The conversation with Hoseok had cleared your head some, leaving you wondering what your next move should be. You promptly decided on a nap. 

After a few hours, you awoke, stretching in your bed, feeling slightly groggy, but well rested. Your head felt clearer than ever and you actually felt ready to live in this penthouse.

Sitting up, you took a look around your room before sighing. The beiges and whites were really starting to get to you. You dragged yourself out of your bed and towards your bag from the previous night. After digging around for a moment, you triumphantly located your laptop and its charger, plugging it into the outlet near your desk. Booting up your laptop only took a few moments but you occupied yourself by making a mental list of the decorations you wanted to purchase or bring from your own apartment. After logging in, you dejectedly realized you weren’t connected to the wifi. 

You should’ve asked Mrs. Lim for the wifi password, you thought scornfully, why had you been so careless. Now you had to ask Yoongi. Your mission of avoiding him at all costs was going poorly.

Reaching for your phone, you opted instead to text him to minimize the interaction, feeling proud of your solution. 

You:

Hi Yoongi-ssi, would you mind giving me the wifi password, please?

You quickly set your phone face down on the desk, dreading the reply. What if he thought you were an idiot? What if he didn’t give it to you and you had to use a hotspot for the rest of your life and spend hundreds on your data charges?

Your spiraling thoughts were interrupted by your phone vibrating against the desk’s surface. 

Yoongi:

Sure. It’s worldwidehandsomesvacationhome. No capitals.

You let out a confused chuckle, what a weird name. You had a nagging feeling that Kim Seokjin had something to do with it. 

You: 

Thank you. Have fun with your friends.

You threw your phone against the desk and launched yourself into your bed. Was that too much? Oh god, what if you had royally messed up and crossed a boundary? You stayed in your bed for a few minutes before rising, noting that your phone hadn’t vibrated with a response. Hesitantly approaching your phone, you turned it over to see a blank screen with no notifications. You checked the message thread to see it the same as you left it except that you had been left on read. 

Well, I guess there’s nothing I can do about that.

You shrugged and retook your seat at your desk, entering the wifi password on your laptop and phone. Finding a successful connection, you spent the next few hours browsing through online stores for fun decorations and decals for your room and office in the penthouse. The search took your full attention and you bought multiple items, saving a few of the more expensive purchases for other credit cycles. At the end of it all, you’d bought multiple pillows, a throw blanket, some cute decoration trinkets off of Etsy, a couple of cute flower lamps, a comfy-looking lounge chair, and some lilac curtains. Decorating your room in some fun colors and trinkets would make it feel more like home, or at least, that’s what you hoped. 

Sitting on the desk next to your laptop was a small notebook that held a list of the items you planned to purchase, mainly a TV for your room so you could watch movies and use your console, a larger and cuter desk, and a comfier desk chair, as well as transferring a number of other items from your apartment like your plants, books, and other decorations. 

Coming out of your reverie, you noticed that the time had passed quickly, being a little after seven, and your stomach grumbled, reminding you of your forgetting to eat lunch. Cooking in the kitchen wasn’t an option, noting the laughter downstairs likely meaning that Yoongi’s friends had arrived already, and you didn’t know what ingredients were there anyway, or if you were allowed to use them. 

Sighing, you instead decided to order delivery. You browsed through the local restaurants before settling on a fried chicken restaurant that you frequented that had a location close to your apartment and another near Yoongi’s. Selecting your usual order, you almost checked out before realizing that you were about to order it to your apartment. Grinning, you imagined Hoseok opening your door to a crispy chicken delivery and having no second thoughts about eating your food. 

You couldn’t remember Yoongi’s address, so you resorted to looking at your maps app to figure it out, and your previous texts with Mrs. Lim for the internal building directions. A rush of content flowed through you as you placed the order, eagerly awaiting your hearty meal. 

To pass the time, you grabbed your Switch, loading in whatever game you had been playing previously, some indie puzzle game. You settled into the relaxing and cute gameplay and drowned out the noise of Yoongi’s friends further into the penthouse. 

After a while, your phone vibrated with the notification that the delivery was here, and you jumped up, eager to receive your food. Quickly opening your door, you entered the hallway to make your way to the stairs before hesitating. You could hear Kim Seokjin’s signature laugh in the living room. 

Oh, that’s right, Yoongi didn’t want you to come down.

You tittered around the banister, unsure of whether you should go down before you felt your phone buzz with the driver asking where you were. 

Ah, fuck it.

You quickly descended the stairs and tried to discreetly go through the back end of the living room to avoid Yoongi’s group drinking and playing some sort of game on the coffee table. Of course, you were unsuccessful, spotted by Seokjin immediately. 

“Yah, Seo Y/N,” he shouted, pointing at you, clearly quite drunk already.

You froze in place, turning toward him and sending him a shy wave.

“Why are you over there,” Seokjin slurred, “Come join us! You need to drink!”

You began shaking your head before you were interrupted. 

“Noona!”

Jeongguk’s bright voice and wide smile brought a smile to your own face, and you mouthed a small hello in his direction. 

“Come join us, noona, please,” Jeongguk pleaded, shooting lethal doe eyes in your direction. Your heart melted and you almost agreed, but you felt your phone buzz in your pocket again, making you restart your steps toward the door, “Sorry, Jeongguk-ah, I just came down to get my delivery.”

You ignored his and Seokjin’s protests to open the door and pay the driver, leaving an extra tip for the wait they endured, and taking the food. 

“Woah, is that fried chicken,” you heard from over your shoulder, turning to see Jeongguk suddenly there, eyeing your takeout bag. You chuckled, nodding, before beginning your trek back to the stairs. 

“C’mon Y/N-ah, join us, Yoongi doesn’t mind,” Seokjin attempted once more and you took the moment to search out his face. Yoongi was sitting in the loveseat you had earlier, eyes resting on you in an unreadable expression. Taehyung was on the floor where Jeongguk was previously and Namjoon was on the couch with Seokjin. Yoongi’s stern expression seemed out of place among the group of happy and buzzed faces and it only made you feel worse. 

“Sorry, oppa, I think I’m just gonna head up. I’m kind of tired,” you responded, shying away from Jeongguk’s insistent touch and multiple attempts to snag a piece of chicken. 

“You’re so boring, Y/N, you’ll need to join us soon enough, so why not now,” Seokjin slurred, body swinging to lean on the other end of the couch. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Yoongi open his mouth to say something but was beaten by Namjoon. 

“Let her be, hyung, you can’t force her,” Namjoon smacked Seokjin’s shoulder before sending you a kind smile and gesturing towards the stairs. 

You shot him a grateful smile before ascending, deliberately avoiding Yoongi’s icy stare. Seokjin’s cries faded into the background as you quickly climbed the stairs and reached your room. 

Closing the door behind you, a sigh escaped your mouth. How stressful. You hoped that Yoongi wasn’t upset with you for interrupting, you were just quite hungry. You set the bag down on your desk, mouth salivating at the pleasant aroma. You could almost say the intense encounter was worth the heavenly bite of fried chicken you took. 

The next week went by rather smoothly, mainly because you had barely seen Yoongi at all. He hadn’t come out of his room much the following day after his friends had come and then resumed work afterward with the week starting up once more. You relished the opportunity to set up your room and office in a style more akin to yours and filled the rooms with plants and flowers you adored. 

Mrs. Lim had been happy to help you set up your rooms, citing boredom from the countless greys and blacks that Yoongi’s decor tended to lean towards. You had developed a close bond with her in the week since your arrival in the penthouse and she was a comforting presence in the face of Yoongi’s frosty exterior. 

“Ms. Seo, I think your TV is here!”

You sat up from the intense building of your desk, wiping a line of sweat from your forehead. All of the moving around and lifting had you quite warm and you had changed into a loose crop top and shorts. While the work wasn’t necessarily difficult, it was tedious to do alone but you didn’t have much of a choice. You couldn’t ask Mrs. Lim with her bad back to crouch and bend to help you put it together, Joohee was going out to a work dinner with her colleagues, and Hoseok was off to another apartment showing. Unfortunately, you couldn’t figure out anyone else you could call on a Friday evening to help. 

“Coming,” you shouted down to Mrs. Lim and rose to your feet, having to lean slightly against the wall. You took a glance at the TV stand you had already snagged second-hand from Joohee after she had decided to mount hers and confirmed it was in the spot you wanted. Heading down the stairs to the living room, you noted Mrs. Lim’s conflicted stance, hands on her hips. 

“What’s wrong,” you questioned, rounding the corner of the couch to see the large box the TV had arrived in. The box was quite large and seemed to be rather heavy, which would make it extremely difficult to carry up the stairs by yourself. Immediately, you knew this was going to be an issue because you couldn’t ask Mrs. Lim for help. You’d managed thus far, with your desk arriving in multiple boxes that were more lightweight, your chair being fairly easy to drag up the stairs, and Joohee helping with the TV stand. Crossing your arms, you studied the box before wrapping your hands underneath to test the weight. 

It lifted slightly, but you soon had to release it, the edge slipping from your fingers. There was no way you’d be able to get this up on your own. 

“Don’t try it by yourself, dear,” Mrs. Lim soothed, “You’ll hurt your back and end up just like me.”

You chuckled, brushing the hair out of your face once again, “Yeah, at least one of us needs to be able to reach the bottom shelf in the kitchen.”

Mrs. Lim playfully smacked your shoulder, “What happened to respecting your elders? You’re quite warm though, would you like some cold water?”

You nodded appreciatively, “Yes, please. Thank you!”

Mrs. Lim waved you off as she walked into the kitchen. Turning towards the box, you huffed, staring it down. What should you do?

Suddenly, you heard the door unlock and it popped open, hitting the box in the process, stopping it from opening fully. 

“Mrs. Lim,” came Yoongi’s voice, “Is there something in the doorway?”

“Oh, my bad,” you exclaimed, quickly bending to push the box out of the way. After you’d pushed it aside, you stood to greet Yoongi. 

He was running a hand through his hair, staring at the box before his eyes trailed to you and up your legs to your face. You felt your cheeks heat before sending him a small bow and nod. 

“What’s all this,” he questioned.

“I’m just getting some stuff for my room, sorry for all the trouble,” you wrung your hands together nervously.

Yoongi shook his head and opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by Mrs. Lim arriving with your water,  “Oh, Mr. Min, you’re home!” Handing you the glass, she continued, “Ms. Seo was just trying to figure out how to bring this box up to her room. It’s much too big for just her to handle and I can’t help because of my back. So unfortunate, isn’t it?”

You cringed internally, taking a sip of water to give yourself something to do. Yoongi only nodded, looking at you once more before moving out of the doorway. He started towards the stairs, leaving you breathing out in relief and gulping down more water. 

Just as he began climbing the steps to his room, he turned and faced your form, “Give me a couple minutes to change and I can help you bring that to your room.”

You almost choked on your water as you stumbled through a nod, surprised at Yoongi’s offer to help. He didn’t spare you another glance as he retreated to his room and you were left standing cluelessly as Mrs. Lim sent you a sly smile. 

“Well, I’ll just leave you to it. Your dinner is already prepped, there’s japchae and banchan to cool you down. It’s just about time for me to head home anyway,” Mrs. Lim said, clapping her hands together and starting to untie her apron. 

You pounced, stopping her hands from undoing the knot, “Mrs. Lim, maybe you can join us for dinner?” You were desperate in your attempt to not be left alone with Yoongi, looking up at Mrs. Lim with pleading eyes. 

She only chuckled, gently removing your hands and finishing releasing the knot, her apron falling loose around her front, “Use this as an opportunity to get to know him better. I promise Mr. Min is a nice, young man.”

You almost scoffed, everyone seemed to be trying to convince you of that except for Yoongi himself. 

Mrs. Lim put her apron away and gave your cheek a gentle pinch before opening the door, “Besides, I have a dinner date with Mr. Lim. Good luck!” She closed the door behind her and you were left wondering how to navigate the upcoming interaction. Yoongi didn’t give you much time to prepare, appearing at the top of the stairs only seconds after Mrs. Lim’s exit. He was now dressed in a casual grey t-shirt and black sweats, posing a stunning contrast to his earlier neat and tailored suit. 

“Where did Mrs. Lim go,” he asked, starting his descent to the living room. 

“Um, she left to go home. She said there was dinner already prepped and she had to have dinner with her husband,” you answered awkwardly, avoiding his intense gaze. 

