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msgexymunson · 7 months

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Shotgun

Description: you're on a camping trip with your two friends, and the scariest guy from school: Eddie Munson. A few beers and some weed change the way you look at him however. Maybe he's not so scary after all. Cocky, oh yes, but not scary. Especially the way your legs start to squeeze together at the sight of him. But, does he like you, or is this some cruel game to play on the innocent band geek?

A/n: do I have 10 WIPs? Yes. Do I have requests I'm working on? Also yes. So logically, I started a one shot from a smutty dream I had, that turned into a freaking long one. Enjoy!

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI or I'll feed you to the fishes. Very smutty, a bit of angst, hella fluff! Reader is AFAB, cocky!experienced!Eddie x Virgin!band geek!fem!reader, very slight dub con in the beginning (touching over panties, explicit consent not given), female fingering receiving, dry humping, female oral receiving, p in v protected sex.

❤️Reblogs are what keep me going; they keep Tumblr going, and my little black heart beating. Reblog my work and I'll love you forever sweetheart. ❤️

12.5k words (oops)

Masterlist

"You know you guys can't handle this shit!"

Eddie laughs, nearly spilling the beer cradled in his hand.

Steve rolls his eyes, chucking his beer top into the campfire you guys had set up for the evening, the paint sparking briefly.

"Come on Munson, pass it round, quit being a bitch."

"Yeah Eddie, share the love!"

Robin giggles as she clutches her chest dramatically. Shaking your head, you shift uncomfortably on the ground. It's not that you haven't been around this sort of stuff before, people you weren't too keen on have smoked once in your company. It wasn't even a moral thing, you were just a little scared of the effect. That, and the fact you were sitting right next to Eddie Munson.

Eddie, the guy you've literally been frightened of since you saw him leaping on tables in the cafeteria. That was some time ago, and Robin had assured you he was a good guy. You trusted her judgement completely, hence why you'd even considered going camping with the three of them for the weekend. It didn't help the fact that you were just a band geek, not used to these sorts of get togethers. Hell, your closest friends played chess for fun. This was so out of your comfort zone that you felt like a deer in headlights. Only a week ago you had your first beer, at 21; the proper age. Now you were sucking back a brew in the woods at night, sitting next to the drug dealer of the area.

It could just be the beer talking, but Eddie looks good right now. Every time he shook his mane of hair out of his face it had you biting your lip. He threw his head back when he laughed and the sight of that stretched neck of his had you clenching your thighs, feelings bubbling up that you'd never felt before.

So when his hand reached out and his fingertips grazed you, a blunt pressed between his thick ringed fingers, you gasped, pulling your hand away as if it had been burned.

"Come on, take it."

Your tongue feels thick and swollen, sticking to the roof of your mouth. Words. Think of words.

"Can't you, erm, pass it the other way?"

"No, it always goes to the left sweetheart."

Sweetheart.

Glad the low light hides your blazing cheeks at the pet name, you dip your eyes downward for fear of them exposing you. You played the flute for Christ's sake. This was not your thing.

"I-I, well, I-"

"You not smoked before?"

Robin's voice cuts through the myriad of noises in your head, making you turn violently.

"I just, I never-"

"Look at me."

Those words from him sing through your nerves, making you forget any thought you had, or anticipated. As you turn, Eddie's dark eyes bore into you.

"You trust me?"

No. A thousand times no.

"Yes."

"Come here."

He shifts and gets up on his knees, joint pressed between pouting lips as he lights it again, the cherry blazing almost as hot as your blood right now. You mimic his movements, rising on shaky thighs to kneel in front of him.

"Right, I'm gonna take a pull, and blow the smoke, when I breathe out, you breathe in, 'kay?"

His words are sweet, and a little condescending, an edge of talking down that just stirs up your insides further, guts a puddle.

"Okay."

He cups his hands to his face, gesturing for you to do the same. Raising your shaking hands, you touch them delicately with his. He flips his hands so they are on the outside, cupping yours, pushing them together with a lot more force than you did.

He's close, so close. Your breath hitches in your throat, those deep eyes a couple of inches from yours. Heat radiates from his body, your skin itching almost from its blistering warmth. That could just be from the fire. Or the fire in between your legs.

He smells good. There's weed there, sure, and the beer you've all been drinking, and some aftershave you couldn't place, maybe bergamot? An undercurrent lies beneath it all, of man and skin, that makes your toes curl.

He breathes into you then, the swirling smoke trying to escape your cupped hands.

You inhale deeply, focusing on the feel of Eddie's rough hands, on his touch. You breathe in until there's nothing left and hold it. His eyes don't leave yours, sparkling in the fire light.

The exhale hurts more. Breathing out smoke, you revel in the fact you didn't cough or startle. The feeling of him letting go of your hands is far worse.

A ringing, whooping noise finally reaches your ears, between the sound of your own blood pumping. Robin and Steve are cheering like morons, but your gaze doesn't leave Eddie.

"There you go. Good girl."

Damn.

A sharp intake of breath pulls into your lungs and straight to your heat. The pure shock and desire those two words drew from you have you dropping backwards, butt slamming into the pine needle dusted ground.

"Hey you OK?" Robin's hand on your shoulder distracts you briefly and you flash a weak smile.

"Sure, just went to my head a little, I'm good."

Eddie's hand reaches over you, passing the blunt to Robin. You dare not look him in the eye, fearful that everything you felt was written all over your innocent face. Out of your periphery, you can tell he's facing you. Suddenly the fire was extremely interesting.

Robin has a couple of tokes, and tries a third when Steve waves at her.

"Quit hogging it!"

"OK, don't get your panties in a twist!" Passing it to Steve with a loud huff, he takes it and breathes deep. And promptly coughs his guts out.

Robin and Eddie cackle, and even you can spare a giggle at the irony.

"Told you Harrington. Even the little band cutie took it better than you!"

"Fuck off Munson."

Hell, he knows who I am. And he called me cute.

This is Eddie. Scary, metal head, drug dealer Eddie. Eddie who all of a sudden stirs your insides up and makes your head dizzy. Eddie who you now realise is actually goddamn gorgeous.

Eddie takes a hit and turns to you.

"You wanna try smoking it sweetheart?"

Heart hammering in your ribs, you manage to speak.

"C-can you do, that thing, again?"

His smile is dipped in sin as he scoots nearer to you, and you copy him. Suddenly this seems more intimate, sitting on the ground, twisting to face each other, inches away. He takes a hit and holds it, gesturing at you to lean closer. The way he tilts his head, you could almost believe he's going to kiss you. This time, he cups your face, blowing smoke at you. It's so close his lips brush yours ever so softly.

You're not sure if your inhale was intentional or a shocked gasp, but in the smoke goes.

Did he mean to do that?

One look into his eyes tells you yes. There's a cockiness to his grin, the devil dancing across his face.

So, did he do it because he likes you, or is he just messing with you? Only Eddie knows the answer to that.

You exhale, less than an inch from his full lips. Time stops. That is until Steve and his loud mouth break the spell.

"Come on, get a room you guys!" He practically yells, throwing a twig in your direction.

You snap your head away from Eddie and stare at Steve with wild eyes.

"I-I wasn't, we- we weren't-"

"We weren't? Well, that's a damn shame."

As you glance back at Eddie he's leaning on propped up elbows, looking so sure of himself that it's annoying, bordering on making you angry.

Cheeks flooding with warmth, your mouth forms words without checking with your brain first.

"Y-you know what you are Eddie?"

He tilts his head at you, still smirking, and gestures a hand willing you to continue.

"A cocky mother fucker."

The grin falls from his face as he looks at you in shock. Robin and Steve practically piss themselves laughing at your sudden outburst.

"Shit Eddie you better watch out!" Robin laughs out.

"Yeah, that kitty's got claws dude." Steve agrees.

Embarrassed at your own words, you risk glancing at Eddie. You were expecting him to be upset, angry even. That's not the case; he looks impressed.

"Shit, yeah, I can see that. Didn't know you had it in you sweetheart."

Smiling to yourself, you stretch your legs and wiggle your feet. You impressed him. Your turn for a smug smile.

Pretty soon the high starts to settle in; a warmth seeps through your bones and a tingle spreads from your head into your body. It feels like you're quivering whilst sitting still. Steve offers you another beer but you turn it down, well aware that being too foggy right now would be a bad idea. Especially since Eddie has been creeping closer. Now you're side by side, hips so close any time he moves he brushes against you.

The fire dies down, turning to embers. The beer coat has vanished, leaving you shivering. Steve and Robin are already under a blanket; you can see Robin's eyes are close to closing.

"You ok there sweetheart? Cold?"

"I-I'm O-OK."

"No you aren't, you're shaking."

Without a further word he's taking off his jacket and putting his arm firmly around you. Whatever space there was between you has melted away, sides now flush.

You could say the same for your face. This may well be the closest you've been to a boy. Well, a man. He drapes the jacket over the pair of you, covering your crossed legs and his lap, and rubs his hand smoothly up and down your arm to warm you. Little does he know how much he's warming your insides, each stroke sending a buzzing desire through your limbs.

Steve's chatting away; yet another story about Dustin spilling from his lips when you feel Eddie's other hand snaking underneath the jacket, coming to rest on your thigh.

Eyes wide, you flick your gaze towards him.

"What are you doing?" You whisper urgently.

"Just warming you up sweetheart."

He says it so sweetly, yet it belies the movements of his hand, moving further up your leg to run soft circles just underneath the hem of your skirt.

You can't hear a word Steve is saying, unable to concentrate on anything but Eddie's touch and the whooshing blood in your ears. No one had ever touched you like this, not once.

Robin's shrill voice breaks through the fizzing in your head; once again her and Steve are arguing over something. You might have heard Vickie being mentioned but you can't be sure.

Eddie's hand trails higher, within reach of your panties. Breath catching in your throat, you mean to admonish him but all that comes out is a breathy noise.

"Eddie…"

He rests his chin on your shoulder, hot breath fanning your ear.

"You want me to stop?"

You don't answer, you can't. You're frozen, unable to move, unable to make a sound lest a moan escape your lips.

He wouldn't dare, not with Steve and Robin here, would he?

He would.

Eddie runs a finger gently down the front of your panties. The softest touch, a whisper of a thing. Then he does it again, up and down, pressing the cotton of your briefs into your private parts.

You can feel your insides fluttering, a burning settling between your legs, being stoked by every barely there touch. Suddenly, he presses down on something that has you softly whimpering and clenching at nothing. A tingle shoots down your legs to the tips of your toes.

You hear a small noise; it's Eddie chuckling in his throat. It snaps you out of your frozen state and you move to get up.

"I'm going to bed guys."

Standing abruptly, you let Eddie's jacket fall from you as he scrambles to keep it over his own lap.

You turn to your tent and hear Steve and Robin wish you goodnight, and mumble about going to bed soon too.

"Night guys!"

"Want any company sweetheart?"

There he is, sitting with that arrogant look on his face.

"Goodnight, Eddie."

You say it firmly, even though your resolve is as substantial as tissue paper. Stomping over to your tent, you turn on your camp light and sit on your double inflatable bed, hugging your knees.

Now that you're alone you realise how much that weed affected you. You feel airy, light as a feather, fingers and toes still tingling.

It must be the drugs.

You focus on the reality of the situation. You just let some guy touch you down there. Eddie Munson touched you over your panties.

So why weren't you scared? Or angry at him? It's not like he asked. The fact is that no one's done anything like that to you before, and it felt incredible. Left you aching for more. That thought was making you more frightened than anything else.

You listen to the group slowly pad their way off to bed, rustles of clothing, mumbled 'goodnights', and tent zips.

To the left of your tent was the huge six berth Steve had brought for him and Robin. It was fancy, you assume he 'borrowed' it from his parents. On the cusp of hearing there was bickering. You don't know how Robin and Steve became friends, or how they maintained it since they acted like an old married couple most of the time, but it seemed to work. After a few minutes soft snores echoed from the two of them.

No sound comes from the other side, where Eddie had pitched a little coffin tent. You wonder if he's still sitting by the dying embers of the fire. He's probably smoking.

Stop thinking about him.

You undress, only pulling an oversized t-shirt on to sleep in since your big sleeping bag is so warm. You'd bought a double one with your birthday money last year because you hated feeling restricted. It was a luxury but with all the camping you did it just made sense. Snuggling into its spacious depths, you attempt to quiet the raging hormones coursing through your veins.

God, why is he so annoying and smug? It burned you up, but you couldn't deny how much it turned you on.

You slide your hand between your legs, pressing hard to try and quench the fire. He did something, you're sure of it. This wasn't natural for you, movements unsure and bordering on clumsy. When you run your finger through your naked folds you whimper, and see how wet you are. Gasping, you explore further, and find that spot, a hidden nub that sends a bolt of lightning to your core.

"Oh fuck," you breathe out in a moan, starting to rub up and down.

"You alright in there sweetheart?"

Oh shit, he's right outside the tent. Was he there the whole time?

"Yeah, what do you want?"

"I'm cold, can I come in?"

No.

"Y-yeah."

He unzips the tent and enters, crouching to accommodate his height. Closing the tent up, he takes in his surroundings, letting out a low whistle.

"Pretty sweet set up you've got here, your folks rich or something?"

"No, I just do a lot of camping with the troop."

"Huh?" He looks confused, falling to his knees to look you in the eyes.

"The girl scouts, I volunteer as a leader."

The laughter that comes from him is loud and rich.

"Fuck, you got that little innocent act down don't you?"

It's your turn to look confused.

"What on earth are you talking about Eddie?"

He scoffs at you, clearly not buying it.

"The cute little band geek thing, helping out with girl scouts. Shit, the whole 'can you do that thing again?' " He mimics your words from earlier and you flush crimson.

"Eddie, I honestly don't know what you're going on about. I never smoked before, I hadn't even had a beer before my 21st last week. I've never even- no one's done what you did, outside."

Eddie's jaw may as well be on the floor.

"You're fucking with me."

You shake your head, lips pressed tight.

"Well, now I feel like an asshole." He huffs out, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed.

"Well maybe you should, you never asked."

"I'm sorry, I just- I thought you were one of those freaky band kids. You kept looking at me like you were gonna eat me alive, I thought I was in for a rough night." He laughs, shooting a gaze at you.

"Well you thought wrong." You turn your head, arms crossed firmly over your chest.

"I'll go if you want. Want me to leave?"

Yes.

"No."

A smile spreads slowly across his face, and he inches closer to you on his hands and knees, palms splayed on the foot of your air bed.

"So, you want me to stay?"

"No."

"So… should I sleep in the doorway?"

A fair question, considering your answer. You laugh, looking back at him. His smile is softer, much less mocking. It's sweet almost, sanding down your rough edges.

"Yeah, you can be my bodyguard. Protect me from bears and mountain lions and stuff."

He chuckles and climbs over; you lay back on instinct, further away. Leaning right over you, his face is an inch from yours, hair tickling your cheek.

"You know, I could protect this beautiful body of yours better if I was in the sleeping bag with you."

"You don't give up, do you?" You whisper into his skin, sounding braver than you felt.

"It was the sweet and innocent thing, did me in."

He plants a soft kiss to your cheek, brushing your skin, and another, to the corner of your mouth that makes you shiver.

"Tell me to stop."

"Eddie, kiss me."

His mouth is on your then, hot and heavy, tongue begging at your bottom lip. You give him an inch and he takes a mile, tongue sliding against yours with practised movements. Not expecting the full force of his kiss, you suddenly realise you're moaning into his mouth, hands coming to wind into his loose locks.

He breaks away, chuckling at the way you chase his lips.

"You know, you don't kiss like a good girl."

Merely whining in response, you try to catch your breath.

"So, can I get in the sleeping bag? I'm freezing out there."

"Fine, just, no funny business." You point your finger at him, gasping when he licks it long and slow.

"Nothing you don't want me to do." He winks, and pulls his t-shirt over his head.

"What are you doing?"

He ignores you, pulling his socks off and unbuttoning his jeans.

"I'm getting undressed. Why, expect me to sleep in my jeans?"

You merely screw your nose up in response. Stripped down to his boxers, he clambers his lithe body onto the sleeping bag with you, all elbows and knees. Sighing, you move over to accommodate him but he wraps his arms around you.

"Eddie, what-"

"I'm cold sweetheart, just, warm me up a little?"

Your heart is hammering in your ribcage with the realisation that you're entirely out of control of this situation. You allow him to hold you, and hesitantly rest your arm over him. Your head is snuggled into his neck, feeling more comfortable than you had any right to be.

"Eddie, your legs are freezing."

"I know! I wasn't lying, my sleeping bag's shitty."

He pushes his thigh between yours, and you remember a split second too late that you're not wearing any bottoms. Suddenly, his bare thigh is pressed against your naked heat. You're praying to any Gods that might be listening that he doesn't notice, attempting to stay as still as possible.

He's warming up slowly, but you're stiff as a post, trying not to focus on his thigh and the slight pressure it's putting on your most delicate parts.

"So, you gonna tell me what you were doing sweetheart?"

"What?" You whisper into the soft skin of his neck.

"Well, I came out of my tent to see if you were still awake, and imagine my surprise when I heard moaning."

"N-no, I wasn't!"

"Quit lying, I can feel your cunt on my leg."

You nearly choke on your own saliva.

"Eddie, you can't just say that!"

You hit him on the chest. He just laughs, dragging your little fist to his mouth to kiss it.

"I can when you're soaking my leg."

Opening your mouth to respond, all words escape you. Especially when he grinds his thigh against your folds. Instead of words, a whimper breaks from your lips.

"Yeah? That good sweetheart?"

The smugness is back, but you can't find it in you to care, not when he rocks his hips and the force of his leg sets loose a roll of pleasure. He's hard, it's pressing into your hip.

A lean arm curls around you, his thick thumb finding its way to your chin to lift it upwards. You stare into his darkened eyes as they dart to your lips and back up.

All resolve is dissolved like ash in the rain as you feel the intensity of his stare and the warmth of him between your thighs. You crash your lips to his desperately, hips chasing friction. When his heavy tongue slips into your mouth you respond in kind, needy and vigorous.

He takes his thigh away and you huff at the loss, but it's not for long, not when that hand of his is stroking down your front, lightly massaging your hardened nipples and chasing down to your stomach. He cups your mound, one finger pushing down on your swollen nub.

"Eddie."

It's a whimper, a plea into his open mouth. Responding by biting your bottom lip softly, he dips his finger lower, circling your entrance gently. His finger slips inside then and you clench around it immediately, moaning at the foreign feeling. It's odd, yes, but it's so good that you cry out.

"Gotta be quiet sweetheart, don't want anyone hearing me fuck you with my fingers."

His crude words are peppering your insides with fire, the evidence of your arousal seeping out of you. Humming in response, you bite your lip, clinging desperately to his side.

He slowly pumps his finger in and out, watching your face. You're slick jawed, eyebrows knitted tight, hips rolling with each thrust of his hand.

"Fuck you're so tight, can barely fit my finger in."

"Eddie, no one's ever-"

"Shhh, I fuckin' know sweetheart. Gonna make you feel really good. Just enjoy it."

He curls his finger inside you, incessantly stroking at something that's making your legs tense up and your insides flutter around him, the heel of his hand flat and hard against that spot again.

"Oh my God!" You whisper urgently, fingernails digging into his sides.

"I know baby, feels good yeah?"

"Uh huh" you manage to breathe out as your eyes squeeze shut.

The pressure collating in your tummy is building and building as he speeds up, finger reaching deep inside. It releases, and flows from you, wave after wave crashing down and washing away everything but Eddie.

You muffle your cries of pleasure in the skin of Eddie's chest, resisting the urge to clamp your teeth into his flesh.

As you come down, he releases his digit with a wet sucking sound that probably would have made you embarrassed five minutes ago, but now it's just inconsequential.

"Still with me?" He asks softly as he hugs you close.

"Barely" You mumble; he chuckles at your reply.

He rolls you on top of him, moving your legs so you're straddling him. His hard on is pressing firmly into your privates, your slick dampening the front of his boxers immediately.

"Eddie, I'm not- I can't have sex with-"

"Sweetheart, you trust me?"

Yes.

"No."

There's that look again, that edge of mocking that isn't making you annoyed anymore, it's making you want to pull his underwear down and slip him inside of you.

"I'm not gonna fuck you. Not unless you want me to. Relax sweetheart."

His hands are on your ass, moving you against him to grind on his rock hard bulge. Your eyes widen, the friction so much better than his thigh.

He lets out a stifled moan, and damn if it isn't the best noise you've heard in your life.

His hands trail under your shirt as you take over moving against him, feeling the shape of him under you. Tugging at the hem, he looks up at you with pleading eyes.

"Can I- can I take this off?"

All feelings of modesty have fled and you whip your shirt over your head and fling it across the tent.

"Fuck, look at you."

Leaning forward he takes your nipple into his mouth and rolls his tongue around and around.

"Eddie, oh Holy fuck!"

Your movements become faster and sloppy, so he grabs you by the hips to slow you down.

"You know what I think?" He says, in between wet open mouthed kisses to your breasts, "I think you are a freak. You just didn't know it yet." He chuckles darkly, and sucks hard at one of your nipples.

Your moan is loud and bordering on pornographic as you rut yourself against him harshly, all pretence of keeping quiet forgotten as your stomach tightens again in thick knots of pleasure.

"Oh Eddie, I'm- I'm gonna cum oh fuckfuckfuck!"

It all undoes at once as you release and clench around nothing, pussy throbbing with ecstasy. The bones in your body seem to disintegrate, muscles a distant memory as you flop against him.

Eddie's not done.

"Come on sweetheart, just a little longer."

He encourages your hips to move again as you lay on his chest, skin glowing with perspiration. You can only grunt in response and start grinding against him again, the feeling so intense it has you clenching your teeth with pleasure pain.

"That's it, fuck, I'm so close. There's my good girl, just, oh shit, little more."

His praise bubbles through you and you speed up to meet his rutting hips, your slick sticking to the tops of your thighs.

"Feel so good sweetheart, oh shit!"

Lifting your head, you do it just in time to watch Eddie's eyes screw shut, mouth panting open with pleasure as he holds your hips in a death grip. His cheeks and neck are flushed, the vein in his neck pulsing. You press your lips to it softly, leaving feather dusted kisses over his neck and jaw as he comes down from his glowing high.

"Holy shit." He laughs into you, kissing the top of your head over your hair.

"Indeed" your reply is breathless as you melt into his front, attempting to ignore the stickiness.

"As much as I'm enjoying you naked on top of me, I need to, er-" He gestures vaguely at himself with one hand. For a minute you think he's just going to go, but instead he wriggles out of the sleeping bag and whips his boxers down.

You sit back on your heels, mouth agape as he casually cleans his spend with his underwear, wiping at the matted pubic hair. He's big; you could feel him under you but now you're faced with it you fear your eyes may bug out of your head.

Glancing down, you can see some of his cum escaped its fabric confinement; a few drops glisten on your lower abdomen. Curiosity gets the better of you as you gather it on your fingers to feel the consistency, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. It's stickier than you thought. You bring your thumb to your mouth and suck the excess off. It's salty, and strange, but not unpleasant exactly.

When your eyes meet again Eddie looks awestruck, staring at you with the queerest expression on his face.

Embarrassed at being caught, you hide your hand behind your back as if scolded.

"Sorry, was that wrong?"

"No, fuck no," he chuckles, looking away, "just have to stop looking at me like that sweetheart."

"Why?"

"Hell, 'cause you're making me hard again."

"Oh."

You shyly put your head down and settle back down in the sleeping bag's warmth. To your amazement Eddie gets in with you.

"What are you doing?"

"I thought you said I could stay? Or you had enough of me?"

"N-no, I just… well, you're naked."

He laughs hard at that.

"So are you."

Nothing about this seems to phase him, but your mind is swirling around and around. You'd just had your first orgasms ever, and now you're going to be sleeping naked with a man. With Eddie Munson.

He's so much warmer now, skin hot to the touch. Hesitantly, you rest your hand on his chest. He pulls you close, picking up your little camp light with the other hand, fiddling with it briefly before offering it to you.

"Can you switch this thing off?"

You reach and press the button, plunging you both into darkness.

"Night sweetheart."

"Night Eddie."

********************

Early morning light wakes you, filtering through the tent fabric, coating everything in a warm glow.

Eddie is still here, laying on his back, snoring softly with you cuddled to his chest. You'd hate to admit it, but you were glad. Glad he didn't run off in the night. Glad that last night had actually happened and wasn't just your over active imagination playing some cruel joke.

Laying there, feeling the rhythm of his breathing, you take a second to really think.

What was actually happening? A part of you is frightened; scared that maybe Eddie sees your virginity as a challenge. Maybe that's why he stayed? You were staying another night after all. Or maybe this is a little holiday romance, something to keep him occupied whilst he's away. You'd had one before at band camp; nothing serious, just kisses and cuddles and radio silence on your return.

What were Robin and Steve going to say? You contemplated waking him up right now to sneak him back to his own tent, but that thought went straight out the window when you caught the sound of their tent being unzipped.

A soft bash to your tent startles you and makes Eddie snort himself awake.

"Hey guys I'm making coffee! Come and join us!"

Robin sings out and walks away to fuss over the fire it sounds like.

Oh Holy shit balls. Hey guys?? She knew Eddie was here. And if she knew, Steve knew.

Eddie smirks down at you as you stare at him with wild panic in your eyes.

"Guess our little secret is out sweetheart."

Before you can say a word he's unzipping the sleeping bag and fumbling about for his jeans, slipping them clumsily onto his legs.

"Eddie!" You whisper urgently. He just chuckles.

"What, want me to cut a hole in the back of the tent? Tunnel out?"

He's got a point.

"Eddie, please just don't-"

"Hey, I ain't one to kiss and tell, relax."

Before you can say another word he's perching a cigarette in between his plump lips and making his way out of the tent.

Fuck.

You pull on your clothes hastily, a skirt and t-shirt, and slide on your sneakers, attempting to untangle some of the messy bed head that had been created during the night.

It's now or never.

You exit the tent, attempting to look as casual about it as you can.

"Morning guys."

Steve smiles at you.

"Howdy cowgirl."

"Hi?"

You return his greeting, utterly confused, but by the sound of Robin shushing him violently and Eddie coughing on his cigarette you can only assume he meant something by that which went over your head. Robin breaks the tension, talking a mile a minute.

"Hey sleepy head! You want a coffee? I just made it over the fire. Crazy! I know it took forever. It'll wake you up. Not that you need waking up you're up and about and it's early! It's not like you had a long night. Well you might have how would I know anyway here's your coffee!!"

Seems you might have gotten a little loud, why else would Robin be breaking the sound barrier? You don't say a thing, just smile gratefully and take your coffee, entirely avoiding Eddie's eyes, and try to wish the blood away from your darkening cheeks.

"So, we thought we might have a swim in the lake in a couple hours when it's warmer, you in?"

Steve asks and you nod, aware your voice right now is not to be trusted.

So, after a little breakfast and small talk about the cold last night, which you put a particular emphasis on to try and explain away your little situation, you all go and change into your swimwear.

In your tent you lay out your usual one piece, the plain black one you always wear with the troop, and the other set. The bikini you bravely bought but never wore, deeming it far too skimpy for camp. But this wasn't girl scouts.

God damn he's already seen me naked, come on, be brave.

Skimpy number it is. You wear it underneath your clothes and grab a towel and a book, readying yourself to join the others.

Eddie and Steve walk ahead, talking obnoxiously loud; something you're quite glad of. At least they aren't whispering about you.

Robin walks side by side with you, practically vibrating.

"Just, whatever you wanna say, say it before you explode."

The voice that exits her mouth is so high pitched you're surprised dogs didn't start barking.

"You had sex with Eddie Munson!"

"I did not!"

"Totally did, we saw you!"

You stop in your tracks, mouth hanging open.

"What the fuck Robin!"

"Sorry, we didn't actually like, see you see you, we saw your shadows, 'cause of the light in your tent."

"We- I- I mean, we didn't, like, have sex, we just- did something else." You settle at lamely.

"Are you going to? He really likes you."

You scoff at that, continuing your walk.

"He's just trying to get in my pants, take my virginity. I doubt he'll even talk to me after."

Robin's hand shoots out to grab your arm.

"Oh, you don't know, do you?"

Feeling utterly confused, you turn to face her.

"What are you going on about?"

"Eddie likes you, he had a crush on you in high school. He was the one that suggested inviting you and nearly killed me when I actually did."

Your world turns sideways in your mind; everything is upside down, thoughts smashed, memories cut to ribbons in their wake.

"Huh? How- what?"

"He was telling Steve like a week ago, I was listening in and opened my mouth as per usual. I tried to tell you, remember?"

You rack your brains trying to come up with answers when a light bulb switches in your head.

"Hang on, you said Eddie wanted me to go before, didn't you? I honestly thought you were just joking with me, I didn't think he knew who I was!"

You reach the tree line and see the two boys a little further on, just on the tiny beach leading to the lake, stripping off their clothes.

"But he was so- so sure of himself!"

"Oh he's always like that. Pretty sure it's an act, he's actually super sweet when you get to know him."

You look up and stare at Eddie in his swim shorts. He'd been naked last night, but with the low light and distraction of seeing his privates for the first time you hadn't had the opportunity to really look at him all over.

He was lean and tall, but there was a broadness to his shoulders and a sinew to his muscles that made him stand out. Tattoos littered his frame, more than you thought he had but the detail was lost at this distance. You were walking closer, still staring at him, when he captures you. Smiling that smug grin of his he holds his arms out as if on display.

"See something you like sweetheart?"

On the edge of shying away, you look down; but then you remember Robin's words. He's the one with the crush on you. Feeling a little braver, bolstered by that thought, you walk closer, a couple of feet away from him, and stop.

"You look really good Eddie."

Pulling your t-shirt over your head, you smile at Eddie's reaction. Clearly not expecting such a bold move from you, his cheeks and neck are flushed pink. For once he seems speechless. You slip your skirt off and away, kicking it to one side.

This leaves you in your tiny baby blue triangle bikini, with delicate daisies embroidered on the hem. For once, your cleavage is fully displayed, and the ties for the bottoms ride high on your hips. You slip two fingers under each tied side and pull them up ever so slightly.

Eddie's eyes dart down and back up again, and you swear you see him swallow thickly in his throat.

"Well, you swimming or not handsome?"

Without a further glance you kick your shoes off and wade into the chilly water.

OK, keep calm, just look at him now.

Risking a quick peek back, you see him standing gormlessly on the sand, mouth hanging open. He looks so dorky, so unlike the Eddie you've seen so far that you giggle aloud.

Steve calls out to him, already in the clear water. He's stumbling into the lake after you then as if a fire was lit underneath him. Robin makes her way in too, and pretty sure you're laughing and splashing each other in earnest, the boys taking turns in dunking each other underwater.

Steve keeps screaming about his hair, which just makes you all laugh that little bit louder. Soon he's moping about it and swims off surprisingly fast. Robin says she wants to dry out and wanders back to the beach to read a little, leaving you and Eddie alone.

He swims straight to you, bodies a couple of inches apart. Suddenly the water doesn't feel so cold, warmed by the heat he seems to pull from you just by being close. That ache is there again, wanting to be filled by Eddie. You try and shake the thought away.

"Seems a little skimpy for a scout leader," he says, gesturing at your two piece.

"Well, I don't wear this one with the troop," you reply, attempting to look blasé about it.

"So, wore this just for me, sweetheart?"

You shrug, but know your eyes betray you, honesty etched into the look you give him.

"You did, didn't you? That's cute," he responds to his own question, reaching a hand up to hold you by the waist. All of a sudden his breath is in your ear, his other hand reaching up to your chest.

"You look hot by the way, I like the little flowers," as he says it he runs a finger over the hem of your bikini bra making you shudder.

"Eddie," you whisper, meaning to scold him but it just comes out a little too breathy for that.

He continues to whisper in your ear, each word sending a butterfly loose in your swirling stomach. "Wondering if I can stay in that tent of yours again. To stay warm?"

You laugh, turning to face him. "That's not all you want and you know it."

"Yeah?" He comes closer, lips so close to brushing yours, holding your chin between thumb and forefinger. You clench your thighs together as your eyes flutter shut.

"Seems you want more as well," he laughs, pulling back from you. The frown that appears on your face tells him all he needs to know.

As he moves away, his hand drops down, knuckles dragging slowly over your nipple, already pebbled by the water.

"Maybe later princess."

He turns to get out of the water. Furious with how forward he just was you shout after him.

"Eddie, you are such-"

"A cocky mother fucker?" He shouts back, stealing your thunder.

You clench your fists, nearly losing it treading water, and decide to swim away to cool off.

You're finding Robin's words hard to believe. He still seems so confident; maybe his little chat with Steve was a rouse to get you here so he could tease you. If he has liked you all this time, maybe it's just a sexual thing. Seduce the band geek.

When the ache between your thighs is lessened by the burning muscles in your arms and legs you swim back to shore and dry off, laying on your towel to read.

It's like the universe has it in for you today. A few more pages into your fantasy book and suddenly there's a sex scene. Usually, you'd just skim over the 'fruity bits' as your mom called them but now? Now it was as if Eddie had altered your brain chemistry and you found yourself absorbing every word in detail, thighs clenched together almost to the point of pain.

"What you reading?"

You jump visibly and look up to see Eddie couching over you, sodden locks leaving pitter patter drips on your legs.

"Eddie, you're dripping."

He smiles mischievously.

"Am I making you wet, sweetheart?"

You roll your eyes and replace your bookmarker, putting your book down to one side.

"Yes, Eddie, I'm soaking wet for you."

Triumph flashes over your features as you take in his wide eyes; so shocked at your reply he's nearly choking on air.

"You are strange Eddie. You can give it but you can't take it, can you?"

His eyebrows raise and he attempts to cover his flustered appearance.

"I'm just surprised, I thought you were a good girl."

Ignoring your heart thumping hard in your chest at those words, you shrug.

"And here I was thinking it was because you've had a crush on me since high school."

Eddie opens his mouth, and promptly closes it. When he speaks again it's quieter, almost like he's embarrassed.

"Who- how did-"

"Robin."

"Of course."

He stares at you then, all bravado gone. A moment passes where you both try and work out what this means, what the other is thinking.

Eddie coughs and stands up, breaking the spell.

"We're heading back to have lunch, if you wanna come."

He walks off then, not a further glance at you. Wondering if you upset him somehow, you gather your things and head back to camp.

********************

Later that evening, you're huddled around a campfire again having a couple of beers; or, in the case of Steve, several beers. Eddie had been civil, nice even, but there was no edge to him right now. You're not sure if you miss it or not, realising that you had actually grown fond of the push and pull between you, and that grin of his.

He'd disappeared at one point, and returned a little later with his acoustic guitar; beginning playing a little aimlessly, just background music to your tiny circle. He played beautifully; it really was mesmerising to watch his fingers dance over the strings.

"Play me a song, Eddie." You say, before you realise you were saying it aloud.

"Yeah?" He flashes a small smile and you encourage him by placing your hand on his knee.

"OK, just for you then sweetheart."

He breaks into a rendition of Should I Stay Or Should I Go, by the Clash. You're almost certain it's a jab at you because of last night and your failure to make your mind up. You don't mind; listening to the rest of the lyrics you realise you're hoping he means more than just a little in-joke. If you say that you are mine, I'll be here till the end of time.

When he finishes you all clap, Robin as quickly as a bird's wings flutters, and Steve just a little too loudly, probably due to too much alcohol.

"Thank you Eddie, that was brilliant." You smile softly at him.

"No problem sweets." He moves to put the guitar away but you wave your arm at him.

"Can I play something?"

A sharp intake of breath rings out from Steve and Robin but you pay it no mind. Eddie looks at you like he's sizing you up. Seems he comes to the conclusion that you aren't just going to pull some rockstar move and smash it on the ground, he passes it to you carefully.

You take it reverently in your hands and get comfortable with it, tuning the G string slightly as it was a little off when you heard it.

An idea springs to mind and you grin deviously to Robin over the fire, a grin which is reciprocated. She knows what you're about to do. The Band Camp thing.

You start to play the very beginning of a song extremely loudly, singly wildly off key.

"Kumbaya, my Lord-"

"Don't you fuckin' dare!" Eddie shouts, lurching a hand toward you to clamp over the fret.

"I'm kidding!" You giggle, prying his fingers away. Robin's laughing and Steve looks like he's about to burst, swaying in his seat.

"OK, no funny business."

"Not unless you ask for it." You wink, and start to play what you had intended all along.

"One pill makes you larger

And one pill makes you small

And the ones that mother gives you

Don't do anything at all…"

You lose yourself in the song, the melody. When you were younger you had just assumed it was nothing but a song about Alice in Wonderland. You knew better now, but it was fun to play and it suited your voice.

As you came to the conclusion your eyes fluttered shut and you sang out the last couple of lines like no one was even there.

"Remember what the dormouse said

Feed your head

Feed your head!"

Whooping and clapping finally reaches your ears as you open your eyes. Robin is going insane; Steve is shouting but it sounds slurred. Eddie just looks stunned as you pass his precious guitar back to him.

"You're incredible sweetheart." He looks genuinely impressed, staring at you with such intensity it makes you squirm.

"It was OK, my strumming's a little sloppy."

"But your voice! Jesus Christ, I've got goosebumps. You should sing, like, all the time."

You laugh, swatting him with your hand.

"I think that might get a little annoying."

"I'd love to listen to it all the time."

The sweet moment is broken by Robin gagging loudly.

"Munson that was so cheesy I'm gonna hurl."

He just shrugs, unbothered, and puts his guitar away. You didn't think it was too cheesy. In fact, you're breathless, thoughtless. The ache was settling back in, so deep in your bones there was no willing it away. It was clear; you needed him. Biblically.

As that realisation hits you like a ton of bricks, a soft thud breaks through to you. Steve has fallen backwards, already snoring.

"Well, looks like he needs to go to bed. Give me a hand guys."

Eddie stands up and lifts Steve bodily round his waist. Robin and you hover nearby, but he doesn't need your help after all.

Steve's giggling childishly, slurring words together.

"Don' wanna go bed, wan' sing too!"

"Sing in the morning, big guy."

You help Robin tuck him into his sleeping bag, as Steve mumbles Kumbaya under his breath.

Robin huffs. "I'll take it from here," and quieter, just to you, she whispers, "I'm putting earplugs in, go have fun."

"Robin, I-"

"Shhh you'll wake the baby. Just go, go!"

You leave the tent and see Eddie sitting by the fire, rolling a joint.

"Erm, Robin's going to bed too."

"Oh?" He looks at you, quirking one eyebrow. "Are you?"

"I'm not tired."

That shit-eating grin of his is back, tugging at the corners of his mouth slowly.

You sit down, right next to him, knees touching. He finishes rolling, licking it closed with a pointed tongue you can't help but stare at.

As he starts smoking, you finally let loose what's been on your mind all day.

"Why did you act funny with me? After I said you have a crush?"

He huffs a little laugh, blowing smoke through his nose.

"I thought that was obvious. I was embarrassed."

"Really? I didn't know Eddie Munson could get embarrassed."

He takes another drag and looks away.

"Yeah, well it happens. I don't like people knowing too much about me. Rather come across as mean and scary and-"

"-cocky?"

"Ha, yeah."

It's quiet again, but not a loaded quiet. You feel comfortable, almost enjoying the silence; just the slight rustle of pine needles in the breeze, and an owl hooting far away.

"You want some of this?"

Eddie's touch pulls you back to the moment, rough fingertips grazing you. The touch burns again, but differently this time. This time you melt under it.

"Can you, do that thing?" You ask in a small voice.

He smiles wickedly, straightening his legs out.

"Come here" He says as he pats his lap. You straddle him awkwardly, not sure if this is what he meant, but a firm hand grabs you by the ass and shifts you closer to him so your chests are flush.

"Like this?" You ask quietly, breathing the question.

"Just like that baby."

He takes a long toke and beckons you forward with one finger. When you're in range, nose lightly brushing his, he brings your chin toward him with one firm hand and presses his lips to your mouth.

Stiffening with surprise, you quickly soften, disarmed by his lips. You part yours and he breathes the smoke into you, allowing you to inhale deeply. Breaking away, you exhale the smoke downwards and look into his deep eyes.

"Do it again."

He bites his lip and smiles, flashing his teeth. He repeats the gesture; taking a pull, smashing his lips to yours and breathing into you. He doesn't let you pull away to breathe out; instead he presses his tongue into your mouth. Smoke burns your nose as you submit to him, the kiss becoming filthy and desperate as he grips onto the flesh of your ass.

Finally he lets up, if only to breathe. You're both panting, electricity in the air passing between and through you.

"I like it like that." You smile, hand resting on his chest.

"You keep surprising me sweetheart." He responds, hands kneading at the flesh of your hips.

A fuzziness rushes through every nerve, all of your body crying out, singing for him.

"You know, I don't mind cocky Eddie."

"Yeah? I thought I annoyed you."

"A little. But it kinda turns me on." You respond, rolling your hips into him.

"Oh fuck sweetheart," he roughly grips you, forcing you to do it again, "you drive me fuckin' crazy."

He's on your neck, kissing and licking at you almost tenderly.

"Eddie, please," you whisper, mind abandoning any clarity as he kisses you.

"Please? What do you need, sweetheart?"

How can you answer? What do you need?

"Eddie, I-I need you, please," you whisper into his ear, rocking against his hardening bulge.

He bites down on your neck, eliciting a gasp to spill from your lips.

"Tent." Is all he manages to say, and you stumble upwards on wobbly legs, to lead him to it.

Fumbling for the zip, you just about get inside it when you feel his hands on you gently pushing you forward. A small touch is all it takes and you're falling onto the air bed, knees bending as you collapse face forward.

He's on your back before you can think, firm arms caging you in from behind.

"You need me? Really?"

You nod, squirming underneath him, a small hand curling around his forearm.

"Dreamed about you saying that, fuck." He whispers, lips pressing to your shoulder, "turn around."

You can't find it in you to not comply. Wobbling the mattress, you twist to face him, engulfed in the intensity of his stare, illuminated by the fading light emanating from the fire.

"Say it again." It's soft, but ironclad in the centre.

"I need you Eddie."

"Fuck" He huffs, moving down your torso, pulling your t-shirt up so it kisses the edge of your breasts. He looks up at you with pleading eyes; a look that turns your insides to mush.

"Can you turn the light on? I need to see you."

He sounds so desperate, so in need that you waste no time in grabbing your camp light and switching it on, bathing you both in cool white light.

As he's pulling your top up, you assist and pull it over your head, flinging it to a corner.

"You are really beautiful." He says, drinking you in with his eyes, as a calloused hand strokes between the valley of your breasts. You slide under his confident touches, getting more anxious by the minute.

"Can I taste you?"

You nod, and he unbuttons your skirt, pulling your panties down with a roughness that makes you flinch. You're entirely exposed.

"I've wanted this, wanted you, for a long time."

You wriggle underneath him, and reply. "Didn't you get me like this last night?"

"This," he says, gesturing to your revealed flesh, "this is different."

You don't quite get it and want him to explain further, but his lips are on your nipples and all that comes out of you is a heady moan. A firm knee pushes your thighs apart and you bend to his will, allowing him to kiss down, and down, leaving hot pressured mouth trails to your stomach.

When his lips meet the tops of your thighs you cry out his name.

He understands, slipping his tongue between your folds and licking at your clit with pointed precision.

"Oh fuck!"

A chuckle emanates from his throat as he doubles his efforts, flicking and suckling at you in earnest. Thick fingers tease your entrance and one slides into your glistening opening, pumping slowly.

It shocks through your body, setting loose tendrils of pleasure so profound it's almost a religious experience. He prods another finger at you, sliding it next to the first and it burns, making you hiss.

Eddie mumbles platitudes into your pussy, telling you how good a job you're doing, how proud he is, how you're a good girl. His good girl.

The tension is unbelievable, clenching every muscle as your breath comes in short pants.

"That's it sweetheart, sing for me."

The fingers curl, stroking something incessantly inside you that rips a sultry groan from deep within your chest cavity, and without further warning your orgasm washes through. It collects and expands, a force of nature that flies out and collides like stars in the universe.

Your back falls to the air mattress, and that's the only signal you have that it ever left. You feel soaked in your own juices, thighs uncomfortably wet.

Eddie hovers over your face. You're not quite sure when he got there.

"That OK sweetheart?"

You don't reply, you can't. Your response can only be carnal, feeding into the biting, gnawing need that still refuses to lessen its grip on your core. Bringing shaking hands upward, you wind them into his hair and pull his face forcefully towards yours, tongue slipping in to taste your slick in his mouth, groaning at the tangy sweet flavour.

He collapses against you, full weight of his lithe body pressed into yours, but it's not enough. Pulling away and leaving less than an inch of space you voice your frustration.

"Eddie, please, I- I want you. I want you inside me, please."

Eddie shakes his head for a second, then deep brown eyes seek yours for any doubt, and come up empty.

"Are you sure sweetheart?"

The nod you reciprocate with is painfully fast, hurting the muscles of your neck. He looks uncertain, but discards his clothes, kneeling in front of you in his boxer shorts.

"I need you to be sure. I can't give it back."

You let your legs fall further apart, giving him the view of you open and ready for him.

"Please."

Underwear has never been discarded quicker. He has his cock in his hand, sliding on a condom from his crumpled jeans at record speed. A second later and he's towering over you, nose brushing yours and dick lined up to your sopping entrance.

His tip breaches you, so much thicker than his fingers, and you wince. You can tell he's trying to be careful, pushing into you slowly, watching for any signs you want to stop.

You're so full, and he just keeps going. A moment later and you let out a little startled cry as a sharp pain shoots from deep inside.

"You OK sweetheart?" He stops his movements, staring at your face with a worried expression.

"I'm fine, just, go all the way" you manage through gritted teeth.

He slips the last of it deep, deep inside as you yelp at the suddenness. Then, he's still, grabbing your hand and entwining your fingers with his over your head, his other arm holding him perfectly motionless above you.

"That's it, you're OK, so fuckin' tight, fuck," he says to you, kissing your cheek. It burns, the feel of him, but a fullness is beginning to overtake that ache.

"You know, I thought you were afraid of me in high school." He half laughs, kissing the tip of your nose. It's such a sweet gesture from the so-called frightening man that you giggle a little too.

"I was," you admit, staring into his deep eyes.

"Then, we come here and you look like you're gonna eat me alive. Then, you're all innocent, and now… fuck, I can't keep up."

You appreciate what he's doing, talking to you, distracting you from the pain. It helps; it's settled into a dull throb and your need from him is outranking it.

"Eddie, you can move."

With a peck to your lips he pulls out a little and thrusts back in, setting a slow and steady pace.

This is so much better than his hands, or his tongue. On every thrust he's massaging at something that makes you moan, again and again.

"You're doing real good sweetheart, my good fuckin' girl."

All of a sudden you feel it, all of it. His lean weight comforting over you, the squeeze of his fingers in yours, the throb of his member inside you, his words. It's all too much. Your eyes gloss over and a tear works its way down your temple.

"Oh shit, you want me to-" He starts as he slows down a little.

"Don't you fucking dare, please, please, I-I need-"

He grins at you; that self satisfied look that turns your legs to jelly.

"What do you need, sweetheart? Whatever you want, I'll give it to you."

"Harder Eddie, oh God!"

He snaps his hips into you with much more force; once, twice, three times and you scream his name, pussy clenching him hard, every muscle tense. As everything unravels you go limp, whimpering at the pulse that you can feel pounding in your core.

When your eyes finally decide to open, he's leaving kisses as light as a butterfly's wings on your cheek.

"Woah," is all you can say, between breathless giggles. Tears are falling but you don't care enough to wipe them away.

Eddie unlatches his hand from yours and does it himself.

"That was so hot. You need to do that again," he whispers, beginning to grind into you slowly.

"I nearly died Eddie, it might finish me off!"

He laughs back, but doesn't quit; hips still driving into you leisurely.

"What's life without a little risk?"

You stare up at him, biting your lip, a question on the tip of your tongue that you're too nervous to ask.

"What is it?" He asks, brow furrowed, as if you were about to ask him to stop.

"Can I… wait, don't worry."

He does stop then, to put his hand to your face and stroke you with his thumb.

"Hey hey hey, come on, what baby?"

You whisper it quietly, voice small and second guessing.

"Can I try, erm, being on top?"

You're surprised that Eddie's face didn't split in half from the sheer wideness of his grin.

"Holy shit, yes, please."

He winds his arms underneath your frame and flips you so fast your vision blurs, until he's underneath you. You sit up, his cock still buried within, and you gasp at the new angle.

"Eddie, Jesus Christ!"

Palms splayed on his chest, you control your breathing a little. This angle is devastating, pressing harshly against that place inside that has you throbbing around him.

Eddie chuckles darkly as his hands slide over the flesh of your thighs, rubbing back and forth, until they work their way to your hips and pull you up ever so slightly, only to drop you back down again.

"Just like that sweetheart, 'Kay?"

He tilts his head to one side, that mocking tone fuelling the embers of your desire. Rising up on shaky knees you pull off him and slide back down, trying to find some semblance of rhythm. Your clit grazes his pubic hair on one pass and you nearly lose it completely, the feeling sending a bolt of pure pleasure up your spine.

