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sugarcoated-lame · 3 months

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Sometimes A Bride | Jake Seresin x Reader

18+ only, minors DNI

Jake Seresin x female Bradshaw!reader

part two of Always A Bridesmaid

Synopsis: You’re having some pre-wedding jitters and there’s only one person you know can help calm you down.

You and Jake sneak off for a quickie before the two of you say ‘I do.’

WC: 11.5k (another long one oops)

warnings: a smidgen of angst?, anxiety, mentions of alcohol, smut, fingering, unprotected piv, slight overstimulation, i think jake calling reader a good girl deserves a warning, unspecified age gap (reader is in around mid-late 20s, jake is in early-mid 30s), once again jake being too damn charming for his own good, tonssss of disgustingly sweet tooth-rotting fluff, really sweet fluffy moments with big bro bradley, natasha being the best sister-in-law and maid of honor, jake still being an absolute menace, i'm literally the worst at coming up with titles for my fics, moodboard is not any indication of reader’s appearance

a/n: The very long-awaited (I’m sorry 🤍) sequel to Always a Bridesmaid. Thank you so much to everyone who’s stuck around and shown the first part so much love and support, and waited so patiently for this story! I love y’all

beautiful dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍

〰・♡・〰 reblogs, comments, and feedback are greatly appreciated! 〰・♡・〰

You love weddings.

It's a fact you try to remind yourself of as you take a deep breath, taking in your reflection in the vast vanity mirror.

Hair styled to pristine perfection, professionally done makeup better than anything you’d ever be capable of doing yourself, in a gorgeous white dress that fits just right and makes you feel more beautiful than ever.

You love weddings. You love the fancy clothes, all the chatter and the sweet scent of champagne flowing through the air at the reception, the contagious laughter and dancing.

But, most of all, you love getting to watch two people profess their love for each other and promise themselves to one another for the rest of their lives through beaming smiles and tears of joy.

It’s been a little over three years since Bradley and Natasha said ‘I do’, and after meeting the love of your life at your big brother’s wedding, how could you not love them?

Three years since that fateful night that you met Jake and both of your lives were changed forever, and the two of you have been pretty much inseparable ever since. Well, nearly ever since.

Initially, both you and Jake were scared by just how much you liked one another.

After spending the night together at your brother’s wedding — and the morning after — you had feared that it was just that rose-colored haze of love in the air that comes along with weddings, and you wondered if that magical pixie dust was going to wear off eventually — and take your feelings with it.

But it never did.

Even at the beginning, back when Jake had tried to push down his feelings for you and said he couldn’t offer much more than no strings attached fun, ‘because I’m going to be away on deployments and dangerous missions all the time, and because you’re Bradshaw’s little sister.’

Because he ‘didn’t have time for anything serious’ – but really, because he was afraid of just how strongly he felt for you – even then, you were so drawn to him and Jake couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed spending time with you.

How he thought about you and that amazing night you’d spent together nearly every second of every day.

From the moment he’d wake up in his boring, lonely apartment, to the hours spent in briefings or flying dangerous maneuvers in his F18, to the moment he’d go to sleep alone every night in his bed that all of a sudden seemed too big.

And, what scared Jake the most was that it wasn’t just the sex – though, that was definitely a great part of it – that he yearned for. It was just you.

You, with your bright eyes and your radiant smile, your melodic laugh and effervescent personality. You had quickly wormed your way into his heart and lit him up from the inside out.

He no longer found himself wanting the mundane and meaningless hook-ups or one night stands that places like the Hard Deck had to offer, which had become routine for him since his time as a young pilot at Top Gun.

You brought Jake’s world from dull grayscale to vibrant technicolor and he found that he just always wanted you around.

He’d never felt that way about anyone before, and it terrified him.

You’d never wanted anyone so bad, and you were fearful that it wasn’t going to last.

But, try as you might, the two of you just couldn’t seem to stay away from each other for long.

Once Jake got his head out of his ass and he took you out on a few proper dates – which, naturally, ended in you fucking each other’s brains out a few more times – you both agreed to try to take things slow, because your feelings for each other were real and neither one of you wanted to mess things up.

However, you quickly learned that there was no such thing as slow when it comes to you and Jake. Before you knew it, things between the two of you had become pretty serious, and you realized – much to your brother Bradley’s dismay, that the two of you share a very real connection.

Through all of the ups and downs — triumphs and hardships, happy times and tears, the silly fights and even sillier make-ups that these past three years have brought the two of you.

From going mad missing each other when Jake is away on deployments, up until his recent request for a more permanent position at Top Gun so he can be closer to home – closer to you – you and Jake have stuck together through it all like super glue.

Three years of unconditional love and support, of growing and becoming better together, loving and living life with your best friend.

You’ve never been quite sure if you believe in the concept of soulmates, but if they do exist, you’re positive that Jake is yours.

And, you love weddings… so why are you currently freaking the fuck out, today of all days? Oh, right… because it’s your wedding day.

You’re pretty sure that your vision is beginning to blur, your body growing a little dizzy as you watch the constant stream of people flitting all around you through the glass of the large vanity mirror.

Your bridesmaids chatter excitedly as they too work to finish getting ready, sipping from mimosas as they make their way into their dresses while Natasha – the best sister-in-law and best maid of honor you could ever ask for – helps to keep everyone focused and on schedule.

She paces the room with her phone in hand, probably texting Bradley to make sure things are running smoothly in the groomsmens’ suite as well.

There are at least three people at any given moment hovering around you like bees, fussing over your hair, doing last minute touch-ups on your makeup, and making sure there’s not a wrinkle in sight on the beautiful wedding gown of your dreams that you’re oh-so nervous for Jake to finally see.

Not nervous because you’re worried he won’t like it – he’s told you plenty of times that he’d be more than happy to marry you if you were wearing a trash bag – but because this is your big day, the beginning of the rest of your lives together and you just want it to be perfect.

After all the months of painstaking planning – from centerpieces to seating charts, the choosing the color of the napkins to the dinner menu and countless trials of cake flavors. From finding the perfect venue, to the best floral arrangements, and of course the dream wedding dress.

After being so hyper-focused on this day for months, now that that day is actually here, you just need everything to be perfect.

Not even the two and a half mimosa’s you’ve had this morning have been enough to quell the stress currently coursing through your veins, and the buzz of the busy bridal suite is beginning to make your head spin.

Between all of the running around you’ve done since waking up — way too early — this morning, the little bit of alcohol and all the commotion going on around you now, your face feels too hot, a tiny sheen of sweat beginning to shine through your makeup.

You can’t help but wonder if Jake is feeling this flustered right now too. Probably not, the man is cool and calm about just about everything; it’s one of the things you love about him.

As the makeup artist powders your nose for the fifth time in ten minutes in an attempt to tamper down the shine, you feel your resolve beginning to crack. You try to take in a deep breath to shake the nerves, but feel as though there’s not enough air in the room to fill your lungs and you find yourself feeling like you need to escape.

As if she can sense your distress from all the way across the room, Natasha — ever the dutiful maid of honor — materializes behind you with a comforting hand on your shoulder, politely excusing the makeup artist and everyone else that’s currently milling around you, before meeting your gaze through the mirror with a gentle smile.

Though, you know your sister-in-law too well and you can see the concern in her brown eyes.

“You okay?” When Natasha gives your shoulder a comforting squeeze, you close your eyes and heave out a deep sigh, grateful for a moment of calm.

It’s in the same moment that you open your eyes and give her a nod and an unconvincing smile that there’s a knock on the bridal suite door just behind you, and you turn your head to find Bradley opening it a crack and peeking his head in.

“Everyone decent?” Your older brother asks, meeting your eyes with a soft look and you swear you could cry.

Through all her running around to help make sure that your day is perfect, you’d seen Natasha on her phone and you figure that, always knowing just what you need, she must have texted Bradley – and that’s exactly what she did.

Natasha had let her husband know that his sister was feeling some pre-wedding jitters and could use some reassurance that she knew you could only get from your big brother, and he immediately made his way from the groomsmens’ suite to come to your aid.

“Yeah, come on in!” Natasha calls out with one last squeeze to your shoulder before meeting Bradley at the door and greeting him with a quick kiss on his cheek.

She gently pushes him towards where you stand in front of the large mirror smoothing your hands over an invisible wrinkle on the flowy white skirt of your dress, before ushering the rest of your bridesmaids and everyone else to the other side of the large suite to put their finishing touches on their looks and give the two of you some privacy.

You turn around to face Bradley, standing there in a classic black suit with a bow tie, and you could swear your brother gets a little misty-eyed as he takes in the sight of you in your lavish white dress, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mustached lips when he asks, “You okay, sis?”

You think about lying for a second and telling him that you’re just fine, but this is Bradley -– your big brother and self-appointed protector for all your life, even when you don’t always want or need him to be, and you know that he’d be able to see right through you.

Blowing out a small sigh, you carefully take a seat on the plush couch that sits in the nearest corner, making sure to arrange all the layers of fabric that surround your lower half in a way that they won’t become too wrinkled.

“Honestly… I’m kind of freaking out.” You tell your brother as he joins you on the sofa. Your voice is barely above a whisper, just loud enough that he’s able to hear due to his close proximity.

You’re looking down at where you nervously wring your hands in your lap when Bradley speaks.

“Why? You’ve got nothing to worry about.” His words are matter-of-fact, but his voice is soft in that comforting, brotherly tone that’s only reserved for you.

“I- I don’t know.” You tell him with a light shake of your head. “I guess I’m just nervous?”

The words come out as a question and your gaze lifts to meet Bradley’s before you continue on.

“You know, it’s such a big, important day that I’ve spent so long dreaming of and planning for and– that I’m going to remember for the rest of my life and I just…” your voice trails off as you realize you’re rambling, stopping to take a breath before you continue.

“I just love Jake so much and I… I just want everything to be perfect.”

Bradley takes in your frazzled expression, nodding in understanding. “You’re right, it is a big deal, and it’s totally normal to have some nerves.”

The pensive look on his face shifts to one of what looks like amusement as he glances across the room to where his wife is chatting away with the rest of your bridesmaids, before leaning closer to whisper conspiratorially.

“I was scared shitless when I married Nat.”

Your eyes widen at Bradley’s confession, a small puff of laughter escaping your lips as you question him, “What? Really?”

“Yeah,” Your brother’s smile grows at the sight of your own, a quiet chuckle leaving him. “But, then I remembered that I was marrying my best friend and all of those nerves just sort of melted away.”

“Which is why you should believe me when I tell you–” Bradley reaches over to take your hands in his, his brown gaze warm as he speaks earnestly.

“It’s going to be perfect no matter what happens, because you and Jake will be together.”

Your lips can’t help but quirk up a bit at your older brother’s reassurance. “You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Bradley gives your hands a gentle squeeze. “In fact, I know so.”

“Because, I have never seen you happier than you have been these past few years since you’ve been with Jake.” That small smile never leaves his lips as he continues talking and your heart nearly melts in your chest at the sincerity of your big brother’s words.

“It’s clear that the two of you love each other very much.”

You have to admit it’s a bit of a shock to hear those words from Bradley of all people – sure, things have gotten a lot better between your brother and your fiance over the years, but you’d still consider them frenemies at the best of times.

You realize that you haven’t said anything in response, being too stunned to speak, when Bradley continues on with a knowing smirk on his face as he takes in your dumbfounded expression.

“Trust me, I wasn’t the biggest fan of the idea of you dating Jake in the beginning, but I see how much he cares about you. Above anything else.”

You nod your head in agreement, but not without a laugh and a playful roll of your eyes. With your brother’s reassurance that everything would be okay so long as you and Jake are together, and the reminder of just how much your husband-to-be loves you, now you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face if you tried. “Yeah, he does.”

Bradley takes in the lovesick smile on your face and tilts his head, raising a brow in question. “We feeling better now?”

“Yeah,” Feeling much more calm now, it’s your turn to squeeze Bradley’s hands, nodding happily at him before releasing them. “A lot better. Thank you.”

“Good.” Bradley stands, offering his hands to pull you up off the sofa as well, before pulling you into a hug.

With a quiet instruction to ‘call me if you need me’, your brother releases you from his arms, venturing over to Natasha to place a small peck to his wife’s lips before making his way out the door and back to the groomsmens’ suite.

You really do feel a whole lot better, but all this talk about your fiancé and his love for you, and how truly, utterly happy he makes you, has you missing him. Yearning to be with him in this very moment, and you realize that the only thing that would really put your mind at ease is right now Jake himself.

Jake’s head perks up as the door to the groomsmen’s suite opens for the second time in about fifteen minutes to reveal Bradley, adorning a tux matching that of all the other groomsmen.

It’s still crazy for him to think about the fact that your brother, who was so adamant about you not seeing Jake all those years ago, would be one of the groomsmen at his and your wedding.

“Where’d you disappear to, Rooster?” A relaxed smirk lifts up the corner of Jake’s lips as he fixes his tie in the mirror.

“Just went to check on the bride-to-be.” Jake’s smile softens just a bit at the mention of you.

“You know, I never thought the two of you would last this long, so I had to check and see if my sister was ready to back out yet.”

Bradley drops down onto the sofa next to Bob and Coyote, who are quietly snickering at his teasing of the groom.

“Oh, ha-ha.” Jake’s smirk grows devilish at the joke, turning his sights on the mustached man ready to tease him right back. “Face it, Bradshaw. We’re gonna be brothers real soon.”

Bradley only rolls his eyes goodnaturedly at his soon to be brother-in-law, a fact that Jake has made a point to remind him of, all the time, since the two of you got engaged a little over a year ago.

“How is she, though?” Jake asks, and Bradley can hear the sincerity creeping into the blonde’s tone.

“She’s good. Was just dealing with the usual pre-wedding nerves, but it’s all good now.” Bradley tells him honestly.

Jake only nods in response, already retreating into his head, into his worry for you, causing your brother to speak up again.

“Jake, I promise, everything’s good.” Bradley reassures him with a small smile.

“Yeah… good.” Jake nods once more, making an attempt to paint the best smile he possibly can on his lips.

He’s not worried because he thinks that you might not want this, or him – he knows without a shadow of doubt just how vast your love for him is – but, because he knows how you get when you put your heart into something and that you’ll drive yourself crazy trying to get everything perfect.

Jake’s seen firsthand just how painstakingly you’ve worked to plan this wedding, all the months spent making sure that every little detail is just right.

He knows that all of that time and stress, culminating to this one day, is likely weighing on your mind now that the day has finally come.

And in this moment, Jake wants nothing more than to just be able to see you – to hold you and comfort you and let you know that everything is going to be just fine.

He knows the old superstition that the groom isn’t supposed to see the bride before the ceremony, but…

“Fuck it.”

The two words escape under Jake’s breath just before he’s shrugging on the jacket to his tux and quickly making his way to the door.

“Where are you going, man?” Javy questions his best friend, drawing the attention of the rest of the Daggers — sans Phoenix who’s with you getting ready in the bridal suite — toward where Jake stands in the now open doorway, one hand on the knob and one foot already out in the hall.

“Just gotta check something with the wedding planner. Be right back.”

It’s not a total lie. Sure, you had forgone hiring a wedding planner and chose to do everything yourself — with the help of Natasha and Penny of course -— but that technically made you the wedding planner. The guys don’t have to know that.

Jake traverses the winding halls of the venue, the anticipation of seeing you building up as he walks briskly in his dress shoes until he finds a door with a paper sign that reads, ‘Bridal Suite’ in loopy, cursive lettering.

Taking a breath, he knocks on the door, and he’s lucky to find that a moment later, it’s you who answers.

“What-” Your eyes widen in surprise and you’re hardly able to get a word out as one of Jake’s hands grasps yours, swiftly pulling you out of the door and into the hallway with him.

You don’t get a chance to finish your question, because within seconds your fiancé is practically sprinting down the long hallway, pulling you along with him with his large hand wrapped around your smaller one.

You can't help but giggle at Jake’s antics as the two of you run through the halls, watching his free hand reach for a few knobs along the way only to find them locked, finally stopping when he finds a door that seems to be open.

He quickly peers into the room just to make sure that it’s empty before gently pulling you into the dark space, lit only by the natural light that shines in through the windows, and closing the door.

You're still laughing breathlessly when you find your words again, Jake’s own breathy chuckle mixing with yours in the quiet of the room.

“Wha— Jake? What are you doing, you’re not supposed to see me in my dress before the ceremony!”

“Screw that, my girl needed me.” His warm hand is still in yours, his free hand moving to clasp your other one. That emerald gaze that you’ve come to know so well bores into you as he smiles down at you lovingly.

Your eyes lift to meet Jake’s and it’s like any and all nerves just melt away.

You always feel safe when Jake is near and just the sight of him now, being in his presence, has a toothy grin making its way onto your face.

Another giggle escapes you, trailing off into a content sigh as you look up at the gorgeous man in front of you.

The two of you just gaze into each other’s eyes for a long moment, and with a light shake of your head, your grin becomes coy.

“Hi.” You find yourself whispering into the quiet of the room.

Jake lets out a chuckle, the outer corners of his eyes crinkling up in the way that you love when smiles at you. “Hi.”

Without letting go of your hands, Jake takes a step back to really take you in for the first time since breaking you out of the bridal suite just a few minutes ago.

Finally getting a good look at you in your wedding dress that beautifully accentuates the shape of your body, your makeup done to perfection — though Jake doesn’t think you ever need it — and hair styled prettily but still flowing and free just the way he likes, renders your soon-to-be husband practically speechless.

All he can say is, “Wow…”

You can hear the pure awe in that one word and can’t help but smile bashfully, heat rising in your cheeks. Jake’s compliments still manage to make you flustered, even after all this time.

“Wow, yourself.” Your gaze sweeps up and down the length of his body, taking in the crisp black tuxedo and matching bow tie, and the white dress shirt underneath. Appreciating the way it fits him just right, how you’re still able to tell just how toned his body is even under the layers of clothing.

Jake’s hands tenderly squeeze your own, pulling you a little bit closer once again as his eyes search out your own. “You doing okay, honey?”

And though you were definitely feeling anxious before, you couldn’t be more content than you are now when it’s just the two of you, standing here holding hands with the love of your life.

“Yes,” You nod gently. “I’m just a little nervous.”

You look down at your joined hands before quietly continuing. “I just want this day to be perfect.”

“Hey,” Jake lightly swings your joined hands to get you to look up at him again, and when you do, you see that he’s still wearing that confident smile. “It’s going to be perfect because it’s all coming from you. And everything you do is perfect in my eyes.”

You have to bite back your giggle at his sentiment, in disbelief that this sweet man is soon going to be your husband.

“It’s going to be perfect because it’s us. Together.” You correct him with a playful grin.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jake’s hands leave yours, wrapping warmly around your shoulders to pull you in for a hug. Nestled in his embrace, your own arms wrap around his middle, your head moving to lean on his chest, taking in the familiar scent of his cologne as he leans his head on top of yours. “Together.”

The two of you stand like that for a few moments, wrapped snugly in each other’s warmth, Jake beginning to sway you just lightly as you breathe each other in.

It’s with your cheek pressed against his pec that you finally take a look around the room the two of you are standing in, realizing that it’s another suite similar to the one you had been getting ready in earlier.

“You know,” You lift your head from Jake’s chest to look up at him as you speak, a playful tone filling your words. “This feels oddly familiar to the night we met.”

“Sneaking off to a dark, empty room,” You continue with a growing smirk, arms unlatching from around Jake’s waist and pulling back just a touch, his own arms falling from around your shoulders. “Just the two of us.”

Your hands slide gently up Jake’s torso over the fabric of his suit jacket, up past his broad shoulders to rest at the back of his neck.

Jake’s gaze leaves you for just a moment to glance at the space around you. An airy laugh leaving his lips as his hands reach for your hips over the soft fabric of your dress to pull you a little bit closer, his green eyes falling back onto you.

Faces just inches away from one another, the two of you share matching silly grins as you think back to the night of your brother’s wedding. A look of pure love and adoration passing between your eyes and his as you both absorb the fact that you’re here, three years later, at your own wedding.

“Yeah, we’re just missing the champagne.”

Jake softly brushes his nose against yours, your eyes fluttering shut as he leans in to connect his lips to yours in a gentle kiss.

Tasting the remnants of the sweet mimosa on your lips, he hums against them before pulling back just slightly. “But it seems like you’ve already got that covered, Sweets.”

The familiar nickname paints his favorite smile on your lips that has Jake diving back in for another kiss, this one deeper as his tongue dips into your mouth to taste the lingering sweetness of champagne and orange juice on your tongue.

His large hands pull you in closer by the waist as your fingers find the short blonde hairs at the nape of his neck, a groan falling from Jake’s mouth and into yours as your fingernails gently scrape along his scalp.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly your body still responds to his touch after all this time; your knees going weak, and you’re practically melting into him as you feel wetness begin to pool in the skimpy, lacy white panties of your bridal lingerie that you’ve been dying to show Jake since you picked it all out a few months earlier.

The kiss quickly becomes more heated, lips slotting feverishly together as though one can only find much-needed oxygen within the other’s mouth, tongues swirling in a well-known dance and relishing in the familiar taste of one another.

Jake’s hands are all over you, pulling your body flush against his as he sucks your bottom lip between the both of his. Your skin feels hot from his touch even through the fabric of your dress, and the realization of his quickly hardening length pressing against your hip has you mewling against him.

Jake pulls back from the kiss, his gaze still hungry, but you also catch the mirth in his eyes as he chuckles at his bride-to-be.

“Always so needy for me.” He slowly shakes his head with that classic, cocky Jake Seresin smirk that still makes you weak in the knees.

“Me?!” You scoff, eyes wide as you look up at him incredulously, though you’re fighting back a smile because you know he’s right.

“Well, I’d say someone is also pretty needy.”

Your hand leaves the back of his neck to travel between your bodies to prove your point, reaching down to palm at his hard length through the fabric of his dress pants. Your brows raise in a playfully vindicated look that screams ‘I told you so’, as Jake lets out a groan at your touch.

“Yeah, o-okay.” Jake’s chuckle is breathless this time as you cup your hand around him a little more firmly, grinning up at him and batting your lashes. “Always needy for you too, Sweets.”

His hand wraps around your own to remove it from his bulge, already missing the friction as he brings your knuckles up to his lips in a sweet kiss before letting it go.

Before you even know what’s happening, both of Jake’s hands are reaching down to grip your thighs through all the layers of lace and tulle, a squeak emitting from your throat as he sweeps you off your feet and carries you over the nearest wall.

“Jake! What are you-” Your arms circle around his shoulders, legs parting of their own volition to make room for him between them. Bracketing his hips as your back lightly hits the wall, the fabric of your dress all bunched between the two of you exposing your calves as he holds you in his strong grasp.

Large palms wrapped around the underside of your thighs, his weight pressed against your front and the wall at your back keep you upright as you giggle in your soon-to-be husband’s arms.

Jake is beaming back at you, the adoration in his green eyes clear as they crinkle up due to his grin.

“I love you, so much.” He lifts a hand up to your face, the backs of his fingers caressing along the soft skin of your cheek and Jake shakes his head as if he can’t believe that this is real, that you’re real.

He leans in to press a soft, but dizzying kiss to your lips before murmuring against them, “I wanna show you how much.”

A part of you feels like you could cry at the sincerity in his voice, at just how well Jake loves you and how he’s never shy to make it known.

But mostly, you just feel the white-hot pooling of arousal growing in your belly, your eyes glazing over with a look of both love and lust as you gaze back at him.

“Yeah?” You nod up at him in a daze, biting back a grin as you take in the hunger in those pretty green eyes.

“Yeah.” He places a feather-light kiss to the corner of your mouth that makes you whimper and you can feel his smile against your skin. “Let me show you.”

You nod your head again, mind in a haze of want at the feel of his warm breath on your skin, your hands squeezing at Jake’s broad shoulders.

Feeling the velvety-soft fabric of his black suit jacket beneath your fingers, it’s only then that you’re shaken out of your stupor and you remember where you are – what today is.

“Wait-wait, Jake, we can’t!” Your fingers continue to absentmindedly play with the fabric covering his shoulder. We’re supposed to be getting married like… now.”

You can’t help but giggle at the predicament you’ve found yourselves in, though it’s very unsurprising for you and Jake.

Jake’s laugh mingles with your own as you begin to lightly shake your head, and you feel his strong shoulders shrug beneath your grasp as you watch his lips quirk up into a mischievous grin.

“All our guests–” Jake interrupts your words with another quick peck on your lips, laughing at your stunned expression.

“The guests…can wait.” He states matter-of-factly. “Can’t exactly have a wedding without the bride and groom, now can they, Sweets?”

Jake’s smile is smug and you can’t fight the one materializing on your own lips as you continue to shake your head.

“Besides, would we really be us if we didn’t sneak off to have sex at a wedding?” He finishes off the question with a kiss to your jaw before trailing his lips down the column of your throat, lightly nipping at the skin of your neck – careful not to leave a mark – before soothing it with his tongue.

Jake was right. It had happened the night you first met at Bradley and Natasha’s wedding, and had become a tradition of sorts for the two of you at every wedding you’d been to in the three years since – and there have been quite a few.

You can feel your resolve quickly beginning to crumble as Jake presses his hips more firmly against yours, his hard length pressing up against where you need him most, the friction not nearly enough through all the layers of fancy clothing. You’re already soaking through your panties for him and you know you’re a goner.

You drop your head onto Jake’s shoulder with a sigh, before looking back up at him through your lashes.

“Fine, but we have to be quick.” Narrowing your eyes at him, you give in, but with the most stern tone you can muster and it only makes Jake laugh.

“Ain’t nothing slow about me, sweetheart.” You can’t stop the snort that escapes you, or the playful roll of your eyes at his words, leaning up to kiss that stupid grin off of Jake’s face.

“Please, just– just shut up and fuck me already, Seresin.” you manage to get out through your giggles.

“With pleasure.” Jake’s lips claim yours in a hungry kiss and you feel one of his big hands venture underneath the skirt of your dress, traveling up your thigh and past the frilly fabric of your white garter in search of your core.

When his fingers brush against the damp lace of your panties, you choke out a gasp against his lips and Jake pulls back to take in your expression — your brows furrowed in pleasure and eyes heavily hooded with need. His kiss-swollen lips lift up into a smug smirk as he feels how wet you are for him.

Jake’s deft fingers press more firmly against that wet spot, rubbing along your seam through the damp fabric. You can’t hold back your whine, already writhing against him as his thumb finds your clit, expertly circling it through the lace.

“So wet and I’ve barely even touched you.” He breathes out a laugh and there’s a hint of smugness to his words — because of course there, it’s Jake — but you can also hear the awe present in his voice, see it in his emerald gaze that burns into you lovingly and it makes heat creep up your cheeks.

His hand dips beneath the waistband of your panties and you and Jake groan in unison as his fingers make a few quick circles around your wet, swollen clit.

Your head falls back against the wall behind you and Jake takes the opportunity to kiss at your neck again as his hand dips down further to collect more of your wetness.

“Already all ready for me, Sweets?” Jake’s words are whispered next to your ear as his fingers graze your entrance, your hips bucking toward them of their own volition.

“For you, ahh–” Your words are cut off by a shaky moan as Jake slides two long fingers inside of you, up to the knuckle in one swift motion. Your breath hitches and you’re practically melting against him, your voice already sounding wrecked as you whimper for him, “Always.”

Jake groans at how easily your slick walls envelop his fingers, gushing with new arousal as he fucks them in and out of your tight hole to get you ready for his cock -– not that you really need much prep with the way you’re already soaking his hand.

“Such a good girl for me.”

Your walls clench tight around his digits, from both the praise and the way he curls them inside of you, that coil in your belly quickly winding up.

“Fuck- Jake!” He can hear the desperation in your plea of his name, can feel it in the way your hips chase his fingers each time he pulls them almost all the way out. You’re already feeling so close, but you’re needy for more. Need to be full of him.

Your perfectly manicured nails dig into Jake’s bicep, the heel of your foot pressing into his backside in an attempt to pull him closer as you gaze up at him through your lashes. “Please, baby– need you.”

“I got you, honey.”

Your chin falls against your chest and you cry out as Jake scissors his fingers inside of you a few more times before they retreat completely, leaving you clenching around nothing and keening at the sudden feeling of emptiness.

The hand that was in your panties begins to trail slowly back down your thigh, and though you can’t see it through all the fabric of your skirt, you can feel the trail of slick it leaves along your skin in its wake.

As Jake clutches your thigh in his firm grasp to hold you more securely against the wall, his other hand moves to the tent in his tight trousers where his throbbing length has been neglected.

How he’s able to hold you up with one arm while the other hand unfastens his dress pants is beyond you, but it’s moments like this that you’re grateful to have a big, strong naval aviator for a husband-to-be.

Jake pushes his suit pants and underwear down just far enough to finally release his cock and you can’t help but moan at the sight of it. Long and looking almost painfully hard, the tip red and angry and weeping with precum.

Jake lets out a groan as he wraps a fist around his length, relishing in the friction as his hand moves along the shaft and works to spread the pearls of his arousal from his tip down to the base.

His hand then leaves his cock to push up the skirt of your dress as far as it can go.

Deft fingers pry the seat of your panties from where they stick to your slick-soaked core, and gingerly move the fabric to the side so he can access your dripping cunt before he grabs ahold of himself again.

Jake lines his tip up to your entrance and pushes in slowly, his lips claiming yours in a kiss that pushes the air out of your lungs, stealing your breath and leaving you dizzy with it as his tongue tangles with yours.

Your hands glide up the soft, expensive fabric on Jake’s arms, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders as you gasp and writhe against him. Relishing in the feeling of him all over you.

His lips covering your own, short breaths mixing with yours as you both pant and moan into the frantic kiss. His strong body, solid as the wall behind you as his front presses taut against you to hold you up, his long cock pushing deep inside of you with every single thrust and leaving you feeling so unbelievably full of him.

Jake pulls back from the kiss and looks down to where the two of you are connected. His length glistening with your arousal as it moves in and out of your tight walls, your beautiful, intricate wedding gown all bunched around your hips as he fucks you, and he can’t help the chuckle that escapes him when he thinks about how crazy this is.

“Wha-what’s so funny?” You ask breathlessly through kiss-swollen lips, your eyes that had previously been shut tight in bliss now opening to search out his green ones.

“Just— this,” Jake’s gaze lifts to meet your eye as he continues to laugh, unsure if his brain is going fuzzy with pleasure, or if that’s just the intoxication of being with you.

“My beautiful, perfect bride,” his hips slow just a touch, pressing forward in a particularly hard thrust that has you gasping and clutching onto his shoulders tighter, you and Jake moaning in unison before he continues, panting through his words.

“All a mess for me — fuck– right before we’re supposed to say ‘I do’ in front of all our family and friends– and pretty much everyone we know.”

Your eyes widen, lips tugging up into a bashful smile and you can’t help but giggle along with him, burying your head in his shoulder and speaking into the soft fabric of his jacket as he continues to fuck you.

“Oh god… well, I’m sure there’ll be some time to steam the dress again before I have to walk down the aisle.”

You can feel Jake’s laughter reverberate against your cheek just before he cups your chin, lifting your face back up to be level with his and beaming at you with that megawatt smile. “There's my wife!”

You’re both still grinning when he pulls you in for another kiss. Teeth gnashing against one another’s, mingled laughter and moans coming out in breathy puffs against each other’s lips as his cock works inside of you, his hips still moving against yours at an even pace.

“This is crazy.” You can barely get the words out, still giggling between messy kisses.

“Yeah,” Jake punctuates with another press of his lips on yours, teeth nipping at your bottom lip and drawing out a quiet whimper as he pulls it back towards him and releases it before continuing.

“It is crazy,” – Another kiss – “You make crazy, Sweets.”

With one more firm peck to your lips, you feel both of Jake’s hands wrap tighter under your thighs, rough fingers squeezing your ass as he hikes you up a bit higher against the wall, pressing impossibly closer to keep you firmly in place.

The change of the angle combined with his thrusts accelerating in speed has you crying out loud as he ruts up into you, Jake’s lips moving to cover yours once again and muffle the sounds of your moans.

You shudder against him as his tip prods against that spongy spot inside you that makes stars appear behind your closed lids with each and every thrust, and you feel that coil beginning to tighten again, the familiar heat rapidly licking at the base of your spine.

Jake knows you’re close when your nails begin to dig into his shoulders through the jacket of his tux as you gasp for air, your lips parting from his with a string of saliva still connecting them for a moment that makes him growl as your head lulls back to lean against the wall. Eyes squeezed shut in pleasure as you quietly, breathlessly, cry out his name like a mantra.

Your body is sandwiched tightly between Jake’s and the wall as his length fills you, hips pinned to yours and barely able to pull out on each thrust for how tightly your walls are clamping around him, the coarse but neatly trimmed hairs at the base of his cock deliciously grazing your clit and setting your whole body alight.

He's the only thing keeping you upright when your orgasm hits you. His mouth swallows your cries as your whole body goes taut, holding Jake in a vice grip as you fall apart on his cock.

Jake can feel it as all of the tension leaves your body. He continues in slow, shallow thrusts, the quiet of the room only accentuating the salacious sounds of your release flooding around him as he works you through your high.

He pulls back from the kiss as your moans begin to subside to get a look at your fucked out, blissful expression.

Your eyes are still closed, lips parted and now devoid of any of the nude-pink lipstick shade you’d been wearing before, and your skin glistens with a thin sheen of sweat.

Your chest rapidly rises and falls beneath the fitted white bodice of your wedding gown, accentuating your cleavage with each little pant as you try to catch your breath.

“So fucking pretty, honey,” Jake begins a light trail of kisses from the corner of your mouth to your warm cheek, and up to your hairline where he whispers against the slightly damp skin. “My beautiful bride.”

Your hands scramble for purchase on his back, whimpering as you attempt to pull him in closer.

“Jake- '' Your legs tighten around his hips, heels pressing against his backside where they’re crossed at the ankles, your desperate mewl mixing with Jake’s deeper grunt as the movement pushes him even deeper inside of you.

“‘M so lucky to- to get to call you my husband,” Jake swears that his cocks swells just that little bit more at your loving words. “Cum for me. Wanna feel you.”

“Fuck.” The sweet praise whispered from your pretty lips sends him into a tailspin.

You’ve barely come down from your high when Jake’s hips quicken their pace as he begins to chase his own release, the beginnings of overstimulation making you cry out a string of broken moans, incoherent whimpers of curses and his name.

The fullness and the delightful drag of his cock through your tight walls making you clench around him harder, and the assault of his tip against your g-spot leaving you feeling boneless, your grip on his shoulders tightens like you’ll float away at any moment.

The way your velvety walls are squeezing him, your release soaking his length and the obscene sound it creates as he continues to fuck into you, have Jake right on the edge of his own high.

His head falls to your shoulder where he grunts deeply into the crook of your neck.

“So good, baby. So good for me.” He praises, peppering sweet kisses to your hot skin, a stark contrast to the harsh force of his hips pounding against yours as they begin to lose their rhythm.

After a few more sloppy thrusts, Jake finishes inside you with a strangled groan. The familiar sensation of his cum filling your still-spasming walls pulls a contented sigh from your lips.

Jake’s lips dot a trail of soft kisses along the heated skin of your shoulder and neck, then under your jaw before he lifts his face to be level with yours. Pressing his forehead against your own, the two of you stay there just breathing each other in as you catch your breath.

When the groomsmen realize just how much time has passed with still no sign of Jake, and with only minutes until the supposed start of the ceremony, Bradley is seeing red.

For a moment, jumping to the worst conclusion — that Jake may be standing his little sister up on her wedding day — and he’s just about ready to murder the groom.

It’s only when Natasha knocks on the door to the groomsmens’ suite, looking frazzled as she asks him and the other Daggers if any of them have seen the bride, letting them know that you’ve gone missing as well, that Bradley and his wife both quickly come to the realization that the two of you must be together.

So, Natasha and Bradley begin the hunt to find the soon-to-be newlyweds, the latter rolling his eyes before grumbling, “They’d better not be off somewhere fucking.”

Natasha only responds with a snicker because she knows that’s probably exactly what the two of you were doing. She offers her grumpy husband a sympathetic look and gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze before they split up to search through the maze that is the halls of your wedding venue.

In no rush to move just yet, you and Jake just rest for a moment, foreheads pressed together, your body still sandwiched between his broad frame and the wall. His softening cock still inside of you, puffs of air warming each other’s lips as shallow pants become more steady breaths.

You know that you and Jake’s little er —detour— has almost definitely put things behind schedule for your big day, but in this moment you honestly couldn’t care less.

When it’s just you and the love of your life, bodies intertwined and relishing in each other’s warmth, shared breaths becoming one, you can’t help but think that this day already couldn’t be more perfect.

You feel a flurry of excitement, your heart bursting at the thought that it’s always going to be like this. Solace in the fact that you’re Jake’s and he’s yours, that this is only the beginning of the rest of your lives together.

He seems to share in the sentiment, pulling back to admire you for a moment before you feel his smile against your skin when he lightly presses his lips to your forehead.

One of his hands reaches up to cradle your cheek, those green eyes are boring down into your own with that look of pure adoration once again as Jake moves to speak.

“God, I can’t wait to marry you,” His voice is breathy and full of awe–almost a laugh, eyes crinkling up at the corners in that way that you love as his smile begins to take up more of his face. “I’m so happy that you’re gonna be my wife.”

“Jake…” If you thought your heart was bursting before, you think it’s about ready to break free from your chest now, your eyes glistening with emotion as you lovingly look up at him through your lashes.

“You’re gonna make me cry and I don’t want to mess up my makeup any more than I probably already have,”

The two of you share a quiet laugh, smitten as ever as your hand makes its way up to cover his where it still rests on the side of your face. “But, to have you as my husband… I couldn’t be happier.”

Jake leans down to press a chaste kiss to your lips before whispering against them. “Love you, Sweets.”

It’s only after you return his kiss and those three little words that have become as easy to you as breathing, that Jake finally pulls out of you and the two of you let out a simultaneous sigh.

He reaches down to where the mix of his and your release begins to dribble out of your spent hole, a shattered moan falling from your parted lips as your head lulls back against the wall once more.

Your legs begin to shake from the overstimulation as two of Jake’s long fingers push his cum back into you, expertly thrusting them in and out a few times before pulling them out again, and you find yourself grateful for the sturdy wall behind you when he purposefully brushes them against your oversensitive clit, leaving you breathless as he shifts your panties back into place to keep his cum inside.

Your mind is cloudy of all things but Jake — his scent and his warmth and the feeling of his hands all over your skin, his pretty green eyes and his voice and his gorgeously cocky smirk — each one of your senses being invaded by him and you couldn’t be more content.

And, you love knowing that underneath all the layers of fancy lace and tulle, right before the biggest moments of your lives, that you have his cum inside you.

Just as you part from one another, a knock on the door causes you to jump.

You can hear Natasha out in the hall calling out your names and you and Jake share a look, wearing matching guilty smiles.

However, it’s not long before his smile shifts into a more of a smirk, and you have to bite back a giggle as he rolls his green eyes playfully before leaning in to peck your cheek, pulling back to mouth the words ‘you good?’.

With your grin and nod of confirmation, Jake leaves you with one more kiss, fastening the button on his pants and straightening out his dress shirt as he makes his way over to the door.

He pulls it open, still wearing that signature smirk on his face and Natasha glances up at him before she cautiously peeks her head in to see you too, hair smoothed out as much as you could manage on such short notice, the skirt of your wedding dress now back in place and hiding the fact that Jake’s cum is soaking through your underwear and beginning to drip down your thighs.

“Thank god you’re clothed. I wasn’t looking to get scarred for life today.” Natasha breathes a sigh of relief and steps fully into the room.

“You’re lucky you didn’t find us five minutes earlier.” Jake chuckles as you lightly smack his chest, that ever-cocky smile on his handsome face that you’ve come to love so very much over these last three years.

You can’t help but snicker along with him when you catch sight of Natasha’s nose wrinkling in disgust.

“Ok, ew… And you’re lucky I found you and not Bradley.” Natasha gives Jake a glare before clapping her hands in front of both of your faces. “Now come on, hurry the fuck up. The ceremony — your wedding ceremony — is about to start soon.”

You nod your head frantically, as if only just remembering where, and when, you are.

“Right, yeah! I just gotta go… clean up a bit.” you squeak out to your sister-in-law with a bashful grin before scurrying off the bathroom of the suite you’d snuck into.

Natasha just gives Jake a deadpan look that conveys her slight disgust before leaving the room, making her way out into the hall to call Bradley and let the him know that she’s located the happy couple.

After taking care of the mess between your legs and wiping off the smudged remnants of your lipstick in the bathroom mirror, you return to find Jake, who’s leaning up against the wall opposite the door, looking cool and calm and handsome as ever in his tux.

Making your way over to him, you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, letting out a little snort as your hands reach up to delicately fix his hair where it sticks out in a few places—no doubt from your tugging on it during your recent activities.

Once Jake’s golden locks are back in a more presentable state, you smooth a hand down the nape of his neck, leaning up to attach your lips firmly to his.

Jake groans into it as his mouth moves against yours with just as much fervor, his hands reaching blindly for your waist to pull you in closer, and the two of you share one last passionate kiss that you hope conveys both your love for him and your excitement to be marrying him — though Jake already knows.

“Alright, Natasha’s going to kill me if I don’t get back in the next two minutes.” You pull away from his lush lips, reluctantly and breathlessly, wanting to live in this moment with him forever.

Your arms unwrap themselves from behind Jake’s neck, but you don’t get very far when he reaches out to take one of your hands in his own, and you can tell he’s just as reluctant to end the moment too when he brings it up to his lips to kiss a trail from your knuckles to the tips of your fingers.

“Yeah, I’m not really looking forward to dealing with your brother either.”

His words make you laugh in that sweet, boisterous way that he’s so ready to hear for the rest of his life and with that, Jake chuckles and lets you go, his hand still holding onto yours until you’re too far out of reach.

Jake calls out your name just as you reach the door and you stop short, turning around to face him just as you pull it open. You stand in the threshold, brows raised, and look at him expectantly.

“See ya out there, my beautiful bride.”

You’re surprised your cheeks don’t perpetually hurt from how much this man makes you smile.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, my dashing groom.” You leave him with a playful wink and that intoxicating smile, in a flash of flowing white fabric as you quickly retreat into the hallway.

Jake chuckles to himself, moving over to the mirror to make sure he looks presentable, smoothing a hand over his hair and giving himself one last once-over before he makes his way back to his groomsmen.

Trailing behind Natasha, you quickly make your way through the halls back to the bridal suite, giving her your most innocent smile when she peers back at you over her shoulder with a pointed look.

Your sister-in-law sends you a half-hearted scoff and a playful roll of her brown eyes, but you can see the smirk just beginning to grow at the corner of her lips before she turns and reaches out to open the door.

“Come on.” Natasha half laughs, half groans, ushering you into the room.

Before you know it, you’ve got a plethora of people surrounding you once again — one giving your dress a very last minute steam to get rid of any wrinkles your activities with Jake a few minutes earlier had caused, others rushing around to touch up your hair and makeup and to finally pin up your veil. Although, this time around, you find that you’re unbothered. Feeling a lot more at ease, and you’re back in tip-top shape in record time.

You’re practically vibrating in excitement and anticipation as Natasha and the rest of your bridal party shower you with hugs and their own squeals of excitement and encouragement before they make their way outside to the beautifully set up venue to get into their places for the ceremony.

You give yourself one final once-over in the mirror, unable to curb the smile that grows at how beautiful you feel.

It's only a few moments later when Bradley pokes his head in the door once more to ask if you’re ready. He takes in the giddy — and much more self-assured than earlier — smile on your face when you turn to him and nod your head excitedly.

“Ya know, you can still back out of this if you wanted.” Your brother jokes, his tone teasing as his mustached lips form into a sly grin.