Yoongi simply nodded, “That’s fine. Shall we get started, then?”

You nodded, rushing to one end of the box as Yoongi took his place at the other. 

“I’ll walk backward, so just let me know when I’ve gotten to the stairs,” he said, making you nod in response, finding it difficult to speak. You both lifted, the box becoming much easier to carry with two pairs of hands. 

You kept your gaze firmly trained on the view behind Yoongi, refusing to make eye contact. You were nervous it’d make your grip slip. Warning Yoongi when you had reached the stairs, the rest of the trip had been fairly easy, quietly giving him directions to your room. Thankfully, your door was open and the two of you entered, setting the box down and breathing slightly heavily. 

You looked up to express your gratitude to Yoongi but found him looking around your room instead. You supposed it would be his first time in here since you’d arrived. It had changed quite drastically since you had moved in, sporting much more color and silly accessories. Your bed now had a lilac comforter and a white throw blanket, along with multiple cute, fuzzy throw pillows in fun shapes like clouds or mushrooms. The lounge chair had been set up in the corner with a few other pillows and Pokemon plushes you already had. The lilac curtains you ordered had already been set up, currently open to let some light into the room. A few of your favorite tote bags sat hanging on a hook you’d stuck on by the entrance and there were small crocheted and artsy trinkets plastered or hung around the room. Taking a look around it now, for the first time, your aesthetic felt silly and childish in comparison to Yoongi’s sleek, grown-up look. 

“Um,” you started, wanting to take Yoongi’s gaze off of your colorful and immature decorations, “Thank you for, ah, helping out.” 

Yoongi’s head turned toward you, finding your worried face, biting your lip.

“No problem,” he responded, “I like your room.”

You looked up at him questioningly, not expecting such a response. You had assumed he would think of it as childish and express his distaste, or just ignore it altogether. 

“It’s cute.”

You felt your lips part in surprise at his seemingly earnest reaction to your newly decorated room. It made you feel a bit guilty for assuming he wouldn’t like it before. Furthermore, describing it as ‘cute’ seemed so unlike him. You weren’t sure how to respond. Smiling awkwardly, you nodded, “Thanks, I’m glad you like it.”

You’re glad he likes it? What kind of response is that? You groaned internally, now it seemed like you were pining for his validation. Why couldn’t the ground just swallow you whole?

Yoongi hummed in response before dusting off his hands on his sweats, “Would you like to have dinner then?”

You looked at him in slight shock. The two of you hadn’t had a meal together since you’d moved in, yet here he was offering as if it was a normal occurrence for you. 

“Unless you’re eating later,” Yoongi’s eyebrow raised at your delayed response. 

Quickly, you shook your head, “No, no. I’d love to have dinner now.”

Way to sound over-eager.

The both of you made your way downstairs, unpacking the meal that Mrs. Lim had prepared for you. The cold noodles felt soothing to your overheating body and Mrs. Lim’s kimchi was the perfect balance of fresh and sour. She had even made cucumber kimchi, one of your favorites as she’d learned in the past week, which you happily devoured. While the food was delicious, the atmosphere surrounding the dinner table was awkward. The meal was largely silent, save for the sounds of eating and happy tummies. Distantly, you wondered which of the two of you was going to be the one to break the silence. Surprisingly, it turned out to be Yoongi. 

“Were you told about the gala tomorrow evening?”

You nodded, your mother had called you a few days ago to notify you of it. That hadn’t been a fun phone call. She’d made sure to tell you exactly what she expected you to wear and how to act around Yoongi during the gala. You were just relieved that it started at eight, there was an art gallery that you had been wanting to check out that opened at three. 

“We’ll go together, we’ll leave at 7:45, does that sound good,” Yoongi asked, glancing at his phone between bites of japchae. You only nodded, trying to map out your schedule for the next day so that you could go to the art gallery and still have enough time to get ready. 

“Alright then, that’s settled,” Yoongi stated, taking his last bites of food. 

“Oh, wait,” you interjected, remembering your conversation with your mother, “Do you have a dark blue tie?”

Yoongi’s eyebrow raised, “Yes, I believe so. Why?”

Your cheeks heated, “My mother wanted your tie to match my dress. Sorry.” It was quite embarrassing and your mother had not listened to reason. Apparently, she wanted to solidify the image of you two as a couple at this gala, despite the fact that the only people who matched dresses and ties were high school kids going to dances. 

Yoongi nodded, picking up his phone and rising from the table, “That’s fine. I’ll be sure to wear that tie then.” With that, he exited the dining room and headed upstairs, with you catching a glimpse of him entering his upstairs office.

Sitting back in your chair, you groaned audibly. Could you get through a single day without making yourself look like a fool in front of Yoongi? You flailed slightly in a mini tantrum at the day’s events before gazing at your plate. Opting for more food, you shoveled it into your mouth in an attempt to soothe your aching ego. After finishing admittedly more than a couple of servings worth, you gathered both yours and Yoongi’s plates and put them in the dishwasher. You filled up your water bottle before climbing the stairs to your room. 

You wanted nothing more than to collapse in your bed but your unfinished desk lying in pieces on the floor was weighing on you, in addition to the large TV box that sat inconveniently in the middle of your room. Sighing, you dropped down into a cross-legged position beside the mess of wooden planks and screws and continued putting together the desk, not looking forward to the long night ahead. 

At least you had the gallery tomorrow to look forward to.

When you awoke the next morning, it was just past eleven. The bedsheets were crumpled around you and your hair was a tangled mess, but your desk and TV were set up prettily. You must’ve worked late into the night because you didn’t remember getting into bed, much less finishing the desk or setting up the TV. You still had to attach your console and Blu-ray player anyway. 

Blearily, you pulled yourself out of bed, stumbling down the stairs and into the kitchen for a cup of tea. Your eyes were barely open so you didn’t notice the way your cropped shirt had slipped down your shoulder with its wide neck, nor Yoongi sitting on the couch with a coffee mug in his hand. You squinted through the cupboard to find your favorite mug and picked it out, grabbing the lavender-infused tea that was a regular of yours before setting the kettle to boil. As you waited for the water to boil, you rubbed your eyes awake, finally noticing Yoongi staring at you from the couch. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you bowed slightly, “I didn’t see you there. Good morning.”

Yoongi only nodded, raising his coffee mug to you before returning his gaze to his phone. You were still too tired to feel much embarrassment so you only shrugged and turned back to the kettle. Surprisingly, Yoongi wasn’t done interacting with you, startling you to face him. 

“Do you have any plans for before the gala?”

“Yes, I’m going to an art show nearby. But I’ll be back in time to get ready,” you rushed to answer. 

Yoongi took a sip of his coffee, his eyebrows raised and eyes staring into you from behind the rim of the cup. 

“Oh, sorry, I would ask you to come along but it’s a ticketed event and they’re sold out,” you stuttered, figuring that was why he was still looking at you questioningly. 

Yoongi set his mug down, eyes flickering over your form, “I wasn’t planning on going anyway.”

“Ah, right,” you awkwardly said, internally scolding yourself for the embarrassing display. 

Of course, he wasn’t asking to go with you, how dense could you be?

Your body felt hot with humiliation and you willed the water to boil faster. Somehow, the gods answered you and the kettle went off, making you rush to pour out the water into your mug. You opted to let it steep in your room, ready to get out of the shared space where Yoongi’s judgemental gaze lay. 

Nodding a quick goodbye, you rushed up the steps and entered the oasis of your room. You set down your mug on your desk, letting it steep, and entered your closet to pick out an outfit for the gallery. You ended up choosing a short, brown, corduroy dress to layer over a collared white blouse, feeling quite cute in the outfit. You set the clothes aside, sitting down to drink your tea while reading a bit more of the fantasy book you’d recently picked up. You had made sure to note down your wide collection of books to be part of the things you brought from your apartment. You hadn’t managed to fit everything, but you had brought a significant portion of your favorites and ones you were currently reading. 

Once you finished your tea, you set your book aside and began to ready yourself for a shower. After brushing through your hair and grabbing some undergarments, you entered the shower, making sure to take your time and shave for both your dress now and later tonight. The shower was warm and soothing, relaxing your body underneath the steaming stream of water. 

After exiting, you did your normal post-shower routine of moisturizing, making sure to add a little extra care to your face. Not for any reason, in particular, you told yourself, just to feel a little pretty. After finishing, you donned your dress and blouse, adding shorts underneath just in case, and began styling your hair. It didn’t need too much as you decided to leave it open, parting it slightly to one side and ruffling it a bit to give it some volume. You finished off with some light makeup and simple gold jewelry, satisfied with your final look. You didn’t get dressed up too often, but you liked doing it for events like galleries, partly for the pictures but mostly just to feel cute. 

You snapped a quick picture of your finished look in the mirror in your closet and sent it to the group chat you had with Joohee and Hoseok. 

To: Milf Club (est. 2014)

You:

image attached

art gallery fit 💪

Hoebi:

you look like my wife

*future wife

Joo-nie:

omgg step on me queen

so when are you attending the met gala 🤨

You:

omfg it’s just a dress you guys

also i better see you at the gala tonight joo

bring hobi as your date

Joo-nie:

ew no

you can bring him as yours tho

You:

i have a literal husband who’s my date

Hoebi:

girls girls, don’t fight there’s enough hobi to go around

Joo-nie:

die

You:

nevermind, you can stay home

Hoebi:

you guys are so mean 😭

i was planning on touring a potential studio space anyway so go have fun being rich

Joo-nie:

omg good luck! let us know how it goes!

You:

yes def do

i’ll see you tonight joo

Glancing at your watch, you noted the time being around 2:30. It gave you enough time to stop by a cafe by the art gallery to grab a snack since you hadn’t eaten yet. You opted for your crocheted tote bag, not really caring about it making the look more casual, and stuffed your phone, wallet, and a small water bottle inside. You were planning on walking to the gallery so you didn’t need to bring your keys. Lastly, you pulled on some socks and headed downstairs. 

Yoongi was still sitting on the couch and you felt his eyes follow your form walking to the door. As you slipped on your shoes, he called out to you, “Going to the gallery?”

You nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

Yoongi nodded in response, still looking at you, “You, uh,”

You stood fully, finished with your shoes, and looked at him to continue.

“See you then,” he finished, leaving you slightly confused at his odd demeanor but smiling politely nonetheless. Just as you opened the door and began to exit, you heard his voice once more. 

“Have fun.”

You turned to face him, sending him a genuine smile, “Thanks, I will! See you tonight.”

With that, you closed the door behind you and headed to the small cafe near the gallery. The walk was pleasant with warm weather that wasn’t too hot and a slight breeze to cool you. Soon, you reached the cafe, a cute and quaint spot that had been around for around ten years at that point. You visited often with Joohee on Saturday afternoons when the two of you had plans later in the day. 

You opened the door, it jingling in response to your arrival, and the employee at the counter looked up. The one working that morning was Daehwa, a college student who had been working there for a couple of years now. He knew your order well and often engaged you in conversation if the cafe was empty. There was a bit of a crowd today so he quickly entered your order without you having to say anything, and began making it while you waited off to the side. Once he presented you with your iced tea and croissant with a wink, you sent him a grateful smile, and quickly tore through the croissant, noting the time getting closer to three. 

You finished your snack in record time and quickly stood, clearing away your space and waving a quick goodbye to Daehwa, who sent you a grin in response. The gallery was just across the street and had a small line outside, which you quickly joined. You sipped the last of your tea, looking around for a trashcan near you so you didn’t have to bring it inside the gallery, but only saw one close to the entrance which meant you’d lose your spot in line. The idea made you frown and you considered keeping the empty cup in your bag until you moved forward in the line. 

“Seo Y/N?”

You turned at the mention of your name to find Kim Namjoon standing behind you in a light brown sweater and collared white shirt underneath, with a darker brown corduroy blazer and khakis. He had round, wiry glasses on and wore a stunning smile that showed off his deep dimples. 

“Oh, Namjoon-ssi, I didn’t realize you’d be attending this as well,” you said, smiling and bowing politely. 

“Yeah, I’ve been following this artist for a while now and saw a couple of months ago that they were doing an exhibition. Do you like Cha Heewon too,” he asked, putting his hands into his pockets. His kind gaze on you and sweet smile made your cheeks feel warm as you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. 