"Oh my God!"

"Yeah? That good?"

You hum and nod, words escaping you, now rolling your hips on each bounce to get that sensation over and over.

Eddie's talking now, watching how much you writhe and whine at his words.

"That's it sweetheart. Wanting to- oh fuck- ride me, on your first time. Oh yes, fuck, just like that- dirty, my dirty fuckin' girl."

"Eddie, oh God, can you, fuck, please-"

"What is it sweetheart? Anything, you can have anything."

His words embolden you, and before you can hesitate your hands are gripping one of his and leading it to your throat. You're not sure why, but you know deep in your core that you need it.

Eddie looks shocked by your moments but quickly recovers, fingers slotting around your throat, squeezing lightly at the sides.

Speeding up, feeling the pressure of his hand on your windpipe, you throw your body into each movement.

"Fuck Eddie, harder!"

He squeezes and you let go of everything, breath leaving you. All composure, all thought. It's just you and Eddie, and his hand, and his cock. Screaming aloud, you fold almost double, collapsing into him with a shocked, delicate whimper.

His fingers relinquish their firm grip, coming to rest on the back of your head in a comforting, tender hold.

"I was right, you are a freak."

Laughing aloud, you have just enough bones left in your neck to lift it ever so slightly. He looks surprised, sure, and really aroused, judging by his hooded gaze.

"Are you not… done?" You ask, as you feel his impossibly hard length still throbbing inside you.

"What can I say, I've got stamina."

That smug face is back, a flash of canines and confidence. You'd roll your eyes if it wasn't so sexy.

No time for a witty comeback though, as he holds you close to him and thrusts upwards with abandon. Colours swirl in your vision as you try to stay attached to reality, focusing on the feel of his skin, the pounding of his rhythm, and the light in his eyes.

"Fuck I'm close, I'm so fuckin' close. You're, oh shit, so- oh God, can't believe you're letting me do this."

Slack jawed and practically dribbling, you let him use you to chase his own release, trying to weakly meet his thrusts. A pulse deep inside is brought to your attention, and it's not yours. Looking at his face, you watch it awash with ecstasy as he holds you tightly and throbs his climax out.

His muscles melt, holding you still but so loosely that the lack of pressure surprises you, as if you were only aware of how tight his grip had been at this very moment.

The only sounds are the nightlife of insects around the tent, and panting, heaving breaths. Sliding off of him in an organic gesture, you curl up into his arms, finally feeling sated and at ease.

Lips are pressed into the top of your head, kissing you over your hair. No words are spoken; none need to be. For a shining moment, this is all you need. To be held, and cared for.

Minutes go by, and your eyelids begin to feel heavy. Before you drift off, Eddie breaks the spell cast over both of you.

"Was that OK princess?"

"That was incredible Eddie."

He kisses the top of your head again, then seems to remember himself.

"Fuck sweetheart, just, stay right there."

Clambering to his feet he pulls the condom off, tying it in a knot and discarding it into a corner to be thought of later. He's back then, spreading your legs.

'Eddie, you can't just-"

"I'm just looking after you sweetheart. You got some tissues or something?"

Furrowing your brows, you point to your wash bag near the foot of the sleeping bag. He paws through it wordlessly, and brings out some tissues and wet wipes.

"Sweetheart I'm so sorry."

"What's wrong?" You ask, panic riding your words.

"I've made you bleed." Eddie looks crushed, so upset at your prior pain, anguish etched into his face.

"It's OK Eddie, it's normal."

"You should have said. I'm so sorry."

You laugh a little, touched by his concern.

"I didn't know! It's alright, it doesn't hurt now."

Placated slightly by your answer, he cleans you both up as well as he can, before slipping into the sleeping bag with you.

A thousand questions perch on the edge of your tongue, but it's so warm, so cosy and right, that your body denies all words for a moment.

When you feel capable of speech you look up at him.

"Stamina, huh?"

He flushes, looking down at your smiling face.

"I may have tactically jerked off beforehand."

"When??" You giggle, fingers flirting over his exposed chest.

"When I went to get my guitar."

"Eddie, how did you know that-"

"OK, OK!" He grabs your hand, kissing your knuckles before hiding behind it, "I didn't know, not for sure. You just looked so good in that little two piece, I couldn't hold it in."

"Perv," you respond, but your eyes are soft.

"Yep."

Giggling, you slip into a calm, contented sleep in his arms.

********************

You wake up a little later than intended, no doubt exhausted from last night. The tent feels empty. Upon realising that Eddie's missing a dread settles in your stomach. Bile rises as you sling some clothes on. Maybe he's had his way with you and that's it.

Exiting the tent, you see he's just by the fire, trying to get it going again, a cigarette dangling from his pouting lips.

"Oh would you just- come on!" He says as he angrily flicks his lighter, trying to get the wood to catch.

You smile, relief washing over you, and walk over to help.

"I'm begging, come on- oh, sweetheart," he looks a little sheepish as he speaks to you, mumbling around his cigarette. "I was gonna make you coffee and bring it to you but the damn fire won't start."

You giggle, and rearrange the little pile, adding a few twists of paper to the base, and hold your hand out to him. He looks at you blankly for a second, then comes to his senses, placing the lighter in your palm.

With one stroke the papers alight, and starting to catch the rest of the twigs. The couple of logs won't take long to catch.

"Witchcraft."

"Nope, just girl scouts."

"You can go back in the tent if you want, I'll make you a drink."

"Eddie?"

"Huh?" He turns to you, pot of water in his hand.

"Good morning." You smile shyly at him. He grins, placing the pot on the ground and stubbing out his cigarette. Strong arms slot their way around your waist and you fling your arms around his neck, grinning stupidly at each other.

"Good morning. Good night?" It's framed as a question, and you know what he's getting at.

"Great night."

Smiling wider, he presses a kiss to your forehead. Puckering your lips to ask for a proper kiss, you hear a very loud cough.

"Good morning love birds." Robin wiggles her eyebrows at you both. You move to break away from Eddie, but he steals a kiss anyway, and pulls you close to his side, arm firmly around you.

"Is Steve alive?" He asks, looking at Robin.

"Well, he got up in the night to throw up, just glad he didn't do it in the tent. He's dead to the world right now. He's been singing in his sleep you know. Nearly suffocated him with a pillow."

You both laugh at that, and then hear a loud groan from the tent.

Eddie glances at you with mischief and shouts out towards Steve's tent.

"Harrington! Wanna sing for us, big guy?"

"Urgh." Is the only reply. Robin rolls her eyes and busies herself with the fire.

After a while, the coffees are ready; you all attempt to rouse Steve but he's gone back to sleep, groaning whenever you call out to him.

Then, it's just the sad business of taking down your tent. There's a special kind of melancholy reserved for such an occasion; pretty soon there's no sign at all that it was ever there. Afraid that your memories, your feelings, about last night would fade too, you walk over to Eddie who is perched on a stump fitting the last of his things in a bag.

"Eddie?"

"Yeah sweetheart?" He asks, still fumbling with his bag.

Do you still like me? Do you want to see me after this? Was this all a dream?

"Can I get a ride back with you? Steve and Robin are gonna be a while."

You gesture over to where Steve had finally emerged, whining and packing his stuff, tent still upright.

"Sure, anything you need." He flashes a tight lipped smile and reaches to grasp your hand briefly.

The ride back to town with him is chatty, even if it's only surface level stuff. Your rendition of White Rabbit had him fumbling around the glove compartment and pulling out a few older classic rock tapes that you happily listened to; music was a big part of your life, at least you both had that in common. His eyes light up whenever you talk about a band or song that he likes too, gesturing so emphatically with his hand you have to remind him to look at the road.

Pretty soon you're pulling up to a crossroads, except Eddie pulls over instead.

"What's wrong?"

He huffs, smiling at you sadly.

"If I keep driving forward I've got to say goodbye to you, take you home," he admits. Your heart flutters at the admission.

"Where do you live, Eddie?" He looks confused, but points to the left turning.

"Eddie, turn left."

"Really?"

"Really. I was supposed to stay at Robin's tonight anyway."

His grin is downright manic as he pulls back on the road, making short work of the drive to his trailer.

He bundles you out of the van and opens the trailer door, both of your bags heaved over one of his shoulders.

The sight of an older gentleman startles you as he potters around the kitchen area.

"Hey! This is Wayne, my Uncle. Wayne, this is my girlfriend."

Your eyes widen as he gives your name to his uncle and you shake hands with him, the roughest hand you think you've ever touched, but the softest grip.

"Pleasure to meet you, miss. I'm heading out today, so I'll see you two later I'm guessing."

He waves and smiles fondly at the pair of you, and leaves.

"Sorry, thought he would've left already." He explains, pulling you both to the back of the trailer and into what you assume is his room.

Allowing yourself to be led, still feeling shell shocked, you perch on the edge of his bed as he dumps the bags on the floor.

Eddie's talking, saying how he wishes he tidied before he left, how the trailer's not much but it's home, and his uncle…

"Eddie, wait."

He stops mid flow to look at you.

"Girlfriend?"

"Well yeah? I mean, if you want to. I didn't ask, did I?" He flushes pink, hand reaching up to nibble at his thumb.

"I mean, you don't know me, really." You shrink, almost folding in on yourself.

"Hey," he sits down next to you, stroking your jaw with his finger, "I know enough. And I let you touch my guitar. We're practically married now."

Lips press softly to yours, a delicate touch that has all tension flying from your body in a rush.

"Eddie…" You whisper, giving him a butterfly kiss with the tip of your nose.

"Hmm?"

"You smell really bad."

He laughs and grabs you around the waist, pulling you down sharply to lay on the bed.

"So do you."

"A point well made." A response, but you don't move, snuggling deeper into his neck.

"So, I've got an idea. Let's have showers, get into some comfy stuff, and cuddle. Probably got a movie or two we can watch?"

The normalcy of the situation is surprising, but most welcome.

Smiling wickedly, you nip at his neck and whisper in his ear.

"One condition: we shower together."

He groans loudly, hands stroking at any skin he can reach.

"Fuuuck, sweetheart, I've created a monster."

You laugh, and hold him tightly. Eddie Munson isn't so scary, after all.

Taglist (just some people I thought might like this, hope you don't mind!)

@eddiesprincess86 @zestychili @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @roanniom @usedtobecooler @josephquinnsfreckles @eddiemunsonfuxks

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angelwithdemonictendencies · 5 months

Text

he set my house on fire, you lit my heart ablaze; when the smoke cleared, you stayed, coughing up ash with me.

jh86 x reader: the revenge plot doesn't go as planned (ft. ex-fiance am34).

(warnings: blasphemous filth (it's on the tamer side, i think), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), spit and descriptions of bodies and stuff like that, hair pulling (big fan), lots of talk about toxic relationships and being mean and using people and sad moments (we can thank this fictional am34 for that), oh, and slight bullying of tz11). idk just please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(a/n: hello, favorites. thank you so, so much for your patience and softness. today i bring you a story that took me so, so long because i worked so, so hard on it (and it's really long! 14k worth). we have checked all the boxes: terrible ex-fiance am34, sweet boy jh86, schemes and plots and the like. no, i don't think any of these characters are like this in real life. no, nobody acts like this, but it's getting colder, so i think a lot of us are craving that gentle domesticity. and yes, i wish someone had shown up with flowers after i finished undergrad midterms. there's probably a ton of plot holes but shh! don't tell anyone. also tried out a new format, the smut is in the middle instead of the end, let me know how you feel about that. anyways, i miss you and i love you and i think of you often and fondly. i hope you and your snakes are doing well and knowing what you deserve and accepting nothing less. let me know what you think, what you want next, etc. go canucks, of course. oh, and no, i do not think it's a coincidence that all the guys i write about are having a great season so far (except the ducks that refuse to play). how could it be? definitely a causal connection. all my love to you. until next time).

since you were a young girl, you had known that your greatest motivation, your deepest truth, perhaps your fatal flaw, was just how deeply you felt.

when you were little, that meant tears came easily, anger festered like weeds in a prized garden, and happiness felt like flying.

it also meant you could read others' emotions almost as clearly as your own.

it made you different, it made you a good friend, it made you the person you were. for much of your life, you had made peace with the fact that your well of emotions went deeper than others. you had loved that part of yourself, even.

but the night you broke off your engagement to auston matthews, you wanted nothing more than for everything you were feeling to disappear, to evaporate into the air as if it had never been.

"you couldn't've at least tried to hide it from me?" you had said, willing your fragile voice not to break.

and he had sat at the kitchen counter, that massive body on the stool that you had carefully selected for the house that you shared, that you thought you would share forever. and he had sighed, sounded almost annoyed. "would that have made it better, angel?"

his indifference coated your bones like lead paint. that name, once one you felt would call you out of a coma, would lead you out of hell like a northern star, now felt like nothing but a condescending, patronizing taunt. silly, stupid angel, the god might as well have said, how could you think you could ever be enough?

understanding settled like ash on your eyelashes. "you think i'll forgive you," you said, little more than a whisper. "you think i won't leave."

he scoffed at that, then. at you. "and go where?" he asked, sounding almost genuine. "where do you have to go?"

how superficially he knew you, it seemed, at that moment. how had you not seen this before?

"you honestly think i could ever look at you the same?" you asked.

he shrugged, his shoulders so imposing, stature so suddenly frightening. a body you knew better than your own, suddenly foreign. a ghost. "maybe differently, but still looking," he said, "your eyes have only ever followed me, angel."

and maybe he was right, but you were done proving him so.

"send my things to my parents' place," you said, cold, devoid of anything. emotion welled up in you like a flood, but you froze it before it could crest through your mouth, come out like some mythical fire-breathing dragon. you slipped off your ring, placed it on the counter.

you didn't feel lighter without it, though. you felt so devastatingly heavy, like cinder blocks were tied to your ankles, like liquid stone filled your head.

"are you kidding?" he asked. to your silence, careful pause, he tilted his head, shook it once. "you're just gonna quit?"

your hands were shaking. you could feel rage rattle through your body, shake your bones. you clenched your fist so tightly you wondered if blood would drip from your palms, stain the light hardwood floor that you had spent so long deciding on. "how dare you," you said, begging your quivering lip to still.

his smirk was cruel. "not like it matters," he mused. "you've never been able to quit me."

you had seen him mean. on the ice, sometimes to journalists, sometimes to fans, sometimes to you, even. but this was past mean. this was past elementary bullying, past joking insults that don't land. he was trying to call your bluff, trying to push you into forgiveness, trying to hurt you.

"watch me," you said, your voice made of ancient rock.

"are you mad because she's hotter than you?" he asked, his brow contorted in false concern. "is that it?"

despite yourself, a small smile pulled at your mouth. a smile that made your eyes glitter. a smile that should have scared him. a warning.

"she is beautiful," you conceded, because she was. what good would it do you to deny that? you approached him, then, in his personal space for what you believed would be the last time. he turned to you, your eyes meeting in a clash, like sword on sword. cruel, brutal arrogance and pure, pretty wrath. you held the side of his face in one palm, the other hand resting on his shoulder. "but when a beautiful person hits on me, auston, i say no."

his eyes flickered down to your mouth, simmering with lust. you laughed at this, at him, raw and true, let pity soak your tone like acid. "i'm not mad at her, auston," you admitted truthfully. "i'm not even mad at you." you patted his cheek, perhaps a little harder than you needed to. "i'm just so disappointed."

that had been weeks ago. you had moved back to the states, so embarrassed on the plane at how you couldn't stop the tears from flowing, until finally you were back with your parents in new jersey. they had welcomed you so warmly, so easily. it had taken a few weeks for the tears to finally slow, for the utter devastation to fade, for your red eyes to brighten again.

at first, it had been hard to remember anything but how his embrace felt like home, how tightly he hugged you after games, how his eyes shone when he laughed, how he had teared up when you had accepted his proposal, how he had gushed about picking the right ring.

but as the sadness faded, as it festered into something much more serious, you remembered less of the fairytale moments, less of his perfect smile, less of the "pretty girl" utterances in his rough bedroom rasp. soon the sadness gave way to steely rage, to an almost bloodthirsty need for revenge. for him to hurt the way he had hurt you.

and no one does bloodthirsty like a group of university-age girls. after catching up with your childhood friends, and getting them caught up on your situation, you looked at your confidants with eager eyes. "what do i do?"

your best friend from high school spoke first, banging her fist on the table. "burn his house down?" she offered. "steal his dog?"

her friend from college put a gentle hand over her fist, "i think for now we try to avoid the federal crimes," she said, then turned to you. "when my ex cheated on me, i got with the lead singer of his favorite band." her eyes shimmered. "and then bought his dream car and wrapped it pink."

you giggled in delight. "oh, you're good."

your childhood friend nodded. "phycological warfare." she looked at you. "who's his idol?"

you thought for a moment, tapped your fingers on the table. "i don't know if idol is what i should be going for," you thought out loud.

"who's someone who would make him uncomfortable? insecure?"

"his dad!" your friend said, making you shake in a laugh.

"his biggest insecurity is the spotlight leaving and not coming back," you told them. you had known that for a long time.

"being forgotten?" your friend asked.

"being replaced," you said, your eyes widening with understanding. "with someone better. more promising." you shared a look with your friends, felt anger solidify into a plan. into hope.

"you look like you have someone in mind."

a memory flashed across your mind like a shooting star, engulfed in flame.

"how was the game, aus?" you had asked when he got home, stirring the pot of soup on the stove.

you heard some kind of grumble as he dropped his things in the mudroom, made his way into the kitchen.

"what's wrong?" you asked when you met his eyes, sensing something wrong like smoke in the air.

"just this young kid," he muttered. "'s nothing, really."

and you knew then that it wasn't just nothing, because he never tried to hide things from you, to diminish his feelings, unless it was really bothering him.

you turned the stove off, approached him, wrapped your arms around his middle and hugged him tight. "who's this new kid?" you asked, muffled by his chest.

his arms pulled your closer, tighter. this had always been where you felt warmest, safest. "some h name," he muttered. "hicks? hughes, maybe?"

you smiled into his chest, knowing him, and knowing he would never have forgotten the name of this kid. knowing auston matthews never forgets people who make him feel like anything other than the world's brightest star.

"whoever he is, probably just had the game of his life," you had said, your voice a comforting lullaby. you had pressed yourself up on your tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "nothing to worry about, yeah?"

he had smiled back at you, but something dark had swirled behind his gaze. something like knowing, like ominous understanding, like an empire, falling. "already forgotten, angel," he had said, but you knew, even then, that he was lying.

the memory fizzed and dissolved like baking soda in vinegar.

you looked at your friends and smiled. "what do you guys know about jack hughes?"

from there it was surprisingly easy to shift from a tangent line outside jack hughes's circle to someone inside of it. you were patient, too, careful not to rush. you wouldn't settle for anything less than perfect, after all, refused to enact any plan that wouldn't end in exactly the revenge you sought.

one of the other wags from toronto, whom you had grown close to, insisted on helping, giving you the numbers of some friends close to the devils.

"i'm honestly so, so proud of you for leaving," she had told you over the phone, her voice nothing but genuine, knowing. "all of us, we all knew you were way too good for him."

"did you?" you asked, maybe a little shocked. having been so completely deceived, so absolutely blind, for so long, it was interesting that others had not been as deluded as you. to hear their perspective, to see what you had not been able to before.

"sweetheart," she said, gently, "everyone who meets you can see that you're good. that you deserve someone good." there was a pause. "and everyone also sees that he was never that."

you let her words settle like glitter on a childhood craft. "thank you," you said. "i miss you."

"we miss you so much. see you soon?"

you agreed, thanked her for her help.

"i hope he's good," were her closing words. "maybe better, at least."

having started classes with your old friends, intent on finishing the degree you had so quickly and thoughtless abandoned for auston, you had ample time to plot.

"feels like we're in a spy movie, or something," your friend had said excitedly.

"we'll be your guys in the chair," the other chimed in. "here the whole way."

the rest of the initial plan came easily, with the help of the people who were on your side, which you quickly learned was a group made up of more people than you thought.

very soon, it was time for step one, and you were in front of your mirror, having just finished getting ready, your friends by your side.

you took a deep breath. "what if this isn't a good idea?" you whispered.

they squeezed at your hands. "no going back now, okay? we'll be there the whole time."

"what if he's not interested?"

"look at yourself," one of them said, "don't be stupid."

"what is he thinks i'm a crazy stalker?"

your oldest friend shrugged, her eyes full of mischief. "what if you are?"

so you found yourself at a dingy, run down bar, the lights low. according to your contacts, this was where the team and their friends came after home games.

when was the last time you had come to a bar looking for something? for someone? it felt distantly familiar, but so strange, like hearing a language you spoke as a child but that hadn't graced your tongue in decades.

you had been with auston for years, after all, having met him when you were 19, him 23. a whirlwind, a tornado, a perfect tempest of pink dust and white teeth. a proposal two years later, a break off a year further.

you were 22 now, and had never felt further from your nineteen-year-old self. a foolish child, a delicate doll, a phantom cloaked in a desperate desire for acceptance, for love.

you didn't know how to flirt in this new body, new being. you didn't even really know to how flirt with anyone but auston - it had been so long since you wanted anyone else. and you didn't even really want jack, at this point. you just wanted justice.

a cluster of motion and noise behind you ripped you from your thoughts. you didn't turn, though, just stirred your drink, let the liquid settle again until you could see yourself in the reflection. until you could make out your eyes, until you could plead with your mouth to tell you what to say.

a game, the beautiful girl mouthed to you, a secret code, it's only a game.

your hazy eyes caught on a pool table in the corner of the bar, vacant, the lamp above it flickering. you smiled to yourself, made your way over, picked out a cue, ran your fingers along the edge of it.

you took a sip of your drink before setting it down, lining yourself up to break. with a swift, even motion, a pleasant cracking noise rung out, colorful balls moving in different directions.

you scrunched up your nose, having sunk none initially, gracefully lining up to go again when you felt a few figures approach.

the first one who spoke, the one right next to you, was not someone you recognized. you didn't even think he was on the team, but he had the build of a hockey player, probably a quick center.

"need a private lesson, there, sugar?" he asked sleazily, his voice the arrogant drawl of a child, almost endearing in its steadiness. he leaned on the table as you looked up at him, straightened, tilted your head to rest against the cue.

"awful kind of you, coach of the year," you teased before nodding to the other person who had joined you, looming across the table like a shadow. "gonna help me beat your friend?"

your new coach scoffed, ran a hand through his long, unruly hair. "trust me, sugar," he said, "you don't need any help beating him."

you locked eyes with the figure across the table, whom you had only seen before on a screen, the one you had heard about in the arms of your ex-fiance. here he was, the soft contours of his face shimmering in the dim light. the mythical and heroic jack hughes, the shaker of the unshakeable auston matthews.

he was shorter than you expected. "not much of a competitor, is he?" you asked the man next to you, talking about jack as if he wasn't right there. as if you hadn't been looking at him the entire time. "doesn't like to play?"

you tilted your head, dared him with your eyes to prove you wrong. the familiar fire of flirtation, of the chase you hadn't engaged with in years flared when he took a step out of the shadows, letting you see him clearly and up close.

during your research, you had seen pictures of him, but they didn't do him even a semblance of justice. he was gorgeous in a fairytale prince sort of way, like he might save the day with a true love's kiss at any moment. his eyes were a striking blue, his nose almost dainty, his jaw angular. your gaze caught on his full mouth before finally landing on his eyes again. he had the kind of complexion and expression you could tell lit up when he smiled. your stomach twisted at the thought. a game, you repeated in your mind. only a game.

"i'll play," he said simply, his voice goofy in a way you weren't used to. not sleazy, like his friend, who was currently behind you while you bent forward, lining up the cue. it wasn't the classic baritone you were used to hearing in auston, but something more cautious, something sweeter.

the game progressed, each of you sinking shots with the tell-tale soft thud. it was his long-haired friend, the one who kept calling you sugar like you were some southern belle, who was much closer to you, who was adjusting your hips and arm placement before each turn, who was flirting with you so openly, his breath hot on your neck, his gaze open and obvious.

even then, a quick exchange of glances with jack felt much more intimate than any innuendo-filled comment and fumbling touch from his friend. whenever jack would sink a ball, his eyes would flutter up to meet yours in a fleeting catch of flame, of promise, of knowing.

with only a few balls still on the green felt of the table, his careful voice broke you from your trance. "what are we playing for?" he asked, eyes alight.

the look you shared was teasing, probing, yet deadly serious. this is everything, the look said. are you ready to give everything?

"how about this?" you began, your tone light and smoky. "if you win, you get my number." his full mouth quirked upwards in the slightest of smirks. "and if i win, i give it to him," you finished, nodding towards his sugar-spewing friend.

jack looked at his friend. "good with you, z?" he asked.

his friend, z, you guessed, let a cocky smirk drape across his face like velvet curtains. "more than good," he said, "as we're gonna win."

with the stakes agreed upon, the game continued until only the eight ball remained. you lined yourself up, your ever-so-involved coach just next to you as you called your pocket.

"have a game, sugar, here we go."

you ignored his friend's voice, lining your cue up perfectly, the smooth wood resting delicately between your fingers, the angle of your arm and neck smooth and sensual. everything about your preparation lent itself to a winning strike, everyone at the table knew it. you could feel it in z's early celebration, see it in the slight quiver of jack's hand.

bent over the table, in the final seconds before your strike, you peered up at jack through dark lashes, all dim light and foggy promise. you gave him a sly smirk as you followed through, the black and white ball missing the pocket by an inch, hitting the side of the table with a soft sound.

jack narrowed his eyes at you with a curious sort of look before quickly calling his pocket and immediately sinking the ball.

his friend sucked on his teeth before throwing up his hands in defeat. "christ, sugar, didn't take you for a choke artist," he said. "unless you're into that." he shot you a wink before heading off to grab a drink.

for the first time, it was just you and jack. you leaned on your cue, let your gaze fall over him lazily, in the same way you knew he was doing to you. he was close now, close enough that you could see how blue his eyes were, how long his lashes, how high and soft his features, how his hair was just a little too long on the sides.

"you let me win," he said, a gentle observation, not anything accusatory.

you smiled. "prove it," you said, to which a matching smile graced his own face.

"must be my lucky night, then," he said as he handed you his phone and you typed your number in.

you laughed. "i don't know," you mused, "you seem like a guy who's used to getting what he wants." and he did seem like that - who could say no to those pretty eyes?

he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, a motion you tracked. "'m a guy used to earning what he wants," he corrected, and you hummed. a distinction that auston had never made, even though he worked hard, sure. but he was a natural. what would it be like to be with someone to whom everything didn't come just so, so, easily?

"like to work for it, hm?" you teased.

his gaze dropped to your mouth for a second before returning to your eyes.

you stepped forward, pushed and poked at the imaginary line between the two of you. you looked up at him, gently swiped at his cheekbone with your thumb, felt heat rumble between the two of you, something volcanic. "don't work yourself too hard, yeah?"

without a second glance, you placed your cue against the table, grabbed your bag and made for the door.

on your way out, you overhead the conversation that had erupted in your exit.

"i was the one talking to her the whole time," that long-island-ish drawl said.

"if you think she was into you for even a second, you're an idiot," jack replied.

you swore the door was chuckling as it shut behind you.

everything had gone exactly as you'd hoped, exactly as you'd known it would, so you weren't at all surprised to receive a text the next day asking if you were around that night to get a drink.

so you found yourself at a different bar, this one a bit more upscale, quickly spotting jack as he waited for you outside. you blew out a breath as you approached, as a smile made his face glow. it was still so new to find someone else beautiful. when would you get used to his imperfect teeth, his oceanic eyes, his feminine nose, this greek sculpture opposed to autson's roman one?

you blinked. "hi," you said, suddenly feeling lame.

his mouth quirked. "hey." he opened the door for you, nodded. "after you."

"i'm gonna warn you," you started as you ducked past him and into the building. "i haven't been on a date in a while."

he shoved his hands in his pockets, a juvenile habit that made you blush. "find that hard to believe," he said, his tone playful. "pretty girl like yourself."

you scrunched up your nose at that. pretty girl. auston had called you that so many times, but for the first time you actually thought about its meaning. something flipped in your stomach at jack calling you pretty, but it was the girl part that had you pausing for a moment.

you were a girl, pretty much, you were jack's age, but you hadn't felt like one in so long. maybe it was being with someone a little older, but you felt almost ancient, so tired, so drained. but here you were, on a date, every bit the pretty girl he had deemed you.

you just laughed, taking a seat at the counter, smoothing out your dress against your legs. "real sweet talker, are you?" you joked, turning to him and meeting his eyes.

his mouth quirked like he knew something you didn't. "somethin' like that," he said.

the night went by fast, conversation flowing easily, no sign of pressure or anything of the like. you asked about his career, what he did that day, his family, his friends. he made you laugh, and it came so easily, so fluidly. he asked you about what you liked to do, what you were studying in school, how you were enjoying jersey.

surprisingly, you found yourself wanting to be completely honest with him, even though you couldn't be. you found yourself wanting to tell him everything, to answer any question he asked, to never leave him wishing or wanting even for a second.

you got hung up on the curve of his upper lip, on the slope of his shoulders under his button down, on his girlish laugh, his firefly of a smile.

the night was over too soon. too soon, you had the sinking feeling that you were in over your head, that perhaps you had chosen the wrong person for your revenge plot. you wanted to hurt auston, after all, but not yourself. certainly not this shimmery spark of a boy in front of you.

he walked you out, both of you pausing outside the bar, under the dull streetlight, a theatre spotlight for your praiseworthy performance.

you turned to look at him, and him at you, sinking into each others' gazes like quicksand, the air thick with expectation.

"i don't kiss on the first date," you blurted out, talking to his lips, talking to yourself.

he smiled, his shoulders rumbling in a laugh. "'s okay," he breathed, "like to work for it, remember, baby?"

you shook your head as your cheeks erupted in a delighted rosy flush. "goodnight, jack," you said, your voice every bit the giveaway. he returned the sentiment with a knowing grin.

the next day, you invited your girls over to watch him play. as you all settled on the couch, a homemade cocktail in your hand, you couldn't help but hide your face when the camera lingered on his profile during the anthem.

one of your friends gave a mock-salute. "god bless america," she said, shaking her head as you threw a pillow at her.

"alright," you chastised.

"what?" she asked, raising a brow, "just appreciating the wonderful offerings of our country."

your other friend shook her head. "you don't usually go for guys like him, eh?" she asked. "i mean, ever since we were in middle school you always went for the guys with biceps bigger than my face." she held her hands in front of her face for visualization.

"'s not like he's tiny," you said, almost embarrassed.

"no, no," she amended, "but he's no auston. he's just, i don't know, pretty."

you smiled, knowing exactly what she meant. auston was so masculine in every way, and jack was softer, somehow, pretty in a way you didn't usually go for.

pretty in a way that made you smile at your phone when he texted you the next day, asking if he could cook you dinner later that week.

you were blushing to yourself, the morning of, after he had texted you asking if you had any dietary restrictions.

and you didn't, but wasn't it just the sweetest, most thoughtful thing to ask? would you have even thought to ask?

i want you to be comfortable, his text said, i want you to laugh with your mouth full in my kitchen.

careful, angel, a deep voice called from the back of your mind, from the inside of your teeth. this is about me, remember?

your fingers twitched with the reminder as you stood on his front stoop, waiting for jack to answer the bell. the air had a brisk twinge of a chill to it, a chill that had your nose turning pink and your feet stiffening in your boots.

but he answered the door, and the breath you blew out rose between the two of you like a misty curtain, one you resented, because it distorted your view of him, even just so.

the mist settled, and his smile was left in its wake.

a smile that silenced all the gossiping voices in your head, left the throne of their malevolent king vacant, abandoned.

"you're here," he breathed, almost like he couldn't believe it, like he couldn't believe you.

"and it's your fault," you teased, scrunching up your nose.

he shook his head, laughed at some joke in his mind, stepped aside. "you must be freezing, baby, come in."

the butterflies in your chest soared as he helped you shoulder off your coat, his fingers leaving just a ghost of a touch on your wrist, the back of your neck, leaving scorched skin behind. you shivered, took in his graceful figure hanging your coat up on a hook by the door, let a smile come easily to your face when he turned back to you.

"what?" he said, grinning.

you let out a half-laugh. "nothing," you said, looking around as you kicked your shoes off. anything to avoid the white-hot light of his undivided attention. "i like your place."

and you did like it, truly, it was just so unexpected. homely, not cluttered, but definitely not the modern, futuristic, almost barren aesthetic you can come to associate with successful hockey players.

he flashed you a shy smile as he led you into the kitchen, bowing his head, making his hair fall into his face, almost bashful. "it likes you too," he told you, swinging his hand up to hit the top of the doorframe like a basketball-obsessed middle-schooler. you bit your lip to stop your grin.

what a pleasure it was to get to know all the most intricate and intimate manners of someone new.

"everything's almost done, now," he said, quickly turning off the stovetop and peering through the glass of the oven.

his tone was much more at ease then when you had talked to him before. he was at home here, and you could tell. he wore home like a hand-me-down sweater, too big in the shoulders and worn in the elbows, but lovely and familiar in all of its comfort.

you sat atop a stool at his counter, nervously rubbing the sole of one foot into the top of the other. "thanks for cooking, jack," you said, "you really didn't have to do anything fancy, or anything." suddenly, sitting here in this space, surrounded by the evidence of his effort, you felt guilt settle deeply into your body. unworthiness, perhaps, of the smell of food in the air, of the drink he had poured for you so gently, of the smile he kept throwing your way.

that voice in your head huffed. look at all this, he said, look at the burden you are.

and you were feeling it, so heavily, until jack took a sip of his own drink and waved you off, furrowing his brow as if confused. "'s how a date works, right, baby?" he said. he tilted his head, teasing, "tellin' me no one's ever pulled out all the stops for you?"

and you laughed, shook your head, because you supposed it was, supposed no one really had.

you got to know each other even better over the meal he had cooked, surprising you once again with how easy everything felt between you.

"tell me what you did today," he might say, his voice soft, muffled from chewing.

and you might tell him about your classes, how midterms were coming up, how you were nervous but felt pretty good about most of them.

maybe then you would ask about practice that morning, to which he would tell you some story about his teammates, how they were giving it to him all morning.

"why?" you might ask, to which he would look up at you with that bashful flush.

"'cause they knew you were coming over tonight," he admitted, pushing broccoli around his plate. "kept saying how i was probably gonna make you a box of kraft or something."

you laughed, a genuine rumble from deep in your chest, tilting your head back. when you looked back at him, he was looking at you with something like wonder.

and maybe later, you would ask what his favorite part of his house was, and he would say it was his wall of framed pictures, which would make you melt a little bit, your heart a puddle of feeling.

too soon, you were setting down your fork and knife, crossing and uncrossing your legs in restlessness.

"did you like it?" he would ask, his voice so full of hope it could have killed you.

so full of hope that you reached across the counter to hold his hand in yours, if only for a moment, to squeeze his fingers in meaningful emphasis.

your touch caught him by surprise, hesitant for a moment before locking eyes with you, simmering, then squeezing your hand back in his warm, callused grip.

a grip that said i'm no natural, but i'll work for it. for you.

"it was perfect," you said honestly, because it was. "but please, please let me do the dishes," you pleaded, looking at him through your lashes, just wanting to do something to help.

it would feel so wrong to be doted on for the whole night while giving nothing in return. at the very least, it would feel foreign.

he shook his head playfully, but relented. "you can help," he conceded, "but 'm not letting a pretty girl clean up my mess by herself."

you scoffed with a smile, squeezed his hand a final time before pushing yourself off of your stool, gathering all the plates and glasses in a single go.

"where'd you learn how to do that?" he asked, genuinely, as he followed you to the sink.

you carefully set everything down in a graceful swoop, let your lips quirk upwards in nostalgia. "once a waitress, always a waitress," you explained, referring to your short-lived stint at a busy restaurant in toronto before auston insisted on you staying home.

and at the time, even a little now, it was a sweet gesture, one you had taken as him wanting you to relax, wanting you to have the freedom to do whatever you wanted with your days.

you just secretly wished he had considered that what you wanted to do with your days was working, going to school, doing something for yourself.

jack leaned on the edge of the counter, his lopsided grin like an electric jolt to your heart. "what, did they show you the door 'cause you were making all the tips?" he teased, nevertheless making you blush as you washed the plates with soap. "not fair for everyone else, 's that it?"

you gasped in dramatic accusation, flicking sudsy water from your fingers his direction. "how dare you?" you exclaimed before turning away from him in a huff, feigning sadness. "'s not like i can control this face."

his mouth widened in shock, then took on a scheme-filled smile as soon as the water hit him, a short laugh escaping him. "you didn't," he said, dipping his hand in the soap and flinging some at you.

you squealed, holding your hands up to shield your face as he reached in for more, bubbles filling both of his palms. "wait, jack, i'm sorry!" you laughed. "i swear, i didn't mean to!"

"liar," he cooed, his gaze sparking like a lighter, you swore you could hear the clicking sound. then he was right in front of you, only a breath apart, so close you swore you could feel the beat on his heart in your own chest.

he reached down and gently held your face in his hands, the soap now all along your jaw and cheeks.

you closed your eyes for a second, sighed in defeat, still so aware of him so close, of his touch, feather-light on you skin.

when they opened again, you both had not moved, frozen in place, perhaps willed by the moment, compelled by the growing sensation of rightness, of being exactly where you were supposed to be. when he spoke, he was speaking to your lips, dragging his gaze back up to your eyes like it weighed something stark.

"do you kiss on the second date?" he breathed, and your breath caught, your heart stuttering at his utter politeness, his thoughtfulness, the idea that he remembered things you had told him.

you bit your tongue, because, if you were being honest, you usually didn't - you took the rule of threes very personally. you liked to take your time, savored that lovely period of what could be. besides, you had learned the hard way what happened when you let people in your life too quickly, too hastily. you knew all too well that giving in to a toothy smile and a sleeve of tattoos only led to shrugs met with tears.

but here, now, with jack's soapy hands on your face, in the space he had so warmly accepted you into, you had the feeling this boy in front of you was going to be an exception. that he would be an exception for many things, perhaps the exception.

as if hearing your internal dialogue loud and clear, he dipped his head down until he was impossibly close, so when he spoke you could feel the words on your lips.

"please let me kiss you, baby," he pleaded, his eyes hooded and heavy, his voice a rasp.

deciding he was an exception indeed, you answered him by pressing up on your toes, meeting his mouth with yours in a kiss that bruised.

and later, you would think about how auston had never been a please let me kiss you man, instead he had been a give me a kiss, angel kind of guy.

after, you would think about how it felt so much more personal, so much more sweet to be asked please, can i instead of being ordered give me, give me, give me, like a demanding, red-faced child.

later, you would think about how the previous kisses in your life paled in comparison to the feeling of jack's lips on yours. how before this moment, you were used to kisses that felt like transactions, like the necessary box being checked before the next step, how they felt like being swallowed.

after, you would swoon over all the details and nuances, but, right now, there was nothing but his lips, his hands, the way he melted into you and practically whimpered when you kissed him harder.

kissing him didn't feel like being swallowed, it felt like taking the biggest deep breath of your life after slowly suffocating for years. you forgot you had soap bubbles all over your face, you forgot about auston, you forgot about everything - there was only him, and you, in this moment.

he held your face like you were something precious, moving one hand into your hair as you wrapped your arms around his neck. he tasted like lemon and rosemary, as well as something so deliciously him you could feel yourself become addicted immediately.

his grip in your hair was soft, and when his lips moved against yours it felt like melting snow in the warmth of the morning, pure and sweet and natural and right. kissing him felt like waking up with sunlight streaming through the windows, like laughing while taking your makeup off, like cinnamon and clove and home.

when you pulled away from him, only just slightly, both of you catching your breath heavily, he opened his eyes slowly, almost reluctantly. his eyes were almost glazed over, and you had a feeling yours looked in a similar way, syrupy and hot.

he gently swiped his thumb along your swollen bottom lip as if testing to make sure you were real, not just some shadow, not just a dream.

you traced your nails along his neck, smiled as he brought his hands down to wrap around your middle, resting them on the small of your back.

"god, you're just so fucking pretty, aren't you?" he breathed, like a revelation.

you swore he had your head spinning for days after, days you unfortunately and cruelly had to spend apart due to a week-long road trip for the team.

you told yourself it was a good thing that he was going away for a bit, as it would give you a second to regroup, to revaluate, to familiarize yourself with what your initial goal was for your plan. you reminded yourself over the week apart that jack was a means to an end, that whatever had blossomed between the two you had a finish line, that all of it was meant to make a point, then hopefully leave this whole hockey world behind after the damage had been done.

but then one of your girls would throw on the game, and jack's expressive face would fill the screen, chewing on the fingers of his gloves during warm ups, and your heart would sink at the thought of leaving him behind. and it just about combusted at the idea that you were using him, even though that's exactly what you were doing.

you've only been on two dates with him, only kissed once, you reminded yourself. he's probably seeing other people, anyways, probably with some other girl right now. it's not like you're exclusive. this is probably not a big deal to him.

the thought was comforting but also devastating, a brick in your stomach.

while he was away, midterms came and went. as you walked into your last one, you thought about maybe texting jack after, trying to get together tonight, since he would finally be back.

then your pen hit the paper and time passed in a blur.

you exited the lecture hall in a flurry of relief and pride, happy to have accomplished something so concrete, something that you had truly worked hard on.

walking down the stairs outside of the entrance, your smile stilled, frozen in shock, when you looked up from your feet and saw a familiar, beautiful figure leaning against his car, an excited grin on his face, flowers in his grip as he locked eyes with you, making your breath catch.

"is that jack hughes?" some kid from your class said altogether too loudly to his friend. you had seen that same kid wearing devils gear more than once.

his friend didn't look up from his phone. "who's jack hughes?" he replied.

you couldn't stop your disbelieving laugh, your smile, already making your cheeks sore as you finished descending the stairs, until you were in front of him, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him in for a hug before you even realized what you were doing.

this was so unlike you, really, letting yourself feel as deeply as you could without filtering it, but anything else would have felt so wrong it could have killed you. especially when he brought his arms around you without even a second's hesitation, held you tight and close, so you could feel the petals of the flowers on the back of your neck.

"you're here," you said, breathlessly, still shocked, into his firm chest.

"had to make it back for your last test," he said into your hair, both of you not wanting to let go.

"how did you know?" you murmured, pulling away from him, only slightly.

he loosened his embrace, pulled away to get a look at you, let his eyes run over you carefully, indulgently. he pushed your hair back from your face, his touch gentle, like you were a relic, something worth treasuring. "you said so, last week," he said simply, like it was obvious.

he said it as if, for years of your life, you had wished and yearned so reverently for auston to remember the little things, like your coffee order, like the dates on which your parents were coming to visit, like your anniversary.

he said it as if it didn't mean the entire world that he had listened, that he had remembered.

you only leaned into his chest, looked up at him with something seriously dangerous in your eyes, something that was not supposed to be there. "'d you bring me flowers, jack?" you asked, a playful note in your tone.

he flushed, so lovely, hid his face behind the bouquet, peeking only one deep blue eye out, as if embarrassed. "too much?" he asked, still shielding his face.

you laughed, squeezed his bicep lightheartedly. "just enough," you assured him, your eyes full of meaning, willing him to lower his shield, let you see the face you had been dreaming of all week. "thank you. i missed you."

you would have told him that a thousand times just to see the way his whole face lit up, like he could never hide how happy your words made him. he wore the late afternoon sunshine like a dream, the dewy rays dripping down his cheekbones, the slope of his nose, slow and golden as honey.

he had this way of making you feel like you were first choice, every time, and it was so foreign that you hadn't known you had been craving it until he had laid it at your feet like an offering. every time he texted you to check in, to ask how your day was, to finalize plans, it would send a flurry of butterflies swarming your chest, a rosy flush to the bridge of your nose.

he was so, so beautiful, inside and out, that you effectively forgot what the whole point of your plan was in the first place. you basically had forgotten about it, that day that he dragged you along with some of his friends to pick out a christmas tree.

"do i know any of these friends?" you had asked on the way up, riding shotgun, reaching over periodically to run your nails along his neck, just below his hairline, your way of saying i'm happy you're here. and he would reach over and rest his hand on your thigh, not possessive, just a reminder of your presence. a reminder that made your insides twist with want, nonetheless, that made your gaze simmer.

one of the things you appreciated so genuinely about jack was that he didn't rush you for even a second, so happy to go at whatever pace made you most comfortable, whatever pace would keep you around the longest. it felt almost wrong that his acceptance of a slow pace made you want to speed things up, made you want to know what he felt like in your hands, what sounds he might make if you teased him, what his voice would sound like in your bed.

he let out a rumble of a laugh at your question, shaking you from your daze. "you'll definitely recognize one of them," he said. "though i don't know if he's fully recovered from your last meeting."

"oh no." you paled. "not him." you winced, thinking about how you had probably bruised his inflated ego. not beyond repair, though, you knew. for guys like that, never beyond repair.

jack traced circles on your thigh with his thumb in affirmation. "don't worry, baby," he said, "told 'm to be on best behavior."

when you arrived, you recognized that boisterous voice immediately.

"so good to see you again, sugar," he drawled, his tone especially toying.

you decided to cut any hard feelings immediately, going up to him and giving him a quick hug in greeting. "i think i owe you a thank you, coach of the year," you said, pulling away with a smile.

luckily, he seemed to forgive quickly, even to appreciate your efforts. "i prefer my thank yous in hot chocolate form," he said, and you promised to fulfill his request later. he gave you his name in exchange for yours.

you spent the afternoon leisurely ambling around the grounds, looking at potential trees, but really just enjoying the company of those around you.

most of the time, you spent laughing, tucked into jack's side, finding warmth in the firm feeling of his hip against your waist.

"what about this one?" trevor asked, holding up an especially short and stout one.

the two of you decided jack would need a taller one to better suit the ceiling proportions in his living room.

walking around, it felt like you were in your own dreamy winter wonderland, in a fog of laughter and warmth and a million other beautiful things.

"you leave again tomorrow?" you asked at one point, unable to hide the slight disappointment in your voice. you peered up at him, your eyes warm, your cheeks rosy from the cold.

he met your gaze and nodded, hugged you tighter into his side. "back in a few days," he said.

you couldn't help but pout just a little. jack's roadtrips felt longer and more lonely than auston's ever had.

jack ran his thumb along your bottom lip. "what's that for, baby?" he asked.

you shrugged. "just gonna miss you, 's all," you told him honestly.

something sweet bubbled up in his gaze, but the moment was effectively interrupted by trevor's voice coming from behind you, now shockingly close.

"oh?" he said, dramatic, "what's this? is that - mistletoe?" he emphasized all of his words with dramatic pauses. you briefly thought that maybe, if he hadn't been all in on hockey, he would have made an excellent theater kid.

you both turned to find trevor standing right behind you, holding an alarmingly large branch of something that resembled mistletoe.

"where did you find that?" jack asked his friend.

"never mind that," trevor said, waving him off.

you elbowed jack lightly. "looking for an excuse not to kiss me, are you?"

he shook his head incredulously, as if you had said something funny. you were about to tease him again, but he didn't give you the chance, immediately taking your face in his hands and angling his head down slightly to meet you in a kiss that seared every bit of chill from the air.

would you ever get used to this? would his lips ever not feel like they belonged on yours? would your heartbeat ever not thrum, like some perfect harmony?

the warmth of his hands on your face, the security of yours against the plane of his chest, all of it, everything - it was so perfect you wanted to stay here, just like this, forever. and the thought didn't even scare you as want began to pool inside of you, hot and heavy.

a mixture of a cough and a laugh had the two of you pulling away from each other. one of jack's other friends who had tagged along let out a low whistle, making you blush deeper.

jack just slung a heavy arm around your shoulders and pulled you close, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

luckily, trevor's attention had already strayed, as he was now holding the branch over his own head and the head of the other friend. "don't fight it!" he was calling out as the friend broke out into a light gait.

"get away from me, you scumbag," the poor kid called out over his shoulder.

your eyes were stuck on jack's face, still hazy from your kiss. he turned to you, his mouth quirking up. "staring, baby?" he said, low enough for only you to hear.

you nodded, shameless. "want you," you told him plainly, barely recognizing the tone of your own voice.

the fire in his own eyes welled up as you placed your hands flat on his chest. "fuck, now, baby?" he asked, looking around to where his friends chased each other around.

you bit your lip, pleaded him with your eyes. "please, jack," you said, "please take me home."

he took your hand in his immediately, tossed some parting words over his shoulder to his friends, who paused, watched the two of you stumble into jack's car with urgency.

as he started the engine and pulled away, you heard a faint the hell are we supposed to do with this tree?

the car ride back felt longer than it really was, both of you practically buzzing with want. you kept a hand in his hair, his palm planted firmly on the inside of your thigh, close but not close enough.

you let out a sigh of relief when he pulled into the driveway, let him pull you into the house, push you up against the closed door, kiss you again with heat and force and somehow, such softness.

it was the softness that filled you with want. his desire was obvious, especially when he pressed his hips up, hard against you, but that didn't mean he wasn't just so gentle with you, so in tune to what you wanted.

you fisted your hands in his hair, pulled until his posture faltered, until his lips parted further and he moaned into your mouth.

you hooked a leg around his hip to bring him closer, relished the way he began to rock against you.

