#sometimes all you want to do is pretend your only job in life is to be a doted on trophy husband and that's so valid

[rosaeh]

boyfriend!jason todd who watch movies with you that he probably would never have the idea to watch on his own. mainly because, he doesn't do movies much. he doesn't really have time for this with his work. and when he does end up having time he prefers a good book, or/and spend time with you. 

so one day, in this time dedicated to you, in between the violence of gotham, and your tiring life, you offer him to watch something. and of course, jason agrees. he would do close to anything you ask him to, and this one is much more easier to him than not beating someone up over the 'mere' fact that they dared eyeing you weirdly, or speaking about you before him. but in those times, you'll gently rest you hand on his arm, tilt your head to the side in this way that draws him in, and tell him it's not worth it, and that if he really wants to do something for you, it's to restrain this urge to smack some random at your regular coffee because he definitely checked you over. and he would do it. for you? he would do anything. even if that's mean not using violence, the only way he thought he could show you his love -even if jason doesn't want to taint you with his violent way, but violence is the only thing he knew for a long time, the only constant thing in his life. before you. so you show him other way. and he thinks it's worth it when he sees the look on your face when he agrees to do something as mundane as watching a movie.

so jason ends up sitting on your couch, his legs propped up on the coffee table with you curled up at his side, head on his shoulder while your arms are wrapped around his torso. and he keeps you close, letting your perfume gets to his head and shut down all the worries he accumulated this week. it's only you and him. you showing him a movie you love. he wants to indulge in your interest, get to know you even better than he already does. and, boy, does he know you. knows every single mole on your body. kiss them too. knows exactly what to say to make your face lights up. knows that you like to bake when things become too overwhelming.

occasionally, during the movie, he looks down at you, watches how focused you are on the movie, making sure you're enjoying your time with him. he would lean and kiss the top of your head, lingering to watch the way your mouth curl up in a smile. sometimes, he would look down at you, and your gaze would met his. with a smile on your face. you would pester him -not convincingly but you don't intend to be anyway- about having to focus on the movie, or he will end up nagging you with questions -you don't really mind, you will answer every single one of his questions, and he would pretend to be confused only to see you getting all excited to explain. he would shake his head, a smile of his own making its way on his face -the type of smile reserved to you, and only you- and still place a kiss against your hair.

bonus : he would then end up quoting lines from these movies on a daily basis, because he loves the way your face lights up -after all, he does know what to say to do just that.

the thing is he would quote it on patrol too. dick would tell him he did a good job tonight, and jason would be like "what like it's hard?", leaving his brothers flabbergasted, mouth agape, "did he just quote legally blonde?”

[lavenders388]

Heyyy could you maybe write some nam-gyu(player 124) fluff like hes only nice to you and otherwise cold so he doesn’t seem week in front of the other players, there’s barely any nam-gyu fics😭😭

Thank youu💗💗

~Only For You~

★🎸🎧⋆｡ °⋆ Nam-gyu x reader headcannons

requested 💌

a/n i LOVED this idea so much i thought i would do headcannons instead so i can write more little scenarios and get more into it:3

<3 throughout his past promoting clubs he would try and act cool/nonchalant sometimes in a rude way with his customers and/or employees, and he learned acting that way left people wanting to learn more about what he was promoting/respect him more and so it ended up becoming like his work attitude in order to make his club events more successful. he explains all of this to you in the beginning of your relationship, reassuring you its just for the money and he doesn't actually stand by anything he says or does and wouldn't ever. when you join him at his promoting nights he would refuse to act that way to you even if it was in front of someone super important:3

<3 going off of the first one, i think nam-gyu would prefer that you don't come with him to any clubs. first mostly because he doesn't believe that that type of environment is super safe for you and he doesn't want to risk you doing any substances/getting addicted to anything; and because he doesn't want you to see how he acts in front of the people he's trying to get business from. he thinks that you're better than the type of people he hangs around those nights as well as he just doesn't think you to deserve to have to see that side of him!

<3 he is super soft and kind to you in private, ever since he met you he started to prefer that side of him and dislike the feeling of having a fake, boisterous personality in order to gain the respect of people he's trying to sell club tickets to. he's a lot more introverted and kind when the two of you are in private and he really starts to prefer staying in with you over going out all night.

<3 one of his favorite things is coming home to you after working and being able to completely abandon his day and everything that came with it and just be himself and relax with you. he absolutely melts into you and loves the energy you give off. lets you know how much it means to him everyday!

<3 he uses substances a lot to uphold his extroverted, cool guy persona because he eventually gets exhausted of all of the late nights pretending to be someone he isn't and finds that using is really helpful even though he knows its not a good thing. this is also something he begins to want to stop doing when he meets you:)

<3 he really wants to stop his club promoting life for a more simple life with you where he can just be himself and not do so much overextending, but worries that he wont be able to find a job that pays as much as promoting does for him. he wants to be able to spoil you and doesn't think it would be right for him not be able to do that financially. he doesn't want you to have to work at all unless you want to, let alone be anywhere near the breadwinner of the household.

<3 he ends up going to the games after hearing the prize amount because he sees it as like a forced detox in a way; like he'll be away from any substances and he wont have to deal with any promoting stuff, and then hed have the opportunity to make a ton of money for you.

<3 you also get the card and want to join the games in order to pay off both of your debts and have a decent start at a new life together. you agree to do it together and use the winnings to pay everything off and buy a nice house and even start like a little coffee shop together or something:)

<3 during the games his persona becomes a lot more amplified because instead of doing it for his promoting he's doing it for a ton of money as well as for the both of your survivals. he also starts going through withdrawal from the stress of the games as well as if he had been using before he went there. this adds to his motivation to fit in at all costs when he sees what thanos has in his cross necklace. he doesn't like that you have to witness any of this but he likes that it ensures your safety being part of thanos's group. he makes it clear to thanos that you're with him for the games and nothing can change that.

<3 he reassures you that his behavior with thanos is nothing more than his need to win the games for the two of you, as well as ensuring your safety within a group. he lowkey makes fun of him with you in secret to make you feel better!!

<3 he compartmentalizes the other players as just people in his way of providing you the life you deserve; that them losing is just the two of you getting closer to winning and safely going home. the pills help him a lot with this; he knows that humanity and kindness might ruin his chance of winning for you, and showing mercy for the other players would result in thanos loosing respect for him. he knows that sticking with him will be of great assistance in winning, and he'll do anything to preserve that unless its something to you.

<3 if thanos starts to say something gross or mean to you or about you, nam-gyu shuts that shit DOWNNN! but in a very calculated way to not make him question their allyship. he'll say something like "lets respect the ladies." trying to sound joke-y but still meaning it.

<3 during mingle that man does not let go of you for a single second. even if it means not going with thanos he lets his demeanor fall a bit if it ensures you stay with him and make it through the game.

<3 when the fighting breaks out he does whatever it takes to protect you. especially after getting them pillz from thanos he purposely loses all sense of feeling bad for his actions because it just insures your safety even further. before he does it he reassures you its for your safety and because he wants to give you the life you deserve, and he means it when he says he'll do anything to give you that. "please just trust me baby, this all for you. for us." he says to you as he leads you to safety before lights out. "if you need me call for me and ill be here. i love you."

<3 when you get scared during the games and in moments like that he allows his demeanor to soften even if people are watching him. he wouldn't want the last thing you remember him doing to be him not being himself and being sweet to you. se-mi notices but thinks its sweet, especially because shes doing the same thing as him; faking it to thanos to be in his group.

<3 inside and outside of the games all he wants to do is protect and provide for you and he would do whatever it takes<3

[castlebyersafterdark]

do you think pillow princess will headcanon is formed a little from the bleed of noah's real life being quite luxurious and comfy? the boy likes indulgence etc. or perhaps its an off-shoot off will being the sub / bottom in many byler headcanons? because i dont even see crumbs for pillow princess will in the show... in the first episode he absolutely destroyed dustin in that bike race, plus he worked hard to survive the upside down alone and whipped out a gun so hardly a maiden in need of defending. they even said he often arrives to school early to work hard for tests in s1! he's considered a good student, a hard worker by mr clarke.

or does this headcanon only apply to moments of non-danger, like everyday life? the main evidence ppl often use for pillow princess will is the s3 moment where he's standing next to el not helping with the car, but he actually does help flip it with everyone using those pole things?? that moment was probably just a super stylised s3 shot to associate el with will and twin them up in the audience's brains. the other moment is will using a hoe instead of a shovel in s4 lmao. i love that bit so i have no evidence against this headcanon there... although rather than him being lazy it always strikes me as a way of showing his character's endless misfortune and pathos: the boy cannot catch a break, he even has to shovel dirt with a fricken hoe, yk??

i enjoy the headcanon so this is all in good fun, but as always, i do wonder where people pull these ideas out of haha

Hmmm, it might. Playing with the love of luxury and comfort. I don't completely and strictly use that terminology for him, but I do kinda like on occasion leaning into him indulging in those tendencies from time to time. And there's nothing wrong with it, totally valid! *coughcoughbelievemecough* I don't think it has anything to do with implying that he's incapable of being strong or independent. But I think there is a hesitance to lean into what may be his softer canon attributes and the over-correction beyond 'stereotypes.' Not everything has to be called out as a stereotype. Some things just are. Stereotypes aren't always negative.

I think some of what you listed as anti-evidence are used as bits to lean into the pillow princess attitude. I do see him as someone who if he has his choice? No, he's not into manual labor. Shoveling dirt, doing the heavy lifting with the car, Jonathan saying "you were so bad using the hammer" while building Castle Byers, all his little eye rolls and sighs and his tendency to lounge around, how over it he looks sometimes when things are physically demanding - all could literally mean nothing, but in fandom I think sometimes there's a tendency to maybe exaggerate traits to fit whatever other trait you'd like to add. So, we're not really going to find out what he's like in the bedroom. But it's a cute and fun and hot thought to play with the idea that Will would be someone who just really enjoys being pampered and have someone else take charge and lead and do a lot of the work sometimes. Nothing wrong with that. So yeah, it's more of the non-danger moments you mentioned.

And I also don't think calling him a pillow princess means he's an inactive participant in sex, either. It's just an occasional dynamic. Just like, if you so want to for this ship - exploring a dom/sub thing in the bedroom. It's just another activity. Not strictly always. Yes, do some people almost all of the time portray a specific dynamic in the bedroom? Absolutely. Like some people only like giving pleasure, never receiving it. But I think Byler is very exploratory, they're experimental, they do it all.

So Will's not like that all the time? But yeah, in my mind there are absolutely nights where Will is in need of Mike completely pampering his boy, Will doesn't have do anything but lie there and take it, be totally worshiped and railed and maybe it's a little submissive, but maybe he's just giving himself over to total indulgence. Mental as well as physical. And it could bleed over into non-sexual situations, too. Getting really doted on, doesn't have to lift a finger around the house, letting himself be lazy. Sometimes that's what the situation calls for. Will's sweet and sensitive and he's been through so much, and I think it's easy to see his role as explored in fandom to be one where regardless of what's going on, he's very well loved and taken care of.

[steveyockey]

To be aware you might be trans but unwilling to do anything about it is to create endlessly bigger boxes within which to contain yourself. When you are a child, that box might encompass only yourself and your parents. By the time you are a gainfully employed adult, that box will contain multitudes, and the thought of disrupting it will grow ever more unthinkable. So you cease to think of yourself as a person on some level; you think not of what you want but what everybody expects from you. You do your best not to make waves, and you apologize, if only implicitly, for existing. You stop being real and start being a construct, and eventually, you decide the construct is just who you are, and you swaddle yourself up in it, and maybe you die there. There is still time until there isn’t.

This reading of TV Glow’s deliberately anticlimactic, noncathartic ending cuts against the transition narrative you typically see in movies and TV, in which a trans person self-accepts, transitions, and lives a happier life. Owen gets trapped in a space where he knows what he must do to live an authentic life but simply refuses to take those steps because, well, burying yourself alive is a terrifying thing to do. The transition narrative posits a trans existence as, effectively, a binary switch between “man” and “woman” that gets flipped one way or another, but to make our lives so binary is to miss how trans existences possess an inherent liminality.

Humans’ lives unfold in a constant state of becoming until death, but trans people are uniquely keyed in to what this means thanks to the simple fact of our identities. You can get lost in that liminality, too, forever trapped in a midnight realm of your own making, stuck between what you believe is true (I am a nice man with a good family and a good job, and I love my life) and what you know, deep in your most terrified heart of hearts, is real (I am a girl suffocating in a box).

And yet if you want to read the film as being about the dangerous allure of nostalgia, you’re not wrong. I Saw the TV Glow totally supports that interpretation, too! But in tempting you with that reading, the film creates a trap for cis viewers that will be all too familiar to trans viewers. Somewhere in the middle of Maddy’s story about The Pink Opaque being real, you will make a choice between “This kid has lost it!” and “No. Go with her, Owen,” and in asking you to make that choice, TV Glow is simulating the act of self-accepting a trans identity.

See, the grimmer read of the film’s ending truly is a nihilistic one. It leaves no hope, no potential for growth, no exit. Yet you must actively choose to read that ending as nihilistic. If you are cis and the end of I Saw the TV Glow left you with a gnawing sense of dissatisfaction, a weird but hard-to-pin-down feeling that something had broken, and a melancholy bordering on horror — congratulations, this movie gave you contact-high gender dysphoria.

In an infinite number of possible universes, there is at least one where I am still living “as a man,” embracing my fictionality, avoiding looking at how much more raw and real I feel when I “pretend” to be a woman. I think about that guy sometimes. I hope he’s okay.

Consider, then, my cis reader, that TV Glow is for both you and me, but it is maybe most of all for him. I hope he sees it. I hope he breaks down crying in the bathroom afterward. I hope he, after so many years locked inside himself, hears the promise of more life through the hiss of TV static.

Emily St. James, “I Saw the TV Glow’s Ending Is Full of Hope, If You Want It to Be,” Vulture. June 4, 2024.

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 4 | masterlist

-

There’s nothing else to do but pretend it didn’t happen. 

In the morning, you’re surprised to wake up and find him in the bed next to you, still covered in old sweat and dried cum. You suppose even in your sleep you’d unconsciously expected him to avoid the incident altogether—wake up extra early to shower while leaving you alone in the bed, giving you a modicum of privacy to digest the situation and its repercussions on your own.

He does no such thing.

“Morning, sweetheart,” John rumbles, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Feeling alright?”

Dangling precariously over the edge of oblivion. Some kind of abyss. The kind that says you might not like what’s down here, girlie, but still you sit by the edge and kick your feet. 

“Yeah,” you croak, and Lord, your voice is hoarse. Scratchy and rough, like it’s been dragged over sandpaper. 

“Good.” He lets his hand rest on the curve of your cheek for a second before pulling it away. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? I’ll shower after.”

The bed groans under his weight when he sits up, throwing his legs over the side before rising to his feet. You quickly avert your eyes at the sight of his naked backside, hairy there as well. A bear all over. Even his yawn reminds you of one. And the way that he stretches his arms overhead and every bone in his upper body cricks and cracks, the sounds of age manifold. 

You scrub yourself with shaky hands in the shower, gnawing at your bottom lip when you spread your puffy folds to find his cum still slightly tacky inside of you. Very bad. Scooping as much out as you can with your fingers, watching it run down the drain. Very bad indeed. 

John has breakfast on the table when you come downstairs and it seems, somehow, uncouth to just tell him you want to go home. So instead you force yourself to sit and eat, glad that he at least agrees that it isn’t the time for conversation. 

At the door, he sees you off with a hug, watching you from the door until you reverse out of his driveway and drive off, waving as you leave. 

“This is really bad,” you whisper to yourself on the drive home. “Really, really bad.”

Despite the morning after, the night you spent together is never explicitly spoken about. It’s not a ‘thing’ you discuss by any means. No sit down conversation, no awkward allusions to it, no talking around and around the events until the exchange becomes unbearable. It simply blips out of existence as soon as you change into your old clothes and John walks you to the door, seeing you out. 

You still show up the next day, as usual. Nothing’s changed except everything, but it feels taboo to even mention that things feel different. 

The world hasn’t radically changed since you accidentally slept with John, but it certainly feels that way sometimes. In the few delicate hours after leaving his house, you were sure he’d call at any moment to tell you that your services would no longer be required—that he’d send your last check in the mail before parting ways. So sure of that, in fact, that you’d put your phone on silent for hours before mustering up the courage to check your missed calls later that evening.

Only a few texts from friends. No missed calls from your employer. 

He doesn’t fire you. He certainly doesn’t treat you any differently the next time you come to babysit. You still get paid every week—though, admittedly, the money makes you feel a little weird now after sleeping with him, but it’s not like you can just turn your nose up at making rent—and everything else in your life stays exactly the same. If you weren’t now acutely aware of the feeling of your boss coming inside you, you might even think you dreamt it up. 

Still, despite John never bringing it up or even alluding to sleeping with you, there’s still a sense that he—

The soft, affectionate thanks, hun that he gives you when you bring him a glass of water on the rare day he comes home early to work out in the garage makes you shiver. 

His need to touch increases tenfold, matched only by his proprietariness. He must feel like after what you did together, it’s nothing for him to squeeze your thighs when he tells you that you did a good job with the baby or hug you extra tight when you’re about to leave. 

If you’re extra shy around him, he doesn’t remark on it. 

You’re levelheaded enough to know that he shouldn’t be so touchy with his younger female employee—his babysitter no less—especially after what happened, but it’s not as though he treats you like sleeping with you is a given. When a week goes by and nothing happens, you almost relax. Almost. Enough to let your guard down. 

But—

You can’t stop thinking about it though. It runs through your head every hour of every day, made worse by the fact that you see him six days a week, Sundays excluded. Sundays being your one day off, which you no longer look forward to but rather dread because Sundays mean no baby, no park, and no John Price.

So, you follow his lead and pretend like it didn’t happen. 

You think it’s past you; a terrible mistake that’ll never happen again until it happens again. 

Eight o’clock at night and the blue light from the television has begun to strain your eyes. Baby sleeping upstairs—you put him down a few hours earlier without much of a peep; had to check on him a few times, but otherwise the baby monitor sitting on the end table hasn’t so much as crackled, leaving you no choice but to doze off on the couch. 

When the door opens, it startles you awake. 

“Mr. Price?” you ask, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and clearing your throat.

John’s there when you twist around to peek over the back of the couch, filling out the door frame. Dishevelled after a long day’s work, his beard even more grown out than when he left earlier in the morning. A bit rougher around the edges, the day leaving its mark in the slight dark circles under his eyes and the set of his jaw, which only relaxes when he lays eyes on you. 

“Just me, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, I…the baby’s been asleep for awhile, so I just thought I’d—”

“It’s fine, don’t worry. I know you’ve got it under control.”

“Let me just get my stuff and I’ll be out of your hair—”

He cuts you off with a wave, toeing his boots off at the same time. “No, no, no—you stay there and finish your movie. I’m gonna grab a drink and join you.”

There’s not much more you can say to that. Instead, you watch him take his bag upstairs to put away in the bedroom before you hear the sink turn on. Running water. 

You carefully avoid looking at him when John comes back downstairs, the creaking steps signalling his descent. He heads to the kitchen without stopping by the living room first. The light switches on with a click. The fridge door opens and bottles clinking together when he roots around for something to drink. 

And then you hear him make his way back to the living room. 

The unspoken pact to not bring up what happened the last time you spent any alone time together imbues you with a false sense of security. Part of you expects him to take the single recliner next to the couch, if only to put some distance between the two of you. 

Except when he comes back into the living room, he plops right down in the middle of the couch like always, close enough to you that you’re forced to scoot away, pressed up against the arm of the sofa. You shiver when he cracks open his beer and takes a swig, resting his arm on the back of the couch with the can held in a loose grip. 

“What’re we watching?” he asks, blatantly adjusting himself to get more comfortable on the couch. Even soft, the outline of his cock is visible through his trousers. 

You stare over at him nervously, unblinking. 

“Sweetheart?” John prompts when you don’t answer. 

“Oh, um…” You clear your throat again. “It’s just a Hallmark movie.”

“Cute. Well, we can keep it on. No sense changing it now.”

It’s tense for a little while. You keep your hands folded in your lap like a good girl and your eyes on the television. So you can’t stop inhaling the heady scent of tobacco and vanilla. So you can’t stop blinking your eyes, each blink heavier than the last until they spend more time shut than open. So you yawn and burrow deeper into the cushions, your head tipping back and nearly jarring you awake when you lean too far and topple over the side. 

When you lean the other way and start to doze off on his shoulder, he pulls you onto his lap. You squirm, initially resistant, but he shushes you before you can put up a fuss. 

“Just don’t want you to drool on my shirt,” he teases in a low murmur, smoothing a hand down your side and then it’s lights out for you. 

You wake to a blunt intrusion at your entrance. Half-awake and squirming, you vaguely feel him rub the tip of his cock up and down your pussy, teasing himself. The second you squirm just a little too much, he uses that little bit of movement to push the tip in. It pops in without much resistance; then the slow, methodical press inward, your walls squeezing around the thick length thrusting up into you. 

“Wha—” you whimper, keening when a big hand glides up your chest to squeeze a tit, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

“S’alright, baby, it’s just me,” John murmurs, his voice right in your ear. 

You come to gradually and then all at once, aware of your back pressed to his clothed chest and your legs spread around his, your ankles hooked around his calves. Skirt rolled up and panties pushed to the side, one of his arms locked around your waist like a seatbelt to hold you in place. 

“John, I’m—we c-can’t do it again—”

“Sorry, honey,” he apologises into your neck, kissing the area he just spoke into. “Had to be inside you again. S’all I’ve been able to think about since you came on my cock the other night. Promise it’ll be easier this time, okay, baby?”

He guides you down his length until he bottoms out, slick lips kissing the base of his dick. The pressure is overwhelming; in your belly, in your throat, in your head. Heart beating a million miles a minute. Walls throbbing around his length, thicker and heavier than you remembered. 

All you can think of now is the last time he had you like this, legs spread for him and pussy dripping wet. Taking his cock all sleepy and sweaty under his giant comforter, whimpering into his neck. 

It’s not as frantic this time, no rush to the finish line. He seems to like just burying his cock in you while he plays with your breasts, pinching and plucking your nipples until they’re pebbled and sore. His hands aren’t particularly soft either, callused from years of hard labour. When you whine and try to push his hands away, he shushes you again, not paying your protests any mind. 

“Fuck, these are pretty,” John praises, staring down at your tits from over your shoulder. “No, baby, jus’ watch your show. M’gonna use your pussy for a bit, okay?”

It’s just that it’s—

When he lets go of your breast to play with your clit instead, you melt, any resistance going up in flames. The heat fans over your cheeks, your eyelids too heavy to lift, vision blurring even when you try to focus. 

He helps you grind your hips down on him, big hands like manacles on your waist. Little undulations of your hips. Short, shallow thrusts that keep you both right on the edge, drenching his lap with your juices. When he gets bored of playing with your clit, he switches back to your breasts, pawing at them and then bending down to suck a nipple into his mouth. 

Any time you get distracted by what he’s doing, he stops, holding you down on his cock and coaxing you to focus on the television in front of you instead. 

When he jiggles your clit, you seize up, heart hammering in your throat. 

“Good girl, c’mon—jus’ like that.” John presses a hot kiss to your temple, arm tightening around your front to keep you close. Sweet talks you through your orgasm, all vaguely paternalistic and patronising in the best and worst way.  

He makes you lean forward so he can bounce you on his dick after, your hands braced on his knees to keep yourself upright. 

“Ah, ah, ah, ah—”

“Almost there, honey, jus’—fuck, perfect, yeah, tighten up like that. Good fuckin’ girl.”

He comes with a strangled moan, still cognizant enough to keep the volume down even if you can’t. Shuttles you down onto his cock a few more times until you’re filled to the brim with cum. 

In the aftermath, he sits you back against his sweat-matted chest and pushes his cum back into your sore cunt with his fingers when it dribbles out. Ignores your wounded little sounds like they’re just background noise. He even makes you suck his fingers to clean them up, the digits coated in your combined juices. 

“Best fuckin’ girl,” John growls, pressing another kiss to the side of your head. Your fingers twitch feebly in your lap. 

Pretending like it didn’t happen after the second time around doesn’t seem wise, but still you don’t know how to broach the subject. 

Especially since you know it’s going to happen again. 

John doesn’t say it outright, but his actions speak for themselves. An arm looped around your waist casually in line for coffee. Paying for the two of you in any situation, you having your own source of income be damned. 

“It’s my money anyway, sweetheart,” he says when you point that out. “Might as well just pay now.”

And doesn’t that just send you into a tizzy, head spinning and mouth agape. Embarrassingly so. 

Not to mention you still have this strange, sycophantic need to please him, even after everything. The complicated nature of your relationship aside, it still makes your heart flutter to hear him praise you for anything. 

That’s how you end up in his bed on a Saturday afternoon, taking a nap with him after a long day out in the sun. Two hours spent at the botanical gardens, the sun beating down on your head, lathering sunscreen on the baby’s sensitive little arms and legs, and swiping it over his cheeks. John sporting a mild sunburn near the collar of his shirt where he forgot to apply sunscreen and when you have the audacity to giggle, he pulls your baseball hat down over your eyes. 

It’s almost too easy for him to coax you into his bed, even though you’re adamant about keeping it clean. A hand firm on your back up the stairs. Already yawning when you put the baby down for a nap, so why not take one too? Ushering you into the bedroom when you say you can take the couch, but why, he presses, take the couch when you’ve already shared the bed before?

Well, because the last time—

He draws the blinds shut and climbs into bed, pulling you into his chest. 

You wake up to John plastered against your back, bare cock nudging against your cunt while he snores into your neck. You don’t remember him curling up next to you without any clothes on, but he must have taken off his pants in his sleep, now somewhere rumpled at the end of the bed. 

When you try to quietly pull away, his arms just tighten around you more, grumbling in his sleep. The sound makes you freeze, going quiet as a mouse. A few more minutes go by before you feel confident enough to try moving again, carefully trying to slide out from his hold. 

You wiggle a hand out, reaching for the other end of the bed.

The hand resting on your belly dips low, shoved between your legs and feeling you up before you can do more than gasp. The man behind you gives a short exhale, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, rising out of it like a wave now that he feels something wet under his hand.

“Oh, honey…why didn’t you tell me you needed my cock again? You’re leaking right through your panties,” John rasps, dragging your underwear down to mid-thigh. 

A big bear hand clamps over your mouth before you have a chance to protest. There’s nothing you can do to keep his knee from spreading your legs and feeding his cock into your drenched centre with his other hand. As soon as he notches the head against your entrance, it’s a smooth glide in. 

“There we go,” he pants into your neck. “Big stretch—ah, yeah, nice ‘n tight. That’s my pretty girl.”

He keeps your legs spread with a hand on the inside of your thigh. All you can do is moan behind his hand, humid breath blowing back around your face as you pant. So hot for it that you’re almost nauseous. 

You’re a bit too tight for him to fit his cock in you, so he has to work to stretch you out, bullying another inch into you with every thrust. The angle makes it tricky though; means he can’t get more than half of his cock into you. It’s hardly comfortable for you either, your leg already cramping. 

“My leg’s got a cramp,” you whine, unsure of what you want to happen. All you know is that you can’t keep this up. 

He readjusts his grip, but that just makes you hiss, wincing when that makes your leg twinge. Suddenly the world spins, the pillows going from comfortably under your head to right in your face, John manoeuvring you onto your tummy and hiking your hips up a few inches. It lets him get even deeper, the angle letting him slide right to the hilt. 

“Oh god, oh god—John, I can’t—”

“Shh—you’re alright, honey. Much better like this,” he breathes, settling on top of you. It takes him a second to get comfortable, nudging right up against a sensitive spot inside of you the whole time, so deep you can almost feel him in your throat. 

He weighs a ton on top of you, rutting between your thighs like he can’t hold himself back, his self-control snapping like brittle glass. Bristly beard chafing your neck when he buries his head to suck on the tender skin there, smothering you under his weight. Thighs trapping you in place, your memory jumping back to that time at the beach, but now there’s nothing between you. Just a thick cock pounding into you and moulding you around its shape.  

His hips slap against your ass with every thrust, the lewdest sound you’ve ever heard. 

“Gonna make sure it takes this time,” John grunts. “Wanna take care of my baby so bad? I’ll give you a couple to mind.”

That rattles you right to your core; shakes you to the foundations of who you are. You don’t know what to think, what to say—tongue tied and loose lipped all at once. You’ve let him come inside of you so many times that if it hasn’t taken already, surely it will soon. 

It slips out before you can take it back. “D-daddy, please—” 

That makes him lose his mind. Just a bit. 

“Fuck,” he snarls. “Again.”

He wedges his arm under you to curl his hand around your throat, tilting your head out. 

“Daddy—daddy—please, I wanna come—” you pant, repeating the same word until it sounds like nothing, tongue puffy in your mouth. 

His dick slips out at some point and he wrenches himself off you long enough to wrap his hand around himself and slap it against your ass a few times, cum tagging your skin. Your breath catches in your throat, whining when you clench down on nothing. One stroke after repositioning himself and he’s all the way back in, hammering the spot that makes you go cross-eyed and squeak. 

“Make daddy another baby, okay, sweetheart?” It’s not sweet. It’s not doting. It’s growled into your ear like a demand, punctuated by the way his hips snap forward, nearly sending you into the headboard. 

You’re practically an old hat at taking his cum now, squeezing up when you can feel it coming and giving him a nice little treat. He sinks his teeth into the back of your neck when he does, muffling the sound roaring out of him, and it hurts. 

He’s tender with you after though. Lavishes the line of your neck with soft kisses; murmurs sweet nothings into your ear while you cry fat tears onto the pillow. Even twists and turns so you’re no longer on your back but rather splayed across his chest again, urging you up for a deeper kiss with tongue. 

“‘Know you’re tired, sweetie, but this is for your own good,” John murmurs as he wedges a hard thigh between your legs and makes you ride it, grinding your sensitive, throbbing clit down on the muscle. “Can you come, baby? Jus’ like that—that’s good, baby—”

It hurts so good that you don’t even notice when you squirt, the emotions too big for you. It’s like being squeezed too tight, unable to catch your breath or say anything but the same word on a loop. John’s sweet about it though—wipes the sweat from your hairline and upper lip, talking you through it until you slump down on his chest, legs akimbo.   

For a bachelor, you think in a daze, he’d make a good husband.

The days grow colder and the sun sets earlier.

A while ago you thought maybe this babysitting gig would be temporary. That at some point you’d move on—maybe go back to school or apply for a more standard nine-to-five job. That’s how the trajectory of your life was supposed to go, you think. 

But the timing never seems right. Maybe you’ve grown too attached to the baby or maybe the pay is just too good to give up or maybe you’ve just become habituated to someone getting you off at least every other day. Still, it feels a bit weird to get paid for what essentially boils down to fucking a man and taking care of his baby. 

It comes up when you’re sitting out on the porch with him again, this time in his lap in the same adirondack chair, a blanket wrapped around you to keep you warm. John laces his fingers through yours, thumb stroking over your finger, burning a line into the skin.

“Doesn’t it make you feel weird to pay me for…” you say, trailing off with a cocked eyebrow. Surely he must catch your drift. 

He chuckles. You wait for the joke.

Your eyes must be big as moons staring up at him. 

“Don’t think of it as a paycheck, sweetheart. That’s your allowance.”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and swallow. 

“Okay,” you whisper. Then let him reel you back in for another kiss, his thumb resting over your ring finger and pressing.

[paarksunghoon]

you plus me | heeseung

SUMMARY: it's been six years since heeseung stopped being your friend and the thought of him tagging along an annual camping tradition makes you feel like the world is crashing around you. one misunderstanding and one trip later makes heeseung re-evaluate all he knows, and it makes you believe there might be life after love.

NOTES: first full length fic!!!!!!! enjoy :) x

PAIRING: heeseung x fem!reader (featuring enhypen)

WORD COUNT: 34.1K

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, mentions of poor relationships with parental figures, mentions of infidelity, bad friendships, smut in the form of: fingering, oral (f. receiving), creampie.

***

“Please don’t make me go.”

“Y/N, you already said yes. We’re only gonna be gone for a week.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Jungwon. You just said that Heeseung is gonna be there.” 

Your best friend sighs and sits down on your bed, inspecting the duffle bag you have that’s half-packed. Your clothes are haphazardly strewn all over your bedding while you plead with him to no avail. You’re so desperate that you consider getting on your knees to beg.

“I’m sorry for telling you now, but he was able to get people to cover his shift last minute and paid for a spot on the kayaking rental.” 

“If he’s going, I’d rather save us all the trouble and stay at home.” Jungwon watches you cross your arms over your chest. “Every time we’re in the same room, it’s just a matter of time before things become awkward.” 

“We’ll be outside in the suuuun,” Jungwon says, tilting his head to the side and giving you those amused eyes that he always gives you when he’s trying to convince you to do something with him. You scoff and look away. It almost works. 

“I bet that it’ll be worse since we have a few things planned with the guys already.”

“So what? You two don’t get along. Big deal. We’ve already made reservations to secure a spot on the campsite and set a deposit for kayak rentals.”

“Won, I think you and I view Heeseung very differently. He doesn’t just not like me. He hates me.” 

“Hate is a wrong word.” 

You huff. “I don’t think you grasp just how weird it is every time we’re together. You could cut the tension with a knife.”

“Seriously, Y/N. It’s one week. I’m sure you can survive that. You’ve never missed a camping trip and it’s the first time all of our friends are coming.” Jungwon deadpans and throws a shirt towards your chest, which you hastily grab after being startled by his sudden movement. You know better than to argue with him when he gets like this. “Just help me pack your clothes, dude. Jay’s gonna be here to pick us up tomorrow morning, and you don’t want to be under-packed.” 

You relent and grumble. “Are you still staying over?”

He nods. “My apartment’s in the opposite of where we’re going, and I didn’t want to make him drive an extra twenty minutes since he needs to pick Riki up. Just need to drop Maeumi off at my mom’s before coming back here. ” Your eyes fall for a flat second before you squash that feeling down.

“I didn’t invite you over, you know.” 

“No, but don’t pretend like you’re not excited,” Jungwon says with a laugh as he pulls your clothes out of the bag and starts to readjust the clothing you’ve folded poorly. Seeing your best friend smile tugs a bit at your heartstrings and you can’t say that you aren’t happy to have him with you. “We should get you packed now so you don’t stress out later.” 

Begrudgingly, you allow Jungwon to sort out your clothes for you and pull last minute items you’ve yet to pack. It annoys you watching him be so calm when you’re simmering with worry. But you know he’s right—you’ve invested some money into this getaway, and it’ll be the last big outing before you move away from Korea for a year-long job opportunity in Okayama before pursuing your Master’s degree. Jungwon knows you a little too well, and sometimes it irks you. 

The end-of-summer camping trip is always one for the books. For as long as you can remember, the two of you have been going camping just before everyone goes back to school to celebrate the beginning of a new academic year with your families. But this time, the trip wasn’t just about continuing an annual tradition. It was also to commemorate a new chapter in your life. 

You’re a year older than Jungwon. He’s known you since you were obsessed with learning how to double dutch, and you’ve known him since he first learnt how to ride a bike. The two of you started out as neighbors when you moved into the house next to his, and his family had adopted your own like old friends, eventually inviting you and your parents into their annual camping tradition. Even when dynamics changed and people left, the tradition was the only thing that remained a constant for you.

This is the first summer that your loved ones announced they wouldn’t be coming along. They all thought it was time for you to embark on new traditions with new people, and nobody seemed to mind the change that much except for you. Jungwon had been ecstatic about it since he invited his friend, Jake, to the camping trip last year. You’d been wary at first since Jake is friends with Heeseung, but he never brought up your confusing arch-nemesis and chose to have a great trip before you all started university again.  

Sure, you had a lot of fun. You might even consider last year’s trip as one for the books. But your mom pulling out of the camping trip and everyone around you agreeing that it was for the best made you feel like your world was crumbling around you.

When you graduated university three months ago (Jungwon swears he didn’t cry, but you know better than to believe him), the weight of leaving your home started to sink in. In the blink of an eye, Jungwon wouldn’t be a twenty minute drive, and hanging out with all of your friends wouldn’t be as easy as it once was. You’d be in Japan all alone.

This past summer has been a whirlwind as you tried to do everything under the sun, savoring each moment until you wouldn’t be able to anymore. Jungwon’s been a good sport about it, never once complaining when you drag him to your latest adventure. He deals with your sudden shift in mood from happy to sad, letting you cry on his shoulder and braving the cliche words you say when telling him you’ll miss him a lot. 

Unlike past seasons, this is the first summer you haven’t seen Heeseung very often. Lee Heeseung, who usually keeps his head down and minds his business, always seems to have a bone to pick whenever his eyes settle on you. It confuses you to no end, and he keeps his quips to a minimum when your mutual friends are around, but it doesn’t stop you from wondering what you must’ve done to make him act like that towards you. It’s a shame because that small childhood crush you always had on him was squashed the first time he ignored your presence. 

None of your friends comment on it much. They’re used to the dynamic between the both of you because it's been years of this. Elementary school saw the two of you become friends for the first time and middle school brought more friends into the group. It was in high school that things changed and Heeseung started ignoring you out of nowhere until one Thursday afternoon when he’d told you to leave him alone after pestering him about his change in behavior. 

The odd tension followed you into university and continued to seep into your life. You don’t think you’ve ever been in a room with Heeseung where he’s been anything but nonchalant towards you, often acting like you aren’t there to begin with. You do your best to put up with it and plaster a smile on your face, but six years have gone by, and you don’t think you can handle a seventh. All of your friends seemed to have moved past it. You don’t know why you can’t.

“Don’t think about Heeseung,” Jungwon says with a sigh. “In fact, don’t think at all. Let me handle everything and enjoy this trip before you move to Okayama, okay?”

“Okay, fine. But I want to see Maeumi.”

Jungwon snorts. “She’s gonna be real pissed when she doesn’t see you for a year, you know.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Jungwon knows you like the back of your hand and has seen what you bring on these trips enough to know what you like to have in your duffle. He packs things you neglected to pull out because your mind has been elsewhere. As much as he wants to flick your head and tell you to quit overthinking so you can help him, he did tell you to let him handle everything. 

Your best friend makes you triple check that the two of you didn’t miss anything before heading back to his apartment to fetch Maeumi. She jumps into your arms when you squat to pick her up and won’t allow Jungwon to pet her white fur body while she’s nestled against you. This fondness and the familiar jab of Jungwon’s elbow to your ribcage make your heart ache despite the sweet moment. You’re really going to miss home. 

Ever the concerned mothers your mom and Jungwon’s are, they send you with a tray full of sweets for the road. They make you tell them exactly when you’ll be picked up and by who (“Jongseong, Eomma,” Jungwon says for the umpteenth time) and when you plan to come back. His dad gives you a spare bucket hat for when you’re on the water and an old sweater from his college days when Jungwon complains about how you never pack enough layers. The gesture feels warm since you consider his father to be somewhat of your own.

Leaving them to go back to your house feels a bit bittersweet. A lot of your belongings sit in storage boxes in the garage from when you moved out of your campus apartment upon graduating. Jungwon decided to get an apartment for himself with the money he saved from his part-time job as a busboy at a local chain restaurant. Staying over with you makes it seem silly when you remember he used to live next door. 

It’s nine in the evening when the two of you get ready for bed. Jungwon puts your bags by the front door so neither of you would forget while you finish brushing your teeth. He grabs extra blankets from the linen closet and settles onto your L-shaped couch, pulling the fabric just underneath his chin. Your heart feels like it’s sinking in on itself when you think about how this might be the last time you’re able to be so casual around him. 

“Stop overthinking,” he says in the quiet of the night, as if he can hear the thoughts in your head. The living room lights are off and the moonlight is what’s responsible for illuminating the space. 

You refrain from throwing your pillow at him. “I’m not overthinking. You’re overthinking.” 

Jungwon snorts. “We both know that’s not true. I know you’re scared about Okayama and I know that’s why you’ve been on edge about Heeseung. You’re usually never this loud about it.” Like always, your best friend is right. 

“It’s hard not to.” Your meek voice makes Jungwon’s heart lurch. “Everything’s changed so fast. I feel like I didn’t get enough time to properly say goodbye to everyone.”

“You’ll be in Japan, not America. It’s not like we’ll never see you.” 

“Yeah, but I won’t be able to annoy you for boba and you won’t be coming over to have dinner with my mom and me." Jungwon frowns. Too caught up in making sure you were happy this summer, he hadn’t given it that much thought. “I know I won’t be far, but I’m scared that things will change too much.” 

For the first time today, Jungwon doesn’t know what to say to make you feel better. “I’ll miss you a lot.” 

“I know that, dummy. I guess…I feel like I’ve been dealing with a lifetime of shittiness and the universe wanted to throw another curveball at me.” Jungwon’s heart softens at your confession. He’s used to your quick jabs and sarcastic humor. Knowing you’ve more afraid than excited makes him upset. 

“The universe sucks,” he says, happy that it pulled a laugh out of you. “I’ll always be a phone call away and you’ll never have to worry about me ignoring you because we both know I’m gonna blow up your texts anyway.” 

“I can always count on you to annoy the hell out of me.” You can’t see his face, but no you already assume Jungwon’s sporting a shit-eating grin. Even if you both know the main reason why you’re afraid of living in Okayama, neither of you say it. You’re grateful that Jungwon doesn’t bring it up. “Still, though. You know how I am with change. I’m really scared that I’m going to hate it there and not have you to keep me company.”

“Life is crazy and unpredictable but that doesn’t mean you’re going to be miserable. I mean, you did a pretty good job of making sure both of us had happy childhoods even though I know you were hurting when we were younger.” 

“It’s really hard not to have expectations or think badly about the future when I feel like I took everything for granted.” 

“I know, Bug,” Jungwon says, using a nickname from your childhood he reserves for when he thinks you need an extra bit of comfort. “But you’re the best person I know. You didn’t do anything wrong. Life just…gets in the way.” 

“Yeah, I know.”

Jungwon is quiet for a moment. “Just please promise me you’ll try to have fun, okay?”

“I know I’ll have fun, Wonnie. I’m scared that I’ll have too much fun and be a sobbing wreck when we get back.” 

The two of you share a laugh. “Alright, fair. Promise me you won’t let Heeseung get under your skin.”

You groan. “If he doesn’t like me, that’s fine. I don’t need everyone to like me. But why go out of his way to act like I’m scum of the Earth?”

“Just ignore him, okay?” Jungwon pleads. “I know it’s uncomfortable but he paid for a last minute spot. I’ll tell him to be mature about it too.” 

And, well, part of you believes Heeseung will listen to Jungwon. Despite being on the younger side in your shared friend group, everyone seemed to listen to your best friend most of the time. Jungwon has an authoritative aspect to himself when he’s refrained from being the silly, happy-go-lucky guy you all know him to be. 

It’s quiet for a brief moment with the wind gently tapping on the windows behind you. “I don’t know why he doesn’t like me.” 

Truthfully, neither does Jungwon. “I’m sorry he’s putting you in a tough spot.” 

“Won, sometimes I really wonder if he hates my guts. He doesn’t talk to me and he never replies to my messages in the group chat. It’s like I don’t exist to him.”

“I think that might be a little extreme.” 

“It’s not and you know it.” 

Jungwon hums. “Well, at least you’ll get away from him when you move to Okayama.” Just like that, all of your worries come flooding right back.

“Yeah,” you say meekly. “I’ll have Okayama.”

You don’t see him, but you know Jungwon’s smiling since you agreed with him for the first time tonight. “That’s more like it. You have your whole future ahead of yourself, dude. Heeseung is just a blimp. In three weeks, he won’t matter because you’ll be having fun in Japan. Just think about that.” 

You try not to think about the fears and hesitations you have about starting anew. This time, you wouldn’t be going back to university after the camping trip. You’ll have a week and a half back home before you’re boarding your flight and saying goodbye to the place you’ve called home for the past two decades. Thinking about the future keeps you up until you hear Jungwon’s snores from the other side of the couch. 

Unsure of when your mom will be coming home, you snuggle further into the cushions and curl yourself into a ball before falling asleep. 

***

The next morning, Jungwon wakes up just before you do and you see him and your mom talking before they see you sit up. Barely noticing their hushed tones, you find yourself yawning more than normal and force the blankets off of your body. Your mom fixes you a cup of tea while Jungwon finishes packing, leaving you to freshen up and do the same. 

“You know, this trip will be good for you. I can feel it,” your mom says when you sip on your tea. It’s hot and nearly burns your tongue, but you don’t mind. Somehow, that sharp pain makes you feel even more alert than the strong brew. 

“You say that every year.” 

“Yeah, but this time I won’t be with you.” 

She laughs when she hears you huff. “Baby, I know you love it when I come on these trips but we’ll always have other ones. We’ll have next year too.” 

“I just don’t get why you and Jungwon’s parents don’t want to come on this one.” 

“Like we said all those months ago–it’s time for you guys to break tradition and spend some time with your friends before you move to Okayama. Next year, we can rent out the whole campsite if it means we can accommodate us, the Yangs, and your friends.” 

Frustration bubbles within you but you’re quick to shut that feeling. “I guess. It won’t be the same.”

“Jake’s going this year, right? You guys had a lot of fun last summer.” 

Well, she isn’t wrong. “Sure, yeah. I had fun with him.” Motherly instincts kick in and she bumps your hip with hers. 

“I know you’re scared about moving and seeing Heeseung. But you’re much braver than you give yourself credit for. Sometimes people are meant to be lessons and maybe Heeseung is the biggest one of all.”

You throw a fake-disgusted look at her. “Did Jungwon put you up to this?” She laughs and shakes her head, bringing you into her arms. Her lips on the crown of your head feel warm and you don’t shy away from her embrace. 

“No, but I carried you in my stomach and brought you to term. I like to think I know you pretty well.” 

You chuckle. “Yeah, I guess you do. I’ll try not to let Heeseung bother me too much.” 

“Jungwon’s pretty worried, even if he won’t say it. I told him to relax a little. This trip isn’t supposed to stress anyone out. It’s supposed to be a nice getaway before you go back to your normal life.” 

“I feel guilty for making Jungwon worry about me. I know he’s still friends with Heeseung, somewhat, even though nobody can figure out why he doesn’t like me so much.” 

“That old saying about boys being mean to their crushes is bullshit.” 

You pull away and gasp when you hear her swear. “Eomma!”  

“I used to swear like a sailor before I became a mom, you know.” Her eyes light up when she watches you giggle and from the corner of her eye, she can see Jungwon walking back into the living room. 

“Jay’s almost here,” he says, shoving his phone into his back pocket. 

“Does he want a cup of tea?” 

Jungwon shakes his head. “I think it’s better if we head out as soon as possible. We still have to pick up Riki and then we have a four hour drive to the campsite.” 

She looks at the two of you like she has stars in her eyes. Wordlessly, your mom pulls Jungwon underneath her other arm and kisses his forehead before kissing yours. “When did you two become so grown up, huh? It feels like just yesterday that Y/N stopped crying whenever she got papercuts.” 

Jungwon snickers. “She still does.”

“Hey!”

“And it feels like just yesterday that Jungwon stopped needing to sleep with a nightlight.” Jungwon’s cheeks turn pink and you snicker at him. 

“Time flew by fast,” says Jungwon. She lets the two of you go and the doorbell rings. “That must be Jay.” 

Indeed, Jay is standing behind the door and bows at your mom before she offers to help you both carry things to his car. They make small talk while the two of you put them into the trunk (he loves to cook while she loves to bake. Likewise, they enjoy talking about this with each other). Jay’s Jeep is far too expensive for you to wrap your head around, but you don’t complain when he offers to drive you in it. A yellow rubber duck sits on his dashboard and it never fails to bring a smile to your face whenever you see it. You wave goodbye to your mom and stick your body halfway out the window until you’re restricted by the seat belt.

“Can we get coffee on the way?” you ask, yawning into your palm. It’s eight o’clock and everyone’s agreed to arrive around noon for lunch and to relax before sleeping. 

“Yeah, good idea. Let’s pick up Riki and then stop somewhere.” 

Jay plugs his phone into the aux cord at a red light and turns on some music. You like driving with him because you always discover new songs you obsess over for the next few days. It brings a pang in your heart when you think about how this will have to stop when you move to Japan. The two of you have created many playlist blends and he’s curated a few for you. While you’re not as musically inclined like your friends may be, Jay is the only person who’s willing to break things down for you in depth so that you can understand them too. It’s nice, especially when he talks about his own musical talents. You can see why he loves music so much and you don’t mind if he sends you a million songs to listen to. He turns onto the freeway and you know you’re about to see Riki soon.

He’s about to be a first-year in the university you graduated from. He moved to Korea from Japan a few weeks prior to get a lay of the land and become more comfortable in his surroundings. Originally planning on enjoying your summer until he reached out to you, your mother chided your decision and told you to help Riki move into his new dormitory. 

It was the least you could do for your half-brother. 

Begrudgingly, you spent a lot of time making sure Riki felt comfortable and settled in when you could’ve been soaking up the sun. Maybe that’s why you were so adamant about hanging out with Jungwon whenever you could. Being around Riki made you feel drained because his mere presence was enough to remind you of why you started losing faith in people. 

The dorms aren’t too far from your house. The drive there is silent, save for the music coming from Jay’s stereo. It gives you plenty of time to think about what the next week or so might look like. Avoiding Heeseung is out of the question since there will be eight of you participating in the same activities together. You’re not worried about having to watch over Riki too much either. Before moving to Korea, he met Jungwon the first summer he spent a few weeks vacationing here and they instantly became friends. He introduced Riki to the people you’d be camping with too. Without fail, the seven of them were always up to no good when he was in town. 

Spending three weeks with him in your neighborhood felt like someone was trying to set your life ablaze. He was so young back then, barely speaking Korean until you had to translate conversations into Japanese for him. You tried to mask disdain for having to help him, but even then, Riki understood why you were hesitant to have him in your life. If he were in your position, he’d probably feel the same way about you. 

He didn’t come to Korea very often but started to when he had school recess for the holidays and summer breaks. Since he expressed an interest in attending university in Korea, it felt like the right decision to send Riki whenever school wasn’t in session. He’d stay with his paternal grandparents and saw you every so often when you were both invited to the same place. Neither of you made a real effort to keep up with each other on social media or over the phone. At this time, Riki followed you on Instagram and you hadn’t bothered to follow him back. In all honesty, you didn’t see the point. 

You held a lot of resentment over Riki for things you know you can’t blame him for. But with new life changes that came your way, Riki seemed like the perfect scapegoat. He feels it sometimes, the way you pull him in just to push him away when the moment gets too familiar. He shoves down his feelings, choosing to treasure when you laugh with him. 

The two of you are doing somewhat better nowadays. You followed him back on Instagram the night after you dropped him off at the airport at the behest of your grandparents. They insisted Riki arrive at the airport four hours early despite the flight’s duration equating to two and a half hours. You suspected they wanted to force you into spending a little bit of alone time with your half-brother and get to know each other. 

To your surprise, the two of you got along pretty well. Riki was a dweeb trying to mask himself as cool. You bought him ice cream (pretending like you didn’t see him smiling so hard that he forced it off of his face) and sat in your car for two hours to talk. He found out you were a genius when it came to mathematics, a subject he did not excel in, and you found out he’s in a hip hop dance crew and wants to study dancing in Korea. Riki showed you a few clips of him dancing and from the corner of your eye, you could see how happy he was to be sharing this moment with you. It made your heart twinge and guilt crept up your spine when you think of all the times you’ve blown him off. You said goodbye to him at the gate and he surprised you with the first hug he’s ever given you. 

Still, it’s a bit awkward when the two of you spend any time together without your friends acting as buffers. It irks you that Riki and Heeseung get along so well because they share similar interests and are often awake at the same time, especially during the midnight hour. Part of you wondered if Heeseung would tell you all about your “rivalry” and how the two of you didn’t get along. If he did, Riki never let you know it because he’s been the same Riki you’ve known since you first met him three years ago. 

You can tell Heeseung is a bit irritated, too, that your half-brother still chooses to be nice to you. In fact, you realize he’s annoyed at everyone about this, especially Jungwon. You don’t call him out on it because you know it’ll spark a useless argument that makes you and everyone else feel upset. How Heeseung has the energy and stamina to avoid you for hours on end is strange to you. 

You and Jungwon meet Riki at the front door while Jay gets out of the car to make room for his belongings and the lawn chairs his grandparents dropped off for this specific trip. There’s exactly eight of them and they somehow all fit into the rear with all of the other cooking gear he’s packed. You assume the other car has everything needed for pitching tents and fishing.

“Hi,” Riki says before you can acknowledge him. He steps forward like he’s about to throw his arms around you but stops himself. “Good morning.” 

“Morning, Riki,” you say while grabbing the duffle bag from his shoulder. “Let me put this in the car. You and Wonnie can load the chairs.” 

“Aye, aye, captain.” 

It’s Riki’s first time on the camping trip and you find yourself a bit more nervous with him coming. He’s not someone who’s been camping before and you wonder if any of the other guys are going to look out for him. Jungwon, for as responsible as he is, tends to turn into a younger version of himself when he’s with your half-brother. You furrow your eyebrows when you put his duffle bag in Jay’s trunk as he rearranges and waits for the two boys to load everything in before settling back into the car. 

Riki and Jungwon immediately hop in the backseat and you’re quite pleased that you don’t have to call shotgun. They talk about things you don’t understand while Jay starts the car and resumes manning the aux cord. That strange feeling of nervousness creeps back into your stomach. You turn around and startle Riki when you look at him. 

“Do you have everything you need?” you ask him. 

“Yes,” Riki says with a nod. “I have my water bottle, my Swiss army knife, and sunblock.” 

“Bug spray?” 

“Jungwon says he’s bringing a few bottles.”

“Swimming trunks?”

“C’Mon, Y/N. We’re gonna be camping by a lake. That’s the first thing I packed.”

“Toothbrush?”

“Second thing I packed.”

“Enough shirts and socks?”

“Okay,” Jay says, pulling your wrist to get you to look at the road. “Riki’s got everything he needs and if he doesn’t, I’m sure someone else would let him use or borrow it.”

“I’m just making sure he’s got everything so we don’t need to stop somewhere,” you mutter, slinking into your seat while Jay sighs. You don’t catch it, but Riki sits behind you with a happy smile on his face. 

“Relax. We’re trying to make the most before summer ends. You deserve that too.” You know Jay’s right. He smiles when you fix your posture and hands you his phone. “You know my passcode. Queue up whatever you want.” 

You do just that, especially since Jungwon and Riki are engrossed in a conversation about God knows what. You think of interrupting them to ask what they want to listen to but ultimately decide to play a few songs you and Jay could jam out to and some from Jungwon’s playlists. You also try to remember the songs Riki has danced to in his Instagram videos and the musicians he posts on his stories and add them to the queue too. 

“Thanks for letting us come on this trip,” Jay tells you with chatter in the background, not once taking his eyes off of the road. “I know it’s a thing you and Jungwon do with your families.” 

“Eh, it was bound to happen anyway. Jake was the only one here last summer and I knew it was a matter of time.” 

“Still, I know how you’ve been feeling lately and it must be overwhelming to have so many people around you right now.” Damn. Jay is almost as receptive as Jungwon is. 

You don’t bother lying to him. “Yeah, I think I’m just scared about starting my life in Okayama. I know a few people but it’s not like here. I thought it was what I wanted to do when I accepted the position but now I can’t help but feel like I made a mistake.” 

“It’s not a mistake if you believed in it enough to do it all those months ago. I mean, there’s a reason why you’re moving.” 

“I guess.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, dude. You’re like, a fucking wizard when it comes to numbers and even Jake is speechless. You know how he feels about math and physics.” 

That makes you laugh. “It feels kinda nerdy to love math so much but fuck it. It got me a paid year’s worth of employment before I earn my Master’s.”

“See? Not so bad, isn’t it?” You suppose it’s not. “Junwon, can you please tell the others that we’re about to stop for coffee then be on our way?” You see the notifications on your phone. 

wonton: we just picked up riki

jaeyunnie: who’s we

wonton: me jay and yn

jaeyunnie: AYOOOOOOO YN

you: JAEYUNIE :DD

jaeyunnie: idk why i thought jay was driving alone. whatever this is about to be the best camping trip of my Life. even better than last year

sun sun: is it just me or is jake always really fucking dramatic. also i’m lowkey offended i wasn’t invited last year …

jaeyunnie: shut Up u know nothing about me sunoo. and u were in bejing how tf could you have gone with us

sun sun: so much attitude 🙄

fanghoon: yn save me PLEASE. i’m in a car filled with animals

sun sun: HEY

jaeyunnie: who are you calling an animal big guy ?

you: sunghoon what makes you think i can do that 

you: jk come over here ~i will protect you~

fanghoon: Thank You. It’s Literally 8am

jaeyunnie: u guys need to become morning people

you: pass

sun sun: PASS 

sun sun: noona we are the same 🙂‍↕️

you: i know that’s right

wonton: we’re gonna stop for coffee before heading to the campsite 

jaeyunnie: oh shit we should make heeseung stop for coffee too

wonton: jay says to stop blowing up his phone in the group chat. we’ll text you when we stop for gas and when we’ve arrived. bye!!!

***

After one stop to fill up Jay’s gas tank (you paid for him as a thank you) and a snack run (Jungwon and Riki split the cost), the four of you are at the campsite in no time. You’re all somewhat grateful that it’s a little bit cloudy outside because the sun was killing you on the two-hour mark of your road trip. The weather is a little cooler and you tug on the sweater that Jungwon’s dad gave you.  

You see your other friends park just after you do. Jungwon and Riki are first to get out of the car and greet them like they haven’t seen the group in years while you and Jay take your time getting out of your seats. Since when did your joints become so stiff? You blame it on the fact that you woke up from a nap just a few minutes before you arrived. 

“This place was hard to find,” you hear Heeseung say from a distance. You try not to let it dampen your mood. 

“Where’s Y/N?” You’re sure that was Jake. 

“Waking up, probably,” says Jungwon. “She took a nap in the car and we just woke her up.” 

“The drive wasn’t even that long.” You assume your best friend gives Heeseung some kind of reaction before the latter apologizes quickly. 

Jake is by the passenger door as you open it and looks at you like a dog who wants to be taken out on a walk. He holds the handle to the door and bounces in his shoes until you push yourself out of the car. The loud slamming of the door behind you makes you wince. Jake pulls you into a hug faster than you can process. 

“I missed you dude,” Jake says. He puts his arm over your shoulder and slowly leads you to the group. “Did you have a good summer?”

“You know, despite the incredibly hot weather that made me feel like I would sweat to death, summer wasn’t so bad. How was Brisbane?”

“I missed the heat,” Jake says with a pout. “But it was pretty good to be back home for a month. I really missed my parents and my brother.” 

“I’m sure they missed you too.”

Jungwon spots you. “Your eyes are so puffy.” He takes his thumbs and tries to put more color underneath your eyes and onto your cheeks. Riki, Sunoo, and Jay have slipped away to start setting up camp.

Jake laughs beside you when you swat Jungwon’s hands away and lets his own arms fall when you lurch forward to give him a taste of his own medicine. He always liked that Jungwon was able to bring out a childish side to you because he’s always seen you carry yourself like you had to shoulder the weight of the world. Watching you chase Jungwon as he tried to escape your pinching fingers made him a bit more happier knowing you’d have friends like him to return to when you came back from Japan. 

Heeseung, however, rolls his eyes and speaks low. “She’s so childish.” 

“Dude,” Sunghoon sighs in exasperation. “We’re gonna be with her for a week. You need to quit making those comments.” 

Heeseung shrugs. “What? It’s not like she can hear what I’m saying.” 

“Yeah, but we can. We’re friends with her too, Heeseung.” 

The eldest tries to hold in his disdain. “Yeah, whatever. I’ll keep shit to myself.” 

“Just for now,” Jake encourages. “Y/N never starts anything with you but sometimes you say something that goes a little too far. No one is asking you to be her best friend.”

“Just remember it was Y/N’s mom and Jungwon’s parents who invited all of us,” Sunghoon reminds his friend. “We wouldn’t be here without them and if I recall correctly, you really wanted to come when you found out we were all planning to go.” Heeseung wants to argue and justify why he’s annoyed but can’t find a good enough reason. 

“You’re right,” he relents. “I’ll make nice but do not expect me to do shit for her.”

“We aren’t.” Sunghoon pats Heeseung’s back. “You’ve got this. It’s supposed to be a fun trip before we all go back to reality. All we want is one week where you two don’t create tension.” 

“I can do that.” Jake and Sunghoon share a look between the two of them when Heeseung isn’t looking and pray that he means it.

When Jungwon decides he’s out of breath, he accepts his fate and runs into Sunghoon’s arms when you outstretch your arms to pinch his cheeks and pull them apart like he’s made out of dough. The broken laughter coming from your best friend makes you laugh too. Everyone, save for Heeseung, laughs when Jungwon’s face becomes distorted due to your fingers. 

Eventually, you pull away from him and he starts to grab his duffle bag and the lawn chairs. The three of you follow suit once you realize you’re missing a few people. You lift your duffle over your shoulder and put on your hiking backpack while trying to hold more lawnshairs than you can carry. 

“Woah,” Sunghoon says as he catches a falling chair. “Let me help.”

“Thanks, Hoon. I don’t know why I thought I could carry two chairs at once.” 

“You’re strong but you’re also carrying a fuck ton of things.” 

He smiles at you and it makes you laugh. You haven’t seen much of Sunghoon over the summer because he’s been working nonstop at a local ice rink, teaching kids how to skate in back to back summer classes. Sunghoon is sometimes too tired to hang out after work or falls asleep on your couch whenever he hangs out with you to watch movies. Your mom thinks it’s a bit endearing and never has the heart to wake him up. Between Sunghoon’s impromptu sleepovers, Jungwon and Sunoo’s unannounced visits, Jay’s cooking and baking sessions in your kitchen, and Jake appearing out of nowhere every few nights for dinner, you’re starting to think your house might have an unspoken open door policy. 

