#I’m black and from the USA

[cruel-style]

As a black person I need to know;

Please put your race, answer, and where you’re from in the tags! Reblog for a bigger sample size blah blah blah thank you

[llamasgotoheaven]

The way people don’t understand genetics history or geography is so apparent when people on Twitter bicker about whether southern and or eastern Europeans are white

[the-fruit-tea-devil]

*ahem* This has got to be one of the most out-of-touch, brain dead tweets I have seen.

[webfactor]

Wikipedia editors push offensive language to delegitimize some Native American Tribes

Article Text As Follows:

Wikipedia editors push offensive language to delegitimize some Native American Tribes

By Sherry Robinson

Special to The Independent

ALBUQUERQUE — When Lily Gladstone won a Golden Globe and Oscar nomination for her role in “Killers of the Flower Moon,” the public recognized a Native American actress. But to Wikipedia readers, she is an American actress whose father was Blackfeet and Nez Perce and whose mother was white.

Three long-time editors at the online encyclopedia argued that even though Gladstone grew up on the Blackfeet reservation, she couldn’t be called Native American unless she was an enrolled member of the tribe. When Gladstone’s uncle weighed in to say she was enrolled, they dismissed his comments. She is still, in Wikipedia’s view, “an American actress.”

In recent years, outside of a national debate in Indian Country over fake tribes, a handful of Wikipedia editors have been deciding who is Native American and who isn’t.

Look behind the curtain of the sprawling site and you will find a network of 265,000 volunteer editors writing and editing within a Wiki universe that has its own rules, language, police and courts but no traditional hierarchy.

Wikipedia’s structure allows likeminded editors to work together, but it also permits editors with a bias to advance their agenda. The site has drawn criticism from media and academics for slanted articles on Blacks and Jews. Wikipedia documents its own systemic bias in an article by that name and attributes the problem to too few minority editors. The typical editor, it says, is a white male.

By Wikipedia's definition, the only real tribes are federally recognized; editors of Native American material denigrate state-recognized and unrecognized tribes and seem preoccupied with revealing fake Indians.

The fakes are out there, and they’re a problem. But there’s a big difference between people who invented a Native ancestry and people who have a long, documented heritage.

For this story, aggrieved tribal members didn’t identify themselves because they fear the site’s size and power – it reaches 1.8 billion devices a month – and some editors’ vindictiveness.

Behind the curtain

Wikipedia is transparent about its process. Click on “talk” at the top of each article and you find the (sometimes endless) debates among editors about an article and see the site’s rules in action.

Editors are anonymous because the Wikipedia Foundation has a strong commitment to privacy, says a spokesperson. However, readers don’t know what expertise editors have or whether they’re Native American.

Editors select their subject matter. With experience they can rise in the pecking order until they gain authority to reverse or eliminate the edits of others. They quote the site’s often arcane rules in Wiki-Speak to anyone who disagrees. While Wikipedia espouses objectivity, neutrality and civility, discussions can take the low road.

On Lily Gladstone’s talk page, a newish editor, user name Tsideh (Apache for bird), asked, “What are your sources supporting the idea that Native Americans are only those who are enrolled in a US recognized tribe?”

A Wiki editor, user name ARoseWolf, answered: “A notable subject can make a claim… but you must have that respective tribal nation’s acceptance as verification through enrollment."

Gladstone’s uncle wrote: “I’m a primary source for Ms. Gladstone’s tribal heritage. Her father is my brother. Through our father, we are both enrolled in the Blackfeet Tribe in the USA,” he wrote. “Our mother is enrolled Nez Perce. So Ms. Gladstone is a direct descendant of both Blackfeet and Nez Perce.”

ARoseWolf shot him down. “We can not use primary sources to verify such information and, you, as a claimed family member have a WP:COI which means we need an independent source.”

WP:COI is the Wikipedia rule on confl ict of interest. Wikipedia forbids primary sources, and yet they’re the gold standard for journalists and academics.

Tsideh challenged the position that only enrollment in a recognized tribe “entitles somebody to claim to be a Native American” as an unfounded, minority point of view that Wiki editors didn’t support with a citation or explanation.

ARoseWolf and others chastised Tsideh for violating Wiki rules on bullying, false accusations and arguing Wiki policy. Tsideh countered that Leonardo DiCaprio didn’t have to prove he was an Italian American, but Lily Gladstone had to prove she was a Native American.

As the back and forth continued, ARoseWolf slammed a new editor who "just happened to find this discussion,” a dig that implies one party enlisted another to join the debate. That too is a Wiki violation.

Bohemian Baltimore, another regular, insisted, “If she’s not enrolled, she may be a descendant, but she’s not a Native American.”

Who is Native American?

Terry Campbell, a Navajo born in Tuba City, Arizona, who lives out of state, has been studying Wikipedia for five months, after friends complained about poor treatment in trying to edit Wiki pages.

One friend wanted to add some facts to an article about a tribe. “These changes were rejected by a handful of editors who cited other Wikipedia pages as sources,” he said, “and I thought that was very, very odd.”

A friend citing sources that prove her tribe survived the Indian wars and received state recognition ran up against Wikipedia guidelines on determining Native American identities that were largely crafted by two editors, user names CorbieVreccan and Yuchitown. Wiki editors used the guidelines to reclassify dozens of state-recognized tribes as “heritage organizations” and removed “Native American” from biographies of prominent tribal members or, worse, called them a "self-identified Native American.”

The implication, Campbell explained, is that the tribe no longer exists and that its members are suspect or even “Pretendians.” Wikipedia has a page for that too.

The same group has shaped many articles on Native subjects. Campbell said he combed through references and found they were misrepresented, taken out of context, sourced from far-right academics, or unreliable.

“The scope of this issue is huge,” Campbell said. “It permeates all the Native articles I checked.”

Campbell recognized talking points from what he called a far-right movement in Indian Country intent on erasing state-recognized and unrecognized tribes. (New Mexico has no state-recognized tribes and six unrecognized groups or tribes.)

Some Native Americans and Anglos, he said, believe that Indigenous people outside the circle of federal recognition should be considered non-Native. They also want to prevent members of the disenfranchised groups from selling their art, receiving ancestral remains, accessing disaster relief or re-establishing their homeland.

Outside Indian Country, it’s not generally known that U.S. Indigenous groups live within a caste system based on government recognition, with 574 federally recognized tribes on top, dozens of state-recognized tribes second, and several hundred unrecognized tribes last.

In 2021, Yuchitown wrote, “The overwhelming majority of ‘List of unrecognized tribes in the United States’ are completely illegitimate.”

There are many reasons why groups aren’t recognized. Some avoided the reservation. Some lost their recognition during the termination era. Some were broken up and scattered during the Indian Wars. Some went underground, practicing their culture secretly while passing as Hispanic. Many simply stayed put.

When Wikipedia editors claim that “Native American” is a political status conferred by the U.S. government, that an individual can only be called a “descendent” until their tribe is recognized, they push this narrative, Campbell said. It’s a contradiction of federal Indian law and the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.

According to the U.S. Department of Justice, “As a general principle, an Indian is a person who is of some degree Indian blood and is recognized as an Indian by a Tribe and/or the United States. No single federal or tribal criterion establishes a person’s identity as an Indian. Government agencies use differing criteria to determine eligibility for programs and services. Tribes also have varying eligibility criteria for membership.”

Extreme points of view

Campbell has contributed to a lengthy report, as yet unpublished, that identifies biased editors. They include Yuchitown, CorbieVreccan, ARoseWolf, Indigenous girl and Bohemian Baltimore.

“It was like a tree with many interconnecting branches that had been created over time by the same small group of people pushing extreme points of view,” Campbell said.

Initially the group made changes slowly, he said, “but they started pursuing their agenda aggressively after November, when state-recognized tribes retained their voting rights in the National Congress of American Indians (NCAI). Essentially, after the movement to delegitimize state-recognized tribes failed officially, the key players doubled down on altering and controlling the flow of information about Native Americans through Wikipedia.”

Campbell observed widespread violations of Wikipedia standards: “I found evidence that they blatantly misquoted and misrepresented sources to push extremist political beliefs; teamed up to manipulate the consensus system by voting in blocks; exploited Wikipedia rules, such as conflict of interest, to block outside editors from making changes to Native-related pages; excessively cited opinion pieces from fringe political figures, including those accused of racism and anti-semitism; blocked the use of legitimate primary and secondary sources that contradict their extremists beliefs, which violates Wikipedia’s rule against information suppression; posted originally researched, politically motivated essays instead of well-sourced articles; and harassed and defamed Native American tribes and living Native American people.”

Reacting in February to an early draft of the report posted on Google, the editors were incensed that anybody would voice complaints “off-Wiki.” ARoseWolf wrote that “we have been attacked, threatened with legal action and had misinformation/ false claims spread against us.” She and Yuchitown denied being part of a conspiracy against tribes or organizations and said they were just following Wiki rules. Yuchitown accused critics of being “meat puppets” of a person who objected to some Native content and enlisted others to back them up. In WikiSpeak this is meat puppetry.

“Volunteers on Wikipedia vigilantly defend against information that does not meet the site’s requirements,” the Wikipedia spokeswoman wrote. “These volunteers regularly review a feed of real-time edits to quickly address problematic changes; bots spot and revert many common forms of negative behavior on the site; and volunteer administrators (trusted Wikipedia volunteers with advanced permissions to protect Wikipedia) further investigate and address negative behavior. When a user repeatedly violates Wikipedia policies, Wikipedia administrators can take disciplinary action and block them from further editing.”

Inaccurate and insulting

In 2006, Wikipedia established the WikiProject Indigenous Peoples of North America to improve its Native-related content of 14,000 articles and more than 37,000 pages.

Recently, a hot topic on the project’s talk page was a proposal to change a category name from “unrecognized tribes” to “organizations that self-identify.”

On April 15 Melissa Harding Ferretti, chairwoman of the Herring Pond Wampanoag Tribe in Massachusetts, wrote, “The proposed renaming of the category on Wikipedia is not only inaccurate… but also insulting.”

Ferretti is one of the few Natives to take on Wiki editors openly.

Herring Pond was originally listed with other Wampanoag tribes. In 2022 Yuchitown stripped “state-recognized” from the page, even though the state Commission of Indian Affairs regularly engages with them. Last year Yuchitown created a separate page for Herring Pond. Wiki editors resisted attempts to make changes or corrections.

After Wikipedia called Herring Pond a “cultural heritage group" and a nonprofi t that "claims" to descend from Wampanoags, Ferretti wrote in a Wiki discussion, “There is no claim, it’s a fact! Might I add, nonprofit status was imposed upon Tribal nations in the ‘90s because we didn’t have our federal recognition yet.”

Her tribe has a well-documented history. “We still have care and custody of our sacred places, burial grounds and our 1838 Meetinghouse, one of three built for the Tribe after the arrival of the colonizers. Our continuous presence and stewardship of these lands are recognized by historical records, deeds and treaties.”

Ferretti wrote that tribes without federal recognition already face significant hurdles to gain recognition, "and being labeled as 'self-identified' can add to these challenges by casting doubt on our legitimacy.” Mislabeling unrecognized tribes “can lead to the spread of hate, misinformation and further marginalization.”

Some Wiki editors agreed. One wrote that “there are strong negative connotations to saying someone who is Native 'self identifies,' because the inference is that they are Native in name only or falsely claiming to be Native. A change like this will impact countless articles…” Bohemian Baltimore, ARoseWolf and Yuchitown insisted there were no negative connotations. They opposed calling an unrecognized group a tribe because it legitimized groups with unverified claims. ARoseWolf said, “If they had proof of their connection to the original people they would have gotten federal recognition.”

This is a frequent refrain among the insiders, who apparently think the application process is a slam dunk instead of the long, difficult, expensive journey it is.

Yuchitown noted that “all of the editors who actively contribute to and improve Native American topics on Wikipedia have voted to support the renaming.” It’s a remarkable declaration that he and his allies act in concert.

The insiders took even stronger action against Lipan Apaches in Texas.

Late in 2022, Yuchitown changed the entry of the Lipan Apache Tribe of Texas to say that NCAI recognizes the tribe as state-recognized but the National Conference of State Legislatures (NCSL) does not. In fact, NCSL took down its web page listing federal and state-recognized tribes because it couldn’t verify the accuracy.

In boilerplate that appears on all the Texas unrecognized tribes’ websites, Yuchitown said Texas has no legal mechanism to recognize tribes, citing an online article that in turn cites the discredited NCSL web page.

In 2022, a tribal member and Yuchitown fought back and forth, reversing each other’s edits. In WikiSpeak, it was edit warring. The tribal member informed Yuchitown that the NCSL page he quoted no longer existed. CorbieVreccan told the member she was up against “two experienced editors,” and Yuchitown accused her of conflict of interest and edit warring. His fellow travelers demanded to know if she had an official position with the tribe. She didn’t.

ARoseWolf wrote, “As Wikipedia is not a state or government-controlled entity it can make up its own rules for what content is allowed on its platform.”

The Wikimedia spokeswoman says that in some extreme cases the foundation relies on a trust and safety team that will investigate and may also take action.

Campbell wrote in the report that many Native American communities and people “have been targeted by the small group of propagandists in this complaint… And the thousands of people who make these communities have been slandered and assaulted on Wikipedia through the actions of these propagandists.”

Link to the original article:

[danielhowell]

DOOMED MERCH HAS DROPPED!

No this is not a drill - after touring the world (that is ending), probably the coolest merch I will ever release is finally here - we have scoured the corners of the earth to pull together a collection of WE'RE ALL DOOMED! merch to celebrate the recent show (and slit) and bring it online for you.

From the tour date t-shirt, to the iconic DOOMED ambigram hoodie, the black metal longsleeve and ..the 'DanHub tee' - choose what your apocalyptic aesthetic is.

WORLDWIDE: shop.danielhowell.com USA: us.shop.danielhowell.com EUROPE: eu.shop.danielhowell.com AUSTRALIA: au.shop.danielhowell.com

As a SPECIAL (wow) online-only offer - every order of the super limited quantity Vegan Leather Jacket (with rapture art on the reverse) will also ship with a totally unique Polaroid selfie that I took while thinking about death! 

I make no promises what I will be doing - it could be a cute smile, or a middle-finger. It's just whatever the vibe was in the moment. Who knows what someone will trade for the rare under-chin angle that some lucky person will get? (I am so sorry)

And it's not just garments - we've also got rare collectors items to snatch including the interval playlist cassette tape, and the 'Tears of My Enemies' water bottle, that I drink out of myself everyday while manifesting people's downfall.

Lastly, look out for the signed Ally Pally London show posters commemorating the final performances, which may come with fingerprints allowing you to perfectly fraud my identity, due to my left-handed sharpie smudging.

I want to say thank you to the tens of thousands of people that tuned into the stream to celebrate my show - without you it wouldn't have been possible to capture for posterity and now the message can live on. I'm going to begin my quest to determine where DOOMED will live forever, and who knows if we'll manage to wrangle any of the other rare itemz🐝 along with it in the future. I appreciate you all and I can't wait to see you all looking gnarly as fuck scaring the normies in this merch. Thanks 🖤 - Dan

[luveline]

Hey Jade!!! I was just wondering if you could do a soulmate au with Spencer please? Maybe something along the lines of those cheesy ones like the first words are tattooed on or they have the same tattoo idk, whatever you u feel like 😊

—Spencer meets his soulmate. You’re as lovely as he’s always pictured. fem, 1.3k

Someone will love me one day.

Spencer must think it a thousand times. When he has to put his mom in the sanitarium and he feels more alone than he ever has in his life, he knows one day someone will love him anyways. When he gets called ugly, too skinny, nerd, dork, and a handful of words that are even worse, he knows one day someone will say the opposite. He won’t be alone forever.

He was two when they appeared, dark black cursive words tucked against his pulse. Spencer felt ugly nearly every day of his life, wrong and weird, but the words on his wrist have never changed, ‘You’re so handsome I can’t believe it’s you.’

One day someone’s gonna look at him and see handsome.

Today, he feels pretty good. He’s back home in Washington, D.C., the grocery store he loves is open again after a long reconstruction, and they had a bunch of fruit from South America that he’s never tried before. He carries a white plastic bag full of fruit, bread and cheese back to his apartment, each step in the sunshine, the kiss of it warming his cheeks. A busker plays music near the mouth of the subway station. Nobody has yet to scowl at him for being in the way.

He’s wondering what he forgot when he sees you. You’re smiling, the sun on your face and arms, which are strangely full. Books slide against your chest, but besides a little huff and a shift of your elbow, you don’t seem to notice the slim paperback working its way through the crowd in your arms. It drops down onto the sidewalk but you keep walking. You must be in a hurry.

Spencer darts forward to your dropped book, thumb under the title. Charlotte’s Web by E. B White. The spine is flaking and soft from use.

He should call out for you. You’re already getting too far away.

Spencer crosses the road and dives deeper into the city with you. Washington, D.C. isn’t without grandeur —it’s the capital of the USA— and so he finds himself surrounded by potted trees and stretches of well tended grass. School’s broken for the day, children weaving around on bikes and scooters or holding hands with their parents taking up altogether too much space. He loses you in the crowd.

Spencer stops in defeat.

Maybe if he puts the book back in your path you’ll see it on the way back.

He’s not sure why he doesn’t. Spencer keeps your book and starts to walk home. This isn’t how he’d usually get there, but he can manoeuvre around the park.

He keeps an eye out for you. Ridiculously, he’d thought about giving the book back to you and making you smile. He hasn’t talked to anyone who wasn’t a cashier in two days.

“Hi.”

Spencer looks down. “Hi,” he says, spooked by the little girl in front of him.

“Is that for the library?”

He shakes his head regretfully. “No, I– I found it. I’m trying to give it back.”

“Okie dokie. I never read that one before.”

“I’m sorry, it’s not my book to give away… Where’s your mom?”

The little girl points at a mom and a younger child playing on the grass near a circle of benches. There’s a huge dark cabinet with its doors skewed open in the middle, and when he squints he realises it’s full of books. “Oh, is that the library?” he asks.

“Yes!” the little girl insists.

“Okay, well, here’s what we’ll do,” he says, looking desperately for you, disappointed when he can’t see a sign of your nice blue shirt or your sunny smile, “let me go see if I can find the lady who dropped this book, and if she says it’s okay, I’ll keep it for you to have. But you can’t run off from your mom again. Deal?”

The girl grins, thick hair shiny in the sun. “Deal!” she says, running in a burst toward her mother, who startles when she realises she’d left in the first place.

Spencer creeps toward the library. He can’t leave the book here now, he’s promised he’ll try to find you.

You come around the back of the library cabinet with a smile. Free Library, the sign says. Take one if you want, leave one if you can.

You stop in your path when you see him. You smile again, you’re prettier for it, lovely with the sun on half your face, your slight squint. You open your mouth to speak.

Spencer beats you to it. “Hi, I’ve been trying to catch up to you,” he says, raising your copy of Charlotte’s Web to his chest. “You dropped one of your books.”

You take a half step back.

Spencer grimaces. “I promised a little girl I’d ask if she can have it, I’m so sorry. I get stuck and I don’t know how to say no.”

Your eyes flash down to your hands. “You’re so handsome,” you say, and Spencer’s heart stops dead in his chest, your lips shaping each word without measure and somehow the prettiest anyone’s ever looked as they move, “I can’t believe it’s you.”

His shoulders sag with a deep breath.

You raise your arm to show him the contrasting font laid against your pulse. Hi, I’ve been trying to catch up to you.

Spencer shows you his. You’re so handsome, I can’t believe it’s you.

“It’s you,” he says.

You press your hand to your mouth. “I was walking too fast, right? When I was a kid I thought if I made everybody chase me that eventually somebody would have to say it, but then it stuck, and I rush everywhere I go.” Your voice turns breathless. “But you’re the person who was supposed to catch up to me.”

He smiles softly. “I think so.”

“And I just told you you’re handsome. I’m sorry, I bet that was embarrassing to… carry around, all this time.”

“It’s the best gift anyone’s ever given me,” he says honestly.

“I didn’t think you’d be so pretty,” you explain.

“I knew you would be.”

You hold your hand out. He’s about to tell you he doesn’t shake but he finds he really wants to, and you’re not shaking his hand anyways, you’re holding it, looking at the cursive on his arm with a disbelief he echoes in his own smile. You rub the tip of your thumb over the word handsome.

“Do you like books?” he asks.

You nod distractedly. “I love them,” you murmur, looking up.

His entire arm is alive with tingles.

“Do you read much?” you ask.

Every word you trade with one another has this shy longing he’s never felt, like you’re desperate to know about one another but worried you aren’t allowed to ask. Spencer’s about to tell you all about it, how he’s always reading, how books have been with him through everything, but there’s a tug on his shirt that stops him.

“Hi,” the little girl says.

Spencer laughs. “Hi.”

“What did she say?” the little girl whispers.

Spencer looks to you for guidance.

“Of course you can have it. It’s an amazing book,” you say.

“Thank you!” she says, holding out her hands.

Spencer doesn’t mind handing it over. If she didn’t ask him for it earlier, he might’ve never had the courage to look for you. He could’ve left the book in the cabinet and turned around, but he didn’t. And now he’s met you.

You step into his side. “Did you– do you want to get coffee?” You peer down at the bag now slipped from his elbow down to his wrist. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Do you want to have a picnic with me?” he asks.

You nod for so long he has to laugh. “I’d love to,” you say, offering your open hand.

Spencer threads your fingers together. That one day he always dreamed of seems a lot closer than it did before.

[herpsandbirds]

I just remembered spoonbills

so instead of googling them I’m gonna ask my favorite animal poster if they have any cool facts abt em :)

SPOONBILLS

If you're from the Americas (where I live), you might think there is only one species of spoonbill, the Roseate Spoonbill, but there are actually 6 species, all in the genus Platalea.

Eurasian Spoonbill (Platalea leucorodia)

Black-faced Spoonbill (Platalea minor)

African Spoonbill (Platalea alba)

Royal Spoonbill (Platalea regia)

Yellow-billed Spoonbill (Platalea flavipes)

Roseate Spoonbill (Platalea ajaja)

Spoonbills are in the same family along with the ibises, Threskiornithidae.

The common name of course comes from the spatulate (spoon shaped) bill, which they sweep, partly open, through the water to catch insects, crustaceans, and small fishes and frogs.

Roseate Spoonbills (Platalea ajaja), family Threskiornithidae, order Pelicaniformes, Smith Oaks Bird Sanctuary, High Island, TX, USA

photograph by Rose Poole

The Roseate Spoonbill is the most colorful of the spoonbills, and the only one that is pink. This pink and red coloration, a carotenoid pigment called canthaxanthin, comes from small crustaceans that are a large part of their diet (like flamingos).

Roseate Spoonbill (Platalea ajaja), family Threskiornithidae, order Pelicaniformes, Hillsborough, Florida, USA

photograph by Peter Hawrylyshyn

Royal Spoonbill (Platalea regia), family Threskiornithidae, order Pelicaniformes, Sydney, Australia

photograph by Michael Daley

Eurasian Spoonbill (Platalea leucocorodia), family Threskiornithidae, order Pelicaniformes, Germany

photograph by Andreas Trepte

[apollosfavkiddo]

just a little drunk - hoo boys

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

content: percy jackson, leo valdez, jason grace and frank zhang x drunk!reader, best friends to lovers

warnings: mortal!au, alcohol consumption, dirty jokes, weed consumption, probably cursing.

a/n: i just discovered that i have a massive problem with writing. i literally took half an hour (at least) to write EACH one of those. terrible. just terrible. but i swear im trying to write more, it’s just cause i don’t have much creativity to write 😭

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

now playing… party in the USA - miley cyrus

Percy Jackson

He was at the party. Of course he was at the party. Everyone says a party without Percy Jackson is not a party. But he was the DD of the night, so he was completely sober - which was a hard task for the party king.

That, until he saw you. On top of a table. Striping down- wait. Striping down?! Jesus Christ, he left you alone for five minutes- oh, you’re taking your shirt off.

Of course there’s a bunch of assholes standing there, telling you to keep going and screaming obscenities at you. But Percy didn’t have the time to be mad right now, he was too focused on you.

If he got there one second late, he and everyone else in that room would see the black lacy bra you was wearing, but thank goodness he got there before you did it.

“Alright, that’s enough for today, isn’t it, sweetheart?” He said, hugging you from behind and taking a very giggly you off the table. All the boys in the room started ‘booh’ing him, and he just flipped him the finger.

“Perce! I was having funnn!!” You complained, your words sloppy and smudgy as he basically dragged you back to his SUV. He just rolled his eyes and chuckled slightly.

“Y/n/n, you were about to strip in front of a lot of people. I’m sure you’d kill me tomorrow if i let that happen.” He said as he pushed you onto the car and pulled the seat down so you could lay against it.

“Hmm.. Yeah, i’d probably do that.” She said, the smile never leaving her face as she started mumbling random words.

He closed the door and walked towards the driver’s seat. He knew he couldn’t drive you back to his house now, since he had to wait for his friends, so he just turned the air conditioning on and pulled a blanket over you shoulders.

“Sleep for a little. I’ll take you to my home, hm? I’ll take care of you.” He said, taking the loose strands of hair off your face. You were just so pretty it was unbearable.

“Fine.. Thanks, Percy.” She said and drifted off to slumber.

After a few minutes of watching you sleep, he remembered that you’d hate to sleep with make up on, so he looked into the glove compartment and- aha! Of course you had left a few of your wet wipes there.

He started softly running the cloth against your face, cleaning it. When he was finally over, he kissed your nose slightly and smiled to himself, waiting for his friends so he could drive you home aswell.

Jason Grace

He was sleeping, as any normal person would at 2 am. But he was a light sleeper, and he woke up suddenly with his phone raining in his nightstand. He groaned and searched for both his glasses and the phone so he could see who was calling him so late in the night.

When he looked at the phone screen, he frowned in confusion. Why was Kayla calling him, out of nowhere? She usually didn’t call him, unless-

“Kayla?” He said as he picked up the phone, sitting in his bed and rubbing his eyes so he could try and forget the sleepiness that was threatening to win him over.

“Hey, Jason.. uh… i’m sorry for waking you up but, uh… i’m in a party with y/n-“ Y/n and parties? Never ever a good combination. “-And she doesn’t accept to go home unless it’s with you. She’s… drunk. Maybe high, too. Can you pick her up?”

Oh boy, he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to do that. “I’m on my way. Just… send me the address and i be there as soon as possible.”

“Fine- shut up, y/n! Stay here, no-“ And then the call was over.

My god, he thought, what’s she gotten herself into this time?

Kayla sent him the adress and he got into his car - a Lambo, gift from his absent father trying to make up for it - and got in the place the party was happening in less than ten minutes.

The first thing he noticed was the loud noise in the party. The second was you, laid down and making a snow angel in the grass. Funny sight.

“Y/n/n? My god, what in hell are you-“ He got cut off with you getting up and jumping on his arms, hugging him.

“Jase! I didn’t think you’d come!” You said, smiling brightly at your best friend. “Come on, let’s go to the party!”

You tried pulling his hand towards the house, but you weren’t already the strongest while sober, and drunk… e didn’t even flinch.

“No, honey, im taking you back to your house. You got enough drinking for today.” He said, pulling you by the waist towards him and placing you inside the car as you tried your hardest to get back to the party.

“As, come on! Buzzkill!” You whined, crossing your arms and pouting at him.

“Come on, i’ll buy you a slushee. What’d you think?” He asked. You immediately smiled. Drunk you was a very easily distracted person.

“Fine. But we’ll talk about that tomorrow.” He said, squeezing her shoulder softly as he drove towards the gas station.

“Whatever you say. Buzzkill.”

Leo Valdez

He was home watching a dumb tv show. He didn’t really bother with sleeping, since he knew his best friend was going to a party. And you plus party equals to a very drunk mess.

So when he finally got a call, he already knew it was you. It happens that he was right.

“Yes, cariño?” He asked, a smile plastered on his lips as soon as he heard your drunk giggles.

“Can you pick me up, fireboy?” You asked, your voice groggy and smudgy. But he knew it would probably be like that, so he was already expecting it.

“Course i can. Send me the address and i’m on my way.”

“Fine. Bye Valdeeezzzz..” You said before hanging up the phone with giggles and smiles.

He got where you were and you were being supported by one of your friends, who seemed pretty annoyed with the drunk version of you, all smiley and clingy to anyone around.

“Oh, thank god you’re here. I can’t stand her anymore.” Your friend said before basically dragging you towards the boy. “She’s all yours now.”

You were all smiles as you held Leo’s neck and pulled him close to you. “Leooooo! I missd’ ya!”

“Hey, cariño. You’re kinda drunk, aren’t you?” He asked before supporting your weight and taking you towards his car.

“What? Me? Nooo…” You said, giggling. You clearly smelled like pure alcohol.

“Sure you aren’t. Get in there, i’m taking you home.” He said, opening the passanger’s seat for you and placing you inside.

He put on your seat belt and kissed you forehead before walking towards the driver’s seat.

When he got inside the car, you were almost completely dozed off in sleep, trying your hardest to stay awake. He chuckled and turned the air conditioning on so you could rest more comfortably.

“Sleep, y/n/n. I’ll call you when we get home.” He said, the smile never leaving his lips.

Franz Zhang

He’s dead worried that you haven’t gotten home yet. Of course he didn’t knew where you were, cause you didn’t tell him.

Come on, you knew that, if you did tell him, he’d try to stop you.

So why bother?

You were having fun. A really, really good time. That was until your best friend came by with a weird cocktail, which was nothing more than a mix of different types of alcohol and syrup. Really fun.

And that’s when you got drunk and wobbly and you just had to call Frank. Common drunk mistake, isn’t it?

He picked up on the third ring.

“Y/n? My god, are you okay?” He asked, his voice laced with concern. He was so worried about you, cause you weren’t home and you didn’t pick up the phone and just called him out of the blue.

“Frankie!” You said and he could hear the smile in your voice. His concern only grew once he realized you were drunk.

“Y/n, where are you? I’m going to pick you up.” He said, already getting up with the car and house keys in his hand.

“I’m at Louis’ house! We’re having a birthday party!” You said, giggling and smiling brightly at absolutely nothing.

“Fine, i’ll… i’ll be there in ten. Just… don’t do anything stupid, and wait for me, outside the house. Don’t drink anything else and please, for the heavens sake, don’t do drugs.” He pleaded.

“I’m not- Frankie! I’m not on drugs. Please.” You said in a fake annoyed tone and giggled again. He rolled his eyes and sighed, driving towards where you were.

When he got there, he immediately saw you on the backyard, playing probably Pokémon Go and yelling when you finally found a pokémon. He smiled at the sight, and then remembered why he was there.

He walked towards you. When you finally saw him, you smiled widely and jumped in his direction, trying to hug his neck. Which wasn’t easy, as he was a little taller than you.