"fuck, baby," he breathed out, strained, stuttering in places, "don't wanna fuck you against the door."

later, you would think about how auston had never had such a problem. he had never cared where you were, how uncomfortable a position had made you. sometimes you had thought he found his own bed boring.

but jack just pulled you into his room, lightly rocked you back onto the bed, pressed soft kisses down your jaw, your neck, your stomach. you both pushed and pulled clothes aside, looking to give the other as much access as possible.

"so fuckin' pretty," he mumbled against your stomach, making you flush all over.

"please, jack," you whined as he slowly dragged his fingers through your folds, making you shiver.

"what do you need, baby?" he asked, pumping himself a few times, up and down, his voice low and rough.

you sat up for a moment, took hold of his hand, peered up at him through your lashes as you spit into it.

he groaned, ran his hand over his cock, now glistening with your spit. desire glowed in your eyes like fireflies. "tell me," he begged.

you laid back on the bed again, the smell of him everywhere. another time, you would insist on feeling him in your mouth, maybe on feeling his mouth on you, but you knew the both of you were far too desperate for that.

"just need you inside me, baby, please," you said, your eyes raking over his figure above you, all gentle slopes and hard lines together.

"ask me so good, baby, so good for me," he said, a careful rasp. he thumbed your clit, making you jolt, dragging his fingers through you again before bringing them to his mouth. "and so ready, hm?"

you nodded feverishly, your mouth falling open as he finally pushed into you, his groan deep.

you whined, the stretch so surreal as you reached forward to grasp at his forearm, anything to ground you.

staying still in the stretch for a second, you waited for the feeling to weaken, but it didn't, not really.

he dropped his head, his exhale coming out shallow, the muscles in his shoulders constrained.

you tightened your grip on his forearm, let your nails dig into him to pull him back to you.

"fuck, baby, i can't," he bit out, "can't, i swear."

you rolled your hips back and forth, trying to will some movement from him. "please, jack, please move," you begged. "please fuck me, baby."

never one to deny you, he began a slow pace, the friction and depth almost unbearable. one of his hands dug into your hip, so hard you could feel bruising, the other beginning to rub careful circles on your clit, making you cry out in pleasure.

"you're so deep," you choked, "faster, baby, need you faster."

he obliged, picking up the pace of his rhythm, moving his hand faster against your clit, making that wave well up within you, forcing moans from your throat.

"fuck, sound so pretty, baby," he said, a glistening sheen now painted across his brow, his collarbones. "so pretty, squeezing me so perfect."

the muscles of his stomach began to contract as you felt yourself dangerously close.

his rhythm continued, bruising in depth and force, so lovely in softness. you tugged his hand from your hip, placed his fingers on your tongue, desperate for something to do with your mouth. you sucked, pulling a guttural moan from him. "don't stand a chance when you do that, baby, swear," he said, "fuck, don't stand a chance with you, hm?"

you felt yourself smile around his hand, your eyes watering, glazed over.

"gonna make me cum, baby," he whined, his motions becoming jerky, his voice little more than a plea. "cum with me, baby, hm? make me feel so good, yeah?"

you fell over the edge at his words, felt his orgasm follow yours almost immediately, the air warm and sticky around you. he collapsed on top of you, his exhales like liquid on your skin, yours like dreamy sighs as he pulled you to him, held you close as you waited for the rise and fall of your chests to settle.

he drew his fingers lazily around the flesh of your thigh, your hip, you pushed his hair back from his face as you both fought sleep, wanting just a few more seconds in the conscious presence of the other.

everything was so lovely you could barely stand it.

you should have known it wouldn't last long.

a day into jack's time away, you received a text from one of your friends in toronto. it was a picture from auston's instagram with the message just thought you should know. we miss you.

something cracked in your chest at the photo of your ex-fiance and this new girl. it wasn't really jealousy, definitely not desire, no, it was harder to pinpoint.

maybe it was the fact that after four years of being together, and after a whole year of being engaged, auston had never once even thought about posting a picture of the two of you.

and you had always chalked it up to the fact that you didn't have any social media, but now, you realized there was something to be said about letting the world know that you were taken.

and you also knew, now, that that was a statement auston had been unable to make your entire relationship.

a voice in the back of your mind, tone watery with tears, wailed. what makes her so special? it pressed. what makes her so much better than me?

it didn't help that she looked absolutely nothing like you. you wondered passingly if you would have preferred a look-a-like to be staring back at you through your screen. you didn't really know, but you did know that her features were sharp to your soft, your eyes are hair completely different in coloring. her face had you questioning if he had ever really found you beautiful, or if you had been the exception to his regular type. the idea weighed heavily on your shoulders like a cape made of cement.

but you knew, at the end of the day, that it was not about her.

and so you decided that as much as your relationship with jack had become genuine, maybe it was time to bring back the plan, just a little.

it can be two things, you told yourself, jack doesn't need to get hurt.

so when jack arrived back from the road, your relationship now teetered on a tightrope, balancing between two things, two motives like a trapeze artist.

still, you tried your best not to let your desire to rip out the heart of your ex-fiance stand in between you and jack. you could be bloodthirsty and gentle at the same time, you told yourself. two things.

the idea became easier when jack began to ask you to come to his games.

at first, you had been skeptical. auston hadn't wanted you there until maybe a year and half into your relationship. you didn't want to push this, press your luck, make yourself a burden, in fear of him abandoning you.

"are you sure you want me there?" you had asked the first time, a little timid, your face resting on your clasped hands, sitting at his kitchen counter, keeping him company as he made something on the stove.

he had turned to you, head tilted, confused. "of course i do, baby," he had said, calmly and clearly. "i want you everywhere i am."

and that had been the end of that.

so you began to become a regular attendee at his games, getting to know the people of his life more closely, becoming a fixture in his life more solidly.

you let him post a picture of the two of you, so touched that he would even ask. he showed you the post when he was done.

you kissed his shoulder in response. "your eyes are closed, jack," you said, half-laughing at the fact that he had chosen this picture, so flawed in nature.

"hm?" he looked at the picture again, then shrugged. "hadn't noticed. no one's gonna be looking at me, anyways."

you shook your head, disbelieving. he was making it hard for this to be two things. he was making it really, really hard to care if your ex-fiance even saw this post. he was making it really hard to care about your ex-fiance at all.

"i don't believe you, sometimes," you mused aloud.

he twirled a lock of your hair, mesmerized. "how?"

you tilted your head back to allow him easier access. "you're pretty perfect, you know that?" you smiled up at him, blissful. "too perfect."

seeing his face go pink with your praise made you make a mental vow to tell him more often.

and he gave you every opportunity to be surprised by his perfection, over and over.

every kiss was something teenage you would have dreamed about, every time he led you into his bedroom was something current you dreamed about. how he seemed to enjoy every moment no matter what you were doing, even how clearly he communicated with you during your first fight, all of it astounded you.

he made all of your friends jealous, but so happy for you. he met them, one time, when he dropped you off to get coffee with them after class.

he was so respectful with them, asked them genuine questions, but never anything that told you that he wasn't in on you one hundred percent.

when auston met your best friend in toronto, he had dropped your hand that he had been holding.

"didn't tell me she was so pretty, angel," he had said, and you had hoped it was just to show you he was putting in an effort to impress the people that were important to you.

when jack said he had to be going, to get to morning skate, he just kissed your cheek. "use my card, yeah, baby?" he called out, waiting for your nod and smile before he drove away.

how had you stumbled into this? was it possible that it wasn't too good to be true?

jack had asked you to come to toronto when the devils headed up north to play the leafs, because he knew you had lived there, because he had lived there, too, and wanted to show you around. and it had reached a point where refusing him when he offered a piece of himself to you seemed cruelly impossible.

you told yourself that it was just another game, just another day. it helped that you honestly didn't feel any attachment to this rink, even to this city. you had watched jack play plenty, now, and you were determined to treat this game just the same as any other, if not rooting for jack with just a little more urgency, a little more emotion.

you loved how easy he was to cheer for. you loved how you could see how much he loved the game, how he smiled after every good play, how he saw things you could have never seen on the ice. you could practically hear his laugh in the rafters, see his imperfect teeth in the glass. he was everywhere, here, are you loved it.

of course, you noticed that your ex-fiance was here, but it honestly wasn't even that bad. if anything, it was confirmation that you were over him, that what you had with jack was real, that you weren't in for revenge anymore. you weren't in this for auston at all.

until he scored, and his goal song echoed through the arena. you knew that this year, the leafs had decided to try out individual goal songs after players scored, songs that they chose before the season started.

you did not know, however, that auston matthews' goal song was the song that, months ago, was set to be the soundtrack to your first dance.

the crowd was eating it up, of course they were, the juxtaposition of auston's dynamic scoring ability with the old-fashioned crooning of you're just too good to be true, can't take my eyes off of you.

the song seemed to reverberate off of the walls, into your head, behind your eyes, where it settled like thick fog. it smelled like champagne, waxy makeup, hairspray. your eyes began to water, which made your throat constrict.

like a dream, maybe a hazy memory, your first dance that never was flashed across your mind. an ornate, almost gauche white dress, the beautiful heels you had been practicing to wear. his pressed suit, slicked back hair, stupid designer socks that used to make you laugh. his hand on your waist, your arms around his neck, the two of you lost in each other, swaying, swirling around the floor to this song, surrounded by loved ones, high on laughter and the future and love.

slowly, the image blinked out of your vision as the song faded and the puck dropped, play starting up again.

it blinked out like a dying star, and then it was exactly that. dead.

because as you trained your eyes back on the ice, never once did they stray from 86 in red. never once did anything like regret or nostalgic desire well up in your heart, because you were not the one who lost. you were not the one with something to prove.

finally, you buried that wedding dress, laid it six feet under, let the soil spoil it, knowing one day you would wear a white dress and it would mean something to both parties involved.

in a breath, the game ended, and jack won, and he was truly all you were thinking about.

waiting for him, though, practically bouncing up and down, you were suddenly pulled into a side hallway by a grip you would recognize anywhere.

you were not surprised to look up and see the calculating eyes of auston matthews looking down at you with some lethal combination of heat and arrogance.

"angel," he said, a greeting that made you grind your teeth.

you pulled your arm away from him, shook him off of you, willed strength and stone into your posture and tone. "cool goal song, asshole," you bit out.

"i missed you too," he cooed, not taking you seriously, even now. his frame seemed so imposing now, looming large, too large for someone you didn't trust.

you rolled your eyes. "if you'll excuse me, i'm waiting for someone." you turned to leave the hallway, go back to the exit where jack would surely be walking out of any minute.

auston grabbed at your wrist, and it burned. "what, you mean that kid?" he scoffed, but didn't let go. "c'mon, angel, you know he's nothing to you." he rubbed a circle into your wrist that once, might have been soothing, but now made you feel sick. "you know you're all for me."

and you could have said so many things. like how that kid was your age, actually, so what did that say about him? like how that kid was twice the man he would ever be. like how this would be the last time you ever saw him, the last time he would ever have your attention.

the opening of a door ripped you from your thoughts as both you and auston glanced up to see jack in the doorframe, his bag slung over his shoulder, his face flushed from the game, tired blue eyes caught on auston's hand around your wrist.

time froze for a millisecond as you felt like you were pulled between worlds. it can be two things, you had told yourself once. it was never two things.

you watched as painful realization settled in jack's eyes as he simply turned away, let the door close behind him.

you ripped your arm from auston's grasp. "you've never taken me seriously," you told him then, looking him square in the face, your tone steady and serious as anything. "but if you believe anything i say, let it be that you are nothing to me, and you never will be again."

for the second time, you were the one to leave, this time running towards something worth saving.

you cursed under your breath, looking around for that head of soft brown hair.

you found him in a different hallway, sitting on the ground, his bag slumped next to him, his back leaning against the wall, his feet flat on the ground.

for a single moment, it was so quiet you swore that your exhales echoed against the walls. he didn't turn to face you, but obviously knew you were there.

"so you're with him, then?" he practically whispered, his tone like a cleaver to your chest, so defeated and blindsided, almost like he was talking to himself.

you slowly made your way over to him, sat down next to him, mirrored his position. side by side, but he felt so far away. "i'm not," you said back to him.

he let out some kind of bitter laugh, a sound you hated, a sound you hoped you would never have to hear again. "so that was you making friends?" he picked at a thread on his dress pants. "just meeting new people, 's that it?"

you turned to face him, then, but he still faced forward, as if looking at you would ruin him. "it's not what you think," you said, softly.

"well, what is it?" he paused, looked at you, then, and he wore his sadness like a suit fit for mourning. "be honest with me, please."

you took a shaky breath, knowing that this, very possibly, might be the last time you would ever be so close to him. knowing that your next words, your explanation, it might drive him away from you forever, before you had even really had the chance to have him.

you savored this breath, this liminal space between the truth and the now.

"i was going to marry him," you said, and the confession felt like letting go of every single vengeful thought you had ever had, like all the spite and disdain in your body had evaporated into dust.

"you were going to marry auston matthews," jack murmured, his face blank, his tone confused.

"yes."

"but you're not anymore?" he asked, looking at you, leaning his cheek onto his knees like an impatient elementary school kid waiting for recess.

you shook your head. "no. he cheated on me."

there was a pause, brutal silence, as his brow furrowed in confusion, his fists clenched briefly before letting go. his gaze fell to his hands for a moment, and when he spoke again it was so cautious, so pointed, that your stomach sank. "and then you just happened to start dating me?" he looked so tired. "same job, same goals, pretty much same life." he let out a breath. "you can't tell me that's a coincidence."

you sighed, prayed to whatever god would listen that honesty would count for something. "no, it wasn't a coincidence." your heart felt like it was lulling itself to sleep. "you were never a coincidence."

he dropped his head between his knees, and hurt vibrated through the air like sound waves. you could feel his hurt in your fingertips, could have melted in down, frozen it, wielded it like a weapon. "tell me something, baby," he pleaded, muffled by his legs. "please."

you knew it was unfair, but you laid a gentle hand on his fingers. "let me tell you all of it, please, jack, and then you don't have to see me again if you don't want to."

he took a breath that you felt in your bones, then in an act of mercy you cherished, gave a soft nod.

so you did. you told him the whole story - how you had been so devastated and hurt that you were blinded by a desire to make auston suffer. how you had chosen jack on purpose, because you knew it would cut the deepest. how you had not simply shown up randomly at that bar, all that time ago, how all of it was part of a plan, down to flirting with his friend, down to that first game of pool.

he didn't push your hand away, actually leaned his leg into your arm as you told him the story. the scary part's over, you wanted to say, you can stop hiding under the covers, now.

and so you told him about how he had hijacked your plan entirely. how you never expected to determine how good your day was based on how often you heard his laugh, how no one could have predicted how often you dreamed of his smile, how days when he was away truly felt like a loss.

"if i had known you, i never would have put you through this," you told him, finally, honestly. "i would have left you alone."

he was quiet for a moment, and then he picked his head up and looked at you, genuinely, thoughtfully. "you never would have used me to get back at your ex-fiance?" he asked, but there was not really any bite in his tone.

you tried your luck, reached up, brushed his damp hair from his forehead. "i did use you," you admitted. "and i don't have an excuse." he looked at you with clear eyes. "it was mean, and cruel, and all i can do is say that i'm so, so sorry and i will never hurt you like that again. i promise, that's the truth."

in the silent moments after you finished speaking, you closed your eyes for a brief moment, waiting for his reaction.

when you opened your eyes, he was looking at you. he opened his legs and knees wide, held open his arms, waiting. "i believe you."

it took no convincing for you to settle into the space he had created for you, to lean back against his chest, feel his heartbeat between your shoulder blades, his arms coming around your sides to clasp in front of your middle.

"you believe me?" you said, almost a whisper. you picked up his hand, held it to your chest, shocked that he was letting you. shocked that he was still here, making space for you.

you let the smell of him engulf you. it felt similar to walking into your mother's closet - the evidence of her living, loving, everywhere around you. the evidence of jack was everywhere, now, all over you, growing like some carnivorous plant over your heart.

"you promised," he said simply, into your hair.

and how spectacular it felt for someone to take you seriously, to take your words at face value, to understand that when you promised something, you meant it.

it felt like words were failing you, so you brought his hand to your mouth and pressed your lips to his palm lightly.

he hummed into your hair. "tell me about now," he said, voice steady and patient.

"hm?" you twisted your neck to look him in the eye, leaned back further until the back of your head rested on his chest.

"you told me about before. about him," he said, his eyes swimming with home, with hope. "tell me about us. tell me about now."

you searched for words, wondering how you could convey just how important he was to you, just how deeply you cared.

you could have said that his eyes were the most beautiful ocean you'd ever swam in. you could have said that kissing him felt like swallowing stardust, that listening to him talk about his day was a privilege and honor.

you could have said how you loved his voice after a long day, how he wore his emotions openly, shamelessly, how kind he was to those around him, how he didn't let you leave his house in doubt for even a second about his feelings, how he let laughter come easy, how he was many things but never, ever, indifferent.

you could have said so many things, but sometimes poetry and fancy words are inadequate, just diluting the true meaning, make it taste like watered-down juice, faint and lacking.

you could have said so many things, but you just told him the truth.

"i wake up every morning and i think of you," you said. "every moment you're not with me, i wish you were." you willed every ounce of meaning into your gaze. "you are my first choice, every time, jack. and it's not even close."

there was a silence as he processed what you said, and something like adoration dawned in his gaze like a springtime sunrise.

he tilted his head down, pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that told you he understood.

that no matter how you had gotten here, you were here, now.

"tell me again," he whispered against your mouth, and you smiled into his. that, you could do.

fin.

#hockey #nhl #hockey smut #nhl smut #smut #jack hughes #jack hughes smut #quinn hughes #trevor zegras smut #jack hughes x reader #auston matthews x reader #auston matthews #auston matthews smut #auston matthews imagine #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes imagine #new jersey devils #toronto maple leafs

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soobnny · 10 months

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ten things hwang hyunjin says when he thinks you’re asleep — fluff, established relationship, a twitch of angst

just released a lee know long fic if you guys are interested to read! :)

one. it's been exactly a year since i picked up my paint brush again. god, i still remember when i thought i'd forever let go of art. i've learned to trade my dreams for security anyway, there was no point in indulging in something i had no future in. but then i met you, and i will never forget the moment i realized i was in love with you. that night, i painted until the sun was up. thank you for inspiring me again, my muse.

two. you hold light wherever you go, did you know? that same light you see in others lives inside of you too. i will make sure you know that, even if i have to tell you every day.

three. i think you look prettiest when you laugh and you think no one's looking at you. it always fills me with a warmth i've never known.

four. you make life so achingly beautiful for me.

five. ah, i feel so sentimental tonight. i guess, it's just the thought that years ago, i had my heart broken and i thought it could never get better from there. but you helped me make it whole again. maybe all that heartbreak was always meant to point me to where you are. thank you. thank you. thank you.

six. the loud voices in my head are a little quieter now. i think it's because of you.

seven. remember when chan had convinced us to go hiking with him and his significant other? oh my god, that was a disaster. and i know we said we'd never do it again, but some part of me wants to. maybe it's for the view, or the way you looked when we finally reached the top. you looked so beautiful. i really did feel a great deal of comfort being with you where the whole world didn't know. i didn't even think about the exhausting hike back. just that you were there, the only thing that makes sense to me, beside me. you said you hated it because you paled out, but beautiful things pale out—the sunrise, flowers, you. you’re the most beautiful of them all.

eight. i hope you love me as much as i love you.

nine. you will always have me. please don't ever doubt how i feel for you. i will always choose you, over and over and over again, in every lifetime. without doubt, without hesitation, without second thought. i will always choose you. again and again and again.

ten. i can't believe i've finally found the love i've been yearning for all my life. thank you. i love you. i'm a better person because of you. meeting you was the best thing to ever happen to me.

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wilwheaton · 1 year

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favorite goncharov character

Goncharov! Holy shit I haven't thought about Goncharov in YEARS!

I remember seeing it at the Vista theatre downtown in ... I want to say 1983? It was either 82 and I was 10, or 83 and I was 11. Now that I think about it, it must have been Spring of 83. I remember that Kimmy Mendini was my babysitter, and she drove my friend Ahmed and me all the way downtown to see Goncharov. She would have been at least 16, but I feel like she was a little older. I remember that she LOVED movies and just never stopped talking about European cinema.

Ha! I can still her her sort of roll "Cinema" out of her mouth. Movies were for the masses to watch, while sophisticated adults experienced Cinema. I'm just realizing now that she absolutely pronounced it with a capital C. She was like "you are so lucky to see a clean print of Goncharov!"

I had no idea what a clean print was, but I understood it was important and impressive.

She had read about this screening in the LA Weekly, which I didn't know at the time was TREMENDOUSLY subversive in our suburban part of Los Angeles County, and we were going to an old theatre in maybe not the greatest part of town, but Kimmy had been watching me since I was in second grade and was like my big sister. I knew we'd be safe with her.

That old theatre (which is now a fucking swap meet) was just so beautiful inside. 100 foot ceilings, box seats, gold paint and murals. It felt like a place you went to experience Cinema, but, like ... it had absolutely seen better days. I remember that I felt kind of bad for the place, a little embarrassed, like when I got a good grade and accidentally made eye contact with a friend who got a D.

Okay. This clearly hit a memory artery, and I appreciate you staying with me this far, when we finally get to the fireworks factory. We're walking up to the box office, and she tells Ahmed and me that we have to wait on the sidewalk, because *technically* it's rated R, and she's not our legal guardian, but what does this guy making two bucks an hour know about art anyway?

So we wait. She buys the tickets, and then we all walk in as casually as we can.

I remember how scared I was that we were going to get caught and they'd call the cops (that's how it worked in my anxiety-ridden brain), but literally nobody cared. The theatre wasn't even half full, and everyone there was a dude at least as old as my parents.

You know the story, so I don't have to recount all of it, but I can at this very moment remember how shocked I was when Bruno was shot. This was the first time, ever, I had felt an emotional connection to a character. I didn't cry when Bambi's mother was shot, I didn't cry when ET died, I didn't cry E V E R.

But when Bruno died? I didn't make a sound. I just silently wept. Tears just poured down my face and I wanted to roll back time, rewrite the movie, and get him out of that room.

I obviously understand now, all these years later why I connected to him and why his story meant and means so much to me, but at the time I had no idea. I just thought the actors were that good.

I can't believe that guy who played him died so young. I think he was like 40? I remember thinking that was old. Now I know different.

When the movie was over, Kimmy asked us how we liked it. Ahmed was obsessed with the photography (he grew up to be an illustrator), and I obviously had my Bruno Moment.

We got Thrifty ice cream on the way home and listened to Donna Summer in her Datsun.

I haven't thought about Goncharov or Cinema or Kimmy in FOREVER. Leave it to Tumblr to boost my nostalgia check to a natural 20.

tl;dr: Bruno. I know he's supposed to be that character we all hate, and there are so many valid reasons for that. But when I was 12 ... well, I was a different person.

Oh! And now that I know what a "clean print" is, having seen so many "dirty prints" in revival houses before they all turned into swap meets or churches (hey, two places where people sell you stuff and take your money!), I retroactively appreciate it in a way that would make Kimmy happy.

Thanks for the trip into the crumbling mall that is my childhood memories. I haven't been here in awhile and it was nice to visit.

#Goncharov (1973)#goncharov #bruno #yes bruno #unreality

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oddinary4bts · 5 months

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Emotions of the Soul | knj

☆summary: when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: childhood/teenage lovers to strangers to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, anxiety, a reference to the reader in Now We Reign if you guys can catch it, cursing, stupid teenage threats of m*rder, an appearance from the reader in Forever, pet names, paparazzi, imposter syndrome, an ugly teenage breakup flashback, explicit content: mentions of blindfolding, switch!Namjoon, big dick!Namjoon, switch!reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, dirty talking?, balls fondling, face riding, breast play, fingering, protected sex, praise, hair pulling (ish), ass slapping, tummy bulge (? lmao), choking, cumshot, cum eating, unprotected sex, he calls OC a slut once or twice I think

☆word count: 36.3k

☆a/n: Oof I don't know why but writing this was so so hard?? I'm happy I finally managed to finish it tho! It delves into the subject of anxiety and its effects on people, so it's a little heavy, but I hope you'll still enjoy it <3 As always, thank you to @moonleeai for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3

☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!

☆☆☆☆☆

The music in the gallery was loud. It probably fitted a club better than an art exhibit, the upbeat melody having more than one person dancing and nodding their head to it. The atmosphere was warm, stuffy, even though the front doors had been left open in the hopes of getting the fresh November air in. It failed majestically, and you were sweating in your too-tight dress by the refreshment table in a corner, watching over the crowd.

You had never seen so many people in your gallery before. Had never thought your art would attract that amount of people, but it seemed the art enthusiasts of Seoul had flocked to your gallery tonight, looking to experience the art of a new talent firsthand.

At least that was what the journalists were saying, even though you had been an artist since you were a middle schooler. Fingers always stained with ink, teachers scolding you for never paying attention…

Middle school had seen your love for art blossom the way azaleas blossom after a long winter. With bright petals, vivid with life, though your art had first been the colour of the darkest nights. It had taken you years before you had incorporated colours into it, and now you were proud to see the myriad of shades painted on your pieces.

You sighed, and you reckoned maybe the mask you were wearing was the reason why you felt so stuffy. But you weren’t going to risk being recognized – no, you liked enjoying your exhibits in the anonymity of an art enthusiast. Rare were those who knew who the artist actually was, and you felt like it was the best way to have actual feedback on your art.

No one coated their words with sugar when they spoke with just another art enthusiast. So tonight, you wore the mask of the artist, the one people knew you for. It preserved your identity but also allowed people to know who the artist was when they had to. Like tonight, considering that it was the opening of your newest exhibit, The Colours of Fall.

You ordered a glass of apple-flavoured soju mixed with beer, bowing your head in thanks at the employee behind the table when they offered it to you. When you turned back around, your eyes trailed to the wall of windows on one side of the room. Though some pieces were hung there, with spotlights behind the windows to create shadows into the pieces, you still were able to see the black Sedan that was parking outside.

Paparazzi outside started flashing their cameras as someone walked out, and all you could see from where you were was a mop of black hair. More than one celebrity was in attendance tonight, so you didn’t pay attention to the person arriving more than necessary, instead focusing on the exhibit once more.

It was going well. Far better than you had first imagined it would. You had already sold numerous pieces, and your brain was running a mile a minute with ideas of what you could replace them with.

Your mask only hid the top part of your face, so you easily took a sip of your drink, inadvertently bobbing your head to the music. It was good music, it really was, but you couldn’t wait for the actual playlist you had chosen to begin.

Which wasn’t going to be for a whole other hour, unfortunately. After you said your speech and the lights turned to red, orange, and the rich yellow of autumn leaves.

Your manager moved closer to you, and she offered you a wide smile. You nodded your head and watched as she ordered the same drink as you, before standing next to you.

“The celebrity scene is going crazy over your exhibit,” Na Sooah said. “Most of those invited showed up.”

“I still can’t believe you invited the whole celebrity scene,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “Most of them know nothing about art.”

Sooah laughed. “Not all of them! Kim Namjoon just arrived.”

Your throat went dry, and the hand clutching your glass tightened at the mention of Namjoon’s name. Kim Namjoon. Your childhood friend Kim Namjoon. Your first kiss, your first time… and a member of the most famous boy group in the world. More than that, Namjoon was a fellow art enthusiast.

Namjoon’s love for art started at the same time as yours. He had been enthralled by your drawings, believing that you had a gift that needed to be nurtured and protected. Like his love for music, though his comparisons most often made no sense. To you, that is.

Namjoon had been your first heartbreak, back when every emotion felt deeper than the ocean, when anger, pain, and sadness ran longer than eternity. Back when he hadn’t even joined Big Hit yet.

“Kim Namjoon,” you repeated, tasting his name in your mouth for the first time since that ugly October night when you had told him you hated him more than anything in this world, and he had left without even a single look back.

You had never spoken after that. You had never talked about him anymore either, not to your friends or family. And when you had begged your parents to change school, they had caved in, letting you attend the same school as your cousin Miyoung.

Miyoung had been your closest friend since then, until Sooah had come into your life to form a trio with you and your cousin when you had attended college in arts.

“Yeah, he’s created quite a commotion outside,” Sooah commented, and you remembered the mop of black hair.

Could that have been Namjoon?

“And when he RSVP’ed, he mentioned that he would like to have a talk with the artist, so I hope you’re ready,” Sooah added, teasingly.

You glared at her through your mask. “You couldn’t have told me before?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes once more, not so playfully this time, taking another sip of your drink. “He’s Kim Namjoon, you could have let a girl prepare.”

At that, Sooah laughed out loud. “Got a little crush?”

“Quite the opposite,” you said through gritted teeth.

You hated Kim Namjoon.

You noticed him then. He was dressed simply, yet it was elegant, somehow. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself, with his large and tall frame, that made him elegant. Because you doubted a pair of jeans with a gray cardigan over a light blue polo was supposed to be this elegant. His long coat matched the colour of his cardigan almost to perfection, and he flashed dimples to the employee at the coat check as he took off the coat, revealing more of his large frame.

Needless to say, Kim Namjoon didn’t look like he could rip a log in two with his bare hands back when you had first known him. No, he had been a thin, gangly teen, with arms that seemed too long for his frame.

When he was rid of his coat, he moved to the side to let the man behind him give his coat away, and then the two of them started walking together.

You had no idea who the other man was, but from the looks of it, he was a friend, as Namjoon laughed along with him.

One of your hands moved to your face, gently grazing your mask to make sure it was still well-fitted. It was like one of those masks people wore at the Venice carnival. It matched the theme of your exhibit, with autumn leaves craftily molded into it. It was a piece of art in and of itself, like all the masks you wore as an artist.

He wouldn’t recognize you. You were positive he wasn’t going to be able to recognize you with just the lower part of your face on display, especially after so many years apart. Your voice had changed to – matured, aged, like your features, quite honestly.

After all, the last time Kim Namjoon had seen you, you had been a crying, yelling, angsty fifteen-year-old.

Sooah left you to a couple that was looking to buy one of the backlit art pieces, and you explained to them the process behind the creation of the art they had chosen, eyes once in a while flitting around to make sure Kim Namjoon wasn’t in your vicinity yet.

He wasn’t. He was perusing around the gallery, stopping to talk to other celebrities once in a while, and so far, you weren’t even sure he had looked your way. Which was a good thing, because that meant maybe you’d make it to your speech before he actually tried talking to you.

You could leave immediately after your speech, right?

“And what about the subject of autumn interested you so much?” the older man in front of you asked.

You blinked out of your reverie, offering him a practiced, easy smile. “If you had to choose, would you want to witness the beginning or the end?” you asked.

It was the catchphrase of your speech. Though people could argue that the year ended and began in the winter months, you had always seen a finality in the months of fall and had portrayed it in your art.

The man seemed taken aback by your question. He cocked his head to the side, before glancing at his wife. “The end carries weight,” the wife said pensively. “It carries age and wisdom.”

You offered her a polite nod. “Exactly. I find beauty in the end and chose to portray it with the months of autumn. When life seems to come to its end.”

“Fall is beautiful,” the man agreed. “But wouldn’t you argue the start holds more beauty? With all the possibilities that it carries.”

“A different kind of beauty. Which, maybe it’s going to inspire my next exhibit,” you teased, secretively, and the couple laughed.

You talked to them a little more, and it seemed life had salvation to offer you because Sooah was the one that came to you first, and not Kim Namjoon. You said goodbye to the couple, before following your manager to the spot where you were to say your speech. As usual, nerves wracked your whole body at the sight of the standing mic, and you had to resist not to bring your thumb to your mouth to nibble on the nail. It was a habit you had gotten rid of only recently, and you really didn’t want it to come back.

Especially not in front of a crowd such as this one, in which you knew Kim Namjoon was standing.

Sooah stopped in the crowd, pushing you forward gently, inciting you to walk the rest of the way yourself. Your heart beat out of your chest as if it was about to escape your ribcage, and you took a deep steadying breath before moving out of the crowd.

The music stopped, and the lights immediately dimmed, until all that was left was a single spotlight, which shone on you as you stopped next to the mic. Back turned to the crowd, eyes skimming over the biggest piece of your exhibit. Ilsan lay before you, draped in the colours of autumn.

You breathed in and out one last time, and then you turned, stepping in front of the mic.

“If you could choose,” you started, voice steadier than you expected it’d be. “Would you choose the end or the beginning?”

The couple you had been speaking to smiled wildly at your sentence, and you let the silence linger long enough for people to whisper their own answer. Music started with low traditional instruments replacing the upbeat melody from earlier.

“There is a form of beauty in the end. In knowing you’ve seen it all, and that rest is at your door,” you continued. “There’s beauty in looking back, in wisdom, and in the Colours of Autumn.” You paused, looking over the crowd. You noticed Namjoon standing at the back, listening politely. “My exhibition carries this: the end of the year, of the cycle of nature. The beauty of fall, of leaves and October nights and November rains.” You wondered if people could tell that your hand was slightly trembling, where it held the mic. “When the wind catches and leaves blow, it is time to look back. So tonight, I want you all to take a step back, to look back on your lives and ask yourselves, ‘Have I found the wisdom of The Colours of Autumn?’”

The spotlight turned off, and you walked away from the mic to the crowd. When you turned back to look at the piece of Ilsan, a projector came to life and the story you had prepared started.

You tuned it out: you had seen the shadow and light projections so many times already they had lost all sense to you. It often happened – if you stared at your art for too long, it lost all its meaning. So you usually didn’t look back on a piece right away. You waited for the end, for the concretization that came with your exhibits, and only then did you look back.

Except the lights and shadows. You had watched those fifteen times yesterday only to make sure that everything was perfect. And you were quite the perfectionist, you knew that they were.

While everyone was watching, you slowly made your way to the back of the crowd. You surprisingly still had your drink in your hands, and you took a careful sip as you finally slipped out of the big of the crowd. The drink was flat now, and you tried to head towards the refreshment table in order to rid yourself of it.

It seemed your calculations had been wrong, because Kim Namjoon stood in front of you, in all his tall glory.

All his infuriating glory, as dimples graced his cheeks at the sight of you. They stopped you in your tracks, and you gazed up at him, eyes connecting even through the dim lighting. His friend was standing next to him, and your eyes flitted to him once before looking at Namjoon again.

Namjoon nodded his head, politely, before taking a sip of the beer he was holding. You nodded back, and then you resumed moving, thoughts spiraling like leaves in the fall wind. You made it all the way to the small door that led to the stairs to your studio before you were stopped by a large hand on your elbow.

You knew who it was without having to turn around, and you would have cursed him for not watching the show had applauds not sounded, indicating that it was over anyway.

“Hi,” Namjoon politely said when you were finally facing his way. His hand had long returned to the pocket of his jeans, and he looked infinitely nonchalant, standing there in front of you. “Sorry for the intrusion, but your manager told me to be quick to speak to you at the end if I didn’t want to miss you.”

Sooah could go to hell.

You offered a polite chuckle, though to you, it sounded like you were choking on air. Because frankly, you felt like you were. “I do usually slip away in the night,” you answered. You glanced at the door, hating that your salvation had been so close yet so far. “You caught me right before I was to leave.”

When you faced Namjoon again, you noticed the confused look on his features. His brows were furrowed over his eyes, his lips were slightly parted, and he had tilted his head to the side in confusion. His eyes, slightly narrowed, made him look like some sort of dragon, and God were you well placed to know Namjoon could breathe fire if he wanted.

At least when he was a teen, he could.

“I’ve been trying to get in contact with you,” Namjoon admitted. “Your manager said to come here if I wanted a chance to talk to you.”

You cocked an eyebrow, though the mask hid it from view. What the hell could Namjoon want to speak to you about?

“I’ve noticed you portray Ilsan in your art a lot, and since I come from there, I wanted to know if I could buy a piece,” he added to your stunned silence.

“You didn’t have to talk to me to ask for that,” you said, and you glanced around at the employees on the floor that were in charge of the actual selling.

“I wanted to have the artist’s insight on which piece she’d believe would fit best for me,” he continued, and he seemed to realize then that this was weird. He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Or maybe even have one made personally?”

Now, you remembered why you hated Kim Namjoon. “I do not take commissions,” you flatly replied. “If you wish to buy a piece, you can auction for one with one of my employees.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon quickly said. “I didn’t want to sound rude. Like at all. It’s just… there was this piece I really liked from your last exposition, Winds of the West? I couldn’t buy it in time.”

“I do not remake pieces.”

Silence followed your statement. Had he only then noticed how cold you were towards him?

“Right,” he eventually said. “How unfortunate. I think the person that bought it is here today. Might as well go talk to them.”

It was said like a joke, but you didn’t bite, remaining entirely stoic in front of him. Kim Namjoon didn’t seem to like it, as if he was used to people bending to his every wish, and he probably was.

“Might as well,” you agreed, hoping that it was going to make him leave.

It seemed it did the trick, because he looked over his shoulder, probably searching for the person in question. When his eyes settled back on you, he said, “Guess I’ll let you escape through the night.”

You pursed your lips, nodding once. And just because you wanted to preserve your artist image a little, even though you reckoned you had been rude to him, you said, “Good luck with getting the piece.”

At that, he lit up, and the dimples appeared.

You hated that after all these years, they still had an effect on you.

“Thank you, Maehwa,” he gently said.

Hearing him say your artist’s name had you freezing on the spot. You hoped he didn’t see the panic in your eyes, and the colours draining from the half of your face visible to people. He did furrow his eyebrows once more though, looking pensive, but you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. Indeed, you quickly wished him good night, before turning around and stepping through the door.

Once you were in the cool darkness, back pressed against the door you’d just locked, you took another deep steadying breath, like the one you had taken before your speech.

Maehwa had been Namjoon’s nickname for you, all those years ago. Because back then, you had mostly been drawing flowers and had been attracted to the maehwas, the blooms of a plum. But maehwas were common and loved, and there was no way he could have connected the dots. He didn’t seem like he had, or else you were pretty sure he would have approached you in an entirely different fashion. Indeed, back then, he had told you he’d kill you if he ever saw you again, which, in your fifteen-year-old heart, had been quite the threat.

Once you were calmed, you walked down the stairs, breathing in a sigh of relief at the sight of your studio. Right now, it was pretty much empty, save for the painting you had started for Miyoung’s wedding next summer.

She wasn’t even engaged yet, but her boyfriend Doyoon had let you in on the secret since you were going to help with the proposal in a few weeks. You glanced at the painting, almost wishing to work on it a little just to get your mind off things. But it was late, and you’d rather be at home, with your cat Gabi.

Was it your fault if memories of Kim Namjoon swam in your head until late that night? You highly doubted so. And looking back, you couldn’t see any beauty in your ending. You, who preached that all endings held beauty. Had you just been too immature then? You thought perhaps you had been, but it didn’t really matter anymore though, did it? It couldn’t.

Why, then, were you unable to shake Kim Namjoon out of your thoughts, until troubled sleep found you in its embrace?

*****

December was grand. With showers of fluffy snow that left a blanket on the world, and Miyoung’s engagement party. You painted, stained your fingers with blue and purple to match the colours of the winter landscape, and by the time January came, you had all but forgotten how Kim Namjoon had just reappeared one evening in late November.

Your studio was cool at this time of the year, and the windows at the top of the walls had iced with frost. You were wearing a thick sweater, with a pair of leggings you had long stained with paint, back when you were working on the fall Ilsan piece.

Indie music was playing in the background, a new artist that had been taking over Seoul and South Korea with her music. It was sad, but Miyoung had insisted that you listen to it, saying that the artist had been rookie of the year at MAMA last year. You had been supposed to accompany Miyoung to the singer’s stadium show too, but you had ended up being sick, and Sooah had gone in your stead.

The music was lonely, nostalgic, but the lyrics were powerful and inspiring. So you kept on painting, as the light of the rising sun slowly melted the frost on the window, though the corners clung to it like one clings to a lover just returned from war.

You hadn’t slept last night. Had stayed up working on your current piece, and exhaustion was slowly catching up to you, even though the inspiration hadn’t worn off yet. So you kept working, head tilting to the side whenever you finished a small part, waiting to know what the next step in the journey was.

You had a fist on your hip when Sooah and Miyoung both appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the basement, voices cheery and loud in the relative calmness of your studio.

“Please tell me you haven’t been up all night,” Miyoung scolded you, and your gaze slid to where she was walking down the stairs, hands holding up two coffees.

She handed one to you when she reached the basement floor. You took it gladly with the hand that was previously on your hip, shrugging your shoulders. “I was almost done.”

Both Sooah and Miyoung looked at the piece.

“Clearly,” Sooah sarcastically said.

Your eyes also slid back to your piece. You took a step back, and clearly, you were far from done. You had been working on the middle portion all night, but you still had only a vague drawing for the rest of the canvas. You sighed, putting down your brush.

“I meant I’m almost done with what I wanted to finish,” you specified.

Sooah nodded her head, before plopping down on the couch in one corner. Miyoung glanced once at her, before resuming her attention on you.

“Why did it take two months for me to know Kim Namjoon came to your exhibit?” she asked, with the most innocent voice.

Your mouth fell open. “What? It was all over the news.”

“You know I don’t watch the news!” Miyoung exclaimed. “Sooah mentioned it while we were getting coffee.”

“I-“

“And why did you never tell me you dated that guy when you were younger?” Sooah interjected, not letting you finish your sentence.

“Mimi!” you burst, and you jumped towards Miyoung, fully in the hopes of tackling her to the ground.

“The art!” Miyoung screamed as she escaped you. “Be careful with your art!”

You stopped in your tracks, electing to glare at her instead. “Why did you tell her? I was fifteen!”

“Still counts,” Miyoung replied, the innocent act still on.

But you wouldn’t be fooled. “It clearly doesn’t.” You turned your head towards Sooah, who watched with a giddy smile from where she sat. “Right? Who cares about a teenage ex?”

She laughed. “Clearly, you, if you get so worked up about it, what, thirteen years later?”

You frowned, shaking your head. Instead of replying, you took a long sip of your coffee, hoping it would give you something to reply to that.

“I don’t care,” you said when the sip was swallowed, and you couldn’t really wait anymore.

Sooah nodded, getting up from her spot on the couch to head in front of the painting you had been working on. You watched her go, an eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

“Well then,” she said once she was standing there, with her back turned to you. She smacked her lips once, the only way you knew she was up to no good. “You won’t care if I tell you he asked to film something in the gallery, and I said yes.”

You loved your friends. You really did. But sometimes you hated them too. Like right now, as your brain immediately started planning their murder.

“What the fuck?”

Sooah finally turned towards you, acting as if she didn’t just announce the worst news of your life to you. “Yeah. The pay is going to be worth it, and it’s going to give a lot of worldwide visibility to your art. It really is worth it.”

“But Kim Namjoon?” you complained. “Couldn’t you have chosen… I don’t know, some cool indie artist?”

“He’s a cool artist,” Sooah stated, shrugging her shoulders.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Is he really?”

“His music is good,” Miyoung cut in innocently.

Your head snapped towards her. “You listen to his music?”

“Yeah, the album he released in December is good.”

And that was how you found yourself sleep-deprived, listening to a music album made by your teenage ex, as your manager explained to you the deeds of the project Namjoon was going to film in the gallery. Even though Sooah was one of your closest friends, you couldn’t really say no when she asked you to do job things. You trusted her entirely on her choices, had always did, but today you regretted it just a little bit.

Luckily enough for her, your exhaustion won over your will to fire her – or worse, to murder her – and you headed home when you finished listening to the album, repeating time and time again to you didn’t think Namjoon’s music was good.

It had led to Miyoung innocently mentioning that your breakup had been ugly, and really you had to get out of there before you committed the irreparable. It was only a few hours later, after a well-deserved nap, that you realized something.

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery didn’t mean you had to be present, right?

*****

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery actually meant that you were going to have to be present.

You had been too tired, that day with Sooah. Had entirely not assimilated that the project he was filming was a series of short episodes where he met up with various local artists, presenting their craft to the world. He had chosen you for the painting episode, even though you were quite convinced there were way better artists out there that he could have chosen from. You didn’t really have a say in this – what Sooah wanted, Sooah got.

Still, you were given a reprieve – the date chosen for shooting was still in a week, and so you took to arranging your gallery the way you believed would work best. And though you were pretty sure it was ready, some late Thursday afternoon you found yourself moving around some paintings, deciding to change the location of the Ilsan piece that had been the vehicle of the shadow and light projection you had shown at your exhibit in November.

You watched as two employees moved the piece where you had asked them to, fists on your hips, when bells rang, indicating that someone had walked in. You didn’t dare look behind you, instead giving directions to the employees as one of them carefully climbed the two first steps of a stepladder to hang the painting where it needed to be.

You surveyed them until the painting was safely hung, almost forgetting that someone had walked in. You only remembered when you felt a heavy gaze on your profile, and a silhouette appeared. You glanced their way then, and almost let out a startled scream that would have clearly made the windows explode.

Kim Namjoon offered you a tight-lipped smile.

“Are you Maehwa?” he asked.

You put a hand over your chest, trying to keep your heart from going into arrest. “You can’t just sneak on people like this,” you grumbled.

Then, the weirdest thing happened. He started smiling, wide, flashing his insufferable dimples, and his eyes lit up from within.

“It really is you.”

You gulped. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” You wanted to scold yourself for saying that, as if you wouldn’t know who Kim Namjoon was, even if he wasn’t your ex from so many years ago.

“Y/n, don’t play this game with me,” Namjoon said, teasingly. “I was pretty sure it was you in November, and now I have the proof.”

You scoffed. “What do you want?”

This time, his smile only allowed one dimple to appear, and you hated it even more. “Your manager told me that I could come over today to prepare for shooting. She said you were setting up the gallery.”

You would really need to fire Na Sooah, wouldn’t you?

You looked around, though it was pretty much ready. The filming crew was supposed to come at the beginning of next week to set up the spotlights and everything else they might need, as filming was only supposed to be Wednesday next week.

“Yeah,” you replied flatly. “What do you need to prepare?”

He tilted his head to the side. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and that’s how you speak to me? I remembered you to be a lot warmer.”

The nerves on this man…

“It’s been over ten years, I’ve changed.” You clenched your jaw once, before taking a deep, steadying breath. There were employees around, after all. “What do you need to prepare?”

He just smiled, mysteriously, before glancing around once. “Do you have an office somewhere around here?”

You looked up to the ceiling, rolling your eyes so far back you thought they were going to stick to the back of your head. “I have my studio downstairs,” you grumbled. “Follow me.”

He nodded, dimples flashing, and followed you as you made your way to the door through which you had escaped from him in November. Only this time, there was no escaping.

Namjoon’s heavy footsteps followed you down the stairs, and you braced yourself for the inevitable comments he was going to make about your studio. To your surprise, he remained silent, and you realized that he, too, had changed through the years.

No one remained quite like their fifteen-year-old self, didn’t they?

You moved towards the sitting area, vaguely motioning to an armchair. “Have a seat.”

You glanced over your shoulder, only to see Namjoon was looking at your current work-in-progress. It made you feel insecure, somehow, and you cleared your throat.

Namjoon’s gaze trailed to you. “Sorry.”

He walked towards you, and you felt small as he stopped right in front of you, still with that same infuriating, warm smile on his lips. “Your art has improved a lot through the years.”

You fled his gaze, motioning to the armchair again. “Do you want coffee? Or a tea?”

“Just water would be fine,” he replied, his smile falling for the first time since he had appeared in the gallery upstairs.

You nodded curtly, and as you headed towards the kitchen area of your studio, Namjoon got comfortable in the armchair. You brought back two glasses of water, mostly because you knew you were going to need something to hold to keep your nerves at bay. Namjoon accepted his with a slight bow of his head, and then you sat on the couch.

You exchanged a look, as you waited expectantly for him to say something. He remained silent, a pensive look on his features. It threw you off, as he had been the type to talk a lot back then.

“You’ve changed,” he stated out of the blue, and it made you cock an eyebrow.

“Obviously,” you drawled. “I would expect someone to change after thirteen years.”

Those stupid dimples appeared for half a heartbeat. “Yet you haven’t changed at all.” At your obstinate silence, Namjoon specified, “You’re still just as petty as I remember you to be.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you here to insult me or to prepare for shooting your show?”

He chuckled, a deep sound that had you busying yourself with a sip of water. He mirrored you, before saying, “I don’t mean to insult you at all”.

Should you call him out for his bullshit? Back then you would have, but you had grown up. So you remained silent once more, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just weird to see you again,” he said, and he motioned towards you with the hand holding the glass. “You look… good.”

Not at all what you were expecting. It made you gulp, and you hated that your cheeks were burning. “It is weird, right?”

He nodded once, eyes trailing away from you to look down at his glass. “I’m happy your dreams worked out.”

Now, the pang in your heart was unwelcome. Kim Namjoon shouldn’t have the power to make you feel like this, not after all the years.

“I worked hard,” you replied carefully. “As you have, I presume.”

At that, he chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “I sure have.”

Another awkward silence and you glanced at him as he took a sip of water.