Heeseung is the only one who doesn’t frequent your house if you don’t count Riki, who doesn’t spend enough time in Korea to become a permanent fixture. The only time Heeseung has been to your house is when he dropped Jungwon off after he had one too many to drink and he’d been adamant about going to your place because it was closer to the bar in comparison to your apartment. One awkward conversation later and Heeseung was out of your driveway. Jungwon woke up with a hangover the next morning and you were grateful your mother chose that weekend to take a girl’s trip with her best friends.

You don’t invite Heeseung over like you do with the others. The only reason why you haven’t deleted his phone number is because of the big group chat you’re in to discuss plans. He never responds to your texts in it and you don’t respond to him unless absolutely necessary. Sometimes you catch him laughing at your messages only to retract it when he realizes it’s you who sent it. It’s been six years of dealing with this and as much as it confuses you, part of you has learned to tune out this behavior and focus on the other friends you do share. 

Sunghoon must know you’re thinking about his friend because he looks at you like he’s been trying to get your attention. “Sorry,” you apologize. “What did you say?” 

“I said thanks for letting us crash your trip. I know this is something you and Jungwon do with your families every year. Can’t help but feel a little special that we get to come along.” 

You coo at him. “Do you remember when you could barely look me in the eye, let alone tell me something as sweet as that?” Sunghoon rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, shut up. You know I’m an introvert.” You bump your hip with his. 

“I’m just messing with you. But in all seriousness, it’ll be fun having you guys around.”

“I’m excited to see what you and Jungwon do every year.” 

“Nothing too out of the ordinary. Swim, eat a lot of food, kayak, hike, the usual. But there’s one spot we usually go to, just he and I, that’s away from the main spot on the lake.” 

“How’d you find it?”

“Jungwon found it by accident when we were younger. He said it was gonna be our secret spot and told me not to tell our parents. I think the whole campground panicked for an hour or so until somebody found us in the clearing.” 

Sunghoon snorts. “Yeah, that sounds like you two.” 

“They told us to tell them where we’d be and promised to leave us alone if we gave them a heads up. It’s not really noticeable if you don’t know where to look, but it’s so beautiful. It leads to another part of the lake and it’s always so peaceful and quiet.” 

“In that case, I’m honored that you’re showing us.” 

“Eh, it’s about time we add new members to the club.”

“Oh?” He raises his eyebrow. “There’s a club now?”

“Mhm. Gotta pay me two fish to join.” 

“Like you know how to fish.” You bump your hip with his again.

“There are things you guys don’t know about me, Park. Just wait and see.” 

Sunghoon lets the conversation end when he finds himself at the campsite where Jay and Riki have started to organize things and make spots for tents. It’ll take a few trips for all of the supplies and camping gear to be fully unloaded so you each take turns until everything is sitting in a big pile, waiting to be sorted. 

“Okay, I’m a bit out of my depth,” says Sunoo, who kicks around a rock as he speaks. “I, for one, will need help pitching a tent.”

“I’ll help you,” you say, nodding for him to come over. 

“You can pitch a tent?” Heeseung asks like he doesn’t believe you. 

You nod and pick up a bag. “Yeah. I do this every year.” You don’t say it with any bite in your tone but Heeseung, who forgot this fact, feels like an idiot for making a fool of himself in front of his friends. He chooses to look away from you for now. 

“We have three tents we need to put up,” Jay says. “I’m thinking we pitch those now, have a snack and water break, and then start to organize before we eat lunch.” 

“Sounds good.” You agree. “I’d rather have everything set up so we can enjoy our evening. Besides, we should do this before it gets dark.” 

“Right.” Jungwon clears his throat and hands out each bag, assigning your friends based on the size of the tent. Everybody gets to work, clearing the flat ground of rocks and debris before deciding where your tents will go. You all hammer the groundsheet into the dirt before assembling the poles.

You teach Sunoo the basics and give him pointers when he struggles to connect the joints. He’s learning much faster than he gives himself credit for because in no time, he’s jumping for joy when he finally manages to grasp what he’s supposed to be doing. It’s nice to watch him be so happy over this, as Sunoo originally declined the invitation to go camping since he isn't a huge fan of the outdoors. But now it’s like you would’ve never guessed that because he’s pretty quick to pick up your lessons.

Your tent is pitched up in no time. You roam around like a camp counselor to see if anybody needs help. Jake, Heeseung, Jay, and Jungwon seem to know what they’re doing and have the biggest tent halfway set up. Sunghoon and Riki look like they need a bit of assistance. Sunghoon’s figuring it out quickly while Riki fumbles with his fingers. 

“You have to do it slowly,” you say from beside him. Riki hands you the attachments when you beckon him to hand it over and show him slowly. “Like this. See? If you do it slowly, they’ll catch easier and it’ll be smoother when we feed them into the tent.” 

“Oh.” Riki nods when your trick works. “Thanks, Y/N.” 

The three of you pitch up your tent too, with Riki handing you the pegs to hammer them into the ground after zipping the door. Sunghoon dusts off his hands on his shorts and takes a big gulp from his water bottle. Sunoo’s mom packed enough fruit and onigiri for a midday snack, and all eight of you feast quietly after exerting more power than anyone anticipated. You really need to start working out again. 

“Before we clear out and organize everything else, we should probably figure out who sleeps where,” Jungwon says. “That way, we can put our stuff in our respective tents and have that out of the way.” 

“Good idea,” Jake says. “How should we do this? Rock, paper, scissors?” 

“Sure, but I think Y/N and I should share a tent.” Heeseung rolls his eyes at Jungwon and you see it from the corner of your vision.

“What?” Riki asks. “Why?” 

“Because all of you get too comfortable around her and forget she doesn’t want to hear you snore or see your boxers in the morning.” Jungwon laughs. “It’ll be easier since we’ve been camping together anyway. She’s used to rooming with me and I’m used to waking up next to a Zombie.” 

“I hate you.” Jungwon merely smiles at you.  

“You just want to get out of sharing a tent with three people,” says Sunghoon. Jungwon nods. 

“That too.” 

“Rock, paper, scissors it is,” Sunoo says, getting his hands ready. 

They all battle one another until the rooming situation is sorted. You and Jungwon will share a tent while Sunoo and Jay share the other smaller one. That leaves Jake, Sunghoon, Riki, and Heeseung sharing the big one. You all throw your belongings in before helping Jay organize the portable stove, chairs, and other things that need to be stored properly. 

When all is said and done an hour later, Jay and Sunghoon start a barbecue. All of you are spent, sagging your bodies in the camping chairs that are positioned around the campfire. You know you’ll need to fetch some wood from the outpost if you all want to have a bonfire. But that can be a task for later.

“Your mom makes the best onigiri,” Riki groans as he shoves another bite in his mouth. “It reminds me so much of home.” 

Sunoo smiles proudly. “She’s the best, isn’t she?” Jake, who is busy stuffing his face with sliced watermelons, agrees. They pick at the leftovers from snack time and Jay chides them for it.

“Don’t spoil yourselves too much or you won’t have an appetite for lunch.” 

“He’s so bossy,” Riki says as he leans over towards you. “But it’s kinda nice having someone who does shit and takes charge.” 

You nod. “Mhm. Usually Jungwon and I are the ones spearheading everything but Jay’s got some camping experience. I’m fine taking the backseat.” 

“Do you camp a lot? Besides this tradition, I mean.” Riki watches you shake your head. 

“No, not really. This is as much as I can handle. It’s more like a gigantic lake house with hot showers and a few convenience stores miles away to replenish food if we run out of anything.”

“It looks like you know what you’re doing.”

“That’s because I do, Riki.” 

He blushes. “Right. Thanks for helping me with my tent earlier.” 

“Don’t sweat it. You’ll be able to do it without my help in no time.” That brings a shimmer of hope to the younger boy sitting next to you. 

Heeseung avoids looking at you when Riki purposefully sits beside you on the empty lawn chair. He doesn’t completely understand why the younger boy likes you so much. Heeseng thinks you’re a nuisance and that you overstay your welcome at hangouts. But Riki clings to you like you’re his lifeline and he gets that you’re his half-sister and all, but you weren’t the most welcoming to him when he started hanging out in Korea more often. Riki would never tell Heeseung the details about his past and he never tried to pry past what the youngest would reveal. Six years of avoiding you made him forget every single detail he once knew about you when you’d both been somewhat friendly towards one another. 

There were some days when you wouldn’t make room in your schedule to see Riki as often as he’d wanted you to and he lamented that to Heeseung. But every time he’d start to talk about how unfair it was for you to pick and choose when you got to see our younger brother, Riki would defend you every time. He didn’t get it, feeling the frustration bubble to the surface before realizing that it wasn’t his place to question why Riki acted the way he did. Sure, he was younger than Heeseung, but he respected family matters and didn’t care about you enough to figure you out anyway. 

He keeps these feelings to himself mostly. The friends you share don’t really understand why he has a distaste for you and he refuses to elaborate because the memory is too painful, and instead chooses to bury these feelings. It’s nobody’s business anyway. He certainly doesn’t want to start anything with Riki involved because he would feel guilty for putting him in an uncomfortable position, and because he knows he’d defend you regardless. Even though you’ve made progress to open up yourself to Riki, Heeseung still scoffs whenever he sees the two of you together. 

By the time lunch is done, all eight of you are crowded around a table built into the ground, feasting on meat and vegetables. Everybody thanks Jay for cooking and the seven of you agree to clean up after every meal so Jay doesn’t have to work twice as hard. You’re not sitting too far from Heeseung (to both of your dismay). Sunghoon purposely sat in between you both when he realized the other empty spots were filling up and didn’t want to chance an uproar during mealtime. 

“So,” Sunoo starts to say after closing the bottle cap on his cola. “What’s on the agenda for today? Personally, I think we should take it easy until tomorrow.” 

“I agree.” Jungwon nods. “We’ve done a lot and drove for a while. I say we relax and do whatever until dinner.” 

“I’m going to nap, that’s for sure.” You all snicker at Jay. Typical. 

“Me too,” says Riki. 

“Is anyone up for walking around the lake?” Jake asks. 

“I could go,” Sunghoon says from next to you. 

“Sure,” you finally say, “why not.” 

“I think I’ll hang back here.” Heeseung says it almost immediately and it stings a bit. “I’ll probably nap too.” 

“I want to read.” Sunoo changes the direction of the conversation before anyone can pick up on the awkwardness and you throw him a smile. 

“I think I’ll join you.” Jungwon pulls a book from his backpack and the pair begin to brainstorm where they should sit. Natural chatter falls back into place and you focus on eating, as your stomach has been grumbling pretty loud. 

Heeseung breaks the silence. “Can someone pass me the pineapple?” You don’t register that your arm has moved on its own accord and pass the container to him. Heeseung gives you a look you can’t decipher and it’s only then you realize what you’ve done. Sunghoon gulps. 

“Thanks,” Heeseung mutters, taking the pineapple from your hands. You’re pleasantly surprised he doesn’t make a comment about how he isn’t craving it anymore and watch him eat some from the corner or your eye. 

By nightfall, all of you are too exhausted to sit around the campfire. The hot shower stalls provide the kind of warmth you would go crazy without and you find yourself contemplating underneath the water longer than you’d like to admit. A plethora of thoughts run across your mind and they drift from the events of today, Riki, Heeseung, and moving to Okayama. Your friends don’t bring up the move and you’re grateful for that. 

When you return from the shower and from brushing your teeth, Jungwon asks if you’re okay. You lie and say you’re fine but exhausted and he lets it go, too tired himself to pry the truth out of you. The last thing you think about is Heeseung. You send a silent prayer out into the universe and ask that the two of you are able to make nice during this camping trip. Then, you fall asleep.

***

Everybody is up bright and early after a good night’s sleep. All of you agree today’s the best day for a short hike to get used to the terrain before you explore harder trails. You and Jungwon know the hike like the back of your hand and lead the group expertly through trees and dirt pathways. All of you have a backpack for your essentials, and each of you has packed a portable lunch for when you reach the top of the peak at the end of the trail. 

Halfway into the hike is not as uphill as you recalled it to be. The scenery is still breathtaking and you temporarily forget that Heeseung is burning eyes in the back of your skull. Last night’s prayer seems to be working, as he hasn’t said a word to you or argued with you when you started leading everybody towards the start of the hiking path. You’re not sure whether his feelings about you changed or if he knows you’re the literal expert since you grew up here, but you don’t think you care either way. 

Heeseung makes a false step and twists his ankle. You hear the commotion behind you and turn around. He stumbles and a sharp edge of a branch catches his thigh, creating a gash that starts to bleed. Everyone crowds around him when they realize it and make him sit on a large rock and he feels like shouting at you to back away when you start to walk towards him.

“Guys, I’m fine. It’s not that bad.” He feels more embarrassed than hurt. 

Jake looks concerned. “Dude, your leg is bleeding.” 

“It’s just a cut.” 

“Let me inspect it.” 

You pull your backpack off of you and take out your water bottle and first aid kit. You drop to your knees to inspect the wound and Heeseung refrains from coughing at the awkward position from where he’s sitting. You don’t seem phased by it, however, as you push up the fabric of his shorts and use your water bottle to clean the dirt from his wound. 

Your face is somewhat close to his leg and he jumps when your hand touches his thigh. The guys mistake his sudden movements as pain and rush to help stabilize him. Heeseung insists that he’s fine and brushes them off of him. He won’t admit that his fidgeting is because the last thing he expected you to do was patch him up. He figures Jungwon would be good at that kind of stuff, not you. 

Heeseung winces at the sudden contact of water in his wound. “Okay, maybe it hurts a little.”

“You won’t need stitches or anything, but I should get you cleaned up and put a bandage on it.”

Heeseung watches as you do your best to clean it with the wipes you have and ointment that will keep any debris out. The wound isn’t too gnarly but it’s no small papercut either. He watches as you expertly deal with the wound and keeps quiet, even though he feels uncomfortable and wishes he could turn back time to avoid any of this. It’s awkward to know your hands are on him because he feels like ants are crawling up his leg.

“I think we should probably go back and rest a little,” says Jungwon. “We can eat lunch there and maybe hang out for a bit.”

“Good idea,” Heeseung mutters when you’ve stepped away from him. Sunghoon and Riki each help him up and allow the eldest to use them as crutches as he limps back to the base. He mutters a quiet ‘thank you’ in your direction and doesn’t pay attention to see your reaction. You feel like you got your hopes up for nothing because he turns his back towards you before you can smile at him. Defeated, you try to put your best self on display and follow everybody back to your tents. 

Heeseung decides to rest on the chairs and eat his lunch there. You aren’t particularly eager to spend any time with him and figure he’d appreciate it if you weren’t around while he recovered. You take your sack of lunch and tell Jungwon you’ll be walking around the lake like you did yesterday. He tells you to be safe and then you’re on your way. 

“Hey, wait up!” You turn around to see Jake running until he’s caught up with you. It’s a bit unfair how he barely runs out of breath when he jogs. It’s definitely because he’s an athlete, but it’s still unfair. 

“Care to join?” 

“Can’t a guy accompany his friend on a nice, brisk walk?” 

That makes you laugh. “Yeah, sure.” You fall in a quiet tandem enjoying the silence and the environment for a while. “I had a lot of fun camping last year. I think my favorite part was kayaking or when Jungwon accidentally dropped his entire s’more in the fire.” 

You snicker at the memory. “His mom was so mad that he kept eating the marshmallows.” 

“Yeah, it was pretty funny. I still feel kind of embarrassed that I managed to flip over in my kayak somehow.” 

“Eh, it makes for a good story.”

“It’s not my fault Jungwon slammed into me!” Jake defends when you begin to laugh. “Seriously, Y/N. How the fuck do you put up with that menace?” 

“The same way you do, dummy.”

Jake bites into his sandwich. “I love Jungwon.”

“Me too.” 

“Our parents loved having you come too. Jungwon’s dad loves fishing with people.”

“I still can’t believe how many we were able to catch. I’m sad the guys weren’t there because they keep shitting on me for not being able to catch any when we go together.” 

You bump your shoulder against his. “They don’t know what I know. I’m sure my mom has pictures somewhere.” 

“How is she, by the way?” Jake asks. 

“Eomma’s doing alright. She just got a huge bonus at work for managing a really difficult client and completing this campaign she’s been working on. It stressed her out for months but I’m happy if she’s happy.” 

“That’s awesome. I’m happy for her.” 

“How are things with your family? How’s Layla?” 

“My parents are actually on a trip to the States to see some family and my brother just got promoted at his job. I’m super proud of him. He worked really hard for it. Layla’s doing okay too. She’s staying with my cousin until I come back.” 

“I miss her.”

“She probably misses you too.” 

The two of you settle into a comfortable pace and eat your lunches. There are no awkward moments with Jake. Something about his personality makes everyone around him divulge their deepest secrets and he always seems to know what to say, too. You haven’t been close to him for very long but you know him well enough to know that he’ll keep anything you say between the two of you. 

“I know you probably feel a little awkward with Heeseung around but you’ve been handling it really well.” Jake’s tone softens and he looks straight ahead as he talks, breaking the temporary silence. “I don’t know what goes on in his head half the time.” 

“I just wish I knew what I did so I can apologize and fix it. He gets mad every time I ask and accuses me of bringing up bad memories for him. I don’t know what to do, Jake. It feels like he gets along with everybody in my life but me.” 

“We all know Heeseung’s been through a lot and has trouble talking about them sometimes. He’s been in therapy but we had to really convince him to set an appointment.” 

You scoff. “Sounds like him.’ Jake doesn’t disagree. 

“I guess I understand that having to deal with shitty cards makes a person go insane.”

“Sure. I just wish I wasn’t the scapegoat.” Jake winces but tries not to let you see. 

“Sorry you’re going through this. Sunghoon and I made him swear to be on his best behavior.” 

“It’s a little awkward still but at least he isn’t picking a fight with me. Although, who knows how long that’ll last.”

“Have a little more faith in him, Y/N.” You deadpan and he holds his hand up in mock surrender. “Okay, next topic. How are you feeling about Japan?” 

Your shoulders slump. ”Awful.” 

Jake’s head quirks like he doesn’t understand. “What do you mean? You were really excited when you got the job offer.” 

“I know but…it doesn’t feel right anymore. My whole life is about to change and I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“You don’t have to know anything. In fact, I’d be a little worried if you had your shit figured out.” You punch his arm. “It’s really cool that you’re leaving Korea to pursue your dream. I know how hard it is to leave everything behind for a better opportunity.”

You look at him softly and nod because you know he empathizes with you. Back when you first met him, he’d moved from Australia to Korea because your university had one of the best physics programs in the world. He knew how to speak your native Korean but wasn’t confident in conversing back then, and you had your fair share of mentoring him in formal greeting and the basics when it came to interacting with people. Jake definitely understands where you’re coming from and doesn’t want you to feel alone. 

“We’ll always be here for you too,” he reassures. “We won’t be too far away and you can come home whenever you have the time and aren’t working.” 

“I know, but it feels like everything in my life is changing at the same time and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I wish I was a freshman again. I wish I could turn back time and really enjoy my life before I make a life changing decision.” 

“You’re really torn up about this, aren’t you?”

Nodding, you look at the ground beneath you. “There are so many things I’ve been dealing with over the past few years or so and it feels like I’m giving up on things if I just leave. Everything feels so scary, you know? I feel like I’m being suffocated every time I open my eyes. 

“On top of starting a new job in a place I’m not that familiar with, I’m leaving my mom behind. I’ve never lived farther than an hour away from her and I hate knowing that I won’t be able to see her whenever I want. Not to mention Riki studying in Korea means I’ll be spending even more time with him.”

Jake chooses not to comment and nods with his lips pressed into a thin line. He doesn’t know what’s going on between the two of you but has his suspicions after hearing your hushed conversations with Jungwon. Even before the two of you became as close as you are, Jake has always looked out for you because he knows Jungwon loves you like a sister. It was easy to tell that you’d fallen into some sort of depression as you graduated high school and barely managed to pull yourself out of it before graduating university. 

Riki has always been a sore subject for you. Jake doesn’t bring him up unless you do, no matter how much he adores the younger boy. The relationship you have with him is complicated but it tears him up inside to see Riki longing for you when the two of you are together. Jake knows there’s a great deal of tension that follows both of you too. He could feel it the first time you brought up having a half-brother and started to put the pieces together. 

“I love that Riki’s more comfortable in Korea. I really do,” you confess. “I love that my friends get along with him too, but part of me is scared that you’ll all forget about me since he’ll be here to take my place.” 

“You are not replaceable.” Jake looks at you when he says it. “You’re about to chase your dream, Y/N. None of us will throw our friendship down the drain just because we won’t be able to see you everyday. Riki is great but he’s not you.”

He’s pleased when you lift the corners of your mouth into a small smile. “Thanks, Jake. I don’t know where this fear came from.” 

“You’re dealing with a lot. It’s understandable. I don’t know much about what’s going on between you and Riki, and you don’t have to tell me, but you should know that he loves you a lot and would never think about dishonoring you while you’re gone.” 

“I know. I have a lot of pent up emotions and therapy feels like it isn’t working. I guess I should give myself some more time. But with the move, it’s been hard to focus on anything. I don’t want Riki to feel like I don’t want him in my life but it’s hard to make room for somebody you didn’t know existed until a few years ago.” 

Jake nods. “Yeah, I get that. It feels a bit weird making space for someone who calls himself your brother, isn’t it?” 

“He has every right to. I mean, he’s my half-brother. But I don’t know…I want to be at a place where I can look at him and not see how much my life has changed for the worst. He’s such a talented kid with a bright future and I hate that I project my feelings onto him.” 

“Baby steps,” Jake reassures. “You’ve been through a lot of shit. Both you and your mom have and you've both handled it really well.” 

“I’m glad it looks that way because I feel like I’m hanging on by a thread.” 

“Well, that’s what it means to be in your early twenties.”   

The two of you decide to head back to the campsite when it starts to get warmer. You throw your trash in garbage bins before trotting back and see that Sunoo and Jay have left to go back hiking on the trail that you were on earlier in the day. Heeseung seems to fare better with his wound, which you see he’s managed to replace (thanks to Jungwon, no doubt). But his mood seems to worsen when he sees you and Jake walking side by side towards the group. 

“How was the lake?” Jungwon asks, sipping on a cola.

“Pretty,” Jake replies. “There weren’t that many people there so it was a little empty.” 

“We should probably discuss what we want to do for the rest of the day and plan some stuff for later this week. It’ll be a little warmer later in the week so I think we should save that. There’s a great spot where Y/N and I go fishing. We could do that later in the morning.”

“Y/N, fishing?” Heeseung laughs. “I’d pay to see that.”

“What, you don’t think I can fish?” 

He shrugs. “I didn’t know you were a fan of the outdoors. You always had a nose in your textbooks so I thought that was it for you.” 

“Well, Heeseung, it’s not like the two of us know each other well enough to know these types of things.” He doesn’t seem to like that answer. 

“Fishing tomorrow it is!” Jake interjects. 

“I haven’t gone fishing in a long time,” Riki laments. “It’ll be nice to have trout for dinner.” 

“I think Jay brought a lot of seasoning and sides,” Jungwon says to the group. “We can always go to the market a few miles down for anything else.” 

You tune out the rest of the conversation, feeling a bit tired from the walk and the heat that’s starting to make you sweat. You’re eternally grateful that your tent is covered in shade and contemplate on taking a nap when Jungwon waves at you.

“You good, Y/N? You seem a little out of it.” You nod at Jungwon and take a seat next to the closest camp chair. You can feel Heeseung watching you and try not to slip as you sink down into the seat, crossing one of your legs over the other. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just have a lot going on in my head. I think I’m a little tired, too”

Heeseung scoffs quietly. “We’re camping. What could you possibly be thinking about that’s making Jungwon worried?” You curl into yourself as Jungwon chides his friend. 

“I’m moving to Japan soon,” you tell him. You’re not even sure that he knows this about you, figuring that one of your friends would tell him to you at some point. Neither of you communicate with one another unless you absolutely have to. You didn’t see the point in telling him. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that, I guess.”

An array of emotions seems to wash over him and, as always, you have a hard time trying to figure out what he’s feeling and thinking. “Oh. So you’ll be out of Korea?”

“Yup.” 

“When are you leaving?” 

“Don’t seem too excited,” Sunghoon says underneath a cough.

“In a couple of weeks. I leave a little after we get back home.” Heeseung merely nods. He doesn’t ask you why you’re moving or what part of Japan you’ll be living in and you don’t offer that information, feeling awkward with the tension ever since you and Jake arrived back at the campsite. Riki finishes eating and stands up to throw his trash away, providing something to look at in order to forget that Heeseung keeps trying to look away from you. 

“Y/N’s gonna be an engineer,” Jungwon brags on your behalf. “She’s taking a year off to work before getting her master’s degree.” 

“Damn,” Riki whistles. “You’re so smart.” You try to hide a smile. 

“What are you gonna be working on?” Sunghoon asks. 

“I’ll be assisting other researchers in software development, particularly for space and aeronautics.” You nod once, feeling tense underneath everyone’s stare. “I don’t know what I’ll be doing specifically but that’s why I’m moving to Okayama.” 

“That’s so cool!” Jake exclaims. Heseung rolls his eyes at his excited outburst and tries to avoid your eye. “You’re gonna be amazing.” 

“I hope so. It’s a great opportunity to work in my chosen field before I decide to continue in this career when I go back to school. I have so many interests within mathematics but this seems like the right place to start.”

“Shit,” Sunghoon says as he slowly claps for dramatic effect. “I knew you were smart but you’re a fucking genius.”

“I wouldn’t say genius–”

“You are, though.” Jungwon smiles at you and gives two thumbs up. “You’re the smartest person I know, dude. This company is lucky to have you.”

“So cool,” Jake says again. He bumps Heeseung’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Isn’t that right, Heseung?” 

“Yeah, totally,” he says carelessly, giving you a half-hearted smile. His mouth doesn’t quite reach his eyes and you refrain from audibly sighing. 

“Don’t you think Y/N was always the smartest person in our year?” Heeseung nods. Jake nudges his friend again. 

“Yes,” Heeseung says with a great amount of venom in his tone. He shakes off Jake’s hand from his body abruptly, causing the younger boy to take a step back in shock. He looks at you and musters an insincere smile when he notices the rest of your friends watching. “Y/N is so smart.” 

His sarcasm deafens your ears and makes your blood feel like it could be boiling beneath your skin. The atmosphere around you changes. Riki and Jungwon try to pretend like everything is normal while Jake and Sunghoon give Heeseung wide eyes as if to tell him to knock it off. You look at your lap, uncomfortable with the silence that washes over. 

“Why’s it so quiet?” Sunoo asks from behind you. The group collectively sighs and you’re all thankful that he and Jay returned from their hike to cut the tension. 

“We were just talking about what we wanted to do for the rest of the day,” Jungwon says before anyone can speak. “Let’s take it easy tonight and go fishing tomorrow.” 

“Sounds good to me.” Jay takes a seat and takes a big gulp of water. “Let’s heat up some kimchi jjigae for dinner because I don't feel like cooking. Jake’s mom made enough for all of us to have seconds.” 

None of you disagree. Feeling yourself grow more tired the more your friends converse with one another, you manage to catch Jungwon’s eye and nod at him before heading inside the tent. 

***

It’s not unusual for you to wake up with what feels like a heavy heart but you’re having a hard time pushing yourself off of the uncomfortable ground to get ready for the day. Jungwon is asleep beside you with his knee digging into your side but even that isn’t enough to motivate you to leave the tent. 

You mourn the loss of your mom and his parents accompanying you  on this trip. As fun as hanging out with your friends are, having Heeseung constantly avoiding eye contact and muttering things underneath your breath has you feeling more on edge than you anticipated. It always feels like he’s waiting for you to mess up so he can get a word in or wait for the perfect moment to drop a subtle insult that only you can catch. Sunghoon and Jake in particular try their best to restrain him but that doesn’t do much. Eating dinner was awkward and you blamed your quiet nature on sleeping too deeply. 

Finally, you sit up in your spot and rub the sleep out of your eyes. It doesn’t seem like any of the other guys are up and you pull a clock out to read the time. It’s still early and the people around you are still waking up as well. Your movements seem to have woken up Jungwon, who yawns when he opens his eyes.

“Morning,” he croaks. “Did you sleep okay?”

“It was fine. Woke up a few times because of people stepping on twigs, though.”

“Yeah, same. I think Jake got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. Woke up to him walking by the tent.” Jungwon sits up and brushes the hair out of his eyes. “I’m so hungry thinking about all the trout we’re about to eat tonight.” 

“If you catch any.” He swats your arm. 

“I alway catch more than you.”

“Nuh-uh. Last year I beat you by two fish.”

“Y/N, I’ve caught more fish than you every year before that.” 

“Shut up.” 

You hear Jungwon laughing as you exit the tent to freshen up at the bathhouse. There are a few people milling about when you walk towards the structure. Your mouth feels a bit grimey from your morning breath and the cold water that hits your face wakes you up immediately. When you turn around after you’ve finished your morning routine, you collide right into Heeseung.

“Watch it.” 

“I didn’t see you. Geez.” Your heart continues thumping as you grip your toiletry bag. Heeseung rolls his eyes and slips past you. Anger rises within you but you decide that it’s not worth getting so worked up over at this hour. 

As time ticks by, the rest of your friend group emerge from their tents and gather around the campfire. You all wait for everyone to wake up and prepare themselves for the day, enjoying a nice breakfast with a cool breeze until you’re all ready to go fishing. You secure the bucket hat Jungwon’s dad gave you until it fits snugly over your head and forego a jacket, only packing the necessities while you wait for everybody else to gather their belongings before you’re all walking to the boathouse. 

The instructors are the same from last year. You and Jungwon make small talk and explain that neither of your parents are here on this trip and you tell them about Japan when they ask you about life after college. Each of your friends introduce themselves and after a quick introduction, they’re leading all eight of you out onto the dock. 

There are enough boats for two pairs of three and one for two people. It seems as though you were too preoccupied talking to the employees because you realize the only boat left is one shared with Heeseung and Riki. 

“Oh,” comes your meek voice in realization as you watch the two step onto the boat.

“You should man the engine,” the employee says as the two men get on before you. “You’re more familiar.”

“I can steer,” Heeseung says. “I’ve done it before.” 

“I’ve watched Y/N steer these boats for a decade, son. You’ll definitely want her to do it.” 

Heeseung relents. It’s a small victory, but a victory nonetheless, 

You step onto the boat. Heeseung sits at the far end while Riki sits in the middle, holding onto the seat as you get your bearings. The three of you wave goodbye to the employees at the dock and you start to drive the boat out into the lake to catch up with the rest of your friends.

The open clearing away from the port is more beautiful than you can describe. With open waters and enough room to roam around, there’s an array of directions to catch the most fish. The water is fairly calm with the exception of the ripples your boat makes. Riki and Heeseung don’t say a word as you steer them towards a clear path with minimal boats and see the other guys scattered around the large body of water. 

Neither of them argue with you about where to go, even though Heeseung is holding himself back. Bitter over having you steer, he knows it’s the logical answer since you know this place like the back of your hand. He instead chooses to bask in the sunlight and welcomes the spray of water on his face and body. The cool splashes are a nice contrast to the warm sunlight. 

When you start to slow the boat down, the water around you becomes still as well. You turn the engine off and wait for the contraption to settle beneath you. The sound of water rippling against itself is enough to make you feel more at ease and you don’t mind it when you see Heeseung start to assemble bait on the fishing poles.

“Why’d you pick this place?” Riki asks.

“I caught a lot of fish here last year. I hope we can catch more this year.”

“More than Jungwon?”

You smile. “Yeah. He and I have this unspoken competition.”

“What’s the prize?”

“There’s not really a prize. It’s just something we do.”

“What’s the point of competing if there’s no prize?” Heeseung interjects. You shrug.

“Dunno. It’s fun for us.” He doesn’t say anything after that. 

It’s quiet for a while. The sound of birds chirping and faint chatter in the background fill the atmosphere but the three of you silently agree to refrain from talking once you’ve all casted your reels. Riki, who is a bit excited to catch some fish, anxiously peers at the water below him every few minutes or so. He pulls back with a pout when he doesn’t feel a tug on his line. The awkward tension somewhat dissipates and you’re able to forget that Heeseung is a few feet away from you. He angles his face towards the water and seems to be in his own bubble as you hold your fishing rod. 

Growing up on this campsite means learning the virtue of patience and willing yourself to become more in tune with your surroundings. It was your father that first taught you that the most important rule to fishing was patience. He’d tell you the fishes could sense urgency and impatience from underneath the water, and therefore they knew not to take your bait. It made sense to you at a young age. Every time you’d be on the water with him, you’d force yourself to slow down and calm your thoughts until the silence felt like a welcomed embrace. 

That mantra of practicing patience seeps into your life now that your dad isn’t in it anymore. Jungwon’s father had volunteered to go fishing with you the first year your own chose not to go on the annual camping trip. Everyone could tell how difficult it was for you and your mother to attend, but despite hardship and the change in dynamics, she didn’t want either of you to lose any semblance of normalcy. You’d argue that was the hardest week of your life. Jungwon, who is usually very organized and detail oriented, chose to let you lead the trip activities between the two of you and didn’t complain once.

The two of you were in high school when your father left and Jungwon swears it was like somebody stole the sun from your eyes. Your studies became the sole focus of your life and even Heeseung was barely at the forefront of your mind anymore. He’d watch you become detached from everything that didn’t have to do with academics and extracurriculars. Focusing on college applications was the most important thing for you back then. 

Of course, Jungwon and all of your friends gave you a bit of space to process new feelings and the change in household. Your father moved away and wasn't living in the house anymore. It started to become an empty shell, where neither you nor your mother could stand eating at the dining table because it brought up unwanted memories. Your dad wasn’t here to help you with homework anymore and you could no longer hear your parents talk outside of your door until you fell asleep. The complete silence startled you. It still does sometimes, but you’ve learned that grief is about facing your hardships until it isn’t so scary anymore. 

These trips are bittersweet every year. Fishing is a reminder of everything you’ve lost. But lately, you’re starting to think about it as everything you could gain and then some.  

“The more you look down, the more the fish are gonna be scared,” you say, breaking the quiet atmosphere. Riki looks at you quizzically. 

“Really?”

“No, but you’re not gonna catch anything faster just by looking down.” His shoulders sag. 

“We’ve been here for so long and nothing has tugged on my line.” 

“Fishing is a game of chance. The fish choose to take your bait if it feels enticed enough.” As if on cue, your fishing rod starts to move. Riki watches you latch onto it while Heeseung turns back when he feels the boat rock underneath him and observes you too. You wrestle with it for a short while before reeling the fish above water and proudly hold it beside you. “Patience is the most important part of fishing. The fish finds you when you least expect it.” Heeseung snorts when you put the fish in the bucket. It takes a great deal out of you not to roll your eyes. 

“You’re so wise,” Riki mutters. 

“I don’t think I’m wise, per se. I just think there’s nothing else you can do when you’re in open water with nothing to distract you.” 

“I’m working on my patience. Moving to Korea made that pretty difficult for me.” 

“Well, you’re moving to a new country. It’s something you’ve never done before, you know? I bet packing was stressful.” 

“I hated every second of it,” he says as he rolls his eyes like you’ve brought out an irritating memory. “I triple checked everything before leaving. I hope I didn’t forget anything back home.” 

“Are you scared to start the semester?”

Riki thinks about it for a second. “Kind of. My Korean is okay, but I still have trouble saying certain words. The culture is different, too. I need to get used to that more. I guess I’m a bit sad that I had to leave my friends and family behind but it’s for the best, isn’t it? I wanted this.” 

You find yourself nodding in agreement. “Yeah. It’s hard to leave everything you know behind.” 

“I cried when I said goodbye to my dance teachers,” Riki admits with a laugh. “I think it was the first time I did that in front of them. We kept bowing to each other until I had to go. It’ll be weird finding a new studio in Seoul but I’m excited about it.” 

“You’re an incredible dancer, Riki. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll thrive here.” 

He tries to hide his blush. “Thanks. I’m happy that I know some people already but it’s not the same, you know?” 

“That’s how I feel about moving to Okayama. I know it’ll only be a year, but it feels like I’ll be there for a lifetime.” 

“Do you ever get scared that everything back home will change?” Heeseung, too, is curious about your answer. 

“Honestly? Yeah. Sometimes it feels like everything’s gonna change completely the second I step on that plane. I feel like everyone will forget me and move on.”

Riki looks back at the water. “I wonder if people back home think of me.” 

“They do.” He looks back at you.

“Everyone here will think about you too.” 

A beat passes between the two of you and you start to see Riki for what he is: a smart, sensitive person who disguises himself as somebody who can mask his feelings. What you learn is that your half-brother wears his heart on his sleeve but is careful about who he gives himself too. It’s something you’ve noticed in the time you’ve known him, but this trip is starting to make you think you two are more alike than not. 

“What about you, Heeseung?” Riki asks, turning to look at the eldest. “What are you gonna be doing now that you graduated?” 

“I, uh, start working at a record label pretty soon.” He clears his throat. Knowing you’re looking at him makes this boat feel smaller all of the sudden. 

“You majored in music production, right?” Heeseung nods. 

“Yeah. I’ve always had an interest in music so I learned how to produce during freshman year and started taking it seriously.”

“I’ll bet your perfect pitch helps you a lot.” Heeseung whips his gaze over to you when you speak and you feel your skin burn. You don’t know if you should’ve contributed to the conversation or not. 

“Sure does,” he says awkwardly, looking at the fishing rod between his legs. Heeseung remains quiet when Riki doesn’t prod him further and looks back at the water in front of him. Even in the forced proximity, you still can’t figure out why he chooses to be avoidant. 

Heeseung, on the other hand, finds that there’s much to contemplate about. His life has barely begun and yet he feels the weight of his future hanging in the balance. He’s just moved into his first apartment and will need to furnish it when he gets back from the camping trip. He’s got a mattress with no bed frame and a single loveseat his parents gave him. Aside from his gaming setup, Heeseung’s one bedroom apartment is completely bare. 

Looking at it makes him worry for his future and being around you. You, someone he’s always assumed had it easy because you were academically gifted, makes Heeseung feel like he’s got to step up his game. He hasn’t liked you ever since high school for reasons he justifies as perfectly valid. But high school was years ago and some of his anger has subsided. All that’s left is a faint annoyance and he'd rather be anywhere than next to you. He only said yes to this trip because of the other people who were going as well. 

He’s kept his feelings simmering beneath the surface and chooses to focus on anything but you when he hears you talk. It’s frustrating enough knowing you share a lot of mutual friends, even worse when some of his best friends are people you consider family. He hates that Jake is comfortable enough to hang out with you without anyone else present and loathes that Sunghoon actively wants to become closer to you after he realized the two of you share the same taste in cinema. He especially despises the fact that Riki looks up to you even though, in Heeseung’s eyes, you’ve done nothing to earn it. 

The young teenager met the eldest of the bunch at a bonfire the third time he came to Korea after your mom had forced you to bring him along. You told him absolutely no alcohol no matter if anyone else was going to be drinking and to say no if your friends offered him a beer. He watched you that night, the way you periodically looked at your half-brother but made a lame attempt to include him in conversation. Riki found fast friends in Sunoo and Jungwon after messing around in the shallow waters of the ocean. Heeseung decided that you didn’t deserve that type of respect from Riki at that moment. 

It’s been years since then and he’s seen the two of you grow, albeit slowly. Even in his blind hatred for your existence, Heeseung has always wondered why Riki vies for your attention. In fact, what is it about you that makes everybody fawn over you? Why do you always seem to be the center of attention? Does nobody care about what you did to him all those years ago?

It keeps him up at night to know that nobody around him understands why he’s so angry at you. Above the root cause, you have everything you could ever want. You were the smartest girl in high school and university, and it was no question about what your future would look like. You’d accepted a job opportunity right after graduating and it seemed as though things were merely handed to you without you working that hard for it. You didn’t have to ask for anything. It always seemed as though people could read your mind and always gave you what you wanted. 

Maybe coming to the camping trip was a mistake. He’s been walking on eggshells around you this entire time and feels like he’s suffocating every time his friends laugh at your jokes. Heeseung bites his tongue when he feels himself getting worked up and finds that nothing can get his mind off of you no matter how hard he tries. 

He wonders if you remember that day all those years ago. He wonders if you know just how hurtful words can be and how awful it is to be on the receiving end of utter despair and desperation. Heeseung has always known you to be somebody who knows exactly what you want, too. Teenage angst never stopped you from pursuing higher education. It seemed like you threw everything you had into academics and everyone rewarding you for it made Heeseung want to crumble. Nobody else thought of you the way he did. 

But this is something he’d rather keep to himself. For as much as he refuses to be your friend, he knows nothing good will ever come out of trying to convince everyone you aren’t someone who they should be friends with. After all, you’ll be working in Okayama and with any luck, you’ll make a permanent residence out of Japan. 

Heeseung is distracted from his thoughts when Riki manages to catch a rather large fish. With your help, he’s able to reel it in and watches the younger boy become awestruck at its sheer size. Heeseung watches you congratulating Riki and celebrates this excitement with him as you put the fish in the bucket for safe keeping. It should warm his heart to see a friend of his so happy, but seeing you smiling next to him makes Heeseung feel all the more irritated. The three of you head back to the dock after another couple of hours and a few more dishes later.

Jungwon catches more fish than you do. All eight of you manage to acquire enough for dinner and breakfast in the morning. Jay and Jake have volunteered to help with cooking while the rest of you prepare side dishes and talk about fishing adventures from your time apart. You smile at the group halfway through the conversation, fondness blooming in your chest when everybody is laughing after having eaten dinner. 

“God, I swear I almost fell into the water trying to wrestle with the trout!” Jake shouts amongst the chaotic laughter. “It felt like I was about to become one with the fish.” 

“I almost pushed his ass into the lake,” Jay snorts. “It was so fucking funny.”

“I’m surprised Sunoo caught the most fish out of all of us.” Jungwon shrugs and bites into his s’more. 

“You’re telling me,” Sunoo replies as he wipes chocolate from his lip. “That’s my quota for this trip, though. Don’t expect me to go fishing again.” 

“I’m not ready for this trip to end,” Riki says with a mixed sigh. “We’ve already been here for a couple of days and it feels like time is going by so fast.” 

“I start that consulting job the Monday we go back and I’m excited for it, but I’m also nervous. It hit me on the way back from the lake.” Jay rubs his face with his hands. “This adult shit is scary, man.”

“Do you guys remember when we were all freshmen and had that awful orientation leader?” Heeseung asks. Those who were in the same year as him nod. “That felt like just yesterday and now we’re about to be real adults.”

“Jay’s going to become a financial consultant, you’re working at a record label, Sunghoon’s going to open up his own cafe someday, and I’m about to start a fellowship at a research lab.” Jake shakes his head like he can’t believe it. “Not to mention Y/N’s moving to Japan for work. If you told me four years ago we would talk about the future like this, I would’ve laughed.” 

“It feels a bit weird knowing we aren’t going back to school.” Sunghoon looks at the younger boys and laughs. “Well, sorry to you guys.” 

Sunoo speaks up with a pout. “It’ll be weird not seeing you guys around campus. I’ll miss running into you on my way to class.” 

“Sometimes I wish we could stay in college forever.” Jay reaches over and picks out another marshmallow to put on his stick. “It sucked ass but it was nice living close to you guys.”

“I’m scared to go out there alone.” You tug at the zipper on your jacket and stare at your hands. “I feel like I’m going to mess everything up and fail. I’ll come home and have nothing to show for myself.” 

“Couldn’t have said it any better.” Sunghoon finishes off his s’more and wipes the crumbs off of his lap. “I wish everything was simple and easy. We really had it good back then, didn’t we?”

“Don’t get too caught up in growing up too fast,” Jake says as he pinches Riki’s cheeks for dramatic effect. The latter tries to dodge his touch but fails. He points to Jungwon and Sunoo. “You guys need to make every minute count.”

Jungwon laughs. “You sound like a Hallmark card.”

“Yeah, but one day you’ll be saying the same thing. You’ll go back to campus and you won’t see us walking around.” Jungwon remains quiet after that. 

“You’ll all be fine.” Sunoo nods once and it feels like he’s smiling at everyone individually through the fire. “Life is scary but there’s a reason why we believe in you.”

Jay nudges Sunoo with his knee. “Since when did you get so wise?”

“You could learn a thing or two from me.”

The tension dissipates. Everyone finishes up their desserts and helps tidy up the campsite. Jake and Sunghoon put out the fire while the rest of you put the chairs away and throw out any leftover trash in the nearby garbage bin. One by one, the eight of you start to grow sleepier as time ticks by. You all let your younger friends wash up first as you stifle yawns and prepare your makeshift bedding while you wait. 

It feels like forever to wait with Heeseung close to you. Everybody else bids you goodnight as you brush your teeth in the wash station and rinse your face of dirt and debris from earlier in the day. Heeseung is standing just a few feet away as he waits for you to finish up but knowing he’s watching you makes your heart rate increase. Your hands tremble as you turn the faucet off and it’s just your luck that you trip over yourself and hold onto Heeseung when you turn around to exit the washroom. 

“Watch where you’re going, Y/N,” Heeseung snaps. He shrugs your hands off of him and pushes you away from his body. 

“What the fuck is your problem with me?” If Heeseung is surprised by your sudden outburst, he doesn’t show it. Your typically calm, non-confrontational demeanor is nowhere to be seen. 

“Why can’t you walk properly?” he mocks. 

“You have been so passive aggressive towards me this entire trip. Hell, you’ve been that way since we were in high school. What the fuck is your deal and why can’t you man up and tell me why you hate me so much?” 

His expression sours. “You have some nerve asking me that.” 

“Why?! You won’t tell me what your deal is and I can’t fix it if you don’t communicate that with me. We have so many mutual friends who want us to get along and it’s fine if we’ll never be friends, but really, Heeseung, you’re acting like a child.” 

Heeseung’s nostrils flare and it feels demeaning the way he has to look you down in order to meet your eyes. The twinge in your heart flares when he makes no effort to talk to you further. The tension in his shoulders rises and falls with every second that passes by and you’re starting to wonder if there’s any way you can leave the trip early. 

He doesn’t say anything, though. Heeseung pulls away from you and enters the washroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the sound of water running. Years of pushing aside your feelings for the greater good of preserving the peace feels like they’re suffocating you with every step you take as you talk back to your tent. The cold chill of the night bristles through your hair and your watery eyes make you stumble before unzipping your makeshift bedroom. 

“Y/N?” Jungwon asks, half-asleep. He sees you wipe your eyes as you turn away from him and put away your dirty clothes and toiletries. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” 

He pushes himself up and hears the clip in your tone. With his eyes softening, Jungwon gently touches your shoulder and realizes that your eyes are red before you shut your flashlight off. “Come here.” 

It’s somewhere between a command and a plea. Jungwon doesn’t force you to speak as he pulls your body into his. He doesn’t care that your tears are falling onto his arm and he doesn’t mind that you’ve settled your weight onto his chest. Your silent hiccups make his heart lurch and the best he can do is let you cling onto him in your time of need. 

You don’t get like this often. The last time he remembers you letting him hold you like this was a few days after your parents’ divorce had been finalized. The tangerine-shaped pillow you had was the only thing keeping Jungwon’s back from aching as you spent what felt like hours sobbing between his arms, dirtying his shirt with your hot tears. His heart broke back then, too. He’s not used to seeing you without a smile on your face and every crack in your demeanor lets him know you’re a dam that’s about to burst. 

It can’t be easy to live knowing your father willingly left and chose to leave you behind. Nearly two decades of saying ‘I love you’ and championing his only daughter to be the best version of herself felt like it was all for naught the night he told you he wouldn’t be living with you anymore. You could barely stand watching him pack his belongings and take everything valuable with him. You were unusually quiet during this period of time, too scared to make a sound and make things worse than they already were. 

Jungwon knows you keep your heart locked away in a cage these days. Your friends know you like the back of their hands but it’s been getting harder and harder to coax you out of your shell. He knows it hasn’t been easy with Heeseung within your main friend group and wishes he could do more to quell your anxieties about spending time with him, even if your other friends are there to shield you from his silent torment. 

Your best friend softens a bit when you cling onto his arm, holding him like he’s your lifeline. He pushes his fingers through your hair the way he’s seen your mom do countless times and rocks your body back and forth until you’ve started to calm down. He hears your shallow breaths and holds onto you for the fear that you’ll think he doesn’t want to comfort you if he lets you go. 

“Sorry.” Your voice is brittle and it makes his heart break. 

“You never have to be sorry, Bug. Are you okay?” You shake your head. “Is it something one of us did?” You nod. “Was it Heeseung?” He hates that you start to tear up again. “I’m sorry, Bug. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t understand why he doesn’t like me,” you hiccup. “I don’t know what I did. How can I apologize when I don’t know what I’ve done?” 

Jungwon sighs. He’s with you on this one. “You’re right. I don’t know what’s gotten into him recently but I’m fed up with it too.” 

“We don’t need to be friends but I want him to stop pretending like I ruined his life.” Your best friend nods against you and pushes his cheek against the crown of your head. “Sorry that I woke you up. I feel like a mess.”

“You’re not a mess, Bug. You’ve been tied together with a smile for so long. It’s only natural that you break down every once in a while.”

“You’re very smart, Wonnie.” 

He laughs. “I know. Do you want to cry some more or go to sleep?” Jungwon’s tone lacks any humor tonight. He’s concerned about you in a way that makes you feel like a porcelain doll and while you appreciate it when he pokes fun at you to show how comfortable he is with you, this feels just as nice. 

“I’m ready to sleep.” 

You pull away from him and settle in your sleeping bag, welcoming the calmness that washes over you. Jungwon chooses to stay up just a smidge longer until he’s certain that you’re asleep before he closes his eyes, wishing for better days ahead of you.

***

The trees always seemed taller when you were younger. They stretched for miles and touched the sky from your point of view, almost as if they  could reach the heavens above. You always wondered what it must be like to have lived as long as nature around you. The leaves and branches see all walks of life, from humans to animals, and keep many secrets hidden underneath its shaded areas. It almost feels like they whisper stories back to you when the wind shakes the weakest branches. You always try to listen. 

When you find yourself hiking on another path around the lake, it becomes easier for you to clear your mind and think about all that lies before you. The sounds of birds chirping amongst the blue sky make the environment around you seem picturesque. In all of your ears camping here, you don’t think you’ve ever appreciated it the way you are at this very moment. 

Your friends are scattered in front and behind you, each of them wrapped up in their own conversations. You can feel Jungwon look at you periodically but you silently let him know that you’re doing alright. He worries about you a lot and he has every reason to. Sometimes, you wonder if any part of you is holding him back because he spends so much time looking after you. It used to be the other way around with you watching after him at playgrounds and on your walk home from school. But with your father leaving as soon as you started trying to figure out who you were, it was like a switch had flipped. 

Your best friend has had a few girlfriends here and there but none of them ever lasted long. He reminds you that he’s young and isn’t looking for a life partner at this stage in his life, but you know he worries about you ever since the news of your dad leaving and Riki entering your life turned your world upside down. You wonder if you’re causing him too much stress. 

He always reminds you that you’re the reason he has so many people that he loves. You introduced him to the majority of your friends on this camping trip. You were the one who introduced him to his first girlfriend and why he finds so much hope in all of the small things. Jungwon admires your resilience and ability to stand on your feet after you’ve been knocked to the ground by an unseen force. Your tenacity pushes him to be a better person towards others and to himself, and he’ll remind you every chance he gets. Jungwon believes that you’re okay for now. You know he’ll be there to pick up the pieces if you need him to.

It brings you back to your future and how Jungwon won’t be physically present when you move to Japan. You’ve spent so much time with him and it made you happy when he was accepted into his bachelor program at your university. The two of you have always been close, whether it was because neither of you had siblings and found solace in each another or because of forced proximity from being neighbors, you don’t know. It feels like you’ll be saying goodbye to somebody who you’ve always leaned on. It feels like you’re leaving him the way your dad left you. 

Dealing with the overwhelming guilt of moving to Okayama, the city your father moved to when he left you and your mom, digs a hole deep inside of your chest every time you think about it. It’s probably why you push off discussions about moving whenever you can and change the subject when other people bring it up. You try not to get too irritated whenever your mom talks to you about packing and everything else that’s important when settling in a new country, like a work visa or financial burdens. But every conversation with her about your eventual move feels like a million needles are slowly pricking your skin. Every step feels heavier than the next. 

There’s Heeseung, too, who has been plaguing your mind ever since you awoke. It’s not unlike him to be cold towards you. In fact, you’ve dealt with tuning him out and learned to ignore his quiet scoffs, paying attention to anyone who would give you some of their attention. The accumulation of life stress and the inevitable move has made it so your heart rate can’t seem to be still at any time in the day. Heeseung doesn’t make it any better by snapping at you for treading carefully. This feeling reminds you of the time you tiptoed around your father when you found out about his infidelity being the reason why he chose to leave you and your mother for Okayama. It feels like anticipating a bomb going off. It’s never a matter of if, but when. 

You don’t remember when things changed but you remember it was abrupt and unannounced. One day, the two of you were laughing with bologna sandwiches for lunch and the next, Heeseung was ignoring you like the two of you had never been friends. His stare was just as cold as his tone when speaking. You could never catch his eye when you were with your group of friends and he refused to be alone with you. The hurt that came with his actions felt like a punch in the gut with all you were dealing with back home. 

The reason why it was easy to tune out his friendship was purely because of prioritization. Dealing with empty rooms and the house feeling like a ghost was haunting the walls was by far a greater sadness than losing a friend. But even so, seeing Heeseung laugh with your friends and watching him excel in everything you used to support him in made you feel like you were being left behind. It hurt to attend his basketball games because he no longer looked for your eyes in the stands. He didn’t acknowledge you when your group of friends would head to the nearby diner for a celebratory meal, and he didn’t call you to say goodnight and to thank you for coming to his games and open practices anymore. 

The ghost of your friendship lingered over you like an unwanted guest. It followed you into university after you committed to the same one and it seemed like neither of you could escape one another. Seeing him live a life that you weren’t a part of made your reality sink in–the few years he spent distancing himself from you wasn’t merely a fluke or teenage angst. Heeseung wanted nothing to do with you. You had to learn how to be okay with that. 

Still, you wish you were as tall as the trees around you. Maybe then Heeseung would tell you why he didn’t like you anymore. 

“Y/N, watch out!” 

The warning nearly comes too late. You don’t register a hissing sound until you see a reflection of scales and stumble backwards into somebody who seems to be caught off guard as much as you are. Jake’s warning saved you from a nasty bite from a snake that has slithered away back between the trees but your heart stammers in your chest as you curl yourself further deeper into the person behind you. 

You hate snakes. You’re petrified of them 

Heeseung, to his misfortune, is the person you’ve bumped into. He saw the snake just before Jake said his warning and felt his body freeze in the way yours didn’t. He didn’t have time to move aside and let Sunoo, who he was talking to, move to grab your body and pull you out of harm’s way. He feels your beating chest against his and looks down at you. Heeseung doesn’t think he’s ever seen you like this before. It makes his stomach fall. 

“Y/N is really scared of snakes,” Jungwon says as he walks up to the two of you, offering a quick explanation before Heeseung could say anything about you clinging onto him. “She got bit by one as a kid and it scared her pretty bad.” Heeseung doesn’t push you away. Instead, he lets Jungwon pry you off of his body until you’re able to blink and come to your senses. 

“Sorry.” You throw an apology his way when Jungwon rubs your back. The rest of your friends, who seem to know about your fear, try to give you some space instead of crowding around you. A part of him wants to scoff. The other part of him feels bad for you. It almost makes him feel guilty for being so short with you last night.

“We’re almost at the end of the trail anyway,” Jungwon says. “Let’s finish it and get some lunch.” 

When you all arrive back at the campsite, Jake pulls your water bottle out of your backpack and stands with you while Jungwon lets you stand right beside him in an attempt to calm yourself down. Jay and Sunghoon, not wanting to impede and make things uncomfortable, decide to go on another short hike and let you rest. The sight is a bit unnerving for Heeseung, who has generally only ever thought of you as this self righteous, confident person, to see you in such a state of shock that you could barely look him in the eye like you did the night before. He’s used to you avoiding and ignoring him but he isn’t accustomed to you scurrying away from anything or anyone. 

He’s a bit confused as to why he feels a little guilty for how he spoke to you last night. You were his friend before he decided you weren’t and that feeling of concern is starting to creep back in. Heeseung watches the way you flinch when Jake tries to rub your shoulder and how Jungwon is the only person who seems to know how to get you to relax after the snake incident. 

“Is she really that scared of snakes?” Heeseung asks Sunoo, who stands away from you to give you space. He pretends to be busy picking at his nails to let you have peace and not make you feel overcrowded with two of your friends already by your side. 

“If I tell you, are you going to use that against her?” Sunoo doesn’t typically question Heeseung like this. It startles him but he shakes his head anyway. 

“No,” says Heeseung. “I’m not. I’ve never seen her act like that.”

Sunoo must think the elder is telling the truth. “When Y/N was very young, a snake bit her ankle when her parents weren’t looking. She got scared and tripped over a rock or something, and her entire leg started to bleed and got a pretty bad gash from it. They rushed her to the emergency room and panicked because her leg was covered in blood.”

“That’s it?”

Sunoo glares at Heeseung. “It might not seem like a big deal to you, but that kind of stuff leaves an impression on you when you’re a kid, Heeseung. She’s been pretty terrified of snakes and blood ever since.” 

“Huh. I never knew that.”

“Don’t go barking up that tree. It’s bad enough that you hate her for no good reason.” 

Heeseung looks at Sunoo quizzically when he hears his friend’s harsh tone. “What’s the matter with you?” 

Sunoo scoffs. “Me? What’s the matter with you? I heard you and Y/N last night. You were an ass to her. She’s right, too. How can she apologize for hurting you if you never talk about what she did? 

“Sunoo–”

“Save it, Heeseung.” He straightens his posture. “You’re my friend and I love you, but you’ve been really harsh on Y/N for the past few years. I thought the two of you drifted apart but you clearly have a vendetta against her.”

“I do not have a vendetta against Y/N.”  

“Sure. Whatever you say. Just remember that Y/N’s the reason why you’re on this trip. One veto from her and Jungwon would’ve kicked your ass to the curb. You’re lucky she doesn’t say this shit to anyone.” 

Heeseung looks at his shoes, feeling the heat in his body creep up his neck. He knows Sunoo’s somewhat right. You’re half the reason why this trip exists at all. Even if Jungwon brought the friend group along, it’s you who this campaign tradition belongs to as well. Heeseung bites his tongue and tries his best not to argue with Sunoo. Deep down, the elder knows that he’s been a bit harsh to you and sometimes finds himself regretting the venom he aims directly at you. But then he remembers that incident from all those years ago and feels his anger bubble up inside of him. He pulls his friend away so that none of you hear him. 

“I have a reason not to like her okay?” Heeseung whispers through his teeth. 

“What reason could you possibly have that justifies how shitty you’ve been?”

Heeseung looks around like he’s afraid someone’s listening in. “Second semester, sophomore year of high school. You and Jake were with me doing homework right outside the front gate. We were waiting for my brother to pick us up from school when Y/N told Kim Chaewon that I would never amount to anything because I didn’t have any talent and had to flirt with girls to get them to listen to my music.”

Sunoo looks at Heeseung like he’s sprouted a second head, who looks at the younger boy like he’s waiting for confirmation or validation of sorts with his eyebrows raised as if expecting a certain outcome. Instead, Sunoo slaps him on the back of his head with his palm and scowls. 

“You are so stupid, Heeseung.”

“What the fuck did I do?!” Heeseung soothes the spot where Sunoo hit him. “It was messed up for her to say that. Why are you calling me stupid?”

“Y/N didn’t say that about you. Chaewon did.” 

Heeseung’s eyes grow comically wide. “I know what I heard.” 

“No, you don’t. I remember the moment you’re talking about. You left so fast and didn’t stop when Jake and I called out for you. Chaewon couldn't get another word out because Y/N tore her a new one. Why do you think they aren’t friends anymore?” 

“Well…Because Y/N said that about me. Chaewon was my friend, too.” 

Sunoo shakes his head. “Chaewon said that about you. Not Y/N.”

“That’s not possible…”

“How would you know? You weren’t there. You left before you could hear the full argument.” 

“Sunoo,” Heeseung says, voice quivering from a mixture of guilt and embarrassment. “Please tell me that’s not true.” 

“Do you know how stupid you look knowing you blew off Y/N, the person who defended you, and still talked to Chaewon?” Sunoo shakes his head at Heeseung. “You ended your longest friendship over a misunderstanding and then got closer with the person who actually said those things about you. Imagine how Y/N must’ve felt.” 

Heeseung’s mind starts to recount the days after your argument with Chaewon and how he’d gone out of his way to ignore you in the aftermath. He never gave you an explanation about his absence and why he pulled away, citing that incident as the reason why you didn’t deserve to know in the first place. He thinks about Chaewon and how he didn’t think twice about it because his mind had already been made up. He was still friends with Chaewon, taking pictures with her at parties and talking to her whenever their friend groups hung out together. Not once did he spare a glance to you. 

As his mind starts to wander into nostalgic territory, Heeseung feels his stomach plummet. The sudden urge to rectify his actions overwhelms him and he’s fighting tooth and nail not to cry on the spot. 