“Hey.” He said as he leaned down so you could hug him properly.

“Heyyy!!! I missed you!” You said, voice muffled by his shoulder. “Can you take me home? Please? I’m tired.” You said smiling cheekily.

“No.” He said, simply. “I’m taking you to my house today, kay? There’s some of your stuff there, and i can borrow you a shirt so you can sleep. But i’m not leaving you alone in this state.”

“Yay! Sleepover!” You cheered excitedly.

He couldn’t deny that the drunk version of you was very cute.

a/n pt2: did you see what i did there? i cut almost all of them in the middle. two reasons: one, for this not be too big and second i have inspiration to write more. lmk if u want a part 2 of those!!

[fayes-fics]

It's That Time Of Year

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: It's that time of year... when you could use a fake boyfriend.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), vaginal sex, dirty talk, hand as gag, quiet sex, sex in childhood bedroom. Fake dating, family dynamics, lots of feelings, friends to lovers.

Word Count: 11.3 k (eek Im sorry)

Authors Note: Here's my tropetacular winter 2023 Benepic! Request fill for @broooookiecrisp (HERE), who wanted fake boyfriend trope with Benedict accompanying the reader to the USA to spend Christmas with her family. I hope you like it, my dear. Thanks to @colettebronte for the read-through. Enjoy and happy holidays! 🎄

December 20th 

“Thank you,” Benedict clinks his champagne glass against yours, “for everything.”

You blush and look down from his intense blue-eyed gaze, staring instead at the untied bowtie around his collar that seems almost more attractive than when fastened.

“It was nothing,” you demure.

“It was not nothing!” he scoffs, giving you a gentle shoulder bump as you both lean on the high-top table.

“Alright, it was my job then,” you modify, giving him a modest smile as you hotch slightly - beautiful though they are, you cannot wait to take off these high-heels.

“And you are excellent at your job,” he asserts before downing the rest of his champagne and refilling both glasses from the bottle before you. 

He is lingering much longer than you thought he might, long after all his family and all the guests have left. The event was over a while ago, and all around you, the venue staff are clearing tables and stacking chairs.

Tonight was indeed a rousing success. Your first-time event managing the end-of-year fundraising gala for the Bridgerton Family Foundation, they hit a new record amount raised. Standing next to you is the newly minted CEO of that organisation, Benedict Bridgerton, looking far too dashing in his custom-fitted tuxedo. Empathetic and naturally in tune with the needs of others, he is indeed the perfect replacement to run the charitable arm of the family business now that his mother has decided to retire. In previous years, you both took deputy roles - him to his mother, you to your old boss - this was the first year you both stepped up to the plate to run things, and if you do say so yourself, you have both done an excellent job of it. A delightful working partnership built on years of friendship since meeting at university as an exchange student.

“You deserve a long Christmas break after this,” he breezes.

“Going home to the States in a couple of days,” you nod. “I’m both looking forward to it and dreading it in equal measure, to be honest,” you confess, this second glass of champagne acting like a truth serum. You didn't want to or even get the chance to drink earlier, but a little tipple to round off the rewarding night is lovely, especially in present company.

“How come?” he seems genuinely curious, his forehead knitting adorably. Of course, he wouldn't understand; he comes from an idyllic family.

“I am very much the black sheep,” you shrug, twirling a finger absent-mindedly around the rim of your glass. “Being childless, unmarried and single at thirty-three in a midwestern family is unheard of and thus the subject of much ridicule.”

“Wow,” his eyebrows shoot up, “that's…,” he hesitates.

“Judgemental? Parochial? Small-minded?” you supply dryly on his behalf.

“I was going to say traditional… but sure, those work too,” he chuckles.

You giggle a little, then sigh. “So a mixed blessing, really. It's nice to see them all; I just wish they were a bit less them, you know?” you gesture vaguely into the air.

“A boyfriend would really take the heat off?” he queries.

“Hah!” you can’t contain the bubble of amusement at the mere thought. “Chance would be a fine thing. But, yes, that likely would take the edge off the worst of their barbs.” 

“Well, I’m at a loose end,” he comments, seemingly changing the subject. “The family is spread to the four corners of the globe this Christmas. Mum is going to Costa Rica for a retired ladies' trip with Lady D. Don't ask,” he adds amusingly, holding up his hands. “Kate and Ant are taking their kids to Lapland, and my various siblings are travelling or staying with partners. Weirdly, it’ll be our first Christmas apart. At least we will all reunite for New Year's at Aubrey Hall.”

“Aww, that sounds nice,” you offer neutrally.

“What I'm saying, y/n, is…,” he continues slowly as if waiting for the penny to drop, “if you need a fake boyfriend, I am available. It’s the very least I can do after all of this,” he explains, gesturing around the room. “Plus, it might be novel to experience a typical American Christmas,” he shrugs casually.

You can’t help it; you gape at him. Completely floored. The idea is utterly left-of-field and yet so exciting your heart pounds. If there is one downside to working so closely with Benedict these last few months, it has been the exponential growth of your inappropriate feelings for him. He is so sweet and handsome; no one would be immune, frankly. It was bad enough when you were at university together; now, well, it’s slightly lethal. Your mind boggles at him playing the role of a doting boyfriend; your body, however, seems very enthused, a warm flush creeping over your skin at the mere thought.

He chuckles nervously, a likely reaction to your stunned silence. “Listen, it was just a silly suggestion; you don’t have t-” 

“Yes!” you squeak, interrupting and grabbing his jacket cuff boldly when he seems to be withdrawing. “Please,” you add almost as an afterthought, unsure how to thank someone for such a generous offer.

His face breaks out into the most handsome grin.

“Excellent! Then, it's a date!” he exclaims, tilting his glass towards yours again. “Well, a fake date,” he amends with a lopsided grin that makes your stomach flip.

Oh god. What am I letting myself in for?!

___

December 23rd

“Are you sure about this? You can still back out...” you offer, fidgeting in the bag-drop queue at Heathrow three days later. 

“Please. What else am I going to do? Sit around my flat, billy-no-mates, and eat a sad M&S ready meal?! You are literally rescuing me,” he counters, probably exaggerating for your amusement.

Very much following the motto of not looking a gift horse in the mouth, you had texted Benedict your flight details that same night, and he has made it all happen in the hours since. Somehow, he managed to wave the Brigerton magic wand and secure what was probably the last seat on your direct flight two days before Christmas. Unluckily for him, he has to slum it in economy with the rest of the plebs like yourself. He couldn't even get a seat near you; he's stuck down the back, in the middle, near the galley.

“How about we swap seats at least?” you offer, guilt creeping in, looking at your printed boarding pass. Not only is Benedict doing you a favour, but he’s also pretzelling his tall self into an uncomfortable seat. The least you can do is offer him your aisle seat.

“I’ll be fine,” he dismisses, waving a hand and fishing out his passport as you are called to the desk.

“Travelling together?” the pretty, painted lady breezes at you, holding out a perfectly manicured hand to take your passport and ticket. Then you watch her practically melt as she claps eyes on Benedict.

Tsk. Typical.

“Not exactl…” you begin.

“Yes,” he cuts in with a winning smile. “Sadly, we couldn't get seats together, though,” he pouts a touch theatrically.

“Oh! Well, let me see what I can do about that… It is Christmas, after all,” she winks at him conspiratorially, then taps on her keyboard.

A few minutes later, your bags are checked in, and you are upgraded to Premium Economy. The lady was apologetic that you still couldn't get seats together but a row apart instead. You are pretty sure if there was space, the handsome bastard would have gotten you upgraded to business without even trying.

Oh, to be a pretty Bridgerton.

___

Twelve hours later, you are in a taxi, tired but grateful for the additional legroom on the flight, even managing a few hours of light napping. Benedict is similarly sleepy, both of your heads lolling around as the car zips down the road. By the time you reach your family home, it’s evening, but to your body clocks, it's the middle of the night.

As you slide out of the taxi, a long arm wraps around your shoulders, and you startle.

“Best to look convincing from the off,” Benedict mutters as he throws his duffle bag on top of your suitcase and trundles them up the path with his other hand.

You nod and dutifully wrap your arm around his waist over his puffer coat, slightly annoyed at how good it feels, as if your arm belongs there. 

“This is so American it's almost a cliche,” he jests, looking up at your parents' house, holiday string lights twinkling in the dusk.

You giggle at his remark and bump him with your hip, quickly escalating into a friendly tussle. He hauls you into his arms and swings you in front of him.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, your limbic system alive at the feel of him pressed into you even behind heavy coats.

“Just go with it,” he responds with an easy confidence and that dazzling smile. As if in slow motion, his lips descend, and you reel as they lightly brush yours, an explosion behind your ribs at this passing touch.

Over your shoulder, you hear the front door opening and realise it’s for show, for a particular audience. You are grateful for the forethought but completely discombobulated from this partial kiss.

How am I going to survive a week of this?

“Mrs y/l/n, Mr y/l/n,” he calls as you linger in his arms, not wanting to turn around just yet.

“Well, hello there. This must be the famous Mr Bridgerton,” your dad's opening line. “We have heard so very little about you. Before yesterday anyway,” he adds, already twisting the knife in early as you pull up to the porch.

“That may well be because I asked her not to,” Benedict rebuts smoothly, releasing you to give a firm handshake. “I love the element of surprise,” he adds with a smile you have seen him deploy before, a weapon’s grade charm offensive.

Your mother’s face is a picture. “Well, well, we certainly didn't expect someone quite so handsome to accompany our daughter,” she drawls, verging on flirtatious. 

Benedict drapes his arm around your shoulders and nuzzles your hair. “Whyever not? She is simply wonderful,” he sighs, his hot breath tickling your scalp before letting you go again.

Damn, he is good at this.

“Hello, mom, dad…” you greet politely before moving in for a short hug from both.

“Happy holidays, darling. Let's get inside,” your mother fusses.

Within a few minutes, after some casual pleasantries are exchanged as you remove coats, you watch your mother give Benedict a tour of their home, including, to your chagrin, your childhood bedroom, which is a time capsule from your teen years. At least the dog-eared band posters have been taken down. As you drift back to the living room, Christmas music plays from a speaker behind the tree. Your family loves to go all out on the holiday decorating. It does feel festive and cosy, though.

“It will be a full house with all of our kids and their spouses staying tonight. So there are no spare rooms. You are on the sofabed in the den, Mr Bridgerton,” your dad comments, gesturing to the room next door; the message very clear.

“That's fine,” Benedict huffs genially, “and please, call me Ben.” 

“I might actually head to bed now,” you admit over a stifled yawn. “My body thinks it's 2am.”

“Same,” Benedict chimes.

“Oh, you should stay up, try to get into the timezone,” your mother clucks, always with an opinion about how you are not doing things how she would. “Ben has not yet been introduced to Tucker, Travis, Tegan and their spouses. They are all still out at dinner…” she indicates, listing your siblings and looking most perturbed at your decision.

“Tomorrow, Mom,” you assure.

“Alright,” she capitulates with a sigh, mostly when she sees Benedict yawn behind his hand. 

“Goodnight…” you offer to all and go to leave the room, but as you get to the door, Benedict stops you with an arm shooting out.

“Don't I get a goodnight kiss, my love?” he pouts.

At first, you look up at him shocked, then a flick of his eyes over your shoulder makes you realise he is continuing the ruse. 

“Maybe,” you flirt back, jetlag somehow making you daring. An ideal excuse to be coquettish, even though your parents likely can't hear your exchange above the music playing. They can certainly see your body language, though.

“Oh, I see. What do I have to do to earn it?” Benedict plays along, a dangerous smile and a large hand low on your lumbar spine, pulling you into him. 

“Tell me you will miss not sleeping next to me,” you boldly request, a little cheeky smile tugging at your lips to see how far he will let you push this.

A long finger swipes a tendril of hair out of your face and behind your ear, a thumb curling under your chin.

“Every night I'm not sleeping next to you is my misfortune,” he replies, sounding wistful, his eyes seeming to burn with something approaching sincerity. It makes your stomach swoop like you are standing on a cliff edge on a windy day.

“Good answer,” you stumble in acknowledgement, pushing up onto your tip toes, heart in your mouth.

“I do what I can,” he answers against your lips and then draws you into a slow, plush kiss. 

His mouth doesn't open, but it doesn't matter; the hint of wetness on his pursed lips has your body reacting, a charge ripping through your being. A sudden yearning for him to push you against the wall and plunder your mouth with his tongue. When he withdraws, you know your pupils are blown wide, but you are taken aback that his are, too; the dampness on his lip shines in the glow of the Christmas tree. 

Your father pointedly clearing his throat breaks the spell, and you jump apart as if burned.

“Sorry,” you both mumble and Benedict pulls the most adorable ‘oopsie, my bad’ face. 

“Goodnight, y/n,” he says tacitly.

“Goodnight, Ben.”

As you climb the stairs slowly, exhaling the breath it feels like you have been holding since he grabbed your arm, you know that kiss will be replaying in your head for weeks. If he keeps this up, you may well combust. 

This was a fantastically bad idea.

___

December 24th

You awaken on Christmas Eve when it’s still dark outside. A glance at your phone says it’s right after 4:30am. Already knowing you won’t get any more sleep, you throw open your case and grab slippers and a hoodie, deciding to head down to make a coffee.

You almost jump out of your skin when you see a silhouette sitting at the kitchen table.

“Sorry,” Benedict atones as he sees you clutching your chest, “time zones.”

“Same… coffee?”

“Please…”

As you potter around, making a pot as quiet as possible, he scrolls on his phone. You join him once it’s brewing.

“How is the sofa bed?” you ask, wincing guiltily.

“I've slept on worse,” he obfuscates jovially. 

“Sorry, if I’d known there wouldn't be a spare bed, I would have booked a hotel,” you apologise, rubbing your temples.

“No, it’s tradition to stay with family at Christmas,” he rebukes with a smile.

“Thank you again for all this,” you mutter, shoving your hands into your hoodie pockets. “Have you done this fake boyfriend thing before?” your question is only partially in jest.

“No, what makes you say that?” he huffs bemused.

“You, uhh, have been doing an excellent acting job,” you shrug. “Thank you, by the way. I don’t think they quite believe I could land you, but I’d argue you have been very convincing regardless….”

“Don't say that,” he frowns, cutting in. 

“You don’t think they buy it?” concerned things may not be working as well as you believed.

“Not that,” he waves a dismissive hand, “the other thing. Why wouldn’t they believe you could ‘land me’?” he rounds off with a quotation gesture.

You bark a laugh. “Have you seen you?  

“Stop,” he seems genuinely ticked. “That is all shit. I would be lucky to have you,” he mumbles, not meeting your eye, staring out of the French doors into the inky blackness. It won’t be sunrise for another three hours this time of year. “I am lucky, in fact, to have you as a friend,” he adds, his thoughts sounding far away.

“Well, same. I still have no idea how to repay you for all of this…” you admit.

“I already said, none needed. Why would I not choose a little foreign adventure with a good friend when the alternative is Christmas alone?!” he scoffs as the coffee machine beeps.

Unsure quite what to say, you get up to make a cup, knowing without asking how he takes his. Retaking your seat, you pick at the idea again.

“I think we should strategise…” you mutter into your mug.

“About what?”

“The plan. Now you have some inkling of what they are like, maybe we should talk tactics…?” you trail off, not sure even yourself where you are going with this.

“It's simple, isn't it?” he counters, taking a gulp of coffee. “We hold hands, hug and kiss occasionally, you know, act like a couple….” he shrugs as if it's the simplest thing in the world. Maybe it is to him; his heart probably doesn't pound when you so much as touch.

“Okay, well, I guess we can improvise. But let me know if it all gets too much. Send me a secret code or something,” you offer.

“Like a safe word?” he chuckles.

“Something like that,” you allow, trying to mask the heat you feel creeping up your sternum at the very thought.

Just then, his phone vibrates on the table.

“Sorry, it's Ant. I should probably take this,” he apologises, standing up.

You swallow a sip of your coffee, trying not to think too hard about anything, when suddenly he leans over your shoulder from behind, the phone still buzzing in his hand.

“By the way, my safeword is Byron,” he rumbles silkily into your ear. “Not that I’ll ever need it,” he adds, walking away casually while you try to bring your heart rate back to normal.

Dear God, this man is going to kill me.

___

You take your coffee back to bed when Benedict doesn't reappear after a few minutes and end up passing out again for a couple of hours. By the time you are awake again, the house is a hive of noise and activity. You pass Kallie, your oldest brother's wife, in the hallway, and she punches your arm lightly.

“Welcome home, and well fucking done!” she winks, and you frown, confused what she’s talking about. She jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “That delicious slice of Britishness in there,” she elucidates. 

Shit! It just occurs to you that by falling back asleep, you left Benedict alone to fend for himself in the melee of your family. The poor man must be mauled alive by now.

So when you enter the kitchen, the last thing you expect to see is the sight before you. Benedict, with an apron on, tossing American-style pancakes like a pro on the hotplate while your family chatters around him, applauding as he serves up another perfect-looking batch.

“Darling!” he calls when he sees you. “Come here!” he exclaims warmly, holding out his arms.

Unsure what else to do and powerless to resist the opportunity, you walk over and allow yourself to be swept into his arms. He presses a kiss onto your cheek. He smells like butter and syrup, and you want to burrow into him.

“Sorry I left you alone in the lion's den,” you say close to his ear so only he can hear.

He smiles into your hair. “They are fine, honestly; I can handle it,” he assures mutely.

You pull back and swipe a tiny fleck of batter from his face, enjoying the round of his cheekbone as you do. What makes an odd weight land on your ribs is how his pupils dilate fractionally as you lick the dot off your thumb.

“Delicious, Mr Bridgerton,” again, unable to stop yourself from flirting with him now you have the excuse.

Something in him looks almost wild as your gaze locks.

“Get a room!” your brother, Tucker, jeers from the table.

Part of you wants to sass back some version of ‘apparently we’re not allowed’ and ‘I wish’, but all you can do is smile at Benedict as he mirrors your expression.

“More, please, Mr Brid-un,” your youngest nephew toddles over, holding up his plate expectantly.

Benedict finally looks away and ruffles the little kid’s hair. “Certainly, Brandon,” he offers warmly.

“What I find fascinating is how a proper British gentleman knows how to make good old-fashioned American pancakes,” your mother pipes up from her seat at the kitchen island.

“Oh, my nanny was an American,” Benedict waves the spatula as he pours more batter onto the hotplate and begins a new batch.

“Your grandmother was from the colonies?” Travis mocks, feigning outrage.

“Oh no… not that sort. My umm nanny nanny, as in the lady who looked after us as kids,” he explains, looking somewhat sheepish.

“Shhiittttt,” your sister Teegan drawls, looking up from her phone for the first time. “You’re like actual rich, huh?”

“Language Tee!” your mother warns from across the room.

Teegan pulls a face and then turns her attention back to Benedict, awaiting his response.

“Please, can you all not be so… y/l/n,” you cut in, holding up your hands to the gathered family. “For once, can you all just…?” you taper off, hoping they will read between the lines.

“How’d you two meet?” Dean, Teegan’s husband, calls out, ignoring your plea completely.

“We actually met at university many years ago,” Benedict explains, flipping the pancakes as they bubble. “But we started working together last year on various projects, and well, we grew much closer.” 

So far, so truthful.

“Then, well, one memorable day, when we successfully wrapped up a project we had worked on so hard together, I realised she meant so much more to me than a friend,” Benedict continues, sounding so sincere you almost believe it yourself. A tiny flutter in your chest that the project he refers to could be the Gala. “I kept it to myself for a while, but late one night, I couldn't resist, and I confessed my feelings. I am the luckiest man alive because it turns out she felt the same. And, well… here we are,” he concludes, shooting you a look so loaded you forget it's a yarn for a few seconds.

“Friends-to-lovers, I stan,” Claire, your other sister-in-law, comments. She always has her head stuck in some romance book.

As Benedict serves the next batch, the focus of the room is pulled to your nieces and nephews as they overload their pancakes with toppings, and you are grateful to be out of the glare of the family spotlight temporarily.

“How did I do?” Benedict murmurs into your ear as he sidles up next to you, wrapping an arm around your back. There's a tinge of pride in his voice. He knows he has them eating out the palm of his hand, and fuck if it isn't so attractive.

“I should tip you…” you joke, not wanting to give away quite how flustered you are.

“I accept payment in kisses,” he breathes, his smouldering stare sliding down to your lips as you crane your head to look up at him. 

It's only a few minutes later, as you grab a pancake from the stack that you realise he didn't say that at volume anyone else could hear… it was purely for you. And you have no earthly idea what to do with that thought.

___

The rest of Christmas Eve passes with your family’s usual rituals, with Benedict beside you, playing the doting boyfriend to perfection. Each brush of his makes your adrenaline spike—a divine torture. 

While dinner is cooking in the afternoon, your parents usher most of you out of the house for a walk in the bracing cold to build up an appetite. And so you stroll, Benedict’s gloved hand in yours.

“So Ben, is everyone in London not married with kids, or is it only my sister who can't seem to figure it out despite her old age?” your sister Teegan digs as she pushes the buggy next to you.

“Well, we are a similar age, and I'm not married with kids either,” he points out breezily.

“Yeah, but…” she halts, realising there is no response she can think of. “Wait, why don't you have kids yet? Don’t you want a family? I thought you said you had lots of brothers and sisters?”

“I do come from a big family, yes. And I suppose one day, yes, I do want kids of my own,” he adds, seemingly honest as you listen intently, your heartbeat in your ears, “but I feel no rush yet.”

“So you’re not knocking this one up anytime soon then?” your brother Tucker stirs, checking your shoulder roughly from the other side.

You can't help but feel a blush darken your cheeks at that and refuse to look up at Benedict. You open your mouth to tell Tucker to shut up, but Benedict cuts across you.

“If anyone has come close to being someone I would consider having kids with, it's your sister,” he admits casually, as if talking about the weather. But for you, it feels like you are back on that proverbial cliff edge about to dive over, heart racing. It takes every fibre of your being to keep walking and acting naturally, grateful for the gloves between your joined hands; not sure you could handle his skin touching yours as he says such things.

“Ooooooo,” Tucker singsongs, “going to the chapel, and they’re gonna get mar...”

“Cut it out!” you grouse.

He peels a laugh, then jogs on ahead to catch up with Dean.

“I’m sorry about that,” your apology hushed as you keep walking, Teegan falling behind you to deal with one of her kids' tantrums.

“Why? It's an inevitable question when you meet your other half’s family,” he points out, squeezing your hand reassuringly as you wander as a pair.

“Yes, but… it's a bit much, considering they just met you hours ago. They are intentionally stirring the pot. Trying to scare you off,” you frown, realising what they are doing as you say it aloud.

Benedict stops walking, and it makes you halt, too. “Nothing could scare me off,” he assures, his face soft with understanding as he cups your jaw. His cold, damp glove is a balm to your flushed, embarrassed face.

“Right,” you nod, “cos this is all fake…” you add quietly, trying to hide the defeated tone.

“Anyone who knows how great you are would not be scared off by the idea of a future with you,” Benedict says soothingly, a thumb stroking your cheekbone.

“Well, when you meet a candidate who fits that bill, send them over to me, yeah?” you quip brittly as you look off into the distance, unable to meet his hazy, sincere eyes.

His response is interrupted by your niece tugging on his coat.

“Uncle Ben, can I sit on your shoulders? Please? Daddy already has Brandon, and my feet are so tired,” she whines in that dramatic way only little ones do.

Benedict laughs and releases you. “Certainly, Sofia,” he smiles as he hauls her onto his shoulders, uncaring of the mess her little boots smear onto his coat as he does so.

“Faster! Go faster!” she orders, and genially, Benedict obeys, moving ahead and breaking into a light jog as she giggles loudly and holds onto his chin.

You try to ignore the flutter in your chest at the sight of him with a kid on his shoulders, as if he were born to do so.

This was such a mistake…

___

“When are you moving home, y/n?”

You knew this was likely coming. The question your mum has to ask every time you visit. And every year, your answer is the same.

“I don't think I will be, Mom,” you explain calmly as you pass the plate of peas to your sister, not wanting to look at Benedict, who sits opposite you at the long table. “I love London. It feels like home,” you add with a shrug.

“Yes, but this living abroad thing is supposed to be a phase—a young person thing. You are mid-thirties now. It's time you settled down,” she frowns.

“I am settled,” you reply neutrally, “I have a place of my own that I love.”

“Yes, but an apartment, sorry ‘flat’,” she self-corrects sarcastically, “that’s not a real home. A home is a house with a garden in a safe town with good schools for your children,” she lectures.

This line of discussion used to annoy and rile you up, but you have become weary of it over the years. The rest of your family is tucking into their food but listening smugly, having towed the traditional family line.

“I think home can be many things,” Benedict pipes up from across the table. “A home is about where you feel safe and secure, surely Mrs y/l/n?”

“Well, yes…” your mother falters, slightly taken aback by his interruption but still charmed by his effortless congeniality.

“Then I would say your daughter’s home is London,” he smiles disarmingly. “You should see her there; I encourage you to visit sometime. She has a home she has made beautiful. She has many friends, and she is amazing at her job. She is happy. I, for one, cannot imagine her anywhere else.”

Again, you can feel your heart beating at his sweet words, even knowing they are all for show; it's lovely that someone has your back for once, defending your choices.

“But what of the schools, Mr Bridgerton?” your dad piles in, “I have heard nightmares of the school system in the inner cities, in this country and yours,” he shudders.

“My family has always gone to a superb prep school in Chelsea. I see no reason why our children could not do the same when the time comes,” Benedict responds with a winning smile.

You almost drop the corn casserole at that line.

Plonking it heavily on the table and taking a deep breath, you finally pluck the courage to look over at him. Looking back at you is a playful smile and a wink. And suddenly, you know what he is doing. It likely appears genuine to others, but you know him too well; you know all his facial tells. He is doing this for sport. To entertain you. The kaleidoscope of emotions you feel is near exhausting, relief mixed with a tang of disappointment that it's all for show.

“Well, that's wonderful news, Benedict,” your mother squeaks. “I cannot wait to hear more once you are engaged,” never failing to find an opportunity to take a dig.

“You will be the first to hear, I promise,” he smiles winningly and takes a bite of food. “This is delicious, by the way,” he adds, “I hope you will share the recipe with me, seeing as we will likely be family one day...”

And just like that, he expertly manoeuvres your mother onto the only topic she loves more than marriage - cooking. As if he could intuit how to steer the conversation. Relieved, you sit back and finally take a deep breath, then a bite of your admittedly delicious plate. You are even grateful he manages to distract them long enough that there are no jibes about your weight.

Maybe this wasn't such a mistake…

___

A few hours later, with the little ones tucked up in bed, the adults gather around the tree with the fireplace roaring and the festive music softly playing. It's time for gift exchange, a family tradition away from the hubbub of Christmas morning with the focus on the children ripping through all the gifts Santa left for them.

You are enjoying the buzz a second large glass of wine provides when the focus turns to you. Benedict sits beside you and slides a hand onto your knee. Still, your body reacts, but you attempt to act as if it doesn't make your blood pump hard in your head.

“Benedict, we didn't know you were coming, so I'm sorry we have no gift for you to open,” your mother says sheepishly, “and y/n, we have done as you always ask; we have sent you a gift card over email,” she explains, “which makes me sad as you have no gift to unwrap….”

“That's fine, Mom, thank you. And don't worry, I don't need a gift,” you assure, taking another swig.

“Actually….” Benedict clears his throat, “I have a gift for my girlfriend if that is okay?”

You look agog at him.

“But… I didn't get you anything,” you splutter, even as he moves his hand from you and reaches behind his back, revealing a small navy velvet box.

“Don't worry. It's nothing really, just something small,” Benedict assures, even as you can feel everyone’s eyes on you as you reluctantly let him place it in your hands.

Slowly, you pull at the tail of the lovely soft gold ribbon until it relents. With your heart in your mouth, you snap open the box. Nestled in more navy velvet is a tiny, beautiful crystal penguin, your favourite animal.

“Ben…” you are lost for all other words, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

“I remember you loved the larger one my mum had on her desk,” he explains lowly as you stare transfixed by all the facets catching the twinkling light. “Every time we had a meeting, you would stare at it or play with it. So I knew I had to get you one too, for your desk… or wherever you want to put it,” he modifies sweetly.

You can't help it - the swell of emotions makes you throw your arms around him as you clutch the precious item. It's like he has managed to distil everything you could want from a Christmas gift - something personal, tailored to you, nothing too extravagant but small, elegant and beautiful. And that he had the forethought to bring it across the Atlantic with him makes your heart burst even more. He is possibly the best friend you could ever have. You fervently wish he was so much more.

“I can't believe you remember that,” you mumble. “This is perfect and beautiful. Thank you, Ben, thank you so much.”

“Merry Christmas, my love,” he says into your hair at a volume you know is designed to be heard by the room.

“Merry Christmas,” you return quieter, only for him.

Vaguely, you hear your mother moving on to hand a gift to another, perhaps embarrassed by the display of affection between you. Grateful that the family focus seems to have shifted to someone else, you go to pull away from the embrace, but Benedict draws you tighter into him. 

“Lovers don't let go so quickly,” he whispers. “Now I'm going to kiss you again if that is okay…”

Your tummy flips. “Okay…” you barely struggle out the word.

Then his hand is on your cheek, and time seems to slow like treacle; his eyes burn into yours as he moves in, then flutter closed as his lips meet yours. Again, it is like a rollercoaster, a thrilling plunge as his lips move over yours. It's like the previous night, respectful with a closed mouth but so sweet and promising, so much more a whole ripple runs through your body. You need more, so much more, desperate to climb into his lap and demand a real kiss, audience be damned.  When you part, he tilts his forehead against yours and smiles gently, licking his lip as if savouring the taste.

“I'm glad you like it. The gift that is,” he clarifies, a sweet mumble.

You giggle. “I love it, Ben, thank you. I'm sorry I didn't get you anything; I feel terrible.”

“Being here with you is gift enough,” he assures in a voice that melts your insides, which you assume is for the audience.

My god, this man will be the death of me.

The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant fog of wine, your siblings holding court and telling stories as you listen, feeling the weight of Benedict’s hand again on your leg as he sips on a whiskey. Once again, you feel the creeping of jetlag and decide to turn in around 10pm. You give Benedict a peck on the cheek before he can draw you into another confounding kiss and make your escape upstairs with a glass of eggnog and your book.

As you settle into bed, you try not to let your thoughts spiral as you catch sight of the crystal penguin in its box. Instead, you tell yourself he is a good friend and rich; it's likely nothing to him, and not to read too much into it.

___

December 25th 

At some point, you drift off to sleep, book in hand, the timezone still catching you out. You only realise it when you are awoken suddenly around 2am by a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you croak, sitting up and rubbing your eyes to adjust to the light; you had fallen asleep with the bedside lamp on low while reading.