“Yeah, I’ve been following them for a few years now so I was really excited when I saw the location for this show. I was lucky to get tickets, they sold out so fast!”

“I know, right? I was basically refreshing the page the day they opened up trying to be the first one in,” Namjoon chuckled and his baritone voice reverberated through your bones, almost making you sigh. 

“Yeah, but at least we’re here now,” you smiled, about to turn back around. 

“Would you, uh, like to walk around the exhibit together,” Namjoon asked, scratching the back of his head. 

You hesitated for a moment, wondering if this would be crossing a line with Yoongi, but you steeled yourself. He wasn’t allowed to dictate who you became friends with. You clearly bumped into Namjooon by coincidence and have a shared interest, so why wouldn’t you two walk around together? 

“I’d love to,” you responded, feeling proud of your steadfastness in not letting Yoongi mandate your choices or social interactions. 

Namjoon smiled widely in response, nodding, “Great, none of the other guys want to come with me to these kinds of things. Sometimes, Tae does but he’s super flaky.”

You chuckled, “Same here, Joo always complains about how boring it is and Hobi wasn’t even here, but he wouldn’t enjoy it either.”

“Hobi, that’s Hoseok, right? The one who worked in Busan,” Namjoon recalled, scratching his chin. 

“Yes,” you nodded, “He’s planning on moving back here so he’s all busy trying to get that sorted.”

“Well, maybe we can go to these things together in the future,” Namjoon proposed, smiling down at you. 

You felt your cheeks heat, being around handsome men wasn’t good for your health. You looked up at Namjoon, smiling in response, “I’d really like that, Namjoon-ssi.”

Namjoon cringed, his mouth turning up into a frown, “You can drop the formality, we’re the same age, right?”

You nodded, laughing slightly, “I guess I’m just used to it. I’d really like that, Namjoon-ah,” you emphasized. Namjoon chuckled, turning away for a moment. You could’ve sworn you saw his ears go pink at the edge. 

The line moved forward fairly quickly and the two of you were soon inside the exhibit, with you throwing away your cup at the entrance. Namjoon gave thoughtful commentary on each painting you stopped at, with you providing your thoughts as well. You found yourself quickly becoming comfortable in his presence and the two of you were soon joking around and making very pleasant conversation. 

At one point, an older woman stopped the two of you, stating, “You’re such a cute couple, I love your matching outfits. I hope you’re having a fun date!”

The woman walked off before you or Namjoon could correct her, so you ended up trying to laugh off the encounter. Her words made your cheeks burn and you worried that it had offended Namjoon, especially considering that Yoongi was his friend. If it bothered Namjoon, he didn’t show it, instead carrying on like nothing had happened.

Namjoon’s company was quite enjoyable and you relaxed into his smooth voice, feeling yourself becoming less and less stiff. The conversation flowed easily and you both bonded over your love for art, with Namjoon mentioning other artists that you noted down to look up later. He seemed much more experienced in this area than you and you found yourself enraptured by his explanations and passionate rants. 

A couple of hours passed and the two of you exited, with Namjoon insisting on walking you to Yoongi’s building. Your conversation from inside the gallery continued as you walked, and you found yourself not wanting to return to Yoongi’s apartment in favor of Namjoon’s calming presence. 

“I noticed you weren’t wearing your ring,” Namjoon mentioned, making you stumble in your step. 

You glanced down at your hand before scratching the back of your head embarrassedly, “Yeah, I guess I’m still getting used to it. It’s kind of weird, being married that is.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Namjoon smiled reassuringly, “I’m sure Yoongi hasn’t been the most receptive either.”

“Understatement of the year,” you laughed, a tinge of annoyance present in your tone, “He’s so hard to read.”

“He’s like that with most people. He takes some time to open up. I promise he’s a really great guy once you get to know him, he’s just a bit uncomfortable in the situation. He’ll warm up to you, eventually,” Namjoon said, patting your shoulder. 

“Eventually,” you repeated, twisting your hand around your ring finger. You should really put it on.

You had reached Yoongi’s building at this point and had stopped just outside the doors. Namjoon must’ve noticed your solemn mood because he added one last thing before leaving, “You know, as much as Yoongi’s dragged his feet throughout this whole marriage process, I haven’t seen him without his ring once since the wedding.”

You looked up at Namjoon, lips slightly parted at the surprising statement. Namjoon only winked before turning around, “I’ll see you at the gala tonight, Y/N.”

Nodding mutely, you waved, before entering into the building and taking the elevator up to Yoongi’s floor. You weren’t really sure what to make of Namjoon’s words. 

Adding the final touches to your look felt simple enough, you’d dressed for these types of galas before. The dark blue satin dress felt nice against your skin and the cowl neck flattered your bodice and neckline. You chose a thin necklace that dipped into your cleavage with matching earrings, deciding to keep your hair down to avoid having to style it. After donning your “rich people” watch, as Hoseok had dubbed it due to its stark contrast to your usual digital watch, you felt that your look was complete. Taking one last look in your mirror, you scrutinized yourself, trying to find anything that would make you seem undeserving of Yoongi. 

It wasn’t a train of thought you were comfortable with, but your mother had made sure to emphasize its importance. You needed to look like someone worthy of being at Yoongi’s side. You certainly didn’t feel like it, but your mother didn’t really care about that. Just like in everything else, the outward appearance and how you were perceived by others took the utmost importance. 

Your reflection stared back at you, solemn and lonely. You had tried to hide your tiredness with makeup, but you still felt that you could see the exhaustion in your face. You felt drained. 

Everything was tiring. 

You didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity, though. After tapping your cheeks lightly to give yourself some encouragement, you headed for your door. You were just about to open it, catching a glimpse of your hand encasing the doorknob, feeling that your finger looked empty. 

You considered for a moment whether you should really display your relationship or not, but Namjoon’s words circled inside your head. Shaking them off, you turned around, grabbing your wedding band off your desk, and slipping it on. You did say that you should wear it more regularly, you told yourself. 

You headed down the stairs, catching sight of Yoongi in his regular suit with a dark blue tie that was similar enough to the shade of your dress. He looked stunning with his dark hair combed back and suit fitted to his slender waist. Your eyes trailed up his form, appreciating his full visual before reaching his face, who was looking at you with wide eyes. 

Suddenly, you felt embarrassed, maybe you had tried a bit too hard. A nauseous feeling began building up in your stomach as you descended the staircase, feeling heavily self-conscious of your appearance. Did you try too hard? Not enough? Did you look ridiculous? You bit the inside of your cheek, not wanting to mess up your lipstick, maybe you should’ve tried for a different dress. The sickly feeling grew as you approached Yoongi at the door, avoiding making eye contact. You didn’t have time to change now, but you sure wished that you had a large coat to cover yourself. 

You really didn’t want to go to this gala.

As you finished slipping on your heels, clutching at your stomach to push away the ill sensation, you stood fully, facing the door. Yoongi hesitated for a moment in front of you before opening it and leading you to the elevator. The ride down to the garage was silent, save for Yoongi shifting about in his suit. You wondered if he was as uncomfortable as you, but quickly pushed the thought away. He had no reason to be uncomfortable.

The drive over to the banquet hall was equally silent, with the only words being exchanged between Yoongi and the driver who was waiting in the garage. Your fingers were constantly picking at invisible seams in your lap and your eyes stayed trained on the window beside you, trying your hardest not to think about Yoongi on your other side. 

He hadn’t said anything to you since you left the house, but you swore you could feel his eyes on you, which only made you more anxious. You had to continuously wipe your palms against the leather seats of the car and your dress to wipe off the sweat and his stare dug into you every time. Every few minutes or so, you’d consider trying to strike up conversation with him before thinking better of it, not wanting to face a judgemental or disgusted expression if he wore it. 

After what felt like forever, you finally arrived at the building the gala was being held at, the driver politely informing you that he would be back to pick you up at your request. Yoongi exited first due to you having to adjust your dress so you could exit gracefully, and he surprised you by opening your door and offering his hand for extra balance. 

The action made your cheeks heat before you remembered that you were in a public place now and he had to act the part of your husband. Reality crashed down on you, washing over you in a wave of bleakness, but you plastered on a submissive smile all the same. You took his hand, exiting the car, noticing Yoongi staring at your finger. You were about to question him before his gaze turned to you and his mouth formed a small smile. 

“You look beautiful,” he said, quietly, much too quiet for anyone around you to hear. The words sent warmth straight to your face and leave you stuttering out a ‘thank you’. Yoongi didn’t release your hand as you walked into the banquet hall, nodding your greetings at the guests you see first. Your mother spotted you immediately and waved you over, with you and Yoongi obediently following. 

“Good to see you could make it,” your mother said curtly, surveying your outfit. She only turned away afterwards, so you took that as your approval and discreetly tugged on Yoongi’s hand so you could move on. He got the hint, thankfully, and led you through the other standard greetings and pleasantries that were involved in events like these. 

The questions were repetitive, to say the least. 

“How are you two doing as a newly wedded couple?”

“How’s the business, Yoongi?”

“When are you two thinking of having kids?”

“Are you still working for that game company?”

It was exhausting, but Yoongi’s warm hand grasping your own grounded you. After about an hour, you’d made the rounds throughout the hall and Yoongi still hadn’t let go of you. But you weren’t complaining. A few times, you were offered champagne by a passing server, but you refused each time. Yoongi’s musky cologne was intoxicating enough. 

Finally, you reached a point where you could relax, no longer having any old men or women to dish out backhanded compliments and you having to awkwardly laugh through them. Yoongi seemed to also feel the tension release, noticing his shoulders sag slightly and a deep breath exhale from his lips. He released your hand, making you frown, feeling like your palm was empty now, but you couldn’t protest aloud. 

You figured that was the end of Yoongi’s image maintenance regarding your matrimony but his hand slid down the open back of your dress, erecting goosebumps in its wake. His fingers rested at the small of your back, gently guiding you to the group where Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon and Joohee stood talking. It rendered you speechless and you opted for silently following, with your brain working overtime to understand what was going on. 

You arrived at the group, Joohee immediately sending a look regarding the placement of Yoongi’s hands, but you were unable to respond, still too flustered by the warm of his skin against your back. You bowed mutely in greeting to the rest of the people there, smiling at Namjoon who returned it widely. 

“Where’s Yeonhee noona,” Yoongi asked, the mention of Seokjin’s wife pulling you into the conversation. 

“She’s at home with Hwannie,” Seokjin responded, smiling brightly at the mention of his wife and son. Yeonhee had given birth a few months ago to a beautiful baby boy, Hwansoo, and Seokjin hadn’t really shut up about him since. You’d seen Yeonhee at your wedding and she’d looked equally as elated, practically glowing. “I wanted to stay back too, but she mentioned something about wanting me out of the house for quality time with Hwannie,” Seokjin finished, earning a laugh from the group. 

Joohee was trying to silently communicate with you, asking whatever she could through shifts in her eyes and small head movements about your close proximity to Yoongi, but you had no answers. You hadn’t been expecting it either, Yoongi had taken the initiative to make physical contact. You could tell she was getting frustrated with your continued subtle shrugs before she looked behind you and cringed. 

“Great, mom wants me to go over there, probably for another marriage talk,” Joohee groaned, inching behind her brother to avoid her mother’s piercing gaze, “I think that’s Lee Hyunsoo, too! Gross! He’s an ass.”

You frowned at the mention of Hyunsoo, a common figure among those who belittled you in your youth at parties just like these. You felt Yoongi shift beside you before speaking, “Yeah, he is an ass, he kept making weird comments to me throughout the reception last week. Good luck with that.”

Yoongi’s comment only made you frown further. You hadn’t really noticed Hyunsoo during your reception, much less him talking to Yoongi. You couldn’t think on it for long, though, having to wave a solemn goodbye to Joohee who began her trek over to her beckoning mother. Yoongi continued his conversation with Seokjin, talking about some sort of business thing happening, nothing you cared too much about, and you were left staring blankly around you. 

“You look really pretty,” Namjoon said, drawing your attention, making you blush pink at his words. 

“Thanks, so do you, Namjoon-ah,” you teased in response, making him grin and show off his deep dimples. You instantly relaxed in his comforting presence, but you were still aware of Yoongi’s burning palm against your skin. 