With a punch to your older brother’s shoulder, you pin Bradley with a pointed look and a sarcastic ‘ha ha’.

“Come on, I’m sure the Bronco would make a great getaway car!” He chuckles as your eyes widen in surprise.

“Bradley!” You move to punch his arm again, but he quickly ducks out of the way this time, and though your eyes are now narrowed at him in a feigned scowl, Bradley can tell that you’re not really angry with him by the way your lips are fighting back pulling up into a smile.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to hold my peace when that part comes up.” He raises his hands up in surrender and you can’t help but laugh along with Bradley’s joke, though not without a playful shake of your head and roll of your eyes.

“You better!” Your big brother flinches as you lurch at him again, but this time, instead of hitting him, your fingers reach up to pinch his ear and it’s like the two of you are kids again; you giggling maniacally while Bradley — now a big, tough 6’1 fighter pilot — yelps in pain, arms flailing as he tries to get out of your grip.

He’d probably pull your hair like he did when you were kids too, if it wasn’t all styled to perfection with your beautiful sheer veil pinned to the crown of it, all ready for your big day.

“I will, I will!” Bradley hisses through his teeth, chuckling as you release your hold on him to grab your bouquet that’s a beautiful mix of both yours and Jake’s favorite flowers, and then move to link your arm with his to begin the path down the hall. The path to the rest of your life and you couldn’t be more excited.

As your brother guides you through the venue’s winding halls towards the doors to where the outdoor ceremony is being held, a gentle grin befalls your lips as you think about how you got here — and your big brother’s part in all of it.

“You know… I know you told all the guys at your wedding to steer clear of me.”

Bradley stops in his tracks at your divulgence, pulling you to a quick stop as well and nearly tripping you over your heels and the fabric of your long wedding gown.

“You wha- huh? You know?!”

Admittedly, Bradley thought he was taking that secret to his grave.

“Yeah, I know.” You can’t help but giggle at your brother’s flustered expression. “Jake told me, a few months after we started dating.”

You’ve known for almost three years and you never said anything. Huh.

Bradley stands there with his lips parted, but no words are coming out. He’s still in shock at the fact that you’re laughing about this.

“So… you’re not mad?” He asks the question apprehensively, a grimace on his face as he awaits your answer.

“No, I’m not mad.” You shake your head, still smiling as an airy laugh escapes you.

“Well, maybe I was for like a second back then. But, I appreciate how much you want to protect me, Bradley. Even if it does make you an idiot sometimes.”

You playfully roll your eyes and Bradley finally relaxes, shoulders dropping as he laughs along with you.

“For what it’s worth, you and Jake actually aren’t a half-bad couple.” You playfully smack his chest in response to the — albeit sweet — jest.

“Thank you.” You beam up at your brother, content knowing that that’s his way of letting you know he truly is happy for you and Jake.

Bradley links his arm with yours again and continues leading you towards the doors. “I wish Mom and Dad could see how beautiful you look today. They’d be so proud.”

“Oh, come on, Bradley! You’re gonna make me cry off my makeup!” You whisper-yell at him half jokingly as you finally reach the doors that will lead you out to the ceremony — to where you’ll very soon be married to the love of your life.

“Me too.” Giving Bradley’s arm a gentle squeeze, the two of you share a smile, knowing that your parents will be there in spirit. And grateful for the fact that your uncle Mav who’s always been like a third parent to you will be there too. “Now, come on. Let’s go get me married!”

The wedding ceremony goes off without a hitch — albeit a little bit later than planned.

When the music starts and Bradley walks you down the aisle, you’re surrounded by the smiling faces of friends and family.

Although, your eyes are only on Jake — looking so unbelievably handsome in his tux and his wide smile and you can’t believe just how lucky you got — and his mossy green eyes are focused on only you.

Both of your eyes shine with tears and it’s as if only the two of you exist in that moment when you meet him at the altar, the two of you happily joining hands with matching lovesick grins adorning your faces.

Though he’ll never admit it — and Natasha will never let him live it down — Bradley definitely shed a few tears himself as he listened to you and Jake exchange your vows.

It’s been a long day of running around getting ready for the ceremony — and sneaking off for a quickie, of course — before marrying your soulmate in front of practically everyone you know, then taking countless family photos and enjoying a cocktail hour with your friends and family showering you and Jake in congratulations and well wishes.

But, it’s all worth it because you’re finally able to call Jake your husband and you couldn’t be happier.

You’re both more than ready for the reception, ready to let loose and enjoy your time together as a newlyweded couple.

After a nice dinner comes the best man and maid of honor speeches from Javy and Natasha, and a speech from Uncle Mav that includes a few embarrassing anecdotes about your childhood that have you giggling as you hide your face in Jake’s shoulder.

Then it’s time for the newlyweds to make a toast before sharing your first dance to Fleetwood Mac’s Everywhere, the first song you and Jake danced to on the night when you met three years ago at your brother’s wedding.

The two of you hold each other close and sway along to the music without a care in the world, Jake dipping you towards the end of the song and claiming your lips in a long kiss that has the entire room cheering — although again, it’s as if you and Jake are the only two who exist in that moment.

When Jake pulls back from the kiss, one of his large palms is still cupping your cheek, fingers gently grazing your skin as his green eyes gaze down at you in adoration.

“I can’t believe you’re my wife.” He lightly shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m never gonna stop saying that — my wife.”

You’re smiling against one another’s lips as you pull Jake down for another kiss, giggling when you mouth parts from his.

“I love you so much, my husband.”

You can see that familiar look of both adoration and hunger beginning to overtake Jake’s features in response to your words as your first dance comes to an end.

After sharing what would traditionally be a father-daughter dance with Mav, he returns you into your husband’s loving arms as others begin to join in on the fun, the dance floor now filling up with your guests.

Jake sees his opportunity to whisk you away from the dancefloor, using the commotion to make a sneaky getaway — again.

You should be used to it by now — his large hand warmly encompassing yours and pulling you along with him — but you still can’t help the giggles that break free as you quicken your pace to match his as best as you can in your heels, sprinting until the two of you have disappeared from dancefloor, and soon from your wedding reception entirely.

Out of the ballroom doors and into the empty hallway, the loud music and sounds of your guests having fun now a muffled to barely-there background noise, you find yourself alone with Jake. Your husband.

You pull on Jake’s hand to bring him to a stop in front of you, turning him around and pulling him in closer to you as you lean your back against the closed door, gazing up at him with a lip-bitten smile.

“What are we doing?” You question through a breathless laugh, although you’re pretty sure you already know the answer.

Jake’s broad frame crowds you in closer to the door and you find your breaths coming in quicker as he presses the front of his body up against yours.

Your eyes flutter shut as he leans down even closer, his nose gently brushing yours, lips just shy of touching your own. His breath fans against them and it sends a shiver down your spine, a jolt going straight to your core when he speaks.

“Well, we’ve gotta consummate our marriage, Sweets.” Jake whispers against you, his mouth just barely grazing your own. “And I’d like to consummate it as soon as possible.”

The evident hunger in his voice has you frantically nodding against him, eyes still squeezed shut when you feel his front press impossibly closer to you — and the growing bulge there. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, honey. Gonna consummate the shit out of you.”

Jake’s whispered words, and their mirthy tone, have you bursting into a fit of giggles, your head falling back against the door behind you. His own laugh joins in with yours as you shake your head at his silliness. You love this man so much.

Your hands reach up to the sides of his neck to pull your husband down for a kiss, lips and teeth clashing as neither of you can break the smiles from your faces.

“You’re such a dork, Seresin.” You whisper sweetly against Jake’s lips.

“Yeah, but you love it… Mrs. Seresin.” His large hands squeeze your hips, both the heat you feel on your skin through the lacy fabric of your dress and the name making you giddy.

“Well… lead the way, Mr. Seresin!”

You’re unable to contain the massive smile that breaks out on your face as Jake presses one last kiss to your lips, before grabbing your hand and beginning to pull you along with him once more, and you don’t care where takes you as long as your hand gets to be intertwined with his for the rest of your lives.

•

Thank you for reading! x

taglist: @sebsxphia @chaoticassidy @dempy @ohgodnotagainn @shanimallina87 @mavrellover91 @memoriesat30 @that-bitch-bri @classyunknownlover @hisredheadedgoddess28 @foreverrandomwritings @lt-spork @princess76179 @gigisimsonmars @kidd3ath @averyhotchner @sammyrenae68 @tv-fanatic18 @one-sweet-gubler @kmc1989 @onethirstyunicorn @avengersfan25 @fictionalmenloversblog @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @praline357 @girlsclub2004 @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog @marvelogic @djs8891 @diorrfairy (pls let me know if you'd like to be removed 🤍)

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#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin smut #jake seresin imagine #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman seresin #hangman #hangman x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin x female reader #top gun maverick #glen powell #jake hangman x reader #hangman top gun #jake x lil bradshaw #my writing

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deadghosy · 7 months

Note

Okay so I just started reading Hazbin stuff on your blog, but they're AWESOME!! I'd like to request some Catnap!reader headcanons with the Vees if that's possible?

SURE! Thanks for the suggestion anon🦆💗

CATNAP! READER W/ THE VEES FOR A DAY

prompt: one of the Vee’s grabbed you out of now where and brought you to their tower to hang out.

You didn’t know how this flat faced person got your attention…more like grabbed your tail like a untrained child 😭

Vox grabbed your tail dragging you to the Vee’s tower as you sighed, leaving some red gas out of your mouth annoyed.

I feel like somehow you would agree to hang out with the Vee’s as long as you don’t see them in your hellish life forever.

I can imagine a picture of you and the Vee’s taking a selfie, but Velvette is on her phone, Vox is smiling at the camera, and Valentino is trying to blow a kiss at you.

Valentino was trying to cook for the other two Vee’s and you only for the kitchen to burn down as you and Velvette order take out as Vox gets the fire extinguisher. Valentino is trying not to touch the ✨pretty fire✨

I headcannon Valentino finding you attractive because if your tall frame. But also your smile as you just stand there smiling having your hands behind your back.

Imagine Valentino showing off his guns and you’re like. “Who needs guns when I can do this.” You said smiling as poppy gas slides through your teeth and knocks Valentino straight out on the ground when you smirk.

I can see the Vee’s and you going in a shopping spree and you decide to fuck with them and spend almost all their saving worth. Vox knew what you were doing so he stopped you.

I feel like the Vee’s will try to use try to get info on Alastor. But that’s mostly Vox so it would useless as you don’t anything form Alastor other than Alastor hates when you knock him out for bedtime

You literally sat there as Valentino was trying to get you to watch one of his sex tapes…you knocked him out and left the room as you grumbled.

I can imagine if it was sleepover it would chaotic as hell as Vox would be the one to fall asleep first and duct taped to the ceiling as the other snicker

For shits and giggles, Velvette will say you give off Lana Del Rey vibes as you just side eye her saying, “what tf you know about Lana Del Rey?”

You two are the best music buddies of modern genre.

Imagine a cute little headcannon where they all have secret matching bracelets and they let you have one.

Vox brought you on his channel to talk about your weird and cocky appearance. You were just on there to be clowned until you smirked letting poppy gas as the camera man fell breaking the camera.

“WHAT THE FUCK?! You dumbass cat!” “I’m dumb?” You said glancing at the man beside you as you slapped him smoothly with your tail as he had a shocked face touching his cheek.

I can see Valentino trying to get catnap! Reader to wear heels only for catnap! Reader to break them in their hands shaking their head no as they walk away again

I headcannon that the only V that catnap! Reader finds tolerable is Velvette because of her whole personality and not how she tries to bring catnap! Reader down

You definitely have that fun friend troupe with Velvette which is sweet and wholesome.

Velvette and you were hanging out on her side of the tower as she was getting you dressed in [style aesthetic]. You actually liked it as you gave her a thumbs up and grin.

I headcannon Velvette and Vox to try to make you do those dumbass TikTok dance trends with them so they could get #1 on the trending board.

I can imagine catnap! Reader ordering one of tose bug zappers to only electrocute Valentino

Velvette posted you and her doing a fashion walk as Angel was shocked seeing this on her page and shows the staff of the hotel.

The hazbin hotel gang will be like: “why tf is our resident hanging out with them?” As you are just trying to see why people even love the Vee’s.

I can headcannon that Vox forced you into a group chat with them

I can see that every time you hang out with the Vee’s, your phone gets blown up with worried text from the hazbin hotel crew. And then Vox will try to hack or get into your phone to disable your phone.

I imagine you and Vox literally shitting in each other. Like you say “why as you so short.” While he thinks of a comeback to say back to you.

I headcannon that if you and the Vee’s played uno together, you’re rigging it. Cause ain’t no one gonna win today.

At the end of the day, you left their asses as you used your red smoke on them…well idk about Vox cause that bitch has a tv head. You probably gave him a virus to circuit.

BRO WHO TF MADE THAT SMIRK FOR CATNAP?! EHH? Anyways I hope you guys liked this🦆💗

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kooktrash · 1 year

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romantic dreams | jeon jungkook

summary: he’s always dreamt of finding his soulmate in some romantic way, bells ringing, birds chirping, maybe even a shine of light over their head. he never imagined to find them living next door to him with absolutely no clue to the extent of the growing infatuation he has toward you until it’s a little too late. hypnotized by your entire existence he finds his dreams and delusions of love to be a little too intense for anyone to bear.

➣ genre/au: yandere jungkook x reader [she/her, female anatomy], neighbors au, smut, angst

➣ 23.9k words

warnings: yandere. smut. jk is obsessed and a stalker. toxic. manipulation. gaslighting. he’s a gym rat who listens to deftones, nirvana, korn, pierce the veil, etc. he watches y/n through cameras. delusional jk. he’s intimidating and a huge asshole to everyone but y/n—like genuinely not a good person lol but he has nipple piercings and a six pack. goth jk. calvin klein jk. sort of mind break. dom/sub/switch themes but not intense. rough, passionate sëx. multiple rounds. oral [both recieving]. multiple orgasms. jk is kinda really unhinged at the end. he seems more stable than he is. everyone is so oblivious. unprotected smüt but also only for one round [they go for two]. idk lol he’s just a weird guy who likes black and Nirvana or some shit. y/n is cheated on in previous relationship he’s not dangerous I think

[ teaser ] [ video banner ]

[ drabble ] [smut]

[ drabble ]

[ smut drabble ]

[ birthday drabble ] [ smut ]

song inspo: tempest — deftones, and i love her — kurt cobain, blvd. nights — team sleep, new magic wand — tyler, the creator [highly recommend listening so you can get what kind of character Jungkook is]

jungkook’s moodboard | y/n’s moodboard

The music was loud yet you couldn’t make out a single word of it. The beat was strong but with the amount of people packed into the nightclub it seemed to blur out all other noise aside from their talk. You could barely see under the hues of green and blue lights shining down on the crowd and the room had a distinct smell of alcohol, sweat, and smoke.

On your back was a firm hand that pushed you through the dancing crowds to get you to the bar and you let them take the lead without question. To your side was a friend of yours who flashed a smile, “Don’t worry, you’re going to get so drunk tonight that you forget about him.”

What she’s really saying is if you don’t want to feel then you better start sipping.

It was just 24 hours ago that you sat down in your living room listening to the guy you had been dating for months tell you that he cheated. He cried his eyes out telling you that it didn’t mean anything and that he would never do it again but it was too late. You didn’t shed a single tear until he was out of your house and that’s when you let the angry tears fall, mad that you were too blind to realize what a piece of shit he was.

Now you were in a little green dress feeling like a heartbroken bitch as you ordered two more drinks and tried to pretend like you’re having a good time when you’re not.

Taehyung watched you chug back another drink with a sigh, “But don’t drink too much, you’ll regret it.”

“I don’t care,” you slurred, tone already a bit off and woozy. Jiyoung combed your hair out of your face, “At least you’re still pretty, drunk or not.”

Not pretty enough if you got cheated on. You smiled as she cupped your face squeezing your cheeks, bloodshot eyes that she couldn’t even see under the changing lights.

“I’m gonna go find Hobi,” Taehyung said as he looked around the packed nightclub, “It’s going to take me forever.”

You nodded your head, “Go ahead, I’m gonna get another drink.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Jiyoung asked and you told her yes. She left with a small smile going with Taehyung to find your friend. Your smile slowly fell as you stood at the bar by yourself looking around at dancing pairs and kissing couples.

You took a deep breath trying to calm your racing heart, hands feeling the heat that radiates off your face and blinking hoping to fight off the burn you felt from not crying.

Once you had your drink you disappeared into the large crowd hoping to find the others.

He was fed up being here. He understands why his friends like to come out and drink but frankly he doesn’t care for their excuses to be able to pick up girls. Every single woman who approached him here are just so boring.

Sure, they’re nice to look at but that’s about it. Listening to their squeaky drunk voices and watching the way they try to dance on him is so tiring. He just wants them all to stop but they won’t and he knows it. He’s attractive, he’s somewhat tall, he’s covered in tattoos and he looks so unapproachable that it — for some reason — always attracts women to him. If he was interested in them then maybe he would feel different but most times he’s just bothered by them.

There might be a rare chance that he takes one home but that happens once every blue moon and even then he doesn’t care for their name or to stay with them the full night. He could live his life without wasting a single second flirting with some girl he met at the club.

His intention right now was to quietly sneak away from his friends while they hit on girls he was very unimpressed with and leave. It reeked of alcohol and he preferred not to get drunk and lose his senses tonight.

He was cutting through the crowd doing his best to avoid being pushed or touched but it didn’t seem to matter.

Goosebumps rose on his skin as he hissed at the sudden cold liquid that spilled onto his shoes and jeans. His face hardened as he smelled the stench of liquor and he immediately looked up annoyed to find the person who spilled their drink on him.

“Shit, I am so sorry,” you said in a somewhat shy voice. You looked from your empty cup to his wet pants and boots, “I—I didn’t mean to bump into you, there’s so many people here—fuck.”

His initial instinct was to chew you out, not caring for what or who you were, but then his eyes met yours and his anger immediately melted away. He couldn’t put his finger on why he was suddenly okay with a stranger spilling their Bloody Mary on his thousand dollar Gucci boots. He was too lost in your bloodshot eyes to say anything—until you dropped down to the floor with a hand on his boot acting like you could just wipe it away.

“Wait!” He nearly shouted as he held you by your arm and pulled you back up, “Don’t. It’s fine, the floor’s dirty.”

“No, please, I am so fucking sorry, oh my god,” you said, drunk out of your mind to fully pay attention to what happened. You looked up to him and you seemed to take a step back in surprise. He was an extremely good looking guy and you’ve just embarrassed yourself in front of him… yet he smiled sweetly instead of yell at you. Will you even remember this moment?

“I’ll just clean them, it’s alright, don’t even worry about it, okay?”

Not fully thinking clearly, you gasped as a sudden idea came to mind, “I’ll go get towels! I’ll um—j-just, y’know wait right here.”

He could hear it in your voice that you maybe drank too much. He looked around to see if a friend of yours might’ve been around watching but he found no one looking in this direction. You were practically running off and it would be a perfect chance to escape another drunk who threw themselves at him but he found himself going after you instead.

The hall toward the restrooms was poorly lit and people lined the walls waiting to go in but that didn’t stop him from cutting through so he could be close enough for you to find him. You were an interesting character.

He could feel some eyes on him but he ignored them easily, choosing instead to smile softly when you stumbled out of the restroom with a handful of paper towels. He reached a hand out to get them but once again you tried getting down to clean his shoes up yourself that it made him laugh lightly. He helped you back up with a hand on your back to keep you from swaying or getting down again—whichever comes first, “I got it.”

You stood back watching him clean his shoes and soak up some of the alcohol from his jeans. You debated if you should leave but when he looked up from his leant over position to see if you were still there, you stayed. “I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he smiled a genuine smile as he threw the paper towels away in the nearest bin, “Let’s get you another drink.”

“No, I’m done drinking for tonight,” you told him but you left out the part about you already feeling too numb for it, “I’ve already made a fool of myself.” You covered your face behind your hands and he couldn’t help but feel a rush of butterflies in his stomach.

“Don’t say that, it was cute,” he said confidently with a shrug of his shoulders, “Charming even… do you dance?”

“Huh?” You looked at him confused, “Uh, yeah.”

He smiled widely as he began to walk away from you, walking backwards to the dancing crowd, “Then make up spilling your drink on me with a dance?”

You bit your lip and narrowed your eyes as you studied him. You looked around as if in search for your friends but they were busy and you were heartbroken and drunk, and agreeing with a nod of your head. You took his outstretched hand and went with him.

“Where’d Y/n go?”

“Um,” Jiyoung looked around, “Good question, I thought she was getting another drink.”

“Well she’s not at the bar,” Hoseok said with a sigh, “Let’s look for her so we can get out of here finally.”

Your arms were around the stranger’s neck and his were wrapped around your waist keeping you pressed against him as you danced sensually together. You played with the ends of his hair as he looked down at you with an intense gaze, “What’s your name?”

“Y/n,” you said with a light gasp as his head dipped down to hear you better, making you whisper it into his ear. His eyes closed as he felt your face brush against his and he was turning his head slightly to bring his lips closer, “I’m Jungkook.”

You blame the alcohol and the fact that the guy smelled really good for your next actions. It didn’t help that you were still very upset about being cheated on and you weren’t thinking clearly, only looking to feel something else than what you felt right now. So, in your drunken state, you turned your head letting your lips brush against his testing the water out and as he held you tightly, he pressed a kiss to them.

Jungkook released a low moan into your mouth when you kissed him back in need and he found it hard to keep his hands from roaming down your body in your pretty forest green dress. Your tongue swiped along his lip ring making his hands grip the sheer fabric to make sure you didn’t back away before he was done. You were curious about the cold metal and kissed him with a bit of intensity that you seemed to forget where you were or who you were with.

In need of air, you pulled back with your hands slowly slipping away from his neck trying to process the fact that you kissed a stranger without a care in the world.

“Y/n! We’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

You jumped back startled as you turned around in search for the feminine voice. You looked at Jiyoung who sighed, “We’re leaving, are you ready?”

It was hard to get a good view on Jungkook with how poor the lighting was and how dark his clothes were. He was biting his lip ring as he watched you get dragged away and before he could pull you back to him in hopes of getting your number, you were leaving like he wasn’t even there.

Like you forgot about him already.

There was a quickening pace to his heart. Sweat dripped down his forehead that he wiped away with his forearm as he looked at his friend through the mirrored wall. Just behind them he had a clear view of some woman looking at them. His friend noticed her too, “She’s had her eye on you for a while now.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything as he switched with Namjoon and laid down. Namjoon made sure to spot him as he began to bench press, muscles bulging with each set he did.

“I’m serious, man, and she’s hot,” Namjoon looked behind him to catch the girl running on the treadmill as her gaze shifted shyly at being caught. He was getting a little pissed that his friend does not care that he’s being eye fucked at the gym.

This was just like Jungkook too, he never showed any sight of interest in anything. He always had a bored expression on his face like he was waiting for something worth his while to happen. Namjoon’s learned to get over it because if Jungkook didn’t like hanging out with him then they wouldn’t be friends. Jungkook isn’t the type to waste his breath reassuring things like that and he definitely does not waste his time thinking of someone.

If Namjoon got half as many women checking him out as Jungkook does, he would find a girlfriend in no time—but no, he has to stand to his side and watch his friend pay absolutely no attention to any woman who expressed even the slightest hint of interest in him. Maybe he has to applaud Jungkook for this, he seems to have standards and sticks to them because in their years long friendship he’s only met one of his girlfriend’s before. He was extremely private about his sex life too so they never shared any locker room talk and Namjoon has just learned that’s how he is.

“Should we do one more?” Jungkook asked as he placed the dumbbell back into its holders and sat up panting. He looked behind him just slightly and caught sight of the bleached blond on the treadmill. She hasn’t taken her eyes off him since she got here and it’s really starting to piss him off.

“Sure,” Namjoon said, switching Jungkook, “I don’t get how you seem to just ignore every woman who looks at you.”

Jungkook looked down at him as Namjoon caught a good grip on the dumbbell, “I wouldn’t disrespect the person I’m seeing by entertaining someone else.”

Namjoon nearly dropped the dumbbell on himself as he jumped up to a sitting position and looked at his friend dumbfounded, “You’re seeing someone?”

That made the corners of Jungkook’s lips turn upward and he tried to bite back a smile, his dimples still showed. Namjoon was no longer sitting and it seemed like the end of their workout so he began to clean the equipment. Jungkook cleared his throat, “Sort of.”

Wordlessly, they began to leave toward the locker room and Jungkook walked right past the blond without sparing her a single glance. He smiled, “Y/n.”

“Huh?” Namjoon asked, “Is that who you’re sort of seeing?”

“Mhm,” Jungkook nodded with a smile that had Namjoon surprised. He very rarely sees this much emotion from Jungkook and compared to his usual cool exterior, this was a bit unsettling. The two went straight for their lockers as they took their gym bags out and got ready to leave. Namjoon cleared his throat, “Do you have a picture? I need a visual of who this person is.”

It was just so sudden after he had these thoughts of how Jungkook showed absolutely no interest in anyone and kept his sex life extremely private. Namjoon always thought it was just because he was a womanizer and didn’t feel like bragging about all the women he’s seeing. It is just surprising that all of a sudden Jungkook would show so much emotion bringing someone up.

Jungkook didn’t give him an answer aside from fishing his phone out of his pocket and immediately showing him his lock screen. Namjoon looked at the picture clearly.

“Wow,” Namjoon said with, “Now I see why you don’t bat an eye at anyone else.”

It was a good candid photo of you, like you didn’t even know it was being taken. You were sitting outside having dinner and it was a perfect snapshot of your smile. You were looking at something off camera but Namjoon did have to admit that you were very attractive.

He missed the way Jungkook’s eyes darkened the longer Namjoon looked at your picture and decided to lock his phone and put it away, “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon said as he grabbed his car keys while Jungkook grabbed his and his helmet, “So why haven’t I met this Y/n, yet?”

Look, he knows that the two of you aren’t dating yet, he’s not that crazy, but it’ll happen soon and he has a very strong reason to back it. Jungkook wasn’t smiling anymore but Namjoon couldn’t see it as he walked behind him, “You know I like things kept private.”

“I mean yeah but… I don’t know, you’ve never brought her up before. When did you start seeing her?” Namjoon asked just trying to have a casual conversation with Jungkook before they split up.

“I said sort of.”

“What?”

“Earlier you asked me if I was seeing Y/n and I said sort of,” Jungkook said with a tightened smile, “No need to bring anyone around yet.”

Namjoon didn’t have a chance to say much after that, Jungkook got on his motorcycle and left with a little wave. This felt like news of the century, Jungkook very rarely smiles the way he smiled when he first brought you up.

Look, he knows that the two of you aren’t dating yet, he’s not that crazy, but it’ll happen soon and he has a very strong reason to back it.

Who were you exactly?

You took a deep breath as you unlocked your front door and walked into a pitch black apartment. The light flickered on behind you and a small cat curled around your legs the second you were inside.

“Armani!” Your friend said with a soft gasp as he bent down to pick up the feline. Your cat let Taehyung pick him up and walk him around your living room as you put your things away.

“Looks like your neighbor’s home,” Taehyung pointed out as he stood near the window of your apartment swatting away hanging plants. Armani hopped out of his arms and onto his scratching post where he usually lounged in for naps or ripping at your Tillandsia. “You think he watches you sleep?”

“Shut up,” you told him with a roll of your eyes, “Do you want a drink?”

“Water” Taehyung asked with a cheeky grin before looking back to the window, “And you know I’m joking… I’m just saying though, he always has his curtains drawn and sometimes I catch him looking over here.”

“All that’s telling me is that I need to stop inviting you over,” you said as you grabbed a bottle of Soju and a bowl of chips. You couldn’t help but look out your window.

Your neighbor was an attractive man. He had a sleeve of tattoos and a broad chest, a six pack and… nipple piercings. It’s not that you’re a creep or anything but he likes to lounge around his living room and bedroom without a shirt on and his curtains open. Sometimes he would step out of the shower with only a towel around his small waist as he looked for clothes in his bedroom and you would have to immediately close your curtains so you weren’t a peeping Tom.

He moved in a few weeks ago and since then you’ve found yourself battling over the fact that you’ll never attract a man as gorgeous as him no matter what Taehyung says. Since the beginning Taehyung has believed that your neighbor seems to have a liking toward you. If you were honest, when you first saw him there was something familiar there but as hard as you tried, you couldn’t put your finger on it.

Your best friend is over at your place more often than not and he’s noticed some things. For instance, the day he moved in Taehyung was over and like the nosy neighbor you were, the two of you stared out the window and watched him unload boxes. Taehyung swears he saw a look in your neighbor’s eyes when he looked at you that immediately disappeared when he saw he was there too.

Then, there was that time when you were having dinner with your friends. Taehyung pointed out seeing your neighbor and how close he was sitting outside and you just brushed it off. He lives in your neighborhood now, that meant that he most likely frequented the same restaurants as you. He notes every time your neighbor seems to glance out the window toward your place but you don’t think anything of it. These apartments have poor lighting and the only way you get natural light is by having the windows open. In truth, Taehyung has watched way too many true crime documentaries and has gotten a bit paranoid.

“Whatever,” Taehyung sighed, “I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt you to give him a little show and see if you’ll get laid.”

That only seemed to annoy you a little more. You’ve been single for weeks now and yes, you’re over being upset but that doesn’t mean you want to jump right out and find someone new to bone. Jiyoung has already done a good job reminding you about the guy she found you making out with weeks ago.

It’s sad to say you can’t remember him because you were drunk and maybe he forgot all about you too. Shame, he was a good kisser.

It only took you a couple days to see the man up close. You had just gotten home from work when you spotted an Amazon box outside the door of your building. Your original plan was to just walk past it but then you thought about the act of karma. You read the address hoping to at least put it inside the building but it wasn’t the right one. You lived in an apartment complex with six separate buildings and this was supposed to go next door.

You thought about leaving it outside like the delivery driver did but then you thought about it being your package and if someone were to take it. In the end you decided to head next door and deliver to the person’s doorstep.

The one thing you hadn’t expected was for the said person to open the door just as you’re setting the box down, and you much less expected it to be your window neighbor.

Your eyes couldn’t help but trail along his figure from the black jeans he wore to the black boots, belt, and a dark gray Nirvana shirt. You didn’t fail to notice the way his t-shirt was a little too short and exposed a bit of his Calvin Klein’s and a line of his tiny waist for your viewing. Thick leather bracelets on his wrists as he crossed his arms over his chest. Even his hair was voluminous and a bit curly and you were very attracted to the sight of this stranger.

Rock music played behind him as he leaned against his doorframe.

He looked down at you with an arched brow that had you snapping out of your stare. You stood back up with the box and held it toward him, “This was delivered to the building next door and I didn’t want someone to take it.”

“Oh,” he said as he looked down at the box, the corner of his lips turned up shifting his gaze back to you. You could see a black lip ring and a few silver ones aligning his ear. Up close you’re able to see all the details you’ve missed from your window and he really did look familiar. He finally took the box out of your hands, fingers over yours and he broke out into a smile, “You live next door.”

It wasn’t a question, more so a statement but you nodded away. You looked around, “I do.”

“I’ve seen you before,” he said, “You’re on the third floor?”

What Jungkook really wanted to say was that he remembered your lips against his kissing him like you needed him. He didn’t say that though, he can tell you might not remember him and he doesn’t blame you. You seemed to be a little flustered that night and he’s sure he’ll help you remember him when the time’s right. You’re meant for each other after all.

He realized that the second he moved in—it was all by pure chance and yet it felt like the universe was telling him you were his person. Why else would things work out this way? Once he found you looking down at him from your window, he knew it was meant to be. You made his heart race at a time where he had just felt annoyed and then you kissed him so warmly, there’s no way you two weren’t supposed to find each other.

“Yeah, I’ve been living there for over a year,” you said, already taking a step back like you were ready to go.

He smiled, “I just moved in a couple weeks ago.”

You nodded, “Oh, that’s nice. I'm Y/n L/n.”

Jungkook felt his chest tighten. He knew the two of you haven’t interacted since then but he had really hoped you would have recognized him up close. He understands that it was a while ago and you were both drunk but he remembers everything about you. He still tried to smile even if he felt annoyed that you couldn’t remember a single thing about him, “Jungkook.”

You watched the way his gaze never left yours as you tried walking away, before you could go he said, “Well thanks for bringing this up to me Y/n, maybe I’ll see you around?”

In your eyes, you both knew of each other but it was simply for being neighbors and nothing more. There’s been too many times where your eyes have met from 40 feet off the ground through your windows. There’s no way you wouldn’t at least remember each other’s silhouette.

Yet you couldn’t remember the first time you two met for the life of you. As far as you knew, this is the first time you’ve ever seen him this close and you can’t understand why you’re getting flustered.

“Have a good night, Jungkook,” You finally nodded your head in response to his words and with a small smile you made your leave. Jungkook watched you until you disappeared into the elevator. His heart was racing, he clutched the box tightly as a smile came to his face.

A light chuckle left his lips as he went into the apartment, setting the box down on his dining table. He just can’t believe his plan worked. He timed your arrivals for days and when he knew you would be getting home soon he left his most recent package in front of your building. To be Frank, he thought it was stupid to assume you would think anything about it but he had hoped maybe you would confuse it with one you ordered. He had prayed that you would see it was his and maybe get a little curious of the name but you did even better than he imagined. You delivered it to him. After an hour of pacing back and forth in his living room he finally heard his ring camera notify him that someone was at his door and that’s when his heart started to race.

He opens the door to see you up close for the first time ever. He wasn’t watching you from his window or following you to the convenience store. He was actually seeing you face to face and you looked prettier than you did the night he met you. That’s the time he fell in love, it was truly love at first sight and he knows that you must’ve felt it too. You were so cute and caring and clumsy, and you kissed him like you never wanted to pull away.

If only you knew the horrible pain he felt after you left him that night. All he could say is his friends definitely didn’t like the side of him that was shown following that day. He tried finding you on social media but with only your first name that had been so hard. When he saw you from your window he knew right away it was you and he swears he’s never felt so relieved to know he was seeing you again. Once again, the universe was sending signs of his soulmate.

It didn’t take him long to try and find a way to know more about you after moving in. He spent days studying the apartment floor plans and by the fourth day he was following someone into your building and looking at the map picture on his phone, smiling because they were identical. He learned that because your apartments faced each other that it could help him find exactly what number you had and when he found it, he went straight to the mailing room. He found your apartment number and right there taped on the metal was your full name.

He can’t believe that his patience seemed to have worked. You came right to him and he got to hear your pretty voice up close again. He smiled lovingly at the memory of your first kiss and how many more are to come, nose scrunching up like a bunny’s as he finally began to tear into his package.

In the pocket of his black jeans his phone began to ring and he took it out to answer without sparing a single glance at the caller as he pressed it between his ear and shoulder, “Hello?”

“Kook, hey man, what are you doing right now?” Namjoon asked through the cell phone as his Uber came to a stop at a red light.

“Just at home,” Jungkook mumbled, not fully listening to his friend as he looked at the small security camera in his hand. His eyes moved to skim the instructions while Namjoon spoke up again.

“I’m meeting up with Yoongi for some drinks and I wanted to know if you wanted to join us,” Namjoon said before with a smile.

“Uh, yeah, I’m busy right now,” Jungkook said with dazed eyes that made it obvious that he was drifting off into his own world as he made his way through his closet to find some sort of adhesive tape. He even sounded like he was in a different reality.

Namjoon’s smile grew wider, “With your girl?”

Jungkook opened his bedroom window and reached for his potted plant to move it out of his way. It took him a while to utter out a response, “Sort of?” He stuck the black camera against the side of his black window box and put the potted plants back inside it so he could see what it looked like.

“I mean you can bring her along,” Namjoon said as his Uber stopped in front of the bar and he began to get out.

“Maybe,” Jungkook muttered under his breath as he concentrated on opening the app connected to the camera and typing in whatever he needed to to be able to access the footage.

“Alright call me later if you’re up for it.”

Jungkook barely hummed a goodbye as Namjoon hung up and finally got off speaker. He wasn’t paying attention anyways.

He has two options now that his friend has called him with plans tonight.

One: He can go out and get drunk with his friends, probably go to some night club and suffer through some ugly drunk woman throwing herself at him while he pretends to be interested in anything she says.

Or.

Two: He can stay home tonight, dim the lights, play Tempest by Deftones and watch video footage of your bedroom that he now had thanks to the package you delivered to him.

He just has to go with option two.

You were ashamed to admit that you think you might have a little crush on your neighbor. He just felt so familiar. Nothing about him looked inviting, he seemed aloof and a bit mysterious but he pulled it off so well—and with that charming smile of his… you’ve never seen a girl over at his place but you’re sure there’s dozens waiting for a chance with him.

Taehyung is the one to blame for this technically. Since the beginning he’s gotten it through your head that your neighbor must at least be curious about you to always look at you through the windows. You know that it could seem a bit creepy to know that but were you any better when you glance over and see him shirtless through his window? It’s starting to really get to your head and the fact that he was very attractive made it hard for you to not get a little giddy just thinking about him being interested in you in the slightest. You’re sure that’s not the case but it wouldn’t hurt to dream.

Also, you think the world is playing a sick joke on you or why else would he be standing in an aisle over in the same convenience store as you? The Baader-Meinhof phenomenon is to blame, now that you’ve seen him up close it’s like you’re seeing him everywhere in the neighborhood.

Jungkook was the first to make a move, he closed the space between you as he headed down your aisle while you pretended to be stuck choosing between different snack foods. He couldn’t help but smile at the way your eyebrows scrunched together in concentration, “Y/n?”

“Jungkook,” you greeted him as your eyes met.

“I thought it was you,” Jungkook said with a gentle smile as he switched the hand that was holding his shopping basket while looking down at yours, “Doing some grocery shopping?”

“Kind of,” you mumbled, “I’m just buying a few things until I have time to shop this week, what about you?”

“Same,” Jungkook said as he looked at you, “Have any plans? It’s the weekend.”

“I don’t know, I’ll probably just be home until plans come calling,” you said with a soft laugh that made his heart beat a little faster. He’s never heard your laugh before and he needs to hear it again.

“Well, can I come calling tonight?” Jungkook asked confidently, “Let’s get a drink later.”

“Tonight?” You asked, making your way to the checkout line with him hot on your trail.

Listen, you are attracted to this stranger but you’re not so sure there’s more to it than just that. Sure, you think he’s attractive and were just feeling giddy over him thinking the same about you but…. you don’t know. You just got out of a relationship a few weeks ago and you thought some time to yourself would be nice, yet you keep seeing this guy everywhere like some sort of destiny prank and it’s getting to your head. This is your problem, you tell yourself you want to enjoy being single but then you make up all these crazy excuses so that you could find yourself the next guy.

“Alright,” you finally said, walking toward the check out line. He smiled widely now, “Perfect, I’ll drive.”

“What time?” You asked, tucking your hair behind your ear as the cashier began to scan your items.

“I’m not sure yet, how about I text you?” Jungkook asked getting his phone out. You didn’t think much of it as you gave him your number and he immediately called you to confirm but he smiled, “Now you have mine too. Want me to drive you home?”

“I have one more stop after here but thank you, I’ll see you tonight?” you told him shyly. You left after paying and with a goodbye.

Jungkook’s smile instantly dropped when he could no longer see you through the windows of the store. He barely made out the voice of the cashier telling him his total and he threw a crumpled up bill on the counter, ignoring her outstretched hand, and took his bags, turning to leave without his change or receipt.

He bumped into someone hard as he left the store but he never once stopped and headed straight down the street in the direction you left.

In the end Jungkook walked back to his work like he hadn’t been gone for nearly an hour. When he checked the camera earlier he saw you getting dressed to leave—and like the gentleman he was, he didn’t stare too long. Of course he couldn’t help but watch just a little bit and see the way you seemed to caress your legs as you slid on a long fitted black skirt covering your bare hips and lacy underwear. It made his heart race when you took your shirt off and he knew that it was time he stopped watching at least for a little. You grabbed your bag off the hook, filled your cat’s bowl and headed out.

He’s been studying up on your usual departures. You don’t really go anywhere new, it’s usually a cycle of work, home, the store, and to meet your friends. Considering the time he had chosen and the area in which the two of you lived, all he had to do was wait around and see if he could find you walking somewhere on the sidewalk. When he finally did spot you walking toward the convenience store around the corner he practically ran right over.

Clearly he’s made all the right decisions to get to ask you on a date tonight. He won’t watch you this evening, he’ll give you some privacy to dress pretty for him like he’s sure you’ll do and it’ll just be a nice surprise.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: how does 8pm sound? —jungkook

you: sounds good :)

jungkook: alright, I’ll wait outside for you

When you got home, you immediately got ready with a shower. You know it wasn’t a date or anything but he was attractive and you would be going out so there’s no way you could go dressed the way you were.

You finally had your curtains closed after beating yourself up for forgetting to do that before you left to the store and immediately thought about Taehyung getting you in trouble for it.

And apparently just the thought of your friend was enough to summon him to call you.

“Hello?” You answered the FaceTime call, noting that there was a third person present.

“Hello baby!” Hoseok shouted over enthusiastically as he gushed at you through the screen, “I’ve missed you.”

“Hi Hobi, are you back?” You asked as you set the phone up against the mirror while you touched up on your appearance.

“He just got back and we want to get drunk, so are you coming over or what?” Taehyung asked as his eyes squinted, best friend senses tingling, “Where are you going?”

“Um… you know, I have plans,” you said awkwardly making him look you up and down and what you wore.

“With who?”

“Uh…” you scratched the back of your neck, “A guy?”

“You’re cheating on me, you bitch?” Hoseok jokes, making you crack a smile. Hoseok was older but he was the funny one and for years now there’s been a running joke between you two. He huffed, “You’re not supposed to date. We’re supposed to get married when we turn 30.”

“First of all, you’re damn near 30 already,” you rolled your eyes, “And our agreement was if we weren’t engaged by then we would get married.”

“Stop changing the subject. Who’s the guy?” Taehyung asked with a small smirk that told you he already had an idea. You just had to tell him about your run in with the neighbor the other day. You didn’t say anything because he already knew.

“Alright, alright, I get it. Go enjoy your black eyeliner boyfriend and we’ll get drunk on our own.”

“Who are we talking about?”

Jungkook was not ashamed to admit he had been waiting for you since he got home. He did hurry and get dressed but he had been ready early on. When you texted him telling him you were coming down he nearly jumped out of his car to greet you and he felt an insane amount of butterflies in his stomach. You were dressed simply but at the same time it was clear to him that you put in the effort all for him. Your skirt hugged your curves perfectly and your shirt gave him a good idea of what was underneath—even if he’s practically seen you nude through the windows. You reminded him of spring and it wasn’t just because of the earthy tones you wore.

“You look lovely,” Jungkook said as he placed a hand on your lower back assisting you into the passenger’s side of his black Porsche. You blushed at his words and took in the scent of his car. It smelled of his cologne but it wasn’t overbearing like most colognes, it was familiar. It’s soft yet masculine and exactly what you pictured he would use.

When he started the car up, a familiar song began to play, Something In the Way by Nirvana played lowly so it wasn’t overwhelming for your ears. You smiled, “You must like this kind of music a lot. I always see you in band tees”

He smiled but his eyes drifted down to his hands that clutched the steering wheel tightly so they wouldn’t shake with anxiety, “I do, it’s perfect for the gym.”

Jungkook was very pleased to know you took note of his interests, it meant that you were just as infatuated with him as he was with you. He can list off a lot of things he’s learned about you throughout the week. Just from your socials he can tell where you’ve vacationed, cafes you frequent at, your favorite books or movies, etc.