The door opens ajar, and Benedict’s handsome face pops in. “I saw your light on…” he says softly, “just wanted to check on you.”

You put your book aside, pull the covers around your neck and feel an odd flutter as he closes the door behind him. He looks cosy in long tartan pyjama bottoms and a soft dark t-shirt.

“I'm sure your dad would kill me if he knew I were here,” he jests as he hovers a few feet away.

“Come sit,” you pat the bed next to you, even as you feel strange about him being here, dead of night on Christmas Day. 

He nods gratefully and perches on the edge of your bed. It's a full-size mattress, bigger than a twin, but not a double bed. You can feel his weight tugging the bedding tight over your thighs.

“Thank you again for my gift, truly,” you gesture to the box on your bedside table.

“I had to. I couldn't think of anything more… you...” Benedict smiles that demure smile with downcast eyes that always makes you want to shake him and tell him to stop looking so fucking adorable. Or mount him. Or both. You have to bite your lip to stop blurting out your errant thoughts.

“But still to buy me such a wonderful gift and put up with my family… I mean… you deserve a medal,” you shrug.

A hand clamps onto your knee through the bedding, but it still surprises you. 

“Stop it,” he gruffs. “I'm going to need you to stop. Seriously. I chose to come here. It's been fun. Something different. Yes, your family is a bit… intense, but everyone’s is. Each has its own special blend of crazy. You’ve seen the Bridgerton brand of dysfunctional up close,” he points out, knowing without saying more how much you have watched them bicker over the years.

“But you’ve said all those lovely things, made up all these amazing believable stories…” you argue back weakly.

“Every single thing I have said to your family has been the truth,” he responds solemnly.

You replay a few choice record-scratch moments in your head. “But what about the stuff about me being the person you could see yourself having kids with and where these imaginary kids would go to school…” you point out, wincing as you do.

“I told no lies,” he answers each syllable enunciated slowly, staring you down.

It feels like your whole world tilts when he utters those words.

“What are you saying?” you query, breathier than you mean to sound but needing him to spell it out.

He sighs, but a mischievous grin twitches the corner of his mouth. “You are much smarter than this; don't be obtuse now, y/n,” he rumbles, something in the challenging way he says it catches a fire behind your ribs.

“Ben…” you warn, so many contradictory feelings at once.

“You are all the things I said and more, and you must know how amazing you are,” he offers softly as you feel your eyes misting.

“Please don't,” your last vestige of resistance, still not believing what he says can possibly be true, too close to a festive miracle. Part of you thinks that at any moment, you will wake up alone and bereft.

His fingertips brush your cheek, and you inhale sharply and look up to see him inches from your face.

“Fine, if you don't somehow believe my words, maybe you’ll believe my deeds…”

It's the last few words out of his mouth before his lips meet yours.

This time, it's not for an audience; it's just for the two of you, and it almost stops your heart. A hesitant, soft, sweet brush that becomes more as he leans in and deepens the kiss. His lips part yours as your mind grinds to a halt, tentatively following his lead, kissing him back… the catalyst, the permission he needs. A large hand rounds behind your head and pulls you forward. Suddenly, it's a tidal wave, his tongue rolling greedily over yours, becoming hungry, urgent, desperate, your body awash with chemicals, scarcely able to believe Benedict, the star of every one of your spicy dreams, is here in your childhood bedroom, kissing the very life out of you in the early hours of Christmas Day.

“Lay down,” he murmurs into your skin as his lips glide over your cheek, and you follow his order without thought, shuffling down obediently until you lie flat and stare up at him transfixed. 

It’s as if he’s taken your disbelief as a challenge to prove how very real this is. With one hand, he tosses aside the covers and crawls over you until he is engulfing you, surrounding you with his scent that makes your mouth water. His lips are hot on your neck as his hands map your body, lingering in places you are self-conscious about. 

“Do you have any idea how sexy you are?” he sighs as if disputing your internal monologue, his breath ghosting warm over your collarbone. 

“Stop…” you demure, wriggling under him, feeling bashful.

“No..” his crooked smile is lethal as his head pops up from worrying your throat with a little edge of his teeth. His hand skates your clothed breast, and on instinct, you push up into it, your nipple hardening as the heat of his palm seeps through your nightshirt. “Please take off your top,” he implores, his mouth finding your lips again. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamt of touching your naked body.”

“I can’t believe this…” you mutter, shaky, confounded that it could be true—the man you desire desiring you back just as wantonly. He lowers his body between your legs, surging his hips so you feel something insistent inside his pyjamas.

“Now, do you believe me?” he dusks into your ear.

“Benedict…” falls from your lips as an excited shudder.

“Say my name again, please,” he huffs right against your cheekbone, pinning you under him with his pelvis.

“Benedict,” you repeat, revelling in the effect it seems to have on him.

It gives you the courage to whip off your top. The noise he makes as he realises you are naked underneath it is a beeline right between your legs.

“Shh,” you hush, giggling, a rush through your veins, not wanting anyone to disturb this, as he slides his lips down over your skin towards your breasts.

“I cannot,” he remarks gleefully,  “not with such a bounty beneath me.” 

His lips clamp onto your left nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue with an intensity that steals the breath from your lungs.

“Might wake fam…” you stumble out, impressed you can even do that.

He pulls up, his biceps in tense relief as he balances on his fists curled on either side of your waist. “Then lock your damn door,” he growls in a way that has you clenching.

“No lock…” you squeak, wishing beyond belief you had one.

“Shit, really?” he sighs, leaning back down to kiss over your sternum. “I’m not sure I can be quiet; I’ve wanted this for too long…”

You go to query that statement, but he moves to your other breast and does the same, so the only sound you are capable of is a guttural moan.

“Shh,” he hushes you back cheekily, tilting his head up from your chest, eyes sparkling and face so achingly handsome you still can barely believe this is happening,

“We really do have to be quiet…” you point out reluctantly.

“I know,” he sighs into your breastbone, dropping a soft kiss there. “I want to tell you so many things….” 

“Whisper them to me…” you beseech, running your fingers through his lush, thick head of hair, tilting your breast back up to his mouth.

He smirks and catches your unsubtle hint, once again using his talented mouth to make you shudder under him. He runs a finger down your centre line to your belly. 

“Your body is perfect,” he sighs. You go to protest, but he shoots you a disapproving look, so you bite back your words. “I could get lost for hours tracing your lines,” he hums, his featherlight touch tickling as it crosses under your belly button, making you giggle. “Hmm, a little ticklish too,” he sounds utterly captivated by that discovery, throwing you a very troublesome expression.

“Don't use it against me…” you warn, knowing he will ignore you, a fizzy feeling at this playfulness.

“Oh, I just might…” he chuckles as he runs his tongue lower over your torso, a hot, damp line that leaves fluttering in his wake. “I could do this all night…your skin is so soft,” he purrs, inhaling deeply, nuzzling his nose above the line of your pyjama bottoms. “You always smell so fantastic,” he sighs, using his teeth to tug on the ribbon. 

You’ve never had someone be this vocal during intimacy. It makes you feel reassured but also slightly bewildered by just how aroused you are getting, Benedict’s resonant voice skittering compliments over your skin, making you embarrassingly wet. Your hands greedily pull at his t-shirt, hoping he will get the hint.

“If you want something from me, you have to say it,” he teases as he switches to using his fingers to undo the bow on your pyjamas. 

“Please take off your top, Ben,” you mewl, even as your heart pounds at the idea you will soon be naked under him.

“I will,” he promises, “in a minute…” 

As if sensing your apprehension about removing your last item of clothing, he leaves it in place, shuffling lower and stretching your legs wide with his shoulders. You gasp loudly as his mouth, hot through the thin cotton protecting your modesty, sucks insistently over your slit. A large hand curling around your hip to stop you canting off the bed. Your clit throbs, and your pussy leaks copiously down your bottom.

“Fuck I can tell how wet you are even through this fabric,” he stutters.

“I'm sorry...” you squirm, embarrassed.

He surges upright, grabs your hands from around his head and cages them on the mattress beside your hips.

“Let's get two things very clear,” his voice stern but achingly seductive. “One, your body is incredible, and you should know by now how much I desire you. Two, if you ever apologise again for being turned on, I will be annoyed. Do you know how proud I am? That I can do this to you? How absolutely rigid this makes me?” rutting his hard cock against your left calf to prove his point. “I want your desire running down to your knees. I want you mindless and trembling with need for me.” 

“O-okay,” you stumble out, entranced. This filthy poetry and feralness is beyond anything you could imagine him capable of. You have seen hints of his menacing potential, but full force, it’s breathtaking.

“Good,” he smiles crookedly, releasing your hands. “Now lift your hips so I can get you properly naked,” the slightly bossy rejoinder really working for you.

Mutely, you do as bidden, his fingertips trailing fire down your hips as he tugs the material over your thighs, impatiently pulling them from around your ankles and tossing them over his shoulder, his gaze locked onto your body. He groans a curse, and you again find yourself clenching around nothing at his untamed response.

Whispering his name is a reflex, your fingers carding again into his hair as he lowers his mouth and suckles the skin of your hip before slowly, almost torturously, winding his way lower towards your centre. Every place he touches feels alive and fluttering, him whispering reassurance and praise into your flesh, like a sensual requiem that catches your breath. By the time he trails his nose down the crease where your thigh meets your body, you are panting, eyes screwed shut, head tilted back, anticipation knotting your guts.

“Look at me,” he orders softly, his face framed by your thighs as you gulp and look down the plane of your body to him. “Don’t look away; I want to see your eyes when I do this,” his breath hot on your slit.

He unfurls his tongue and ploughs through your wet flesh, making your toes and fingers curl. You have to bite your lip and curse behind your teeth, the sensation overwhelming, his eye flashing fire in his blown pupils at your bodily reaction. You hiss loudly, needing to call out so bad your lungs ache. You twist your pillow to bite down on a corner but keep your eyes on him as told. He chuckles pridefully, the sensation shooting up your pelvis, then keeps going. Teasing around your clit with a lathing action that is nothing like you've had before, devouring, using his whole face, strong arms wrapping your thighs in a vice-like grip, held lewdly open It feels so good that within moments you are panting. Still, part of you is tense, scared about your ability to be silent.

“Relax,” he breathes, shaking your hip gently in his grip, sensing the tension in your being. 

“I'm worried I won't be able to stay quiet enough,” you admit, muffled around the pillowcase, looking away to stare at the ceiling as he busses a soft kiss onto your inner thigh.  

“One moment…” he withdraws and hops off the bed. You watch, vaguely dazed, as he drags a heavy chair against the door and wedges it under the handle so it can’t be opened. “There, now we should get some warning.”.

When he turns back around, you instinctively pull the cover over yourself to hide your naked body, even as you can’t help but stare at the tent in his pyjama bottoms, mouth watering at visions of what lies beneath.

“Don’t do that,” he reproaches softly, “show yourself to me.”

Reluctantly, you push the sheet away again, squirming slightly as his eyes roam your body lasciviously as he prowls over to you, stripping off his t-shirt as he does. His naked torso is perfect, toned and honed, and as he crawls over you, you are hypnotised by the view. 

“You are so beautiful,” he sighs, dropping a kiss on the tip of your nose, the scent of your arousal on his face. “Never cover yourself in front of me; you should be proud of your body.”

You’ve never had someone say that before, and your insides are molten, a need for him that burns so bright, an inferno purely of his making.

“Tell me what you want,” he proposes, lacing your fingers with his, kissing your fingertips, then sucking them into his mouth, looking at you expectantly as you stutter at his warm, wet, talented tongue lathing over your fingertips.

“Everything…” you blurt out honestly. “Anything. This is all wonderful… Can I return the favour for you?” you deflect, brushing your other hand tentatively over his bulge as he hovers over you.

“Yes, you bloody can,” he growls, releasing your fingers from his lips as his eyes flash dark. But he grabs your hand away from his cock, calming his tone. “But not tonight. Another time…”

“Another time?” you echo, temporarily stunned by the idea this isn't a never-to-be-repeated Christmas miracle.

“Yes. Why would you think this a one-time thing?” his brow knits as he drops a kiss on your cheek. “What about my actions and words tonight suggest that?”

“Nothing, I suppose,” you concede, “just history…”

He cups your jaw. “The past is the past. This is now and me,” he states clearly, running a thumb tenderly over your lip. “I will do whatever you want. If you tell me to leave this room right now, I will, and I won't think any less of you…”

“Don't you dare,” it's a snarl from some dark recess deep inside you, your legs twining around his to lock him in place.

“There she is…” he chuckles, that lopsided grin taking over his face before kissing a line down your throat. “Now tell me what you want, y/n.”

“I want you inside me,” you confess, running your hands over his naked back, loving the play of muscles under warm skin.

He groans at your words, an edge of teeth on your jugular, making you ripen, feel daring. If he wants to know just how wild he makes you, you are going to show it. You grab his face and drag it up until he is over you again, his pupils blown and his hair a mess from your tugging.

“Fuck me, right now, Ben,” you demand hotly, pushing your body up into his and delving a hand inside the back of his pyjamas to grab his shapely rear, keen for him to be as naked as you.

He snarls and pins your arms beside your head on the pillow.

“Do you have any condoms?” he breathes hot in your ear.

“Ah shit,” your head thumps back, chastising yourself for not planning better. But then this seemed like such an unlikely outcome, frankly miraculous; why on earth would you have?

“Good thing I came prepared then,” he teases, releasing his grip to produce a small packet from the pocket of his pyjamas.

“You….” you scold, equal parts impressed and irked, running your fingers around his waistband. 

“It was a sincere wish, not an expected conclusion,” he smiles bashfully, his lips meeting yours for a searing kiss as he slips off the last of his clothing.

A shiver runs down your spine as he bears you into the mattress, naked, his rigid cock brandishing the inside of your thigh. He keeps kissing you over and over until your lips feel tingly from the slight hint of stubble around his. You wrap all of your limbs around him, craving for your bodies to be melded.

When he pushes up slightly to rip open the packet, you glance down and see, nestled in a patch of trimmed hair, a sizeable but very pretty cock. You can’t resist reaching out and touching it, loving the feel of steely strength under the silky texture; his soft groan is like music to your ears. Sighing his name, you are impatient for him to be inside you, already knowing it will feel wonderful, part of you craving skin on skin. 

Again he wears that demure smile, looking up at you through his lashes, so you take over, eagerly rolling the condom onto that pretty cock and then pulling him down on top of you forcefully.

“I like it when you are just a little bossy,” he confesses into your mouth, one hand pulling the cover over you both, then sliding between your bodies to guide himself towards you.

“I like it when you are a little bossy,” you counter, but then all your words die out as his cock slides insistently into you.

Your eyes roll back as he inches inside, so much heat and girth, your body stretching to accommodate his invasion. You both seem to utter a curse, and your hands grasp each other tight.

“You feel amazing…” he murmurs as he bottoms out, the feeling of fullness so perfect.

You whisper your agreement as he withdraws and surges back in, your feet curling around his legs, toes sliding into the light fuzz on the back of his calves. There are soft sighs, both of you trying to muffle your sounds as he sets a languid pace, your body rolling with his; each push has your walls clinging to him, your breasts squashing against his broad chest. What strikes you most as you move together is that nothing is awkward; it all feels natural, predestined, an easy intimacy that suggests months or even years together rather than a first time.

He feels so good moving inside you, so perfect; all you can do is cling to him, trying to convey with your eyes what you dare not voice. Afraid that if you open your mouth, you will release the noises you are fighting to hold in, blazing in your lungs. His stare is blistering, too, a blush across his face that speaks of desire and denied words, his neck corded, a pulse beating wildly in his prominent vein, a sheen gathering on his forehead as he pushes into you over and over.

His breath is hot on your temple as he shifts, dropping a shoulder and reaching down, looping your leg into the crook of his arm, the sheet pulling taut around your knee as he does. He hits a new spot deep inside with his next thrust, which has you digging your nails into his back and whimpering behind your sealed lips. It's as if he is doing his damnedest to break you, make you cry out, and it's the best torture you have ever known.

You huff out of your nose as he does the same, both sounding winded, as he picks up the pace, your teenage bed starting to squeak in protest.

“Shhh,” you plead with the furniture as much as him.

He stops moving, buried in you, and reaches above, stuffing a throw pillow between the bedframe and the wall, his arms flexing deliciously right over your face, the scent of his body spiking your need. It makes you grasp your thighs around his hips and flip him over, landing with a bounce, him still inside as you are on top of him now.

“Wow, that was…” he looks both astounded and exhilarated.

“Surprising?” you supply with a triumphant crooked smile of your own, your hands tracing the lines of his pectorals.

“Wonderful,” he clarifies, his hands grasping your hips as you start to ride him. The way he looks up at you, with dark pupils and a bitten lip, makes you fearless. Starting a leisurely pace, you place your hands over his on your hips, fingers lacing as his eyes slip from yours briefly, transfixed by his cock disappearing into you.

He groans low, undulating beneath you, pushing up as you sink down, his eyes back to your face, a prideful expression as your mouth drops open, his cock nudging deeper than ever before, almost a dull ache that you need, moving faster now, chasing that hit with every downstroke. You can feel your body flushing hot from the exertion, your thigh muscles burning slightly. Still, you don't waver, too addicted to that feeling of being so utterly filled, his cock dragging all the right places inside that switch off your brain and forget everything, every doubt, every uncertainty about yourself and your body, and just chase pleasure. 

“My god, you are beautiful,” he gasps, “I love to see you like this, so untamed, so free…” 

The compliments just drip like whispered jewels from his tongue as he guides your joined hands up to your breasts and grabs them with a force that fans the heavy, hot feeling in your pelvis, his knuckles snagging your sensitive buds. It makes you want to ride him forever, your clit throbbing each time you sink down, tugging temptingly but not enough to quite tip you over. The clawing sensation of being so close makes you drag your fingernails down his torso and clench around his cock. He stutters and looks at you hungrily, possessed, and then, before you know it, the room tilts as he rolls you back under him, again never leaving your body.

He withdraws and thrusts back into you with such force the wind is knocked out of your lungs, the pillow muffling the thud against the wall. Something in the atmosphere shifts; an urgency, like the heat that has been simmering, is now boiling over for both of you. He grabs your knees and encourages you to wrap your legs high around his torso, tilting your pelvis to a new angle, and when he moves, you cry loudly behind your lips, his body glancing at your clit.

He hushes you with a prideful chuckle. So you grab one of his hands and place it over your mouth, knowing you cannot trust yourself to stay quiet now. The hitch in his breath as you gag yourself with his palm is like poetry. 

Oh, Ben, you have no idea what I may want from you one day…

Your errant thoughts run to your darker fantasies, things you’ve never done before but are intrigued by, and in every one of them, it's him. Treating you just a little rough while you beg for more.

“Whatever you are thinking,” he gusts into your ear, moving faster now, “I hope it involves me.”

You nod, feeling his fingers flex across your face.

“Good, I can't wait for you to tell me,” he rasps lowly.

A bead of sweat forms along his hairline as the whole bed rocks now, the trapped pillow muffling the sound, his punishing pace pushing you ever closer to orgasm, pleasure spiking with each thrust. His hand grips your jaw; something about that pressure and the sweet words he murmurs is a contradiction of primal and tender. Sex before has always been one or the other for you; blended together, it's a potent elixir.

He takes you hard, without mercy, and you silently beg him with your eyes for just that; his cock feels so hot and rigid, pounding into you as your cries are muffled by his tangy palm. The onslaught is perfect, and you are teetering on the edge just as he pleads roughly with you to come with him. So you let yourself go, your mind blanks out, your body bucking under his violently. Shuddering convulsions fanning out from your pussy, gripping tight around him and racing through every ounce of your being, muscles taut, eyes screwed shut, a scream trapped in your lungs. He stills above you, his hand releasing your mouth as that bead of sweat splashes down onto your nose. He curls around you, coming hard, huffing gulps of air and twitching almost violently with tiny aftershocks.

After a pause filled with panted breaths and strokes on overheated skin, he carefully withdraws and discards the condom.

“Merry Christmas,” you giggle into his neck as you collapse together.

He hauls you into his embrace, tucking you under his arm and kissing your dewy forehead. 

“Merry Christmas indeed,” his answer ragged, wrapped in a warm laugh.

And that is how you both drift off - exhausted, sated bodies entwined, damp skin pressed together.

___

A few hours later, you are awakened by overexcited nieces and nephews thundering down the stairs, eager to see what Santa has brought them. It takes a moment to recall what transpired overnight, a telltale delicious residual pang between your legs, followed by the realisation you are alone. Part of you relieved Benedict has snuck back to the safety of the den, but a larger part sad not to be waking up in his arms. Sighing, you roll over and spy a jaunty cartoon penguin Christmas card propped up on your bedside table. Upon opening, you beam, immediately recognising the beautiful, looped handwriting.

Y/n 

Thank you for the most magical night. Leaving this bed might be the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I can’t think of anywhere else I would rather be on Christmas Day or, indeed, any other day of the year. But I don't want your father to be angry with me. I have a lifetime to disappoint him… if you will let me. 

I can't wait to see you downstairs.

Merry Christmas,

B xx

P.S. I may have just booked a hotel for the rest of our stay. I think we deserve some privacy ;)

You giggle, elated; the exciting prospect of nights in a hotel and the pledge of a lifetime ahead makes your stomach leap—this could be the start of something. You momentarily clutch the card to your chest, revelling in your joy, before burying it into your book for safekeeping and going to take a shower.

When you descend the stairs, out of the picture window, you see most of the family gathered on the street with the kids circling on their new bikes. But as you round into the living room, a sight melts your heart. Benedict sitting cross-legged on the floor with Sofia, a novelty Santa hat perched on his head, surrounded by shreds of wrapping paper, festive music playing in the background as he puts batteries in some loud plastic toy that will no doubt drive everyone up the wall for the rest of the day. 

She whoops with delight as the toy noisily springs to life and runs away to play with it. That's when he looks up and sees you watching from the doorway, his face lighting up. Slowly, he gets to his feet, and then you gasp as he wordlessly pulls you into his arms, brings your hand to his face and kisses your knuckles before starting to waltz.

“I didn't know you could dance like this, Mr Bridgerton,” you tease, impressed, allowing him to lead you around, dodging haphazard toys and boxes.

“Oh, there are so many, many things you have yet to learn about me, Ms y/l/n,” he proclaims alluringly as Frank Sinatra croons from the speaker.

♫ It's that time of year  When the world falls in love Every song you hear seems to say Merry Christmas May your New Year's dreams come true. ♫

“I hope you don't have plans for New Year's,” he whispers into your hair as he brings you to a halt. “I would very much like you to accompany me to Aubrey Hall. As my girlfriend,” he explains, grinning. “Not fake,” he adds drolly after a pause.

You laugh, feeling lightheaded and giddy, but just as you go to answer, you are both interrupted by a little hand tugging on his jeans. 

“Uncle Ben, you are my favouritist,” Sofia declares solemnly. “Will you visit every Christmas?”

Meeting your gaze, his expression contains multitudes. 

“It would be my greatest honour, Sofia,” he replies to her, even though his eyes never stray from yours.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies

Lights divider by @/saradika [x]

[barblaz-arts]

I haven’t sent any of the other messages, and this is the first time I’m even seeing your opinions on this matter as I’ve followed you for your Wenclair art.

I’m an Israeli citizen. On October 7th thousands of Hamas terrorists went into Israeli villages (on Israel’s territory) and raped, shot, beheaded, burned alive and murdered 1400 CIVILIANS. They kidnapped 230 more citizens into the Gaza Strip, including babies and the elderly (no idea if they are alive, as Hamas didn’t let the Red Cross or anyone else see them and REFUSED any deal to release them, despite all the lies they are spreading). Hamas uploaded videos of them doing these deeds, they were proud of them. We are still not done counting our dead, 3 weeks later, because of the state they were left in. We identify people by DNA pulled from pieces of skull tissue, by CT scans of burned masses of flesh showing parents hugging their children as they were burned alive.

A little bit of history. In 2005 Israel completely pulled out of Gaza, and handed it over to the Palestinians. In 2007 Hamas was elected to lead the Gaza Strip. This is an organization that in its charter says loud and clear they want to murder Jews. It’s not hidden, there is no question about it. They are proud of it. And since 2007 they have not allowed for an election in Gaza, they have stolen international aid money to build terror infrastructure and embedded themselves deep within their civilian population (just a few days ago evidence was provided that Hamas built their HQ under a hospital, specifically because they knew Israel wouldn’t bomb it).

The truth is, the pictures from Gaza are heartbreaking. The civilians are suffering and it’s making me sick. But how is Israel supposed to respond to the massacre of October 7th? Just pretend it didn’t happen? No country would. Israel isn’t targeting the civilian population though, unlike Hamas. I’m not saying innocent civilians aren’t killed, they very sadly are because war is horrible. But it’s always an accident, they are never the targets. Hamas is the target.

Israel has its part in creating Hamas just like the USA had its part in creating ISIS and Taliban. Still doesn’t excuse terrorism. Israel didn’t deserve the October 7th massacre anymore than the USA deserved 9/11. I hope that you can appreciate that.

The truth is, there are innocent civilians on both sides here that are suffering. Things aren’t black and white, and they never were with this conflict. And if you want to have a discussion I’ll happily talk to you privately, answer questions as best as I can. But only if we come from a place of mutual respect. If you want to block me, that’s fine too.

I do want to let you know while I can that your art is beautiful and made me smile on multiple occasions. I hope you continue it. And I wish you luck with everything and hope that we all have peaceful days in the future.

First of all. Gaza was not given to Palestine. Israel put them there and had Gaza serve as an open air prison.

You can't go around saying "Israel has its part in creating Hamas but it still doesn't excuse terrorism" then go around saying that this genocide is justified because "What else are we supposed to do after what happened in Oct 7?" What a double standard. You do not get to say that what happened to them makes you feel bad but say that you were left with no other choice. You dont get to say that Hamas being born from 70+ of brutality is still not an excuse to kill but also say Israel doing the same thing is justified.

Now, of course this does not mean that I side with Hamas. Never have, never will. I side with Palestinians, something so many Zionists cannot seem to comprehend, because they see killing them as one and the same.

Listing off those atrocities, though heartbreaking, as I will always mourn the innocent, still does not change my stance or how I feel. I feel like a broken recorder, constantly having to repeat that the civilians in Gaza did not do those and in turn did not deserve any of this. The hostages don't either of course, and the families of the ones still held captive are furious with their government for choosing to bomb them along with Hamas like some sort of sacrifice, like what you are implying the civilian deaths to be. Just unfortunate casualties for the greater good.

You can go ahead and say that only Hamas were meant to be targeted all you want, but they did not need to cut off their water so they're not even able to clean and defecate. They did not need to cut off power and render hospitals useless. And NO they did not need to bomb those same hospitals, even IF it were true that it was a Hamas base. And they did not need to use phosphorus bombs to do it. This has, and always will be about Israel's hatred of arabs and Muslims, as it was 70 years ago before Hamas even existed, as it still is now.

Tell me, if the past two or so weeks was really about Hamas, then why are these people mocking the civilians that are mourning their families' death as they starve?

None of this should have happened. Hell, you shouldn't even be living where you are in the first place. No one has any right to colonize. Whatever white supremacists or religious reason anyone says.

Of course this does not mean that I believe all jews or Israeli are as evil as the pieces of shit in that tiktok compilation or the powerful pile of dung that rule your country. There are Isreali and Jews protesting for Palestine as well, and I deeply admire them for their bravery and to feel compassion for the other side and act on it.

It's baffling how you're aware that Israel is responsible for Hamas creation but still, maybe not want it, but think all you can do is reluctantly accept the unavoidable. Because this was definitely avoidable. But your government actively wants this, and frankly I dont think it cares about you. It does not care about the soldiers they send out and the people that died and the hostages that were taken. They are using you as an excuse for more death and money.

"Those thinking of revenge should be ashamed," said by one of the survivors of Oct 7. And she is right. You are demanding the wrong things of your government.

And no, I will not be talking to anyone about this in my direct messages. Talking about it privately makes it feel like some debate to be won, when this shouldn't be a debate at all. The reason why I answer these kinds of asks is to make people aware of what is happening. I'm just some girl, I cannot fight for Palestine in any way that can directly save a life and I dont have the financial capability to donate, but I can do this. We can make those sick excuses of humans on top know that we know of their stink and we will not give it any excuse.

[slut4sugu]

— AMOR! [𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜] 𝐄!𝟒𝟐 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬

I: aged!upcharacter, veryyy suggestive </3

🎸: 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭- 𝐊𝐚𝐥𝐢 𝐔𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐬

You were out shopping with miles for your birthday, who smugly and proudly walked behind you carrying your Dior and Kate spade bags. As the clicking of your heels followed you into a jewelry store, your eyes immediately fell on the beautiful sapphire necklace that laid almost heavenly in its own display case. Before quickly remembering all of the expensive gifts miles had bought for you and to your luck

you quickly turned your gaze to a small boutique. Though silent he saw how your eyes quickly lit up at seeing the jewelry and quickly saw through your game. You soon felt his presence close behind you, and his breath on the chill of your pierced ear before hearing him say, “Do you want it ma?” You jumped a little, though your eyes wavered on the necklace before dropping your gaze to fiddle with your bracelet. “Yes but-“ He tsked cutting you off. “Don’t lie to me amor.” His voice sending shivers down your spine and a slight wetness to your core, “I want it.”

“Buena chica.” (Good girl)

He kissed you behind your ear before, walking over to the jeweler behind the counter asking for 3 necklaces (with diff chains). Your eyes widened as you rushed over to his side, “Baby you don’t have to-“ His gaze shut you up good once you locked eyes. His eyes looking at you with dominance, as if almost saying: ‘I’m buying this for you and me mama, you get to look even more sexy and I get to see a chain around your pretty lil neck.’ He smirked at your quick silence, pulling you into his side with his free arm before lowering his head slightly to your ear to whisper, “Usa mi tarjeta, cariño” (Use my card baby) You nodded briefly, before going into your Louis purse and pulling out a black card. After making the several purchases, Miles let you hold your bag since he saw how excited you were despite wanting to be a gentleman. Though he couldn’t resist your adorable little dance when you got it. As you both were walking through the mall, you stopped swearing you saw your favorite boutique from Paris. As you near the railings, miles leaned against them. Facing the opposite direction to watch for any straggling eyes trying to take a peak below your short black dress. Though he was doing the same in that moment unbeknownst to you. “You look sexy without jewelry mami , but you look real fuckin pretty with my hand around your neck.”

“Huh-“

“You heard me princesa.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for “weaponizing the police” against my ex boyfriend? I (27) dated my ex (24) from late July to early October 2023.

TW: harassment, stalking, gaslighting, police (obvs lol)

You may remember the “AITA for breaking up with my boyfriend over pizza and a blowjob” and “AITA for telling my ex not to use a picture of himself in my bra as his pfp” stories.