When he looks at you now, quiet and hidden within your shared friends, Heeseung can’t help but feel a bit guilty. He suddenly remembers the few moments where you showed a vulnerable side of yourself and allowed him to see you cry after a bad grade or when your middle school friends were being mean towards you. Heeseung recalls all the times he’s ever thought of you as somebody who puts on a brave face and stands back up after feeling the weight of the world crush you to the ground. He thinks about all of the times he’s ever made you feel insignificant to him and feels pins and needles in his footsteps. Heeseung finds himself walking towards you as he’s contemplating his feelings and Jungwon guards you, pushing you behind him. 

“Hey,” Heeseung says awkwardly. He tries to peek at you but doesn’t like seeing you look so helpless. Pathetically, he offers a meek apology. “Sorry about the snake.” 

“It’s fine. Sorry I grabbed you.” For the first time in a long time, Heeseung doesn’t feel annoyed by the thought of you latching onto him. 

“It’s okay. I, uh…wanted to know if you were fine.” Heeseung clears his throat. “Is there anything I can do?” His unfamiliar kindness confuses you and it confuses Jungwon too.

“You know, maybe it would be a good idea if you left the campsite for a while,” Jake suggests from beside Heeseung. “You’re a bit shaken up and you could probably use a change of scenery.” 

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Jungwon agrees. “You could leave for a few hours and come back once you’ve calmed down, Bug.” 

You pick at your fingernails. “I feel so stupid for being so scared.”

“It’s not stupid, Y/N.” Jake tilts his head and looks at you with a pout. “It’s something you’re scared of and with good reason. I would’ve been scared shitless if it was closer to me.”

“You could go into town and get some ice cream,” says Jungwon. “You should go to the beach by the highway for a little bit and get your mind off of it.” 

“I-I don’t really want to go alone.”

Heeseung speaks before he can even think about what he’s saying.

“I’ll go with you.” Jungwon and Jake whip their head to their friend. 

“Heeseung–”

“I can drive us,” he says, mouth moving faster than his brain. “I won’t say anything, I swear. I’ll take her to the beach and ice cream if she wants to.” 

Jungwon hesitantly looks at Heeseung. “Are…Are you sure?” 

“Yeah.” He lies straight through his teeth. He doesn’t know if he can sit with you when his whole life has been turned upside down. But it’s too late to backtrack. “I’ve been feeling a little restless here anyway.” 

“I don’t know…”

“Jay isn’t here and he has his keys.” Jake looks at you and nudges your shoulder. “What do you want to do, Y/N?” 

You look up at Heeseung for the first time and he sucks in a breath. It’s like you’re devoid of yourself, fear and anxiety clouding your eyes like you’re petrified to even speak. He watches you lick your lips slowly as if contemplating carefully. “I want to go.”

“Bug, you don’t have to.”

“I know, Wonnie.” You touch his arm and he relents. “I think I need to leave for a little bit and calm down. I should walk on the beach, or something.”

“I can come with you guys.” Riki, who has been silent during this ordeal, speaks up and appears to the other side of Heeseung. “I saw the beach just before we got here. It looks pretty.” 

“That’s a good idea,” Jake nods, looking at you. He softens his tone. “Would that be alright with you?” 

You hum .”Mhm. Yeah, that’s fine. Let me get my wallet.” 

When you leave for your tent, Jungwon looks at Heeseung and stares at him with an expression he can’t read. The silence is deafening and he awkwardly coughs, looking away from his younger friend. 

“Don’t fuck this up,” says Jungwon with a clipped tone. “You’ve been a dipshit and she’s been putting up with it for the sake of everybody else. The last thing she needs is for you to make fun of her and make her feel even worse than she already does.” 

“I won’t, Jungwon. I swear.” 

“I’m choosing to trust you because you’re my friend too, despite everything you feel towards Y/N.” He nods at Riki. “You, keep an eye out for them.”

“I won’t do or say anything,” Heeseung promises for a second time. You come back a moment later, oblivious to the tension. 

“Be safe, yeah?” Heeseung hears the change in Jungwon’s tone when talking to you. “Call me if you need anything. Your phone’s charged from the portable, right?”

“Yeah.” You hold up your phone to show him. “I’ll let you know when we’re coming back.” 

The beach itself is nestled towards the end of the highway where the sand meets the trees. The small shops around it bring a sense of nostalgia, especially when Heeseung parks in front of a large, tattered orange sign that says “ICE CREAM SOLD HERE.” The three of you walk inside and Heeseung watches you look over the flavors. 

“They change the flavors all the time based on the season,” you say absentmindedly. The three of you are the only customers and he figures the employee must be in the back. 

It��s a bit strange to be spending time with you apart from everybody else. Even though Riki’s accompanying the two of you, he hasn't been alone with you like this in years. You seem to be doing a little better with distance put between you and the campsite. Heeseung hopes the drive wasn’t too terrible. His knuckles turned white with the grip he had on the steering wheel, too afraid to look into the rearview mirror for the fear of catching your eye. He wonders if you’d be able to read his mind in the way you once did. 

You make small talk with the owner of the shop who recognizes you before ordering. Riki and Heeseung follow too, the youngest trying a few flavors before settling on one. You go to pay for your own until Riki pulls out his wallet and pays for the both of you. Heeseung watches the two of you argue before the owner accepts Riki’s card. He’s pulled out of his thoughts before paying for his own cup. 

The beach is right next door and the three of you leave your shoes inside Heeseung’s trunk before stepping onto the warm sand. The sun’s high in the sky and Heeseung’s grateful that he chose to put on extra sunblock before leaving his tent. Riki follows you towards the water. He chooses to stay behind and give you both space even though his heart is telling him not to. 

Heeseung has always believed in telling the truth because it’ll always see the light at the end of the day. He’s a fan of honesty and it’s something he values in all of his friends. He thought he’d found that in you ever since the day the two of you started becoming friends and felt his world shatter around him when he thought you were making fun of his aspirations to become a music producer. You’d spent countless hours in his bedroom with him as he learned how to use proper equipment and went so far as to buy him a few things here and there disguised as birthday and Christmas gifts. You spent so much time listening to him grow as a musician in the comfort of his bedroom. The thought that you were pretending to care about him made Heeseung feel sick to his stomach. It wasn't hard for him to cut you off when he thought you betrayed him.

But now, life feels like it’s at a stand still. You stand before him and Heeseung’s throat closes up like he’s lost the ability to breathe. You might not even know that you’re the reason for his inner turmoil. You probably don’t care. Why would you when he’s pushed you so far from arm’s length? Heeseung sighs to himself and replays every single interaction he’s ever had with you after deciding to cut you out of his life. The guilt piles up on him before he can stop it from stacking until it eventually makes his skin feel like it’s been set on fire. He’ll have to sit with the fact that he’s made you out to be a cruel, terrible friend instead of the person who would defend him to hell and back.

What must you think of him now? For a long time, it took Heeseung great strength to push you into the far corners of his mind and stop seeking you out whenever you were near him. He trained himself to look away from you, the weight of your alleged words playing in the back of his mind whenever he felt the urge to talk to you like old times. Heeseung stopped communicating with you altogether, unfollowing you on all of your social media and physically removing you out of his life so he wouldn’t have to see your face when he least expected it. 

But now it feels like the last six years of his life have been a lie. He’s been living in his own world, wrapped up in a delusion that only he was able to clearly see. The memory was too painful to say out loud let alone tell a soul. Heeseung kept his heart guarded and offered a brief explanation whenever your mutual friends asked why the two of you weren’t close anymore and he’d shut you down if you tried to talk to him until your efforts ceased. 

When he looks at you now, all he feels is regret. 

Riki walks back towards Heeseung, who’s perched on a bench right on the sand. His ice cream is discarded in the nearby trash can and Riki eats whatever’s left in his cup before tossing it away. The two of them sit in silence. Riki basks in the salt air and relishes in the sound of birds chirping and waves crashing onto the shore. Heeseung can only hear his heart beating in his ears. 

“She’s doing okay,” Riki says, breaking the silence. “I think her shock and adrenaline are wearing off.” 

“Good,” Heeseung nods. “That’s really good.” 

“I could tell she wanted to be left alone after a little while. I hope she’ll be fine when we go back.” 

“I’m sure she will be.” 

Riki nods and looks back at you. “Have you ever seen her get like that?” 

“Maybe once or twice. We stopped being close in high school.” 

“Oh, yeah. Right.” 

“But she always bounced back,” Heeseung adds quickly. “Like you said, she’ll be fine.”

“I didn’t even know she was scared of snakes.” 

Heeseung laughs. “Me either.” The silence permeates until Heeseung speaks again. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“Since when have you ever asked me if you could ask me something?” 

“Fair point.” Heeseung rubs his palms against his thighs. “I don’t really know where to start.”

“The beginning is usually the best place.” 

“You know how I feel about Y/N. How I felt about her. I told you so many times to stop expecting people to treat you the way you want to be treated if they didn’t put in the effort to make you feel welcomed.” Heeseung looks at the younger boy. “Why did you keep defending?” 

“Are you asking me because you’re worried about Y/N or because you have some weird thing with her?” 

“I’m asking because I’m starting to think I was wrong about her.” Riki must think Heeseung is telling the truth because he nods after a moment. 

“How much do you know about Y/N’s family life?”

“I know she has a mom and that Jungwon’s parents are like her own. I also know her parents got divorced and that her dad left just before she graduated high school.” 

“Right.” Riki coughs nervously. “How much do you know about our relationship?” 

“You two are half-siblings.” 

“That’s all?” 

Heeseung shrugs. “I never questioned it.” 

“Okay, yeah. That makes sense.” Riki looks down at his lap like he’s trying to figure out what to say. “I don’t really know if this is my place to say it but I want you to know so you can stop thinking Y/N’s the Devil.” 

“I don’t think she’s the Devil.” 

Riki chuckles. “Sure. To put it simply, she's my half-sister because her dad cheated on her mom with mine. He’d go on business trips to Japan a few times a year and they hit it off after they met. One thing led to another and they started meeting up whenever he was back in town. 

“They had me a year after they first started their affair and I guess he was able to keep his life in Japan a secret until Y/N found pictures on her dad’s laptop. She saw pictures of us on vacations when her dad was supposed to be on work trips. I think she told her mom about it and that’s around the time I found out he had another family too.” 

“What was going through your head back then?” 

“Well, my mom told me my dad had to live in Korea for work. I believed it until I was seven, maybe? I’d always ask her questions as I got older but she either brushed me off or told me things that didn’t add up. He’d come more frequently the older I got. We didn’t talk on the phone much when he was over in Korea, though, so seeing him in person used to be extra special. 

“Then I found out that he had an affair because he came to live with us full time when I was twelve. My mom told me everything when he moved in and I felt like my entire life was a lie. I couldn’t look at either of them the same.” 

“Wow…I can’t imagine going through that.” Heeseung’s words hang in the air. 

“Yeah. It was hard. I hated Y/N for a while. I hated that she got to see my dad more than I did when I found out. My friends used to make fun of me because he wasn’t around for my dance competitions and showcases. I always defended him and said he was working in Korea to make a better life for us. It’s what I believed at the time.” 

“And your mom let you believe all of that?”

Riki shrugs. “I guess so. She hated Y/N and her mom. She always talked down on them when my dad moved in and I felt that my anger was justified too. My mom hated the fact that my dad still wanted to keep Y/N in his life and wouldn’t fully abandon her the way he did hid with his ex-wife. Some of his paycheck would go towards Y/N’s college fund and my mom tried everything in her power to stop him from giving her money but he gave her an ultimatum, so she stopped complaining. 

“He took me to Korea once. I was fourteen, I think. I met my dad’s parents and we stayed with them for a while. I don’t know why he took me there since I could barely speak the language but he said he wanted me to get to know where he grew up and integrate myself in the culture since he was trying to be a present father. That was the first time I met Y/N. I had my mind made up and decided I hated her the first time I saw her. She couldn’t have been older than seventeen. I hated that she looked just like me. 

“When we met for the first time, we didn’t really get along. Both of us didn’t talk and our dad tried so hard to form a bond between us but it didn’t work. I didn’t want anything to do with her because all I could think about was how she got to spend so much time with him while I only got to see him for a week or so a few times a year.” 

“What made you change your mind?” Heeseung asks. 

“When we got back to Japan, my mom kept saying all of these mean things about Y/N and her family,” Riki continues. “I wasn’t her biggest fan but the stuff she was saying was cruel and untrue. I knew it was pure jealousy and realized that my mom helped break up a perfectly good family. I mean, I knew it was my dad’s fault for cheating on his wife and leaving Y/N also, but coming to that realization made me think about how Y/N must’ve felt when she found out.”

“Wow…I didn’t know any of this.”

“As far as I can tell, Jungwon’s the only person she’s told.” Riki sighs and pushes his fingers through his hair. “Anyway, at that point, neither one of us cared to keep the relationship going. I didn’t call her and she didn’t call me. But the more my parents started living their lives like they hadn’t made two people fall apart, the more I started to feel sorry for Y/N. I can’t imagine finding out your dad cheated on your mom and then willingly left you for another family. Our dad brought me back to Korea a few times after that for winter and summer breaks to stay with his parents. He said he wanted me to experience life abroad. He’d bring me to family events and I always felt so out of place.”

“Wait, seriously?” Heeseung asks in disbelief. 

“Yeah, if you can believe it. I felt so guilty coming to these things. It was actually Y/N’s mom who told her to start being more open to me. I can’t explain how awful I felt when I realized she was making an effort to include me even though I was someone from her ex-husband’s affair. When my dad was trying to get back in everyone’s good graces, Y/N’s mom was making sure I had enough food and water.

“I slowly started to realize that Y/N was hurting too. She had everything I wanted but it felt like I was the one who took that away from her. I thought, maybe if my mom wasn’t pregnant with me, her dad would’ve never continued the affair and she would’ve never found out he cheated.”

“That’s why you defend her, isn’t it? Even when I thought she was being unfair?” 

Riki laughs. “Yeah, man. I’ve known about her longer than she’s known me and I’ve known about the affair longer than she has. I’ve had more time to get used to it. I don’t blame her for pushing me away. If I found out I had a half-sibling because my dad cheated on my mom, I think I’d react the same way.” Heeseung’s heart feels much heavier than it did prior to this conversation. “We’ve been getting better. She texts me first every now and then and she keeps up with my dancing stuff. It’s not like we’re total strangers anymore. I mean, she likes me enough to let me be friends with you guys. It’ll just take some time.”

“Do you want her to be in your life? And do you want to be in hers?” 

Heeseung watches Riki nod without a second doubt. “Absolutely. I love Y/N now. She’s my sister even if she only thinks of me as her half-brother. I know we’ve had it rough in the past but she looks out for me. Y/N’s smart and confident in all the ways I wish I could be. I love listening to her talk and I love learning new things about her. I always wished for a sibling and even though this isn’t how I imagined it going, I’m happy.” 

The two of them sit in another round of silence. Heeseung does his best to process everything Riki has just told him but it feels like there’s too much information for him to digest all at once. He never knew any of this about you, too caught up in his own feelings about the misunderstanding. While he was giving you the cold shoulder, you were crumbling apart because your dad left for another family. If he knew any of this back then, Heeseung thinks he would be sympathetic. But he can’t turn back the clock. He watches you stand by the water with your empty ice cream up in your hands and wonders what you’re thinking about. 

“Wait,” Heeseung says, cutting the silence for the umpteenth time. “You’re from Okayama.” Riki nods. “You’ve lived in Okayama until you moved here.” 

“Yeah, that’s right.” 

“And Y/N’s moving to Okayama for work.” Riki nods solemnly. “You’re telling me Y/N’s moving to the city your dad moved to when he left her?” The younger boy nods again. “Shit.”

“With everything going on in her life, I don’t expect her to have it all figured out. Sure, it hurt when she didn’t want to spend time with me but I don’t think I can really be mad at her when this is how her life is. Okayama is a big city but the world is pretty small.”

“That’s fucked up. That’s really, really fucked up.” 

“I’m pretty sure she’s scared about running into our dad. Lord knows I came to study in Korea because I didn’t want to be around him anymore,” Riki scoffs. “I know that I have my own shit to deal with and that I’ll probably need to find a therapist when I start school but for now, I’ll focus on Y/N. I’m happy she let me come on this trip because I know how much camping with Jungwon means to her. I can somewhat empathize with her about moving to a place that didn’t feel like home because of your dad.” 

Heeseung looks at Riki and doesn’t expect him to look as tranquil as he does, but he looks at you like you’re the person giving him this grace and maturity. “Fuck, Riki. I’m really sorry that you had to deal with this. Do the other guys besides Jungwon know?”

“Not as much as you do, they just know something happened with my parents and that’s why I don’t want to go back to Okayama. I don’t think Y/N’s told anybody else, so please don’t tell her you know.”

“I won’t,” Heeseung promises. “I swear on it.” 

“Good. I trust you and you’ve been a good friend to me.” 

“Sorry for giving you a hard time about her too.” 

“It’s fine now. Just…promise me you won’t be so harsh on her. She’s been through a lot and I can tell she’s really not happy about the move even though the job opportunity is really good for her career.” 

“Of course.” 

You walk back towards them and the two boys stand up and pretend as if they weren’t speaking in depth about you. Heeseung, for the first time, smiles at you without restraint and it makes you feel confused as you shake off the sand and head back into his car. 

On the entire drive back to the campsite, Heeseung lets Riki control the music and thinks about their previous conversation. He had no idea this is what you were dealing with and always thought you stopped talking to him because you didn’t think it was worth being friends either. He doesn’t remember much about the last few years of high school, apart from avoiding you when you were around, but now he wishes he would’ve paid more attention. Even though what’s past is past, Heeseung wishes he could turn back time and stop himself from making a false assumption. 

He parks the car sooner than he realizes and Riki hands Heeseung back his phone. You step out of the car and look far better than you did before the impromptu trip. Heeseung can’t help but jog after you. 

“Hey,” he calls out. You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you hear his voice and look at him, perplexed. “Are you feeling better now?” 

“Um, yeah.” You look at Heeseung like you don’t know what he wants from you and he’s starting to hate that he’s made you feel this way for so long. 

“Good. That’s good.” Heeseung clears his throat. “I, uh, wanted to apologize for what I said to you last night. That was out of line. I’m really sorry.” The gears turn in your head and he can see you processing his apology slowly. 

“Yeah, well, if you have a problem with me then you should either tell me why or leave me alone.” Your words lack any venom like they did last night but they’re replaced with something more raw and callous. He almost wishes you would yell at him. 

“I know.” He really does. “But I really am sorry. For everything.” Heeseung can’t find the words to elaborate how he feels, not when he sees your shared friends in front of him. 

You look at him and he feels like you might as well be looking into his soul. Without another word, you leave him with his thoughts and rejoin the rest of the group. 

***

It’s nearing the end of the trip and Heeseung feels like he needs to get you alone to apologize for a million things. Guilt courses through his body when he’s awake and it only ceases when he’s asleep. He does his best to keep a straight face when he’s around everybody else and he’s sure they’re all picking up on the fact that he hasn’t been avoiding you like he did when you all first arrived. 

But it’s hard to get you alone. He knows you likely wouldn’t hear him out if he asked you to talk. Even so, he doesn’t know if he knows everything he wants to say. Heeseung is sure everyone else will want to know why he asked to talk to you and make a big deal out of it too, but he can’t say he blames them when he’s the one who has put so much tension between the two of you. Being nicer towards you with intention is not normal for Heeseung. He wishes that weren’t the case. 

It’s a warm day outside and everybody’s agreed to go kayaking in the lake. The water is calm and there are a few families and groups who’ve decided to do the same thing. Everybody fastens life vests and hops into their own kayak before setting out on the water. 

Heeseung wants to enjoy being out on the water but his mind keeps coming back to you. He wonders deeply about the past he shares with you and what would’ve been if he hadn’t made those assumptions all those years ago. He knows he’s always been a bit too prideful for his own good, putting himself above the opinions of others without thinking twice. He’s got tough skin and likes that he’s developed a sense of confidence and identity, especially because he wants to pursue a career in music, but now he wonders if he’s too confident. 

The reason why your words hurt more than he’d care to admit is because he harbored a pathetic crush on you ever since you wrote him a letter for his thirteenth birthday. He’d just gotten the hang of making music on GarageBand and by the time his birthday rolled around, Heeseung wanted to show some of his friends what he’d been learning after school. October came quickly and he invited his closest friends to his house for some cake and to jump in the large bouncy house his parents rented for him. The warm afternoon is forever etched into his memory because everyone Heeseung cared about in his first year being a teenager was there to support the beginning of his music interest. 

Heeseung remembers the gift he unwrapped from you and your parents. It was a CD of his favorite album and one of those plastic statues with an award title etched into the base. It read “BEST MUSIC PRODUCER” on it and Heeseung thought it was the best gift he received that year. What made that warm afternoon even more special was when you pulled him aside to give him a handwritten note. He remembers your shy voice telling him not to open it until everybody was gone and said you wanted to give the letter to him in private when nobody else was looking because your parents didn’t know you’d done this. He kept that card on his desk until everybody left, promising to read it as soon as he was alone. 

You wrote to his yearning heart, the side of him that wanted to make music so badly that he’d sit in his room until the late hour with a lamp shining over his desk to write songs until his hand hurt from holding his pen. Heeseung would hunch over his desk during school and scribble down lyrics in the margins of his assignments. It always felt like he was the only person who felt this way most times and felt like his peers couldn’t understand why he loved making music so much. Reading your letter made Heeseung feel less alone, as if you were always watching over him and seeing his passion when he thought nobody else could. 

That note alone solidified his blooming crush and suddenly, every love song he wrote was dedicated to you. Details about you were weaved into his songs–the sound you made when you laughed, the stickers you used to collect, and the number on your childhood home–it all became important to him. It was almost like Heeseung could talk to you through his music without saying a single word. He could let his songs do the talking for him. 

Of course, thinking you were the one who said he didn’t have any real talent made his hopes and dreams shatter into a million pieces. He always felt like your champion and that pursuing his passion wasn’t so scary if he had you by his side. The world felt like it was crashing all around him to the point where he considered giving up on making music altogether. For that, he would never forgive you. But it’s different now. Heeseung knows you’re not to blame. The culpability doesn’t lie on your shoulders, even if that’s what Heeseung thought for all these years. 

Heeseung roams around the lake in silence, letting the birds chirp uninterrupted. The sound of his boat sailing against the water beneath him does something to soothe his aching heart for the time being. He sees you not too far ahead with Sunghoon a bit behind you when he sees you reach for the paddle that fell from your grip. His heart stops when your kayak tips over when you've reached too far. 

He wastes no time and rows his boat with all his might after hearing your yelp. His arms burn as he pushes through the water but before he can get any closer to you, Sunghoon has jumped out of his kayak to help you back to the surface. He’s able to drag you to the shore nearby and takes off your life jacket when the two of you are sitting on the edge of dry land. Heeseung manages to haul your kayak and paddle while Jay, who also saw the incident, grabs Sunghoon’s. The two of them wordlessly make their way to you and Sunghoon.

Heeseung sees and hears you coughing but he’s also aware of the fact that you’re situated between Sunghoon’s arms. He’s got you securely wrapped between him as you regain your breath. It’s selfish to even consider the idea that he might be jealous but he can’t help it, especially since you’re gripping onto his arms like he’s your lifeline. 

“Shit, Y/N,” Jay says as he takes his life jacket off. Heeseung does the same and parks his boat to get out of the water. “Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” you mutter, catching your breath from the water that’s still lodged in your throat. “Jesus, I didn’t think that would happen.”

“You gave me a heart attack.” Sunhoon laughs from behind you but doesn’t push you away just yet. Heeseung watches you.

“I got your boat and paddle,” he says pathetically, feeling awkward when the three of you look at him. “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

“Thanks.” You cough when you speak and Sunghoon rubs your back gently. “Why does this shit keep happening to me?” 

“Maybe Heeseung’s bad luck,” Sunghoon snickers. There’s no real animosity in his tone but Heeseung feels upset nonetheless. 

“Sorry,” he finds himself apologizing. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” you tell him, leaning back against Sunghoon as you catch your breath. “I think that’s enough kayaking for today, though.”

Jay laughs. “Yeah, you can say that again. I’m getting hungry anyway. Sunoo and Riki are probably complaining about that too.” 

At dinner, the eight of you sit around the fire as Jay, with the help of Riki and Sunoo, prepare and serve the food. The warm food satisfies everyone and everybody takes turns swapping stories about kayaking, and everybody laughs when Sunghoon recounts the story of you tipping over your boat. Riki keeps your plate full and tries to give you more meat but you shake your head. He pouts and you eventually relent, and that makes Heeseung smile.

He can feel Jungwon looking at him. The younger boy sits next to Heeseung and looks at him every so often, especially when you start talking or when the topic of discussion falls onto you. He ignores it to the best of his ability because he’s sure his friend has picked up on the fact that he’s not acting like he’s not interested anymore. When Jungwon pulls him aside when everybody leaves to get ready for bed, he isn’t surprised. 

“What’s up with you?” Jungwon asks quizzically. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean either, Heeseung. You were acting weird at dinner.” 

“To make a long story short, the reason why I didn’t like Y/N all this time was because I thought she was the one who said I would never make it in music. Sunoo told me it was Chaewon, not Y/N.” 

Jungwon’s eyes open comically. “That’s the reason you didn’t like Y/N?!” Heeseung smacks his shoulder and shushes him. “You know if you just, like, told any of us why you were so mad at her, we could’ve solved this and you wouldn’t have lost a friend.” Ouch. 

“Yeah,” Heeseung replies, looking at the ground below him, “I know. I feel like an idiot and I feel guilty. I want to make it right with her but I’ve acted like such an ass. I told myself it was for the better.”

“You really were an ass,” Jungwon agrees. “Did you know she almost pulled out of this trip when she found out you were going?”

Heeseung’s shoulders slump. “I fucked up, Won. You’re her best friend and I put you in an uncomfortable position too. I’m sorry. I want to make things right but we haven’t had a real conversation in years.” 

“You’re going to have to do a lot more than apologize.” Jungwon sighs and beckons Heeseung to sit down on a log next to him. “She doesn’t hate you, Heeseung. Y/N’s sensitive, you know? She’s sensitive in the way that she feels things pretty deeply and doesn’t push things aside anymore. Back in high school, she went through something pretty life changing that forced her to shut down and all she wanted was to reach out to you but you iced her out.” 

“I feel awful. She has every right to hate me.”

“That’s the thing, Heeseung. Y/N doesn’t hate you. She doesn’t understand what she did that made you pull away and she’s hurt that you won’t talk to her about it. She’s done all she can trying to get through to you but she’s given up because that didn’t seem like it was going anywhere.”

“Can I ask you something?” Jungwon nods. “If…If I talked to her, apologized and tried to tell her what was going on at the time, do you think she’d forgive me?” 

Heeseung waits for his friend to answer. “I think she would appreciate that you put in the effort to be there for her. She still cares about you even if she says she doesn’t.”

“I don’t know about that.” 

“I do. I’m her best friend, Heeseung.” The elder nods. “What I’m saying is this: All Y/N has ever wanted was for you to make an effort for her. When you stopped being her friend, she wondered for months if she was a bad person because you didn’t talk to her about why you pulled away so suddenly. Apologizing doesn’t mean the two of you will go back to the way you used to, but she’ll appreciate that over distancing yourself because you feel guilty.” 

That last part hurts to hear but he understands. “Do you think Y/N and I could ever be friends?” 

Jungown nods. “Yeah, actually. I can tell that you’re being upfront with me right now. You know how she is. She values honesty and loyalty. Of everyone in our friend group, Y/N is the one who’s really good at communicating and giving advice about that kind of stuff. She doesn’t need you to go above and beyond for her. It might take time but I know she’d appreciate it if you at least made an effort to talk to her and clear up some stuff.” 

Heeseung is lost in thought and barely hears Jungwon tell him he’ll try his best to let the two of you talk tomorrow night after dinner. He doesn’t know how to thank him other than to pull him into a tight embrace and cling onto the younger boy like he’s got something to lose. Jungwon seems to understand where Heeseung is coming from–he, too, has had his fair share of arguments with you–so he hugs him back as if to say everything will be alright. 

When you wake up the next morning, a weird feeling settles in your chest. Jungwon is fast asleep when you leave the tent to get ready for the day after failing to fall asleep. The sun is already up and you don’t know what time it is, but the morning is cold and the sweater you have on protects you from the chill nicely. 

You see Heeseung at the wash station and grip your toiletry bag when he spots you. Awkwardly, you step into the bath house and turn the faucet on as he brushes his teeth, motioning yourself to do the same thing. He watches you from the mirror as you keep your eyeline straight in front of you. He wants to say something to you, perhaps “good morning” or “how did you sleep?” but nothing seems good enough. You, on the other hand, feel like Heeseung may as well put you under a microscope. 

“Can I help you?” 

He looks at you as if he’s been caught with his hand down the cookie jar. “N-No. Sorry.” You sigh and resume brushing your teeth when he spits and rinses his mouth of the toothpaste. “I mean what I said I was sorry. I really am.”

“For which part? Cussing me out or avoiding me since high school?” You sound tired. 

“All of it,” he says quietly. You keep your head straight while he looks at you. “I have no excuse. I’ve been acting like a dick towards you and I feel awful.” You don’t say anything. “I…I thought you were the one who said I wouldn’t make it as a producer. I didn’t know it was Chaewon who said it and that you were the one who defended me. I was stupid and angry, and I took it out on you without knowing the whole truth. 

“I didn’t find out until Sunoo told me yesterday. I didn’t talk about that with anyone since we were friends, you know? I was so hurt but I didn’t know that it was my fault for making myself feel like that…And in turn, I made you feel like you didn’t have a place in my life. I’m so, so sorry that I treated you like you didn’t mean anything to me when you did.” 

You don’t look at him as you finish your morning routine. He stands there awkwardly, waiting for you to say something. 

“I went through a lot of shit back then,” you say, turning to face him. “My dad left just after you stopped talking to me and all I wanted to do was talk to you about it. You always knew what to say to make me feel better but then you started ignoring me like I never mattered to you. Do you know how badly that hurt to have one of my best friends stop giving a shit about me? 

“I watched you hang out with our mutual friends. I watched you do really cool things with music but I did all of that on the sidelines because you never included me, even though I was the only person who really supported you., I don’t think you really get that there were so many people back then who just wanted to be your friend because a few of your songs blew up on the internet. I watched you keep them close while you pushed me aside without giving me the chance to make up for whatever I did to make you upset. 

“I’ve spent the last few years trying to be okay with the fact that you didn’t want to be friends anymore. I tried so hard to accept that you and I would only be people who saw each other in passing. But that hurt. It hurt so much to think you didn’t care about me for one second and didn’t care that I was upset too.” 

Your confession hangs in the air and Heeseung feels like crying when he sees that you’ve started to tear up. You wipe them away aggressively, too embarrassed to be seen weeping in front of him. 

“I’m sorry.” Heeseung’s voice cracks. “I am, Y/N. You were so good to me and I took that for granted.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” 

“I can’t make excuses for myself back then but I want you to know I own up to everything. I’m sorry that I let you feel like that and wasn’t mature enough to talk to you. I know I’m too late, but you deserve an apology. You deserve more than that.” 

Heeseung thinks you’re going to storm past him like he did a few nights prior. He thinks you might spit in his face and tell him to go to hell. But all you do is stare at him in silence. 

“I’ve wanted to hear you say that for a long time,” you tell him. “So thanks for that. I feel beyond hurt by everything you did and everything you’ve ever said since we stopped being friends. All I have ever wanted was to be in the same room and not worry about if you wanted me there or not. This entire trip has felt like walking on eggshells around you.” He lets you step around him and out of the bath house. 

“I don’t hate you either, Heeseung. I know you probably think that I do but I don't.” 

***

The rest of your friends can tell something’s going on between the two of you but choose not to comment on it. Everybody is off doing their own thing, as today is the last day of camping, and nobody wants to accidentally spoil it. You and Jungwon decide to head over to your “secret spot,” just the two of you, for old time’s sake.

“I’ll miss you when I leave Korea,” you say as the two of you sit on the ground. “I don’t know how I’m gonna do any of this without you, Wonnie.”

“I know you’re scared of the future and about your dad asking to see you, but you’ve got to know that you’re stronger than any of us. You’re like, a superhero, or something.” 

“Now you’re just being corny.” 

Jungwon laughs. “Yeah, maybe I am. But seriously, Y/N, I’ve always liked that you were able to find some of your optimism again. You make me feel like things will get better for me too. I can’t sit here and pretend I know what you’re going through, but I’ll always be here for you. My parents will too.”

“I still remember the look on their faces when my mom broke the news,” you snort. “They looked like they were ready to go to prison for murder.” 

“I’ve never seen them so angry. I felt like castrating your dad.” 

“Didn’t we all?” 

“But at least we got Riki out of it.” You smile fondly. Jungwon wants to tell you he’s proud of how far you’ve come, but decides to keep that to himself for now.

“I love him, you know. Even if I don’t really say it. I think it was hard for me to be able to say I loved him without feeling guilty. I thought I was betraying my mom if I gave Riki a chance and seeing her step up to be a parental figure when my dad was too busy mingling with our side of the family was hard. We’ve never talked about it but I know she doesn’t hate Riki. She wouldn’t have forced me to spend time with him if she did.

“He’s such a bright kid and he’s so talented. It makes me happy when people recognize that too. He taught me a lot about prioritizing my feelings. Learning to re-evaluate my life when Riki showed up made me feel, I don’t know, more mature? Like, I can be upset and still care about people because we all make mistakes and none of us asked to be here.” 

Jungwon lets a beat of silence pass before speaking. “Did Heeseung talk to you?”

“This morning. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I saw him acting a bit different at the bonfire last night and asked him if anything happened. He told me why he was so mad at you for so long and said he wanted to apologize.”

“Men are so fucking stupid,” you sigh, bringing your knees to your chest. “I don’t understand why he didn’t talk to me in the first place.”

“Me either, honestly. But at least he’s making an effort. Isn’t that what you said you wanted?” 

You nod. “Yeah. Feelings are complicated. I’ve been angry for so long. I always thought I’d yell at him and give him a piece of my mind, or something. I thought I would hate him and tell him to forget about me. But when he apologized, he said it in a way that made me believe he meant it. It didn’t feel like he was bullshitting me. I felt stuck.” 

“What did you end up saying?” 

“I told him how hurt I was during that time and said I wished he was there for me like I was for him when I was dealing with my dad. I told him how I wished we could’ve talked it out.” 

“That’s a good start.” 

“I don’t think we’ll ever go back to the way we were but I also know Heeseung. I know it took a lot out of him to set aside his pride and put somebody else first. I don’t really know what I’m gonna do now. All I know is I’m tired of being upset and I want to feel okay.”

Jungwon nudges your shoulder with his. “You’ll be just fine. The universe moves for you, Y/N. There’s no way you won’t have a happy ending.” He watches you hide a smile. 

“You are such a sap.” 

“It’s what you love about me.” 

“Unfortunately.” You’ll really miss him. “I gotta take it one day at a time, right? Heeseung is going to be in my life for a long time since we share so many friends. Riki loves him too, and I guess I can’t hate Heeseung too much for looking out for him. I don’t think I have any room to think about it when I get back because I’ll be doing some last minute packing and getting ready to move.” 

“It’ll be over before you know it. But even then, you’re going to have the best time in Okayama. Fuck your dad and all of the bad shit.”

“Yeah,” you laugh. “Fuck my dad.” 

The end of the trip is bittersweet. You start to tear up when you see the campsite completely empty and move slowly to pack everything in the cars. Heeseung notices but doesn’t say anything, offering to grab whatever’s in your hands when he sees you looking out into the clearing for extended periods of time. He doesn’t pretend to know what you’re feeling but he knows he doesn’t like it when you cry.

He watches you get into Jay’s car and wishes that you could be comfortable sitting alone with him. While Jake mans the aux, Heeseung thinks about what might happen when you move away. Will the two of you remain how you are or will you grow apart? Is there any room for him in your life now that you’re off to explore a different part of the world? Will he ever be able to push past the gnawing feeling of pushing his pathetic crush on you down until he no longer thinks of you like that?

He’s never admitted it, but those feelings he had towards you all those years ago never really went away. Heeseung doubled down on his irritation because doing otherwise would allow all of those romantic feelings to overwhelm him. He kept his head down around you because he knew one look at you would be enough to throw his inhibitions away and he was afraid he would risk everything he’s ever wanted just for you to tell him you love him too. Now that he knows everything was a misunderstanding, the grave loss weighs on him. He’s got a million thoughts running through his mind and none of them seem to make any sense. These romantic feelings didn’t lie dormant for all of these years, right? 

The next week and a half feels like it passes by too quickly for the both of you. You finish packing the morning of your going away party that everyone helped set up and plan. Your mom, along with Jungwon’s parents, all of your friends and their parents, and Maeumi, presentes you with the kind of happiness you never want to forget. Even Heeseung, who shows up and gives you a letter when no one else is looking, makes you feel like you would be dearly missed. You’re not sure that you enjoy being the center of attention, but everybody’s kindness makes you feel like you deserve to be. 

It’s late when they leave and socializing makes you feel far more exhausted than you anticipated. Your flight is midday tomorrow but you try not to think about that. Heeseung’s letter sits on the edge of your bed and the green envelope–your favorite color–stares at you like it’s begging you to open it. And open it you do. 

Y/N–

I don’t know where to start. I’m sorry, first of all, for treating you the way I did. I was a sorry excuse for a friend. I should’ve talked to you instead of jumping to conclusions and it doesn’t matter that we were both young. Friends annoy each other but they don’t disrespect one another. I’m so sorry that I made you doubt yourself. 

I’ll miss you a lot when you’re in Japan. We didn’t get the chance to talk it out and I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me after you leave. You deserve people who will be there for you. But please know I’ll always be rooting for you. 

Lastly…I don’t know if this is my place to say this but here goes nothing. Back when we were close, the one thing I loved about you was how passionate you were about life. You loved to learn and explore new things, and you always made me feel like I could feel that way too. I know you’re scared about Okayama for a number of reasons but you’re the strongest person I know. You’ll be just fine, even if you don’t feel like you will be. I’ll be here for you whenever you need me. I mean it.

- Heeseung

For the first time in a while, you allow yourself to cry over Lee Heeseung and surprise yourself when you realize that you want him back. 

***

At the airport, your mom helps you check in your luggage and asks if you’ve got everything you need and makes you double check everything. It’s reminiscent of the way you did with Riki before the camping trip. You’re happy despite feeling a bit annoyed that she’s making you take off your backpack. You don’t totally mind it, though. She gives you a hug that feels like it could last a lifetime and letting her go is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. 

Everybody else gives you love, too. Sunoo is the first to hug you and makes you promise to bring him back some skincare and souvenirs the next time you’re able to get back to Korea. Jake embraces you next and gives you some words of encouragement while Jay does his best to pretend like he isn’t sad by complaining about how there will be one less cook in the kitchen. You throw your arms around him anyway and pretend not to hear him sniffle. Sunghoon traps you in a bear hug and makes you promise to take as many photos as possible and says he’ll look forward to seeing them. He, too, pretends like he’s not about to cry. You push your head onto his shoulder and give his hand a squeeze before he lets a few teardrops fall. 

Jungwon is the most emotional of them all. He wipes away his free falling tears and crushes you in a hug, burying his head in your neck. “You better come back, asshole. I can’t believe you’re gonna leave me to chase your dreams. That’s so selfish of you.” You think you might cry too but laugh anyway. 

“I love you so much, Wonnie.” He squeezes you like he’s afraid he’ll forget what it feels like to be in your embrace until Jake pries him off of your body. 

Riki stands awkwardly with his eyes to the floor and his hands in front of him. The taller boy feels as though his shoes are glued down but you see the way his gaze flickers as if he’s trying to figure out what to do next. It doesn’t take much out of you to throw your arms around him and push yourself into his chest. 

“I’m going to miss you a lot, Riki,” you tell him.

“Really?” You nod. 

“I know I haven’t been the best towards you but you need to know that I’m so proud of you, okay? I loved getting to know you. I loved that you came on the trip and I’m so fucking happy that you’re my brother. Out of everybody who could’ve popped into my life, I’m so glad it was you.” 

Everybody watches Riki melt in front of them as he envelopes you right into him. You feel the weight of his shoulders relax and for the first time, you feel like you’re starting to wonder if this is what it feels like to have everything figured out. 

“I’ll come visit you,” he promises. “I’ll come home for winter break.”

“Stay with me. We can do all of the corny shit siblings do. I’ll even pay for everything.” 

Riki laughs but doesn’t let you go. “You’re the best, you know that? Even though it took you some time, I always thought of you like my sister. I’m really happy to be around you.” 

The waterworks begin and Riki does his best to comfort you when he feels tears on his shirt. He feels somewhere in between empty and fulfilled knowing the two of you have made amends, but knowing you want to work towards the future is enough to make him confident that everything will be alright. He lets you go when he feels your arms loosen around him and aggressively wipes his own tears away. 

When you look at Heeseung, the last thing he expects you to do is acknowledge him. He came to the airport because he wants you to know he meant everything in the letter he wrote. He stayed up all night to check for your texts but you hadn’t said anything, and while he knew it was an emotional day for you because of all you were dealing with, a selfish part of him wanted to know what you thought about it. 

You surprise Heeseung and yourself by engulfing him in a hug. The familiarity of his embrace makes you feel nostalgic and you can’t help but cry right into his chest. Heeseung doesn’t hesitate and brings his arms to wrap around your fragile body as you silently weep against him. He holds you tight and gently rocks your body like he used to all those years ago. You don’t fight back either. Instead, you push your head deeper into him and hold him until your tears have stopped. 

“I read your letter,” you say quietly. “We have a lot to talk about but I appreciate everything you said, Heeseung. I tried to hate you but I could never bring myself to feel that way about you.”

“I’m really going to miss you. Can I be selfish?” Heeseung asks with a sob in his throat. “I wish I apologized sooner and I wish we had more time. But please, promise me that you’re going to try to have fun in Japan, okay? You’re the best person I know, even if I didn’t make you feel like it. I’ll always live with that regret but knowing you’ll forget about me and make a life for yourself is enough.”

“I could never truly forget about you, Hee.” That nickname you used to call him makes Heeseung’s heart beat faster. “I don’t want you out of my life. All these years I felt like that’s what I wanted but I don’t want that now. Be happy without me too, okay? Forget about me and follow that dream of yours.” 

Heeseung laughs sadly. “I don’t think I could ever forget about you.” You step away from him and wipe your eyes for the umteenth time. 

“Write a song for me, then. And don’t be a stranger, okay?” 

“Okay.” Heeseung swears on it. “I won’t.” 

A beat of silence passes before all seven of your friends push you into the middle of their group hug. It brings another round of tears to your eyes and Jungwon’s the one who lets you cry into him until your mom tells you it’s time to start boarding. Everybody gets one final goodbye before you disappear into the plane. 

You smile at your phone when you settle into your seat. 

lee heeseung: I miss you already 

You miss him too.

***

Okayama is a dream until it isn’t. You settled into your apartment and had one month before you started your job and went to all the places Riki recommended. You started to understand him a little better after moving and both of you find it hilarious that you two ended up living in each others’ hometowns. You can’t choose your siblings but you’d choose Riki in every lifetime. 

You call your mom every so often and update her on life. Your friends keep you in the loop and FaceTime you when they’re out together. It makes you feel like you’re back in Korea and while it isn’t the same, you appreciate the effort anyway. You’ve made friends with your neighbors and a few girls you met when you went out drinking with your cousin the week you moved and it made braving a whole new country feel less daunting. Jungwon calls you everyday and you tease him for being such a clingy friend, but you both know you love it. You inform him about everything from the boring details to juicy work drama, and it feels like you’re sitting in his bedroom wearing face masks and eating junk food. 

Heeseung has been a constant fixture in your life, too. You texted him the moment you landed and he kept the conversation going. You talk about everything, the past especially, and start to feel like things might be okay. Those butterflies that you had for him in high school made an appearance after three months in Japan and part of you wondered if you were a fool for bringing him back into your life after everything. All of your friends back in Korea tell you Heeseung is miserable without you and when they tease him in the big group chat, he doesn’t deny it.

The friends you made seemed divided–one half thought you should leave him in the dark while the other half swooned over his dedication to making things right. You don’t really know what to think or how to feel, but you know you’re happy. Between phone calls and late night texts, you were always left with a smile on your face before bed.

Riki came back to Okayama for winter break and spent two weeks in your apartment. When the two of you weren’t bickering as siblings do, you both stayed up way too late watching anime and watched him dance at his home studio. Riki even got you to attend a few classes (he tried not to laugh at your poor coordination skills but appreciated the effort anyway). You prefer to be in the audience. 

Life seemed great until your dad made an appearance just before Christmas. He knew you were here from a single text message he never responded to before you moved to Okayama. The weight of his silence prepared you to be in Japan without him but his sudden appearance made you feel like everything changed for the worse. Riki went back to his childhood home to see his family and asked you to come with him after your dad had forced him. Your brother knows the intricate dynamic and you don’t blame him for anything. Seeing your dad with his new family after sparse texts since he left felt like a punch in the gut. It soured your holidays and Riki spent the rest of his trip apologizing even though you told him there was no reason for him to be sorry. You dropped him off at the airport and told him you’d see him in the summertime. 

The holidays came and went but the feelings you’ve carried since then haven’t disappeared, which brings you to the present. Heeseung is standing in the doorway of your apartment in Okayama, looking at you with those big, round doe eyes you always loved. 

“Hi,” he says breathlessly. 

“Heeseung…What are you doing here?” He scratches the back of his neck. 

“You’ve been going through a lot, you know? Every time we talked on the phone, you sounded like you were a thousand miles away and it killed me to know I couldn’t do anything to make you feel better after the holidays with your dad. Jungwon and I have been talking about how much of an ass he is and how much we wish we could be here for you and the next thing I knew, he was encouraging me to buy the next flight out to see you,” Heeseung says in a single breath. “But honestly? I just really, really fucking missed you.”

“You flew all this way here? For me?”

“Yeah.” Heeseung says it like it’s a no-brainer. “Although, now I feel kinda stupid. I realize I’m putting you in a tough spot. But you know what? I think it’s worth it to know that you’re okay.” 

He looks at you but you don’t say anything. Heeseung can see the gears turning inside of your head while you process his arrival. You look so cute in your sleep shorts and oversized shirt. He loves it when you call him via FaceTime because he gets to see all parts of you–getting ready for work and winding down as you are now. It makes him feel like you’re pulling him right back into you. 

You don’t really need to say anything. You lurch yourself onto him and press your lips against his like it’s something you’ve been waiting to do for the longest time. You probably have. Heeseung wraps his arms around you and lets his mouth melt against yours and doesn’t complain about your boldness either. He welcomes it, even. 

“You’re so stupid,” you mutter against him, pulling him into your apartment and locking the door behind you. You kiss him repeatedly and he puts his hands on your waist as if to let you know he’s right there with you. 

“Why am I stupid, baby?” Heeseung’s voice paired with that nickname makes your knees buckle.  

“You can stay with me.” He feels you smile against your lips. “Please just…stay here and don’t go.” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

Heeseung drops his backpack onto the floor and lets you capture his mouth again. You taste so fresh with your cherry lip balm. He moans right into your mouth when you push him against your countertop and the feeling of his hands on your body makes you grow hotter as the seconds pass by. The ache between your legs starts to overwhelm you as his plump lips kiss you over and over again before he pushes them against your neck. It’s too much in all of the right ways and you’re too aroused to even think straight. You start to pull yourself away from Heeseung and he’s about to ask if he’s going too fast when you grab your hand and lead him to your bedroom. 

“Y/N, wait,” Heeseung tries to say in between kisses. He loves the feeling of your warm mouth against him and feels himself starting to get worked up but he doesn’t know if you’re thinking straight. Even though the two of you have talked nearly everyday, Heeseung doesn’t know if this is moving too fast. 

“I’m done waiting.” You pull away from him and reach for his hand, pushing his lengthy fingers past your shorts and underwear until he feels the wet slick starting to pool at your folds. Your hand moves his back and forth as he looks at you like you’ve stunned him with a laser gun. Heeseung’s dick jumps in his pants and it takes him a second to move his fingers on his own accord. “I want you, Heeseung. Don’t you want me too?”

His resolve crumbles. Heeseung nods with his mouth parted as he pushes his fingers inside you, your wetness allowing him to reach your depths immediately. You push yourself on your toes and put your hands on his chest, clinging onto him like you’re afraid he’d let you go if you don’t. He thrusts his fingers with intention and hears your quiet whimpers when he leans his head down next to your mouth.

“Yeah,” Heeseung says, lips touching the shell of your ear as his voice ripples through your body. “I want you.”

He pulls his hand away from you and smiles at the short whine from the loss of his touch. Heeseung loves how much you need him and he’s sure you can see how much he needs you too. A surge of confidence jolts within you as Heeseung looks down at your body like he’s ready to eat you alive. You peel off your shirt and shorts, leaving you in your underwear as Heeseung pulls his shirt over his head with a single hand. 

“Lie down,” Heeseung beckons. You do as he says and he sinks down to his knees and pries your legs apart, looking directly at you as he speaks. “Good girl.” He pulls your garments down your legs and the cool air hits your center as Heeseung looks down at you. 

You don’t have time to think about anything when he peppers soft kisses on your skin. His lips journey from the inside of your knee and he presses one small kiss to your slit before repeating the process on your other leg. Heeseung allows himself to get lost in the way your body reacts to his feather-like touches before descending down onto your folds. 

Heeseung’s tongue feels like the closest thing to magic. He takes his time when licking you with his warm and wet muscle, canvassing every ridge with expert movements. You rake your fingers through his hair and tug gently at his soft roots, pulling a moan out of him that delivers a delicious shock up your spine. He puts your feet on his shoulders and plunges his tongue inside of you and grips your flesh with his fingertips until you’re coming undone on his mouth. 

“So fucking good,” he mutters to himself more than he does to you. He laps up your release and you find yourself a bit embarrassed that you were able to come so quickly, but the way he touches you makes it seem as though he already knew how to push your buttons. “You’re so sweet, Y/N. I could eat you all day if you’d let me.” 

Heeseung trails his lips up your stomach and kisses you so tenderly that you feel as though your body must be made out of soft cotton. His lips find your left nipple and lets his tongue swirl over the bud before sucking on it with a gentle motion. He repeats the process on the other nub and flicks it, enjoying the soft sounds that come from you. Heeseung buries himself right into your neck but he doesn’t kiss the skin like you think he will. Instead, he kisses you twice on your open neck before moving his body so that he can look down at you. 

He bites his lip. It makes you feel exposed but somehow, it makes you feel all that more confident. It’s like Heeseung is looking right through you with all of your worries and faults laid out for him to reject. But he doesn’t. Likewise, Heeseung allows you to see him in his vulnerability and he’s ready to pack up his things and leave if you tell him you don’t want this anymore. But you don’t. 

He descends on you once again, this time his lips pushing against you in a slow and sensual kiss. You feel the way he moves against you and savor the sounds your mouths make together. Heeseung brings his hand to brush strands of your hair away from your face as he kisses you and the gentle touch of his fingertips feels like it was always meant to be there. 

“I need you.” Your back arches right into his chest as you speak. “Don’t make me wait, Heeseung. Please, I just…I need you.” 

“I’ll never make you wait. Never again,” he promises. Heeseung manages to rid himself of his pants and boxers and pushes himself between your legs until his dick is situated between your folds. Your arousal, paired with the precum oozing from his slit, provides the perfect balance of wetness that coats the entirety of his cock as he glides himself against you. 

When his tip catches your hole, the sounds of your moans overpowers his refrain. He pushes inside of you slowly inch by inch, savoring the way you feel for the fear that he might never be able to do this again. You look so beautiful underneath him with his dick completely sheathed inside of you and when your legs wrap around his body to encourage him to move, Heeseung doesn’t deny you of your pleasure. 

Neither of you have ever had sex like this–the feeling of pure rawness echoes throughout the room between your breathy moans and the sound of skin pushing against one another. Your body is warm in the way he always imagined and his hands touch every inch of you as if to commit your silhouette to memory. In this moment, Heeseung feels as though the two of you are kindred spirits who found each other.

“You’re so good for me,” Heeseung whispers into your neck as he thrusts into you. “So fucking tight and wet.” He feels your arms wrap around his shoulders to keep him trapped between you but he can’t say he minds all that much. 

“I-I’m so close,” you say in a broken moan. 

“Already, baby?” Heeseung says to tease you as he brings his head up to look down at you again. He pushes his hips against you faster and that surprised gasp you let out makes his balls clench. 

“S-Shut up.” 

Your arms fall to the mattress as you claw at your sheets. Heeseung plans his elbows on either side of your head as he focuses all of his willpower towards fucking you with fast deep strokes, loving the way your mouth parts slightly and how your eyes are closed shut. His muscles flex as he pushes himself until you’re coming with a loud moan, and finds himself releasing inside of you the moment he feels you gushing around him. 

You feel Heeseung press his tender lips against your forehead as you come down from your high while he continues to rock you through your release. Your cheeks are hot from the pleasure and the room is suddenly too warm with Heeseung on top of you. When you open your eyes, he’s looking at you like he’s seen a halo above your head. He can’t really help it. Heeseung leans down to press a soft, gentle kiss against your lips to convey a job well down. 

“I came so fast,” you whisper bashfully. You bite your lip but Heeseung tugs it away from your teeth to kiss you again. 

“Me too.” Heeseung kisses your nose and relishes in the way you scrunch your face. “But it’s okay. You deserve to feel good. I don’t care how long or short it takes.” He places his hand on your face and rubs the apple of your cheek with his thumb. 

“I really missed you.” 

“I missed you too, dummy,” Heeseung says before flicking your nose. He holds your jaw in place before kissing you again. 

“We’re gonna have to do a lot of making up, you know,” you mumble against his lips with a smile. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Mhm.” You push against his lips. Heeseung pushes his half-hard dick inside of you as your back arches right into him. He’s there to catch you this time, his arm supporting your spine underneath you. “Fuck!” 

“My baby,” he whispers into you. “Let me make it up to you.” 

You let him.

***

EPILOGUE: THE FOLLOWING SPRING

“For fuck’s sake, get your big ass head out of the way.”

Jay smacks Jake’s shoulder. “You can see just fine, stupid.” Sunghoon hits both of their shoulders. 

“Both of you, stop moving so much. You guys almost knocked my camera.” They mumble a quick apology before finding another thing to discuss. 

“I feel like I’m surrounded by children.” You sigh as Heeseung wraps his arms around your waist and lets his chin sit atop the crown of your head. He feels your body relax against him and smiles. 

“Well you are, technically. Riki just stopped wearing diapers.” 

“I hate you so much, Heeseung,” the younger boy whines without any true malice. You laugh and squeeze Riki’s hand. He can’t find it in himself to be too mad at either of you. 

“Do you guys see Jungwon and Sunoo?” Sunghoon asks with his camera at the ready. “I want to make sure I take as many pictures as possible.” 

“I don’t think they’re coming out yet,” says Jay. 

“Duh.” Jake provokes him in a way you missed while you were in Okayama. It brings warmth to your heart when you see them bicker. 

Jay turns to you. “Y/N, have you given a second thought about moving in with Jake when you come back? I think you’d be better off if you kicked him to the streets.”

“Hey!” Jake tackles Jay until he’s got his older friend’s neck between his arms. None of you pay too much attention and choose to wait for Jungwon and Sunoo. 

“Our friends are another breed,” Heeseung mumbles against you as he kisses your cheek. “Are you sure you want to move back and be roommates with Jake and Jungwon?” 

“Mhm. I miss you guys so much.” 

“But you miss me the most, right?” 

“Yes, baby.” You bring his hand up to your lips and kiss the back of it. “I missed you the most.” 

“There they are!” Riki shouts. 

Jungwon and Sunoo, clad in their caps and gowns, saunter their way out of the stadium before spotting your group. They make a run for it and push past the onlookers who search for their loved ones as well. Sunoo clings onto Jake while Jungwon finds his perch in Riki’s arms as Sunghoon captures the beautiful moment on his digital camera. 

“We fucking did it!” Jungwon shouts as he pulls away. “Sunoo, we did it!” 

“About damn time,” Sunoo replies as he rolls his eyes with a smile. “I felt like I’d be there forever.” 

“We’re so proud of you both.” Jay smiles and moves to hug each of them. “You guys are amazing, seriously.” 

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me.” Riki bumps hips with Sunoo. “That seems unfair.” 

“Life is unfair.” There’s no real bite to his tone, just a bittersweet future. Sunoo hugs the taller boy. 

“Oh my God,” Jungwon says with his hand pressed to his mouth. “Y/N is crying.” 

“No I’m not,” you say, even though you definitely are. Heeseung squeezes you tighter against him. “Shut up, Jungwon. I’m not crying.” 

“You so are!” Riki shouts. 

“I’m not crying. Seeing my best friends graduate college is not a good reason to cry, okay?!” 

Jungwon and Sunoo sport shit-eating grins. Heeseung lets you go as they engulf you in a hug while the younger of the two feels your hot tears on his cheek. He laughs and this moment starts to feel a bit nostalgic to him, as he acted the same way you did upon seeing you in your cap and gown. 

“Hey,” he says in a softer tone, pulling away from the two of you. “Thanks for being here. I know taking time off was a little hard but we’re so happy you could come.”

“Yeah,” Sunoo agrees. “Talking to you over the phone isn’t enough. We missed you, you know?” 

You tear up again and wipe your nose before falling into them again. “I missed you too.”

“Oh God,” Sunghoon laughs. “If Y/N’s crying then I know we’re in for it.” 

“Hey!” Heeseung jokes, nudging his friend with his shoulder. “Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that.” Although, he can’t really disagree with Sunghoon. 

“You’re all so stupid for making me cry in public,” you say as you wipe your tears from your eyes. “I’m gonna look back at these pictures and my eyes will be all red and puffy.” 

“I feel like you and Heeseung might as well be our parents,” Sunoo says as Heeseung pulls him into a hug.

“Wait, you guys should totally take a family photo.” Jake steps forward to arrange the four of you like a family portrait with Jungwon and Sunoo between you and Heeseung. “There. Sunghoon, take a picture. This is so going on the fridge when we move in together.” 

Heeseung moves back next to you as the rest of your friends look at the photos on Sunghoon’s camera and take turns taking pictures of him with the graduates. He kisses your cheek and pulls you back into him. 

“You ready to come back to all this chaos?”

“More than ready,” you affirm. “I loved Okayama, even though I had to deal with my dad and all of that stuff. But I missed my life here and the masters program over in Seoul is a good fit for me, you know? Plus, your apartment isn’t too far from mine.” 

“I can’t wait for you to move back.” Heeseung kisses your cheek again. “Your mom and I talked logistics about helping you move into the new apartment. Knowing you, I’m sure you’ll have another suitcase coming back with you.” 

“Shut up.” 

“You know I’m right.” 

You blush and mumble. “Yeah…You’re right.” 

“Your mom and Jungwon’s parents talked about renting a bigger camp space this year, too. I think they’re planning on having one huge trip this year now that most of us have graduated.” 

“I can’t believe our last trip was almost a year ago. That’s insane because it feels like I moved to Japan just yesterday.” 

“I solemnly swear I will never be as stupid or dense as I was back then.” When you turn around to look at Heeseung, you know he’s telling the truth. You don’t answer him verbally and choose to silence him with a pretty kiss. It’s enough for the two of you. 

“Oi, love birds,” Jake calls, looking at you. “We should find their parents. Your mom called me and I think she was crying.” 

You frown. “Why didn’t she call me?”  

“She said you were probably crying too,” Jake snickers. 

“Is it too late to back out of being roommates?” 

“Nope. You’re stuck with me.” 

Heeseung squeezes your hand. 

“And me.” 

As you look around, you can’t help but feel as though this was always how it was meant to be.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! xx

[simpjaes]

DAY-SHIFT. (p. sh)

― part one here! After finding out that your boss has seen, heard, and instructed you through some pleasurable nights while parading around as a faceless cam-boy, you decide that your best course of action is to: call out sick. use vacation days. avoid Park Sunghoon at all costs. Unfortunately, ten days doesn’t appear to be nearly enough time to erase what’s happened, and Sunghoon refuses to be avoided. or the one where sunghoon pretends that he isn’t an anxious mess over accidentally exposing himself and you just so happen to have a lot of fucking empathy. 

minors dni 

PAIRING ― boss / cam boy!sunghoon x afab reader  

WORDCOUNT― 14.5k 

CONTENT― forbidden office romance kind of, smidge of angst if ur sensitive, mentions of predatory behavior from sunghoon, he is more desperate than he is dominant, just the way we like it.

NOTE ― bro im so sorry this took way too long to write, it also is way longer than it's supposed to be. but yknow. i had to do him right lmfao. NOT PROOF READ.

nsfw tags under cut

nsfw tags― perverted sunghoon, heavy petting, making out, foreplay on a chair lol, desk sex, very intimate shit ok? ok., pussy eating, jerking off, finger fucking, fingers-in-mouth antics, gagging, implications of something more than just an office fling, unprotected sex, he fills you UP!!! YIPEE!!! 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Avoidance.

That is the only way you know out of any awkward or unsavory situation. Avoid, avoid, avoid. Find a new job, change your name, dye your hair– question all of your life choices up to this point.

It’s the fact that never in your life have you had an interest in live sex cams. It was always just a porn video or a nice erotic novel for you. Sometimes curiosity gets the best of you though, like it does all people, and it’s not like you thought anyone would ever know who you are or catch you in the act of feeding into your curiosities. 

The one time you ever navigated to the live camera feed on your favorite porn site did shift your sexual appetite a little bit. A whole new world of seeing exactly what you want without needing to search for far too long for that perfect video…for a cost, of course.

You made good money already, and it’s not like you weren’t going for that promotion at the time either. You thought, why not? Why not pay a pretty, faceless man for some anonymous jerking off and move on with your life? 

The one time you found something to satiate the late night body-cravings, the point of pleasure ended up being…your boss?