From watching you through your windows he knows that you read a book on the window seat in your bedroom. You like to keep your green plants in the living room and your cat tends to pull off some leaves before running off when he sees you. He knows you can barely cook—he’s seen you running to turn off the fire alarm after you tried cooking. He knows that when you’re alone in your bedroom at night you like to listen to music loud and dance in front of the mirror when you think no one’s watching. He’s even seen you fight your cat over him eating another one of your plants. He knows all of this thanks to his cameras. He can keep his curtains closed to not raise suspicion but that doesn’t mean he can’t see you.

He thinks it’s kind of cute how oblivious you are, it works in his favor even now.

You knew he worked out just by looking at him but for the sake of conversation you asked, “How often do you work out?”

“Twice.”

“A week?”

“A day,” Jungkook looked at you for a split second, “Once in the morning and then usually after work too.”

“Fuck, that’s a lot,” you laughed softly, “I can see why you’re so toned.”

Jungkook bit his lip playing with his lip ring, “Nice to know you’ve noticed, but how? You’ve never seen me without a shirt, have you?”

He knows you have, he’s very purposely walked around shirtless for your viewing specifically. You released a nervous chuckle, “I mean… just from what I can see.”

“Mm,” he hummed as he tried and failed to bite back a smile. He just couldn’t help it. You’re in his car on the way to a date with him. He’s been dreaming about this night after all, imagining what it would be like to wake up next to you with you in his arms. He’s dreamt about the way you laugh at his jokes, how your shampoo smells, what you look like fresh out the shower. It feels like all he does is think about you and he knows it’s because he’s found the one he’s supposed to spend the rest of his life with. Ever since that first night at the club he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you. Was that normal?

He knows he shouldn’t put cameras up to spy on you or follow you around but he just wants to know where you’re going. He doesn’t want something to happen to you and he has no way of knowing. If he could just know your every step he’s sure that’ll make him feel more at ease.

When he finally parked and the two of you got out of the car you could see where he brought you. You had expected it to be some loud night club or something but it was actually a seemingly quiet lounge bar. There weren’t that many people here and the ones that were seemed to come from money and the dim lights with quiet soft rock music playing in the background told you this wasn’t his first time here. It was an intimate environment filled with quiet conversations and sneaky touches. You found a high round table and with Jungkook’s help, you got on the high stool and watched him pull his chair closer to yours—so close his thigh bumped into yours on occasion.

“What would you like to drink?” Jungkook asked with a hand on your thigh as if to get your attention. He seemed to fit into the environment better than you did. He switched out his normal band tee for a plain black fitted tee that quite literally hugged the ridges of his muscles, even with the dark color you could make out the shape of his bar nipple piercings. The shirt was tucked into a pair of blacks jeans with a leather belt that matched his signature leather bracelets that were on his wrists. The only things different were the silver chained bracelets and chunky rings that fit well with his tatted fingers and matched the silver chains around his neck and piercings in his ears. He had an intricate silver cross with small red jewels on a necklace and his hair had a slick look that made the waves and curls look wet.

He was quite literally breathtaking and unlike the guys you usually went for.

“Surprise me,” you said and he nodded leaving you alone with a pat on your thigh. In order to not look awkward by yourself, you checked your phone, half tempted to pull out your essential oils and roll on some lavender.

Some rock song played quietly in the background as people talked around you enjoying the dark and warm atmospheric of the lounge bar.

hobi: how’s the mystery gang

you: the who?

jiyoung: don’t ever call us that shit again

taehyung: look who finally came out of the trenches

you: jiyounggggggg I missed u

jiyoung: y/nnnn I love u

jiyoung: are u coming to Tae’s?

hobi: y/n’s got a date with some stalker

you: WHO TOLD U THAT

taehyung: me and i was kidding

jiyoung: no u weren’t

hobi: no u weren’t

you: whatever. I gotta go

jiyoung: I hope u get laid

you: why is everyone saying that

taehyung: bc u need it <3

you: scatter. all of u

Jungkook came back with a cocktail for you and when he sat down his chair inched just a little closer to yours as he said, “So…Y/n…”

“So… Jungkook…” you said back to him and he swore he could hear his name fall from your lips for the rest of his life. He smiled, “Tell me about yourself, what do you do for a living?”

You own a shop that just opened up a year ago, what you mostly sell are house plants and sometimes you take Armani with to bring customers in with his Prince-like features—that’s what a review on your business page said anyway.

“I own a plant shop, you?” You asked shifting in your seat a bit when his thigh pressed against yours. With the way you were sitting facing each other, your legs were practically trapped between his. He licked his lips, “I’ll give you a hint.”

You nodded waiting and finally he pointed to the smiley face on his fingers. Your brows scrunched together in concentration and he thought it was the cutest thing in the world making him scrunch his nose like a bunny with a smile and it completely betrayed his dark exterior. You bit your lip, “Tattoos?”

“Mhm,” he hummed as the hand with the tattoos found its way down to your thigh again, it looked huge on you and he held you like you would get up and run away from him, “So tell me.”

You lifted a brow waiting and he smiled, “What kind of flowers do you get a girl that knows so much about them?”

You released a sigh in thought. He clearly meant you and if he didn’t this would be embarrassing but you said, “Personally I think Baby’s Breath. It could mean a lot of different things from undying love to pureness and freedom. It’s simple yet pretty.”

He nodded seriously like he was really thinking about what you said, “Not a rose?” He had to figure out exactly what you like and dislike.

“Too cliché,” you joked with a little laugh and he smiled, “I mean, Baby’s Breath are common too but I still think they’re better.”

“I thought you would think they’re romantic,” Jungkook said, thumb now softly caressing the side of your thigh. You shook your head no, “Maybe but I like the unexpected a little more.”

“Unexpected how?” He asked looking down at his hand and your leg curiously. He needs to know absolutely everything he can about you. Every second he spends with you the more he realizes he’s found the one. There’s no other way to describe what he’s felt for you since he first ever laid eyes on you.

You sighed, your index finger began to absentmindedly trace the rings on his fingers while he touched your thigh with the same hand, “I don’t know, I’m just tired of the same shit in relationships, y’know what I mean? I want something new, exciting… maybe a little intense? I don’t know, ignore me I might just sound crazy.”

You were speaking out of your ass and you knew it. Sure, you are sick and tired of the same assholes thinking they can just do whatever they want with you but you’re not in search of nothing new right now. You don’t want a relationship at this moment, you just want to have fun, maybe hook up with someone and move on.

“You don’t,” Jungkook breathed out as he leaned just a little closer, taking a small whiff of your shampoo. You were actually a little surprised by his growing proximity but you’re beginning to realize just how attracted you might be to him after just one meeting. In a low whisper he sighed, “I want the same thing.”

Your eyes widened slightly as he dropped his head down so his forehead was against your collarbone and though usually you would be immediately turned off by a man this forward, his touch felt good.

“Looks like you’ve dressed up for me Jungkook, I’m used to seeing you in some black tee,” you said in hopes of easing some of this growing sexual tension but it was no use. Jungkook’s other hand had made its way into your hair making you look at him. He smiled, “Didn’t know you were paying that much attention to me. How do you know how I dress on the regular?”

Yikes.

“Uh, you know… our windows actually—“ he cut you off with a soft laugh.

“Y/n, I’ve got a confession.”

You looked at him with furrowed brows, confusion and curiosity evident on your face. His eyes never left yours as he bit his lip nervously, “We’ve met before.”

Jungkook studied your expression to see if maybe you were remembering a little but you just stared at him blankly, “Before I moved in next door, we met at a club.”

A club? You asked yourself trying to find something in him that you might’ve missed and when it hit you your face flushed with embarrassment. You looked at him longer, pieces of your memory slowly coming back together and he sat there patiently.

You had been drunk, probably the drunkest you had been in a while.

You were mad and sad, maybe a little numb too.

You could barely see inside that place and couldn’t remember most of your conversations. You only knew that you had kissed someone because Jiyoung told you but to know it was Jungkook? Now that’s a huge coincidence.

“Wow,” you said at a loss for words. The memory was coming back to you but you felt insanely guilty for not realizing it earlier. No wonder he stared at you all the time, “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Jungkook released a light laugh, “Because I was hoping you would remember on your own, we did kiss after all.”

You covered your face with your hand in embarrassment, “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even… wow, I knew you looked familiar.”

He smiled warmly, “It’s alright.”

“What a coincidence, honestly.”

“I know,” Jungkook said, “Funny isn’t it? It’s like the universe keeps throwing us together.”

You laughed at that, “I don’t really believe in destiny but it is pretty interesting that all of a sudden we keep running into each other.”

His smile dropped and the hand he had in your hair became limp, “Y/n, how could you not believe in destiny? How do you think you’ll find your soulmate?”

“Soulmate?” You scoffed, unaware of the way his hands slowly withdrew from you, “Jungkook, don’t tell me you honestly believe in that soulmate bullshit? Do you think there’s just one person in this whole wide world destined for you only?”

“I do.”

“But how do you know who that person is?” You asked, switching places with him and combing your fingers through his hair which did seem to ease him a bit. His eyes were stone cold as he looked into yours, “You just know.”

“Well I don’t believe that,” you cleared your throat and looked away. The night has gone great but you don’t care much for this conversation. It didn’t take you long to notice the way he grew quiet and stared off like he was in his own world. You must’ve said something that upset him and in fear that you were already fucking up a seemingly good night out with your anti romantic antics, you curled a hand around his jaw and made him look up at you.

Jungkook was very visibly upset and you never knew a man could look so hurt over what you just said. He looked like a child who has just had his dreams crushed despite all the tattoos and piercings he wore. You smiled softly, “What do I have to say to get you to kiss me?”

You were being forward and a clear flirt and if Jungkook wasn’t so upset with you he would have probably melted in his seat but all he could think about is how often you’ve asked that to someone. He couldn’t get past what you said because it was a lie.

Soulmates did exist and he has to prove it to you that you’re his. Why else would his skin grow numb with your touch?

He gave up on telling himself he wasn’t happy right now and leaned closer again. Under the dim lights and music playing in the background it was hard not to feel this way in this atmosphere so he let his lips brush against yours while still debating. He had to be gentle.

Finally, without much debate, he pressed his lips against yours with a low whimper as you kissed him back. Jungkook’s nails dug into your thigh but not enough to hurt and with your hand on his jaw the two of you looked a bit too sexually charged for the lounge bar. It didn’t stop you from letting your tongue meet his as he took ownership of your mouth and nearly yanked your chair closer. Your hands landed on his chest for support but he only kissed you harder this time.

A sudden noise at your table made you jump back, biting his lip softly and it only made him groan in pleasure, chasing after your lips as you attempted to draw back. Your eyes opened watching the hostess carried your empty glasses away and you know she did that to make sure the two of you kept it PG and with a sense of embarrassment, you pulled away. Jungkook didn’t catch on or care as he began to kiss along your jaw if he couldn’t kiss your lips. Your mouth fell open when he nipped on your earlobe and you shyly glanced around the lounge praying nobody was watching.

“Jungkook,” you patted his shoulder to get him to move back but he only kissed further down, nearly at your exposed cleavage. Feeling flustered, you yanked at his hair in hopes that would get him to listen and it did but there was no denying that lust filled gaze in his eyes as he tugged his lip piercing between his teeth.

He’s nearly forgotten how fucking rude you were to him and his beliefs.

“Hm,” he hummed, searching your face for any sign that you wanted him to kiss you again.

“I think we should watch what we do in public,” you whispered shyly.

He licked his lips, “Should we get out of here then?”

You took yourself by surprise when you nodded your head despite knowing exactly what he meant by that. You wouldn’t usually do anything—not even a kiss—on the first meeting but right now you can’t deny that he seems to be hungry for you and though you don’t know why, you want him anyway.

It was all it took for him to grab you by the hand and help you off the high chair.

In the car you couldn’t keep your hands off each other, just trying to get Jungkook to drive off already was difficult with the way the two of you made out in his tinted car. He was half tempted to direct you over his lap and just do it in the car but that was just him being impatient. He needed to feel and see all of you, so with a low displeased grunt he pulled back ignoring the line of drool that connected your lips together as you drew back. Jungkook’s mouth was swollen and covered in lip gloss that he licked off as he started his car.

Just before taking off he made sure to lean across the middle console for one last kiss.

Now that you’ve kissed him you’re ashamed to admit how clear you remember the night of the club now. He really was the same guy and it’s shitty to say you only remember now that he’s told you.

Jungkook drove the familiar route to your shared apartment complex but instead of going to building five, he went to building six where his apartment was. He led you up an identical pair of stairs to an identical elevator and up an identical floor. He hurried to unlock his door looking behind him as if to make sure you were still around and as the door opened a large, skinny black dog came running over. Jungkook shushed him gently, flashing you a shy smile that you’ve never seen before, “I have to take him out real quick, down the hall to the right is my room.”

You nodded in understanding as you watched him leave with the dog and you followed directions. You were just a little tipsy but not like the first night you kissed. You could still see things clearly and you were very aware that you were about to have sex with a guy on the first date. A guy you lived across from at that—one you drunkenly kissed without knowing it. This was a new you and something you’ve never done but it didn’t stop you from looking around his bedroom finding it fitting.

He had a large king sized bed pushed against the black wall of band posters and Vinyls. His bedsheets were black silk and his headboard was a deep red velvet. Aside from the posters he had black and white sketches of various dark things from moths to skulls and even a few dead roses. He had a couple weights laying around and it was overall a clean and tidy room just a little darker than you expected. Even the large mirror he had over his headboard had a black wooden frame with engravings of vines and flowers on it. It was huge too and you could see the entire room from that angle. The room was dimly lit too with the light switch only turning on two lamps in the corners of the room and it gave it a warm and dark feel. To be honest… his bedroom was as hot as he was, just imagining the things he could do to you in these silk sheets was enough for you to clench your thighs shut.

In the background some music started playing from a different room letting you know Jungkook was back.

Mascara by Deftones played in the back as Jungkook returned to you, standing behind you in the mirror and you watched as his tattooed arm came around your waist to the front of your stomach while he pressed you into his chest. He rested his chin on your shoulder, “You’re so fucking pretty.”

You smiled shyly as he began to leave soft kisses along your neck, his ringed fingers coming up to push your hair out of his way and you felt your breath hitch when his teeth nipped at your earlobe. Turning your head to face him, you pressed your lips against his and he met you with an open mouth kiss letting the hand on your stomach slip under your fitted forest green long sleeve top, it must be your favorite color, he realized. You had chosen to go brakes underneath and he noticed right away but like a gentleman he forced himself not to stare. Now he’s free to feel up your soft stomach and bunch up the shirt to feel your breasts in his hands.

He was quite literally feeling you up for your own viewing with the way the two of you stood in front of the window. Your breath hitched when his cold fingertips brushed along your exposed nipples, teasing you as you made out out and you felt your body slowly turning to mush in his hands. You wore this black silky skirt with velvet black flowers on and it was short but flowy so it gave his other hand easy access to the expanse of your thighs and you felt like you were being manhandled in the most gentle way.

His tattooed hand disappeared under your skirt and you felt his teasing touch along your thighs but avoiding the space between your legs as his other hand punched your nipple making you whine into his mouth. This was all a bit bizarre but you could hear your friends now cheering you on for getting laid by the hot guy next door.

You blame the fact that you haven’t had sex in a while by how aroused you were and how easy it was for him to push you forward until you were crawling onto his silk sheets ready to turn on your back but you couldn’t. Jungkook pushed you face down onto his bed and he crawled over you kissing your neck as he grabbed at the hem of your skirt and pulled it down. He had already pulled your shirt up to reveal your breasts and now he was yanking your underwear down too until he threw it along with the skirt on the floor. You gasped as he maneuvered your body to his liking, tits pressed against the sheets while lifting your hips so your bare butt was in the air.

Jungkook was trying to take his time but you just looked so ready for his touch too and all the little whimpers in surprise by the way he held you was too much for him to remain calm. He had so much he wanted to do to you.

His fingers trembled as he ran them along your naked backside and spine, kissing whatever he touched until finally he was kissing your lower back, hands finally finding your hips and dropping down to the space between your legs. You had to clench the silk in your hands to keep yourself from squirming in anticipation, unable to help yourself from gasping, “Jungkook.”

The sound of his name falling from your lips had him greedily diving forward letting his tongue out and licking the first swipe along your folds catching you by surprise. With a low growl in frustration, he pinched your hips and dragged them back until he was able to fully press his face into your wet heat that had his eyes rolling back knowing he’s the one who’s made you like this in such a short time.

The last Deftones song ended and a new one began but it went completely unnoticed by the two of you as he began to let his eagerness show with the way he ate you out from behind.

He wanted to be buried in your perfect cunt until he could barely breathe. If he ran out of breath, if he fucking suffocated, he would die a happy man knowing he’s found the one meant for him and that he’s able to pleasure you to the point where your thighs already began to shake. You dug your face into the bed to hide your moans and he only took that as a challenge to make you be louder to the point where you can’t hide it.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned softly unable to hold yourself back.You were so fucking wet. Your slick was all over his chin and his nose as he found your clit with ease. You were moaning loudly now, grinding into his face with enough force to make him dizzy. His nails were digging into your soft thighs, not once bothering to pull away for air. . Anyone nearby could listen to the feral sound he was able to rouse from his mouth despite being buried in that sweet, sweet cunt, he did not care. He was going to make you beg for him harder.

"Fuck," your head turned to the side, cheek pressed into the sheets as if you could get a look at him from the back, "Please," he heard you whisper, desperation spilling from your tone. Breathless moans and a few choice curse words followed before he felt you become restless, close to orgasm and trying to push him away before the pleasure became overwhelming. Even if this was his first time with you, he knew how bad you wanted it so he didn’t move back, choosing instead to lap at your slick folds feeling your walls try and tighten around his tongue, "Yes, fuck, right there, baby. Don't stop."

The term of endearment was enough to make him moan into your pussy but he won’t stop. Not until his cock was buried tightly between your walls feeling you come undone around him like he'd been craving for since he met you. Alternating between sucking on your clit and quickly lapping his tongue against it, Jungkook could feel your body begin to tremble and it only made his hold on your hips tighten to keep you in place. Your hips began to turn into his face failing miserably and getting him off and instead of saying to stop, you said, “S-so close.”.

His tongue lapped at your folds creating a squelching sound, your hips rutting against his face. He sucked on your clit, tongue hitting the tip with each swivel as the hand on your hip was suddenly pinching. A low growl vibrated between your walls as he ate you from behind and your eyes burned with the need to keep them open, your hand hit the bed feeling yourself become restless and before you could say anything your walls were breaking. Jungkook never once slowed down, licking and sucking away your release as your legs shook and gave out yet he held your hips up to his face until he was satisfied.

Jungkook tried easing you down from your first orgasm of the night and when he finally sat back all he could see as he looked down was your pretty body facing down on his bed where you belonged. He licked his lips, hand barely grazing over his hardened member which still stayed confined in his black jeans and with a soft caress over your butt he whispered, “Give me a second, baby.”

You barely nodded, unable to move as he left the bed in search of his master bathroom. He began to rummage through his drawers praying to the universe that he had just one condom. It had been so long since he last had sex and though he would love to feel all of you during your first time, he also knew he had to be safe. He was too worked up right now to remind himself to pull out so he had to find some sort of protection. He created so much noise in his hurry and when he found one he felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

When he came back out to his bedroom you had rid yourself of your shirt from being overheated but you still laid face down trying to keep cool. He smiled warmly as he pulled at the neckline of his long sleeve till it was off his head and checked it to the ground leaving his chains on. Next to come off was his black belt that hit the floor with a heavy thud along with his black jeans and white Calvin Kleins. He tore into the package of the condom rolling it on swiftly as he slowly stroked himself to the sight of you, unable to stop his tattooed hand from running along his own abs to his nipples where the piercings had turned them sensitive. He pressed a knee to the bed, cock in hand as he lined himself behind you, not pushing in but angling your hips how he wanted them and let his dick thrust between your fold teasingly. You released a surprised whimper that had him smiling and he found himself lying over you just enough but not hard enough to crush you.

With his free hand he brushes your hair off your back and shoulder, moving it to one side so he can see your pretty face, “You ready, baby?” It was his turn to call you that and it sounded so perfect falling from his gorgeous lips. You nodded your head shyly, hips already withering with the way his cock teased your entrance but never went in.

He smiled lovingly, “Words, love.”

“Yes,” you moaned as his tip began to press into your opening, “Fuck, need you inside.”

Jungkook bit his piercing as he nodded, pulling back just enough to guide his cock into your wet pussy. You both released a silent moan as he began to stretch you open with his thick dick. His tattooed arm came to your lower back for support as he stopped himself from thrusting all the way in but he couldn’t take it. He needed you to feel all of him, so he pressed a little more, other hand holding up your hips to fuck you from behind. When you finally began to fuck yourself on his cock, he knew you were ready and with the same hand he had on your back, he wrapped it around your waist until he was pulling up your seemingly limp body to his chest.

"Want me to do all the work while you just lay there, huh baby?" His hand slid between your breasts to grab at your throat forcing your jaw to stay open making you moan.

You shook your head no as you arched your back off of him so you could fuck yourself on his cock but with the arm loosely around your throat it was hard to move more. His brows scrunched together in pleasure when your wetness created such a soft glide into your warm pussy that he couldn’t help but sneak his other hand down your front too and touch your clit. Your head lolled to the side as he began to leave harsh love bites on your neck and through dazed eyes you found your gaze shifting back to the black mirror that hung over his headboard and when he found where your attention had gone to, he looked at himself too.

It was erotic the way the two of you fucked in his black and red room with sultry rock music playing in the background and your slutty body being pinched at by his rough hands while he impaled you with his cock. You haven’t even had a chance to fully devour the sight of his body, he was so focused on eating you out and getting right to fucking you.

But you loved it. You loved having his hand around your throat. You loved the rough pace he was setting. You loved the animalistic way he'd dropped down to his knees and ate you out like your pussy was his last meal. You loved the way this stranger who wasn’t much of a stranger fucked you roughly yet so gentle and loving, making you feel so good. You were close again and he was too. His free hand flew down to your pubic bone pushing you back onto his cock until he was buried to the hilt and kept himself there breathing heavily. His eyes squeezed shut feeling you shake with a loud moan that he had to cover your mouth with his other hand to block. He turned your face over by your jaw smashing his lips onto yours feeling your body tremble with release that he had to giggle.

You came so easily each time and he was nowhere near done with you even as your body became mush in his hands. Jungkook found himself struggling to breathe as your walls tightened around him feeling your release dribble down his cock to his balls and with a quiet grunt, he came in the condom hugging you to his chest as you both fell onto the bed with him on top of you.

When he was able to catch his breath better he took the condom off and collapsed down at your side, staring up at the ceiling and you finally had a chance to see him in all his naked glory. The piercings he wore on his nipples were silver barbells and you couldn’t help but stare at the way his chest rose and fell with every shaky breath he released. Your eyes trailed down his body toward his dick which rested against his stomach still hard. Jungkook could feel you watching him, he took your hand in his, bringing it toward his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

Unable to help yourself you pulled yourself up, a leg thrown over his thigh and you kissed him. Jungkook’s breath hitched as he moved his mouth against yours, feeling your tongue swipe over his lip ring tugging on it softly.

You placed a palm on his chest, fingertip just millimeters away from his right nipple and you touched the bar. He brought a hand around your neck keeping you in place to make out while feeling your finger do right circles around his bud, moving the bar gently. Jungkook couldn’t do anything about the way his dick hardened once more, thrilled to know you wanted to keep going.

He’s had sex many times yet nothing has ever felt as good as what you two just did and if you want to do it again then that means you feel the same. You need him just as bad.

A low groan left his lips as you attempted to pull away and he only let you when you very lightly tugged on the metal bar, you kissed down his neck and collarbone. Jungkook licked his swollen red lips as he stared blankly at the ceiling trying not to get too eager but he really did not want to cum so quickly again. Your lips wrapped around his left nipple immediately drawing out a moan from him when your tongues licked over the cold metal. He took a hold of your free hand and couldn’t help but bring it down to his hard cock.

"Fuck," he groaned when your hand tightened around his fist forcing the grip on his cock to squeeze in an upward stroke, he was fucking himself with your hand as you sucked and tugged on his nipples. He licked his dry lips, "I want to fuck you so bad."

He received no response but that didn’t stop him from letting out any noise he wanted to, almost louder than the rock music outside. He licked his lips, biting back a groan as you left a sloppy open mouth kisses against his skin, tongue soothing any sting your teeth left when they nipped him. Your tongue circled around his nipple again while taking over stroking his cock as his fist flew to his mouth to hide loud moans.

Earlier Jungkook asked if you wanted him to do all that work and honestly, that’s how you preferred it. You didn’t like having to do much work during sex but Jungkook made you just want to keep going. It’s like he was pulling you in by just being himself.

His legs shook when your hand released his dick to go massage his balls, feeling your grip pull on his flesh making him wince in pleasure. Deciding he couldn’t take not doing anything, his fingers found their way into your hair by the back of your neck, and though he tried not to do it too harshly, pulled you off of him.

“Get on top,” he said with a deep raspy voice that went straight down between your legs but you shook your hand.

You wanted to feel the weight of him in your mouth but you also wanted to feel him inside of you again. You looked at him, “I’m on the pill.”

“Good,” Jungkook said as he helped you move to straddle his hips, “Because I’m out of condoms.”

He needs to remind himself that if he’s going to be with you he needs to buy more. That one had just been sitting in his drawer and he’s really sure how long but it wasn’t expired yet. He also knew he hasn’t had any sex in a few months now and he had no reason for any but now he has you. Now he has to think about you and he swears he will but you don’t seem to mind the way he lines you up with his pointed cock and slowly brings your hips down.

“Oh my god,” you sighed as you sank down with ease and let yourself get readjusted and comfortable with the stimulation again. Usually it’s hard for a guy to make you cum but Jungkook did so easily and he’s already on his way to bring a third out of you. A third. You’ve only brought him to one yet he doesn’t seem to mind, more eager to fuck you with his cock to care.

“Fucking hell," he said moaning as he fucked into you, with a concentrated face watching the way your hips gyrated. Your nails clawed at his chest and accidentally tugged at his piercing a little too harshly and you immediately went to apologize at the sudden grunt that fell from his lips but went quiet when Jungkook sat up and turned you onto your back underneath him. The second he was on top and more in control the pace picked up. You could feel him begin to leave love bites on your chest but the tipping point was when he sucked on your nipple as your body bounced off the bed with each thrust. After all the abuse you did on his piercings he was tired and horny and ready to blow his load and he needed you there too.

This time you’re very aware of how crazy you’re about to sound. You don’t know Jungkook. You’ve kissed him as a stranger and now you’re sleeping with him as one but… but he wants more. He wants romance and you can just tell by the way he talks to you. For some reason that’s making it a lot easier for you to give him affection back and more willing to let him be with you. You weren’t thinking clearly though when you said, “Cum inside.”

Jungkook’s gaze darkened as he groped your breasts looking you in the eye and never once stopping his thrusts, “Really?”

“Yes.”

Jungkook crashed his mouth against yours holding you tighter and that’s when it hit you. You scratched along his back whining as you came around him. Jungkook practically hugged your body to his as his legs nearly gave out with his release.

You were sweaty and hot gasping for breath as he pulled out with much disappointment. He looked down at your naked body feeling all sorts of things he couldn’t understand but knew they were good. Just look at how fucked out you are. He wanted to go again but he knows for a fact how bad of an idea that was.

Right now it was in the heat of the moment to not use protection and a bad idea to do it again so he but his tongue and ran a gentle hand along your calf, “You okay?”

“Bathroom?” You asked ready to clean yourself and he pointed it out watching you leave. He fell back on his bed with a huge grin feeling at an all time high, unable to stay still as he shot up and found a towel to clean himself with in bed. When you came back out you didn’t even hesitate to crawl into his oleen arms tiredly.

“Sorry for earlier,” you said softly as you pointed at his red nipple. You had tugged a little too hard on accident and thought it brought him pain it also gave him extreme pleasure. He just smiled hugging you to his side, “I kinda liked it.”

You laughed with him, “Did they hurt?”

“Mm,” Jungkook looked up in thought. He couldn’t help but think about how much you two looked like a couple enjoying their company after making love, “Want me to tell you the truth or what will make me sound cooler?”

“Both,” you said, making him chuckle.

“Alright… I didn’t feel shit,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “But the second one also hurt so fucking bad it almost brought this grown man to tears.”

You laughed at his honesty making yourself more comfortable against him, “Why’d you get all these tattoos and piercings then?”

“So a pretty girl like you could ask me why,” he said teasingly and smiled when you rolled your eyes, “And because I thought they would make me look badass.”

“They do,” you laughed, daring to close your eyes and the way he let your hair was enough to have you falling asleep. You slept for a short moment, very short that had been cut short by a loud dog barking by the door. Jungkook groaned as he shouted out for Bam as you sat up looking dazed and confused.

Jungkook hurried to turn off the music and apologize to Bam for being so loud before practically running to you. He fell back into his bed quickly hoping to go back to sleep with you but it was too late. You didn’t mean to fall asleep and now look at the time. In hopes of distracting you, he leant forward and kissed you.

“I have to go,” you sighed against his lips as he kissed you again. It didn’t even seem like he heard you so you pushed at his face gently to get him to back up as you repeated, “I have to go.”

His eyebrows scrunched together as he used the small grip in your hair to hold you away from him, “Why?”

“Armani’s been alone for hours,” you said with a sigh and nothing in your voice sounded like you weren’t serious. He let you sit up but he quickly followed, “Who?”

“My cat,” you clarified as you looked around for your clothes. A scoff left his lips as he scratched his head, ruffling up his sex hair even more, “You’re leaving me for a cat?”

His eyes shifted to the alarm clock on his nightstand, “It’s past midnight.”

That made you laugh, “Jungkook, I’m just next door, besides if I don’t get home now Amarni will destroy my pillows again, trust me. He’s crazy.”

You ran your hand along his chest, half tempted to brush a finger over his piercing to see if he would suck in a breath like he did before.

Jungkook huffed in annoyance as he got up and slipped on the closest pair of pants he could find and threw on an old t-shirt. You looked at him, but he just scruffed up his hair again, still slightly dazed from the good fuck you two just had. He yawned, “I’ll walk you back then.”

You didn’t argue as he followed you out of his apartment and you really did feel a bit flustered doing this but you had to. You really weren’t lying about Armani, he’s a cat who likes routine and you told him you would be coming home tonight. If he notices that you might not be back he’ll act like a total brat and scratch up your pillows like last time. Plus, if you left then you wouldn’t have to worry about being kicked out and forced to take the walk of shame in the morning.

You stood in front of your apartment door with Jungkook right there in front of you. You leaned against your door for a second as you looked back at him, “I’m sorry.”

“Hm,” he trailed off, taking a step closer to you until one arm was around your waist and a hand was on your neck, “When can I see you again?” It was very obvious that leaving you was the last thing he wanted to do. You bit your bottom lip with raised brows, a bit in shock that he wanted to see you again. Despite how great tonight was, Jungkooked pegged you as a womanizer. Why would he want to see you again?

“I don’t know, I’m sort of busy these next couple of days.” Once again, it was not a lie. You had plans with your friends tomorrow and you’ll be busy with work.

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed and before he could stop himself, he asked, “Are you lying to me?”

You’re leaving his bed for a fucking cat and now you’re telling him you’ll be too busy to see him? What bullshit lie was that? Did you not want to see him again after tonight? Do you think he’s going to let you give up that easily?

The question was unexpected but he spoke to you in his usual gentle and deep tone that you were a little confused to answer.

“No, I’ve got plans tomorrow and I’ll be working all day this week,” you said with narrowed eyes, “Why would I lie to you?”

Jungkook smiled softly now as if he hadn’t looked so serious seconds ago, “You’re right, I’m sorry I guess it didn’t make sense to me at first. I’m feeling tired.”

He acted strangely and you’re beginning to pick up on that a little bit but that only caught your interest more, like you wanted to know what his deal was. Why is a seemingly charming and good looking man single? You’re sure he gets hit on all the time and he might enjoy it even if he’s planning to sleep with you. What was his deal?

You placed a hand on the back of his neck and without much effort, reached up to capture his lips with yours. He didn’t put up a fight at all, choosing instead to focus on your tender affection, reminiscent of the night you’ve just spent together. He could stay like this for the rest of the night if you let him.

You told yourself over and over again that you weren’t going to get caught up on a guy again and yet here you are making out with this guy who you kissed right after a break up weeks ago all over again. Was this even what you wanted?

You gave him a wary smile, “I’ll call you?”

Music played loudly in the dimly lit studio and all you heard was the sound of tattoo guns buzzing away.

Rosemary by Deftones filled the black room as Jungkook bit his lip ring in concentration, not bothering to turn at the sound of the front door opening and closing. Namjoon and Yoongi walked into the tattoo parlor that was covered from floor to ceiling in artwork and pictures Jungkook did.

Jungkook was dressed in all black with his tatted hands hidden away by black latex gloves. He had his hair tied back and out of his face so he can work better and his black chunky boots tapped against the floor to the best of the music every now and then when he hummed to himself.

“You almost done?” Namjoon asked as he looked at what he was working on right now. His client sat in the chair with her neck tilted to the side as he did a shaded tattoo behind her ear. The girl was hot, dyed black hair, tattoos, piercings and quite literally the female version of Jungkook yet he didn’t so much as smile whenever she tried to clearly hit on him.

“Almost,” Jungkook said as he used a hand wipe to clean off excess ink. He tilted his head in thought as he looked it over, “Actually, yeah I am. Take a look in the mirror.”

He wheeled his chair back as he pulled off his gloves and looked at his friends, “What are you guys doing here?”

He took his vape out of his pocket and hit it right there in front of them as he waited for the chick to come back and tell him what she thinks about it. Yoongi sat in the unused tattoo chair, “Let’s get some drinks.”

“Alright,” Jungkook said simply. The two looked at each other in confusion as Jungkook told the girl how much it was and tucked the cash into his pocket. They thought it would have taken more to convince him like it usually did. As he finished up with the client he had a little smile on his face and was humming along to whatever song was playing off his phone.

“That was easy,” Namjoon pointed out.

“I’m done for the day anyway,” Jungkook shrugged.

He closed the shop and went to the back where his things were. Yoongi and Namjoon waited out front by the counter, taking in the sight of Jungkook’s tattoo parlor. It wasn’t big by any means but he got a lot of business. The room looked exactly like something Jungkook would decorate and he gets a lot of clients every day. It probably helps that clients tell their friends about him and they come too, looking to get a tattoo from him. It’s not a surprise that most of his clients are women.

Yoongi looked slightly bored waiting for Jungkook to finish and he found himself skimming all the papers on Jungkook’s counter. His brows furrowed as he picked up a small slip of paper and let his eyes widen as he read it. It was receipts from a few floral shops,

An order of 20 bouquets of Baby Breath’s flowers.

He tapped Namjoon on the shoulder until he had his attention and showed him the paper.

When Jungkook came out, he found himself asking, “What’s up with all these flowers?”

The smile on Jungkook’s face seemed to tighten as he took the paper out of their hands, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Is it for the chick you’re seeing? That’s a bit extreme don’t you think?” Namjoon asked with a chuckle as the three left the studio letting Jungkook lock it up. He didn’t say anything for a second.

It wasn’t extreme.

It was romantic?

You worked as a florist. You liked flowers, you liked Baby Breath flowers and he looked up what they meant.

Undying love.

That’s what he felt for you and he wanted to give you a gift you’ll enjoy. Did he maybe go too far? Yeah, but you won’t be upset. You can’t be.

“Wait, how did I not know you’re seeing someone?” Yoongi asked.

“I didn’t know for a while either,” Namjoon told him, “Jungkook show him a picture.”

“Alright,” Jungkook said as he exited out of the app he was currently on to go through his camera roll. He got in the backseat of Yoongi’s car, scrolling through his pictures until he found one. A smile came to his face as he took a second to admire you.

He took this picture last night. You couldn’t see much because the lights were off but after the two of you made love you had fallen asleep. It was right before you jolted awake remembering your stupid cat but he got a picture of you sleeping soundly against him. Your hair framed your face perfectly and you looked so peaceful and at home in his arms that he needed a picture to remember the first night together. It was also the first photo he took of you up close.

“Shit, hang this up in a museum,” Yoongi joked because it really was a nice picture, “How long have you been together?”

“A while.”

When they got to the bar it was already packed with sweaty bodies that made Jungkook cringe whenever someone bumped into him. They got their drinks and went to a table, “So how did the two of you meet?”

“Y/n lives next door,” Jungkook said as he tilted his phone a bit so they couldn’t see the way he switched to another app. He typed in his password and went straight to the video footage. He just had to know if you were home yet.

“Damn, you just moved there too, how’d you pull someone that fast?” Yoongi laughed because they didn’t know that Jungkook just started talking to you a couple days ago. To them, Jungkook and you have been dating for a few weeks now.

“We met a little before that,” His brows knitted together as he looked at the footage. Your curtains were drawn so he couldn’t see in and he can’t tell if you’re home or not. He immediately went to text you.

jungkook: are you home yet? :)

You’ll be honest, you saw Jungkook’s text but you couldn’t bring it in yourself to answer. You have been texting with Jungkook nonstop since that Friday night where he fucked you so good that you woke up with bruises on your hips and left scratch marks along his back that he generously decided to show you a picture of over text.

You’re not sure what to think about him either. Friday night was fun, you got drinks and got to know him better, he treated you right and aside from that strange conversation about destiny the night went perfect. He took you back to his place where you quite literally had the best sex you’ve had in a while and he didn’t ghost you right after. Hell, he made you not want to leave but you did anyway.

Today you’ve been texting on and off and it was all your fault. He responds so quickly but you get busy or forget to respond until he sends another like right now. The last text he sent was asking what time you got off but you had been dealing with delivery orders so you never responded. You had completely forgotten about it until you were in the elevator to your building heading home. Your friend Jiyoung was right behind you, ready to nap on your couch but you weren’t paying attention to her anymore.

You were so focused on your phone that you nearly missed the sight before you as you walked down the hall to your apartment. Your expression changed to that of confusion as you stopped a few feet away from your door. You couldn’t even get to it with the line of bouquets scattered across the entrance. Some lined the walls, some bunched up in front of your door, some had cards in them.

“What the fuck?” Jiyoung asked as she counted them, “Who did this?”

Without much debate, you bent down and took a card in your hands, flipping it open to read:

“For my undying love.”

You couldn’t do anything but blink in surprise. What did this mean?

“Let’s get them inside,” you said with a sigh as you unlocked your front door and urged your friend to help you put them in. It took a few back and forth trips for the both of you but once you scattered them all in your apartment it was very overwhelming.

“This is crazy,” Jiyoung said even as she laughed, “You’ve got an admirer? Is that guy from the other night?”

“Um,” you bit your lip, confused and a little thrown off by this, “Give me a second.”

Jiyoung waved you off as she threw herself on your couch and moved a vase off the coffee table so she had an unobstructed view of your tv. You went straight to your bedroom already pulling up Jungkook’s contact information and dialing.

“Are you home?”

“I am,” you said as you took in your bedroom and it’s lack of flowers, “It was you, right?”

“What?” Jungkook asked over the loud music. He could barely hear you and without another word he was getting up to find somewhere quieter. He ended up in the hall that led toward the restrooms where the music was a bit drowned out.

“The flowers, was it you?”

His smile seemed to drop, “Why? Were you hoping for someone else?”

“No,” you told him, “I just…”

“You don’t like them? I thought they were your favorite,” he said with a boyish smile, proud of himself. He watched some drunk girls stumble past him with disgust.

“They are my favorite,” you said, “Uh, thank you but how'd you find a place that had this many Baby’s Breath?”

“Oh! I had to call up a few different places,” Jungkook said, “And obviously I couldn’t call you because that would ruin the surprise—Hey! Now that you’re home, should I come over?”

“Oh um, I have some friends over, remember?” You asked him shyly. You could hear him take a deep breath but you’re not sure if that meant anything or not.

Who did you have over? Was it that same guy he’s seen before? What was going on between you two anyway?

Some girl bumped into him and he turned to her with a glare, almost forgetting that he had you on the phone. She smiled at him like that would make things better but he was starting to get annoyed. It wasn’t her fault but that didn’t change the fact that her touching him just bothered him. He turned away to talk to you again. He forced his voice to sound light, “I remember, you’re busy.”

“Sorry,” you apologized gnawing on your bottom lip, “How about tomorrow?”

He smiled, “Tomorrow? I’m down.”

“Okay let’s meet then but I have to go now.”

Jungkook said his goodbye and stood in the dark hall in thought. He had to find a way to get a camera in your house. He can’t see much just from the window and he needs to know who you invite over when he’s not around.

“Excuse me.”

He turned back to the drunk that hadn’t left yet despite his efforts to ignore her presence. She smiled at him sweetly like that would make him swoon but he was mad and it wouldn’t work. You were too busy for him but not your friends?

“What?” He asked, already trying to walk back to his friends.

“You look familiar, have we met before?” She asked, following after him and he turned looking at her from head to toe and it made her blush.

“Definitely not.” He was leaving again until a small hand wrapped around his bicep and with an annoyed look he looked back at her. His patience was running thin.

“Well, uh, here then,” she pushed a paper into his hands finally releasing her hold on his bicep. He looked down at the line of paper that she clearly got from the restroom with a number scribbled on it in a rush.

His eyes shifted back to hers and instead of running off shyly she held his gaze with a confident smile. The paper sat in his open palm and without tearing his gaze away from her he made a fist crumpling the paper in his hold and just like that, he threw it on the floor, “What makes you think I would be interested in you?”

He even had the nerve to laugh when she looked taken back. He left without another word and went back to his friends.

“Who was that on the phone?” Yoongi asked when he sat back down. He smiled that bunny smile, “Y/n.”

“What’d she think about the flowers?” Namjoon asked curiously.

“She loved them,” Jungkook cleared his throat, “I think.”

And you’ll love the tattoo just behind his ear too.

“I can’t help but think you look a little tense, Kook.”

Jungkook ignored his friend as he delivered another hit to the punching bag with a low grunt. Make Me Bad by Korn played loudly in the empty training room. He ignored Seokjin as he continued to hit the punching bag. Jin released a sigh as he sat back and watched his friend release whatever stress he felt.

“She’s avoiding me,” Jungkook said to himself as he hit the bag hard. Jin wasn’t fully listening anymore but Jungkook didn’t seem to care as he went on, “She’s lying to me.”

“She’s fucking lying to me,” he hit the 200lb punching bag hard enough to make it move back from the bar and farther away from him.

“Who the fuck are you talking about?” Jin asked, watching Jungkook throw off his waistband and gloves. His nose was running from how hard he was working out and his heart pumped with adrenaline. He sniffled as he pushed back his sweaty curls, “Y/n. She hasn’t texted me back in over an hour.”

“She’s probably busy,” Jin said, watching Jungkook lift his shirt up to wipe at his forehead.

“She’s not,” Jungkook said with a tensed jaw, “I know exactly what she’s doing.”

Just before he came to train with Jin he looked at his camera. You had the windows open today and you had people over. He doesn’t care if you invite people over but two guys?

Two guys?

Wasn’t he enough?

One of those guys was over all the fucking time and that pissed him off. How could he be sure you’re not messing around with one of them behind his back?

Jin wasn’t as close to Jungkook as the other two. They were friends and hung out often but he’s not as caught up with Jungkook and his antics as the others. To him, Jungkook was just hoping to be with his girlfriend, so he sighed and said, “So go over and see what she’s up to.”

Jungkook didn’t quite hear his friend with his loud thoughts drumming in his ears so he turned to him with dark eyes, “You think she’s cheating on me?”