TLDR:

I wouldn’t give him head bc my shoulder hurt from making him a custom mask for a fandom he’s super into. He screamed at me for asking him to get half-cheese pizza going forward (because the pizza we were eating had pepperoni under the cheese and I’m vegetarian); triggering my ptsd. So I broke up with him. NTA, conscience cleared. 👍

Months later; he sent me a screenshot from his twitter and his pfp was him wearing the mask I hurt my shoulder making for him… and my bra. When I told him to change it, he said I was using “white girl tears” and “treating him like Hitler.” He did change his pfp though.

I was voted NTA and encouraged to get a restraining order and “block him” which I had done over a dozen times, but he keeps making new numbers.

/TLDR

NOW…

From late October to now, he’s been on-again-off-again harassing me; using temporary phone numbers to accuse me of being narcissistic, abusive, evil, etc. I usually don’t respond, but he has a way of phrasing things so they stick in my mind like thorns.

No threats, just verbal abuse, gaslighting, victim blaming, and other mind games that he always wins.

I’ve told him to stop and blocked every number he’s contacted me from, and I’m looking into changing my number.

I also told him that if he didn’t leave me alone i would get a restraining order, and he told me i would be “weaponizing the police.”

He’s black and we live in the USA so I honestly don’t want to involve the police. I know police brutality is a very real problem and even though he’s made my life miserable and tanked my mental health, I would never wish that upon him. I just want him to leave me alone.

I looked it up, and the police would only be involved to serve him the court summons; everything else would be through the courts.

I still worry they would hurt him while serving the orders.

If IWBTA for getting the court system involved, please offer (realistic!) alternative solutions in the comments. I’m already looking into changing my number, but he lives 1/4 mile away from me and I can’t afford a security system.

Sending love and safety to you and everyone who read this whole mess. ❤️‍🩹💝💖

What are these acronyms?

[wavesmp3]

[csc] ode to you

inspired by 'daisy jones & the six'

pairing: choi seungcheol x reader (gn) genre: band au, strangers to lovers, angst wc: 13.7k warnings: cursing, heavy alcohol usage and often in an unhealthy way, one mention of blood (a terrible case of largely irrelevant side characters, an attempt at writing song lyrics, switching pov’s without any real indication, story existing in a vacuum of time and space loosely based off of 70s usa)

synopsis → The Numbers are a band well on their way to commercial success with Seungcheol as the dreamy front man, Soonyoung on drums, Joshua on guitar, Minghao on bass, and Junhui on keys. But all that changes the second you step into the studio to record “Begin Again” with them. The song is an instant hit, launching you from a singer-songwriter nobody to the biggest new name in music and catapulting the Numbers into a larger limelight than they’ve ever been in before. So with the entire country singing your song, the pressure is on for you and the Numbers to create an entire album that lives up to their expectations. But while pressure builds, something akin to feelings for the front man builds with it.

You go to knock again on the door, heavy footsteps and heavier breaths, but just as soon as your knuckles make contact with the heavy wood, the door swings open. 

Jihoon looks disappointed. “You were going to knock again, weren’t you?”

You roll your eyes, pushing him aside and going straight for the marble bar cart you know sits in the sitting room off the formal dining area. 

“You know you really have to work on your patience.” He says to you from the foyer, voice already sounding a bit far away. You always forget how big acclaimed-music-producer Woozi's house is. Although, you think, staring at the array of top shelf liquor arranged neatly on the bar cart, mansion is probably a more apt word for it. 

You pour yourself a glass of whiskey. 

Jihoon joins you in the room once you’ve already taken a seat in one of the brown leather arm chairs. 

“How many glasses is that?”

You scoff. “I have a show at the Roxy after this.”

He hums, flicking the square paper in his hand. 

You sit up slightly. “What is that?” Jihoon takes the paper over to the record player in the opposite corner of the room. He slips a clean black record out of the manilla slip and carefully places it into position. It doesn’t take long for the gentle hum of the record spinning around the platter to fill the room. 

God, I love music. You think to yourself sitting back slightly in the armchair and allowing your eyes to shut. 

“I want you to listen to this.” You hear Jihoon say, followed by the small pop of the decanter being opened and the quiet trickle and crack of liquor falling over ice. The sound of a bass overtakes the room. It’s somehow… gentle. 

“Who’s it by?”

Jihoon doesn’t answer at first. You hear him sit down in the armchair next to yours while drums fill in the spaces of the songs and a guitar starts to hum along. And the sound that comes from the record player next–in all honesty, you don’t think Jihoon could have prepared you for. It’s a man’s voice, polished, in a way that you just know he’s been doing this for a while. His whole life maybe. There’s this rough, almost growly quality that amps the song up even more, and yet, simultaneously, his voice glides over the lyrics like honey spilling over the side of its jar. There’s so much depth in every note he hits. You don’t know if you’ve ever heard a voice–a sound–quite like this. 

“Who is this?” You ask again once the first chorus comes to a close, opening your eyes and taking a proper look at Jihoon. He looks mildly amused.

“Have you heard of the Numbers?”

Seungcheol hurries into the studio from the car, guitar in one hand and lyrics in the other, fully expecting to get chewed out by his producer. “Jihoon, I’m so sorry. There was tra-”

Seungcheol stops in his tracks. The control room is empty. He steps back into the doorway and rereads the signage. He has the right room, so then… where is everybody?

“Seungcheol,” he hears a voice call for him from the recording stage. It’s Soonyoung, waving him inside and pointing at you. You smile at him, give him a nod of sorts. His eyes dart to Jihoon, giving him a look that says, who the fuck is that? 

He walks into the recording booth hesitantly. 

“Hey.” Jihoon says casually. “I don’t think you guys have met yet.” 

You stand and approach him, sticking out your hand. Seungcheol just looks at it. 

“The label thinks you guys would sound good on one track and want you to try recording ‘Begin Again’ together.” 

He ignores your outstretched hand and looks straight at Jihoon. “Can we speak privately?”

—

Seungcheol had assumed he’d be the one getting chewed out in the studio today. Oh, how things have changed. He’s worked so hard on this song. More time and effort than he’s ever put in any of the band’s songs that came out before it. He can’t believe Jihoon would allow anyone else to try and taint it. “Begin Again” is his song. And he’ll be damned if he’s not the only one singing it. 

Seungcheol’s ready to say all of this, but, “Before you say anything,” Jihoon doesn’t even let him speak, “I know how you feel about this. But the decision came from above me, okay. The Number’s last album didn’t do as well as the label hoped. They think another voice in the band could shake things up. And who knows, “Jihoon continues with a shrug that only makes Seungcheol fume more, “maybe this could be what you guys have been missing.”

Seungcheol cannot believe what he’s hearing. “We aren’t missing anything.” 

“Don’t be dense.” Jihoon pans with a sideways stare. “I know you guys are good. I know you guys are gonna be big, but the rest of the world needs some convincing. Just try this, okay? This could be it.”

Seungcheol just shakes his head. 

“I scouted them out myself. They’re a good singer and even better writer-”

“Writer?” Seungcheol nearly screams, arms flying to point at you through the control room window where the two boys are talking. “You want them to write on the song too?”

“They have a couple of…” Jihoon sighs, choosing his next word with extra precaution, “revisions.”

“Fuck that, Jihoon. I wrote a great song. It–”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“You wrote a good song.” Jihoon refutes, matter-of-factly. “You wrote a good song, and they,” he points at you, “they made it a great one.” 

Seungcheol is speechless. 

“Here.” Jihoon pushes a piece of torn notebook paper into his hands. 

If Seungcheol wasn’t so aware of the line Jihoon was drawing, he would’ve pushed harder, but at the end of the day, Jihoon is his boss and his lifeline in this business. If Jihoon says so, really says so, then there’s not much Seungcheol can do to fight it. Seungcheol is stubborn, but he’s not a fool looking to waste his own breath. He looks back into the recording stage. The band looks happy chatting to each other. And you, well, you’re staring at him.

A red light flashes on the sound board beneath him. “Talk over the changes.” Jihoon says to the band and you through the intercom. “We record in ten minutes.”

— 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say to Seungcheol sitting on the stool in front of the second mic. Seungcheol’s never even seen a studio setup with two mics before. He swallows a scoff. “Jihoon showed me the song the other day, and your voice it—“ 

“What does this line mean?” Seungcheol cuts in, taking his seat on the stool next to yours. “I changed my heart. I morphed my mind. You don’t have the right to tell me I didn’t try.” 

Your face drops immediately. “Are you serious?” 

Seungcheol raises a brow–a challenge.

You let out a breath of pure disbelief, focusing your gaze just above his head, and hands starting to make motions in the air. “It’s about changing yourself to be with someone. It’s about them never acknowledging that.”

“That’s not what this song is about.”

You give him a pointed look. “What do you think the song is about?”

It’s his turn for the disbelief. “What do I think the song I wrote is about?” You don’t falter, not even for a second. Seungcheol grasps at the words, mouth agape. “It’s about redemption.”

“That’s too easy.”

“How is that too easy?”

“Look,” you huff, mouth opening and closing like you can’t decide what it is you want to say. You end up reaching your arm out, palm open like you want a fucking hi-five or something. In the back of his mind, Seungcheol wonders if you’re still waiting for the handshake he never gave. “Give me your original lyrics.”

He does, you snatch the paper keeping your eyes on him for a second too long before finding whatever it was that you were looking for. “Right here,” you say, finger pointing at the tattered paper and eyes darting back and forth between him and his lyrics. Your face lights up. You look like you're holding back a smile. You look… excited. “Here, in the bridge you wrote: take me home, welcome me on those familiar roads, embrace me in your arms, oh please, tell me I still belong.”

“What about it?” Seungcheol asks, almost forgetting that he’s upset at Jihoon for this whole arrangement, nearly forgetting that he’s supposed to not be accepting any of your revisions because for the first time in so long, he’s able to really talk to someone about his lyrics. 

You look up at him fully, and almost sadly, you say, “You really don’t get it, do you?” Seungcheol looks down at the lyrics you gave him, scanning them again. Funnily enough, that line is the only one of his you’ve kept. 

“The song’s not about redemption,” you tell him. “It’s about guilt.”

—

Seungcheol, you, and the band end up recording your version of the song. It’s a good song. It’s still his melody, his hook, and his bridge, but almost none of the lyrics are his. Just like that, “Begin Again” becomes as much your song as it is his. If he wasn’t so angry at Jihoon, maybe he would’ve had the mind to notice how good you sound singing it.

Choi Seungcheol is an asshole. 

That you learned in the recording studio with him and haven’t been able to get out of your head since. Unfortunately, he’s got one hell of a voice and gift for creating a good melody. And him and Jihoon together in the studio, god, they’re magic. You went out and purchased The Number’s previous record after you recorded “Begin Again”. You haven’t stopped listening to it since. 

It’s one day when you’re working a shift at the diner that you start humming the song playing over the speaker while grabbing an order from the kitchen. You don’t even think twice about it. That is until you make it right in front of the table whose orders you’re holding and start to hear your own voice.

You nearly drop the four plates of burgers.

You rush over to the jukebox, not believing your ears, not believing that your voice, your words, your song is playing for the entire diner to hear. 

And there, right at the bottom it reads: “Begin Again” by the Numbers ft. you

“Holy shit.”

The desert wasn’t too far from home, but it could not have been more different. There was so much nothing for as far as your eyes could see. There was dust everywhere, all over the place, sifting up through the air and in your lungs. How are you supposed to sing like this?

You hear the bands’ voices come up from behind you. 

“Hey,” Seungcheol says, coming up next to you and resting an arm on the same wood railing as you. “How are you feeling?”

“Great.” You answer truthfully. You could barely believe it when you got the call from Jihoon saying that they wanted you to play the festival along with the Numbers. Although, considering that your song is playing on every radio station, it probably shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was. 

The crowd roars as the previous artist says his goodbye. 

“Have you ever played for a crowd like this?”

“Nope.”

He nods slowly. “It’s a lot. The first time especially, for sure. But just go with it, and uh,” he smiles, towards the ground, “it’s a lot of fun once you get past the nerves of it all.”

You look at him, battling against the grimace forming on your face. “Is this pep talk for me or for you? Cause I’m fine.”

His smile disappears when he sees your face. You must’ve lost the battle. 

He inhales sharply. “‘Begin Again’ is last. Come out after I introduce you.”

You nod, and he joins the rest of his band. 

The crowd cheers when they get on stage. The first song starts with a familiar guitar riff and the pound of the drums, followed by the crowd going ballistic. You’ve been playing on stage for a while now, but only ever in small clubs with small crowds. You’ve never seen a crowd like this, and it makes you ecstatic. 

You hear Seungcheol sing the final words of the song and Junhui play the final chords. And you don’t know if its the crowd or the shot of vodka you took during the bridge or the fucking look Seungcheol gives you, but something, something, makes you forget what Seungcheol said about waiting and walk right onto that stage. 

Joshua and Minghao look confused. Seungcheol looks vaguely pissed. Junhui and Soonyoung barely notice. But you don’t register any of that. All you can think as you walk onto that stage, grin flashing and arms up in the air is: this crowd was fucking waiting for me. 

You step up to your mic and wait until the crowd quiets down. You introduce “Begin Again” as a song you wrote. The crowd erupts. You look over at Seungcheol, smiling, no–grinning, loving how annoyed he looks. Minghao doesn’t miss a beat, starting the song immediately. Your body moves on its own, dancing to the song, belting out each note, and loving every second of it. It’s sometime during the second verse, the one Seungcheol sings alone, that you notice how entranced he is. His eyes are half closed, and his fingers fly across his guitar like he’s not even thinking about it. He smiles at the crowd. You think you hear someone faint. He looks your way then, right before the pre-chorus, smiling still as if he wasn’t just glaring at you. It hits you almost instantly: nothing else matters to him right now. He’s in it, like really in it, and the only thing he seems to care about is putting on a good show. He’s loving this as much as you are, and maybe that’s enough to prove that you and Choi Seungcheol are more alike than either of you think. 

You leave your mic stand and start dancing towards him. His entire body turns towards you, waiting for you, his eyes following. You meet right in front of his mic just as the chorus begins. And you’re left with no choice but to stand next to him, singing into the same mic with your faces so close you can feel every ragged breath he takes, see the sweat rolling off his hair, and hear the blood pumping through his veins. Take me home. You both sing with your entire chest. Welcome me on those familiar roads. You see him turn his head to face you. You mirror the motion, and sing the next line looking right into his eyes. Embrace me in your arms. Have his eyes always been this big? Oh please, tell me I still belong. And of course it’s this line you’re singing to each other like this. Of course it’s the one line in the entire song that you didn’t actually write and the one line he did. 

The chorus ends, and you slowly back away from his mic and move back towards yours. He rips away on his guitar, fingers still flying like it’s the easiest thing, all while never taking his eyes off you. Staring at you like he found something. Staring at you like it’s only you and him on that stage. 

You don’t even remember the song ending. 

Music flows through Northside Tavern. A jazz band is playing today, and the piano player keeps making eyes at you. 

“I heard the show over the weekend went well.” Jihoon says into your ear. You just nod. “And that the label really liked what you did with the song.”

You laugh. “Not just the label. The whole country liked it.” You give one last look to the pianist, before turning to Jihoon fully. “I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but I have a number one single.”

You head over to the bar and ask for an old-fashioned. 

“Not just you.” Jihoon yells behind you to be heard over the cheers after the band’s last song. 

You pivot. “Excuse me?” 

“It wasn’t just you.” Jihoon flags down the bartender, orders a scotch, neat. “It was the Numbers too.” 

The bartender slides over three drinks. 

You lean in over the counter. “We only ordered two.” 

Wordlessly, the bartender points to the other side of the bar. The piano player holds up their drink. Jihoon grabs his drink, and you grab the remaining two. You lift them both up towards the pianist who gives you a rather charming smile, and then take a simultaneous sip from the straws of both drinks. You taste your old-fashioned and what seems to be a margarita. 

You and Jihoon make your way over to a booth. 

“What I wanted to say,” Jihoon continues, “is that the label likes you with the band, and they want you to make an album with them.”

“An album?” You suck in your bottom lip, feeling a sudden rush from all the alcohol. An album is exactly what you’ve been pushing and working so damn hard for. So then why does this feel bittersweet?

“I think this is going to be a good thing.” Jihoon tells you sincerely, eyes softening. “You and Seungcheol…” he hesitates for a moment. You hate when he chooses his words like this, picking out the bad ones and testing out all the others. But perhaps you only hate it so much because you lack the ability to do it yourself. “You guys work.”

You take another long double sip of your drinks, squinting at Jihoon skeptically. “What did Seungcheol say?”

Jihoon’s mouth parts. There. There it fucking is. Running your tongue over your top set of teeth, you say, “you haven’t asked him yet, have you?”

“No, we haven’t asked him yet–”

“I can’t believe this.”

“–but the rest of the band is already on board, and we all thought it’d be smarter if you agreed before we asked him.”

You tilt your head slightly. You thought Jihoon knew you better than this. “I’m not saying anything until he does.”

“Be honest with yourself here,” Jihoon says seriously, pushing his drink to the side and leaning forward, “it’s no secret that you and Seungcheol don’t get along. And I get it; I really do. But I know you see it.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “See what?”

“Most people in this business spend their entire lives looking for what he and you found during the ‘Begin Again’ sessions and again on the stage at the festival. And most people fail. Don’t throw that away over whatever bullshit he gave you when you first met. Don’t throw away the chance you’ve been waiting for because of that. You guys belong together. Focus on that.”

You don’t say anything after Jihoon finishes his little speech. Instead you reach for your drinks and finish them both in one long, prolonged sip. You ignore his annoyed ‘tsk’. 

Putting the empty glasses down and to the side, you nod up at him, pursing your lips. “Are you done?”

He takes a long, final swig of his drink. “Yes.”

“Ask Seungcheol first.” You pull out your wallet and drop a couple bills on the table. “Then, you can call me.”

Today is already off to a bad start. 

Seungcheol had come into the studio ready to record and knock out at least 2 or 3 songs off the album today, but then Minghao wanted to talk about the album’s direction and Soonyoung wanted to request everyone to add as many drum parts as possible. 

And it’s as he’s listening to Junhui and Soonyoung argue about the addition of piano solos, that you walk into the studio. 

Jihoon welcomes you with a hug. Hansol, the sound engineer, offers to make you tea. Meanwhile, Seungcheol can’t understand why you deserve any kindness at this moment. Your session started an hour ago. 

“You’re late.” Seungcheol says, bringing the rest of the band to notice your arrival. 

You look at him with a smile, gesturing to the two boys who were just arguing. “Doesn’t really look like I missed anything.”

“We were talking about the album’s direction.” Minghao says from behind Seungcheol. 

You nod, putting down your stuff and taking a seat. “Okay, shoot.”

Seungcheol puts his hands up. “Well since we’re talking about it. I’ve been working on a couple songs, and,” he hesitates, pulling out a couple sheets of paper that Jihoon helped him print and handing them out, “I think I might have something good that we can build the rest of the album off of.”

Everyone takes a moment to read. Seungcheol watches the room carefully. Joshua clears his throat. Junhui plays a loose note. 

Your voice is the first that comes out of the silence. “Are you serious?”

He whips his head around. “What?”

“‘Will you still love me when I’m old? Will you still love me when I’m proud.’” You read aloud, before shoving the paper back towards him, that mocking smile still plastered on your face. “I’m not singing that.”

He scoffs, tongue swiping at his lips. “Why not? They’re good songs.”

You shrug. “They’re cheesy.”

“You haven't even read the whole thing.”

“I’ve read enough.”

“Are–are you… is this–I mean, like, you…” Seungcheol only knows one thing for sure right now: you might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. “Jihoon!” 

“Okay, you know what,” Jihoon’s voice comes through the intercom. You both turn towards it. “How about you two go home and figure out some way to work together instead of wasting my studio time. Write one song, just one, together, and the rest of us can go from there tomorrow.”

He slips a curse between a breath. 

“Okay?”

You and Seungcheol look back at each other. It’s you who speaks first this time. “That’s fine with me.”

—

It’s a nice day out today. The sun shines through big clouds. There’s a nice breeze, and the roadways are empty. You’re sitting in the passenger seat humming something he can’t hear over the wind while Seungcheol drives. In all honesty, he doesn’t even know where he’s heading, but it might be the first time he's felt some semblance of peace with you around. 

The announcer on the radio station introduces the next song. Seungcheol turns it up and sings alongside Kim Mingyu’s voice. You stop humming.

“You like this song?” You ask. 

He quickly glances at you. “Yeah, who doesn’t.” The song was insanely popular a year or two ago. If you didn’t like it at first, you heard it enough on the radio and in every store until you did. Although, it doesn’t actually take anyone very many listens to fall in love with it. Unfortunately, the rest of Kim Mingyu’s songs never quite lived up to this one. 

“I wrote this song.” You say to him, as if it’s the most simple thing. 

“Oh, really?” Seungcheol replies with a chuckle. “You worked with Kim Mingyu?”

“Well, not all of it, but the melody and most of the lyrics, yes.” You tell him seriously, like you haven’t even registered that he thought you were joking. “I mean, worked is a strong word, but we did date for a bit.”

 Seungcheol stops at a red light and spends it staring you in disbelief. 

“Come on,” you say after a moment, “you really think Kim Mingyu wrote this song?” 

Seungcheol listens to it again: They could never get it out of their heads. Like a scene on repeat. Like a mountain falling. Something unforgettable, but forgotten still. Something like you. Someone like me. 

And instantly, it clicks–of course you wrote this song. Of course it’s the case that Kim Mingyu’s best song and one of Seungcheol’s favorites was written by none other than you. 

He looks over at you while at another light. Your head leans back against the car seat, and your arm hangs over the edge of the open window. You don’t look like you’re enjoying listening to the song even if you are the one that wrote it. In fact, you look mildly annoyed, nose scrunched while inspecting your nail beds, teeth grinding. 

Seungcheol changes the station thinking: why’d you let him take it?

Before he can really think about it any further, you sit up in your seat and point at the next light. 

“Turn right up there. I know a place.”

— 

When you had said that you knew a place, Seungcheol imagined that it’d be a coffee shop or an empty bar or anything other than the middle of the woods sitting on the rocks along a stream. 

Although, he must give you credit: the setting you’ve taken him to is beautiful. There are birds humming and life strumming all around you. The water is a blistering blue that glistens and shines in the sunlight streaming through the trees like a million coins falling from the sky. The water has a small current running through it, and it beats against the rocks lightly, like the lightest, most gentle drum beat. The breeze is nice and cool on Seungcheol’s skin, sifting through his hair and past his limbs. And maybe the best part is how all around him, on every single side, he’s surrounded by green. 

It would have been perfect, if not for the fact that you and him have been here for two hours and still have absolutely nothing. 

“Okay,” you relent, after he turns down another one of your ideas for a song, “how about this melody?”

You start humming one of the worst melodies Seungcheol’s ever heard in his life.

“Absolutely not.”

You grunt frustrated, arms falling through the air. Your head follows suit, settling in your hands, face buried from his view. 

“Why’d you even say yes to this?” You snap, looking up at him after a moment, brows furrowed and hands gesturing vaguely in the air. “If you have no intention of taking any idea I give you seriously, why did you say yes to this?”

“I didn’t.” Seungcheol reminds you. “Neither of us did. Jihoon kicked us out of the studio.”

“I don’t mean that.” You flare. “I mean letting me in to do this album with the Numbers. Why’d you agree to it?”

There’s a change in the wind. A sudden quietness that must be attributed to some insect dying. Seungcheol hadn’t expected you to ask this. He hadn’t even expected you to think it. 

“It wasn’t…” he starts, looking for the words in the space between you and him. He looks up at you, hoping to find them there. Instead he finds hope in them. 

Seungcheol has been in this exact spot before–sitting in front of someone that wants to believe in him and is asking him to give them a reason. He’s seen this before, and he has no interest in repeating his past mistakes. He sees no need to add you to the list of people he’s disappointed. With a short laugh, he says, “You know what, let’s just get back to writing.”

“Fuck that.”  You respond immediately, grabbing at his guitar.

“What are you–”

“No. Fuck that.” You repeat, successfully pushing his guitar off his lap. “If this is going to work, you have to at least pretend like you trust me. Song writing isn’t just strumming on your guitar all day and hoping for the best. It’s vulnerability, and it’s pouring your heart and soul and life into something and praying that someone out there feels the same way. That’s what ‘Begin Again’ was. And every single person who listened and liked that song and every single person who sang with us at the festival is saying that they feel the same way. So, what are you so afraid of? Why do you feel like you can’t trust me?”

Seungcheol gulps. “Which question should I answer first?”

You inhale slowly. “The latter.”

Seungcheol just shakes his head. “I don’t know you.”

“Ask me then.” You say desperately, like it should have been obvious to him, “whatever it is that you want to know just ask it.”

Seungcheol nods. In truth, there’s a million questions he wants to ask you about everything, but at this moment, all those questions sink to the bottom of his mind and only one rises to the top and travels to the tip of his tongue. “Why’d you let Kim Mingyu take credit for that song?”

You lean back slightly at his questions. Looking away from him and towards the murky waters before answering. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t always like this.” You tell him, laughing lightly. “I used to let guys like you walk all over me.”

His heart jumps into his throat. He’s barely able to choke out a, “guys like me?”

You nod, still refusing to meet his eyes. “Guys who don’t believe that I have what it takes.”

“I never said that.”

“But you showed me.”

“When?”

You look at him then, squinting. He hopes what you see is genuineness. He asked the question sincerely. “When you were so quick and ready to dismiss my changes to the lyrics during the ‘Begin Again’ takes. When you let me join your band on this album, and then expected me to sing an entire record full of songs that mean nothing to me. I’m a songwriter, Seungcheol. It’s the one thing about me that no one can take.”

Something between intrigue and malice slips in behind his tongue. “So what can people take?”

You shake your head, smiling ever so slightly. “My turn. What are you so afraid of?”

Seungcheol inhales sharply. “Well, I’m afraid of dying and of heights and–”

“Stop that.” You cut in, like you really mean it. “Why are you so afraid to say what you really think?”

He sucks in his bottom lip, shrugging. “‘Begin Again’ was your song more than it was mine. What if people don’t like what I have to say? What if they can’t relate and just think I’m fucked up and crazy?”

Your eyes soften, and your smile lines deepen. It takes a moment for him to register that you're smiling, really smiling, at him. He’s never known a smile could feel so inviting. 

“But what if they do?”

Seungcheol takes a moment to think about what you’ve said. And in that moment, whatever insect had died gets resurrected, returning to nature’s hum, filling his ears. Seungcheol looks all around him. The hum of life, the beat of water, the tune of leaves falling. He’s surrounded not just by nature and greenery, but also by music. And it’s erupting from every corner of these woods.

His eyes finally land on you.

“I think I found our melody.”

When you come into the studio the next day, the song is done. You went to sleep humming it still and running through the lyrics over and over again in your head.

“Let us sing it for you first,” Seungcheol suggests to the rest of the band with Jihoon listening in from the control room. “And whenever you feel like you got it, just hop in with what you think works, and we can refine and shape it from there.”

You watch the rest of the band as Seungcheol explains it. Minghao looks shocked, but excited. Soonyoung looks proud. And you can’t really read what the other two are thinking. 

“Jihoon, are we good?” Seungcheol asks, turning around to the window into the control room. 

“Whenever you’re ready.” Jihoon replies, voice filtering in through the intercom. You nod. Seungcheol nods. The rest of the band nods. Jihoon presses a couple buttons and says, “This is ‘Can You See Me’.”

Seungcheol starts playing the chords he found yesterday. You’re not sure why or how but it reminds you of those woods. His voice starts singing the first line of the song. You close your eyes and take it in. You join him for the chorus, singing alongside his voice feeling the words flow. It’s Junhui that joins you two first, playing a couple loose notes, testing things out. By the end of the chorus, he’s found it, playing a little more confidently and adding a whole new level of depth to the song. A depth that makes you feel like you’ve only ever known two colors your whole life and in a matter of seconds Junhui added in a third. Joshua joins in next, as your voice takes over for the second verse, playing off what Seungcheol was playing but making it his own. Seungcheol goes over to where Soonyoung’s sitting and says something to him in his ear. Soonyoung nods. Seungcheol goes over to Minghao, but Minghao shakes his head, already starting to play something. Seungcheol heads back to his mic right before the second chorus starts. You turn and sing the last line of the pre-chorus to him

And I know that you never trusted me. 

He joins you for the chorus, singing back.

Can you see me standing from there? And can you see the blood on my hands? If I give you all of the parts to my heart, Will you care that I’ve been scarred and stitched up?

Soonyoung starts playing then, the drums filling in the last thing the song needed. You listen to the rest of the band play and marvel at how insanely talented they all are to pick up and play something that actually works after only a minute of hearing it. The song needs polishing, yes, but it’s got a good sound and it’s heading in the right direction.  

You don’t take your eyes off Seungcheol, and he doesn’t take his eyes off you. And for the remainder of the song, you sing to each other. 

The song ends. The last one playing is Junhui. And for a couple seconds, no one says anything. 

It’s Jihoon’s voice that comes out of the silence first. “I’m a fucking genius.” 

You smile at Seungcheol. He smiles back. 

After recording and polishing ‘Can You See Me’, you and Seungcheol fall into a song-making rhythm of sorts.

(We don’t always have it perfect.)

“I feel like this lyric in ‘Puzzle Pieces’ doesn’t fit.” You say to Seungcheol, before muttering the lyric outloud. “It’s too shy. I don’t know. I just think it’s missing the mark a little bit, don’t you think?”

Seungcheol groans tiredly. “God, I can’t think about this anymore. Can we take a break? Go get some food or something?”

“Yes, but before we do, do you think ‘I see us standing in the distance’ or ‘I see you standing in the distance’ works better here?”

Seungcheol just stands ignoring your question and muttering ‘no’ repeatedly. 

You follow, running after him and begging him to listen. 

(Boy, do we fight.)

“I think there should be more drums in the hook.” Seungcheol announces after the third run through. 

“Why?”

His eyes widen, sarcastically. “Because there should be.”

“Don’t do that.” You scoff, used to his antics. “Answer the question: why?”

He sighs, resting his hands on his hips. “It’s missing something. The song still feels empty. I mean, the lyrics allude to a love that’s blooming and growing between two individuals, but nothing behind the lyrics build up with it. There’s almost a disconnect between the words and the music.”

“I disagree.” 

He scoffs. “All that for–”

“I think it works just fine without the drums, and if you add the drums it’ll become more suspenseful. The song is supposed to feel like falling.”

He shakes his head. “It’s supposed to feel like butterflies.”

“It’s supposed to feel like peace.”

(Sometimes you win.) 

“Let’s vote.” Seungcheol suggests. “If you’re for the drums, raise your hand.”

Only Soonyoung (the drummer), does.

(Sometimes you lose.)