“Oh, I meant to mention earlier today, you said you like plants, right? There’s this great plant shop in Samcheong-Dong that you should check out,” Namjoon began excitedly, making you recall your earlier conversation in which you had mentioned your plants at your apartment in passing. 

“We should totally check it out! I’m always down to get more plants, although I probably shouldn’t,” you joked, letting yourself ease into the easy conversation. 

“You can never have enough, or at least, that’s what I tell myself,” Namjoon chuckled, “There’s also another show next month for one of my favorite artists. Do you think you’d be up to check it out?”

You nodded, “Yeah, of course, I’d love to. Just send me the details.”

“I don’t think I actually got your number earlier,” Namjoon mentioned, scratching the back of his head and outstretching his hand holding his phone. 

“Oh, right, that would probably help,” you smiled, taking it and entering your number. You handed it back to him, smiling, but noticed the troubled expression on his fact, looking just beside you. 

Yoongi had stiffened next to you and you had been so absorbed in your conversation with Namjoon that you hadn’t noticed, or noticed the fact that Seokjin was gone now, talking to some other old businessman at another table. 

“Have you two gotten close,” Yoongi asked, though he didn’t really sound like he was looking for an answer, with gritted teeth and his hand pushing into your back. 

“Oh, um, we met at the art show earlier,” you said, looking at Namjoon to continue your thought. 

“Ah, yeah, we ended up walking around together and we became friends,” Namjoon laughed, though it seemed a little stilted, “Your wife’s really nice, hyung.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi said curtly, before releasing you and stepping away, “I have to go speak to a couple other people. Could you keep an eye on her, Namjoon?”

The question made you gawk, feeling anger rise from your trembling fingers. You didn’t need someone to keep an eye on you, you were a grown woman, for God’s sake. You moved to retort Yoongi’s absurd request but he was already walking away. What even was that? Why was he being so weird? Maybe his niceness earlier was just a fluke. Turning to Namjoon in a huff, you took in his sheepish smile. 

“I don’t really think you need babysitting, but I would like to talk more,” he offered kindly, making you release a breath and smile in return. 

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” you agreed, following him to a nearby table where you spent the rest of the evening. The conversation was pleasant, almost making you forget Yoongi’s odd behavior, but your anger for him had only simmered. He had no right to act like you weren’t your own agent, no right to treat you like a child. His earlier pleasant interactions with you and electric contact against your back left you even more confused, only adding to your anger. His moodswings were beginning to give you whiplash. 

You tried your best to focus in on your conversation with Namjoon for the rest of the night but you found your gaze drifting back to Yoongi. He was speaking with other men your father’s age, shaking hands and exchanging practiced polite smiles. He looked tired. 

But what did you care? You shouldn’t care, he had been so rude earlier, but you knew you couldn’t help it. Maybe you’d ask Mrs. Lim to make his favorite meal on Monday when she came back. 

The rest of the evening carried on uneventfully, with you and Namjoon making countless plans for shopping outings and art shows galore. He’d even managed to score tickets to an evening historical art museum tour, something you’d been wanting to attend for a while. Eventually, he had to leave, though, citing an early morning the next day, and hugged you goodbye. As he was doing so, he whispered in your ear, “I saw you put on the ring, I’m glad.” 

His hot breath on your ear made your brain stutter but you mumbled out an acknowledgement, and he soon released you, waving goodbye as he walked toward the exit. The rest of the attendees were beginning to leave too, signalling the beginning of the end of the night. You sat glumly at your table, noting that Joohee had already left, having had a quiet argument with her mother that caused her to storm out. 

You brought out your phone, making sure to message her asking if she was alright. Feeling a tap on your shoulder, you looked up to see Yoongi staring down on you with an impassive expression.

“Are you ready to go?”

You neglected to respond, still feeling upset with his earlier words, and simply stood, waiting to be led to the car. Yoongi obliged, not flinching at your cold demeanor, and you both soon entered the car, riding home in silence. 

During the drive home, your mind swirled with all sorts of questions regarding Yoongi’s behavior. His actions would likely point to jealousy surrounding Namjoon, but how did that make any sense? How could Yoongi harbor affection for you if he barely knew you? Especially if he seemed so opposed to the idea as well. 

You like Yoongi even though you barely know him.

Your mouth upturned at the unwelcome thought. That wasn’t a fair comparison, you didn’t outwardly show any jealousy toward Yoongi’s other conquests. And there wasn’t even anything between you and Namjoon to begin with. 

Well, mostly. You couldn’t deny the excitement you had when you saw him in the hall or the way you enjoyed speaking with him about everything and nothing throughout the art show and gala. But you weren’t going to think about that too hard right now. 

The only logical conclusion you could draw was that your close friendship with Namjoon made him uncomfortable. He did say that he didn’t want you to mix personal lives at all. You almost empathized with that before remembering his condescending words earlier that evening, making anger surge through your blood once more. 

Well, Yoongi could suck it. He didn’t get to dictate who you became friends with and he didn’t have any claim over his own friends, making them off-limits. You weren’t responsible for dealing with his childish feelings and immature attitude. That was all up to him. 

It’s his problem to figure out why he’s acting so bizarrely. 

Why was Yoongi acting so bizarrely? 

He couldn’t understand. Why did he feel so possessive over you? It’s not like he felt any romantic attraction, he was the one to set the open relationship boundary after all. Why did it bother him so much that you were evidently so close to Namjoon now? 

He breathed out a sigh, sitting idly in his studio upstairs, tired from the gala. Namjoon was one of his closest friends, they made music they’d never release together. He shouldn’t be upset that you’re becoming friends with him. He knew this rationally, but why did it still make him so uncomfortable?

As Yoongi leaned back in his chair, head upturned to the ceiling and eyes closed, his mind wandered to the few times he’d seen you in his home since the wedding. The morning after, you’d looked stunning, coming downstairs in nothing but the same shirt and shorts he’d seen you in the night prior, the cold air making him realize you weren’t wearing a bra. He’d averted his eyes at that point, feeling like he was encroaching on your privacy, even though you were in his kitchen. 

Watching you realize your own attire and scramble upstairs to change had been cute, but Yoongi hadn’t wanted to entertain that thought. Either way, it was quickly replaced by the way your body felt against his as he reached above you for a mug. He couldn’t erase the sensation of your soft curves against his front from his mind. 

When he’d arrived home in the middle of you redecorating, he wasn’t sure why he’d offered his help. Maybe he wanted to get a glimpse into your room, grasping at a chance to see your personality transferred to the decorations adorning your bedroom walls. He’d been surprised by how much he’d liked the cutesy embellishments you’d added, finding that the surprising duality suited you. You were so often carefully neutral in your expressions and words and seeing your personal taste being so pretty and pleasant was charming. 

Later that night, he was surprised to see your bedroom light still on at the late hour when he’d left his room to get water. He peeked inside, seeing you lying on the floor in a mess of bolts, evidently trying to finish the last plank on your desk that was set up against the wall. The sight of you spread out so comfortably on the floor, hair strewn around your head almost framing your face like a halo, and your mouth partially open, letting out soft snores made him smile. He entered your room as quietly as he could, gently lifting you onto your bed and tucking you in, not even stirring you in your deep sleep. 

He was about to leave when he stepped on a screw, making him flinch and look at the mess of things still left to do. If he’d finished up your desk and set up your TV, it was because he couldn’t stand a mess, not for any other reason. Not that you seemed to know based on your demeanor the next morning. 

You’d looked adorable, coming down the stairs in rumpled clothing and tangled hair, your shirt’s neck slipping down your shoulder. But, he’d kept that thought to himself, behind pursed lips. You’d looked equally as beautiful in your cute brown dress that you’d worn to the art show, making him frown at his memory of being unable to tell you so. 

Well, why should he? He’d been the one to separate you two so blatantly, after all. He shouldn’t give you mixed signals. 

The thoughts of you in your loose and tight clothing, the image of you coming down the stairs in the silk dress that draped perfectly over your curves, and the tantalizing feeling of your skip against his palm had him leaning further back into his chair. 

Maybe he was just horny.

Yoongi sat up, all of a sudden. That was totally it! He’s just distracted by you because he hasn’t been laid in a while. That had to be it. It couldn’t be anything else, he wouldn’t allow it to be. 

Yoongi grinned, an easy smile taking over his face. Why was he so worried, the answer had been so simple. All he had to do was find a quick one night stand and his problems would be solved. 

His grin faltered. Probably, his problems would probably be solved. He didn’t want to consider what it meant if they weren’t.

previous / masterlist / next

[kingkat12]

... chased a guy (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: piv sex, vampire sex, blood, blood play (?), light gore, smoking, Olivia Godfrey deserves her own warning tag

summary: now that you and Roman are broken up, you suddenly find clarity in the situation that used to haunt you-- are you actually scared of upirs? it seems not.

word count: 8,588

never have I ever: ← previous chapter

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*book 1 masterlist

a/n: I know this chapter took a crazy amount of time to finish, but exams have been biting my ass with big mouthfuls, so EEK WE R FINALLY BACK<33 thank you for all the love, enjoy!!<333 credits to @godfreysteel for the gifs!!

"At least she's not... crying,"

"Not yet," I muttered, lighting my cigarette. "Give it a minute."

Peter turned to me, glaring as he flicked ash off his own. He wasn't even smoking it-- he was just letting it burn down like a fuse. "And how often do you stand around watching Letha be miserable, exactly?"

I shrugged; "It's my favorite morning spectacle. I keep debating whether I should bring tomatoes and toss them at her,"

Something told me Peter knew he wasn't in the position to scold me, even though I saw how much he was itching to-- it was obvious with the way his jaw ticked. "You're really enjoying this, huh?"

"I'm enjoying the karmic symmetry. Sue me,"

Seriously. Karma had never felt this good.

Everything had changed-- the events of the night Brooke died had had a huge impact on everyone, in their own way. However, the most brutal change to watch was how Letha's biggest fears had become real. After all her plotting, after all her doomsday-planning, her ultimate nightmare had come true; she had been dethroned by the public. It was like a coup of democracy, with the way everyone had cast her off her high chair when they found out about her hypocrisy-- her relationship with Peter ended up having the effect on her life that she had dreaded most.

And I stood there, half-hidden by the corner of the art building next to Peter, watching the girl who had once ruled this place get picked apart by whispers and glances and that sick kind of fake smile that burns more than a slap. Believe me when I say I didn't invite him to join me, by the way-- he had found me here somehow, like he always did when I wanted to see him least.

Letha sat on the concrete ledge a little further away, her shoulders hunched as she picked at her nail polish like she could peel her way out of this reality. Her nails, which were usually gelled to perfection, were in a state of visible despair, but her hair remained perfect as ever. Maybe that was how it always was? Did she wake up with the Godfrey beauty protecting her? There was something about the way she sat all curled in on herself that made her look small, like someone else entirely-- it felt like one of those horror shows you don't want to watch but can't take your eyes off.

The girls she used to walk arm-in-arm with passed her like she was air. No, wait, not air-- like something rotting. Rotting, and dying. One of them muttered something under her breath as they passed, and I couldn't hear it from afar, but I saw the way Letha's jaw clenched, the way her mouth twitched, like she was fighting the urge to cry or claw back.

Someone laughed, but not at a joke-- at her.

Finally, she knew how that had felt for me. People weren't afraid of her anymore; instead, they only smelled blood in the water.

I inhaled another round of smoke as Peter continued watching Letha with those big, sad eyes of his. Something told me that the sight of her like this pained him the same way it pained me to be away from Roman, and it filled me with a certain sense of evil satisfaction. If I was going to be in agony, then I was going to drag him down with me.

Peter sighed, the smoke from his mouth accompanying his next words; "Are you always this heartless before second period?"

"Yes, actually. I don't owe her any pity," I mumbled. "And are you always this spineless after screwing things up?"

His mouth twitched-- half smirk, half flinch. "I didn't screw everything up by myself,"

"Oh, right, because it was all her," I said, nodding to Letha. "You were just getting your dick wet! You have no fault in this."

He rolled his eyes; "You don't get it,"

"And you're a piece of shit,"

"... Thanks," Peter looked back at Letha, then down at the ground like it might offer answers. "But I can't talk to her, you know this. It's over between her and me. The guilt of it all just... broke me."