“Only one way to find out,” Jin said with a smirk, unaware of how far Jungkook will go to know. He watched his friend’s mind run rampant but he just sat back comfortably. Jungkook was just a concerned boyfriend after all. He didn’t think deeply about his comment, he assumed maybe Jungkook would just tell him to fuck off but he really did look pissed.

When they finished their training, Jungkook rushed over to his place to wash off his work out. He practically ran next door jumping steps to go to you and when he knocked on your door, he couldn’t help but look upset when another man opened it.

It took a second for Taehyung to recognize him, he’s never seen him up close before but when he caught sight of the tattoo sleeve he knew exactly who this guy was. He looked back into your apartment ready to call you over only to find you standing behind him already, “Jungkook?”

Taehyung moved out of the way and let Jungkook through who immediately went right to you, “I wanted to see you, is this a bad time?”

You looked back to your friends who didn’t even pretend to act like they weren’t eavesdropping. You smiled, “No, come in, we’re just talking.”

Jungkook didn’t hesitate to follow you inside and you led him straight to the kitchen, “Want a drink?”

“Mhm,” Jungkook responded, watching you sweetly as you opened and closed cabinets. You served him a drink and asked, “What’s that red mark by your eye?”

It took him a moment to process what you were asking and he brought a hand up, “Oh, I was boxing and I think my friend hit me a little too hard.”

You made a pouting face teasingly, “Poor baby.”

He smiled knowing you were just teasing him but also showing interest, “Kiss it better?” With a roll of your eyes you leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss near his eye. You led him back to the living room where your friends were.

“So you’re the one who Y/n’s cheating on me with,” Hoseok joked right away and it made you roll your eyes as the others laughed. Jungkook didn’t react but his gaze did seem to harden as he stared at the stranger. You scooted a little closer to Jungkook letting him wrap his arm around you as you leaned back on the couch, “Pack it up Hobi, the joke’s old.”

“It’s not a joke to me!” Hoseok said with a wink as he turned to Jungkook, “Alright whatever, as long as you’re better than the last guy.”

“Oh my god!” Jiyoung squeaked, “Hobi, you can’t just say things like that. Are you drunk?”

He smiled, “I’m just saying.”

Jungkook tilted his head in your direction but you just sighed, “Please ignore them.”

“Oh.”

“So, what are you two anyway? You went crazy with the flowers,” Taehyung asked curiously, joking a little at the end.

Jungkook kept his gaze down, trying his hardest to ignore your friends while also listen in to your answer. You raised your cup to your lips looking at Jungkook who met your gaze hesitantly.

Say he’s your boyfriend, Jungkook thought.

Say you’re his.

Say he’s the on—

“We’re just… yknow, having fun?”

He stopped.

His muscles tensed, tongue poking against his cheek as he looked away from you to hide his expression. His lips curled with the need to scoff but he kept it in. He wanted to ask you why you would say that but not in front of the others. It should be a private conversation between the two of you about your relationship because you clearly weren’t just having fun.

He kept his gaze focused on the picture you had hanging above the fireplace mantle. Your apartment was identical to him and he looked at every corner as if in search of something. With a clear of his throat, he turned to you, “Bathroom?”

“I’ll show you,” you said, patting his thigh as you rose to your feet. You took his hand in yours immediately shooting electricity down his arm as he held it tightly. You pointed to the bathroom but before you got there you asked, “You okay? You’re being kind of quiet.”

“I’m fine, I’m having fun,” Jungkook said with a strained voice, he never tore his gaze away from yours as you stood in front of him near the bathroom. You haven’t known him for long but you do know that when Jungkook looks at you, he never looks this strained. There was clearly something on his mind.

With a defeated sigh, you gave up on asking him anything and went back to the living room. Jungkook waited against the door for a minute to see if you would come back. When you didn’t he took a turn down the rest of the hall fumbling with something he shoved in the big pocket of his black cargo pants.

He looked down at the tiniest camera he’s ever seen and like he was walking into his own place, he went straight to your bedroom. He moved swiftly, finding exactly where he wanted to hide it and in no time he was back to the bathroom pretending to be busy.

You released a sigh, “Let’s call it a night.”

You enjoyed having your friends over and you had spent pretty much all evening with them but you’re getting tired already. It was late, you had a surprisingly busy day today and all your social battery is just completely out. Plus, if they’re just going to talk or tease Jungkook then you'd rather just call it a night. You feel it in your gut that you said something that annoyed him at least a little and it’s probably when they asked what the two of you were.

You don’t know what your relationship with him is, if you’re being honest. Since the beginning you told yourself you didn’t want to date but it feels like that’s what Jungkook wants. You shouldn’t lead him on so you should be open about what you’re looking for but you also don’t want to make him stop talking to you. You have no idea how he really thinks about you so it’s all just so confusing.

“Awe,” Jiyoung whined as she watched you begin to clean up some of the things. The guys seemed too drunk to even care that you were kicking them out as they got up without complaint. When Jungkook finished up he came out to an empty apartment.

He didn’t like what he felt at the moment. You telling your friends that it’s all just fun really bothered him and it made him realize that he hasn’t asked the right questions. Jungkook played with his lip ring as he watched you clean up and he found himself asking, “So uh, how long ago was your last relationship? Your friend brought it up kind of and I guess I just never asked that sort of thing.”

“Um…” your movements seemed to slow as you thought about how to answer, “Two months ago?”

It was quiet for a moment and as hard as you tried, you couldn’t read his expression. Jungkook’s gaze hardened as he tried to think of what happened two months ago, “When we met? Do you still talk to him?”

You rolled your eyes remembering your ex boyfriend. At the time you definitely were a lot more hurt about it now but that doesn’t mean you want to talk about the guy. He cheated on you and now you’re scared it’ll happen again if you start dating.

“No, he cheated on me,” you told Jungkook as you sat down on your couch. Jungkook bit his lip ring hard in thought.

If you and the guy broke up around the time where he met you then that would mean when he met you at the club and saw your bloodshot eyes… it must’ve been when you broke up. You kissed him in the middle of a heartbreak too drunk to even remember. Now you’re telling your friends it’s all just some fun you’re having fun with him and he still doesn’t get what that means.

You watched him stare off into space, eyes wide in thought and you patted the spot on the couch next to yours for him to sit down. You know you’re confusing and you really don’t think you want to be in a relationship but Jungkook… it’s hard to explain. He’s a little intense and sometimes too pushy but for some reason you really did like him.

As he sat down you couldn’t help but play with the Sterling silver Vivienne Westwood chain necklace he wore. He watched your finger hook itself onto the chain and his breath hitched at the warm touch of your finger against his skin. You looked at him with wide and sparkly eyes that had his tongue playing with his lip ring as he bunched up the hem of his black Nirvana tee in his fingers to stop his hands from shaking by having you so close. Without much warning, you tugged on the chain with your index finger and like a devoted pet, he was following your call until his lips met yours. Some of his longer curls tickled your cheeks and he kissed you with such eagerness nearly toppling over you when you pulled on the chain.

His teeth pulled on your bottom lip softly as he opened his eyes, looking down at you, “I would never hurt you like the others have.”

You’ve grown used to the way Jungkook acts around you. He likes to be the one to do things for you despite you being able to do it on your own. He hates when you don’t text back in an hour or two. He always seems to know when you’re not home, he offers to pick you up from work, he tries to come anytime you go out with your friends. He’s just sort of always around. You’re not sure if he’s like that with others but that’s how he is with you.

You should definitely be a little burdened by it, it’s suffocating honestly but you genuinely don’t think Jungkook has bad intentions with it. He doesn’t talk much about himself or his friends or family but he always seems to be interested in hearing everything about you. You’re not sure if he has many other people to talk to and you enjoy his time too much to push him away.

One thing you hate to admit and really the only downside to him is his obsession with getting you flowers. The first time the two of you went out he asked you what flowers you liked and you told him absentmindedly. You never expected him to have so many bouquets of them delivered—nor did you expect to receive one every time you saw him.

You loved flowers and were thankful for the thought behind it but you’re beginning to hate Baby’s Breath. You’re starting to see them everywhere from work to home to any time you see Jungkook. They’re everywhere and it’s beginning to feel like you’re drowning in the little white flowers.

If only you had the heart to tell him that he didn’t need to get you flowers every time he saw you.

“Y/n,” Jungkook had a huge smile on his face, “This is Namjoon, That’s Yoongi.”

He pointed to two of his friends who hung around his living room. His arm was around your waist loosely as he directed you to a seat, only to pull you onto his lap when he sat down. You smile shyly as you attempt to greet them only to have Jungkook pull your attention back on him when he places a gentle kiss on your shoulder blade, arms tight around you.

Namjoon was surprised to see this side of Jungkook and he’s only just met you. It makes him wonder if he’s always been this way with you. He very rarely sees the guy smile much less show this much affection to one person and it’s all just very new to him. He’s seen Jungkook upset and mad plenty of times but to see him look soft and gentle was something entirely different.

“Nice of Jungkook to finally let us meet you,” Yoongi said with a light chuckle as he offered you a drink. You took the cup from him with a smile as he continued, “You’re all he talks about, it’s weird.”

“Hyung,” Jungkook warned as you felt his arms tighten around you just slightly. Yoongi just smiled, “I’m just saying, it’s been nonstop weeks of listening about you talk about your girlfriend so it’s nice to finally get to meet her, right Joon?”

Your brows seemed to scrunch together in confusion as you looked to Jungkook. The two of you weren’t technically dating, sure, you hang out all the time and have sex but you’ve never actually considered yourselves in a relationship. You thought you’ve made it clear that this was fun and maybe you’re to blame for possibly leading him on but he’s never referred to you as his girlfriend or partner.

If he has been saying that to his friends then you would like to have a talk with him about where the two of you stand before it happens again. You leaned back against Jungkook’s chest trying to look at him but before you could say something he planted a quick kiss on your lips making you forget your own words.

Jungkook knew that your pretty mind was thinking about what his friends were saying and he just wanted to tell you not to worry about any of it. Of course he tells his friends you’re his girlfriend but it’s not like he’s begging you to be. He knows that you had a rough break up with the last guy and as much as he wants to find out who he was and hurt him for hurting you… he also had to thank him. If it wasn’t for the break up then you wouldn’t have been out that night of your kiss and he wouldn’t have met you. He knows that to you, a relationship isn’t ideal at the moment but he’s still basically forcing you into one even if you want to say you’re not dating him.

He spends all his free time with you.

He calls you and texts you all day.

He watches over you while you sleep through his new cameras.

He makes sure nobody breaks in.

He’s always around in case something happens and he knows you’re thankful for him even if you don’t really know all the things he does for you.

You began to completely tune out the rest of their talk growing bored and you resorted to playing with his hair. It was getting longer and the curls were beginning to loosen so it was easy to run your fingers through them and hold it back like you were going to tie his hair. Maybe you were acting like a kid letting him talk to his friends while also basically begging for his attention but you were just bored. His friends seemed like nice people but you weren’t really interested in their conversation. You felt bad for sort of distracting Jungkook but you didn’t stop playing with his hair, even when he smiled like a bunny at the way you pulled on a strand only to release it and watch it recoil.

You brushed his hair back tucking some of it behind his ear and just like that, your hand seemed to freeze.

Right there staring back at you was a small tattoo that you failed to notice before. Your nail just barely brushed over it but it was real and it’s not old. It was healed for the most part but you can still see specs of dry skin around it meaning it had to be somewhat recent.

A tattoo of Baby’s Breath flowers scattered across the back of his ear and they were small delicate drawings tucked away. How did you not notice this before?

Was it always there?

When did he do it?

It wasn’t because you said they were your favorite, right?

You understand the bouquets — despite the copious amount of them he sends you — you understand the curiosity behind plants but to get it tattooed on his own skin?

You moved your hand away and turned to face forward again as you tried to process what you just saw.

You must be imagining it. There’s no reason why Jungkook would get a tattoo of a flower you told him was your favorite. It just didn’t make sense why he would do that.

Him getting that tattoo for you [maybe?] didn’t make sense.

“What’s up?” He asked you as you stared off into space. His friends had been in their own conversation and Deftones played quietly in the background but like usual, his attention was only ever on you. Even when you’re not around he finds his mind consumed by the thought of you and there’s no escape—not that he would need to.

“Nothing,” you muttered under your breath as you played with the ring on his fingers absentmindedly. You only did this when you were lost in thought and he was curious to know what it is. If he could know every single thing you think about then he would feel much more at ease.

You were being so cute right now even if you weren’t talking. You were sweet and pliant, sitting on his lap letting him hold you and kiss you like his pretty little girlfriend that you were. He sincerely regrets inviting his friends over because all he would like to do is kick them out so he could be alone with you again.

“Actually,” you whispered making his head perk up to listen, “Can we talk?”

“Of course,” Jungkook didn’t hesitate to stand up with you against him as he looked to his friends, “We’ll be right back.”

You followed Jungkook down the hall into his familiar bedroom with the black silk bed sheets and band posters on the walls. This time around there was a new picture frame on his desk and it was one of you and him. You seemed to be asleep in the picture with your head resting on Jungkook’s naked chest near his piercings. He had a tattooed hand in your hair and you can just tell his touch was gentle. You can’t remember when he would have taken that but he had the picture framed.

In the corner of his nightstand was a vase filled with Baby’s Breath and for the first time since you met him did you actually feel the suffocating nature of his affection. Just earlier you were saying how much you enjoyed him and yet right now it’s starting to hit you that this might not all be normal.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asked gently as he watched you look around his bedroom, a smile on his face.

You didn’t know where to begin so you started with the first thing that confused you today.

“Your friends called me your girlfriend,” you said, “And I… well alright whatever, it’s fine but we’ve never talked about a relationship, you know?”

“I know…” Jungkook said, smile gone as he waited for you to keep going. He doesn’t understand why you feel the need to clear it up, it’s not like he’s doing anything wrong. It’s the truth even if you hate to admit it.

“You know?” You asked, “So why did your friends call me your girlfriend? And why did they say they’ve been waiting to meet me for a while no—“

Jungkook released a soft chuckle as he came up to you, brushing your hair back, “I don’t know, maybe they just assumed because I talk about you a lot. I didn’t know I couldn’t even talk about you to my friends.”

“That’s not the problem Jungkook,” you took a deep breath in thought, trying to gather the right words, “What about the flowers?”

“What about them?”

“I appreciate the gesture, I really do but you don’t… you know you don’t have to give me some all the time,” you said with your arms crossed over your chest self consciously, “And the tattoo.”

“Tattoo?”

Jungkook was playing dumb and he was doing a hell of a good job at it. He’s not sure what your deal is or why you suddenly look uncomfortable next to him but you need to stop. Everything’s fine, you’re making yourself worked up and he doesn’t get why.

“Behind your ear,” you clarified, “Of the flower? When did you get that?”

He shrugged, “A week ago, maybe? Do you like it?”

“What is it?” You needed to hear him say it. He stared at you blankly as he took another step toward you.

“Baby’s Breath, I didn’t know they were my favorite too until you came along,” he said and before he could take another he asked, “Are you alright? You seem a little shaken up.”

“I just need a minute,” you said, missing the way his dark eyes hardened as he watched you step back from him. With a clenched jaw he nodded, “Alright, take all the time you need. I’ll just be out there.”

You didn’t say anything as you went ahead and took a seat on the edge of his bed hearing the sound of the door click shut behind him. Maybe you’re just overthinking it. He can have a flower tattoo… no big deal.

Even if it’s the same flower he’s delivered practically a hundred bouquets of to you.

Even if he asked what your favorite flower was.

It’s a basic flower you’re overthinking it.

Jungkook looked at his two friends who busied themselves with bottles of Soju and his large television. They didn’t even bother to turn his music off either and now Ever by Team Sleep was playing at an annoyingly high volume with the tv on too.

Yoongi was laughing over something Namjoon said, he looked up just in time to find Jungkook standing only a few feet away from them, keeping still. He still smiled with the urge to laugh as he asked, “Everything good? You want another drink?”

“Actually, I think it’s time you leave,” Jungkook said coldly yet his two friends barely flinched, waving him off with a hand. It’s not like they weren’t used to his quick mood changes, they’ve known him too long to not read the signs. He’s a little intense and serious but he’s also a loving kid at heart. He doesn’t know how to express anything properly, he just knows how to do it in the extreme. He’s annoyed by something right now but give him a drink and he’ll get over it.

Namjoon extended out a glass of Soju to him, “One more.”

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a second as you tried to clear your head. You were overthinking shit, you don’t even want this. You like him but a relationship?

Alone in his bedroom you could really picture this as yours. It’s crazy how identical they are and it was a good distraction to keep you from going back out there and telling him you would just like to go home for the night. Standing up you walked over to the window finding it strange to view your own apartment out the window.

You took a step away turning instead to look at his desk which was unorganized and filled with tattoo sketches from when he does work at home. Now you were being nosy, you were trying to stall your departure but the picture frame of you on his desk was just staring at you. You picked it up to get a better look but the lights reflection was too bright. With squinted eyes you turned it down and popped the back off hoping to see the picture without the glass in the way.

Instantly, three matching 4x6 pictures fell out of the open frame with their backs facing up. You assumed Jungkook just continued to put new pictures over the old ones instead of switching them out.

Worried he would catch you snooping, you bent down to pick the pictures up, turning them your way.

Jungkook took a deep breath as he stared at the two of them unamused, “I said, I think it’s time you leave.”

He knows you’re upset and something tells him he’s to blame so he needs to figure out what. He can’t focus on you while his friends are here trying to expose and ruin everything he has built up with you.

Why did they have to call you his girlfriend and why are you being such a bitch about it?

He fucking hated flowers yet he wanted to get something you love permanent on his skin and you want be mad?

He can’t catch a break. First you can’t even remember him, then you make him worried sick whenever you’re at home alone or with one of your friends. He’s tried so hard to not be the possessive boyfriend but goddamn is he sick of watching your bedroom camera footage and seeing you laughing and hanging with Taehyung every other night.

Now you can’t even be appreciative of the very kind and thoughtful gesture of putting a permanent mark of what your relationship was on his neck? All of his tattoos have a meaning and yours means the most yet you want to question why he would even get it? You’re very lucky he’s able to play things off to save himself from embarrassment. You didn’t recognize his gesture and instead questioned him, turning it from romantic to strange.

He’s just annoyed at this point but he knows that once he gets you to relax everything will be fine. You’re like a little kitten, if he pushes too hard you draw back so he has to ease you into this like he’s done since the beginning.

“Oh,” Namjoon was stunned as his eyes trailed back to Jungkook’s room where you had closed yourself on for some reason. He wondered for a moment if the two of you were in a fight because Jungkook looked so happy earlier and now he just looks on edge. Yoongi and Namjoon shared a similar look as they slowly came to accept it despite how strange he was acting, “Okay.”

“Are you guys alright?” Yoongi couldn’t help but ask as he got up to leave. Jungkook forced a smile, “Yeah, Y/n’s not feeling good though.”

Namjoon seemed to relax, “Really?”

“She did seem kind of quiet…” Yoongi said as his friend nodded in agreement.

You felt stuck, you couldn’t tear your gaze away and you couldn’t even try to move your body.

The first picture was alright, it was the same picture of you in his arms, it was normal.

The second one was… alarming? It was a zoomed in picture of your bedroom window with you sitting at your vanity doing your makeup to go out. You were looking at yourself and you were holding a lipgloss or something, you couldn’t tell with the window frames in the way.

The third was where your blood seemed to run cold. Right there in black and white was a clear and up close picture of you sleeping in your own bed. It wasn’t taken by someone next to you but more so it was an angle that looked like it was hidden.

Jungkook ran his fingers through his hair as his friends finally left and he prepared to see what was on your mind. He let himself back into his bedroom quietly, clicking the door shut and smiling warmly, “Kay, it’s just us, you can come out now.”

He turned to you calmly, eyes locking on the three photos in your hands and the empty picture frame laying on his desk.

Oh.

You found his favorite pictures.

“What are these?” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady and calm, “Are you stalking me?”

“Not exactly,” Jungkook sighed in defeat, “It’s just…”

He took a step toward you and you immediately put your hands up in defense. He practically giggled as he moved your hands away, “Stop messing around, I’ll explain.”

“Don’t touch me,” you said, taking a step away, “Do you have a camera in my room?”

Jungkook wasn’t smiling anymore, “Why can’t I touch you? I’ll explain, just relax.”

“I’m not going to relax, Jungkook, I want you to tell me what the fuck is going on,” you told him moving closer to the front door with him circling you like a predator watching its pray waiting to attack.

“Yes, I put a camera in your room but I was just worried,” he said with a laugh like he was shy to admit it, “I just kept thinking of something happening to you in your dreams and—look, stay calm, I’m just being honest, isn’t that what you wanted?”

You were itching to leave because suddenly there’s something deep in your gut telling you that this guy really is weird. Was he really trying to justify a literal crime? How crazy was he?

He’s so calm too and he’s smiling and laughing like it’s all just no big deal even though you’ve just learned he’s got cameras watching you in your own home.

You didn’t want to know anything more at the moment. To be honest you were just freaked the fuck out and ready to just leave and get away from him. You needed to find that camera too or else you think you’ll faint from wondering if this was actually happening or not. His friends weren’t even here anymore to hear you two talk.

Jungkook watched as you reached for the door and before either of you knew it, he was on his feet moving to stop you. His arms wrapped around your body, trapping your arms at your sides and carrying you away from the door. You immediately went to scream but his hand came up around your mouth as he walked over to his bed, “Shhh, I’m not gonna do anything, babe, you know me. I just don’t want you leaving while we’re trying to have a conversation.”

“What was I saying?” Jungkook asked himself as he let his hand fall from your mouth, “Oh! You know, I never meant to do that but I was just never able to stop thinking about you. I wanted to be close with you even when I couldn’t be and I had to think of a way to do that.”

“From the very first moment I saw you and we kissed, I just… well it’s just hard to believe we’re not meant to be together,” Jungkook said, staring off at the pictures in your hand, “I mean moving in next door was really just by chance but isn’t it so crazy that fate wanted us to find each other. You still don’t believe it?”

“You’re crazy,” you muttered fighting back a tear as you pushed back at him. His hold on you loosened at your words and you took the chance to get up but he was right there in front of you with widened eyes.

“I’m not crazy,” he said with a shaky voice like he was truly becoming more unhinged by the second, “I’m in love.”

Each step you took back he took one forward and you wanted to run out the door but you couldn’t. It’s like you were completely stuck trying to figure out what to do. It’s crazy how your best friends always joked about him being a stalker but for him to actually set up cameras specifically to watch you? That was more than what you ever imagined and you were so scared. What other pictures or videos did he have of you? What did he do with them?

Jungkook knew you were incapable of running. You love him too and he knows it, maybe you didn’t in the beginning but now you’re clearly attached to him just the same and you’re so surprised you’re not running. You want to run but you can’t deny that you have really grown to love him and if he has to show you how far he’ll go to make you love him back he will. He dropped down to his knees in front of you taking your hands in his and gripping them tightly against his chest when you tried to yank them back.

“Jungkoo—“

“I’ll change,” Jungkook said and you watched the way his eyes seemed to redden and shake from how hard he was trying but to cry or go crazy, “I’ll change Y/n, I promise. I’ll be better. I’ll—“

“No, it’s too late, I can’t. You’ve been stalking me! Do you get that? I’m not just going to change my mind Jungkook,” you tried to say but he wouldn’t let go. He only moved closer, arms wrapping around your waist as he clung to you from the floor down on his knees for you.

“I love you, Y/n, please just give me a chance,” Jungkook said as you tried shaking him off.

“I don’t love you Jungkook, I never wi—“

“I don’t care!” He shouted making you jump at the sudden rise of his deep voice, hands tightening on your hips, eyes wide and red, close to tears and unblinking, “You don’t have to love me back as long as you let me love you.”

“That’s so fucked,” you nearly cried but he wouldn’t let up.

“Y/n.”

You looked down at him and in truth he looked like he was close to snapping and you were scared. He had such a strong idea about romance and love and soulmates that he doesn’t even care if you don’t feel the same. That’s sad and pathetic. This wasn’t the Jungkook you had started to fall for.

You never expected him to be like this, he wasn’t dangerous or putting you in harms way he’s just… he’s just really fucking delusional and that’s what’s scary. You don’t know what he’ll do. He’s never made you feel unsafe like he is right now.

“Don’t you realize that there’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for you to let me love you,” Jungkook said seriously, “I’ll show you it all.”

He’s been very tame till now. He’s tried so hard to be gentle and loving in front of you but you’re making it so hard right now to keep the act up. He never wanted to scare you but if you really do try and walk out that door and think he’s going to let you… you’re dead fucking wrong.

“Jungkook…” he clung to you, face pressed against your lower stomach not letting you move, “This isn’t normal.”

“Y/n if you try to leave me,” his voice was cracking, close to breaking and his entire body trembled, “I won’t be able to live without you, please…”

He was insane. You know he’s crazy, you know he’s just trying to scare you into not running out that door and you hated to admit that it was working. He just seemed so unhinged right now and the way his body was trembling and voice breaking as he hugged you so tightly, you really are scared he might do something to himself. It’s not something you want to risk by leaving, who knows what he’ll do to himself.

Unsure of what to do, you dropped a shaky hand into his hair, brushing it back as he cried, “I’ll change, I swear. You can’t leave me, I can’t live knowing you aren’t with me.”

You’ve heard so many stories about people trying to leave their partners and it only ended up with them in the news with old pictures of them smiling as people talked about how much they missed them and you really couldn’t do that. If he can’t have you… how do you know that means he’ll let someone else have you? He’s never made you fear for your life… he seemed so normal, not like this deranged man who’s been caught having secret cameras watching you.

With a shaky breath, you slowly letting your hands hug around his neck, “Shh, it’s alright…”

Your voice trembled in fear as you slowly dropped to your knees feeling him sob against you, “We—We’ll… let’s figure this out, okay? Just calm down, take a deep breath.”

“Y/n, I love you,” he hiccups as you could his face trying to wipe away tears as you dropped to your knees. Now that you’ve got a clearer head you can hear the stupid band he’s obsessed with still playing from the living room. His silver chain that you always played with still shimmered in the light and you hooked your fingers around it to remind him that you’re cooperating.

You’ve just now noticed that his Deftones’ Around the Fur tee was drenched in his tears along with the front of your jeans and you very carefully wrapped your arms around him, “I’m not leaving.”

He didn’t care if it was out of love or fear, he held you tightly nevertheless, not letting you go as he tried to kiss you only for you to flinch back. Scared he wouldn’t like that, you forced yourself to lean into him for a kiss, tasting his dry, salty tears on your lips.

He smiled his same stupid bunny smile—like everything was right in the world and pressed his forehead against yours, “I’ve been dreaming of you and me like this for so long time, baby, don’t you ever try to leave me again, okay?”

“Okay, why don’t we lie down? It’ll make you feel better,” you whispered gently and his dark eyes seemed to water and lower lip quiver as he nodded his head. Letting you lead him to his own bed and when you lied down, he went between your legs, keeping you pressed against the bed trapped.

That’s what being with him would feel like, like you’re trapped and all he’ll think about would be how he finally found the one that he’s been searching for. No bells chimed or birds sang, only Romantic Dreams by Deftones was heard playing in the background.

::.

listen y’all this is long 😭 I know it is and as of right now I have no desire to write a part two so it’s open ended. also idk how I feel about this yet but Jungkook is so hot. anyway the taglist is too long so I have to do it in parts.

so sorry to whoever took the time to read this I’m so sorry

personal taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @sugaluvmyg @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @kooromiwrld @classycreationcupcake-blog g @alwaysdreamingnotsleeping @cherrymonlightt @nikkiordonez12 @asking4-sanity @thvlover @saweetspoiled @uwu2rawr @shaybts-blog @babycandy111 @tearyjjeon @joons-uparupa @jeonninja @yellowcupid08 @02010802 @knudsenheggedel @skzthinker @unnatae @aurorthi @beautywine @95ene @taekookstata @lilliankoo @shescharlie @annenakamura @lesoleile @burnahtsw @babybella337 @kooloveys @ku-ku @chaelvrx @minnie-mouser22 @Imeneghd @whoa-jo @evajeonsworld @marvelbun @sunnikthv v @kochycooky @heyhowyoudoin3 @acielelyseen @giselleswifeee @jeonjk25 @ilikeitlikethatt @bangmechanpls @lvr2seok @badbyeyoongi @jaerisdiction @watermelonjuice15 @artmsmaid @xyahrinx @angeleen777 @jooniesxbby @brillantdarling

fic taglist: @beshy02 @jooniesxbby @ebony3-blog @loonehbleus @klutzymermaid @tarotcoconut @whipwhoops @wdym-ree @somehowukook @fxirytaetae @nochuel @thaiika @ilove-tae @taeyongzodiactinkiri @gamer-carat @jungkookieeee97 @l0cal101 @justinseagul1 @haileycannotcometothephonern @minayas1998 @autumnbear @urf1lterr @yoongiwantsme @wnderkoo @theblueslytherin @kimseokjinsmirror1233 @8makes1scream @yjwonnn @blueberry711 @kimchimtae @babyitscoldoutside @simple-day-dreamer @yoongisgirl @ackercute @glitterkoo @darkuni63

[taglist is too long and I can only do 50 so I have to add the rest of y’all in a reblog]

#jeon jungkook #jungkook yandere #Jungkook smut #jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook au #Jungkook oneshot #Jungkook fic #jungkook x y/n #yandere jungkook #bts #SoundCloud #romantic dreams

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imaginaryf1shots · 1 year

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Who is he? | Charles Leclerc

Charles Leclerc x reader

WC: 3.1K

Warnings: goggle translated French, unedited?

AN:This could have been longer but I don't like my one shots to be too long. so here you go, I hope you like it!

Based of THIS request

Masterlist

Charles Masterlist

The music was so loud it was hard for anyone to talk, but who’s at a club to talk anyway? You have a few drinks in you, not drunk but tipsy. Your best friend had a disastrous date last night and as a way to get her out of the mood she was in, your group of friends decided to hit the club to just have a girl’s night out, but here you are now, a few hours in and your best friends is dancing with some random guy and the rest are all doing their own thing. You for one was on the dance floor having the time of your life, you don’t know how, but in the low light of the club and in between the sweaty bodies of people on the dance floor, your eyes meet a pair of green ones. His eyes are on you and hold his gaze, it’s clear he’s been watching you, and now you’ve seen him you can’t take your eyes off him. So with a smile his way you continue dancing while maintaining eye contact.

The guy moves through the crowd and he’s suddenly right in front of you, it didn’t take any encouragement from either of you to start dancing. His hands were placed on your waist as you moved left to right swaying with the music. One song in, two songs in, three songs in and his hands have wandered to your lower back. Your hands moved from his chest to his shoulders to around his neck, bodies flushed against each other.

“Wanna get out of here?” You whisper in his ear and lean back to his dimples poking as he nods.

“Yeah, my hotel is close.” He says and pulls you away from the dance floor and waits until you grab your clutch and tell your friend at the table where you’re going before you’re out of the club and into a cab. “I’m charles by the way.”

“(y/n).”

Both you and Charles were sober enough for you to remember him but too drunk to think about safety of any kind, but it was a night to remember that’s for sure. And that’s not because of the amazing sex they had, which it was, no but because of the two pink lines she’s staring at.

“What does it say?” Your best friend asks coming into the bathroom, she sees you standing there in shock, looking over your shoulder at the pregnancy test, there it is. Your life is changed forever, from that moment on, your life went from revolving around yourself to revolving around the little human you’re growing inside of you. You knew instantly that you’ll be keeping the baby, no doubt about it.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

“Seriously, how hard is it to find someone in the age of the internet?” Your friend asked, like on the day you all went out, you’re all now gathered again, your friends hand wine while you drank juice/water. All in your PJs with your latest craving all on the table, phones and laptops out. All looking for every possible Charles in your area, and then moving outwards. Looking for your oblivious baby daddy. Yes the clear possibility of him being from a different country is prominent especially since you went back to his hotel room not his house, but for the sake of being hopeful that’s a possibility you’re trying to ignore, for now.

Your friend’s words were proven wrong seeing as all your attempts of finding Charles were hard, you knew absolutely nothing about him besides his first name. You did spend long hours crying, because how foolish are you to go sleep with a random person you know nothing about but his first name, if it was even his real one. But alas, you’re going to have a baby, that you found out is a boy on one of your scans, which you were never alone to, because you best believe one of your friends was there with you.

one thing that came out of this for sure is, how amazing your friend group is, you’ve all grown closer, forming a bond that you knew will withstand time. all your schedules were synced and organised for someone to be always with you, for all your cravings to be met for you to just never feel alone, and the moment you gave up on finding Charles you knew that you’ll be okay and that your baby will be loved.

And he is, now at two months old, he’s the most spoiled kid there is, new clothes every week, new toys always being carried and dotted on. He needed nothing.

You were spending the day at one of your friend’s house that she had with her boyfriend, sitting on the sofa and just lounging around since baby Noah was down for his nap time. you and your friend were gossiping while her friend had his TV on to watch his favourite sport. You really weren’t paying attention, engrossed in the latest gossip happening, but his voice caught your ear, your eyes strayed to the TV for a split second, before you went back for a second look.

“What? what happened?” Your friend asked, confused as she looked at the TV then at you.

“That’s him.” You whisper but she picks it up, she doesn’t have to ask who you’re talking about. at the bottom of the screen Charles Leclerc is written.

“What are you talking about?” Her boyfriend asks, confused.

“That’s Charles.” You say almost breathless.

“Yeah, that’s charles Lec- wait Charles as in your charles, your baby daddy charles?” He puts it together, he really looks at charles.

“Yeah, that’s him.” You want to cry and scream at the same time, you found him, you finally found him, but how in hell are you going to be able to reach him. He's an F1 driver, he;s an athlete.

“I see it.” Your friend says and holds your hand giving it a squeeze. The eyes, the nose, the colour of the hair, they're all things your son and his dad share. no doubt that the older he gets the more he’ll resemble his dad.

“You better assemble the troops, we’ll need all the help to get to charles.” Your friend's boyfriend said and sighs.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Truer words were never spoken, because why is it so hard to reach a single person on Ferrari’s F1 team? you found out so much about Charles the moment you knew his name, one google search and you found out that he’s from Monaco, found out everything about his family and who his friends are. But you still had no way of reaching him.

So what would any sane person do, is book a trip with your friends and their SOs to Nice where you’ll be staying while venturing into Monaco. Was this the most practicable thing? no. but you all took time off from your jobs/school scraped all your money together and enter; mission: find Charles Leclerc. supposedly now is the start of the month-long summer break, so he was in Monaco spending some time with his family.

You had fun the first two days, visiting all the new places, Noah was having fun, you took all the cute pictures while venturing around Monaco and Nice. Every single person in your group had a picture of you on the night at the club and another of Noah to confront Charles and tell him if they somehow stumbled upon him or any of his family members.

On the third day your friend group split up, you and your best friend were going to a salon where it’s supposedly managed/owned by Charles’ mother, so you found it on the internet. To keep appearances and spend a bit more time there your friend was getting a trim and her hair done.

You sat with Noah in your lap on a sofa near where your friend was getting her hair done. Noah was babbling and talking all sorts of nonsense, at six months he’s starting to sit up with little help, so he’s having the time of his life with this new point of view.

“How old is he?” an accented voice asks, you look up from Noah to meet the woman you were looking for.

“Uh- he’s - he’s six months.” You tell her glancing at your friend, who gives you a discreet thumbs up. This is in fact Pascale.

“He’s super cute.” She tells you and looks at Noah who is now fascinated with her. Being a baby that is constantly surrounded with so many people has made him a social baby, he’s always happy to meet new people.

“Thank you.” Taking a deep breath as you think of ways to bring up that he’s in fact her grandson.

“Are you on vacation here?” Pascale asks warmly, you find her a very loving person, her dimples are ones your son shares, it takes everything in you not to tear up. Finally, you’re just one tiny step away from Charles.

“Not really… it’s a little complicated.” You tell the older woman, she looks intrigued. To Pascale she doesn’t know why, she can’t really place it, but your son reminds her of something, of someone and it’s on the tip of her tongue it’s so close. “My son’s dad doesn’t know about him, we had… we had a one night stand.” You don’t see any judgement in her eyes, which gives you comfort to continue. “And I just found out that he lives in Monaco, and my friends and I are trying to find him, a bit silly but I feel like he deserves to know.”

“Not silly at all, that’s really admirable of you to come to Monaco to look for him.” Pascals gives you a comforting smile and once again she asks you a question that saves you from asking you about Charles. “Do you know the dad’s name?”

“Yeah, it’s Charles.” It clicked, who your son reminds her of, how she wasn’t able to see it will remain a mystery for her. Her second son. Charles, no doubt in her mind that sitting on your lap is her grandson.

“I-I think we should go somewhere more private.” Pascale says and she’s unable to look away from Noah, her first grandson. grandchild period.

“Yes, please.”

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Pascale took you, your best friend ,Sohpia, and Noah(ofc) to her house, she called Charles and told him to come over. So here you are in your son’s grandma’s house looking at all those baby pictures of Charles and his brothers, and you just can’t get over how much Noah looks like him. Pascale and Sophia were playing with Noah while you were having a moment in the bathroom, in desperate need to hype yourself up and to calm your nerves. yes you wanted Charles to know but all the fears of rejection of this all being for nothing came crashing hard on you, so many women were forced into being single mothers and you don’t know Charles, Pascale did say that she wants to a part of Noah’s life but it could all change when Charles finds out. it didn’t take long for the front door to open, and a very familiar voice called.

“maman, je suis là.”(mum, I’m here.) all eyes in the room snapped up to the figure that just rounded the corner into the living room. Charles stopped in his tracks, he saw an unfamiliar woman and a baby with his mother all sitting on the floor, he frowned a little before giving a polite smile. “Bonjour, je ne savais pas que nous avions de la compagnie.” (Hello, I didn’t know we had company)

“English Charles.” Pascale informed her son.

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t know maman had company.” He told Sophia and she understood now why you went with him that night, he seemed so kind and had this calming and trusting aura about him.

“It’s okay, this wasn’t planned.” Sophia said with a timid smile.

“Why did you call me, maman?” Charles turned to his mother confused, just then Noah started babbling away, he barely started to learn how to crawl but everyone could see that he was trying to reach someone, Charles turned to see where the baby wanted to go and he saw you. It did take him a second, he knew you from somewhere, but it came to him, that night at the club. his confusion reached a new high, what are you doing here? How do you know his mother? Why are you here?

You passed Charles and went to the baby scooping him up in your arms, in practised moves, like it was second nature. Charles took a look at you and Noah, your eyes met his and you gave him a nervous smile.

“Sophia, could you help me with the tea?”

“Certainly.”

That left the three of you together, mother, father, and son.

“Hi.” You said timidly. “I don’t know if you remember but we met last year-“

“Yeah, yeah I remember.” Charles cuts you off, you nod and take a deep breath.

“Look, I don't know how to say this but…” You fidget staying silent for a moment before you regain your courage to tell him. “I got pregnant after that night, and I tried to find out who you are and where to find you, but it was hard.” Charles says nothing, his eyes are on the boy in your arms, he takes him in, the eyes, the nose, the hair, the dimples, everything. “I know it’s hard to take in, and I can understand if you don’t believe me, but-“

“I believe you.” Charles breathed out, like his mum he knows this is his son, he took almost nothing from you and is all Charles. “can I- can I hold him.”

“Yeah.” You breathed out as Charles moved closer gaining his son’s attention, Noah went right to Charles, who held him securely and just smiled at the baby, both father and son were looking at each other intently. “What’s his name?”

“Noah.”

“Noah.” Charles tried out the name before he smiled, it was all a shock, he has a son, he has a son, he’s a father now, a father, his mind tried to compute this new information as fast as it could, but his heart, his heart fully accepted it, a new type of love that is completely foreign to him started to form and take shape. You let Charles have this moment in silence watching them, Noah placed his hands on Charles’ cheeks feeling his stubble and being fascinated with him, charles smiled making Noah smile and then giggle. This just warmed your heart and every single thought that ever doubted coming here went away.

“Do you want me to take him? I’m guessing there’s a lot of talking that you need to do?” Sophia came in after a few minutes and you gave her a thankful and grateful look. Once you were left alone, Charles turned to focus on you. You don’t know why you got so emotional but you did, you were wiping your sweaty hand on your trousers all while fighting your tears away.

Being the kind and loving soul that he is, Charles couldn’t fight pulling you in for a hug. your arms wrapped around him, a few tears slipped from your eyes but you managed to stop the rest.

“It must’ve been hard to do this alone.” Charles said, running his hand up and down your back in a comforting motion.

“It was hard, but I had my friends with me.” You said and pulled back,wiping your tears away, you gave him a teary smile before you both sat down next to each other angled so you’re facing the other, knees barely touching. “Finding you however is somewhat harder, all I knew was your name, and I never realised how many Charleses are out there.”

You went on to tell Charles about when you found out you were pregnant, a short summary of your pregnancy, how your friends helped you during and after the berth of Noah, how you found who he was and what you did to reach him and all that. Charles listened and asked questions, he wanted to know everything, as much as this was all a shock you’ve had it harder, you lived it, you’ve been living not knowing if your son will ever know his dad or not, not knowing what the future will hold and not knowing is so much harder than anything.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

You extend your stay in Monaco, even after your friends all went back you stayed, this is Charles’ summer break after all. He cancelled all his plans out of Monaco, and practically turned one of the guest rooms in his apartment into a nursery. You moved from your hotel in Nice to one of the rooms in his house. You did meet the rest of the Leclerc family and safe to say Noah has some amazing and loving uncles.

Noah is just the centre of attention in every room he’s in, he’s taken to Charles so fast, you’re sure he somehow knows that this is his dad. He'd sleep in his arms on his chest and just lean away from you while you’re holding him to get into his dad’s. Noah had so many ferrari and cars themed toys and clothes in the span of a couple weeks it was hilarious.

On a serious note, Charles wants to be a part of Noah’s life and you want him to be too, and one of the things you agreed on and came to is that finding a job in Monaco is the best plan at the moment and just moving there. With the help of Charles you were able to find a job, you knew that Noah will forever be taken care of by Charles, but you had to find a job for yourself, even if you and Charles are now a couple, I mean did you see him with Noah? Did you see him, period? It’s no secret you’re attracted to him. Noah is a big testament to that, but it wasn’t just his looks, once you got to know Charles you couldn’t help but like him a bit more everyday. So when he asked you to just stay in his apartment you couldn’t say no. He's out of the country a lot anyways so most of the time the apartment was for yourself and Noah with the constant visits from and to the rest of the Leclercs.

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 scenario #charles lecrelc #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #dad!charles leclerc

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vivwritesfics · 2 months

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Beautiful Monster

Vampire!Max is instantly hooked when he meets a girl that looks like the vampire that turned him. He searches for her, until he finds himself on her sofa, teeth against her neck.

Warnings: max killing (not reader), blood drinking, slightest smut, reader doesn't die but she is lowkey a dumb bitch

Viv's AUgust Event

There was nothing wrong with the house on the hill. It was probably very nice inside, but the rumours that surrounded it, the rumours about the beast inside.

He knew the rumours around him, knew what the children said as they dared each other to ring his doorbell and run away. The curtains were always drawn and the beast rested through the day, emerging at night.

He was so damn beautiful, but he didn't see that (yes, he can see his reflection in the mirror, since his mirror is a modern mirror and not backed with silver). He saw the monster that everybody else should have seen. But everybody else saw an angel.

Well, before they died. That was the only time he emerged from his house; to feed. The pretty girls at the bar happily followed him out to the alleyway, where he sank his sharp teeth into their neck and drained them dry.

She would have followed him out to the alley, would have let him pierce the skin of her neck. But Max couldn't. She looked too much like her.

Like Max's first love. The woman that drew him in and kissed his lips until they were red and swollen. He'd been human back then. His heart had been beating and he was capable of feeling love.