Jihoon presses the red button on the sound board, announcing to the recording stage, “Take 3 of Aurora. Seungcheol, try softening your voice a little for this one.”

“Jihoon, can we just try one take with me in it?” You ask him. “I think even if I were just singing a harmony or in the background of the bridge, it would add so much.”

“No.” Jihoon says, scribbling something down in his notebook. “I’m with Seungcheol on this one.”

“Jihoon, you haven’t even heard my–”

“This song doesn’t need your voice.”

(But sometimes, we get it just right and fit like the last two puzzle pieces.)

“No,” you say, shaking your head as Joshua and Minghao finish off the last chords of the song, “It needs to sound murkier.”

Joshua, Junhui, Soonyoung, and Minghao just stare at you blankly.

“Less cymbals, Soonyoung.” Seungcheol says over the speaker from the control room. “And Minghao, ride out the low tones more.” 

You turn and see him. He catches your eyes, smiling slightly, reassuring you. Like he gets you. 

From behind you, you hear Junhui lightheartedly mutter, “since when do they have their own language?”

Joshua and Soonyoung laugh, but you barely notice because you see him. You see the way his brows furrow when he’s thinking. You see the way he sticks out his tongue when he’s focused. You see all of it. 

And for a moment, he sees you. All of you. And he doesn’t turn away from it.  

Today’s songwriting session quickly turned into a field trip from the studio to grab food which then turned into you leading Seungcheol’s car to the beach. You and Seungcheol sit on a stone ledge, right where the sand begins, 20 paces away from the ocean. Between you sits leftover fries and your untouched song notebook. You watch the sun dip into the sea and listen to the waves crash over and over again. The wind pushes furiously, tossing his hair to the side and pushes his head away from it. It just so happens that away from the wind means towards you. 

“So,” you begin, popping a fry in your mouth and dusting the salt off your hands, “when are you going to answer my question of why you let me in the band?”

Seungcheol figured this question was coming. He’s been avoiding answering it. “You really want to know?”

You look at him sincerely. “Yes.”

Seungcheol looks out to the water. “After our first album, Jihoon prepared a tour for us. It was this tiny tour, not even big enough for a tour manager. We played in the smallest venues with okay-sized crowds. I mean, it was barely a tour, really more of a way to get our name out there. And after the northern leg of it, I…” Seungcheol closes his eyes and sees moments from that tour flash behind his lids: strobe lights, bodies in bed, empty glasses, and negative pockets. Sometimes memories can feel like nightmares. “I was just in a really, really, bad place. By the time we were halfway down the east coast, I was barely even able to play. Jihoon saved me then. He saved my fucking life. But he had to cancel the rest of the tour in that process. The rest of the band, man, they couldn’t even stand the sight of my face. Minghao especially. It was Jihoon who ended up being the one to convince them to let me back in. I owe Jihoon my entire livelihood and my life. So when he asked what I thought about you joining the band for this album and when I saw how badly he wanted it to happen, I owed it to him to say yes.”

It’s been so long since he’s recounted that story, even to himself. It doesn’t hurt as much as it once did. That knowledge surprises him. 

“Where are you now?” You ask suddenly, pulling him out of his head.

He turns to you. “What?”

“If you were in a bad place then, where are you now?”

The wind quiets for a moment; he feels a warmth overtake him in its absence. “Someplace better.”

He looks down, not even noticing the smile growing on his face, and catches sight of your notebook. He points at it, asking, “may I?”

You look down at it as well, grabbing another fry. “Sure.”

He flips through the pages of your notebook. The first half isn’t even songs. It’s snippets, words, singular sentences taking up an entire page. It’s only halfway through the book that it actually turns into something that could be called songwriting. He asks you about it. 

“Ah, that’s when I met Jihoon.” You tell him, smiling fondly. Seungcheol puts the notebook down and waits for you to explain. “Before him, I had songs, but they weren’t real songs, you know? They were just some combination of all the snippets and sentences I had written down. But then Jihoon heard me play at the Eastern, and said that I had a good voice. He asked if he could give me his card so that we could talk more, and I said that I wasn’t interested in people who only saw me for my voice and walked away.” 

“You’re insane.” Seungcheol mutters, baffled. He remembers the chance encounter he had with Jihoon right after he and the band moved down here to make a name for themselves. He remembers how hard he begged for the same chance Jihoon offered to you so simply. “So, how’d you end up working with him then?”

“He found me again at the diner I used to work at after that. I told him I still wasn’t interested, and he asked if I had written the song I played that night at the Eastern. I said yes, and he said that he was only interested in my voice because my songs weren’t there yet.”

Seungcheol chuckles.  “So he’s always been an asshole then?”

“Oh yeah.” You nod, mirroring the sound. “He was an asshole about it, but he was right. And it was the first time that someone believed in me enough to think that I could be better. That is what made me want to try and write a song that would make him see that I’m as good of a songwriter as I am a singer. I spent a lot of time working and got out one good song. I sang it all across the strip. He finally saw me play again at Ben’s Garage. I let him sign me after that.”  

“What was that song about?”

Your lips do this half frown thing that makes Seungcheol want to peer inside your brain and figure out exactly where it came from. “It was about what all songs are about.”

“Which is?”

You look at him like it’s obvious. “Love.”

It feels like a shot of sunlight through his veins. 

Seungcheol drives you back home after the beach. You had gotten nothing done in terms of the album, but you felt happy, and you felt free. You watch him from the corner of your eye. You’ve only known each other for some months now, but it feels like so much longer. You’ve told him more about yourself and your past than anyone else you’ve met in your adult life. You’ve told him your deepest worries and darkest secrets, and he never turned away from you, not once. Instead he took your insecurities and turned them into beautiful melodies. He turned all your doubts into celebrations of hope. And he did it for you. 

Suddenly, it no longer feels like you only met him when you recorded ‘Begin Again’ together. Suddenly, it feels like you’ve known him since you were a teenager and like you’ve been in love with him ever since. Your palms start to sweat. Your heart sinks past your lungs. Is it all those goddamn fries or him that’s making your stomach turn?

He turns onto your street. This is it, you think to yourself. This is everything I’ve been waiting for.

He walks you to your door, and you stand facing each other on your porch. 

“This was nice.” You tell him, taking another step towards him. 

“It was.” He mumbles, a lazy smile on his face.  

You take another step towards him. He doesn’t move back. His mouth parts. You watch his lips, trace them with your gaze. You think about what it would feel like to kiss them. 

“Do you want to come in for a bit?” The words come flying out of your mouth involuntarily. You barely register that you’ve said them. They didn’t come from your mind but from a tiny spot deep in your gut where the urge to take another step towards him lies. You give into that urge without thinking twice about it. You’re closer to him than you’ve been in months. The last time you were this close being that moment on stage during the ‘Begin Again’ performance. You’re surprised you remember that. His breaths then were ragged, uneven. His breaths now are barely there, like he isn’t even breathing. You can smell the mint he popped in his mouth when you left from the beach. You can smell whatever perfume he must’ve sprayed on his neck this morning. 

And you’re so wholly aware of the fact that his eyes are looking at your lips. 

He turns away from you and glances at your door, saying, “I should go.” 

You feel something in your chest sink and sink and sink. 

“I’ll see you in the studio tomorrow.” He continues. “We still gotta help Junhui figure out his part for ‘Puzzle Pieces’.” 

And with that he’s off, and you’re left standing on the porch alone wondering how someone can look at you like that and then just leave. You look down by your feet and see your heart sitting there, next to your shoes. You leave it there and head it inside. 

The next day, Jihoon cancels your studio time without explanation and reschedules you and the band for the following day. 

When that day finally does come, Seungcheol doesn’t show up on time to help you and Junhui figure out the right notes to play for the song you wrote together like he said. Instead, he stumbles into the studio late with a song in his hand wearing the same clothes he wore with you at the beach. And that alone, feels like a betrayal of some sort. 

“What’s it about?” Joshua asks.

He looks around the room, excited. “It’s about my new partner.” 

You feel the urge to vomit all over the recording stage. 

—

Jeonghan, it turns out, is Seungcheol’s partner’s name. Seungcheol had brought him into the studio a week after they started dating, and he’s been coming routinely ever since. As much as you hate it and as much as it makes your heart bend and break, Seungcheol looks really, genuinely happy with him. You wonder if he ever looked like that with you. 

You really wish you hated Jeonghan, but you don’t. He’s actually quite nice and gets along with the whole band so easily. He even makes friends with Jihoon. You thought he might be a distraction to Seungcheol while writing and recording, but Seungcheol is more focused and productive and creative than ever. The song he wrote right after meeting him is good, like stupidly good. There isn’t a single word in it that needs changing. 

With your help, Seungcheol writes another song about him, called ‘Light of My Life.’ It’s while writing that song that you find out that Jeonghan was never a stranger, and that day after the beach was not their first meeting. It’s Soonyoung who tells you how Jeonghan is from their hometown and how Seungcheol and Jeonghan used to date. 

The day that you record ‘Light of My Life’ Jeonghan is also in the studio, sitting in the control room and laughing at something with Hansol. 

You light up my life even when it’s dark. You both sing together. It’s an acoustic song; only Joshua stands behind you guys strumming the chords on his guitar. The rest of the band didn’t even come in today. You color my world even when I’m feeling blue. You glance over at Seungcheol. He isn’t looking your way. He’s looking at Jeonghan through the control room window. When I’m with you, I never feel alone. You think about the times when he used to look at you while recording. When you hold me, baby, I feel at home. Jeonghan looks back at Seungcheol. It hits you how beautiful he is, with his dyed silver hair and slender face. You don’t blame Seungcheol for writing such a beautiful song about him. You don’t blame yourself for helping him. I can’t believe this has happened to me. Seungcheol wrote this song for Jeonghan, but he wasn’t the only writer on this song. Right before the next line, Seungcheol finally finally turns and looks at you. I feel alive because of you. 

Seungcheol turns back to the control room, and for the rest of the song, you wonder that if Seungcheol wrote this song for Jeonghan, who the hell did you write this song for?

—

A tune comes to you while you drive home that night. You scribble down a couple lyrics in your notebook as soon as you walk through your door. 

Silver hair. Silver skin. Sliver of my heart you took with him. 

Joshua throws a party that weekend. A housewarming for the house he bought with the ‘Begin Again’ checks. Stepping in through the foyer, you question whether you should be buying a house too. You forget that thought by the time you reach the drinks table. 

After your hellos to the rest of the band and all the small talk with people Joshua wanted to introduce you to, you end up standing alone in his backyard, sloshing around the dark liquid in your cup. Truthfully, you’ve barely left your apartment all week. You hadn’t been in the mood for a party. But it’s nice out here. The air is fresh and crisp. The lights, which Soonyoung and Minghao enthusiastically and drunkenly told you they helped put up, are warm but not too bright. You imagine you’ll stay out here for the rest of the party. 

“Hi,” you hear a voice say from behind you. You turn around only to find Jeonghan. You hope your face doesn’t betray you when you greet him back. “What are you doing out here?” 

You gulp down a bitter sip of your drink. “Just wanted some quiet.” 

“Same. Junhui started doing karaoke again.” 

“Oof.” You groan sympathetically. “Already?” 

He just nods with a laugh. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen all of them.” 

You like Jeonghan. You really do. It’s just taken you until now to realize that you don’t really know him apart from small talk in the studio and the two songs Seungcheol wrote about him. “When did you move down here from your guys’ hometown?” 

“Oh.” His chin juts out a bit. “I moved down with the band actually.” 

You don’t hide the surprise on your face. 

“I take it no one told you that then.” Jeonghan chuckles darkly. You shake your head. “Uh, well, yeah,” he continues, shoving his free hand into his pocket, “Seungcheol and I started dating right when the band formed. I used to do the photography for them. And when they proposed moving out here, I thought I ought to come with. And I did.” He gulps his drink. “It was good for a while. Really fun in the beginning. But then I got my job taking pictures for the paper, and they were doing the album. And well,” he looks at you like you already know what he’s about to say. You don’t. “It already wasn’t really working anymore by the time the album was finished. And then they went on tour…” 

He leaves that part blank. But based on what you heard from Seungcheol about that first tour, you can piece together what might’ve happened. You question whether Jeonghan left that empty to spare Seungcheol or to spare himself. Then you question how he knew you knew about it. 

“Oh.” Is all you say. You don’t ask about when they encountered each other again. You don’t want to hear it. 

“You know,” Jeonghan begins again, “I actually used to watch you play at the Tabernacle.” 

You groan immediately. You only ever played at the Tabernacle when you first started. You cringe thinking about what you might’ve sang on stage in front of him. “Oh my god. I’m so embarrassed to even think about those days.” 

“No! Don’t be!” He reassures, kindly. “You were really good. I especially liked that one song that went like… The days were wide open, as far as the eye could see.” 

Your heart nearly soars straight out of your body. You had forgotten about this song. You used to love it dearly. You join Seungcheol’s boyfriend for the second line.

The world was mine to take, but I’ve never been good at accepting things. 

“You and the band together,” Jeonghan says a moment after you both stop singing, “it’s magical, don’t get me wrong, but that song,” he smiles at you, “it’s a damn good song.” 

You can’t help but smile back. “Thank you.” 

“Cheol showed me a couple of the songs from the album.” Jeonghan mentions, and it instantly and heartbreakingly reminds you who you’re talking to. You hate that he has a nickname for him. “They’re amazing.” You look at him. He seems genuine. “They’re so good and real and raw that it almost makes me wonder…” his voice tapers off, losing the sound to a small exhale that appears as if it was meant to be a laugh, “Nevermind.” 

“What?” You poke, instinctively leaning in towards him.

He meets your eyes, creases running along his forehead and frown lines more prominent than ever. “It almost makes me wonder if there was something between you both.” 

You swallow, pointing at your chest. Your voice comes out raspy without you meaning for it to. “Me and Seungcheol?” 

He nods. “Yeah, I mean the lyrics in ‘Begin Again’—“ 

“That song’s not about me. Or about him.” You defend. “We didn’t even know each other when we wrote that.” 

“What about ‘Can You See Me’?” 

Your breath catches. Truthfully, you answer, “I don’t know what that song’s about.” 

—

When you get home that night, you finish the song you started writing about Seungcheol and Jeonghan. 

When you breathe in his lips, do you think of mine? What kind of songs were we making? Were they all lies? 

“What’s it called?” The question comes from Soonyoung. 

You look up from the paper in your hands filled with the lyrics you had completed over the weekend and after Joshua’s party. You notice he looks sad. You turn your gaze to Minghao. You can’t really tell what he’s thinking in that moment. 

“Uhm–I don’t know. I haven’t thought of a title yet.”

Seungcheol walks in then. “What are you guys talking about?” He asks, setting down his stuff. Then, more to himself than to you guys, he murmurs, “And where are Junhui and Josh?”

Soonyoung and Minghao don’t say anything. Instead, when Seungcheol asks what you’re doing, they both look at you. You imagine even if Junhui and Joshua were here, they’d do the same. Have you really been this transparent? At what point did they put together all the pieces? 

You hand Seungcheol the song. You have no idea what his reaction will be. 

He just nods, like he has no idea what the song is about. Like he doesn’t see his name and Jeonghan’s scribbled in the margins. 

“Call it ‘Silver Lies’.” He says. 

Minghao makes a noise. “Call it ‘Silver Linings’.” 

“Vote on it?” Seungcheol proposes. 

“No.” You look at Minghao. He stares back at you. Something unspoken lies in the space between. “We’ll call it ‘Silver Linings’.”

A party rages around you. Flashing teeth and flashing lights. Another drink, another riff. You don’t even know where you are right now. You remember coming home after working on ‘Silver Linings’; you remember wanting to forget your own mind. This is the only way you know how.

You don’t even know how long it’s been. 

This is what you do know: You’re sitting by a pool. Your feet are wet. You haven’t been this drunk since your 18th birthday. Choi Seungcheol is standing across the pool from you. 

Your face breaks out in a smile. Sober you will regret that. Sober you will also regret how your first thought is that he looks beautiful. You’ll regret the fact that you finally, drunkenly but honestly, admit to yourself how pretty you think he is, how you’ve thought so since your first time hearing him sing, and how you’ve been so painfully aware of it ever since. 

You let yourself fall in the water. Head sinking for a moment, before breaking the surface again. Floating on your back, you start humming the melody to ‘Silver Linings’ in your head. 

Silver hair. Silver skin. Sliver of my heart you took with him. 

You can’t tell if it’s the chlorine or something more pathetic that burns the corner of your eyes and runs down the side of your cheeks. 

You feel something tug on your arm. The sudden jolt makes you lose your balance, falling beneath the water. You’re so fucking wasted you forget if you even know how to swim; you almost forget to not breathe. 

You feel a pair of arms pull you up and hold your head above the surface. You know who they belong to. It strikes you in the back of your mind that this is the first time you’ve been touched by him. So maybe that’s why you relish in the feel of his arms around your waist and the way his hand grips at your hip. 

He looks at you like you’re filth. Just as all your partners before him did. First they’re sweet and charming, but it always ends like this. In their arms, simultaneously wanting to be far away and fighting the urge to beg: love me, please. 

Even if he wasn’t your partner, even if all he was was a hope and a ‘what if’. 

You barely even register it when you say, “you're just like the rest of them.” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He rages back, not even acknowledging what you said.

“Nothing.” You tell him, smiling, wishing like hell that you believed it. 

“You missed our studio time. We were supposed to record ‘Silver Linings’.” He fumes at you. “Do you know what time it is? Do you even know what day it is?”

“Do you know how much of a fucking mood kill you can be?” You bite back. 

“What are you on?” He looks repulsed. You hate it. Hate the way that you showed him your whole heart and that he still looks at you like this. 

Seething, you say, “What do you think?” 

And that—that is what breaks him. What makes him lose his shit and start screaming. 

“Jihoon is fuming at us!” 

You barely notice it. Instead, you repeat in your head the words to the one song you truly, wholeheartedly wrote for him. 

“The record label isn’t going to let this slide, you do realize that, don’t you?” 

When you breathe in his lips, do you think of mine? 

“You wasted an entire day of recording!”

What kind of songs were we making? 

“No.” You say finally, voice coming out quiet. It sounds so misplaced and so wrong next to all the yelling between you two. “We wasted so much more than that.” 

Were they all lies?

For the first time since you’ve seen him tonight, he doesn’t say anything back. He just stares at you, like he can see straight through. The party continues all around you. It never stopped. It never quieted down. And yet, it somehow feels like you and him are the only ones in this pool. Like you’re stuck in time. Like you’ve created your own world with him and that’s where you’ve retreated to now. 

“Was any of it real?” You ask before you can stop the words. You hate how pathetic you sound. You hate how desperate it all is. 

All he says before leaving you in the water alone is: “I’m with Jeonghan now.” 

He splashes water in your face on his way out. 

When Seungcheol walks into the studio, you’re already there, talking with Jihoon and someone else he doesn’t recognize. 

“Hello.” He says cautiously to the group.  

The man says hi back. You don’t look at him. Jihoon is the one that finally explains. 

“Seungcheol, hey, this is Wonwoo. He’s from the paper, The Stones, and he’s going to be doing a piece on the band and the creation of the album.  It’ll be an inside look into the process of making an album and a bit about the band itself.” 

“Hey, man,” Seungcheol greets properly, extending his hand to shake. Wonwoo fumbles with a place to set down the pen and notebook in his hand for a second, before shaking it. Seungcheol doesn’t miss the way you scoff under your breath. “Wonwoo, right?” The reporter nods. “Anything you want us to do for you or for the piece?”

“No. Not at all.” He shakes his head profusely. “Just keep working on the album as you would normally. I might pop in here and there with questions, but other than that, it’ll be like I’m not even here.”

Seungcheol smiles brightly. “Well, you’re in for a treat today because we have a song to record.”

For the first time that day and for the first time since that night in the pool, you look at him. “No, we don’t.” He wonders if you remember that night, what you said to him, what he said back. 

“Actually,” he reaches into his bag and pulls out a piece of paper he’s been working on for the past two days. He hands it to you. “We do.”

You read the lyrics silently for a moment, then frowning, you read them aloud. “I’m used to making games out of broken hearts. Silly me for trying to play around with yours.”

Wonwoo makes a noise. “Damn. I wonder who that’s about.”

You snap, whipping back around to Wonwoo. “What happened to ‘it’ll be like I’m not even here’?” 

He mutters an apology and quickly scribbles something down in his notebook. You turn back to Seungcheol. “I’m not singing that.”

He ignores you and looks at Jihoon. “Let me see the song.”

You extend the paper out to him without taking your eyes off of Seungcheol. In Jihoon’s defense, he’s been working the hardest to keep the peace as early as when you recorded ‘Being Again’ together. Nonetheless, your face still morphs from hurt to angry. Seungcheol doesn’t blame you, but he also doesn’t really give a fuck. 

Jihoon, sounding more exhausted than Seungcheol has ever heard him sound before, only sighs. “How about we just try the song?”

—

Recording first starts with the instrumentals. The rest of the band recording their parts exactly as Seungcheol heard it in his head. 

Finally, with the rest of it recorded, he focuses on vocals. 

He only wants you singing it. 

“Take one of...” Jihoon starts, speaking through the intercom. “What’s it called again?”

Seungcheol answers: “‘We Are Not Done.’”

You’re the only one in the recording stage. Seungcheol sits in the control room with Jihoon, Hansol, and Wonwoo. The rest of the band is either home, in the lobby, or behind him in the control room. Seungcheol’s already demonstrated for you the general beat of the lyrics against the instrumental. You still hold the lyrics up behind the mic, brows furrowed at them. 

“Pour me a drink I–for all…” Normally, you’re a picture of confidence in the recording studio, but your first attempt to sing the song is an absolute train wreck. 

Seungcheol reaches over Jihoon’s shoulder and presses the red button. “Cut. What’s going on?”

You look through the window, exasperated. “I don’t get it. The words, they just–”

“It’s–Pour me a drink for all the fools made out of me.” Seungcheol demonstrates again. “I can’t live with myself half past 12–and it’s just like that for this whole verse.” He waits a moment. “Good?”

You stare at the lyrics, brows still scrunched together. “Yea.” 

“Okay. Take two.”

You sing: “Pour me a drink for all the fools made out of me.” Your voice is timid, almost. Seungcheol’s never heard you sound or act anything close to timid before. “I can’t live with myself half past 12.”

“Cut.” Seungcheol stops you again. “You have to sound larger than life singing, like you don’t care if people see how fucked up you are.”

“Excuse me?” You nearly scream at him.

“I’m talking about the song.”

Jihoon shakes his head. “Take 3.”

You look mad now. At least that will be closer to what Seungcheol wants. “Pour me a drink for all the fools made out of me.”

“Cut.” Seungcheol can see you biting your tongue. “Sing it looser. Less restrained. Don’t worry about hitting the notes. Take 4.”

“Pour me a drink for all the fools–”

“Cut.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Even looser. Take 5.”

“Pour me a drink f–”

“Cut. Let your voice get ‘ugly’. Take 6.”

“Pour me–”

“Cut!”

— 

(Wonwoo’s interview with Seungcheol)

Wonwoo: So, Seungcheol, I remember there being an impossible number of takes for the track ‘We Are Not Done’, specifically for the vocals. In the end, How’d you get them to sing like… that?

Seungcheol: Sometimes all it takes is a little push

—

(Wonwoo’s interview with you)

Wonwoo: ‘We Are Not Done’ is such a force of nature. How’d you end up singing it like that?”

You: Well, let’s just say that Seungcheol is really good at what he does.

Wonwoo: And what does he do?

You: He inspires. 

—

The red light flashes again. “Take 32.”

The only thought you have when the blue recording light turns back on is that you fucking hate Choi Seungcheol, but you still want him and you hate that he knows that. 

The track starts. 

Pour me a drink for all the fools made out of me. I can’t live with myself half past 12. I’m used to making games out of broken hearts.  Silly me for trying to play around with yours. I know you’re with someone new, But is that really true  If you’re still thinking of my kiss and my tongue?  I’m your wildest dream. I’m your best nightmare. You and me, baby, we are not done. 

You’re beyond pissed driving home from the studio that day. 

The first fucking day with the reporter and Seungcheol chose to make you look like an idiot. He chose to make you sing that song with Wonwoo sitting behind, taking it all in. 

Not to mention that that was the first time you’ve seen him since he showed up at the party while you were trying to get over him the only way you know how. When he held you in his arms, made you feel so stupidly warm, and then left with someone else’s name on his lips. 

You hate Seungcheol. Maybe joining the band wasn’t worth it. Wasn’t worth him. 

Your vision goes red and all you can think is: isn’t he over this yet? Aren’t I?

Suddenly, there’s a bang. A puff of smoke. The airbag releases. Your entire body clenches, lurching forward and then back again harshly. 

A crash, you register belatedly, staring at the hood of your car folded up like a piece of paper. 

Paper. 

You dig inside your glove box for your notebook and shove your hand in the space between the passenger seat and the center console to find a pen. 

“What the fuck?” The man from the car you hit screams, stepping out of his car.

You ignore it. A song, you had it just then. You had it.

“You hit me!” He yells again, getting closer.

Your pen hits the paper, and it doesn’t stop until the song is on it. Not even when you notice blood drip. Not even when the man starts banging on your window.

Is it over now? Do you have the guts? To call it quits, baby, Say I’ve had enough. Is it over now? Can we say the words? I used to love you, Now I’m not sure. 

(Wonwoo’s interview with you)

Wonwoo: What’s it been like working with the band? From ‘Begin Again’ to now?”

You: Oh, well, ‘Begin Again’ was a totally different story. I wasn’t really part of the group or anything. I was more just an outsider that Jihoon and the label had brought in. I changed up most of the lyrics, but the song was never really mine. I think it’s taken me a while to realize that. But, now, I mean, working on the album together couldn’t be more different. Seungcheol and I co-write almost all of the songs. It’s been a much more collaborative project compared to ‘Begin Again’. It’s been exhausting and tiring and life-consuming, but um, it’s been a lot of fun.

Wonwoo: So, going back a bit, if you rewrote all of the lyrics to ‘Begin Again’, how is it not your song?

You: Seungcheol already had some lyrics written for that song. I was just the one to figure out what he was really trying to say with them. 

Wonwoo: Hm

Wonwoo: So what’s it been like working with Seungcheol? 

You: Well, it definitely wasn’t easy at first.

Wonwoo: Why not?

You: I think we were both just used to writing alone. We learned a lot in those first couple writing sessions, and I think we’ve both grown a lot since then. 

Wonwoo: What’d you learn?

You: We’re very similar people. We think about love very similarly. We have fought the same battles, and we’re both able to turn our pain and struggling into something beautiful. 

Wonwoo: How would you describe you and Seungcheol’s personal relationship?

You: What do you mean?

Wonwoo: Friends, lovers, enemies, etc.

You: We have chemistry, but

You:

You: But I think that to write together there has to be love. What else would all the songs be about?

Wonwoo: Is that what ‘Can You See Me’ is about? Love?

You: That’s for each listener to figure out for themselves.

Wonwoo: You also said that you co-wrote most of the songs with Seungcheol.

You: Yes.

Wonwoo: So, did you guys co-write ‘We Are Not Done’ and ‘Is It Over Now?’?

You: 

Wonwoo: No need to go into details if you’re not comfortable. I’m only really looking for a yes or a no. 

You: It–

You: It’s not as simple as a yes or a no.

—

(Wonwoo’s interview with Seungcheol)

Wonwoo: What’s it been like working with someone else for the song writing on this album?

Seungcheol: It’s been hard. There’s a lot of push and pull for each word in each song, but I think at the end of the day, we’ve been able to put together an almost complete record of songs that we’re both proud of.

Wonwoo: It’s been said that the two of you have chemistry–

Seungcheol: Who said that?

Wonwoo: –do you agree with that?

Seungcheol:

Seungcheol: It’s not what you think.

Wonwoo:

Seungcheol: Look, whatever chemistry people think there is between us, I mean, it–it’s for the music and for the songs, not for each other. 

Wonwoo: Are you saying it’s all fake? 

Seungcheol: No, but it’s not real life either. 

Wonwoo: So you guys fabricated some of it to sell records?

Seungcheol: I just don’t want people to get the wrong idea. 

Wonwoo: Which is what?

Seungcheol: That there’s something between us romantically. There isn’t. 

Wonwoo: Not even a little bit?

Seungcheol: Not even once.

The photo shoot for the album they decided should be in the desert. You’re not really sure why. Probably something to do with the desert show where you and the band first played together. You didn’t have a choice in the matter. If you did, you would have suggested the opposite. Maybe something on the shore. Nonetheless, you let them tell you where to sit and exactly how to do it.

The photographers look between each other after each flash of light in your face. Thank god they aren’t actors. You can read on their faces how much they hate each photo taken. 

“You know what,” the head photographer says to the band, “let’s just take 5.”

You’re up immediately, walking away from the weird set they’ve put together and heading straight to the snack table. You say hi to Jeonghan standing there with a camera around his neck. 

“Did the paper send you or did you come with Seungcheol?” You ask lightheartedly, picking at some grapes.

He laughs, fiddling with the lens. “No, not the paper. I just like to bring my camera with me sometimes. Plus,” he adds with a far off smile, looking up the hill at Joshua, Junhui, and Minghao talking, “reminds me of the old days.”

You look up past those three to where Soonyoung and Seungcheol are laughing at something you wish you were privy to. “I get that.” 

“Actually, Seungcheol and I wanted to talk to you.” He says. His lips look pressed, eyes bright, fighting a smile but also fighting something else far beneath that. “Once the album wraps, we’re, uh, we’re gonna get married.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, I know. It was his idea, but I’m really excited about it too.” He tells you, abashedly. “We’re gonna keep it small, I think. Do it back in our hometown so that our families can be there and everything. I think most of the band is gonna travel back too to be there, and, uh, I know it would mean a lot to both of us if you were there too.” 

You look at Jeonghan. You don’t really think he’s lying about the last part, but that still doesn’t make it any easier for you to swallow. “I don’t really know if that’s a good idea.”

“I do.” Jeonghan doesn’t falter. It reminds you of you before Seungcheol. You wonder where that version of you went. After a moment, his face softens, lips turning down a bit, but eyes looking as kind and as big as ever. You notice that his hair isn’t silver anymore. 

“I know that it’s complicated between you and Seungcheol. And I’m not going to act like I get it because I don’t. But I like you and I know he loves you. If not for anything, then for this.” Jeonghan gestures to the shitty set they prepared. You look at it, chuckling. It’s shitty, yes. But Jeonghan’s right. This must’ve cost the label a fuck ton of money. “He and the band wouldn’t have any of this if not for you. You did that for them.” 

You turn back to Jeonghan. Genuinely, you tell him, “Thank you.”

You open your arms to him. He welcomes it, hugging you back. You exhale. You can barely remember the last time you did. 

“Congratulations, Jeonghan.” You feel him grin. 

“Please come.” He requests. 