“So, what did you want to prepare?” you asked once you couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Oh,” he let out. He sat back in the armchair, looking way too at ease with his thighs slightly spread. “I wanted to give you the list of questions that I’m going to ask so that way you can prepare in advance,” he told you, offering you another one of those disarming, dimple-flashing smiles.

You cocked an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have shared them by email?”

Another chuckle of his had you looking away, focusing on your project.

“I could have. But I wanted to see if my inkling was right at the same time,” he explained. “Before the day of shooting, that is.”

You sighed, before looking back at him. His eyes were already on you, and it made you gulp once more.

Namjoon had gotten really intimidating, after all these years.

“Well, now you know,” you said. “Was there anything else you needed?”

He seemed surprised at the dismissal in your tone. “Not… really.” He wet his lips, watching you carefully. “I just thought it’d be great to catch up.” His gaze moved to your surroundings, before settling back on you. “To get to know how you managed to get such a nice studio and all that. I haven’t heard about you since we broke up.”

“Because I wanted it to be this way,” you replied. “And why do you have to say it like you didn’t believe I’d make it?”

“Wait, no,” he quickly said. “That’s not what I meant.”

You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes. “Of course not.”

He laughed. “Really? After all these years, you’re still mad at me?”

“You did tell me you wanted to kill me,” you reminded him in a grumble.

He seemed surprised. He frowned, and his head once again tilted to the side. “Did I?”

“You don’t remember?”

At that, you were the one to be surprised. It had been such a pivotal piece of your existence, back then, that you expected it to be marked into his brain the same way that it was in yours.

He shrugged. “Not particularly. I got super busy with being a trainee, and I just… I guess I forgot.”

“Oh,” you let out. The silence that followed was heavy, awkward, and you hoped it was enough for Namjoon to get the cue and leave.

Maybe he was still just as dumb and clueless as he had been then, because he said, “I was intense, wasn’t I?”

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

You held his eyes for a few seconds until your gaze dropped to your glass. You hated how you couldn’t look at him anymore, but gosh, he looked a lot better than he did then, and you had already found him attractive all those years ago.

“I…” he trailed off, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I was wondering if I could have your phone number, to send you the list of questions.”

“Uh…” You scratched the back of your neck, shrugging your shoulders. “You can send it to my manager, she’ll have it sent to me.”

If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. “I guess I’ll see you next week, then?”

You nodded once, before clenching your jaw. Because why did some stupid part of you not want him to leave right away?

“Did you eat? I was about to order fried chicken.”

He looked almost startled by your invitation. “I… have eaten, actually,” he replied truthfully, never one to lie. “But if you want company while you eat, I can always stay.”

You shook your head. “Nah, all good. I was just asking to be polite.”

He didn’t call you out on your bullshit, instead offering you a tight-lipped smile. “Then I guess I’ll see you next week.”

You walked him back upstairs, teeth nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tried to ignore the weight of the awkwardness between you. He wished you a good day, flashing those dimples of his, and he left, without once looking back.

You watched him as he climbed in a company car, and your gaze dropped to the ground as the car drove away, quickly disappearing from view.

What the hell had just happened?

*****

Namjoon’s list of questions was good. Mostly, it was centered around what you used as an inspiration, which other artists did you look up to, and what kind of music you listened to while practicing your art, if you listened to any at all. There was also stuff about where you grew up, and how it might have affected your art.

Nothing too personal, yet the fact that the questions were from Namjoon felt incredibly personal, and your hands were clammy, heart beating out of your chest, by the time the day of shooting came. It didn’t help that there was some problem with the cameras, which was only solved a few hours after the shooting was first supposed to start.

This meant you spent the most awkward, long hours of your life in Namjoon’s company, barely even talking because, frankly, you had nothing to tell him. He seemed fine with the silence, or maybe he just sucked at small talk just as much as you, and he didn’t say anything, just sat there scrolling on his phone until the director came to get the two of you.

And when filming started, Namjoon started asking you his questions, and you tried not to be a blushing mess as you answered. Tried and succeeded, you liked to tell yourself, because you were used to being interviewed.

The fact that you were starting to be renowned in Seoul’s painting scene helped, clearly, because you made it through the introduction and first few questions without stuttering.

They were the easiest ones, after all.

“At what age did you start painting?” Namjoon asked as you sat on the little balcony outside of your gallery, looking over the Han River.

Your breath turned into a cloud as you exhaled, and you followed it with your eyes as it moved up towards the sky. “I started when I was seven. But at first, I only drew, and then started painting when I tried it for the first time in middle school and fell in love with the craft.”

Namjoon was there that day. Had ruined your painting when he had fallen next to it, feet getting tangled in the pots of paint. You had been furious, but you had also been two laughing messes by the time class had finished.

You had started dating half a year later, making the decision right outside of the art class, where it had all begun if you were honest.

“What do you like so much about painting?”

You met his gaze, not really knowing how to answer that question. You had been searching for what to reply for hours the day before, and all you had been able to come up with was, “It allows me to create, to evacuate emotions and to make something that is worth looking back at.”

You weren’t sure it was the answer he was looking for, but you still said it. He offered you a secretive smile, as if it made all the sense in the world to him.

You hoped the camera didn’t catch your eyes flicking to his lips, before getting stuck in the dimple on his cheek.

“I think that’s understandable,” he replied truthfully. “Creating music feels a little like that, at least for me.”

You pursed your lips, not really knowing what you could say to add to the conversation. Namjoon took it in stride, following with his next question.

And it went like that for the whole interview. At some point, you moved inside, with the aim of talking about certain art pieces of your choosing. Namjoon asked questions about your latest exposition, about what it was like compared to your first one, and frankly, you didn’t see the time go until the director cut the tape for the last time, telling Namjoon that it was closing time.

To your surprise, Namjoon had one last question for you.

“As we bring this interview to an end,” Namjoon said, eyes finding yours, “I have one last question for our artist.” He waited a few seconds, as if to give emphasis to his words, before adding, “Why did you choose the name Maehwa?”

You stared at him, he stared at you. You were pretty sure he could read the answer in your eyes, and you were pretty sure you didn’t want to say it out loud. It felt awkward, and this time you doubted the makeup they had put on your skin before filming could hide the blush on your cheeks.

“Uh,” you let out, coughing a little. “When I was younger, a friend of mine used to call me that. I liked the nickname, and I guess it stuck around?”

‘A friend of mine translated’ to him, to Namjoon, and you hoped he couldn’t tell just how much you were spiraling, like a leaf caught in the whirlpool of a leaking sink. Because you were caught in the current, feeling like you were stupid, to have held onto a stupid nickname that meant nothing, that never should have meant anything.

“It’s a pretty name,” Namjoon reflected.

His eyes were heavy on you because, of course, he knew that it was him. Of course, he remembered the days of youth where you had learned about love, by his side.

He had been there after all.

“Thank you,” you replied, a little breathlessly.

After that, Namjoon closed the interview, and when the cameras turned off, you let out a long, wavering sigh. It made him chuckle, as people buzzed around you to put everything away.

“Everything okay?”

You offered him a no-bullshit look. “You didn’t tell me about that last question.”

It sounded accusing, and frankly, you were accusing him. He recoiled, just a little, losing the small smile that was gracing his lips.

“I honestly thought it up during the interview,” he admitted. “I should have warned you.”

You clenched your jaw for a few seconds, before releasing yet another sigh. “It’s whatever. Why did you even want to know that?”

“Because I gave you that nickname…” he said, looking suddenly ashamed.

As if he was a child getting scolded for making a mistake. You didn’t like that look on him, even though he entirely deserved it, so you softened your expression before saying, “You did.”

He held your gaze, and the space between you filled with memories, with his laughter and the rain that early June night when you had kissed for the first time. It made you long for the warmth of his honey-toned skin, taking you by surprise.

Yes, you had once loved Kim Namjoon, but that had been thirteen years ago, when you were too young to actually know what love was.

“Do you…” you started, not knowing where you were headed.

Yet it was like he knew. “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime this week?” he asked, finishing your sentence.

You smiled, looking down as if that would hide the blush on your cheeks. “Only if you take me somewhere nice.”

“You deserve the best,” he said, nodding once. “I know just the place.”

You met his gaze again, and the smile grew like flowers under the sun. “Then yes, I’d like to grab dinner with you.”

At that, he offered you an award-winning smile, with the infuriating dimples creating indents in his cheeks. “For a moment, I was convinced you were going to refuse.”

The blush on your cheeks deepened as you asked, “Why?”

“You haven’t been…” he trailed off, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to the both of you, but most people were busy putting away the lights and mics from the set. “You haven’t been very warm,” he finished as his eyes settled back on you.

You nibbled at your lower lip, nodding curtly. “Right.” You held his gaze for a few seconds, and then you found you were too much of a coward, fleeing his dragon eyes to look at the tiles of the floor instead. “We didn’t part on exactly good terms, you know?”

“Yeah.” He took a step towards you, extending his hand in front of him as if expecting you to shake it. When he added, “I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s nice to meet you”, you understood that he was, in fact, waiting for you to shake it.

“What are you doing?” you asked, ignoring the hand.

He stubbornly kept it there. “Pretending that this is my first time meeting you,” he explained, even though it made little to no sense. When he saw the confused look on your face, he clarified, “So that way, we can pretend that the past never happened, and we can start again on better grounds.”

It made you giggle, a shy little sound that had you finally cave in, your small hand closing around his large one. “I already agreed to grab dinner with you, but…” you trailed off, finally meeting his gaze again. “Nice to meet you, Kim Namjoon. I’m Y/n.”

He held your hand for a second longer than necessary, before letting it go. Your fingers twitched as if wishing he had held on longer, and you hid it by hiding your arm behind your back.

“You come here often?” he asked, adding your name at the end. “I’ve never seen you around.”

You cocked an eyebrow, and you both burst out laughing at the same time.

“You’re bad at this,” you teased him. “We’re in my studio, of course, I come here often.”

He nodded. “Ah, I apologize. It’s my first time around, after all.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him in the shoulder. It just made him laugh again, and there was something so familiar, so warm in his laugh that you turned wistful. He immediately noticed the shift in you, and his smile slowly died down to be replaced by a serious look.

“I’m serious,” he told you. “It’d be great to start on new grounds.”

“I know. I fully agree,” you said. “It’s just… who would have thought I’d accept to grab dinner with the first boy that broke my heart.”

He didn’t reply. Just turned a little apologetic, though you reckoned you had broken his heart too. You both had been young and dumb, there was no way to deny it. And it was strange indeed, that thirteen years later, you had met again. Both of you having changed, having grown until you weren’t sure you really recognized him.

Except for the dimples. The dimples were the same, a never-changing feature that you didn't doubt had stolen the heart of a million of his fans. It had stolen your heart back then after all.

“So,” he said after his manager told him that they were ready to leave, breaking the bubble of the little dimension you both had fallen in. “This time, I assume you’ll allow me to write down your number?”

You snorted, holding out your hand between the two of you, a little like he had done earlier though you were waiting for him to give you his phone. “Sure, I’ll put it in your phone.”

He pouted, looking like the child you had known all those years ago. “I lost my phone.”

“What?”

He repeated sheepishly. “I think I left it in the company car that dropped me off here.”

That was such a Namjoon thing to do you found your heart growing warm once again. “Okay then, I’ll write my number on a paper, and you text me when you find your phone. That works?”

The bright smile returned, and he nodded his head. “That works for me.”

You held his gaze for a few more seconds, before moving away to go get paper in your studio downstairs. When you came back up, he was still waiting, though this time his manager was next to him, looking somehow a little pressed. You felt bad, assuming that he was upset because you were making him wait, so you jogged to Namjoon.

“There you go,” you said, handing him over the paper. Your eyes glided to the manager, before returning to Namjoon. “Text me when you can.”

“I will,” he said.

It sounded like a promise, just as much as it sounded like a beginning.

*****

“You are shitting me,” Miyoung said, eyes wide like flying saucers.

Cheeks burning, you avoided her insistent gaze. “No…”

“You’re grabbing dinner with Kim Namjoon?” she repeated, and the words sounded so foreign in her mouth that you winced a little.

“Huh,” you let out. “Yeah, seems like I am.”

She shook her head in disbelief, before chuckling lightly. “I can’t believe him. You’re supposed to hate him. You didn’t even want to listen to his music, and now you’re going out with him?” She paused to laugh again. “Sooah won’t believe this.”

“Come on,” you whined. “It’s nothing.”

“Shut up,” Miyoung said as she grabbed her phone. “I’m texting Sooah right now to let her know.”

You tried to steal your friend’s phone from her hands, but she darted away, out of your reach, long enough for the message to be sent. You were pretty sure your cheeks had gone purple now, and all you could do was fold your arms on your chest as you glared at Miyoung.

“It’s just dinner,” you pointed out. “Nothing to freak out about.”

Miyoung narrowed her gaze, eyeing you suspiciously. “Why are you even grabbing dinner with him? What are you hoping to achieve?” Her gaze widened before you could even speak. “Are you only going because he’s RM of BTS?”

You rolled your eyes, looking at the ceiling of your studio. Miyoung had come over when you had texted her about the dinner earlier, claiming that she needed to see for herself if you were just playing with her.

“No?” you said. “I don’t care that he’s RM. I accepted the offer because… I don’t know, at the end of the day, he’s a childhood friend.”

“A childhood friend? He was your first everything.”

Touché. Today, you felt weird whenever you remembered that he had taken your virginity, when you both were so young you shouldn’t even have been thinking about that. You had regretted it for years after – mostly because you had started hating him so bad, but also just because you had been so young. It felt wrong somehow.

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “I only told you because I don’t know how to date. I never really go on dates.”

She laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh my God, it is a date, right?”

You felt yourself flush red, furiously, and your gaze fell to the floor. “I mean, I think so? Don’t you?”

“I thought it was just dinner with a childhood friend,” she mused, hands going behind her back as she rocked on her feet. She was teasing you, and you glared at her. “Alright, alright,” she let out after a few seconds of holding your gaze with a shit-eating smirk on her lips. “First, we’ll need to figure out what you need to wear.”

You nodded, nibbling at your lips. “He mentioned dinner at a restaurant.”

He had. Namjoon had texted you the night after the shoot, claiming that he had indeed forgotten his phone in the car. He had also sent you the link to a famous restaurant in Gangnam, one that you were pretty sure was way over your budget even though you were relatively well-off financially. He had told you he knew the owner, and that the restaurant had private rooms where you could eat without fearing for fans or paparazzi seeing you.

“So then you want to dress nicely,” Miyoung said, nodding once. “A nice pair of dress pants with a cute blouse would do. Or maybe that long black skirt you have that ends right over the knee? You could pair it with…”

“Y/n!” Sooah yelled from the top of the stairs, startling both you and Miyoung. “How dare you not tell me you’re getting dinner with a celebrity?”

Your gaze widened in fear as you watched your manager walking down the stairs, purpose filling her every move.

You were pretty sure the purpose was to murder you.

She pointed a finger at you in affront, her cheeks a little red from the anger. “This is manager business. You can’t just decide…”

“Cut it,” Miyoung interrupted. “You literally bet with me last week that it would happen.”

Sooah dropped the act, face cutting into a bright smile. “I sure did, and I won.” She held out a hand towards Miyoung, who begrudgingly took ten thousand won out of her wallet to put it in Miyoung’s hand. “Thank you,” your manager said. “Now, what’s the plan?”

“They’re getting dinner at a restaurant,” Miyoung declared before you could speak. “What’s the name again?”

You didn’t remember, so you grabbed your phone to look at your text conversation with Namjoon. “Huh…” you trailed off, scrolling up to when he had sent the menu. “Seasons of Seoul.”

Sooah’s mouth fell open. “The Seasons of Seoul? That’s one fancy-ass restaurant.”

You startled at the sound of the curse in Sooah’s voice, before bursting out laughing in time with your friends. “It is,” you said, voice lilting into a whine. “It’s definitely above my budget.”

“Namjoon seems like a gentleman,” Miyoung pointed out “I’m pretty sure he’ll pay.”

“For sure,” Sooah agreed. “When’s the date?”

You blushed, shrugging your shoulders. “We haven’t decided on a day yet.”

“Just tell me when and I’ll clear your schedule,” Sooah said. “I don’t care about any interviews when you can be going on a date with Kim Namjoon.”

You rolled your eyes, though a playful smiled teased the corners of your mouth. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Yah, I believe I should be the first to know since I was helping you plan what to wear!” Miyoung interjected, which led to your two friends bickering, and then to them helping you out with what to wear. It was a little hard since you weren’t at home and couldn’t rummage through your walk-in closet. Since it was already running late, Sooah suggested heading over to yours, and that was how you found yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor of your living room, back against the couch, as you ate fried chicken and drank soju with your friends.

You were definitely a little buzzed by the time you finished eating, washing your hands at the kitchen sink before you aimed for your closet, where you started pulling out outfit after outfit.

You said no to all of your friends’ suggestions, mostly because it didn’t feel right. Sooah, growing annoyed, suggested to go shopping on the morrow, which made Miyoung jump in excitement, which in turn scared your cat Gabi away.

“Yes, please, please, please!” Miyoung exclaimed. “We haven’t gone in forever. It’ll be like when we were in college procrastinating studying.”

You laughed, brain swimming with alcohol. “As long as you don’t bring me to those fancy stores,” you said. “I hate when people talk to me while I’m shopping for clothes.”

Both your friends threw you no-bullshit looks.

“Come on,” Sooah let out. “Maybe we can even get you another nice outfit for the launch of your next exhibit.”

“I’ve barely even started working on it, it’s not going to be for another full year, at least,” you pointed out. “No need to shop for an outfit now.”

“Pleaseeee,” Miyoung begged. “It’s going to be fun. We can even go to that Samoyed café you like so much.”

The perspective of seeing the Samoyed puppies suddenly made a shopping trip all the more interesting. “Mmh,” you hummed. “I’ll consider it.”

“Bitch!” Miyoung burst, punching you in the shoulder hard enough to hurt. “We’re going tomorrow, just accept your destiny.”

You rolled your eyes as you massaged the spot she had hit, before finally nodding. “Alright, we’ll go. As long as you don’t make me spend my entire paycheck on clothes.”

“Your entire paycheck is like five times what I make so, shut it,” Miyoung pointed out.

“You did sell a piece for over 50 million won last week,” Sooah reminded you.

They had allied against you, hadn’t they?

“Right,” you let out.

“So you have nothing to say for your defense,” Miyoung said sternly, fists resting on her hips in mock authority. “We’re going tomorrow, and you’re coming with us. And,” she added, nodding forcefully, “And you will enjoy yourself.”

You laughed at how dumb she looked. “I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

To your surprise, you actually enjoyed yourself the next day. Miyoung and Sooah were great company, had always been, and it really had been a long time since you had spent time together like this. The whole day was spent laughing and gossiping and just enjoying yourselves, and you did end up buying a lot more outfits than you probably needed. Which would be a problem when it came to what to choose for the date, but you didn’t really care.

It was late in the afternoon when your phone buzzed on the table of the Samoyed café, and you picked it up as Miyoung cooed at the fluffy dog she was playing with.

It was Namjoon, asking you if you would be willing to go out with him this Friday.

“Oh my God,” you let out, and you felt your cheeks burning as your outburst had attracted the attention of other clients of the café. “He texted me,” you whispered then for only your friends to hear.

Sooah yelped, clapping her hands. She looked so far from the fierce manager you knew her to be you burst out laughing, slightly shaking your head.

“What did he say?” she asked.

You didn’t answer for a time, letting suspense hang in the air between you and your friends. When Miyoung got up, clearly aiming to grab your phone out of your hands and read the text herself, you finally spoke. “Looks like you’re going to have to clear my schedule this Friday night.”

Sooah shrieked as Miyoung grinned wildly.

“Consider it done!”

*****

You were anxious. Had been anxious all week, and it had shown up in the painting you were working on. It had turned into a hectic mess of colours, inching closer to a dark cloud than to anything else. It represented your mental state well, even though you tried to keep reminding yourself that it was just Namjoon. If there was such a thing as just Namjoon.

Gosh.

You sighed, looking at yourself in your standing mirror. You were wearing one of the designer outfits you had bought earlier this week, and the skirt hugged your frame well, enhancing your curves. You had curves, you were aware of it, but you weren’t sure they were supposed to look this good. Paired with the white blouse and black blazer, you looked like you were going on a date with a CEO, and not Kim Namjoon.

Though, nowadays it felt almost as if one was a synonym for the other.

You liked the fit, you really did, you were just afraid Namjoon would think you were overdoing yourself. But somehow, you felt really comfortable, ready to conquer the world if need be. Maybe just not Kim Namjoon.

But it was too late to back out of the date. Indeed, the doorbell rang, indicating that he was here, and you met your gaze in the mirror one last time before going to open the door.

Namjoon looked … incredible. With a pair of dark dress pants along with a pale cardigan over a yellow polo. Over that, he was wearing a long coat that looked way too expensive, yet still fit the look. It was more of an artist look than yours, and yet it suited him perfectly.

He was an artist, too, after all.

Most of all, he was holding a bouquet of pale flowers – rose and white and lilac – and he handed it to you as he took in the sight of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he complimented, and he flashed you a corner smile that had just one of his dimples appear.

Your cheeks burned as you nodded once. “You as well,” you said, grabbing the flowers. You hesitantly inhaled them, satisfied with the sweet floral scent that took over your nostrils. You glanced over your shoulder, before opening the door wider for him to come in. “You can come in, I’ll just go put these in water.”

He nodded, stepping in as you retreated into your home, searching for an appropriate vase for the bouquet. Once it was safely tucked in a vase with room temperature water, you moved back to where Namjoon was still waiting, right next to the door. You smiled, a little awkwardly, before putting on the high heels you had chosen for the date.

Namjoon patiently waited for you, and once you straightened, you put on your winter coat, grabbing your purse where you had left it on the table near the door.

“Ready?” Namjoon asked when your gaze finally met his.

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yes. Let’s go.”

He smiled his dimple smile, and he opened the door for you. You walked outside, waiting until he had shut it behind him so you could lock it. The cold air hit you right in the face, and you hid your face in the flaps of your coat. To your luck, Namjoon had picked you up in a company car, considering he didn’t drive, and you climbed in first, quickly followed by him.

You sighed at the warmth in the car, and watched as Namjoon leaned forward to tell the driver the address, before sitting back comfortably next to you.

Conversation was somehow awkward at first, mostly because you struggled holding Namjoon’s gaze. In all truth, you reckoned the awkwardness stuck around until you got to the restaurant, and even still as you were led to the private room Namjoon had rented for you both.

He helped you out of your coat, ever so the gentleman, hanging it before taking off his own and putting it beside yours. You just stood for a time, not knowing what to do as you took in the elegance of the restaurant and the dim, private atmosphere that reigned.

You felt like you had stepped right into a palace and, frankly, you weren’t sure you belonged in such a place.

“Sit!” Namjoon quickly said as he noticed you were still standing. And then he rushed to pull the chair for you, making you chuckle embarrassingly.

“You don’t…” you trailed off as you caught a whiff of his cologne.

A dark, masculine smell that made your head a little dizzy. You couldn’t tell why you hadn’t smelled it before – maybe it was because of the coat. All that you knew was that the oaky smell wrapped around you comfortably, refusing to let you go.

“What?” he asked as he sat in front of you, offering you an encouraging smile.

You took a deep breath, chest moving up and down as you tried to regain your composure. When you felt like you could speak without embarrassing yourself further, you said, “Since when are you such a gentleman?”

That made him laugh, full of dimples again, and he slightly shook his head. “Wasn’t I a gentleman when we were dating all those years ago?”

Not at all. He had been an awkward teenager, and you both knew it. As such, you cocked an eyebrow, a teasing smile growing on your lips.

“Were you?”

He winced, chuckling again. “Not at all. But I grew out of it.”

He sure had. He barely held any resemblance to the boy you had once known, except for those damned dimples that were making it hard for you to focus. And now the cologne? You were done for.

“Bangtan changed you, didn’t it?”

He nodded pensively. “I think that, having to be the leader of all these kids? Yeah, it really made me mature faster than I thought possible.”

You furrowed your brows in question. “I don’t know a lot about Bangtan but… isn’t Seokjin older than you?”

Before he could answer, a pretty waitress walked in, pulling a cart with different wine bottles on it. She greeted you two, stopping next to the table before asking you what you wanted to drink. You glanced at Namjoon, who offered you an encouraging smile, as if saying, ‘I’ll have whatever you have’.

“This Cabernet is actually my favourite. So we’ll take this one, please,” you asked, and the waitress offered you a bright smile as she picked up the bottle.

You watched as she put it on the table, eyes trailing to Namjoon longingly. A fan – she was clearly a fan. Namjoon offered her a professional, practiced smile, and she flushed red as she grabbed a wine opener to uncork the bottle. She carefully opened it, before pouring you two a glass.

It was awkward, somehow. And it was only then that you noticed there was jazz music playing in the background. It felt odd that you hadn’t noticed it before – had the beats of your heart been too loud for you to hear it?

When the waitress finally left, offering Namjoon one last look over her shoulder, you cocked an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“Does this happen often?”

He chuckled, fingers playing with his glass as he evaded your gaze. “More than you can imagine.” He met your gaze then, and you watched his features as they softened. “But you don’t have to worry about us being here getting out in the media. The owner of the restaurant is an old friend, and she assured that all of her staff can be trusted.”

It hadn’t even crossed your mind, but you weren’t surprised that he had thought of it.

“That’s more of a relief for you than it is for me,” you pointed out.

He nodded, a warm smile on his lips. “You have a reputation too! You’re an artist, just like me.”

That made you snort as you shook your head, eyes falling to your untouched glass of wine. “I don’t think I am in the same category as you, Kim Namjoon. I’m just a painter.”

“You’re much more than just a painter, Maehwa.”

Your throat went dry at the way he said the words, as if they held so much meaning they were heavier than the world. And you wouldn’t be surprised if they did – Kim Namjoon had always been a poet, after all.

“I’m not a member of the most popular K-pop band in the world, though,” you reminded him, and dimples answered you as he humbly smiled.

“Evidently not.”

A comfortable silence moved between you – the first of the evening, you reckoned – and your eyes once more fell to your wine glass. You picked up, spinning the wine to bring out the aromas of it.

“Want to taste?” you asked him, motioning to his own glass.

He picked it up, nodding his head. “Please. I’m surprised to know you have a favourite wine.”

“Trust me, it’s worth it.”

He chuckled, and you clinked your glasses together before taking a sip. You let the rich taste roll on your tongue, appreciating every milliliter of it until you swallowed, and even the aftertaste was good.

A really good wine, indeed. Way too expensive, in your opinion, but you had always liked expensive things. As your designer clothes could tell, and as your date across the table could tell, too.

Not that you were a snobby artist – you were far from it. But you had learned how to appreciate the good things in life long ago when you had first discovered art.

“I like it,” Namjoon commented as he put down the glass. “Nice choice.”

You smiled, relieved that he indeed liked your choice.

As wine flowed between the two of you, you found conversation with Kim Namjoon was a lot easier than you had initially expected. He put you at ease, like he did when you were younger. Together, you reminisced about middle school and high school, about that time he had spilled hot chocolate on his uniform and you had helped him clean up, which had brought you guys closer.

Until he had kissed you as you were doodling maehwas on his arm, and the rest was history.

“No, but,” he insisted, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink as he closed his eyes in embarrassment. His dimples winked at you, and you looked at him as he collected his thoughts. “To be fair, I never planned to break it. It wasn’t even my fault.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “You were the one holding it,” you reminded him.

You were referencing a fragile plate your mom had offered Namjoon, from her collection of nice plates she usually only displayed during fancy events. Namjoon had broken it a whole hour after he had been gifted it, and to this day, you still couldn’t understand how he had broken it.

“You tickled me!” he burst out, narrowing his eyes at you. “It was entirely your fault.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, before chuckling lightly. “I barely even touched you.”

He glared at you, though it didn’t last, melting into a soft smile that had you looking down at the table.

Right at the same time, a lean girl walked in, clad in a chef’s outfit, holding up the food you and Namjoon had ordered earlier. She offered you a polite smile, and it turned nostalgic as she looked towards Namjoon.

Namjoon said her name, before turning to look at you. “This is the friend I told you about.”

She was beautiful, in an easy, elegant kind of way. Her shoulder-length hair swayed nicely when she walked, and you had half a thought that she probably should be wearing something to make sure no hair could get in the food. Then you figured she probably had taken it off to come here, and you only realized that she had spoken to you when both she and Namjoon settled their gaze on you.

“Nice to meet you too,” you replied, because you were 75% convinced that that was what she had said.

You were relieved when she smiled knowingly, eyes trailing back to Namjoon. They talked a little more, and it took you a moment before you understood that she was one of Namjoon’s friends’ ex. They continued speaking after that, as you listened politely, nodding whenever she looked your way to encourage her to continue.

She looked sad. Nostalgic. Whoever her ex was, you had the intuition that she still loved him.

“Have a good evening,” she told the two of you about a minute later, bowing.

You bowed your head back, as Namjoon wished her good evening, and then you watched her walk out of the room, hair prettily moving around her head.

“She’s Seokjin’s ex,” Namjoon let out pensively once she was out of earshot.

Your eyes widened, and you looked back towards him. “Your bandmate?”

He nodded. “They broke up a few years ago, during the pandemic,” he explained. “They were engaged.”

You weren’t sure Namjoon was supposed to tell you any of that. It sounded personal, and he seemed to get the cue as you remained silent, eyes falling to the steaming plate in front of you.

“Anyway,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Shall we eat?”

“Yes,” you immediately replied, a little too quickly.

It had both of you laugh, and the awkwardness lifted to be replaced by that same familiarity the evening had held until Seokjin’s ex had come in. It had you fall back in your nostalgic memories, as you ate the delicious food on your plate.

When you were done eating, Namjoon suggested dessert, and not really wanting the evening to end yet, you accepted. It led to you both drinking a little more, your inhibitions slurring as alcohol rushed through your bloodstream, making you feel young and alive.

The feeling lingered with your lively chatter, with the exchanged laughs and long looks. Sometimes, Namjoon’s eyes burned on you, and you found you were too afraid to hold his gaze, too afraid to let it mean anything. Whenever it happened, you looked down at your glass, and the tenth time that it happened, you found the glass to be empty.

No salvation for you there. Especially considering that dessert was eaten and long gone, and all that had been left was the bottle of wine.

“So,” Namjoon said as he, too, took in the sight of the empty glasses and bottle. “I…” He chuckled, ears turning pink as his dimples flashed on his cheeks. “Thank you for tonight.”

You couldn’t help your own blush as you replied, “I’m glad I said yes.”

He met your gaze, eyes darting to your lips once. When they settled back on your own gaze, you swallowed a sudden lump in your throat.

“We should…” he started, falling silent as he scraped his throat. “We should do this again.”

The lump dissolved into nothingness as you smiled, softly. “I would love to.”

“What about on Sunday? There’s this exhibit I’ve been meaning to visit, thought you might want to join?”

“You want to bring an artist to another artist’s exhibit?”

He seemed surprised at your question, as if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. And truth be told, you liked visiting your fellow artists. There was just something about a shared passion that made you feel calm, understood. As if, no matter the sorrows your life could hold, there would always be someone out there who understood. Someone who could share the burden, who’d offer you a helping hand in the form of art whenever you needed it.

So you quickly added, before Namjoon could say anything, “I’m kidding, yes, I’d love to accompany you.”

He looked so relieved something warm blossomed in your chest, and your cheeks burned.

“Well then,” he said, smiling that dimpled smile. “I should get you home, it’s getting late.”

The perspective of the date ending made your heart squeeze in your chest, for a reason you couldn’t quite understand. “Right,” you agreed.

It was all you said before you both got up, moving to retrieve your coats by the door. After that, you walked towards the outside world, and when Namjoon’s hand accidentally grazed yours – or perhaps it was on purpose – you hooked a finger around his pinky.

Looking up to him, you caught him looking down at you already. From so close, he towered over you, though there was nothing threatening with his height. It felt comforting, safe, as if you were under his protection.

By the warmth in his eyes, you knew you truly were.

You waited in the lobby for the car to come pick you up, Namjoon with his back turned to the people. Though no one looked your way, no one acknowledged your presence, and for a second, you wondered if you really were with a worldwide famous singer or if Namjoon was just a normal person.

Someone like you, someone who could revel in anonymity wherever he went.

“The car is here,” Namjoon told you as you were looking behind him, observing the patrons slowly exiting, laughing about a joke only they knew.

You smiled up at him, before letting him grab your hand properly this time as he led you outside. His large palm engulfed your small one, warmed it up, and your fingers were tingling by the time you reached the car door that Namjoon opened for you.

He really wasn’t a gentleman when you were younger. There was something oddly relieving to see him act in such a way now, showing you that he had grown since you were sixteen and too dumb to actually know what love was.

You settled in the car, reveling in the warm vehicle as Namjoon sat in the seat right next to you. And when the car jostled forward, you became all too aware of the place where Namjoon’s thigh rested against yours, and of where his arm pressed against yours.

You turned your head to look at him, admiring the soft glow on his features induced by the neon lights outside. He met your gaze, offered you a smile, and you felt yourself leaning forward. As if there was a pull between you, something that was inevitable. You had never been good at resisting, so you let yourself be pulled, let yourself find him.

He met you halfway, lips infinitely and surprisingly soft even with the cold January night out there. He sighed against you, shifting slightly so he could angle his head better, deepening the kiss.

And kiss you he did, with memories and yearning and nostalgia that had you part your lips when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, only to meet it with yours. You remembered days of early art, of words whispered in the dead of night when nothing seemed like it could bring you apart, when you believed it was you and him against the rest of the world.

Your breakup flashed in your thoughts as he rested a hand on your thigh, carefully, but you pushed it away, refusing to let the memory stain this moment with him.

As much as the kiss was unexpected, bubbling out of neon lights on Namjoon’s soft features, it was also expected. As if fifteen-year-old you had expected to find him again, somewhere, even though you had fled to an entire other high school.

As if the story had just been put on hold then, to resume once the time was right. And as much as you usually were wary in your relationships, tonight felt right. It felt right in all the ways that mattered, in his arm on your thigh and the soft smile he offered you when he pulled away, reminding you that you weren’t alone in the car.

You chuckled, blushing deeply, and your hand landed on top of his on your thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

You leaned into his touch, sighing dreamily. “I don’t know if it’s the wine,” you said, low enough to make sure only his ears could perceive your words, “but I really want to kiss you more.”

That made him laugh, and his hand fell away from your cheek. “Not here,” he said, head motioning to the driver. “You’ll have to wait until Sunday.”

You pursed your lips, thought about it for half a second before you said, “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”

His grip on your thigh slightly tightened, the only indication that your words had had an effect on him. “You’d like that?”

You parted your lips, tongue darting to wet them. “Yes.”

It was no wonder Namjoon ended up pinning you against your closed door as soon as you walked in, locking you between his strong arms as his lips ravished a hungry kiss on your mouth. You grabbed at the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him closer, right as he slipped one of his large hands to arch your back, pressing your front against him.

The second he left your lips to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, you fought against his coat to rid him of the clothing. He sucked on your jaw as he helped you, and soon enough, the coat was abandoned on the floor, right as he pulled you in.

You kicked off your shoes, lips meeting again in a kiss that had your head spin, right as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He groaned when you bit on his bottom lip, and then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He put you down on the decorative table near the door, and in an attempt to rid him of his shirt, you pushed a vase.

The sound that it made when it shattered on the floor startled both of you, and Namjoon looked down, eyes wide.

“Oh no,” he let out.

You caught his startled gaze, breathing raggedly. “Don’t worry, it was just a cheap vase.”

He looked down at the mess, nodding once. “I’ll buy you another one.”

And then he was finding your mouth again, sucking on your lower lip as he started to fight against your coat, trying to get you out of it. He shortly had to pull away, brows knitting together in concentration because, as much as he tried, the zipper of your coat wasn’t budging.

“Hold on,” you said, putting your hands above his.

Much gentler than him, you managed to unzip the coat, and he helped you slip out of it, throwing it towards his. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where your skirt had ridden up to reveal more skin, though you were wearing pantyhose. He ran his hand along your thighs, head hanging low. You watched him do so, watched his jet-black hair falling in his eyes until you couldn’t resist anymore, reaching between you to push it back.

The strands fell right back in front of his eyes, but it attracted his gaze. He looked at you through his hair, dragon eyes burning a hole through you, and you grabbed his cheeks to pull him into yet another heated kiss.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, and he subconsciously grinded against you, though the skirt and the fabric of his own pants kept you from feeling anything.

“You think we can make it to my room,” you whispered as he moved to your neck, kissing a hot kiss just below your ear.

“You’ll have to show me the way.”

You chuckled, gently pushing on his chest until he finally disconnected from your neck and took a step back. It allowed you to plop down from the table on which he had sat you, and you grabbed his hand, right as he dipped his head to kiss you again.

You kissed him back, moaning softly when his large hand cupped your ass, grabbing at the meat hard but not enough to hurt. It had even more heat pool at your core, liquid lava that was slowly making you unravel, and you needed more.

You pulled away from the kiss begrudgingly, mostly because you wanted to stay here, to be consumed with the passion Namjoon’s lips were carving against you.

You had to make it to your room before you went insane. So you pulled him behind you, not once looking back, or else you wouldn’t get there at all. Luckily enough, you held on strong, but the moment you crossed the threshold to your room, Namjoon pulled you against him, large hand resting on the base of your neck to keep you from moving away.

It took all of three seconds before your brain zeroed in on the spot where his hard dick was pressing against your back.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he asked, voice low and husky, sending shivers all over your body.

You nodded, tilting your head to the side to give him access when he lowered his head. Too tall, he didn’t quite reach your neck, but his breath skimming over your skin made goosebumps erupt on you.

“I want you too,” you replied breathily.

You could hear a dangerous smirk in his voice when he said, “Take that skirt off”.

Something settled deep inside of you, making you into a puppet he could control. Stepping away from him, your hands went behind your back to unzip the skirt, and you let it fall to the floor. It pooled around your ankle, but when he stepped closer again, one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass, you found yourself unable to do anything.

“You should take off the pantyhose, too, before I rip them”, he added.

You didn’t doubt that Namjoon often miscalculated his strength. Even when he was just a gangly teenager, he already struggled with clumsiness. So you pulled the pantyhose down your legs, and you stepped out of the pile of clothing, waiting for him as he moved closer again.

This time, his hands slipped to your front, and he looked over your shoulder as he started undoing the buttons of your blouse, not even caring that you were still wearing the blazer. His breath skimmed on the side of your face as he did so, and your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on every brush of fabric against you while he worked his way down your blouse.

He pushed both the blouse and blazer off your shoulders when he was done, and they fell on the floor behind you. He didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his arm to your front, moving up until he grabbed your breasts through your bra, squeezing slightly.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded then, and still the good puppet you did, walking to the mattress and sitting down, eyes finally finding him again.

He didn’t say anything as he slowly undressed, pulling his cardigan off. It fell somewhere next to the pile of your clothing, and then he attacked the polo, taking it off in one swift motion that revealed the expanse of his wide chest.

His honey skin seemed to prettily gleam in the moonlight, where it was pulled taught over the big muscles of his chest. He looked sculpted in marble, big and buff, and you closed your thighs in reflex at the thought of his weight over you.

Needless to say, he didn’t look like that when he was a teenager at all. Adulthood looked good on him.

He unbuckled his belt next, taking his time as you just surveyed him. Even in the dim light from the full moon outside, you could see the bulge in his pants, and you salivated at the thought of wrapping your lips around him, of tasting him and making him feel good.

The belt fell with a thud to the ground, and your lips parted as he palmed himself, enhancing the size of his bulge. Your eyes widened slightly – he looked far bigger than you had initially thought he’d be, though you weren’t all that surprised with his large frame.

“Take off your bra,” he said next. “I want to see your breasts.”

You nodded, hands going to your back as you unclasped the bra. You slowly took it off, nipples perking when cold air hit them. You shivered once again as his eyes roamed over you, and even more so when he said, “Beautiful” as if you were a piece of art made for him to admire.

And with the way he was looking at you, you thought maybe, maybe you were.

He took a few steps towards you, and your eyes darted towards the lamp on your bedside table. Namjoon caught your motion, and he tutted lightly. “Not tonight,” he told you. “Tonight is about feeling, not about seeing.”

For some reason, you had expected him to be a lights-on kind of partner, but you weren’t mad about his will to stay in the dark. Because you knew all too well how much pleasure could course through your blood when your sense of sight was taken from you. As an artist, you relied on it far more than a lot of people – the loss of it made you weak, in a burning kind of way.

If you were honest, you enjoyed being blindfolded a lot, but you didn’t see yourself asking Namjoon to do it today. Lights off seemed the closest thing to it, so you didn’t argue with him as he used a knee to part your legs in an attempt to get closer to you.

He grabbed your chin, making you tilt your head back so he could catch your gaze. His eyes were dark, even in the silvery moonlight, and you gulped as he gently patted your cheek.

“You’re going to feel good for me, mmh?”

You nodded, entirely unable to use words right now. Mostly because you were but a puppet, and he the puppeteer. He smirked, satisfied, before unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes dropped, and you watched him do it expectantly, teeth gently digging into your bottom lip in apprehension.

The good kind, the one that made you burst into an explosion of flames.

“You think you can wrap your pretty lips around my dick?” he asked.

For a reason unknown, all you were able to mutter back was, “Namjoon.”

“Yes, baby?”

You gulped, and you looked up at him again. You didn’t watch as he took his pants and underwear off in the same motion, didn’t budge your gaze as you heard the slap of his hard dick on his abdomen. From the way his arm moved, large bicep popping slightly, you knew he was jerking off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look down. Couldn’t bring yourself to gaze away from his eyes as they burned on you, searing their mark right on your soul.

“What is it?” he asked again, with a barely concealed warning in his voice.

He wasn’t one to have to repeat, was he? No, you were pretty sure Namjoon was used to being obeyed, with being the leader of a boyband like BTS. Pretty sure he expected to be obeyed, and somehow that turned you from puppet to puppeteer, as your hands rested on his thick, muscular thighs.

“You want me to suck your dick?” you asked, voice sultry as you moved your hands up, never touching him where he so visibly wanted.

His lips parted, though he remained surprisingly silent. He clearly didn’t expect you to take control of the situation, but from the way his features darkened even more, you knew he liked it.

“Want me to suck you dry?” you added. “Want to come down my throat?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and he grabbed the base of his dick to gently tap it against the corner of your mouth. “Better get to work, baby. You’re a lot of talk for someone that hasn’t touched me yet.”

“Say please,” you teased, and you let one of your hands move between his legs so you could cup his balls. They sat heavy in your palm, seemingly ready to explode.

“Fuck,” he repeated, adding your name at the end. “Who would have thought you had this in you?”

Emboldened by his words, you licked at his tip, collecting the precum on his slit. “That wasn’t please.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes shutting in frustration before he finally said, “Please, baby. Please suck my dick.”

You sucked on his tip once, tongue swirling around it, before pulling away. “Good boy.”

That was Namjoon’s undoing. He let go of his dick, grabbed your head, aligning his dick with your mouth as he repeatedly cursed under his breath. You liked him like this, liked the power you had over him. So you resisted, just to piss him off further, but it only seemed to turn him into a whiny mess as begging mixed with cursing.

Only then did you finally start sucking him off, jaw straining from how big he was. It hurt, and your eyes watered as he reached the back of your throat with not even half of him in your mouth. All you could think of was that he was going to be quite a stretch down there, too, as you looked up at his features, casted in the soft silvery glow of the moon outside.

You pulled almost all the way out, but the hand on the back of your head held you in place, forcing you to keep him in your mouth. You played with the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around it, teasing the slit as the salty taste of precum filled your mouth. You moaned, softly, and Namjoon cursed once more, before falling entirely silent as he watched you take as much of him as you could again.

Once he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed, eyes watering again as you tried to hold in your gag reflex. It didn’t really work, and when you choked, Namjoon pulled out of your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked.

“You’re so big,” you praised, and you grabbed his dick with a loose grip, jerking him off slowly. Mostly, you spread your saliva on his length, wanting to make sure he was well-lubricated for what was to come.

“Why don’t you sit?” you told him, letting go of his dick.

He looked conflicted for about a second before he did. You readjusted yourself so you were kneeling between his powerful thighs, and the new position allowed you to bite at the hard muscles of his abdomen. He hissed, hand going to the back of your head as he guided you towards his dick once more.

“Suck me, baby,” he said, still sounding just as whiny.

Feeling like a brat, you replied, “What do I get in exchange?”

His forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, searching for something to reply. Though Namjoon was not a man of many words, always choosing his words carefully, right now, it seemed he was entirely silenced.

“I’ll fuck you good,” he finally answered, voice low. He bent a little, grabbing your face, and his thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I’ll fuck you good until your legs shake and you can’t walk anymore. Is that a good deal?”

You bit your lip as he let go of you, once again grabbing his dick so he could hold it up for you. Not moving towards it, you rested your head on his thigh, before reaching between his legs to cup his balls. They were heavy in your palm, and you gently massaged them, earning you a soft grunt from him.

“Careful with the balls,” he warned you.

You pouted before leaning between his legs. You avoided his waiting cock, instead aiming for the base of his dick, right between his two balls. You then licked a long stripe towards the top, and Namjoon cursed as you swirled your tongue on his frenulum.

“My bad,” you then apologized, letting go of his balls as you made a mental note that they probably were too sensitive for him to enjoy. “Let me make it up to you.”

He cocked an eyebrow in question, but the second your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and you sucked hard, he threw his head back, cursing out loud. It finally convinced you to get to work, and you replaced his hand on his dick so you could jerk him off in time with the bobbing of your head.

As big as he was, you found you couldn’t keep going for much longer. So instead of taking all of him in – or as much of him as you could – you focused on his tip, jerking him off faster after having spit in your hand. Looking up at him, you noticed his teeth digging into his lower lip, a clear indication that he was enjoying himself, and then you closed your eyes, focusing on the job at hand.

Focusing on pleasuring Kim Namjoon.

You sucked him off for a while, long enough for his dick to turn rock hard under your ministrations. Long enough for him to be a panting and cursing mess, long enough for your jaw to hurt so bad you almost thought it was going to dislocate. When the pain grew too intense, you sat back on your heels, and stroked his dick, twisting your wrist as you reached the tip.

“So big I can’t even suck you properly,” you commented.

“I’ll stretch you wide open, baby,” he said, and he leaned back on his hands as he looked down at you. “I’ll stretch you so wide you’ll cry my name.”

It was so crass your hand slowed on his dick as you clenched your thighs. “Fuck, Namjoon.”

He smirked, dimples dangerously decorating his cheeks, but an expert motion of your hand had him close his eyes, mouth falling open on a low moan.

“Should I ride you?” you asked him. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

“You’ll need me to get you ready,” he answered once he was able to look at you again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You almost wanted to tell him that you were going to be okay, but he wasn’t wrong. Fucking yourself on him without having been previously fingered would definitely hurt like a bitch.

“Ride my face?” he suggested as you debated what to do.

You wet your lips, desire pumping through your blood before you told him, “Lie down.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and you quickly climbed on top of him, straddling his face. His large hands cupped your ass, squeezing and parting your cheeks as he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves, and you hissed, fingers getting lost in his hair as you pushed it out of his eyes.

You maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself on him until you were properly seated on his pretty features. His tongue parted your folds, dipping in your entrance, and you instinctively grinded. He pushed the wet muscle deep inside of you, as deep as he could before arching it, searching for your sweet spot.

When you let out a soft moan, he flicked at the same spot again, and you grinded into his face once more.

“Fuck,” you told him. “Right there.”

He understood right away, and he started fucking you with his tongue, hitting that same spot again and again, making the corners of your vision blurry. All you could focus on were his eyes between your legs, and you moaned his name as his fingers dug into the skin of your ass. It hurt a little, and you wondered for a time if he was unaware of his strength.

You wouldn’t be surprised – he was a lot stronger than you had imagined he was.

As Namjoon kept working on you, eating you out and lapping your juices, you palmed your breast, rolling the sensitive nipple between your thumb and index. The added sensation had more of your vision turning blurry, making it hard for you to focus on Namjoon. So you closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure moving through you, and soon enough, a knot started tightening in your core.

Instinctively, you started grinding into his face, following the rhythm of his tongue inside of you, and the knot tightened and tightened, almost painfully so. When Namjoon landed a surprising slap on your ass, you lost it, knot snapping as your orgasm hit you.

You came hard, walls pulsating around Namjoon’s tongue, and he milked all of your orgasm out of you, lapping your juices as you dripped on him. When you started getting oversensitive, you moved to sit next to him instead. Namjoon didn’t move right away, catching his breath, but when he did move, it was to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. He sat up after that, catching your lips in a quick kiss that left you breathless, mind spinning with the taste of yourself.

“Now I’m going to fuck you,” Namjoon promised.

All you could do was moan as one of his large hands moved between your legs. He pushed two fingers in, and they slid right in with all the lubrication your orgasm had just brought out of you. He fingered you for a few seconds as he littered small kisses on your shoulder and up your neck, and he nibbled at your ear once he reached it.