"And as I keep telling you, dickwad, it doesn't help anyone that you're ravaged with guilt, or whatever! Roman and I have split up, and he doesn't want to see you anymore, so you've done all the damage you could do," I took another drag, letting the smoke coil out of my nostrils slow and deliberate, like a dragon halfway through a nervous breakdown. "Go be evil together, seriously. Maybe make a game out of seeing who else you can break up, that'd probably be fun, no?"

Peter didn't respond right away. He just stood there, gnawing at the inside of his cheek like he might bite through it; "You're awful. It's not funny," he finally said, voice low. "You think I don't feel like shit about this?" 

"I think you feel like shit the same way a raccoon feels bad for tipping over a trash can," I muttered, flicking ash off the end of my cigarette with a snap. "You're not sorry. You're just caught."

"I am sorry," Peter said. "I lost my girl, and I lost my best friend. If you think I'm feeling good about any of this, I suggest you think again." He shoved his free hand into his jacket, pacing a slow, aggravated half-step. "How is Roman, by the way? How's the murder mystery going?"

I shrugged, taking a short, annoyed drag-- I hated the way all my feelings about the matter felt like wet cement in my chest. "No idea," I mumbled. "Roman isn't answering me either."

Peter blinked; "Seriously?"

"Dead serious," I said, letting the smoke curl lazily from my mouth as I tilted my head, smirking just slightly. "Knock, knock, by the way."

 Peter blinked, wary. "Uh... Who's there?"

I exhaled through my nose; "The consequences of your actions,"

"Oh, fuck off," Peter groaned, rolling his eyes. "You act like I planned it this way, and you keep acting like you had no fault in this yourself, and!-- ugh, all I ever wanted was for everyone to be happy!"

I took one last drag, let it hang in my chest, and exhaled directly at Peter in hopes of making him cough, of making him hurt. My eyes bore into his, feeling my anger at his stupidity simmer with my words; "And how did that work out for you?"

Peter didn't answer. He just stared at me like I had crossed some invisible line, one even he wouldn't dare to overstep. The wind cut between us, stirring the smoke that drifted around my face like a veil. With one last, final glance at Letha, Peter's cutting gaze landed on me as he threw his cigarette down to the floor, smushing it with his heel. "I can take a lot of shit from you, but you need to cool off. Being a bitch doesn't suit you. I commence this meeting of the dirty mistress club over,"

I would've probably laughed had I not been so dead and bitter inside, but I smiled, slow and mean; "Done? Great. Go waste someone else's time,"

Peter hesitated like he might say something else, but with a sigh, he turned away, the silence between us still crackling like static, like a slap to the face.

As Peter stormed off, no longer caring to bicker with me, I hated the pang of guilt that expanded in my chest. As it started to snowball, it worsened when I turned to look at Letha one last time. Over and over, I told myself I didn't feel sorry for her. I wondered whether Letha ever felt this way when looking at me, all that time ago-- I stayed longer than I meant to, allowing myself to gaze at the girl who had never failed to hold my hair back when I felt sick. There was a sadness in the exile of Letha Godfrey, yet not one I cared to sit with.

To distract myself, I occupied my mind with thoughts of the other Godfrey. The love of my life, the one I hadn't seen physically at school, but the one who hadn't failed to show up in every dream I'd had since the night of the murder. It was the same dream again and again, one I couldn't decipher, one I couldn't make sense of-- was I simply ovulating, or was I going insane?

Every girl had questioned that once or twice, surely.

The dream was the same every time; I'd tell Roman I loved him. Then, he'd ask if someone like him could ever be loved. Then, I'd ask him who he was to decide who could be loved or not, and then... he'd bite me.

He'd bite into my chest, sink his teeth into my heart, and... fucking hell.

I swallowed hard-- just thinking about it made me feel uncomfortably warm. It was horrifyingly embarrassing to think about, and as I turned away from the pathetic sight of Letha, I allowed my cheeks to go rosy. 

In my dreams, Roman would bite me, drink my blood, and every fucking time, without fail, I'd...

I'd cum.

Shivering, I wafted the image of the dream away. I tried to explain it as my brain trying to cope with the image of Brooke's body scattered all over the playground, and that it was my mind trying to make the sight of the blood a little less scary. Why did it have to mix in with Roman being a upir, though?

Then again, the more I thought about the fact that he was one, now that Letha wasn't involved and telling me how dangerous he was, the more I realized... I might not be so afraid as I had initially been. Maybe my body was telling me I was starting to embrace him fully? I had no idea. I couldn't make sense of it. 

Still, I knew what I had to do; I needed to find Roman and speak to him. Maybe I could clear my head about it if I saw him again? Maybe the fear would return, maybe I could make up my mind about it?

Yeah... I was definitely going insane. ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

This was a stupid plan. A really, really stupid plan, but it was the only one I could come up with.

I remembered the code to the gate around Roman's house (or should I say mansion?), and I parked my car in front of the massive entryway in the roundabout before the door. It was odd to be back, but it was necessary-- however, in my quest to talk to my murder-solving ex-boyfriend, I had forgotten about the main obstacle in the house.

The door creaked open, and a woman opened the door. Her annoyance with my presence was overshadowed by confusion as she racked her brain for how I could've gotten to her doorstep without being stopped by security. "Yes?" she asked, irritated, as she cocked a brow and scanned me from top to bottom.

It was then and there that I realized where Roman had learned that move from.

Olivia Godfrey was intimidating as ever with her long, black hair falling at around her hip-- she was exactly as I had imagined she'd be after seeing her face on several magazines while shopping at the stores around Hemlock Grove.

Putting on my nicest smile, I straightened up before I spoke; "Sorry to intrude, ma'am, but is Roman home?"

Olivia's upper lip quirked as she spotted my car parked in the roundabout driveway. It was clear that she found me misplaced. "May I ask who's calling?" 

I felt my smile turn tighter after I spoke my name, hoping it would ring some sort of bell in her head and that she'd recognise me-- Roman must've told her about me, no?

After hearing my name, Olivia's grip on the door loosened as her eyes gained a wicked twinkle, like she had trapped me and enjoyed poking me with a stick. "Oh..." First poke. "How odd..." Second poke. "Roman has never mentioned you." Third poke. And for the fourth, the finale, the last poke that'd impale me and turn me into a shish kebab-- "Are you one of his pom-poms?"

Pom-poms?

Cheerleaders?!

"They usually never come to the house..." Olivia continued with a grin on her face, her voice deep and warm like a dangerous purr. Something about her tone almost carried pity for me, like it was pathetic of me to sink so low as to come to their house for an easy lay. "Is it something urgent?"

The corners of my mouth twitched as I forced myself to keep smiling, to keep my composure. This woman felt like the equivalent of talking to a rattlesnake. "I'm not a cheerleader, no,"

"No?"

"Certainly not," I said, hoping to gain some of my dignity back. 

Olivia now seemed rather confused-- "So this is in regards to...?" 

Your son, who is also my ex-boyfriend, is looking for a murderer, and I need to make sure he's not lying dead in a ditch somewhere. "Study group, ma'am," I lied. "English lit."

This seemed to liven her up; in an instant, Olivia was back to smiling again, and she fully let go of the door and leaned towards me like she was about to tell me the juiciest gossip of the town; "Wuthering Heights, then, is it? So tell me, darling, the gypsy orphan Heathcliff-- was he a Byronic hero or proto-Marxist class warrior?"

What the fuck did any of that even mean? I stared at Olivia, my smile unwavering as my brain racked through the last time I ever picked up that book. That must've been last semester, when I ended up not reading it and looked up a summary on the internet. "Sorry ma'am," I tried. "I'm only on chapter two. Haven't gotten very far, you see."

With a disappointed sigh, Olivia's glee retreated as well as her steps, and she scanned me once more with that displeased look in her dark eyes. "Yes... I suppose you haven't," And then, in a different snake-like tone, she continued with a pitied warning; "It really does not end well for him."

"Pardon?"

"For Heathcliff, dear,"

"... Oh,"

What was that supposed to mean? Meeting this woman felt like a psychological exercise, and I began to understand why Roman had been so reluctant for me to meet her.

"Anywho," Olivia huffed, returning to her polite smile. She was switching out her expressions like masks in a theatre. "I'm afraid Roman isn't home at the moment, so I will tell him you stopped by. What was your name, again, darling?"

As I spoke my name with a composed breath, I turned to Roman's red jag, which was parked in front of mine. I wouldn't have approached the door if I hadn't seen it when I came-- he was obviously home. I wanted to say something, maybe even something a little sharp, but as I turned back to face Olivia Godfrey, the alarm in my head went off; upirism is hereditary. She could very well be the one Roman had inherited it all from, and there was no way I was about to piss her off.

With a sigh, Olivia's voice chimed in sweet as honey, yet keen to get me off her doormat. "It was nice to meet you, darling, but--"

No, wait! "He hasn't been to school,"

Fuck it. If I could fuck a upir, I could go up against another one. Was I maybe not so scared, after all?

I nodded towards his car. "Roman hasn't been to school," I repeated, standing my ground. "I haven't seen him all week since the murder in town, and I'm just getting a little worried so-- so if it's not a bother, could you at least tell me how he's doing?"

Caught off guard, Olivia's brows quirked in surprise. "Oh my," she purred, amused. For a moment there, I was sure she even laughed a little. Was it that pathetic that I had bothered to come? Was it blatantly obvious that it was a stupid decision? Everything about this woman made me want to dig a hole and die in it.

It took Olivia a few seconds to recover from the sight of yet another girl pining for her son, and some more to contain her humour, until she suddenly looked like she had sensed someone behind her. Then, she looked down at me with a newfound nonchalance (or was it annoyance?) and stepped away from the door. "Ask him yourself," she sighed. 

Olivia let the door swing open fully, revealing Roman a few feet behind her, arms folded over his chest, glaring at me with scathing wrath. 

I nearly shivered-- composing myself, I swallowed hard and allowed my heart to abuse the inner linings of my ribs with its excitement. Even now, with his hair undone and with dark circles around his eyes, he looked breathtakingly gorgeous. 

Roman's glare never faltered, not even as Olivia rounded the corner and left us alone. His jaw was clenched, and his forearms were flexed, revealing that his hidden hands were balled into fists. "Yeah?" he eventually said, not allowing my stunned silence to go on any longer than necessary.

... Was that all he had to say to me?

I straightened my skirt, my anxiety seeping into the tips of my fingers and burning into my blood. "You disappeared," I breathed. "You haven't been to school all week, you haven't answered any of my messages... I got worried."

Roman didn't flinch, didn't move-- nothing. "I think that's something you should talk about with your guidance counsellor,"

Fucker.

I cocked my head to the side, sending him a look he knew too well. "Seriously, Roman?"

"Dead serious,"

"Can we talk?"

He shrugged, and just as I thought he was about to tell me to fuck off, he pushed away from the wall with an annoyed groan. "Fine," Roman stepped forward with not as much as a trace of a smile, and held out his hand. 

Within a second, my hope skyrocketed. I felt myself blush as I raised my hand too, about to put it in his like in the good old times, but he scoffed and dodged me. "Jacket," he hissed, cold.

"Oh," With a heavy heart, I handed Roman my jacket-- things really had changed. We had broken up. We truly weren't together anymore. "Thanks..." I breathed, too flushed and embarrassed to look at him anymore.

This was unbearable-- it was torture.

Yet... it wasn't scary.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The last time Roman and I had been alone in a library together, I had let him fuck my brains out-- that was certainly not going to happen this time.

But now, as Roman scoured through the Godfrey library, having scattered tons of books on the floor, opened on specific, marked pages, I could only think about how it was to have his hands around me on the floor of the restricted section at the school library. Even though he was now wafting through books that were so old, they should be sent to some sort of archive for preservation, I couldn't stop thinking about how he had used those exact same fingers to fuck his cum deeper into me. Christ.

That day would've probably been the turning point for us, had it not been for Letha telling me he was dangerous over and over. When you get fed one line of information, told with such confidence and fervour, how do you convince yourself it's not true? I suppose it was my brain trying to tie itself down to normalcy instead of going against the stream. As I stood here now, leaning against some gorgeous old shelf in Roman's family library, I once again reinstated the thought that I had fucked us up by trusting Letha.

God, how I had fucked up. 

Anyway-- it was really damn inappropriate for me to be thinking about the way Roman had fucked me that time in the restricted section, especially as he finally started rambling about what he had been up to all week. 