You don’t know if you will. But you do know that you’re happy for him. 

—

The next round of photos are no better than the last. You hope at least Jeonghan, who’s moved on to taking pictures of the scenery, is having a better shoot day than the label-hired photographers. 

You find Seungcheol again during the next break, standing in the back at the top most part of the hill, sun shining down directly behind his head.

“Hey.” He says to you, not casually but not maliciously either.

You stop in front of him, just staring. Without you even meaning to, you frown. Seungcheol must notice. He tilts his head. “What’s up?”

You inhale sharply. “You’re getting married.”

His mouth opens, then closes. “I’m getting married.”

You shake your head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-it never..” He stops trying to find the words. You find that as more of an answer than anything he could’ve said. “I’m sorry.”

“Take me home.” You recite, thinking of the first window you ever had into Seungcheol’s heart. “Welcome me on those familiar roads. Embrace me in your arms. Oh please, tell me I still belong. It was always about him, wasn’t it?”

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. You know him too well to think he would. Instead, he sucks in his bottom lip and turns his gaze to the ground. You bend your neck to see his face, see his red eyes. This is the only time you’ll have him like this again. This is it.

The only thing you have left to say to him is: “I hope you’re happy.”

—

When you go home that night, you drink yourself past consciousness. It’s only when you wake up with a pounding head the next morning do you see the song sitting next to you, written in sloppy, drunken handwriting. 

Tell me was it worth all the pain Tell me would you do it over again Tell me was it worth the lights and your name Tell me was it worth the sound of my shame Tell me was it worth the album and the songs That I only sang thinking they were about us Tell me some it was true, not in my head Did we only kiss to sound how you wanted?

I know I’m not yours But let me your wildest dream You think of again On a bad night After a bad fight

(Wonwoo’s interview with you)

Wonwoo: Who wrote the last song on the album: ‘Not Yours’?

You: I did.

Wonwoo: When?

You: Right after the album cover shoot. 

Wonwoo: What inspired it?

You: Well

You: I think that song had been singing in my heart for a while before I finally wrote it. 

—

(Wonwoo’s interview with Seungcheol)

Wonwoo: ‘Not Yours’ is such a heart-breaking song. What was it like recording it?

Seungcheol: Believe it or not, it was one of the easiest. 

(Wonwoo’s interview with Jeonghan)

Wonwoo: It’s nice to finally meet you.

Jeonghan: You too. If I can be honest, I really didn’t expect to be called about this piece.

Wonwoo: Oh

Wonwoo: I just like to get all sides of it. 

Jeonghan: Okay.

Wonwoo: I wanted to talk to you about the album photo shoot. 

Jeonghan: Oh yeah of course.

Wonwoo: From my understanding, the picture that was chosen as the cover, was one that you took. Is that correct?

Jeonghan: Yeah. I took it during one of the breaks. 

Jeonghan: I mean props to the photography team that was hired, I’m sure they’re amazing, but it wasn’t hard to tell that they were really struggling to photograph the band. 

Jeonghan: I just happened to have my camera on me, and you know, I had photographed the band in the past, so I just kind of knew what to look for. And when I saw Seungcheol and them go off to the side to talk, my eyes just happened to follow them. And

Jeonghan: Well, I don’t know what they were talking about, but you can see it in the photo, you know? 

Jeonghan: They’re looking at each other like it’s a very important conversion. And well, let’s just say that I know Seungcheol very well, and he’s never been a good actor, so it must have been. And, and the sky is so blue and so clear behind them which, I don’t know, to me sort of represents how there’s nothing coming between them in this moment either. There’s nothing that isn’t being said.

Jeonghan: 

Jeonghan: When I saw that, I just knew I had to capture it.

Jeonghan:

Jeonghan: I had no idea that Jihoon would want to use it for the album cover. I wasn’t thinking like that. 

Wonwoo: Was it weird at all?

Jeonghan: How so?

Wonwoo: To capture a picture of your finance and his bandmate looking at each other like that?

(Wonwoo’s interview with Jihoon)

Wonwoo: So does the album have a name?

Jihoon: Yeah. Of course.

Jihoon: Aurora

Wonwoo: Can you tell me anything about the band maybe going on tour?

Jihoon: Well, can’t say anything for sure yet, but there’s definitely been some talk from the label about it.

Wonwoo: If there were to be a tour, are you able to give us a sneak peek as to what it’ll be like?

Jihoon: Hmm

Jihoon: Did you happen to see the band play the festival in the desert?

Wonwoo: No, I did not.

Jihoon: Well, I’ll tell you what anyone who saw that show would say.

Wonwoo: Which is?

Jihoon: Get ready for the best fucking show of your life. 

(Wonwoo’s interview with you)

Wonwoo: I heard most of the band is heading back to their hometown for the break. 

You: Yeah, they are.

Wonwoo: Do you plan on joining them?

You: No.

You: I don’t think I will.

Wonwoo: What do you plan to do during your time off?

You: Well, I bought a one way ticket to Italy, so that should start something. Maybe I’ll go to Nepal or Japan or Brazil after that. I haven’t really decided yet. 

Wonwoo: So, traveling.

You: Yeah, I guess. 

You: Can you believe that the festival show we did is the farthest I’ve ever been from home?

You: It’s time I saw a little more of the world.

Wonwoo: The fans are really looking forward to a tour. Can you speak to when you will be coming back?

You:

You: Who’s to say I will?

[waynes-multiverse]

Polaris – Chapter 2

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, flashbacks to past relationships, awkwardness, mentions of cheating

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: Jenny and Cassie should come with their own warning 😂 Probably the lightest chapter of this series. Just some getting-to-know fun (& tons of awkwardness on all sides). Enjoy the peace while it lasts 😉

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 2: No Signs, No Compasses

Motel coffee sucked. It was a well-known, globally accepted fact.

You had tasted enough of those in your career to know it wasn’t even worth a try at this point. Thus, finding a good source of caffeine became sort of an adventurous challenge on every work trip. Back in Houston, you had your spot and the server knew your order by heart. Here, in Helena, you were new and still had to navigate your way around.

In search of a decent cup, you passed a sign on the highway and entered the Blue Fox Diner. It was a bit on the outskirts of town, but, frankly, you had no idea where the border truly ended. Everything was damn far apart from one another, the only houses which adjoined were the ones on Main Street USA. That was it.

The diner was bright and comfy, giving you an immediate welcoming feeling of home-cooked food and a good roast. Your first sip of black, delicious liquid confirmed it – this was your spot.

“Special Agent Y/L/N?”

Your head snapped up from your cup of joe to a female voice, recognizing the blonde deputy from the Sheriff’s Department yesterday.

“Deputy Jenny Hoyt, right?” You gave her and her friend a smile as the two women sat across from each other in a booth by the big window. You could tell by their curious and mischievous looks that your spectacular entrance wasn’t lost on them.

Great…

“Uh, yeah. You wanna sit with us? Heard you’re staying for that serial killer case,” Jenny said and offered you a seat next to her.

“Sure.” You accepted her invitation without hesitance, knowing you had to get over the awkwardness at some point. After all, you had to work together, and you wanted to get it out of the way rather sooner than later. How did you so gloriously fuck this up in the first place? You usually were professionalism personified – someone J. Edgar Hoover would’ve been proud of.

Right. Beau. There was your answer.

“Cassie Dewell,” the other woman introduced herself and shook your hand as you slid into the leather seat next to Jenny. “I’m a private investigator in town. Special Agent Y/L/N, was it?”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve passed by your agency. Nice to meet you,” you said, smiling. “And Y/N is fine.”

“So, how do you like Helena so far?” Cassie asked curiously, although you caught the underlying question between the polite smiles. ‘How do you like our sheriff so far?’

However, you weren’t going to make this easy for them. “Well, uhm, not seen much aside from my motel, the Sheriff’s Department, and this diner. Coffee’s great, though.”

“Leave it to Donno to brew a decent pot,” Jenny muttered with a bitter huff and rolled her eyes.

You threw her an inquisitive look, partially amused. “You don’t seem to be a fan.”

“Oh, it’s about the owner, Tonya. Jenny doesn’t like her,” Cassie explained.

“Then, why exactly are you here?” You were happy the conversation steered clear of you. For now. You knew this bliss and peace wouldn’t last forever. They were just warming you up for the Spanish Inquisition.

“To keep an eye on her. She used to work for a cartel,” Jenny replied.

“Before she went legit and became a real estate agent,” Cassie added.

“Legit my ass,” the blonde huffed. “Pretty sure she stole those fifteen million…”

“She did help us with Gigi,” Cassie countered, which didn’t seem to convince the blonde too much. “And that whole Avery situation.”

“Well, you know, you could always tip off a rivaling cartel. Might get rid of your problem,” you suggested jokingly. “I have a few contacts.”

Jenny’s lips curved into a delighted grin. “I like that idea.”

Cassie snorted, laughing. “Yeah, nice.”

“So… you and Beau are… dating?” Jenny questioned quite forward.

And there it was. The one you’d been waiting for. You sighed internally.

“Jenny!” Cassie chided and threw her friend a look over her directness as the blonde mouthed back an innocent “What?”

Your cheeks blushed slightly, but you were all about being direct as well. You cleared your throat, tapping your nails on the table. “It’s fine. After my more than embarrassing entrance, I deserve the third degree.”

“Good answer.” Jenny smiled encouragingly, making you feel a little more at ease. They weren’t aiming to claw your eyes out; they were just curious about you. If the roles were reversed, you’d be as well.

“And it wasn’t that embarrassing,” Cassie placated your nerves. “Trust us, me and Jenny had our fair share of drama. You’re good.”

“Well, I’m glad, I guess…” You let out a relieved chuckle, hoping you wouldn’t stay the small town gossip for long. “And, uh, to answer your question: No, we’re not dating. He’s a nice guy, but it’s nothing like that. We just go way back, and I guess old habits die hard.”

And boy, was that true. Beau and you had once been inseparable. It still felt weird to think about that now you weren’t and hadn’t been for a while. Your heart still ached and longed all the same. That stupid, useless feeling of missing him. He was cut out of your soul, but the phantom pain remained.

Jenny nodded and shared a look with Cassie. “Honest. I like it.”

“Me too.” Cassie’s mouth formed a smile of agreement and reassurance. “So, how long have you guys known each other?”

That was when the cop portion of your chat started. You hadn’t expected anything less, but you were determined to keep it professional and, most of all, shallow. Chitchat and oversharing were more Beau’s territory, but it certainly wasn’t yours.

“About ten years.”

Jenny nodded pensively, thinking about her next question. “You worked a cartel case together, right?”

“Oh, a few cases over the years, actually. I’m stationed at the FBI field office in Houston. Used to work Narcotics before switching to Major Crimes,” you said.

“Hence the serial killer here,” Jenny filled in.

“Can’t believe we’ve got another one,” Cassie remarked with a huff, shaking her head into her coffee cup.

“Oh yeah, right! Heard about the Bleeding Hearts Killer at that campsite.”

You remembered a newspaper article about it. Occasionally, you did still check up on your ex like every sane person would. You even followed him on Social Media, although all he ever posted about was fucking trout fishing. But that same news article had also informed you about Beau leaving his early retirement in the rearview mirror, being referenced as the acting sheriff on the case. It almost seemed like a weird coincidence that one of your active cases would lead you right to him not long after. Cosmic jokes and such.

“Yeah, Sunny and Buck Barnes,” Cassie provided.

“Cassie is actually dating their son,” Jenny told you, smirking at her friend.

“Yeah, we’re not that official yet,” Cassie deflected but noticeably blushed. “You guys need any help with your serial killer?”

Jenny looked at you, knowing you were the one who called the shots now.

Nodding, you twitched your shoulders. “Sure. The more the merrier. More female eyes might even help, considering we’re probably dealing with a woman.”

Jenny cocked a brow. “A female serial killer?”

“It’s rare, but our profiler sure thinks so. As do I,” you confirmed.

“Oh, this just got interesting.” Cassie grinned, intrigued. “We sure never had that one before.”

“No, we did not,” Jenny reiterated, chuckling.

“What didn’t we have?”

Beau’s gravelly voice startled you from behind, but you tried not to let it show. Of course, you’d run into him. It was a small town, after all, and this diner was probably the only place to get good coffee. Avoiding him was not only improbable, but it was an impossibility.

Beau was a good man. But the truth was that he was more than the Southern-charming, bad-dad-jokes, never-shutting-up sheriff everyone had grown to love in Montana. There was another side to him. A side that defied authority, broke rules, and caused trouble. A side you knew better than anyone.

“Female serial killer,” Jenny supplied with a grin.

“Really? A woman?” Baffled, the green-eyed sheriff lifted a brow and looked at you.

“Why, you think a woman can’t do it?” Cassie challenged him with a teasing grin. You knew there was a reason why you immediately took a liking to her.

You watched Beau purse his lips as he struggled for an answer. You had a feeling he had to do that a lot with these two. It almost seemed unfair.

“No, women can do murder just fine. Especially you three,” Beau retorted and then circled the booth with his finger, sipping his coffee. “The three of you bonding is my nightmare.”

“Oh, c‘ mon.” Jenny snorted in amusement.

“Yeah, we’re harmless,” Cassie added.

“Right… Who are you tryna fool here, huh?” Beau chuckled and scratched his beard. “Mind if I sit down?”

“Sure, hop in,” Cassie said and offered up the seat next to her.

“Yeah, I was about to head out anyway. Have to call my supervisor with an update,” you excused quickly and stood up before Beau even sat down. “By the way, I have eight boxes of files in my trunk. It’s gonna be a fun afternoon for us.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to it,” Beau said, trying to remain professional, even though you could tell he was bothered by your abrupt exit.

You, however, weren’t ready to face him yet and spend a whole afternoon with him. You needed more time… and space. Which was hard, considering you two had to work a case together.

Hard but not impossible.

“Oh, uh, Beau, that’s not necessary. Cassie offered to help, so we have enough hands on deck for now,” you said innocently and tried to hide your astute smile as best as possible. “I don’t wanna keep you from your sheriff duties. I saw the giant pile of files on your desk. But I’ll let you know when we need you.”

Admittedly, that was a little mean. You knew how much that man hated paperwork.

Defeatedly, Beau pursed his lips and overplayed his loss with a sour smile. “Yup, alright… thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You grinned and didn’t care he knew exactly what you were doing.

“Hey, Y/N, you know, uh… it’s kind of a tradition to buy a round of tequila when you first arrive in town,” Cassie noted with a smug smile.

You matched it, amused, although you could smell an ambush from a mile away. “Oh, yeah? Well, that’s a tradition I can get behind. Where and when?”

“Tonight? Bar called Boot Heel around eight o’clock?”

“I’ll be there,” you accepted the invitation. “But just a heads-up, pouring tequila into me isn’t going to make me open up more.”

“Really isn’t,” Beau confirmed wryly.

“Dammit,” Cassie sighed in feigned disappointment but grinned nevertheless.

Jenny coolly shrugged it off. “Was worth a shot.”

Beau watched you leave with dread in his heart. As soon as the glass door fell closed behind you, he let out a longing sigh.

“Alright, what did you do?” Jenny’s voice ripped him from his thoughts. The blonde crossed her arms over her chest and arched a brow.

He had almost forgotten they were here, too.

“Yeah, she’s been barely here twenty-four hours. That’s fast, even for you,” Cassie chimed in with a teasing smile.

“Okay, I didn’t do anything, alright?” Beau defended with a creased brow and a bark in his voice, but his curiosity soon got the best of him. He leaned in closer, resting his elbows on the table. “Why? Did she say somethin’?”

“Yeah, he stepped in it,” Cassie commented dryly and looked straight at Jenny, taking his question as a confirmation of their theory.

“Yup.”

Beau rolled his green eyes, his patience already thin after the sleepless night he had. “Alright, did she say something to you guys or not?”

Cassie sighed. “No, she was very… courteous.”

Jenny nodded in agreement and shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, she kept it professional. Said you were nice.”

Beau felt a surge of relief. “Well, that’s good, right?” he asked but watched both women shake their heads with pursed lips. “It’s not-… it’s not good?”

“Nope.”

“Nuh-uh,” Jenny retorted, “You don’t wanna be called nice. Not in that way, at least.”

“I don’t?” Beau cocked his eyebrow at the two, feeling rather confused at this point. “So, what’s the verdict?”

“Depends on what you did there, cowboy,” Cassie taunted him with a grin, which was mirrored by Jenny.

“Oh, I’m not telling you guys,” Beau huffed, shaking his head. Contrary to popular belief, he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

“You’re not talking for once?” Teasingly, Cassie popped an eyebrow at him.

“Must be bad then,” Jenny finished the thought. “Did you-, you know… cheat with her on Carla?”

Perplexed and slightly offended, Beau furrowed his brow. “What? No! Nothing like that. Carla and I were already separated. As in papers served and signed… I’m a very loyal-commitment kinda guy, alright?”

Beau didn’t want to admit his answer might have been a slight overcompensation on his part. While it’s true that he never cheated and would’ve never even considered it, he wasn’t without faults, either. There had been certain feelings towards you fermenting in his stomach, slowly but surely festering in his heart before he even knew what was happening and could put an end to it.

“That sounds like she was your rebound,” Jenny pointed out.

“Yeah, and casual,” Cassie threw in.

“No, it was nothing casual, alright? And she wasn’t my rebound,” Beau replied with an exhaustive breath. Jesus, did you get the third degree as well? At this rate, he should consider himself lucky if you were still in town by tomorrow. His head was spinning. “I mean, if she was my rebound, I was hers, too.”

Dammit, he said too much. He knew the two women would take that piece of information and run with it over the mountains of Montana, probably even making it over the border to goddamn Canada.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jenny questioned as expected. “Is she married? I saw the ring on her finger.”

“Yeah, looked like a wedding band,” Cassie mused.

“Okay, Sherlock and Watson, enough, alright? She’s not married,” Beau replied, but only to save both your reputations. “It’s a sentimental thing. There’s a lot of history there.”

“What kinda history?” Jenny’s knitted brow practically stared at him.

Beau grew tired of their interrogation and dragged a palm over his face, leaning back in his seat. “It’s complicated.”

The two women then shared an inquiring look that held an entire conversation, knowing their interview had run its course. Beau wouldn’t answer any more of their questions.

“Want our advice?” Cassie offered.

Beau hesitated for a moment, puckering his lips in thought. He was desperate, and they could smell it like coyotes. “Alright, lay it on me. What d’you got?”

“Nothing.” Cassie twitched her shoulders and met his annoyed glare with a pleased smile.

“Yeah, see, you actually have to tell us first what happened before we can help you,” Jenny elaborated.

“Alright, I’m done,” Beau said frustratedly, tapping his knuckles on the table once as he rose from his seat.

“Oh, Beau, c’mon, we’re just messing with you.” Cassie chuckled softly and looked at him apologetically. “Fine, you want our advice? Apologize.”

“For whatever you’ve done,” Jenny added.

Pensively, Beau nodded and clicked his tongue. “What if I’ve done that already?”

“Do it again,” Jenny advised simply. “Until she hears you.”

“Yeah, get down on your knees, you know,” Cassie deadpanned. But as Beau suspiciously eyed her at the particular word choice, she burst into laughter.

“Nice.“ Jenny joined in, tears stinging the corners of her eyes as the two clinked their coffee mugs together for a toast to their cleverness.

Beau chuckled out of sheer uncomfortableness, his cheeks flushing embarrassingly red. “Oh, you two are hilarious… I’m heading to work,” he grumbled. “You know, you might wanna join me if you wanna keep your job, Hoyt.”

With a sigh that resembled a yawn, you stretched your shoulders and spine as you got up from the uncomfortable wooden chair in the Sheriff’s Department. You checked your watch and noticed it was already past 2pm.

“Alright… you guys want something for lunch? I’m buying.”

Technically, the government was buying, but you would take any chance you could get to make yourself a little more popular with your colleagues. Jenny, Cassie, and Deputy Poppernak (who told you to call him Mo and started looking you in the eyes again after you brought him a sandwich and a coffee this morning) then gave you their lunch orders, and most importantly, where to get it. What you didn’t expect, though, was Beau appearing behind you out of nowhere after he had locked himself (pun intended) in his office all day and had given you your requested space.

That courtesy apparently was over.

“I’ll come with you,” Beau announced. And although his facial expression resembled a friendly, soft Golden Retriever, you detected the stern bite in his voice. He wasn’t going to be cast aside again.

Stubborn as you were, you still had to try.

“Oh, you don’t hav–,” you tried to interject, but he swiftly waved you off.

“Nonsense. You can’t carry all that alone. I’ll help. Part of the sheriff duties,” he said in his most neighborly tone and grinned triumphantly at you, beaming with Southern chivalry.

You huffed a sigh. Great…

Ignoring Beau Arlen was like trying to avoid air – it was impossible unless you planned on suffocating. Not even a fast pace could get him out of breath enough to stop pestering you. His voice trickled like slow poison into your mind. One of these days, it would infect your heart and destroy your defenses.

“Y/N, hey, can you slow down a little? I didn’t bring my marathon shoes to work, alright? Don’t make me write you a ticket for speeding!” Beau huffed behind you in a half-joking tone, chuckling at his own wit. “C’mon, I just wanna talk. Lord knows you already had your fun today.”

With a heavy sigh, you stopped in your tracks and turned to face him on the sidewalk, Beau almost crashing into you. He clearly hadn’t expected you to actually listen to him.

With a fierce glare in your eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest. “Look, I’ve got nothing left to say to you, okay? Can we just keep this civil?”

Beau pursed his lips but quickly recovered, offering you a charmingly desperate smile. “Well, lucky for you, you would just have to listen.”

You rolled your eyes and started marching ahead again, feeling Beau hot on your trail.

“Y/N, c’mon!”

“Dad?”

At that, both you and Beau spun around, recognizing the voice in an instant as Emily walked out of a shop.

Beau’s face immediately lit up. He gave her a tight hug, kissing her temple. “Hey, kid.”

“Aunt Y/N?” Emily’s face tilted in surprise, brow knitting as she noticed you and left her father’s arms. She greeted you with a bright sunshine smile.

“Hey, Em,” you said and happily mirrored her smile. You had always loved that girl since she was little. Something she wasn’t anymore. It had been a while since you’d last seen her. “Wow, look at you. You’re all grown. You look like you’re about ready to head off to college.”

“Don’t remind me,” Beau mumbled with a sigh next to you.

“Yes, please don’t make him cry,” Emily begged you, chuckling, but her look was still pleadingly serious. It made you laugh. You remembered how protective Beau was of her. It was endearingly sweet, which made it a little harder to be furious with him. “What are you doing in Montana? Are you visiting Dad?”

“Oh, uh, I’m here for a case, actually,” you replied, swallowing, and shot Beau a quick glance to check how much you were allowed to share.

“What kinda case?” Her brow furrowed as she looked at her dad with concern. It broke your heart a little to know that, whenever you were involved, Emily thought her father was in danger.

“Em,” Beau warned her softly.

You had figured he still refrained from talking about work with his family, not wanting them to worry unnecessarily. After what his daughter had been through this summer, you couldn’t really blame him.

“Right, sorry,” she said meekly and bit the inside of her lip.

“Beau?”

Every molecule in your body shuddered at the sound of that voice. God, you so didn’t want to do this right now. The last time you’d seen Carla, it didn’t end well. If you could, you’d teleport yourself somewhere else – preferably Hawaii.

Beam me up, Scotty!

Beau flashed you a glance over his shoulder that said pretty much the same thing – shit. With a thick swallow, he angled his face toward his ex-wife and forced an awkward smile to his lips.

“Hey,” he rasped, his throat drier than the Death Valley.

“Y/N?” As soon as Carla spied you, her brow arched and her features turned sinister. The unhappy surprise of finding you here was written all over her face. And if it hadn’t been, her words soon made her feelings for you abundantly clear. “What are you doing here? Wrecking more homes? At least you’re wearing clothes this time that don’t belong to my ex-husband.”

Yup. You hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but that even exceeded your expectations. You gaped at her, a bit speechless. Even Beau seemed temporarily at a loss for words and was taken aback. Only Emily looked the most upset and voiced it, too.

“Mom! Really?!”

Carla then looked apologetically at her daughter, aware of her inappropriate comment, her mouth falling open in shame. You knew it was a knee-jerk reaction.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” you retorted. As you spun around, you glanced up at Beau and touched his shoulder comfortingly, letting him know you were still here, even when you were mad as hell at him. “Call me when you’re finished here. Or if you need an alibi…” you muttered into his ear in passing.

“I’m coming with you,” Emily announced with a scowl over her shoulder at her mother. She hopped next to you and looped her arm through yours, following you inside the restaurant.

As soon as you and his daughter were out of sight, Beau glowered at his ex-wife and shook his head. “Really, Carla? Was that necessary? You know nothing ever happened when we were married.”

“I know, I know,” Carla agreed and sighed, clasping her temples. “I’m sorry. I really am… It just came out. I guess it’s just old wounds, you know? I was surprised to see her here.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Beau bobbed his head in understanding, smacking his lips. He hated everything about this and knew he could only blame himself for it. “I mean, c’mon, you two used to be friends once, right? What happened? You’d think after what you went through with Avery, you’d have a little more compassion for what she’s gone through.”

Carla pursed her lips and bit the insides of her cheeks, surely stifling a fiery comment. “You wanna know what happened between us? You did, Beau,” she snapped, but before he could open his mouth to respond, she heaved a sigh and shot him a remorseful look. “But you’re right. I’ll apologize to her later.”

“Thank you,” he said graciously as his shoulders deflated and passed the tension.

“What’s she doing here? Everything okay?” Carla asked, lines of worry etching her brow. It told Beau that she still cared about him, even if it was just a smidge.

“Uh, yeah. Just work. Serial killer,” he replied. Since their eventful summer, Beau tried to be more open and honest, keeping a clear line of communication with his ex. It was a step forward. “Three victims so far.”

“Serial killer? Again?” Carla raised her brow and scoffed. “I guess it’s good I’m bringing Emily back to Houston, then.”

“You still wanna do that?”

A part of him hoped they’d stay because he wanted to stay here. Montana had given him a fresh start. One that was much needed. Houston, on the other hand, was haunted and full of ghosts he didn’t want to face. He had been running from them for a while now, although they were slowly catching up to him.

But he also needed his family, his daughter. He wanted to be a constant in her life, not just a variable.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Carla sighed and looked a bit torn and helpless, which was rare for her. But Avery’s secrecy and death had done quite a number on her, and Beau supposed she was still working through a lot. “What d’you think?”

Beau thought it was ironic she was suddenly asking for his input, considering she didn’t ask for his advice the first time she took their daughter and moved several states away. But he knew better than to say that out loud, especially since he was partially at fault.

Rubbing his beard, your earlier words reverberated in his head. His daughter wasn’t a little kid anymore and would fly the nest soon, as much as he didn’t want to admit it.

“Maybe we should ask Em what she wants. I mean, she’s almost seventeen. If your work isn’t a factor, then maybe we should let her decide.”

Carla nodded pensively as if she was actually considering it. “Yeah, okay,” she agreed and let out a sentimental sigh. “She’s growing up.”

Beau’s smile carried a drop of sadness. “Yeah, she is.”

Surprisingly, his talk with his ex-wife went better than expected. He just wished things would be as easy with you. All he wanted was just a chance to make it right. He couldn’t screw up another relationship.

“Beau… For the record, I want you to be happy, okay? No matter how, where, or with… who,” Carla told him and gifted him a cordial smile that showed her sincerity.

He appreciated her words. There’d been bad blood between them. Divorce made people bitter, he supposed. But old wounds had to heal eventually, too.

As you stepped outside the restaurant with Emily, you flashed an insecure glance at Carla. You averted your gaze to Beau, holding up a big brown paper bag. “You ready? Got the food.”

Beau checked quickly with his ex-wife, who nodded, letting him know that they were done here.

Carla then turned to you and cleared her throat, and you were sure it took a lot for her to even look at you. “Y/N, I’m sorry about earlier.”

You nodded, accepting her apology. You’d never done anything wrong, but the situation was complicated. It was hard on all of you.

“It’s fine. We’re good,” you assured her and gave her a half smile. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too. I heard about your husband.”

“Thank you,” she replied courtly and motioned for Emily to follow her. “C’mon, honey. Let’s go.”

“Bye, Dad.” Emily waved at her father.

Beau quietly watched his family saunter down the street before he glanced at you and offered you a clumsy smile. “Well, this went better than expected, right?”

You didn’t share his humor, however, and threw him a dark glare. You spun on your heel and trudged back to the Sheriff’s Department. “I have to get back to work.”

Beau exhaled heavily. This wasn’t how he had imagined his outing with you, wishing for a sign or at least a damn compass to show him the way.

March 2014

“Maybe it was the courier?” Beau suggested as he caught the pigskin before throwing it back to his partner across the desk. Passing the ball had become a ritual, helping them work through their case theories one by one.

“Nah, I don’t think so.” Randy shook his head when it was his turn. “What about the maid? She certainly had motive.”

A few more exchanges and tosses back and forth happened before you waltzed into the police station. Randy missed his catch, the football almost flying through the Captain’s window, but you gracefully caught it just in time and placed it securely down on the desk.

“Nice catch,” Beau complimented you, impressed.

“Hi, honey,” your husband greeted you and found your lips, kissing you deeply. You giggled and locked your arms around his neck as he pressed you into the edge of his desk.

“Geez, really? Get a room you two,” Beau huffed jokingly, making both of you laugh enough to stop your make-out session but not enough to detangle yourselves from each other.

“We’re newlyweds. We’re supposed to make you sick and scratch your eyes out,” Randy quipped with a grin.

Smiling warmly, Beau shook his head at the two of you. “You got married eight months ago. When’s that honeymoon phase ending, huh?”

“Never,” both of you replied in unison and started kissing again, causing Beau’s eyes to roll back.

“God help me…” He sighed dramatically.

His sigh of exhaustion was soon joined by a second one. “Ugh, again?” Carla asked as she stepped into the station and tilted her head at you and your husband.

“Yeah,” Beau confirmed, amused, and kissed his wife’s cheek. “How did that court case go?”

Carla exhaled a breath of fatigued annoyance. “Y/N’s buying drinks tonight. Thanks to her Oscar-worthy performance on the stand,” she replied as you grinned winningly at her. The two of you had a deal – whoever won a court case was inviting the other for consolation drinks. “You know, I’ve never seen someone so convincingly fake-cry during cross.”

“You’re welcome.” You smirked slyly. “My high school drama teacher taught me that. I think he would’ve been proud of me today. Those were real tears, you know?”

“Oh, the jury certainly thought so.” Carla laughed bitterly.

“So you lost?” Beau glanced at his wife. “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

Carla arched an eyebrow and knowingly crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you, Beau?”

“Nah, not really.” He laughed and said, “You did defend a tweaker who killed three people over a little bag of meth, so…”

“Well, I know better than to argue with two cops and a federal agent over the rights of American citizens,” Carla fired back.