“You’re going to take all of me, mmh?” he asked right in your ear, voice so low and husky your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Yes,” you answered.

He pulled away, smirking in satisfaction before saying, “Get on all fours. I want to look at your ass while I’m fucking you.”

“You’d like that?” you teased him. “You want to see my ass bounce while you pound into me?”

Your two sentences were enough to silence him once more, and all he managed to do in reply was nod. It made you chuckle, and before you got into position, you crawled to your bedside table, fishing a condom out of the half-empty box you owned from a previous relationship.

“Put this on,” you told Namjoon as you handed him the condom.

He looked down at your hand. “What size is that?”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Regular.”

He laughed before shaking his head at you. You were about to argue when he got up, moving to his discarded pants so he could grab his wallet. “I need bigger than that, baby,” he told you as an explanation, and you rolled your eyes playfully as you put the condom back in your bottom drawer.

Namjoon fished an appropriately-sized condom from his wallet, and he was quick to get it out of the wrapper and put it on his hard length. He hissed a little as he rolled it down his dick, but once it was in place he moved back to the bed, kneeling behind you as you propped your ass up, keeping your face down.

“Gosh, you’re so sexy like this,” he praised you. “Ever since he saw you again, I’ve been wanting to see you like this.”

A drop of warning clouded your senses for a few seconds, but when he rubbed his dick between your folds, pushing it against your clit, lust took over once more. You grabbed at the sheets as he teased the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, and when you had enough, you cursed.

“Fuck me,” you told him. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”

He slapped your ass. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Before you could reply, he pushed the fat tip of his cock between your folds, and you moaned at the burning sensation. It was the good kind of burning, the one that left stars dancing behind your eyelids and on the periphery of your vision. It made you clutch the sheets harder, and then Namjoon pushed in, embedding himself deep inside of you.

He grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the supple skin so hard you were pretty sure they were going to leave marks behind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you did was moan loudly, especially as he pulled almost all the way out before slapping his hips forward again.

It was rough, and your body jerked forward from the impact of his pelvis on your ass. You couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the stretch between your legs, and when he started pounding into you, you felt him so deep you cried out his name.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you. “You take me so well.”

He slightly slowed down, but his hips still snapped forward in quick and harsh thrusts as he leaned forward, adjusting the position. When he was satisfied by the new angle, he resumed his previous speed, as one of his hands grabbed at your hair, pulling it in a makeshift ponytail so he could keep you in place.

He didn’t pull on your hair harder than that, didn’t force you look back at him, and for a moment, all that could be heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin, and the moans and grunts you two were making. It was loud, and you were glad you lived in a house and not an apartment – you were pretty sure your neighbours would have heard otherwise.

When Namjoon landed another slap on your ass, you cursed loudly, and it made him still halfway out of you. He massaged the spot gently, soothing the skin with his warm fingers. “Do you want to switch position?” he asked.

As much as the current position felt good, you knew this angle would never make you cum. So you nodded your head, and Namjoon pulled out of you, sitting back on his heels. You turned towards him, and your eyes fell to his hardened length. To your juice coating the condom, and you got an idea.

“Lean back on your hands,” you ordered.

He cocked an eyebrow in question, yet he still obeyed. When he was properly positioned, you climbed on top of him, grabbing his cock to guide it towards your entrance. You help onto his shoulder with your other hand, and you slowly sunk on him until his cock hit your cervix. It hurt a little, the angle different from earlier yet making you feel so much more, and you grabbed onto his other shoulder.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “You’re so fucking deep.” And then you leaned back a little, and both of your gazes dropped to the space where your bodies were connected. To the bulge in your tummy as you slightly leaned back. “So fucking big we can see you in me.”

He moaned and threw his head back as you moved up, only to slam back down a second later. He put all of his weight on one hand, and his other settled on your waist, following you as you established a slow and sensual rhythm, rolling your hips whenever he was deep inside of you. It had his big cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you, and when the corners of your vision turned white, you started moving faster.

You grabbed onto his neck, not squeezing, and you felt him swallow under your palm. Your pleasure increased tenfold as the hand on your waist moved to cup your breast, and when he squeezed your nipple, you clenched your walls hard against his dick.

“Fuck,” he let out, and he looked at you.

The moment his gaze met yours, you started choking him, increasing your speed to chase your orgasm. His mouth fell open, and his dick reached deep inside of you as you kept going, kept splitting yourself on him.

When your orgasm hit, you wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He circled your waist, fucking up into you as much as he could in this position. He rode you through your high, and you were a shaking mess when he finally slowed down, hand rubbing your back soothingly.

“Lie down for me,” he gently said.

You were too lost in ecstasy to argue, and you craved his dick the second it was out of your pussy. He wasn’t out for long, and he kneeled between your legs, holding them to his chest as he pushed in in one powerful thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with the sensation, and you moaned out his name as he established an unforgiving rhythm.

When his teeth sunk into your calf in a clear attempt to muffle his own moans, you clenched hard around him, and it was enough to get him close. To your surprise, he pulled out of you, quickly taking off the condom, and he pumped his dick, emptying his load on your stomach and pelvis. The feeling of every hot spurt on you had you reach between you, and when some landed on your fingers, you quickly brought them to your mouth, getting a taste of him.

Namjoon grunted, and he slowly decreased the rhythm of his jerking off until he was just holding his dick over you, one last drop of cum meeting the rest on your stomach. You didn’t move for a long time, both of you trying to catch your breath. It took a while, but once your pulse had stopped racing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the white mess on your stomach.

“You made quite a mess,” you teased him.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly said. “Was that okay?”

You nodded. “As long as you clean it up, yes.”

He laughed, bending so he could retrieve some tissues from your nightstand. He first cleaned his fingers, and then your stomach, making sure not to leave a single drop behind. Still, you felt sticky, and when you offered him to take a shower, he agreed right away.

You let the warm water run on your body, taking with it your sweat and Namjoon’s cum, as you ran your hands through your hair. You sighed, opening your eyes to the sight of him as he looked down at you, a fond smile on his lips.

“Can you pass me the shampoo?”

He nodded, but instead of giving it to you, he motioned for you to turn. “I’ll wash your hair.”

The domesticity of the action had your cheeks burning, and all you could do was hope he hadn’t noticed. You still turned, and when he started massaging your head, you shut your eyes, sighing in contentment. When he was done, he made you turn around so he could wash the shampoo out of your hair, making sure you didn’t get any in your eyes. After that, you switched place so he could wash his own hair, while you busied yourself with cleaning your body, erasing what was left of the action that had transpired between you and Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t speak more in the shower, though you did exchange a slow kiss once you were both entirely clean. Namjoon’s lips seemed more hesitant now, but as you wrapped your arms around his waist, it was his turn to sigh in contentment. His kiss grew more affirmative now, as if he was trying to tell you that he, too, felt a certain way with you.

Because right now, you felt like you were floating, like you were an astronaut in zero gravity. It was dizzying, but in a beautiful way as you held onto him, and he held onto you. It was filled with memories of the past, yes, but also of promises of the future.

That was when you remembered what he had said right before you had started having sex. How he had been imagining you like this ever since you had met again, thirteen years after you’d disappeared from his life. The previous wariness returned, and you pulled away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his chest. He let you do it, unaware of the drop of doubt that was solidifying into lead in your stomach.

After the shower, you lied in bed, Namjoon by your side, unable to form a sentence. Unable to breathe your worries into words, unable to share with Namjoon that you were afraid he only wanted you for sex. And you tried, you really tried to speak, but all you could do was slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm your racing heart before it burst inside your chest.

Right when you thought you had gathered enough courage, Namjoon softly snored next to you, and you realized that, after all, it was too late to share your concerns.

*****

You stared at the scenery out of the window. You hadn’t been to Ilsan in a long time, but when Namjoon had mentioned he was going to visit his family, offering you a ride – a company official ride, considering he couldn’t drive – you hadn’t been able to say no. So you watched Ilsan from the window of your parents’ kitchen, remembering growing up.

Remembering days of childhood innocence, and of teenager crushes. Of teenager fights, and breakups that had shaped who you had turned out to be. It was strange to think that you were going to circle your way back to Namjoon, that you were going to come here to Ilsan, with him.

You hadn’t told your parents. When they had seen you arrive, they had asked how you had gotten here, considering your car was nowhere to be seen. You had lied through your teeth, saying that you had taken the train, and they hadn’t pushed, knowing that you indeed often took the train anyway, in an attempt to clear your head and sketch some ideas for your next art piece.

Instead, you had been at the back of a company car, chatting the ride away with Kim Namjoon as if it wasn’t only the tenth time you had seen him again after your breakup thirteen years ago. It was like you had never parted – complicity between Kim Namjoon and you was easy as breathing, as natural as the sun shining in the sky overhead. And the sun had shone all the way home, as if to tell you that your worries meant nothing.

But your worries were still haunting you. Hadn’t stopped haunting you since you had sex with him, chasing you through your days, taunting you through your nights. You weren’t able to escape them, especially not as he acted the way that he did.

That is, as if you were far closer than you were. As if the years hadn’t come and gone, as if thirteen years had been just the blink of an eye. It was strange to you, stranger still, that whenever you were with him, you tended to forget too. Tended to bask in his warmth, and it was no wonder your relationship was so physical.

Indeed, sometimes you even thought that it was all there was. Because each time you had seen him after your date had been physical, his body on top of yours as he fucked your brains out. As you climbed on top in an attempt to gain control, but you doubted you’d ever have the control when it came to Kim Namjoon.

So you looked outside the kitchen window, trying to remember who you were. Trying to remember what you wanted, and trying to figure out what you should eat for dinner later.

You were here for four days, and though you had brought supplies so you could paint here, hoping your childhood home would bring you inspiration, all you had been able to do was worry about Kim Namjoon and what he meant in your life.

You weren’t sure it mattered. Because even though your relationship was purely physical, it still brought you satisfaction. Always left you swimming in ecstasy, always made you sleep soundly for a few days.

It had been weeks since your date. Almost two months, actually. Namjoon had texted you regularly, though the conversation never really delved into subjects that mattered. He was too busy to hang out often, but he made you feel as if he was making time for you. Yet you couldn’t shake what he had said out of your mind.

Did you want to just be someone Kim Namjoon saw when he needed to fuck? When he needed to paint himself on you, to bring more confusion into the mess of art your mind had been since the date?

The answer was easy. No, you didn’t wish to be just that. You’d never been one to have fuck buddies, and every time you saw Namjoon, the impression was reinforced. Perhaps because he made small comments, about how he was glad he could fuck you, glad you were in his bed.

Glad you moaned out his name whenever you came, and evidently, he made you come plenty enough. But yet you needed more, and you hated yourself for it.

Why complicate something that was so easy? So you remained silent, never said anything, though you did hold onto him as much as you could when you slept in his arms, trying to remind yourself that if he just wanted sex, he wouldn’t sleep over, or ask you to stay.

Would he have offered to drive you to Ilsan if you were nothing to him? You highly doubted so. Especially considering how he had talked to you, how comfortable he was next to you.

You sighed, looking away from the window as you turned towards the living room. Your father was napping on the couch, and your mother had gone to the market, declining your offer to come with as she had claimed you needed to work on your paintings.

You had been staring at the canvas for an hour before you had come to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and you had already finished it as you had watched the world outside the kitchen window, lost in thought. You figured taking a walk would help clear your mind, and you hoped you’d find inspiration by the time you were back home.

Though the weather was warmer outside than it was weeks ago, when you had your date with Namjoon, you still wrapped a thick scarf around your neck, burying yourself in the warm coat you had brought here. You put on your Chelsea boots, and the minute you stepped outside, you loosened the scarf.

The air smelled fresh and hinted at spring. There was no snow, most of it having melted under the peculiar warmth, and by the time you made it to the end of the street, you unzipped your coat too, feeling too hot.

You turned to your left, bowing your head slightly at the older couple that you passed. They reciprocated, but you didn’t pay attention to them more than necessary as you walked towards the park behind your middle school. The middle school where you and Namjoon had first fallen in love when you were dumb and young.

Ten minutes later, the building came into view, and memories swarmed in, chasing Namjoon out of your thoughts. Well, chasing current Namjoon out of your thoughts as you remembered your classes, and the teacher that you had always hated. As you remembered sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field, chatting the evening away when you were supposed to be home.

It was no surprise that you found yourself making your way to those bleachers, and you sat as high as you could, eyeing the empty field. It was the middle of the week, and the soccer field was empty save for birds searching for worms in the wet grass.

You leaned back on your hands so you could look up, gazing at the few clouds in the sky. Wind played with your hair, blowing it in your face, but you ignored it, focusing on the fresh air. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you inhaled deeply.

You were calm and content... until you let out a startled cry as someone said your name. Your eyes flew open to the sight of Kim Namjoon at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at you.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you told him, hand on your racing heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just out on a walk,” he informed you. “Didn’t expect to run into you.”

He walked up the bleachers, sitting next to you before you replied. “Your parents are bothering you?” you teased, gently nudging him.

“Nah,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been songwriting since I got here? Can’t get this song right, so I decided to walk. Thought it’d help clear my mind.”

Of course, he was out and about for the same reason as you. Because you and Kim Namjoon were far more similar than you wanted to believe it. Sometimes, it led you to think that you were two of the same person, and usually, whenever you thought that you had to rein yourself in, reminding yourself that all he did with you was have sex.

“Couldn’t paint,” you admitted.

“Your parents are bothering you?” he asked, repeating your question with a corner smile and a single dimple.

This time, you pushed him, laughing before replying, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned, though you both fell silent as your gazes moved up to the sky, and you enjoyed the afternoon warmth. You knew the night would get cold, but you still had a few more hours of sunlight before the world gave way to darkness.

“You know,” he said as your eyes chased a white cloud on the cerulean expanse of the sky. “I was hoping we could hang out, while we’re here?”

He said it like a question, as if asking for permission, and it had your heart race in your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of your parents asking questions?”

“Not really,” he answered. “They know that you came with me. They want me to invite you over for dinner.”

Your gaze widened as it dropped to him. He was already looking at you, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. “Is that something that we’re supposed to be doing?” you enquired.

It seemed to take him by surprise. “What do you mean?”

You reckoned now was a good time as any to voice your concerns. Perhaps because the scene was familiar, safe, and you couldn’t deal with the concern gnawing at your nerves anymore.

“What are we, exactly?” you said, softly, finally giving voice to the worries.

Namjoon’s eyes went round as blush crept on his cheeks. “What?”

The drop of lead from that first date grew inside of you. “It’s just… we’ve only been hanging out for sex, correct?”

“Is that what it is for you?” he enquired after a few seconds of silence, of him just watching you with a somber expression.

You chuckled awkwardly. “To be entirely honest, I don’t do this. So no, I’d hope it’s not that, but…” you trailed off, eyes falling to the field in front of you. “You haven’t really made me feel like you’re in this for more than just sex.”

He leaned forward as if trying to gain your attention. As your gaze remained stubbornly on the empty field, he said your name once. His voice was soft, gentle, and that, more than anything, made you turn to look at him.

“I thought we were… dating?” he admitted. “I… I’m sorry if I just… assumed?”

It was such a Namjoon thing to do that you couldn’t even blame him. His revelation made the lead melt away to be replaced by a sweet warmth much like the one the sun rays carried. “Oh?”

As you didn’t say anything else, Namjoon straightened, putting a little distance between the two of you. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

In truth, yes, it probably was what you had been wanting since the beginning. Since he had arrived at your house with the flowers before the date, and since his lips had found yours for the first time again after thirteen years apart. You had been wanting him, more than just physically.

“I mean…” You chuckled awkwardly again, shrugging your shoulders. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

He grinned, dimples flashing blindingly, even more so than the sun in the sky up above. “Good. So you’ll come over for dinner?”

This time you laughed, and you cocked an eyebrow. “With just a few hours notice?”

“Yeah?” He shrugged. “My parents already know you, what does it change?”

And when you held his soft gaze, you decided why not? Why not dive in feet first, and not care about the consequences?

You doubted there’d be anything negative to come out of a dinner with Namjoon’s parents. And turned out you were right – both of them were happy to see you, and Namjoon’s mom kept repeating how proud she was that Namjoon had found you again, in Seoul. To Namjoon’s dismay, she told you about just how much Namjoon had cried after your breakup, and about how much it had encouraged him to become a rapper. Namjoon was red up to the tip of his ears as you looked at him, yet he didn’t scold his mother, didn’t tell her to stop.

And this, most of all, was the Namjoon you remembered from thirteen years ago. A shy, sweet boy who was always good to his elders, always polite and ready to help. He did help his mother, doing the dishes along with you after you’d eaten, and when it was time for you to leave, his father scolded him and told him to walk you home.

Namjoon grumbled that he was already going to do so, and you said your goodbyes to his parents before walking out into the night. It was a lot colder than it had been during the day, and you buried your hands in the pockets of your coat as you walked close to Namjoon, his arm brushing yours with every step that you took.

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologized.

You glanced up at him, gazing at the aura around his head caused by the streetlight behind him. “About what?”

He shrugged. “The dinner. I didn’t expect my parents to be weird about it.”

“They weren’t,” you reassured him. You walked in silence for a time, eyes moving back to the street in front of you. It was empty, even though it wasn’t particularly late at night. Perhaps it rendered you bolder, because you said, “I’m really happy I said yes. I missed them.”

He smiled, softly. “They missed you too.”

A comfortable silence moved between you, and you basked in it as you made your way home, with your teenage lover by your side. It was hard to believe that he was next to you right now, and just like that, you knew what you were going to paint when you were home.

“The night is beautiful,” Namjoon said softly. “Makes it feel like we never left, you know?”

“Like it hasn’t been thirteen years, right?”

He nodded. “The weight of the years does feel lesser since we’ve reconnected.”

His words had warmth blossom in your chest, heating up your body in the cold early spring night. They had you glance at him, and when you found him already looking at you, you stopped. He stopped just a step ahead of you, turning to look at you.

“Do you think we were just right people, wrong time?” you asked. “I’ve been thinking… it’s been so easy with you, since our date. It’s strange to believe that it would be, no?”

“The years haven’t changed us as much as you’d imagined they would,” he agreed. “Like…” he glanced up at the sky, searching for words to voice his feelings. “BTS came into my life after you. I’d say it changed me, made me grow up far faster than I thought I would. Being the leader and all, I had a lot of responsibilities on me, you know?”

You nodded, not really knowing where he was going.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be the leader,” he continued, revealing something you weren’t sure he had said out loud to anyone before. “I wish I didn’t have this weight on me and… in November, when I saw you again, I was going through a hard time. I didn’t entirely recognize you at first, but I was drawn to your gallery again and… I tried to find a reason to visit. To find a reason to talk to you.”

His eyes met yours again, and you almost balked at the intensity of his gaze.

“I felt lighter with you than I’d felt in years. So, when you say right people, wrong time, I think you’re right. I think thirteen years ago was all fucked up for us, but I think we were always meant to find each other again, through all the craziness of the world.”

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him down in a kiss. He kissed you back instantly, though his lips were slow against yours. Soft, anchoring you in this moment, in this space that had used to be yours when you were younger. He kissed you like time had slowed for you, like you had all night to stay right here, in this spot.

Your heart found a soothing rhythm in your chest, one echoed in his own ribcage, and his large hands found your waist to pull you closer. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth, you sighed dreamily, the taste of him so heavenly now that the lead in your stomach was gone that you thought you were going to start flying right here, right now.

Namjoon pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, and your breaths moved up in the sky, forming a single cloud over your heads.

“Had I known that you were worried I wasn’t into you like this, I wouldn’t have had sex with you every time we hung out,” he admitted, softly.

That, more than anything else, finished reassuring you.

“Hey,” you let out. “It’s okay. I should have spoken to you about it before.”

He pecked your lips once more before pulling away. He offered you his hand, and you gently took it as he smiled at you, his dimples so familiar on his cheeks that you wanted to drown in him.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”

“I’m an adult now,” you reminded him, earning a laugh as he pulled you towards your house.

He shrugged. “They are still your parents; they’ll always worry for you.”

His words held truth, so you didn’t resist as he finished walking you home. You stood in front of the gate, looking at each other, and Namjoon gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed down your face until they rested on your jaw, and he leaned down to press another gentle kiss on your lips, one that had you wish you didn’t have to part with him for the night.

One day, you liked to believe you wouldn’t have to part at all.

*****

Being in a relationship with Kim Namjoon was easy. The weeks following your trip to Ilsan had you growing ever so closer, and you accompanied him to a dinner with all of his members. There, you saw what it meant for him to be the leader, but you kept your hand in his, bearing the weight of it along with him, even though it wasn’t like he had to keep them in check in private.

You had left early as you needed to go to your studio early in the morning, but had been unable to part with Namjoon, which wasn’t all that surprising to you or him. You both liked sharing a bed, liked the closeness that it allowed you. So you stayed the night, and the next day you made your way to your studio level-headed, ready to paint all day after your meeting with your manager. Your phone was dead, but you knew she wasn’t one to miss a meeting, and you figured you could always charge your phone when you got to the studio.

To your surprise, Sooah wasn’t alone when you got there. There was a suit-clad man, and he bowed his head at you respectfully as you walked in. You threw a curious look to Sooah, and the expression on her face made your heart drop to your ass, if that was possible.

“Hi,” the man politely said. “I’m glad you’ve finally showed up.”

He sounded annoyed, and it grated your nerves right away. You cocked an eyebrow before saying, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am Jo Jonghyuk,” he answered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Hybe representative.”

You let out a nervous chuckle. “What’s bringing you here?

Sooah was the one to answer. “There’s been leaked pictures of you and Namjoon,” she informed you carefully. “They are… all over the media this morning.”

A drop of cold sweat rolled down your spine. “Excuse me?”

You hadn’t noticed it before, but the man had a briefcase. He quickly opened it, getting a stack of papers out of it that he handed to you unceremoniously. You looked at them, eyes widening as you saw the series of pictures, all of them of you and Namjoon.

And your face was far too recognizable. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t you, couldn’t pretend you had no idea what the man was talking about. So when he asked if there was a space where you could sit down to discuss, you let Sooah suggest heading downstairs. You followed them with fear in your gut, and even when you were sitting on the couches downstairs, you still couldn’t stop your heart from racing in your chest.

“So,” the man said. “We’re aware that our artists have lives outside of the company.” He paused, watching you carefully. “But we need to preserve their image. I’m sure you can understand?”

Sooah saved you by replying. “What is that supposed to mean for Y/n?”

“Namjoon is currently in a meeting with other representatives. He will be asked the same thing as you,” the man offered as an explanation.

You cocked an eyebrow. “And what is it that I’m going to be asked?”

“Keep the relationship behind closed doors.” The man motioned around you. “As an artist, I’m sure you understand how one’s image is important. The stocks are going to be impacted if it is said that Kim Namjoon is in a relationship, and not for the better. We are going to release a statement later in the day to refute the rumours.”

It wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, yet you still felt sick, down to your very core. “And this needed an early morning meeting?”

You’d like to think that you sounded arrogant, defiant, but your voice was filled with nerves, shaking pathetically.

The man offered you a polite smile. “No. I’m here to have you sign an NDA.”

That made more sense. And still, it wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be – it wasn’t like you were going to scream about your relationship with Namjoon. After all, it still was fairly new, and you also wanted to preserve your anonymity.

In that instant, as the man pulled out said NDA from his briefcase, you understood something. Your anonymity was gone, gone like the winds of winter as the world outside slowly turned to spring.

Your face was visible in the pictures. People had seen you around the gallery, outside of official events, when you wore your mask.

You signed with a trembling hand, barely recognizing your own name on the paper, and the man offered you a copy of it before saying that he had to go. He thanked you for your cooperation on the way out, and when he was gone, disappearing at the bend in the street, you turned towards Sooah.

“I’m fucked,” you said.

She pursed her lips, concern moving on her features. “You are not. There’s no indication that people will associate you with Maehwa. I don’t think this will affect the gallery.”

You shook your head. “You don’t understand.” You scoffed, gaze dropping to the floor as the lead you had felt after your first date with Namjoon rematerialized, turning into a reality you didn’t think you were ready to gaze at. “It’s just a matter of time. His fandom discovers everything. They will know it’s me.”

“Then we’ll use it as publicity.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at your manager. “You can’t be serious.”

“Your art is beautiful,” she reminded you. “You’ve been building your reputation for years. Why would you being a human, having relationships, impact it?” She paused as if to give weight to her question. “It’s just going to put emphasis to the emotion in your art. People won’t see you as a masked individual anymore, but rather as the person behind the artist.”

You didn’t want to hear her. Knew she was being rational, yet couldn’t bear the truth in her words. Perhaps because you had always loved your anonymity. Always wanted to keep it, to use it to protect yourself from the world of fame, a world you had never wanted for yourself.

No, you just wanted to make art. To enjoy the science behind the pieces, the emotions that made you create. You were afraid it was going to be taken from you now. And who were you to blame? It was just a question of time before people connected the dots between you and Namjoon, thanks to the pictures, yes, but also to the interview that had yet to be released.

“Deep breaths,” Sooah said calmly, cutting through your spiraling. “I promise it’ll be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” you asked. “What if I can’t paint anymore?”

“You’ve been painting your whole life,” she reminded you. “You won’t suddenly stop because of rumours about you.”

See, that was the logical way to think about it. You clung to the words, held them close to your heart and let them replay in your head. It eased the anxiety that was building inside of you, and soon enough, your frantic breathing returned to normal.

“Shit.”

Sooah raised her eyebrows, waiting to make sure your spiraling truly was over. When you didn’t say anything else, she nodded once, patting you on the shoulder. “It’s all going to work out. And besides, congrats on your relationship with Namjoon?”

She said it like a question because, frankly, you hadn’t told Miyoung or Sooah a lot about you and Namjoon, except that you were taking things slow. It was the best you had been able to come up with, back when you thought he was only seeking carnal union with you, and you hadn’t changed the narrative after you and Namjoon had made it official in Ilsan.

And later, as you worked on the painting you had started in Ilsan, you pictured the cold night, when he had kissed you under the streetlamps. When you had realized that you had truly been wrong all along, that life was a cycle bringing you back to him. Back to where it had all started. You remembered his soft lips on yours, and that, most of all, finished calming you down from the anxiety.

Every stroke of your brush on the canvas, every new line, meant a thousand words, as you painted. As you created art from nothing but the memories your art held, as you put them together to form the image that had come to you that cold night. It was beautiful, in a heavy kind of way, because the emotions were heavy. The love, the recognition and the knowledge of life and the cycle of it, all entwined together to form something that only you and Namjoon could understand.

And as you worked, forgetting all about the world outside, all about the threat to your anonymity, you believed everything was going to be alright…

Almost.

*****

“Thank you,” you thanked the young girls after they were done perusing your gallery.

It had taken all but a few hours for your artist self to be associated with Kim Namjoon and your gallery. On the same day, you had received more visitors than you had ever had, and though you had donned your mask, you knew it was pointless.

Knew from the looks and the whispers that people knew. Still, for the next following days, you kept wearing your mask. Kept trying to ignore how people weren’t here for your art anymore, but rather for you as a person. For your connection to Kim Namjoon, for what you meant to him and what he meant to you.

Namjoon had been understanding when you had told him how anxious the situation was making you. Had suggested avoiding public spaces altogether, and so far, you had only been able to see him once for dinner two days ago.

The dinner had been spent in far more silence than usual, while you both contemplated what this meant for you. You had settled on really taking it slow, letting the rumours die of their own volution instead of doing more about them. Because Hybe had released a statement, and already Dispatch was on the newest rumour, forgetting all about your possible connection with Kim Namjoon.

Except for the fans, that is. Because the fans came to your gallery, complimented your art, though you did see them snickering in your back. Before, you had believed you were above this, above petty gossiping and jealous bullying, especially coming from younger people. After all, younger people were that – young, and youth often held an amount of stupidity that was rarely found elsewhere.

As it had been the case for you and Namjoon, thirteen years ago.

Still, you found you were increasingly anxious, and instead of expecting Namjoon’s next message, his next call, you started dreading them. It was vicious, poisoning your blossoming relationship without him even being aware of it.

How could you blame him? He was used to this life, after all.

You sighed in your mask, hating the way your eyes burned. They burned more now that you wore the mask more often, drying out whenever you breathed out too strongly. You had gotten artificial tears, and you couldn’t wait to be able to lubricate your eyes as you watched the last few people milling about your gallery.

It was almost closing time, and you were looking forward to it more than you usually did. Mostly because you wanted to bask in calmness and silence for a while, if only to be able to get a grip on the anxiety.

Two older women approached you, hands behind their backs, where you stood by the big painting of Ilsan. They bowed politely, and to your relief, asked you if one of the pieces was for sale. Art enthusiasts, then. It was reassuring to see some of them in your gallery, even after all the recent events.

“Yes,” you answered them politely. “It’s currently on auction for the month. You can put in your own bid if you’d like.”

The smallest one pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “How expensive was the last bid?”

Even though this was supposed to be Sooah’s job, you still had access to the app where the bidding took place. So you took your phone out of your pocket, heart dropping in your chest when the screen lit up to show you three texts from Namjoon. You ignored them, swiping the phone open before clicking on the app.

As it loaded, you looked up to smile at the women. “Just a moment.”

They nodded in understanding, yet one of them looked over her shoulder as if annoyed. You felt bad, but it wasn’t like you controlled the technology. All you could do was wait, and the second the app opened, you scrolled down to the current bidding.

You hadn’t checked it since the bidding had started. Lowest bid had been set at 5 million won, but right now, the number you were reading on the screen didn’t even make any sense.

“Huh,” you let out, and you looked at the women, chuckling awkwardly. “It seems the bid for this piece has gone out of the roof.”

That was putting it lightly. Because, looking at the amount on your phone, you believed the bid had been sent to outer orbit.

The smaller woman winced. “How high?”

“1.2 billion won,” you replied. You checked your phone to make sure and even showed the screen to them.

“Oh,” she said. “We can’t afford that.”

You offered them an apologetic smile. “I have more pieces that are on sale and not on auction if you want me to show you.”

The one that seemed like she wanted to leave suddenly widened her gaze. “Oh, that would be lovely.”

They ended up buying a smaller drawing, saying that they were sure the value of it would skyrocket if they ever wanted to sell it. You wanted to tell them that it probably was just a bubble caused by the rumour and that it’d soon burst. Evidently, you couldn’t tell them that, both because of the NDA and because you were growing tongue-tied with the praise they were sending your way. Instead, all you did was offer them a wink, saying that you hoped they’d hold onto it dearly, and then you walked them to the door as it was closing time anyway.

When the door was locked behind them, you leaned against it, sighing shakily. With trembling hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, and you went through the different pieces you had on auction. Half of the profits were going to a charity for abused women, and still, it’d leave you with much more money than you ever thought you’d own.

You called Sooah, but it was her day off. You didn’t expect her to pick up, as she had told you she was going to be busy tonight, and of course, she didn’t. You still sent her a text to tell her to check the auction app, and then you pushed up from the door, heading to your studio downstairs.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, amidst the brushes and pots of paint you had left hanging around, not really caring about cleaning after yourself when you were in the arms of inspiration. But right now, the mess was making you feel like an imposter, like people would soon find out that you weren’t worth it.

It was then that you finally checked what Namjoon had sent you.

I hope all is well, his first message read. It was followed by, I’ll be in the studio until later tonight, but would you like to hang out after? Finally, his last message was, I’m going to come over to your studio after closing hour with take-out

For some reason, the thought of him coming here made you want to disappear through the floor, but it was already too late. Indeed, your phone started vibrating in your hand with an upcoming call, and his name on the screen taunted you, telling you that, yes, you were just an imposter.

You picked up, hands shaking slightly as you brought the phone to your ear.

“Busy night,” Namjoon said as a greeting.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. You’re on your way?”

“I’m outside,” he admitted. “Just waiting for some people to walk away before I come in. I assume it’s locked?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ll come open for you.”

There was an awkward silence as if he expected you to say something more. When you didn’t, he said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, and cringed at yourself. You weren’t a liar, hated lying, and lying to him felt like you were eating something foul. “Just tired.”

“Well, I hope you’re excited for some take-out. I got your favourite.”

Now, your heart ached in your chest. Because that was Namjoon. Namjoon would always get your favourite food, would always know what to do to cheer you up. Tonight, it felt wrong, as if you didn’t deserve it.

And really, did you deserve it at all? Did you deserve the attention that he had brought to you? Did you deserve the shine in the spotlight?

You highly doubted so.

Walking upstairs felt like a trek to the top of Mount Everest. You were aware that it was anxiety, that you probably shouldn’t listen to the thoughts right now. But they were taunting you, haunting you, a thousand little ghosts spinning around your head in dizzying circles until all that was left was a broken piece of you.

The sight of Namjoon, hood up and mask on, on the other side of the door wasn’t a relief. It was a hand clutching your throat, choking you up until you were left gasping for air on the ground. You stalled for a few seconds, and you wondered if he could feel your hesitancy. If he knew the spirals you had been going down, if he knew you were questioning everything.

You clenched your jaw, sighed deeply, and somehow a small spark of light split the darkness. Because this was Namjoon. This was the same Namjoon as a decade ago. The first boy you had ever loved – could he still really just be that today?

Finally, you walked over to the door, unlocked it and opened it for him. His dragon eyes were unreadable, but they were questioning. You felt as if they were asking questions to your soul directly and, ever bared in front of him, you were pretty sure your soul was answering.

“Hey baby,” he greeted you as he walked in, and you quickly shut the door and locked it behind him.

“Hi,” you said, voice vulnerable in the midst of your anxiety.

“You’ve been busy?” he asked, the soothing tone of his voice dragging a gentle hand on your back, telling you that maybe, maybe if you could let go of the anxiety, everything would be okay.

But could you, when its talons had sunk so deep into your heart you couldn’t quite tell if it was still beating?

“Yeah,” you answered. “I’ve been working on a piece and… didn’t see the time fly.”

He nodded understandingly. “Of course. That’s why I brought food.”

And that was how you found yourself sitting next to him on the couch in your studio, eyes trailing to your piece of art. You wondered if he could see your anxiety in the swirls of darker colours on the canvas. Could he tell you were haunted?

Could he be the solution?

“I think my album is going to be good,” he said as he swallowed the fried chicken he was eating. “You’re going to love it.”

You pursed your lips, not willing to tell him that you’d always loved whatever he made, even back then. “Of course.”

He flashed you a smile, but you could see that it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, and you both finished eating in silence. When you were done, Namjoon sat back in the couch, letting out a long sigh as one of his hands gently landed on your thigh. You immediately tensed, and his hand slid away, fingers flexing as if they wished they could hold onto you, but knew it was best not to.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his deep voice surrounding you, echoes reverberating through the fabric of your soul.

Could you tell him? Could you be honest with Kim Namjoon, or would it make him run away?

A scary thought formed in your mind, coming from the dirtiest part of your soul. Would it be better if he ran away?

“A lot,” you admitted, unable to hide the truth from him. “Quite a lot.”

You met his gaze for a few seconds before finding solace in your painting again.

“You know you can talk to me,” he gently said.

“I know.”

But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to have to tell him that this was all too much for you. That it was too quick, that you felt like you were stuck in a train aiming for a wall at top speed.

“I’m sorry,” he said after the silence had stretched so much, you thought it was about to rip the fabric of reality itself.

“What for?” you asked, genuinely wondering.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, pulling at some calluses on his palm that he got from working out without gloves on. “We haven’t really talked about the rumours.”

You hadn’t. Hadn’t even mentioned anything once, preferring to act as if it had never happened. Foolishly, you’d hoped that it would preserve your anonymity, even after it was gone. Even after the first fans stepped foot in your gallery, even after you’d seen articles about you in the press.

“Yeah.”

“Is that what’s on your mind?” he asked, and he turned his head towards you.

From this angle, it was entirely too hard to avoid his gaze. Instead, you latched onto it, hoping it would make everything better.

“It might be,” you said. You sighed, wetting your lips before you added, “It is.”

“How have you been feeling?”

You weren’t sure there was a way to answer the question. Because you didn’t want him to know just how bad the anxiety had gotten, didn’t want him to know that your life changing so much in such a short amount of time was the scariest thing that had ever happened to you.

“Stressed,” you answered, deciding to use a lesser word in the hope that it wouldn’t hurt him too much. “Especially now that the anonymity is gone.”

He nodded. “I was expecting that to happen.”

You cocked an eyebrow, but found yourself unable to say anything else.

“I’m sorry I took that away from you,” he murmured, and a flash of pain in his eyes told you that he really was.

That Kim Namjoon felt guilty when it came to you, more than he had probably ever felt guilty about anything in life.

“You didn’t mean to,” you reassured him. Because it was the truth – you couldn’t be angry at him for what had happened. You had been part of it just as much as him.

“But it’s still my fault,” he added. “It’s because of me if the media has been after you.”

“It’s not because of you.” You paused, searching for the right words to convey the meaning you wanted. “It’s not you as a person, but rather what you mean to the world.”

You slightly winced, convinced that you had somehow landed on the wrong words after all.

“Possibly,” he said. He sighed, before once again sitting back on the couch. His fingers twitched before he clenched them on his thighs, visibly resisting the urge to do something.

To touch you, you assumed.

“Possibly,” he repeated. “But it’s hard to separate the person that I am from the person that I mean to others. To me, it’s just me, both of these.”

You nodded, because you already knew that. Namjoon was authentic through and through, with everything that he did and was. With every single one of his words – he was a cool-minded reflective person, and it was one of the things you liked the most about him. Maybe because it was such a stark contrast from when he was young, blood boiling at any minor inconvenience.

Maybe because it was an anchor in an otherwise stormy life.

“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I don’t believe it’s your fault. You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And neither did I.”

“Still sucks that it did.”

You’d never heard a truer sentence before. And it was rhetorical, didn’t mean for a reply. All that you could do was nod, gaze escaping from his to find your wriggling fingers in your lap. A new silence stretched between you, still as heavy. Heavier than gravity – was it going to form a black hole between you and him?

“What’s that painting you’ve been working on?” he asked.

You glanced towards the art. Observed the paler backdrop, the painting that you had started in Ilsan. Your anxiety had splashed swirls of darker blue over it, adding melancholy to it that you’d never really visited in your art before.

“Something to get my mind off the edge,” you admitted. “I’ve been trying to pour my thoughts into it. To escape reality for a time.”

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Weeks later, you’d look back on this moment and realize that it was the catalyst to the destruction. But right this instant, you couldn’t even think past the words.

“To escape?” he prodded.

You nodded. “Don’t you use music as an escape?”

“Yeah,” he said, but somehow his voice was flat.

It brought your attention back to him, and you noticed his eyes on you. Noticed the grief that your words had instilled behind his pupils, hiding somewhere in the deep brown of his gaze.

“So I assume you must understand.”

He didn’t answer right away. Held your gaze as if time had stopped, and maybe it should have. Maybe time should have been kind to you and him, in its chronology.

“If you need an escape from this,” he said, motioning vaguely between you and him, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”

Your heart stopped in your chest, turning cold. Anxiety flooded in, washing away everything that you once were. You felt naked, young, as if you’d gone back in time and were watching him walk away again.

“I never said I needed an escape from us,” you said, and the venom in your voice surprised both you and him.

“Are you happy right now?” he enquired. In a whisper, as if it was the scariest thing. And scary words could never be uttered too loud – wouldn’t they just break everything in their wake?

“I’m not sure.” You saw the flash of hurt on his face, and you quickly rushed to add, “I’m just so anxious.”

“I’ve been making you feel anxious?”

You shook your head. “No. Not you. The situation. The sudden fame. The spotlight and my art being sold at crazy prices. The fact that I have to worry about paparazzi, about what I do or say. It’s so sudden.”

Namjoon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you, gaze heavy with feelings you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was understanding – because of course he’d understand what you were going through. He was going through it too, though he’d known this life for years now.

“I’m sorry I brought this to you,” he eventually chose to say, carefully. As if he was aware you were fragile glass right now, one wrong move and you’d explode into a million tiny little shards. “I can take it away easily,” he claimed.

You cocked an eyebrow, because was he offering you salvation? You highly doubted he could.

“How?”

He pursed his lips, features turning apologetic for a time. “We break up. We go our separate ways, I get the rumours off your back. No one’s going to be after you anymore if they think I’m with someone else.”

The loudest sound in the universe was your heartbeat, in that instant. It was so loud even your thoughts became distant little specks, unable to break the wall of sound.

“What?”

He sighed, shrugging. As if he was giving up, as if he’d given up even before he’d gotten here. “If being with me makes you so anxious,” he started. “And by that, I mean not me as a person. What I mean to the world, or whatever it is that you said earlier. If it makes you too anxious, I’m just going to remove myself from the situation.”

Were you stupid, for being unable to reply anything other than ‘what?’ again? Perhaps you were. Especially as he scoffed this time around, and something started aching in your chest, differently than it was before.

“I think it’s better for you if we break up,” Namjoon explained. When you remained silent this time around, he slowly shut his eyes, head hanging low. “I don’t think I could reassure you enough when it comes to your anxiety for us to be able to be together.”

Your heart felt as if it had slowed down in your chest, so much so that the world surrounding you turned silent, soundless. You heard the breath of air that you took in, cringing as it did nothing to ease the slowly rising panic in you.

“I don’t want us to break up,” you said, murmured, though the moment the words crossed the threshold of your lips you realized that perhaps this had been what you were aiming for all along.

“I can’t date someone that gets so anxious just because they’re with me,” he answered, and he looked truly apologetic. Guilty too, as if he had committed the worst crime humanity could witness.

And perhaps breaking a heart truly was the worst crime out there.

It felt unlike Namjoon. You’d gotten the impression that he was someone reliable, someone cool-headed who’d be able to support you, to help you go through your anxiety. But as you stared at him, sitting there on the couch in your studio, you realized that he, too, struggled with his own anxiety. Had probably struggled with a lot of it in the past, so much so that he couldn’t afford to put himself in a situation where he’d only get bad again.

The only solution appeared like a dark cloud looming over the horizon of your conscience. You wished wind could blow it away, wished you were strong enough to manage your anxiety without losing him, but you knew it’d be easier once he was gone. Knew your sleep wouldn’t be as troubled, knew you’d be able to dwindle away into anonymity once more.

You had to let him go. For your sake, mostly, but for his too. Because he deserved someone who could shine with him in his spotlight, someone who’d be able to accept all of him, including his fame. And that just wasn’t you.

“Namjoon…”

“It’s hard for me too, you know?” he added. “To watch the person that I love getting worse every day, knowing that I’m the cause of it. Y/n…” he paused, and this time he was the one to look away. “I haven’t even seen you smile in weeks. Ever since the rumours.” He shook his head. “Even before that. I’m not sure you’ve been happy since we started dating.”

“That’s not true,” you declared, trying to put as much conviction in your words as you possibly could. “I was happy in Ilsan. I was happy when we came back, too. It really is just the sudden fame that’s been throwing me off.”

You were relieved you’d finally found words to explain your anxiety. And somehow, them slowly falling out of your mouth eased the anxiety, eased the fear.

But you knew you were going to let him go.

“Then we take a break,” he continued. “I don’t want to be the source of something negative in someone’s life. We take a break, let the rumours dwindle away, and when it’s safe, we can try again.”

Your eyes blurred with tears. If he saw them, he ignored it, instead focusing on the calluses in his hands again.

“If that is what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay with me,” you said, voice small in the enormity of what was happening.

He scoffed. “What I want is just impossible. This is just second best.”

“Breaking up with me is second best?” you asked, anger and bitterness swirling under the surface of your ache. “It’s that easy for you?”

He frowned, meeting your gaze again. “Who said it was easy?”

“You’re the one that claims it’s a good thing. Second best.”

At that, he rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head again. “This is not what I meant.”

Maybe your anxiety was winning against you, maybe the knowledge that you had to let him go was stronger than anything else. Because you couldn’t watch him anymore. Couldn’t gaze at his deep brown eyes anymore, knowing that they’d become ghosts in your memory in just a few moments.

A few moments of breaking, of a glass heart dropped to a stone-cold floor.

“Then leave, Joon,” you said, voice unwavering even though you felt like ice was clutching your entire being. “Let’s take this break, let’s see if it’s better for both of us.”

The dark cloud rolled closer, engulfing you. Especially as he didn’t fight more. As he nodded his head, got up and motioned towards the stairs. As if that was enough when he was dropping you, giving up on you.

But weren’t you giving up on him just as much?

That night, you sat cross-legged in front of your canvas, watching the opened paint pots littering the floor around you. When your eyes slid back towards the canvas, a single tear escaped the confines of your eyelids, rolling along your cheek.

Deep brown eyes looked back at you, shining with their own unshed tears, reminders of where you failed in the timeline of your life.

*****

Thirteen years ago

You were going to kill Kim Namjoon. You would kill him, and be happy about it.

You’d heard from a friend of a friend that he had been hanging out with a certain Jeon Yuri, a beautiful, popular girl that had every reason to be liked by a guy like Namjoon. It was understandable – everyone loved Yuri.

Only, Yuri hated you. Always did, and took to insulting you in that covert way of hers that made people think she was complimenting them. But you saw right through her – you knew she was just a conniving rich girl. So you hated her back, with all the hate your little heart could summon.

To think Namjoon was hanging out with her? You’d kill him for it.

So you waited outside the gates of your childhood home for him to show up. You had been waiting there for a while already – partly because you needed to cool off, but also because you wanted to avoid your parents’ questions. Because obviously they loved Namjoon.

Everyone loved Namjoon, and everyone loved Yuri. You knew you were going to hate the both of them.

Namjoon arrived with a smile on his face, dimples flashing as if they’d get you to fold, to forgive him. To be fair, he did not know about your history with Yuri, as you never spoke about it to anyone. But when he saw your features, his smile immediately crumbled, replaced by worry.

“What’s wrong?” he instantly asked as he stopped in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, before scoffing. “Why did I have to hear from Kim Haru that you’re hanging out with Jeon Yuri?”

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with her?”

Your eyes widened and your fists landed on your hips. “Everything? She’s just a bitch.”

“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon let out, and you could tell by the reddening of his cheeks that he was already getting worked up too. “You told me to never call a girl a bitch and now you’re doing it?”

You rolled your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain. “It’s not the same thing.”

He scoffed, in that condescending way of his that he always used when he wanted to win an argument. And you saw red. You saw blood red, scarlet like you were but a bull attracted to a flag.

“Don’t you fucking condescend me right now.”

“Don’t you fucking curse at me.”

“No seriously,” you continued. “I don’t want a guy who’s only after popular girls.”

“I am not,” Namjoon drawled. “I’m tutoring her and Park Seojin in maths. You already knew this.”

As a matter of fact, you did not. “You never told me.”

“Because you never listen to me,” he spat. “You’re always just drawing your fucking drawings as if that’ll lead you anywhere in life.”

“Kim Namjoon!” you burst. “And you’re always just going on about how you want to be a rapper. You’re a kid, dude, stop chasing after pointless dreams.”

He stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stood your ground, crossing your arms on your chest. “You’ll be sorry you ever said that. Oh, you’ll be so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t think I will. I don’t even think I’ll remember you.”

It was a low blow, and you could tell it hit him right in the gut. “You’re breaking up with me over such a stupid thing?”

“I’m breaking up with you because you’re a liar. You said you were with your friends, and then I learn that you were with Jeon Yuri?”

He sighed for a long time, shaking his head in frustration. “Oh, so this is really what it is about? Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you I was tutoring her.”

You scowled. “Why?”

“Because I knew you’d throw a jealousy fit. You think you’re entitled all of my time.”

“Fuck you,” you growled. “Fuck you. I have all the rights to be jealous when my boyfriend hides stuff like that from me.”

“Boyfriend? I thought you broke up with me.”

Your gaze slightly widened. “What?”

“I’m not your boyfriend anymore,” he said, adding your name like it was an insult. “Get over me already.”

“Do you even love me?” you replied, your anger suddenly dying down to be replaced with gut-wrenching pain.

But you knew better than to expect his anger to ever die down. It took forever for Namjoon to calm down, and you feared you had crossed a line tonight.

“Not when you get mad at me for no valid reason.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. “I just don’t like her. Can’t you tutor someone else?”

“No.”

The simple negation brought back a shade of anger to you, and you said, “Then perhaps we really should break up. Maybe I can find someone that actually respects me.”

“Because I don’t respect you?” he said, hands moving around his frame in anger.

“Clearly not.”

“You’re right then,” he continued. “I don’t respect you. I don’t love you either, apparently, so I’m done.”

“Joon…”

“No, Maehwa,” he said, and this time the nickname broke your heart in two, splitting it right in the middle. “You don’t say my name like that.” He slowly shook his head, seething. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to ever speak to me again. To ever look at me. I don’t want someone that acts like a fucking child.”

“You act like a child all the time,” you interrupted, but he ignored you.

He ignored you, in favor of turning around to walk away. You watched his back, before taking a step towards him, yelling his name again. He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he said, “I’ll kill you if you follow me.”

You scoffed. “Oh please, as if you’d ever hurt me.”

“I’m serious, I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again.”

It felt enormous, to say such a thing. And perhaps youth was that – enormous in its drama. So you replied, “I hate you more than I hate anything in this world.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and then he walked away.

He walked away into the October night, and your cleaved heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.