She had bitten his neck and fed him her blood, turning him into the nocturnal beast he was today. A hundred years of solitude, of only emerging when he needed to feed.

At first Max thought it was her. It had to be, there was no other explanation. But he watched this woman carefully. She was alive. A living, breathing being. She wasn't a monster like him.

The first time she approached him, she fluttered her eyelashes and giggled at everything he said. Flirting with him. She wasn't the first woman to do so, but she was the first one to leave him tongue tied.

Normally, Max only danced with her when he had to. He only twirled a girl around the dance floor when he was hungry and she was making him work for it. But when she asked Max to dance, he said yes. He already knew he wouldn't be feeding from her, she looked too much like his first love.

At the end of the night Max was draining another girl in the alleyway before he returned to the house on the hill. But he couldn't get her out of his head.

So much so that he went out again the next night. But she was nowhere to be found. She wasn't at the bar, wasn't anywhere at all. She must have been home, safe from all of the monsters roaming the town, safe from him.

Max went out again the next night, searching for her. She wasn't at that bar, but she was in the park, sitting on a beach with a little dog running around in front of her.

When Max approached, the little dog growled. "Leo!" She scooped the dog up and sat him in her lap.

Max had never been a dog person. Even when he was human, cats preferred him. Things only got worse once he was turned. Dogs growled and barked at him. Cats still tolerated him.

"Is he yours?" Max asked as he slipped into the seat beside her. The way she petted Leo's ears had him quiet in her lap. If it was possible, he would have been glaring at Max.

She shook her head. "He belongs to my friend, but I'm taking care of him while he's out of town."

He released a breath, one he hadn't meant to hold. So what if she owned a dog? She was just some mortal woman who would die in a few hundred years anywhere (when you're living forever, it's easy to forget how long the human lifespan was).

"You were a good dancer," she mused, fingers still absentmindedly petting Leo's head.

"I had a good partner."

What did she taste like, Max found himself wondering. Would her taste be as sweet as her scent? He could feel his fangs appearing as he ran his tongue over his teeth.

He kept them covered as he spoke to her. Well, it wasn't really a conversation. Just the two of them flirting back and forth until she picked him up and took his hand in her own, leading him out of the park.

Max didn't expect to end up on her sofa, with the dog barking away in the kitchen. He kissed her with fervour, his tongue exploring her mouth. In control of the situation, since he couldn't control himself.

She swung herself onto his lap as Max pulled away. It would be so easy to sink his teeth into her neck and drain her dry.

He couldn't stop himself as he started kissing the skin of her neck. She gasped when she felt his pointed teeth against her skin. But she wasn't pulling away, wasn't panicking. Her hips still moved against his, fingers working at the barrier of clothes that separated them.

But then his teeth sank in.

She stilled, breath catching in her throat as Max slowly began to drain her. But then she began to moan.

He knew it was a pleasurable experience for humans, remembered it from when he was still a man. She tasted so damn sweet, body going limp against him. Shit, he had never tasted anything like this.

Breath heaving, he pulled away from her. His tongue flattened against the puncture wounds, licking up what remained. Her hand came to settle on his chest and she looked at him with wide eyes.

"You're a monster," she said between breaths, too exhausted to rock her hips against his. If Max decided to explore what was in her jeans, he would have found an undeniable mess. "A beautiful monster."

She touched his cold cheek and pulled his face towards her own, kissing him.

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hitomisuzuya · 2 months

Text

Yandere! Aventurine x fem!reader. Smut. Cock warming. Orgasm denial.

I'm working through writers block oml so this might sound a little unhinged😭

Aventurine wields orgasm denial while you cock warm him like a weapon. Tools he uses to train you crave him like he craves you. "Isn't this nice?" He said in a shaky, content sigh as he threw back his head. There was nothing like the comforting feeling of your pussy enveloping his cock.

Every move he made with you was all part of his plan.

How could he possibly keep his hands off his precious, doting secretary? Especially when your pussy was stretching tight and perfect to accommodate his cock.

His elegant, gloved fingers find purchase on your hips, holding you still in his lap as he ruts his cock up inside of you. He needs you to feel every drag of his cock on your sensitive walls, the friction slowly igniting every pleasureable nerve inside you.

"Mh..mhm," You murmur shakily, your back arching as he settles you on his cock. He can already tell that pleasure was starting to fog your mind. That's what he counted on. The pleasure of his cock slowly melting down your brain until all you could focus on was him.

"You'll be a good girl, and tell me when you are about to cum, right?" He purred, encouraging you to be a good girl was another weapon in his arsenal. He knew it made you feel weaker when he said those two little words to you.

Aventurine's cock pulsed as you nodded, a shaky moan escaping from your part lips. He knew what it was time to do now. To wind you up. To make you squirm, and struggle to bounce even a little on his cock.

Keeping one hand on your hip, gloved fingers found your throbbing clit. He bit back a groan feeling your juices soak through the material. The only justifiable way to soil his gloves in his personal opinion.

Your pussy fluttered and clenched around his cock, the friction of his gloves on the swollen nub made your legs shake. The fingers on your hip would tighten as you struggled up roll your hips down into his cock.

"Ah, ah, ah, remember what you promised," Aventurine cooed, making you look at him. He delivered a playful pinch to your clit, making you gasp and whine while you tried not to squirm, "you promised you would be a good girl."

It is such a pleasure for him see you fight the need to bounce yourself stupid on his cock, trying to be still and forced to feel every squeeze and clutch of your pussy as it continues to drool on his cock.

To see the need to have him fuck you consume you, your body twitching and aching as his cock pulsed against your spongy spot. His fingers continue their agonizing dance on your clit, the calculating smile every present as he watched you fall apart.

"I..I'm going to cum.." You whimper weakly, focusing your hazy, half lidded eyes on his breathtaking ones as he made you look him.

"Good girl," Aventurine praised, wanting so badly to fuck you dumb right then and there. But a gambler had to have patience. Hands aren't won hastily.

You whined as he took his fingers off your clit, letting your head drop into his neck. He held you until you stopped shaking from being denied your release. You were starting to crack and break so well.

"Let's start again, shall we?" He slowly rocked his hips into you again, prodding the head of his cock a few times into your sweet spot before his fingers returned to your clit.

Once, twice, three times. He didn't know how many times he would put through it. Whatever it took to ensure you would be forever wrapped around his finger.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail imagines #aventurine #aventurine smut #aventurine x y/n #aventurine x you #aventurine x reader #yandere aventurine

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roanofarcc · 3 months

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ONE DANCE, PLEASE?

pairing: trevor lefkowitz x ghost bride!reader

summary: since your death, weddings at Woodstone have been a source of bitterness for you but that doesn’t stop trevor from attempting to cheer you up with a dance

word count. 1.6k || masterlist

warnings: fem!reader, mentions of death, dead!reader

a/n: this is my first ghosts fic so please be gentle! I love the idea of a ghost bride and debated on making it into an OC or reader story. I think I like having it be in little one-shots! it’s a crime more hasn’t been written for trevor (or any of the show’s characters). feel free to request for trevor or any other ghosts characters <3

“Are you going to mope around for eternity?” Sasappis asked you, standing arms crossed in front of a beautiful garden decorated to the nines. The backdrop to your sulking was stunning flowers tied in bunches and pastel dresses moving around the patio-turned-dance floor.

“Is that not the point of being a ghost?” you replied, jutting out your feet forever stuck in kitten heels and skin-colored pantyhose. Sass lightly kicked your foot with his and nodded his head to the corner just off the dance floor where the rest of the ghosts danced and laughed. A part of you was jealous of how easily they enjoyed themselves at weddings and how they were not plagued with an eternal hatred for them and what they represented.

It always felt like a cruel joke, even though it never had anything to do with you, when Sam and Jay hosted a wedding at their B&B. As much as you loved the couple, you couldn’t stand what most considered a joyous event. The union of two people in love, not tainted by tragedy, grew your restatement each time. Weddings were a part of the business and helped Sam and Jay bring in the money they desperately needed to fix up the mansion, but that didn’t mean you had to enjoy yourself. Instead, you spent each event sulking on the sidelines, ignoring the pang in your chest, and avoiding your ghostly counterparts' advances to cheer you up. The only thing that would’ve cheered you up was a do-over of your big day that was ruined by a strike of unluckiness, resulting in your untimely death.

Sass narrowed his gaze at you but decided against saying whatever he wanted to. Instead, he turned on his heel and headed back to the ghosts. You adverted your gaze back down to the beads sewn into your dress, picking at them with the wish you could pull the garment apart with your hands, but since it was what you died in, it would forever stick to you.

A slow song played through the DJ’s speakers as the sun slowly began to set over the yard. Strung lights glittered warmly, bathing the attendees in a golden glow. The bride had looked radiant since she arrived at the mansion days ago, and all day you had to watch her and her husband’s love run circles around you. Your malice wasn’t aimed directly at the happy couple, but rather at what they represented and the reminder of what you almost had.

Someone appeared beside you, their presence clouding your solitude-sulking. “What a bunch of losers,” the person said, causing you to turn your head and meet Trevor. “I mean, seriously, this song was lame when I went to weddings and people are still dancing to it? I get the appeal of throwbacks but let’s pick this snooze-fest up a little, am I right?”

You rolled your eyes. “What do you know about weddings?”

“I happen to have been invited to a lot of them, thank you very much. Well, the receptions and bachelor parties, usually. Those weddings had a lot more alcohol and single bridesmaids.” You said nothing in response, hoping your dimly lit mood would shoo Trevor away. You were mistaken, though. If anything, your silence only encouraged him further. He moved in closer to your side, standing with his hands on his hips as he gazed out across the crowd. “I think they may need some help livening things up a bit. Care to join me?”

He often tried to do that, brighten your mood by offering to dance with you. And every time you turn him down, not because you didn't want to, but because you’re worried that the second you start to enjoy yourself at a wedding, tragedy will follow a second time around. You liked Trevor and couldn’t stand the thought of enjoying yourself only to hurt yourself, again, or him. In your head, as long as you moped around, everything would stay the same as they were, which you loved more than you’d admit aloud. You liked your ghost-mates and you liked Sam and Jay. If you somehow brought some unfortunate curse upon any of them because you enjoyed yourself just as you had on your own wedding day, you weren’t sure you could cope with that a second time around, not when you hardly coped with it from the first time.

“Trevor…” you sighed, defeated and slumped-shouldered.

Normally, he dropped it after that. He usually sat quietly at your side until his excitement and urge to join the party overwhelmed him and he resumed dancing with Flower or attempting to play pranks on the livings with Thorfinn. That time, however, he took you by surprise. He moved directly in front of you, face set with a certain tone of seriousness that was odd.

“Nope,” he said, simply. “You are not moping for eternity. I won’t let you.”

“That’s not your choice.”

He smirked, cheekily and annoying but stupidly charming. Those three words suited him too well. Trevor extended his hand out, making a grabbing motion with his hand. “One dance, that’s all I’m askin’. That’s all I need to change your mind.” You tightened your grip on the skirt of your dress, unbudging at his request. “One dance. Please?” His voice was a little lower, pleading almost.

One dance. You never got to dance at your wedding. Something bad could happen, it probably would.

Trevor’s fingers grazed your knuckles, tapping them lightly and looking at you in a way, underneath the golden light, that made you consider it. He noticed your hesitation and dropped his hand back down at his side.

“Okay,” he said after a beat before he turned away with a little frown on his lips that made you feel even worse.

There was something wrong with you, maybe it was some kind of ghostly side effect of dying on your wedding day; perhaps you were doomed to live in the murky waters of what-if and why.

The bride and groom were in the middle of the patio dance floor, spinning each other around in quiet fits of laughter and bodies pressed as close as they could get with the bride’s fluffy dress. They were married, dancing as two halves of a whole with nothing bad lingering over their heads. There was no impending doom, aside from you sitting on the outskirts. The doom was you and your mind, rippled with jealousy, sadness, and a million questions of what exactly you could have done differently that day. But the truth was, there was nothing you could have done. Fate was fate, as Flower had once said in one of her more insightful conversations. Fate was messy and included bear attacks, arrows in necks, and accidents. Fate found you there, at the Woodstone mansion forever a fiancee but now entangled with the fates of your ghost friends who also found themselves there forever.

Forever was such a long, made even longer with eternity hanging on your shoulders. How many more weddings would you sit there, watching and sulking in your own unhappiness that others wanted to fix for you?

Something between a groan and a sigh left your lips as you stood up, letting your wedding dress fall back down to the ground in the pristine condition you had died in it in. “Trevor,” you said again, louder as you called after him. He stopped, slowly turning around with a confused quirk of his brow. You nervously picked at the beads again, but that time wasn’t to pick them off but rather settle them back in place in a similar way to how you had picked at them awaiting your turn to walk down the aisle. A dance was not nearly as monumental as that, but it carried a weight that pressed down on your chest.

“One dance,” you said. He stared at you for a moment like he wasn’t sure he had heard you right. It wasn’t until Thor punched him in the arm with a hardy laugh and Hetty pushed him forward towards you.

Trevor approached you, smoothing out his tie. “Really?” he asked.

You nodded. “If anything bad happens, I’m blaming it on you," you said only half joking.

He smiled, wide and toothy and the way that made you subconsciously want to copy it. “The worst thing that’ll happen is me stepping on your feet. I haven’t slow danced since prom.” Despite that, he dramatically bowed and extended his hand. “May I have this dance,” he said in a terrible accent. You couldn’t help but laugh lightly, some of that weight lifting from where it hurt your chest.

Once you accepted his hand, he all but dragged you to a quiet corner of the dance floor, away from where any livings would walk through you two, and away from the other ghosts and their suggestive smirks and comments pointed at the two of you.

When you danced, with his feet clumsily trying to avoid stepping on yours and hands rested on your waist, nothing bad happened. You did not die a second time around, nor did tragedy strike in the way you feared. The only thing that occurred was dancing, peppered with occasional laughter and a quick apology when Trevor stepped on your skirt and halted your movements. You recovered with a shake of your head and a slight lead in the dance, which he didn’t voice but silently appreciated.

#cbs ghosts #trevor lefkowitz #trevor lefkowitz x reader #trevor lefkowitz x you #sasappis #thorfinn #isaac higgintoot #hetty woodstone #alberta haynes #flower montero #pete martino #ghosts fanfiction #cbs ghosts fanfiction

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allfearstofallto · 7 months

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PLS CAN YOU FEED US MORE hero of the nation knight!childe ON MY KNEES I LOVE YOUR WORK SO MUCH AND I SEARCHED EVERYWHERE FOR A FIC LIKE THIS

This took FOREVER to write, but here you go!!

Blessings Be to The Hero of the Nation

Historical AU

Yandere Hero of the Nation! Childe x Fem! Reader

TW: yandere themes, stalking, minor character death, blood, threatening, forced marriage/engagement

He kept one of your hair ribbons wrapped around the hilt of his sword. It billowed in the wind constantly and would draw watchful eyes to it. That pastel pink fabric didn't match a single thing on his brutish, usually bloody exterior, but he still kept it regardless. You tragically didn't give it to him in a blatant display of affection and well wishes for him on his journey, instead, he found the little ribbon after it'd blown off your head and up to the wind. A little pout formed on your lips realizing you'd lost it, but you decided against retrieving it. He didn't though. He picked it up and placed it in his pocket, taking it home to clean off the dirt and grime.

That same ribbon was clenched in his hands when he arrived at the gate of your manor, along with a few other gifts that he would give to you. He'd just slayed the dragon, the wretched menace that was terrorizing the nation, now and only now did he feel worthy to ask for your hand. Cleaning off all the blood and gore that was on his armor, polishing it into light metal that could blind anyone who looked directly at it, he was certain that this would charm you off of your feet.

When he was invited into your home by your parents who were surprised to see the hero himself at their door, he didn't care about the tea or the cakes. The praise meant nothing coming from them. He skipped the pleasantries and went straight to the point. He wanted your hand in marriage and he wanted the wedding to be soon.

A skittish expression crossed your father's face as he gritted his teeth, “We've decided to leave that decision up to her.” Childe smirked, that was even better. He'd never met a woman who wouldn't fall for his charms.

You were called down from your room, eyelids heavy and half open, still in your thin sleeping gown with a robe over it. You were rubbing the tiredness from your eyes as you walked down the stairs, your other delicate hand gripping the banister. And when you saw him, you bowed. A deep traditional bow, given to those of a respectable higher status.

He kneeled down on one knee before you. The male kneeled for only one person, the queen herself. His sword pulled from its sheath, he laid it flat against his palms, offering it up to you. That knocked the sleepiness from his body and suddenly your eyes were wide open. Genuine shock was making your body stiff as a board and you looked back and forth to your parents who didn't say a word.

“Your visage has danced around my heart non stop since the first time I laid eyes on you. I wish to use this sword only to fight for you. Won't you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Words spoken in honor, with him meaning every bit of it. You were meant to take the sword from his hands, tapping it gently upon each of his shoulders, but you didn't. You just stood there, lips trembling, but not saying anything.

A marriage proposal via a letter was easy to ignore or reject, you didn't have to see their reaction. But never had you had someone be so bold as to propose to you in person. And not only that, the very hero that saved the Kingdom. Rumors told you he'd be marrying the first princess, she obsessed over him before he became the hero and those feelings seemed to only grow stronger after he waltzed into the city with the bloody head of the beast. Yet here he was at your feet, patiently anticipating your answer which he was positive was going to be a yes.

“I-'' you began, trying to think of the easiest way to let him down gently, “I fear that I'm not ready for marriage yet.” You said hurriedly. That wasn’t entirely a lie. You spent countless hours looking at the list of marriage candidates and scoping them out at balls and parties, but quickly realizing that none of them suited your tastes in that way. The entire idea of being wed barely satisfied you. You wanted to push it off for as long as possible.

“I'm willing to wait for you until the world crumbles. I'd even accept being your fiance until the day we die, as long as I can say you're mine,” he was persistent, you'd give him that.

You fiddled with your fingers nervously. Time felt as if it had stopped and this moment would never end. No matter what you did, he was still going to be there, “I thought you were to be wed to her highness, the princess?” You questioned him.

A scoff fell from his cherry pink lips, eyes looking you up and down, drinking in every inch of your body in that thin nightgown, “She does not interest me. Not the way you do.”

“There is really nothing interesting about me,”

“Won't you let me be the judge of that?”

Your shoulders slumped as you looked to your parents. They seemed as surprised by his persistence as you did, but weren't going to step in to help you, they always affirmed that it was your decision, they wanted you to be independent.

“Forgive me, hero, but I can not accept your offer,”

For just a split second you saw that princely expression slip. His eyes grew dark, lips in a deep frown, a rage you'd never seen before. But he was back to his usual expression in less than a second, that charming smile forming on his lips again as he stood from his knees and sheathed his sword a little too slowly.

“You wound me, my lady,” he'd mutter softly, hands still conveniently tight around the hilt of this sword, “Won't you please accept my gifts? And if you are to begin considering marriage, I hope that my proposal will be remembered fondly.”

Childe showed himself out, a little too quickly, but you didn't dare tell him to slow down. It was only once he was out those large double doors, did the air in your home feel breathable, you finally felt safe again. You watched his carriage leave from a window, watching as his eyes went dull again, losing all shimmers and feeling like a hollow mimicry of what humans were supposed to look like.

You were quite embarrassed to say you fell in love after that. Not with Childe, of course. You mentally tried to push the man from your mind after the way he startled both you and your family. Instead, your feelings developed for a commoner boy. You found yourself eyeing him when he'd deliver produce to your home, his face being one of pure beauty despite his messy exterior. As months went by, you'd catch yourself stealing bashful glances at him, locking eyes only for both of you to look away shyly. When the engagement was announced, Childe was one of the first to hear about it.

You twirled around the house in your wedding dress. Something plain and basic, but it was what your family could afford, and quite honestly, you loved it. You didn't want to take it off. Your fear of getting it dirty lessened as the days went by, until the wedding was only a week away.

“A guest for you, my lady,” one of your maids had said. Typically, when the employees of the house saw you dressed in your white gown, they'd smile at you, overjoyed as well. But she didn't. She looked worried, even a bit tense as she made the announcement to you.

“I hadn't arranged to meet anyone today,” you said a bit quietly, going to you closer to pick out something to change into, “Please tell them to wait in the day room.”

She stood stiffly for a second, then opened her trembling mouth to speak again, “I tried to, my lady. But he insisted on seeing you right now. He's just outside the door,”

A part of you wanted to ask who it was, who would be so disrespectful as to barge right up to a lady's room without her permission. But you already knew. There was a sense of unease sinking into your stomach. Unease and recognition. All the gifts and letters he'd sent weren't enough, were they? The man you were ignoring just had to come see you in person.

“Let him in,” you told the maid. She seemed confused at the ease at which you allowed such a thing, but still opened the door, revealing Childe who stood still in the hallway. He stepped past her, eyes only trained on you, “You're dismissed,” you said quietly, with a reassuring smile to the maid. Hesitance danced across her face, looking back and forth between you Childe, but she still did as told, bowing before leaving.

“You look lovely,” he said breathlessly, taking in the sight of you in that pure white dress.

“Thank you,” was all you could think to say back. Now that he was here before you, your mind was growing blank, all the things you wanted to say suddenly getting lost in fear. You tried not to notice the tension in the room, the way he was eyeing you like a predator about to pounce on a rabbit, but even your tough exterior was easy to see through.

“My heart aches for you, my lady,” he speaks softly while taking slow steps towards you. The terror of this situation made you move backwards, until your feet had made you press your back against the wall, “I fear that my haste might've made me do something…irrational.”

His dominant hand seems focused on the sword at his hip, making you look at it. It was only when you saw the red speckles all over his hand, hilt of the sword, and the oddly familiar pink ribbon he kept tied around it, did that coppery smell fill your nostrils.

With a trembling voice and a fake smile, you tried to assure him, “Any mistake is fixable, Sir Childe.”

“Not this one,” his hand continued to hold the hilt of his sword, squeezing it a few times as of testing the weight of his blade, “Do you know the best part of being the hero? The dragon slayer?” He asked, waiting for your response which was just a slow, forced shake of your head, prompting him to continue, “It's not the riches or the praise. It's not even the women.” As he speaks, one of his hands slides down from your cheek, to your neck, to the bodice of your dress. Tearful eyes look down to see him smearing that red liquid, that blood onto you white dress, staining it.

“I don't understand,” you mumbled, but your words fall on deaf ears.

“The best part of being the hero, is the freedom to do what I want. With no prosecution. Who in their right mind would stand up to the man who saved our failing nation? The answer is no one. Not the king, nor his workers, and especially not your weak little fiance,”

The sight and smell of blood, Childe's deep, hollow blue eyes, the way your heart felt as if it wanted to lurch out of your mouth. All things you tried to focus on as his words pounded their way into your skull, understanding washing over you like a wave that was trying to drown you where you stood.

“Wh-what did you do?” Your voice, so high pitched and breaking as the weight of the words forced through your body.

His hand, cold, soft, wet with blood rubbed your cheek, while his face never faltered, those dead eyes never changing, he had no remorse. It made you sick to your stomach, images of your fiance flashing through your head as you tried to imagine what he looked like, the hopeful ones saying that he was at least still alive.

“I'm going to ask again, nicely this time,” he began while pulling a ring from his pocket. Much more intricate than the one your fiance had given you, seeing as he had the hero's budget. But that didn't make you feel any less light headed when it was slipped onto your ring finger, freezing cold against your warm skin, “Will you do me the honor of becoming my bride?”

#mai<3 answers #genshin #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #yandere x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere childe x reader #yandere childe #genshin childe x reader #childe x reader #historical au

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midnightwriter21 · 1 year

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demon slayer hcs: douma & akaza as boyfriends

characters: fem!reader x douma, akaza

warnings: implied death, nsfw themes (no actual smut)

DOUMA

god he’s so fine for what

first off douma has trouble understanding human emotions

and dawg prefers to eat women

so the fact that y’all are dating??

ur special fr fr

you are so spoiled

douma = sugar daddy

u have one of his followers from his cult following u around and taking care of any and everything that u want

u mention seeing something in a store that u liked?

douma will have it before the end of the day

you’re like a little doll to him

he enjoys dressing you up in the cutest outfits, experimenting with different hairstyles, and playing with your makeup

teases the hell outta u

he thinks your reactions are amusing

especially when u do that cute little pout

or the puppy dog eyes

and don’t even get me started on when he makes u upset

he LOVES that shit

he always makes it up to you tho

but let a member of his cult tease you? or make u upset??

there will be hell to pay

he’ll take their head clean off their shoulders right then and there

won’t even bat an eye

so touchy

glued to u

ur sitting in his lap during cult meetings

he’s holding ur hand

he’s got an arm thrown around ur shoulders

he’s running his nails up and down ur arms so he can watch u shiver and get goosebumps

ur mad at him? maybe yelling at him abt something?

not anymore

he’s got his hands on ur face and he’s squishing ur cheeks so u can’t talk

thinks ur expressions are adorable

now douma sounds like a great boyfriend so far

but this man is MEAN

low key only keeps u around because u entertain him

i mean he’s been alive for so long and experienced so much

mans gets bored

BUT!!

if yalls relationship miraculously progresses past this

he’s turning u into a demon

that way u can stay with him forever

and he’ll never get bored of u

how could he when ur the first person to actually make him understand emotions?

especially an emotion as complex as love <3

but his true nature

comes out in the bedroom

dawg is EVIL

100% will make u cry

humiliation!!!

he’s a biter

ofc he is

idk somethin abt seeing his marks on you rly gets him goin

biting down just enough to leave a mark but not to break skin

yeah

id let him step on me

AKAZA

best boyfriend ever

no harm will ever come to u

protective asf

ur nocturnal at this point

bc ain’t no way ur leaving the house without akaza

so u gotta wait til it’s nighttime so he can come with u wherever ur going

such a gentleman ong

he’s holding ur hand to make sure u don’t get separated in crowds

or he has a hand on the small of ur back to guide u while u walk

he’s pulling ur chair out for u to sit down

he’s holding doors open for u

brings u flowers all the time

instead of looking for that blue spider lily for Muzan?

he’s picking u a bouquet of wildflowers

gonna get his ass kicked for that by muzan but oh well

100% the bf that’ll slow dance w u in the rain

with no music

ugh he’s such a romantic

god he loves u so much

and he makes sure u know it

words of affirmation!! all the time!!!

now

he’s a sweetie

but y’all ever heard that one phrase

and it’s like

gentleman in the streets freak in the sheets?

mhm that’s him

dude strong as fuck

and his STAMINA?

babe u are worn out

so many rounds

so many positions

u can’t keep up

ain’t no way i’m sorry

but the aftercare is on point

when he’s done puttin u through the ringer

he’s drawing u a bath

and making sure u drink some water cause u lost a fuck ton of bodily fluids i’m sorry

gross

cuddle bug!!

and the pillow talk!!

he’s the best

i love him sm

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #anime #douma #douma x reader #akaza x reader #akaza #douma fluff #akaza fluff #kny #x reader #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer headcanons #upper moons

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oddinary4bts · 10 months

Text

Emotions of the Soul | knj

☆summary: when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: childhood/teenage lovers to strangers to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, anxiety, a reference to the reader in Now We Reign if you guys can catch it, cursing, stupid teenage threats of m*rder, an appearance from the reader in Forever, pet names, paparazzi, imposter syndrome, an ugly teenage breakup flashback, explicit content: mentions of blindfolding, switch!Namjoon, big dick!Namjoon, switch!reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, dirty talking?, balls fondling, face riding, breast play, fingering, protected sex, praise, hair pulling (ish), ass slapping, tummy bulge (? lmao), choking, cumshot, cum eating, unprotected sex, he calls OC a slut once or twice I think

☆word count: 36.3k

☆a/n: Oof I don't know why but writing this was so so hard?? I'm happy I finally managed to finish it tho! It delves into the subject of anxiety and its effects on people, so it's a little heavy, but I hope you'll still enjoy it <3 As always, thank you to @moonleeai for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3

☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!

☆☆☆☆☆

The music in the gallery was loud. It probably fitted a club better than an art exhibit, the upbeat melody having more than one person dancing and nodding their head to it. The atmosphere was warm, stuffy, even though the front doors had been left open in the hopes of getting the fresh November air in. It failed majestically, and you were sweating in your too-tight dress by the refreshment table in a corner, watching over the crowd.

You had never seen so many people in your gallery before. Had never thought your art would attract that amount of people, but it seemed the art enthusiasts of Seoul had flocked to your gallery tonight, looking to experience the art of a new talent firsthand.

At least that was what the journalists were saying, even though you had been an artist since you were a middle schooler. Fingers always stained with ink, teachers scolding you for never paying attention…

Middle school had seen your love for art blossom the way azaleas blossom after a long winter. With bright petals, vivid with life, though your art had first been the colour of the darkest nights. It had taken you years before you had incorporated colours into it, and now you were proud to see the myriad of shades painted on your pieces.

You sighed, and you reckoned maybe the mask you were wearing was the reason why you felt so stuffy. But you weren’t going to risk being recognized – no, you liked enjoying your exhibits in the anonymity of an art enthusiast. Rare were those who knew who the artist actually was, and you felt like it was the best way to have actual feedback on your art.

No one coated their words with sugar when they spoke with just another art enthusiast. So tonight, you wore the mask of the artist, the one people knew you for. It preserved your identity but also allowed people to know who the artist was when they had to. Like tonight, considering that it was the opening of your newest exhibit, The Colours of Fall.

You ordered a glass of apple-flavoured soju mixed with beer, bowing your head in thanks at the employee behind the table when they offered it to you. When you turned back around, your eyes trailed to the wall of windows on one side of the room. Though some pieces were hung there, with spotlights behind the windows to create shadows into the pieces, you still were able to see the black Sedan that was parking outside.

Paparazzi outside started flashing their cameras as someone walked out, and all you could see from where you were was a mop of black hair. More than one celebrity was in attendance tonight, so you didn’t pay attention to the person arriving more than necessary, instead focusing on the exhibit once more.

It was going well. Far better than you had first imagined it would. You had already sold numerous pieces, and your brain was running a mile a minute with ideas of what you could replace them with.

Your mask only hid the top part of your face, so you easily took a sip of your drink, inadvertently bobbing your head to the music. It was good music, it really was, but you couldn’t wait for the actual playlist you had chosen to begin.

Which wasn’t going to be for a whole other hour, unfortunately. After you said your speech and the lights turned to red, orange, and the rich yellow of autumn leaves.

Your manager moved closer to you, and she offered you a wide smile. You nodded your head and watched as she ordered the same drink as you, before standing next to you.

“The celebrity scene is going crazy over your exhibit,” Na Sooah said. “Most of those invited showed up.”

“I still can’t believe you invited the whole celebrity scene,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “Most of them know nothing about art.”

Sooah laughed. “Not all of them! Kim Namjoon just arrived.”

Your throat went dry, and the hand clutching your glass tightened at the mention of Namjoon’s name. Kim Namjoon. Your childhood friend Kim Namjoon. Your first kiss, your first time… and a member of the most famous boy group in the world. More than that, Namjoon was a fellow art enthusiast.

Namjoon’s love for art started at the same time as yours. He had been enthralled by your drawings, believing that you had a gift that needed to be nurtured and protected. Like his love for music, though his comparisons most often made no sense. To you, that is.

Namjoon had been your first heartbreak, back when every emotion felt deeper than the ocean, when anger, pain, and sadness ran longer than eternity. Back when he hadn’t even joined Big Hit yet.

“Kim Namjoon,” you repeated, tasting his name in your mouth for the first time since that ugly October night when you had told him you hated him more than anything in this world, and he had left without even a single look back.

You had never spoken after that. You had never talked about him anymore either, not to your friends or family. And when you had begged your parents to change school, they had caved in, letting you attend the same school as your cousin Miyoung.

Miyoung had been your closest friend since then, until Sooah had come into your life to form a trio with you and your cousin when you had attended college in arts.

“Yeah, he’s created quite a commotion outside,” Sooah commented, and you remembered the mop of black hair.

Could that have been Namjoon?

“And when he RSVP’ed, he mentioned that he would like to have a talk with the artist, so I hope you’re ready,” Sooah added, teasingly.

You glared at her through your mask. “You couldn’t have told me before?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes once more, not so playfully this time, taking another sip of your drink. “He’s Kim Namjoon, you could have let a girl prepare.”

At that, Sooah laughed out loud. “Got a little crush?”

“Quite the opposite,” you said through gritted teeth.

You hated Kim Namjoon.

You noticed him then. He was dressed simply, yet it was elegant, somehow. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself, with his large and tall frame, that made him elegant. Because you doubted a pair of jeans with a gray cardigan over a light blue polo was supposed to be this elegant. His long coat matched the colour of his cardigan almost to perfection, and he flashed dimples to the employee at the coat check as he took off the coat, revealing more of his large frame.

Needless to say, Kim Namjoon didn’t look like he could rip a log in two with his bare hands back when you had first known him. No, he had been a thin, gangly teen, with arms that seemed too long for his frame.

When he was rid of his coat, he moved to the side to let the man behind him give his coat away, and then the two of them started walking together.

You had no idea who the other man was, but from the looks of it, he was a friend, as Namjoon laughed along with him.

One of your hands moved to your face, gently grazing your mask to make sure it was still well-fitted. It was like one of those masks people wore at the Venice carnival. It matched the theme of your exhibit, with autumn leaves craftily molded into it. It was a piece of art in and of itself, like all the masks you wore as an artist.

He wouldn’t recognize you. You were positive he wasn’t going to be able to recognize you with just the lower part of your face on display, especially after so many years apart. Your voice had changed to – matured, aged, like your features, quite honestly.

After all, the last time Kim Namjoon had seen you, you had been a crying, yelling, angsty fifteen-year-old.

Sooah left you to a couple that was looking to buy one of the backlit art pieces, and you explained to them the process behind the creation of the art they had chosen, eyes once in a while flitting around to make sure Kim Namjoon wasn’t in your vicinity yet.

He wasn’t. He was perusing around the gallery, stopping to talk to other celebrities once in a while, and so far, you weren’t even sure he had looked your way. Which was a good thing, because that meant maybe you’d make it to your speech before he actually tried talking to you.

You could leave immediately after your speech, right?

“And what about the subject of autumn interested you so much?” the older man in front of you asked.

You blinked out of your reverie, offering him a practiced, easy smile. “If you had to choose, would you want to witness the beginning or the end?” you asked.

It was the catchphrase of your speech. Though people could argue that the year ended and began in the winter months, you had always seen a finality in the months of fall and had portrayed it in your art.

The man seemed taken aback by your question. He cocked his head to the side, before glancing at his wife. “The end carries weight,” the wife said pensively. “It carries age and wisdom.”

You offered her a polite nod. “Exactly. I find beauty in the end and chose to portray it with the months of autumn. When life seems to come to its end.”

“Fall is beautiful,” the man agreed. “But wouldn’t you argue the start holds more beauty? With all the possibilities that it carries.”

“A different kind of beauty. Which, maybe it’s going to inspire my next exhibit,” you teased, secretively, and the couple laughed.

You talked to them a little more, and it seemed life had salvation to offer you because Sooah was the one that came to you first, and not Kim Namjoon. You said goodbye to the couple, before following your manager to the spot where you were to say your speech. As usual, nerves wracked your whole body at the sight of the standing mic, and you had to resist not to bring your thumb to your mouth to nibble on the nail. It was a habit you had gotten rid of only recently, and you really didn’t want it to come back.

Especially not in front of a crowd such as this one, in which you knew Kim Namjoon was standing.

Sooah stopped in the crowd, pushing you forward gently, inciting you to walk the rest of the way yourself. Your heart beat out of your chest as if it was about to escape your ribcage, and you took a deep steadying breath before moving out of the crowd.

The music stopped, and the lights immediately dimmed, until all that was left was a single spotlight, which shone on you as you stopped next to the mic. Back turned to the crowd, eyes skimming over the biggest piece of your exhibit. Ilsan lay before you, draped in the colours of autumn.

You breathed in and out one last time, and then you turned, stepping in front of the mic.

“If you could choose,” you started, voice steadier than you expected it’d be. “Would you choose the end or the beginning?”

The couple you had been speaking to smiled wildly at your sentence, and you let the silence linger long enough for people to whisper their own answer. Music started with low traditional instruments replacing the upbeat melody from earlier.

“There is a form of beauty in the end. In knowing you’ve seen it all, and that rest is at your door,” you continued. “There’s beauty in looking back, in wisdom, and in the Colours of Autumn.” You paused, looking over the crowd. You noticed Namjoon standing at the back, listening politely. “My exhibition carries this: the end of the year, of the cycle of nature. The beauty of fall, of leaves and October nights and November rains.” You wondered if people could tell that your hand was slightly trembling, where it held the mic. “When the wind catches and leaves blow, it is time to look back. So tonight, I want you all to take a step back, to look back on your lives and ask yourselves, ‘Have I found the wisdom of The Colours of Autumn?’”

The spotlight turned off, and you walked away from the mic to the crowd. When you turned back to look at the piece of Ilsan, a projector came to life and the story you had prepared started.

You tuned it out: you had seen the shadow and light projections so many times already they had lost all sense to you. It often happened – if you stared at your art for too long, it lost all its meaning. So you usually didn’t look back on a piece right away. You waited for the end, for the concretization that came with your exhibits, and only then did you look back.

Except the lights and shadows. You had watched those fifteen times yesterday only to make sure that everything was perfect. And you were quite the perfectionist, you knew that they were.

While everyone was watching, you slowly made your way to the back of the crowd. You surprisingly still had your drink in your hands, and you took a careful sip as you finally slipped out of the big of the crowd. The drink was flat now, and you tried to head towards the refreshment table in order to rid yourself of it.

It seemed your calculations had been wrong, because Kim Namjoon stood in front of you, in all his tall glory.

All his infuriating glory, as dimples graced his cheeks at the sight of you. They stopped you in your tracks, and you gazed up at him, eyes connecting even through the dim lighting. His friend was standing next to him, and your eyes flitted to him once before looking at Namjoon again.

Namjoon nodded his head, politely, before taking a sip of the beer he was holding. You nodded back, and then you resumed moving, thoughts spiraling like leaves in the fall wind. You made it all the way to the small door that led to the stairs to your studio before you were stopped by a large hand on your elbow.

You knew who it was without having to turn around, and you would have cursed him for not watching the show had applauds not sounded, indicating that it was over anyway.

“Hi,” Namjoon politely said when you were finally facing his way. His hand had long returned to the pocket of his jeans, and he looked infinitely nonchalant, standing there in front of you. “Sorry for the intrusion, but your manager told me to be quick to speak to you at the end if I didn’t want to miss you.”

Sooah could go to hell.

You offered a polite chuckle, though to you, it sounded like you were choking on air. Because frankly, you felt like you were. “I do usually slip away in the night,” you answered. You glanced at the door, hating that your salvation had been so close yet so far. “You caught me right before I was to leave.”

When you faced Namjoon again, you noticed the confused look on his features. His brows were furrowed over his eyes, his lips were slightly parted, and he had tilted his head to the side in confusion. His eyes, slightly narrowed, made him look like some sort of dragon, and God were you well placed to know Namjoon could breathe fire if he wanted.

At least when he was a teen, he could.

“I’ve been trying to get in contact with you,” Namjoon admitted. “Your manager said to come here if I wanted a chance to talk to you.”

You cocked an eyebrow, though the mask hid it from view. What the hell could Namjoon want to speak to you about?

“I’ve noticed you portray Ilsan in your art a lot, and since I come from there, I wanted to know if I could buy a piece,” he added to your stunned silence.

“You didn’t have to talk to me to ask for that,” you said, and you glanced around at the employees on the floor that were in charge of the actual selling.

“I wanted to have the artist’s insight on which piece she’d believe would fit best for me,” he continued, and he seemed to realize then that this was weird. He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Or maybe even have one made personally?”

Now, you remembered why you hated Kim Namjoon. “I do not take commissions,” you flatly replied. “If you wish to buy a piece, you can auction for one with one of my employees.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon quickly said. “I didn’t want to sound rude. Like at all. It’s just… there was this piece I really liked from your last exposition, Winds of the West? I couldn’t buy it in time.”

“I do not remake pieces.”

Silence followed your statement. Had he only then noticed how cold you were towards him?

“Right,” he eventually said. “How unfortunate. I think the person that bought it is here today. Might as well go talk to them.”

It was said like a joke, but you didn’t bite, remaining entirely stoic in front of him. Kim Namjoon didn’t seem to like it, as if he was used to people bending to his every wish, and he probably was.

“Might as well,” you agreed, hoping that it was going to make him leave.

It seemed it did the trick, because he looked over his shoulder, probably searching for the person in question. When his eyes settled back on you, he said, “Guess I’ll let you escape through the night.”

You pursed your lips, nodding once. And just because you wanted to preserve your artist image a little, even though you reckoned you had been rude to him, you said, “Good luck with getting the piece.”

At that, he lit up, and the dimples appeared.

You hated that after all these years, they still had an effect on you.

“Thank you, Maehwa,” he gently said.

Hearing him say your artist’s name had you freezing on the spot. You hoped he didn’t see the panic in your eyes, and the colours draining from the half of your face visible to people. He did furrow his eyebrows once more though, looking pensive, but you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. Indeed, you quickly wished him good night, before turning around and stepping through the door.

Once you were in the cool darkness, back pressed against the door you’d just locked, you took another deep steadying breath, like the one you had taken before your speech.

Maehwa had been Namjoon’s nickname for you, all those years ago. Because back then, you had mostly been drawing flowers and had been attracted to the maehwas, the blooms of a plum. But maehwas were common and loved, and there was no way he could have connected the dots. He didn’t seem like he had, or else you were pretty sure he would have approached you in an entirely different fashion. Indeed, back then, he had told you he’d kill you if he ever saw you again, which, in your fifteen-year-old heart, had been quite the threat.

Once you were calmed, you walked down the stairs, breathing in a sigh of relief at the sight of your studio. Right now, it was pretty much empty, save for the painting you had started for Miyoung’s wedding next summer.

She wasn’t even engaged yet, but her boyfriend Doyoon had let you in on the secret since you were going to help with the proposal in a few weeks. You glanced at the painting, almost wishing to work on it a little just to get your mind off things. But it was late, and you’d rather be at home, with your cat Gabi.

Was it your fault if memories of Kim Namjoon swam in your head until late that night? You highly doubted so. And looking back, you couldn’t see any beauty in your ending. You, who preached that all endings held beauty. Had you just been too immature then? You thought perhaps you had been, but it didn’t really matter anymore though, did it? It couldn’t.

Why, then, were you unable to shake Kim Namjoon out of your thoughts, until troubled sleep found you in its embrace?

*****

December was grand. With showers of fluffy snow that left a blanket on the world, and Miyoung’s engagement party. You painted, stained your fingers with blue and purple to match the colours of the winter landscape, and by the time January came, you had all but forgotten how Kim Namjoon had just reappeared one evening in late November.

Your studio was cool at this time of the year, and the windows at the top of the walls had iced with frost. You were wearing a thick sweater, with a pair of leggings you had long stained with paint, back when you were working on the fall Ilsan piece.

Indie music was playing in the background, a new artist that had been taking over Seoul and South Korea with her music. It was sad, but Miyoung had insisted that you listen to it, saying that the artist had been rookie of the year at MAMA last year. You had been supposed to accompany Miyoung to the singer’s stadium show too, but you had ended up being sick, and Sooah had gone in your stead.

The music was lonely, nostalgic, but the lyrics were powerful and inspiring. So you kept on painting, as the light of the rising sun slowly melted the frost on the window, though the corners clung to it like one clings to a lover just returned from war.

You hadn’t slept last night. Had stayed up working on your current piece, and exhaustion was slowly catching up to you, even though the inspiration hadn’t worn off yet. So you kept working, head tilting to the side whenever you finished a small part, waiting to know what the next step in the journey was.