"--So, since the police found Brooke's legs a little further away, they're not saying it's a mauling... Have you caught that on the news?" he asked, climbing down the set of library stairs with another book in hand. "Those stupid idiots are looking for a human. I told you they wouldn't look in the right places."

It felt wrong to encourage Roman's obsession with the murder and the idea that it wasn't a normal animal, yet I did what I could to stay close to him. The crime scene had looked odd, after all-- I could get behind that. "Okay, yeah... I hear you,"

"They think it's some sicko serial killer dude running around," Roman huffed, flipping through the pages of the new book to find a page he had previously read. "That it's someone's mark. I listened in on the police intercom a few days ago to hear what they were saying, and they're trying to connect it to some killer dude in Iowa--"

"Hold on!" I flailed my arms as I stepped away from the shelf, hoping to get his attention. "You hacked into the police intercom?!"

Roman fixed his gaze on me, visibly annoyed to have to stop scouring the pages of the book. "Not technically. Since when would I have had the brains for that? I just know the password to their system,"

"Password?!"

"How many times do I have to tell you that my family basically is the police? It was easy to get," With a roll of his eyes, Roman returned to his search. "Anyway, this serial killer guy from Iowa would've carved something into her abdomen, some satanic symbol, and Brooke didn't have that when we saw her. I'm waiting for the police to make that connection, but she's getting buried soon and they're all talking about how the morgue is giving them shit for wanting to delay the funeral so they can inspect the body again... It's all unnecessarily complicated." Finally, he put down the book next to the others on the floor, stepping away to look at them all together as though it were an art installation he had to decipher. "It's not some dude from Iowa who is responsible for this. I'm sure of it."

Slowly, I dared to step forward towards the carefully laid out books spread out across the hardwood floor. When I got closer, I caught a glimpse of the look in Roman's eyes, how big his pupils were, how disoriented he seemed-- he almost looked like he was in the middle of a manic episode, or like he was about to audition for the role of the new Doctor Who. "So... you've been home from school to figure out who could've done it?" 

"Yeah," he breathed, not blinking. "But there are many possibilities, too many. I'm getting in over my head here, and I've got too much information on my hands... This fucking library is huge. My great grandpa wasn't fucking around about knowledge, and he made sure all this stuff was preserved."

I sighed-- if Roman and I had still been together, I would've known how to soothe him better. Now, all my methods would've been deemed highly inappropriate or simply too intimate. "That's why I'm here to help," I tried. "I told you that I'm not letting you do this alone."

In the midst of his daze, Roman didn't care to turn to look at me, but I knew he saw me through the corner of his eye. It made me feel like I was some spider on the wall that he was deciding whether to squish to death or not. "Your heart's not in it though," he said, monotone.

"It... is?"

"It's not. You don't care about the murder,"

"I do!"

"Not like me," he argued. "Your heart's not in it."

If only Roman knew how much of my heart was actually in it, in the palm of his hands. With a sigh, I dared to speak; "My heart is wherever you are, Rome,"

Silence.

Deafening silence.

Finally, he turned to face me, but it wasn't relief that softened his expression-- it was something more devastating; regret. Maybe even fear? "Don't say shit like that," he said, his tone raw in a way that broke me bit by bit. "You're making it worse."

My heart twisted into my lungs. "But I mean it," I breathed. 

Roman groaned; "That's the problem," he snapped, suddenly sharp. "You mean it, and I-- I can't--" He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair as though trying to scrub the words from his skull. Roman did his best to erase it from his memory, now pressing his palm to his forehead as he closed his eyes and pushed it all away. "I've cornered it down to at least three things it could be."

"... What?"

"The killer,"

"Oh," Swallowing hard, I nodded and forced myself to turn away from him to look down at the books. Was Roman maybe going insane? Was I enabling a manic episode? I wasn't so sure. All I knew, was that I had promised to stay by him no matter what this time, and I was going to stick to that.

There were many gorgeous illustrations of different animals, all made with something calligraphy pen-like. Heaps of information had been written down on the pages with much less precision than the drawings, and the more I looked at them all, I realized they didn't look like books-- they looked like diaries. 

"Roman?" I breathed. "Were these all made by your great grandfather?"

He was still rubbing his temples, eyes closed, when he hummed. "He had a lot of money, so he travelled a lot," 

Okay... This went much deeper than this generation of Godfreys. "I see," I tried, bending down to get a closer look at one of the many beautiful illustrations. "He writes that he saw these things?"

"Yeah," Roman opened his eyes to see which book I was checking out. "He drew everything to remember them."

Jesus Christ. "Was your great grandfather perhaps... schizophrenic?"

Roman let out a short, humorless snort, the sound edged with just enough irritation to sting. "Thanks," he muttered, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm. "Real supportive. You're doing a great job so far."

I turned to glance at him, caught between an apology and an awkward half-smile. "I didn't mean--"

"No, it's fine," His jaw tensed as he leaned back against the shelves, eyes flicking toward the ceiling like he was praying for patience. "Let's just entertain the possibility that maybe, just maybe, my dead great grandfather wasn't completely out of his goddamn mind... just for fun."

Fine. I shut up.

Roman sighed, grabbing the nearest diary and flipping through it without care, like he knew exactly what page he wanted. "He saw things," he continued, tone flatter now. "Things that match what we saw at the playground."

I stepped closer and frowned at the page he'd stopped on. It was some kind of creature that looked like a wolf if it had been dragged through hell and then stitched back together. Bone-thin limbs, eyes like pits, a mouth full of teeth that curved wrong. Was Roman's great grandfather maybe tripping on shrooms back in the day? "Is this the...?"

"Vargulf," Roman nodded. "First suspect. It makes sense, sort of. They kill their prey without eating it, and they're not connected to the full moon, like usual werewolves. This is basically a werewolf that's gone crazy, and it just... rips bodies apart out of insanity, or something. I really, really don't want it to be this thing."

I swallowed, suddenly cold at the memory of Brooke's torn body. "And the others?"

Roman ticked them off with his fingers, not bothering to look at me. "Some French thing called the beast of... however the fuck you pronounce it. It was some wolf-lion hybrid that killed tons of people back in France. And these Welsh death hounds that I also can't fathom how to pronounce, but they were dogs that hunted souls.... And these things were all animals, all real, if you believe half the shit in these books,"

"And you do?"

He glanced at me a little sideways. "I believe what he saw. This guy was legit. These aren't fairytales made by some drunkard,"

"But... I'm sorry, that's what this sounds like,"

Roman closed the diary with a sudden boom, almost like he was trying to wake himself up or scare me half to death. "Fairytales don't leave bodies," He dropped the book to the floor with a loud thud-- he could've just as easily dropped a mic. 

"Okay..." I mumbled, trying my best not to sound so skeptical-- no, this was crazy. "But I doubt that French wolf-lions would be roaming around the Pennsylvanian countryside, and I don't know how these Welsh hounds could've made their way all the way across the ocean, so that sort of leaves us with the--"

"Vargulf," Roman found another book which seemed to have more details about the beast. "I agree that it makes the most sense. They can appear all over the world, and they have the biggest chance of being real."

"Being real? So now we're doubting your great grandpa again?"

Roman straightened up, realizing he had walked directly into that one. Clearing his throat, he raised his gaze from the book to stare back at me, blinking; "This is a guy that drew mythical creatures. We've got to be a little realistic,"

I snorted before I could stop myself.

Roman rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched, just barely. "All I'm saying is, if a supernatural creature is running around eating girls in our town, I'd really prefer not to be the guy who shrugged it off because it sounded a little French,"

"Right..." He had a point, albeit a crazy one. I still had hope this was some serial killer from Iowa after all, even though that was no less dark. "But Roman?"

"Yes?"

"When..." I almost didn't dare to ask the question, but the more I looked at him, the less I saw of that usual spark in his green eyes, and the more I worried. His cheeks were sunken in, the circles around his eyes were concerning, and he almost looked a bit paler than usual (although I wasn't sure that was even possible). I took a deep breath; "When was the last time you ate?"

Roman froze, the question hanging in the air like a heavy fog. His expression tightened, the usual charm replaced by something sharp and distant. "You're still asking that?"

I couldn't help it-- the thought had been gnawing at me for a good few minutes now. Maybe even days, if I allowed myself to admit it. "I worry about you," I breathed. "I'll always ask that."

He dropped the book he'd been holding onto a table nearby with a soft thud, taking his time to answer. It was clear that it was overwhelming, confusing, and distracting to hear those words from me. "Look, I'm not your boyfriend anymore, alright? You don't need to check in on me,"

My heart dropped. "Roman, I'm--"

"I knew this would happen," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair as he turned to me. It was only then that I saw how seriously this was affecting him-- his green eyes had rounded out, and his breath came out in choppy motions. "If you're going to keep saying stuff like that, then we can't investigate this together. I can't handle the push and pull that comes with being around you, so if you want to be of any help, if you still want to solve this case with me, then I suggest you stop."

"But I'm not trying to!--"

"Yes, you are!" Roman barked. "Either you're solving a murder, or you're trying to get me back! Pick one, because you can't choose both!"

My fists balled-- I hated what we had turned into. "And if I want you?"

Roman's jaw clenched at my words, but his eyes didn't soften. There was that wall again, and it felt higher than ever before. "You can't," he said, his voice lower now, almost like he was trying to convince himself more than me. "You can't. Not with what we've been through. Not with how you reacted to what I am."

"That's unfair! I was scared!--"

"And you said you'd love me through everything! You promised!" 

The words echoed in the library, and they hit my heart with shattering pain. I could feel my heart splitting in my chest, the ache gnawing at me as I tried to steady myself. "Roman," I whispered, my throat tight. I couldn't look at him. I didn't want to see the pain in his eyes. "What makes you think I don't still love you?"

That seemed to be the breaking point for Roman. Not his great grandfather's mythical creatures, not the vargulf, not the murders-- it was the thought that someone could maybe love him for what he was. He wasn't looking at me anymore when he picked up a few books and started putting them back where they belonged, letting the silence comfort him like a warm blanket. "Leave," he breathed, pained by the words. "Just leave."

His words hit me like a slap, but I swallowed the sting and nodded slowly. I deserved that-- I knew that deep in my gut. Deciding not to add to his turmoil any longer, I stepped away from Roman and started walking towards the door, taking in the sheer height of it. Everything had to be accommodated for the giants in this house, after all. 

But then, I heard the creak of wood-- Roman had paused and taken a step back from the bookshelf, yet he still held one book up, frozen. He didn't turn to me, the tension in the air almost suffocating, but he sighed as though he was forcing the words out; "It's the same guy, y'know,"

With my hand now on the knob of the door, I glanced at Roman-- with his arm stretched out like that, I could see the vein running up his arm, and it immediately made my mind buzz. Being in a library with this guy was ridiculously dangerous for my mental state. "Sorry?"

"My great grandfather was the one I inherited those vials from," he breathed. "The ones you and I shared."

The ones that were lying safely on top of my nightstand-- the ones he didn't know I still had both of. The night I found out Roman was a upir, I had told him that I threw away his vial when I stole it off of him, yet his blood was next to mine in my bedroom, just like our human forms had once been. At least some parts of us could enjoy the closeness, although not sentient. 

My heart lurched in my chest, dying to let him know I had kept it after all this time-- I concluded that today wasn't the day. If Roman was taking small steps like these, I needed to match his tempo. This time, it was me chasing him, after all. "I'd have loved to meet this guy," I said, allowing myself a faint smile. "You Godfreys are one hell of a bunch."

Roman shrugged, finally moving again. "Hell, indeed,"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

When is a monster not a monster?

Oh, when you love it.

Oh, when you used to sing it to sleep.

I could feel it clear as night-- the dream I had been having every night since the murder was back, and I knew it because of how soft Roman's hair felt against my fingertips. I gently held him in my arms and pressed my lips to his temple as softly as the first snowflake falls onto land. Roman's skin was smooth, cold to the touch; I wanted to warm him. Wanted to keep him forever, wanted to get us both to the temperature of warm glass so that we could melt into one another and become encased in the restraints of our love. 

When he moved, when his soft lips met mine, I could feel them against my mouth-- the sharp edges of his teeth. They were small for now, so small that no one would notice something was off unless they knew. Cute little fangs, like milk teeth for a baby upir, still waiting for the real deal to come in when he'd grow into the creature he was meant to be.