☆☆☆☆☆

Read the rest of the fic here bc tumblr sucks and now we can't write posts longer than 1,000 blocks

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zh-lele · 4 months

Text

12-7 ROOM (part two)

Surviving a week to Donghyuck's charms and jokes can't be so hard... Worst case scenario, you end up completely falling for your brother's best friend.

▪︎Pairing: brother's best friend!Hyuck x fem reader

▪︎Genres: poor attempt at rom com, fluff

▪︎Warnings: alcohol consumption, profanity, suggestive jokes, kissing, and some very light suggestive scenes.

▪︎Word count (part 2): 7721 words

playlist | extra content: mc's IG stories

Author's note: hi everyone :') sorry for being so absent and never posting the final part to 12-7 room. But hey, I finally got the motivation to do it. I've been also writing other things but I don't know when I'll finsih them or post them. Anyways, if you want to take a look, the other things I'm always working on are listed on my wips page. Once again, sorry for taking too long to post this and I hope someone can enjoy it anyway. Thank you so much for the love on part 1! Seriously, thank you. This isn't proof read so tell me if you find any mistakes, please and thank you. Enjoy!

Saturday, 08:37 p.m.

"I feel like we're betraying Mark."

"Why?"

"We're having a sleepover without him," you explain to Donghyuck while you extend your left hand to him, and he places his right hand over your palm, so you can continue painting his nails with a black polish. "You know, we're listening to Bruno Mars, eating watermelon–"

"Aren't we supposed to eat watermelon in the summer?" Donghyuck interrupts you to ask.

"Real watermelon enjoyers eat watermelon no matter what time of the year it is–Hyuck!" you scream after he makes a sudden move to grab a piece of fruit from the bowl and half his index finger ends up covered in black nail polish. "Stop moving your hand!"

"I'm sorry!"

He apologizes and stays still in front of your body, legs crossed and knees touching yours. Donghyuck is so close you can feel his breath in your hair, and even though you know it's impossible for him to hear your heart-rate increasing exponentially, you fear the closeness and the intimacy may give you away. Honestly, by this time you thought you might have figured it out: you had to either rethink your relationship and conclude that you were only going to be friends forever, or accept your feelings and confess to him, no matter what the outcome could be.

But you find yourself finishing Donghyuck's nails and looking up to him, who was–as more often as you thought–already looking at you. He smiles to you sweetly, no teeth on sight, and he looks ridiculous. Donghyuck is wearing a sheet mask with the form of a peach, yet you still find the sight in front of you incredibly endearing. The worst part about it is that you're looking as ridiculous as him, with the lemon-shaped sheet mask covering your face. You feel his thumb gently caress the back of your hand that he was still holding even long after you've finished. And as his soft features are illuminated by the warm dim lights of the lamp and the TV, as he holds your hand and looks at you as if you might be the prettiest lemon he has seen, you get that feeling again.

The comfort, the domesticity. The urge to be his companion, to share moments like this and many more. Every day.

Your phone buzzes as you set an alarm to take the masks off twenty minutes ago.

Donghyuck lets your hand go. He lets go of your heart too—but only for a second. He cradles your face, his soft fingertips pet your jaw, then your cheeks, and you can't hold his gaze anymore. You want to look down, drop your head before you start word-vomiting everything you're feeling and you've been feeling for him since the moment you met, since that first time he cooked ramen for you and you decided you wanted it to be your comfort food forever.

Donghyuck won't let you look down, though. He applies pressure with his fingers in the place where your neck and your jaw meet and with his thumbs on your cheeks. Your lips naturally pout under the pressure and you see it. Donghyuck. Your best friend. The guy you've liked forever now, looking at your lips for what you think it's been like the fourth time this weekend. And it's only been hours since the weekend started.

Is it really going to happen? Are you about to kiss Donghyuck right now? On the living room's couch on a saturday night in, under the dim lights, while Silk Sonic's Love's Train plays in the background and you're wearing fruit-shaped sheet masks?

It is fucking romantic.

Yet it never comes.

It doesn't happen.

Donghyuck just says: "It's time to take the masks off."

And you agree because, well, what the hell are you supposed to do? Just throw yourself all over him like you, maybe, have been imagining? Donghyuck takes your mask off your skin and you take his, that leaves his face looking the softest and smelling like sweet peaches. That definitely doesn't help your situation.

You're incredibly frustrated. Upset, even, like a kid who got denied his candy. (You wish Donghyuck was your candy.) You hate this sleepover now and even wish Mark was here to cock-block the entire situation. That would be less upsetting.

"And?" He asks once both of you have your masks off. "Do I look cuter now?"

Oh, so he's aware he's already incredibly cute.

You can't contain a smile. He's only centimeters away from you after he quickly moves back to look for his glasses. You feel the need to poke his cheeks that look as soft as marshmallows and smell like fucking peaches. Actually, you might feel the need to eat him.

But you don't dare say anything. Only trying to hide your smile looking down, as your face grows red, you let Donghyuck think of his own conclusions after your reaction.

Thing is, you're kind of a coward.

Donghyuck says it's time to netflix and chill, and you laugh because the statement is followed by a "Literally. Don't start thinking about something dirty."

He places himself on the mattress on the floor (the one you've been sleeping since you arrived), a bunch of pillows supporting his back, and makes room for you. He's cheeky enough to pat his stomach to tell you to lie there, between his legs and over his body. Just like that, as if you hadn't been melting before just by holding his hand in yours or having your knees touch. And now he wants you to lie on his stomach?

Are you really that close? If so, why isn't he your boyfriend yet?

You open your eyes wider and point a finger at yourself. "Me. Me?" Your voice comes out full of disbelief.

"Not you. Mark," he says with a roll of his eyes. "Of course it's you! Unless you don't want to lay together?"

"I mean…"

How do you make it sound not so desperate, not too obvious?

You just shrug and say, "Yeah, sure."

Aced it.

Donghyuck's body feels like the softest mattress you've ever laid on, like you could close your eyes and sleep trapped in his limbs forever. And because of the closeness, you can sense the vibrations of his voice traveling from his torso to your ears. His tone is quiet and gentle, talking about what to watch to no one in particular because, even though he's talking to you, you're too concentrated on opening your camera and capturing the moment in a video of the two of you.

"Look how cute," you say, moving your arm to his eye level to show him the video. "You talk in pout when you're really concentrated."

When you're conscious of the surroundings once again, you're sure you've replayed the video with a smile on your face like ten times.

"You should upload that."

"I've posted enough about you," you reply to his suggestion, going back and saving the video to your drafts. "People are gonna think you're my boyfriend or whatever…"

"Would that be so bad?" Donghyuck questions with his eyes fixed on the TV screen. When you move your head back to look up at him, he dares to connect eyes with you. "People thinking I'm your boyfriend?"

Sunday, 12:02 p.m.

Donghyuck had always been clingy.

Yet you didn't know he could be this clingy in the mornings.

Mark has been trying to get Donghyuck out of bed for like ten minutes now, but he won't get up. While your brother is pulling his arm out, Donghyuck pulls Mark's arm in, asking him to join him and sleep 'just a little more'.

Yes, your brother found you both sleeping on the mattress in the living room. No, you and Donghyuck were not clinging to each other (sadly). But Hyuck was for sure clinging to your brother now.

"Mark!" He protests in a sleepy tone. "What do you want if you won't come in?"

"We were supposed to have brunch together," your brother tells Donghyuck again, yet he must be too sleepy to process what's happening.

"I won't go." Donghyuck states and doesn't even open his eyes again. The living room is clear enough, as the winter sun has been hitting for hours now. But it isn't an impediment for him to curl up under the blankets like a burrito and go back to sleep.

Mark drops his shoulders and allows himself to sigh, finally defeated by his heavy-sleeper best friend. "I guess it's just you and me, y/n."

—

Fortunately for you, the weather has been amazing since you arrived in the city where your brother lives. Saturday was no different, with a clear blue sky above your heads despite it being winter, and the sun shining just the right amount to touch your skin and leave it warm. A little breeze messes with you and your brother's freshly dyed hair as you sit outside a coffee shop, brunch almost all devoured on the table. Mark hums to a familiar jazzy tune that plays all the way from inside the café.

And the atmosphere is beautifully calm. But you need to get something out of your chest. For once.

"So," you start and Mark moves eyes from his food to set them on you, expectant of your next words with a mouth full of pancakes and fruit. "I think I like Donghyuck."

Mark starts coughing after hearing you, and you wonder if it is because of the shock of your confession or because he really is that careless to get the food stuck in his throat.

"Yeah, I knew," he confirms once it's clear for him to speak again.

"The fuck you mean 'you knew'?"

"I mean, honestly, it's pretty obvious." Your brother can't hide a smile. He drops the fork to properly talk to you this time. "Like, you've always had some kind of thing… I don't know, I thought I had a special connection with Hyuck," he says pointing at himself, eyes wide with what could look like a little bit of shock. "But you two… You two are something else."

"Oh God," you cover your face in embarrassment even though after your brother's words there's no point in hiding anything anymore. "So you've been watching me acting like a fool in love around Donghyuck all this time, and you said nothing."

"I didn't say anything 'cuz I thought it had to come from you." He shrugs. "Wanted you to feel comfy enough to tell me, even though I had my suspicions, obviously."

"May I ask… Why," you hesitate a little before asking for a third-person perspective. "Why were you suspicious about it?"

"Dude, I don't know," a small laughter escapes him. "You just look like you'd be all over each other if you could."

You just groan in frustration hearing your brother saying you might have been way more obvious than you thought you were. Temperature rises to your cheeks coloring them a little red, and not because of the midday sun hitting right from above your head.

"And you can," Mark says, yet you don't get it, the tilting of your indicating he has to clarify. "Like, you can be all over each other. I don't know why nothing has happened between the two of you yet."

"'Cuz I don't know if he likes me?"

"How could you know if you don't try?"

Your gaze drops to your lap, and you realize you've been playing with the rings of your hands, taking them off and putting them on over and over, indicating the conversation is making you a little nervous.

Mark must notice, since he keeps talking. "Just tell him, dude. Best case scenario, he also likes you, you move out together and make me free from Donghyuck's ass."

The way he puts it makes you laugh, yet there's a slight weight to your eyes, as if tears could start falling down slowly at any time after holding your feelings in for so long. So you take a deep breath, blink a few times and look at the sun.

The sun, shining in its maximum splendor in the middle of the sky. And you wonder what he's doing right now. Donghyuck, or Haechan, as his mother used to call him when he was little. Full Sun, because he's always so bright and energetic, like a happy virus (Mark would also call him a pain in the ass, but you see, it depends on who you ask.)

"Worst case scenario, you remain as good friends," Mark continues. "C'mon, you know him, he's not a dick. You just gotta try talking to him."

You gulp and nod at him, now trying to make eye contact with a subtle smile on your face. Another deep breath. "You're right. Donghyuck won't hurt me, no matter what the outcome is."

Monday, 01:43 a.m.

On Mark's phone...

Meanwhile at the livingroom...

"Hyuck–wait. Can't we go slower?!"

"Look at that!" Donghyuck screams pointing at the TV screen, after taking the airpod off his right ear. You do the same with the one you were using, and the music from the game stops playing in your head. "I got a perfect score!" And he continues to do a silly victory dance, moving his hips from side to side with his arms in the air.

You really don't want to be mad at Donghyuck right now.

"This is so unfair," you tell him, stepping out of the frame and leaving the remote on top of the game console. "You didn't tell me you were this good. And you know I can't dance at all."

"You're right," Donghyuck says sincerely, a hand on his chest, right in front of his heart and all. "I didn't tell you I'm a dancing god and took advantage of your poor dancing skills to win the Just Dance."

You really don't want to get mad at him, but sometimes he makes it pretty much impossible.

"You." A hand comes in contact with Donghyuck's arm. Your hand. "Dirty." Another slap. "Bastard." And another one. "I hate you so much!"

"Hey!" He protests rubbing his arm after you slapped it. "Lying is a sin."

"I'm not lying," you say. "I hate you. You put on the fastest choreo to follow."

Donghyuck follows you around to the kitchen and watches your every move. He's right behind you, his eyes following your motions when you fill a glass with water, when you gulp it down, when you clean it and leave it back on the counter. He's hot on your heels when you come back to the common area and take the inflatable mattress out to get ready to sleep. He's still following your moves carefully when you put on the sheets and when you lay on it with the remote of the TV in hand. He only takes his eyes off your body when the Netflix logo appears on the screen and he notices you're about to watch the show you two started together.

You know he's dying for a word from you.

"You don't mean it," he says, now free of all mocking tones.

"I don't mean what?"

"You don't hate me."

You're pretty sure Donghyuck doesn't need you to confirm that you weren't serious. Naturally, he has always shown himself as a very self-assured and friendly person; It's not normal that people don't like Donghyuck. However, when you meet his eyes, wide and expectant of your response, and perhaps wet with a little insecurity, you understand that things are not always what they seem.

"How could I ever hate you, Hyuck?" you tell him to extend a hand in his direction, inviting him to lay on your side on the mattress.

Relief takes over his expression, and a wide smile is plastered on his face. He's quick to get comfortable (maybe too comfortable, not that you really mind) laying his head on your lap, and moving your left hand to his hair that looks like it's got longer over the days. You know he wants you to play with it—Donghyuck loves getting his hair played with. The fourth episode of My First First Love starts playing on the TV screen, and you hear Donghyuck sigh contentedly.

The subtle strokes at the hair on his nape get Donghyuck smiling again and exhaling deeper at your tranquil touch. And, not to be biased, but the colored lights coming from the TV highlight the softest, most beautiful face features you've seen in your life. In an act of courage, you move your fingertips from his hair, to his sharp jaw, to his cheekbones, gently caressing the warm skin.

Donghyuck moves his head on your lap until he's no longer watching TV. Neither are you. You're just staring at each other in silence. He's letting you stroke every part of skin until the tip of your fingers make it to his lips. His plump pink lips that have been tempting you more and more the past days. And he places a kiss there. On the tip of your fingers.

You freeze and grow red. Then he places another kiss, and another, making it three the times you've felt Donghyuck's lips on your skin.

It may be driving you crazy.

He's careful with his movements, so careful it turns almost painful watching him. Donghyuck grabs your wrist and gets up to sit beside your spot on the mattress. Doesn't let go of your hand—instead, he holds it tenderly, caresses the back of it with his thumb, then places another kiss there.

Four times you've felt Donghyuck's lips on your skin. Five. Six—he just placed a kiss on your palm. Wait, another on your wrist. That's seven kisses so far.

But it's not enough. Now you've felt his lips you want them everywhere, all the time. So when he gets your hand closer to keep kissing you there, you grab his face. Feel the skin there, of his jaw, of his neck, and it's really hot. You think you might even feel the rapid pace of his pulse when you press your fingers on his neck (but it could also be your own.) Lastly, you tangle your fingers in his hair that he has let grow during these weeks of winter break. You tug on it a little, just enough to let him know you want him close. Closer, please.

And Donghyuck sighs, more like he fucking moans.

You wonder if you should say something before moving forward. What about all the things you talked to Mark yesterday? Should you tell him about how you feel before kissing him? What does he want? And what would this be after you kiss?

The call of your name interrupts your torment of thoughts.

"Please," he begs in a whisper, eyes closed as your noses brush against each other. "I'll die if I don't kiss you right now."

A laugh comes out of you because he always has to be that exaggerated, but you decide to set all questions aside for a moment to just dive into him.

He starts off very gently, with his slightly parted lips pressing against yours. They are indeed as fleshy and soft as they look, and taste like a cherries lipbalm. Donghyuck repeatedly places small kisses on your lips until you open your mouth a little more, and he captures your lower lip, biting a bit there. It gets another little tug on his hair from you, a sigh of relief after tasting his mouth after years of longing, and everything becomes more needy.

Donghyuck grabs at both sides of your head to deepen the kiss, smashing lips together repeatedly and kissing you sloppily. When you allow him to, he pushes his tongue into your mouth and you push your body closer to his.

He grabs your wrist not neglecting your lips even a second, as if the both of you were magnetized, and places his palm on your waist inviting you to his lap. It makes you laugh out of nervousness, so Donghyuck opens his eyes to watch you straddle him and place yourself on top of him very carefully.

His touch travels from your waist to the sides of your torso, his right hand in a place that you're sure allows Donghyuck to feel your increased heart rate. Your hands cradle his neck, then tug at the hair of his nape as he observes you kind of mesmerized, inhaling deeply, smiling a little and wetting his lips before you're diving into each other once again.

You've lost count of the amount of times you've felt Donghyuck's sweet lips on you by now. But you're sure of one thing: you don't want it to be the last.

"In case you were still wondering," he breaks the kiss to talk to you. "I like you, kinda a lot."

His hair is slightly disheveled from all the pulling, his lips are shiny and swollen, and he looks a little agitated. In his incredibly dilated black pupils you can see the reflection of your smile.

"I also like you, Hyuck," you finally confess to him. "I like you like, a huge amount."

He lets out a sigh of relief, more like a scream, and you're quick to cover his mouth reminding him that your brother is supposed to be sleeping five meters away from you. Yet, you can't help but laugh at his reaction.

He presses your foreheads together as his hands caress your sides, from your knees, to your waist, and to your lower back. Both your thumbs stroke his cheeks gently before you move to place some smooches there, in each of Donghyuck's moles (that is all over his face.) You think of all the times you imagined doing exactly that and find it hard to believe there's a possibility you could have Donghyuck any time you want now.

You only have to talk it out and see how things could progress between the two of you in the future. In the meantime, you'll keep smooching the literal personification of the sun (that might be because he feels hot as fuck right now, or because his smile is bright as the sun, or maybe he could be both.)

(Still) Monday, 01:00 p.m.

Donghyuck has had his head over the clouds since last night. After a heavy make-out session with you and some cuddling, he went back to his shared bedroom to sleep at like four a.m., being the most quiet possible to not wake your brother up and maybe having him asking what the hell was Donghyuck doing with you in the living room until four in the morning. He can’t escape the knowing smile Mark gives him though, when he wakes up and sees Donghyuck already up and working at his desk.

Donghyuck pretends everything is normal, greeting Mark good morning as usual.

“Good morning, Melk.”

“You sound too happy,” Mark groans in response, still sitting on his bed only half awake.

Donghyuck checks the time on the corner of his computer; one p.m. during holidays is like eight a.m. to Mark. Your brother just sits there for a while and Donghyuck goes back to studying for amoment, until the silence of the room gets interrupted.

“Yo,” Mark calls to attract Donghyuck’s attention. “What you did last night was fucking nasty.”

“What–” Donghyuck tries asking, only to have Mark interrupting him.

“I heard you two going at it," he starts with a very serious expression that gets Donghyuck's blood completely drained from his face. What could've Mark possibly heard? "My sister was telling you to go slower and everything.'' Mark makes some gagging sounds to add to his point and Donghyuck grows as equally embarrassed and amused at your brother’s assumptions.

“You think we fucked?” Donghyuck asks in complete disbelief. An exaggerated nervous laugh follows the question. “With you in the house?” He points a finger at Mark.

“You didn’t?”

“Sorry to tell you what you heard was us playing Just Dance. The last choreo was too hard and y/n couldn’t follow it.”

Donghyuck watches his best friend rub the sleep off his eyes and get up from the bed while he denies with his head, looking kind of defeated. “You’re both the biggest losers I’ve ever known,” Mark says, referring to you and Donghyuck.

“Hey!” Donghyuck starts to defend himself, his eyes grow bigger as his brows go up, and the characteristic Donghyuck pout starts to show, like in every situation a discussion is involved. “It was fun! We had a good time, ask her.”

“Losers made for each other, I swear.” Mark emphasizes his point. “So you didn’t fuck.”

Donghyuck doesn't look up from his math notes to answer. There's no way in hell he's having this conversation looking at Mark in the face. “By now, I’m sure I might be a virgin again.”

“Dude, what the fuck,” Mark can’t contain a laugh, though. “That’s bad for your health. Get your dick wet already.”

“I’m just waiting for the right time with your sister.”

“Hey! You can’t joke like that anymore.” Donghyuck knows by Mark’s tone all the bickering has become dead-serious now. It has always been like this when it’s about you. First they joke a little about it, then Donghyuck reminds Mark how much he truly likes you, and lastly Mark tells Donghyuck to just confess to you already because he’s tired of hearing about it. “If you’re joking about my sister I’m gonna beat you up.” Mark reminds him.

“Sorry.” This time, Donghyuck is brave enough to face his best friend. It’s kind of hard for Donghyuck to believe it when Mark tells him he’s getting beated up, though, when Mark’s wearing the pajamas Johnny got him as a gift recently–some blue panty with a moose on the back that says ‘don’t moose with me’. “I’m not joking about her.”

“I know.” Mark covers the pajamas that distract his friend so much as he puts on his jeans. “You like each other so much it’s disgusting.”

Donghyuck can’t hide his smile after hearing that, and it reminds him of all the kisses you shared last night, which makes him grow red in the face. Nothing a little more bickering with your brother can’t hide.

“You’re sooo cruel to me, Markie.” Donghyuck tries to hug Mark before he’s leaving the room, but morning Mark has always been like a stray cat who doesn’t like affection (unless it comes from Yuta, which Donghyuck can’t comprehend very well but he supposes the japanese has something pretty magnetic.)

“Get off of me!”

“Only a lil’ kiss, pleaaase!”

They struggle at the door of the room and into the common area. Donghyuck with his lips millimeters from Mark's face while Mark tries with all his might to get away from Donghyuck, who can be like a tick. They're so caught up in their things neither of them has noticed you're there, observing the entire interaction.

“Why don’t you go and kiss y/n? I’m sure she’ll enjoy it,” you hear Mark say when he finally frees himself from Donghyuck.

It’s at this moment that you know you are hearing too much, so you clear your throat to let them know that you are there too. They both freeze after turning around and seeing you sitting at the kitchen island. Your brother Mark, the great opportunist and master at escaping from uncomfortable situations, greets you good morning and is off to work in a second, leaving you and Donghyuck alone in the apartment.

You watch Donghyuck get closer to where you’re sitting. He hasn’t changed from his sleeping shorts and the hoodie he was wearing last night–the same hoodie you pulled on as you kissed in the same mattress laying meters behind him. Yet you don’t know how to describe the sensation you’re feeling right now. After seeing the boy you like the most fighting your brother for a kiss, your stomach feels… weird? You know the kind of relationship they have–they’re best friends, they bicker and fight and make up all the time. They live based on Donghyuck love-bombing Mark and Mark denying the affection all the time. But they love each other in a brotherly way, it has always been like that.

It’s not like you expected Donghyuck to want to hug and kiss you and only you after what happened last night, but you kind of did expect it.

Were you jealous of Donghyuck’s best friend, your own brother Mark?

Donghyuck looks at you confused when you don't accept his hug right away. You stop his arms midway, and his eyes look defeated, full of worry. “Did something happen?”

You deny with your head. “I don’t know, that kind of felt weird,” you confess to him.

Donghyuck caresses your arms, feeling you relax from the defensive attitude from before, until he gets your hands together. “What felt weird?”

It’s ridiculous, you know it is and you’re embarrassed about what you’re about to say. Yet, you can’t help but:

“I think I got jealous,” you say and watch his brows furrowed together. “You know, when you were trying to kiss Mark…”

Donghyuck only bursts out laughing and hugs you tightly against his chest, leaving you no time to escape the sudden affection. He smells like fabric softener and feels comfortable like a pillow. And you hate that you love the way his laugh resonates through your entire body when he presses you to himself like that.

“You know I never want to kiss Mark seriously, right? That I only do it ‘cause I know he hates it,” he explains once he’s separated from you, still holding your hands in his and looking you in the eyes. “I don’t want to kiss anyone the way I want to kiss you.”

You look down hiding your smile, thinking he’s cute at first and processing his words then, which makes you laugh a little. Donghyuck realizes right away and starts to laugh too, leaving the seriousness behind.

“Was that too much?” He asks.

You nod in response. “But it’s good to know.”

“Good,” he says before planting a kiss on your cheek. He’s only millimeters away from your face when he speaks again. “No need to be jealous then.”

Donghyuck turns you around on the chair, so your back is pressing against the island and he can stand comfortably between your legs. He starts as he did last night, planting a kiss on your knuckles, then your wrist, but you don’t wanna waste any more time so you free yourself from his hands and start cradling his face. His lips look as tempting as always, maybe even more after you tasted them for the first time.

He notices your look so he gives you a lopsided, attractive smile that you desperately wanna rip off his face.

“How can you look this handsome in the morning?” You ask, admiring all his features.

“I mean, technically it’s past the morning.” he answers in a cocky tone.

“Shut up already.”

You don’t give him time to fight back as you’re sealing his lips with a kiss. It’s slow but deep, and his skin feels warm and soft under your fingertips, all the way from his sharp jaw to his cheekbones. When he bites your lip a little bit to get full access to your mouth, you worry about the breakfast you were having minutes ago, but Donghyuck doesn’t seem to mind:

“Mhmm,” he hums, breaking apart and licking his lips. “You taste like maple syrup.” And he steals another quick kiss from you.

“Yeah,” you say as you turn around to face the kitchen island again. “‘Cause you interrupted my breakfast.”

But despite you showing your back to him and trying to finish your food, Donghyuck won’t let you eat in peace. “Oh yeah,” he murmurs against the skin of your neck after he moves your hair to your left shoulder. He plants a soft kiss on your right side, sending shivers down your spine and making it hard to concentrate on your task. “I’m sooo sorry I interrupted you.” His tone is full of sarcasm as his kisses travel to your jaw and all the way down again. “And you hated it sooo much.”

The metallic sound of your fork falling off your hand and hitting the plate startles the both of you. Donghyuck stops sucking on your neck and you fall out of your trance. Your startled face might be somewhat funny, because Donghyuck starts giggling as you both realize you were enjoying his kisses a little too much.

“Let’s go on a date.”

“All of a sudden?”

He nods with a smile on his face. “It’s your last day here tomorrow. It’s not like we won’t see each other anymore but… I want to take you out before your last day here.”

“Okay,” you agree, matching his smile.

“Okay?” He asks once more and sighs contentedly when you nod your head yes. “I’ll go plan everything. Make sure you’re all mine this afternoon!” And he leaves the room after kissing your right cheek.

(The busiest) Monday, 07:37 p.m.

“Hyuck, come on, there’s seriously no way of winning with those machines.”

“Babe, just one more try. I wanna get something for you.”

Donghyuck has been fighting against a claw machine for what felt like half an hour now. Since none of you weren’t able to win any of the games you tried at the carnival, you really appreciate his determination to win a prize for you this way. Yet you arrived here at five p.m., and after two rounds of bumper cars, after testing your strength at Ring the Bell (and both of you failing embarrassingly), riding the teacups, getting scared to death in the haunted house, and going twice into the Ferris wheel (one time for the sightseeing and pics and another time for kissing at the top of it) your stomach growls with hunger.

“We could’ve paid dinner with all the money you spent on this machine-”

“Wait, I’m about to get it!”

“Let’s just go get dinner.”

“But I’m about to get it!”

And you see it forreal this time: the claw holding a big Pochacco plushie and it falling right into the hole.

“Hyuck, you got it!” You scream in disbelief, a big smile taking over your face (maybe because of the cute plushie or maybe because it meant you were finally going to have some food.)

You watch Donghyuck lose his arm through the hatch and get it back, this time with the stuffed animal in his hand. When he’s presenting it in front of you, the stuffed animal is so big that it blocks your view. You admire it for a second, and then take it into your arms to discover a Donghyuck wearing the biggest smile you've seen in a while. He’s all cozied up, his jacket and stuffed hat making him look like a real life teddy bear. Even so, the cold of the winter has caused the tip of his nose and his cheeks to turn red, somehow making him look even cuter.

“I got it for you!” He says, the excitement not leaving his body even for a second.

You can’t contain yourself and, as an impulse, grab him from the jacket with your free hand and pull forward until your lips are meeting his. Just a short peck as a way of saying thank you, I love it (you.)

Neither of you realizes the little crowd you've drawn around the machines, not until you hear the applause and cheering as you're breaking away from your kiss. You’ve never seen Donghyuck get shy when drawing people’s attention, so this might be your first time noticing him trying to hide under his hat and into your embrace. You laugh it off even when you're equally embarrassed, but thank him for the plushie and tell him to run away from there to get dinner.

—

“I think I’ve liked you from the start,” Donghyuck confesses all of a sudden.

Well, maybe not so all of a sudden. While you two were having your dinner, bottle of beer came after bottle of beer. At some point of the night, you thought it was a good idea to start having soju. Donghyuck said something like “it’s our last night together, we should celebrate and get wasted” to justify your decision. So it may be the full stomachs and the alcohol making you be honest with each other.

“I know I’ve liked you from the start.”

“Aaall the guys knew too…” He slurs his words a little when speaking. “I wouldn't shut up about you.”

You can't hide your drunken, enamored smile when hearing him. But something makes a little noise inside your head. “All the guys knew?” You ask and he nods quickly. “Even Mark?”

“Even Mark,” Donghyuck confirms. “I mean, we always kind of had this joke going around that I was always waiting for you.” He pours himself another drink. “But we both knew it wasn't a joke.”

“Oh god.” You cover your face, embarrassed. “My own brother lied to me,” you say and Donghyuck makes a confused sound, which makes you keep explaining. “He pretended to know nothing about your feelings when I confessed to him that I liked you.”

“I asked him not to say anything.”

“Huh?”

“I wanted to tell you myself how much I like you.”

“Oh god,” it's all you can repeat right now, all these confessions and the alcohol making you grow hot everywhere. “It's so hot inside this restaurant,” you say as you take your jacket off.

Donghyuck knows the red on your cheeks isn't only because of the heat inside the place.

“I like you sooo much,” he says as he watches you giggle out of nervousness. Donghyuck calls your name and holds your hand over the table to try to get you to look at him, but you only giggle and hide your face with your other hand. “I'm in love with you!”

“Okay, okay!” You're laughing by now, trying to cover his mouth to shut him up and not attract everyone's attention like you did at the carnival. “I'm in love with you too!”

“Good,” he says with an extremely pleased smile, that one that has always attracted you to him so much.

“Good?” you repeat and he nods.

Your phone screen lights up showing it's Mark calling you. You silently tell Donghyuck you're picking up and he lets go of your hand for you to do so.

“Yes?”

“Yo,” you hear Mark answer from the other side. “We're at Yuta's right now, we're working on some music with Taeil and TY so I think I'm just gonna crash here tonight.”

“Uhm, are you sure you don't wanna go back?” You ask and make eye contact with Donghyuck, who narrows his eyes and tilts his head to the side after your question. You only shrug to him as a response.

“Nah, I'll leave the apartment for the two of you so make good use of it.” Your brother answers convincingly.

“Okay, I'll see you in the morning.”

“All right bet, see you in the morning.” And he's quick to hang up.

You take the phone off your ear and look at it confused for a bit, until Donghyuck breaks the silence. “Everything all right with Mark?”

“Yeah,” you say as you put the phone down. “He said he's not going back home tonight.”

“Oh.”

You think of the words your brother said. “Leaving the apartment for the two of you,” and “making good use of it,” and it hits you. A little bit late, but it hits you.

“Oh…” you repeat, a surprised expression now taking over your face.

“Yeah, oh!” Donghyuck agrees. “We're having a real sleepover tonight!”

But by the excitement in Donghyuck's face, the one a little kid would show when told he's sleeping at a friend's, you aren't convinced he thought the same way you and Mark did.

(The last day at your brother's) Tuesday, 09:12 a.m.

The next morning, you wake up pretty confused. When you open your eyes, you're not sleeping at your usual spot. Your surroundings look very different from the living room where you've been sleeping every night. To your right, you spot Donghyuck's desk, filled with physics books, a pile of comics, and the typical empty Red Bull cans. The mattress also feels incredibly comfortable, soft but firm under you. But the most strange thing is the weight over your body, and a cologne you know very well and like very much flooding your senses. That's when you realize Donghyuck is laying all over you, stretched like a starfish.

You laugh and struggle to take your arms under him, and when you wrap them around the boy over you and squeeze, he starts to laugh too.

"Are the curtains open?" You ask in a voice still full of sleep.

He moves his head up to catch the smile on your face. "No?"

"Then why is the sun so bright in my face?"

The smile spreads on his face and he plants a chaste kiss on your lips. "You're so fucking cheesy." And he kisses you again.

“Get off,” you try to move him from over your face and your body. “I haven’t washed my mouth.”

“I don’t care,” he says, finally moving and sitting at the side of his bed, where you’re still laying in. “I’m not missing a chance to kiss you.”

“You’re sooo fucking cheesy,” you repeat his words.

“And you like me sooo much.” Donghyuck moves to the nightstand and grabs an aspirin and a can of Red Bull and brings them to your mouth. “Take, it’ll make you feel better after all we had last night.”

You sit up a little on the bed to do what he told you, and once you've swallowed the aspirin you let yourself fall back against his pillow. Donghyuck is still sitting on the edge of the bed, exchanging glances with you and holding your hand lovingly. He's wearing the Michael Jackson t-shirt that he likes so much and he's wearing his messy hair, just as you left it after pulling, fixing and messing it up while you kissed him countless times the night before.

You’re leaving today, and it’s like all the feelings you’ve accumulated these past years are hitting right now, all at once.

“I wish I could wake up like this everyday.”

“Hungover?”

“No, not hungover,” you laugh at his question. “With you.”

He smiles and squeezes your hand reassuringly. “We’ll figure it out.”

You sit up in the bed and search for the energy drink on the nightstand. After a few drinks, you’ve figured the morning breath can’t be so bad, so you move to face him properly and grab his face for a real kiss. Donghyuck doesn’t take long to reciprocate and start caressing your entire body. He’s always the first one to take the kisses to other places, so you take the lead this time. You discovered last night that Donghyuck can’t resist the kisses on his neck. You start placing soft kisses, then some licks until you suck a little and he fails to suppress a moan. He laughs it off and calls your name.

“I want to ask something important,” he says, looking you dead-serious in the eyes now, all the jokes and the desire aside. After you nod in response, telling he has your attention, he takes a big breath of courage. “It may seem a little rushed, but after all we’ve shared these years and after this week we’ve spent together, I don’t want you to leave without asking you to go out with me.”

You feel the temperature increase throughout your skin. Is he finally asking you to…

“Be my girlfriend?” As if he knew you from inside and out, he finishes your thoughts out loud.

Temperature reaches your face as well as probably the biggest smile you’ve worn since you got here. You cradle his face, squeeze his cheeks with your hands until a pout is showing and you can’t help but laugh—out of nervousness but also out of happiness, from having the sun in your hands and all for yourself.

“Lee Donghyuck,” you start. “That’d make me the happiest in the world, in the universe.”

“You’re sooo cheesy!” He starts the bickering once again, yet he’s sealing your deal with a kiss on your smile and, of course, you’re returning the affection.

(Later that) Tuesday, 03:30 p.m.

You’re standing in the building’s hallway while your brother struggles to lock the door to the 12-7 apartment. Donghyuck is patiently holding your suitcase, waiting for Mark to be done. They’re going to accompany you to the bus stop that’s coming at four p.m. so you can finally go home to the rest of your family and your normal life—you’ll be back studying and working in a few days, after spending Christmas with the family and Donghyuck, who promised to be there to join the Christmas lunch at your home and—maybe, if he doesn’t chicken out—present himself as your boyfriend to your parents.

“We need to change the door lock before y/n moves in here,” Mark says after finally locking it.

“What?” Donghyuck and you ask in unison. “Moving here?”

“You’re not moving in with Donghyuck? I thought I’d finally be free from him,” your brother answers, kind of disappointed, but not as disappointed as Donghyuck after noticing how bad your brother wants him out.

“But where will you go?” You ask him.

“I made plans to share the floor with Yuta.”

“That motherfucking japanese!” Donghyuck screams following Mark down the hallway, and you palm his back trying to reassure him, but your boyfriend won’t calm down. “I swear he wants to steal my best friend from me! He’s so jealous of my life!”

“What would he be jealous of, Donghyuck?” Your brother asks tiredly, and you know he’s rolling his eyes even if all you see is his back opening the building’s front door.

“Of our last-longing, incredibly unique friendship, of-fucking-course!” Donghyuck answers like it’s obvious.

“I’m pretty sure you just kept this friendship to get with my sister.”

“Mark?! That’s not true. I love you, man. Mark-Mark, come on!”

taglist: @matchahyuck @sundamariis @thesunsfullmoon @babyjenono @chenfleur @bettyschwallocksyee @sundhaelatte @injunier @justalildumpling @lanadreamie @dhyucktopia @143rachafm @minkyuncutie @bbh-kji @minhosprettywife

#haechan #haechan x reader #nct fanfic #donghyuck x reader #haechan fluff #lee donghyuck x reader #zh-lele

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growup-thatbeautiful · 8 months

Note

I LOVED your gym crush Dave lizewski fanfic!! If possible could you do a bimbo reader and Dave fic where reader needs help in whatever the case may be and gets horny around Dave and fucks him? Sorry for the sudden request

Of course lovely! 🧡

Warnings: sexual content, cursing, oral (m receiving), mdni

“Thank you so much for doing this,” you tell him when he opens the door. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“I think you would manage,” he replies, letting you inside. He looks good now, in his element, away from the jeers and teasing of his classmates and friends. The softness of his sweats and the tightness of his t-shirt makes him look so homey. It’s what you’re used to.

“My grades don’t agree.” It’s no secret to your school that you struggle in most, if not all of your classes. It’s not because you don’t try; you really really do. It’s just never been easy for you to understand what the teachers are talking about.

When you got sat next to Dave in math, you thought he would tease you like the others smart kids do. But he didn’t- he offered to help instead of you didn’t understand, and most of the time you don’t. Hence your arrival at his house, donning a lace tank top and shorts.

Dave’s not like the other guys you know. When he sits you down at his kitchen table, a paint-covered tablecloth on top of it, he offers you tea. Tea. Most guys offer you booze or water.

You try to pay attention, you really do. But you don’t understand what he’s talking about. You didn’t get it the first time, and you haven’t gotten it the second time. You want to let off some steam, and math isn’t helping. You’re frustrated and pent up.

It doesn’t help that you keep getting distracted. You didn’t realize it in class, but Dave’s so pretty. His long lashed and the restless curls on his head just beg for you to ruin him. It should be as sinful as it is when his deft, calloused fingers trace the numbers on the page; you can feel them running patterns over your skin, waiting until you’re begging for him to touch you where you need it most. His lips look so soft, kissable. You want them everywhere.

There’s a tightening in your core that has you digging your heels into the tiled flooring, your thighs pushing down against the wooden chair. God, it’s unfair. He’s trying his best to explain this to you, and you can’t stop thinking about how his hands would feel in between his legs.

“Does that make sense?” he asks, his head tilted to the side. Your mind helpfully supplies puppy dog. Shit. You’re supposed to be paying attention to math.

“Uh,” you say. “Yes?”

“Great,” he smiles, sounding genuinely excited for you to understand. He’s so sweet.

“Dave,” you start, a whine in your tone, “Can we take a break? It’s been forever since we started.”

“It’s been thirty minutes,” he says, a frown appearing between his brows. Instinctively, you reach out and smooth it down with your finger, red nail polish against his skin. Other than the flickering of his eyes, he doesn’t move.

It’s your chance. Slowly, like you’re trying not to scare him, your hand creeps around to cup his cheek. “Is this okay?” you ask him.

“Yes,” he breathes. If that wasn’t enough, he brings his own hand up to slide up your shoulder, holding your neck. “Is this?”

“You fucking kidding?” you say. “Fuck yes, Dave. Please.”

“What’re you asking me for, baby?” he murmurs. “What do you want?” Fucking hell. He can’t know how absolutely profane those words sound coming out of his mouth.

“Your fingers,” you answer immediately. The blush that finds its way to his cheeks is beautiful and so unbelievably hot. You want to see it over and over again.

“Yeah?” he asks, laugh in his voice. “You want me to make you feel good?”

Your enthusiastic nod is all it takes for him to grab your thigh, repositioning you so that you’re on his lap, your legs straddling his. It’s uncomfortable and the kitchen table is digging into the small of your back, but it feels right.

It feels even better when he runs his hands along your waist, his lips scattering marks on your collarbone. You’ll have bruises tomorrow, but you can’t seem to make yourself care. Based on the noises you’re making Dave can tell.

But it’s not enough. It’s so, so good but it’s not what you want. Apparently, you’re transparent because Dave has mercy. His hands, warm from their contact with your skin underneath your shirt, slide underneath the waistband of your shorts, putting pressure onto the bundle of nerves that makes you see goddamn stars. One finger, then two, stretch you open, a delicious burn that has your hips chasing more.

Your head falls forward to catch his lips in a kiss, and when that’s too much you rest it in the crook of his neck and listen to the little encouragements he whispers into you ear.

Doing so good for me, baby.

Just like that, honey.

If you were with anyone else, they wouldn’t be doing this. He’s taking his time, making you feel good. You’re shaking and sharing his breaths and it’s all too much-

And the dam inside you bursts with enough force to stop your breathing. Your eyes screw shut and his name is the only thing you can remember. You don’t know if you’re chanting it out loud, but you don’t care. Dave, Dave, Dave.

“My turn,” you breathe when you finally get your breath back, your knees hitting the floor before he can say another word. His legs are spread wide, opening inviting you. His hands rest uncertainly above your hair, which you quickly fix by bringing them to tangle in your locks.

Slipping his sweats down just enough, you leave kisses on the underside of his cock through his briefs, paying special attention to lick at the growing wet spot.

You know he’s impatient, but too still too sweet to do anything about it, so you push his underwear down enough for his cock to spring out, flushed a pretty, angry red.

Humming, you take his head in your mouth, bobbing your head before taking more of him, the salty taste of him on your tongue.

“Fuck,” he groans above you, his arm across his face. He’s breathing heavy already, his shirt plastered to his chest with sweat.

It doesn’t take long for him to come from your mouth; you know what you’re doing and he doesn’t seem to have any problem letting you know that. With your heel digging into your clothed cunt, you slide a finger along your folds, heat blooming underneath your touch as you listen to his noises. When you moan, your mouth full of him, his head tips back against the chair and his thighs flex.

“Shit, baby, I’m-” is all je manages to get out before he comes, filling your throat and dripping down your chin. His eyes flutter back in his head, and that’s all it takes for you to fall over the edge a second time with him, soaking your hand and the remaining integrity of your underwear.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately when he gets his voice back, pulling you up on his lap. “I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I wouldn’t have let you.”

“Yeah?” he asks, double checking your face for any signs of upset. When he doesn’t find any, an easy, bashful grin finds its way to his face. “Do you want a change of clothes?”

“Sure.” Suddenly, a thought occurs to you, horror flooding your mind. “Your dad isn’t home, right?”

“No,” he laughs. “He’s working. We have the house to ourselves.”

Your mind is slow with the aftermath of two orgasams, and your movements are slow and uncoordinated. You feel fuzzy and good; better than you’ve felt in a long time.

Maybe math tutoring isn’t so bad.

#dave lizewski #kick ass #dave lizewski x you #dave lizewski x reader #dave lizewski fanfic #dave lizewski smut #dave lizewski fic #kick ass fanfic #kick ass fic #kick ass smut #atj x reader #nova writes #18+

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wonusite · 6 months

Text

Sweet Dreams

❝ You dream about a beautiful man nearly every time you fall asleep. After getting to know him and everything about him, you see him outside of your dreams—in a museum painting. ❞

PAIRING: joshua hong x female reader

GENRE: vampire au, reincarnation au, angst, smut

WORD COUNT: 10.1k

WARNINGS: vampire!joshua, human!reader, lucid dreaming, reincarnation, so much yearning, mentions of death, joshua is a brooding mess, protective!minghao, unprotected sex, blood play, biting, creampies

A/N: this has been long overdue, and i hope you guys like it! loosely based off this ask. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Fate.

A simple word that holds more power and venerability than any ruler of the middle kingdom. It’s a mystifying concept that follows no rules and simply is; something that can actively be changed but not avoided. Joshua learns this late in his long life—a derailment of his own making. The lesson comes to him in the form of a fiery witch running from her death.

As a creature that’s lived in solitude since he became immortal, it’s not in his nature to be helpful. It’s why he has no interest in saving the witch from the demons that are hunting her. This, however, doesn’t stop the insolent little witch from forcing herself into his sanctuary. He fights her on it, baring his fangs while saying the most despicable and bone chilling threats to her. The young witch isn’t fazed and makes it clear that he doesn’t have a choice in the matter.

In the end, he concedes. Not because she’s powerful enough to make him obey her, but because she reminds Joshua of himself when he was desperately clinging to his own survival. Perhaps that’s the reason he becomes inexplicably drawn to her. Josh almost feels like she’s bewitched him, and the most unusual part of it all is that he doesn’t care even if that is the case.

He seeks her out after he helps her despite knowing that it can’t possibly end well. Their kinds don’t mix, and it’s doubtful that two abominations can share something as sacred and beautiful as love. Fate has never allowed it before, but Joshua is foolish enough to try to defy destiny.

Courting the witch isn’t easy. Then again, anything that involves her never is. The witch is a firm believer in being reverent to the same fates that gave her the powers she wields while Joshua couldn’t care less about the fates that turned him into a monstrosity. This creates a disconnect between them because the witch is firm that she could never love such an irreverent creature.

This hardly deters him. Joshua is relentless in his chase, and after the longest decade of his life he’s finally able to win the witch’s thorn-covered heart.

And so, even just for the briefest moments, they’re allowed to create their own destiny with each other.

Loving someone, loving her, is the most addicting feeling he’s ever felt. The love he feels for the witch surpasses even that of his first love who he was convinced he’d never forget. Being with her is the happiest Joshua has ever felt, and he naively thinks it’ll last forever.

This all comes to an abrupt end when the witch finds out that it’s his fault the demons eradicated her coven. Yes, it was before Josh had met and fell in love with her, but that doesn’t change anything. It was still him who had put her on the brink of death and gotten her family and friends killed. Twisted as it is, he doesn’t regret his actions nor would he change them if he had an opportunity to do so.

And so, the love of his life becomes his most dangerous enemy.

It hurts. More so because she discards him and his love like they never meant anything in the first place.

The witch is cutthroat in her hatred. It’s not long before the children of the moon find his sanctuary and nearly send him to meet his maker. Her hexes nearly incapacitate him, but even all her acts of revenge aren’t enough to satiate the vengeance she seeks.

Slowly, the love they grew to feel for each other becomes wilted and corroded beyond repair.

Years pass, yet the feud never dies. Joshua is almost impressed by her determination to destroy him the same way he almost destroyed her.

Hatred has replaced love by now, and it’s almost impossible for him to believe he ever loved the witch in the first place. A decade passes, then two and three until eventually an entire century goes by with the two of them feeling this burning loathing. Their detrimental feelings and behavior push both Joshua and the witch to make a vow never to love again.

But fate has other plans for them.

As time goes on, they find themselves backed into a corner—together this time. Death has returned for them in the form of faes. Neither one of them is willing to relent and give up their land to the insignificant creatures who claimed to have it first. And so, they help each other one last time.

Fighting against inferior creatures together has always been like dancing for them, and it’s easy to fall back into a love language they created. By the end of their battle, they come out victorious. The two are grateful to each other even if neither of them say it outright.

Joshua feels a familiar ache in his chest the longer he stares at the witch who was once his. Feelings he thought were long gone rush back to the surface as if they’d never left in the first place. Perhaps they never really had. He’s never been one to go against his own desires, and so he reaches out for her, craving her skin against his if even for the last time.

Their embrace is sweet, but the kiss that follows is full of passion, longing, and ardent love that seems to have been buried deep within them the entire time. It’s almost like a dream to have her like this again, and now Joshua doesn’t plan on letting her go.

But once again, fate doesn’t leave him with a choice.

Humans grow more wary of the creatures they share the world with. Many go into hiding, but Joshua makes the mistake of thinking he can blend in with his prey. A hunter of his kind has found him, and as a vampire with no coven, he’s left vulnerable. It’s even worse when the hunter and his clan discover his lover and what she is.

It was a peaceful night when they’re attacked. Escaping death doesn’t seem possible, but as always the witch assured him that she has a solution. His love makes him a promise as she casts a spell that will hide his presence. A promise that she’ll find him and reunite with him in every lifetime. He’s confused by her words, but has no time to question her as the spell takes over and dulls his senses until he’s unconscious.

If he’d known his love was going to sacrifice herself for him, he would’ve taken a million wooden stakes to the heart rather than continue existing in a world without her.

Centuries later, he’s never been able to forget her or what her presence had done to his life. Joshua is left alone in a world that now seems intolerable without his witch in it. Cruel irony reminds him that the solitude he once basked in feels suffocating now. All he’s left with is a gaping hole that constantly reminds him of how he lost his one true love.

Joshua eventually joins a coven, but they offer little comfort. At this point in his immortality, he only sticks around them out of habit. It’s not that he isn’t fond of them—he is, most of the time—but it’s not the same as having his lover by his side.

After going through the eternal test of time, Joshua still yearns for her; craves her as much as the blood that he feeds on. It’s the reason he’s spent the last two centuries looking for the one person who filled his heart with so much love.