You had a fist on your hip when Sooah and Miyoung both appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the basement, voices cheery and loud in the relative calmness of your studio.

“Please tell me you haven’t been up all night,” Miyoung scolded you, and your gaze slid to where she was walking down the stairs, hands holding up two coffees.

She handed one to you when she reached the basement floor. You took it gladly with the hand that was previously on your hip, shrugging your shoulders. “I was almost done.”

Both Sooah and Miyoung looked at the piece.

“Clearly,” Sooah sarcastically said.

Your eyes also slid back to your piece. You took a step back, and clearly, you were far from done. You had been working on the middle portion all night, but you still had only a vague drawing for the rest of the canvas. You sighed, putting down your brush.

“I meant I’m almost done with what I wanted to finish,” you specified.

Sooah nodded her head, before plopping down on the couch in one corner. Miyoung glanced once at her, before resuming her attention on you.

“Why did it take two months for me to know Kim Namjoon came to your exhibit?” she asked, with the most innocent voice.

Your mouth fell open. “What? It was all over the news.”

“You know I don’t watch the news!” Miyoung exclaimed. “Sooah mentioned it while we were getting coffee.”

“I-“

“And why did you never tell me you dated that guy when you were younger?” Sooah interjected, not letting you finish your sentence.

“Mimi!” you burst, and you jumped towards Miyoung, fully in the hopes of tackling her to the ground.

“The art!” Miyoung screamed as she escaped you. “Be careful with your art!”

You stopped in your tracks, electing to glare at her instead. “Why did you tell her? I was fifteen!”

“Still counts,” Miyoung replied, the innocent act still on.

But you wouldn’t be fooled. “It clearly doesn’t.” You turned your head towards Sooah, who watched with a giddy smile from where she sat. “Right? Who cares about a teenage ex?”

She laughed. “Clearly, you, if you get so worked up about it, what, thirteen years later?”

You frowned, shaking your head. Instead of replying, you took a long sip of your coffee, hoping it would give you something to reply to that.

“I don’t care,” you said when the sip was swallowed, and you couldn’t really wait anymore.

Sooah nodded, getting up from her spot on the couch to head in front of the painting you had been working on. You watched her go, an eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

“Well then,” she said once she was standing there, with her back turned to you. She smacked her lips once, the only way you knew she was up to no good. “You won’t care if I tell you he asked to film something in the gallery, and I said yes.”

You loved your friends. You really did. But sometimes you hated them too. Like right now, as your brain immediately started planning their murder.

“What the fuck?”

Sooah finally turned towards you, acting as if she didn’t just announce the worst news of your life to you. “Yeah. The pay is going to be worth it, and it’s going to give a lot of worldwide visibility to your art. It really is worth it.”

“But Kim Namjoon?” you complained. “Couldn’t you have chosen… I don’t know, some cool indie artist?”

“He’s a cool artist,” Sooah stated, shrugging her shoulders.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Is he really?”

“His music is good,” Miyoung cut in innocently.

Your head snapped towards her. “You listen to his music?”

“Yeah, the album he released in December is good.”

And that was how you found yourself sleep-deprived, listening to a music album made by your teenage ex, as your manager explained to you the deeds of the project Namjoon was going to film in the gallery. Even though Sooah was one of your closest friends, you couldn’t really say no when she asked you to do job things. You trusted her entirely on her choices, had always did, but today you regretted it just a little bit.

Luckily enough for her, your exhaustion won over your will to fire her – or worse, to murder her – and you headed home when you finished listening to the album, repeating time and time again to you didn’t think Namjoon’s music was good.

It had led to Miyoung innocently mentioning that your breakup had been ugly, and really you had to get out of there before you committed the irreparable. It was only a few hours later, after a well-deserved nap, that you realized something.

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery didn’t mean you had to be present, right?

*****

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery actually meant that you were going to have to be present.

You had been too tired, that day with Sooah. Had entirely not assimilated that the project he was filming was a series of short episodes where he met up with various local artists, presenting their craft to the world. He had chosen you for the painting episode, even though you were quite convinced there were way better artists out there that he could have chosen from. You didn’t really have a say in this – what Sooah wanted, Sooah got.

Still, you were given a reprieve – the date chosen for shooting was still in a week, and so you took to arranging your gallery the way you believed would work best. And though you were pretty sure it was ready, some late Thursday afternoon you found yourself moving around some paintings, deciding to change the location of the Ilsan piece that had been the vehicle of the shadow and light projection you had shown at your exhibit in November.

You watched as two employees moved the piece where you had asked them to, fists on your hips, when bells rang, indicating that someone had walked in. You didn’t dare look behind you, instead giving directions to the employees as one of them carefully climbed the two first steps of a stepladder to hang the painting where it needed to be.

You surveyed them until the painting was safely hung, almost forgetting that someone had walked in. You only remembered when you felt a heavy gaze on your profile, and a silhouette appeared. You glanced their way then, and almost let out a startled scream that would have clearly made the windows explode.

Kim Namjoon offered you a tight-lipped smile.

“Are you Maehwa?” he asked.

You put a hand over your chest, trying to keep your heart from going into arrest. “You can’t just sneak on people like this,” you grumbled.

Then, the weirdest thing happened. He started smiling, wide, flashing his insufferable dimples, and his eyes lit up from within.

“It really is you.”

You gulped. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” You wanted to scold yourself for saying that, as if you wouldn’t know who Kim Namjoon was, even if he wasn’t your ex from so many years ago.

“Y/n, don’t play this game with me,” Namjoon said, teasingly. “I was pretty sure it was you in November, and now I have the proof.”

You scoffed. “What do you want?”

This time, his smile only allowed one dimple to appear, and you hated it even more. “Your manager told me that I could come over today to prepare for shooting. She said you were setting up the gallery.”

You would really need to fire Na Sooah, wouldn’t you?

You looked around, though it was pretty much ready. The filming crew was supposed to come at the beginning of next week to set up the spotlights and everything else they might need, as filming was only supposed to be Wednesday next week.

“Yeah,” you replied flatly. “What do you need to prepare?”

He tilted his head to the side. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and that’s how you speak to me? I remembered you to be a lot warmer.”

The nerves on this man…

“It’s been over ten years, I’ve changed.” You clenched your jaw once, before taking a deep, steadying breath. There were employees around, after all. “What do you need to prepare?”

He just smiled, mysteriously, before glancing around once. “Do you have an office somewhere around here?”

You looked up to the ceiling, rolling your eyes so far back you thought they were going to stick to the back of your head. “I have my studio downstairs,” you grumbled. “Follow me.”

He nodded, dimples flashing, and followed you as you made your way to the door through which you had escaped from him in November. Only this time, there was no escaping.

Namjoon’s heavy footsteps followed you down the stairs, and you braced yourself for the inevitable comments he was going to make about your studio. To your surprise, he remained silent, and you realized that he, too, had changed through the years.

No one remained quite like their fifteen-year-old self, didn’t they?

You moved towards the sitting area, vaguely motioning to an armchair. “Have a seat.”

You glanced over your shoulder, only to see Namjoon was looking at your current work-in-progress. It made you feel insecure, somehow, and you cleared your throat.

Namjoon’s gaze trailed to you. “Sorry.”

He walked towards you, and you felt small as he stopped right in front of you, still with that same infuriating, warm smile on his lips. “Your art has improved a lot through the years.”

You fled his gaze, motioning to the armchair again. “Do you want coffee? Or a tea?”

“Just water would be fine,” he replied, his smile falling for the first time since he had appeared in the gallery upstairs.

You nodded curtly, and as you headed towards the kitchen area of your studio, Namjoon got comfortable in the armchair. You brought back two glasses of water, mostly because you knew you were going to need something to hold to keep your nerves at bay. Namjoon accepted his with a slight bow of his head, and then you sat on the couch.

You exchanged a look, as you waited expectantly for him to say something. He remained silent, a pensive look on his features. It threw you off, as he had been the type to talk a lot back then.

“You’ve changed,” he stated out of the blue, and it made you cock an eyebrow.

“Obviously,” you drawled. “I would expect someone to change after thirteen years.”

Those stupid dimples appeared for half a heartbeat. “Yet you haven’t changed at all.” At your obstinate silence, Namjoon specified, “You’re still just as petty as I remember you to be.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you here to insult me or to prepare for shooting your show?”

He chuckled, a deep sound that had you busying yourself with a sip of water. He mirrored you, before saying, “I don’t mean to insult you at all”.

Should you call him out for his bullshit? Back then you would have, but you had grown up. So you remained silent once more, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just weird to see you again,” he said, and he motioned towards you with the hand holding the glass. “You look… good.”

Not at all what you were expecting. It made you gulp, and you hated that your cheeks were burning. “It is weird, right?”

He nodded once, eyes trailing away from you to look down at his glass. “I’m happy your dreams worked out.”

Now, the pang in your heart was unwelcome. Kim Namjoon shouldn’t have the power to make you feel like this, not after all the years.

“I worked hard,” you replied carefully. “As you have, I presume.”

At that, he chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “I sure have.”

Another awkward silence and you glanced at him as he took a sip of water.

“So, what did you want to prepare?” you asked once you couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Oh,” he let out. He sat back in the armchair, looking way too at ease with his thighs slightly spread. “I wanted to give you the list of questions that I’m going to ask so that way you can prepare in advance,” he told you, offering you another one of those disarming, dimple-flashing smiles.

You cocked an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have shared them by email?”

Another chuckle of his had you looking away, focusing on your project.

“I could have. But I wanted to see if my inkling was right at the same time,” he explained. “Before the day of shooting, that is.”

You sighed, before looking back at him. His eyes were already on you, and it made you gulp once more.

Namjoon had gotten really intimidating, after all these years.

“Well, now you know,” you said. “Was there anything else you needed?”

He seemed surprised at the dismissal in your tone. “Not… really.” He wet his lips, watching you carefully. “I just thought it’d be great to catch up.” His gaze moved to your surroundings, before settling back on you. “To get to know how you managed to get such a nice studio and all that. I haven’t heard about you since we broke up.”

“Because I wanted it to be this way,” you replied. “And why do you have to say it like you didn’t believe I’d make it?”

“Wait, no,” he quickly said. “That’s not what I meant.”

You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes. “Of course not.”

He laughed. “Really? After all these years, you’re still mad at me?”

“You did tell me you wanted to kill me,” you reminded him in a grumble.

He seemed surprised. He frowned, and his head once again tilted to the side. “Did I?”

“You don’t remember?”

At that, you were the one to be surprised. It had been such a pivotal piece of your existence, back then, that you expected it to be marked into his brain the same way that it was in yours.

He shrugged. “Not particularly. I got super busy with being a trainee, and I just… I guess I forgot.”

“Oh,” you let out. The silence that followed was heavy, awkward, and you hoped it was enough for Namjoon to get the cue and leave.

Maybe he was still just as dumb and clueless as he had been then, because he said, “I was intense, wasn’t I?”

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

You held his eyes for a few seconds until your gaze dropped to your glass. You hated how you couldn’t look at him anymore, but gosh, he looked a lot better than he did then, and you had already found him attractive all those years ago.

“I…” he trailed off, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I was wondering if I could have your phone number, to send you the list of questions.”

“Uh…” You scratched the back of your neck, shrugging your shoulders. “You can send it to my manager, she’ll have it sent to me.”

If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. “I guess I’ll see you next week, then?”

You nodded once, before clenching your jaw. Because why did some stupid part of you not want him to leave right away?

“Did you eat? I was about to order fried chicken.”

He looked almost startled by your invitation. “I… have eaten, actually,” he replied truthfully, never one to lie. “But if you want company while you eat, I can always stay.”

You shook your head. “Nah, all good. I was just asking to be polite.”

He didn’t call you out on your bullshit, instead offering you a tight-lipped smile. “Then I guess I’ll see you next week.”

You walked him back upstairs, teeth nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tried to ignore the weight of the awkwardness between you. He wished you a good day, flashing those dimples of his, and he left, without once looking back.

You watched him as he climbed in a company car, and your gaze dropped to the ground as the car drove away, quickly disappearing from view.

What the hell had just happened?

*****

Namjoon’s list of questions was good. Mostly, it was centered around what you used as an inspiration, which other artists did you look up to, and what kind of music you listened to while practicing your art, if you listened to any at all. There was also stuff about where you grew up, and how it might have affected your art.

Nothing too personal, yet the fact that the questions were from Namjoon felt incredibly personal, and your hands were clammy, heart beating out of your chest, by the time the day of shooting came. It didn’t help that there was some problem with the cameras, which was only solved a few hours after the shooting was first supposed to start.

This meant you spent the most awkward, long hours of your life in Namjoon’s company, barely even talking because, frankly, you had nothing to tell him. He seemed fine with the silence, or maybe he just sucked at small talk just as much as you, and he didn’t say anything, just sat there scrolling on his phone until the director came to get the two of you.

And when filming started, Namjoon started asking you his questions, and you tried not to be a blushing mess as you answered. Tried and succeeded, you liked to tell yourself, because you were used to being interviewed.

The fact that you were starting to be renowned in Seoul’s painting scene helped, clearly, because you made it through the introduction and first few questions without stuttering.

They were the easiest ones, after all.

“At what age did you start painting?” Namjoon asked as you sat on the little balcony outside of your gallery, looking over the Han River.

Your breath turned into a cloud as you exhaled, and you followed it with your eyes as it moved up towards the sky. “I started when I was seven. But at first, I only drew, and then started painting when I tried it for the first time in middle school and fell in love with the craft.”

Namjoon was there that day. Had ruined your painting when he had fallen next to it, feet getting tangled in the pots of paint. You had been furious, but you had also been two laughing messes by the time class had finished.

You had started dating half a year later, making the decision right outside of the art class, where it had all begun if you were honest.

“What do you like so much about painting?”

You met his gaze, not really knowing how to answer that question. You had been searching for what to reply for hours the day before, and all you had been able to come up with was, “It allows me to create, to evacuate emotions and to make something that is worth looking back at.”

You weren’t sure it was the answer he was looking for, but you still said it. He offered you a secretive smile, as if it made all the sense in the world to him.

You hoped the camera didn’t catch your eyes flicking to his lips, before getting stuck in the dimple on his cheek.

“I think that’s understandable,” he replied truthfully. “Creating music feels a little like that, at least for me.”

You pursed your lips, not really knowing what you could say to add to the conversation. Namjoon took it in stride, following with his next question.

And it went like that for the whole interview. At some point, you moved inside, with the aim of talking about certain art pieces of your choosing. Namjoon asked questions about your latest exposition, about what it was like compared to your first one, and frankly, you didn’t see the time go until the director cut the tape for the last time, telling Namjoon that it was closing time.

To your surprise, Namjoon had one last question for you.

“As we bring this interview to an end,” Namjoon said, eyes finding yours, “I have one last question for our artist.” He waited a few seconds, as if to give emphasis to his words, before adding, “Why did you choose the name Maehwa?”

You stared at him, he stared at you. You were pretty sure he could read the answer in your eyes, and you were pretty sure you didn’t want to say it out loud. It felt awkward, and this time you doubted the makeup they had put on your skin before filming could hide the blush on your cheeks.

“Uh,” you let out, coughing a little. “When I was younger, a friend of mine used to call me that. I liked the nickname, and I guess it stuck around?”

‘A friend of mine translated’ to him, to Namjoon, and you hoped he couldn’t tell just how much you were spiraling, like a leaf caught in the whirlpool of a leaking sink. Because you were caught in the current, feeling like you were stupid, to have held onto a stupid nickname that meant nothing, that never should have meant anything.

“It’s a pretty name,” Namjoon reflected.

His eyes were heavy on you because, of course, he knew that it was him. Of course, he remembered the days of youth where you had learned about love, by his side.

He had been there after all.

“Thank you,” you replied, a little breathlessly.

After that, Namjoon closed the interview, and when the cameras turned off, you let out a long, wavering sigh. It made him chuckle, as people buzzed around you to put everything away.

“Everything okay?”

You offered him a no-bullshit look. “You didn’t tell me about that last question.”

It sounded accusing, and frankly, you were accusing him. He recoiled, just a little, losing the small smile that was gracing his lips.

“I honestly thought it up during the interview,” he admitted. “I should have warned you.”

You clenched your jaw for a few seconds, before releasing yet another sigh. “It’s whatever. Why did you even want to know that?”

“Because I gave you that nickname…” he said, looking suddenly ashamed.

As if he was a child getting scolded for making a mistake. You didn’t like that look on him, even though he entirely deserved it, so you softened your expression before saying, “You did.”

He held your gaze, and the space between you filled with memories, with his laughter and the rain that early June night when you had kissed for the first time. It made you long for the warmth of his honey-toned skin, taking you by surprise.

Yes, you had once loved Kim Namjoon, but that had been thirteen years ago, when you were too young to actually know what love was.

“Do you…” you started, not knowing where you were headed.

Yet it was like he knew. “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime this week?” he asked, finishing your sentence.

You smiled, looking down as if that would hide the blush on your cheeks. “Only if you take me somewhere nice.”

“You deserve the best,” he said, nodding once. “I know just the place.”

You met his gaze again, and the smile grew like flowers under the sun. “Then yes, I’d like to grab dinner with you.”

At that, he offered you an award-winning smile, with the infuriating dimples creating indents in his cheeks. “For a moment, I was convinced you were going to refuse.”

The blush on your cheeks deepened as you asked, “Why?”

“You haven’t been…” he trailed off, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to the both of you, but most people were busy putting away the lights and mics from the set. “You haven’t been very warm,” he finished as his eyes settled back on you.

You nibbled at your lower lip, nodding curtly. “Right.” You held his gaze for a few seconds, and then you found you were too much of a coward, fleeing his dragon eyes to look at the tiles of the floor instead. “We didn’t part on exactly good terms, you know?”

“Yeah.” He took a step towards you, extending his hand in front of him as if expecting you to shake it. When he added, “I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s nice to meet you”, you understood that he was, in fact, waiting for you to shake it.

“What are you doing?” you asked, ignoring the hand.

He stubbornly kept it there. “Pretending that this is my first time meeting you,” he explained, even though it made little to no sense. When he saw the confused look on your face, he clarified, “So that way, we can pretend that the past never happened, and we can start again on better grounds.”

It made you giggle, a shy little sound that had you finally cave in, your small hand closing around his large one. “I already agreed to grab dinner with you, but…” you trailed off, finally meeting his gaze again. “Nice to meet you, Kim Namjoon. I’m Y/n.”

He held your hand for a second longer than necessary, before letting it go. Your fingers twitched as if wishing he had held on longer, and you hid it by hiding your arm behind your back.

“You come here often?” he asked, adding your name at the end. “I’ve never seen you around.”

You cocked an eyebrow, and you both burst out laughing at the same time.

“You’re bad at this,” you teased him. “We’re in my studio, of course, I come here often.”

He nodded. “Ah, I apologize. It’s my first time around, after all.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him in the shoulder. It just made him laugh again, and there was something so familiar, so warm in his laugh that you turned wistful. He immediately noticed the shift in you, and his smile slowly died down to be replaced by a serious look.

“I’m serious,” he told you. “It’d be great to start on new grounds.”

“I know. I fully agree,” you said. “It’s just… who would have thought I’d accept to grab dinner with the first boy that broke my heart.”

He didn’t reply. Just turned a little apologetic, though you reckoned you had broken his heart too. You both had been young and dumb, there was no way to deny it. And it was strange indeed, that thirteen years later, you had met again. Both of you having changed, having grown until you weren’t sure you really recognized him.

Except for the dimples. The dimples were the same, a never-changing feature that you didn't doubt had stolen the heart of a million of his fans. It had stolen your heart back then after all.

“So,” he said after his manager told him that they were ready to leave, breaking the bubble of the little dimension you both had fallen in. “This time, I assume you’ll allow me to write down your number?”

You snorted, holding out your hand between the two of you, a little like he had done earlier though you were waiting for him to give you his phone. “Sure, I’ll put it in your phone.”

He pouted, looking like the child you had known all those years ago. “I lost my phone.”

“What?”

He repeated sheepishly. “I think I left it in the company car that dropped me off here.”

That was such a Namjoon thing to do you found your heart growing warm once again. “Okay then, I’ll write my number on a paper, and you text me when you find your phone. That works?”

The bright smile returned, and he nodded his head. “That works for me.”

You held his gaze for a few more seconds, before moving away to go get paper in your studio downstairs. When you came back up, he was still waiting, though this time his manager was next to him, looking somehow a little pressed. You felt bad, assuming that he was upset because you were making him wait, so you jogged to Namjoon.

“There you go,” you said, handing him over the paper. Your eyes glided to the manager, before returning to Namjoon. “Text me when you can.”

“I will,” he said.

It sounded like a promise, just as much as it sounded like a beginning.

*****

“You are shitting me,” Miyoung said, eyes wide like flying saucers.

Cheeks burning, you avoided her insistent gaze. “No…”

“You’re grabbing dinner with Kim Namjoon?” she repeated, and the words sounded so foreign in her mouth that you winced a little.

“Huh,” you let out. “Yeah, seems like I am.”

She shook her head in disbelief, before chuckling lightly. “I can’t believe him. You’re supposed to hate him. You didn’t even want to listen to his music, and now you’re going out with him?” She paused to laugh again. “Sooah won’t believe this.”

“Come on,” you whined. “It’s nothing.”

“Shut up,” Miyoung said as she grabbed her phone. “I’m texting Sooah right now to let her know.”

You tried to steal your friend’s phone from her hands, but she darted away, out of your reach, long enough for the message to be sent. You were pretty sure your cheeks had gone purple now, and all you could do was fold your arms on your chest as you glared at Miyoung.

“It’s just dinner,” you pointed out. “Nothing to freak out about.”

Miyoung narrowed her gaze, eyeing you suspiciously. “Why are you even grabbing dinner with him? What are you hoping to achieve?” Her gaze widened before you could even speak. “Are you only going because he’s RM of BTS?”

You rolled your eyes, looking at the ceiling of your studio. Miyoung had come over when you had texted her about the dinner earlier, claiming that she needed to see for herself if you were just playing with her.

“No?” you said. “I don’t care that he’s RM. I accepted the offer because… I don’t know, at the end of the day, he’s a childhood friend.”

“A childhood friend? He was your first everything.”

Touché. Today, you felt weird whenever you remembered that he had taken your virginity, when you both were so young you shouldn’t even have been thinking about that. You had regretted it for years after – mostly because you had started hating him so bad, but also just because you had been so young. It felt wrong somehow.

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “I only told you because I don’t know how to date. I never really go on dates.”

She laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh my God, it is a date, right?”

You felt yourself flush red, furiously, and your gaze fell to the floor. “I mean, I think so? Don’t you?”

“I thought it was just dinner with a childhood friend,” she mused, hands going behind her back as she rocked on her feet. She was teasing you, and you glared at her. “Alright, alright,” she let out after a few seconds of holding your gaze with a shit-eating smirk on her lips. “First, we’ll need to figure out what you need to wear.”

You nodded, nibbling at your lips. “He mentioned dinner at a restaurant.”

He had. Namjoon had texted you the night after the shoot, claiming that he had indeed forgotten his phone in the car. He had also sent you the link to a famous restaurant in Gangnam, one that you were pretty sure was way over your budget even though you were relatively well-off financially. He had told you he knew the owner, and that the restaurant had private rooms where you could eat without fearing for fans or paparazzi seeing you.

“So then you want to dress nicely,” Miyoung said, nodding once. “A nice pair of dress pants with a cute blouse would do. Or maybe that long black skirt you have that ends right over the knee? You could pair it with…”

“Y/n!” Sooah yelled from the top of the stairs, startling both you and Miyoung. “How dare you not tell me you’re getting dinner with a celebrity?”

Your gaze widened in fear as you watched your manager walking down the stairs, purpose filling her every move.

You were pretty sure the purpose was to murder you.

She pointed a finger at you in affront, her cheeks a little red from the anger. “This is manager business. You can’t just decide…”

“Cut it,” Miyoung interrupted. “You literally bet with me last week that it would happen.”

Sooah dropped the act, face cutting into a bright smile. “I sure did, and I won.” She held out a hand towards Miyoung, who begrudgingly took ten thousand won out of her wallet to put it in Miyoung’s hand. “Thank you,” your manager said. “Now, what’s the plan?”

“They’re getting dinner at a restaurant,” Miyoung declared before you could speak. “What’s the name again?”

You didn’t remember, so you grabbed your phone to look at your text conversation with Namjoon. “Huh…” you trailed off, scrolling up to when he had sent the menu. “Seasons of Seoul.”

Sooah’s mouth fell open. “The Seasons of Seoul? That’s one fancy-ass restaurant.”

You startled at the sound of the curse in Sooah’s voice, before bursting out laughing in time with your friends. “It is,” you said, voice lilting into a whine. “It’s definitely above my budget.”

“Namjoon seems like a gentleman,” Miyoung pointed out “I’m pretty sure he’ll pay.”

“For sure,” Sooah agreed. “When’s the date?”

You blushed, shrugging your shoulders. “We haven’t decided on a day yet.”

“Just tell me when and I’ll clear your schedule,” Sooah said. “I don’t care about any interviews when you can be going on a date with Kim Namjoon.”

You rolled your eyes, though a playful smiled teased the corners of your mouth. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Yah, I believe I should be the first to know since I was helping you plan what to wear!” Miyoung interjected, which led to your two friends bickering, and then to them helping you out with what to wear. It was a little hard since you weren’t at home and couldn’t rummage through your walk-in closet. Since it was already running late, Sooah suggested heading over to yours, and that was how you found yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor of your living room, back against the couch, as you ate fried chicken and drank soju with your friends.

You were definitely a little buzzed by the time you finished eating, washing your hands at the kitchen sink before you aimed for your closet, where you started pulling out outfit after outfit.

You said no to all of your friends’ suggestions, mostly because it didn’t feel right. Sooah, growing annoyed, suggested to go shopping on the morrow, which made Miyoung jump in excitement, which in turn scared your cat Gabi away.

“Yes, please, please, please!” Miyoung exclaimed. “We haven’t gone in forever. It’ll be like when we were in college procrastinating studying.”

You laughed, brain swimming with alcohol. “As long as you don’t bring me to those fancy stores,” you said. “I hate when people talk to me while I’m shopping for clothes.”

Both your friends threw you no-bullshit looks.

“Come on,” Sooah let out. “Maybe we can even get you another nice outfit for the launch of your next exhibit.”

“I’ve barely even started working on it, it’s not going to be for another full year, at least,” you pointed out. “No need to shop for an outfit now.”

“Pleaseeee,” Miyoung begged. “It’s going to be fun. We can even go to that Samoyed café you like so much.”

The perspective of seeing the Samoyed puppies suddenly made a shopping trip all the more interesting. “Mmh,” you hummed. “I’ll consider it.”

“Bitch!” Miyoung burst, punching you in the shoulder hard enough to hurt. “We’re going tomorrow, just accept your destiny.”

You rolled your eyes as you massaged the spot she had hit, before finally nodding. “Alright, we’ll go. As long as you don’t make me spend my entire paycheck on clothes.”

“Your entire paycheck is like five times what I make so, shut it,” Miyoung pointed out.

“You did sell a piece for over 50 million won last week,” Sooah reminded you.

They had allied against you, hadn’t they?

“Right,” you let out.

“So you have nothing to say for your defense,” Miyoung said sternly, fists resting on her hips in mock authority. “We’re going tomorrow, and you’re coming with us. And,” she added, nodding forcefully, “And you will enjoy yourself.”

You laughed at how dumb she looked. “I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

To your surprise, you actually enjoyed yourself the next day. Miyoung and Sooah were great company, had always been, and it really had been a long time since you had spent time together like this. The whole day was spent laughing and gossiping and just enjoying yourselves, and you did end up buying a lot more outfits than you probably needed. Which would be a problem when it came to what to choose for the date, but you didn’t really care.

It was late in the afternoon when your phone buzzed on the table of the Samoyed café, and you picked it up as Miyoung cooed at the fluffy dog she was playing with.

It was Namjoon, asking you if you would be willing to go out with him this Friday.

“Oh my God,” you let out, and you felt your cheeks burning as your outburst had attracted the attention of other clients of the café. “He texted me,” you whispered then for only your friends to hear.

Sooah yelped, clapping her hands. She looked so far from the fierce manager you knew her to be you burst out laughing, slightly shaking your head.

“What did he say?” she asked.

You didn’t answer for a time, letting suspense hang in the air between you and your friends. When Miyoung got up, clearly aiming to grab your phone out of your hands and read the text herself, you finally spoke. “Looks like you’re going to have to clear my schedule this Friday night.”

Sooah shrieked as Miyoung grinned wildly.

“Consider it done!”

*****

You were anxious. Had been anxious all week, and it had shown up in the painting you were working on. It had turned into a hectic mess of colours, inching closer to a dark cloud than to anything else. It represented your mental state well, even though you tried to keep reminding yourself that it was just Namjoon. If there was such a thing as just Namjoon.

Gosh.

You sighed, looking at yourself in your standing mirror. You were wearing one of the designer outfits you had bought earlier this week, and the skirt hugged your frame well, enhancing your curves. You had curves, you were aware of it, but you weren’t sure they were supposed to look this good. Paired with the white blouse and black blazer, you looked like you were going on a date with a CEO, and not Kim Namjoon.

Though, nowadays it felt almost as if one was a synonym for the other.

You liked the fit, you really did, you were just afraid Namjoon would think you were overdoing yourself. But somehow, you felt really comfortable, ready to conquer the world if need be. Maybe just not Kim Namjoon.

But it was too late to back out of the date. Indeed, the doorbell rang, indicating that he was here, and you met your gaze in the mirror one last time before going to open the door.

Namjoon looked … incredible. With a pair of dark dress pants along with a pale cardigan over a yellow polo. Over that, he was wearing a long coat that looked way too expensive, yet still fit the look. It was more of an artist look than yours, and yet it suited him perfectly.

He was an artist, too, after all.

Most of all, he was holding a bouquet of pale flowers – rose and white and lilac – and he handed it to you as he took in the sight of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he complimented, and he flashed you a corner smile that had just one of his dimples appear.

Your cheeks burned as you nodded once. “You as well,” you said, grabbing the flowers. You hesitantly inhaled them, satisfied with the sweet floral scent that took over your nostrils. You glanced over your shoulder, before opening the door wider for him to come in. “You can come in, I’ll just go put these in water.”

He nodded, stepping in as you retreated into your home, searching for an appropriate vase for the bouquet. Once it was safely tucked in a vase with room temperature water, you moved back to where Namjoon was still waiting, right next to the door. You smiled, a little awkwardly, before putting on the high heels you had chosen for the date.

Namjoon patiently waited for you, and once you straightened, you put on your winter coat, grabbing your purse where you had left it on the table near the door.

“Ready?” Namjoon asked when your gaze finally met his.

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yes. Let’s go.”

He smiled his dimple smile, and he opened the door for you. You walked outside, waiting until he had shut it behind him so you could lock it. The cold air hit you right in the face, and you hid your face in the flaps of your coat. To your luck, Namjoon had picked you up in a company car, considering he didn’t drive, and you climbed in first, quickly followed by him.

You sighed at the warmth in the car, and watched as Namjoon leaned forward to tell the driver the address, before sitting back comfortably next to you.

Conversation was somehow awkward at first, mostly because you struggled holding Namjoon’s gaze. In all truth, you reckoned the awkwardness stuck around until you got to the restaurant, and even still as you were led to the private room Namjoon had rented for you both.

He helped you out of your coat, ever so the gentleman, hanging it before taking off his own and putting it beside yours. You just stood for a time, not knowing what to do as you took in the elegance of the restaurant and the dim, private atmosphere that reigned.

You felt like you had stepped right into a palace and, frankly, you weren’t sure you belonged in such a place.

“Sit!” Namjoon quickly said as he noticed you were still standing. And then he rushed to pull the chair for you, making you chuckle embarrassingly.

“You don’t…” you trailed off as you caught a whiff of his cologne.

A dark, masculine smell that made your head a little dizzy. You couldn’t tell why you hadn’t smelled it before – maybe it was because of the coat. All that you knew was that the oaky smell wrapped around you comfortably, refusing to let you go.

“What?” he asked as he sat in front of you, offering you an encouraging smile.

You took a deep breath, chest moving up and down as you tried to regain your composure. When you felt like you could speak without embarrassing yourself further, you said, “Since when are you such a gentleman?”

That made him laugh, full of dimples again, and he slightly shook his head. “Wasn’t I a gentleman when we were dating all those years ago?”

Not at all. He had been an awkward teenager, and you both knew it. As such, you cocked an eyebrow, a teasing smile growing on your lips.

“Were you?”

He winced, chuckling again. “Not at all. But I grew out of it.”

He sure had. He barely held any resemblance to the boy you had once known, except for those damned dimples that were making it hard for you to focus. And now the cologne? You were done for.

“Bangtan changed you, didn’t it?”

He nodded pensively. “I think that, having to be the leader of all these kids? Yeah, it really made me mature faster than I thought possible.”

You furrowed your brows in question. “I don’t know a lot about Bangtan but… isn’t Seokjin older than you?”

Before he could answer, a pretty waitress walked in, pulling a cart with different wine bottles on it. She greeted you two, stopping next to the table before asking you what you wanted to drink. You glanced at Namjoon, who offered you an encouraging smile, as if saying, ‘I’ll have whatever you have’.

“This Cabernet is actually my favourite. So we’ll take this one, please,” you asked, and the waitress offered you a bright smile as she picked up the bottle.

You watched as she put it on the table, eyes trailing to Namjoon longingly. A fan – she was clearly a fan. Namjoon offered her a professional, practiced smile, and she flushed red as she grabbed a wine opener to uncork the bottle. She carefully opened it, before pouring you two a glass.

It was awkward, somehow. And it was only then that you noticed there was jazz music playing in the background. It felt odd that you hadn’t noticed it before – had the beats of your heart been too loud for you to hear it?

When the waitress finally left, offering Namjoon one last look over her shoulder, you cocked an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“Does this happen often?”

He chuckled, fingers playing with his glass as he evaded your gaze. “More than you can imagine.” He met your gaze then, and you watched his features as they softened. “But you don’t have to worry about us being here getting out in the media. The owner of the restaurant is an old friend, and she assured that all of her staff can be trusted.”

It hadn’t even crossed your mind, but you weren’t surprised that he had thought of it.

“That’s more of a relief for you than it is for me,” you pointed out.

He nodded, a warm smile on his lips. “You have a reputation too! You’re an artist, just like me.”

That made you snort as you shook your head, eyes falling to your untouched glass of wine. “I don’t think I am in the same category as you, Kim Namjoon. I’m just a painter.”

“You’re much more than just a painter, Maehwa.”

Your throat went dry at the way he said the words, as if they held so much meaning they were heavier than the world. And you wouldn’t be surprised if they did – Kim Namjoon had always been a poet, after all.

“I’m not a member of the most popular K-pop band in the world, though,” you reminded him, and dimples answered you as he humbly smiled.

“Evidently not.”

A comfortable silence moved between you – the first of the evening, you reckoned – and your eyes once more fell to your wine glass. You picked up, spinning the wine to bring out the aromas of it.

“Want to taste?” you asked him, motioning to his own glass.

He picked it up, nodding his head. “Please. I’m surprised to know you have a favourite wine.”

“Trust me, it’s worth it.”

He chuckled, and you clinked your glasses together before taking a sip. You let the rich taste roll on your tongue, appreciating every milliliter of it until you swallowed, and even the aftertaste was good.

A really good wine, indeed. Way too expensive, in your opinion, but you had always liked expensive things. As your designer clothes could tell, and as your date across the table could tell, too.

Not that you were a snobby artist – you were far from it. But you had learned how to appreciate the good things in life long ago when you had first discovered art.

“I like it,” Namjoon commented as he put down the glass. “Nice choice.”

You smiled, relieved that he indeed liked your choice.

As wine flowed between the two of you, you found conversation with Kim Namjoon was a lot easier than you had initially expected. He put you at ease, like he did when you were younger. Together, you reminisced about middle school and high school, about that time he had spilled hot chocolate on his uniform and you had helped him clean up, which had brought you guys closer.

Until he had kissed you as you were doodling maehwas on his arm, and the rest was history.

“No, but,” he insisted, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink as he closed his eyes in embarrassment. His dimples winked at you, and you looked at him as he collected his thoughts. “To be fair, I never planned to break it. It wasn’t even my fault.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “You were the one holding it,” you reminded him.

You were referencing a fragile plate your mom had offered Namjoon, from her collection of nice plates she usually only displayed during fancy events. Namjoon had broken it a whole hour after he had been gifted it, and to this day, you still couldn’t understand how he had broken it.

“You tickled me!” he burst out, narrowing his eyes at you. “It was entirely your fault.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, before chuckling lightly. “I barely even touched you.”

He glared at you, though it didn’t last, melting into a soft smile that had you looking down at the table.

Right at the same time, a lean girl walked in, clad in a chef’s outfit, holding up the food you and Namjoon had ordered earlier. She offered you a polite smile, and it turned nostalgic as she looked towards Namjoon.

Namjoon said her name, before turning to look at you. “This is the friend I told you about.”

She was beautiful, in an easy, elegant kind of way. Her shoulder-length hair swayed nicely when she walked, and you had half a thought that she probably should be wearing something to make sure no hair could get in the food. Then you figured she probably had taken it off to come here, and you only realized that she had spoken to you when both she and Namjoon settled their gaze on you.

“Nice to meet you too,” you replied, because you were 75% convinced that that was what she had said.

You were relieved when she smiled knowingly, eyes trailing back to Namjoon. They talked a little more, and it took you a moment before you understood that she was one of Namjoon’s friends’ ex. They continued speaking after that, as you listened politely, nodding whenever she looked your way to encourage her to continue.

She looked sad. Nostalgic. Whoever her ex was, you had the intuition that she still loved him.

“Have a good evening,” she told the two of you about a minute later, bowing.

You bowed your head back, as Namjoon wished her good evening, and then you watched her walk out of the room, hair prettily moving around her head.

“She’s Seokjin’s ex,” Namjoon let out pensively once she was out of earshot.

Your eyes widened, and you looked back towards him. “Your bandmate?”

He nodded. “They broke up a few years ago, during the pandemic,” he explained. “They were engaged.”

You weren’t sure Namjoon was supposed to tell you any of that. It sounded personal, and he seemed to get the cue as you remained silent, eyes falling to the steaming plate in front of you.

“Anyway,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Shall we eat?”

“Yes,” you immediately replied, a little too quickly.

It had both of you laugh, and the awkwardness lifted to be replaced by that same familiarity the evening had held until Seokjin’s ex had come in. It had you fall back in your nostalgic memories, as you ate the delicious food on your plate.

When you were done eating, Namjoon suggested dessert, and not really wanting the evening to end yet, you accepted. It led to you both drinking a little more, your inhibitions slurring as alcohol rushed through your bloodstream, making you feel young and alive.

The feeling lingered with your lively chatter, with the exchanged laughs and long looks. Sometimes, Namjoon’s eyes burned on you, and you found you were too afraid to hold his gaze, too afraid to let it mean anything. Whenever it happened, you looked down at your glass, and the tenth time that it happened, you found the glass to be empty.

No salvation for you there. Especially considering that dessert was eaten and long gone, and all that had been left was the bottle of wine.

“So,” Namjoon said as he, too, took in the sight of the empty glasses and bottle. “I…” He chuckled, ears turning pink as his dimples flashed on his cheeks. “Thank you for tonight.”

You couldn’t help your own blush as you replied, “I’m glad I said yes.”

He met your gaze, eyes darting to your lips once. When they settled back on your own gaze, you swallowed a sudden lump in your throat.

“We should…” he started, falling silent as he scraped his throat. “We should do this again.”

The lump dissolved into nothingness as you smiled, softly. “I would love to.”

“What about on Sunday? There’s this exhibit I’ve been meaning to visit, thought you might want to join?”

“You want to bring an artist to another artist’s exhibit?”

He seemed surprised at your question, as if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. And truth be told, you liked visiting your fellow artists. There was just something about a shared passion that made you feel calm, understood. As if, no matter the sorrows your life could hold, there would always be someone out there who understood. Someone who could share the burden, who’d offer you a helping hand in the form of art whenever you needed it.

So you quickly added, before Namjoon could say anything, “I’m kidding, yes, I’d love to accompany you.”

He looked so relieved something warm blossomed in your chest, and your cheeks burned.

“Well then,” he said, smiling that dimpled smile. “I should get you home, it’s getting late.”

The perspective of the date ending made your heart squeeze in your chest, for a reason you couldn’t quite understand. “Right,” you agreed.

It was all you said before you both got up, moving to retrieve your coats by the door. After that, you walked towards the outside world, and when Namjoon’s hand accidentally grazed yours – or perhaps it was on purpose – you hooked a finger around his pinky.

Looking up to him, you caught him looking down at you already. From so close, he towered over you, though there was nothing threatening with his height. It felt comforting, safe, as if you were under his protection.

By the warmth in his eyes, you knew you truly were.

You waited in the lobby for the car to come pick you up, Namjoon with his back turned to the people. Though no one looked your way, no one acknowledged your presence, and for a second, you wondered if you really were with a worldwide famous singer or if Namjoon was just a normal person.

Someone like you, someone who could revel in anonymity wherever he went.

“The car is here,” Namjoon told you as you were looking behind him, observing the patrons slowly exiting, laughing about a joke only they knew.

You smiled up at him, before letting him grab your hand properly this time as he led you outside. His large palm engulfed your small one, warmed it up, and your fingers were tingling by the time you reached the car door that Namjoon opened for you.

He really wasn’t a gentleman when you were younger. There was something oddly relieving to see him act in such a way now, showing you that he had grown since you were sixteen and too dumb to actually know what love was.

You settled in the car, reveling in the warm vehicle as Namjoon sat in the seat right next to you. And when the car jostled forward, you became all too aware of the place where Namjoon’s thigh rested against yours, and of where his arm pressed against yours.

You turned your head to look at him, admiring the soft glow on his features induced by the neon lights outside. He met your gaze, offered you a smile, and you felt yourself leaning forward. As if there was a pull between you, something that was inevitable. You had never been good at resisting, so you let yourself be pulled, let yourself find him.

He met you halfway, lips infinitely and surprisingly soft even with the cold January night out there. He sighed against you, shifting slightly so he could angle his head better, deepening the kiss.

And kiss you he did, with memories and yearning and nostalgia that had you part your lips when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, only to meet it with yours. You remembered days of early art, of words whispered in the dead of night when nothing seemed like it could bring you apart, when you believed it was you and him against the rest of the world.

Your breakup flashed in your thoughts as he rested a hand on your thigh, carefully, but you pushed it away, refusing to let the memory stain this moment with him.

As much as the kiss was unexpected, bubbling out of neon lights on Namjoon’s soft features, it was also expected. As if fifteen-year-old you had expected to find him again, somewhere, even though you had fled to an entire other high school.

As if the story had just been put on hold then, to resume once the time was right. And as much as you usually were wary in your relationships, tonight felt right. It felt right in all the ways that mattered, in his arm on your thigh and the soft smile he offered you when he pulled away, reminding you that you weren’t alone in the car.

You chuckled, blushing deeply, and your hand landed on top of his on your thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

You leaned into his touch, sighing dreamily. “I don’t know if it’s the wine,” you said, low enough to make sure only his ears could perceive your words, “but I really want to kiss you more.”

That made him laugh, and his hand fell away from your cheek. “Not here,” he said, head motioning to the driver. “You’ll have to wait until Sunday.”

You pursed your lips, thought about it for half a second before you said, “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”

His grip on your thigh slightly tightened, the only indication that your words had had an effect on him. “You’d like that?”

You parted your lips, tongue darting to wet them. “Yes.”