Small world? Miniscule, fucking tiny little world. 

For days you wondered if Sunghoon’s text to you was just a coincidence. After all, the faceless man on screen didn’t say a word to you after you uttered the name of your boss. Even if he directly said your name. Even if Park Sunghoon uttered your false name at work. 

Consistent back and forth in your head. From, “No, how could that even be possible? No way is it him.” to “but Mr.Park started being weird after the first call, he used both names, he played off of the boss/employee dynamic.”

You’re going crazy as you send another email to your department, apologizing for taking so many days off but not truly apologetic. It’s been ten days now and Sunghoon has yet to text you again. 

That little “Can we talk?” can be heard in your head in his voice. Only now recognizing how clear and unique it truly is when he does speak. You try not to realize how similar the cam-boy sounded to him. Only connecting the dots when they force you to do it, really. You still try to convince yourself that the text was about firing you, given his actions at work that very same day. 

Maybe he was avoiding you because he felt awful about needing to fire you? 

Maybe he sent that text message to start the process of pushing you out? 

After all, it’s still very difficult to imagine Park Sunghoon having a cock that nice, or cum in that amount. Given, it’s not like you ever thought about him jerking off or anything, it’s just–

You don’t fucking know. Your brain is a mess of shaking anxiety and echoes of sexual frustrations and moans. 

You were refunded your money. He texted after the session. He said your name. It’s him, isn’t it?

You refuse to fucking find out.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

From:...[ HRatyourjob@workemail.org ]

CC:...[ parksunghoon@workemail.org ]

BCC:...

Subject: Time off Request: Rejected. Insufficient PTO.

[insert your name here],

The time you have requested from the 27th to the 3rd has been rejected due to insufficient hours. As of last Thursday, you are no longer meeting the minimum hour requirement as a full-time employee. Your PTO is at 0 hours and 00 minutes and you now have three unexcused absences. Please return tomorrow with a signed order or note that exempts you from work. If you move forward without returning to the building, this will be grounds for termination. Please review the company handbook and job abandonment guidelines. 

Additionally, COO Lee, myself, and Division manager Park will be scheduling a meeting with you in the upcoming days, failure to appear will result in immediate termination.

Thank you,

HR

Well, fuck. You knew the time to avoid this would dry up, and this ten day hideaway to fake your death didn’t quite pan out.

Devastating, truly, that you have to walk through those doors with the same legs your boss may or may not have seen spread open for him through a grainy webcam image. Horrifying, that you have to look him in the eye and explain that you really were sick for the past ten days, that you definitely were not hiding the shame of your sexual desires.

The worst part about all of this? Not just the embarrassment but the fact that…you liked it. On that night, had he admitted it was him, you may not have ended the call yourself. It felt like it added some danger to your arousal at the time. Which, naturally, makes you more embarrassed now. Mostly because, at worst if that was Mr.Park, it was predatory. At best though? You very well may have consented.

But the what ifs don’t matter now. The only thing that matters is forcing yourself through the awkwardness of being at work after avoiding it for so long already.

Fortunately for you though, work is…weirdly normal. In fact, no one acts like you’ve missed ten days at all. You are greeted by the usual co-workers, you sit down at your desk and can log in as usual, and there are no warning emails or invitations for what would be considered a meeting of termination either. 

The day goes by just fine, suspiciously so. Sunghoon, though you’re avoiding him at the moment, doesn’t appear to be too out of character either. At one point, you were forced to drop corrected paper work off in his office, and he gave you the same usual and small “Thank you” before you stepped out with your legs threatening to buckle. 

Then again, his “casual” appreciation could just be your mind playing positive little tricks on you. Maybe it wasn’t casual at all. Maybe that little uncharacteristic breath afterwards isn’t just in your head. You didn’t make eye contact with him during that brief moment, and you did rush out quite quickly so you wouldn’t really know. However, in the deepest part of your brain his voice really does match the one who said all those dirty things to you. 

Maybe you’re still overreacting.

Or maybe you dreamed all of this up. 

You choose to remain unaware of the awkwardness around you solely because everything else is normal. Deep, deep down, you know. But you’re not giving that truth a chance to thrive or run your brain anymore.

And just as the day comes to an end, you’re actually feeling better. Anxiety is draining out of you, fear and embarrassment sit dormant in some hidden part of your brain over the small possibility of virtually fucking your boss. It seems you’ve let this work day clear up all of that fear in your head.

You were wrong, right? It wasn’t him, right? He’d have tried to defend himself by now. What boss wouldn’t be absolutely terrified that you’d report him, anyway? After all of that?

You actually feel a little dumb at the possibility of Mr. Park ever wanting you sexually, or ever even wanting to speak to you in that way. Asking to see your pussy? Telling you how to touch it? No, that’s definitely not him. Couldn’t be him. 

And your eyes do stray after a little while. Just to steal glimpses into his office, feeling relieved and weightless now that it appears your fears are over and finally understood. Doesn’t change the fact that now when you look at him, you might be wildly fucking attracted to him. Because fuck, imagine if that was him. You’re kind of forced to put his image to the faceless cam-boy now, not that you want to do that or anything. It just…you can’t really blame yourself for it.

You lend yourself a little laugh. As happy as you are that you’re able to convince yourself that it’s not Sunghoon’s cock you’ve yearned for, you really wouldn’t mind sleeping with someone as handsome as him. 

Crazy how the lack of anxiety lets you think those types of things though, isn’t it? When your brain is no longer fogged by fear or embarrassment, it’s like the clarity can sometimes be scarier simply because you don’t know how true certain statements are. Even through all of that fear, maybe a part of you wished it was him. 

Even with the weight on your shoulders lifted, in hindsight, maybe you’re even a little disappointed that it wasn’t. 

And, just as you’re preparing to clock out and head home with a big secret crush and a little pep in your step, you hear the familiar notification of an email. No problem, probably just a daily report or something. 

From:...[ parksunghoon@workemail.org ]

CC:...

BCC:...

Subject: Mandatory Advising

[insert your name here],

Please come to my office before you leave for the day to discuss your conduct as of late. 

Thank you,

Park Sunghoon

Division Manager

000-000-0000 ext. 000

Well, double fuck. To think everything was fine despite you being well aware of that shit HR said to you previously? 

You barely recognize how the email is sent directly to you from Mr. Park, not including HR or COO Lee. In fact, the anxiety wells up inside of you so quickly that you nearly have to dry heave a few times before taking a deep breath. 

In your head, it’s not even about the web-cam session with a faceless man anymore. Your anxiety about that died the moment you successfully lied to yourself enough, now you’re genuinely just afraid you’ll lose your job or that beloved promotion you worked so hard to be qualified for. You just had to let your anxiety run your life for the past ten days, didn’t you? After all, skipping work to such an extent? Everyone had to have known that it was a lie eventually.  

So, you stand to your feet, brush off your thighs, and attempt to keep your heart from pounding as you make your way to Mr. Park’s office expecting to see HR, COO Lee, and a severance package on the desk waiting for your signature. 

Instead, you walk in to just find your boss. He’s looking at you as he normally would, eyes focused on his screen before glancing at you for a moment and nodding his head to one of the chairs in front of his desk. 

“Mr. Park–” You start, nearly wincing at the way you say it because, well, you haven’t said it since the night you had your pussy out on display. It’s only natural to physically react, right?

“One moment.” He says in a small voice, clicking a few times with the mouse as you watch the monitor light shine across his cheeks with each window he minimizes. 

It’s silent for a few moments as you awkwardly look around an office you’ve been in countless times. His lights are always dimmed, the temperature is always comfortable. You’re gonna miss this office, though it’s not your own. It was a nice, brief escape before all of this if you’re being honest. 

“How was work for you today?” He turns his attention to you, finally adjusting and rolling his chair to center himself in front of you behind his desk 

You pause at the question, unintentionally tilting your head at it like a puppy. “Good? Normal, I guess?” 

You watch as he nods with a tight-lipped expression, eyes falling to his desk as he takes in a deep and disappointed sounding breath. 

“Well, that’s one of us.” He huffs out, causing you to feel a bit confused with his tone. Is he being…passive aggressive? And when he snaps his eyes from his desk straight to your own confused gaze, you can almost sense a bit of something else in them compared to usual. 

Not anger. Not disappointment. 

He looks worried.

“Eleven days–” Sunghoon drones on with an exhausted tone, cutting himself off with another breath that shows you were right to assume his current displayed emotion. “You have ignored my text messages for eleven days.” 

You’re shocked by that because as far as you’re concerned, he has not texted you.

“What are you–” You furrow your brows at him, frantically pulling out your phone. “You haven’t texted me. See? The last one I got was–” You take a second as you pull up his texts and remember the exact time he texted you. So late into the night, right after…that. Naturally, you silence yourself, afraid to say it out loud.

“On the contrary,” Sunghoon denies your proof. “I texted from my personal phone.”

You hesitate again, looking down and noting the notifications under the tab of  “message requests.” To be fucking fair though, you didn’t even know that existed so you never really paid attention to it. Especially as you practically avoided your phone out of fear that he’d be texting you again. 

You were thankful he didn’t. That comforted you. Now though? Your comfort is replaced yet again with anxiety because, well, he texted you consistently after that night.

“Oh–” You say quietly, seeing a glimpse of “Please, let me call y–” in one of the messages.

“I didn’t see those.” Quickly, you turn your screen off and shove your phone back into your pocket, nervously clasping your hands in front of you and looking to the floor. 

“I will reiterate then.” 

You can hear the leather on his chair squeak against his expensive suit when he leans forward, both hands splayed out on his desk in a wide and intimidating stance in front of you. 

“Wait–” You look around the office now. “If you’re going to fire me– shouldn’t the others be here too?”

Sunghoon pulls back at that, narrowing his eyes before lending a very small and even more nervous chuckle.

“I’m not firing you. I told them I’d take care of your sudden and, quite frankly, unhelpful vacation.” 

You look to the floor again, feeling scolded for your actions but having a genuine reason. If Sunghoon truly is aware of that reason for your absence, he understands too, right?

“I have been beyond inappropriate with you.” He blurts now, that same leather squeaking as he leans back again and looks away from you the moment you snap your head up. “I have reason to believe you’ve not yet reported me, and I’d like to ask for the opportunity to explain myself before you do.” 

You feel a chill wash over your whole body, cold sweat peaking right at your temples as you stare forward. He’s being so professional about this, and that lie you’ve convinced yourself of is showing it’s face as just that, a fucking lie.

So this is it? 

So there it is? A semi-admittance that it was him? That little feeling in the back of your head that wishes it was diminishes within an instant. In fact, you narrow your eyes at him, your nose crinkles, and you feel frustration bubble up in your gut.

“So you admit that it was you?” You ask, needing a full confirmation. 

“Yes.” Sunghoon sighs, leaning back somehow further, creating as much distance from you as possible before unintentionally rolling his eyes. Mostly due to the fact that he was stupid enough to let this happen, mostly to shame himself. “What I did was inappropriate and unacceptable. I didn’t intend for this to ever happen.”

Now you feel a bit…pissed off.

Like? Oh, he didn’t intend for this to happen? What? You mean he didn’t intend to let you fucking find out! Well, as good as he is at playing the part of a slutty man on the internet, he’s not so good at acting in real life, now is he? Saying your false fucking name at work, saying your real name with his cock out?

What in the fuck are you supposed to do about this? Why is he giving you the ability to report him? He’s the one with the power here. He could fire you now and bury the information if he so pleased. After all, He’s besties with COO Lee, right? That bitch in HR has an obsession with him too. Hell, everyone here loves the guy. 

You’re just a bottom of the barrel employee trying to work your way up. If you got him fired, surely he’d make damn sure you never work for a decent company like this one again. Additionally, you don’t even want to report him.

Yeah, it was fucking weird that he just knew it was you and kept going. Super strange that he had to have known after the first call, only to ask to see you in the second one. Why does that turn you on in the midst of this anxiety induced spiral? Why the fuck is the idea of Park Sunghoon apologizing for masturbating to and for you so alluring?! 

Sure, maybe it’s kind of nice knowing that someone of his status would ever find an interest in you, but it doesn’t quite wash the frustration away. You have every right to question, and every right to be pissed off about it. 

Still, in this quiet room, Sunghoon is stoic and all you can think about when you look at him is the way he said “if I were your boss i’d–” and the way he fucked his palm while saying it, implying he wanted it to be you while simultaneously knowing it was you watching. 

Since fucking when did Mr. Park ever show a sexual interest in you? And if he did, why the fuck couldn’t he have just been normal about it?

“That was really fucked up, you know that?” You argue immediately, voice shaking at the speed of which your emotions shift. Your resolve isn’t quite as clear as it probably should be. Perhaps you should report him, or maybe you already should have. But, it’s not like you accepted the truth until he demanded it of you.

You would have let it slide. Both of you could have pretended it never happened. You could’ve gone home and continued working, never paying a cam-boy again had Sunghoon not called you into this stupid, comfortable ass office. 

“In my defense, I was just doing my job. Though it’s my own fault for not telling you, my job here was at risk if you had found out.”

“You made me talk about you.” You roll your eyes at him now, gaining the power and control over the conversation. “And you thought I wouldn’t find out?! What? Did that get you off or something?”

“I–” Sunghoon stops himself from answering that question truthfully. He quickly tries to explain away the stutter instead. Never has he been scolded by an employee, but you’re well within your rights to do so. “I wasn’t in my right mind. I never get called by name during these sessions and I apologize for having you say it.”

“And you want me to report you?” You raise a brow at him. “Want me to just storm right into HR and tell her how you’re a fucking pervert? Want me to tell her how you told me to repeat your name? To thank you for it? Is that really what you want?” 

Are you enjoying yourself a little too much? Maybe.

Sunghoon doesn’t respond though, instead, he runs his hand through his hair and sighs from the stress welling up inside of him. He can only act calm and collected for so long, and it’s been eleven days already. He hates how hearing you say those words goes straight to his cock at a time like this, he hates even more how all of this could have been avoided if he had simply declined your second call. 

But you’re not wrong. He is a pervert, and he did tell you to thank him for the pleasure you were getting from his voice and half image alone. At the time, he was so turned on he really just couldn’t help himself. You fed his sexual appetite unknowingly and now this is the consequence of his action. Being a known pervert.

Is it what he wants though? To be reported? Humiliated?

Fuck.

Arguably, just having you humiliate him like this is enough. Drives him crazy, really. Whether it be from arousal or guilt, or both. 

And for the first time since you started working here, you see him for what he truly is. A strong man to an extent, but he’s crumbling under his own mistake and it makes you wonder just how far he would’ve taken it had you not found out. 

“And what if I didn’t realize who I was fucking myself for?” You glare. “Would you have asked for more? Avoided me here even more? Would you have declined my application for the assistant position because you can’t come to terms with the fact that you’re a fucking pervert?!”

Sunghoon raises his hands in defense. 

“Please–” His voice sounds panicked. “Please, keep your voice down.”

“Answer the question, then. Just fucking own it at this point.” You throw your arms up now, letting them fall back down in a slap to your thighs. “Would you have made my work-life miserable just so you could watch me get off to you? Knowing the whole time? Would you have kept on with that boss slash employee shit just so it felt more real for you?” 

Staring forward at him, you watch him accept that everything you’re saying is likely exactly what would have happened. Maybe he really will try to own it. Which would be… a good thing if you decide to let your own resolve falter.

So fucking secretive, huh? An actual, real life degenerate? And it’s Sunghoon of all people? 

“Maybe…” Sunghoon trails off, making himself seem much smaller than he usually is on a day-to-day basis. “I mean, No–I,”

Oh, he’s actually stuttering.

“And you want me to tell on you? You want me to fuck your life up?” You raise a brow. “As if I didn’t pay you to do it?”

In all honesty, aside from the anxiety and awkwardness, and despite never once thinking of Sunghoon too sexually, things have changed. Drastically. Especially after being confronted with this situation and he’s not intimidating you or using his power to control you. No, he’s giving you the power and quite frankly, you don’t know what to do with it. 

Are you basking in it? Absolutely. Is it nice to see him cower in front of you? In that big plush chair that costs more than your monthly income? Hell yeah.

But goddamn, had he approached you before all of this and asked for a date, or showed interest, you would have gladly partaken in a secret romance with him. He’s intelligent, attractive, clean, and has money. It’s not like you ever expected the guy to go home and fuck himself on camera. 

You never thought he was the type to be so lonely either. Or so desperate, judging by how he acted during those two sessions. Arguably, you always wondered why there was never a ring on those pristine fingers. 

And while you were definitely the victim in this situation, you feel more embarrassed than you do violated. Many nights you thought of how he spoke, how he said how badly he wanted you. It’s embarrassing because you’re starting to love the idea of who those words really came from. The Park Sunghoon, so untouchable in the business world. So untouchable by women and men solely because he appears to be too expensive, too pristine.

But you…

You’ve seen him dirty. 

Part of you wishes you didn’t pay to be humiliated like this. The rest of you wishes you didn’t fucking like it as much as you do.

“It’s only fair.” Sunghoon explains with a short breath. “I feel awful for what I’ve done, and I should have told you the moment I recognized her as, well–” He pauses with a pained face, as if he hates hearing himself say it. “You.”

“Then, why didn’t you?” You raise your brow again, nearly forgetting you’re at work, solely focused on the conversation at hand and feeling relieved at the way it’s going.

Sunghoon shifts in discomfort, looking away from you.

“Do you want honesty?” He asks in a quiet voice, leaning forward on his desk but refusing eye contact. He keeps his gaze lowered the entire time, his voice small and shaky. 

There’s still people in the office, though his door is closed and it’s unlikely he can be heard.

You nod to him with an even smaller “Go on then.”

“I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t you.” He says, shifting his hands and picking at his cuticles. 

Man, he really knows how to act sorry, doesn’t he?

“I avoided you after that first call, solely because I think I wanted her to be you. Which is…incredibly inappropriate.” 

He looks up at you now, searching for a reaction and only seeing you nod at him. His eyes shift right back down as he continues. 

“My avoiding you led you to– um– more services.” He explains quieter, admitting in full the situation he’s allowed to take place, seeming more and more insecure with his words than he ever has before. “I can admit that I have fantasies and needs.” 

Silence. 

“After that first call, I couldn’t help but be entirely attracted to you. The idea of–”

You suddenly find yourself thinking back to all of those things he said to you again, parading as if he wasn’t your boss, telling you what he'd do if he were. He seems to have accidentally found a sexual interest in the dynamic…and he fucking dragged you into it with him. 

“Mr. Par– Sunghoon.” You cut him off, actually feeling a bit of pity now at his admittance. 

His words make you feel like maybe he’s not entirely just a pervert who was intending to make you get off to him from the start. If anything, he probably felt uncomfortable at first knowing who was on the other end of the call. It’s the fact that his real life job was at risk if you found out, and still he indulged despite that. He accepted that second call, he asked for more, he acted like he really does want you.

 To the extent that losing his job was in the front of his mind and he still did it. He ignored the danger of it and prioritized getting off…with you. You find yourself wondering if this would have happened to any other employee under him if they happened to stumble across his stream too. 

Part of you wants to pretend he wouldn’t, because the idea that all of this is happening solely because it was you? It hits a little too hard, a little too deep. 

“Okay, okay. Stop,” You say, keeping your eyes on him and willing him to look up at you. “You don’t have to keep explaining, I get it.”

“No.” He does meet your eye this time, stopping your brain of all thoughts at how differently you see him now versus all the times before. “I do.” 

He’s so honest. Probably too honest for his own good. Maybe that’s why he’s so good at his job, maybe that’s why everyone loves him. Maybe a bit of lying would help him in this situation if it were anyone else, but for you? 

You kind of enjoy the way he’s telling the truth. Admitting that he was desperate, apologizing for wanting you even if just for a brief moment.

“I asked you to turn on your camera for selfish reasons. I asked you to say my name, then I made the mistake of exposing myself because I–” He hesitates, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply through his nose. “I struggled to pretend it wasn’t me, and that she wasn’t you. I very well knew what I was doing, and at the time, I wished that you did too.”

More silence as you stare at him, stunned, slightly in awe. 

“But I knew you wouldn’t have reciprocated. What I’ve done is criminal, and I am encouraging you to report me for it if that’s what you deem necessary.” 

“And if I don’t?” You don’t leave any more room for silence now, feeling desired and validated. 

You can’t pretend that you’re mad, though you were previously. You simply can’t pretend that, now at least, you wouldn’t reciprocate. If anything, you’re more interested now than you think you ever would have been before. 

“We can forget any of this ever happened. I’ll stop streaming and accepting private calls, and we can hopefully move forward without any ill-feelings of one another.” He blinks at you, near pleading with his eyes. “I’ll push your application through– That is, if you still want the position.” 

Sunghoon does wince at the bribe, considering he’s never done such a thing let alone commit acts of sexual harassment, or perhaps even non consensual foreplay with someone. It really really wasn’t entirely intentional, and he’s disgusted with himself. If you report him, he’d take the hit to his reputation and career, but if you don’t…what then?

Ill-feelings, he says? If anything, you might feel more ill parading around like you wouldn’t want him to do all of those things he said previously, with free-will to say as he pleased without the fear of you knowing who the words were coming from. 

“Can you please stop with the professional talk?” You hum out with an exhausted eye roll.  “I don’t want the promotion if you’re just offering it so I don’t rat you out.” You narrow your eyes now and lean yourself forward. “You hope to forget this ever happened? Really?” 

Carefully, the two of you watch each other for a while longer. Sunghoon looking like he’s about to catch himself on fire, and you, looking annoyed and amused. Still, the thick air in the room starts to feel suffocating under the pressure of the “issue” at hand as you scold him further. 

“What you did was predatory. But– I don’t want to ruin your life over this.” 

You watch as Sunghoon listens, his posture opening up a bit more as you speak, showing that he’s being relieved of his stress through your words alone. 

“Are you trying to hold a promotion over my head over this?”

Before he gets the chance to curl in on himself again, you answer for him. 

“Maybe.” 

You continue too, not letting him speak for the time being. Or, rather, giving him a chance to breathe. 

“Should you change your username and continue doing what you want behind closed doors because it’s no one else’s business?” You really watch him this time. “Yes.” 

He blinks at you, raising a brow in slight confusion. 

“Did you take advantage of me?”

He nods before you whisper out another “yes” yourself. 

“Would I let you do it again…?”

Oh, for Sunghoon, it’s hard to breathe right now as he anticipates what you’ll say. Is it going to be a ‘no’ this time? Are you going to stand up and change your mind? Despite just stating you don’t want to ruin his life?

God, hasn’t he already let you?

“Yes.”

Pause. 

“I’m sorry?” Sunghoon responds in disbelief, shifting his eyes to his hands and then back to you. “Come again?”

“Sunghoon.” You make it a point to call him by his name now, ignoring the etiquette of a proper boss and employee dynamic. “I am humiliated by all of this but I can see that you are too. You’ve admitted your guilt and even go as far as encouraging that I report you.” You pause again, knowing that this isn’t where the conversation should be going for any, uh, normal person, you suppose. 

“If you had just told me. If you had said anything about wanting to, like, fuck me, I would have done it with or without the promotion on the line.���

Does that make you sound a little desperate? Yeah. But it’s not like he doesn’t know how badly you need to be fucked. After all, you know, the cam sessions and stuff. You were literally paying a stranger to get you off. 

Shouldn’t he, of all people, know that you were bad-off enough to get laid?

Sunghoon’s issue though, is that he never looks at his employees sexually. No matter how pretty, no matter how much they flaunt themselves at him. He never has, and probably never will again. If it hadn’t been for that single first session with you, all would be well. But now? He’s too attracted to you. 

He wants you so badly.

“If you tell me right now that you want me, in the same way you did on that call–” You stop yourself to really look at him. With the way he swallows, the way his lips slightly part, the way his hands show signs of eleven days worth of nervous habit cuticle picking. “If you do all of those things you said you’d do ‘if you were my boss’...”

“Wait, wait–” Sunghoon stands in a rush, causing you to jump slightly at the sudden sound echoing off of the walls in the office. “Do you understand the consequences of what you’re implying right now?”

“If I fuck my boss, we could both be fired?” You smile, feeling the confidence raise within you. Watching the way he reacts to your lewd words face to face rather than through a microphone. 

“That would be…correct.” He raises a brow. 

“Well, technically, you’ve already been fucking me.” You look away from him, feeling a bit shy even with the confidence, but never having spoken to a man so bluntly before like this? It’s a bit scary. “Would it really make anything worse if, you know, I do reciprocate?”

Goddamn. Sunghoon might be a bit smitten. This situation could have gone a thousand different ways, and you offer the one that includes your legs spread across this fucking desk and his face buried between them?

Oh. Never has he been so willingly turned on at work. 

“Is this what you want?” He asks in a breath, shifting his eyes to the door and walking towards it, immediately reaching for the lock but not quite turning it. 

“Is that what you want?” You counter, turning and staring at the lock. 

Sunghoon hides his nod, wanting you to be the one to answer first. After all, hasn’t he been self-indulgent enough?

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He finally breaks and says it, blatantly, not sugar coated, yet still sweet when the words hit your ears. “After all this, you still want it?” 

You nod, dipping your head a bit against your shoulder. 

Click. 

“I guess I should have known.” Sunghoon plays with his words now, hand dropping from the now locked door and eyes entirely on you. “Do you want me to fuck you, or would you prefer–”

“You.” You smile, feeling your skin prickle at the electricity that enters the room through breath and words alone. It’s the way he already shifted. Like all of that anxiety melted out of him within an instant. 

“No, no.” He stalks towards you now, the nervous Sunghoon is no longer in sight as he makes himself seem bigger, taller, far more intimidating. Just like he was on camera. “The me you saw on screen is not the same as what you’re seeing right now.” He tries to explain. 

“Oh?” You tilt your head, and he only finds that cute. 

Far too cute. 

“You’d do as I ask, right?” His voice shifts to a raspy whisper as he centers himself in front of you, both hands reaching the arms of your chair as he hovers above you. “I’m far more tame online.” 

Tame?! That’s what he calls tame?! 

You stare up at him, keeping your jaw from falling slack as you physically see him shift from being your boss into being a man with a need. Not just any need either. A need for you.

Part of you wonders if he ever truly felt bad in the first place about all of this, because the shift from just moments ago is so dramatic it’s almost scary. 

“So, tell me.” He leans down, inches from your face as his eyes start to fall to a half-lidded stare at you. “You’ll do as I say? You’d let me do it all for you, and not ask me to stop until I feel it best, yes?”

You swallow and slowly nod. Oh god, it really, really, is him. 

“And while at work, you’ll behave?” He continues, lips now ghosting over yours to the point you can almost feel them press down. He’s implying that if you don’t tell, that this won’t be the only time too? Shit. He’s entirely aware of why this shouldn’t be happening, but still making it happen.

 “No matter what I do to you, where or how I do it, you’ll behave?”

You can’t help it when you lift your chin, just a bit to rest your lips against his words, eyes falling closed and hands hesitant to reach out for his perfectly ironed shirt. 

You feel his smile against your lips, with that sharp-toothed grin he rarely offers. 

“Ah, so it’s true.” He murmurs against you, his hand reaching for yours and guiding it for you, straight to his belt. “Dirty, dirty girl.”

A small, pleased, sound leaves your throat when he does kiss you, adding his own pleased hum alongside yours as his hands still hold yours in place over his belt, not quite letting you do anything just yet.

”Gonna be quiet–” He whispers into your mouth, just against your tongue before licking out and against it. “Even when I tell you to moan my name?”

You really shouldn’t be surprised, but you still are. You like this Sunghoon better than the one who stutters and picks his cuticles. He’s owning it, and in a way, so are you. 

 After all, it wasn’t until today that you truly learned what Sunghoon is like when he’s aroused. Not that you ever should have known in the first place. The fact that you do know, the fact that he’s showing you? It just makes this all the more arousing, in your opinion.

All he needed was a green light and within seconds it seems, Sunghoon became the need you’ve been chasing for months now through porn sites and erotic novels. 

You nod to his words, trying to drop your hand just a bit to feel what you’ve already seen. Just to feel how warm he is, how—

“Is that so?” Sunghoon whispers in an amused tone, guiding your hand right back to his belt, only to drop his other hand straight between your legs. “You’re supposed to do as I say. If I tell you to moan my name, you do it.”

Oh, the sexual confusion of what to do and which Sunghoon to obey. All you can do is continue to nod for him, hanging your head with a breath at the way he cups his hand over the entirety of your core. You wore pants today in order to hide your shame, to try and feel invisible based on previous circumstances. You’re not so happy about that now, as you try to feel his touch through the thick fabric only to shamelessly thrust your hips up and against his palm.

He moves his lips to the top of your head now, hovering over you in a perfect stance of power, hand gently rubbing up and and down despite your hips asking for a harsher touch. If anything, it makes him feel better knowing how you react to this. 

In actuality, his relief is sending his arousal through the roof. Not only are you not going to rat him out but…you want more of it? More of him, in particular? Not the facade of him online? 

At this point, if he gets caught, you’re both going down in flames. So, why not enjoy the ride?

Truly, it’s laughable in the way he’s just as amused as he is turned on, relishing in the fact that he wants you and you’re letting him have you despite his past actions. You’re messy too, he’s seen it, and now he gets to feel it. 

“Mhm,” Sunghoon hums against the top of your head, now pressing his own hips forward against your hand. “Feel that?”

The electricity? How hard he is? How needy you are?

”Yeah…” You sigh absentmindedly, bumping his chin with your head when you try to look up at him. You only blink twice before he coos out with a sad little sound. 

He doesn’t say a word after as he removes his hand and instead, grabs both of your hands and places them on his shirt. 

“Go on.” He smiles, waiting to see you to start fumbling against his buttons. 

And fumble, you do. Touching him, for some reason, feels so dangerous. Knowing you’re the one removing his shirt, watching his skin be revealed as it begins to fall open by your own doing? It’s electrifying. Enough to lose your train of thought as you study how toned and smooth his skin is. Just like how you had seen on camera, so clear in front of you now. You’re aching for him by this point, being able to feel his body heat, touch him, feel his eyes on you. 

If you had really known back then who it was you were talking to, you very well may have pretended to not know as well, judging by the way your entire body catches fire for him. 

And as his shirt falls completely open, he’s satisfied with the way you do it. Complacent and docile beneath him, nervous fingers shaking much like he did for the past eleven days. With those pretty eyes looking at him, like there’s nothing in your head at all. 

He chuckles at you, grabbing your hands again and placing them right on his chest, helping your hesitant touch to massage and caress each bump and toned muscle. He intentionally flexes the further down your hands go, all the way back to his belt. 

There, he looks down at where you touch, then back at you with a quirked brow. You stare  up at him, blinking, face feeling hot, and it’s like you move your hands on instinct. The sound of his buckle being unclasped echoes in the room, and his eyes only darken with the sound.

The sound of it slipping from the loops when he takes it upon himself to remove it completely for you, the sound of his breathing, the sound of that zipper, the button, the shuffling of his pants being skewed down just enough to fit your hand inside.

He moans at the image alone, loving the way your smaller hand looks slipping down his pants, the way your breathing is somehow even as if you’re trying to keep yourself calm. So calm, so pretty, but he knows how needy you are. He shouldn’t, but he does, and he uses it to his advantage. 

You’re the one who moans this time upon feeling that little twitch of his cock urging you to grab. And he helps you too, with the way he guides your hand under the front of his pants further, forcing your fingers to grab and grope the thick of his cock, uncomfortable and pressing between his briefs and undone zipper. 

“Still, you’re just looking.” Sunghoon comments, pressing his hips forward slowly and gently. “I’m right here.” He continues to explain the situation to you, as if you’re not experiencing it. “You need me to show you how to touch me too?”

You hesitate with a groan caught in your throat. You’re still processing the size difference that you feel now versus what you saw. Bigger. Thicker. Heavier than you would have expected against your palm. Honestly, you were so focused on the fact that Sunghoon’s cock is currently fucking forward against you that you almost forgot how to jerk a man off by yourself. 

His hand had been doing all the work for you, and you’re quick to take over. 

Sunghoon lends a very small gasp at the way you try to grasp, and instantly both of his arms shoot to the chair behind your head. He grips it, dropping his chin to the top of your head before thrusting a bit harsher into the grip you try to hold on him. 

“Harder.” He exhales, his cock twitching in your weak hold. “Grab me harder.”

You do, squeezing the bulge before intentionally adjusting it for him, allowing the head of his bulbous cock to peek from the top of his briefs. 

His relieved sigh is enough, you can’t help it. With his chin sat atop your head like this, you have no choice but to watch the way he moves his hips. Just like he did on camera. His abs flex with each movement, his arms grip behind you on the chair tighter, and you couldn’t pull your eyes away from his desperate body even if you wanted to. 

You thrust up too, as if your body craves what you’re already touching. And you do crave it, so much so that your clit aches against the denim you’re rubbing up against. Unfortunate that you wore these fucking jeans, honestly.

“Mr. Park–” You let out a small and frustrated cry, using your other hand to try and fail at unbuttoning your own pants. 

He hides his smile at the way you’ve reverted back to his professional title, but pays no mind to it because that’s what he wanted to hear in your voice that night. A desperate sound of his name, a plea, a cry. He can’t help but cling to it and bury that pretty voice into the darkest parts of his brain. A memory he’ll revisit time and time again after this. That sound, those pretty lips, this weak grasp you have. For the time being, it’s his. You belong to him right now. 

“Hm?” He hums out, fucking his hips forward while tilting his head back to look at you. “What is it, baby?”

Oh. You lost your train of thought. 

Thankfully, he seems to do the thinking for you as he shifts his eyes down and watches you try to both please him and remove your own pants. A cute sight to him, really. Someone who was just scolding him for wanting this, fumbling for more? 

So cute. 

He chuckles, pulling his hips back from your hand and grabbing it, unbothered by the loss of your touch. Instantly he intertwines his fingers with yours, and grasps your other hand from your pants to do the same. Both your arms raise by his guidance to the back of the chair before he releases them. 

You watch with a slack jaw and half-lidded eyes as he lowers himself, right onto his knees before he unbuttons your pants for you and very politely pulls them from your legs. 

“This what you want?” He smiles, lying his cheek right against your exposed thigh and taking a deep inhale. It’s taking everything in him not to fawn over the woman who had him in his thoughts for the past however long, truly. 

Then again, he’s weak. He doesn’t even look up at you through his words and, instead, nuzzles his nose right up and against the seat of your panties before inhaling with a pleasant hum. “To have me finally touching this pretty pussy for you?” 

God damn, if you didn’t already know it was him on that camera, you do now. He speaks the same type of words, with the same confidence, the same sultry tone…

You can barely comprehend the way he slowly takes his own pants off because you’re too focused on the way he runs his lips across your skin with dirty thoughts spilling from them. Fingers tucked under either side of your panties in preparation before he eventually pulls them off of you. 

“Did you wear those pants to hide yourself from me?” He comments now with an amused tone. “Knowing you wanted me to take them off of you anyway?”

You shake your head at him, holding your breath. You did wear them to hide, but you never would have expected this situation to go in a direction involving his mouth anywhere near where you need it. Sure, you assumed he would have rejected you, you assumed that if it was him– he’d have been so disgusted with himself that he’d only gag at your presence. 

But no. You were bold in your words, and he seems to feed into that. 

“No?” He furrows his brows and lifts his head. Now lowering your panties much like he did for your pants. He’s quick with his next action, seemingly hiding his own desperation through playful comments at you. “Why not?” He adds, instantly pressing his thumb against your clit and fucking shining his eyes up at you with a semi-pouted mouth. 

You roll your eyes back at the sudden pressure, relaxing your shoulders and slouching down in the chair. Your legs spread further on instinct, granting him a full view of your sticky cunt parting open for him.

His eyes glance down, peering into the heat you offered once before ever knowing it was him looking. Clicking his tongue, he can’t help but bite his lower lip to hold himself back. He hopes you don’t notice the way his hand finds its way to his own cock, he really, really hopes you don’t see him act so pathetic over this. 

But you do. The moment your eyes roll back into place and get a look at him. One of his shoulders is moving, but the action is hidden by not only the chair, but his fucking face. He’s got his lips parted and he’s licking his lower lip. Slicking it up with his own saliva before–

“So quiet,” He hums with glistening lips, lending himself a light hold with his cock and pretending it’s you doing it for him. “You have nothing to say for yourself?” He adds now, inhaling once more the scent of your slick dripping for him as he leans in just a bit more.

“Oh–!” You yelp slightly at the feeling of his teeth digging into the flesh just to the side of your core. He bites down harder and harder, licking the flesh between his teeth before sucking hard against it. The sweat and scent of your full-day at work does nothing to calm his raging cock. He loves it and it only grows his appetite for you. Licking, sucking, nibbling at the skin until he’s sure he’ll leave a nice, painful swell to rub against your panties later. Only then does he release your skin from his still-tasting mouth. 

The relief when he releases your thigh is short lived because he offers not even a full two seconds before you feel his mouth circle your clit. Like he can’t help himself, like he can’t tease you right now even if he wanted to. 

 A flick of his tongue sends a shiver down your spine straight to your toes and you can’t stop your legs from immediately wrapping around his head. You hear his muffled “mmf” when you do that, but he keeps you from apologizing for it because his free hand goes straight under your ass and scoots you even closer to his tongue. 

And if you didn’t already think Sunghoon knew how to use that mouth for more than just being a professional business man, you do now. With the way that same tongue that used to taste the morning coffee you’d bring him now tastes you. Deeply. 

He licks, flicks, and sucks every fold. Slurping up any dripping heat that slips out of you before pressing his tongue in and nuzzling his nose against your clit. He’s not quiet about it either. He moans with each lick, hums every time your legs squeeze around his neck, slurps and loudly sucks. 

It’s pornographic, it’s sexy, it’s–

Suddenly, you feel a sharp jolt shoot through you, having not even noticed his hand moving from your ass to your front, moving straight up under your shirt. His fingers immediately find your nipple and pinches hard. So hard that your previous moan only becomes prolonged. Grows louder, breathier. 

He pinches and massages your nipple with the intent to keep you loud for him. Office setting or not, he could give less of a shit about that right now. He ignores the strain on his wrist from your bra, he uses his other hand to grip himself harder, and you can’t help but squeeze him tighter between your thighs until you’re, quite literally, shaking.

Your hips are sliding against his face with each jolt of pleasure, practically riding him, and his cock is now entirely neglected because you can’t help but want more. You need more. And he gives it, by now releasing himself and keeping both hands on you. One holding the outside of your thigh, almost pushing you to squeeze tighter, the other incessantly abusing your nipple. 

He chokes out a moan through his messy movements, never quite knowing where to put his hands solely because he wants to touch all of you. His cock is just fine being neglected, he thinks, as he realizes just how much pleasure he gets from feeling you wrap yourself around him like this. 

It feels better than jerking himself off. 

“Mr. P–” You sigh out, still not quite used to actually calling him his name, but the sound of it reminds you time and time again how wrong this situation is supposed to be. 

You’re sitting on this soft chair, pussy being spread apart by a tongue none other than the man who signs your paychecks. And just this morning you were terrified of him ever even getting a glimpse of you without pants on? God, how stupid could you be? You should’ve been chasing this man’s touch since the day you looked at him for the first time. 

“Fuck–” You moan out for him, brain spitting thoughts at you as each second passes. The danger of this, the fact that he genuinely got off to you before you knew it was him. The secrecy of his perverted thoughts and actions…it’s all so… “So, you’re so – hot.”

You feel him laugh, kissing the pulsing hole of your pussy when he pulls his tongue back to swallow. And for just a few moments, he turns his head, gripping your thigh with his teeth once again before speaking back to you, muffled by the hot skin. 

“Yeah?” He laughs, now pulling his hand from your bra and lifting to your chin, pointing your gaze down at him, forcing you to see the way your thighs nearly suffocate him against your pussy. “Then keep your eyes on me.”

And you do, especially when he uses both of his hands now, nudging them between your legs and forcing them from his shoulders. He rests your legs on the arms of the chair instead and flicks his eyes up at you. 

“You watching?” He makes this a point, blowing a small breath of air straight at your clit before receiving a dazed and slow nod from you. “Keep your legs open too.”

That’s the last thing he says before his mouth is full again, sucking your folds between his teeth before tucking his tongue right back into your hole. He tastes for just a few moments before you feel those same lips on your clit. He lets it throb in his open mouth as he listens carefully to your little sounds, especially now that he’s sliding his fingers into you. 

You gasp, holding your breath at the feeling. His fingers slide in, reaching deep before he scissors them open. And all you feel from it is pleasure. You can’t help that your eyes roll back again, but you do try to keep your gaze fixed on his. With his eyes so rounded, blinking up at you with his strong jaw moving with each swallow of his own muffled moans. 

He sucks your clit, fucks your cunt open, and relishes in the way he will soon get to splay you across his desk and really let you have it. 

And he does this for a few minutes, though in your head it goes by so fast that you nearly get whiplash from the way he pulls back with a wet sound and grins at you.

“Aw, baby–” He coos at the face you make, seemingly disappointed to lose all stimulation at once, but he’s quick to lift to his feet and lean back over you. 

Oh, his cock. It’s right there. 

Oh.

His face– 

“You’re so fucking wet right now.” He murmurs against the corner of your mouth with a raspy whisper, easily and without warning slipping two of his fingers right back into the heat that he just denied himself of licking more. “You hear that?” He continues with a sharp toothed bite to your lip. “How wet you are?”

You groan at the way he slams his fingers in, out, in, out, in…He keeps them there, pressed so far into you that you can physically feel the way your pussy tries to push him out again.

“Could slip it in right now–” He moans out at how tight you clench just his fingers. “Fuck, could be so deep in you.”

Your face feels hot as a bashful feeling overtakes you. His voice hits so much harder when you feel his breath along with it. His fingers, his cock right up against you. You want him to slip it in. To stuff his cock in you so fast, no room to adjust, not a second to even catch your breath. 

God, you need it right now. It’s been too long since you’ve felt a real person touch you, you can’t help that you feel so desperate. The clench isn’t on purpose, your body tells him all he needs to know, all while he tells you all you could only wish to hear fall from someone’s lips.

And not just anyone. His lips. 

You shoot your arms around his neck and it's not really intentional but– an actual kiss. You need it. 

He seems pleased by it though, with the way his tongue immediately asks for more. One hand moves to brace your cheek, the other still fucking into you so good that you can’t keep a single moan down. He takes full control of the initiated kiss solely because you kissed him first. Almost hungrily, he licks into your mouth with his own muffled groan, encouraging you to keep being pretty like this. Just so you can see what he’ll do to you. 

And, damn. He guides your body like a puppet, stiffening his shoulders when he licks into your mouth and threatening to pull away by raising  himself up just a bit. He knew you’d chase the kiss, and you do. You lift with him, your ass lifting from the chair just to keep his tongue against yours, and he takes the elevated position and angles his hand just a bit. There, his fingers fuck into you harder, faster, so much fucking deeper until– you feel his fingers stop at a painfully deep spot inside of you. 

He pulls back from the kiss, looking down between your bodies, and your eyes follow his gaze. Right there, he’s placed his knee up against his own wrist, forcing his fingers to remain deep and unmoving in you. 

You take in a sharp inhale, seeing the way he lets your body fall back to the seat of the chair, only forcing him to skew his fingers and– “Oh, god!”

You moan out so suddenly that it even shocks him for a moment, but he takes your weakness and uses it to his advantage. Quickly, he licks into your moaning mouth, tickling his fingers upwards, pulling even more animalistic sounds from you. 

“Yeah?” He whispers frantically, so turned on by the way your entire body stiffens. “Right there?” He continues, leaning his full body weight forward with his knee, wincing at the way he presses his cock against anything he can find in the process, just to get you off right here, right now. 

You nod just as frantically, toes curling, arms shooting to the chair in a form that should appear as discomfort, but really you’re just bracing yourself through the tensing of your muscles before all of them relax and pulse at once. 

Your ears pop, but you can still hear your desperate cries of his name somewhere distant. You can even hear him, humming and encouraging your orgasm. You wish you could hold your eyes open to see him, to grab him and force him to fuck his fingers hard into you. God, you could take it right now. You could take just about anything to heighten this feeling of stars bursting behind your eyelids. 

Somehow though, it’s like he knows. Half-way through your orgasm, you feel the weight between your legs shift and his fingers start moving again. Still, your eyes are squeezed shut, and you can't help but to lunge forward and hug against his neck, clinging to him through the prolonged orgasm that his fingers alone have brought to you. 

“Squeezing me so tight–” Sunghoon groans, unsure of if he’s referring to the way your needy cunt crowds his fingers, or the way you cling to him like a lost pet, begging for him to never leave your sight. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this.”

You hear those words over any of his others. So clear in your head as you snap your head up and look at him. You see him lower his gaze, but your grip doesn’t quite allow him to actually look down at you. Not when he has to physically hold you up anyway. Still, he looks amused up there, knowing that single compliment must’ve hit somewhere inside of you.

You’re not sure why, through all this, Sunghoon calling you pretty makes it so much more intimate. And even as your legs continue to shake, and you release your death grip hug on him, he keeps himself crowded up to you. He’s somehow out of breath just like you are, relishing in the calm silence of your post orgasm as he…Jesus.

It’s not just your imagination. Somehow, it is intimate. It’s the way he pulls his fingers out and both hands shoot to your face. First, he kisses you as if you’re a long lost love. Deeply, slowly. Then, he’s putting one hand at the small of your back, nudging his knee right back between your legs, and pulling you right up against him. 

“Who did you cum for?” Sunghoon asks, pulling back just to lick against your lips and stare directly down at you. “Say my name.”

You don’t hesitate, echoing out with a winced expression, still so out of breath while rubbing your clit to the expanse of his thigh. 

“Su-Sunghoo-Sunghoon-” 

“Yeah?” He encourages you, hearing his name heat his ears up. He moves his pussy-slicked fingers to your mouth while you cry his name, and easily presses your tongue down with them, sliding the digits further and further down your throat. “Sunghoon.” He says his own name. “Say it again.”

You gag around his fingers, unable to obey his demand. 

“Sung–” He inspects the way your tongue struggles against the intrusion in your mouth. “Hoon.” 

You swallow around them now, sputtering, tears now running down the outer apples of your cheeks. He watches you do it too, wondering how good that would feel if it were his cock you’re swallowing around. Knowing you’d probably do it for him if he wanted to right now. 

But…he needs more than that. Despite how delicious you look while gagging, his cock has been neglected and he needs to fuck out the stress from the past however long you’ve been avoiding him. It’s like his brain breaks with the action as he watches you take his fingers in whatever way he offers. You let him do whatever he wants. You’re obeying. 

“Up.” He suddenly says, pulling all physical contact with you away as he turns, steps out of the pants restricting his ankles, and swipes every pen, file, and picture frame off his desk. “Come here, baby.”

You feel like you’re melted to this chair right now, in all honesty. You’re still trying to catch your breath just from touching his cock before he decided to make you see fucking stars, to think you can stand right now is insane.

So, when you don’t immediately hop up and throw yourself onto his desk, he turns to look at you. 

You’re splayed out, legs still spread, toes still curled. Your chest is heaving to breathe, eyes wild and lips so fucking kissable. 

“Oh, fuck.” He sighs to himself in realization, relishing in the image of you he’s only recently been craving. “Look at you.”

You lift your arm to hide your face, feeling apologetic for the way you’ve lost the ability to exist as an active participant right now. Even more apologetic when you glance down at how fucking hard his cock is. Raging hard, so pretty with the tip sputtering precum for god knows how long. 

He watches you stare, and lends you a few moments to catch your breath by gripping it himself. Leaning himself against his desk and twisting his wrist with a tight grip at the base. 

“Is this how you looked at me when I did this before?” He asks, flicking his wrist still with each drag. “So out of it, you look like such a mess, babe.”

You find yourself humming a confirmation to him as you watch, almost reverting back to who you were during that first session. Unseen, only heard, all while you got to see him pleasure himself to almost nothing. You gave him nothing. 

You’ve still only given him nothing. 

And so, very slowly, you force yourself to stand on shaking legs to take those two strides to his desk. Something inside of you tingles when he drops his cock and opens his arms for you, like a good boss would do in this situation. Supporting your unbalanced weight, letting you walk into his comforting grasp. 

“Said my name so pretty, you know.” He comments gently when he holds you close to him. Hands reaching down from the grip around your waist just to grab both of your fleshy ass checks and squeeze them. “You want more, yes?”

He’s quick to the point, only allowing the short and sweet moments to last just enough for them to stick in your head. Just enough to have questions about his actions. Just enough to give him anything, everything, he could want if it involves your body.

You nod almost shyly, dipping your head down and leaning against his chest. 

“Let's get this off of you then.” He smiles with a gentle voice, reaching to the hem of your shirt and pulling it straight up, watching how you lift your arms to help him. “Mhm–” He hums again, loving how the bra drags off of you along with the shirt. He lets both of his hands brush your nipples before he goes back to gripping your ass cheeks and spreading them. 

Spreading them so wide that, once again, you have to lift on your toes just to let him play with your body. Which, oh man. Always wearing his button down shirts, his blazers, his long-sleeve shirts. You can’t help it when you tug at the opened fabric of his shirt, asking silently that he shake it off. Wanting to see his arms, wanting to see the strength in them.

And he does it without hesitation, letting his hands fall from you just for a moment to shake his shirt off, only now hugging against you again and forcing a position change. He turns both of you so now you’re up against his desk, and he’s standing in front of you.

It’s easy for him to push you back in a kiss. Your legs open for him on instinct anyway, so he need not worry about prying those legs open again. You do just as expected when he pushes you too. Your ass hits the desk and you lift on your toes to sit on it. Your legs spread wider, making room for him to step even closer, cock right up against you when he closes any amount of distance, and still? He’s kissing you. 

All across your face, down your neck, back to your lips. And his hands just keep feeling. Massaging your tits, lending small taps to your ass, holding your chin, jaw, neck, and then…he runs them through your hair. 

The feeling is so good you almost forget how you’ve been trying to steal a glimpse of his flexing arms as he grabs at you. Goosebumps prickle and you let out a groan at the pleasure of it. He keeps one hand there now, smiling against his kiss to your ear. 

“You like being pampered?” He asks, now gripping a fist full of your hair and skewing your neck to the side. “Like being moved around like a puppet?”

Never once have you thought about your sex life that way, but when you think about it…maybe. After all, you did enjoy being told when and how to touch yourself, being allowed or forbidden from cumming. Now, with him quite literally moving you around with just a simple grip of your hair? Yeah. 

“By you–” You mutter out as you open your eyes, staring at the ceiling and feeling his tongue lap against your earlobe. 

“Just me?” He leans back, using that same grip in your hair to force you to look at him. “You’d give me that power?”

You nod against the grasp, lips falling open in a moan despite not being pleasured by anything aside from the stinging against your scalp as he pulls little hairs a bit too tightly. 

“You know–” Sunghoon starts now, pressing his hips forward, dropping his other hand to his cock and slapping it right against your weeping cunt. “If I had known you were this dirty...”He sighs out at the image in his head, thinking back to all those times he silently complimented you in his head. Back then, never would he have made comments about your legs out loud, or how your tits would look in certain shirts. Thinking back now, he’s always found you quite beautiful.

Quite fuckable, even. 

You listen to the silence waiting for him to continue, feeling the way he presses the hardened head of his length against your clit repeatedly. 

“I would have propped you up on this desk months ago,” He smiles now, leaning in real close to your ear as his grip in your hair loosens just a bit. “Could’ve had you moaning my name this whole time.”

Then, you feel it. The way he adjusts his weeping cock lower, prodding at your hole just a bit until his tip is entirely enveloped by your clenching walls. 

You swallow a moan and hold your breath, legs shooting around his waist and instinctively trying to force his hips to move forward, trying to force him to penetrate you deeper.

“Shh,” He coos out, holding his hips firm and not letting you control his movements. Then, he kisses just under your ear before peppering them all the way back to your lips. He doesn’t kiss you though, no, he chuckles at you for trying. Watching you let your tongue fall from your mouth, inspecting the way you’re entirely in tune for him right now. “You really want it, don’t you?” He whispers just above your lips. “Want me to fuck you right here, right now?”

You nod absentmindedly, legs still trying to force him to move, arms clinging under his biceps, head still forced into whatever position he keeps it in by the hair. 

“Please–Sunghoon.” You cry in a small voice, feeling as if you’re going insane by the feeling of his tip sitting comfortably in you. 

“You’re so cute.” He smiles, lending you another inch of his length before letting his hand fall from your hair. There, he grips your waist instead, letting a strained grunt fall from his own lips this time. He’s really trying to remain collected about this, and he’s unsure himself why he’s enjoying the act of teasing you like this. He feels like he’s teasing himself more than you right now, seeing as how it’s taking everything in him not to stuff his cock into you hard and fast. “So–so, fucking cute.”

You clench around the few inches in you and it appears that’s all he needed to break entirely. Is he controlling you, or are you controlling him? 

Honestly, who gives a fuck?

You feel his arms shake when he plants them at either side of you, pointing his cock straight into you and sliding in fully. There’s a groan from him that you want to hear so badly, but your own heart beat is thumping in your ears so loudly that you miss half of it. 

The stretch is delicious, and the fact that it’s Sunghoon doing this to you makes this all the more enjoyable. The man who you’ve seen day after day, now holding himself up on the desk you’ve signed papers on with and for him? All so he can angle his hips and shove his cock in? Just to let his arms frantically wrap around your waist? Just so he can scoot you forward on this desk, using your leaking slick to slide you back and forth in time with his hips? 

That groan you wanted to hear? He hasn’t stopped. He’s essentially, controlling the entire situation and when you half open your eyes to witness his face, you’re forced to roll your eyes back in a moan matching his. 

He’s fucking you so deeply right now that all you can do is moan, all you can do is forget the embarrassment, the victimization, the way he’s doing this to you despite the risk of reality crumbling. He could lose his job, you could lose yours, and yet still– he’s fucking you like he doesn’t care.

So, you choose not to care either in the form of grabbing his hair, forcing his head back, and attaching your lips right against his adams apple. You feel him swallow and breathe out a shocked sound, and then? You suck.

Intentionally, you suck, bite, and lick, harder and harder until there’s a deep purple mark there. He doesn’t even fight it, though you feel him try to move his head just to keep you from going too insane with it. You don’t care though, because still you feel his cock splitting you open, forcing you to adjust to him. 

“Ah,” Sunghoon lets out another breath with that familiar chuckle, “Marking me now?” 

You hum a confirmation as you move to a new spot on his neck, absolutely fucking marking him. Feeling devastated by the idea that he’d do this with any other employee. Or any other person in general. 

“Making me all yours, huh?” He continues with his cocky words, feeling the way your pussy clenches him tightly, dripping all over his desk. He’d let you make him yours, with or without the bruising from your mouth. 

“Mhm.” You hum pleasantly, letting out little yelps each time he slams into you. Letting out full moans each time his arms wrap around your waist tighter. 

You continue with the act, littering his pretty neck with your touch and loving how he just lets you. Knowing that he’ll show up at work tomorrow looking a bit tired, but glowing nonetheless, trying to hide all these marks with that tight-necked collar he likes to wear. 

“Whatever you want.” He breathes, letting his hips lose rhythm for just a moment as he feels his muscles tighten. “Fuck, you’re still so tight.” 

You feel like you’re on top of the world as he compliments you, to the point you’re not sure when you’ll cum because your whole body has seemingly been feeling euphoria anyway. Everything feels good, even if his cock reaches deep enough to cause little jolts of pain. The sound of the desk scooting back through the force of his hips is enough to make you take it. Enough to squeeze your legs around him tighter, enough to clench, enough to– forget what you’re doing and let yourself fall into it with him.

Your head falls back from his neck and you pant out little half-calls of his name with each thrust. Your legs loosen from around him too, but his grip on your waist only pushes you back on his desk. Until he’s leaning forward so hard with each thrust that suddenly your back meets the cold wood.

Sandwiched between him and his desk, he follows the action, his hands quickly moving from your waist to your tits, pushing them together just so he can nuzzle his face between them.

There, you look at him. You really look at him. 

What a messy, messy, man. Always so pristine during working hours, now looking so wrecked and out of it as he chases a pleasure that you hope only you can give to him. 

“Mr. Park–” You sigh out in a pleasant voice, watching the way he sucks your tit into his mouth before his eyes open wide just so he can look up at you through each thrust. “Harder.”

You can physically see the way his eyes darken when he pops off from your tit, hands now going back to the desk as he hovers over you and intentionally rolls his hips. 

You feel his cock loosen you up painfully before he intentionally fucks into you. Dragging all the way out, just to push forward in a deep and painful thrust. Over and over again, all while he’s staring straight into your eyes.

As you look up at him, you see the intent in his face. The way he wants to give you exactly what you want. Sweat shining from his cheeks, his neck littered with pretty colors. Oh, he’s actually heavenly when he fucks. 

Better than what you thought that guy on camera would have been. He’s not nonchalant like he was when he was performing. He’s entirely in tune with you and what you want. Like what you want is what he wants. 

You can tell he’s paying no mind to his own face or expression, blatantly putting all of his thoughts into how he’s pleasuring you, his eyes searching your face to tell him he’s doing well. To tell him you feel good, to tell him you’re close or–

“Fuck–” He sighs out, teeth tracing his bottom lip as he glances up, keeping pace with the way he’s been plunging into you. “I can’t keep looking at you,”

You smile, feeling dazed and far away. It feels like it’s just you and him. You’re not in his office, on a desk, or doing anything you shouldn’t be doing. 

“You hear me?” He drops his body weight on you again, letting his hips move freely as he chases and chases. “I’m so close.”

Oh. 

“Then look at me.” You huff out, now shooting a hand between his flexed abs and simply…touching your clit once.

 “Oh–shit.” 

It hits you so fast. Just a simple touch causes your pussy to clench Sunghoon so tightly that he mimics your sound. 

“Ah, fuck- fuck,” His voice sounds frantic as he tries to pull out, only to feel your legs shoot back around him. This time, he lets you force him to stay. He lets those legs of yours push him back in, so deep that he knows he can’t fight. “No, no–” He chokes out, uncaring if his hips show you that he’s lying with his words. “I’m cumming– I need to–”

“Stay!” You shake beneath him but your voice sounds pleading, pressing once more to your clit before letting it go. You clench him again, essentially letting your body finish him off. Letting those clenches squeeze him so tightly, making sure he couldn’t fathom ever wasting his cum. “Don’t pull out.”

He doesn’t. In fact, he presses impossibly deeper, trying to bury his cock into you to the point it even pains him. Arms shaking as he tries to hold himself up again, only to drop his lips to yours under his own weight. His hips are so tense between your legs, his cock is so stiff that you can feel each pumped release, and still you’re experiencing your own euphoria through it. 

To the point your toes are curling and you barely notice the way you leave welts across his back from your fingernails through the intense orgasm. To the point his slack lips against yours feel more natural than anything else. Not kissing, just close. So close that–

He kisses you. 

After it’s all said and done, he still kisses you breathlessly. Passionately almost, clinging to you as his cock twitches as it grows flaccid inside of you.

He doesn’t pull out, he just…kisses.

And as you lay against his wooden desk, body coming down from the pleasure you’ve felt more than once within the past hour, all you can do is let your brain think on its own. Without shame, without embarrassment or anxiety. 

You thought Sunghoon would have been in control the whole time. Teasing you, maybe even making this experience more painful than it needs to be. But no, he…

He’s soft. Gentle, almost. 

Only now do you recognize that as badly as he probably wants to appear harsh, like the confident man he is on camera, you think he needs something else. Not just power, not just money or control. Not even just fucking. 

You think…maybe, Sunghoon needs connection. 

Intimacy. 

And that’s proven when he does finally stand on his own buckled knees, pulling you up with him into a hug where he still kisses you. Up until he takes that shirt you unbuttoned and holds it between your legs, scratching the back of his neck with a shy glance at you. 

“Sorry for the mess.” He echoes in a meek voice, holding that shirt firm against you. “Guess I just couldn’t help myself.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Days later, you find yourself in his bed. Which should have been expected probably. Still doesn’t change the fact that every few hours, you remind yourself the reality of the situation.

It’s not just any bed you’re in. It’s Sunghoon’s bed. 

“Oh, right. The promotion.” Sunghoon suddenly calls out mid-episode. 

You’ve been here with him all day. To the point neither of you bother to put on clothes now because you know the spark will come back at any given time and you’ll be all over each other again. Still, lazing in his bed with him on a Saturday afternoon is nice. 

“I’ve been a bit occupied but– the interviews for the assistant position has been pushed back a bit due to you not coming to work.  I was supposed to notify you when you got back, but you know, we had priorities–” 

Sunghoon sighs, embarrassed. It’s nice actually, seeing him in his natural element. Allowing you to see him as more than just the guy that wears a suit and tie every day at work. 

“Unrelated to us…doing this, but, you’re up for the interview. Just need to schedule it with me. If you still want to be my assistant, I mean.”

“Oh, I can only imagine what that could entail.”

Sunghoon seems offended by this remark as he pulls back with furrowed brows.

“Excuse me?”

“Did you fuck the last one too?” You give him a playful smile, prodding at his soft-skinned chest.

“Absolutely not?!” 

“You’re still gonna fuck me too though, right? Even if I’m constantly having to nag you for signatures and meetings?” 

Sunghoon stares at you before smiling. 

“Well, let's see if you get the job anyway. Rhonda from Marketing is applying too.”

You lend a half-joke gag at him. 

“Is it too forward to ask for special attention for the position along with a sexual favor?” You tread the thin line. “I’m half joking but wouldn’t it be like…normal for us to be seen around each other at work if I’m working a job that requires it?”

Sunghoon thinks hard.

“You’re really asking to fuck your way up the ladder?”

“Aren’t you the one who offered it so I wouldn’t tell your dirty little secret?” You narrow your eyes at him. “But no, I’m asking for the job I’ve been trying to earn for ages. Besides, I’d still fuck you anyway.”