And he’ll stop at nothing until he finds her.

The first time it happened, you thought it was nothing more than a dream.

Which it was, but it felt different—it was different. Never in your life had you dreamt such a beautiful dream that felt so real and almost indistinguishable from reality. The most memorable part was the euphoric feeling it evoked from you.

Well, that’s not exactly right. There was one single element that had left you unable to forget the lucid dream. One that you believed was responsible for your subconscious forcing you into those dreams every time you fell asleep.

Unhealthy as it is, you chase the lucid dreams. Every night, you look forward to your sleep with the hope of once again being wrapped up in one of those lovely dreams. Any free time you’re left with is used to sleep just so you can escape to the ethereal dreamland your mind has created.

The dreams have ensnared you and make you crave and long for them as if you’re under some sort of spell. It’s become a bit of an obsession because even when you’re with other people it’s all you can think about. And yet you’re unable to let go of your obsession in spite of how unhealthy and irrational it is.

The scene in front of you is familiar, but you can’t place where you’ve seen the old castle that looks like it’s straight out of the medieval times. You step forward, feet moving on their own as you walk past the large doors. Servants run along with their head down, and you’re not sure why it makes you feel satisfied that they seem to be terrified of you.

“Y/N.”

You turn at the sound of a mellifluous voice. Once again, it’s the beautiful man who’d been visiting you in your dreams.

“Shua.” You call affectionately, running to him as he opens his arms for you.

As always, he catches you easily. You wrap your arms around his neck, softly giggling into his hair as he spins you around. “Where have you brought me this time?”

“This is where I live.” He tells you as you pull back to look at his face. “Do you like it?”

You look around again. The feeling of familiarity doesn’t go away as you inspect your surroundings. Joshua gently puts you down, but doesn’t release you from his embrace. His stare is gentle and observant, curious on how you’re going to react to what he’s showing you.

“This is really where you live?” You wonder in awe. “Are you a king or something?”

His pretty laugh makes you look back at him. Your heart leaps up into your throat when you see the fond look he’s giving you. It’s been months of being on the receiving end of his affectionate stare, but you’re not sure you’ll stop feeling bashful when you catch it.

“I am not. Does that disappoint you?”

You shake your head. “No, but it does make me wonder how old you actually are. Older than Dracula?”

All Josh can do is laugh and laugh. You’re not sure what he finds so funny, but as usual you do not get the chance to ask. The familiar pressure on your bones gets more intense with every passing moment. It’s how you know you’re on the verge of being pulled out of your blissful dream. You can’t even open your mouth to say goodbye because you’re abruptly yanked out of your subconscious before you can.

It’s always hard to keep going on with your day normally after you dream about Josh. You can never really function afterwards, not how you usually would.

“—even listening to me?”

You snap back into reality, realizing that Jeonghan has been talking to you this entire time. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes and gives you an accusatory look that confuses you. His eyebrows are raised as he leans forward. “I was saying that Soonyoung thinks you’re fucking someone.”

“What?” You splutter, suddenly feeling extremely flustered.

“I told him there’s no way that’s true because lately you’ve been holed up in your room sleeping every chance you get!”

You manage to not choke on your spit and give your friend an indignant glare. “Both you and Soonyoung need to worry about your own sex lives.”

The gleam in his eye changes, and you realize too late that you’ve made a mistake. “Wait. Are you actually fucking someone?”

“You know I’m not!” You hiss, starting to feel embarrassed.

Clearly, Jeonghan doesn’t believe you. He stares at you before something seems to click in his head. Your nervous stare and angry pout are telltale signs of deceit. His jaw drops a bit as he lets out an affronted squeak.

“No way. That’s why you’ve been in such a good mood lately!” He says with a conniving laugh. “And here I thought that night cream I recommended is the reason you’ve been glowing lately.”

Maybe the most embarrassing part about this is not that he’s trying to discuss your sex life (or lack thereof) at the local cafe and not wine night, but the fact that this alleged glow has nothing to do with a man—not a real one, anyway. But Jeonghan doesn’t need to know that.

“You would’ve heard me if that was true.”

Jeonghan’s ears slowly turn red as he pouts in disappointment. He really hoped you’d managed to break your three month long dry spell, and he also wanted to be right. It’s almost suspicious that he isn’t because he usually is. You’ve been a little too smiley lately like you have some hidden lover.

“If you say so.” He mutters bitterly.

This would be the point where you’d usually panic since Yoon Jeonghan can never be one to let anything go if he feels like he’s right. You feel at ease though because there’s no way he could ever find out about Josh.

“By the way… you’re definitely going to be gone this weekend, right?” Jeonghan suddenly asks in a tone you recognize all too well.

You try not to gag as you nod. “Yes. I already bought the tickets and Hao is in the city setting up his apartment so I have a place to stay while I’m up there.”

Jeonghan smirks victoriously. He nods, not even trying to hide how pleased he is as he pulls out his phone. Suddenly, he’s very grateful that you and Minghao have such an interest in history. When he’s done sending a message you would definitely call sleazy, he just laughs at your disgusted expression.

“Don’t give me that look. Not all of us have to practice celibacy like you.”

“Whatever.” You scoff with a roll of your eyes. “Just keep it in your room this time. I better not find any stains on the couch when I get back.”

He only laughs at you with a promise that you can’t think of as sincere.

“Are you playing with your food again?”

The voice sounds distant as Joshua is gently pulled out of the trance he’s used to being in now. He slow blinks, remnants of the beautiful vision still clear in his mind. Junhui’s words don’t bother him like they usually would’ve. Not when he finally feels alive for the first time in centuries. Still, he can’t control the annoyance he feels that his brother thinks this subject is something that can be joked and talked about lightly.

“You and Soonyoung are the only heathens who play with food.” Joshua’s tone is clipped, bordering on that murderous one that pops up any time someone mentions his latest obsession.

Junhui only laughs, head cocking to the side in interest. “I’m curious. Did you really find the grand love of your life, or is it just some girl who happens to look like her?”

“His obsession wouldn’t be so profound if it was a girl who merely looks like her.” Comes a voice from the top of the grand stairs.

They look up to see the oldest and the youngest of the coven coming down the stairs. Soonyoung doesn’t bother to hide his amused smirk while Minghao wears the same impassive expression he had when Joshua met him. His lack of reaction is the reason why he’s often the voice of reason in the coven, but his callous way of speaking never offers any comfort.

“Our brother is looking for the soul of his beloved—a soul that cannot be replicated nor imitated. Even if he’s to find her doppelgänger, he will not love her completely or sincerely.” Minghao says he takes a seat near the burning fireplace.

Soonyoung sits on the other end of the couch before he raises an eyebrow at Josh. He lets out a mocking snicker. “It’s giving stalker.”

As the most recently turned, their youngest has developed a proclivity for imitating the current slang. Joshua understands it (to an extent), but finds it folly. Then again, he doesn’t think its ridiculous when that person uses it.

But of course, that’s different.

Josh doesn’t bother to sneer at him for his snide remark. As a creature who hasn’t found a mate in the entire century he’s been alive, Soonyoung couldn’t possibly understand the ardent need to be close to the person chosen to be your mate.

“You still haven’t answered my question.” Junhui points out, sounding almost bored now. “Have you found her? Your one true love?”

When Joshua smiles, it’s so pretty that even Minghao can’t help but stare. “I have.”

“Are you going to turn her?”

Soonyoung’s question hangs in the air, and as much as Josh wants to hiss at him to mind his own business, he sees how Junhui and Minghao are also looking at him. Turning someone isn’t as simple as it used to be—if it could ever be considered simple. Now there were too many factors and too many risks involved.

“I have to find her physically before I can think of anything else.” Josh sighs deeply.

“Brother.” Minghao says in his serious tone. “Think of your next moves carefully. You’ve found her reincarnation, but she doesn’t remember you, and there’s no guarantee that she ever will.”

For once, the younger ones don’t say anything teasing or goading. They look at him just as solemnly as Minghao is. It’s a harsh truth that Joshua had acknowledged long ago but not fully accepted.

His love doesn’t remember him. This is a fact.

But even if she never does, he doesn’t plan on letting her go. Not again.

“You’re unhappy.”

The observation is astute, and even though it’s been months, you can’t get used to how easily Josh can see through you. It shouldn’t have the affect on you that it does, but there’s just something about having someone know you so well that makes your heart jerk with emotion. Part of you feels insane for feeling this way because this man is just a figment of your imagination created by your subconscious.

Josh smiles placatingly when he sees your pout. He’s sure that you’re not aware that you do it, which makes it all the more cute in his eyes.

“Work hasn’t been great lately.” You say honestly, only hesitating a moment before telling him the rest. “Also... Jeonghan set me up on this blind date. Which wouldn’t be a big deal, but I haven’t been on a date in forever.”

You’re not sure why it feels like you’re saying something absolutely heart wrenching. If you had to describe it, it’s almost like you’re admitting to cheating or something similar which is fucking insane since Josh isn’t your boyfriend—or real, for that matter.

There’s a shift in his kind eyes. A cold rage settles in the depths of his dark irises that makes you feel like you’re staring an evil creature in the face. Before you can ponder it, the expression is is gone so fast that you almost think you imagined it.

“You don’t have to go.” He finally says, and you wonder if he actually sounds like he’s pleading or if it’s just something your subconscious is hoping for.

A teasing smile stretches your lips. “Yeah? Should I just stay here with you, instead?”

Joshua wishes he could say yes. Stay with me and never leave my side again. The words are on the tip of his tongue, and even though he’s dying to say them, he knows he shouldn’t. In this lifetime and your previous one, he had to be patient when courting you. Clearly some things never changed.

“Don’t look so excited.” You joke when you see him hesitate.

His laugh is pretty and soft. You’re not sure why the sound comforts you in a way that almost feels familiar. As if that’s the one sound that could take away any horrible feeling you’ve ever experienced. The longer you listen to the dulcet sound, the more it makes your heart ache for a reason you can’t understand. It’s a type of yearning that feels deeper than the normalcy of seeing him every day.

“I wish you weren’t a dream.”

Joshua’s laughter dies down and the smile slips off his face at hearing your words. You almost regret saying them, but it’s too late to take them back. Not that you would since they’re the absolute truth. He knows you better than most of your friends do, and it’s hard not to feel this intense affection for him. The crazy part of it all is that you can literally feel how much he adores you too.

“Maybe you’re my dream.” Josh’s smile is full of longing and sadness.

Before you can respond, you’re abruptly pulled out of the dream by the blaring sound of a car horn. You startle awake, bleary vision belatedly registering that you’re now in the city. Minghao looks at you with wide eyes, a startled laugh slipping past his lips. “Are you okay?”

You nod wearily, taking a moment to shake of the intense emotions your dream had left you with. It’s clear that Minghao doesn’t fully believe you, but he doesn’t press the subject and keeps driving toward museum.

Being at the museum doesn’t help you as much as you hope. The artifacts and paintings are intriguing, but your irritating mind only keeps associating everything with Josh. He’s always talked like someone from another time so looking at ancient items and old paintings naturally makes you keep picturing his face.

“For someone who kept begging me to clear my schedule so we could come here, you don’t look very excited.”

You give Minghao a guilty look because you know how busy he is. “Sorry. I’m just kind of distracted.”

“And why is that?”

It’s not that you don’t trust Minghao. You do, but you can’t tell him that you’re infatuated with a man who shows up in your dreams.

“I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Your friend raises an eyebrow at you. As usual Minghao sees right through your half-truth. “You’ve been having nightmares?”

“Not exactly.” You say. The resolve to keep your secret quickly dissolved when Minghao gives you a look that somehow always compels you to do what he wants. “I can’t sleep because I keep dreaming of a guy.”

“A guy?” Minghao raises his eyebrows in a way that reminds you of Jeonghan.

“It’s not like that.” You say, skin heating up in embarrassment. “I don’t even think he’s real. He just keeps appearing in my dreams, and I feel crazy every time I think about him.”

Minghao doesn’t laugh or tell you you’re crazy. Instead he looks at you with a sharpened gaze that looks like it holds a certain amount of concern and something else you can’t discern. If his heart was capable of beating, his heart rate would’ve spiked at the information you told him.

You’re vague in your description (which was impressive because his gift is powerful enough to get people to admit to murder), but it’s enough to have his mind reeling. Is it possible that you’d fallen into the clutches of an incubus? Minghao isn’t overly fond of humans, but you’re different. He can’t let you become the prey of such a lascivious creature.

“I have some tea that’s good for sleeping." He says as normally as he can as you two walk along the museum. “When we get back to my place, I’ll give you some.”

You nod silently, not entirely sure if his teas will help with your lucid dreaming. Even if they did, it’s not like you want to stop seeing this imaginary man that makes you feel more loved than you ever had. But there’s a part of you that knows you can’t keep sleeping with the hopes of seeing Josh again.

The inner turmoil you’re feeling is interrupted when Minghao pulls you to the section he’d been dying to see from the beginning. His laughter immediately makes you come back down to earth. It’s not like your friend never laughs, but this one is full and louder than you’ve ever heard it. You’re not sure why he finds the painting of a duke so funny. Just as you’re about to question him, you see the painting and feel the world around you come to a stop.

It feels like your heart stopped beating and dropped down to your stomach. Your usually quiet mind is reeling, trying to fathom what you’re seeing. There’s no way.

The painting is of a man, but not just any man.

It’s Josh.

Your Josh.

You keep blinking as if another face will appear in the very old painting. If you felt crazy before, the feeling worsens the longer you stare at the oils that form the face you’ve come to memorize and love. The description of the painting says the man born in 1714 was a famous duke notorious for starting a rebellion against the crown.

“So this is the only painting of the Hong Jisoo?” Your friend cackles, but you’re not sure what’s so funny.

It’s good that he’s so distracted by whatever it is he finds so funny because you’re about two seconds away from breaking down. How is it possible that some duke from centuries ago was appearing in your dreams? Is it possible that you’d somehow seen his image before and projected it into your dreams? You don’t remember even reading about him, and it only makes you feel more crazy.

Back at Minghao’s luxury apartment, you can’t stop thinking about that stupid painting of Hong Jisoo. How is it possible for you to dream about a person that was alive centuries ago? It doesn’t make sense, and the more you think about it, the more freaked out you feel.

“Here.” Hao says as he hands you a warm mug of tea. “Drink it to see if it helps. I’ll give you some to take home if you like it.”

You thank him, really hoping this puts an end to your unhealthy dreams.

“It’s not working!” Josh growls angrily. “There’s something blocking me from seeing her. I’m sure of it.”

Soonyoung and Junhui roll their eyes. Josh has been complaining about not being able to transcend into his true love’s subconscious for the last three hours, and it’s starting to drive them insane. It’s not that they’re not sympathetic, but it was quite literally the only thing the older vampire could talk about. Not to mention the fact that after months of visiting his mate every day, he did nothing to figure out where she was—a total waste in their opinion.

Before Josh can keep repeating the same frustrated things he’s been griping about all morning, they hear the door open and the familiar sound of boots clacking against the marble floor.

“Minghao!” Soonyoung cries when the oldest of the coven walks into the living room. “Finally, you’re back! Jisoo hasn’t stopped whining about his mate since you left! You need to put a stop to him!”

Minghao sets down his suitcases with an exhausted sigh. “What’s going on?”

“He claims there’s a barrier preventing him from entering his mate’s subconscious.” Junhui explains, sending a skeptical look Joshua’s way. “Which is impossible because a mere human isn’t capable of blocking his gift.”

While that is true, there are certain things humans have done for centuries to ward off creatures of the night. However, it is strange that there’s a sudden block to his mate’s subconscious after being left vulnerable for so many months.

“Perhaps your mate has realized that you’re a nefarious creature and not just a figment of her imagination.” Minghao muses as he goes to sit at his usual place by the fire. “If that’s the case, she may have sought out a witch to block her psyche from unsavory visitors.”

The dark look Josh sends his way is amusing to the rest. Maybe it’s cruel to disregard the anguish his brother clearly feels, but being empathetic has never been one of Minghao’s character traits. Even so, some of the humanity he once had still lingers within him.

“However, if you truly wish to find her I can contact Jihoon—”

“No.” Josh snaps immediately. The growl in his voice is menacing as his eyes darken. “I’ll find her on my own.”

The silence that follows is tense until Soonyoung breaks it by insisting on seeing pictures from Minghao’s trip. As always, he obliges to the youngest’s request, tossing his phone over without taking his eyes off Josh.

“If that were possible you would have already found her.”

It’s a frustrating truth. He hadn’t been able to figure out anything that would help him find you because he didn’t want to scare you off. Now he regrets playing the part of a gentleman because it feels like he’s lost you all over again.

“Is this the human you’re always talking about?”

Usually, Josh doesn’t take any interest in humans aside from his meals, but the way Minghao’s sharp gaze switches to an almost fond one intrigues him enough to look at the screen Soonyoung is holding out toward them.

It’s like his heartbeat comes back to life when he sees a video of a beautiful girl staring at one of his old swords.

“Yes. That’s—”

“Y/N.”

Minghao looks at Josh in surprise. He’s incredulous, but it’s soon replaced by horror when he realizes why his brother is looking at the phone with a predatory gaze.

“You…” Minghao’s icy tone makes the younger ones still. They recognize the murderous intent behind that tone instantly. “You’re the one who’s been invading her dreams.”

Josh snarls at his oldest friend. “You’re the one responsible for the barrier.”

It’s like watching two animals raising their hackles at one another. Except both of them are capable of destroying each other and everything around them without caring.

Junhui is quick to step in, holding a firm hand to Minghao’s chest. “She’s his mate.”

It’s meant to make him see reason, but all it does is anger Minghao.

“A mate that he betrayed time and time again!” His words make them all flinch. “You’re the reason those hunters found her and burned her alive!”

Never has a silence so thick and tense surrounded them before. It’s a low blow to bring up Josh’s greatest pain in such a way, but Minghao is beyond seeing reason at this point.

“Both of you need to calm down.” Soonyoung says as he stands in the middle.

“Do you have feelings for her?” Josh demands, not understanding why the person who had helped him search for his mate’s reincarnation for centuries was suddenly acting this way.

“She’s a pure soul.” Minghao says, sounding a little defeated. “One that doesn’t deserve to become a monster like us.”

It’s tense and silent again, but this time the air feels different. All four of them knew how painful and awful it was to turn. Back then, they had been the unlucky ones to survive an attack when they were meant to be someone’s food. Minghao wouldn’t wish that on anyone, least of all you.

“Let her decide.” Soonyoung breaks the silence, being reasonable for the first time in a long time. He looks to Josh, gaze as serious as ever. “If you really love her, tell her the truth and let her decide what to do.”

Minghao has always been an enigma. He’s private to the point where you sometimes feel like you don’t know him at all. It’s why you’re so surprised when he invites you over to his main house which is basically synonymous with prohibited. He never invites anyone there, not even Jeonghan who’s known him longer than you have.

Your friend’s home is expectedly opulent and beautiful, but there’s also this ominous air surrounding it. Minghao remains silent as he leads you to the entrance. His somber attitude isn’t exactly uncharacteristic. He’s naturally quiet and serious, but right now he almost seems angry. You can tell his mind is far away, light years away even.

Before you can think to question him, he leads you to the living room and sits you down on one of the couches. His cold hands don’t move from your shoulders even after you’re seated. You look up at him in curiosity because he seems to be contemplating something.

“Don’t be angry with me.” His tone is softer than you’ve ever heard it, and you have to wonder what he’s done for him to plead with you like this. (Xu Minghao does not beg.)

Hands fall from your shoulders as Minghao side steps out of the way. Everything goes in slow motion from then on. He’s stepped out of the way to reveal a man who you recognize very well. Your heart jumps and starts to beat erratically as you take in his ethereal features.

What’s happening feels like a more intense version of what happened at the museum. Minghao’s friend(?) looks exactly like Josh. He even looks at you like Josh does.

“Y/N.”

The organ in your chest throbs at the sound because it’s so soft and pretty, just like it is in your dreams. He sounds so similar to Josh that you feel insane for wanting to run into this man’s arms like you always do with Josh in your dreams.

Your mind is a beat behind, and it’s only after this stranger called your name that you realize Minghao had apologized to you before he appeared. When you look over to your friend, he’s observing you carefully in a way you can’t understand.

“What’s going on? What is this?” You ask, feeling like you’ve been set up.

There’s a thick silence, and just when you contemplate on getting up to leave, the unknown guy falls to his knees in front of you.

“Please forgive me.”

Your eyes practically pop out of your head at the unsolicited apology. “I– What?”

The silence is uncomfortable, and you can only look back to Minghao for an explanation.

“You’ve seen Jisoo before—in your dreams.” Minghao says slowly as if it pains him to tell you.

Jisoo?

“When you told me that a man kept reappearing in your dreams, I thought you were being preyed on by an incubus.” Minghao chuckles bitterly. “But I was a fool not to see that the truth was much worse.”

“Incubus?” You whisper incredulously. “You mean those demons that fuck people while they’re asleep?”

Neither men react to your crude words. They’re looking at you solemnly as if Minghao didn’t just say something completely insane. None of it makes sense nor does it provide you with the explanation you demanded.

“You can’t be serious! Incubuses—“

“Incubi.” Minghao corrects you. He regrets it as soon as he sees the dark look on your face.

“—don’t exist.” You finish through gritted teeth.

“They’re not the only demons running rampant on this earth.” Minghao says as he shares a look with the man who is still kneeling in front of you. “Just look at the monster in front of you and you’ll know what I’m saying is true.”

This Jisoo guy looks nothing like a monster. Not even as he’s giving your friend the most withering glare you’ve ever seen.

“Don’t give me that look. I brought her here so she can know the truth.”

At this point, you don’t know if they’re friends or enemies with the way they’re glowering at each other. And you still don’t know what truth they’re talking about, either.

“Jisoo has been trying to find you for centuries.” Minghao finally says, eyes softening just the tiniest bit when he looks back at you.

You don’t say anything because it all sounds like some crazy lie. Minghao isn’t the type to pull pranks, but there’s no other logical explanation for what’s happening. And yet, it also isn’t possible that he could know what the man from your dreams looked like and somehow find someone who looks exactly like him for his prank.

“We’re vampires.” Jisoo says, voice soft and comforting. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.”

“Prove it.”

Your words come out before you can stop them. It’s not what you meant to say (not right away, anyway), but you don’t try to backtrack. On the off chance that they’re not pulling some elaborate prank, you need to know that you’re not crazy for kind of believing what they’re saying.

Minghao and Jisoo are looking at you with wide eyes, but the challenging look on your face doesn’t waver. They both know you enough to realize you aren’t going to believe them until they prove that they’re not lying.

Jisoo grins, but it seems bitter in a way. “Okay. Just… don’t be scared.”

You raise an eyebrow when his smile stretches further. It’s not until you see four of his teeth elongating into literal fangs that you feel your pulse start to race. His eyes have darkened into an inhuman shade of black that reminds you of a demon. Now you understood what Minghao meant when he called Jisoo a monster.

But that also means…

In a panic, you look to your friend. Much to your horror, he too is bearing those monstrous characteristics now. Dark eyes and fangs that make them look like the monsters they claim to be. It feels like you’re in one of your lucid dreams, and in the back of your mind you hope that’s what this is.

“Did you bring me here to kill me?” You’re surprised that your voice comes out as calm as it does, and even though you’re terrified, you can’t react how you know you should be.

“We would never hurt you.” Jisoo says, features slowly reverting back to normal. “No matter what, I won’t let anyone or anything bring you harm.”

It’s crazy that he’s promising you this with what feels like genuine sincerity, and it’s even crazier that it makes your chest warm with affection. You press your lips together, trying to make sense of how any of this is actually possible.

“You’re the reincarnation of Jisoo’s true love.” Minghao breaks the heavy silence. “He’s been searching for your soul since your untimely death.”

“That’s why you came into my dreams.” You whisper, not sure how to feel about this alleged truth.

“Yes.” Jisoo says, voice soft as ever. “I called myself Josh since it’s a modern name. You can still call me that if you wish.”

You stay silent, trying to deal with the onslaught of emotions you’re feeling without revealing any on your face. It’s hard, but you manage as you look back at your friend. “And you knew about this the entire time?”

“I didn’t know he’d been invading your dreams.” Minghao says honestly. “If I had—”

Minghao cuts his sentence short, and you can tell he’s trying his best to keep his emotions in check. It’s clear that he doesn’t like the idea of you being the reincarnation of Josh’s true love. You don’t understand why he brought you to meet him if that’s the case.

“Minghao.” Josh’s tone takes a threatening tone that you never thought him capable of emitting.

“Tell her.” Minghao says, clearly unfazed by Joshua’s sudden malicious attitude. “She has a right to know the truth before you think you can spend the rest of eternity with her.”

It’s silent for a moment before you see Josh’s shoulders slump. He looks slightly defeated and nervous. Seeing him in distress makes you uncomfortable, and you have to wonder if these are your actual feelings or something beyond your control.

“I first met you five years after I was first turned.” He starts, eyes begging for understanding. “You were running from a clan of demons who murdered your coven.”

The air is tense. You can feel your heart start to throb with hurt that you can’t place. A familiar burning sensation starts to poke at the back of your eyes, but you can’t understand why. “You saved me?”

Minghao clears his throat, eyes threatening.

“Unwillingly.” He admits, head hanging a little lower. “I was content in my solitude, and helping a witch didn’t sound appealing to me.”

“He also didn’t want to help a witch that belonged to the coven he helped exterminate.”

Minghao’s blunt statement makes your blood run cold. There’s a strange feeling that manifests itself in your chest. It’s an odd mixture of resentment, anger, and heartbreak. The feelings are familiar yet foreign. You feel the tears fall from your eyes before you can even think to hold them back. It’s all new information, but something in your bones recognizes the hurt and devastation.

“You killed my family.” The words aren’t yours, but in a strange way it feels like they are. “You almost killed me.”

“It was before I fell in love with you.” Josh sounds defeated. “Back then I was only concerned with my own survival, and I was a fool to let it get in the way of my love for you.”

Again, the air becomes tense. It makes Minghao almost regret doing this, but you ultimately have to know the truth. All of it.

“Tell her how you got her killed.”

More tears keep spilling from your eyes, and you can’t fathom the fact that they don’t feel like yours. A gentle hand wipes them away. Through blurry vision you can see Josh looking pained as he gently cradles your face in his large hand.

“I refused to go into hiding after the humans started to become more wary of our existence. Because of that, you and I were attacked by a group of hunters.” Josh feels a pain he hasn’t in centuries just talking about this to you of all people. “You protected me with your magic. I don’t know why you saved a wicked creature like me instead of yourself, but I really wish you hadn’t.”

The tears have stopped now, but Josh’s thumb is still gently caressing your face. His touch is cold yet comforting. You let out a shaky sigh, not sure what to do with all the information you’ve been given.

“This is why Minghao feels that I don’t deserve you, and maybe he’s right. But I’ve always been a selfish creature which is why I can’t give you up. Not in this lifetime or any other.”

Josh says it tenderly, but somehow you feel like you’ve become his prey.

Sometimes you wonder if letting Josh get so close to you is a mistake. Minghao seems to think it is even if he doesn’t tell you outright. Still, at least he’s supportive of your decision (as much as he can be, anyway). In spite of the fact that you now know the man of your dreams is a dangerous predator, you don’t feel unsafe when you’re with him. There’s also the fact that you can literally see the love he has for you every time you look at him.

Giving into him is the easiest thing you’ve ever done. It feels natural and right, especially since he’s so sweet to you. You feel yourself fall harder every time you’re with him. He knows you better than anyone and treats you like you’re his everything.

Your relationship feels completely surreal and fast paced, but in an odd way it also feels like it’s not fast enough. The feeling has something to do with your past life you’re sure. After all, Josh had been waiting centuries for you to reincarnate.

He must’ve been so lonely.

You suck in a quiet breath as the thought comes to you, one that feels like it came from deep in your subconscious and is not entirely yours. Josh’s eyes snap open at the sound. He’s looking straight at you from where he has his head in your lap.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

Unlike Minghao, Josh doesn’t have the power of coercion, but you’re still unable to lie to him. (Unwilling is a better term, but, details.)

“Did you really not have another lover after I died?” Your question isn’t accusatory, and part of you hopes he says yes. “Like you never even hooked up with someone else in three centuries?”

Josh’s airy laughter makes your chest warm. He brings your intertwined hands to his lips, placing a tender kiss on the back of yours. “If you do not believe me, I shall bring Minghao and have him use his gift on me.”

He’s teasing you, but you also know he’s dead serious. It shouldn’t thrill you so much that he’s willing to do just about anything for you—even subject himself to Minghao who still harbors a bit of a grudge towards him.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, I just…” You let out a quiet sigh. “You must’ve been really lonely.”

The way you look heartbroken and guilty isn’t satisfying, but it is alleviating somehow. You truly haven’t changed. The beautiful, kind soul he fell in love with remains intact, and he can’t be more grateful for that.

“At first I was. Then I met Minghao and joined his coven. They made it more bearable.”

You bring the hand that’s not attached to Josh’s to his head and run a gentle hand through his hair. “It must’ve been hard.”

Josh only offers you a hum. He can’t deny that it was, but he also doesn’t want to keep making you feel bad with all the details. That would have to be for another time.

“How many dreams did you invade before you finally found me?” You suddenly ask, wondering just how many psyches he had to go through over the course of 300 years.

“None.” His smile is a little bitter. “I’m not a incubus, so I can only enter your subconscious.”

The confused look on your face makes him let out a quiet laugh. It’s so innocent that it’s hilarious. Especially because you don’t remember that the restriction to his gift was your doing.

“Every time I tried to use my gift, I couldn’t. That’s how I knew you hadn’t been reincarnated yet. As soon as you were born I was able to tell, but I still couldn’t get into your psyche until you were ready to let me in—this is all curtesy of you, of course.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” He laughs. “Because I can’t dream, you bestowed this gift on me so I would be able to experience a dreamlike state again. Since you didn’t want the bloodthirsty heathen that I was back then to invade the minds of unsuspecting humans, you put all these limitations on my gift.”

His laugh is cute as he reminisces. It makes you smile too until you think of something.

The other day, Josh had mentioned he used to feed off of you in his past life because it tasted different and apparently it was like a kink for both of you. It freaked you out at first, but lately you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Honestly, the more the image plagued your mind, the harder it was not to feel turned on by it. You wonder if it would hurt and if you would like the hurt.

“Do you want to feed on me?”

If Josh’s heart was capable of beating, he has no doubt it would’ve been harshly pounding against his rib cage. He slowly gets up, feeling his cock throb and his throat itch.

“Darling—”

“You’ve never done it, and I was wondering if it was something you want to do.”

Of course he wanted to do it. Your scent is mouthwatering, and he just knows you taste divine. Up until now he hadn’t brought it up because he didn’t want you to think that’s all he wanted. All you two have done this past month is share some kisses, and that was perfectly fine. If that’s all you were willing to give him he’s gladly take it so long as you let him be part of your life.

Josh swallows thickly as he contemplates his answer. While it sort of sounds like you’re offering, he can’t assume anything. Plus he doesn’t want to seem like the monster Minghao told you he is.

When you see him hesitate, you make a decision that really isn’t all that hard for you. With an enticing smile, you tilt your head the slightest bit and offer your neck to him. “Bite me.”

In a split second, Josh pulls you on his lap so you’re straddling him. You gasp quietly when he sits you directly on his hardening cock. His eyes are dark like on the day he revealed himself to you. In the back of your mind, you know this is a dangerous game you’re playing, but you don’t feel one shred of regret or fear.

“I’ll be gentle.” He promises, voice breathy and needy.

Josh trails gentle kisses up and down your neck with patience that you find impressive. His fangs tease the tender skin as he opens his mouth slightly, and it’s almost like you can feel it throb in anticipation. With one last sweet kiss, Joshua sinks his teeth into your skin until you can feel a stabbing pain.

You gasp out a moan at the feeling. The pain lasts a second before you feel it rapidly fade. It’s replaced by images that invade the forefront of your mind. Memories that you don’t remember rush forward as if they were aching to be freed from the depths of your mind. There’s so many, and in spite of the fact that they pass through your mind quickly, you see every one of them.

When you come back down to reality, Josh is still drinking from you. He groans into your skin, reluctantly pulling away and licking the puncture wound he’s left behind. Josh continues to press kisses along your skin and whispered praises that you can’t help but melt into him.

“Jisoo.” You breathe out softly.

Joshua freezes when he hears what you’ve called him. He pulls back, eyes wide as he takes in the way you’re looking at him. Your gaze has always been full of affection, but now it’s full of ardent love that reminds him of the way you looked at him all those centuries ago.

“I’ve missed you.”

“Y/N…” Josh sounds breathless as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“I’m sorry it took me this long to remember.” You murmur as your bring a hand up to caress his cool cheek. “But I guess it’s only fair since you left me first.”

“It’s my biggest regret.” Josh says honestly, grip tightening on you.

You hum, trailing your thumb over his lips. He opens his mouth the slightest bit so you can touch his fangs just like you used to do once upon a time. Goosebumps cover your skin at the familiarity of it all. The feelings in your chest deepen impossibly as you replay all the memories that slowly keep coming to mind. You thought it would be impossible to love Josh any more than you already did, but once again you were proven wrong.

You let out a shocked squeak when he pulls you closer to him. His face is shoved into the side of your neck that he didn’t bite, breathing in your addicting scent. “I was so afraid that you wouldn’t remember.”

“If you wouldn’t have been such a gentleman and bitten me sooner it wouldn’t have taken me so long.” You laugh, hugging him tighter.

The two of you stay like that until you shift and realize you’re still sitting on his hard cock. In a flash, the hot memory of Josh ravishing you back then goes straight to your cunt. You lick your lips and decide that you both have been waiting long enough to be with each other again.

“I’m impressed you kept your chastity just for me.” You purr into his ear, gently grinding down on his cock. “Such a loyal lover until the end.”

Josh doesn’t hesitate to take you to bed, cock aching to be inside you once again. He’s gentle when he finally gets you naked, eyes full of desire and love. “So fucking pretty.”

A breathy moan escapes you when his cold hands start to caress your body. His lips trails your neck, gently teasing you with his sharp teeth. Your skin heats up at the attention, and you feel like your floating by the time Josh gets his dick out to finally give you what you’ve been wanting.

“I missed you so much.” He groans as his throbbing cock slowly eases past your wet folds.

You moan along with him, hands finding his to lace your fingers together. “Missed you too, my love.”

Josh’s cock twitches inside you when he hears the pet name come out of your pretty little mouth. His leaking tip brushes against your cervix as your legs wrap around his hips. His pace is slow at first, trying to savor the feeling of your hot, tight cunt wrapped around him. He buries his face into your neck, licking and biting at the skin as his thrusts start to get tougher and deeper.

Your moaning is loud, and you’re amazed that he still knows which angels to hit after so much time. It’s like you’re seeing stars when Josh gently bites at your skin. He does it teasingly until you’re begging him to bite you again.

“Stop teasing.” You whine wantonly, hips bucking up to meet his thrusts.

His chuckle is low and has your pussy clamping down on his cock, drenching it in your arousal. You can’t remember the last time you were so turned on. It hasn’t been long, but it already feels like you’re about to come.

“Seeing you fall apart like this is my favorite thing.” You can feel his sinister smirk against your neck. “It’s been too long since I last saw it.”

Josh lets go of one of your hands to bring a thumb to your clit. He starts to rub slow circles on the sensitive nub as his thrusts grow more ravenous. You cry out in pleasure when his thick cock hits your sweet spot roughly. Your back arches in pleasure as you feel your juices start to coat his heavy balls.

“Never letting you go again.” Joshua growls lowly, more to himself than you. “All mine.”

With his possessive declaration, he sinks his fangs into your neck for a second time. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you violently come all over his big cock.

“Fuck!” You cry out, hips moving against his arms he continues to fuck you through your high.

He’s licking at your open would now, sharp thrusts angled just right to have you on the cusp of another orgasm. Joshua pulls back, pink lips painted scarlet with your blood. He looks ravenous, and you think you might actually come again from how hot he looks.

“That’s it, darling.” Josh sounds insatiable. “Cream all over me.”

It’s not long before the sight of you completely fucked out triggers his own orgasm. Thick ropes of cum shoot inside your pulsing walls, painting them white with his seed. His moans are as pretty as you remember, and they mix in with your perfectly as he fucks his cum deeper inside you.

“Fuck me again.” You pant out, still longing for the second orgasm he was coaxing out of you.

Josh’s smirks as he flips you over on your front. “Still as insatiable as ever, darling.”

You look back at him with a laugh. “Like you’re any better. So hurry and fill me up again.”

You’ll never get sick of the feeling of his cold skin on yours as he grips your ass. Josh’s large hands rub and squeeze before you feel his throbbing cock tease your messy cunt. You let out a needy whine, tilting your hips up more to offer yourself to him.

“Such a needy little thing.” Joshua murmurs in that mean but sweet tone only he was capable of having.

“Only for you, my love.” You mewl, pussy throbbing at the thought of him splitting you open again.

As is his style, Josh slowly pushes his fat cock into your hot cunt, making you feel every inch of him. Then, in a split second he shoves the rest in like he can’t wait to be inside you any longer. The jolt of pleasure and slight sting of the stretch was enough to tip you over the edge for a second time.

You muffle your cry of pleasure in the sheets, fingers clinging to the soft cotton as your pussy clenches down on Josh’s cock, making him feel even bigger inside you. He groans from behind you, loving how your juices coat his cock as if you’re claiming it as yours.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Can you do that for me one more time?”

It’s more of a rhetorical question because in the next second his fingers are digging into your hips as he pulls his cock all the way out before shoving it back into your needy pussy with a sharp thrust. You can feel your body tremble as your pussy grips his cock like a vise.

“So fucking tight.” He groans, voice dripping with lust.

“Fuck me!” You moan, pushing back on his cock with insatiable need.

At your desperate demand, Josh sera a brutal pace. He fuck you hard and rough, leaking tip hitting your sweet spot over and over again until all he can hear is lewd squelching and skin slapping. His hips slam against your ass, obsessed with the way your sweet crema coats his cock. You cry out his name as his heavy balls slap against your throbbing clit.

Josh is pounding you into the mattress, cock splitting you open deliciously. You’re so addicted to the feeling that you can’t help but spur him on. “Don’t stop!”

You cry out in ecstasy when he does exactly as you ask. He pounds his cock against the spot inside you that has you seeing stars. Your fingers grips the sheets as you bounce your ass back to meet his thrusts desperately.

“You’re close again, right, baby?” Josh’s voice is teasing. He doesn’t need to ask, though. He knows you are because he knows your body.

You’re moaning and shaking with overwhelming pleasure. All you can do is nod as you bring your hand down between your bodies to rub your aching clit. With all the stimulation from your fingers and his cock, you fall over the edge once again. Your body tenses as you moan out Josh’s name with ecstasy. The excess of your orgasm drips down Josh’s cock, staining it and marking it as yours.

With one last thrust, he shoots his hot cum inside you, moaning your name like a mantra. He sloppily fuck it back into you before pulling you flush against his chest. You two collapse back on the bed with Josh holding you closely as if he thinks you might disappear.

Slowly, you turn around with his cock still inside you. Joshua’s eyes are sparkling as he looks at you. “How are you feeling?”

“Amazing.” You breathe out blissfully. “And not just because you’ve stuffed me full.”

His cock twitches inside of you, and you can’t help but let out an endeared laugh. Your chest is warm as he hugs you closer to him, lips gently skimming over your puncture wound.

“Jisoo.”

He hums against your neck, pulling back to look you in the eyes.

“I was so afraid when I first died.” You confess, feeling him tense. You’re quick to pull him closer and caress his cheek. “Afraid that I’d be reborn and you wouldn’t be there when I was.”

Josh swallows thickly and comes to cup the hand that’s still brushing over his cheek. “I’ll never leave you alone again.”

“I know. Once you turn me, we’ll have the rest of eternity together.”

It all feels too good to be true, but you know that this is reality and not just another one of your sweet dreams.

taglist: @duolingofanaccount @felix-3002 @junhui-recs @asjkdk @dani41 @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @ohwonwoo

#joshua hong smut #svt smut #svthub #joshua hong x reader #svt x reader #seventeen smut #josh smut #josh x reader #svt imagines #joshua hong imagines #seventeen imagines

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alwaysmicado · 17 days

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Sink or swim

12.3k | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 8

WARNINGS: 18+, no outbreak AU, implied age gap, emotional hurt/comfort, flashbacks (toxic relationship, bad mental health), mention of miscarriage & surgery, smut (nothing too graphic), Tommy Miller x f!reader SUMMARY: You reminisce about the late-night conversation that changed your life forever. Joel shares a secret. A/N: Guys, it’s finally here!! This part was hard for me to write, but I’m beyond happy with how it turned out. We learn so much about reader’s past and her relationship with Tommy, and I can’t tell you how excited I am to share it with you. Have fun reading (even though it’s a bit sad) and please let me know what you think! I wanna know all your thoughts!! 🤍 Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics.

series masterlist | main masterlist

The ocean stretches before you like a vast expanse of liquid silk, its rhythmic waves kissing the shore with a gentle insistence. The sun, now in its descent towards the horizon, casts a warm glow, painting the water and sand in hues of amber and gold.

You’re perched on a weathered bench, sneakers softly tapping against the sand, lost in thought as you watch the waves roll in.

Dressed in yoga shorts and an oversized t-shirt, with an ice cream cone in hand and sunglasses shielding your eyes from the brilliant rays of the setting sun, you blend seamlessly into the serene scene before you.

You appear inconspicuous, just another person soaking up the sun and breathing in the fresh air. No one can see the anguish gnawing at your heart, the tumult in your head, or the pain in your hand that makes you want to scream.

No, no, you look far too calm for that, too composed, too happy.

Besides, what would someone like you possibly have to feel bad about? Seriously. You just love to wallow in your own sadness, don’t you? You haven’t changed at all. You’re still your insecure, annoying, unlovable self. God, even your inner voice is irritating. Do you hear how pathetic you sound? Of course he wouldn’t lov–

Shut up.

You focus on the waves as they dance and sway, their melodic rhythm a soothing balm to the cruel thoughts echoing relentlessly in your mind.

The ocean’s song, a symphony of calming whispers and gentle sighs you’ve loved ever since you were a little girl, envelops you in its embrace, drawing you deeper into a state of quiet reflection. The cool breeze dancing through the air brushes against your sun-kissed skin, carrying with it the salty scent of the ocean and the promise of new beginnings.

With a gentle tilt of your head, you take another lick of the strawberry soft serve you bought at the ice cream stand near the boardwalk, feeling the familiar comfort of the cool creaminess dance across your taste buds. It’s been a few months since you last indulged in this particular treat, sharing it with Joel after a rough day at work.

As the cold sweetness melts on your tongue, bittersweet memories of that afternoon flood back with vivid clarity. You can almost hear Joel’s infectious laughter as you scarfed down the icy treat a little too eagerly, his eyes crinkling with amusement at your inevitable brain freeze. But it wasn’t just the shared laughter and playful banter that made this memory so special.

It was Joel’s genuine interest in hearing about your day, about you, his calming presence grounding you and making you momentarily forget all your troubles. He provided you with a warmth that seeped into your bones, a connection that felt effortless yet profound. Like it could be more.

Reflecting on it now, perhaps that should have been a hint that things were more serious than you wanted to admit right from the beginning. Oh well, dwelling on it is futile now. Because you did finally admit it, didn’t you? And not only that, you basically shouted your feelings from the rooftops last night, laying your soul bare.

Fucking embarrassing.

How are you supposed to come back from that? How are you supposed to ever look into Joel’s eyes again?

There’s a reason why you stopped psychotherapy after a few months, there’s a reason why you don’t have any close friends beside Tommy, there’s a reason why your dating life has consisted of a series of superficial hookups over the past couple of years.

“Fear of intimacy,” your therapist called it. “A response to sustained trauma.”

You walked out of that session and, fueled by defiance, decided to fuck the first guy who caught your eye, just to prove to yourself, and to your therapist, that you were very well capable of intimacy.

Lying in bed that night, lonely and empty, you couldn’t shake the truth of her words. You hated her guts for forcing you to confront your inner demons, but she did have a point in everything she said.

It’s an uncomfortable truth.

There’s nothing in the world you fear more than people knowing what’s going on inside your head, knowing what you feel, knowing your vulnerabilities and weaknesses—knowing the real you.

And last night, that fear came true.

Your innermost thoughts and feelings were on display for Joel to see, leaving you exposed and raw. The memory of your outburst, of his shocked face, weighs heavily on your mind and heart, filling you with a deep sense of shame and regret.

For a moment in that bathroom, you felt yourself transported back to all the times you’d scream at Simon for whatever he did to fuck with your feelings that day, just for him to laugh in your face or call you manipulative when you’d inevitably start crying tears of hurt and frustration.

Does Joel see you differently now, knowing the depths of your insecurities? Will he even want to look you in the eye after witnessing what the real you is like? Have you lost your chance with him, and, did you ever even have one?

You sigh deeply and lick around the top of the ice cream cone to catch the drops threatening to run down, humming at the deliciousness.

You haven’t eaten anything else today, too nauseous from your meds and the knot in the pit of your stomach to find food appetizing. You haven’t slept for more than two consecutive hours, too agitated to find any real peace. You also couldn’t stay home this morning, as your apartment suddenly felt like a cage threatening to suffocate you.

Instead, you’ve spent your day off window shopping, aimlessly wandering from one coffee shop to another, your hands now jittery from too much caffeine on an empty stomach. You’ve ambled down the boardwalk, taking in the sights and sounds surrounding you, before finding yourself drawn to the familiar comfort of the ocean.

From the corner of your eye, you catch the display on your phone lighting up with Joel’s name, the device resting on the bench beside you alongside your bag.

You know you’ll have to take his calls and talk to him like an adult at some point. And you will. But this moment, this moment right here, belongs to you and your thoughts alone.

And to the hermit crab making its way through the sand just a few feet away from you. Your lips curl into a smile as you watch the determined little creature, impressed by its resilience in such an unforgiving world. Maybe you would’ve been happier if you’d been born as a hermit crab. Who knows.

As you swallow the last bit of your cone and lean back, feeling the sun’s gentle warmth on your skin, you can’t help but think of the first time you found yourself on this bench, watching the sunset. It feels like that was an entire lifetime ago, and yet, you vividly remember the overwhelming exhaustion that weighed you down, the sense of loneliness that engulfed you—how utterly lost you felt.

You allow your thoughts to drift, captivated by the soothing cadence of the waves lapping against the shore.

Three years earlier

The sun is down.

Staring into the void, you’re consumed by solitude, the cool breeze coming from the water a thin barrier against the weight pressing on your shoulders. The world seems distant, the murmur of the ocean a mere backdrop to the thoughts swirling in your troubled mind and the beat of your empty heart.

This is it. This is where you were always supposed to be.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, quietly drifting through the corners of your memory. With each passing moment, you meticulously comb through the fragments of the past few months. They offer no solace, only a stark reminder of how you reached this point.

In the stillness of the evening, you find a strange sense of calm, a numbness that dulls the edges of your emotions. Tears refuse to come, leaving only the echo of relief at the resolution of it all.

You open your eyes again, fixating on the endless mirror of the sky before you. The ocean has always held a special place in your heart. The salty tang in the air, the rhythmic melody of the waves, the laughter of birds mingling with the gentle lull of the breeze—everything.

You dig your naked toes into the sand, relishing the connection to the earth beneath you. The sensation is grounding, peaceful, almost–

“Hey there, sweetheart. Is everything okay?”

A man’s voice, rugged yet gentle, breaks through the silence, interrupting your thoughts. His words dance in the air, pulling you reluctantly back to the present.

Are you kidding me?

With a slow and deliberate movement, you lift your gaze from the horizon, meeting the eyes of the stranger who has disrupted the sanctuary of your thoughts. You rest your elbows on your knees and sigh deeply.

“Oh my fucking god,” you murmur, rubbing your temples in annoyance and disbelief. “The sun’s been down for two minutes, and the first creep’s already here.”

“Wha–”

You look up at him. “Do you have like a radar or something where you get a notification every time a woman sits alone on a bench somewhere?”

The dark-haired man blinks in surprise, his expression caught between confusion and amusement. His brow furrows, his mouth slightly agape as he processes your words. After a moment of absorbing your outlandish accusation, his lips curve into a wry smile.

“Darlin’, I’m just–”

“Look, dude. If you’re here to murder me, could you at least spare me the whole blah blah you’ve got planned and just do it? Thank you.”

You look at him with a raised eyebrow, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He’s not entirely sure if you’re joking, but your sarcastic tone tells him you’re at least not scared of him.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I assure you I got no such plans. Just thought I’d check in on a fellow soul contemplating the mysteries of the universe.”

You roll your eyes, unimpressed by his attempt at humor. “Yeah, well, I prefer to contemplate in peace.”

When he doesn’t budge and just…stares at you with those big, dark eyes of his, you take a moment to size him up.

Your gaze drifts down from his eyes, tracing the contours of his muscular chest visible beneath a fitted white t-shirt. It lingers briefly on the obnoxiously large belt buckle adorning his waist, then travels down the length of his denim-clad legs to his cowboy boots. Despite the surreal encounter, you can’t help but notice how incredibly attractive he is.