Beau snorted in amusement. “Wow, okay. Y/N really pissed you off, huh?”

“Again, you’re welcome.” You beamed with self-satisfaction.

��Oh, you both are pissing me off,” Carla retorted jokingly and then looked at you, smiling. “I gotta get back to the office. I’ll see you at the bar.” She then turned to her husband, pointing a finger at him. “And I’ll see you at home.”

Beau leaned in to kiss his wife goodbye, but Carla already rushed out of the station before he got a chance. He heaved a small sigh, his eyes drifting to Randy and you as you giggled like two lovesick teenagers.

“I gotta get back to work, too,” you said as you withdrew from your husband’s lips. But then you noticed an opened case folder on Randy’s desk. Curiously, you tiptoed up and spied over his shoulder to get a better look at it. “Unless you two got something fun here…”

“Ay, hands off! That ain’t your jurisdiction,” Beau warned you playfully and stopped short of batting your hand away.

“C’mon, we’re stuck. She might be able to help,” Randy interjected with an innocent shrug and a puppy dog look.

Beau heaved an exasperated sigh and then smiled challengingly at you. “Alright, what d’you think, Special Agent Y/L/N?”

Grabbing the file, you leafed through it for a moment and then mused, “Hmm, couldn’t have been the maid. Her schedule doesn’t match time of death. But maybe it was the courier? There’s a theft ring hitting several states. They use bike couriers.”

Beau’s smile widened to a triumphant grin as he pointed a finger at his partner. “Ha! That’s what I said.”

“Alright.” Your husband groaned defeatedly. “Let’s check it out.”

“Oh, now you suddenly want to, huh? After the wife said it? That hurts, man,” Beau teased.

Randy shrugged smugly. “Yeah, well, she’s a lot smarter than you.”

Beau pursed his lips and nodded, hiding his smirk of amusement. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

“Well, you guys have fun with this,” you said and kissed your husband’s lips one last time. “I have to get back to work. The tweaker Carla defended gave up his supplier in Brownsville. The DEA wants me to come down to Matamoros with them tomorrow. They think the guy is Gulf Cartel.”

Randy furrowed his brow, and you could see the concern shimmering in his eyes. “How long will you be gone?”

“Two weeks maybe?” You shrugged, not knowing exactly how long assignments sometimes could last. Worst case, you could even be undercover for a couple of months, and your husband knew that.

“So, we’re gonna have fun tonight?” Randy smirked and wiggled his eyebrows, resting his palms on your hips as he pulled you closer.

You grinned smugly. “You bet we are, baby. Bring the handcuffs home.”

“Guys, c’mon, I’m standing right here,” Beau complained and threw his arms up, making both of you laugh and blush.

“Alright, be careful,” Randy reminded you with a peck on your lips.

You nodded and then turned to Beau. “You’re gonna protect my boy here while I’m gone, Arlen? Have his back?”

“Yes, ma’am. With my life. Promise,” Beau said and smiled at you reassuringly, putting you at ease before you walked out of the station.

Randy let out a worried sigh as he watched you leave. He looked up when Beau patted his shoulder in comfort.

“She’ll be fine. She’s a tough one,” Beau said in an attempt to calm his partner’s nerves.

“Yeah, she is,” Randy agreed quietly before his teasing nature returned. He grinned up at him and quipped, “You couldn’t handle her.”

“Sure, I could! Have you met Carla?” Beau retorted as both of them fell back into a brotherly banter. “Trust me, once your sickening honeymoon phase wears off, you’re gonna be right where I am.”

“What, happily unhappy?” Randy sassed and cocked an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” Beau replied wryly, clicking his tongue.

“Nah, man, that’s not me and Y/N,” Randy stated with a surefire grin.

“Alright, lover boy, let’s put our courier in the hot seat. C’mon,” Beau grunted with a roll of his eyes and brushed off his feelings on the subject, although he began to doubt his own statement. He was admittedly a bit jealous of his partner’s relationship.

Maybe some couples were just happier than him and Carla.

Beau tossed the old football into the air and caught it again. With a thoughtful sigh, he placed it on his desk and sunk back into his chair, his palm still resting on the ball.

“You were right, man. Who would’ve thought…” The sheriff clicked his tongue. A knock on the door ripped him from his trance, his green eyes darting to the visitor.

Jenny carefully peeked her head inside and checked on him, “You okay there?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he assured her. He didn’t bother to form a smile, though.

She pursed her lips, clearly not believing him, but nodded her acceptance. “You wanna join us at the bar? Might give you a chance to talk?”

“Uh, yeah, but you girls go ahead. Still have a few things to finish up here,” Beau said.

“Alright.” Jenny gave him a small smile, but she didn’t leave yet, her hand resting on the doorknob. “You know, when I first saw you with Carla, I thought I had it right. But this-… this is an entirely new look.”

Beau grimaced. “Shut up.”

Jenny laughed lightly. “If you love her, you should tell her.” Beau only shot her a deadpan glare, to which the blonde raised her hands in capitulation. “Alright, just sayin’…” With that, she closed the door behind her again.

Beau’s eyes then landed back on the football on his desk, smacking his lips in thought. Sometimes the guilt was eating him alive, burning him from the inside out like acid.

“You’d be okay with this, right? I know you’d want her to be happy,” he verbalized his thoughts out loud, hoping it would give him some clarity. He wasn’t sure, however, if he was just saying it to alleviate his own guilty conscience and justify his actions.

“I think I could really make her happy, you know? At least, I’d try,” Beau said. Two fingers rubbed his mouth as he spun on his chair and glanced out the window to the dark sky and the stars above. “C’mon, man, I just need one small sign…”

Chapter 3: Pour The Whiskey

More glimpses into the past and maybe some much needed talking coming next week! Let me know all your thoughts in the comments, loves 🤍

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[writingwithcolor]

Dark skin reactions to cold weather

exorcistbones2 asked:

Hello! I have a bit of a simple question, I have tried looking this up but I can't find anything relating to it.

I'm writing a fantasy piece where the mc is black, he temporarily stays in cold climates and will deal with several creatures that deal damage such as hypothermia and frostbite. My question is, what happens to dark skin when cold? When someone is pale and they go out into the cold, their skin may turn red/pink. I don't think anything like that happens to people with darker skin tones so I was just wondering if any changes like that occur in the cold.

Dark skin can pinken and grow ruddy from cold. Personally, I have brown skin and live in the Midwest, USA. My nose gets real visibly pink at the tip from the cold weather. My cheeks, too, if it’s really cold and wind-lashed. It may not be a whole face bright color-change, but usually the T-zone of the face and smaller body parts.

Like with blushing, even if these affects are less notable on darker skin, we, also as humans, have the same blood reactions under the skin as lighter skin tones!

Another affect can be turning "ashy" as in, a layer of ashen whiteness that gathers on dry, exposed skin. Especially the corners of hands, feet, legs, etc. Moisturizer, like lotion or cocoa butter, usually takes care of that. All skin shades can get ashy, but it's more notable on dark skin.

Skin tones can lighten and darken depending on the climate, too. Dark skin tones tend to get lighter in the winter, darker / tan in the warmer months.

As for what frostbite looks like on dark skin, there are pictures you can look up that will show that. I did a quick google search and found some unfortunate looking images.

~Mod Colette

[tarirose]

New Beginnings

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x F! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Smut, Language, Oral, NSFW 18+

Word Count: 12.6k (I am sorry it’s so long. I was going to do chapters.

Summary: You and Bradley used to date when you were younger. But you left him behind and what you had to start your dream job. Ten years later, you find yourself back home. And Bradley has never let you go and wants you back.

Note: I also might carry this one on, in shorter chapters if people like it. Maybe delve more into seeing what happens between them.

Fightertown, USA was the last place you ever expected to return to. It had been ten years since you were last here. Back then you were a free spirit, young enough to not want to settle down, but old enough to not mess around. A little rebellious, which piqued the interest of a certain man, Bradley Bradshaw. You were both young and fun, took things as they came. And things were great, until the day you suddenly left. Yet here you were, standing in front of the Hard Deck, the last of the sun shining onto your golden colored skin, a short tight black dress hugging your curves. The mid afternoon was already busy and the jukebox was playing 80’s classics. You took a deep breath, squaring your shoulders before opening the door and walking in.

The Hard Deck was full of the typical locals, girls draping over the shoulders of pilots. It was always a fun atmosphere. One that you had always missed. Whilst you loved your new life in Paris, new beginnings, a part of you always wanted to come back to what you called home.

“Y/N?” A voice coming from behind you said in surprise. You turned around from the bar to see one of your oldest friends. Natasha, standing there with a huge grin on her face. “It can’t be you!”

“Natasha!” You said with a smile. Nat set her drink down on the bar before swooping in to pull you into a hug.

“Oh my god! I can’t believe you’re here! It’s been far too long. I thought you moved to Paris?” Nat questioned, grabbing her drink and signalling to Penny for a beer for you.

“Ten years too long?” You joked, bumping your shoulder into hers.

“Yeah! What are you doing back?”

Penny came over and placed two bottles in front of you, as well as two shots of tequila. “It’s good to see you back, Y/N. Have these on me, for a welcome back.”

“Thanks, Penny. It’s great to see you!” You flashed her a smile before turning your attention back to Nat. “I have a shoot here. If you can even believe that. They wanted one in my hometown. So here I am.” You cringed at even saying that out loud, just the thought of being back made your eyes roll. Grabbing your beer and taking a sip.

“That’s great! You look amazing by the way. In case you haven’t noticed, every guys eyes are laid on you.” Nat winked at you before speaking up again. “I’m so proud of you, I know you took a big risk leaving this place and leaving people behind, but you followed your dream and now look at you!”

You clanked your beer bottle into Nat’s and flashed her a wide grin. “Well, I’m glad to see you, I wasn’t exactly expecting to be back here.”

“I’m glad to see you as well, and I’m so glad you’re here. Everyone has missed you, you know? I’m sure they’ll all be eager to see you again. Where are you staying? Didn’t you sell your old place?” Nat asked as she sat down on one of the bar stools.

“Yeah, but I bought that place on the beach, you know the one? Well, I figured I should at least have somewhere to call my own if I ever plan on staying here.” You replied as you gazed over to Maverick who was chatting to Penny from across the bar.

“So, someone is staying longer than expected, any company?” Nat winked at you, throwing her arms out to any pilot that was around without a girl drooling over them.

Rolling your eyes and taking a shot of tequila, you laughed in response. “Honestly, I’ve missed it. I knew how much my mom loved this place, she always wanted a house on the beach. And well… after losing her, it only felt right to eventually come back. Even if the house I bought does have memories attached to it.” You said quietly.

“Yeah.. I’m sorry about your mom. She was so proud of you. And as for the memories of that house, you know he never shut up about you? For years. He still loves you. Don’t be surprised if he’s here tonight.”

“Can we not talk about that.” You quickly responded to her. Not wanting to remember him.

“Yeah. Anyway, you know you’re always welcome here. It will always be home.” Nat said as she laid her hand on top of yours.

“Thank you, Nat. So what about you? You’re a pilot now?” You asked her with a smile.

“Naval Aviator actually. Lieutenant Trace, call sign Phoenix.” She proudly replied back.

A few hours had past by, the pair of you telling each other stories about your job, things you have missed out on, catching up. A few of your old friends had joined. The Hard Deck was now full of off duty pilots. You and Nat were slammed across the bar, but you were both enjoying every minute of it. As you handed a beer to a handsome pilot who had caught your eye and arm, your eyes averted from the pilot to the door, as a familiar figure came walking in. Sunglasses on, denim jeans and a Hawaiian shirt you’d recognise anywhere. You froze immediately as your eyes found Mav’s. He smiled slightly, with a sad but happy feeling gazing back at you. He knew how Bradley still felt about you.

You wanted to catch up with them both, but right now wasn’t the best time for that. Your eyes wandered back to the familiar figure and brought you back to the present. The sound of the piano playing that song you loved, by a man you had once loved. That distinct male voice singing. It was a voice you would never forget, no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you never wanted to hear it again. You tried to ignore it, turning your attention back to the pilot whose hands were currently on your waist. You could feel a pair of eyes burning into you, even through his sunglasses.

Your turned back towards the piano as the song came to an end. Your gaze meeting the eyes of a man who once owned your heart, and yours his. He had grown gorgeous. His golden skin peaking through his low tank top, the sweat pouring from his face and chest. His lighter colored hair, even grown a moustache that suited him and already had you slightly weak to the knees. He was a different man from the one you fell for. Yet you were also a different woman. He stood up and walked towards the bar. Your gaze returning to the pilot by your side, whispering into your ear. Bradley froze mid step, removing his aviators fully and placing them around his top so that he could get a better look at you. Clenching his jaw and tightening his fists into balls. He looked you up and down. Taking in all your beauty. Feeling a ping of jealousy at the sight of you in a short tight dress and seeing another man’s hands on you. When they should be his.

Leaning on the bar next to you, he signalled Penny for a beer. “Y/N?” He questioned. His dark eyes staring daggers into you and the pilot next you. Turning your head towards him, a thousand memories began flooding your mind of what used to be.

“Hey, Bradley.” You replied with a smile.

This cause Bradley to stagger and go silent for a bit when you said his name. It had been ten years since he had heard that voice say his name. You felt a hand around your waist again and you broke eye contact with Bradley to look at the pilot.

“I’m sorry, can you give us some space?” You asked the pilot, and he nodded in agreement and left you both alone.

Bradley’s throat tightened, you were still as magical and ethereal as you were all them years ago. Clearing his throat before he spoke up again. “What are you doing here? I thought you moved to Paris?”

“I did. I got here a few weeks ago. I have a shoot here, unfortunately.” You admitted. You hated this. Being in front of the man you had walked out on.

“Unfortunately? You aren’t glad to be back?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

You sighed and picked up your beer, downing it all wanting this moment to be over. Picking up your purse, you decided the best place to be was home.

“Where are you going?” Bradley asked, grabbing your arm as you got up.

“Home? I’m already tired of this conversation.” You harshly bit back to him.

Bradley stopped and inhaled. “Then let me drive you back.”

“No, I’m good. I don’t think it’s a good idea.” You calmly replied.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not gonna let you walk back alone, come on.”

Opening the passenger door, he helped you get into his Bronco. The same car he had all them years ago “So where are you staying?”

“That beach house. The one we said we were going to buy when we were older. Yeah, that’s mine now.” You said, softly. Feeling like your heart was going to pour out. Reminding you of the conversation the two of you had years ago.

“Ah. I see.” The drive was silent. An uncomfortable silence. Every now and then, you could feel Bradley staring in your direction. He wanted to reach over, rest his hand on your thigh like he always used to. Pulling into your driveway, you quickly gathered your things and made your way to the door. Bradley rushed out, running up to you. “Wait! Can we talk?”

You sighed, and let out a deep breath. Turning to face him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He was now stood in front of you, towering over you, even in heels. His face was inches away from yours. Feeling his breath so close. His cologne filling your nostrils with every breath you took. You inhaled his scent and looked up to him.

“Please.. I’ve waited ten fucking years to talk to you. I’m not going to waste this opportunity. Now I know you’re back home.. I won’t..” He shook his head, meeting your gaze. He struggled to get out what he wanted to say, desperately wanting to pull you into his chest and hold you – hating how angry and upset he was at you. “Y/N, I was so in love with you, I was head over heels for you. And you just left me, left what we had. Like it was all nothing to you! Like I meant nothing to you! You broke my fucking heart! Left me wondering what I did wrong. Where I went wrong. If there was something wrong with me.”

Tears began steaming down his face as he stuttered the last words out. You dropped your eyes to the floor. Guilt ridden and in a situation you never thought you would ever be in again.

“Fuck!” His voice cracked as he rubbed his face free of tears.

You turned to your front door, fumbling with the key in the lock before you unlocked it. “Come in, we’ll talk inside.” You motioned for him to enter first.

He stopped in your living room, taking in the view of the house you were going to share together. “How long have you owned this?” His eyes diverting to one certain picture of you in Paris, for your first shoot. You looked gorgeous, and so happy.

“Awhile. I bought it after mom passed. But just never actually returned here until recently.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He quietly said, not wanting to push the conversation further until you were ready.

You sighed, running your hand through your hair. “Drink?”

He nodded, and you made your way into the kitchen, collecting a tumblr of whiskey and two glasses. You wandered back into the living room, watching him fall onto your couch, his muscular arm draping over the back of it. “You didn’t answer me before.” He accepted the glass and took a sip.

“I didn’t realise it was a question.” You took a seat next to him and sighed loudly, downing your drink all in one.

“It wasn’t. But I think I deserve to know.” He eased himself more into the couch, rubbing his face.

You took a deep breath. “You did nothing wrong. You will never know how much I regretted walking away from you, how much I hurt you. It hurt me just as much you know? It took everything in me to just leave.”

“Then why the fuck did you not even bother to reply to me? I sent so many texts, you never answered my calls. I even went as far as emailing you! I made myself look stupid, everyday for years and never got a reply. I just wanted to know how you were. Yet you just forgot about me.”

You tilted your head back into the couch, rubbing your forehead.

“Why?! Did I really mean nothing to you?!”

“Stop saying that!” You angrily shot back, lifting your head to meet his gaze.

“Then tell me!”

“God damn it, Bradley! I blocked you! It hurt too much seeing you keep pop up on my phone, so I thought it would have been easier for both of us if we didn’t have any means of contact.” You admitted.

His eyes dropping away from yours, smoothing down his moustache and running his free hand through his hair. “Maybe for you, but it made me look desperate. Or maybe I was just desperate to hear from you, to get your attention, and having you back.”

You set your glass down, groaning a displeased noise and you stood up. “Maybe you should g-“

“I’ve missed you, darling.” He interrupted you, towering his full height over you, taking your chin in his hand. “You didn’t have to push me away like that, I told you I’d always be here for you. Or was that all bullshit to you?”

“Can you stop doubting how I felt for you. Yes I loved you. Yes I missed you, more than you will ever realise. Like I said, I regretted it the moment I left. But it was for the best. We had different paths. You wouldn’t of left behind your life and dreams to come to a new part of the world with me.” You replied, tilting your head up to look him in the eyes.

“I would of followed you anywhere, sweet girl. If it meant being with you. But you never gave me the chance.”

“Well we both know that isn’t true.”

“You know I had to resist the temptation to fly over there and see how you were doing? It was only because of Nat and Mav who told me to let you go. But I couldn’t. I’ve never been able to get over you.”

Falling into an array of silence, his heart broke at every word you had told him. Losing his own parents, he knew the grief you were going through. Yet he never knew the things you went through, and certainly didn’t want to push any sort of conversation onto you. Apart of him wanted to take you in his arms, and make sure you forgot every bad thing that has happened to you in your life since leaving. It killed him to know that you also suffered the same grief. Not only that, but knowing all this time, that you regretted leaving him.

He spoke up, breaking the silence between you two. “You look beautiful. I mean, you always have been. But my god, baby, you’re unreal.” Rubbing his thumb over your cheek, whilst still holding your chin in his hand.

The corners of your mouth slightly raising up, letting a small laugh out. “You don’t look bad either, Bradley. The new stache suits you well.”

“I don’t want to leave. Please don’t make me leave.” Bradley said, as he lifted his hands to cradle your face.

“Bradley.. This isn’t how we should do this. Things have changed.” You begged, your own hands clinging onto his shirt.

“What’s changed, baby?” He whispered relatively close to your ear, his breath hitching a soft spot under your ear. He knew every nuance of your body, he knew how to get you started with just a slight touch or breath. He gripped your hand and brought it up to his lips, the bristle of his moustache tickling you as he placed a tender sweet kiss to your knuckle.

You removed yourself from his grip, not wanting to fall into this new charm of his. “We shouldn’t.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can we talk another day then? I’m not going to let you get away this time.”

“Well, fortunately for you, I’m here for awhile.” You replied back, taking a step back.

“Let me take you out then? Properly. Unless that guy from the bar has your attention?”

You laughed at his question and stood silently for awhile, admiring the man in front of you. Thinking long and hard about an answer. Which made Bradley nervous. Was he about to be let down again? Were you already seeing someone?

“Okay.” Was all you could reply, not wanting to entertain his jealously.

“Then you need to unblock my number, ma’am.” He joked, which resulted in you rolling your eyes at him. “Please don’t leave this time.”

He took your hand one last time for the night, placing another kiss to your knuckles before turning around and making his way back home.

You made your way to bed after your shower. Fluffing up your pillow, you flopped onto the bed turning to your side, wondering if it was a good idea that you made Bradley leave. Or should you of let him stay the night? Let out all of your frustration and hurt on each other’s bodies? You shook away all the thoughts and looked over to your phone to see that Nat had messaged you.

Nat: How are things? I saw you leave with Rooster? Have you two made up and fucking each other’s brains out?

You: Haha, very funny. Rooster? And no, I told him to leave actually.

Nat: Rooster is his call sign, but I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it. If you let him.

You: Maybe. But it’s all too much. Is it?

Nat: Babe, you know he’s deeply in love with you, always has been. He would pester me most days asking if I’ve heard from you. Give him a chance, he’s a good guy, and he’s missed you terribly..

You: I’ve only just gotten back, and he’s quickly entered my life again. I just don’t know how to feel.

Nat: Just give it time, take it slow. It’s been ten years. You guys just need to start again and talk about things.

You: We’ll see how it goes. But I’m not promising anything.

Nat: Do you still love him?

You: I don’t know. I tried so hard to get over him. And I did. And now he’s back.

Nat: Try and get some sleep, and see how you feel about it all. Just… don’t break his heart again. You’ve both been through so much.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night. You couldn’t stop replaying the moments from last night. You were sat wide awake questioning everything you ever had with Bradley. Every memory you cherished together, all the future plans you talked about. Everything came flooding your mind at once, making it impossible to sleep.

You managed to roll out of bed and have a shower, freshening yourself up from the hangover that was currently residing over you. Throwing on a baggy tee and rolling your hair into curlers to air dry. You checked your phone to see that poor Bradley had been messaging you, and was left wondering if you were going to leave him again without a word.

Bradley: I see my messages still aren’t going through.. I guess that means I’m still blocked.

You: I’m sorry. I just showered and went to sleep after you left.

Bradley: I’m sorry if last night was too much. Can I come see you?

You: Sure… I’m free later?

Bradley: Perfect! I’ll be around about 6? Is that alright?

You: Sounds good. I’ll see you later.

Bradley: I can’t wait x

You kept yourself busy most of the day, and now it was approaching 6pm, knowing that Bradley would most likely arrive early. You opted to wear something casual, a graphic cropped tee and some tight dark jeans. Just when you were finishing off your hair, you heard a knock on your front door. Making sure you looked good, you made your way over to the door. And there he was. One arm leaning against the doorframe, the other behind his back. A shy but sincerely happy smile creeping onto his tanned face. A well pressed black tee clinging tightly to his body, and jeans that hugged his thighs perfectly. His cologne instantly making your head go crazy.

“Hello, gorgeous.” He said warmly, taking his hand from the doorway and placing a gentle kiss to your cheek.

The apples of your cheek immediately flushed from this sudden affection. “Hey.”

“How you always manage to look sexy even in casual clothes always blows my mind.” He laughed whilst admiring every part of you from where he was standing. “Sorry, I got these for you.” He removed his hands from behind his back, handing you a dozen beautiful red roses.

“Bradley… you didn’t have to.”

“No. But I know you always liked flowers, and I’ve gotta try and impress you again somehow right?” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. He was nervous. The usual Bradley Bradshaw you knew was always a confident guy. This guy, was new to you.

This was different, and it drew you in even more than you wanted. He was incredibly gorgeous, you knew he was always good looking, but now, all these years later. You couldn’t keep your eyes off him. His sun kissed skin, those hazel colored eyes staring deep into your own. How much lighter his hair was, the way his clothes hung to him. And of course, his body was so much more defined and muscular. He was perfect.

Getting your head out of the gutter, you quickly snapped out the thoughts of him. “Come in.” You took the flowers from his hand and guided him into where he had just been last night.

You made your way into the kitchen, to vase the roses he had given you. Making your way back into the living room, Bradley was already nursing himself a glass of whiskey. Placing the roses on the coffee table, you poured yourself a glass and sat down next to him.

The two of you talked for a few hours about how your lives turned out, you told him all about your job, the places it took you, he told you all about how he became a Naval Aviator, all about Top Gun and all of his missions.

“You know, I didn’t imagine this would ever happen. I always dreamed it would, but I never thought I’d ever be sitting here with you again.” He admitted, bringing the glass to his lips.

“Yeah well… I didn’t exactly expect this to happen either.”

“Did you ever think about me?”

Your silence told him everything, and he hung his head low. “Was there someone else?” He asked anxiously. Fearing for a reply he didn’t want to hear.

“No. There was no one else.. and yes, I thought about you a lot. That’s why I found it so hard to block you.” You replied, putting his mind at ease as his gaze met yours again. “Honestly Bradley, I’d rather not talk about the past. Because in truth, I missed you so much, and no one else has ever loved me the way you did.” You admitted, resting your legs onto his lap. “I was foolish for ever leaving you. What I did wasn’t right. I left you without a heads up and I’m sorry.”

Bradley sighed, his hand resting on your thigh, kneading into your skin. He huffed out a slight chuckle, “Yeah.. ten years wasted, darling.” He fell silent for awhile. “You know I’ve always loved you. There wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t think of you. Everyday I wondered how you were, what you were doing, how your job was going. I even asked Nat about you, as I knew the two of you kept in contact.”

“I know. She said.”

“Of course she did.” He sighed again. Reaching out closer to you, moving a stray of hair from your face. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”

His hands still lingering on your face, you felt a blush creep onto your cheeks. “A few times.”

“Well, I’ll remind you a million times, just to see that pretty smile I fell so much for.” His hand now cupping your cheek, rubbing his thumb over the softness of your skin. “God. I still remember the day I first saw you. At that shitty party, those high raised shorts and your cowboy boots.” He snorted trying to picture you in that same outfit now. “And gods, that smile, when I made my way over to you and asked for you name.” He swallowed hard. “You instantly had me wrapped around your finger. And even then you played hard to get and made me work hard for a date with you. I should of known you were going to be trouble from that moment.” He chuckled quietly, gazing lovingly into your eyes.

“Uh huh, but you got the date, did you not? You obviously did something right.” You playfully slapped his arm.

“Fuck yeah, I got you. That was the best move of my life.” He told you, softly.

His eyes searched for yours, desperately wanting to touch you, hold you, have your body close to his. You gently reached for his hand, tracing over his palms. “I am sorry. I should of contacted you. I was only thinking about myself and my future.” You finally admitted.

He sighed and shook his head, intertwining his fingers with your own. “Don’t be. I should have been proud of you for following your dreams. Who was I to stop you from doing that?”

“So.. Lieutenant Bradshaw.” This one sentence made his cheeks heat up rapidly, and felt his cock go hard. Why did that turn him on so much? Coming from you, it was so sexy. “Do I call you Roost? Rooster?”

“You can call me anything you want, darling.” He licked his lips, staring at you intensely which only made you grow hot under his gaze.

Grinning widely, you snuck closer to him. His arm that was spread out behind the couch was now resting on your shoulder. “Fuck, what do you do to be, baby?” He asked, as he took your chin in his palm. Your faces now inches apart from each other, so close… your lips slightly parted, desperate to be kissed. “How is it just seeing you drives me crazy all over again.” His voice was low and raspy, but he couldn’t stop himself from speaking the truth. You didn’t break his gaze, instead opting to rest your hand on his thigh. Bradley could feel himself sweating profoundly to where your hand was heading.

“Fuck this..” he whispered against your skin, grasping your face tenderly. His lips feeling hot against your own. He drew you closer to him, his strong hands resting on your waist, pulling you onto his lap. Deepening the kiss that was already so needy. “Tell me you want this as much as I do, otherwise I won’t stop.” He asked you, taking a hand from your waist and running it through your hair, as his lips were back on yours.

Gasping into his mouth, you pulled back, knowing that if it carried on much longer, you both wouldn’t be able to control it.

“What’s wrong sweetheart? Did I go to far?” Bradley asked nervously.

You chuckled softly, readjusting your hair. “No, but maybe ask a girl out for dinner first before you try and bed her.” You mischievously winked at him and smiled into his mouth.

“You really are going to be the death of me, you know that right? And I did ask you last night.”

“Not properly though.”

“Alright.” He cleared his throat, “Will you go on a date with me?” He warmly smiled at you, his hands kneading into the bare skin on your waist.

“Hm, I’ll have to check my calendar, see if I’m available from all my other dates.” You joked.

He gripped tighter into your waist, causing you to jolt in your spot. “Oh yeah? Go on a lot of dates do you? Although I think you should prioritise our date first, babygirl.”

“Mhm, and why’s that?” Your hands finding their way into his curls and gripping tightly, making his head jerk back.

Bradley loved this new dominant side of you. Not afraid to show you how hard he was under the tightness of his jeans, as he grinded you against him. “Because you know I’ll make it worth your time, baby.” His lips turning into a wicked grin. He was falling apart under you.

Your hands moving down to clutch onto the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to your face. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?” Removing yourself from his lap slowly. He shook his head, letting out a raspy scoff.

“You’re impossible. Is that a yes?”

“Well, it’s not a no, sir.”

This made Bradley lose his damn mind. He just wanted to take you here and now, and show you what you’ve been missing out on.

“Where?” You stood up with your back facing him, flicking your hair back.

He bit down on his knuckle, taking in the form of your body in front of him. Your ass looked so damn good and perky and he just want to squeeze it. “Let me sort that, all you have to do is make yourself look sexy, as always.”

“Deal.”

In truth, Bradley hadn’t been on a date in years. He tried, wanting to get over you somehow. But each date was a fail. He didn’t enjoy any of them. Because in the end, nothing ever felt right to him. Sure, he occasionally had a girl over, but that’s all it ever was. A one night stand. No one had ever caught his eye like you had. And if it wasn’t going to be you, then he didn’t want to settle with anyone else.

“Then I’ll let you know when and what time, darling.”

You nodded in agreement, with a very flirtatious smile. This only made his palms sweat more, and his heart was fucking racing. He grinned as he stood up, his hands finding the curve of your back, rubbing smooth circles in a spot he knew you liked. “See me out?”

He took your hand and linked your fingers with his as you led him to the door, he pulled you close to him. “I’m never letting you leave again.” He inhaled deeply and kissed you again, this time more soft and passionate. How was this man able to make your knees want to collapse from under you?

“Then you’ll have to try hard to make me stay, Rooster.” You replied.

Squinting his eyes, breathing into your mouth. “Oh baby, I promise, you’ll be staying this time.”

Pressing yourself fully into his chest, you whispered enough for him to be able to hear you, “Cocky, I like it. You’re pushing your way to the top of my dates.”

Shaking his head, “I’ll make it perfect.” He kissed you again. “I meant everything I said. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I’d be stupid to let you go again.”