They grazed against my bottom lip, careful not to nick skin. Roman's breath was warm, a contrast to the rest of him, and my breath hitched, a small moan leaving me as he filled me up over and over-- I pulled him closer, and he let me. How could he ever deny me? In my dreams, he'd certainly never. I arched up against him, whimpering with the pleasure I had so dearly missed.

Roman groaned like it hurt to hold back what he wanted to do to me, his hips stuttering against mine as his hand interlocked my hair, forcing me to expose more of my neck with the first rough pull of the night. No longer holding back any of his desires, Roman's cock dragged into me over and over with the sweetest of rhythms, the tip pressing against the spot he knew made my jaw quiver against him, and his tongue licked a wet line above the thrumming of my heartbeat along my neck. 

My fingers pulled into a fist in his hair, whimpering beneath him-- "I love you," I breathed, kissing the top of his head, anywhere where I could reach.

Roman hummed against my throat, his upir fangs dragging a little harder over my pulse. "Why would anyone love a monster?" he whispered, a sliver of restraint coating his voice.

It was hard to answer now that my legs pulled around his waist, dragging him deeper into me, and I caused myself further ruin, all for the pleasure. Getting filled up by Roman, my love, was all I ever wanted in life. "Who are you to decide who-- a-ah, who's worthy of love?"

At that, he slowly raised his head, lips parted, eyes narrowed like he was scanning me for lies, like he was waiting for me to say something contradictory, to say something that would hurt him beyond everything I had already done. Roman's green eyes met mine-- there was something ancient there. Maybe every Godfrey had looked at someone like this, with the tiny fragment of hope their generational curse hadn't manage to strip them of?

Roman didn't answer-- his forehead pressed to mine, and for a moment, we just breathed. Our chests moved together, hearts pounding in sync, and the sweat cooling on our skin only made his coldness feel sharper; evidence of what he was, of what I had embraced. 

He kissed me again, slower now. Devotional.

Every kiss a thrumming repetition of I'm yours, I'm yours, you're mine.

I'm yours, I'm yours, you're mine.

His thrusts deepened, burying his cock in me to the hilt, and I could only clench around him. I had missed the stretch, missed the sting, missed the dizzying pleasure. So when Roman's kisses burned into my skin for all of eternity, he started travelling lower, like he was ready to mark the whole of me so that hell would know who I belonged to when I walked through the gates of damnation. 

I shivered as his lips trailed across my collarbone, each kiss paired with a rough snap of his cock, growing desperate. My hands slid through his hair, urging him on without a word; what could I possibly say? I had said enough. I didn't need to guide him-- he already knew where he was going.

Down.

Over the swell of my breast, just enough pressure to make me sigh and arch against him again.

Down.

To the center of my chest with purpose, with reverence.

Roman paused over my sternum. His hand came up to rest on the left side of my chest, right over my heart. He could feel it there-- thrumming like a caged bird against his palm. My breath hitched as his lips brushed the spot, featherlight.

A pair of dangerous green eyes flicked up to mine; dark and wide, pupils blown, lips parted. In the moonlight, I could spot the small shine of the moonlight against his fangs. And then, the words slipped my mind before I could stop them; 

"It's okay," I breathed. "Drink me where I love you most."

Roman's hips stilled, yet the twitch of his cock inside me gave away his instant excitement. I could see the way he melted at my bid. He didn't ask for confirmation, not wanting to deny himself the feed, before he kissed the skin above my heart one last time. I closed my eyes, feeling myself tremble beneath him as his mouth opened, followed by the scrape of his fangs.

"I love you," Roman whispered. "Forever."

And then he bit down.

It was a deep, brutal puncture-- the sound of the crack of bones would haunt me until the day I ceased to exist. His teeth dug straight through my skin, ripping through the layers of my body to get to my beating heart.

And it hurt, God how it hurt, but not in the way I expected it to. My veins were on fire as the blood drained from my system, and it burned as I could only sob and scream-- my soul had been cracked open and was pouring into him. My blood, my love, my fear, my rage, my want; all of it.

I cried like I had lost all that was dearest to me, cried like it was my first cry all over again as I clutched onto Roman's broad shoulders, digging my fingers into his skin like it'd do him the same harm, like it'd do my pain justice. But suddenly, something clicked-- it must've been death. It must've been the sweet lull of death turning this agony into pleasure. Because suddenly, I was writhing beneath Roman's body, pushing myself further down on his cock as he drank me, whimpering like I wanted him to keep fucking me to death.

With a groan, Roman's cock went deeper at my pleading request, harder, until every thrust drove me into peaceful silence. 

I wasn't crying from the pain anymore-- I was crying from the relief.

But when I awoke from this dream, I cried out with a shriek.

Drenched in sweat, I sat up in bed, heaving for air. My thighs were clenched together for relief, because even in my awake state, I felt like I was still getting fucked-- it was the oddest feeling. If I really focused, then I could still feel the pressure of Roman's mouth over my chest, and to relieve the burn that followed, I hammered my fist over my heart to battle the pain.

Grabbing my pillow, I let out a yell of pure and utter frustration into it-- I wasn't scared.

My Brooke-PTSD had somehow turned Roman's upirism into...

Something hot?

I knew I was fucked when I grabbed the vial of his blood by my nightstand and pressed it to my chest, right where he had bit me in my dream, and it worked. It stilled the erratic beating of my heart, it made the pain subside, yet, as I continued to rub my thighs together, feeling myself pulse in my soaked underwear, my breath refused to calm down. 

Tonight was different-- something in me shifted. I couldn't go on like this. I promised I'd give it more time, but I couldn't do it anymore.

With trembling hands, I let the vials lie against my chest as I reached for my phone. I searched through my contacts for the old name I used to have in my contacts, Romy Schneider, before I remembered the time I had changed it to Roman when we broke up the first time.

Was I about to do this? Was I about to call my ex in the middle of the night?--

Yes.

Yes, I was.

With a shaky breath, I dared to finally press the button I had wanted to press ever since the night Brooke died; it was time. I wasn't sure whether Roman was up at this hour of the night or not, whether he would answer, or--

My phone stopped beeping. He had answered. 

To my absolute horror, I was completely tongue-tied. I lay in bed, mouth wide open in shock that Roman was literally on the other side of the call; a stillness bloomed in the silence, fragile and waiting, like the air itself had braced for the weight of this call. It was long enough to hear the faint rustle of sheets on his end. 

"... Hello?" His voice was coated in sleep and something else I couldn't quite name, something that sounded like dread.

Okay, okay-- it was now or never. "The vials," I blurted out, curling further into myself on the bed, pressing the phone tighter to my ear like it could anchor me. "I mean-- hi, good night, or evening, or... whatever? Sorry for calling you so late, but you mentioned them earlier today, and I just-- I didn't get rid of yours, Roman. I lied."

The quiet on the other end stretched longer now. I could picture him sitting up, rubbing his face, trying to shake off the dream he was probably still half in, trying to decide whether to indulge my pathetic rant or not. "You're calling me... at three in the morning," he finally said, slow and deliberate, like he needed the words to catch up to his thoughts. "To talk about this?"

"... Yes,"

Another pause. A sharper inhale this time. "You're impossible," 

"I'm sorry," I pressed the vials to my chest, fingers trembling. I didn't know why I was saying any of this out loud. I hadn't planned it, but after the nightmare, after waking up soaked and breathless, heart hammering and thighs clenched like I'd been touched in real time, I couldn't hold it in anymore. "I saw you tonight," I breathed. "In my dreams. I dream of you every night, and I... I hate that that's the only place I see you." And just as I thought I couldn't get any more pathetic, it slipped past my lips-- "Do you ever dream of me too?"

Roman's response was strained, fragile around the edges; "Seriously, you have to stop this. Do you not hear me telling you that? You can't say shit like that to me right now,"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know if this is real," he snapped, groaning. "Because I'm half-asleep and you're... you're calling me about our blood and your dreams and... what do you want me to do with this? Are you trying to make me upset?"

"No! I-- I just needed you to know!"

Roman let out a shaky breath, shifting in his bed. Something told me he wasn't trying to suppress his annoyance anymore; "You're not letting me move on. When you call me like this, you're making it really fucking impossible for me, are you aware of that? Do you do this on purpose? We ended it, then you show up at my house today, and I think it's only fair that you!--"

"I still love you, Roman,"

Another pause. A ragged breath from him, like he had run a mile just lying in bed. "Stop it,"

"Hang up, then," I said, voice barely above a whisper.

His breath stilled-- that told me enough.

I sank deeper into the mattress, every nerve alive. My fingers tightened around the vials resting on my chest. The glass felt cool against my skin, grounding; at least he was here with me, in some form or another. "I know that I reacted... wrongly when I found out what you were, and I'm sorry," I said. "If I could take it all back, I would. Do you believe me when I say that?"

Roman's answer was immediate-- "No,"

I was crying before I realized it. Silent, hot tears spilling into my hair as I stared up into the dark. The vials trembled against my skin. "You once told me that you wouldn't be satisfied until I woke up and saw that I'm supposed to be with you and no one else. Do you remember that?"

"... You're really damn persistent, are you aware of that?--"

"Then you know what I feel for you," Saying that out loud felt like a huge exhale, and I continued; "I've chased you before, Roman, I can do it again. Don't you think we deserve another chance?"

I heard the mattress shift again on his end-- he was pacing, maybe. Standing in the dark, forehead pressed to a window somewhere in that too-big house of his. "You've ruined me," he breathed. "You've left me in ruins."

"I love you,"

"I have no chances to give,"

"I love you,"

"You've fucking ruined me,"

I squeezed my eyes shut. "We've both made mistakes," I whispered, wiping my tears to no avail. "But I think I'll love you forever."

Forever.

Roman didn't respond right away. I could hear him breathing, shallow and uneven, like he was trying not to scream. This was the kind of silence that only comes when someone is holding themselves together by the thinnest thread. I held the phone tighter, wishing it could bridge the distance, wishing I could crawl through the receiver and be with him.

"I wish you hadn't called," Roman finally said. "Everything just hurts."

"Then let me help you feel better," I tried, broken and desperate. "Come over, Rome."

"... What?" Roman let out a bitter, breathy laugh, one that held no humor; "You're unbelievable. Do you even know what you're asking?"

"No, no, it's-- I didn't mean sex!--"

"Right... Should've known,"

"Rome, come on, it's not! I swear, I just... I just want to hold you," I said. "I can't breathe when you're not near, and I-- I miss your eyes. Your gorgeous, green eyes, and your soft hair against my fingers, and how peaceful you look in your sleep... I miss you. I miss sleeping next to you."

The silence that ensued was so quiet that I thought Roman had hung up, until he finally said; "Not tonight,"

A fresh wave of emotions rose in my throat. "Please," I whispered, allowing my breath to hitch as my tears doubled. "Please, Roman-- please."

"I can't,"

"I love you,"

"I need time," he breathed. "I need you to give me time."

Something in my chest shifted-- it was like he had lifted a ton off my shoulders. To hear Roman giving me a sliver of hope after this dreadful week felt like a blessing from all the Gods I didn't believe in. "I have all the time in the world,"

I heard a faint rustle, maybe him wiping his face. Was he not going to say anything? The silence buzzed, and I grasped the moment; "... Will you at least come to school tomorrow?" I asked, barely louder than a whisper. "Please?"

He let out a bitter, tired breath. "God, you don't give up, do you?"

"I just want to see you. I know we're broken up, but... this is agony,"

"So you're going back to staring at me from afar?"

... Yes. "I'll settle for that for now," I had forgotten that Roman knew about how obsessed I was with him before we got together. I had forgotten it too, to be honest-- repressed it, probably.

"For now?"

"For now," 

"What does that mean?"

"That this isn't temporary," I mumbled. "When this murder business is over, you'll see."

"... Christ," I could hear the rustle of him pulling the phone away, maybe checking the time again. I heard him curse under his breath before he spoke again, quiet, resigned, and wrecked; "Fine, I'll come to school."

I blinked up at the ceiling through the tears that still clung to my lashes. "Thank you," I whispered, trying not to sound too relieved. 

Roman didn't reply, but the silence felt less sharp now. Warmer, somehow. I imagined him sitting down at the edge of his bed with one hand over his eyes, exhausted by everything, yet still choosing to say; "And I do, by the way,"

"... Do what?"