God, what’s wrong with you?

“Look, sweetheart,” he says calmly, his voice a blend of warmth and reassurance. “I’m not trying to get into your business or anything, but it’s gonna get pretty chilly out here soon.” He tilts his head and studies your face. “Do you have somewhere to stay?” he asks. “We could go grab a bite to eat if you want, and my place is right arou–”

“How subtle,” you scoff, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “I’m not going home with you, dude.”

“Fair enough, but at least let me call you a cab and wait with you until it arrives, hm?”

His soft voice and patronizing tone are starting to grate on your already frayed nerves. You’ve been sitting here, not taking up any space, minding your own fucking business, and even that wasn’t good enough, apparently.

Okay, world. Hint taken.

“What the hell is your problem?” you blurt out.

“What do you mean? I’m just–I’m trying to help you.”

“Why?” The question bursts from your lips like a dam breaking under pressure, laced with frustration. “Do you see me holding up a sign where I’m asking for your help? Huh? Or is this more about you and some, I dunno, bullshit white knight fantasy you’re acting out?”

Your eyes narrow, fixing on him with a challenging glare, daring him to justify his intrusion into your solitude.

“No,” he responds calmly, his furrowed brow adding gravity to his words. “It’s because I’ve seen enough shit in my life to recognize when someone’s in need.”

The sincerity in his gaze catches you off guard, rendering you momentarily speechless. It’s as if this…stranger is peering into the depths of your soul, seeing past the walls you’ve erected to protect yourself.

His face softens, the lines around his eyes relaxing as he meets yours. “Mind if I take a seat?”

You shrug indifferently, though a flicker of curiosity dances behind your eyes. “Suit yourself.”

He smiles warmly as he settles beside you. “I’m Tommy, by the way,” he offers, extending a hand. You hesitate for a moment, but eventually, you decide to reciprocate by telling him your name and shaking his hand with a soft sigh.

As his hand envelops yours, there’s a brief surge of something unspoken deep inside you, a connection allowing two disparate souls to briefly intertwine before returning to their separate paths again as soon as he lets go.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, darlin’,” he says with a twinkle in his eye, his mustache curling slightly as he smiles at you.

The faint scent of his cologne drifts towards you, mixing with the salty aroma of the sea air. As you gaze at him, your eyes trace the lines etched around his eyes and mouth, evidence of a life fully lived. Strangely, there’s something comforting about his presence, something that makes you feel a little less alone.

You give him a subtle smile before turning your head back towards the ocean, mesmerized by the rhythmic crashing of the waves against the shore.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy watches you silently, noticing the vacant look in your eyes and the way your gaze seems to be fixed on some distant point beyond the horizon. He furrows his brow slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his features as he contemplates how lost you appear in that moment.

“What are you doing out here, sweetheart?” Tommy’s voice breaks the silence, his tone casual yet curious, as if striking up conversations with strange women on the beach is a regular occurrence for him.

Well, it probably is, you think to yourself.

“I, uh, wanted to watch the sunset,” you answer softly.

“Hm. It’s amazing, isn’t it? Should’ve been here and seen it too instead of wasting my time at that damn bar.”

“Oh? How did you waste your time? Can’t have been that bad, judging by the lipstick stains on your face,” you murmur.

“What? Where?” Tommy blurts out, his eyes widening in surprise as he hastily rubs at his lips and cheeks, searching for any traces of lipstick on his fingers.

You stifle a laugh. “I’m just fucking with you,” you deadpan, shooting him a quick glance.

He stares at you in mock offense for a moment before his lips curl into a wide grin. “Touché,” he says, thoroughly entertained by your dry humor. “But yeah, things didn’t go the way I would’ve liked them to.”

“What, she didn’t wanna go home with you either?”

“Very funny. But no, things were going well.” He sighs dramatically and rubs his forehead. “But then her husband showed up and kinda threw a giant monkey wrench into our plans.”

“Wow, tough break,” you scoff, shaking your head in mock sympathy, “not getting to fuck a married woman. I hate it when that happens.”

Tommy chuckles. “Alright, alright, I didn’t know she was married, for the record. She wasn’t wearing a ring or anything.”

“Sure,” you say, your tone dripping with sarcasm as you cast a skeptical glance in his direction.

“What are you up to, then, darlin’? Hm?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Besides not making out with married women?” You hear Tommy’s laugh beside you and wiggle your toes in the sand. “Just enjoying the ocean, I guess. I’ve missed it.”

“You’re not from here?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m not.”

“Hm. You’re gonna love it. There’s lots of cool things to see and do, especially for young people like you.”

You furrow your brow. “Why are you talking like you’re ninety years old and I’m your estranged grandkid?”

“I dunno,” he sighs, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I guess…turning forty did something to me.”

“Married women apparently still throw themselves at you. You’re gonna be fine.”

He chuckles, a deep, resonant sound that seems to echo across the beach. “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.”

You’re both quiet for a moment, punctuated by the gentle sound of the ocean and the occasional cry of seagulls wheeling overhead.

“What brings you here, then?” Tommy asks, observing your profile. You look tired.

“I told you, watching the sunset.”

“No, I mean what brings you into town? Vacation or family or something?”

You turn to look at him, tilting your head slightly as you study his expression. “Why do you care?”

“Just making conversation,” he says with a smile, a glint of genuine curiosity shining in his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me. We can talk about something else if you want.”

“Like what?”

“Like did you know it’s illegal to own just one guinea pig in Switzerland?”

Your bewildered look amuses him.

“It’s true. You’re required, by law, to get your guinea pig a little guinea pig friend. They won’t sell you just one. Isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever heard?”

You stare at him, shaking your head slowly. “What kind of women do you pull if this is how you flirt?”

Tommy raises an eyebrow. “Who says I’m flirting?”

“Uh-huh,” you say with a smirk, then turn your head back towards the water. “But what if they want to be alone?”

“Hm?”

“What if you get a guinea pig in Switzerland and you have to buy a second one to keep it company but the first guinea pig actually just wants to be alone on a bench and then some other guinea pig with a mustache shows up and asks weird questions? What then?”

“Well,” Tommy starts, happy that you’re seemingly warming up a bit. “I think the first guinea pig would quickly realize that the other, dashingly handsome guinea pig isn’t that bad and just wants to be friends. And then they’d be friends and run around together and eat hay or whatever.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, and you know, I think us humans aren’t that different from them. I don’t think we’re meant to be alone either.”

You look at him. “Is that why you came to talk to me? Because you don’t want me to be alone?”

“Would that be so bad?”

“I guess not,” you murmur softly, your gaze drifting to the patch of dry skin on the back of your right hand. “And I’m, uh, not here for any special reason. I just…needed a break from home, I suppose.”

“And you have a place to stay, darlin’?” Tommy’s voice carries a gentle concern as he leans slightly closer, trying to see your eyes.

“Yeah, I booked a hotel room a few minutes from here,” you lie smoothly. “With sea-view and everything. Just haven’t checked in yet.”

“Where did you put all your stuff?”

“My stuff?”

“Yeah, your clothes and teddy bears and whatnot.”

You nudge the backpack sitting on the ground next to you with your naked foot. “This is my stuff.”

“Oh.” You must have really wanted to get away if you traveled this lightly, Tommy contemplates silently.

He used to do the same, packing a bag and escaping, seeking solace in the open road. But he learned the hard way that you can’t outrun your problems. They always find a way to catch up with you, no matter how far you go.

He gives you a sympathetic smile. “Have you had dinner already?”

“I had a bagel at the airport this morning,” you say nonchalantly.

Tommy’s brows furrow slightly, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“Yup.” If you had even the slightest bit of energy left inside of you, you’d find his shocked face amusing.

“Okay, that’s just unacceptable. Wait.” He retrieves his phone from his pocket and opens a food delivery app. “What kind of pizza do you want?”

You shake your head. “I don’t want pi–”

“Yes, you do. I’m not gonna have you starving on my watch.”

You raise an eyebrow. “On your watch?”

“Yeah, on my watch. Now, what kind of topping–”

“Pineapple.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pine. Apple.”

“Oh, but I’m the weirdo,” he mutters, shaking his head and giving you the side-eye as he reluctantly adds pineapple as a topping to your pizza. “Anything else? Anchovies? Corn? My tears?”

“Jesus, don’t have a heart attack. Are you Italian or something?”

“No, just not a complete monster.”

You can’t help but chuckle, your smile lighting up your face for the first time in what feels like ages. Tommy’s eyes linger on you a moment too long, captivated by your sudden radiance, before he tears his gaze away as your smile fades once more.

Clearing his throat, he shifts his attention back to his task, fingers tapping away as he types the description of your location for the delivery.

“Should arrive in twenty minutes, the app says.”

You nod and lean back, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you watch the waves again.

“When did you decide to fly out here?”

“Last night.”

“How? Why?”

“Simple. I took out a map, closed my eyes, and this is where my finger landed. And as for the why…well, home just didn’t feel like home anymore, you know?”

“Hm. I know that feeling.”

You turn your head and look into his warm eyes. “You do?”

“Oh yeah. It took me almost a decade after retiring from active duty to feel home again, or like I was safe, or like I belonged. It’s, uh, not easy to get that feeling back once you’ve lost it. I’m sorry you’re going through that,” Tommy says with a somber tone. He really is sorry.

You look at him for a moment and give him a tired smile. “It’s okay,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders. “It wasn’t home to begin with. Not really.”

“Whatever your reasons are, you’re brave for leaving.”

You scoff. “Yeah, sure, I’m brave for running away.”

“Sweetheart…”

“Look, it’s okay. You don’t need to try and make me feel better ‘cause I’m not sad. But I’m also not gonna act like I’m not a coward who accepted far too much shit for far too long ‘cause I’m very much not brave.”

You sigh deeply. “I should’ve gotten the fuck out of that miserable town and relationship years ago. But now it’s too late.”

Tommy furrows his brow and opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off.

“Are you married?”

“No, darlin’, I’m not married.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No girlfriend.”

“So there’s no one special in your life right now?”

“Nothing serious, no. No attachments for me.”

“Hm. No attachments,” you murmur. “That sounds nice.”

Tommy nods. “It is, most of the time at least. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss being in love.”

“You’ve been in love before?” You tilt your head and look at him with genuine curiosity.

“A few times, yeah.”

“And the women you were with…they loved you?”

“Yeah, they did.” The soft smile lighting up his face tells you he has pleasant memories of his former partners. How nice that must be.

“Do you ever wonder why it didn’t work out?”

Tommy’s expression turns introspective, his gaze drifting towards the horizon as if searching for answers in the distant waves.

“I have,” he admits after a pause, his voice carrying a hint of wistfulness. “But I guess that’s just how life goes sometimes. People drift apart, circumstances change, life changes...”

“Do you think it’s possible to hate someone you love?”

Your question catches him off guard, and the look in your eyes concerns him. “Well,” he says calmly, carefully choosing his words, “I can’t say I’ve ever had that experience, but I could imagine that’s how my brother felt about me back when I was spiraling and he had to watch me make bad decision after bad decision. He loved me, I know he always has, but he also hated me for what I was doing.”

“Sounds like a good brother,” you say, mustering a smile.

“He really is. Do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah, but I don’t talk to them,” you say, your tone betraying a hint of sadness before you quickly mask it with indifference. “My, uh…best friend was like my sister though.”

“Was?”

“Yeah, you know,” you murmur, the smile on your lips not matching the bitterness in your tone, “that friendship kinda ended after I saw her sitting on my boyfriend’s lap, shoving her tongue down his throat.”

“What the hell? When was that?”

“Hmm, about a month ago. And you wanna know the real kicker? They’ve been fucking for like half a year. My best friend and my boyfriend. Laughing their asses off behind my back. Hilarious, isn’t it?”

“I’m so sorry, darlin’. They’re shitty people for doing that to you. You didn’t deserve any–”

“How do you know that?”

“Know what?”

“How do you know that I didn’t deserve it? You don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me.”

“I may not know you,” Tommy says gently, “but I know that no one deserves to be treated like that, especially by the people they trust. It’s hard sometimes to see things objectively because we’re our own worst enemies, but I’m telling you, you didn’t deserve that.”

“I’m not sure that’s true.”

“What makes you say that?”

You look into his eyes, and the pain he can see in yours breaks his heart.

“Because, I fucking loved it. Everything he did to me, all these years. I loved it. I could’ve left him after he cheated on me for the first time, the second time, the hundredth time, but no. I loved how he came crawling back to me time and time again, promising me the world, telling me he only loved me.”

You pull away, hands resting on his chest as you try to find your words. Simon’s intense gaze has your mind swirling with conflicting emotions, and your heart pounding in your chest. “I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper, your body trembling as he presses you against the wall with his body. “You–you say you’ll change, you say you’ll never do it again, you say you regret hurting me. And I forgive you. Every time. But nothing ever changes. You do it again and again, not caring how much you hurt me.” He places a hand on the wall next to your head, pushing your shirt up around your waist with the other, his touch on your naked skin sending a shiver down your spine. He looks down at you with a hint of amusement, a devious smirk appearing on his face as he searches your pleading eyes. “I’m serious, Simon,” you insist, unsuccessfully trying to convince yourself of what you’re saying. “I’m done.” Leaning in, he traces your neck with his nose, your heavy breathing and the way your tits press against his chest making his cock twitch in his jeans. “Is that so?” he murmurs against your skin before softly sucking and kissing on your flesh. “Why are you doing this?” you breathe, instinctively wrapping your arms around him, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you draw him closer. His leg between yours presses against your core, and you can’t help but whimper desperately at the feeling. “I love you,” he whispers, his warm breath gently caressing the curve of your ear, his words piercing your heart like a poisonous dart. “No, you don’t,” you murmur, your voice heavy with sadness, your eyes betraying the turmoil raging within you. Despite the ache in your heart, a part of you still yearns for the comfort of his touch, the familiarity of his presence, the illusion of affection he gives you. You need him, need to feel him, need him to love you—even if it kills you. In this moment of vulnerability, you surrender to the torrent of emotions flooding your senses, pressing your lips against his in a desperate attempt to drown out the pain, to silence the screams that plague your mind—eagerly drinking his poison straight from the source. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pull him closer, offering yourself up to him with each rough tug, fervent kiss, and harsh bite to his lips. He matches your energy, gripping the back of your neck with a bruising hold as he hastily opens his jeans to free his cock. “I hate you,” you choke out, the words laced with bitterness and the raw intensity of your need for him as your heart races and your vision blurs. “Whatever you gotta tell yourself, baby,” Simon murmurs with a smirk, his words a cruel reminder of the tangled web of emotions that binds you to him, even as you struggle to break free. With a deft movement, he pulls aside your panties, sliding his hard cock through your wet folds as he holds your leg up around his waist. “Oh fuck,” you moan as he pushes inside you in one harsh thrust, your fingernails reflexively digging into his scalp. Overwhelming pleasure mingles with the anguish of your body betraying you, even as your mind screams in protest. Your walls clench around Simon with fierce intensity, his repeated thrusts against your G-spot having you close to orgasm within a minute. “Tell me, baby,” he pants, his eyes gleaming with triumph and satisfaction as he watches in real time how his poison travels through your entire body, your mind, intoxicating your very being with his essence. “Tell me how much you hate me while you come on my cock.”

You tilt your head and give Tommy a tired smile. “Isn’t that the most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard?”

“No, sweetheart, you’re not pathetic for wanting to be loved. You’re human and our feelings can be…complicated, irrational, dangerous. But you got yourself away from a toxic situation despite your feelings and that takes a lot of strength.”

“Hm.” You draw shapes into the sand with your toes, your heart heavy in your chest.

“Is he…why you left? You had to get away from him?”

“Surprisingly, no,” you say pensively, lost in thought as you fold one leg beneath you on the bench. “Things weren’t that bad after I decided not to care anymore. You know you can just wake up one day and realize it hurts a lot less to just not care about anything? Amazing. So yeah, that’s what I did.” You shrug and rub your left thumb with your right one.

“Of course, he didn’t like that at all, not being able to emotionally drain me anymore. He even told me I was depressed or some shit, acting like he cared, when all he actually missed was me giving him the reactions he wanted,” you scoff, bitterness dripping from your lips. “Coincidentally, that’s when he and my best friend started fucking.”

“I’m so sorry, darlin’, that’s beyond fucked up. Do you, uh, have someone to talk to about all this?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You mean apart from handsome cowboys in too-tight jeans late at night?”

“Did you just call me handsome?”

“Don’t think so,” you give him a playful smile, then turn your head to watch the waves doing their mesmerizing dance. Despite the light-hearted banter, a hint of sadness flickers across your face. “But no, I don’t have anyone left.”

Tommy’s expression softens, his eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and concern as he listens to your words. He reaches out, but catches himself before his hand comes to rest on your shoulder.

“Why did you leave?” he asks gently.

“I saw her.”

“Who?”

“Laura. My best friend,” you say, shuddering at her name. “I came out of the hospital yesterday, stood at a red light, and then I saw her. Looking right at me from the other side of the street. We hadn’t talked since before I almost died a month ago, ‘cause she never bothered to answer any of my calls or texts…and there she was. Daring to look at me with those fake-ass tears in her eyes like she isn’t a fucking sociopath.”

“What did you do?”

“I just…looked at her, knowing I could never see her again. I walked away, went to mine and Simon’s apartment, grabbed a few things, and went to the airport.”

“And now you’re here.”

“And now I’m here.”

The weight of your experience hangs heavy in the air, casting a somber shadow over the conversation. Tommy nods thoughtfully as he absorbs your words, until he suddenly shakes his head, chastising himself for his own stupidity.

“Okay wait, I’m sorry, but did you just say you almost died? What the hell happened?”

“Oh,” you scoff, a wide smile spreading across your face, its brightness contrasting sharply with the dullness in your eyes, “it’s nothing. One of my fallopian tubes burst ‘cause my dumbass gynecologist failed to diagnose an ectopic pregnancy, so I was hemorrhaging and had to have emergency surgery to get it removed.”

Tommy’s reaction is visceral: his eyes widen in shock, and his mouth falls open slightly, a silent gasp escaping him as the gravity of your words, spoken with horrifying casualness, hits him like a punch to the gut.

“Jesus Christ, darlin’...”

“But hey, the doctor said I’m completely fine at the check-up yesterday, so I guess that’s what I am.” You shrug and smile at him, but your attempt to lighten the mood falls flat.

“Darlin’, I’m so sor–”

“Don’t, please. It’s okay,” you interrupt softly, shaking your head. “My ex told me to have an abortion when I told him I was pregnant, and I wouldn’t have been a good mom anyway, so it’s best for the baby that it wasn’t born into the shitshow that is my life.”

“Dar–”

“I swear to God, Tommy, if you say ‘darlin’’ in that stupid, sexy accent of yours one more time,” you cut him off with a playful glare.

He smiles at you, though worry lingers in his eyes and tugs at his heart.

“I’ve always wanted to live near the ocean,” you muse, welcoming the breeze cooling your hot face down. “It’s kind of poetic that my journey ends here.”

“It really is beautiful here, I’m sure you’d love livi–” Tommy starts, but you’re not hearing him.

“You know, I have this recurring dream where I drown, but instead of feeling panicked or scared I just feel peaceful, light. Like the weight of the world is lifted off my shoulders. I don’t thrash or struggle, I just…let the water take me under and I can finally breathe.”

Concern flashes in Tommy’s eyes, but he quickly masks it with a calm expression, not wanting to alarm you.

“That sounds intense,” he responds gently, choosing his words carefully. “Dreams can be strange sometimes, but that one sounds like it’s trying to tell you something. Maybe it’s your mind’s way of processing all the heavy things that’ve been weighing on you."

He shifts slightly closer to you, his tone soft and reassuring. “But you know, maybe it’s worth exploring with a therapist or someone who can help you unpack it. Sometimes talking about these things can bring some clarity and relief.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you say absentmindedly.

“Darlin’, please look at me,” Tommy’s voice breaks through the haze of your thoughts, his gaze penetrating through the fog of your mind. If you had any tears left to cry, the sincerity in his eyes would surely coax them out right about now.

“About what you said earlier…you–you don’t deserve people treating you badly, or any of the bad things that happen to you. You never did, you hear me? You were supposed to be loved, protected and cared for, but you weren’t, and that’s not fair, and most certainly not your fault.”

You tilt your head, studying his face intently. Why does he care? Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? But hey, he’s trying to be nice, and it’s not like you’re ever going to see him again. So, you’re trying to be nice back.

“Thanks,” you say softly, mustering a smile. “But enough about me and my dumpster fire of a life.” You shift in your seat, untucking your leg and stretching it out in front of you.

“I’d rather hear about you and how you get your hair to be this healthy. I can never get mine to look that good. Do you think it’s because I just eat garbage, don’t drink enough water and don’t get enough sunlight?”

Tommy chuckles and nods understandingly, recognizing your attempt to shift gears, and decides to play along until you both hear the pizza guy calling for you.

Your insistence to pay for your own pizza and drink falls on deaf ears, so you begrudgingly accept Tommy’s invitation and thank him for ordering food. Surprisingly, you find yourself ravenously hungry after taking the first few bites of your pineapple pizza—that you originally only wanted to mess with Tommy. But even he has to admit it isn’t half bad after you make him eat a slice.

As you’re eating together and the night deepens around you, the street lamps along the boardwalk spending enough light, you ask Tommy about his life.

He shares his journey of enlisting in the army as a teenager, grappling with PTSD upon his return, and navigating through troubled times. He tells you about the unwavering support of his brother and how therapy helped him cope with his demons. You delve deeper, asking him about his wishes for the future, about his hopes and dreams.

You enjoy hearing about his life, about his experiences that are so different from yours. It’s comforting to get lost in someone else’s story for a bit. It’s a refuge, a welcome escape from your own tiring existence.

Pizzas devoured, you sit side by side, enveloped in the soothing melody of the ocean’s whispers. Time seems to lose its grip as you share both laughter and quiet, the minutes and hours slipping away unnoticed like grains of sand carried by the tide.

As tranquility settles between you, the world around you seemingly forgotten, a question gnaws at your insides, its weight palpable in the silence. It’s a question you’re reluctant to voice aloud, knowing it will rupture the delicate bubble you and Tommy have found yourselves in. Yet, it persists, demanding acknowledgment, refusing to be ignored.

You take a deep breath.

“Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

He gives you a reassuring smile. “Of course, darlin’.”

“Why won’t you go home?”

Oh. Tommy looks deeply into your eyes, his own filled with turmoil, and finds that he can’t lie to you.

“I can’t,” he admits softly, turning his gaze towards the distant horizon.

You nod slowly, turning your head towards the water as well. “You know why I’m here.”

“Yes,” he says simply, his acknowledgment laden with a quiet understanding.

You steal a glance at him, your eyes searching for comfort in the weary lines on his face. With a tentative gesture, you place your hand on the bench between you, a subtle invitation for connection.

Tommy, sensing your unspoken plea, catches the movement from the corner of his eye. His gaze meets yours as you turn your head, and in that shared moment of vulnerability, he understands. Without a word, he responds, reaching out to cover your hand with his own.

His touch is protective, a silent promise that you’re not alone.

“Do you…do you think that makes me a bad person?” you whisper, your voice trembling as you lay bare the depths of your fears.

“No,” he responds softly, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity. “You’re not a bad person for feeling the way you do.”

For the first time since your miscarriage, tears glisten in your eyes, shimmering like fragments of shattered dreams under the moonlight. Tommy’s words offer a glimmer of solace, touching your broken heart.

Silence settles between you two, heavy with shared pain. You sit like that for a while, two strangers finding kinship in the gentle embrace of this summer night.

Gently squeezing your hand, Tommy turns to look at you after a few minutes. “I need you to do something for me,” he says, his voice tinged with urgency. You look into his eyes, finding comfort in the warmth of his presence.

“Please stay with me tonight,” he pleads, his fingers tightening around yours, anchoring you to the present moment as if afraid you might slip away into the night.

“We can stay here, we can go for drinks, we can go dancing, we can break into the zoo—whatever you want, sweetheart. We don’t have to talk about anything, and I promise I won’t bother you anymore if tomorrow you decide that’s what you want, but please give me a chance to show you that I ca–”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

As the gentle breeze around you whispers secrets of hope and renewal, you find yourself nodding in agreement, a silent promise to give him the chance he so earnestly seeks—to let him show you the light that flickers within the darkness.

Tommy is momentarily stunned as he searches your face for any sign of hesitation. But there’s none to be found—only a quiet resolve that speaks volumes. A wave of relief washes over him, and he can’t hold back the wide grin spreading across his face.

“So, there’s a place a few minutes from here where we could dance, or there’s the bar I went to earlier, or we could–”

“Tommy?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

“I’m tired. Could we maybe…could we go home?”

Tommy’s face lights up even more. “Yes, yes, of course, darlin’. My place is right around the corner.”

“Great,” you say with a small smile.

You put your socks and sneakers back on, your movements slow and unsteady after hours of sitting. As you stand up for the first time, your legs wobble beneath you, but Tommy is quick to react, reaching out to steady you with his hands on your waist.

“Sorry,” you mumble, cheeks heating up as you realize your hands are gripping his shoulders for support.

“That’s alright, darlin’. I got you.”

“You’re so cheesy, you know that?” you say with a playful roll of your eyes before removing your hands and taking a step back.

“Look me in the eye and tell me it’s not working,” he teases back with a smirk.

“Whatever. Can we go?” You raise an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“After you, my lady,” Tommy says with a gallant flourish, gesturing for you to go first. You shake your head with a theatrical sigh, but play along and start walking.

He falls into step beside you, eager to lift your spirits with an array of random animal facts he’s accumulated over the years, and, much to your amusement, with some particularly funny stories about failed hookups, like the one from tonight.

As you draw closer to his apartment, he suddenly sucks in a sharp breath and comes to a halt.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I’m so sorry, I forgot to ask if you need anything.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, tampons, make-up wipes, solution for your contacts, hair conditioner, lotion—I don’t think I have any of that at home, but there’s a convenience sto–”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, touched by his consideration. “I got all my essentials in my backpack and really don’t need anything fancy. Thank you, though.”

“Are you–”

“Yes, I’m sure,” you interrupt softly. “Thank you.”

Arriving at Tommy’s apartment, you’re struck by its elegant yet welcoming nature. It’s spacious and tastefully furnished, with a modern aesthetic that speaks to Tommy’s discerning taste. You can’t help but wonder if his job as a contractor affords him such a nice living space or if he’s secretly a trust fund kid—or a very successful drug dealer.

“Must be nice,” you think to yourself.

As Tommy ushers you inside, you’re enveloped in a sense of warmth and comfort as the space feels distinctly homey, with its wooden furnishings and cozy accents that evoke a rustic charm. The polished hardwood floors gleam under soft lamplight, casting a warm glow throughout the living room.

Tommy assures you that you’re welcome to make yourself at home as he heads into the kitchen to get you a glass of water.

Despite its hominess, the apartment remains impeccably clean and organized—a testament, perhaps, to Tommy’s meticulous nature. Every surface is spotless, every item in its proper place, reflecting a discipline that may well stem from his army training.

As you explore further, you do notice small touches that hint at Tommy’s personality—framed photos of him and his friends, a worn but well-loved armchair and couch positioned opposite the TV, horse figurines on the sideboard, and a few potted plants scattered throughout, adding a touch of life to the space.

Your eyes are eventually drawn to the record player nestled in one corner, surrounded by a collection of vinyl records. The sight brings a smile to your face, appreciating the nostalgic feeling it gives you. You’re pretty sure you used to have the same model in your childhood home.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” you hear Tommy’s voice behind you as he hands you the glass of water with a knowing smile. “You like Jazz?”

“Thanks. And yeah, I guess?”

“Okay, wait a sec.” He moves with practiced ease, flipping through his collection of vinyl records until he finds the one he’s looking for. With a gentle touch, he carefully removes the chosen record from its sleeve, handling it delicately as if it were a precious artifact.

You sip on your water and watch in fascination as he places the record onto the turntable, the soft click of the needle finding its groove. As the first notes of a smooth jazz melody fill the air, you can’t help but smile, the music enveloping you in its warm embrace.

Tommy catches your eye and grins, nodding in approval as if to say, “See, I knew you’d like it.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his arm with your elbow.

“Want me to show you around?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, so this is the bedroom,” he says, leading you down the hallway and into the room where you’ll be sleeping. The bed sits neatly made, its dark sheets promising a restful night ahead. “I’ll change the sheets for you in a bit, okay? And I’ll be sleeping in the living room on the couch.”

“I, uh,” you murmur, but stop yourself, shaking your head. “No, forget it.”

“What is it? It’s okay, you can tell me.” He searches your eyes as you meet his gaze, waiting patiently for you to answer him.

“Could you maybe…not change the sheets?”

Tommy’s eyebrows raise in surprise, but he doesn’t make it awkward. Instead, he nods understandingly and immediately assures you, “Sure, I’ll leave the bed as it is then.”

You offer him a grateful smile and as if sensing your need for comfort, he asks, “Do you need a shirt to sleep?” Without waiting for your response, he retrieves one of his shirts and hands it to you.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, taking the shirt from him and holding it close. It’s soft and smells nice.

“And here’s the bathroom,” Tommy continues, leading you through the space. “Feel free to take a shower if you want. Spare towels are here, and there’s a new toothbrush in the cabinet here. Toothpaste is over there. I even got fancy face masks if you wanna try, they’re in here. You think you got everything you need?”

“I think so,” you smile at him before leaving the bathroom to grab your backpack.

As you’re about to head back, Tommy slips in ahead of you. You watch as he discreetly removes all the razor blades, a silent but clear gesture of concern for your well-being. You understand what he’s doing, and although it stirs a pang of humiliation and shame inside you, you don’t say anything and act like you didn’t see it.

After he leaves the bathroom, you take a moment to compose yourself before closing the door, peeing, taking off your clothes, and catching a glimpse of the small surgery scars on your belly. They appear to be healing well, already looking much better than even a week ago.

With a deep breath, you turn on the shower, allowing the warm water to cascade over your body, soothing away some of your tension. As you lather up, enveloped in the steam and the rich scent of Tommy’s body wash, there’s a knock on the door, interrupting your thoughts.

“Darlin’?” Tommy’s voice sounds through the door.

“Yeah?”

“Just wanted to check if you were okay.”

“I’m okay. But you seriously need to start buying body wash for adults, dude. I’m gonna be smelling like a fourteen-year-old boy now, and I don’t know how to feel about it,” you tease.

“Ha ha, you brat. Enjoy your shower.”

You smile to yourself and appreciate how clean Tommy’s shower is as, in your experience, that is not something you can count on with men who live alone.

As you lather shampoo into your hair, you close your eyes, allowing yourself a moment of peace amidst the chaos of recent events. It’s all so surreal.

Once rinsed, you step out of the shower and wrap yourself in one of Tommy’s plush towels, the soft fabric hugging your body in a tight embrace. With the steam still lingering in the air, you take your time cleaning your face, brushing your teeth and detangling your wet hair, these simple acts of self-care something you’ve neglected in the weeks prior.

Luckily, your past self decided to pack a fresh pair of panties and a pair of soft yoga pants you can change into now, Tommy’s shirt completing your pajamas for tonight.

Slowly, you step out of the bathroom, the soft light of the living room floor lamp casting a warm glow on the scene before you. Tommy’s sitting on the couch, bathed in the gentle ambiance of the record player’s music.

With a glass of whiskey in hand, he seems lost in thought, fingers rhythmically tapping against the glass, his eyes focused on the spinning vinyl. As you approach, he looks up, a small smile gracing his lips as he welcomes you to join him.

“Okay yeah, I get it,” he quips, his tone playful as he notices how perfectly his shirt accentuates your eye color. “You look better in my shirt than I ever could. There’s really no need to rub it in.”

Chuckling, you settle into the cushion beside him, feeling the warmth of his presence. It feels oddly comforting to be close to him again, his cologne a familiar scent.

But as you sit beside him now, something shifts in the air, a subtle change that you can’t quite pinpoint. It’s as if a newfound awareness has settled between you, casting a different light on the space you share. And as you steal glances at Tommy, you start to feel restless, your heart rate quickening.

Oh.

The realization dawns on you slowly, creeping in like the first light of dawn, illuminating the depths of your emotions. You find yourself unable to tear your gaze away from him, mesmerized by the way he sits on the couch, his posture relaxed yet undeniably confident.

Your eyes trail over the breadth of his shoulders, down his strong arms, his sculpted torso, and settle on his spread thighs, the subtle flex of muscles visible beneath the fabric of his jeans. Each movement, each shift of his body, only serves to deepen the intensity of your attraction to him.

You’re in trouble.

His handsome face holds a certain allure, drawing you in with its rugged charm—especially with those warm eyes and the beautiful facial hair. As you look at him, really take him in, you can’t deny the flutter of arousal stirring deep within you.

A flutter that’s enough to urge your scrambled brain to make a move.

Tommy catches your prolonged stare, and his brows furrow slightly, a hint of curiosity flickering in his eyes. You gather the courage to ask for a sip of his whiskey, unwittingly biting your lip as you wait for his answer.

“Of course, darlin’,” he agrees, leaning in with a broad smile, bringing the glass closer to you.

As your fingers brush against his on the glass, you feel a surge of electricity pass between you. His pupils dilate ever so slightly, his gaze locked onto yours. You take the glass from him, your fingers lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary.

Raising the glass to your lips, you take a slow sip, relishing the smooth warmth of the whiskey as it slides down your throat. Your eyes never leave his as you lick your lips, the gesture not lost on Tommy as he watches you intently.

The flicker of desire in his eyes tells you that he’s captivated by your silent invitation, but as Tommy accepts the glass back, a faint frown tugs at his brow, his expression suddenly tense.

“Darlin’, don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs, his voice husky with restraint.

You raise an eyebrow, feigning innocence as you ask, “Why not?”

“Because,” he breathes out, “it’s making me want to do things I shouldn’t.”

“Hmm, but what if I told you that I want to do those things, too?”

Tommy swallows hard as you scoot closer to him, his eyes never leaving yours. His pulse quickens, evident in the subtle rise and fall of his chest, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts, unsure of what to do or say next.

When your hand lands gently above his knee, his body tenses at your touch. His lips part slightly, as if he’s about to speak, but all he manages is a heavy breath.

“Tell me to stop,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you lean in slowly, searching his eyes. You can see the conflict raging within him, desire warring with restraint, and you wait for his response.

With a shaky exhale, his gaze drops down to your lips, his entire being filled with longing and uncertainty. But as your palm wanders up his thigh, drawing closer and closer to his growing erection, his resolve begins to crumble like sand underfoot.

Unable to resist any longer, he leans in, closing the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender yet fervent kiss. His hand instinctively finds the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your wet hair as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss with a quiet urgency.

Feeling you so close, feeling your soft lips against his, he surrenders to the moment, to the sweet sensation of your embrace, letting himself be consumed by the taste of you.

And yet, in the back of his mind, he’s painfully aware of the circumstances of your meeting.

“I don’t think…this…is a good idea,” Tommy mumbles breathlessly against your lips as you whine needily for more.

“I don’t care,” you breathe, pulling back for a moment to hold onto his shoulders and straddle his lap. His cock twitches in his jeans as you scoot forward, your warm core putting delicious pressure on it. Smiling, you put your hands on his chest and lean in to kiss him again. He cups your face with his hands, kissing you back deeply before nudging your nose with his.

You open your eyes and meet his gaze, his pupils so dilated his brown eyes are almost completely black.

“Let me look at you, baby” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, sending shivers down your spine. With a smile, you straighten up and place your hands behind you on his thighs, giving him a great view of your spread thighs and torso.

“Is this okay?” Tommy asks softly as he traces your thighs with his palms, his touch sending tingles of anticipation through your body.

You nod your head yes, and his lips curve into a smile as his eyes roam your body and face with adoration. His hands wander over your hips, under the shirt you’re wearing, along your waist and further up, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, his eyes piercing yours as his hands come to rest on your waist.

“I’m sure you say that to every girl willing to sit on your lap,” you tease with a smirk, putting your hands on his chest. You can feel his heartbeat under your palm.

“Yeah, but with you I mean it.” His words carry a weight of sincerity as one hand reaches out to tenderly caress your cheek, while the other glides over the soft skin of your back. “C’mere baby.”

As you lean in, his lips capture yours with an almost desperate hunger, his kiss rough and deep, as if he fears you might vanish if he doesn’t hold onto you tightly enough. His hands glide to your lower back, hovering just above your ass, hesitant to go further yet craving to pull you closer, to feel every inch of you pressed against him, to consume you whole.

“You don’t have to be so gentle. I won’t break,” you say softly, leading his hands down to your ass. You hum in satisfaction as he grabs it, feeling the strain of his arousal against your aching pussy.

“Tommy,” you whine quietly against his lips, begging him to understand how desperately you need him.

Lost in the moment, you both sink deeper into the kiss, the world around you fading away until there’s only the heat of each other’s bodies and the rhythm of your shared desire. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as his hands roam your back, igniting sparks of pleasure with every touch.

But as the intensity of your kiss grows, so does the weight of uncertainty. Tommy pulls back slightly, his breathing heavy as he searches your eyes for reassurance.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispers. “We don’t have to…”

“I want you, Tommy,” you purr, your eyes glazed.

Your hips rock against him, trying to relieve the tension that has grown between your thighs, eliciting a deep groan from him. His hands move to your waist, helping you grind against him.

“Oh shit,” he pants, reveling in the needy moans leaving your lips. “I don’t wanna hurt you, baby,” he admits with a soft shake of his head, looking at you with wide eyes, still moving you against the bulge in his jeans.

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” you breathe, leaning in to kiss and suck at his sensitive neck, leaving purple marks behind. You feel his grip tighten, his restraint slipping as he responds to your touch with a low groan.

Lost in the overload of sensations—feeling your warm body, your soft lips and wet tongue, your urgent movements on him, hearing your moans and whispered pleas—Tommy is ready to give you what you both want.

But right as he’s opening his belt with deft fingers, he inadvertently turns his head and catches his reflection in the window. Watching you writhe on top of him, clutching his shirt, his own face twisted in ecstasy, a sharp pang of guilt shoots through him.

This isn’t right. He shouldn’t be doing this.

You move to kiss his lips again, but as you do so, you catch the concern in his eyes, and your heart sinks. “Hey,” you whisper, your brow furrowed, an anxious smile on your lips.

Your fingers trail gently through his hair, seeking reassurance, but when his movements cease and his touch withdraws, panic floods your senses.

“No, no please don’t stop,” you beg, your desperation evident in every word. You press against him, your hips moving with urgency, aching for the connection you crave so deeply. “I need you.”

Your hands gently cup his cheeks, your pleading eyes flitting between his.

“Please? Tommy?”

Feeling something bump against your leg, you’re called back to the present.

“Oh, hi there, buddy,” you coo, looking down at the toddler who just faceplanted in front of you. You lean down and offer your hand to help him up. “What are you up to, hm? Just running around?”

He looks up at you with wide eyes, his face breaking into a toothy grin. “You wanna sit up here and wait for your mommy?” You lift him up, putting more pressure on your bandaged hand than you should, and set him down beside you. “Great view, huh?”

He babbles something unintelligible, his little arms flailing as his excited laughter fills the air. “You’re so right, buddy,” you agree, following his gaze to the sparkling blue, “the ocean is beautiful.”

“Benji? Oh, there you are,” a lady in a swimsuit calls out, walking towards you with a relieved smile. “I’m sorry for disturbing you,” she says to you, her tone apologetic. “Benji, how many times have I told you not to run away, hm?”

The toddler giggles in response to his mom’s reproach, his little arms reaching out for her. You can’t help but laugh along with him.

“Think twice before you decide to have kids,” the lady says with a deep sigh, lifting her son onto her hip. “They’re not always as cute as they look.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you chuckle.

“Say bye to the nice lady,” she prompts, her voice warm and gentle.

Benji turns to you, his eyes bright with innocence, and waves enthusiastically with his chubby little hand.

“Bye Benji,” you coo, returning his wave with a big smile, your heart warmed by his adorable gesture.

You sigh and look at your phone. You have two new messages from Tommy.

Maria says she can’t wait to see you tomorrow. And that she’ll personally drag you here if you decide not to show up.

You’re family and there’s nothing you can do to escape us ;)

You swallow hard and can feel your puffy, irritated eyes starting to water behind your black glasses. What the fuck did you ever do in your insignificant life to deserve this kind of love?

Your phone lights up with another text from Tommy.

just accept it <3

You snort and shake your head. You’re so grateful for his friendship. It has changed a lot over the last couple of years, of course it has, especially after he started dating Maria, and more recently since you started…seeing his brother without telling him.

But the fact that you’re still honoring your yearly tradition to have your late-night talk on this very bench, is a testament to the depth of your bond. It’s a cherished ritual, marking the anniversary of your first meeting. You meet here, under the evening sky, exchanging stories and laughter, and indulging in pizza after sunset.

Two years ago, Tommy told you he met someone before you left his apartment the next morning.

“Sweetheart?” “Yeah?” “I, uh, I got something to tell you.” “Shoot.” “I met someone.” Your fingers halt as you’re tying your shoes, the world around you suddenly still as his words sink in. You stare at the floor, tension building in your heart. “We’ve only been on two dates, but I–” “Really like her,” you finish his sentence as you tie the laces into a knot, straighten up and meet his gaze. “Yes.” That’s it, then. You’ve been replaced. “Does that,” you clear your throat that feels incredibly tight now, your voice shaking, “does that mean we can’t hang out anymore?” Tears well up in your eyes as you feel a rush of panic flood through you. You look down and try to blink back the tears threatening to spill over. “Of course not,” Tommy says, his tone gentle yet firm. “Nothing and no one in the world could ever keep me from spending time with you.” “Okay,” you manage to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper as you hastily wipe away a tear with trembling fingers. “I’m sorry for crying, I–I don’t mean to.” “Hey, you don’t need to apologize for that,” Tommy says softly, closing the distance between you two. His hands find their place on your shoulders, offering a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “Darlin’, look at me.” You lift your gaze to meet his, your eyes brimming with fresh tears. “I mean it,” he says with a comforting smile, looking intently into your eyes and cupping your face with his hands. “I promise I’m not going to leave you. I will always be here for you.” You study his face and tell the nagging voice in your mind to shut the fuck up. This is Tommy. He deserves love, he deserves happiness, he deserves someone who can give him everything he wants. And that’s not you. You give him a kiss on the cheek and a sincere smile. “I’m really happy for you, Tommy.”

You did continue spending time together—Tommy kept his word and didn’t abandon you—but as more and more time passed, you would see him less and less as his relationship with Maria deepened.

You expected that to happen, it didn’t hurt any less though.

One year ago, he told you he was going to propose to her, and you spent all night brainstorming ideas on how he could do it. After she’d said yes, they both let you know one day over dinner that they were going to elope, just the two of them, and you were the only person they’d tell beforehand.

A few weeks ago, Tommy beamed with pride as he shared that they were trying for a baby, the twinkle in his eyes warming your heart. Despite the joyous news, you couldn’t resist teasing him for planting that image in your mind.

After you’d shared your stories, and your pineapple and pepperoni pizzas, he very casually asked you if you were seeing anyone, and you said, “No.”

“You’re a horrible liar, darlin’.” “I’m not lying. I don’t like anyone except you.” “Stroking my ego’s not gonna get you off the hook, baby.” “Hmm, I’m pretty sure it’s working though.” “The longer you deny it, the more obvious it gets, you know.” “I’m not seeing anybody, Tommy.” “You really wanna play semantics with me?” “Alright, alright. I guess I’m…kinda seeing someone.” “Why just ‘kinda’? Does the guy not realize what a lucky bastard he is?” “It’s not him. It’s, uh…you know me.” “Yeah, and that’s why I know you’ve caught feelings.” “Ew, don’t say that.” “Well, it’s true. It’s written all over your pretty face.” “You suck, you know that?” “Yeah, it’s part of what makes me so charming. Does he know?” “I dunno, probably not.” “Are you gonna tell him?” “Uhh, I don’t think so.” “Why not? All this time I’ve known you and I’ve never seen you in love before. You can’t just…ignore it.” “Tommy…” “Don’t even try it with the puppy eyes, I’m immune to them.” “Liar.” “Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t tell him.” “Easy. If I never tell him, it’ll never hurt.” “That’s not how it works.” “You just couldn’t let me live happily in my delusions, hm?” “Sweetheart. I know you’re scared, and you have all the reason to, but…sometimes you gotta take a leap of faith, you know?” “I’m not sure I can.” “What does your gut say?” “My gut says he’s too good for me and that he wouldn’t like me if he knew who I really am.” “As someone who does know who you really are, I can assure you that it’s a privilege I wouldn’t miss for the world.” “I just…don’t wanna mess things up, Tommy.” “Look. Nothing lasts, but nothing is lost if you try. Everything changes and everything is alright.” “Wow, that was beautiful…you’re really starting to feel that rum and coke, huh?” “You know I’m right, baby.”

It’s funny, really.

You actually entertained the idea that Tommy might be onto something, that perhaps opening up to Joel could bring some semblance of peace, that perhaps you could be happy together. Yet here you are, back where you started, the familiar ache of loss settling in your heart, whispering that everything is far from alright.

As the sun dips below the horizon, the sky transforming into a canvas of vibrant colors, reflecting off the rippling surface of the water, you take your shoes and socks off. You sink your toes into the soft, grainy sand, relishing its comforting texture.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, allowing the rhythmic sound of the waves to soothe your racing thoughts. With each exhale, you remind yourself that you’re safe, embracing the tranquility of the moment as the colors of the sunset dance across your eyelids.

You feel grounded, peaceful, almost—

“Hi, darlin’.”

“Jesus, you scared me,” you startle with a gasp, snapping back to reality as Joel’s voice unexpectedly breaks the silence.

“I’m so sorry, I thought you saw me,” he says with an apologetic smile on his lips, his big puppy eyes looking puppier than ever.

You sigh exasperatedly and take off your sunglasses. “I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” he begins, his words stumbling over each other, “I didn’t mean to intrude, I just...I thought I–I mean, I wanted to...”

“Joel,” you interrupt him, too exhausted—physically and emotionally—to beat around the bush. “What are you doing here?”

His brow furrows slightly and his heart plummets as he sees your bleary eyes, a pang of concern settling heavily in his stomach. “I wanted to see you, darlin’,” he confesses softly.

Your gaze sharpens with curiosity and suspicion as you ask, “But how did you know I was gonna be here? And can you please sit down? You’re making me nervous.”

Joel hesitates for a moment, then sits down beside you, his movements cautious as if afraid to spook you. With a nervous glance in your direction, he clears his throat, his voice low and hesitant.

“I, uh,” he begins, his words faltering slightly, “I went to your place after work to see if you’d maybe talk to me in person. But you weren’t there. And then I went to your office to see if you were working late, but I saw Kristen and she said it was your day off. You could have been anywhere at that point, so I went to Tommy’s and…told him.”

His eyes flit between yours, anxiously searching for your reaction.

You blink slowly, processing Joel’s words with a sense of resignation rather than shock. A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you realize that, at this point, nothing surprises you anymore. With a tired nod, you acknowledge Joel’s actions, feeling too drained to muster any significant reaction.

“How’d he take it?” you ask quietly.

Joel exhales deeply, a wry smile on his lips. “He isn’t too happy with me right now, but I think he’ll get over it.”

“Hm.”

“Darlin’, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice wavering with emotion. “I know you probably don’t want to see me right now, but after last night, I just…I couldn’t bare the thought of you not knowing how much you mean to me.”

As Joel speaks, you keep your gaze averted, unable to meet his eyes, your focus fixed on the sand beneath your feet. You hear every word he says, each one echoing in the silence between you, your heart pounding in your chest. Despite your reluctance to face him, Joel’s unwavering gaze remains fixed on you, his eyes silently pleading for understanding.

In the midst of the tense silence, a sudden clarity washes over you, and your heart speaks before your mind can catch up. Just as Joel opens his mouth to apologize again and explain further, you interject with your own question, the words tumbling out softly into the stillness.

“Do you ever feel like there’s something missing...like a piece of your heart is somewhere else? And no matter what you do, you’re always gonna be incomplete?”

You meet Joel’s gaze, your eyes searching his, peering into his soul with a vulnerability that lays bare your deepest feelings.

“I don’t feel like that when I’m with you,” you whisper.

Joel’s brows furrow in a mixture of surprise and tenderness as your words sink in. His lips part slightly, his expression softening with understanding as he processes the weight of your confession.

“Would you, um,” you clear your throat, “would you hold my hand and just sit with me for a bit?”

Joel’s eyes beam with adoration as he gently envelops your hand that’s clutching your shirt, delicately prying it away and intertwining his fingers with yours. With a soft, reassuring smile, he places your entwined hands on his thigh, the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin.

As you both gaze out at the vast expanse of the water, the waves lapping against the shore in a mesmerizing dance, you feel a sense of peace settle over you like a warm blanket.

You still carry the weight of unresolved issues and uncertainties in your heart, acknowledging that they loom on the horizon, demanding attention. But for now, they can wait.

Your hand in Joel’s feels right, and in this shared moment right here, that’s enough.

Thank you for reading! 🤍

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