“Fair.” Sunghoon thinks harder still. “Rhonda would probably find out too, if she were to get the position anyway, considering my assistants are often intertwined in my personal business as well.”

“Oh, I’m personal business now?”

“Babe, my hand has been on your tit for an hour now.” 

Well, he’s not wrong.

“Rhonda is really close with HR too…” You trail off, feeling a bit anxious. “I think she’d hold it over both of us if she found out.” 

“In all fairness, you’ve been considered for the job more than a few times the past few months. Rhonda only applied during your two week avoidance of me. The reason she’s even up for the position is because my boss thinks you’re too flaky.” 

Oh, so you have a chance with or without putting his dick in your mouth again?

“Who else has applied?”

“Confidential.” Sunghoon shrugs. “I still have to follow company rules even if we’re breaking a few of them right now. What I can tell you is, over fifteen other candidates have already been phased out by me personally.” 

You pause.

“Why?”

“Bad matches, mostly. Two of them have been caught talking shit about me through the company emails, and the others? Many outside applicants, all freshman college students with strict schedules.”

“Being my assistant is not an easy job, and even before all of this, you’ve practically been doing the job already, better than the current assistant I have.”

You damn fucking right you have.

“How many are still in the running?”

“Two.”

Oh, this job is soooooo yours. 

“Just, one more thing.” Sunghoon sighs. “If you get this job, we cannot be fucking in my office. No sexual stuff at work. We can take lunch together, or I’ll bring you home after work, but absolutely nothing at work.”

Oh, he thinks you want him that badly? 

“Who says I need to fuck you during work hours anyway? I know how to control myself.”

“It’s not you who I’m worried about.” Sunghoon looks away, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Yeah?” You smile. “You gonna be calling me into your office just to torture yourself?”

“Oh, absolutely.” 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

pls remember to leave feedback and reblog! :D love you!

[purplecoffee13]

Cross The Line*

Summary: “Harry and Y/N have always had a great professional relationship, all based on one rule; a line they drew the first time they met. But when one day that line accidentally blurs, Harry finds that he doesn’t want it to go back to the way it was…”

Wc: 13k

Tropes: Boss!rry x Secretary!Y/N

Warnings: A LOT of back and forth (this is what Katy Perry wrote hot and cold about), arguing, curse words, smut, dirty talk, degradation, light ch0king, dom/sub dynamics, edging, b0ndage, and recording while… yk🤗

A/N: I’m terribly sorry to have been testing your patience so much the second half of this year, here is a long one shot to say I’m sorry🥲 and I appreciate all of you and I hope you are happy and healthy and will get everything you want in the new year xx💘💘

General Masterlist

HEADER = POV change

Harry's relationship with his secretary is completely normal.

At least, he’s always thought it is.

Sure, it may have seemed more friendly than the usual boss/secretary relationship, but that was only because Y/N was special. She was one of the kind. Smart, stealthy, and sneaky if need be. She did everything he asked for, sometimes before he even realized he should ask her, and was always ready to do more.

Of course, she was attractive as well. Shit, attractive may have even been an understatement. Y/N was drop dead gorgeous and Harry was entirely aware of it. Her ambition made her even sexier, and it's one of the reasons he hired her in the first place.

When Y/N walked through his office door that first time three years ago, he couldn't believe his eyes.

He remembers it like it was yesterday, those wide eyes staring back at him as she froze a couple feet away from him. She was quick to regain herself, though—he had to give her that. But she was nervous as she sat down, even though her movements were calm and the tone of her voice stern. He saw the slightest shake of those hands of her.

Because that job interview hadn't been the first time Harry and Y/N came across each other. It was actually a Halloween party at some high end secretive club in New York one month prior. A night that ended with them hooking up in one of the private lounges.

Even back then, when he never thought he'd see her again, he knew that he would never forget that night, nor the way her face scrunched up as she clenched around him, or the sounds that she made as he drove into her.

He could see that she remembered it as well as she sat across from him that day, but Y/N had quickly made it clear that she was serious about pursuing a career in the film industry. She said she could prove what a great secretary she could be for him, as long as they could put that Halloween night behind them and pretend it never happened. She wouldn't make him regret it, she had told him. He took the chance.

And she had been absolutely right.

Three years had passed and Harry was still thankful to himself for hiring Y/N. She was the best around; fiercely loyal as well. Y/N had been offered jobs by other companies, but she turned down every last one of them. Harry liked to think their relationship played a bit of a part in that as well.

They had become friends—if that's what you could call it—over the years. They had a playful dynamic filled with flirty jokes and random phone calls and favors that blurred that line they had drawn so carefully during Y/N's job interview.

No matter what, Y/N would be the first Harry would call, every time. Whether it was bad business news or a drunken phone call, her number was most likely to be at the top of his last calls. And she always answered, even though she didn't have to. It was a special bond, and while they always danced on it—especially Harry—they never crossed that one line.

Not that Harry needed to. As a matter of a fact, he had quite the adventurous love life. With plenty of people on speed dial and a charming smile that could make anyone's panties drop, Harry wasn't short on romantic escapades. The one thing they all had in common, though, was that it'd never last longer than a few days, and they were rarely ever repeated.

The same couldn't be said for Y/N. In fact, Harry had never seen her with anyone outside of her work, and he never heard her mentioning anything about it...

He didn't know why, but somehow, that thought popped up into his head last Friday as they sat in his office with a drink, celebrating the outstanding reviews that critics had given the newest produced film that was set to premiere next week. Before Harry knew it, he was asking about it.

"Why are you rubbing your temples?" He questioned, watching Y/N massage the side of her head with her eyes closed. He was leaned back in his seat, whiskey in hand as he observed the woman across from him.

"Tension headache." She groaned in response. Despite her grumpiness, Harry couldn't help but grin. What could he say? She was cute when she was grumpy.

"We are literally celebrating, Y/N. What could you possibly be so tense about right now?" He teased, and felt his stomach swirl as a smile painted her lips. She might have rolled her eyes, but she still thought he was funny.

"Oh you have no idea." She mumbled, grabbing her glass and leaning back into her chair. She took a big gulp, her face pulling at the strong taste of the liquor. Harry chuckled.

"You should relax more. Maybe get a hot date to take care of some of that stress for you." He suggested jokingly. Y/N scoffed at the insinuation.

Shaking her head, she said: "I get taken care of just fine, thank you very much."

The equally teasing tone in which she responded caught Harry seriously off guard. Her slight grin pressed down on his chest, and despite having started this joking banter himself, he suddenly didn't find the topic very funny anymore.

"When?"

Y/N locked eyes with her boss. “What?”

"You're here 24/7, when do you even have time to hook up with someone?"

"You know there's this thing called weekends." She joked, but the amusement faded when Harry's mouth didn't even quirk upwards in the slightest bit. It fell quiet for a second or two, and just when Y/N opened her mouth to say something else, someone knocked on the office door.

"Come in."

Harry had said, and soon enough Robin, one of the managers walked in, telling them everyone was going to the pub down the street to celebrate, and if they wanted to come along.

Harry didn't even have the chance to reject the offer—he'd rather spend his nights with his secretary—before Y/N agreed to go along. Feeling obligated, Harry reluctantly gave in as well.

He ended up going home quite early that night, not even properly saying goodbye to Y/N like he normally would before leaving, and he couldn't get the image of her wrapped around another man out of his head the entire ride home. He didn't know why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was the fact that it shouldn't, and more importantly, couldn't bother him, which made it even less bearable.

Whichever reason there may have been for it, he decided to drown out his thoughts by inviting one of his old hook-ups to his house. But even as he drove himself into her as she kept screaming his name, he couldn't stop thinking of Y/N. When she had reached her climax and he began to chase his own high—Harry was caught off guard by Y/N's face flashing through his mind, and extremely embarrassed when those images triggered his orgasm.

The next week is awkward, to say the least. It started out Monday, when Harry could barely look Y/N in the eye. She had received the sudden cold shoulder pretty well, but Harry still felt horrible about it. His attitude got less stiff throughout the week, but it was still bad.

By the time Thursday rolls around again, Harry still hasn't had the chance to get that weird feeling out of his system. So when he approaches his office and spots Y/N behind her desk smiling at him, a wave of guilt washes over him.

He curses himself as he sinks into his desk chair, absentmindedly turning on his laptop. What is he doing? Y/N is his assistant. He shouldn't let his protectiveness of her get the best of him. He does not want to lose her in any way.

Harry flinches when there is a knock on his door. He looks up, finding Y/N standing in his doorway. Immediately, he signals for her to come in. She seems a bit nervous as she nears him, and considering she's never been nervous around him, his heart sinks at the idea that the cold shoulder he's been giving her the other night might have affected her way more than he thought.

He just doesn't know how to behave instead.

"You have a meeting in conference room C in five minutes. It's the banker's son who's been proposing his script for the past year. I  know your schedule is tight, especially with the premiere coming up, but I thought you might as well get it over with." She says, putting a stack of papers on the table that Harry can only assume is the script. He nods, quirking up the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you, smart thinking." The praise falls from his lips in a casual manner, and he doesn't miss the way she physically relaxes at the positive reinforcement. She nods at him, and turns back to the door. Right before she is about to leave the office, she turns around again. Harry leans back in his seat, waiting to hear what she'll say.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped last week." She says, and Harry frowns at the apology.

"What?"

"I clearly said something that ticked you off." She explains,her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know we joke around, but I was afraid that maybe I'd accidentally crossed a line—“

"Y/N, stop it." Harry interrupts her, getting up from his seat. Her lips are locked within a second, and she stares at her boss with wide eyes. His stomach twists at the sight of it. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"But— if I said something inappropriate then I want to apologize for it." She says, straightening her posture again, biting her bottom lip so he won't see it quiver. As if he doesn't know the way her body works. As if he hasn't known for three years.

Putting his hands inside his pockets, Harry walks around his desk and stands in front of her. A little closer than he needs to, and yet not as close he would like.

"Let me ask you this: How many times have you declined booty calls for me?" He asks, tilting his head a bit. A slight smile appears on Y/N's face, and she pretends to think it over.

"Twenty-seven." Her smile crinkles her eyes, making them even more glassy. Harry quite literally feels his hand itch to touch her face, but he keeps it sternly in his pocket. "I kept track so I could count all the reasons you definitely won't get into heaven."

At that, he lets out a snort. Y/N can't help but chuckle too, and slowly but surely the weirdness dissolves from the room. When the laughter has died down, she speaks up again.

"So... we're good?"

"We're good." Harry smiles at his secretary, and his chest heats up when he spots the faint blush that appears on her cheeks. Jesus Christ, did she become even more beautiful than she was yesterday or was he just too stupid to notice earlier? Probably the latter.

"Well in that case you need to leave because your meeting is like, right now." She reminds him, and he hums in agreement as he gets up from his seat and walks towards the door with Y/N.

"Already gone, love." He winks at her, walking out the door with a lot more confidence in his relationship with Y/N. Maybe everything can go back to normal again. Maybe he was just exaggerating when he couldn't get her out of his head this weekend. Perhaps it was just a glitch, a temporary error in his brain that had come and gone in a flash.

That must've been it, he tells himself as he makes his way to conference room C. He takes a deep breath, musters a polite smile, and opens the door to the room. Harry already knows this guy is going to be wasting his time, but he made a promise to hear him out, so he will.

The guy sitting at the table is the stereotypical spoiled rich son. When John Longwell—a long-time business partner of Harry's— asked him to revise his son's script as a favor, Harry told him he'd do it if he ever found the time. He always hoped John's son would lose interest and forget about the script by the time Harry could find a free space in his agenda, but unfortunately that hadn't been the case.

And although the arc of the story had sounded absolutely horrendous— something about zombies fueled by a brainwashing radio song, which didn't even make sense to Harry because zombies don't have brains—he couldn't back out anymore. So he needs to get it over with, starting now.

Harry loudly shuts the door.

The guy—whose name he can't really remember at the moment—flinches and turns around, a big grin on his face as he gets up from his seat.

"Mr. Styles, it's a pleasure to see you." The man says, extending his hand, which Harry, in turn, takes. He only gives a slight nod before heading over to the other side of the table and sitting down.

"So, where's your script?" Harry asks, eyeing the empty table. The guy looks flustered, opening his mouth to say something, but the opening of the door interrupts that. Harry leans back in his seat when he spots his secretary walk through it, not even eyeing the other guy as she struts over to him and lays the printed out script on the glass table.

"Sorry, you forgot this. It was still on your desk." She says, finally turning to the man to throw him an innocent smile. His sheepish grin satisfies her enough to turn back to her boss and focus all her attention on him. "I also forgot to ask you— do you want to move up lunch today?"

The corner of Harry's mouth tugs up. Over the last three years, the concept of 'moving up lunch' has become a code for 'should I get you out of this early?'. Y/N came up with it a long time ago, and it has stuck ever since.

"Yes, I would very much like that. Thank you, Y/N." He says, and the way a smirk slowly creeps onto her face makes the hairs on his body rise.

"It's my pleasure, Mr. Styles." She gives one final nod before walking out of the room and closing the door behind her. Harry would lie if he said he didn't let his eyes fall onto the way her hips moved as she strolled away.

Unfortunately the fun doesn't last long, and with the slam of the door Harry is reminded that he still has to sit through this meeting a little longer. He looks down at the script.

"A Thousand Zombies

By Jason Longwell."

Right, Jason, that was his name.

"Jesus Christ, if that were my secretary I'd have her bent over my desk all day. How do you get any work done?" Jason breathed out, grinning like a stupid fucking schoolboy. Harry quite literally felt the storm cloud that came floating right above his head the second he heard that incompetent loser say those words. His hands balled up into fists at the suggestive comment, knuckles getting whiter by the second.

"Get out." Harry growls. John raises his eyebrows, looking around him as if Harry couldn't have possibly been addressing it to him.

"W— what?" He stumbles.

"I don't do business with insolent idiots. Get out." Harry repeats, getting up from his seat and buttoning his suit jacket. John follows his movements, anger starting to cloud on his face.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He exclaims in a failed attempt to sound intimidating. At least, Harry assumes that's what he's trying to do.

"I called you an idiot. Now, get the hell out of my face before I boot your sorry ass right to the front door." With one brow raised, he waits as John tries to muster a response until he eventually gives up and storms out of the room. Harry throws the script into the trash as he walks out of the conference room half a minute later. Y/N is immediately by his side.

"That was quick, I didn't even have time to think of an emergency." She jokes as they walk back to Harry's office together. He raises a brow.

"Yes you did. What was it this time? Food poisoning?" He guesses, holding the door to his office open once they've reached it. Y/N grins as she walks past him and takes a seat at one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"Actually, your car was going to get stolen in about five minutes." She responds, the blush of her cheeks revealing the slight embarrassment of having to voice this excuse out loud. Harry's eyes widen as he walks over to his desk, feeling his assistant watching his every move. He quite likes the feeling.

"No way." He laughs. "You just get more creative by the day."

"What can I say, I'm good at crisis management." She shrugs, crossing her legs and getting into a more comfortable position on the chair. Harry tries his best to not let his eyes float to her legs.

"That you are." He murmurs, the huskier sound of his voice giving a different ambiance to the conversation. As Harry feels the mood switch, he curses himself. Why did he have to ruin it?

Y/N clears her throat. "Anyway— why'd the meeting end early?"

"It ended early because Jason Longwell is a sleazy douchebag." He responds shortly, straightening in his seat in an attempt to gain control of the situation again. He can't let himself slip like this again, and she can't know the real reason he kicked out Jason. But there is no denying the sheer rage that boils his blood when that comment flashes through his memory. He hates that the asshole thought he could just speak about Y/N like that.

"Ooh, what did he say when you kicked him out?" Y/N asks eagerly, still in a playful mood. "You did kick him out right?"

"I don't have time to get into this right now. I need to sign those contracts that were sent in yesterday before I go home." Harry says sternly, avoiding eye contact with Y/N as he speaks, but he still sees the slump in her shoulders at his sudden shift in attitude.

"Right, of course." She immediately returns to the responsible secretary she always is, getting up from her seat. He hears her exit the room, heels clacking against the wooden floor. As soon as the door has shut, Harry throws his head back in frustration.

So much for going back to normal.

Playing into the teasing will only rope him further into that forbidden fantasy, and he clearly won't be able to stop himself from resisting her if he does. But he's the one who started all the playfulness, massively screwing himself over he realizes now. If he shifts his behavior, she's always going to think he's mad at her because of something.  But he's going to have to, because Harry can't go back to normal anymore.

Deciding he needs to clear his head, Harry grabs his coat and heads for the elevators without so much as a word. He pretends not to notice the way people's eyes widen when he walks by, suddenly on their best behavior, and although it used to give him an ego boost back when he started, nowadays he just prefers it if people aren't scared of him.

It turns out to be a particularly nice outside for a winter day in London. Not to get it twisted— it's still freakishly cold. It's just that the sun has replaced the endless rain of this entire month. Harry suppresses a chuckle at the irony of the sun finally being out at the very first moment where he's felt so shitty in a long time.

He doesn't know how long he's outside, so he knows it's not fair to be frustrated when he comes back and Y/N isn't at her desk, but he can't help the slight distress that washes over him at the empty seat.

"It's just a date—"

"Your second date!"

Harry creased brows don't do much to hide his feelings when he turns around to see his secretary with a co-worker. The shy smile on her face—accompanied with that blush on her cheeks she always gets when she's secretly giddy about something—disappears at the sight of her boss looking at her like she just killed a puppy.

"Ha— Mr. Styles." She is quick to catch her almost error. Her wide eyes bore into his, filled with confusion and worry. But Harry's frown doesn't give away much, aside. From the fact that he is obviously annoyed.

"I was looking for you." He states stoically, not even acknowledging the employee that is standing next to her. The woman takes the hint and gives Y/N and Harry a small nod before walking away. As soon as she does, Harry turns around and walks towards his own office. He can hear her footsteps following him inside, and with the inconsistent clacking against the floor he can tell she's having a hard time keeping up with his long strides. Still, he doesn't slow his pace.

"I need the papers for the donations printed out and on my desk. And I'll need you to move the meeting with the director of the romance movie to Tuesday evening."

"Yes, of course." The breathy response falls from Y/N's lips the second he finishes his sentence, and by the time he enters his office, she is long gone to do exactly what he asked. Harry shuts the door a little louder than intending to, accidentally shaking the framed artwork on the wall.

Y/N isn't very talkative for the rest of the day, that usual spark of hers seemingly having dimmed. Harry's chest is heavy, knowing his cold attitude was the catalyst for that, but he keeps it up nonetheless. He can't help himself from falling back into it every time he sees her face.

A date. She's going on a date. A second one at that. He can't believe it. Is this who she referred to when she said she gets taken care of? His stomach churns at the possibility.

He tries not to, but Harry still gets warped into the spiral of overthinking about 'date' Y/N has tonight. So much, in fact, that he almost doesn't notice the time flying by until Y/N knocks on his door at 6PM. Harry spots the coat that hangs over her desk chair, and he realizes the work day is over.

"Everything is done for the day and ready for next week. I also sent the papers about the donations with a courier who owed me a favor, so the documents are signed on both parts and the donations will be officially registered by Monday." She explains, hands behind her back. Her new shy behavior—while quite endearing—is excruciating to see. She had always been comfortable around Harry, until now. Until he had to ruin it for the both of them.

"Thank you." Harry gives her a firm nod.

"No problem." She responds a bit awkwardly. "So... I'm going to clock out for the day."

Y/N has already turned around by them time Harry's voice croaks out a 'no'. She whips her head towards her boss, head tilted as she awaited whatever it was that he was going to say.

"I need those contracts for that romance movie." He says before he can even comprehend his words.

"But you won't be negotiating that deal for another two weeks." Y/N retorts, her tone more stern than usual. He can tell she's tired.

"I don't care. I want them on my desk tonight." He holds his head high, despite knowing damn well what he's doing.

He's stalling. Long enough for... he doesn't know actually. For her to cancel her date? It sounds ridiculous now that he really thinks about it.

"Harry, I have an appointment tonight—"

"I said I don't care. I pay you to do as I ask. This is not something you can argue me on." He grumbles. With how Y/N's jaw is clenched, he can't say the same for her attitude. Without another word, she leaves the office.

Harry's worry begins to grow every minute that passes with Y/N out of sight. But when she returns with a stack of papers in her hand after a bit—seven minutes to be exact—that worry evolves into surprise. Walking over to his desk, she plops the papers on them a bit carelessly before speaking up.

"I had them made on Monday because I like to be a few steps ahead." She elaborates. "Now, if that's all, I'm going home."

Y/N doesn't even say goodbye when she grabs her coat and walks to the elevators. Harry sighs to himself, not knowing how the hell he should handle this. It takes him a few seconds before he realizes he really can't do this anymore. He needs to talk to her, if only just to clear the air.

And so, he gets up from his seat and hurries after his assistant.

He catches her just as she walks into an empty elevator, and he joins just before the doors close. Her knitted brows make it clear that she is not in the mood to talk to him.

"I'm sorry... about the documents." Harry confesses, but she doesn't face him. It stays quiet between them for a bit, until the biting sentence falls from Y/N's lips.

"You said we were good."

His heart cracks at her wobbly voice. He can't believe he made her feel this way. If any other person would've brought her to tears, he would've beaten the shit out of them. He reaches for her arm.

"W— we are." He lies. It's the biggest lie he's ever told her, and she knows it, because she immediately turns around.

"No we're not! I said I was sorry if I did something wrong, and you told me it was okay, and now all of a sudden you're being so... cold. I don't understand—" her eyes become glassy. "I don't understand what I did wrong."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Harry opens his mouth, ready to spout out his apologies, when Y/N's phone starts to ring. It takes them out of their little trance, and Y/N fumbles around her jacket for a bit until she's finally found her phone. He can't see who's calling her, but it can't be an expected call if he has to judge by the expression on her face.

"Marco, why are you—" her eyes widen at whatever the voice on the other side of the line is telling her, and Harry subconsciously finds himself leaning in a bit in the hope to find out what's wrong.

"What?" Y/N breathes. Her voice is small, and it sounds defeated, tired. The elevator dings, signaling they're downstairs, but Y/N doesn't move, so Harry doesn't either. She seems to notice and lets out a huff before storming out of the confined space and pacing around the lobby.

"You said we had a green light! That was months ago, Marco! Did you even—" She growls, clutching at her phone so hard Harry is afraid she's going to break it. "You know what, never mind. Give me his number."

The Marco guy seems to say something that he really shouldn't have said, because with the way Y/N's face twists Harry swears he can see steam coming out of her ears

"I don't care that they're not answering, I'll make them answer. Give me their numbers and then go find them." She orders before ending the call. And although the thought really shouldn't be crossing his mind right now, Harry can't help but notice how attractive Y/N is when she's mad. He shakes off the thought, telling himself that's the last thing he should be paying attention to right now.

Y/N paces around one more time, cursing under her breath, before striding past Harry and pushing the elevator buttons like a maniac.

"What's going on?"

Y/N shakes her head. "N— nothing. Just a little hiccup that could've easily been prevented. I won't be long."

Harry raises a skeptical brow, but she doesn't dare to meet his eye. She's lying through her teeth.

"Y/N—"

"Harry, really, it's nothing. I'm taking care of it." She tries to convince him, but he notices the way her hands are slightly trembling. "I'm sorry I was unprofessional. You're my boss. It's my job to take your orders, not question them."

Wait, no.

That aching feeling fills his stomach. His entire body, for that matter. He doesn't want her to be a silent and compliant assistant. That's not why he hired her. He needs someone to push back, to joke around with. Shit— what has he done?

Harry finds himself speechless as she enters the elevator and pushes the button of the seventh floor; the office. His brain isn't fast enough to think of what to say before the doors shut and the elevator ascends.

His feet stay glued to the ground as he ponders, his mind reeling like a rollercoaster. Frustration fills his body to his every finger tip. Everything has gone wrong, and he has no idea how to make it better.

At least ten minutes must've gone by by the time that a concierge taps Harry on the shoulder to ask him if he's okay. Still a bit wary, he nods before excusing himself and leaving the building.

Everything is going wrong.

Leaning over the desk with her face buried between her arms, Y/N is unable to hold back the tears that glide over her cheeks.

First, her boss gets mad at her, and she has no idea why. Then, just when they seemed to be okay again, he changed his attitude up again. And what does she do instead of letting it go? She starts a fight. And now Marco drops a disastrous bomb in her lap that could entirely ruin the movie premiere on Sunday. And if that wasn't enough—and she really thinks it was—this sudden crisis caused her to cancel her date of tonight.

It wasn't anything special, really. Y/N had met Jamie a few weeks ago, and they went out last week. He was a nice guy, handsome too, and she thought he was perfect for a short lived affair. Besides, her vibrator just couldn't live up to her fantasies. She was human, she needed to get off every now and then too. It was like Y/N had this itch in need of scratching, one she hadn't been able to reach in what felt like years.

But that wasn't going to happen now. In fact, she was risking being fired if she didn't solve this problem as soon as possible.

Damn! She really thought she had kept it all together, despite the extreme business this year. She thought she'd done a good job.

But that was a lie, because if she had done a good job, Marco wouldn't have ever gotten into the position where an artist on the soundtrack could manipulate the contract they signed. Y/N had told Marco to make it airtight, already having been suspicious of the artists' integrity from the moment they became part of the soundtrack. She assumed that they would try something.

'Chain' was an up and coming band known for their indie sound, but Y/N would just describe them as two pricks. Not only had they been subtly demeaning to her when Harry met with them, barely acknowledging her existence, they were arrogant as well. They came in expecting a lot more money than Harry and the rest of the company were willing to give them. It was absurd that they expected such a big number, but their cocky attitude didn't fade throughout the meeting.

It was truly a favor to the director, why Harry worked so hard to compromise with Chain. The director had been so passionate about the movie, and he had really wanted the song. If one thing was important to Harry, it's that there went passion onto the projects he produced and invested in. So, he decided to help, and eventually managed to struck a deal with the singers. It was still way above the pay grade they should've got—in Y/N's opinion—but they agreed.

Having seen first hand how greedy those two were, she had told Marco—the guy who handled all the legal documents—to make that contract airtight. She demanded to look it over, but because of her busy schedule, she let Marco have another lawyer look at it before sending the contract.

And now, because of a lazy mistake Chain's lawyer found, they are demanding more money or they'll waive their rights to the music. Something which would be absolutely detrimental because the entire climax of the movie, the cinematography and timing are all tuned to the song.

If she doesn't find a way to solve this problem, this entire premiere could fall apart, and it would all be her fault. She gave the green light to Harry, who gave it to the director. It's all her fault. 

She should've fucking read that contract herself, then this would've never happened.

Between Harry being mad at her, the fact that she was in her luteal phase, and this sudden disaster, the tears began streaming down her face, and the soft crying only turned into full on sobs the more she tries to calm herself down.

She allows herself the mental breakdown, but when she begins to regain control of her breath again after a few minutes, Y/N decides that it's enough. She has a job to get done, and no one was going to swoop in and save her.

So, she starts making call after call, ringing everyone in the immediate vicinity of the two arrogant bastards. It's crucial she reaches them before the night is over. Only forty minutes have passed by the time she is on the seventh person, but it feels like an eternity nonetheless.

She flinches when, while trying to reach Chain's tour manager, the elevator door dings and a shadow nears. Her tense shoulders sink a little bit at the sight of Harry, glad it's not some creep. Her brows crease as she watches him walk towards her. He's carrying a couple of bags with... is that food? It sure smells like it.

When the call goes to voicemail—for the third time—Y/N puts down the phone and gets up from her seat, hurrying over to her boss and stopping him before he could reach her desk.

"What are you doing here?!" She asks, blocking his way. He lifts the bags, a subtle, apologetic smile on his face.

"I brought food—" He looks up at her, and his eyes darken as soon as he takes in her face. "Have you been crying?"

Y/N raises her hands to her face, quickly glancing at the ground while she wipes her cheeks before meeting his eyes again. Harry puts the bags down, and it feels like her heart skips a beat or two when his thumbs stroke the skin under both her eyes. He leaves his hand around her face, cupping her jaw while he stares at her with such a piercing pain in his eyes that it makes Y/N's eyes water altogether again.

"What's wrong?" His voice is soft, and the feel of his big, warm hands holding her is comforting her in a way she hasn't experienced in a quite some time. Y/N only focused on his chest, afraid that the welled up water in her eyes will spill out again the second she looks at her boss. She told herself the crying was over, so why wasn't she able to control herself?

A few seconds pass, and silence runs between the thick air that makes it nearly impossible to breathe normally. Then, Y/N feels the slight pressure of Harry's hands, inching her head upwards. Automatically, her gaze flicks to that of her boss, and when she sees the worry on his face, a tear escapes her eye. His thumb catches it before it has the chance to roll down all the way down her cheek.

"I messed up." She only says, closing her eyes in shame. Harry says nothing, only letting out a sigh as he continues to caress her cheek.

Suddenly, the phone rings. Y/N reluctantly backs away from Harry's touch, and runs over to her desk to pick up the phone.

"Hello?" She says, her voice laced with such desperation that she internally cringes at it.

"Y/N? It's Marco. I found them, they're at a studio just outside the city."

She hums, grabbing a pen. "Give me the address."

"No, I'm going. This is my mess, Y/N, I'm not going to let you clean it up." Marco croaks from the other side of the line, and Y/N feels his voice tug at her heartstrings.

"Marco, listen to me. This is as much my fault as it is yours. I should've read the damn thing and notice the mistake." She replies, leaning over her desk to grab her coat.

"Y/N, I'll take care of it, okay? I found a fault in their loophole, they're stuck. Let me handle this. You just go home and enjoy what's left of your evening I ruined—" Marco tells her. "Wait, didn't you have a date tonight? Oh my god, did I ruin your date?"

"I did... but it's alright. It probably wouldn't have worked out with him anyway." Y/N chuckled awkwardly and glanced towards Harry, who looked weirdly annoyed at what she said.

"I'm so sorry, I promise I'll make it up to you." Marco shares the desperate plea.

"You can make it up to me by giving me the address of the studio." Y/N tells him cheekily.

"Y/N..." he warns.

"What? I promise I'm going home. It's just so I know where you are." She lies. Y/N is a good liar, except in front of Harry. Having a tendency to get nervous, she always betrays herself. She's lucky that this is a phone call, otherwise Marco would've known she wasn't planning on going home at all.

Hesitantly, he gives her the address, which she immediately writes down on her hand.

"Okay, thank you Marco. Good luck." She says, hanging up the phone with a lot more confidence than ten minutes ago. She can feel Harry staring her down as she puts on her coat, clearly waiting for an explanation for this whiplash-like behavior.

"I really have to go."

Harry shrugs. "I'll give you a ride. You can explain everything to me on the way to your house."

Y/N shakes her head, walking towards her boss. "No, really, you don't have to."

"Yes I do." Harry argues.

"You really don't."

"Do you have a problem with me bringing you home, Y/N?" He asks as if he's dumb, as if he doesn't know she's secretly trying to go to that studio.

"No!" She is quick to protest.

"Or does it have anything to do with the address of that mysterious studio you've written on your hand?" He teases, and Y/N clenches her jaw in frustration.

"I just— I need to make sure it's handled." She sputters. Harry shrugs.

"From what I heard it's being handled just fine." He points out. "You've got to learn to let things go sometimes, Y/N."

She shakes her head, looking the floor. "I can't. Not with this."

Harry lowers his head, trying to get on the same eye-level as her and searching for her eyes. "Why not?"

"I told you; I messed up." Her voice quivers as she tells Harry the truth. "There was a mistake in the contract with Chain. Somehow they found a loophole, and now they want more money or they'll waive the rights to their song."

"What?!" Harry growls, exactly like Y/N anticipated he'd react. God, he's going to fire her any moment.

"It's my fault. It was a reference mistake I could've easily spotted if I had taken the time to revise it." She admits, feeling extremely shameful of her lazy actions.

"What are you talking about? This is the legal team's fault, they should've seen that damned mistake! It's not in your job description to revise a contract, it's not your responsibility. It's not your fault, Y/N." He explains. She sucks in a breath, his words hitting her harder than she expected. Heart aching, the one sentence rings in her head.

It's not your fault.

That couldn't be true, could it? She was responsible for this deal, and for Harry. She should've seen this coming, even though she couldn't have possibly known. Did she not always pride herself in having this sixth sense, in being ahead of everyone else? What was she without that? What was she if not the best at the one thing that made her special, that set her apart from the crowd. What was she worth without that invincibility?

"You revise every contract, don't you?"

Her eyes flick towards her boss. She doesn't say anything, but the answer is hidden in her pupils. And it seems Harry can read them like an open book. "How long have you been doing that?"

"Two years." Y/N stammers, her arms crossed as if it will keep her body from revealing whatever her mouth won't. Harry just lets out a breathy chuckle before pulling her into his arms, taking her into a sweet embrace. With his chin leaning on her head, Y/N takes the opportunity to bury her face in his chest, trying not to bask too much in the heavenly scent of his cologne.

"Remind me to give you a raise." He jokes in a soft whisper, earning a sniff of laughter from Y/N.

For a while it seems like everything that tore her down, including what went down between her and Harry, didn't exist anymore. There was just him and her, their embrace and a distant ticking clock, the only indicator of time passing. Yet it felt like the world stopped, or slowed down at least, being in Harry's arms like that. And suddenly, that itch that she hadn't been able to scratch in so long, it felt like it was soothed by a stroking hand instead, and in a way it fulfilled her. It just so happened to be a way she did not expect.

The initial shock at the realization—this puzzle piece that suddenly clicked—made Y/N back away. She clears her throat, fiddling with her hands.

"They're supposed to be at this studio right outside the city. It's only twenty minutes away by car. I just need to be sure." She announces. Harry grabs the bags of food he put down before placing his hand on her lower back and guiding the both of them back to the elevator.

"We'll take my car." He states, and although Y/N can tell by his tone that Harry expects there to be no talking back, but she just can't help herself.

"Harry, I told you I can take a cab." She suggests as they wait for the elevator door to open. Harry doesn't respond as he guides them both into the small space and pushes the button for the ground floor. When the door closes, he turns to her, looking down at her with such an intimidating stare that Y/N feels like she's shrinking.

"And I told you: we're taking my car." He says sternly, his low voice twisting her stomach in an interesting way. When Y/N goes to open her mouth again, Harry lays his finger on her lips. He hums in disapproval, shaking his head.

"I was being clear, right?" He asks rhetorically. His gaze sweeps over her mouth before settling on her eyes again. Not daring to speak another word, let alone breathe, Y/N only nods in response.

"Good." Harry responds, a cocky smirk framing his face as he strolls out of the elevator, leaving Y/N breathless and in a slight trance. Blinking a few times, she comes back to her sense and hurries after her boss.

Richard has always been a master at reading people, and this time is no exception. The second he began driving, he raised the partition, leaving Harry and Y/N with some privacy.

Harry really has a knack for hiring the right people.

The first few minutes of the car ride are silent, and Harry spends it observing Y/N as she picked at her nail beds, frantically looking at of the window as if it would make the car move faster. She has so much tension inside that little body of hers; she is clearly in need of a distraction.

"I think I'm jealous."

Y/N's head whips to him, brows raised at the sudden confession. Her body turns with her, knees now in Harry's direction as she leans back into the seat, getting comfortable as she lays close attention.

"Of me?" She asks, utterly confused. She seems very lost, not really connecting the dots. Harry doesn't blame her; that confession was quite out of the blue.

"Of whoever gets to take care of you."

Pure silence. Harry swears he could hear a pin drop. Y/N stares at him like a deer in headlights, probably having no idea what to say or do or think. She gulps.

"What?" Her voice is so soft that he almost doesn't hear her, but since all his focus is on her, he doesn't miss it. Letting out a breath, he leans forward, placing a hand on her thigh. His face inches closer and closer until their mouths are mere inches away from each other. Checking for her reaction with every small movement, he can't help but notice how she doesn't stray away from him. In fact, she leans in, causing their lips to brush against each other.

"The idea of another man touching you, having you, it makes my fucking blood boil." He says, voice hoarse. Her eyes frantically search every last inch of his face, looking for something she seemingly can't find. Perhaps she's attempting to find the usual playfulness that always accompanies any conversation that blurs that line between them. In that case, she could keep looking forever and ever, because he is dead serious. Fuck how it used to be and fuck whatever's right or wrong.

And most of all, fuck that line, because he's crossing it.

Harry closes the small gap between them, trying to suppress the moan that threatens to work up his throat at the sole feeling of her lips against his. What a fucking idiot he was for ever agreeing to forget about that Halloween night. Not that he ever truly did forget about it. Besides her obvious competencies, hiring Y/N was a way of keeping her where he seemed to like her best from the moment they met; close to him.

With that thought in mind, he wraps his hand around her face and pulls her closer. She complies, clicking her seatbelt free to move further towards Harry when he slips his tongue inside.

Their mouths move against each other like it's both the first time and the hundredth time they've done this. So familiar and yet it's like nothing he ever felt before. A sensation so different from three years ago, one so heavy and laced with a detail his brain can't quite seem to grasp. Deep down, he knows what it is, he just can't quite lay his finger on it.

But his body can, and it does, and so does Y/N's, because her grinding against him is exactly what he needs. His hand sneaks around her neck, lips curling into a smile at the familiarity of the curves of her neck and the identical moan that falls from her lips just as it did three years ago.

Harry groans when the car suddenly stops and Y/N falls forward a little bit, the friction against his trousers being a bit too much to bear at the moment. Slowly, the partition lowers, and without so much looking at them through the mirror, Richard speaks up.

"We've arrived."

Wrong. Harry clearly hasn't.

Before Harry can catch his breath, Y/N can get off his lap, and either one can even answer, the partition rises again. Immediately, Y/N throws her face into Harry's neck.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." She wheezes out in pure, utter shame. Harry shakes his head, a faint grin on his face. He would have been laughing his ass off if he wasn't so painfully hard right now. Instead, he only pats Y/N's back, telling her it's fine. She groans and opens the car door.

"No it's not! God, I will never be able to look him in the eye again!" She says, punching the bridge of her nose. Harry shuts the door and grabs Y/N's waist, pulling her towards him. She stumbles into his chest. He lifts her face with his fingers, forcing her to look up at him.

"You're going to have to, because I don't want to fire him." He jokes, and Y/N bites her lip to keep her smile from growing too wide. Not wanting to give Harry the satisfaction that he made her laugh, she looks to the side, but her face expression falls quickly.

"This is not my apartment." She notes, looking at the huge building next to her. "This is yours."

Harry nods.

"I can't be at your apartment, I have to—" Y/N stops herself before she can say more. But Harry already knew what she was going to say. Playfully, he raises a brow.

"You have to... what?"

"To... I have to—"

"Sneak out to that studio?" He finishes her sentence, and her eyes widen. She tries to regain herself but her cheeks are flushed and there is nothing she can do anymore. He's got her. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."

With that, he places a hand on her lower back and guides her towards his building. She stumbles a bit, but eventually catches onto the pace. But her body language is apprehensive, looking back at the road where Richard is standing. Or well, was standing. Harry ordered him to drive away as soon as they got out of the car.

Still, she turns around in a quick motion, trying to get to a cab. Harry's arm catches her, however, and he pulls her back against his chest. Along with his other hand, he turns her around, catching sight of her big eyes boring into his.

"Don't try me." He speaks slowly, dipping his head down until he finds himself inches away from Y/N. "You know what happens if you try me."

His voice is lower than before, having flipped a switch now that her mouth has been on his. He got a taste for the first time in years, he wasn't going to let her get away now. Y/N's breath hitches, eyes flicking down to his mouth.

Knowing he's got her right where he wants her, Harry pulls back and strolls toward the entrance of his apartment building. Soon enough, he hears those heels behind him and he smirks.

It's silent when they step in the elevator, and for the first few seconds, as Harry leans agains't the wall and observes his secretary, it stays that way. She eyes him a couple of times, her ears getting redder.

"What?" She breathes out, looking down at her body like there must be something wrong if he's looking at her for so long. He simply shrugs.

"Nothing. Just admiring you."

At that, Y/N vigorously shakes her head and crosses her arms. A soft scoff leaves her mouth, one she didn't think Harry would hear, but he did. He takes a few steps towards Y/N, inching her against the wall.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?" He asks sincerely, searching for her eyes. When she finally looks up at him, the nervous smile on her face fades a bit.

Harry doesn't like that look on her face. Needing to fix it, he leans forward and plants his lips on hers again, grabbing her face and pulling her into him. It only takes a matter of seconds before her arms are wrapped around his neck and their bodies are impossibly close to each other again.

Tongues delving deeper into each other's mouth, Harry feels himself floating on some sort of feeling. Despite not being able to define it, he is absolutely positive that he doesn't ever want it to stop. And since kissing Y/N causes this specific feeling, the only feasible option is to never stop kissing her. It's the best plan he's had in ages.

It doesn't take long before the situation gets heated, much like it did before, and Harry's hands trail to Y/N's hips to pull her against him. Desperate for any sort of relief, Harry's hips automatically start to move, and Y/N immediately responds. His body feels like it's on fire, and he tries not to let out any sounds as his strained cock rubs against his tight pants.

Harry takes his lips off Y/N's mouth, peppering kisses to her jaw instead. Slowly, he works his way towards her ear, where he stops to whisper in her ear.

"I'm going to remind you how fucking beautiful you are." The hot breath that left his mouth had her shuddering against him, a slight whine escaping her lips. As he leaves sloppy kisses on Y/N's neck, Harry's free hand slowly travels under her shirt, finding her bra.

She gasps softly when his hand starts to massage her breast, the sensitivity of both spots leaving her hot and bothered under Harry. Fuck, she is so fucking stunning, how did she not see it herself?

Suddenly, the elevator stops, and the door opened. Taking a step back, Harry only winks at Y/N before he turns around and strolls out as if it's a casual Friday. As if he doesn't have his secretary, whom he left high and dry, trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

"Would you like something to drink?" He asks when they enter his home, Harry immediately going into the kitchen.

"Absinthe." Y/N breathes out, leaning over the kitchen island. Harry peeks inside his fridge.

"I only have white wine."

Y/N shrugs. "I'm sure it'll have the same effect if I just keep drinking."

Harry chuckles, grabbing the bottle of wine and placing it on the counter. He walks to a cabinet and takes two wine glasses out of it. Placing one in front of Y/N and the other in front of himself, he opens the bottle and starts pouring, not stopping until the glasses are halfway full. Y/N laughs at the ridiculously full wine glass that he pushes her way, but takes it gladly. He doesn't miss the way her breasts nearly spill out of her top as she leans forward a bit further than intended to in order to grab the glass.

"To the unexpected." She says it like it's a dare. Amused, Harry decides to entertain it, and nods his head.

"To the unexpected."

They raise the glasses before both taking a long sip. Y/N rests her arms on the table, giving a perfect view of her tits right in Harry's frame. She smirks when his eyes accidentally fall on it, and Harry's stomach swirls with excitement. She's trying to play.

"Crazy, how fast life can change, isn't it?" She asks rhetorically, and Harry just hums, waiting patiently for her to reveal what she's trying to do. "I mean, I got up today thinking I'd end the day in another man's bed."

There it is.

She's always been smart, and she knows how to push Harry's buttons. Though his fingers grip the kitchen counter tightly, so much that his knuckles turn white, Harry keeps the corners of his mouth lifted.

"And now you're here." He says, head tilting just a bit. She hums in agreement, taking another sip from her wine.

"Yeah, but just crazy to think that I went into the day thinking I'd hook up with someone else." She tells it so innocently, as if she's mostly talking to herself. Harry's jaw clenches as he stalks around the kitchen island and nears Y/N.

"But you're not, though." Harry notes, falling right into the trap. He knows what she's trying to do but he just can't help himself. He doesn't like the idea of her being with another man. He waits for her answer, hearing his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"I know, but I could have—"

Before the sentence has entirely left Y/N's mouth, Harry's hand flies to her neck. The amused look on Y/N's face tells him enough, but he doesn't care.

"You're not. You're in my bed tonight, and any night after that as far as I'm concerned, so I don't want to hear another fucking word about it."

Her eyes twinkle with amusement as she stares up at him. "You really are jealous."

The corner of his mouth tilts upwards, "And you've gotten feisty over the years."

Y/N bites her bottom lip, humming in agreement to his observation. Harry lets out a soft chuckle, tightening the grip on her neck. Y/N gasps in surprise.

"But do you still like to be put in your place?" He asks, inching his face close to hers. The answer is written in her eyes, and yet Y/N doesn't respond. When it's clear that she won't anytime soon, Harry's free hand sneaks around the waist of her pants. She shivers at the touch.

"Well? Do you?" He repeats himself, and slowly but surely, Y/N nods her head. Harry lets out a disapproving noise. "That's not a proper answer."

Closing her eyes, Y/N lets out a deep breath. "Yes, I like to be put in my place."

"That's what I thought." Harry laughs, taking his hands off of her entirely. She frowns, but her eyes widen when he barks out a demand. "Take off your clothes."

He watches carefully as she follows his orders, and she clearly takes her time stripping down to her underwear. When she has, she looks to him for some sign of approval, but Harry just raises his brows. His hands are sunk into his pockets as Y/N lets out a little breath and takes off her bra and panties.

His eyes trail down her body, his cock hurting at the sight of her. God, she's beautiful. He feels like an absolute idiot for not having fought for her earlier, but he reminds himself that he can't change the past and that she is here now, stark naked in his kitchen. A grin spread across his face.

"Do you remember how you addressed me all those years ago?" He asks. It takes a few seconds before Y/N answers, but she gives him a firm nod.

"I called you sir."

Harry nods. "Rules haven't changed. Now, get on the counter."

Her eyes flick to the marble countertop, shock flashing through her eyes. "But Har—"

His right brow lifts ever so slightly. Catching the hint, Y/N stops herself before she can finish the sentence and hoists herself on to the cold countertop. It must not be very pleasant to lay your naked body on that freezing surface, but it was an uncomfortable temporary obstacle. The results would be great, and in about thirty seconds, she'd forget all about that cold touch against her skin.

Harry pulls out one of the bar stools and sat directly in front of Y/N. Spreading her legs apart, he catches sight of that perfect pussy he has been waiting three years to taste again. Like a starved man sat in front of a feast, the urge to dive right in is almost too strong to bear. But before he has her writhing under him, he wants to make her shiver.

"Can't believe it took us so long to get here." Harry hums, tracing his fingers up her thigh, carefully observing the way Y/N tries to control her breathing. Her fists are balled up into curls, attempting to send her concentration to anything else than Harry. He tries not to let his smugness show too much, but he has to say he likes seeing her struggle a bit. A bit of payback for trying to toy with him just now.

"You've always been stubborn." Y/N jokes, a gasp strangling out of her when Harry's fingers ghost over her clit. He chuckles, the tone of his voice so low that it could almost be considered evil.

"If I remember correctly, you're the one who wanted to forget about that Halloween night." He notes. Y/N hums.

"I also made the condition to act professionally, but we didn't do that either." Her eyes gaze into his, catching the fond smile with which he stares at her. A faint blush erupts on her cheeks.

"You drew the line." Harry retorted, and Y/N scoffed.

"You crossed it about a hundred times." She argues in response. He only hums, that cocky smirk on his face.

"I did, and consider this hundredth and first time to be the last, because I'm not getting behind that line again."

Y/N has never been so turned on her in her entire life. Harry’s words are the epitome of determination, and the way his fingers slip inside her so easily the second he finishes his sentence only solidifies that notion. The gasp that leaves her mouth is cut short and evolves into a low moan as Harry’s lips latch onto her clit.

Sensitive would be an understatement for her current state. She is aching, and the way Harry is ravishing her almost hurt. But any pain dwells in comparison to her desire she was overcome with at the situation she currently finds herself in. She is on Harry's kitchen counter, legs spread wide open and letting him do all the things that slipped into her dreams over the past three years.

Harry sucks in all the ways that made her squirm, moving his fingers with such ease that made it seem like he has fingered her a thousand times already. As if he knows her like the back of his hand, as if he knows all her secrets, even ones she doesn't know herself.

Y/N's hand buries itself in Harry's hair when he begins to kitten lick her clit, and she feels that inevitable climax inching closer and closer. She wonders how she had been able to keep herself composed for so long, because the high that creeps up on her feels like it was long overdue.

Unfortunately, the sensation comes to a grinding halt when Harry backs away from Y/N. Her head shoots up, and finds him leaning over her body, wearing boyish half-smile that is now glimmering with her juices.

Wrapping one arm around her waist and the other one under her legs, he picks her up bridal style. She holds onto his shoulders, burying her face into his neck as he carried her to his bedroom. When she begins unbuttoning his shirt, he throws her on his bed. She lets out a soft yelp, bouncing onto the bed.

"So greedy..." Harry tuts in disapproval, but Y/N doesn't quite care. She wants him, bad, and now that she's had a preview of what's to come she doesn't want to wait any longer. She needs him and she needs that orgasm.

She pulls him closer by his pants and starts to unbuckle his belt. "You're taking too long."

Y/N is about halfway done when Harry's firm hand wraps around her neck and pulls her closer to his face. Inching down, he growls: "You'll take what I give you."

"Then give me something." She spits back, and Harry's eyes turn five shades darker at her invitation to a challenge. He slowly leans back, Y/N watching his every movement in anticipation.

"On your stomach."

Y/N stomach swirls at the command, and she obeys as quick as she can. It stays silent for a little bit, and she awaits his further actions eagerly.

"Hands behind your back."

Again, she does what he says. Y/N doesn't dare to turn her head as she hears Harry walking around his room. When she feels a silky material around her wrists, she knows enough. He's tying her up.

Knowing better than to do otherwise, Y/N keeps her mouth shuts as Harry makes an impenetrable knot with his tie. She moves her wrists, assessing how tight it really is, and gets interrupted by a punishing slap on her ass. The sting remains for a couple of seconds, and she is sure there is now a red print the size of Harry's hand on her right cheek.

"Ass up." He barks out his final order, no doubt smirking as she changes her position, slightly struggling now that her arms are of no use.

Y/N bites her lip in anticipation when Harry's hand grabs onto her hips, steadying himself behind her. She slightly flinches forward when the tip of his cock teases her entrance, and attempts to speed up the process by leaning backwards a bit. She's rewarded with another slap on her ass.

But then Harry finally sinks in, and that dreadful itch that plagued Y/N for such a long time is finally scratched, over and over again as he begins to pound into her with long, slow strokes.

"Fucking hell..." Harry murmurs, his cock suctioning into Y/N's tight, clenching pussy. He is so big, and it bruises her in all the right ways.

"Oh baby... thaaat's it." He groans when Y/N begins to bounce back on his cock, aiming to get it even deeper inside of her. She is ruthless in her movements, groaning at the overwhelming sensations. When Harry gropes her ass— and his nails bite into her skin—she loses control.

Burying her face into the mattress, Y/N screams as she reaches her peak. The sound of Harry's moans at her pussy convulsing around his cock only strengthens her orgasm. Her mind goes entirely blank as the shattering release ripples through her like an earthquake. The only thing she can think of is Harry's name, and it's the only thing she cries out as the dizzying explosion settles all over her body.

"You really are desperate, aren't you?" Harry sneers as he pulls his cock out of Y/N, letting go of her hips. She nearly falls over, her tied up hands making it difficult to catch herself. This orgasm was so intense, she could feel the three years of pent up tension as it washed over her. Her cheeks are burning red and her teary eyes makes her vision somewhat blurry.

Y/N is thrown off when Harry suddenly turns her around and she finds herself lying on her back. The way he towers over her would have been intimidating had it not been extremely hot.

"Came on my cock so fast..." he mumbles cockily, corner of his mouth pulled up like the arrogant bastard he is. "Such a slut for it."

Y/N wants to give him some snappy comeback, but her brain is still fried from the orgasm and she's always liked to be degraded in bed, so she decides to only glare at Harry while he speaks. He catches it, and his grin only widens.

"You know it's true, baby." He tells her, bringing your legs over each of his shoulders. That deviant smirk is the last thing Y/N sees before her eyes roll into the back of her head at the feeling of Harry's cock stretching her out again.

He leans forward, almost folding her in two, and reaches deeper. He stays there for a few seconds—as if he is catching his breath—then slowly backs out of her before slamming right back in. Y/N lets out a screech that, if it hadn't been for the desperation laced in its tone, would've sounded like someone was trying to murder her.

Trying to keep her own moans at a minimum, Y/N closes her eyes and listens to the harsh slaps of Harry's skin against hers, and the groans that escape his mouth with each thrust. The strength behind each movement makes her clench around Harry, who in turn hisses her name as if it were a curse word. It only causes her to clench more. 

"Fuck, such a pretty little whore." Harry praises as he drives into her. Y/N can only whine, her tits bouncing uncontrollably at the impact of his motions. She must look fucking helpless. Opening her eyes, she catches the way Harry looks at her; like she's a dream. Like she's his dream.

"My pretty little whore." He growls, leaning back and holding one of her legs with his arm while the other reaches for her breasts.

"Yes..." Y/N breathes as he begins squeezing her breasts, getting lost in the sensations of him. Somehow it feels like Harry is everywhere. As if he has latched onto a part of her soul and she feels him coming to claim that every time his cock sinks into her.

"Such a tight fucking fit." He groans, taking her nipple between his fingers. "You should see how perfectly your pussy sucks in every inch of my cock..."

Y/N bites her lip as Harry talks, trying not too get too overwhelmed by the filthy things he's telling her as he plunges in and out of her. Her eyes catch the flex of his muscles that occur with every thrust, and she wonders how she got a man so perfect to fuck her stupid like this.

"Should record it... make a little video for just the two of us. What do you think?"

Oh my god.

"Don't you want to see how perfect we fit together?" He taunts, thrusting his hips harsher than before, hitting a spot that had been untouched for quite a while now. Y/N's face scrunches up.

"F—fuck! Yes, yes..." She responds when Harry stills inside of her to await an answer. He chuckles at the apparent hurry in her voice and reaches for—what Y/N assumes to be—his phone, on the bed. His motions are slow and soft, determined to keep Y/N satisfied at least a bit while he logs into his phone and searches for the camera app. She notices the start of his recording by the sudden change of pace and force of his movements.

His camera is pointed right at her pussy as he begins thrusting deep inside of her, and Y/N screams out Harry's name. The concentration on his face as he captures how she takes him proves too much to bear, and she shuts her eyes tightly, head flopping to the side.

She can hear his ragged breathing over all the other sounds that their bodies are making. The small grunts he makes in an effort not to moan too loudly is all she can focus on, and the tension in her belly grows exponentially with each vibrations of his voice that reaches her ears.

Harry slows his pace, putting more emphasis on the impact of his moves. It allows him to bring his free hand down to touch Y/N's clit. Her legs begin to shake the second he does.

"Are you gonna come again for me? I'm so close, baby. I can tell you are too." The softness in the delivery of his words have Y/N's ovaries rattle. She can only nod, a whine that was an attempt at a 'yes' falling from her rosy lips. Harry grins, his eyes flicking from his phone to her face. Everything feels so hazy, much like a daydream.

"Please don't stop." She squeals in such a high pitch that surprises even herself. Y/N had no idea she could go that high. Harry's bringing out an entirely new side of her.

"I'll never stop, baby." Harry rasps, pressing down on her clit in such a way that Y/N becomes cross-eyed for a second. Her nails grip into the bedsheets, the second release rippling through her like a hurricane. She never quite understood the word bliss, until now. This must be it; this feeling of... pure ecstasy.

Like a blank canvas splattered on with all the bright colors that exist in the world; fresh and exciting and psychedelic in a way. Impossible to define yet such a specific feeling. Y/N let all of it tingle from her head down to her toes, wanting to remember it forever.

The continuous pounding Y/N through her orgasm comes to a grinding halt when Harry reaches his own, pulling out just in time for his sperm to coat her puffy clit and swollen tits. His camera is focused on her frame, recording every spurt that paints her. She's the canvas, he's the colors, Y/N realizes. Harry is her definition of bliss.

The words shared between the two are scarce as Harry unties Y/N's hands, picks her up and carries her to the bathroom to clean her up. But the smiles on their faces says enough, both knowing what they feel is rare, and beautiful. Y/N assesses Harry's face, concluding that the soft edges of it makes him look like a proper angel.

When he's dressed her in one of his shirts, he takes her back to the bedroom, where he pulls her against his frame. Y/N wraps one leg around his torso, hugging him from the side with her head buried into his neck. The way his chest rises and lowers fills her with pure ease, and she leaves a few soft kisses in his neck as a silent thank you. Harry only hums in satisfaction, his arm only tightening around you, as if he's afraid you might let go.

"I'm never gonna let you go now." You tell him before you can even fully comprehend your words. Your heart starts racing, afraid that might've been too soon to say.

"Promise?"

Your racing heart is now melting as you turn your head and see Harry holding up his pinky. You are quick to interlock it with your own.

"Promise." You say with a smile.

General taglist: @mema10

[perlelune]

NDA | Coriolanus Snow

When you get hired as a nanny for President Snow and his wife's firstborn, you’re beyond thrilled and grateful. But quickly, the perfect facade melts, revealing the ugly truth of what actually goes on in the Snows' house.

Warnings: NON-CON, Capitol! Reader, Innocent Reader, Cheating, Coercion, Blackmail, Power Imbalance

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Your worried eyes track the frenzied glide of the woman’s quill over the notepad. You squint, hoping to discern some of the words she’s scrawling that way, but they are indiscernible…just like the stone-cold expression of the bespectacled woman on the other side of the desk.

She catches you trying to peek. Your heart jumps.

As her sharp green gaze zeroes in on you, you clear your throat and shift in your seat.

She puts her quill down and twines her fingers.

“So what do you think sets you apart  from the other applicants?”

You chew on your lip. When you arrived to offer your candidature this morning, you naively believed you’d be early. Instead, you were forced to join the tail end of the massive waiting line stretching far outside the Snows’ estate. It didn’t hit you before that moment, how prized the position is. Each of the women and girls you saw radiated excellent breeding and impeccable manners. Many probably attended the University and could double as a tutor if the need presents itself.

This isn’t your case. Your parents left you and your brother Laertes with nothing when they suddenly passed away in a rebel bombing. You couldn’t blame them. This wasn't the plan. Who plans on dying and leaving their two children to fend for themselves?

Still, you now have a list of bills the length of your arm coupled with a massive mortgage to pay every month. And as Laertes’ sole caretaker, you must ensure you can afford to send him to University once he completes his education in the Academy.

Circumstances denied you that chance. Despite being of university’s age, you couldn’t afford the cost of tuition and had to drop out as soon as you got accepted. You want better for your little brother.

So as soon as you heard the news that President Snow and First Lady Livia Cardew were in search of a nanny for their son Martius, you jumped on the opportunity to apply. You rose before the sun, rummaged through your mother’s closet to find her best dress, and hailed a car to come here.

It’s a long shot, of course. You’re not as polished and impressive as some of the other women. You’re also noticeably younger. But the wages promised alone compelled you to take a chance despite the odds being unfavorable.

Fiddling with your hands, you meet the woman’s impassive stare head-on.

“What sets me apart?” You mull over your answer. You could paint a false, august portrait of yourself, your skills and your accomplishments. Or try to at least.

But what would be the point of pretending to be someone you’re not only to be found out later on? So you elect to tread the path of honesty.

“Nothing,” you say. “But I’m a hard worker. A very hard worker. In fact, I already have three jobs, one at a bakery, another as a clerk in an antique shop and I assist Fabricia Whatnot at her boutique sometimes.” Panic quivers inside you as the woman quickly jots something down on her notepad. You swiftly specify, “...But I’ll quit all of them if I get the position, of course.” You lick your lips as knots tie your stomach. “I can learn everything there is to learn on the spot. I love children, and…” You trail off, gaze traveling to your lap as you muse if you should reveal more. Your fists clench as you add, “I have a little brother who’s a few years older than Martius, and I’m really hoping I get this opportunity so I can give him the life he deserves.”

An unnerving quiet occupies the air. The wait is agony, your nails digging painfully into your palms. The jagged drumming of your heart bleeds inside your ears as she studies you.

Eventually, she leans back in the velvet chair, her face betraying no thought or emotion.

“You’re dismissed,” she says.

Your heart plummets to your feet. You shakily rise, dispirited as you drag your heels towards the door. You steal a glance above your shoulder. The woman’s attention has already drifted away from you as she shouts for the next applicant.

You sourly exit the office. You try to swallow your dejection as you note how many women are still waiting in line, each of them likely more qualified and experienced. It’s obvious you tanked the interview. Shoulders slumping, you take resigned steps through the elegant, palatial hallways of the Snow’s mansion. You get lost in admiring the crystal and gold chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. There isn’t an inch of the house that doesn’t scream excessive, unattainable wealth.

You take your time soaking it in. Chances are you’ll never step foot in such a place in your lifetime ever again.

Distracted, you don’t notice the person in front of you before it’s too late. You bump straight into a hard, inflexible body. 

The sudden collision threatens your balance.

Fingers coil around your wrists as you stagger back, preventing your impending collapse onto the marbled floor.

As your attention drifts skywards, your jaw drops at who fills your vision.

“P-President Snow, my deepest apologies, s-sir,” you stammer, flames licking your cheeks.

As if you didn’t make yourself look dimwitted enough before, you now carelessly crashed into the leader of all of Panem. Just when you thought the day couldn’t possibly get worse.

You take him in. It truly is him. Shock fills you. 

 Tall and dazzling in a crisp white shirt and crimson vest that hints at his lean physique beneath the clothes, his signature blond waves slicked away from his face, he looks every bit the important figure that he is.

The flickering TV screen you own at home doesn’t do him justice.

A gentle smirk unfurls on his lips.

“It’s quite alright. I’m not made of sugar,” he jests.

“No…you’re not, your highness…majesty...I mean sir.”