Roman sighed, sniffling; "Dream of you. Always,"

(a/n: EEK THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS FARRRRR MWAH MWAH<3333 ILY)

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[artdcnaldson]

EEK omg ex!art after you break up he knows exactly what he’s doing going out and getting himself soo drunk at the weekends just so he has an excuse to call you and cry down the phone ): and he sounds so pathetic well you just have to go over and if you end up pity fucking him well who’s gonna know ): telling him this is absolutely The Last Time as you’re petting his hair and he falls asleep knowing that the cycle is just going to repeat next week 😈

mmmmm yeah <3

He calls you sounding so sad from the bar :(

"I miss you, baby. I swear, I'll be better, I'll do better. I'll do whatever you want, be whoever you want. Call me back, baby. I'm dying without you, I'm a mess. I love you so much, baby. Just wanna see you one last time."

You pick him up from the bar, and he's all over you. Crying, pathetic. Smells like beer, mouthing at your throat as you walk him out to the car. "Mmm... you smell so good. Missed the way you smell, the way you taste. I miss your pussy, baby. I miss making you cum on my tongue."

You shove him into the passenger seat, try to ignore that he's visibly hard in his jeans as you buckle him into the seat. He's looking over at you with a pathetic, kicked-puppy expression. Practically pouting while you drive.

"I miss you," he says when you're at a red light. That pretty face of his bathed in crimson. "I miss you so much, baby. Just need you one more time. I can move on after that, I swear, I really will."

God, you fucking cave. You know you broke up for a reason, but you can't remember what that reason was when his face is buried in your pussy and he's eating you out like you're a meal. Sloppy and desperate, like he wants to memorize the feeling of your cunt against his tongue.

He fucks you like you're still in love. And maybe you are still in love. Maybe the breakup hasn't officially set in yet. He fits inside of you so perfectly, and you know you love that. You know you love how he sounds when he's getting close. You know you love the way he kisses you with slow laves of his tongue over yours, all tender and sweet. And fuck, you love how he makes you cum while he's buried inside of you to the hilt, so your cunt flutters and squeezes around his cock.

"That was the last time," you tell him as you come down from a delicious high, trying to sound resolute. You both know it's not going to be the last time. Not even close.

[peachhcs]

can you do one where samy and will go to a party in Michigan and Samy gets super drunk and when they get back to her apartment it is just her and will and he is helping samy and she is throwing up and he is helping her and then the next morning she is hungover

i think this ask is from like last summer or close to it (eek so sorry). i've been looking through my asks and landed on this one as i try to answer old ones

i always feel like whenever will and samy go out, he never gets super drunk so he's still sober enough to get them home and take care of samy (also so she never has to worry and can just have fun) -- takes place sometime...this past school year when will comes to visit

au masterlist

the senior hockey house was lively. considering how popular the boys were on and off the ice, their house was always packed anytime they threw a party. it was mostly the girls who tried getting in to talk up one of the players which was always a gamble if they were successful or not because most of the hockey boys were there to have fun.

samy weaved her way through the crowd in search of her boyfriend. she kept getting stopped by someone who wanted to talk to her, so her efforts to find him turned into a 30 minute adventure. there was always a familiar face around the corner like a classmate, a hockey boy, or her soccer teammates that wantd to talk and considering samy got super chatty whenever she was drunk, she always stopped to have a conversation.

will decided to just go to her since he didn't know nearly enough people to get stopped every 5 minutes. he finally found her in the living room talking with tj and tyler. the blonde smiled and silently touched her arm so he didn't startle or interrupt the conversation. the brunette caught his gaze and interrupted herself anyway to greet him.

"ooh, hi baby. i promise i was coming to find you. i got stopped sooo many times," the girl chuckled. the boy's smile grew.

"i figured. that's why i just came to you instead," he kissed her temple. tyler and tj smiled at the affection. at this point, everyone was so used to samy and will that hardly anyone really teased them anymore (besides their closest friends). they were really just "mom and dad" status now.

"i was just telling ty and tj about your season and how you scored like soo many goals in your rookie season," will quickly blushed at the praise.

he never had to worry about leaving samy be at parties because well 1. he trusted her and 2. she just talked about him to everyone she interacted with anyway. he was the same way too, any party he was at in san jose he just talked about his girlfriend the whole time. mack definitely got sick of hearing him yap on about her.

"oh really?" the hockey player chuckled.

"i mean, duh. i gotta brag about you. he's so humble," the brunette smacked his chest and will's smile had never been bigger.

"i honestly can't believe you're a pro now. makes me miss our dev program days," tyler chuckled.

"don't remind me. it goes fast, man. i honestly can't believe it either. i feel like i'm dreaming sometimes still," will admitted.

"i mean you deserve it. you were a fucking beast out there. still are," hearing those words from former teammates made the rookie flush. sometimes when he doubted himself he just remembered how proud his former teammates were of him and why he did this—for them.

"geez, thanks ty. i appreciate that. you are too," the boys continued their small talk while samy finished what was left in her cup. she was buzzing, probably on her 4th drink of the night..she lost count an hour or two ago.

whatever ethan and mark always bought was way better than the cheap alcohol her and hannah got for their wine nights. it got samy drunk pretty fast and she was already tipsy when they got there because her and hannah pregamed with samy's soccer teammates. there were great perks to being friends with the senior hockey players because she always got her friends an in.

tyler and tj let the couple have a moment together since will came over to originally find samy. the girl grinned up at him and will couldn't help but smile back. "hi, pretty."

"hiii, how are you?" she grabbed onto him and he caught her before she stumbled over.

"how are you? drunk?" will could smell the smirnoff on her breath mixed with some type of berry.

"likee yeah. i'm good though. i'm sorry i didn't make it to you sooner. soo many people just wanted to stop and chat. you know me and talking," the brunette giggled.

"i know, you love talking. you think it's maybe time to go?" the shark's rookie wondered just because it was almost 1 in the morning and he knew samy well enough that he knew when she needed to go to bed and stop drinking before she started throwing up.

"okayyy, we can go. i better say bye to hannah and make sure she has a way to get home. and mark and eth so they know i'm leaving," samy determined and will nodded.

"okay, let's find them," with will being taller, he could see through the crowds of people better than samy.

he took her hand to lead her through the house in hopes of finding one of the three people she listed. however, samy was talking to every single person she walked by, sometimes trying to stop completely, but will kept pulling her along.

they found hannah first. she was talking with a few of her gymnast friends, immediately grinning when she saw will and samy.

"hey guys!" the brunette exclaimed.

"hannah!! hey!!" samy jumped into her roommates arms.

"hi pop. what's up?" hannah laughed when she caught the girl.

"will says we're leavinggg. are you getting home okay?"

"yeah, i'll be good. i might go back with georgia and farah," hannah pointed to the two girls beside her.

"you might or you will?" will always needed to confirm the getting home plans.

"she will. we'll get her home okay, don't worry," farah smiled kindly. mark's girlfriend was basically the mom of the group, so she aways made sure the girls made it back home safely. will trusted her and nodded.

"text us," he reminded hannah who nodded.

"will do. take care of her," she giggled down at her roommate again and passed her back to the boy.

mark and ethan weren't far. they were in the kitchen with mostly their teammates now since people were starting to leave. mark spotted the couple first knowing the look meant they were leaving.

"ooh, whats this?" samy spotted a cup of something and picked it up faster than will could stop her. she took a few sips of it before immediately coughing and making a face of disgust.

"hey, don't drink that. i think you've had enough," will took it from her and handed it over to mark who stepped in.

"you guys leaving?" the older boy wondered.

"yeah, i'm gonna take her home. great party, thanks for having us," will nodded.

"you're good to walk her?" mark confirmed and the blonde nodded.

"i'm sure. i'm not even that drunk."

"okay, let one of us know if there's any problems. get back safe," the boys fist bumped.

will took samy by the arm to lead her to the front door. the girl was giggly as they walked, claiming he was tickling her. "baby, that tickles!" she giggled.

"i'm not tickling you, i promise," will hummed.

he would let her go, but he also learned that samy was a runner when she was drunk. if he let go, she'd 100% take off down the street and he did't want her doing that, especially at 1 in the morning.

"do you hate me?" sometimes samy's topic changes gave him whip lash.

"no, why would i hate you?"

"i dunno. you just suddenly decide to hate me?"

"i would never do that, i promise. i love you," the blonde smiled and kissed her cheek again. samy blushed.

"i love you. i love, love, love you."

these were basically their walks home on nights out. samy yapped on about anything that came to her mind and will just listened. he held her arm or her hand to make sure she didn't run off. when will wasn't around to do this, it was usually hannah, mark, ethan, or moldy walking the girl home.

"i'm so drunk right now," samy stated blankly.

"you did drink a lot tonight. you'll probably have a killer hangover tomorrow," will chuckled.

"ugh, don'ttt say that. i can't even think about that right now," the soccer player shook her head.

after another 10 minutes, they were back in samy's apartment. samy kicked her shoes off, feeling a bit more sober after the walk, but the slowing down was making all of the alcohol catch up with her. she was running to the bathroom before will could even process her leaving until he heard the sounds of her yacking in the toilet.

he quickly went to her. she was bent over the toilet, so will pulled her hair back before she threw up in her hair. he tried pretending she wasn't throwing up because his stomach was not that strong to begin with,

"get it all out, baby," he comforted, rubbing her back in soothing circles.

samy threw up 3 more times. whatever was in that random cup she picked up must've been strong in addition to the four or some drinks she had. will flushed the toilet and helped the girl to her feet.

"what do you need? water? food?"

"probably water," the hughes sister mumbled.

will went to the kitchen while samy splashed her face with water from the sink to refresh herself. the throw up definitely sobered her up a bit more, so she was becoming more aware of herself and her surroundings. her boyfriend returned a moment later with a fresh cup of cold water. he leaned against the doorframe to watch her drink it.

"sorry..i definitely went too hard," the brunette flushed.

"don't apologize. you had fun," will quickly shook his head.

he took the cup back from her when it was empty. his next job was helping the girl brush her teeth. he followed her routine—securing her hair back with a headband, wetting the toothbrush before putting the toothpaste on, finding her makeup remover. will had this down to a science.

samy loved turning her brain off whnever her boyfriend was around to take care of her, but as he brushed her teeth for her, she couldn't help but admire him. he was just soo pretty in her eyes, so handsome, so good looking. his little curls were peeking out from under his hat that samy thought about twirling around her finger later.

"okay, spit," he said. she leaned over the sink to spit the toothpaste out and rinse her mouth clean. the next task was her makeup, but that was easy when all the boy had to do was wipe her face off with the wipes.

he was gentle with it. he carefully wiped at her face to get the mascara, foundation, blush, eyeshadow, and eyeliner off. "would younger you think you'd be in this spot right now?" samy asked, kind of thinking out loud as the alcohol wore off.

"what do you mean?"

"like..what would 11 year old us think of us right now?" the brunette giggled thinking of her younger self who absolutely despised the boy in front of her with all of her being.

"i would think younger will would scream cooties and make some snarky remark," the blonde smiled too.

"who would've thought.."

"wouldn't want it any other way though," the hockey player grinned. he threw the wipe out once he was finished and let samy look at herself to make sure he got it all.

"you're perfect at this," she grinned.

they made their way to her room. samy was sober enough to find herself clothes to change into so will dug through his bag for a pair of sweatpants and a different t-shirt. the couple changed and will went to find tylenol and another glass of water for his girlfriend in the morning.

samy climbed right into her bed, glad to be in bed after the long night. will returned with the pills and the same glass he gave her earlier.

"for tomorrow morning," he motioned to the nightstand. samy smiled.

"you're so nice to me."

"i try," will laughed. he climbed into the bed a second later, reaching for the light on his way down to the pillow.

samy scooted close to him knowing how warm he got and how cold she was at the moment despite the blankets on top of them. the boy wrapped his arms around her and samy found his little curls like she knew she would. playing wih his hair was one of her most favorite things to do.

"i love you," she whispered.

"i love you more. sleep well," will hummed.

"thanks for always taking care of me. it means a lot," will's taken care of her for as long as she could remember after nights out and it definitely wasn't going to change anytime soon.

the couple was fast asleep within minutes of one another. will's steady heartbeat put the girl to sleep and her fingers threading through hs hair was what had the hockey player slipping into a deep sleep.