It was no wonder Namjoon ended up pinning you against your closed door as soon as you walked in, locking you between his strong arms as his lips ravished a hungry kiss on your mouth. You grabbed at the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him closer, right as he slipped one of his large hands to arch your back, pressing your front against him.

The second he left your lips to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, you fought against his coat to rid him of the clothing. He sucked on your jaw as he helped you, and soon enough, the coat was abandoned on the floor, right as he pulled you in.

You kicked off your shoes, lips meeting again in a kiss that had your head spin, right as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He groaned when you bit on his bottom lip, and then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He put you down on the decorative table near the door, and in an attempt to rid him of his shirt, you pushed a vase.

The sound that it made when it shattered on the floor startled both of you, and Namjoon looked down, eyes wide.

“Oh no,” he let out.

You caught his startled gaze, breathing raggedly. “Don’t worry, it was just a cheap vase.”

He looked down at the mess, nodding once. “I’ll buy you another one.”

And then he was finding your mouth again, sucking on your lower lip as he started to fight against your coat, trying to get you out of it. He shortly had to pull away, brows knitting together in concentration because, as much as he tried, the zipper of your coat wasn’t budging.

“Hold on,” you said, putting your hands above his.

Much gentler than him, you managed to unzip the coat, and he helped you slip out of it, throwing it towards his. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where your skirt had ridden up to reveal more skin, though you were wearing pantyhose. He ran his hand along your thighs, head hanging low. You watched him do so, watched his jet-black hair falling in his eyes until you couldn’t resist anymore, reaching between you to push it back.

The strands fell right back in front of his eyes, but it attracted his gaze. He looked at you through his hair, dragon eyes burning a hole through you, and you grabbed his cheeks to pull him into yet another heated kiss.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, and he subconsciously grinded against you, though the skirt and the fabric of his own pants kept you from feeling anything.

“You think we can make it to my room,” you whispered as he moved to your neck, kissing a hot kiss just below your ear.

“You’ll have to show me the way.”

You chuckled, gently pushing on his chest until he finally disconnected from your neck and took a step back. It allowed you to plop down from the table on which he had sat you, and you grabbed his hand, right as he dipped his head to kiss you again.

You kissed him back, moaning softly when his large hand cupped your ass, grabbing at the meat hard but not enough to hurt. It had even more heat pool at your core, liquid lava that was slowly making you unravel, and you needed more.

You pulled away from the kiss begrudgingly, mostly because you wanted to stay here, to be consumed with the passion Namjoon’s lips were carving against you.

You had to make it to your room before you went insane. So you pulled him behind you, not once looking back, or else you wouldn’t get there at all. Luckily enough, you held on strong, but the moment you crossed the threshold to your room, Namjoon pulled you against him, large hand resting on the base of your neck to keep you from moving away.

It took all of three seconds before your brain zeroed in on the spot where his hard dick was pressing against your back.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he asked, voice low and husky, sending shivers all over your body.

You nodded, tilting your head to the side to give him access when he lowered his head. Too tall, he didn’t quite reach your neck, but his breath skimming over your skin made goosebumps erupt on you.

“I want you too,” you replied breathily.

You could hear a dangerous smirk in his voice when he said, “Take that skirt off”.

Something settled deep inside of you, making you into a puppet he could control. Stepping away from him, your hands went behind your back to unzip the skirt, and you let it fall to the floor. It pooled around your ankle, but when he stepped closer again, one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass, you found yourself unable to do anything.

“You should take off the pantyhose, too, before I rip them”, he added.

You didn’t doubt that Namjoon often miscalculated his strength. Even when he was just a gangly teenager, he already struggled with clumsiness. So you pulled the pantyhose down your legs, and you stepped out of the pile of clothing, waiting for him as he moved closer again.

This time, his hands slipped to your front, and he looked over your shoulder as he started undoing the buttons of your blouse, not even caring that you were still wearing the blazer. His breath skimmed on the side of your face as he did so, and your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on every brush of fabric against you while he worked his way down your blouse.

He pushed both the blouse and blazer off your shoulders when he was done, and they fell on the floor behind you. He didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his arm to your front, moving up until he grabbed your breasts through your bra, squeezing slightly.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded then, and still the good puppet you did, walking to the mattress and sitting down, eyes finally finding him again.

He didn’t say anything as he slowly undressed, pulling his cardigan off. It fell somewhere next to the pile of your clothing, and then he attacked the polo, taking it off in one swift motion that revealed the expanse of his wide chest.

His honey skin seemed to prettily gleam in the moonlight, where it was pulled taught over the big muscles of his chest. He looked sculpted in marble, big and buff, and you closed your thighs in reflex at the thought of his weight over you.

Needless to say, he didn’t look like that when he was a teenager at all. Adulthood looked good on him.

He unbuckled his belt next, taking his time as you just surveyed him. Even in the dim light from the full moon outside, you could see the bulge in his pants, and you salivated at the thought of wrapping your lips around him, of tasting him and making him feel good.

The belt fell with a thud to the ground, and your lips parted as he palmed himself, enhancing the size of his bulge. Your eyes widened slightly – he looked far bigger than you had initially thought he’d be, though you weren’t all that surprised with his large frame.

“Take off your bra,” he said next. “I want to see your breasts.”

You nodded, hands going to your back as you unclasped the bra. You slowly took it off, nipples perking when cold air hit them. You shivered once again as his eyes roamed over you, and even more so when he said, “Beautiful” as if you were a piece of art made for him to admire.

And with the way he was looking at you, you thought maybe, maybe you were.

He took a few steps towards you, and your eyes darted towards the lamp on your bedside table. Namjoon caught your motion, and he tutted lightly. “Not tonight,” he told you. “Tonight is about feeling, not about seeing.”

For some reason, you had expected him to be a lights-on kind of partner, but you weren’t mad about his will to stay in the dark. Because you knew all too well how much pleasure could course through your blood when your sense of sight was taken from you. As an artist, you relied on it far more than a lot of people – the loss of it made you weak, in a burning kind of way.

If you were honest, you enjoyed being blindfolded a lot, but you didn’t see yourself asking Namjoon to do it today. Lights off seemed the closest thing to it, so you didn’t argue with him as he used a knee to part your legs in an attempt to get closer to you.

He grabbed your chin, making you tilt your head back so he could catch your gaze. His eyes were dark, even in the silvery moonlight, and you gulped as he gently patted your cheek.

“You’re going to feel good for me, mmh?”

You nodded, entirely unable to use words right now. Mostly because you were but a puppet, and he the puppeteer. He smirked, satisfied, before unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes dropped, and you watched him do it expectantly, teeth gently digging into your bottom lip in apprehension.

The good kind, the one that made you burst into an explosion of flames.

“You think you can wrap your pretty lips around my dick?” he asked.

For a reason unknown, all you were able to mutter back was, “Namjoon.”

“Yes, baby?”

You gulped, and you looked up at him again. You didn’t watch as he took his pants and underwear off in the same motion, didn’t budge your gaze as you heard the slap of his hard dick on his abdomen. From the way his arm moved, large bicep popping slightly, you knew he was jerking off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look down. Couldn’t bring yourself to gaze away from his eyes as they burned on you, searing their mark right on your soul.

“What is it?” he asked again, with a barely concealed warning in his voice.

He wasn’t one to have to repeat, was he? No, you were pretty sure Namjoon was used to being obeyed, with being the leader of a boyband like BTS. Pretty sure he expected to be obeyed, and somehow that turned you from puppet to puppeteer, as your hands rested on his thick, muscular thighs.

“You want me to suck your dick?” you asked, voice sultry as you moved your hands up, never touching him where he so visibly wanted.

His lips parted, though he remained surprisingly silent. He clearly didn’t expect you to take control of the situation, but from the way his features darkened even more, you knew he liked it.

“Want me to suck you dry?” you added. “Want to come down my throat?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and he grabbed the base of his dick to gently tap it against the corner of your mouth. “Better get to work, baby. You’re a lot of talk for someone that hasn’t touched me yet.”

“Say please,” you teased, and you let one of your hands move between his legs so you could cup his balls. They sat heavy in your palm, seemingly ready to explode.

“Fuck,” he repeated, adding your name at the end. “Who would have thought you had this in you?”

Emboldened by his words, you licked at his tip, collecting the precum on his slit. “That wasn’t please.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes shutting in frustration before he finally said, “Please, baby. Please suck my dick.”

You sucked on his tip once, tongue swirling around it, before pulling away. “Good boy.”

That was Namjoon’s undoing. He let go of his dick, grabbed your head, aligning his dick with your mouth as he repeatedly cursed under his breath. You liked him like this, liked the power you had over him. So you resisted, just to piss him off further, but it only seemed to turn him into a whiny mess as begging mixed with cursing.

Only then did you finally start sucking him off, jaw straining from how big he was. It hurt, and your eyes watered as he reached the back of your throat with not even half of him in your mouth. All you could think of was that he was going to be quite a stretch down there, too, as you looked up at his features, casted in the soft silvery glow of the moon outside.

You pulled almost all the way out, but the hand on the back of your head held you in place, forcing you to keep him in your mouth. You played with the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around it, teasing the slit as the salty taste of precum filled your mouth. You moaned, softly, and Namjoon cursed once more, before falling entirely silent as he watched you take as much of him as you could again.

Once he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed, eyes watering again as you tried to hold in your gag reflex. It didn’t really work, and when you choked, Namjoon pulled out of your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked.

“You’re so big,” you praised, and you grabbed his dick with a loose grip, jerking him off slowly. Mostly, you spread your saliva on his length, wanting to make sure he was well-lubricated for what was to come.

“Why don’t you sit?” you told him, letting go of his dick.

He looked conflicted for about a second before he did. You readjusted yourself so you were kneeling between his powerful thighs, and the new position allowed you to bite at the hard muscles of his abdomen. He hissed, hand going to the back of your head as he guided you towards his dick once more.

“Suck me, baby,” he said, still sounding just as whiny.

Feeling like a brat, you replied, “What do I get in exchange?”

His forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, searching for something to reply. Though Namjoon was not a man of many words, always choosing his words carefully, right now, it seemed he was entirely silenced.

“I’ll fuck you good,” he finally answered, voice low. He bent a little, grabbing your face, and his thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I’ll fuck you good until your legs shake and you can’t walk anymore. Is that a good deal?”

You bit your lip as he let go of you, once again grabbing his dick so he could hold it up for you. Not moving towards it, you rested your head on his thigh, before reaching between his legs to cup his balls. They were heavy in your palm, and you gently massaged them, earning you a soft grunt from him.

“Careful with the balls,” he warned you.

You pouted before leaning between his legs. You avoided his waiting cock, instead aiming for the base of his dick, right between his two balls. You then licked a long stripe towards the top, and Namjoon cursed as you swirled your tongue on his frenulum.

“My bad,” you then apologized, letting go of his balls as you made a mental note that they probably were too sensitive for him to enjoy. “Let me make it up to you.”

He cocked an eyebrow in question, but the second your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and you sucked hard, he threw his head back, cursing out loud. It finally convinced you to get to work, and you replaced his hand on his dick so you could jerk him off in time with the bobbing of your head.

As big as he was, you found you couldn’t keep going for much longer. So instead of taking all of him in – or as much of him as you could – you focused on his tip, jerking him off faster after having spit in your hand. Looking up at him, you noticed his teeth digging into his lower lip, a clear indication that he was enjoying himself, and then you closed your eyes, focusing on the job at hand.

Focusing on pleasuring Kim Namjoon.

You sucked him off for a while, long enough for his dick to turn rock hard under your ministrations. Long enough for him to be a panting and cursing mess, long enough for your jaw to hurt so bad you almost thought it was going to dislocate. When the pain grew too intense, you sat back on your heels, and stroked his dick, twisting your wrist as you reached the tip.

“So big I can’t even suck you properly,” you commented.

“I’ll stretch you wide open, baby,” he said, and he leaned back on his hands as he looked down at you. “I’ll stretch you so wide you’ll cry my name.”

It was so crass your hand slowed on his dick as you clenched your thighs. “Fuck, Namjoon.”

He smirked, dimples dangerously decorating his cheeks, but an expert motion of your hand had him close his eyes, mouth falling open on a low moan.

“Should I ride you?” you asked him. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

“You’ll need me to get you ready,” he answered once he was able to look at you again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You almost wanted to tell him that you were going to be okay, but he wasn’t wrong. Fucking yourself on him without having been previously fingered would definitely hurt like a bitch.

“Ride my face?” he suggested as you debated what to do.

You wet your lips, desire pumping through your blood before you told him, “Lie down.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and you quickly climbed on top of him, straddling his face. His large hands cupped your ass, squeezing and parting your cheeks as he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves, and you hissed, fingers getting lost in his hair as you pushed it out of his eyes.

You maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself on him until you were properly seated on his pretty features. His tongue parted your folds, dipping in your entrance, and you instinctively grinded. He pushed the wet muscle deep inside of you, as deep as he could before arching it, searching for your sweet spot.

When you let out a soft moan, he flicked at the same spot again, and you grinded into his face once more.

“Fuck,” you told him. “Right there.”

He understood right away, and he started fucking you with his tongue, hitting that same spot again and again, making the corners of your vision blurry. All you could focus on were his eyes between your legs, and you moaned his name as his fingers dug into the skin of your ass. It hurt a little, and you wondered for a time if he was unaware of his strength.

You wouldn’t be surprised – he was a lot stronger than you had imagined he was.

As Namjoon kept working on you, eating you out and lapping your juices, you palmed your breast, rolling the sensitive nipple between your thumb and index. The added sensation had more of your vision turning blurry, making it hard for you to focus on Namjoon. So you closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure moving through you, and soon enough, a knot started tightening in your core.

Instinctively, you started grinding into his face, following the rhythm of his tongue inside of you, and the knot tightened and tightened, almost painfully so. When Namjoon landed a surprising slap on your ass, you lost it, knot snapping as your orgasm hit you.

You came hard, walls pulsating around Namjoon’s tongue, and he milked all of your orgasm out of you, lapping your juices as you dripped on him. When you started getting oversensitive, you moved to sit next to him instead. Namjoon didn’t move right away, catching his breath, but when he did move, it was to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. He sat up after that, catching your lips in a quick kiss that left you breathless, mind spinning with the taste of yourself.

“Now I’m going to fuck you,” Namjoon promised.

All you could do was moan as one of his large hands moved between your legs. He pushed two fingers in, and they slid right in with all the lubrication your orgasm had just brought out of you. He fingered you for a few seconds as he littered small kisses on your shoulder and up your neck, and he nibbled at your ear once he reached it.

“You’re going to take all of me, mmh?” he asked right in your ear, voice so low and husky your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Yes,” you answered.

He pulled away, smirking in satisfaction before saying, “Get on all fours. I want to look at your ass while I’m fucking you.”

“You’d like that?” you teased him. “You want to see my ass bounce while you pound into me?”

Your two sentences were enough to silence him once more, and all he managed to do in reply was nod. It made you chuckle, and before you got into position, you crawled to your bedside table, fishing a condom out of the half-empty box you owned from a previous relationship.

“Put this on,” you told Namjoon as you handed him the condom.

He looked down at your hand. “What size is that?”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Regular.”

He laughed before shaking his head at you. You were about to argue when he got up, moving to his discarded pants so he could grab his wallet. “I need bigger than that, baby,” he told you as an explanation, and you rolled your eyes playfully as you put the condom back in your bottom drawer.

Namjoon fished an appropriately-sized condom from his wallet, and he was quick to get it out of the wrapper and put it on his hard length. He hissed a little as he rolled it down his dick, but once it was in place he moved back to the bed, kneeling behind you as you propped your ass up, keeping your face down.

“Gosh, you’re so sexy like this,” he praised you. “Ever since he saw you again, I’ve been wanting to see you like this.”

A drop of warning clouded your senses for a few seconds, but when he rubbed his dick between your folds, pushing it against your clit, lust took over once more. You grabbed at the sheets as he teased the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, and when you had enough, you cursed.

“Fuck me,” you told him. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”

He slapped your ass. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Before you could reply, he pushed the fat tip of his cock between your folds, and you moaned at the burning sensation. It was the good kind of burning, the one that left stars dancing behind your eyelids and on the periphery of your vision. It made you clutch the sheets harder, and then Namjoon pushed in, embedding himself deep inside of you.

He grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the supple skin so hard you were pretty sure they were going to leave marks behind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you did was moan loudly, especially as he pulled almost all the way out before slapping his hips forward again.

It was rough, and your body jerked forward from the impact of his pelvis on your ass. You couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the stretch between your legs, and when he started pounding into you, you felt him so deep you cried out his name.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you. “You take me so well.”

He slightly slowed down, but his hips still snapped forward in quick and harsh thrusts as he leaned forward, adjusting the position. When he was satisfied by the new angle, he resumed his previous speed, as one of his hands grabbed at your hair, pulling it in a makeshift ponytail so he could keep you in place.

He didn’t pull on your hair harder than that, didn’t force you look back at him, and for a moment, all that could be heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin, and the moans and grunts you two were making. It was loud, and you were glad you lived in a house and not an apartment – you were pretty sure your neighbours would have heard otherwise.

When Namjoon landed another slap on your ass, you cursed loudly, and it made him still halfway out of you. He massaged the spot gently, soothing the skin with his warm fingers. “Do you want to switch position?” he asked.

As much as the current position felt good, you knew this angle would never make you cum. So you nodded your head, and Namjoon pulled out of you, sitting back on his heels. You turned towards him, and your eyes fell to his hardened length. To your juice coating the condom, and you got an idea.

“Lean back on your hands,” you ordered.

He cocked an eyebrow in question, yet he still obeyed. When he was properly positioned, you climbed on top of him, grabbing his cock to guide it towards your entrance. You help onto his shoulder with your other hand, and you slowly sunk on him until his cock hit your cervix. It hurt a little, the angle different from earlier yet making you feel so much more, and you grabbed onto his other shoulder.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “You’re so fucking deep.” And then you leaned back a little, and both of your gazes dropped to the space where your bodies were connected. To the bulge in your tummy as you slightly leaned back. “So fucking big we can see you in me.”

He moaned and threw his head back as you moved up, only to slam back down a second later. He put all of his weight on one hand, and his other settled on your waist, following you as you established a slow and sensual rhythm, rolling your hips whenever he was deep inside of you. It had his big cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you, and when the corners of your vision turned white, you started moving faster.

You grabbed onto his neck, not squeezing, and you felt him swallow under your palm. Your pleasure increased tenfold as the hand on your waist moved to cup your breast, and when he squeezed your nipple, you clenched your walls hard against his dick.

“Fuck,” he let out, and he looked at you.

The moment his gaze met yours, you started choking him, increasing your speed to chase your orgasm. His mouth fell open, and his dick reached deep inside of you as you kept going, kept splitting yourself on him.

When your orgasm hit, you wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He circled your waist, fucking up into you as much as he could in this position. He rode you through your high, and you were a shaking mess when he finally slowed down, hand rubbing your back soothingly.

“Lie down for me,” he gently said.

You were too lost in ecstasy to argue, and you craved his dick the second it was out of your pussy. He wasn’t out for long, and he kneeled between your legs, holding them to his chest as he pushed in in one powerful thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with the sensation, and you moaned out his name as he established an unforgiving rhythm.

When his teeth sunk into your calf in a clear attempt to muffle his own moans, you clenched hard around him, and it was enough to get him close. To your surprise, he pulled out of you, quickly taking off the condom, and he pumped his dick, emptying his load on your stomach and pelvis. The feeling of every hot spurt on you had you reach between you, and when some landed on your fingers, you quickly brought them to your mouth, getting a taste of him.

Namjoon grunted, and he slowly decreased the rhythm of his jerking off until he was just holding his dick over you, one last drop of cum meeting the rest on your stomach. You didn’t move for a long time, both of you trying to catch your breath. It took a while, but once your pulse had stopped racing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the white mess on your stomach.

“You made quite a mess,” you teased him.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly said. “Was that okay?”

You nodded. “As long as you clean it up, yes.”

He laughed, bending so he could retrieve some tissues from your nightstand. He first cleaned his fingers, and then your stomach, making sure not to leave a single drop behind. Still, you felt sticky, and when you offered him to take a shower, he agreed right away.

You let the warm water run on your body, taking with it your sweat and Namjoon’s cum, as you ran your hands through your hair. You sighed, opening your eyes to the sight of him as he looked down at you, a fond smile on his lips.

“Can you pass me the shampoo?”

He nodded, but instead of giving it to you, he motioned for you to turn. “I’ll wash your hair.”

The domesticity of the action had your cheeks burning, and all you could do was hope he hadn’t noticed. You still turned, and when he started massaging your head, you shut your eyes, sighing in contentment. When he was done, he made you turn around so he could wash the shampoo out of your hair, making sure you didn’t get any in your eyes. After that, you switched place so he could wash his own hair, while you busied yourself with cleaning your body, erasing what was left of the action that had transpired between you and Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t speak more in the shower, though you did exchange a slow kiss once you were both entirely clean. Namjoon’s lips seemed more hesitant now, but as you wrapped your arms around his waist, it was his turn to sigh in contentment. His kiss grew more affirmative now, as if he was trying to tell you that he, too, felt a certain way with you.

Because right now, you felt like you were floating, like you were an astronaut in zero gravity. It was dizzying, but in a beautiful way as you held onto him, and he held onto you. It was filled with memories of the past, yes, but also of promises of the future.

That was when you remembered what he had said right before you had started having sex. How he had been imagining you like this ever since you had met again, thirteen years after you’d disappeared from his life. The previous wariness returned, and you pulled away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his chest. He let you do it, unaware of the drop of doubt that was solidifying into lead in your stomach.

After the shower, you lied in bed, Namjoon by your side, unable to form a sentence. Unable to breathe your worries into words, unable to share with Namjoon that you were afraid he only wanted you for sex. And you tried, you really tried to speak, but all you could do was slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm your racing heart before it burst inside your chest.

Right when you thought you had gathered enough courage, Namjoon softly snored next to you, and you realized that, after all, it was too late to share your concerns.

*****

You stared at the scenery out of the window. You hadn’t been to Ilsan in a long time, but when Namjoon had mentioned he was going to visit his family, offering you a ride – a company official ride, considering he couldn’t drive – you hadn’t been able to say no. So you watched Ilsan from the window of your parents’ kitchen, remembering growing up.

Remembering days of childhood innocence, and of teenager crushes. Of teenager fights, and breakups that had shaped who you had turned out to be. It was strange to think that you were going to circle your way back to Namjoon, that you were going to come here to Ilsan, with him.

You hadn’t told your parents. When they had seen you arrive, they had asked how you had gotten here, considering your car was nowhere to be seen. You had lied through your teeth, saying that you had taken the train, and they hadn’t pushed, knowing that you indeed often took the train anyway, in an attempt to clear your head and sketch some ideas for your next art piece.

Instead, you had been at the back of a company car, chatting the ride away with Kim Namjoon as if it wasn’t only the tenth time you had seen him again after your breakup thirteen years ago. It was like you had never parted – complicity between Kim Namjoon and you was easy as breathing, as natural as the sun shining in the sky overhead. And the sun had shone all the way home, as if to tell you that your worries meant nothing.

But your worries were still haunting you. Hadn’t stopped haunting you since you had sex with him, chasing you through your days, taunting you through your nights. You weren’t able to escape them, especially not as he acted the way that he did.

That is, as if you were far closer than you were. As if the years hadn’t come and gone, as if thirteen years had been just the blink of an eye. It was strange to you, stranger still, that whenever you were with him, you tended to forget too. Tended to bask in his warmth, and it was no wonder your relationship was so physical.

Indeed, sometimes you even thought that it was all there was. Because each time you had seen him after your date had been physical, his body on top of yours as he fucked your brains out. As you climbed on top in an attempt to gain control, but you doubted you’d ever have the control when it came to Kim Namjoon.

So you looked outside the kitchen window, trying to remember who you were. Trying to remember what you wanted, and trying to figure out what you should eat for dinner later.

You were here for four days, and though you had brought supplies so you could paint here, hoping your childhood home would bring you inspiration, all you had been able to do was worry about Kim Namjoon and what he meant in your life.

You weren’t sure it mattered. Because even though your relationship was purely physical, it still brought you satisfaction. Always left you swimming in ecstasy, always made you sleep soundly for a few days.

It had been weeks since your date. Almost two months, actually. Namjoon had texted you regularly, though the conversation never really delved into subjects that mattered. He was too busy to hang out often, but he made you feel as if he was making time for you. Yet you couldn’t shake what he had said out of your mind.

Did you want to just be someone Kim Namjoon saw when he needed to fuck? When he needed to paint himself on you, to bring more confusion into the mess of art your mind had been since the date?

The answer was easy. No, you didn’t wish to be just that. You’d never been one to have fuck buddies, and every time you saw Namjoon, the impression was reinforced. Perhaps because he made small comments, about how he was glad he could fuck you, glad you were in his bed.

Glad you moaned out his name whenever you came, and evidently, he made you come plenty enough. But yet you needed more, and you hated yourself for it.

Why complicate something that was so easy? So you remained silent, never said anything, though you did hold onto him as much as you could when you slept in his arms, trying to remind yourself that if he just wanted sex, he wouldn’t sleep over, or ask you to stay.

Would he have offered to drive you to Ilsan if you were nothing to him? You highly doubted so. Especially considering how he had talked to you, how comfortable he was next to you.

You sighed, looking away from the window as you turned towards the living room. Your father was napping on the couch, and your mother had gone to the market, declining your offer to come with as she had claimed you needed to work on your paintings.

You had been staring at the canvas for an hour before you had come to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and you had already finished it as you had watched the world outside the kitchen window, lost in thought. You figured taking a walk would help clear your mind, and you hoped you’d find inspiration by the time you were back home.

Though the weather was warmer outside than it was weeks ago, when you had your date with Namjoon, you still wrapped a thick scarf around your neck, burying yourself in the warm coat you had brought here. You put on your Chelsea boots, and the minute you stepped outside, you loosened the scarf.

The air smelled fresh and hinted at spring. There was no snow, most of it having melted under the peculiar warmth, and by the time you made it to the end of the street, you unzipped your coat too, feeling too hot.

You turned to your left, bowing your head slightly at the older couple that you passed. They reciprocated, but you didn’t pay attention to them more than necessary as you walked towards the park behind your middle school. The middle school where you and Namjoon had first fallen in love when you were dumb and young.

Ten minutes later, the building came into view, and memories swarmed in, chasing Namjoon out of your thoughts. Well, chasing current Namjoon out of your thoughts as you remembered your classes, and the teacher that you had always hated. As you remembered sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field, chatting the evening away when you were supposed to be home.

It was no surprise that you found yourself making your way to those bleachers, and you sat as high as you could, eyeing the empty field. It was the middle of the week, and the soccer field was empty save for birds searching for worms in the wet grass.

You leaned back on your hands so you could look up, gazing at the few clouds in the sky. Wind played with your hair, blowing it in your face, but you ignored it, focusing on the fresh air. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you inhaled deeply.

You were calm and content... until you let out a startled cry as someone said your name. Your eyes flew open to the sight of Kim Namjoon at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at you.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you told him, hand on your racing heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just out on a walk,” he informed you. “Didn’t expect to run into you.”

He walked up the bleachers, sitting next to you before you replied. “Your parents are bothering you?” you teased, gently nudging him.

“Nah,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been songwriting since I got here? Can’t get this song right, so I decided to walk. Thought it’d help clear my mind.”

Of course, he was out and about for the same reason as you. Because you and Kim Namjoon were far more similar than you wanted to believe it. Sometimes, it led you to think that you were two of the same person, and usually, whenever you thought that you had to rein yourself in, reminding yourself that all he did with you was have sex.

“Couldn’t paint,” you admitted.

“Your parents are bothering you?” he asked, repeating your question with a corner smile and a single dimple.

This time, you pushed him, laughing before replying, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned, though you both fell silent as your gazes moved up to the sky, and you enjoyed the afternoon warmth. You knew the night would get cold, but you still had a few more hours of sunlight before the world gave way to darkness.

“You know,” he said as your eyes chased a white cloud on the cerulean expanse of the sky. “I was hoping we could hang out, while we’re here?”

He said it like a question, as if asking for permission, and it had your heart race in your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of your parents asking questions?”

“Not really,” he answered. “They know that you came with me. They want me to invite you over for dinner.”

Your gaze widened as it dropped to him. He was already looking at you, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. “Is that something that we’re supposed to be doing?” you enquired.

It seemed to take him by surprise. “What do you mean?”

You reckoned now was a good time as any to voice your concerns. Perhaps because the scene was familiar, safe, and you couldn’t deal with the concern gnawing at your nerves anymore.

“What are we, exactly?” you said, softly, finally giving voice to the worries.

Namjoon’s eyes went round as blush crept on his cheeks. “What?”

The drop of lead from that first date grew inside of you. “It’s just… we’ve only been hanging out for sex, correct?”

“Is that what it is for you?” he enquired after a few seconds of silence, of him just watching you with a somber expression.

You chuckled awkwardly. “To be entirely honest, I don’t do this. So no, I’d hope it’s not that, but…” you trailed off, eyes falling to the field in front of you. “You haven’t really made me feel like you’re in this for more than just sex.”

He leaned forward as if trying to gain your attention. As your gaze remained stubbornly on the empty field, he said your name once. His voice was soft, gentle, and that, more than anything, made you turn to look at him.

“I thought we were… dating?” he admitted. “I… I’m sorry if I just… assumed?”

It was such a Namjoon thing to do that you couldn’t even blame him. His revelation made the lead melt away to be replaced by a sweet warmth much like the one the sun rays carried. “Oh?”

As you didn’t say anything else, Namjoon straightened, putting a little distance between the two of you. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

In truth, yes, it probably was what you had been wanting since the beginning. Since he had arrived at your house with the flowers before the date, and since his lips had found yours for the first time again after thirteen years apart. You had been wanting him, more than just physically.

“I mean…” You chuckled awkwardly again, shrugging your shoulders. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

He grinned, dimples flashing blindingly, even more so than the sun in the sky up above. “Good. So you’ll come over for dinner?”

This time you laughed, and you cocked an eyebrow. “With just a few hours notice?”

“Yeah?” He shrugged. “My parents already know you, what does it change?”

And when you held his soft gaze, you decided why not? Why not dive in feet first, and not care about the consequences?

You doubted there’d be anything negative to come out of a dinner with Namjoon’s parents. And turned out you were right – both of them were happy to see you, and Namjoon’s mom kept repeating how proud she was that Namjoon had found you again, in Seoul. To Namjoon’s dismay, she told you about just how much Namjoon had cried after your breakup, and about how much it had encouraged him to become a rapper. Namjoon was red up to the tip of his ears as you looked at him, yet he didn’t scold his mother, didn’t tell her to stop.

And this, most of all, was the Namjoon you remembered from thirteen years ago. A shy, sweet boy who was always good to his elders, always polite and ready to help. He did help his mother, doing the dishes along with you after you’d eaten, and when it was time for you to leave, his father scolded him and told him to walk you home.

Namjoon grumbled that he was already going to do so, and you said your goodbyes to his parents before walking out into the night. It was a lot colder than it had been during the day, and you buried your hands in the pockets of your coat as you walked close to Namjoon, his arm brushing yours with every step that you took.

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologized.

You glanced up at him, gazing at the aura around his head caused by the streetlight behind him. “About what?”

He shrugged. “The dinner. I didn’t expect my parents to be weird about it.”

“They weren’t,” you reassured him. You walked in silence for a time, eyes moving back to the street in front of you. It was empty, even though it wasn’t particularly late at night. Perhaps it rendered you bolder, because you said, “I’m really happy I said yes. I missed them.”

He smiled, softly. “They missed you too.”

A comfortable silence moved between you, and you basked in it as you made your way home, with your teenage lover by your side. It was hard to believe that he was next to you right now, and just like that, you knew what you were going to paint when you were home.

“The night is beautiful,” Namjoon said softly. “Makes it feel like we never left, you know?”

“Like it hasn’t been thirteen years, right?”

He nodded. “The weight of the years does feel lesser since we’ve reconnected.”

His words had warmth blossom in your chest, heating up your body in the cold early spring night. They had you glance at him, and when you found him already looking at you, you stopped. He stopped just a step ahead of you, turning to look at you.

“Do you think we were just right people, wrong time?” you asked. “I’ve been thinking… it’s been so easy with you, since our date. It’s strange to believe that it would be, no?”

“The years haven’t changed us as much as you’d imagined they would,” he agreed. “Like…” he glanced up at the sky, searching for words to voice his feelings. “BTS came into my life after you. I’d say it changed me, made me grow up far faster than I thought I would. Being the leader and all, I had a lot of responsibilities on me, you know?”

You nodded, not really knowing where he was going.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be the leader,” he continued, revealing something you weren’t sure he had said out loud to anyone before. “I wish I didn’t have this weight on me and… in November, when I saw you again, I was going through a hard time. I didn’t entirely recognize you at first, but I was drawn to your gallery again and… I tried to find a reason to visit. To find a reason to talk to you.”

His eyes met yours again, and you almost balked at the intensity of his gaze.

“I felt lighter with you than I’d felt in years. So, when you say right people, wrong time, I think you’re right. I think thirteen years ago was all fucked up for us, but I think we were always meant to find each other again, through all the craziness of the world.”

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him down in a kiss. He kissed you back instantly, though his lips were slow against yours. Soft, anchoring you in this moment, in this space that had used to be yours when you were younger. He kissed you like time had slowed for you, like you had all night to stay right here, in this spot.

Your heart found a soothing rhythm in your chest, one echoed in his own ribcage, and his large hands found your waist to pull you closer. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth, you sighed dreamily, the taste of him so heavenly now that the lead in your stomach was gone that you thought you were going to start flying right here, right now.

Namjoon pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, and your breaths moved up in the sky, forming a single cloud over your heads.

“Had I known that you were worried I wasn’t into you like this, I wouldn’t have had sex with you every time we hung out,” he admitted, softly.

That, more than anything else, finished reassuring you.

“Hey,” you let out. “It’s okay. I should have spoken to you about it before.”

He pecked your lips once more before pulling away. He offered you his hand, and you gently took it as he smiled at you, his dimples so familiar on his cheeks that you wanted to drown in him.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”

“I’m an adult now,” you reminded him, earning a laugh as he pulled you towards your house.

He shrugged. “They are still your parents; they’ll always worry for you.”

His words held truth, so you didn’t resist as he finished walking you home. You stood in front of the gate, looking at each other, and Namjoon gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed down your face until they rested on your jaw, and he leaned down to press another gentle kiss on your lips, one that had you wish you didn’t have to part with him for the night.

One day, you liked to believe you wouldn’t have to part at all.

*****

Being in a relationship with Kim Namjoon was easy. The weeks following your trip to Ilsan had you growing ever so closer, and you accompanied him to a dinner with all of his members. There, you saw what it meant for him to be the leader, but you kept your hand in his, bearing the weight of it along with him, even though it wasn’t like he had to keep them in check in private.

You had left early as you needed to go to your studio early in the morning, but had been unable to part with Namjoon, which wasn’t all that surprising to you or him. You both liked sharing a bed, liked the closeness that it allowed you. So you stayed the night, and the next day you made your way to your studio level-headed, ready to paint all day after your meeting with your manager. Your phone was dead, but you knew she wasn’t one to miss a meeting, and you figured you could always charge your phone when you got to the studio.

To your surprise, Sooah wasn’t alone when you got there. There was a suit-clad man, and he bowed his head at you respectfully as you walked in. You threw a curious look to Sooah, and the expression on her face made your heart drop to your ass, if that was possible.

“Hi,” the man politely said. “I’m glad you’ve finally showed up.”

He sounded annoyed, and it grated your nerves right away. You cocked an eyebrow before saying, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am Jo Jonghyuk,” he answered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Hybe representative.”

You let out a nervous chuckle. “What’s bringing you here?

Sooah was the one to answer. “There’s been leaked pictures of you and Namjoon,” she informed you carefully. “They are… all over the media this morning.”

A drop of cold sweat rolled down your spine. “Excuse me?”

You hadn’t noticed it before, but the man had a briefcase. He quickly opened it, getting a stack of papers out of it that he handed to you unceremoniously. You looked at them, eyes widening as you saw the series of pictures, all of them of you and Namjoon.

And your face was far too recognizable. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t you, couldn’t pretend you had no idea what the man was talking about. So when he asked if there was a space where you could sit down to discuss, you let Sooah suggest heading downstairs. You followed them with fear in your gut, and even when you were sitting on the couches downstairs, you still couldn’t stop your heart from racing in your chest.

“So,” the man said. “We’re aware that our artists have lives outside of the company.” He paused, watching you carefully. “But we need to preserve their image. I’m sure you can understand?”

Sooah saved you by replying. “What is that supposed to mean for Y/n?”

“Namjoon is currently in a meeting with other representatives. He will be asked the same thing as you,” the man offered as an explanation.

You cocked an eyebrow. “And what is it that I’m going to be asked?”

“Keep the relationship behind closed doors.” The man motioned around you. “As an artist, I’m sure you understand how one’s image is important. The stocks are going to be impacted if it is said that Kim Namjoon is in a relationship, and not for the better. We are going to release a statement later in the day to refute the rumours.”

It wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, yet you still felt sick, down to your very core. “And this needed an early morning meeting?”

You’d like to think that you sounded arrogant, defiant, but your voice was filled with nerves, shaking pathetically.

The man offered you a polite smile. “No. I’m here to have you sign an NDA.”

That made more sense. And still, it wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be – it wasn’t like you were going to scream about your relationship with Namjoon. After all, it still was fairly new, and you also wanted to preserve your anonymity.

In that instant, as the man pulled out said NDA from his briefcase, you understood something. Your anonymity was gone, gone like the winds of winter as the world outside slowly turned to spring.

Your face was visible in the pictures. People had seen you around the gallery, outside of official events, when you wore your mask.

You signed with a trembling hand, barely recognizing your own name on the paper, and the man offered you a copy of it before saying that he had to go. He thanked you for your cooperation on the way out, and when he was gone, disappearing at the bend in the street, you turned towards Sooah.

“I’m fucked,” you said.

She pursed her lips, concern moving on her features. “You are not. There’s no indication that people will associate you with Maehwa. I don’t think this will affect the gallery.”

You shook your head. “You don’t understand.” You scoffed, gaze dropping to the floor as the lead you had felt after your first date with Namjoon rematerialized, turning into a reality you didn’t think you were ready to gaze at. “It’s just a matter of time. His fandom discovers everything. They will know it’s me.”

“Then we’ll use it as publicity.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at your manager. “You can’t be serious.”

“Your art is beautiful,” she reminded you. “You’ve been building your reputation for years. Why would you being a human, having relationships, impact it?” She paused as if to give weight to her question. “It’s just going to put emphasis to the emotion in your art. People won’t see you as a masked individual anymore, but rather as the person behind the artist.”

You didn’t want to hear her. Knew she was being rational, yet couldn’t bear the truth in her words. Perhaps because you had always loved your anonymity. Always wanted to keep it, to use it to protect yourself from the world of fame, a world you had never wanted for yourself.

No, you just wanted to make art. To enjoy the science behind the pieces, the emotions that made you create. You were afraid it was going to be taken from you now. And who were you to blame? It was just a question of time before people connected the dots between you and Namjoon, thanks to the pictures, yes, but also to the interview that had yet to be released.

“Deep breaths,” Sooah said calmly, cutting through your spiraling. “I promise it’ll be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” you asked. “What if I can’t paint anymore?”

“You’ve been painting your whole life,” she reminded you. “You won’t suddenly stop because of rumours about you.”

See, that was the logical way to think about it. You clung to the words, held them close to your heart and let them replay in your head. It eased the anxiety that was building inside of you, and soon enough, your frantic breathing returned to normal.

“Shit.”

Sooah raised her eyebrows, waiting to make sure your spiraling truly was over. When you didn’t say anything else, she nodded once, patting you on the shoulder. “It’s all going to work out. And besides, congrats on your relationship with Namjoon?”

She said it like a question because, frankly, you hadn’t told Miyoung or Sooah a lot about you and Namjoon, except that you were taking things slow. It was the best you had been able to come up with, back when you thought he was only seeking carnal union with you, and you hadn’t changed the narrative after you and Namjoon had made it official in Ilsan.

And later, as you worked on the painting you had started in Ilsan, you pictured the cold night, when he had kissed you under the streetlamps. When you had realized that you had truly been wrong all along, that life was a cycle bringing you back to him. Back to where it had all started. You remembered his soft lips on yours, and that, most of all, finished calming you down from the anxiety.

Every stroke of your brush on the canvas, every new line, meant a thousand words, as you painted. As you created art from nothing but the memories your art held, as you put them together to form the image that had come to you that cold night. It was beautiful, in a heavy kind of way, because the emotions were heavy. The love, the recognition and the knowledge of life and the cycle of it, all entwined together to form something that only you and Namjoon could understand.

And as you worked, forgetting all about the world outside, all about the threat to your anonymity, you believed everything was going to be alright…

Almost.

*****

“Thank you,” you thanked the young girls after they were done perusing your gallery.

It had taken all but a few hours for your artist self to be associated with Kim Namjoon and your gallery. On the same day, you had received more visitors than you had ever had, and though you had donned your mask, you knew it was pointless.

Knew from the looks and the whispers that people knew. Still, for the next following days, you kept wearing your mask. Kept trying to ignore how people weren’t here for your art anymore, but rather for you as a person. For your connection to Kim Namjoon, for what you meant to him and what he meant to you.

Namjoon had been understanding when you had told him how anxious the situation was making you. Had suggested avoiding public spaces altogether, and so far, you had only been able to see him once for dinner two days ago.

The dinner had been spent in far more silence than usual, while you both contemplated what this meant for you. You had settled on really taking it slow, letting the rumours die of their own volution instead of doing more about them. Because Hybe had released a statement, and already Dispatch was on the newest rumour, forgetting all about your possible connection with Kim Namjoon.

Except for the fans, that is. Because the fans came to your gallery, complimented your art, though you did see them snickering in your back. Before, you had believed you were above this, above petty gossiping and jealous bullying, especially coming from younger people. After all, younger people were that – young, and youth often held an amount of stupidity that was rarely found elsewhere.

As it had been the case for you and Namjoon, thirteen years ago.

Still, you found you were increasingly anxious, and instead of expecting Namjoon’s next message, his next call, you started dreading them. It was vicious, poisoning your blossoming relationship without him even being aware of it.

How could you blame him? He was used to this life, after all.

You sighed in your mask, hating the way your eyes burned. They burned more now that you wore the mask more often, drying out whenever you breathed out too strongly. You had gotten artificial tears, and you couldn’t wait to be able to lubricate your eyes as you watched the last few people milling about your gallery.

It was almost closing time, and you were looking forward to it more than you usually did. Mostly because you wanted to bask in calmness and silence for a while, if only to be able to get a grip on the anxiety.

Two older women approached you, hands behind their backs, where you stood by the big painting of Ilsan. They bowed politely, and to your relief, asked you if one of the pieces was for sale. Art enthusiasts, then. It was reassuring to see some of them in your gallery, even after all the recent events.

“Yes,” you answered them politely. “It’s currently on auction for the month. You can put in your own bid if you’d like.”

The smallest one pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “How expensive was the last bid?”

Even though this was supposed to be Sooah’s job, you still had access to the app where the bidding took place. So you took your phone out of your pocket, heart dropping in your chest when the screen lit up to show you three texts from Namjoon. You ignored them, swiping the phone open before clicking on the app.

As it loaded, you looked up to smile at the women. “Just a moment.”

They nodded in understanding, yet one of them looked over her shoulder as if annoyed. You felt bad, but it wasn’t like you controlled the technology. All you could do was wait, and the second the app opened, you scrolled down to the current bidding.