Your blunder expands his smile. His cerulean gaze drags over your frame.

“Are you here for the nursemaid position?”

“I am, sir.” You unleash a deep exhale, his inquiry tossing salt on the fresh wound. The interviewer clearly wasn’t impressed by your less than stellar performance. Maybe you should have tried to mimic the way the girls with whom you attended the Academy behave more. They carry themselves with such confidence, wading through the world with the certainty of their destinies being secure, bereft of hardships unlike district dwellers.

You envy how carefree they get to be. Everyday you wake up worried you’ll come up short on a bill and you and Laertes will be forced to leave your family home. No matter how diligent you are at work, there never seems to be enough money to sustain the two of you. Even with three jobs, you’re barely eking out a decent living for you and your little brother. Many times, you’ve gone to bed hungry just so Laertes would not.

You don’t even realize tears have filled your eyes to the brim until a handkerchief is daintily pressed into your cheeks.

Flabbergasted, you blink up at President Snow. 

“Thank you,” you exhale, stunned by his kind gesture.

“What’s the matter?” he asks.

You search his eyes. Genuine interest lights up his pellucid blue orbs.

Without much thought, you confess, “I just don’t think I did very well with my interview.”

As he scrutinizes you in silence, cocking his head sideways, embarrassment rushes through you.

Words anxiously leave your lips in a tremulous string.

“God, I’m so sorry, spilling my problems to you as if you’re not an extremely busy man, sir.”

He shakes his head. “It’s quite alright. And do not count yourself defeated, sweetheart.” Your pulse stutters when he bends over you to whisper, “You may have left a stronger impression than you think.”

He nudges the pocket square between your hands. It’s still damp with your tears. You gape at it in awe. President Snow’s initials are elegantly etched in the left corner of the fabric.

“Here. Keep it. Though I’d much prefer it if you didn’t cry.” He pauses, studying you. “Girls as lovely as you never should.”

His words send your heart into a frenzy. For a while, you’re too stunned to move. You then shake yourself back to reality, noticing you’re now staring at the empty space where he used to stand. He’s gone. You look ahead. He’s already miles away from you, wrapped in conversation with who seems to be an assistant of his. 

Your thumbs press against the soft fabric of the pocket square. Cheeks ablaze, you hold it to your nose. It smells like roses, the same delicate scent that wafted from him a few minutes ago. Your back prickles. You pivot and are astonished to find the envious glares of some of the applicants still waiting in line zeroed in on you. Self-conscious, you rush to continue your exit, fleeing away from the hateful stares. 

As the outside gates come into sight, you can’t suppress an elated smile. It’s not everyday someone meets President Snow and receives such a gift from him. Shoving the handkerchief in your pocket, you vow to place it somewhere safe and always cherish it. 

When you return home, your brother’s already sitting in the living room, his tiny brows scrunched in concentration and his nose buried in his books. Your stomach sinks. Everything you did today was for him. You can’t help but feel you missed out on a huge opportunity, one that’d have changed the course of his life forever. You glance around at the apartment. The walls are crumbling. The wooden floors are creaking. The pipes in the kitchen have been leaking for weeks, a measly bucket you must empty every morning the only thing preventing a flood. And at night, the pitter-patter of rodents’ paws resonates from the ceiling.

Every inch of your family home is in dire need of repairs.

Unfortunately, every penny you earn goes into rent and food, meaning the house falls apart a bit more everyday. Perhaps one day, you and Laertes will awake beneath the rubble of what’s left of your childhood home. Nightmares of that sometimes keep you up at night.

“How was the Academy today?” you chime, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. Worry twists your chest. There isn’t much left. You’ll need to make do with cabbage and whatever other veggies are left. Perhaps you could toss in some leftover dried meat and make a stew.

“My teacher signed me up for advanced trigonometry,” your brother announces.

You close the cabinet and beam at him.

“Oh, that sounds hard. I’m proud of you.” It doesn’t exactly surprise you. Laertes’ always been exceptionally smart. Even his teachers noticed how gifted he is from an early age. Unlike you, he breezed through middle school and now the Academy.

It’s why it’s crucial you make sure he can go to the University. A mind like his shouldn’t be wasted.

You brother shrugs, exuding nonchalance.

“It’s fine.”

You rush to him. You wrap your arm around him playfully and hug him in his chair, pulling his cheek like when he was little. You know he hates when you do that but you can’t help teasing him a bit. It’s your duty as a big sister after all.

“Don’t downplay it. My little brother’s a genius.”

He wriggles his way out of the hug, rolling his eyes. 

“Stop it.”

You head back to the kitchen and fire the stove.

“I’ll make you something,” you say, smiling at your brother.

His brows knit. “Make something for yourself first.”

You nibble your bottom lip. You truly hoped he wouldn’t notice, how much smaller than his your portions are. But he’s growing; he needs it. Much more than you. Besides, how can he focus at the Academy and be the brilliant boy he is supposed to be with a growling stomach? You won’t allow it.

“Laertes…”

He shakes his head, his expression firm.

“No. You always do this. This time, we split whatever is left.”

Heaving out a resigned exhale, you nod. You whirl to resume preparing dinner.

You gather a boiling pot from the overhead cabinet and place it on the stove. With the ease of practice, you begin chopping vegetables and tossing them into the pot. You add spices and water. The mouthwatering aroma quickly fills the kitchen. Pride swells in your chest. Your cooking skills have improved so much in the last year since your parents passed. You now manage to bring flavor to the blandest of meals. 

Once the stew’s ready, you pour a portion in each bowl, putting just a little more in your brother’s and praying he will not notice.

You place the steaming bowls on the table and take a seat opposite him.

“No books at the dining table,” you admonish, mimicking the exact tone your mother used with your brother. Admitting defeat, Laertes sighs and sets his homework aside. The tiny victory tugs your lips skyward.

He tells you about his day at the Academy while the two of you eat. You’re delighted to hear he’s making a lot of friends and he’s at the top of his class for most science subjects. He’s struggling a bit more with his poetry and ethics classes, but you encourage him by reminding him he can just ask the teacher for extra assignments to keep his grade up.

“I interviewed for a new job today,” you reveal, stirring the spoon in your bowl while waiting for your brother to eat more of his food.

“How did it go?”

“Well, it pays really well so I’m hopeful.”

The hope dancing in his eyes makes your chest ache. You don’t have the heart to tell him you made a fool of yourself today. You may not be gifted like your brother, but you want him to know he can rely on you at least.

Pursing his mouth, he looks down at his stew.

“That’s great. It’d be good if you didn’t have to work as much.”

Your smile falters. “Don’t worry. I have everything under control.”

“Okay.”

His dour tone stirs your concern. You wish you were better at hiding things from him, making his childhood as normal as possible. But your brother’s twelve now, and that’s old enough to sense when things are wrong.

He rises from his seat. You frown as you note there’s still food left in his bowl.

“Finish your plate before going to your room.”

Annoyance pinches his features but he still picks up his bowl and hastily guzzles down the remainder of his stew.

“Happy now?” he says, wiping his mouth.

“Yes. Very,” you cheerfully respond.

He gathers his books and strides towards his room. 

Your voice rises.

“Don’t stay up too late to study, okay? I love you.”

“I…love you too,” he mumbles.

You bask in the moment as you clean the table. Thankfully Laertes is still at an age where he says it back. One day he might not. So you must cherish every instant. Every conversation, every hug, every ‘I love you’. Because it could all vanish in a second. You learned that the hard way a year ago.

The day of the interview recedes to the back of your mind as you keep living your life. Work is harrowing, as usual, but you tend to your tasks as best as you can. Your arms ache as you knead the dough in the back of the bakery. You give yourself a second to wipe the sweat off your forehead. It’s been a hectic afternoon. There’s a massive pastry order for some Capitol heiress’ birthday due tomorrow. So you’ve been racing between the front desk and the kitchen in the back. A baker called in sick today, leaving you with twice the workload.

You know it won’t take much to crash into your bed and fall asleep tonight.

To make matters worse, the day hits its nadir when you get your pay that day. You peer inside the envelope for the umpteenth time. An anxious chuckle peals out of your lips. 

“I’m sorry I don’t want to complain, but…this doesn’t match the hours I put in.”

The owner scratches the back of his neck, a contrite expression etched on his face.

“I’m sorry too. With the new taxes imposed by the Capitol, I had to cut your salary.”

Slack-jawed by the news, no word leaves your mouth as you stare at him. He sighs.

“If it’s a problem, we can find someone else-”

“No, no,” you interrupt, blinking in panic. “Please, I need this job.”

He acquiesces and you’re forced to thank him despite feeling cheated. You actually scaled back your hours for your other part-times since this one paid more. What a waste. 

Dispirited, you return home. As you give the driver a bill for the fare, your insides wrench. Every bill counts. Perhaps you’ll need to walk back home from now on. The streets of the Capitol are notoriously dangerous but you can’t see any other way to save your dwindling wages. You already know you’ll need to request an extension for rent this month. How will you pay it, however?

You suppose you’ll have to figure it out. You always figure it out.

These are the somber thoughts swaying in your mind as you check the mailbox. 

Bills. Bills. And more bills. Your already sour mood plummets even more. But a slim, silver envelope sticking out from the pile corrals your focus. Curiosity surges inside you. It looks fancy and there’s a wax seal with the Capitol’s symbol keeping it shut. You rush to open it, heart fluttering in strange anticipation.

You unfold the neatly folded letter inside. As you read the words, you gasp, dropping the letter. Still trembling from shock and excitement, you bend to pick it up. 

You take a deep slow breath before reading it again. 

This time, a squeal escapes from your lips. 

You read it many more times to make sure your eyes aren’t just conjuring wild fantasies. 

After a while, you realize they aren’t. It’s true. 

Holding the letter to your chest, you toss yourself on your bed and kick your feet excitedly. 

You then place your palm on your forehead. In disbelief, you beam at the ceiling. 

Somehow…you’ve been hired to work for the Snows. You actually got the job. 

Perhaps there is light at the end of the tunnel.

You fidget before the iron gates, smoothing absent wrinkles on your skirt. It’s one of the best outfits you could find on short notice that wasn’t moth-eaten or visibly overworn. You pray it’s enough. You let your gaze wander. The Snows’ estate truly is majestic. The lush gardens. The beautiful architecture. You feel a little small as you admire the mansion.

Remembering yourself, you pivot to the man who drove you there. You fish inside your pocket for a bill and hand it to him. He stares at you blankly from the driver’s seat.

A weary sigh ripples behind you.

You turn, your eyes widening. It’s the woman who interviewed you that day. She wears the same stern expression.

“You don’t need to pay him,” she explains, dismissing the man with her hand. He nods and drives away. “He’s your assigned driver. He’ll pick you up each day and take you back home.”

“Oh.” You offer your hand. “Nice to meet you…again.”

She gives you a lengthy onceover, completely ignoring your gesture. Then she motions at you to follow her. You let your hand fall to your side. Heat blooms in your cheeks. Perhaps, you were too enthusiastic just then. Straightening your spine, you try your best to keep pace with her quick strides.

“I’m Pandora. I supervise most housekeeping duties for the president. I’ll show you around the estate. Then you’ll meet the young Master.”

She gives you a tour of the mansion. You’re even more amazed than last time though you try to suppress your awe and not stare excessively. She shows you the garden as well. The sea of snow-white roses makes your head spin. She specifies that the only part of the house that is off-limits is the west wing of the mansion, as these are the First Lady’s apartments and she must have rest and quiet.

She ends the visit by taking you to the nursery. A smile spontaneously finds its way onto your lips. A toddler plays with his toy train on the floor. With his blonde curls and bright blue eyes, he bears a striking resemblance to his father.

“That’s him? He’s so cute,” you whisper. Even the stern woman’s expression thaws a little as she looks at the child, softening ever-so-slightly. You send her a questioning glance. She gives you a nod of approval. 

You approach the boy and crouch in front of him.

“Hi. You’re Martius, right?”

He lifts his head and beams at you. You’re immediately endeared. Again, his smile reminds you of President Snow. You suppose one could probably take over the world with a smile like that. 

You turn to Pandora.

“Is his mother around? I should probably introduce myself.”

Her face pinches. “Mistress Livia has been unwell as of late. She is not to be disturbed today as she is quite tired.”

“Of course.” Your lips squeeze shut for a few seconds but curiosity gets the better of you. A question burns on your lips, one that nagged you ever since you got the job. It slips out before you can think it through. “Is this…Is this why the president and his wife require a nanny? The First Lady is sick?”

Pandora glowers at you. You flinch as she steps further inside the room, her searing tone like a whip.

“You are here to do your job, and nothing else. Mistress Livia’s health is no concern of yours. Do you hear me?”

You rise on shaky feet. You forgot yourself.

“I-I understand. I’m sorry I asked.”

“This reminds me. You have to sign this,” she says, handing you a pen and clipboard. A thin stack of papers are attached to the clipboard. The front page spells ‘Non-Disclosure Agreement’ in bold letters at the very top. You scowl as you flip through the pages.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a contract, one signed by every one of the President’s employees.”

“I don’t understand most of what’s written here…”

A frustrated exhale peals from her lips.

“I’ll make it simple for you then. For the duration of your employment here, nothing you see or hear must ever leave this house. You are here to care for the young master, that is all. Nothing else should concern you. Is that clear enough?”

You swallow thickly. It doesn’t sound hard at all. Discretion is essential in every job, isn’t it? But the way Pandora makes it sound, you’d assume there are bodies buried beneath the Snows’ estate. You’d laugh if her death stare weren’t so disquieting.

You peruse the contract, perplexed by most of the legal mumbo jumbo filling the pages. None of it rings any bell. You understand the gist of it however. You must preserve the president and his wife’s privacy. While you don’t know the specifics of the first lady’s condition, her public appearances have been few and far between in the last few years.

She used to be the envy of every woman in the Capitol. Beautiful, young and married to the dashing President Snow.

She was a fairytale princess come to life.

Then their son Martius was born. And when they held him up from the balcony of their mansion for all of Panem to gaze upon, they truly seemed like the perfect family.

Until one day, Livia Cardew simply…vanished.

She was noticeably absent from all the events of the season, some she even hosted herself. Tongues wagged of course, rumors and wild theories spreading like wildfire. 

But no one knew the truth of what had happened to her.

The matter seems delicate. You promise yourself not to bring it up again.

You click the pen and scribble your name at the bottom of the very last page.

“I’ve…never signed a contract like that before starting a job.”

Pandora lets out a wry chuckle.

“Well, you’ve never worked for President Snow.”

As promised, you quit your two other jobs to focus solely on Martius. You’re hesitant at first. Your departed parents taught you never to put all your eggs in one basket. And it’s exactly what you’d be doing by trusting the Snows. But when you receive your first paycheck, long before the end of the week, every qualm you had fades. It’s more money than you’ve ever had, more money than you expected. Rent isn’t an issue anymore. Neither is food.

Besides, gifts keep coming from the estate. Clothes mostly, for both you and Laertes, but also jewelry, perfume and other fancy things you don’t need. Overwhelmed by President Snow’s generosity, you try to send some of it back, but you don’t have the heart to return everything when you see your brother’s happy face when he opens his wardrobe one day.

You’ve caught the self-conscious glimpses he casts at his classmates sometimes, when not wearing the Academy uniform. Their clothes are always brand new and custom, perfectly tailored while his are stitched back together by your clumsy hands whenever they fray at the seams. You’re not a seamstress but you’ve always done your best. But you know your best doesn’t compare to the access and privilege those kids have.

Other than those blessings, your time with Martius has been a breeze. Only hazy memories of your brother as a toddler linger in your mind, but you don’t recall him ever being as sweet and calm as the little boy is.

It hardly feels like work, caring for the small child. You spend the day playing along with his games, reading stories to him and, as the day nears its end, the two of you feed the ducks in the massive pond behind the mansion. He even gives them names and gets upset when they fight with each other. 

“Lily doesn’t like James anymore,” he whispers to you one day, a sullen pout scrunching his tiny features. 

“And why is that?”

“I think she’s angry that he steals her food.”

You chuckle and ruffle his golden locks. The little boy always has a story for everything he sees. At all times, his world must make sense. So if he cannot find a reason to explain what fills his gaze, he’ll weave a tale that matches it. His stories are each more wild than the other and he sometimes utters words you’ve never heard a four year old use.

But you surmise it is expected from the son of the president. When he isn’t with you, the little boy is often with his private tutor. Even at his tender age, the importance of manners and eloquence is impressed upon him.

Martius tugs at your skirt when you make your way to the door. You look down. His blue eyes are pleading. 

“You’re leaving again?”

You heave out a long exhale. The little boy wasn’t so clingy before but with your bond growing, he’s been expressing more sadness from watching you go at the end of every day. 

You hunker down to his level.

“My little brother’s expecting me.”

His forehead puckers. “Stay…”

“I told you before, Martius. I have a brother. He’ll miss me if I’m not here.”

“Okay,” he mumbles, giving a begrudging nod. Tears already swim in his eyes though. Panic flows through you. You didn’t want to upset him. You pick him up and bounce with him in your arms to try to soothe him.

“Oh, no. Don’t cry, sweetie.” He buries his head in the crook of your neck, nearly squeezing you to death when he wraps his arms around your neck. His loud, tearful sobs swell in the room. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow like always, okay? So I need you to be brave for me.” His grip on you loosens as he sniffles. You put him down and the two of you pinky promise that you’ll return. Your heart twists at the sight of his tear-stained little face. 

You give his hair one last affectionate pat before rushing outside. If you stay, he might throw another tantrum. No matter what, you can never get mad at Martius. He’s just a child. In the absence of his mother, he’s bound to grow attached to any woman filling a role adjacent to hers. You loathe that you’re taking those moments from the first lady. Though it pleases you to have a steady job and spend time with the sweet boy, it feels wrong that she isn’t there. She should get to see her baby grow up. She should hear his inane ramblings and eccentric stories.

As time wears on, you’re dying to meet her and tell her about Martius. Is she truly so sick that she can’t even see him for a mere few minutes? You’re itching to break the rules and visit the west wing of the mansion. Sometimes you hear blood-curdling  screams and wailing coming from the dark halls but you never dared venture through them. You know that if you did, Pandora would crucify you.

Laertes’ well-being matters more than your curiosity.

Humming absently, you halt in your tracks in the middle of a hallway. Confusion has you blinking. A peculiar noise bounces faintly against the walls. Your gaze drifts sideways, where the noise seems to come from. You’re clocking out. Whatever’s going on in the house isn’t any of your business at this hour.

But what if someone needs help? What if it’s something bad? You’d feel awful if you learnt something happened the next day and you pretended to ignore it. So you gingerly approach the wall. Your fingers graze the tapestry covering it. 

Your eyes widen when the wall moves, a tiny crack forming in it.

Your eyes bulge. It’s an ajar door, you realize. A secret door one wouldn’t notice if they weren’t aware it was there. Light spills from the slight opening.

Confining your breath, you bend over the crack in the wall to get a glimpse of what’s behind it. 

The vision crowding your sight makes the blood in your veins freeze. 

President Snow rutting into a maid with his pants down to his ankles. His usually neat blonde locks are tousled, a few damp curls kissing his forehead. His massive cock glistens with the girl’s essence, disappearing into the girl’s spread lips over and over again. Her body is bent over the railing of the bed and her maid outfit is bunched around her hips, exposing her ass, the flesh trembling with each of the president’s harsh, pointed thrust.

Each time he snaps his hips he draws a broken moan from her. One of his hands is around the back of her throat while the other’s on the small of her back. He grunts low in his throat as she clenches around him, thrusting into her even faster than before. 

The obscene sound of their coupling rises, coalescing with the feral grunts spilling from the president’s mouth. In that moment, he’s not the poised gentleman you’re used to seeing, he is an animal in rut chasing his high.

A shocked exhale escapes your lips. Your hand flies to cover your mouth. President Snow’s head snaps up, his gaze landing straight on you.

Your heart slams against your ribcage.

You jump back from the door and push the secret door closed. You dart across the hallway, determined to find the exit as quickly as you can. You don’t glance back, your steps hasty and panicked. 

Pandora was right. It’s best not not to hear or see anything, to become a tomb in which secrets are buried.

You can only hope he didn’t recognize you through the tiny crack in the door. 

Though you’re shaken to your core, you continue your work as a nanny. You still need money. You may have set aside everything you made thus far, but it will only sustain you and your brother for a month or two. Besides, you’ve already handed in your resignation for your other jobs.  The positions have likely been filled. You can’t exactly show up out of the blue and ask for your former job back. 

No. So you convince yourself that it’s alright. You have a good thing going anyway. You’re making more than you hoped. The child is happy. You’re happy. All is well. Or it would be at least.

…If you could conjure the memory of President Snow railing into the maid far away from your mind. 

You want to forget it, bury the moment so deep in the abyss of your thoughts, it can never be unearthed.

But it isn’t so easy. Because every time your mind wanders even a little, you see him again. Skin glistening with sweat and blue eyes alight with lust. The image is tattooed into your brain. 

You wonder if the first lady knows. Perhaps it’s why she’s hiding away. The weight of her husband’s indiscretions may have grown too heavy to carry. It sours your heart. President Snow seemed so kind, good and noble. He was nice to you. You still have the breast pocket he gave you tucked away in a drawer. You loathe to think he’d do that to his wife. No woman deserves this.

You lift your head when your name is uttered. You get to your feet. Adrift in your thoughts, you didn’t realize Pandora was in the nursery. 

“Yes?”

“The president wants to see you in his office.”

Dread wrenches your gut. It’s exactly what you feared. Does he know? Did he see you? Your pulse picks up. What other reason would there be? He never summoned you before.

“Really, why?”

“He didn’t say, but I’m assuming it’s to congratulate you.”

Befuddlement wrinkles your forehead. “Congratulate me?”

Pandora heaves out a weary sigh. “Well, you’ve done much better than we thought,” she begrudgingly admits. “The young master smiles all the time.” She rolls her eyes. “Even if we must deal with his tantrums when you leave.”

A sliver of pride flutters through you with her admission. Pandora made her doubts about your capabilities plain and obvious from the beginning. It gladdens you that you may have changed her mind a little. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” She turns to him, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “It’s a small price to pay for his happiness.”

Your smile vanishes as she adds, “Now let me escort you to the president’s office. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you trail behind her. The entire trek to the president’s office, your stomach’s in knots. You keep wondering if it’s the day you’ll lose your job for being too nosy. You should have walked past the noise. You shouldn’t have peeked. 

You inhale a lungful of nerve as Pandora opens the door to his office and frees room for you to enter. Your clammy hands wrench in your lap. He’s sitting behind his desk. You stagger further inside the room as he motions for you to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. He looks the same as the first time you stumbled into him, disarmingly handsome in an impeccable shirt and pants that flatter his long legs.

A sharp contrast to the version of him that has plagued your thoughts lately. 

His sky gaze follows you as you take a trembling seat.

“Are you settling in well?” he asks.

“Hm, yes,” you stammer, anxiously twining your fingers. “It’s pretty much the perfect job. I get to be around a cute child all day.”

“I hear my son is very fond of you.”

You bashfully dip your head. “He’s very easy to like. He’s such a good boy, sweet, kind, and curious. You and your wife are raising him well, sir.”

He hums in thought. “I can’t take much credit for that. I’ve tried my best to carve out time for Martius…but work’s kept me busy. As for Livia...” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “Well she isn’t quite herself these days.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He places one hand under his chin, scrutinizing you. You try not to twitch beneath his stare, your insides tight with dread.

“Hm, it’s strange,” he states after a minute that goes by like an eternity.

Your head rises. “What’s strange?”

“A girl like you.” His lips drag upward. “Sweet, nurturing, beautiful. Shouldn’t you be married already?”

Your lips part in astonishment. This isn’t the line of questioning you expected. “I-I’m not.”

“No fiancé?”

“No, sir.”

“A lover then?”

Warmth rushes to your face.

“No…”

He laughs, mirth dancing in his cobalt orbs.

“You must pardon me for being so forward but I simply find it astonishing. No suitors? It’s hard to believe since you’re so lovely, sweetheart.” He tilts his head. You shift in discomfort, his attention making you feel see-through. “I mean, a husband would have made your life easier than it’s been thus far, wouldn’t he, dove?”

A long exhale flows from your lips. “I’ve had offers, after I graduated from the Academy. There was even this boy, he was so kind to me.” The memory draws a small smile from you. “He proposed. I’m sure he’d make a great husband, but…”

“But…”

Your mouth dries.

“I know it’s probably naive and unrealistic but I want to marry for love, that great, life-changing love, like in those romance novels my mom used to love, not money or status.”

His eyes twinkle. “Or financial stability?”

Shame gathers in your chest. You know it sounds silly when uttered aloud. 

“I know, I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. It’s sweet that you still believe in love.” He appears lost in a faraway memory, his gaze hazing over with remembrance. “I used to believe in it too. I used to think, ‘Who needs wealth and success and power when love conquers all?’”

He chuckles but it’s bereft of amusement. 

“Really? What happened then?”

His gaze locks with yours. 

“I grew up.”

Confused, you frown. 

“But aren’t you and the first lady in love?”

Another laugh bursts from his chest.

“God, you’re sweet.” His tone lowers to a dulcet whisper. “It’s like none of the world’s ugliness has gotten to you yet.” He reveals matter-of-factly, “My wife and I hate each other.” His smile widens at your flabbergasted expression. “Always did. It’s best that way, more…efficient. Of course, there was a time, when we had…passion.” He licks his lips, something you can’t pinpoint flickering in his gaze. “But not anymore. She’s far too gone for that.”

He rises from his chair. You stiffen as he circles the desk, making slow steps towards you. 

“Which is why I must…satiate my needs wherever I can,” he mumbles, fingers lurking under your chin, forcing your eyes to fall upon him. “Do you understand my meaning, dove?”

“I…yes.”

Discomfort flares within you. Tension hangs in the air, so heavy it clogs your airways. 

He cocks his head, lips slanting crookedly.

“Do you really? With that innocent look in your eyes, it’s hard to tell.” His thumb sweeps over your shuddering bottom lip. “Men have needs. And am I not a man, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes you are, sir.”

He bends over you to whisper in your ear. “You saw everything that day, didn’t you?” Your heart stops.

Flames lick your face as you bow your head. “I-I didn’t see anything.”

His warm breath ghosts over your earshell.

“Liar,” he mumbles.

Your pulse quickens.

He leans back and nudges your chin upward.

“Since my wife fell sick, I’ve been very lonely. And sometimes…” He looms over you, crowding your space as you peer up at him, fingers squeezing the arms of the chair. “I need something soft and warm to forget that feeling.”

President Snow slowly falls to his knees in front of you. His fingers find your thigh, starting to creep under your skirt. A devilish glint sparkles in his cobalt gaze. He finds your center, pressing the sheer fabric into your folds. You gasp. He chuckles at your reaction. He starts teasing you through your panties, tracing your slit and dragging over your tender bud. Your breath hitches as the air around you grows hotter. You grow slick beneath his finger, your thighs shaking as tingles bloom on your flesh.

“Sir…” you whimper, tears welling up in your eyes.

He pushes further inside you, adding another finger, and you unleash an audible breath. You try to close your thighs. He places his other hand on your knee to keep you open for him.

The air in your lungs grows thinner as he rubs your core through your soaked panties. The friction is a delicious torture. Pleasure pools in your belly causing your face to burn with shame. You’re getting embarrassingly wet with President Snow’s attention.

“I just want a little taste,” he murmurs, his deep timbre bleeding lust. “Just one time and it’ll never happen again,” he promises fervently as his lips graze your ankle. You find some relief when his fingers disappear from your drenched center. But your respite is ephemeral. He slips his hands under your ass and tugs at your panties.

Panic widens your eyes. Cheeks ablaze, you pull at the material between your legs with both hands. But he’s stronger than you and effortlessly drags the fabric along your legs. A wicked smile plays on his lips as tears glisten in your eyes. It’s soon down to your ankles. You squeal when the president yanks the panties off your foot, tossing them aside. Cool air sneaks beneath your skirt, swirling over your bare folds.

Hands over your knees to keep you spread, his wolfish gaze sweeps over your glossy folds. 

Your skin heats, embarrassment gathering in your chest. You’ve never been this vulnerable and exposed in front of anybody before.

“Please, President Snow, s-stop…” 

“But you’re dripping, sweetheart,” he states smugly, sinking a finger inside your weeping core, as if to make a point. Your breath hitches. He takes his finger out sluggishly. You clench when he grazes one of your sensitive spots. “Just as sweet as I expected,” he hums, obscenely licking your essence off his long digit.

Without a warning, he buries his head between your thighs. A sharp exhale leaps from your mouth. His cool tongue traces a wet trail over your folds. President Snow traces maddening patterns over your swollen bud causing your eyes to roll back.

You card your fingers through his silken platinum locks, hoping to push his head away. But the delightful sensations grow too overwhelming. You unravel beneath his sinful ministrations, your limbs twitching as the thread of your thoughts comes loose.

Your grip on his hair weakens. Your belly tightens, your chest rising and falling rapidly. 

You jolt as his tongue flickers over your tender heap of nerves. 

“P-President…” 

He purrs against your folds and the vibrations rock through your core. You squirm in the chair. Your thighs quake. Your vision dims, your mind blank as waves of pleasure swaddle you in their tide. Protests scatter on your tongue, replaced by wanton whimpers and moans.

Electricity ripples through your spine as you cry out.

Bliss engulfs you and your legs turn liquid. Shame swirls in your gut as your juices coat his tongue. He drinks your nectar, elation rumbling in his chest. 

When he lifts his head, you hardly recognize him. The feral glow in his gaze chills your blood.

There is no time to collect yourself, realize what just occurred, as the blonde gathers your limp frame from the chair and places you on his desk. Documents and papers are flung to the ground as he grabs your thighs and presses his throbbing hard-on against your cunt. 

He hastily unbuttons his pants, freeing his hard length. He fists his cock and guides it through your wet entrance. Your back arches, the sudden intrusion robbing you of air. He reaches the hilt of you in a few seconds, giving you no time to accommodate his thick girth. You collapse over the desk, weak whimpers leaving you as your walls are stretched to their limit. He drags out of you, his pupils flaring as they trace the motion of his length in and out of you. Coriolanus leans over you. He snaps his pelvis into your hips, each of his thrusts tearing tearful moans from your throat.

When you turn your head, hot tears flowing down your cheeks, he grabs your chin so you’re forced to meet his lustful stare. Bracing himself on the desk, he reaches between your bodies to pinch your swollen clit. He plucks at your soft bud until you shatter around him with a sob. His throat bobs, a look of sheer bliss flitting across his face when you clench around him.

“I’ve been dying to fuck you the minute I saw you,” he confesses, trailing soft pecks over your collarbone. A sinister chuckle peals from his lips. “The way you looked at me with those sweet, innocent eyes…it made me rock-hard.” He tilts your chin towards him, his thumb skimming over your parted lips.

Satisfaction glimmers in his eyes as they flick over your prone form.

“You should thank me. Those boys at the Academy wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like you…” His cock twitches inside you. Sticky warmth spills from him, painting your walls and dripping past your hole. Drops of his seed leak onto the desk. A throaty sigh pours from President Snow’s throat as your cunt flutters around him.

His teeth nip the skin of your neck.

“...But I do.”

After what occurs in his office, you hope to avoid President Snow. Those hopes are swiftly dashed however. President Snow lied to you. It doesn’t happen once. In fact, you begin to lose count of the actual number.

Every time the president finds a little spare time, he summons you.

Sometimes you end up bent over the desk in his office as he pours the frustrations of the day into your warm hole. Sometimes he prefers you sprawled on your back in one of the multitude of luxurious beds in the mansion while he devours you as if you were his very last meal. And at times, he grows even more impatient and simply shoves you against a wall before ravaging you.

More than once, a maid or footman has walked in on the two of you, and you’ve had to swallow your shame and embarrassment.

As you’ve come to learn, the entire staff is aware of Coriolanus Snow’s insatiable appetite and none of them seems to care.

You feel sick, desperate, trapped in something twisted and awful you never signed up for.

But how does one say no to President Coriolanus Snow? The entire Capitol yields to his every whim. And you are the same. Here to bow and smile and lie back whenever he demands it.

You long to focus on your job, to care for Martius and nothing else. Whenever the boy looks up at you with those innocent blue eyes, eerily similar to his father’s, your stomach wrenches. You pray he never comes to learn what kind of man his father is. You wish he’d stay just as kind and sweet as he is now.

Those are the thoughts drifting through your mind as you watch Martius play with his toy trains. Your eyes wander towards the window. Outside, orange and purple hues are bleeding into the sky, the afternoon nearing its end. Your stomach coils. It’s during times like these that President Snow often seeks you out. You’ve tried to run away from him but it’s all a game to Coriolanus, and he always delights in chasing you through the hallways.

Your brows crumple as you note that Martius has stopped playing. He drops his toy and rushes to your side. Confounded by his behavior, you’re on the cusp of asking him what’s wrong…but your gaze follows what caught his attention on the other side of the room.

You fall silent, your eyes rounding in shock.

“Martius. Come here, my love,” says the blonde woman in a white robe and nightgown, her arms wide open.

Time stands still for a few seconds. It takes you a while to realize who stands before the door. She looks so different, more ghost than woman, her glassy blue eyes hollow and sunken. But her likeness is unmistakable. Even with her graying, limp tresses and ashen complexion, you recognize Livia Cardew. The president’s wife.

You bolt to your feet. Arms still open, Livia takes slow steps towards Martius.

“I’m your mom, sweetie. Don’t you remember me?”

The little boy’s fists clutch your skirt as he hides his face against your leg.

“You’re not my mom.”

A stricken look twists Livia’s features as she shrinks. As if her own son just drove a knife through her heart. Your chest twinges. While her abrupt appearance is a shock, you can’t imagine how she must feel. You place a hand on Martius’ back and try to nudge him forward.

“Martius. It’s the First Lady, your mother. Go on, hug her,” you urge softly.

He shakes his head, tears filling his eyes as he hides behind you even more.

You’re stunned. Has it truly been that long?

“Martius-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, Livia lunging at you, her eyes wild with fury.

“You! This is all your fault,” she hisses. She points at you and scoffs, “You’re his new whore, aren’t you?” Her mouth wobbles as she grips her head. “First you take my husband, now my son.”

Martius begins to sob. His loud cries overlap with his mother’s frantic yelling. You cover his eyes, tossing Livia an apologetic look.

“First Lady, I never meant-”

Before you can explain yourself, she grabs a nearby vase and smashes it. White roses scatter on the floor. Stomping all over the petals and broken glass, she collects one of the shards and races towards you. Terror numbs you. You freeze as Livia aims the shard at you, scarlet droplets dripping on her nightgown as she squeezes her fist around the glass.

Your eyes shut as you wait for the inevitable strike.

You shiver, waiting still.

But it doesn’t come.

“Livia, darling, that’s enough. It’s time for you to sleep and take your medicine.”

The familiar sound of Coriolanus’ voice causes your eyes to snap open. 

You watch him restrain a struggling Livia. She curses at him, fighting him with all her might. It’s a painful spectacle. 

“No, don’t touch me!” Other staff members rush into the room. It takes several people to hold Livia down, colorful expletives pouring from her mouth as she punches and kicks whoever comes close. “You’re killing me! You bastard! Give me my son back! Martius! Martius!”

The child trembles against your skirt, his tear-filled gaze stuck to the floor.

Eventually someone manages to stick a needle into Livia’s neck. She instantly goes limp, arm still reaching for her son in her last conscious second.

“Take her away,” Coriolanus instructs.

The first lady’s flaccid form is dragged out of the room. Still shaken by what you just witnessed, you don’t move a muscle. President Snow approaches you, worry swimming in his blue orbs. 

“Are you alright, dove?” He cups your cheeks, his brows crumpling as his gaze settles on your neck. “I’ll have Doctor Gaul look at you. She has an ointment for that.” He caresses your cheeks, smiling. You gape at him. How can he smile at a time like that? “It won’t even scar. I promise.”

You graze your neck. Your fingers come away bloody. Oh. Livia nicked you with the shard but you didn’t even feel it. Perhaps adrenaline numbed you to the pain.

“Dada,” Martius chimes, lifting his chubby arms.

Coriolanus’ face warms as he picks up his son. He tosses him in the air and catches him. Martius giggles through his tears.

“My sweet boy. That was very scary, wasn’t it?” he says, balancing his son on his hip. Martius nods and wipes his nose. Coriolanus flicks his cheek, beaming at him. “Don’t worry, son. The scary lady won’t bother you anymore in a few months.”

A wave of ice blows through your veins. You wonder why the president uttered those words with such certainty. Like a promise. Or a prophecy. Almost as if he knows exactly when the grim reaper will come knock on his wife’s door.

The next day, you hand over your resignation to Pandora. Her expression is skeptical as she gauges the manila folder you give her.

“This is for the president,” you announce.

She unleashes a deep exhale. “You should reconsider, sleep on it.”

You almost laugh. Sleep on it? You can hardly find rest, the picture of a disheveled Livia Cardew crying out for her son haunting your nights. Whatever befell upon the poor woman, you wouldn’t be surprised if her husband somehow had a hand in it. It broke your heart, seeing her like that, her own son unable to recognize her. You also despise the role Coriolanus forced you to play in erasing her memory.

All of it feels wrong. 

And most of all, you don’t want President Snow to use you to satisfy his lewd desires anymore. He took all your firsts, all the moments that should have been beautiful, and made them a nightmare you have to relive every time he touches you.

You respected him; you admired him. Now you can’t be in his presence without dread whispering through you. What will he make you do this time? How will he make you small and powerless again?

“I can’t…I can’t do this anymore. He can hire someone else to care for him.”

Pandora purses her lips and shakes her head.

“It’s really not that simple. The president has developed…a fondness for you.”

You bristle. “I have to go back home. Laertes is expecting me.”

“You won’t like what comes next, trust me.” Her gaze narrows. “No one leaves the president.”

Ignoring the shudder elicited by her daunting words, you pivot and make a beeline towards the exit. Pandora’s voice echoes down the hallways.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Depleted, you glumly make your way to the gates. You enter the car that takes you back home everyday. Your thoughts wander as the Snow’s house grows smaller through the car window. You were thrilled when you got this job. It felt like kismet after the year you and your brother had. A rainbow after the rain. A slice of hope.

How it all went to hell so quickly. You’re still reeling from it. You’ve no idea what you’ll do next. The only thing you know for certain is that you will not step foot into the Snows’ estate ever again.

The car suddenly halts. You bump your head into the passenger’s seat. Wincing, you grip the sides of your head. As you retrieve your senses, you look around. You stopped.

You toss a questioning look at the driver.

But before he can respond, the car door opens and you’re yanked outside. Two pairs of strong arms drag you away from the car.

You take in the blue uniforms of the men. Terror pulses through your blood.

Peacekeepers.

Noting the guns at their sides, you stop trying to resist. There’s no fighting against them, ever. They are the Capitol’s fist and carry the President’s will. You don’t stand a chance. In fact, you likely never did. You slump in their grip, despair thrumming inside you.

They escort you to a black car with tinted windows. Your pulse soars. You’ve only ever seen one individual step out of this car.

The peacekeepers toss you inside and slam the door shut.

Your fearful gaze rises to him.

He casually sits in front of you, his eyes narrowed.

“You disappoint me, dove.” He lets out a weary sigh. “After everything I’ve done for you…you try to leave me. I thought you were smarter than that.”

You twine your hands, sputtering, “I-I’m not the right person for this job, sir.”

He slides his fingers under your chin, tilting it upward.

“Oh but you’re perfect. My son loves you. You’re sweet, dutiful and most importantly…” He smirks. “You are mine. Mine to hold, spoil and fuck whenever I please for however long I please.”

The prospect fills you with dread. He wants you to be his toy again, submissive, available whenever he pleases.

“Sir…”

His jaw ticks, his hold on your jaw tightening.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if your brother could attend the University, free of charge? A bright young mind such as his, I believe he deserves it.” His blue eyes twinkle. “Instead of, let’s say…end up in a District, his name chosen as a tribute in the next Hunger Games.” Your heart sinks to your feet. “That’d be awful, wouldn’t it? So cruel…” he mumbles, stroking your trembling bottom lip.

“No, please,” you beseech, tears swelling in your eyes. Your brother’s all you have left in the world. Nothing can happen to him. 

Coriolanus fondles your cheek, the tender gesture a sharp contrast to the wicked words rolling off his tongue.

“It’s all up to you, then, dove. As long as you behave, I’ll give you the world. But if you act like a little brat again…” A threat lurks in his soft tone, a glint of madness swaying in his cobalt orbs. “I really don’t know what I might do.”

Chills dance over your spine.

“I promise to never do it again,” you blurt out.

He pulls out a square from his breast pocket. It’s identical to the one he used the first time.

But a lifetime seems to have passed since that moment, the world now so different from what you imagined, and the man before you…even more so.

“Good girl,” he lauds while swiping away your tears. 

He shoves the pocket square back in its place. Coriolanus then beams at you as he starts unbuttoning his shirt and undoing his pants.

“Now, I’ve had a long, exhausting day. So how about you get on your knees for me and make it better with that sweet mouth of yours, dove?”

[fastandcarlos]

When He Gets Broody Watching You With Kids : ̗̀➛ F1 Reaction

» Max Verstappen 

It was never a secret that Max wanted children one day and if he was honest, all you had to do was stand next to a child for Max to find himself feeling broody. The older he got the broodier he became and the more he liked to ask you about your plans for the future. He verged on pestering sometimes when it came to discussing having children, although he never meant to come across too keen. It was your fault anyway as far as he was concerned for being so good around children and getting him so excited. 

» Lando Norris 

When you caught him feeling broody, Lando would get incredibly shy and pretend that he wasn’t paying attention to you, staring off into the distance instead. You slotted in easily with his family at the best of times, but particularly around his nieces which left Lando feeling pretty obsessed. Part of him felt like he should’ve been annoyed that your nieces usually ran past him to get to you instead, but secretly he loved the fact that the little ones in his life adored you so much and left him excited for when you had your own little ones too. 

» Charles LeClerc 

It was the little things that made Charles feel broody watching you around children, how you’d smile in their direction whenever you walked past one or waved when a child shouted out your name around the paddock. Your eyes just naturally looked in their direction when you around them, trying to find a way to make them smile no matter how big or small your gesture was. Charles loved how you had the knack to just make them grin, finding himself imagining the days when you made your own children smile as much as you made other children grin. 

» George Russell 

You could always tell when George was feeling broody because he’d be led astray by any sort of baby item that was around the two of you, wondering whether it was too early for you to start purchasing things. Watching you around children only made that worse for George, his eyes watching you in awe any time you had a baby laughing around you. There was no one else that he could ever imagine starting a family with, and as he became more confident of that too, George definitely started dropping more hints about starting a family around you too.  

» Oscar Piastri 

The moment Oscar admitted that he was broody after watching you with some of your cousins had you speechless, it being the last thing you expected from him. When you first suggested that he was feeling broody after catching his eyes staring across at you Oscar denied it, but eventually he caved and confessed that he could feel his heart swelling. At your age, you’d never really talked about having children, but Oscar was sure that it was what he wanted one day after seeing just how brilliant of a job you did with all the little ones in your life. 

» Carlos Sainz 

You were blissfully unaware to Carlos watching you as you played with some of the younger members of his family, but his siblings were fixated on him and the way that his dark eyes watched every little thing that you did. Talking about having a family made Carlos nervous, but his siblings were there to push him on it and encourage him to be open with you. They’d corner him until he was left with no choice but to talk to you and make sure that the two of you were on the same page when it came to your futures. 

» Daniel Ricciardo 

After he saw you around children, Daniel would love to talk to you about your future when the two of you were alone again. He was very aware that you saw yourself having children in the future, but it was always nice for him to hear it again to reassure himself that it was definitely what you wanted. He was like a big kid himself when he was having those broody conversations with you, bouncing around, full of excitement as he told you all about the moments that he looked forward to in the future when you decided to settle down. 

» Lewis Hamilton 

His eyes were glued to you when Lewis watched you around children, particularly when you were around his nieces and nephews who were some of your biggest fans. You were like a magnet pulling him in your direction when you had children laughing and running around you, having the time of their lives, making entertaining them all look like the easiest job in the world. Lewis would sit and daydream for what felt like forever to him, lost in his own little world as he admired you and wondered about what could be for the two of you one day. 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[bayjaruchel]

Underneath The Strobe Light

－－－

Pairing: Mike Schmidt (2023)/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're aware of your feelings for Mike, but you're unsure if he feels the same. A single late-night conversation changes everything. (4.2k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

Extra Notes: Posted October 29, 2023

－－－

You know Mike, sometimes. Mainly in bits and pieces. 

You know he has that poster of Nebraska above his bed; you know he's got a soft spot for terrible eighties cartoons. You know he likes his steak well done. Maybe it's generally useless information — but you've tucked it all away in a dear corner of your brain, in a well-worn cardboard box with his name scrawled fondly on the side in Sharpie. 

He's been busy nowadays, especially with his awful new job at that abandoned restaurant. You've always been there if he needs someone to watch over Abby. It's a strange juxtaposition— spending more and more time at his house, but spending less and less time actually talking to him. But you know he's exhausted, both mentally and physically. 

You don't expect much. You don't need much. Even though Mike's always offered to actually pay you for babysitting Abby, you've always declined. 

However— needing and wanting are two very different things. 

And you want. So, so much. 

Sitting here, on the couch in his living room, your mind always wanders back to him. Abby's a really nice kid, even if she's a little on the eccentric side. Whenever you're sitting with her, watching her draw or watching the television, you can't really focus on Mike. But now, with her safely put to bed … There's nothing to stop you. Nothing to distract you from the empty spot next to you on the couch. 

You blink, already bleary-eyed from the hour. There's some mediocre sitcom playing on the television. It's practically white noise, and you can feel yourself slowly but surely being lulled to sleep. The stubborn part of you wants to fight it. The tired part of you wants to just let it happen. You fumble for the remote instead, switching the channel. 

World News Now? 

Not bad, you think wryly, slumping back into the pillows. You liked the guy playing the accordion and singing about the news, polka-style. Hopefully they'll bring that back. Maybe large broadcasting networks actually do know their audiences. 

Yeah, no. 

You stifle a yawn, tugging your blanket a little tighter. The room's dark, so the only real sources of light are coming from the kitchen and the bluish glow of the television. The only sounds besides that of the T.V. are the occasional car passing by, joined by the gentle chorus of crickets. It's quiet, but not in a discomforting way. 

It's kind of perfect. Like your own little bubble in the world. Untouchable. Not until the sun rises, anyway. 

Your bubble suddenly pops when a car pulls into the driveway, tires crunching on the pavement, and your heart skips. 

It couldn't be anyone else. 

About a minute later, there's the sound of keys turning in the lock. The door swings open and then shuts behind him. Softly. He knows Abby would wake up if he slammed it. Then there's the thump of him setting down his stuff— carelessly. 

The couch cushions squeak a little when Mike sits down next to you. Silently. He's gotten rid of that stupid security vest. 

"Hey," you offer. 

"Hi," he obliges. 

You're sure he's not really paying attention to the T.V. "How was work?" 

It's bland small talk at best, and brutally annoying at worst. But it's the only way to move into interesting conversation territory. And he didn't just trudge past you to go flop down on his bed, so you're assuming he does want to talk. You might pretend not to know, but you're well aware of his social life— or lack thereof. Everyone needs to talk, sometimes. 

"Pretty dull." Rolling his probably stiff shoulders, he lets out a small sound of discomfort. Sheepishly, he murmurs: "I kind of … I kind of just napped, to be honest." 

"Aren't you supposed to be a security guard?" You tease. "That's a really important job, you know. You have to stop all the dangerous teenagers from breaking in and spray-painting dicks on the walls." 

He huffs out something reminiscent of a laugh. "Honestly, the pay's too low to take it seriously." 

"And yet … " 

"There weren't any kids, okay?" Mike shakes his head. When you turn to look at him, though, he's smiling. It's faint, but it's there. "No dangerous teenagers that I had to fight off. It was fine." 

"Fine?" 

"Fine." 

You don't want to let the silence set in. 

"Oh, yeah, we finished the leftover spaghetti earlier. For dinner. I hope that's okay." 

"No, it's terrible," he deadpans. "I hate you." 

"Asshole." 

"Whatever." Mike snickers, and you bask in its gloriousness. "Yeah, it's okay. I know that I probably wouldn't have eaten it anyway. Did you, uh … " He pauses for a split second. "… Did you like it?" 

His tone makes you wonder, but you hastily brush it off. "Yeah, I did," you clarify, "the sauce was pretty great. Was it store-bought, or?" Because if it was, then where can I get it?

"Yup," he replies, popping the 'p'. "Great stuff, for something that's canned. But I always add a little more garlic powder, too." 

"Oh, really?" 

Mike hums an affirmation. "It's like magic, I'm telling you. Doesn't even take a lot to add flavor." 

"That's cool." You rustle with your blanket again, adjusting it more out of habit than anything else. That, and it's kind of cold. "I'll try and remember it for later." 

He's almost cheeky when he speaks. 

"It's life-changing." 

You can't help but snort. "You sound like an addict." 

Incredulously, he glances at you. "To what? Garlic powder?" 

"Pretty much, yeah." 

"I can't believe that you'd say that." He slowly shakes his head, for the second time in the span of roughly a minute. "Especially as someone who's experienced it firsthand—" 

"—you're the one talking about how life-changing it is—" 

"—you can't possibly ignore the irresistible savoriness of garlic powder." 

You look at one another for a moment. The sheer absurdity of the situation sets in all at once. And, well. He starts giggling, and you can't hold it in, either. How could you? Even though he looks at least part zombie, his eyes are still very much alive. Despite the blatant awkwardness and lingering shyness that always follows him around, he's still got a very contagious laugh.  

After you both calm down, he lets out a long sigh. 

"It's getting really late." 

You cling to what little stubbornness remains. "Yeah?" 

"Are you gonna head home?" 

Again, there's something there. Despite his nonchalant attitude, it's almost like— 

—but you're probably overthinking. Wouldn't be anything new. He has to get some rest, and so do you. The drowsiness repeatedly threatening to tug your eyelids closed is a testament to that. Normally, you'd just pass out on the couch or something, and take off early in the morning; before Mike and Abby wake up. But now, it's different. Now, you actually have to make a choice before your sleepy body makes it for you. 

"Um." You rub your eyes again. "I mean. I could, if it's bothering you—" 

"It's not." 

He interrupts you so quickly that it catches you off-guard. It seemingly catches him off-guard, too, judging by the way he promptly averts his gaze and pretends to care about the guy on the television going on about some sort of plumber strike in the city. 

"Oh." You need a second to process. "Oh, okay. Well, in that case … I don't really think that it'd be safe for me to drive right now." You laugh, a little too airily for it to be completely genuine. "I'd probably fall asleep at the wheel or something." At least that's the truth. "I'll just take the couch. As usual." 

"Okay," he says. He's back to murmuring. 

"And I'll be gone before you eat breakfast." Subconsciously, you're fiddling with the slightly frayed edges of the blanket. It's well-loved. "As usual." 

You think you hear him suck in a breath, seconds before: 

"Why don't you stay?"  

Your own breath stutters in your chest. 

"... what?" Is all you can manage, without horrifically humiliating yourself. 

"I mean," he rushes to correct himself, "you come by sometimes because you want to spend time with Abby— she likes you a lot, you know, sometimes I think she likes you more than she likes me . I think—" He's properly nervous now, his knee bouncing up and down. But he's already continuing before you can get a word in. "I think she'd like you to be here in the morning. And you don't accept pay, anyway. You just— won't." 

His nervousness is spreading to you. "Hey, I—" 

"Why are you here, anyway?" 

The question sounds like it's been a long time coming. He's demanding you now, brow furrowed and eyes sparking with emotion. "Is it out of pity? Do you feel sorry for me? Do you feel sorry for Abby? Because if you do, then— then you can just—" 

"It's not!" You exclaim. 

Immediately, you realize that there's a sleeping girl not too far away, and shamefully lower your voice. 

"... It's not, I promise. I just—" It takes a little while for you to gather the right words, and when you do, you don't drop your gaze from him. All of his previous frustration is all but gone, replaced by a slightly wide-eyed expression that's making your heart ache a little. "I genuinely really like spending time with Abby, okay? She's really sweet, and creative, and just a really great kid. And I—" 

You stop yourself. 

"And you what?" Mike asks, gently. 

Might as well, huh? 

"And I really like spending time with you, too," you admit, finally unable to meet his eyes and focusing on your lap instead. 

There's an incredibly tense beat, in which you swear your life flashes before your eyes. 

Then: 

He's barely audible when he speaks. His knee has stopped bouncing, but he's playing with his thumbs. Clearly, your confession— vague as it was— resonated with him, in some way. You hope he understands what you meant, because you couldn't possibly put it all into words in a way that would make sense. 

"Feeling's mutual," he mutters. 

Your head almost snaps up at that. Maybe you had expected it, deep down— you're not oblivious, duh— but it's one thing to have a hunch, and another to have that hunch proven. And out loud, no less. 

"Yeah?" You dare to ask. 

Slowly, he looks up. He meets your eyes. 

"Yeah," he repeats breathlessly, like the wind's been knocked out of him. 

You let your blanket fall from your shoulders, and it slides all the way onto the floor. 

You reach out. 

He lets you lace your fingers through his. 

Mike's palm is sort of clammy— and he's shaking a little— but he still squeezes your hand. On instinct, you guess. It still makes you smile. He doesn't return it, but his lips are parted a little, and you really, really like that. More than you probably should. You like a lot of things about him more than you probably should. 

You scooch a little closer, and he doesn't move away. You let your gaze drop back down to his lips again, making your intentions clear. Still, you don't know if it's clear enough. You lean in, just barely. 

"... Can I?" 

His reply is almost instantaneous. 

"Please."  

You swallow all of the witty quips you could make, and kiss him instead. 

He's very tentative at first. Like he hasn't done this for a while. But you ease him into it— and before long, he's got one hand on the back of your neck, the other somewhere near your waist. He tastes like coffee and something else you can't really put your finger on. It doesn't really matter, though. Because you are kissing him, damnit! 

His eyes are still shut when you part— with a soft smack — but they flutter open after a second. You're not sure if you're supposed to say something meaningful. Luckily, he leans in instead, and your thoughts are immediately transported elsewhere. 

You kiss like this for a while. It's really nice, and you know he needs it. So do you. 

However— when you start losing track of time, lost in the moment, he makes a noise. 

It's quiet, definitely. But it's nothing like the little hums and sighs he's been making so far. It makes you shift closer, pressing more insistently into him. And he responds, enthusiastically wrapping his arms around you, closing the little distance between your bodies that there was. You can practically feel his heart jackrabbiting in his chest when you slip your tongue past his already kiss-swollen lips. 

He moans.  

You indulge yourself. For a little longer. And Mike chases you when you part. 

"We shouldn't do this in the living room," you whisper, nearly panting. "The couch is a little—" 

"Okay," he whispers back, already sounding wrecked. "Okay." 

You've been in his room before. You've sat on his bed— you've even laid on it before. But you've never straddled him on it before. It's a position that makes your head spin a little, and you occupy yourself with kissing him again. His hands fit perfectly on your hips, but they don't stay there for long, tragically— they trail upwards, up your waist, to your back. To your shoulders, and then back down again. It's as if he just can't get enough. You can't either. You need more. 

So, you tug at his shirt. He gets the message right away— hands scrambling to pull it up and over his head. He's still rather slim, but with a slight softness, mostly located in his midsection. There's a light dusting of dark hair on his chest, as well as the provocative happy trail leading down from his navel. You drag your eyes downward, admiring him, and then decide that you're wearing too much clothing. Your top comes off, dropped onto the floor near his. 

Mike takes more time to admire you when your torso is completely bare. His hands are warm on your bare skin, and slightly rough. Like before, he's hesitant at first, but when you encourage him— either literally or with physical indications— he grows bolder. His stubble scratches gently against you when his lips find your collarbone. 

You squirm a little, not even realizing it— and you feel him. Simultaneously, you both gasp. He's not fully there, but he's at least half-hard— and it can't be comfortable in those jeans. 

"Should I—" 

"Yeah—" 

With steady fingers, you unbutton his fly, and then unzip him. It's a little awkward when he shimmies out of the jeans, and when you wriggle out of your bottoms— you both snicker a little, but he's back to comfortably breathless when you settle back onto his lap. Under normal circumstances, you would tease him again. And yet, you can't bring yourself to. Not right now, at least. 

All you want to do is keep going. 

You roll your hips, testing the waters. His breath audibly hitches, and his hands fly up to settle back on your hips. He looks up at you, eyes already half-lidded— and they close when you grind down again. And again. His lips are clumsier this time when you kiss him, but he still reciprocates all the same. The sensation of him directly underneath you like this is intoxicating. You can feel every little twitch and every little jolt. 

"Fuck," he breathes, long and drawn-out, " God, I can— I can see the spot on your—" 

"Yeah?" You encourage, grinding down again, drinking in his answering groan. "You like that?" 

  "Yes —" 

"You want me to take 'em off?" 

Mike's pupils are blown wide, even though his eyes are already dark as is in the dimness of the room. He nods, once, then twice. "Yes," he murmurs. "Please," he adds, for good measure. 

He stares openly when you get off him, just enough to peel off your last remaining layer of clothing. And when you sit back down, well. It's obvious that you'll have to give him a second. "Can I," he says, finally, "can I touch you?" The way he's looking up at you again is just so sweet, so needy, that you consider saying no. Your throbbing core quickly shuts that idea down. 

"Go on," you encourage. 

He helps you move so he has easier access, and—  

His fingertips find your slit, already wet for him.

"Look what you did to me," you murmur. 

He visibly flushes— and then carefully works one finger into your slick heat. The feeling, combined with his thumb brushing against your clit— it's relief that you've needed this entire time, and you can't help but let a quiet sound escape your lips. It's apparently enough incentive for him to quicken his pace a little. Deliberately, he continues massaging your sensitive nub in a firm but easy pattern as he gently pushes a second finger inside you. 

Mike may be out of practice, but evidently, he still knows what he's doing. He peppers kisses up and down your neck, some more open-mouthed than others. Crooking his fingers, he maintains his diligent rhythm. A thought floats through your mind, unbidden— he must have strong hands, if he's been able to keep up like this—   

Two becomes three, and you're spreading your thighs a little wider for him. He's still transfixed, but speeds up at your urging, breath hot against the divot between your neck and shoulder. You chance a glance down, and you can see the visible outline of him through his boxers. You did that to him. He's desperate— for you. 

"Mike," you gasp, "nnh—" 

"Yeah, c'mon," he mouths, against your neck, "c'mon—" He's not letting up in the slightest, and when you tell him to, he speeds up again. He needs to see you cum just as much as you need to feel it. Your needs and wants are rapidly blending into one. You squeeze your eyes shut, but open them to look at him. His dark curls are a mess, his hand working tirelessly between your legs. 

  "Mike —" 

He says your name in return, like he's the one in the vulnerable position. 

"Mike , 'm gonna— 'm gonna—"  

"Please," his breaths are ragged, debauched, "cum, please, c'mon, lemme see it—" 

"Oh —" 

The tension snaps, and you spasm around his fingers. Your hips twitch, and you moan, your mouth falling open as you ride out your orgasm. You're rising— falling — molten honey pooling in your core, before flowing throughout your body. And Mike keeps going throughout it all, letting you enjoy the sensations until you're fully satisfied. 

Nearly boneless, you sag backward. His fingers, soaked with your glistening release, slip out of your cunt with a wet noise. He doesn't waste any time in bringing them up into his mouth, cleaning them off with his tongue— at the taste of you, he groans, even though it's muffled. Your mind takes a moment to catch up again with the world, but another thought manifests itself— how would he react, if you let him use his mouth on you? How would his head look between your thighs? He would be noisy, wouldn't he? Enthusiastic, pliant, and—

Your desire, although it waned for a short minute, comes back tenfold. But you take one look down again and— you can do that later. Right now, you want him inside you. 

Mike lets you tug him down for another kiss. He lets you feel the worn fabric on his thighs, almost playfully. When you palm him through them— he hisses through his teeth, hypersensitive even though you've barely touched him yet. You're going to fix that, though. Hooking your thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, you tug them down. 

You were right. He's desperate. As soon as his overheated skin meets the cool air, he lets out another quiet hiss. And when you take him in hand— 

"Mmh —" A firm stroke from base to tip, and you've already got him. He's average in length, but a little girthy. You know he'll be perfect. There's a little drop at the head of his cock, and you resist the urge to lick it off, focusing instead on warming him up a little. He whispers your name, once, when you pump up and down, twisting your wrist. 

"Got a condom?" You ask, stilling for a second. His eyes snap to you. 

"Oh my God, " he quickly mutters under his breath, before raising his volume, "uh, yeah, I think so. Lemme—" And he's already scrambling off the bed, opening the drawers of his nightstand with speed, but somehow simultaneously managing not to make much noise. He rifles through them, but soon emerges victoriously with what he was looking for. It's a little funny, how he doesn't waste any time in ripping it open and tossing the garbage into the mostly-overfull pail near his bed. Hastily, he rolls on the condom. You think he's expecting you to lay back or get up on your hands and knees so he can fuck you like that— you wouldn't be entirely opposed to it— but that's not what you want right now. 

You place your hands on his chest and push him back down so he's sitting against the headboard. He goes without complaint, even shifting when he understands what you want to do. He's flushed almost down to his neck. 

When you sink down on him in a smooth slide, still slick from earlier, you both moan. He sounds strained— he's biting his lower lip, squirming until he finally bottoms out. You have to take a moment to catch your breath, too; the fullness is just how you imagined, but it's so, so much, especially because of your lingering sensitivity. 

"I'm not—" He audibly swallows, hands tightening on your waist when you move just a little, "oh, fuck, I'm not gonna— I'm not gonna last long." He's babbling a little. "You're tight, fuck." 