“Then don’t.”

He smiled softly, grazing his hands across your cheek, he could feel all the blood rushing from his body. Was this a dream? He had you back in his life and he was a nervous wreck. Scared of fucking it all up and losing you all over again. “God, you make it hard for a man to leave.” He teased, kissing you one final time before pulling away. Knowing himself that he would lose himself fully to you if he stayed.

“Goodnight, beautiful.” Bringing your hand to his lips, placing that ever so gentle kiss to your fingers.

“Goodnight, Lieutenant.” You said boldly, making your way back inside, shutting the door behind you and sighing. Running your hands through your hair. You stumbled back into the living room, pouring yourself another glass of whiskey before throwing yourself onto the couch where he had just been. A million thoughts running through your mind of what just happened.

Nat had texted you a few days later, telling you to get your ass to the Hard Deck tonight with some of the girls. She wanted to know all the gossip between you and Rooster. You had been texting him back and fourth since you last saw him. And there still wasn’t any valid communication of when this ‘date’ was going to happen. You sighed, zipping up your dress and putting on your black boots heels. Overdosing yourself in your favorite perfume.

Nat: Just so you know, lover boy is here.

The Hard Deck was already over flooded with people, music bustling through the crowd. You spotted the girls over near the pool table, with a few guys hanging around them. Typical, you thought, as you made your way over to the bar.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing around here?” A voice asked from beside you. His fingers grazing over your wrist. “Let me buy you a drink, gorgeous.”

Turning to look at the stranger beside you, sure he was good looking. But you simply replied with a “no thanks.” Moving past him to the other side of the bar. Of course, Bradley had his eyes on you from the moment you walked in. A part of him wanted to see what you would do. If you would entertain and pursue this guy. But the other part was seething with rage.

“Come on, you’re gonna turn down a free drink? Why don’t we go somewhere mo-“

“Penny, two beers here, please.” Bradley wandered over, tapping his fingers on the bar, hovering next to you. His body heat was radiating in close proximity to you. His cologne overwhelmed you and instantly making your knees want to buckle under you.

“Come on, baby. Let’s go somewhere else.” The man was a drunken mess, moving his hands lower down to reach your ass.

Bradley quickly snatched his hands away. “Touch her again pal, and me and you will be outside. Now fuck off.” He moved his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “I don’t like sharing what’s mine.” He squared his eyes, watching the man walk away.

“Oh, I’m yours? Since when? I didn’t realise I was.” You replied back sarcastically.

“No. But you soon will be. You look incredible. Although that dress would look better on my bedroom floor.” He placed a kiss on top of your hair, knowing the two of you were being watched. You pulled away, a grin plastered across his face. He knew what he was doing. He wanted everyone in here to know that you were off limits. He was possessive of what was his.

“Aren’t you forgetting something? You asked.

“I’d never forget our date. Don’t worry, I have it all planned, just one more thing to sort and then you’re all mine.” He replied, squeezing your waist tighter.

“Thanks for the beer, baby.” You winked, leaving him breathless as you walked away from him, flicking your hair behind you.

You caught Nat’s eyes and she motioned for you to come over. She pulled you into a warm hug. “You’ve made a complete mess of him, you know?” She whispered quietly in your ear, watching him at the bar, his eyes not once letting you out of his sight. “The minute you walked in, he was drooling over you. He’s obsessed. And when that guys hands were on you, well… he looked ready to kill him.”

You just had to laugh, pulling away from her embrace and looking over your shoulder to see Bradley’s eyes staring deep into you. Sending him a quick smile.

“So what happened? Did you make up. Have you slept with him yet?” Nat asked, patiently waiting for your answer.

“No, we haven’t slept together.”

“Yet.” Nat quickly jumped in, snickering a laugh as she looked over to Bradley and then back to you.

“We just talked. And kissed. It’s been ten years, I’m not about to just hop straight back into his pants.”

“Oh but you will. I know you guys have genuine feelings for each other, or well… maybe him more than you. Which is something he probably fears. But, take it easy on him, when you left, he was different. Just a shell of who he used to be. And now you’re back, well just look at him. He’s absolutely smitten over you. You know more than anyone that he’s a good guy. He’s never once hurt you, he wont ever hurt you. You two are made for each other. Always have been. Everyone knows that.” She turned her face towards the bar, nodding in his direction.

“You need to shoot your shot, man.” Jake muttered, silently watching you drunkenly dance around. “That girl will quickly have someone to bed if you don’t take that chance to do something.”

“Shut up, Hangman.” Bradley hissed, smoothing down his moustache. He knew he was right though. If he didn’t do something soon, you would easily be swooped up.

“Just saying, she’s a sight for sore eyes.” Jake shrugged, leaving Bradley to bask in his own head, beer paused at his lips. His gaze never faltered from you.

“Last call?” Nat asked.

“No, I’m gonna head back. I’ve reached my limit and I have my shoot in the morning.”

“Are you gonna be alright getting back?” She asked worryingly.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” You reassured her.

You grabbed your purse and began making your way outside, until Bradley caught your arm. “Let me take you home. You know I don’t like you walking back on your own.” He pleaded with you.

Closing your eyes, your body suddenly heating up from the idea of drunken sex with your ex, you nodded. His fingers locking with yours as he led you to his Bronco. He prompted you into the passenger seat, leaning over to fasten your seatbelt. Fuck, he was so close. And he smelled divine. Watching as he got into the drivers side, biting the inside of your cheek watching how one of his hands rested on your thigh. A smug pleased grin sitting on his face as he drove you back home.

Pulling into your driveway, turning the engine off, he turned to face you. His hazel eyes peering across from you. “Fuck, baby. I don’t know how much more of this I can handle. Watching you tonight, it’s fucking torture… Tell me you want this too? And I’m not just going insane.” He sighed deeply, rubbing his hands over his face.

Grinning, you got out of the passenger side and started heading towards the door. “Are you coming?” You asked.

“Fuck yes.” His eyes drifted up and down your body, taking in the sight of that dress sitting tightly around your curves. Hopping quickly out of his car, he ran over to you and blindly followed you into your home. Closing the door behind him, he eased you back against the wall, his hands running down your sides and gripping the curve of your ass. A surprised noise left your throat. His lips finally landed on yours, his tongue pushing its way past your own, savouring all the taste of you. His large hands finding the back of your head, as they tangled themselves in your hair. The gentle pull of his fingers slightly forcing your head to tilt back, roped another surprised gasp escaping your parted lips.

Your hands grazing over the ripples of his shirt, hastily lifting the hem of it up to trace your fingers over the smoothness of his abdomen. He sucked in a deep breath, pushing himself closer towards you, moving his thigh to be pressed between your legs. He used a free strong hand to pin your own hands above your head. Leaning back down to kiss you deeply, tongues intertwining. It was messy, and so desperate. His hands bunched at the bottom of your dress, tugging at it for your approval. Not wanting to push any boundaries onto you if that’s not what you wanted.

“Don’t stop.” Your voice was needy as your teeth bit down into his bottom lip. Causing a grown to escape his own mouth. At this point, you had completely given in to him. “I need you.”

That was all Bradley needed to hear. Using his hands, he lifted you up wrapping your legs around his waist, carrying you to your bedroom. His hands gripped tightly around your thighs, he dropped you gently onto the bed under him, before he climbed over you. His height towering you. God, he was gorgeous. He lifted your legs around him, as he pushed further into you, bringing your bodies even closer. You could feel how hard he was under his jeans. He wasn’t shy to show you how you made him feel. But you both wanted more, to feel each other’s skin on each other. “Fuck, baby. You’re driving me wild.”

You couldn’t let go of each other, even if you tried. His hands began wandering over your body, slowly lifting your dress up, gripping his fingers into your hips. His fingers gliding over your soft, warm skin. He grabbed your chin, tilting your head to the side as he buried his mouth into your neck. Kissing you all along your jaw, down to your neck and then back to your lips. He deepened the kiss, moving hungrily against your own, flicking his tongue around yours. Biting down on your bottom lip, you pushed your hips up closer to his thigh. The dampness between your legs was becoming insufferable. You reached up and began pulling his shirt over his head. You were even more desperate, using your hands to start unbuckling his belt.

He chuckled and pushed you back down onto the bed. “That can wait, I gotta make sure my baby comes first.” He unzipped your dress and pulled it down, throwing it down to the ground. Taking a step back, he sat up for a moment, taking in the sight of you. “My god, you’ve been naked this whole time under that dress?! Fuck… you’re so fucking beautiful.” He mused, licking his lips.

Before you even realised, his warm mouth was wrapped around your breast, flicking and circling around your nipple, whilst caressing the other one with his hand. A high pitched moan coming from the root of your throat, you felt him smile against you. A pleasing noise he enjoyed hearing. The heat in your gut causing an impossible ache that just needed to be relieved.

His fingers gliding down your body, until he was at your core. “Damn, baby. All wet for me? Good girl.” He says against your lips. Gently rubbing and circling around your clit, his mouth moving back down to pay attention to your nipples. My god, this man knew how to work your body.

He continued the motion, slowly sliding a finger in, whilst using his thumb to rub circles over your slick folds. Finding the right pace of movement, he slid another finger in, fastening the pace. You were writhing under him, completely lost to the sensation. He closed his eyes, bringing his head down lower back into your neck, finding that one sensitive spot that he knows how much you like. You let out a breathless moan, as your hands gripped into his hair. “I wanna feel you on me.”

“As you wish, babygirl.” He removed his fingers, moving his hands up and down your thighs, lifting them over his shoulders, placing kisses all along them as he lowered his head between your legs. The sweet friction of his moustache against you. The feeling of his hot, wet mouth buried into your clit. Sucking and pulling at your folds, he then drags his tongue in a perfectly fast motion deep around you. Your fingers once again winding into his hair, pushing him more into you.

“Fuck! Bradley, you’re so good.” You moaned out, feeling a wave of emotion rush over you.

He teased you more, his eyes never leaving your own, intensely watching how you react to him with so much lust. He could feel your body reacting to him, the arch of your back and the way you couldn’t keep still, it sent him over the top. He continued to bury himself more into you until you could no longer take it. You called out his name, in a way he would describe as ‘angelic’ before feeling your release come washing over you.

“You liked that, baby?” He asked, licking his lips tasting all of you on him.

Without a word, you pushed him onto his back, gripping at his jeans and unbuckling them so fast. His underwear was gone in an instant. You smiled to yourself, taking in the sight of him now under you. “I almost forgot how big you were.”

He watched you as you placed yourself over him, grinding yourself over his hard cock. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

The alcohol was burning out of your system by now, as you were nearly fully sober. This was definitely something you would remember in the morning. Bradley threw his head down as you lined his cock to your entrance and slowly lowered yourself onto him. Each tantalising inch stretching your walls just enough. You both groaned out loud as you sunk yourself fully onto him. He looked up at your face, sweat beading down his eyebrows and along his chest. His hands grabbed onto your waist as you guided him into a rhythm. God, you were so good at riding him. He wouldn’t last long if you kept this up.

His hips rocked into you as he matched your rhythm, pounding more and more into you. Moving a hand from your waist, he reached up to your neck, gently grabbing with enough pressure. A sweet cry leaving your mouth with each and every thrust he was doing. He looked up at you, a grin on his face. The sight of you bouncing on his cock was something he could never tire of. And he only wanted more.

The more he picked up his speed, the more he could feel you tightening around him. He released his hand from your neck and placed both of them on either side of your face. Pulling you down closer to him. Faces inches away from each other. Both breathing heavily as you panted into his mouth. Each groan, each whine, every sound coming from your lips only drove his hips to delve deeper into you.

The heat in your core pooled until you reached your limit. A relief rushing over you. “Cum for me, baby.” Bradley captured your lips ever so slightly, enough that you screamed out your moan into his mouth. You rippled around him, and your own orgasm was enough to bring him to his end. A few final thrusts into you, he pulled you tighter to him as he spilled himself all over you. His hot, heavy breath right in your ear.

He pulled you closer to him, breathing into your hair, taking in your scent. Running his hands over your body. “Told you I’d make it worth your time.” He kissed your forehead, resting one of his hands on the curve of your back. His large palm pressing up and down your spine. He dragged your leg over his hip, bringing your bodies ever closer together. “God, I’ve missed this. Not just the sex, but this. Having you in my arms, so close.”

Taking a deep breath in, “No one has ever loved me like you. I’ve missed you too.” You said softly. “After mom passed, I thought about… well, all I wanted was for you to hold me. Tell me everything was going to be alright. I was gonna fly back out, come home and see you.. but the thought of it was too much.”

“Oh, darling. We’re here now. And I’m not letting you go. I promise. After losing both of my parents, all I wanted was to find someone in this life the way they did. They were so happy together, and I know they would of wanted the same for me. You made me happy. There wasn’t a day that went by where you didn’t put a smile on my face. And losing you was the worst thing I’ve experienced since losing mom. I felt like my life just meant nothing anymore. I lost everyone I loved. And it distracted me in my flying. It took me a long time to realise I asked too much of you. If I could go back and take things as they came, fuck… I would.” Swallowing hard, he continued, “I planned my life with you, this house, a family. Then it was gone. And a part of me always wondered if I pushed you too far. Ten years that has stuck with me.”

You heart yearned for him as he poured his heart out to you. “We’re older now, things have changed. We’re not the same people as we were back then.”

“True, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you. I don’t want to rush anything, but just know I want this. I want us again.” He sighed. “I am so in love with you. I always have been. I’ll wait for you always.” He admitted.

“Then how about we start with this date?” You chuckled, trying to lift the mood.

He gently cupped your cheek, moving a stray of hair that had fallen onto your face. “Sounds perfect. Friday, at about 7pm? That sound good to you?”

“I can’t wait.” You pulled him into a kiss, looking over at your alarm clock, realising that you had to be up in a few hours for your shoot. “Shit! I have my shoot today.”

“I guess that’s my cue to leave?” He smiled lightly.

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine, I know this is important to you.” He helped you to your feet and stood up himself. Stepping away, he buckled his jeans back up and grabbed his shirt, whipping it over his head, messing up his golden locks even more. He looked so fucking sexy, looking so unruly. As handsome as Bradley was always looking preem and proper, his messy hair had you feeling ways you never thought you’d feel again for him.

Moving yourself in front of him, standing on your tiptoes to try and reach his height, you kissed him deeply. Hoping that it would show how sorry you were about cutting this short. He wrapped you up into his strong arms, lips moving greedily against yours, his palms grasping into your ass, giving it a playful slap, the other hand holding you tightly to him around the waist.

You pulled away from him, but still close enough so that his breath was hitching on your skin. “You’ll see me soon.”

“I’ll be counting down the days. Get some sleep, baby.” He pulled you in again, leaning into your hair to place a tender kiss to your hair. “Goodnight, beautiful.” He said as he made his way out of your house.

Falling back into your bed, feeling empty without him in it. Tugging the pillow he had been laying on close to you as you inhaled his scent. There really was no turning back now.

You had kept yourself busy for the next remaining days leading up to Friday. It was getting closer to 7pm and you were still preparing for your date with Bradley. You spent most of the afternoon trying to make yourself look as amazing as you could. Looking at the choices of outfits you had hung up, it was either between a satin red dress that screamed ‘wine me, dine me, 69 me’ or a casual leather corset and jeans. You had no idea where he was taking you. Would you be too over dressed? Too under dressed?

In your head, you wanted to impress him. When in reality, you could be wrapped up in ten jackets and he would still be madly in love with you. Standing in front of the mirror, you admired yourself in the new lingerie you had bought specially for this occasion. Knowing damn well that Bradley would lose his mind the minute he saw it. “Fuck it, the dress it is.” You slipped the dress over your shoulders, pulling it down so it sat nicely around your curves.

Slipping on your heels, you heard a faint knock at the door, you paused looking over at the time. “Well, here it goes.” Giving yourself a once over in the mirror and over powering yourself in perfume.

Grabbing your purse, you made your way over to the front door. Slightly nervous and giddy to see him. You opened it widely with a smile. “Hello.” You said, biting down on your lower lip. He looked so fucking good. He opted for a black shirt, velvet navy blue blazer, tight black pants that hung to his thighs and smart black loathers, and smelling incredibly divine.

He looked down at you, his gaze taking in every inch of your body, mouth wide open. Resting his arm on your doorframe to stop him from falling over. “Shit… you look fucking stunning.”

“Thank you.” You teased, giving him a little twirl to truly show off how amazing you looked and felt. “You don’t look half bad yourself, handsome.”

Smoothing down his moustache, he pulled you into his arms, his palms resting on your lower back. Staring down at you with eyes that were already undressing you in his mind. His heart was racing, any more and it would of exploded out of his fucking chest. Leaning down he kissed you sweetly, “I can’t even put into words how sexy you look. I don’t think I’m gonna be able to concentrate on anything tonight.”

“The feelings mutual, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so good.” You winked at him, sliding your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair.

“Fuck… I’m trying so hard right now to behave and not just take you right here, right now.” He considered it for a moment, staring down at your lips and licking his own in this built up anticipation. “You look so beautiful, darling.”

You hummed in response. “Should we go?” Reminding him that you both had a date.

“Okay.” He took your hand and guided you out of the door. Looking down at your hands linked together, you loved the feeling on how large his hands felt in your own small ones. How tightly he held onto you. His did something to you. Something that made your head swirl. He let you lock up and set your house alarms and directed you to his Bronco. Opening the passenger door, he helped you step into it, one of his hands holding yours, the other resting firmly on your hip. If there’s one thing you always liked about Bradley, it was how much of a gentleman he was. He had manners, respect. That was something you always loved about him.

Watching him walk around the car, he scooted into the drivers side and you buckled yourself in.

“You good?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’ve been in here plenty of times, you know?” You replied and smiled.

“It’s a sight I have missed.” He huffed a heartfelt laugh. Gently reaching over and grasping your thigh. He placed a kiss on your cheek as he didn’t want to ruin your lipstick.

Arriving in front of the restaurant, you were greeted by a valet. Which shocked you because you knew Bradley didn’t let anyone touch his pride and joy. Unbuckling yourself, he jogged around to the passenger side to help you out of his car, before giving the keys to valet.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” You jokingly said as he placed your hand in his, leading you into the restaurant.

Bradley wasn’t big into making an impression. If someone didn’t like him for who he was, and what he was, then he just simply wasn’t interested. But for you, tonight, he made an effort. He picked the most fanciest and well-rated restaurant in town. It was known for its combination of mixed cuisines and fancy wines. He thought it would be the perfect place for your first date. It was very strict on dress codes, and now you know why he looked so good.

There was a warm glow from the candle that sat flickering between you both. You had one of the best views in the place, a window table with a view of the beach and the sunset shining over the water. The dim surroundings and the smell of all the delicious food, it all felt so romantic. There was a band playing live jazz music that added to this romantic atmosphere. You could tell that Bradley was nervous, he was shaking his leg under the table and fidgeting with his hands.

“Bradley, are you okay?” You said softly.

“Yeah… I’m just a little nervous.” He replied, taking a sip of his drink.

“Just relax. This isn’t exactly our first date is it? We were a couple once.”

He laughed at this, but it wasn’t a joyful happy laugh. It was more of a sincerely sad thinking back on memories sort.

“I’m sorry, baby. It’s just, you look so fucking unreal and I just can’t believe you’re here with me, on a date. I’m trying not to mess this up.” He was genuinely in awe of the fact you were here in front of him. It felt like a dream to him.

“Bradley.” You paused, trying to figure out how to word what you wanted to say. “I’m happy to be sat here having dinner with you. Really, I am. And I appreciate all the effort you’ve made. You look gorgeous.”

He reached over the table and placed his hands on top of yours. Smoothing down circles into the skin of your knuckles. “Do you remember our first date? How hard I had to try and persuade you to go out with me?”

Chuckling softly, you replied. “I remember. You took me to that not so ‘fancy’ restaurant and made me look way too over dressed!”

“Yeah, but you looked so sexy, sat there eating a messy burger in that short little dress. Oof!”

You threw daggers at his eyes, trying to forget the whole ordeal. “Although I will admit, that burger was fucking delicious.”

“So were you.” He said with so much confidence.

“This is nice.”

He smiled, “Im glad you like it. I wanted to make it special.” He took your hand and placed it up to his lips, kissing your knuckle gently. “How’s the wine?”

“I’d much rather a nice cold beer and a few glasses of whiskey!” You scoffed.

“That’s my girl.” He grinned.

You were on your last course of the night, dessert. Bradley ordered a couple of plates so that you could share. With how small the rest of your plates from you main meal were. At this point, you were beyond charmed with him. This side of Bradley was completely different than the Bradley you dated years ago. It was like falling in love all over again for him. But in whole new ways.

“These meal portions have been ridiculous, I feel like I’m gonna have to take you to a certain burger place after this.” He teased.

“I wouldn’t say no to that greasy burger right about now.” You replied back, taking a whole bite of the small cheesecake with a raspberry drizzle.

Bradley was absolutely memorised by you. Watching you smile, and laugh over stories and jokes he was telling you. His own face lightening up and grinning widely listening to you tell your own stories. There was a glimmer in your eyes whenever you spoke about something you loved. The way you listened intensely to everything he was saying. It captivated him and his entire attention to you. If one of the other guys were to see him right now, they wouldn’t even recognise him. Not with this goofy grin on his face, that never once faltered. You both had this connection, there was no denying that. You could talk to each for hours about anything and it was all so seamless.

You watched as Bradley got up and made his way over to where the band was playing. You propped your chin up with your elbow, resting it on your knuckle and stared with curiosity when he leaned over the pianist. To your surprise, he got up and let Bradley take a seat. Now you were even more curious. His fingers glided over the white keys and he glanced up and over to where you were sitting. A smile spread on his face, sending you a flirtatious wink. It wasn’t until he started to play did you heart begin to race. It was your song. After your first date, he took you down to the beach and slow danced in the moonlight with you whilst singing ‘Can’t Help Falling In Love’ by Elvis Presley. And now here he was, playing a beautiful melody of it. His eyes were trained on yours as he began to sing along. The rest of the band accompanied him. It was beautiful. He really did go all out to make sure tonight was perfect.

You told yourself that you wouldn’t allow yourself to fall back into this. But with everything he was doing, you only fell deeper for him. When the song ended, the entire restaurant applauded him and he made his way back over to you.

“Still trying to impress me then?” You asked, flashing him a smile.

“Telling me you’re not? Damn, guess I’ve gotta try harder.”

You took a sip of your wine. “You’ve impressed me, Bradley Bradshaw. That was beautiful.” You reached over and placed a kiss on his cheek, leaving a red lipstick stain on him. He didn’t even bother to wipe it off. He was too proud to show off what he had.

The rest of the dinner went amazing. But it was coming to an end, yet the both of you wanting nothing more than to carry it on.

“You know my mom always liked you. Whenever I would see her, without a doubt she would always ask about you. Always badger me with questions about when we’re going to buy a house, when we’re getting married, blah blah. And before she passed… she told me she wanted me to be happy. And said that I always found happiness with you.” You paused for a moment, feeling your eyes begin to tear up.

Bradley stood up, moving his chair and positioning it close to you. Resting his arm around your shoulder, he pulled you in close to him. Placing a light kiss on top of your head, circling his thumb pad over your shoulder. “She was great. I loved her. Do you know she would message me and ask when I’m finally going to put a ring on your finger?” He confessed.

You looked up at him, letting out a faint breath of air through your nose. “I’m not surprised. She wanted nothing more than for us to do something. She thought we were perfect.”

“Well she wasn’t wrong.” Resting his head on top of yours. “We are kinda perfect together.” He said, looking at the reflection of you both in the window.

After paying for the bill, the two of you walked hand in hand back to his car. Once helping you get into the passenger seat and getting in himself. He didn’t drive you back home. Instead, he parked up at the beach. You smiled to yourself, knowing exactly what he was doing.

“Come on.” He guided you out of his car, coming to a halt. “Foot please, ma’am.”

He removed each of your heels and lifted you bridal style onto the sand.

The night breeze was a little chilly. Since you were only wearing a little dress, you were slightly shivering. Goosebumps appearing on your skin. He gently placed you down onto the sand, removing his blazer and draped it over your shoulders. Taking your hand, he slipped his fingers between the spaces of yours and tightly held on. His thumb brushing against the surface of your hand.

He stopped in his tracks and turned to face you. Both of his hands wrapping around you and pulling you close to his chest. “I wanna make you happy, baby. I feel like I’ve gotten to know you all over again. Fall in love all over again with you.”

You hummed, “Since when did you turn so romantic?”

“Since you came back in my life. I had to make this right. Make you feel special. Because you always have been special to me.”

He gently started to sway you both together, humming along to that same Elvis song. You clasped your arms around his neck, resting your forehead on his. Every now and then, a breeze from the ocean blowing past you making you shiver as his arms held you tighter around the waist, moving up and down your back.

“It’s like our first date all over again.”

He lifted your chin with his fingers, kissing you deeply. “I meant it when I said I’m never letting you go again.” He kissed you again. “I’m so damn crazy about you. You’re all I want in this life.” He confided.

“Bradley… show me the way home.”

When you returned back home, you quickly led Bradley to the bedroom. Stepping behind you as his fingers grazed over your skin, moving your hair to the side. Placing kisses to the crook of your neck, to your shoulders. Looking at yourselves in the mirror, he wrapped his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder. “God, I love you.”

“Mhmm. I know what else you would love aswell.” You turned to face him, pushing him down onto the bed. He spread his thighs wide open, inviting you to sit on him.

His eyes were only on you. Watching as you slowly swayed side to side as you began to remove your dress. Letting it fully slip off and fall to the floor.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Bradley’s mouth was hung open and went dry. He was greeted with the sight of you in the matching new lingerie set you had bought. He had to bite down on his tongue and run his hands over his face. Was he dreaming? “Fuck, baby. You’re so fucking sexy. Is this all for me?” He quickly sat up, grabbing you and dragging you down onto him. His fingers digging into your hips causing you to jolt.

Undoing the buttons on his shirt, you made haste to remove it and throw it to the floor. Your fingers drifted across his chest, down to his abdomen. Tracing over the belt of his pants and over his hard cock. He took your face in his hands kissing you breathlessly as your hands made steady work undoing his pants and boxers, pushing them down to his ankles before he kicked them off.

“Now it’s my turn to make you feel good.” You said confidently.

He was now fully exposed to you, already full on hard over you. You admired him for a few seconds before your hands wrapped around him, one on his shaft and the other teasing his balls. Bradley let out a slow breath, trying to calm himself otherwise he would just cum instantly from your touch. You made your fingers into a ring at the base of his tip and squeezed. Cause the blood to flow to his shaft where you started to skim your fingers up and down. Spitting on the tip, you slowly made work to massage it in and begin a steady pace stroking him.

“Mhm, that feels so good, baby.” Bradley moaned out, looking down at you.

You moved yourself lower down on him, your mouth wide open. The flat surface of your tongue lapped gently at the tip. He bucked his hips up as you began lapping at him. Using the tip of your tongue, you catched some drops of pre cum, licking at his head resulting in an attractive low gruff moan coming from his throat.

You looked up at him, without breaking eye contact, you took his entire head into your mouth. Closing your lips around him, leaving red printed lipstick marks all on him. Taking him out of your mouth, you swirled your tongue all the way around his head as you pulled him in again. Your tongue teasing him around the sensitive head. Taking him deeper into your mouth, you began sucking back and fourth.

Bradley watched you take him deeper, clenching his fingers into your hair and gripping it tightly, as he started to thrust into your mouth. He could feel himself sliding deep down the slick of your throat, and it felt fucking amazing. You took his entire length into your throat, not gagging once.

“Just like that, baby. I’m gonna cum.” He groaned out, gripping your hair more tighter, looking you deep in the eyes as he watched your head bob up and down on him.

His knuckles turning white, you held his cock deep in your throat and swallowed. Bradley let out a loud husky moan, as he felt his release all in your mouth. Closing his eyes and throwing his head back, his back arched as his hips came higher, his cock twitching and jerking in the sensation.

“Come here, gorgeous.” He said, turning his head to the side to face you as you lay next to him.

Kissing you softly and gentle. His hands drifted down your back, running soothing circles on your skin. “That was so fucking good. You’re incredible.” He moved himself over you, putting your hair to the side as he placed a trail of wet kisses down your neck. Leaving gentle bites and kissing each one of them after. He unclasped your bra, throwing it across the room. “You’re so beautiful.” He smiled down at you.

Pulling his body closer to yours, you crashed your lips onto his. He desperately increased the kiss, sliding his tongue and twirling it around with yours. His hands gracefully roaming over your body, caressing every inch of you. Your breathy moans right in his ear overwhelmed him. He pressed his body right to yours, moving against each other in a steady rhythm, one of his legs pressed tightly between your thighs. Your hand lowering down his body, taking his cock in your palm and slowly stroking the base of him.

“Hm, hard for me already?” You whispered into his ear.

“I always am”

He removed your underwear before hoovering himself back over you. “That’s a shame. That lingerie was so fucking sexy.”

Placing himself between your legs, he positioned himself at your entrance. One hand holding down your hip as the other was teasing his length around your slit and rubbing it up and down before gently pushing himself in. A sweet and needy moan escaping your mouth. He wanted to take his time, slowly inserting himself fully into you. “Mhm, you fit me so good, baby.”

He breathed straight into your ear, letting out his own thick moans as he was fully in you now. Finding a steady pace, he began to thrust into you. Each hit filling out the room with the sounds of your bodies slapping together as one. Bradley knew how to work your body. He knew all your weak spots, your sensitive areas, where made you feel extra good.

He started to pound faster and harder into you, as you could feel a tension flowing throughout your bodies. A wave of pleasure rushing over you, making your toes curl and your back arch. Sweat dripping from his torso. He rested his head in the crook of your neck, your delicate fingers clinging into his hair.

“Don’t stop, it feels so good.” You practically begged into his ear and he obeyed all of your wishes. Picking up his pace even more, his thrusts were getting deeper and sloppier and you could feel yourself tightening around him. You screamed out one last moan of his name as your body started to shake from the feeling of your release. “Cum for me, baby.”

Bradley pushed himself up, groaning and gripping at your hips, pounding into you as hard as he could. His own breath was unsteady and so loud. “Fuck! I’m gonna cum.” With a few final extra thrusts, he found his own release.

Rolling onto his side, he pulled you into his chest. A tangled, sweaty mess of limbs intertwining together. He kissed you passionately. His hands dragging down your back before resting one in your hair and gently stroking it.

“How’s my girl?” He asked, kissing the top of your head.

“Never felt better.” You nestled yourself closer to him, resting your head under his chin. His heartbeat was racing crazy. “Will you stay?”

“Is that what you want?” He asked.

“Mhm, I’d like to see your face in the morning. Stay.”

He snuggled you closer, drawing small soothing circles on your back. He smiled into your hair, “God, I really love you.”