You rock back and forth, once, and it's enough to force a choked noise from his throat. You watch his face, observing every little twitch, the clenching of his jaw. You can't hesitate for much longer, though— so you begin lifting yourself and dropping yourself down on his cock. Just in little movements at first, so you can get used to the feeling. His eyes squeeze shut— 

"Look at me," you demand, and he does. He doesn't try and thrust up into you when you really start to move. Up and down, up and down, with lewd plaps that accompany your sounds; his grunts—  you swear you hear him whimper .  His eyelashes flutter open and closed, as he struggles to follow your command, wanting to be good. For you. Even though you can see his thighs flexing as he holds everything back. You ride him for all you're worth. 

True to his words, you can tell when he gets close. Maybe he's been on edge this entire time. You thread your fingers through his hair— he buries his face into the crook of your neck, maybe out of embarrassment. You can feel how flushed he is, a thin sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies. Your muscles are aching, but you're determined to make him cum. You're determined to do this for him. 

He says your name, but it's more of a whine. "Please — I'm gonna— I can't — "  

"Go on," you pant, "you can. Don't hold back." Your arms are wrapped around his neck, now, holding him tight; just like his arms around your waist. The contact is almost too much, but somehow it's still not enough, despite him being inside you. "Go on," you repeat, after he whines again, the sound sending white-hot heat straight to your core. "Cum." 

Mike twitches, and you can feel him pulse— the sound he lets out is high-pitched, muffled into your skin. You slow your movements— the aftershocks of his orgasm last longer than yours. It might've been a little while for you, but it had definitely been longer for him. 

He doesn't let go, even after his breathing's slowed down. 

Gently, you pull his head back so you can look at him. He looks up at you with slightly wet eyes. The kisses you press to his cheeks and forehead make him scrunch up his face. 

"Hey," he rasps, "I gotta throw out the condom. Hang on." 

"Yeah, okay." 

When he slips out of you, you both sigh a little. With unsteady fingers, he ties up the condom before chucking it into the pail. 

The sheets are cool on your skin when he pulls them over you both. The room reeks of sex, but both of you are too exhausted to care. When you turn to lay on your side, he's behind you, throwing an arm over your waist. Tugging you closer. Almost absentmindedly, there's a kiss pressed to the back of your head. 

"Thank you," he mumbles. 

You stare at the far wall, unable to close your eyes just yet. 

"For what?" 

"For—" A pause. "For everything, I guess." 

The awkwardness is back. But you let it in. You smile. 

"You're welcome." 

He doesn't respond, but shuffles nearer, chest pressed up against your back. It's not long before you're both fast asleep. 

[husbandhoshi]

title: royally screwed [m]

pairing: joshua x f!reader

wc: 30.8k in total; part 1: 15.4k, part 2: 15.4k summary: between remembering last night’s party and pleasing your unrelenting family, you think being a princess is hard enough. then you’re thrust into an arranged marriage to royal darling joshua hong—straight-laced, infuriatingly obedient, and everything you’re not. pretending to be the perfect couple? impossible.   notes: romcom + smut (part 2), modern royalty!au in which yn is the princess of cotria/joshua the prince of acros (both fictional), enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, quarterlife crisis/coming of age, very very slow burn. lots of swearing, lots of alcohol, lots of feelings. very special thanks to @meiozis for all their help with worldbuilding and @wuahae for bearing with me through the endless drafts, scene changes, second guessing, horrible word choices, etc. you are the only reason this got done, and i love you to the moon and back <3 [read part 2 here!]

Here, in the dark, there is just you. 

The strobe lights press into your skin with all the brilliance of the sun, there's half a Modelo running down your leg, and you think you kissed the stranger behind you last week, but if you close your eyes, it's just you. No rules, no five second curtseys, no talk about the throne or whoever's ass happens to be keeping it warm at the moment. 

Here, you're nobody, and it's perfect. 

"I'm getting more champagne," Somi says, her voice careening over the music. "You sure Jihoon doesn't want any?" 

You glance back at him. He's flattened up against the back wall, holding your purse, like a raccoon caught going through the trash. This is one of the many trials he's forced to endure for your entertainment, but it's his job–not as your closest friend, but as your legally employed bodyguard. 

"No, he's on duty." 

"Right," she slurs. "Sometimes I forget you're a literal princess." 

If only it were that easy. Five drinks in and you think you can still feel your mother's vice grip on your arm and all the little white crescents of her french manicure. 

You love this song–at least, you think you do. You're too drunk to tell, but it doesn't matter. The dance floor is muggy, sardine-packed with one warm body after another, and it's heaven. The crowd moves, and you move with them. Shakira waits for no one. 

Somi must have secured another bottle of Cristal already. Soonyoung, your other partner-in-crime, hands you a flute and you take it, the glittery foam already bubbling over the lip. 

"Cheers." Out of his too-drunk mouth, it sounds like a new word altogether, but you bring your glass to his anyway. 

Tomorrow, you have a meeting with your parents. This, unlike all of your other involvements, is actually important, they said, and their voices had wound around you like a snare. 

When it gets late, Jihoon will sling your arm over his shoulders and haul you back to the palace, still tipsy and holding your stilettos to your chest like a shield. Tomorrow will come, and it's then when you'll have to try to be good. It's a useless, stupid affair, but you'll go through the motions anyway. 

But tonight, there is you and the music and the wonderful laughter of your friends, and you don't have to be anything at all. 

"Cheers," you tell Soonyoung, and you drink. 

--

There are four large topiaries in the palace garden: all lions. They stand tall in their planters, majestic and hairy with French lavender. Today you notice that the rightmost one's nose has been pruned off by accident, and he stands, snoutless, staring at his green brothers and sisters. 

You know this because this is the view from the study, and it has never changed. There is only one study in the east wing, and it is small and useless and the perfect room for your parents to sit you down and remind you that you do not, in fact, own a single thing about your own life. 

There is nothing new about this ritual. Even as a child, when you were more desperate to please, you could never be the right kind of daughter to your parents or princess to your country. Again and again, you landed yourself here, in trouble once more. 

So you stopped trying–you would find these four walls anyway, no matter what you did. Why not enjoy your Fridays instead?

By now, you’ve memorized the carvings on the armrest of the chair you’re in (a knobby column, then underneath, the whorl of a seashell). There are thirty-four terracotta stones on the way to the fountain, all spaced perfectly apart, sanded down to the millimeter. 

The scene remains unchanged. Your mother now stares down at you over the bridge of her nose, with that tight-lipped frown you've gotten so used to. Your father paces near the window, either wondering why you can't be softer, more pliable, like your older brother Jeonghan, or, alternatively, why one of the lions is missing a nose. Maybe both.

"Enjoy yourself yesterday?" your mother asks. 

"Yes," you reply, out of other answers.

"Wonderful. Then our early morning briefing with PR was good for something. You should be grateful last night's pictures won't make it out of the darkroom." 

Her voice, bitter and incisive, makes the hangover bubble up in your stomach. You and the tabloids weren't exactly on good terms, but it wasn't your fault so many people seemed to care about what you were wearing or who you were out with. 

"What did you want to meet about?" you ask, hoping to change the subject. 

You can't put your finger on it, but there's a cloying, heavy energy hanging on you. You feel as though you're on the precipice of something, although that could just be the consequences of all that Cristal ready to reintroduce themselves to your digestive system. 

Your mother clears her throat. 

"We have arranged for you to marry someone." 

And all at once, it seems as though all the air has been sucked out of the room. There's a sharp pain lodged somewhere between your chest, your stomach, and your unhappy liver. The larks sing emptily in the garden. 

"What?" Your voice sounds like it's unraveling somewhere in your throat. Quickly, frantically, you grasp at the faraway possibility that it can't possibly mean what you think it does. Marry? You can’t even remember the last time you thought of going on a second date with someone. Now you might actually throw up. 

"Prince Joshua, of the Hong family. The crown prince of–" 

"Acros. I know," you interrupt, the words jumping out of you in shock and anger. 

Of course you know who Joshua Hong is–Acros is a tiny, unremarkable country nestled into the border of your much bigger one, and Joshua their crown jewel. If you were the nation's problem, he was their darling. A bland thing to coo at when life got boring, the walking embodiment of a media training session. Smile and nod, smile and nod. He might as well be AI generated.

You wouldn't last a day with him. Not with your impatience, your opinions, or that loud mouth your parents always scold you for. Your mind swims with the mental image of the two of you on a gaudy parade float, doing that stupidly slow wave everyone seemed to insist on.

"Wonderful. So you'll pack a bag? The Hong family will be thrilled to meet you tomorrow," says your father.

"Why?" you ask. Your voice wobbles, treading over that childlike waver you never learned to control. "Is this to punish me?" 

"My dear, your brother will be ascending to the throne soon," your mother answers, looking you dead in the eyes. "It’s his face that needs to be on the front page, not you in another abomination of a swimsuit. The Hongs will keep enough of an eye on you.” 

She's right. She's always been right. Maybe not about the swimsuit, but you haven’t exactly been the PR princess your family needed you to be. If anything, you would think it made Jeonghan look better by comparison, but you know that your parents would prefer you to make appearances in something other than Deuxmoi’s Sunday Spotted. But the royal charade never fit you well either; it clings and sticks and bunches up at the seams like a cheap Halloween costume. 

"The Hongs thought their country would benefit from our money. It was an easy decision, really," your mother finishes, as if that makes you feel any less like a silly, bikini-clad pawn in a game of chess you never asked to play. 

"Does Jeonghan know?" 

"He sees its purpose,” your father says simply, like that was all that mattered. “You will too, in due time.”

He nods solemnly, which is how he closes every conversation–just another turn of the silent knife. As your parents turn to leave, their silken garbs trail behind them like ink in still water. Business as always, especially with you. 

"Your brother will be coming home from his press tour this week," your mother says on her way out. "You mustn't ruin this for him. The car leaves for Acros in the morning." 

There's a mean, barbed feeling in your heart. You don't know whether to scream or to cry, so you do what your mother taught you to do. You sit, stilled by a feeling of hopelessness, and let yourself be emptied. 

--

When you were thirteen, you learned how to ride a horse. 

Not the impractical, side-saddle way drilled into you when you were a little girl, with your skirt billowing over the fender and catching in the stirrups, but how to really ride a horse. 

It was on a night much like tonight–indigo and starless. Your brother had climbed up the marble trellis, his teenage, noodle body a perfect fit for scaling the lattice, and threw a stone at your window, just like you had seen in the movies. Jeonghan was still young, then, rebellious and unchanged by the throne. 

It was him who laced up your riding boots, hoisted you on your first horse, and pressed the reins into your palms. You remember the unforgiving hold of the leather saddle, not yet broken in. You were so sore the next day, you were bed-bound–truly a punishment worse than death, if not for another reminder that everything you do ends up hurting you a little. 

"It's great," Jeonghan had told you, breathless and haloed by the moonlight. "You can just ride. nowhere to go and no one to answer to." 

You had spent the summer this way. Every night, you learned the sound of the forest at twilight, chasing Jeonghan's mud-splattered palomino. In the mornings, breakfast consisted of rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and whispering about whatever misadventure you had found yourselves tangled in the night before. 

That was before he had come of age. Before your father gave him the Throne Talk, and before he was whisked away into endless meetings and etiquette lessons and parliaments. Your inside jokes became foul, overripe in his newly coached mouth. He even learned to play golf, and he hated golf. 

Past August, you don't think you ever got your brother back.

You slide the oaken doors of the stables open, feeling your arms squeeze underneath your riding shirt. Here, it’s always quiet after sundown.

It hasn't changed since the day you first snuck in with Jeonghan. You let the green scent of the hay fill your lungs, the sleep-stir of the horses like music to your ears. Dokyeom has left the tack room open by "accident" once more, likely to avoid catching you picking the lock with a bobby pin like he had a few months ago. 

"Hey, you," you whisper, coming to the stall of your own horse. Astrid, a bay thoroughbred, was Jeonghan's gift to you on your 18th birthday, a wistful reminder of a summer now past its prime. "No surprise here, but I had a really, really bad day." 

Astrid, oblivious, noses at your palm in search of a nonexistent sugar cube. Somehow, this brings the anxious chatter of your mind to a crescendo—would Astrid come with you to Acros? When would that happen? More importantly, when were you moving? You think of a too-warm summer morning, the ridiculous, oversized brim of one of your mother's sunhats, and a moving truck. That, and a country ready to delete you from its ranks. 

It's now, with the bridle in your fists, that you hear the wheedling groan of the stable door as it slides open. Without thinking, you quickly push out the first excuse you have. "I apologize, I was—" 

"It's me." 

Jihoon. 

You would tease him about his fear of ponies—perhaps it's because he is quite literally the same size as them—but you think hearing another person tell you off would officially push you over the edge. You don't want to be dramatic, but you don't even know if Acros even had horses. 

That, and somehow he's both the first and the last person you want to see. The guilt feels a bit heavier when you know his life is about to change too, in no small part due to your own failings.

"Jihoon, I…" you start. There’s an apology that’s been sitting on your tongue, one you haven’t quite learned to spit up yet. You don’t know who it’s for—yourself, or everyone else—but Jihoon interrupts you before you can finish your thought. 

"You forgot your jacket," Jihoon replies. 

For once, you can't read him. You wonder if he's thinking about if he'd get along with the other bodyguards, but, more likely, he's probably pitying you. You're the last person in the world that should be in an arranged marriage, and even someone who kills people for a living could tell. 

"I'll be in the foyer." 

You don't exchange any more words. Jihoon knows that there is nothing he can say that will erase what's about to happen, and like always, he is right.

After you saddle up, Astrid takes you to the forest like usual. Honestly, you've lost count of the times you've come out here to cry, usually about a boy you don’t even like, or, worse, Jeonghan declining your weekly Facetime session again. But now, you think you both know this time is very different. 

"Astrid," you groan. "Joshua looks like a Ken doll from hell. He probably pronounces tomato like tomahto and has a closet dedicated to his tweed collection. I can't marry him." 

Astrid is none the wiser. You wish she was human for a moment so you could show her the crater-sized hole that "prince joshua google images" left in your browser history. 

"Do you think he only listens to classical music? I think a Kim Petras song would kill him instantaneously." 

The mental image of Joshua Hong being struck down by the first ten seconds of Throat Goat makes you laugh, but you still don't feel far away enough from the truth.

You remember your 21st birthday, a balmy spring Friday. Jeonghan had been helping out at the local youth theater, and the opening night of their production was coincidentally the same day. Jeonghan had never been one for theater (last time, he had fallen asleep during Mamma Mia, of all musicals). You knew the press turnout was expected to be huge, but the whole thing felt like one big charade to you. 

So you had planned your big birthday bash—you only get one 21st, after all—that day. The paparazzi fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. Unsurprisingly, drunk, hot girls made for a better story than Greek theater. 

You remember the raw, stinging look Jeonghan had in his eyes the next morning. He didn't even have to say anything, but you knew. The memory carves out an abyss in your chest. You knew you should have done better for your brother, but he didn’t even feel like your brother anymore. 

Still, actions have consequences, and this was a hell of a consequence. Even out here, the inconvenient reality of it seems closer than ever. but you're out of time. The night fades fast, especially ones like these. 

So you press your heart to Astrid's mane, the pale moon high over the both of you, and you ride. 

--

Late spring is kind to Acros. 

The tulips push their bright heads out of the dirt, winking and blazing in the daylight, and the green fields stretch so far they look like water. 

You had spent the car ride with your nose pressed to the window, watching all the sun-bleached buildings zip by. You mustn't ruin this for Jeonghan. It spins around in your head like an old pair of shoes in a washing machine. 

Now you stand in the grand foyer, your parents on either side of you. Jihoon hovers behind, holding the overstuffed duffel bag you had rushed to pack this morning. 

A hushed arrival such as this was unbecoming of your family, but it was necessary. your parents had stressed that the arranged part of the deal was not meant to be public knowledge because it was bad for optics. To you, the arrangement was actually the entire deal. That, and you and optics never exactly got along. 

Waiting for Joshua and his parents gives you a moment to observe what could be your new home, although you’re still waiting for the miraculous plot twist that will save you from your fate. 

That being said: you’ve set foot in plenty of nice places, but if HGTV ran segments for castles, this would certainly be the blueprint. It’s smaller than the palace in Cotria, but you like that—it’s cozier, less cold-seeming. 

The filigreed ceilings vault dizzyingly high, and the chandelier above the muraled walls is set afire with the noontime sun. the blushing azaleas cascade from their pots, and they line the hallways with joyous pops of white and pink. breaking the spell is the distant staccato of several sets of footsteps on marble, and you straighten your back, as if by divine command. 

Three figures approach you: Joshua and his parents. Even from a distance, you can see the trained walk of royalty, their shoulders straight enough to hold water. You’ll give credit where credit is due—they look even less thrilled to meet you than you are to meet them.

Unfortunately, up close, Joshua is more handsome than the cameras would betray. He's taller than you had imagined, too. without trying, it looks like he jumped out of a shitty Disney movie, one where the prince says two words and still gets the girl. More than that, you notice how his face is like glass—unwavering, cruelly still. One wrong move, and you'd break him. 

"Your highnesses," you say, lowering your head in a pronounced curtesy. 

Joshua bows in response, like clockwork. He reaches for your hand, then brings it to his lips to kiss the back of it. 

At once, you feel your hackles jump up, even though many a man has done far nastier to you. You can’t tell what pisses you off more: a, the fact that he smells like a hotel lobby, or b, that he managed to get his mouth on you in less than five seconds. 

"I'm elated we have the privilege of welcoming your daughter into our home," Joshua's mother says. Like him, she is staggeringly elegant and even harder to read. "She's beautiful." 

Fortunately, she has picked the one compliment that your parents can agree on without lying through their teeth. You watch them laugh and titter amongst themselves, and it's now that you notice Joshua has been looking at you this whole time.

You think look is too kind of a word, though. It's something colder than that, more clinical, and you really don't like it. Your stylist had spent upwards of two hours today in front of your vanity this morning, mostly in a losing battle with a pair of fake lashes, and you wonder if one of them is crooked. That, or Joshua is similarly wondering just how he will endure a life wedded to you. 

"Joshua, please," his mother chides, and you watch him almost immediately pivot towards her, like he’s on wheels. "Where are your manners? You should show the princess around. Get to know each other a bit before press tomorrow." 

Press. Of course. Your least favorite word. You vaguely remember your parents mentioning it in the car this morning, but it must have gotten lost among all the other terrible things they'd told you. 

Your head starts to hurt. Joshua keeps smiling at you, empty, doll-like.

"Yes, I'd love that," you say, feeling like a deflating balloon. You were hoping his company will be better than watching four grown adults fall all over each other, but you're starting to doubt that. 

Joshua offers you his arm, and you take it anyway. 

"We'll be off then," he chirps before bowing once more. His freakishly shiny shoe nudges yours to remind you to do the same. Begrudgingly, you listen, watching your shellacked, angry expression in the patina of his loafers. 

Not a good start, but what did you expect?

You tamp down your irritation and let him lead you into the Great Hall. It's a shiny, golden tunnel, studded with glossy oil paintings of his parents, his grandparents, then the next set of old people before them. Their eyes stare at you, pools of hazy paint in their moon faces. You briefly imagine your painting up there, with Joshua's hand hovering meekly over your waist, unused to being more than two feet away from a woman his age.

"It's nice to finally meet you," Joshua says. "I think I've only seen you in pictures." 

He's referencing the one of many “encounters” you've had with the paparazzi, a la yesterday night. They take trashy photos, overexposed and grainy from the camera flash, with your ass most likely in the frame. 

You choose to let it slide—you have no choice, really. At least you have an ass. 

"The pleasure is mine," you reply. "I believe you were at the cricket championships a few months ago, right?" 

"Correct. Do you watch? I don't believe I saw you." 

"No, but my brother was there." Your footsteps echo against the marbled walls. "Just trying to think of your last public appearance," you offer unhelpfully, since you and he both know those are few and far between. 

"That's right. He mentioned you were busy," Joshua replies. "Glastonbury was that weekend, was it not?" 

He's right. It was, but you don't like the insinuation he's making. You weren't at Glastonbury anyway—your parents wouldn't let you attend, and Jihoon was unwilling to come up with a cover story for you. Because you would rather watch paint dry than attend another cricket game, you instead spent it with takeout and reruns of Rupaul's Drag Race. 

"Can't recall," you answer. "Doesn't matter. I'm not one for cricket, anyway."

"Didn't know you had a choice."

You watch Joshua halfheartedly gesture to the Great Hall. The seemingly mile-long dinner table is empty now, save for a gratuitously piled fruit bowl. 

Your country frequently hosts guests, but the Hongs are notoriously insular. You imagine the four of you, crammed together at one end of the table, making horrendous small talk every morning over wilted danishes and raspberry preserves. Somehow, your mood worsens even more than you thought possible.

"Can I see the library?" you ask in an attempt to pivot. 

"Of course. Do you enjoy reading?" 

"A normal amount." You pass by another set of windows and take note of the rose garden outside, verdant with the May sunshine. Astrid has a bit of a penchant for eating roses, which would definitely complicate your plan to smuggle her in. No matter—you’ve done worse. "I studied political science at university, so I got a healthy dose of it." 

"Didn't we all?" Joshua chuckles.

He pushes the door open to the library, which is just as lavish as the rest of the palace. You wonder how well-worn it is, how many spines have creases in them, how many dedications were speckled with a funny annotation or two. But judging by first impressions, you wouldn't be surprised if all the books still had their dust jacket on. 

"I mean, I read an insane amount of Dan Brown," you reply. "Not many of us can say we've solved the Davinci code, you know." 

You hoped this would crack a laugh out of him, but his grin is thinner than an eyebrow from the 2000s. Truthfully, you would compare this conversation to a death by a thousand papercuts, but somehow that feels preferable to the guillotine of discussing the terms and conditions of your rapidly impending marriage. You feel as though that would be violating some rule you aren't yet aware of, and you're unwilling to endure the patent leather consequences of another faux pas. 

"I've heard of it," says Joshua after much thought. "My parents were shuttling me between meetings and private lessons, so, unlike some, I was quite busy during university." 

You're not about to explain that you were equally as busy as him. Something tells you that he'd be too prideful to believe you anyway. 

"How difficult. Surely you were able to have some fun," you say, your voice betraying your distaste. "Or were you too good for that?" 

Too far. 

"I did what my position allowed," is Joshua's terse reply, and you know you've crossed a line. Still, it dazes you that the man standing next to you may have never done anything for himself in his life. Even Jeonghan did, before your parents really tightened the reins. 

The air buzzes with a silence sharp enough to make you bleed. You wish literally anyone else was standing next to you, but you realize there are no more horses or emergency cabs or Jihoons to rescue you from this one. 

"How about I take you to our room? I hope you'll find it comfortable." 

You glance to your right to catch a glimpse of Joshua. He smiles, a dutiful press of the lips, and you watch it ripple.

--

"Jihoon, it is so much worse than I thought." 

You sit on the plush carpeting of your bedroom floor, amongst your small disaster of things. Jihoon examines you, one eyebrow raised, as he leans against the bedroom door. 

"He's not around, right?" 

Jihoon shakes his head.

"I don't get it," you sigh. "I go out. I get drunk. I have a little fun on the weekends. I don't see how any of this makes me a bad person." 

"You know how traditional your families are." Jihoon bends down to pick up a hair bow that jumped ship from the vanity. "It's just how it is." 

"He treats me like some high school delinquent. I tried, but he has no sense of humor. No joi de vivre. I think he would actually explode if he knew I went out two days ago." 

"Give it time," Jihoon supplies unhelpfully. "I don't know French, but he can't be that bad. You just met him." 

“Yeah. Usually that’s a good thing. I’ve fucked people i know less about.” 

Jihoon shakes his head and laughs, one of those little cackly ones he reserves for your company. 

"Well, you have been with worse," he tuts. "Definitely worse." 

"Jihoon, be serious. This is the rest of my life we're talking about." 

“I know." He draws his lips into a line, likely searching for the right thing to say. "This sucks. I wouldn't be good at this either." 

"You're talking to me. I don't think there's a single royal thing I can do right."

He's out of words, so he bends down to awkwardly pat you on the head, which, in all your years of knowing him, is the most affection he can muster. This is why you prefer horses to Jihoon for therapy, although you appreciate the effort. 

"I'd stay, but they want me to go to some meeting," he says, jerking his thumb towards the door. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

So he leaves you, desolate and linen-covered. Back to square one. 

The room seems to echo with how empty it feels. The bare walls are painted champagne, a rich, indifferent color. They soar to an arched ceiling lined with baroque crown moulding. There's a large window facing the garden, framed by deep green velvet. Atop the vanity cradled to the wall, the ivy of the wrought mirror curls at the edges, as if escaping. The chandelier hangs low, fat and pear-shaped, and its crystals douse the room in gauzy lamplight.

At least the canopy bed looks comfortable. It's the one thing keeping you from calling this place a veritable jail cell, which still seems like an understatement. For once, you miss your own bedroom. Granted, it didn’t look much different on the surface. but despite all the paneling and the heavy velvet, you still like to think it had some personality. You still keep your pillow pet on your bed (a horse named Robert). The back wall is chipped from a Gossip Girl poster your mom made you take down.  

Before you’re able to get too sentimental, the unwelcome sight of your future husband steals you from your thoughts. 

"Evening," Joshua says, stepping into the room. He's so quiet, it takes you aback. "Still unpacking?" 

"Sorry." You gesture around you. "I underestimated my ability to overpack."

"You should have told the staff," he says, surveying the damage. "Do you need help?" 

"No," you insist. Somehow the prospect of him getting on the ground to sort out all of your things upsets you, even more than him touching all of your unmentionables. "No. Please. Just ignore me."

"Alright." 

Joshua seems to take no issue with that, gratefully. He takes a seat on the chaise at the foot of the bed. He's got a copy of Anna Karenina under his arm, probably to weigh the pros and cons of cheating on you. You don't blame him—in fact, maybe it would make your doomed marriage exciting enough to be tolerable. 

"PR event tomorrow," you start, folding up a nightdress. "Bet you're excited for that." 

“As excited as one can be before announcing their arranged marriage," he replies dryly. "But surely you have enough experience with the press for the both of us." 

So that’s how he wanted to play. Fine. You wouldn’t let him walk all over you a second time. 

"Well, I'd hope all those classes you took would be good for something."

"That's rich, coming from the case study on bad media training." 

"Oh, please," you snap. "At least I know how to have a good time." 

"I was having a great time before I was informed this was happening." 

"Forgive me. I had no idea you were so invested in my personal life." You huff as you heave an oversized armful of clothes to the closet. “Think TMZ has any job openings?” 

"Very funny," he retorts. Joshua holds up a skimpy black dress that's fallen from your pile, one well acquainted with the midnight grease of one too many nightclubs. "You dropped this, by the way. I don't really think the nightlife here will be quite to your taste, though." 

"Oh right, because this is where happiness goes to die, huh?" You snatch it back from him, feeling the knot of anger in your gut flare. 

The room seems to pulse with an uncomfortable silence, red-hot with unsaid words. You recognize the all too familiar way Joshua sets his jaw back, and you're transported all the way to the study in the east wing, snoutless lion, terracotta steps, and all. He’s not any different from anyone else, so you’re not sure why you expected anything else. 

You do the only thing you can do—bite your tongue. 

"Look," you finally say, gathering the wherewithal to call for a truce. "I know that we didn't ask for this." 

Joshua laughs. Actually, it's the first time you've heard it since you've met, and it would be an otherwise tolerable, even nice, sound if it wasn't directed right at you.

"Right, because who doesn't want to have to babysit someone for the rest of their life?" 

You take a hard swallow.  You've both done enough damage for tonight, although you'd love to see his expression when you call him the live-action version of Frollo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Maybe another time. 

Instead you think of Jeonghan, stuck in his meetings and sunk into this new, starched form of himself that you find difficult to recognize. Still, he's your brother, and you'd hate to see him suffer for it. 

"Stop. I'll be good," you say. "I promise. I know there's a lot at stake for the both of us." 

You can hear Joshua's long, drawn exhale. The furrow dug between his brows flattens out, and he seems to be reminded of everything they taught you both in Conflict Resolution 101. 

"I apologize. I got out of line," he says. You watch the cogs turn on that unfortunately pretty face of his. You hope he finally reveals that he has a much better, kinder personality that he was waiting to debut, but he doesn't. Instead he picks up yet another fallen item from your stash and hands it to you (this time, a much more presentable blouse). 

"I know we don't like each other—" You hold up a hand to interrupt him from lying to you. “—but we can do our best for the cameras. Because that matters. Hate me all you want in private." 

"Okay." He gives you a defeated look, which is all you suppose you'll get out of him today. "Deal." 

That night, there are no more backhanded compliments, quips, or mean-spirited attempts at sarcasm. 

You sink into your side of the bed, a damask-woven vat of quicksand, and watch the spears of light dance on the ceiling. If you had known your last outing was the one a few days ago, maybe you would have drank a little more, stayed out later. Maybe you wouldn't have even gone home. 

Joshua has been reading on the other side of the bed, which seems like oceans apart. The metronomic turn of his pages would have put you to sleep if it wasn't for this new fear, a black, trembling one, that's now taken residence in your chest. It feels like you are further from yourself than you've ever been, and you don't know how to get back. 

"Is it too bright for you?" Joshua's voice, now tempered by the stillness of the evening, pulls you out of your thoughts. "I can turn the lamp off." 

"It's ok," you groan. "Can't really sleep. Don't worry about it." 

He doesn't say anything. Instead you hear the oiled pull of the bedside nightstand before he places something on the bed beside you.

It's a book. Specifically, one of those trashy romances that they only sell at the airport because no one would be brave enough to read them anywhere else.

"It's no Dan Brown," he says. "Hopefully still to your liking." 

You sit up against the headboard and flip through the pages. The prince of Acros owning a book with the words "juicy", "mewling", and "best friend's brother" in the first fifty pages are enough to tide you over for the night. Probably the next week, to be honest.

"Yes, indeed, your highness. Of the raunchy summer fling." 

Joshua smiles, and this time, you think it's a real one. 

--

You hate mornings. 

You thought this one would be different, probably due to the fact that you would soon be standing in front of a few too many cameras to announce your tragic fate to the entire world. Unfortunately, it's like all your other mornings—rushed, nauseous, and now with all the added anxiety of a semi-non consensual public appearance. 

"Five minutes!" you holler as best you can, a hair pin wiggling in the corner of your mouth. Rule number one of a hard launch: don't be caught looking complacent. Even if the other half of the launch would rather be with anyone other than you. 

Joshua's in the attached bathroom doing his hair. Like everything else he does, it is painfully calculated. He might be the only person in the world who takes "pea-sized" seriously as a measurement tool. 

But even as he so carefully measures his pomade, pump by pump, you don't miss the way his eyes skim over your figure as you lean over the vanity chair to apply your lipstick. Maybe it's because your ass is practically vacuum sealed into your sundress, or maybe he's just looking for another fight to pick. Either way, there's a small part of you that takes pride in this, even if just a little. 

"Ready?" Joshua asks, switching off the bathroom light. You hate to admit it, but he looks good in a sports jacket. You remind yourself that you had to literally rock-paper-scissors this morning to use the vanity mirror because you fogged the bathroom up after your shower. "It's not a pageant." 

"Shush. You are so rude. Never interrupt a girl when she's getting ready." 

In the mirror, you watch Joshua huff behind you. Then he procures a little black box from his pocket, and a crazy sort of feeling washes over you before you remind yourself to be normal. Ten-year-old you would have cried and threatened arson if she knew this is how you would eventually be proposed to, but you have no choice. 

You're sure Joshua feels the same. He was probably hoping for something classic with all the works, and instead he's got a pissed-off Jihoon and you, internationally renowned harlot. Funny how things turn out.

"Any minute now," bitches Jihoon from the other side of the door. 

You close your compact and turn around to face Joshua, who's still fumbling with the box.

"I'm sure this is not what you anticipated," he says, finally cracking it open. “But—" 

"No speech. Just put it on." You stick your left hand out, still glittery from last week’s manicure. "Not like it means much anyway." 

"Yeah."

And just like that, it is done. You feel the shock of Joshua's huge hands over yours, then the unceremonious bite of the cold band. He doesn't linger. 

You hold your newly engaged hand in front of you. The ring must have looked better in the box—on you, it seems out of place, gaudy, yet another thing you can't quite fit into. It squeezes your finger a bit, but it'll do. 

"Ready?" he asks. 

"Let's get this over with."

If romance wasn’t already dead, then it died here, today, in your prison cell bedroom. 

You have no time to lament this, as Joshua’s already half out the door. Quickly, he seems to shed his foul, argumentative inside personality and slip into a second-skin, one that is more poised, gracious, and luminous.

Today's objective is supposed to be simple: friendly, premarital pictures to accompany a written statement to the public announcing your engagement. No paparazzi, no journalists. Still, you're starting to see why your parents decided it was a good idea to stick you with this guy. 

In the foyer, your families await you. It's as if their gaze can slow time—at least four people approved your outfit, and still, the weight of their eyes on you, ever appraising, is crushing. Immediately, your mother starts rearranging the strands of hair on the top of your head and fiddling with the sleeves of your dress, like you're some sort of doll. 

"Come, come," a member of the PR team urges. "Everything is set up. We'll be quick." 

There's a frenetic, tense energy over the palace. It's clear that this marriage is a gambit no one is happy with, and today would make it very, very real. 

Outside, there is a lone photographer. The sun, morning-ripe, reflects off his camera lens like a third eye. The lawn, freakishly green, sprawls out around you, and the blue spruce frames the scene, perfect by design. 

"I just need you to stand next to each other and smile," he says. "That's all, right?" he directs this towards your PR team, about seven too many for a task like this. One of them whispers something in his ear. Your parents watch from the shaded doorstep like wax figures in a museum. 

You and Joshua stand shoulder to shoulder, yearbook photo style. 

"Bit closer," the photographer calls out, and you smush yourself against his arm, close enough that you can appreciate he's got some muscle on him. "Alright. Hold still." 

Click. You've always hated the flash, but you root yourself obediently to the concrete. Your cheeks hurt from smiling. Click. 

Your mother interrupts her conversation with a staff member—likely haggling over the minutia of the statement—and says, "Look happier," as if you're in some dystopian advertisement for a new car. 

"She's talking to you," Joshua says through the grit of his fake, pink smile. 

"Right, because you're such a peach." 

You just want to go back inside and have breakfast. 

You place a tentative hand on Joshua's bicep and turn to him, beaming like you would at a hot bartender when there are five other people waiting for a drink. 

There's a glimmer of surprise in his expression before he matches you. You can see why people dote on him so much—his cheeks get round, and his eyes magically gain the sparkles that people pay for on Facetune. God really seems to have wasted a perfect face on him. 

"Move your hand up so we can see the ring." You obey, feeling the firm cord of his arm underneath you, and you wonder where the gym is in the palace. Joshua was certainly gatekeeping it from you. "Perfect." 

You stand there, living your America's Next Top Model nightmare, before the photographer hits you with, "A kiss for the camera, yeah?" 

All the blood drains from your face. You think you actually say Huh? aloud. Joshua opts to turn to his parents to intervene, which would be funny in literally any other scenario except this one. 

"You heard him," his father replies. "Act like you're actually engaged." 

Honestly, it was a fair request. No one wanted to take any chances. Plausible rumors of an arranged marriage would backfire spectacularly. Jeonghan wouldn't see the front cover of anything ever again, and the entirety of Acros would wonder just how deep in the shitter they were that Joshua was forced to marry you. 

Your parents were already so far into the conspiracy, you overheard them talking about using unpublished paparazzi pictures and rebranding them as times you snuck off to see your unfortunate lover. Point taken. 

"Okay, okay," you laugh nervously. "Of course." 

You face Joshua, steeling yourself, and lean in. The world seems to fall away, but not how you like—it feels as though you've been sucked out of your own body and dropped into a new one that doesn't know what a kiss is or how to do it. 

He's just like anyone else, you tell yourself. You're at the club. They're playing Everytime We Touch by Cascada. 

Soon all you know is the heat of your cheeks, the shaking flat of your palm over Joshua's shoulder, and the wet pressure of what feels like a pair of lips, soft but also very unwilling. 

Click. Click. Then it's over. Everyone huddles around the camera, like animals to a watering hole. Shame, hot and heavy, seems to drape itself over you. 

"Can we get one more?" the photographer asks.

Fuck. Your stomach drops. You can't even glare at Joshua. 

"Sure thing," Joshua says easily, unaware he was the reason it went so badly in the first place. 

You take a deep breath. You imagine a good Kylie Minogue song and a tall stranger with pecs that could fit into a bra, and your eyes flutter shut. 

You decide to go for it this time. Unfortunately, you and your inept partner are on entirely opposite pages again, and you almost miss each other by a mile. When you do get it right, it's messy, two teenagers fumbling in a closet with the lights off. 

Once everyone sees this massacre, it seems they resign themselves to the same conclusion you had long ago. Someone throws a thumbs up above their head, and everyone clears out so fast, it's like nothing ever happened. 

Soon, it's just you, Joshua, and your mother with a red pen and the manuscript. Your heart is still buzzing in your chest, even though you and Joshua are now standing at a distance that makes you believe in the cheese touch again. 

"Now that wasn’t so bad," she says, before escorting the two of you back inside. Perhaps lying cushions the blow of a bad decision, but you're already in too deep. The script, the cameras, even your mother's glossy words—your life is starting to feel like a permanent movie set, and you don't know how to clock out. 

The first thing you do is take off the ring. It's starting to look more and more like costume jewelry on your untrained, bumbling hand. Even still, you can still feel its ghost on your finger, see the glare of the camera flash in the laser-cut facets. 

Worse, you watch Joshua shrug off his sport jacket, likely wondering how exactly that went so wrong, and you can feel that same sensation, still warm, right over your lips.

--

"Save me, red wine, save me." 

Home, sweet home. You're back in Cotria for the rest of the week. This morning's stint was the only thing you had on the schedule, and you told Joshua you had some business to attend to at home. 

Said business was a Niçoise salad and half a bottle of wine, but no one had to know that part. Your struggle meals were your own business, and you think you will actually disintegrate on the spot if you have to sit through another conversation about World War II with Joshua's dad. The one you had at dinner last night was plenty. 

The restaurant you’re at is a familiar haunt, but not too familiar. The ass-kissers and the groupies have gotten good at keeping their heads on a swivel, and you’re not exactly planning on another encounter with a camera. But here, the crowd is quiet enough, the food good enough, the service fast enough. It’s enough, which you’ve come to prefer. 

That's the other thing about Cotria—there’s an overabundance of everything. Department stores, parlors, dog cafes, polished bars with overpriced cocktails. It’s almost a rarity to find a place like this, quiet enough to actually talk. 

"You must be in the fucking trenches," Somi says, shaking her head. "When's the press release getting published?"

"Next week," you groan. "The good news is that they want us to go to the derby afterward."

"Okay, miss horse girl," Somi says, clinking her wine glass against yours. "You betting this year?" 

"No, I shouldn't." You shovel another forkful of leaves into your mouth. "But I really hope I get to watch it instead of pretending to like a guy the whole time." 

"I didn't see you pretending in uni," Somi says, cocking an eyebrow up at you. "And those guys are ugly. This guy isn't." 

"Okay, wait," you protest. "Ugly cute. Don't get it twisted. And they don't act like sentient wet paint. This guy sucks." 

You're reminded of the moment before you left the palace this morning. Joshua saw that same black dress that he used against you make its way into your bag, and he gave you the dirtiest stink eye you'd ever seen. 

I'm not above tattling. They were the first words he'd said to you after The Incident. 

Good thing you won't have to, you replied. He didn't even see you out because no one was standing around to clap him on the back for being a good fake fiancé. 

"Whatever." Somi picks a tomato off your plate in exchange for some of her fries. "I wouldn't mind it, is what I'm saying." 

"You slept with the bouncer to get into Annabel’s." 

"Fuck off. He was actually really good. Club entry was just a bonus," she laughs. "That reminds me—you're coming to my birthday, right? Or do you have wifely duties now?" 

"Of course I'm coming!" you insist, feeling the word duty hit like an actual bullet to your chest. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." 

"Just making sure! You know I gotta have my people around." 

You had known Somi since you were in diapers. She's the cousin twice removed of a baron, or a count, or maybe even a viscount–you never were good at keeping track of those kinds of things. Even though you had seen her at countless brunches, coronations, and garden parties, you don't think you actually became friends until you ran into her at a college party in Mykonos. She sidled up to you, smelling like strawberries and the bleachy sting of hair dye, and handed you a cucumber margarita. 

The beer here sucks, she had whisper-shouted to you, right over the shell of your ear. Wanna dance? You were inseparable ever since. 

"It's going to be huge. There are, like, 200 people on the guest list right now. Soonyoung rented a villa, There's gonna be a champagne tower, and the music won't suck. Guaranteed." 

"That sounds perfect," you sigh. "Please tell me there's gonna be a pool. I need to show off my new swimsuit." 

"Duh." Somi rolls her eyes, glittery under her extensions. "The perfect opportunity to show the world that their hottest bachelorette is a bachelorette no longer. Also, we invited Pitbull.” 

“Shut the fuck up. Wait, is he actually coming?” 

”Dunno. Wouldn’t be very Mr. Worldwide of him to flake, though.” 

Pitbull or not, you think of the heat of the strobe lights, the electric trill of the too-loud speakers. You're dancing in a dress that looks like a chunk of the moon, with the little neon ties of your bikini top peeking out the sides. There's a peach highball in your hands and no one is telling you what to do, how to do it, or that you're doing it wrong. 

Then you think of Joshua. Maybe he'd loosen up after a few drinks. Maybe he'd dance with you, put those hands to use on your hips and kiss you like he should have earlier today. Maybe he'd even be good at it. The thought makes your cheeks sting.

“Should I invite Joshua?” Somi says, wrinkling her nose at how you immediately grimace. “What if he’s actually a blast?” 

"No! No. Absolutely not." 

“What if he’s—” Then she drops her singsong voice to a whisper. “Hung? Don’t tell me you haven’t seen those pictures of him in the Galapagos.” 

Unfortunately, you have. A lurid, glassy image of your soon-to-be-husband in a sleazy pair of swim trunks comes into vision. You push past the smile, the unfair pecs, and remind yourself of that horrible, self-righteous twist of the lips that he always has. 

Yes, that’s right. That’s the Joshua you know. 

You grab the wine from her and drink it right from the bottle. 

–

Of course it had to be the one time you’re not late to an event that you forget you had swapped everything in all your purses around. You double check your bag—empty. 

You’re already down by half of your worldly possessions (still at home, your real home), and you probably left the other half on Joshua’s bathroom counter. Yesterday, you got derailed mid-task by Joshua lighting the grossest candle ever. You never thought you’d ever fight over candles of all things, but you couldn’t let him walk away from that conversation thinking wet dirt was a normal, socially acceptable, scent for a bedroom. (—It said moss on the label! —So, dirt. —Moss is not dirt. Maybe you need to go back to school.) 

You fling open the bathroom door, still checking the pockets of your handbag, before you collide into a big, sopping wet wall. 

“What the—?” You look up. The wall is not a wall. No, in fact, it is your fiancé, bare fucking naked. 

Your heart jumps up to your throat. It feels like you walked right into a porno, and you can hear Somi’s self-satisfied, witch cackle right in your ear. His dark hair seems to fall into his eyes just right, a nice change from how he normally gels it up, and you watch the beads of water from the shower, torturously glittery, run down his jaw, the hollow of his neck, right onto his chest. 

Men should not be allowed to have bigger boobs than you, at least, not dowdy Joshua Hong, who normally has the sex appeal of an eraser. And God forbid your eyes travel downward and confirm Somi’s sick and twisted hypothesis, past the washboard abs, the v-line, the trail down his— 

“Sorry, did you need something?” You blink again and Joshua suddenly has a towel wrapped around his waist. And he’s eyeing you like you ate a million cloves of garlic and then proceeded to spit on him. “Or are you just going to stand here and ogle me?” 

“I wasn't—no!” You start snatching things off the counter, anything really, and throwing them into your bag. “I just needed to grab stuff for my… my thing. You’re in the way.” 

“Right, because you need four q-tips and my razor to read a children’s book,” Joshua replies, plucking the offending items out of your purse. “It's almost 12:30, by the way.” 

“Shit. Fuck,” you stammer. You can’t glare at him anymore because you know where your eyes will end up and it is not on his face. “Stop distracting me. Whatever.” 

“Have fun,” is the last thing Joshua tells you before you close the bathroom door, that portal to hell, right back up. 

What you can’t do is return the image of what you saw back to where it came from, the wicked, glistening form of Joshua and his B cup tits. He looked so good, it makes you angry. 

Later, on the walk to the library, you reach for your lip gloss. Instead, you pull out q-tip number five and get mad all over again. 

–

The car ride to the derby feels like your own personal Saw trap, if Jigsaw wore a ridiculous hat and was actually your mother. 

Your engagement was announced to the public just a few days ago. It came with no fanfare, no warning. You were sitting on your bed, making your way through the smut Joshua called a novel, when the news app on your phone kindly notified you that you were now a taken woman. 

To some degree, the media uproar fascinated you. The idea that people with actual journalism degrees were writing headcanons about your honeymoon when you hadn’t even seen Joshua since The Bathroom Incident was surely entertaining, to say the least. But, like everything, the unsaid pressure of being a perfect princess, now part of an even more perfect couple, hangs heavy over you. 

You remind yourself this is supposed to be fun. A real couple would be pawing at each other in the backseat, perhaps pregaming with champagne or fan-casting their pick for Spirit the horse. Instead, you’re stuck rehearsing your pitch to the reporters when they inevitably ask you about how the hell this happened. You wish you could tell them you’re not quite sure either. 

Silently, you look at Joshua. Joshua looks out the window. The world rumbles under you. 

[10:15 am, race 1]

The air seizes, swirls with clay-colored dust in the morning sun. The clubhouse is already heady with the low buzz of conversation—you watch the freckled sunhats and oily toupees bob up and down in the swell of the crowd, deep in the morning’s small talk. You wonder how many of them are talking about you, given how recently the news hit. You’re used to people ignoring your media appearances, not celebrating them. 

Someone, tipping their head down to greet you, hands you a program. Joshua elects to tuck his in his back pocket. People don’t come to the derby to watch the races. Instead, it’s an excuse to gossip, day drink, and gamble, which would ordinarily be a good time for you if you weren’t overly invested in the racing circuit. 

All the way from the entrance to your seats, you were met with a tidal wave of camera flashes, all hungry for a glimpse of your first public appearance as a couple. Alongside this, a decidedly worse flurry of congratulations paired with an overly familiar touch to the shoulder or a limp handshake. Joshua is quick to respond with either a smile or some trite platitude. Your least favorite: We couldn’t be happier. Now he’s just lying for sport. 

“We should find the reporters doing interviews,” Joshua says the second his ass touches the chair, unfazed by the onslaught of perhaps a million different people. “The Sun probably wants to talk to us.” 

You’re not listening—you can’t let on that this whole ordeal is mildly terrifying for you. He has enough reasons to dislike you, and stage fright wouldn’t exactly be a good addition to the list. 

The racehorses have lined up at the track, their manes catching the daylight like holy fire. You like the one on the end. He looks like Peanut, Jeonghan’s stubborn palomino. 

Joshua says your name insistently, curdled with the annoyance that you’ve now become acquainted with, and you catch a stray camera flash from the stands. You have an audience, and the audience demands a show, even if they’re second-rate journalists like the scum from The Sun.  

“Darling,” you reply flatly. “Relax. Let's enjoy the races.” 

The horses stretch their long legs, anxious for the thunderclap of the starter’s pistol. Joshua raises a tired eyebrow before the same realization dawns on him. 

“Absolutely.” He clears his throat. “Darling.” 

You wrap a hand around his arm—somehow he makes hand-holding seem like third base—and watch his shoulders sink with a sigh, like you just popped him. 

Likewise, your highness. Likewise. 

A shot crackles through the air, and you’re off to the races. 

[12:43 pm, race 2.]

"I just have to know—how did you guys meet?" 

You know the duchess of Pemarlia to be beautiful and unashamedly nosy, and she has yet to prove you wrong on either account. 

The last time you saw her was on the beach at Lake Como last year, where she spent the entirety of your conversation asking if Jeonghan was single (and peeking into your bag to see what brand of lipstick you were wearing). Like everyone, she always seems to have a look of appraisal on her face. What makes her different is that she never really bothers to hide it; instead, she wears it like an en-vogue accessory. 

She eyes you with an intensity, sizing up your dress, your tawdry sunhat, your ring. You wonder if she’d agree that marriage didn’t look good on you, but any shorter of a dress, your mother would call you a stripper. And God forbid you leave the house hat-less. 

Now she’s no minotaur. This shouldn’t be much of a problem, save for one very small issue: you actually hadn’t planned your answer to this. You had quibbled over it briefly in the car, but you were too focused on your interview pitch to worry about minor gossip. 

"Well," Joshua starts. Through his smile, you can hear the warning edge of his voice. “It was quite ordinary.” 

"Actually," you cut him off. Not only would his version of this story be boring, it would also be horribly out-of-character for you. You did not come this far for your cover to be blown by Joshua’s lack of imagination. "Josh's parents hosted a—" 

"Brunch," Joshua finishes. Whether his teeth are gritted because he's grinning or frustrated is none of your business. “It was Easter brunch, wasn’t it, sweet pea? Four years ago?” 

The pet name makes you want to puke. Now he’s just trying to piss you off, but you know this is his attempt to play along. He's annoying, not dumb. 

"Yes, we sat across from each other.” You playfully dig your elbow into Joshua’s rock-hard side. “He was giving me the eyes the whole time.” 

You watch your hapless victim giggle, her spidery lashes wide with intrigue. Joshua is a little less pleased. 

“If you could call it that,” he replies. “I think you had chocolate on your nose.”

“Which you so kindly wiped off for me, dear.” You try to peek around the flaxen billows of the duchess’s blowout to watch the horses behind her, but to no avail. “After a morning of staring, we had to do an Easter egg hunt, planned by Joshie himself. I had no idea he loved silly little games like that.” 

“It's because people like the princess get so competitive,” Joshua says, with his laser beam grin boring into your eye sockets. “I believe I found you rummaging through the trash for eggs, like some kind of animal.” 

“Oh my goodness,” the duchess laughs. “How...charming.”  

You feel your eyebrow twitch. Only you’re allowed to ruin your own reputation, but you suppose that’s just another thing your horrible fake fiance gets to take from you. 

“Not as embarrassing as seeing Joshua leer at me from behind the corner,” you retort. “He was so enamored that when I invited him to join me, he got right down on his knees to look through the trash together.” 

“Well, did you find anything?” 

“Yes—”

“No—”

“Well—”

Fuck. Luckily, the duchess is either stupid or wildly entertained by the clown show playing out before her. Maybe both. 

“Cute,” she coos. “You must have been too smitten to notice.” 

“Absolutely,” Joshua says, as if there is a gun held to his pretty head. “Among all the garbage and the girl next to me, I suppose nothing else really mattered.” 

“If that isn’t love, what is?” she asks blithely. 

If only she knew. 

[3:45 pm, race 3]

The sun descends on the stadium, swollen and yellow with the afternoon. 

Last year, you and your friends had a betting ring set up during the racing circuit. Obviously, you had won—not too hard when your competition included Soonyoung, who only bet on horses named after food (sadly, it was not Tater Tot’s year). Somi was no better, and your brother thought every horse deserved a participation award.

This time around, things aren’t so simple. But you’d hate to say that you spent a whole day at the track and didn’t bet on a single race. Life could afford you at least one win for today. 

Again, the horses take their positions at the starting line, wound up like a line of rubber bands. The air heaves with bated breath. 

“Joshua,” you say, folding your hands in your lap as you find your target. “I'd like to propose a bet.” 

“You must be a glutton for punishment.” 

You bite back a laugh as you watch your favorite horse, the palomino, ripple in place. Fans would call her a charity case, but you know better. 

“Pick a horse. Mine is number Three, in the blue.” 

“And if mine wins? What’s in it for me?” he asks. Still, he leans forward, corded forearms on his thighs. You watch him squint as he surveys the field with renewed interest. 

“You pick,” you reply. “Choose wisely. I personally cannot wait to call in a favor from you.” 

“The chestnut one. Number Nine.” So he is competitive. “And likewise. Perhaps I'll hold it over your head until the wedding.” 

Before you can reply, you hear the starting pistol rip clean into the air. The racehorses surge forward, as if a silken ribbon through air. 

“Nine makes sense for you,” you say, eyes fixed before you. “He's flashy, the crowd favorite. Spotless pedigree.” 

“I'm picking your punishment already.” 

“I didn't say he would win.” You feel the lilt of your voice rocking upward, the tremulous beat of your heart against your ribs. “You see, Three’s had a rough season. There she is, passing Four right now.” 

“Nine is still first, though.” 

“It’s not about that,” you reply. “She does this, she starts all the way out back and then flies up. No one suspects anything—it’s like she likes proving people wrong. The first couple races of the season, she was just stretching her legs; they were small, small fry. It’s this one that matters.” 

The saddles are just blurs on the track now. To the march of the hoofbeats, Three lunges past Five, Six. The crowd roars. 

“This will be her first win. I'm counting on it. She’s come really close before.” 

Joshua doesn’t reply. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his gaze has shifted. You feel it land somewhere near you, but you’re too engrossed in the race to investigate further. Perhaps he’s admitted defeat preemptively, wisely so. 

“You know your stuff,” he murmurs, the clamor of the audience almost burying him. 

“How can I not?” Three coasts past One and Ten like she’s flying, until it’s just her and unlucky number Nine. “Oh my god. Go, go, go!” 

You and Joshua rise to your feet, as if drawn by a string, now wholly invested in the race. 

“Still beating you, you know.” 

“Not for long! Come on!” 

You watch your darling number Three, against all odds, pull past Joshua’s number Nine, burning a trail past the inevitable finish line. 

From somewhere inside you emerges a joy that you hadn’t felt since this whole ordeal started. You turn to Joshua and clasp his hands between yours, somehow less wooden now, and so, so human. The crowd cheers; they come alive. 

[4:50 pm, races 4 and 5. mainly, the reporter from the sun.] 

The smaller races take place shortly after the headliner, for better or for worse. This forces you to finally face the music—the music being a dull-eyed, greasy journalist ready to sink his teeth into the public’s new favorite topic. 

Joshua is a good sport about it, or at least, he’s good at pretending to be one. 

“It was great,” is his answer to a question you didn’t hear. You’re busy going over the parts of the script that you remember. Your media team spent the better part of the morning repeating it back to you, which was helpful until it wasn’t. You weren’t sure how to tell them you’ve actually never been good at speaking to the press, since you had spent the better half of your life doing the exact opposite. 

“And what did the princess think? It’s not often we catch you for an interview, you know.” 

The eye of the camera seems to pierce through you. You can see your shellacked figure, long and distorted, in the reflection. 

“I—um,” you swallow hard. God. Pull it together. You can already hear the lecture you’re going to get on the way home today. “Yeah, big day today.”

“She’s had to really rein in her excitement, you know,” Joshua adds, chuckling. 

Briefly, you feel his hand brush against yours. Ordinarily, you’d pass it off as a fluke, but you feel the steady, insistent warmth of his palm again, first, to the inside of your wrist, then lower still. Before you’re able to really process what’s happening, he then takes your hand in his all at once, as if to say, I’ve got this. I’ve got you. 

You figure he’s cashing in his favor early–he’d much rather leave you out to dry, let you flounder a bit so you learn to read the PR memorandums the night before. I told you so, he’d say. That’s what everyone else would say, anyway. 

“The races are sure exciting, but I'm sure you’re even more excited about your upcoming wedding.” The reporter grins at you, as if he smells your fear. His hair looks like it’s glued to the top of his shiny head. “If I'm going to be honest, you were one of the last people we’d expect to tie the knot this year. We are all dying to hear more.” 

What? You force yourself to breathe, feel the air fill your lungs, to avoid making an expression you’ll regret. 

“Well, yeah, I'm sure it looks like it all happened quickly,” you answer, feeling your tongue trip over the words. Mostly because it did, in fact, happen quickly, but you can’t let them know that. “But Josh and I feel strongly about, uh, this whole thing, and—”

“Please, don’t spare us the details.” 

Telepathically, Joshua squeezes your hand. This, you understand. He’s telling you to lean on him, and you trust that. 

“Hold your horses,” he cuts in, almost too quickly, which makes the corners of your mouth twitch upward. He was definitely looking for an opening, but you, bizarrely, don’t mind at all. He turns to you and smiles. “What's the fun without a little mystery? It's been a wild ride, but I'm loving every second of it.” 

It’s this one, the lamest and most embarrassing dad joke of them all, that gets you. 

You laugh: a real one, big, loud, and unafraid. It's here, caught in the glare of the camera flash, where you find yourself hoping, even just a little, that this wasn’t just a favor, that this was a sign you could actually survive this arrangement. 

You’re not asking for love—just a little bit of like. and, right now, you think you like Joshua Hong. 

—

In the evening, you find yourself in the oaken parlor nestled away in the back halls of the Acrosian palace. 

There's a piano there, gathering dust. It's a Steinway, spindly and chestnut, almost identical to the one you have at the palace in Cotria. 

You and Jihoon had been unpacking your hodgepodge of things (unsorted, since the act of sorting would have forced you to stomach the fact that you were actually moving), when he had found your old lesson books. 

You should break in that piano, he had said. Either that, or wait for your fiance to find you. He seemed ok at the derby today. 

I guess. 

What Jihoon hadn’t seen was all the photographs you had to take after your interview with The Sun, where Joshua decided to remind you that you were supposed to hate him. By that, you mean that he managed to make every single one unbearable. (A tap of the foot: Stand up straight. A careful brush of the elbow: Let’s link arms. A discerning, tactful glance at your chest: Pull up your dress. That, or he was no better than the average man.) 

You and he hadn’t talked much after that. Hopefully, he’s fled to your cold, dark dungeon of a room to read, so he can finally leave you alone.

“Remember when your parents invited all their friends over and asked you to play?” Jihoon says, perched on the loveseat while he sorts through an old jewelry box. 

“Yeah, and I literally forgot everything?” you laugh. “Freaking Jeonghan had to check on me because I locked myself in my room for 24 hours straight. And then he had the nerve to laugh at me.” 

You thumb through the fattest book of the pile. The binding is soft; the pages now yellow and fuzzed over by time. 

On page 5, Chopin's Waltz in A-flat major. three four time or whatever, you had scrawled in defiant red ink. Page 37, a thick black line through Debussy's name on Arabesque No. 1. This is because you would always laugh at it during lessons, and you wanted to save yourself the trouble. 

“Do you want to keep this?” Jihoon holds up a choker that resembles a jock strap. “When did you even wear this? It looks like a cat toy.” 

You ignore him and start to play. You were never excellent—competent would be a better word. Still, it was enough for you. Soonyoung would ask you to play during drunk karaoke, and you could still keep up with Jeonghan when he played one of his overcomplicated duets. 

Your hands remember the velvet thud of the keys, the glide of the pedal. When you turn the page, there’s a scrawled in BITCH! next to a heavily circled allegro. Piano was one of the only things that your parents forced you to do that you actually liked. The kicker was that it didn’t even do you any good. You weren’t as talented as your parents would like you to be, meaning that, to them, you weren’t talented at all. 

It’s then that your fingers slip, and you miss a chord. In your defense, you have a fresh manicure. Always blame the nails. Your mom hated when you kept them long, even more than your hardass tutor.  

“The prince is helping with the theater production this year, right?” Jihoon holds a single earring up to the light. You think you lost the other one in Ibiza last year. “You gonna help out again?” 

“Maybe.” Another wrong note. You’re losing steam trying to read all the ledger lines and your smeared, illegible writing next to them. “I don't know. He probably won’t even want me to. I'm choosing a different piece, by the way. Bored of this one.” 

The truth about your 21st birthday was that you did actually intend to spend it at the youth theater. It was your idea before it was Jeonghan’s idea, but, at the time, you both still were a package deal.

You were on piano; Jeonghan was on whatever else he pleased. He'd always been indecisive like that. At the bench, you’d hoist the little ones on your knee and regale them with the classical version of the opening song from paw patrol. Jeonghan stole prop masks from the back, mostly to hide behind the curtains and scare people, you included. You’d both stay up late, paint spackled on your palms, trying to Michelangelo a backdrop with the combined artistic talent of a TI-84. 

The production became your thing, just you and him, no cameras, no press releases, no parents. But like everything else, neither you, Jeonghan, nor anyone else was able to keep those inevitable truths apart. The set pieces were repainted in Italy, the finger-painted fields turned luminescent with varnish; the pins and needles in the costumes swapped with mother-of-pearl; and, finally, you, replaced by a classically trained pianist from Juilliard. At least he was hot. 

Everyone knows the rest of the story—the red carpet, the empty seats, and the puffy pink balloons outside the mansion in Saint Tropez. 

“Oh please,” Jihoon wheedles. “You and I both know he wanted you there.” 

“Then maybe he should have fought harder.” You flip to a random page, this one marked up in pink gel pen. You remember it bled through all the pages behind it, making it a pain to read but awfully funny during lessons. “It doesn't matter. There’s probably wedding stuff i gotta deal with.” 

Jihoon lets you play this next piece uninterrupted. It’s not that it’s a sensitive subject for you—there were plenty of other things that filled the wedge between you and your brother—but it certainly didn’t help. 

You let your fingers wander over the stubborn keys. It feels good to play, even if you’re almost unforgivably rusty. You reach for the page, when you hear Jihoon again: “You know, you’re allowed to come in, your highness.” 

Immediately, your hands freeze. Like a scolded child, you become aware of how your fingers teeter over the keys, the stumbling, awkward clacking of your nails, the one or two missed quarter notes from the last measure. 

You turn to face the door, where Joshua stands, leaning against the frame like a sleazy model from an Abercrombie catalog. He probably came from the gym. Seeing him dressed down is still very weird, mostly because you can’t decide if it’s because he looks good or if it’s because it reminds of seeing your teacher at the grocery store. 

“Anyone teach you manners?” you ask, unsure if your hackles should be raised. 

“No, I was raised in a barn, just like those horses you like so much,” he laughs. “I didn’t want to interrupt. You’re not bad, you know.” 

“Thanks.” You eye him skeptically. “Thought you were gonna comment on the nails.” 

“Do you want me to?” 

“Preferably not, but it’s not like you‘d listen to me anyway.” You look for Jihoon’s reaction, but he seems to have conveniently disappeared. “Let’s play a duet. I’m cashing in my favor.” 

“Sure,” Joshua replies. “I'm no good, though. Might be more of a punishment for you.” 

You slide over on the bench, and he sidles up next to you. He smells like Le Labo and sweat, the sting citrusy and bright, close enough to linger. 

“No good?” You pick up another fat book from the stack atop the lid: The Joy of Duets. “Me neither.” 

“You have no idea,” he chuckles. “And trust me, I tried.”  

“I’ll do top?” you announce. 

Joshua snickers, and you kick him under the bench (really, just a tap of your foot). 

You spend the next two minutes tripping over a Schubert piece. Terribly, this is endearing to you. You make somewhat of a couple—you, with your horrible form, and Joshua, now squinting at the key signature like it’ll make it easier to read.

“Buddy,” you exclaim. “Left hand goes here.” Laughing, you reposition his hand mid-chord to an octave below. You feel it tense beneath you before yielding to proper technique. 

“Aw, what?” he whines. “See, I told you I was no good. Give me a second.” 

You watch him puzzle over the next few lines, pretty brow furrowed. You conclude that Pajama Joshua is decidedly better than Prince Joshua. He’s funnier, kinder, warmer. Even his hands feel softer. 

“Also, about earlier today,” you start. The words are starting to dry up on your tongue, but you figure Pajama Joshua is an easier target than usual. “I didn't know they trained you in stand-up comedy.” 

“We laugh in this country too, you know.” When Joshua says this, he grins, bumping into your shoulder like you’d been friends for a long time. For once, it feels easy, natural. 

“Well, thanks anyway.” 

“I couldn't leave my fiancée out to dry.” The word must sound ridiculous even to him, because he laughs just the same as he did when he unloaded his ridiculous puns onto the unassuming world. “No really. We’re in this together, unfortunately. It’s my duty.” 

Duty, both the knife and the wound. You can’t say you’re surprised he’s only nice to you out of obligation. So is everyone else, and you don’t know why you thought it’d be any different, especially coming from him. It’s not like you’re wearing your ring now either; you suppose you’re just as guilty. 

“You cross over here,” you tell him, changing the topic. You slide your hand over his, and it bends to you. “Thumb under. Sorry, I couldn't help but notice.” 

“It's ok,” Joshua replies. “I only learned piano because I had to. When I stopped going to lessons, I forgot everything. Now I feel like I put this piano to shame.” 

“Really? Not to stroke your ego, but you strike me as the type to be good at everything.” 

“No,” he chuckles. “Only when I have to be. I actually wanted to learn how to play guitar.” 

“No way.” 

“Yes way. I wanted to have one of those woven guitar straps, get a little pick collection going, be able to play any song from the Beatles discography. All the cliche stuff.” 

“Well, why can’t you?” you ask. “Minus the Beatles thing. Pick better music.” 

“Back then, it never occurred to me. We all learn piano.” 

“That's silly,” you blurt out. “Who cares?” 

“That's a little rich coming from you.” 

You frown, feeling all the usual unpleasantries bubble up through your skin. 

“That's not really fair.” You absentmindedly play a few keys, all disjointed. “Taking guitar lessons doesn’t make you a problem child.” 

“It's not about that, though,” Joshua says. He's avoiding your eyes. “It's everything, together. I couldn't just pick up a guitar and be someone else.” 

“Someone else? You mean you? The real you?” 

“Yes,” Joshua presses. “That's the point. I can't just do whatever I want. Sometimes the real you is more trouble than it’s worth.” 

“Someone’s dramatic. If you do everything the same, nothing will change. Maybe getting into a little trouble isn’t such a bad thing.” 

“Forgive me,” he says, mid-chuckle. “You wouldn’t call this trouble?” 

He’s got you there. Childishly, all your pride hardens to a lump in your throat, one you’ve never learned to swallow. 

“Your family needed our help too, remember?” 

“Yeah, and you think I don’t think about that every day? How, maybe, if I had done something different, then we wouldn’t be here?” 

You feel stung. You don’t know how to tell him that you’ve been trying to figure out the same thing your whole life. If you were a better daughter, you’d have spared everyone the trouble. Unfortunately, you’d gotten it wrong so many times, you stopped trying.

What's worse is that he doesn’t even sound mad—you watch his fingertips ghost over the keys of a C-scale, rhythmically, methodically. Piano scales, this marriage, everything: just things to do on his never-ending list. 

A hesitant knock at the door interrupts any possibility of you coming up with anywhere close to the right thing to say. 

“Prince Joshua, the king and queen need to speak to you.” It’s an aide, probably sweating bullets deciding when and how they should intrude on this wonderful conversation of yours.

“Right,” says Joshua, and when he gets up from the bench, he doesn’t look back. 

—

“You ready to get stuffed?” 

Good fucking morning to you—Somi’s voice, fluorescent through your phone speakers, seems to be enough of an alarm clock for you. Joshua, in the doorway dual wielding a coffee cup and the morning paper, raises a tired eyebrow.

After the events of last night, you’d wondered if he would somehow disappear at nighttime in an effort to avoid his eventual fate (you). Instead, you found him on his usual side of the bed, drinking his usual mug of chamomile tea, in his usual silence. 

You've heard that couples shouldn’t go to bed angry, but no one said anything about indifferent. Then again, you and Joshua are hardly a couple. 

“Ew,” you laugh. “No. Maybe? Should I be scared?” 

“Absolutely. You’re eating your weight in food today because I need your opinion on catering.” 

Smushing your phone between your cheek and your shoulder, you watch the mirror as your wavering reflection puts on a layer of mascara. 

“For your party?” 

“Yeah, although on second thought, maybe it’s a bad idea to bring the girl who’s gonna puke everything up anyway.” 

“My IBS is none of your business. Besides, the real food critic is Jihoon,” you reply. “Sometimes I feel like that’s the only reason he still works here.” 

“You’re coming in an hour, right?” 

You check the clock. No, you are not. You’re only halfway through a full beat and if you don’t get any caffeine inside you within the hour, you will commit a crime. 

“Nope.” You pop open your compact. “I have to change, and I desperately need to locate a coffee. I will suck a fucking bean off if i need to.” 

“I'm hanging up on you,” Somi whines. “It's too early for you to be gross and late.”  

“As if you weren’t talking about getting stuffed.” 

“Whatever.” Click.

At this point, you feel like Somi’s party is both the proverbial and literal light at the end of the tunnel. No expectations, no rules, and no semi-arguments between you and your doomed fiance. 

Then you notice that Joshua’s disappeared from the room—he probably couldn’t stand listening to your end of the conversation. Briefly, you wonder where he is. Off running an errand for his dear parents, perhaps, or maybe at the gym you still haven’t discovered yet. Even from the hefty distance he keeps you at, you can still appreciate a man who looks like he’s touched a dumbbell. 

It's only when you’re halfway out the door, almost an hour later, juggling your purse and your phone and the distinct absence of a caffeinated beverage, that you find him. 

“Come to ruin my day?” you ask, maybe three-fourths joking. 

“Don’t give me any ideas,” he replies. Under the bluebird sky of late morning, lips upturned and eyes bright, Joshua may be a sight you could get used to. Someday. “Brought you a coffee. I can’t have you sucking off a bean—the reporters would go crazy.” 

Jihoon, hovering by the car, chokes on his water. 

“Oh!” The surprise knocks the sound out of you. “Thank you. Really.” 

“Gladly,” he says, and he sounds like he means it.

He holds all your stuff as you clamber into the car, before handing it back to close the door for you. You’ll admit it’s nice, but as Jihoon starts to drive, you feel a familiar twist in your chest.

“Interesting,” he remarks. “Didn’t know you were on a coffee order basis.” 

“We’re not,” you answer. You pop the lid open. It's a cappuccino, made the classic way, milk foam bubbling out the top. Not your favorite, but it’ll do. 

More than that, it’s an olive branch. Yesterday did get weird, but you’re getting the impression that it’ll always get weird. Undoubtedly, there is someone out there who’ll get Joshua. His schedules, his straight-backed obligation, the polished photo ops and the cappuccinos made to a perfect one to one to one ratio. You know this because this is the world you came from, one that should be home to you. 

Instead, you circle each other in an unsure, clumsy dance. You can’t quite get it right. It's all the same now. The bite of a horse saddle not made for your body, the glow of your heirloom ring, now cheapened by your graceless hand, Joshua’s lonely, reaching palm as he disappears in the rearview mirror. 

—

On your arrival home in the evening, you return with two things: a few extra kilos and an absolutely horrendous copy of the Daily Mail, courtesy of Somi, who saw it at the grocery. 

"Great showing from the couple of the year," you say, shucking your copy at Joshua. "It looks like we're in Shark Tale." 

Even from a distance, the cheap ink-spackled cover shows more than enough. LIP LOCK FLOP!, it reads, although you wouldn’t really call it a lip lock. 

It was at the derby—Quick, they’re looking at us, you had said. Then what you would call a nun’s version of a kiss: you, already halfway out the door, and him, lips hesitant and pursed, as if he was asked to smooch his withering, dusty great-grandmother. 

"I'm not even going to ask what you mean by that," Joshua answers, voice level. "It's not that bad." 

He puts his book down to pick the magazine up, holding it at a distance like the image will jump out of the page and bite him. You see his expression flicker, and that's all you need to confirm your suspicions. 

"Ok, it's a little bad." He places it on the nightstand next to him face-down. "It'll be alright. It's not like the wedding will be called off over one bad picture." 

"You know that's not the issue." You sit on your side of the bed, about a full meter away from him. You kind of want to look again just to see how bad it is, but you're sure it'll be inescapable by the morning. 

"Since when did you care what the press thought of you?" 

"Since it mattered." You stare at your lap, eyes fixed on the too-new, wiggly hem of your pajamas instead of him. You can tell he's still looking at you, though–you think those big, watery eyes have some sort of flashlights in them, and you don't like it. "It seems wrong if our mistakes take up space." 

You hear him make a small noise of agreement. Joshua still won't admit that you're right, but you suppose you like that a little. At least he'll be stubborn about something, even if it's about clearly not liking you. 

"What do you suggest?" he asks, putting his book down. “We didn't choose each other, so I'm not surprised there's no attraction." 

"Ouch." He's right, but you'd rather be the one saying it. "I'm a good kisser. You aren't." 

"I'm just not good at kissing you," he retorts. 

"Evidently." You shimmy towards his side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler under your thighs, the pillows still neatly arranged on the headboard. "What I'm saying is that we should at least try to look more realistic. Like–" 

"Are you saying we should practice?" Joshua looks at you over the frames of his glasses, incredulous. 

"Yeah," you say, now too far in it to back out. "Like exposure therapy. For unwilling couples." 

The room gets quiet, as if it wasn't unbearably so before. You watch Joshua pick up his book again. He puts the bookmark in, two-thirds from the spine of the book so as to not ruin the binding, and places it over the doomed tabloid. 

"Okay." To your surprise, he turns to face you. The lamplight catches the lens of his glasses and makes his eyes look warmer than they truly are. "How should we do this?" 

The way Joshua's gaze settles on you makes you feel like you're being evaluated. An exam in Kissing 101, except the test would rather not have anything to do with you at all. For the first time in your life, you let your eyes wander to his lips, rosy and full, and you feel the pit of anxiety in your belly grow wider. Somehow he's managed to take all the fun out of one of your favorite activities, but you'll be damned if he walks away from this thinking it's you who's the problem. 

"Just...let me lead," you say quietly, now leaning closer to him. You have to ease yourself into it. You let your body respond, feel the skip of your heart, a heady flush wash over your cheeks. He smells like spearmint and clover. 

You've kissed a lot of people. None of this should feel new to you. His eyelashes skim against your cheek, and you can hear the breath he takes, quivering, gentle.

Despite all this, the first kiss is no better than any of the other ones. his lips meet yours, hesitant before they start moving. He's shy, and it would almost endear him to you if he wasn't so annoying. But then the charade is over. His nose clocks yours and it startles you both enough to draw away, ever so slightly. 

"Not my fault," you murmur. You're so close, you can see your reflection in his pupils, glassy and dark. 

"Thought this was practice," responds Joshua, unfazed. 

So you lean in again, giving it another go. Two is better—sweet and succinct. a first date type of kiss. You can taste the berry of your lip balm on him. 

Then again, except this time it's him who goes in, chases your lips. 

The scary thing is that you thought this would be much harder. You had stood in the bathroom, looked yourself in the mirror, and psyched yourself up to do the impossible. 

But the moment you meet him, now so close there's no room to breathe, you feel an impenetrable, unshakable desire crawling up your bones. Your palm finds the flat of his chest. Even under the silk of his ridiculous pajama top, you feel the heat of his skin, the restless quick of his heartbeat, and your stomach flips. 

Four, five. You're losing count. Joshua's hand trails up your arm to cup your cheek, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel your breath catch in your chest. 

He's warm, so warm. When your other hand finds the back of his neck, he makes a small sound in his throat and you like it.

It's at this point you realize there is no point in pretending. Maybe you don't want to kiss Joshua at any other moment during any other day, but you do now. You really do. 

When your tongue meets the seam of his lips, it feels all too natural. At first, predictably, he buffers a bit. For a split second, you envision him pulling away and saying you've gotten more than a lifetime's worth of practice in. 

But he doesn't. Instead, an arm winds around your waist and that's all it takes for your body to stop listening to you altogether. Lips still connected, you lift yourself to straddle his lap, right over the folded up covers, and his hands, devastatingly strong, find your hips to keep you rooted there. 

You're starting to think he isn't such a bad kisser after all—maybe he really was holding out on you, but there's something weirdly rewarding about him waiting until he liked you just a little more. Whatever that means. 

You learn that his hair is soft, really soft, at the base of his neck. You learn that he likes when you bite his lips and you learn that his spearmint mouthwash does, in fact, taste as good as it smells. 

You also learn that you, paradoxically, might not know how to love Joshua Hong, but you sure do know how to kiss him. 

--end of part 1--

[part 2 -> ]

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Your Declan fic was SO good. That’s how u discovered your account and I can’t wait for the other Rivals fics you have coming up!!!

If you are still taking requests, I would die for protective Declan O’Hara in any situation. Love your stuff!!

man of the hour.

the sexiest thing about a man is his moustache morals.

declan o’hara x female reader

warnings - cursing. a little violence and a quick injury description.

word count - 2k

authors note - I truly believe that one of the sexiest things about declan is the fact that he stands up for what he believes in… don’t underestimate the aphrodisiac powers of strong morals, ladies and gents. need him to stand up for me sometime🧎‍♀️‍➡️. anyway this ended up much softer than I meant it to be (which isn’t necessarily a bad thing) <3

masterlist. inbox.

“Can I get you another drink?”

You laugh as the man swings an arm around your shoulders, the heavy weight of it almost taking you down.

“You’ve asked me that four times in the last five minutes, Bas. Thank you, though.”

“Just want to make sure you’re having a good time.”

He’s yelling into your ear, both of you fighting to raise your voices above the noise of Bar Sinister.

“I’m always having a good time with you,” you tease, leaning into his side. “I’m alright, Bas. Promise.”

“You need to let loose for once in your life.”

“I’ll let loose on a day I’m not working.”

“You’re always working.”

“What can I say? He’s hard fucking work.”

You both look over to your boss, who’s currently animatedly telling Declan a story. Rupert’s gesturing so exaggeratedly that people are ducking out of the way, both men laughing and completely oblivious as beer and whiskey splash all over the floor.

Bas presses a kiss into your hair, squeezing you tightly.

“I don’t know what he’d do without you.”

“Well, he never has to find out. We’re stuck with each other,” you chuckle. “Best job I’ve ever had, surprisingly.”

“I won’t tell him you said that,” Bas winks, laughing.

The sound of multiple glasses smashing has the both of you whipping your heads around, trying to find the source of the commotion.

“Shit. I’ll see you later, darling. Come and find me if you need anything, yeah?”

“Course.”

Bas disappears into the bustling crowd, leaving you standing at the bar. It’s absolutely manic, people packed in to the rafters and bumping into each other left, right and centre.

You’re about to make your way over to Rupert when a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you backwards so hard that you stumble over your own feet. You tug your arm away, finally getting a good look at the person who’s responsible.

“Spencer?”

“Oh, so you do remember me then?”

“… What? We were together for six months, and I don’t have short term memory loss, so… yes.”

“I just meant because you’re hanging around with the elite now. The rumour is that you’re working for Rupert Campbell Black.”

“I am working for Rupert Campbell Black. It’s not a secret, Spencer. I’m his aide and assistant. I’m working for Venturer, too, helping with their public relations. And you are… what? Still pretending to work for your father when you really just spend your days drinking and betting?”

“I do work for my father.”

“Of course you do.”

He steps forward, getting into your personal space.

“What are you doing in here, Spencer? You don’t even live in Rutshire.”

“Thought I’d pop in, see if you were here. Wanted to see if there was any truth to the rumours.”

“Well, you’ve put the rumours to bed now, haven’t you?”

“Not the only thing that’s been put to bed,” he murmurs, just low enough so you only catch half of it.

“Pardon me?”

Your entire body is taut with tension, nerves alert and heart racing. You can only imagine how uncomfortable you must look, praying that someone notices sooner rather than later.

“Which one are you sleeping with, then?”

“Spencer-”

“No, come on. You finished things with me, so there must be another man. Who is it?”

“I’m finished things with you - eight months ago, mind you - because you’re an immature prick who’s so pretentious it makes you deeply unlikeable. There was no other man, I’d just rather be single than be with you.”

His chest puffs out as he starts to go red with rage, anger bubbling up in his veins. You know that you’re not completely unsafe here in this room full of people, but that doesn’t calm your anxiety in the slightest.

“Which one is it, hmm?” his voice is raising, getting louder with every passing minute. “Which one looks like your type?”

He points at Seb first, quirking an eyebrow.

“Him?”

When you don’t respond, he moves on to pointing at Patrick.

“Him?”

You shake your head almost imperceptibly, wishing that the ground would swallow you up.

“Oh my god… it’s him, isn’t it?”

His eyes have landed on Rupert, who’s still stood across the room. Your boss is looking at you, now, quickly assessing the situation you’re in.

“You’re fucking Rupert Campbell Black?!”

The entire crowd of people goes silent as he practically screams it, everyone’s heads turning to look at you.

“She’s… what?” Rupert, Declan and Bas all ask at the exact same time, hilariously in sync.

“Fucked your way up to the top, did you? Classy as always.”

Spencer goes to continue his sentence, but hits the floor suddenly with a heavy thud. You look up to see Declan shaking off his hand, chest heaving with adrenaline. Your ex boyfriend has a busted lip, blood dripping down his chin and onto his awfully unflattering shirt.

“It’s called hard work, you arrogant little prick. Not that you’d know.”

Declan’s Irish accent sounds stronger than usual, coloured with fury and aggression. Bas has dragged Spencer to his feet, both him and Rupert holding him upright.

“If I ever catch you anywhere near here again, I’ll do more than just split your fucking lip. You understand?”

Spencer nods, clearly still dizzy from the impact of the punch. He’s dragged outside before anyone can say anything else, the crowd returning back to their drinks as if nothing ever happened.

“Come on, sweetheart.”

Declan links his fingers with yours before you can register what’s happening, pulling you through the bar and out of the back door. You take a seat on the brick wall, legs dangling over the edge as you kick your feet.

“You okay?” he asks as he sits down next to you, just close enough that you can feel his body heat.

“I’m fine.”

“Sure?”

“I’m sure.”

You don’t really know how to feel, confused by the whole ordeal.

“He seems like a nice boy.”

You laugh suddenly at the bad joke, shaking your head as Declan laughs with you. It’s not a sound you hear from him all that often.

“Sorry you had to punch him.”

“I didn’t have to. Kinda wanted to, though.”

“Me too.”

He bumps his shoulder into yours, looking at you carefully.

“I didn’t just hit him for a laugh, you know. I was worried he was going to hurt ya.”

“I was too,” you whisper, vulnerability bleeding into your tone.

“I’d never of let that happen. I promise, sweetheart.”

His hand finds yours again, fingers gently sliding in between yours. He rests your intertwined hands on his thigh, thumb rubbing patterns on your skin.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

You sit in silence for a long moment, enjoying the way the warmth of his palm seeps slowly into yours.

“I didn’t think anyone had even noticed Spencer was there.”

“I saw as soon as he walked in, because I knew I didn’t recognise him. I tried to give you some space, thought maybe you were friends or something. Didn’t want to intervene and embarrass ya.”

“Ex boyfriend, if you haven’t already guessed. We were only together about six months all in all, about eight months ago. Don’t know what I was thinking, really. He’s fucking awful.”

“You can say that again,” he chuckles, hand squeezing yours. “Not sure what you ever saw in him.”

“Neither am I, anymore. I don’t know, maybe I just liked having someone really like me, as sad as that sounds. Dating is fun and exciting and… well, it’s supposed to be. God knows it isn’t, for me.”

Declan slides his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side to keep the evening chill at bay. You can hear the ruckus from inside, everyone in the bar carrying on as usual.

“I think you just keep choosing the wrong men, darlin’. Don’t swear off dating just because of a few bad apples.”

“I mean, I haven’t dated anyone since Spencer, and that finished eight months ago. I’d rather stay single than date any more of these posh boys who’ve never worked a day in their lives.”

He laughs, and the vibrations of it rumble through the both of you, settling into your bones. All you can think about is how warm he is and how good he smells and how if you leaned in an inch to your left, you could kiss him right on the cheek.

“What if it’s me?” you can’t help but ask quietly. “What if I’m the reason I can’t find someone?”

“What?”

“I mean, I work for Rupert - which I love - but my job is my life now. He’s a handful as it is, and now with all the Venturer stuff… all I do is work. And I know I’m not pretty like Taggie or powerful and bossy like Cameron but-”

“You’re beautiful.”

Declan stops you in your tracks, his interruption derailing your train of thought completely.

“I- what?”

“Sweetheart, the only reason I noticed that prat Spencer earlier was because I was already looking at you.”

“You were?”

“I always am.”

“… Why?”

“I don’t know, exactly. It’s like this… gravitational pull. You light up a room.”

“That’s a bit dramatic,” you chuckle nervously.

“I wish it was.”

You don’t know what to say, so you lean further into his side, resting your head on his broad shoulder and breathing him in.

“I would have said something sooner,” he murmurs, “but Rupert would fucking kill me.”

“He’s not my keeper, Declan.”

“No, but he’s your boss. And for all intents and purposes, your big brother.”

He rests his head atop of yours, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“How’s your hand?”

“Perfectly fine,” he laughs, squeezing your thigh. “I’ll make a full recovery.”

“Thank God for that.”

Declan turns his body so he can look at you properly, big hands coming up to cradle your face. Neither of you say anything, waiting with tense anticipation for the other person to move first.

You surprise yourself by leaning in and planting a kiss on his lips, chaste and testing the waters. You begin to overthink everything the minute you pull back, worried that you’ve misread his kindness. As if he can read your mind, he tangles a hand into your hair and tugs you back into him, kissing you with a passion you’ve never experienced before.

His tongue slips into your mouth cheekily as you let him take the lead, happy to surrender the control to him. You’ve dreamt about this, late nights in bed spent wondering if the real thing would live up to your imagination. It definitely does.

Eventually, you both pull away, panting and flushed. You can no longer feel the chill in the air, the warmth of Declan keeping the cold at bay.

“Don’t tell Rupert,” he whispers, dirty smirk written across his face.

You can’t help but laugh, giddy off of the weight of the moment. Before tonight, you’d begun to accept that you might have been slightly delusional when it came to Declan - reading into his fingers brushing yours when you handed him something, him winking at you across the room, his palm pressing into your back as he walked past. Now you know - it wasn’t delusion. They were signals.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Secret’s safe with me.”

He pecks your lips again quickly before standing up, outstretching his hands for you to grab so he can pull you with him.

“You wanna go back inside?”

“No, think I’m done for the night.”

“Will you let me walk you home?”

You look at him smiling down at you all soft and sweet, and realise instantly that you’re in trouble. This isn’t something either of you are going to be able to just brush past. This’ll be haunting both of your memories every single day until it happens again.

“I’d like that.”

“Come on then, sweetheart. Lead the way.”

Declan links his fingers with yours, happy to let you steer him in the right direction. Neither of you say much. You don’t need to.

The way his palm fits perfectly against yours tells you both everything you need to know.

@lostinthefandoms11 @prettycoolgirl @buzzcutlip

don’t make me give the reblogs are invaluable to your writers speech again… i’ve given it one too many times… but you know the deal… reblog if you enjoyed and I shall write more for you <3

[nemesyaaa]

favorite crime // psycho!stalker!rafe x innocent!reader

summary ; sometimes being the obsession of someone can turn really bad. sometimes being friend to someone doesn't mean that you really know this person, and mostly, that your kindness will be returned.

warnings : dark content. stalking. manipulation. crimes : murder/kidnapping. smut. sick, poker face, and insane behavior. toxic attitude. innocence kink. violence. dubcon. fear/vulnerability enthousiast. jealousy. dark!mean!rafe. corruption. abuse of power. creepy behavior. minors dni. as always, be careful with the warnings please. don't joke with it.

author's note : i really love how all my concepts with rafe are so fucked up. it's around 2,6k words.

as a shy and innocent girl, too kind for your own good and too sweet to attract nice boys, you had always attracted rafe's attention. especially when you were the pretty employee at his favorite video game store. it was only for you that he spent hours in front of the cash register, trying to get to know you when in reality, he knew you by heart, every detail of your life. he was obsessed with you. he was already terribly sick, diving into your perfect kindness and purity.

you didn't understand why people were afraid of him or said bad things about him because you found him charming and lovely. that was the impression he forced himself to give you. he always had nicknames for you like pumpkin, doll, cupcake, sweet, pretty thing.

the first time he walked into the store, your store manager was yelling at you. and you felt so ashamed and small. there were customers and that made you nervous. you were already crying, impossible to contain your tears in the face of the excess anger you received from this man. it wasn't the first time he did this but maybe the last.

you quickly returned to work, still in tears facing the products on the shelves and the new customer came to you. with a box of donuts. strangely, you didn't know how he could know that you liked it and that it was your favorite. but the attention was touching, more important for you.

“i bought them especially for you. it would hurt my heart if you refused them.”

“you didn’t have to do that.” you replied politely and smiled.

“i know but i wanted to do it. someone has to pay attention to you, and check on your messy health, pumpkin.”

"oh my manager is usually nice. i don't know what's going on."

"you're lying. you're lying because you're too kind to say bad things about people when they're fucking assholes. but don't worry, it won't happen again."

“how can you be sure?”

“enjoy your donuts, don’t think about anything else. let me ease you, pretty thing. ”

the next day, your manager had never been so nice to you. and the other days too. and he always disappeared in rafe's presence. it brought you a lot closer together, because now he came every day. you didn't know if rafe HAD time, or he FOUND it just for you. all you knew was that he made your days in the store so much better.

by coming here, he had become a loyal customer but also someone you could talk to, and he pretended not to know every moment of your private life while he spied on you as soon as he left the store.

he could stay in his car for hours until you finished work. he wasn't just watching you, no, he had also hacked into the cameras at your workplace to be able to record, listen and follow everything you did. nothing escaped him.

he was a jealous person and above all someone who didn't like having his ego attacked. that meant he definitely wasn't going to put up with you having this cute and perfect attitude with the other customers. well, especially men.

you were only doing your job for which you were poorly paid. to avoid getting bored and because you were trying to work on your shyness, you tried to come out of your shell by talking with customers.

but you made a mistake today. you didn't know it yet but you were going to regret it deeply and learn it hard.

"i think you're really pretty and you're so interesting..." the boy began, stammering a little, his elbows resting on the checkout counter. "i mean, it's rare to find girls like you... would you go out with me... i mean tonight haha! we could play a game ? "

it wasn't the first time you'd been flirted with, but certainly the first time you'd accepted. you had never dated anyone, you had never been in a relationship, you didn't even know what it felt like to truly be in love, to feel something for someone. and even if you were, you were too shy to admit it. but it was different, you wanted to try. you didn't have a plan tonight.

"you don't have to accept but here's my number..." he wrote on a post-it and you smiled back. you put it in the back pocket of your jeans.

you were so deep in thought that you couldn't have seen that the minute your new friend left the store, rafe got out of his car. he doesn't entered yet, he had something to sort out first.

but when he went to the store, you felt him different. there were bruises on his face, as if he had been in a fight. “what happened? do you want me to call an ambulance? "

“it's alright, pumpkin. it's just a little blood.”

“do you want me to take care of that?”

"it would be bad of me to abuse your time and your kindness. i have better things to offer, how about I walk you home tonight? i know your work is not close to where you live and i have my car right here...'

you had been surprised that he knew information like this. “no, don’t worry. besides, i’m busy this evening. ”

rafe's jaw tensed and contracted. he gave a tense and forced smile.

“ let me do this for you. you must be tired. ”

“you don’t need to do this for me, although I truly appreciate it.”

“you're wrong, i need to do this for you, sweetheart. just like everything you do for me. ”

“if you insist, it can’t kill me!”

if only you knew…

“ you're really so nice, pumpkin..."

“is that a bad thing?”

he scratched his chin with a light but somewhat dramatic smile before looking into your eyes. you were in ambiguous proximity since you were both leaning over the counter. he was taller than you, so you looked up.

"to be kind? no, not at all, sweetheart. it's just dangerous for you not to know who you're nice to. not all people are that sweet. sometimes they're really mean.”

“ what do…”

“ anyways, don't make me wait later. and you know you look really pretty today, you should dress up for me more often.”

you smiled. you couldn't ignore how nice it felt to receive a compliment, and especially from a pretty handsome boy. in one day, everything had gone by so quickly. you had a date, and rafe was taking you home. your evening promised to be perfect and unforgettable. you couldn’t wait.

at the end of the day. you had cleaned, tidied up all the shelves, turned off all the consoles, counted your cash register then closed shop in a breath of glory. you could finally relax.

as promised, rafe was waiting for you. he was leaning against his car, hands in his pockets.

he had opened your car door in a relatively clever way and then stood inside. he had closed the doors. and he had started. except he wasn't going the way to your house, he was going in the opposite direction.

“rafe, it’s not towards my house…”

“ i know, sweetheart, since we’re not going to your house.”

“but you said you were taking me home?”

“pumpkin, i lie a lot too.”

"rafe, i want to go home... seriously, this isn't fun. i have to meet someone tonight and he's going to wait for me ! "

“trust me, he’s not waiting for you.”

you were starting to panic because this really wasn't the person you knew. this time he didn't seem to be playing a character to please you. he was natural. you looked at him with big eyes. fear gripped your stomach, because you didn't know where you were going and he could go anywhere. you were on the verge of exploding, you needed to get out of that car but he was driving too fast.

“slow down, rafe. please, slow down.”

"oh no sweet thing, i make the rules here. you can't beg because i absolutely don't want to hear anything from you, you understand? i want you to stay nice and quiet like you've always been."

“rafe, fucking stop that car. "

he stopped suddenly, your head had hit the dashboard badly. he had gently lifted your face, putting your hair back in place while you cried into his hands from the emotion and shock.

“see? what happens when you swear like that? do you understand why you have to be polite now? it's a waste for a pretty girl like you to have such vocabulary. ”

you felt the tips of his lips on your nose, they were cold but comforting. there was something so bitter and disturbing in his tenderness as if there was nothing good even in his kindness. that all this affection was manipulation.

“i really want to go home.”

“i have a surprise for you. can you be patient?”

“ rafe, what is wrong…?”

“i’m taking care of you right now.”

"it's a kidnapping! i'm going to call the police."

he smiled wickedly as he resumed driving. “in your place, i wouldn’t make a single move. ”

“why? are you going to kill me?”

" oh i could, pumpkin. for now, i like you alive but if you still want to play silly with me, i might really want to. no, i will. so stay still and don’t make me be mean to you, i’d hate to have to hurt you.”

“if you don’t like hurting me, why are you doing this to me?” your tears were hot, rivers shining down your eyes. he was cruel and insensitive there. it didn't matter to him.

“ i really hate you..."

" oh such a pleasure actually pumpkin. tell me how much you hate me with those pretty annoying crybaby tears on your face. and don't forget to tell me when you're dry, i will gladly make you cry again. “

your throat felt tight and you were desperate. you had a knot in your stomach, fear that made you even more stupid and lost than you already were. because certainly, there was hatred but a lot of fear. he drove quietly, but he was mean to you. he no longer had the kind words he had for you when he came to see you at work. it was as if he was mad at you for something.

“what can i do to get you to take me home? "

“i could make you do a lot of things, but under no circumstances will i take you home.”

“you want sex? "

"oh i'm not sure that the virgin that you are would be able to make me cum but you can always prove me wrong."

“are you really going to kill me?”

“the more you ask me, the more i have the impression that this is what you would like.”

“i want to stay alive and go home.”

"you had to think about that before flirting with that idiot."

he had parked in an abandoned place, on a completely deserted road. when he opened the doors, you took your chance.

what a stupid mistake.

he was much bigger and faster than you. he had caught up with you without even running out of breath. he pulled you by the waist, pinning his arm against your bare stomach. he was clearly abusing all of his power. you had bitten him and he had released you. you fell heavily to the ground, and he positioned himself on top of you, crushing you against the grass with his fully beefy weight.

“it’s not time to play yet. try to escape from me again sweet thing, and i promise you that i will make sure that you have no more energy to run, but especially to escape. ” he had grabbed your jaw with one hand, gripping his fingers tightly against your skin. “and even if you are innocent, pumpkin. you and i know very well that you are aware of what i mean by that.”

your heart rate had increased so quickly. you were trapped and vulnerable. you wanted to spit in his face but you weren’t that suicidal.

he took your hand and placed it on his bulge which literally distorted his pants. “that's all that your heartbeat and your accelerated breathing make me feel right now. is it big? yes, and believe me i can make this bigger and very painful for you. so, no more playing, pumpkin.”

you nodded and he kissed your forehead. “you got it well, sweetheart. don’t let me be mean to you again because you’re really going to hate it.”

he stood up and extended his hand towards you. his tenderness was so unhealthy. he had taken you to the car and pulled a tied up boy out of the trunk.

the one you were supposed to see this evening. you let out a huge cry, taking several steps back but rafe took your hand, wrapping it too tightly against your little wrist.

“why did you do that? please leave me alone. i don’t want to see that!”

"oh oh, you're not the one who makes the rules here. i’m the only one who makes the fucking rules, i'm the only one who decides and not only do i decide what happens but also what role you're going to play. you wanted to flirt with this guy, go on a date with him? you had to be smarter and not do it in front of my eyes now look what you did this poor man is going to die because of you.”

"are you serious? you can't kill an innocent person! he didn't do anything."

"pumpkin, my sweet pumpkin, for every word you say, for every tear you shed, he will take a bullet. so please continue to defend him. i think we are already more than twenty"

you wanted to stop crying but you couldn't because the situation was surreal, horrible and so crazy. you refused to believe that rafe cameron could be a man like that.

“almost fifty. you're really going to kill him, sweetheart. you could be nicer. "

he was so sick and bad. he was taking advantage of the situation. it was completely sadistic. “i beg you to spare him.”

"now you beg for him? pumpkin, i’m the only one you can and should beg for."

he had fired more than fifty bullets into this poor guy's body. without the slightest shame, the slightest remorse and the slightest guilt. he didn't really feel anything. as you collapsed, completely devastated and ruined by what he had just done to you.

he had just killed a man in front of your eyes.

people always said that a guy who killed for you was romantic. but you didn't find it romantic. on the contrary, it had downright tortured you. you were afraid of him. you didn't even know how you managed not to piss on yourself because clearly, he was so creepy.

" i think he's dead." it was ironic, but coming from rafe, it wasn't funny or reassuring.

"what's wrong with you? and what are you doing with a gun? all those video games that made you sick or those horror movies?"

“watch your tone. you see how i killed him? it could be your turn too. ”

“no, don’t kill me!”

he moved closer to you, a laugh passing his lips. he knelt down to caress your tears with his thumb.

“you see what happens when you want to please others? how are you going to fix this now? ”

“i beg you to not kill me. ” you couldn't even see the ground, you were crying so much. it was a traumatic scene.

“now it's time to play. maybe i should have waited before killing him. i mean i wish he could watch you get destroyed by my cock. get in the car, and don't try to escape from me. i can be even more cruel to you. ”

he was hot and cold. all the time. you went to the car while you guessed that he must bury or hide the body somewhere. it had seemed like an eternity before he came back but on the one hand, there was something comforting about the fact that you weren't alone in the forest and that there was someone. even if it was cool.

he had gotten into the car. and patted his thighs to signal you to come on top. you didn't argue and came on his legs. you immediately felt his erection against the fabric of your underwear. it could hardly be ignored because the bulge had literally made you a few centimeters taller.

“are you still crying? he was a poor guy. he had a fucking girlfriend. do you want to date a guy who cheats on you? it's not worth it. you are better than that, you deserve better than that. ”

“by better, does that mean you? ”

“it’s different...but sure i would treat you better.”

“you killed someone in front of my eyes!”

“see? anything i can do for you.”

"you're sick and you ruined my life!"

"i’m tired of all this hysteria. i was going to kindly offer to prepare you with lube, but since you're offering me these pretty tears, we'll make do with it..."

“rafe…”

“oh no pumpkin. it’s not time to say my name yet.”

when he pushed himself inside you, the leaking tip slipped in your folds slick with a hard and brutal thrust. he made his way, watching his own cock stretching your cunt. you cried out from the pain, but you can't help but felt a little slight pleasure. “ if you're still crying for him, i swear i'm gonna fuck you until you're dry. ”

you started to bounce on him with your trembling legs, your ass slapping his thick thighs, your hair shaking on your shoulders, and your face ruined by your multiples and messy whining. you were tense as his girth splitted your sweet virgin cunt. he forced you to sped up the pace, smacking your butt every time you were too slow. his hands was big and strong, enough to feel the pain. especially, when the rings on his fingers left a mark on your poor skin. your tits were now on his hands, pressed firmly and your nipples on his mouth. he spat on them a couple of times. they were filled with spittles and marks, the succions noises in synchro with your rocking bodies. he was stuffed you with his hard dick. making you arched your back, and he placed his heavy hands on your waist, reaching your hips to help you go deeper, to fully take him, every inches.

“ it's like your pussy begging me to breed you…”

“ what…w-what is it ? ” you were too innocent to know those kinds of things.

you had the face and the attitude of an angel, too perfect, too pure, too delicate. “ maybe, it's better to show you, pumpkin. with that, you will be more able to learn the lesson and don't make me mad again. ”

“ what ? ” you gasped. you felt giddy but at the same time, curious.

“ m’ gonna make you so dirty, angel. tonight, you will lose your wings and purity for me. ”

“ please, don't hurt me ! ”

“ oh sweetheart, you're the only one to hurt me, the only one to make me do those kind of things..."

tysm @ahhnini for the idea of psycho!stalker!rafe <33

[psychemochanight]

Dick being neurodivergent, because why not? (Am I projecting myself onto my hyperfixation character of the moment? Absolutely).

Dick finds the weirdest possible positions to be absolutely comfortable. We already talked about how he likes to hang upside down, but besides that, he's always sitting in a strange way.

Bruce doesn't have any opinion on any of this, but sometimes wonders if Dick is trying to give himself some kind of cramp. The others just wonder if the boy has actual bones.

Bruce thought Dick couldn't be a picky eater, but he's totally wrong. Alfred taught Dick to cook because he knows that if he depended solely on food prepared by other people, the boy would starve. (Worse is when they discover that if they don't remind him, this guy won't eat at all. He just totally forgets that humans need food).

He also taught him other things for sensory issues that he doesn't want to acknowledge. (Yes, there are ways to keep his sheets soft enough, to prevent his shirts from getting lint, even cleaning the slab so it doesn't have weird textures).

Bruce always purposely gave him more work than he needed to do, otherwise he would never get the boy to concentrate. Nothing too difficult, he didn't want to overburden him yet, but seriously, even if he liked math, he would never sit down for more than 10 minutes to do his homework. Organizing his tasks didn't always work, but a deadline? It was his best strategy. Even out of ten minutes, eight were just him thinking about something else and only two to complete the job, he would complete it anyway.

(He never gives him the same task twice in a row. God knows that will never be complete. Have you seen how many jobs this man has? He can't stay in one place for more than a few months).

His thoughts also jump from one situation to another as much as he jumps on rooftops when he is on patrol. Bruce never understands his line of thinking, but it is extremely helpful in solving cases.

Despite appearing extroverted, Dick was still more of an ambivert, sometimes even seeming more introverted, he's just not that shy. His social battery runs out pretty quickly, even if he pretends it doesn't. He still needs time to himself in order to move on, and as a child his best way of pointing this out to Bruce was by hiding under tables in a dark place, or instead, climb to the highest places, farthest from people. Bruce learned that although Dick was used to the noise of people, he was used to seeing it from above, not in the middle of the crowd.

It's not that he's non-verbal, but there are still days where just talking is a no-no. As a child he had better control, but as an adult he just doesn't want to talk, and he's not going to talk.

Weighted blankets? Yes please. Noise cancelling headphones? He would love to, but he is too paranoid to completely isolate himself from his surroundings. (If his friends notice that his leg is bouncing more than usual, they assure him that they will keep watch and ask him to wear his headphones for a while, if they need to talk to him they use sign language).

He also has blackout curtains. And we all know his comfort object is a stuffed elephant, come on. (I love the fandom for this idea. Give the guy his stuffed elephant, give him Zitka.)

Yes, Dick, people have hobbies, but normal people don't change hobbies after mastering them once, much less change them every three days. No, gymnastics is no longer your hobby at this point, it's literally your life.

A special interest falls short when you spent a week without sleep to continue researching your new hyperfixation.

[zyafics]

HIII!!! I love ur writing sm <3 If you're taking requests, I was wondering if you could do one about a reporter reader who used to date Rafe but they broke up and now she has to interview him??? Set in college if possible! Thank you so much! I hope you're having a good day 🥰

hi baby! yes, i do take requests and i absolutely love this one 🥰 i made reader work for a network company but she's still in college and he plays basketball! (but fair warning, i know absolutely nothing about basketball so if i got the terminologies wrong, look away!!) i hope you enjoy <3 this is angsty as fuck

ALL FOR THE GAME | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Oneshot) | College Basketball Player x Ex!Reporter!Female Reader .ᐟ

Content — college au, athlete/reporter, prior breakup, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort

Word Count — 4.2K

You couldn't believe it.

It's considered lucky. For someone in your position—having received this entry-level job a couple of weeks ago—to have the opportunity to interview an athlete. In fact, many people would call it a great honor.

And it is. Under normal circumstances, you would be more than happy to oblige—elated, even—because people at this stage in your career rarely get such an opening. Especially since you're in college, fully prepared for this internship to be nothing more than grunt work.

Yet, this? This would allow you to advance your career at an expedited rate only offered to nepotism. You should be thrilled, overcome with joy, jumping at your feet and thanking whatever deity you believed in for such a chance.

But you don't.

Because the person to interview is Rafe.

Rafe Cameron, the top prospect of the NBA draft picks.

Rafe Cameron, your ex-boyfriend.

Your boss waits for an answer. He proposed the question a few moments ago, about covering the press conference for the last game of the season. Because of a sick reporter who called out at the last minute, your objective is to build a profile on Rafe Cameron. Since he's the leading prospect, with scouts all over the country looking at him, many people want to know more about the rising all-star who's done nothing but dominate the court.

This proposal, however, was done more out of common courtesy. No one would be stupid enough to say no, and when your boss raises a brow, signifying his manifesting annoyance from your silence and lack of celebratory cheers—you stammer.

"Um, um," you say.

"Um, what?" He prompts. "Will you be doing it or not?"

You shouldn't. There are many reasons why you shouldn't attend Rafe's basketball games. There's resentment because when you step back into that arena, back onto that court, you're reminded of how Rafe picked it over you. There's lingering sadness, residing heavily against the back of your heart, dulled from the passage of time, but not completely forgotten. And lastly, there's anger, because sometimes, all you want to do is scream, cry, and yell at the man who shattered your heart into a billion different pieces.

But that doesn't matter, does it?

Romance has no place in a reporter's life because you're nothing more but a projection for the audience, a vessel for the readers to learn about something else. You don't have feelings; you're a prop. And, certainly, it doesn't matter to your boss, who's only asking you because you're the last choice.

"Well?"

Seconds away from retracting the offer, something in your chest tightens. Logically, you know the choice to make. But your heart doesn't agree. It still hurts, aches, and burns at all of the past memories. It wants nothing more than to bury itself in a hole and pretend that such a critical part of your history does not exist.

But you can't. Life only moves forward. So, all you do is move with it.

"I'll do it."

By the time you arrive at the stadium, all you want to do is run. Anxiety pricks at your spine and your palms grow clammy by your side. Everything inside you is blaring like a warning, cautioning that this is a mistake, that you aren't ready, and that you should turn back.

Despite the badge dangling around your neck, you almost listen. Put your career on hold for a man who hasn't given a single thought about you since the breakup. You can't let him win, and with that reminder, you move with the mob, flocking to their seats.

The atmosphere is charged with exhilaration, and you're reminded of everything before. It's automatic. How easy it is for you to return to old patterns, to follow them, and to find yourself trickling down the steps and towards the courtside seats reserved for family and friends of the team.

Until a hand is placed on your lower back, and a security guard guides you to the press box instead.

It's quieter. The enclosure of the room dulls the energy of the crowd, with a thick sheet of glass separating you from the rest of the people, and reminding you of your purpose.

You take a seat on a cushioned chair, reserved for your network, and look around the place. You're among the most seasoned reporters in their field, chatting with one another, familiarity engulfing the air that somewhat alienates you. They pay you little mind—saved for a curious-yet-judgmental glance at how you wore a jersey compared to their formal suits and pencil skirts. When you follow their line of vision, you realize it wasn't an ordinary merch of the UNC team but Rafe's.

"Fuck," you mumble. You hadn't realized you picked out his jersey; it was left in the back of your closet and you couldn't see yourself attending your college's game without a visual form of support. This probably appears to the rest of the journalists that you're nothing more than a superfan who managed to weasel their way into their network.

It makes your stomach flips with nausea. You want to separate Rafe from you as much as possible, and with a quick run to the bathroom, you change out of the merch and throw it over your tote, straightening out your blouse underneath. When you return, the players are slowly filling out to court.

The visitors' team enters first; UNC follows. You count each player that exits the locker room, watching their expressions as they grin and absorb the energy of their home stadium, as they walk down the length of the bench, as they talk among themselves and share playful jests and banter. You didn't even know you were holding your breath until Rafe stepped out last, to the loudest cheer of the crowd, with a solemn look on his face.

You watch as Rafe searches the stands. Not in the same manner as his teammates, where they're acknowledging fans, or sending flirtatious winks to pretty girls sitting front row. It's different— with purpose. He's searching for something—someone—and your heart clenches in your chest at the thought of Rafe having found your replacement.

But it's been months, hasn't it? It should be more than fair game for him to date whatever he wants. You can still act professionally with this developing news, but it's striking down at your armor.

However, whoever he's looking for, he doesn't find. Rafe goes to huddle with the rest of his team as their Coach gives a final motivational speech before releasing them.

The game starts with a tip-off, and once the referee throws the ball in the air, Rafe takes it into his possession.

He sprints across the court, slicing through the opponent players, and scoring points on the board. Rafe is powerful, knowing exactly when to exchange his hands and pass to his teammates, where exactly to cut through, and when to commit to a play. Commentary heard from the built-in speakers can attest to it, as their primary focus is on how Rafe is taking the last game of the season by storm.

But, while everyone's eyes are glued to the game, as much as you try not to, you can't do anything but stare at Rafe.

He's just as incredible as he was when you were dating him; if not, more. In some way, it makes your heart tighten, knowing that this validates his reason for the breakup. You just wish he felt some semblance of the pain you feel. But as much as you hate it, you're also proud. Rafe has come so far, and trained so hard, to make it to where he is. If he secures a win for the last game, it will be nothing but a guaranteed track to the NBA and luxuries and fame ahead.

All without you.

By the time the game ended, Rafe scored the last shot in a close game, delivering the end of the conference with a secured UNC victory. Everyone in the press box stands from their seats, heading to the media room where they'll be meeting a panel of UNC athletes for questions.

Yet, you linger. You step up to the glass, watching as the erupted cheers of the audience surround the entire stadium, much to the glee of the UNC team, while Rafe stands in the middle of the court for a few seconds, soaking everything in. His eyes pan across the bleachers again, in search for something, before his expression falls and he retreats to the locker room.

When you enter the room of journalists, you slip into a seat. It'll be a while before the players come shuffling in, and you take each second to rehearse and calm your nerves. In one hand, is a tape recorder, while the other is a notepad of the written questions you plan to ask.

UNC's Publicist steps out first to provide an official statement and give a brief overview of the conduct of this press conference. She'll be the moderator, giving everyone enough time to ask all of their questions, and she'll be selecting the networks to her own accord. After everyone comes to the general consensus, the door opens and the Coach steps out with his players.

You watch with bated breath as Rafe is the last to enter, freshly showered and changed into grey sweatpants with a matching UNC zip-up jacket. His headphones dangles around his neck, while his expression exudes nothing but boredom and reluctance. Rafe has always hated interviews, especially post-games, during your relationship. At least that's the one thing that hasn't changed.

You drop your gaze to your lap, swallowing hard as you calm your racing heartbeat. It's been months, yet you still feel the same emotions coursing through you as if no time has passed—longing, hurt, sadness. You whisper positive affirmations, reminding yourself that it's just a job, and that'll be short and simple. You won't even have to speak to Rafe, because your boss may have said to find out more about Rafe Cameron for your profile, nowhere did he say you have to ask him specifically.

When Rafe sits on his chair, he lazily scans the room, a habit of his to pass the time, before he spots you among the crowd. In the third row, second seat; your favorite choice to sit. You don't see it, but a corner smile lifts to his face, demeanor changing, and he straightens up in his seat.

Throughout the conference, the publicist hands the microphone off to whoever she selects. They often direct their questions at Rafe, to which he gives monosyllabic and deadpanned answers. Then, when they try to seek more clarification, Rafe gives them nothing, much to their grimness.

You keep your head low, writing down notes, and drawing doodles on the edge of your notepad. Anything to avoid making accidental eye contact with Rafe. But, regardless, you feel him. The heat of his stare remains on you the entire time, especially when the publicist approach you and hands you the microphone.

It’s time.

With trembling hands, you stand from your seat. You turn your attention to the front of the panel, introducing yourself, your network, and your job. Smiles spread across Rafe's teammates as they recognize you, and you offer a polite one of your own.

Beginning at the furthest player at the end of the table, you ask, "How would you describe Mr. Cameron as a teammate?"

He grins as if he was prepared for this. "Rafe's an incredible teammate and captain. He's a capable leader, who's strong on the court, but also strong on having his teammates' back. You saw it back there—" That earns a small laugh from the reporters. "But, yeah. Rafe's one of my favorite teammates, if I'm being honest."

You tilt your head at that conclusion, because, if you remember correctly, in freshman year, he often rivaled with Rafe and got into fights over minor things. Regardless, you nod, thanking him for his response, and moving on to the next player with the next question.

"What do you think about Mr. Cameron's plays throughout the season?"

"Is that all you got for me, Mrs?" The second player teases playfully, causing heat to warm your cheeks. "Whatever, I got this. Well, let me think. Rafe's always had solid stats. He's one of the hardest-working players on and off the court, and he always keeps his head focused. Even when he had a bit of a bump a couple of months back, he adjusted his plays and bounced back. That’s his resilience."

Your breath hitches at the implication. You try your hardest not to sneak a glance at Rafe, but you can't help yourself. Turning to your side, you discover Rafe watching you, his expression grimacing at the confession of his teammate.

Months ago. The only thing that changed was your breakup. Does this mean he was as affected as you were?

You try not to think too much about that. Thanking the player again, you move to the next, asking more about Rafe's character—his prospects for the NBA, and his experience managing a student-athlete. You didn't ask just about Rafe, you asked about the games and conferences too, but most of the players always return their answers to Rafe. Positively. As if they had this unspoken agreement behind the scenes to hype Rafe up to his ex-girlfriend.

Time goes on, and you start to immerse yourself in the role. It wasn't as difficult as you expected, especially because you're entertaining a team who've known you all throughout their collegiate career. They answered the questions with enthusiasm and a playfulness that can only be recognized by years of familiarity. You can feel the energy from the reporters shift, stewed with envy, because of how the players are showing favoritism to a novice reporter who barely has her foot in the door.

Rafe watches you the entire time. How truly riveting you are in your role. How you command the room with your questions, how you captivate the players, and how you grow more comfortable as you talk to your teammates. He waits patiently as you make your way down the table, for his chance to talk to you.

But just as he's about to be next, you return the microphone to the moderator. You were going to leave him hanging. Before you can fully hand off the mic, a voice commands the room.

"What about me?"

It was Rafe. You lift your head to find him leaning against his own microphone propped on the table, his blue eyes pinned on you, his expression full of want. Your lips part, but no words fall through. The publicist doesn't take back the microphone.

You stammer. "What about you?"

"Don't you have any questions for me?" He questions, as the crowd murmurs with surprise. On any other day, Rafe would've gladly taken the lack of questions aimed at his face. You've done your research; you've seen his previous interviews.

"I..." You can't seem to answer him. All eyes—from the Coach, to the players (who are smiling their head off), to the reporters—turn to you. "I've asked all my questions."

"I'm sure you can think of one more," he declares, his eyes not once straying from your face. As if he's taking the time to memorize all of your features, to absorb any changes. "Come on, hit me."

Everyone waits. Eagerly. With jealousy. The media room stills with a palpable silence, and you can't do anything but retract your arm, holding the microphone back up to your lips.

You blink, racking your brain for any questions. You truly did ask all of them, and there's nothing appropriate enough to ask in front of a room full of people who are recording and monitoring your moves. So, you settle on something safe.

"How did you feel scoring that winning shot?"

Rafe takes a deliberate moment to consider his answer. His silence tells it all. Before he leans down against the mic, his lips centimeters from the pop filter, and he says, "Empty."

Flashes of the camera go off, and hushed whispers are heard throughout the room. But none of that matters to you. Your eyes remain on Rafe, your heart skipping beats from his confession, and you tame enough of your voice before asking a follow-up. "Can you explain why?"

He nods. "Basketball is great and all, and I'm grateful for everything that has happened, and all I have accomplished. Hell, I'm even grateful for this team right here that's been such a hardass on me since day one," he gestures to his teammates on the panel, and they all grin and laugh. One even blows him a kiss. "But, at the end of the day, it's just a game. Without the people you love by your side, it's meaningless."

You truly feel like all the air has been sucked out of your lungs and tears crowd your waterline. When his words finally deliver through, it's almost a straight shot to your chest. This was the admission you'd been waiting for, but it didn't feel satisfactory whatsoever. It's painful, all of the old wounds opening by their stitches, and grief comes crawling up your throat, demanding to be felt.

You don't answer him. You can't. Rafe watches you carefully, trying to gauge your reaction, trying to see if his words had any impact, but you hide them well. For now. With tears stinging your vision, and seconds from unraveling at the seams, you drop the microphone onto the chair and leave the room in a rush.

That's when he realizes he fucked up.

Rafe stands from his seat, ready to follow after you, but his Coach commands him to sit down. His gaze remains on you until you exit the room, but with direct orders, he can do nothing but slump back into his chair.

When Rafe finishes the rest of his interviews, with more reluctance than he had before, he wants nothing more than to go back to campus to search for you. But he doesn't know if that's such a good idea. Clearing out, Rafe steps out of the doors.

To where you were waiting.

"You had no right," you snap, as Rafe heads to the exit of the stadium. He whips around at the sound of your voice, finding you leaning against the wall. As much as he knows he fucked up, he can't explain the happiness he feels at seeing you still here.

"For what?" Rafe prompts with an easygoing smile, "Talking? I'm pretty sure that's what the press conference is about."

But you don't take it so easy.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," you huff, "You used my words against me."

During the breakup, Rafe had said something along the lines of focusing on his basketball career. You had rebutted that basketball can't be the one thing in his life. At the time, he disagreed, prompting the necessity of the breakup further. It had hurt to hear your words twisted and used against you.

"It was friendly," he reassures. "Just like the rest of my teammates. Talking like we're friends."

"We're not friends and you know that."

He frowns. "We said we would be."

"No, you said that," you hiss, clenching your hands by your side, memories slapping you and prickling your skin. "To rid yourself of the guilt, or to make it seem like permanent. I don't know. But it doesn't work that way with me, Rafe. We aren't friends."

His brows pinch together, and agitation flares through his hard features. "So, that's what it's gonna be like? You come to my games and you interview my entire team but you ignore me because we broke up? That's unprofessional."

You falter. "That's not fair."

"It isn't?" He challenges, stepping closer into your space. "How do you think I felt when you were interviewing every single one of my teammates about me, but refusing to talk to me? To look at me? What does that suggest?"

"That I got everything I needed from your teammates."

"You could've gotten it directly from the source."

"I didn't need to,"

"You could've,"

"Why are you so adamant about me talking to you?"

"Because you're acting like a vindictive bitch."

You stagger back as if he struck you, and Rafe instantly regretted the words that left his mouth. But he can't take them back. Your lips part, and you stare at him in disbelief, but you come up with nothing to defend yourself.

With the hardest glare you can muster, you proclaim, "Fuck you, Rafe."

And you turn to leave.

Rafe quickly follows after you. "Wait—that's not—I didn't mean that."

"I don't want to talk to you anymore."

"Just like you didn't want to talk to me in the conference room?"

"You broke up with me!" You snap, stopping in your tracks with such abruptness, that Rafe almost ran into you. Turning back around to face him, you say, "You were the love of my life, and you left me, and you expect me to keep it professional?"

Rafe says nothing.

"I'm trying," you croak, tears crowding your vision again, and you hate how vulnerable and pathetic you feel in his presence. Like it was back to that night in the car, where Rafe said it was over. "I'm trying to do this right."

Rafe watches your face with anguish, but he can't say anything. You're trying hard to keep your composure, and regain some semblance of stability, you say with a even voice, "I'm glad everything is working out the way you want it to. I'm glad you get this bigshot career and you're about to make it in the NBA, and I'm glad you found it so easy to move on but that's not how it worked with me." Your voice cracks. "I loved you. I can't just forget about it like it's nothing."

His voice is small when he answers. "I didn't."

"You didn't?" You repeat with disbelief. "Rafe, you're thriving. You barely look like our breakup had any impact on you. You're about to secure one of the biggest deals in NBA history. What else could you possibly be missing?"

"You."

His dark eyes connect with yours in utmost vulnerability and it cripples you. All your aggression and anger, all your pent-up frustration—it makes you upset that Rafe manage to disarm you with one word.

"No," you step back, shaking your head, "You can't do that."

"It's the truth."

"It's too late."

Rafe looks pained at your declaration. "Don't say that."

"Don't say what?" You sniffle, your vision blurring with hot tears. "My truth? Did you expect me to wait around for you to come to your senses? To beg for you to take me back?"

"I didn't..." Rafe stammers, searching your face for any indication that it isn't too late. That he still had a chance. But he doesn't find any. "I was honest back there. Any win without you feels empty."

"Stop,"

"I made a mistake."

"Rafe—" You shake your head again, sucking in a deep breath, and needing him to listen and step back. "I'm not here to talk about that. I don't want to talk about that."

"But I do,"

"But I don't," you declare firmly. "I just... I need you to understand. You can't do that. I'm trying to move on with my life. And I understand that we're going to be seeing each other, no matter how I don't want to. But I'll get used to it. I'll numb that pain. But you can't do that. Here; back there. It wasn't fair to me."

Your words sound too permanent. Too real. Rafe can't stand it.

With desperation, he pleads, "Can we talk?"

"We're already talking."

"No, I'm talking about us," Rafe says, taking a step forward. Only for you to take one back. "Please."

"There's nothing to talk about it."

"There's so much to say."

"Name one."

"I miss you."

"Rafe," you cry, tears streaming down your face that you can no longer contain. He hates seeing you cry. He hates it more to be the reason. All he wants is to pull you into his arms and apologize, over and over, to soothe the pain, but it looks as if it would hurt worse if he tried to touch you. "Please stop. You're breaking my heart again."

He made a mistake. There are so many times he can say that. When he saw you in the media room, for the first time in months, it came rushing back to what he's missing. How much he's losing you. He wanted to ask you so much—about how you're doing, to learn how you got the job, to uncover more about how close you are to achieving your dreams.

But he was barricaded. By responsibilities, obligations, and duties. He couldn't ask you in a room full of people. He couldn't help you when his father pressured him to break up with you for his career. He couldn't do anything, then. But he wants to do better now.

He says your name, so defeated, in a last-ditch effort. But you shake your head.

You need to leave this place with whatever is left of your pride and dignity. So, you straighten your spine, take out his jersey from your tote, and hand him the last remnant of your relationship. "Congratulations on your win, Mr. Cameron. I wish you the best in your career."

And when you turn to leave this time, he doesn't stop you.

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