You hadn’t checked it since the bidding had started. Lowest bid had been set at 5 million won, but right now, the number you were reading on the screen didn’t even make any sense.

“Huh,” you let out, and you looked at the women, chuckling awkwardly. “It seems the bid for this piece has gone out of the roof.”

That was putting it lightly. Because, looking at the amount on your phone, you believed the bid had been sent to outer orbit.

The smaller woman winced. “How high?”

“1.2 billion won,” you replied. You checked your phone to make sure and even showed the screen to them.

“Oh,” she said. “We can’t afford that.”

You offered them an apologetic smile. “I have more pieces that are on sale and not on auction if you want me to show you.”

The one that seemed like she wanted to leave suddenly widened her gaze. “Oh, that would be lovely.”

They ended up buying a smaller drawing, saying that they were sure the value of it would skyrocket if they ever wanted to sell it. You wanted to tell them that it probably was just a bubble caused by the rumour and that it’d soon burst. Evidently, you couldn’t tell them that, both because of the NDA and because you were growing tongue-tied with the praise they were sending your way. Instead, all you did was offer them a wink, saying that you hoped they’d hold onto it dearly, and then you walked them to the door as it was closing time anyway.

When the door was locked behind them, you leaned against it, sighing shakily. With trembling hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, and you went through the different pieces you had on auction. Half of the profits were going to a charity for abused women, and still, it’d leave you with much more money than you ever thought you’d own.

You called Sooah, but it was her day off. You didn’t expect her to pick up, as she had told you she was going to be busy tonight, and of course, she didn’t. You still sent her a text to tell her to check the auction app, and then you pushed up from the door, heading to your studio downstairs.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, amidst the brushes and pots of paint you had left hanging around, not really caring about cleaning after yourself when you were in the arms of inspiration. But right now, the mess was making you feel like an imposter, like people would soon find out that you weren’t worth it.

It was then that you finally checked what Namjoon had sent you.

I hope all is well, his first message read. It was followed by, I’ll be in the studio until later tonight, but would you like to hang out after? Finally, his last message was, I’m going to come over to your studio after closing hour with take-out

For some reason, the thought of him coming here made you want to disappear through the floor, but it was already too late. Indeed, your phone started vibrating in your hand with an upcoming call, and his name on the screen taunted you, telling you that, yes, you were just an imposter.

You picked up, hands shaking slightly as you brought the phone to your ear.

“Busy night,” Namjoon said as a greeting.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. You’re on your way?”

“I’m outside,” he admitted. “Just waiting for some people to walk away before I come in. I assume it’s locked?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ll come open for you.”

There was an awkward silence as if he expected you to say something more. When you didn’t, he said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, and cringed at yourself. You weren’t a liar, hated lying, and lying to him felt like you were eating something foul. “Just tired.”

“Well, I hope you’re excited for some take-out. I got your favourite.”

Now, your heart ached in your chest. Because that was Namjoon. Namjoon would always get your favourite food, would always know what to do to cheer you up. Tonight, it felt wrong, as if you didn’t deserve it.

And really, did you deserve it at all? Did you deserve the attention that he had brought to you? Did you deserve the shine in the spotlight?

You highly doubted so.

Walking upstairs felt like a trek to the top of Mount Everest. You were aware that it was anxiety, that you probably shouldn’t listen to the thoughts right now. But they were taunting you, haunting you, a thousand little ghosts spinning around your head in dizzying circles until all that was left was a broken piece of you.

The sight of Namjoon, hood up and mask on, on the other side of the door wasn’t a relief. It was a hand clutching your throat, choking you up until you were left gasping for air on the ground. You stalled for a few seconds, and you wondered if he could feel your hesitancy. If he knew the spirals you had been going down, if he knew you were questioning everything.

You clenched your jaw, sighed deeply, and somehow a small spark of light split the darkness. Because this was Namjoon. This was the same Namjoon as a decade ago. The first boy you had ever loved – could he still really just be that today?

Finally, you walked over to the door, unlocked it and opened it for him. His dragon eyes were unreadable, but they were questioning. You felt as if they were asking questions to your soul directly and, ever bared in front of him, you were pretty sure your soul was answering.

“Hey baby,” he greeted you as he walked in, and you quickly shut the door and locked it behind him.

“Hi,” you said, voice vulnerable in the midst of your anxiety.

“You’ve been busy?” he asked, the soothing tone of his voice dragging a gentle hand on your back, telling you that maybe, maybe if you could let go of the anxiety, everything would be okay.

But could you, when its talons had sunk so deep into your heart you couldn’t quite tell if it was still beating?

“Yeah,” you answered. “I’ve been working on a piece and… didn’t see the time fly.”

He nodded understandingly. “Of course. That’s why I brought food.”

And that was how you found yourself sitting next to him on the couch in your studio, eyes trailing to your piece of art. You wondered if he could see your anxiety in the swirls of darker colours on the canvas. Could he tell you were haunted?

Could he be the solution?

“I think my album is going to be good,” he said as he swallowed the fried chicken he was eating. “You’re going to love it.”

You pursed your lips, not willing to tell him that you’d always loved whatever he made, even back then. “Of course.”

He flashed you a smile, but you could see that it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, and you both finished eating in silence. When you were done, Namjoon sat back in the couch, letting out a long sigh as one of his hands gently landed on your thigh. You immediately tensed, and his hand slid away, fingers flexing as if they wished they could hold onto you, but knew it was best not to.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his deep voice surrounding you, echoes reverberating through the fabric of your soul.

Could you tell him? Could you be honest with Kim Namjoon, or would it make him run away?

A scary thought formed in your mind, coming from the dirtiest part of your soul. Would it be better if he ran away?

“A lot,” you admitted, unable to hide the truth from him. “Quite a lot.”

You met his gaze for a few seconds before finding solace in your painting again.

“You know you can talk to me,” he gently said.

“I know.”

But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to have to tell him that this was all too much for you. That it was too quick, that you felt like you were stuck in a train aiming for a wall at top speed.

“I’m sorry,” he said after the silence had stretched so much, you thought it was about to rip the fabric of reality itself.

“What for?” you asked, genuinely wondering.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, pulling at some calluses on his palm that he got from working out without gloves on. “We haven’t really talked about the rumours.”

You hadn’t. Hadn’t even mentioned anything once, preferring to act as if it had never happened. Foolishly, you’d hoped that it would preserve your anonymity, even after it was gone. Even after the first fans stepped foot in your gallery, even after you’d seen articles about you in the press.

“Yeah.”

“Is that what’s on your mind?” he asked, and he turned his head towards you.

From this angle, it was entirely too hard to avoid his gaze. Instead, you latched onto it, hoping it would make everything better.

“It might be,” you said. You sighed, wetting your lips before you added, “It is.”

“How have you been feeling?”

You weren’t sure there was a way to answer the question. Because you didn’t want him to know just how bad the anxiety had gotten, didn’t want him to know that your life changing so much in such a short amount of time was the scariest thing that had ever happened to you.

“Stressed,” you answered, deciding to use a lesser word in the hope that it wouldn’t hurt him too much. “Especially now that the anonymity is gone.”

He nodded. “I was expecting that to happen.”

You cocked an eyebrow, but found yourself unable to say anything else.

“I’m sorry I took that away from you,” he murmured, and a flash of pain in his eyes told you that he really was.

That Kim Namjoon felt guilty when it came to you, more than he had probably ever felt guilty about anything in life.

“You didn’t mean to,” you reassured him. Because it was the truth – you couldn’t be angry at him for what had happened. You had been part of it just as much as him.

“But it’s still my fault,” he added. “It’s because of me if the media has been after you.”

“It’s not because of you.” You paused, searching for the right words to convey the meaning you wanted. “It’s not you as a person, but rather what you mean to the world.”

You slightly winced, convinced that you had somehow landed on the wrong words after all.

“Possibly,” he said. He sighed, before once again sitting back on the couch. His fingers twitched before he clenched them on his thighs, visibly resisting the urge to do something.

To touch you, you assumed.

“Possibly,” he repeated. “But it’s hard to separate the person that I am from the person that I mean to others. To me, it’s just me, both of these.”

You nodded, because you already knew that. Namjoon was authentic through and through, with everything that he did and was. With every single one of his words – he was a cool-minded reflective person, and it was one of the things you liked the most about him. Maybe because it was such a stark contrast from when he was young, blood boiling at any minor inconvenience.

Maybe because it was an anchor in an otherwise stormy life.

“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I don’t believe it’s your fault. You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And neither did I.”

“Still sucks that it did.”

You’d never heard a truer sentence before. And it was rhetorical, didn’t mean for a reply. All that you could do was nod, gaze escaping from his to find your wriggling fingers in your lap. A new silence stretched between you, still as heavy. Heavier than gravity – was it going to form a black hole between you and him?

“What’s that painting you’ve been working on?” he asked.

You glanced towards the art. Observed the paler backdrop, the painting that you had started in Ilsan. Your anxiety had splashed swirls of darker blue over it, adding melancholy to it that you’d never really visited in your art before.

“Something to get my mind off the edge,” you admitted. “I’ve been trying to pour my thoughts into it. To escape reality for a time.”

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Weeks later, you’d look back on this moment and realize that it was the catalyst to the destruction. But right this instant, you couldn’t even think past the words.

“To escape?” he prodded.

You nodded. “Don’t you use music as an escape?”

“Yeah,” he said, but somehow his voice was flat.

It brought your attention back to him, and you noticed his eyes on you. Noticed the grief that your words had instilled behind his pupils, hiding somewhere in the deep brown of his gaze.

“So I assume you must understand.”

He didn’t answer right away. Held your gaze as if time had stopped, and maybe it should have. Maybe time should have been kind to you and him, in its chronology.

“If you need an escape from this,” he said, motioning vaguely between you and him, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”

Your heart stopped in your chest, turning cold. Anxiety flooded in, washing away everything that you once were. You felt naked, young, as if you’d gone back in time and were watching him walk away again.

“I never said I needed an escape from us,” you said, and the venom in your voice surprised both you and him.

“Are you happy right now?” he enquired. In a whisper, as if it was the scariest thing. And scary words could never be uttered too loud – wouldn’t they just break everything in their wake?

“I’m not sure.” You saw the flash of hurt on his face, and you quickly rushed to add, “I’m just so anxious.”

“I’ve been making you feel anxious?”

You shook your head. “No. Not you. The situation. The sudden fame. The spotlight and my art being sold at crazy prices. The fact that I have to worry about paparazzi, about what I do or say. It’s so sudden.”

Namjoon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you, gaze heavy with feelings you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was understanding – because of course he’d understand what you were going through. He was going through it too, though he’d known this life for years now.

“I’m sorry I brought this to you,” he eventually chose to say, carefully. As if he was aware you were fragile glass right now, one wrong move and you’d explode into a million tiny little shards. “I can take it away easily,” he claimed.

You cocked an eyebrow, because was he offering you salvation? You highly doubted he could.

“How?”

He pursed his lips, features turning apologetic for a time. “We break up. We go our separate ways, I get the rumours off your back. No one’s going to be after you anymore if they think I’m with someone else.”

The loudest sound in the universe was your heartbeat, in that instant. It was so loud even your thoughts became distant little specks, unable to break the wall of sound.

“What?”

He sighed, shrugging. As if he was giving up, as if he’d given up even before he’d gotten here. “If being with me makes you so anxious,” he started. “And by that, I mean not me as a person. What I mean to the world, or whatever it is that you said earlier. If it makes you too anxious, I’m just going to remove myself from the situation.”

Were you stupid, for being unable to reply anything other than ‘what?’ again? Perhaps you were. Especially as he scoffed this time around, and something started aching in your chest, differently than it was before.

“I think it’s better for you if we break up,” Namjoon explained. When you remained silent this time around, he slowly shut his eyes, head hanging low. “I don’t think I could reassure you enough when it comes to your anxiety for us to be able to be together.”

Your heart felt as if it had slowed down in your chest, so much so that the world surrounding you turned silent, soundless. You heard the breath of air that you took in, cringing as it did nothing to ease the slowly rising panic in you.

“I don’t want us to break up,” you said, murmured, though the moment the words crossed the threshold of your lips you realized that perhaps this had been what you were aiming for all along.

“I can’t date someone that gets so anxious just because they’re with me,” he answered, and he looked truly apologetic. Guilty too, as if he had committed the worst crime humanity could witness.

And perhaps breaking a heart truly was the worst crime out there.

It felt unlike Namjoon. You’d gotten the impression that he was someone reliable, someone cool-headed who’d be able to support you, to help you go through your anxiety. But as you stared at him, sitting there on the couch in your studio, you realized that he, too, struggled with his own anxiety. Had probably struggled with a lot of it in the past, so much so that he couldn’t afford to put himself in a situation where he’d only get bad again.

The only solution appeared like a dark cloud looming over the horizon of your conscience. You wished wind could blow it away, wished you were strong enough to manage your anxiety without losing him, but you knew it’d be easier once he was gone. Knew your sleep wouldn’t be as troubled, knew you’d be able to dwindle away into anonymity once more.

You had to let him go. For your sake, mostly, but for his too. Because he deserved someone who could shine with him in his spotlight, someone who’d be able to accept all of him, including his fame. And that just wasn’t you.

“Namjoon…”

“It’s hard for me too, you know?” he added. “To watch the person that I love getting worse every day, knowing that I’m the cause of it. Y/n…” he paused, and this time he was the one to look away. “I haven’t even seen you smile in weeks. Ever since the rumours.” He shook his head. “Even before that. I’m not sure you’ve been happy since we started dating.”

“That’s not true,” you declared, trying to put as much conviction in your words as you possibly could. “I was happy in Ilsan. I was happy when we came back, too. It really is just the sudden fame that’s been throwing me off.”

You were relieved you’d finally found words to explain your anxiety. And somehow, them slowly falling out of your mouth eased the anxiety, eased the fear.

But you knew you were going to let him go.

“Then we take a break,” he continued. “I don’t want to be the source of something negative in someone’s life. We take a break, let the rumours dwindle away, and when it’s safe, we can try again.”

Your eyes blurred with tears. If he saw them, he ignored it, instead focusing on the calluses in his hands again.

“If that is what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay with me,” you said, voice small in the enormity of what was happening.

He scoffed. “What I want is just impossible. This is just second best.”

“Breaking up with me is second best?” you asked, anger and bitterness swirling under the surface of your ache. “It’s that easy for you?”

He frowned, meeting your gaze again. “Who said it was easy?”

“You’re the one that claims it’s a good thing. Second best.”

At that, he rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head again. “This is not what I meant.”

Maybe your anxiety was winning against you, maybe the knowledge that you had to let him go was stronger than anything else. Because you couldn’t watch him anymore. Couldn’t gaze at his deep brown eyes anymore, knowing that they’d become ghosts in your memory in just a few moments.

A few moments of breaking, of a glass heart dropped to a stone-cold floor.

“Then leave, Joon,” you said, voice unwavering even though you felt like ice was clutching your entire being. “Let’s take this break, let’s see if it’s better for both of us.”

The dark cloud rolled closer, engulfing you. Especially as he didn’t fight more. As he nodded his head, got up and motioned towards the stairs. As if that was enough when he was dropping you, giving up on you.

But weren’t you giving up on him just as much?

That night, you sat cross-legged in front of your canvas, watching the opened paint pots littering the floor around you. When your eyes slid back towards the canvas, a single tear escaped the confines of your eyelids, rolling along your cheek.

Deep brown eyes looked back at you, shining with their own unshed tears, reminders of where you failed in the timeline of your life.

*****

Thirteen years ago

You were going to kill Kim Namjoon. You would kill him, and be happy about it.

You’d heard from a friend of a friend that he had been hanging out with a certain Jeon Yuri, a beautiful, popular girl that had every reason to be liked by a guy like Namjoon. It was understandable – everyone loved Yuri.

Only, Yuri hated you. Always did, and took to insulting you in that covert way of hers that made people think she was complimenting them. But you saw right through her – you knew she was just a conniving rich girl. So you hated her back, with all the hate your little heart could summon.

To think Namjoon was hanging out with her? You’d kill him for it.

So you waited outside the gates of your childhood home for him to show up. You had been waiting there for a while already – partly because you needed to cool off, but also because you wanted to avoid your parents’ questions. Because obviously they loved Namjoon.

Everyone loved Namjoon, and everyone loved Yuri. You knew you were going to hate the both of them.

Namjoon arrived with a smile on his face, dimples flashing as if they’d get you to fold, to forgive him. To be fair, he did not know about your history with Yuri, as you never spoke about it to anyone. But when he saw your features, his smile immediately crumbled, replaced by worry.

“What’s wrong?” he instantly asked as he stopped in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, before scoffing. “Why did I have to hear from Kim Haru that you’re hanging out with Jeon Yuri?”

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with her?”

Your eyes widened and your fists landed on your hips. “Everything? She’s just a bitch.”

“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon let out, and you could tell by the reddening of his cheeks that he was already getting worked up too. “You told me to never call a girl a bitch and now you’re doing it?”

You rolled your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain. “It’s not the same thing.”

He scoffed, in that condescending way of his that he always used when he wanted to win an argument. And you saw red. You saw blood red, scarlet like you were but a bull attracted to a flag.

“Don’t you fucking condescend me right now.”

“Don’t you fucking curse at me.”

“No seriously,” you continued. “I don’t want a guy who’s only after popular girls.”

“I am not,” Namjoon drawled. “I’m tutoring her and Park Seojin in maths. You already knew this.”

As a matter of fact, you did not. “You never told me.”

“Because you never listen to me,” he spat. “You’re always just drawing your fucking drawings as if that’ll lead you anywhere in life.”

“Kim Namjoon!” you burst. “And you’re always just going on about how you want to be a rapper. You’re a kid, dude, stop chasing after pointless dreams.”

He stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stood your ground, crossing your arms on your chest. “You’ll be sorry you ever said that. Oh, you’ll be so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t think I will. I don’t even think I’ll remember you.”

It was a low blow, and you could tell it hit him right in the gut. “You’re breaking up with me over such a stupid thing?”

“I’m breaking up with you because you’re a liar. You said you were with your friends, and then I learn that you were with Jeon Yuri?”

He sighed for a long time, shaking his head in frustration. “Oh, so this is really what it is about? Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you I was tutoring her.”

You scowled. “Why?”

“Because I knew you’d throw a jealousy fit. You think you’re entitled all of my time.”

“Fuck you,” you growled. “Fuck you. I have all the rights to be jealous when my boyfriend hides stuff like that from me.”

“Boyfriend? I thought you broke up with me.”

Your gaze slightly widened. “What?”

“I’m not your boyfriend anymore,” he said, adding your name like it was an insult. “Get over me already.”

“Do you even love me?” you replied, your anger suddenly dying down to be replaced with gut-wrenching pain.

But you knew better than to expect his anger to ever die down. It took forever for Namjoon to calm down, and you feared you had crossed a line tonight.

“Not when you get mad at me for no valid reason.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. “I just don’t like her. Can’t you tutor someone else?”

“No.”

The simple negation brought back a shade of anger to you, and you said, “Then perhaps we really should break up. Maybe I can find someone that actually respects me.”

“Because I don’t respect you?” he said, hands moving around his frame in anger.

“Clearly not.”

“You’re right then,” he continued. “I don’t respect you. I don’t love you either, apparently, so I’m done.”

“Joon…”

“No, Maehwa,” he said, and this time the nickname broke your heart in two, splitting it right in the middle. “You don’t say my name like that.” He slowly shook his head, seething. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to ever speak to me again. To ever look at me. I don’t want someone that acts like a fucking child.”

“You act like a child all the time,” you interrupted, but he ignored you.

He ignored you, in favor of turning around to walk away. You watched his back, before taking a step towards him, yelling his name again. He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he said, “I’ll kill you if you follow me.”

You scoffed. “Oh please, as if you’d ever hurt me.”

“I’m serious, I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again.”

It felt enormous, to say such a thing. And perhaps youth was that – enormous in its drama. So you replied, “I hate you more than I hate anything in this world.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and then he walked away.

He walked away into the October night, and your cleaved heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.

☆☆☆☆☆

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holylulusworld · 6 months

Text

A perfect gentleman

Summary: Your trip to Great Britain changed your life forever.

Pairing: Raymond Smith x fem!Reader

Warning: bitchy friends, mentions of anxiety, meet cute, sex with a stranger, smut, protected sex, unprotected sex, public sex, shower sex

You bobbed your head to the song blaring from the loudspeakers. It was the only thing you could do. That, and watching the others dance with men they just met. Grinding into them – their intentions clear.

Maybe you are not the most social person, but being in a place with so many people spiked your anxiety.

You shuddered and ripped your gaze from your friends to order another drink. Something light. You never were much into alcohol.

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself,” a man plopped down next to you and dipped his head. “How can I help you relax?” He purred and moved his hand to your thigh.

“You could start by stopping to touch her,” another man suddenly stood behind your back. He pushed the other guy off you and glared at the stranger touching you. “Is that the way to welcome tourists now?”

“Man, she looked lonely,” the man grunted but made space for the second guy. “Didn’t know you called dips on her already, Raymond.”

“Get lost,” Raymond snapped at the man. You flinched and tried to make yourself as small as possible while the men fought. “We don’t harass ladies at my favorite place.”

“Alright, alright,” the man huffed. “She’s not worth the effort. You can have her.”

“Hey, are you okay,” Raymond softly asked. He must’ve been from around, because of his sexy accent. You always had a thing for men with an accent. “I hope he didn’t hurt you. Some guys shouldn’t drink too much.”

“Uh-thank you,” you murmured and finally looked at the man. Raymond looked like you imagine a British gentleman, but with a dash of roughness and something hidden behind his neat appearance.

He was wearing a navy-blue corduroy waistcoat, a slim tie with the same color, and a light blue and white striped button-down over dark wash slim-fit stretch jeans. His hair was neatly gelled back, and his beard was long but well-trimmed. Orange-rimmed clear lens glasses framed his handsome face.

“That was very nice of you.”

“A gentleman must protect a lady in need,” he grinned and sat next to you. “Let me buy you a drink for the inconvenience, and for not stepping in sooner.”

“You came the moment the man put his hand on my thigh,” you shyly glanced at Raymond. He offered his name to you and held out his hand. You placed your hand in his, feeling another shudder run through your body. This man was unlike any guy you ever met.

He screamed danger but acted like a gentleman. You could smell weed on his clothes when he leaned closer to ask you for your name.

“Y/N,” you replied and allowed him to hold your hand for a little longer than needed. He ran his thumb over your skin, causing a tiny whimper to escape your lips. “Thank you again.”

“What brings you here, love?” Raymond leaned impossibly closer, letting you feel his warmth. “I assume you are a tourist.”

You chuckled. “What gave me away?”

“Your accent, and I know every pretty girl in town.”He laid it on thick when he purred your name and told you that you look beautiful in your dress. He already had you when he saved you from the grabby guy, but you wanted to bask in his compliments for a little longer.

“Every single one,” you chuckled. “You’re a very busy man in that case.”

He adjusted his glasses and smirked. “I don’t know every woman like that.” Raymond gave you a wink. “But I’d like to get to know you better.”

“My friends are still somewhere at this place,” you leaned closer to drink his appearance and scent in. You were enchanted by this man. “Probably rubbing themselves against the guys they just met.”

His eyes sparkled at your words. You were about to do the same with him. Why – you had no clue. He was handsome and charming. But there was something else drawing you in like the moth to the flame.

“Do you want to leave this place?” A question was not in his words when he got up, still holding your hand. “I promise to be a gentleman.”

You didn’t make it far. Before you knew it, you left the bar with Raymond. You ended up pressed into the wall in the dark alley behind the bar.

He was all over you, lips devouring your mouth the moment you were out of sight. His hand slipped between your thighs, finding your panties soaked. He teased you for your floral cotton panties, moving the fabric aside to shove a finger inside your soaked cunt.

Raymond lifted you off of your feet, and you ended up in his arms, your pussy stuffed to the brim with his thick cock.

“Fuck, this is a tight little cunt,” he puffed into your neck. Hot breath fanning over your skin. “You’ve been a good girl, huh? How many guys did you fuck behind a bar so far?”

“No one,” you held tight onto Raymond as he slowly rocked into you. “Only you.”

“You’re so good for me, love,” he whispered in your ear as he mercilessly battered your cunt. He was not a gentle lover any longer. Raymond fucked up into you, all the while holding your body safe in his arms. “I’m gonna ruin you.”

“Aw, baby love,” he crashed his lips onto yours to silence your moans. “You met the right man to ruin you.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and started to move your hips.

“Ruin me. Do it. I’m done being the good girl.”

“Why did you leave without us?” One of your friends asked. Janice walked inside your shared hotel room, smirking as you were reading another book. “Y/N we are on vacation. Stop reading and go out there. There is a whole new world to explore.”

“Yeah. Maybe you’ll get some dick too if you stop hiding,” your other friend snapped at you. She didn’t get lucky last night and tried to let her anger out on you. Chanel always gets lucky. Just not last night.

“Oh, I think you will have enough fun for all of us,” you hid that you were the one getting a perfect dick last night. Well, they wouldn’t have believed you. You never take a risk. This includes fucking a stranger behind a bar. “Don’t forget to wrap it before you let any dick get near you.”

“It’s their job,” Janice huffed. “I only need my lipstick and nothing else.”

You bit your tongue. Last night you were the one making sure that you didn’t take a bigger risk. Raymond was all too eager to fill you, but you insisted on protection. Even though you were a horny mess wanting nothing more than to feel him bare inside of you.

“Have fun reading,” Janice snapped at you. “We are going to meet up with some girls we met last night and tonight, we’re going back to the bar. Tonight, I’ll get lucky and fuck a British guy!”

“Don’t wait for us to come back today. You’re no fun to be around since you and Ransom broke up,” Chanel added. A low blow to your fragile heart.

With your friends gone, you had the time to enjoy the city. You explored the usual spots tourists would seek out and ended up in a nice little café to have a break.

It was close to your hotel, and you could enjoy the sun as long as you wanted to.

At least no one tried to hit on you here or called you boring for enjoying your tea and biscuits.

“This must be fate,” a familiar voice said. Raymond stopped short in his tracks when he recognized you. “What brings you here?”

“I was—” You licked your lips at the sight of Raymond. Today he was wearing a soft camel tan shawl cardigan and a skinny burgundy tie over his dark wash jeans. He looked as perfect as ever when he claimed the empty chair on your table, “having a break from exploring town.”

“Sightseeing,” he nodded thoughtfully. “I see.” Raymond eyed you up and down in your simple shirt, cardigan, and a pair of worn-out jeans. “I could give you the Smith tour to show you all the secret spots no tourist ever saw.”

“Smith tour?” You wrinkled your forehead.

“That’s my surname, sweetness,” he smirked and nodded at the waitress to order tea and biscuits himself. “Do you want to go on that tour with me?”

“Sure,” you said a little too fast. He was still a stranger, but you let him fuck you twice last night. What else could he want? You were sure he wouldn’t hurt you and having the chance to fuck him again had you already dripping. “I’d love to see more than the usual spots.”

You didn’t see much of town. All Raymond showed you was his large, luxurious estate where he lives by himself. And you didn’t see much of it either.

Raymond had you pinned to his mattress; his cock buried balls deep inside of your dripping cunt moments after he guided you inside his home.

“Shit, look at you,” he purred before he claimed your lips in a heated kiss. “I could get used to having you like this. Underneath me, filled with my cock.” He kissed you again, softer this time. “Bare.”

He rocked his hips at a slow pace, dragging his thick cock along your walls. Raymond smirked as you dug your fingertips into his back.

“Raymond,” you whimpered his name. “Please.”

“Fuck, say my name again,” he buried his face in your neck to nip at your soft spot. “Now,” Raymond growled your name and gave you a particularly hard thrust. “Sweetness.”

“Raymond.”

“Again,” he snapped his hips into yours. “NOW!”

“RAYMOND!” You screamed his name on the top of your lungs. “RAYMOND!” You chanted it like a prayer. “Please.”

“Fucking take it,” Raymond whispered in your ear. “You’re meant to lie underneath me, my cock in your sweet pussy.” He slowly fucked into you, taking his time to enjoy having you again. “All I was thinking about was your cunt. I could smell you on me all day.”

Your arousal coated his cock with every thrust. It soaked the sheets underneath you, ruining the fine fabric you admired before you ended up on his bed.

“You’re mine now,” he threatened, his voice a deep growl as he kept on fucking you into the mattress. “Say it.”

He stopped moving and stared at you underneath him. “Say it!”

“’m yours, Ray…”

He kissed you again, sweet but dirty. His tongue delved into your mouth, tasting the strawberries you ate earlier.

“Yes. Fuck.” You started to clench around him and tremble underneath Raymond. “Please.”

“Ohhh…fuck,” he thrusted into you, ignoring that you cried out his name. Raymond simply fucked you through your high, rhythm never faltering as you threw your head left and right. It sounded cliché, or like bad porn. But right at that moment it was all you could do because he just felt too good inside of your body. “That’s it.”

“Come inside of me, please,” you pleaded. “NOW!”

Fuck…He thought and exploded inside of your quivering cunt. Raymond didn’t stop. He trusted in and out of you, making an even bigger mess of his sheets.

“That was,” you sighed when he slipped out of you to lie next to you. Raymond panted, and you patted his chest when he gasped for air.

“I know, sweetness.”

“Thank you for making my vacation much more interesting,” you laughed as he crawled back on top of you to kiss you softly and gently.

“Thank you for making my shitty week better.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Smith.”

His shower was amazing. Just like the rest of his home. It was huge, and the rain showerhead was something else.

Not that you got the chance to enjoy it much. The warm water barely had the time to run down your body before Raymond was all over you again.

He stood behind you to nip at your earlobe with his teeth. His skilled hands cupped your tits, and you fell back against his chest.

“Still not enough?” He chuckled at your words. “You're insatiable.

“You’re just too cute to ignore.” He watched you turn around to cup his face to kiss him. “What are you up to, sweetness?”

“I’d love to fuck you again,” you purred his name and ran your hands over his chest. “What are you up to?”

Raymond smirked, and you knew you were in for a rougher treatment. He twirled you around, barking orders at you. “Hands against the wall.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You’re playing with fire,” he was on you again, to manipulate your body. He gripped your hip with one hand and guided his weeping cock into your dripping pussy. “But I’ll not stop you from being a perfect little cockslut for me.”

You hissed but welcomed his length like an old friend. “You feel too good inside of me, is all.”

“Yeah,” he kissed your neck. “How good? Good enough to spend the rest of your vacation with me.”

“Yes.” You said without hesitation. To hell with your friends, sightseeing, and biscuits. All you wanted to do is spend time impaled on Raymond’s cock.

“I knew it,” he breathed into your neck. “You’re perfect.”

Raymond nipped at your neck while slinging his arms around your waist.

“My little lost tourist.” He slowly but steadily pumped into you. “Lucky me getting inside this sweet body.”

“Oh, yes,” The warm water gently rained down on you and Raymond, and your wet bodies slid easily against one another. “Fuck, please.”

“Same, sweetness,” he growled as you started to push back onto his length. Raymond was close to losing all control. He pressed you against the wall, pumping into you with all the strength he had left in him.

You slammed the palms of your hand against the shower wall feeling your high ripple through your body. You were panting heavily, and your knees buckled when he emptied himself inside of you.

“No, you don’t understand,” Raymond grunted into the phone. He watched you turn around in your sleep to snuggle into his pillow. “I want you to tell me where to pick her things up. Y/N wants to spend the rest of her vacation with me, not you.”

He groaned as your friends bombarded him with questions. His patience was wearing thin, and he was close to sending one of his problem solvers to get your belongings.

“Listen, all you need to know is that she’s safe with me. No…I won’t send you a picture of her.” Cursing loudly, he looked at you.

“Give me the phone,” you yawned, and rubbed your tired eyes. “They won’t believe you, Ray.”

“Fine,” he handed you your phone, waiting for you to confirm that he’s not some psycho kidnapper holding you hostage. Even though, his cock twitched when he imagined keeping you at his home forever.

“Janice, relax,” you tried to calm your friend. “I met Raymond two days ago at the bar. Yeah, where you left me all alone. We met again at a café, and I spent the last two days with him at his home. I texted and called you, but you didn’t answer so, I believed you don’t give a shit about me and if I’m still alive.”

Janice muttered into the phone, but you didn’t care. You told her to pack your things and hand them to whoever Raymond will send to them.

One week later you sat on his couch, snuggled into one of the blankets he offered to you. “You’ve got a nice home,” you said and smiled. It pained you that in not a week you had to leave this wonderful place and the man owning it. “Maybe I can come back here one day.”

“Or,” he sat down next to you and placed his hand on your thigh, “I just keep you here forever.” Raymond nuzzled his face in your neck. “I heard you quit your job, left your boyfriend, and are looking for adventure.”

“What? I-“ you spluttered. “How did you find out?”

“Your friends are rather talkative,” he shrugged and moved his hand between your legs. “I got a big home, and a good job waiting for you. I know this is sudden, but I’d love to keep you around. What do you say?”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#raymond smith #raymond smith x reader #raymond smith x female reader #raymond smith x you #A perfect gentleman #raymond smith x y/n #raymond smith smut #smut

465 notes · View notes

kaynothanks · 7 months

Text

ROMEO DIED

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x fem!Reader

Summary: You wouldn’t call Billy Hargrove a friend—but misery sure does love company

Warnings: NO, Billy doesn't die, it's just a title! (18+ mdni), swearing (like a lot), smut, thigh riding, billy being a lil bat shit (personality trait?) crying, angst, smoking, sad shit, domestic violence!, it's dark I ain't gonna lie

Word-Count: 25.9k (I don't know how this keeps happening)

To the vast majority, the very essence of childhood was encapsulated in a singular, formative memory—a bright, indelible mark upon the canvas of their existence. These recollections, oft recounted with a gleam in the eye and warmth in the voice, were predominantly woven from the fabric of joyous days. Days spent in the cherished embrace of dearly loved ones, under the golden sun of endless summers or amidst the cozy dimness of a family room lit only by the flickering images of a movie night. Tales of vacations painted in the vivid hues of adventure, of afternoons spent marveling at the wonders housed within the silent watchfulness of zoo enclosures—these were the stories shared, the common thread binding the tapestry of shared human experience.

Yet, amidst this chorus of reminiscences, not once did a voice falter, not once did the flow of memories stutter into silence—as if each story, each recollection, was a pearl, smoothly rolling off the tongue without a moment's hesitation.

You, however, found yourself adrift in this sea of shared nostalgia. When the spotlight of expectation turned to you, when it was your turn to pluck a gem from the treasury of your past, you found the vault seemingly empty. A heavy silence would envelop you, a thick, tangible thing, punctuated only by the expectant gazes of those around you. In those moments, a flurry of panic would dance behind your eyes, a frantic search through the archives of your memory for something—anything—that could pass as a semblance of the joyous tales so freely offered by others.

And so, you took refuge behind the facade of little white lies, crafting tales of your own. Tales that were never lived but painted with enough detail to pass as truth. You knew, instinctively, that these fabrications were necessary—not for your sake, but for theirs. To preserve the sanctity of their bubble-wrapped worlds, where the possibility of a childhood untainted by the same joys was unthinkable, a harsh discord in the symphony of their understanding.

Thus, you crafted a mask from the clay of necessity, molding an awkward smile upon your lips as you spun a tale from the threads of imagination—a story designed to dance gracefully upon the ears of your audience, a melody in the key of fiction they were all too eager to hear. Beneath this veneer of compliance, however, you waged a silent battle, pressing down the memory that surged forth with the clarity and insistence of an unwanted ghost. It was as if you were condemned to an eternal viewing of a particularly distasteful episode of a show, one that had been replayed in the theater of your mind more times than you cared to count.

In those moments, as the lie unfolded from your tongue like the petals of some strange flower, you were mercifully detached from the raw emotions that had once torn through the small, trembling body of your four-year-old self. You were no longer the child cocooned in the dubious sanctuary of a cabinet, its door cracked just enough to admit a sliver of the world outside—a gap so minimal it might have escaped notice altogether, were it not for the significance of the vantage point it offered.

From this slender aperture, you bore witness to a scene that would forever imprint itself upon the canvas of your memory: the harsh, unforgiving grip of your father's hand as it ensnared your mother's head, the violent arc as he brought it crashing down onto the unforgiving surface of the kitchen table. His voice, a thunderous roar that filled the room and set your very soul to trembling, was a soundtrack to the horror unfolding before your eyes, a cacophony that seemed to fuel your incessant shaking.

The final image that burned itself into your retinas, a haunting tableau, was of your mother's slow, agonizing crawl towards you. A rivulet of red, a stark contrast against the pallor of her skin, traced a path down her forehead, a silent testament to the brutality she had endured. And then, with an act of maternal instinct so profound it bordered on the prescient, she reached out to close the cabinet door, shrouding you in darkness. Somehow, she had known—known that even in this desperate moment, her first instinct was to protect you, to shield you from the ugliness of a reality no child should ever have to witness.

In the immediate aftermath, darkness enveloped you, a shroud of impenetrable black that seemed to swallow every shard of light, leaving you suspended in a void where time itself hesitated. It was a silence so profound, a darkness so complete, that for a fleeting series of seconds, you found space to draw breath—a brief respite in the eye of an ongoing storm.

Then, piercing the stillness, came a watery plea—a voice so drenched in despair it seemed to bleed through the air. This was swiftly followed by the sharp, unmistakable sound of a step, a harbinger of chaos yet to unfold. What ensued was a cacophony of crashes and screeches, each imbued with such terror that they seemed to vibrate within the very marrow of your bones. Abruptly, it ceased. The ominous drum of your father's steps receded, and the lament of your mother's cries fell silent.

Within the confines of that cabinet, your sanctuary of shadows, you remained hidden. There, amidst the dust and the dark, you had fostered a belief, a child's naive conviction, that no malevolence could ever breach your fortress of solitude.

Time, however, cared little for such beliefs. You had outgrown the cabinet, outgrown the illusion of invulnerability it had once provided. The specters of those bad things, those harbingers of hurt and harrow, had since learned to find you, to ensnare your mind with their inevitable grasp, to sink their cruel claws deep into your psyche, marking you with scars unseen but deeply felt.

This realization pressed upon you with a weight all its own as you stared into the fractured visage reflected in the broken wardrobe mirror. The spiderweb of cracks across the glass seemed to mock, to distort not just your reflection but the very essence of who you had become. With a heavy heart, you diverted your gaze, a tacit acknowledgment that the sight of your own battered being was a reality you were not ready to confront—not now, perhaps not ever. There was no need to etch this image any deeper into your memory, no need to prolong the inevitable reckoning with your reflection, with the visible manifestations of those all-too-invisible wounds.

In that moment of avoidance, of turning away from the broken mirror, you were confronted with a truth as shattering as the glass before you: the realization that some scars run too deep, their roots entwined with the very fibers of your being, a constant reminder of battles fought and yet to be faced.

With a precision born of necessity, you moved—a delicate ballet of careful contortions designed to avoid the sharp bite of pain that lurked, waiting to pounce with each ill-considered twitch. Bending with the grace of a willow swaying in a gentle breeze, you reached beneath the shadowed underbelly of your bed, fingers searching for the familiar, lightweight case of your first aid kit. The ease with which it came into your hands was a small comfort, quickly extinguished by the sinking realization that greeted you upon its opening.

Inside, the remnants of preparedness mocked you: an empty bottle of saline solution stared back, its purpose exhausted, alongside a few band-aids, torn and useless, victims of your past impatience. The other contents, like the tweezers, lay in wait for a need that did not currently exist. You allowed yourself a moment—a brief, piercing inventory of this inadequate arsenal—before pushing the disappointment aside and hoisting yourself back to a stand.

Clad in the remnants of a past encounter, a hooded jacket left behind by a fleeting connection, you approached the window. It was a silent affair, the window yielding to your touch with the stealth of a whisper, betraying none of the turmoil that brewed within.

The act of escape was nothing short of a physical ordeal. Your limbs, heavy with ache, maneuvered through the small aperture of the trailer window—a testament to both desperation and determination. Once outside, crouched low to avoid unwanted attention, the cool embrace of the night air greeted you. It was a balm, this newfound freedom, a stark contrast to the stifling confines of your room, littered with the debris of broken dreams and shattered expectations. The open air offered a cleanse, a baptism of sorts, from the relentless cycle of cleanup and repair that had become your existence.

Gone were the days of painstakingly removing glass from picture frames before their inevitable destruction; a ritual born from the foresight of their transient nature. The weariness for such tasks clung to you, a cloak woven from threads of frustration and resignation. Yet, here, under the cover of night, with the world stretched wide and open before you, the weight of that cloak seemed, if only for a moment, a little lighter.

As you strode past the silent form of your car, a sigh of irritation escaped your lips, its sound a soft testament to the internal debate you'd just settled. The decision not to awaken the engine into roaring life was not only a tactic to maintain stealth but a silent concession to the fact that walking might just offer the solace and clarity your tangled thoughts so desperately needed. Moreover, it presented an opportunity to prolong your absence from the confines of what was supposed to be home—a place you were increasingly reluctant to return to, especially tonight. He had played his part, an unwelcome performance that assured you of a temporary reprieve from his intrusions, securing you a night free from disturbances, free from his discovery of the emptiness that now characterized your bedroom.

With a sense of resolve, you drew the black hood over your head, plunging your hands into the depths of your pockets as if to anchor yourself to this decision. You embarked on your nocturnal odyssey, leaving the trailer park's dimly lit confines behind. Your path unfolded on the deserted street, feet finding rhythm and balance on the white lines that dissected the asphalt—a tightrope walker in the quiet of the night. A melody, the residue of days spent with the same song on repeat in your car, hummed softly from your lips, a solitary soundtrack to your solitary march.

The gas station, a beacon of fluorescent light in the darkness, promised to be your oasis—a mere thirty-minute pilgrimage from the trailer park. It was a sanctuary that never closed its doors, a constant in the fluctuating chaos of your life. Behind the counter, the night shift was personified by a young man, his attention more on the beef-flavored Space Raiders he chewed with open abandon than on any potential customer.

With your head bowed, a gesture born of habit more than necessity, you navigated the familiar aisles towards the back. This little corner of the gas station, with its modest array of medical supplies, had become an unlikely ally in times of need. The sound of the entrance bell, a faint chime announcing the arrival or departure of a soul, barely registered as you focused on gathering the items that would serve as tonight's band-aids for both physical and metaphorical wounds.

Items gathered in the crook of your arm, you made your way to the counter, a silent procession of one. The goods—a testament to the night's necessities—were unceremoniously deposited onto the surface, a prelude to the exchange of currency for what passed as care in the small hours of a world that never quite slept.

As the cashier busied himself with the register, a mechanical dance of fingers on keys, you cleared your throat to pierce the silence that had settled between you. "Can I get a pack of Marlboros, too?" The words hung in the air, simple yet laden with an unspoken tension.

He paused, his movements halting as his gaze lifted to scrutinize you. There was a moment, brief yet charged, where his frown deepened, a silent commentary on the obscured view of your face. Nevertheless, his hand moved with practiced ease, reaching behind without hesitation and grasping the familiar green box.

Your response was almost instinctive, an eye roll born of the assumptions wrapped around that particular choice. "Red." The word was clipped, tinged with a mix of amusement and annoyance at the stereotype you were unwillingly cast into. As you handed over the money, pulled from the snug refuge of your jeans' back pocket, his suspicion seemed to spike, eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher an unsolved puzzle.

Money exchanged and items clumsily gathered, you were ready to retreat into the night from whence you came. Yet, a thought anchored you in place, a sudden reminder of a need unaddressed. "Could I have the key for the bathroom?" The question, simple in its asking, seemed to hang precariously in the space between you.

"It’s out," came his reply, short, almost reflexive, a barrier thrown up with the ease of someone who had uttered those words too many times.

Yet, you stood your ground, nodding towards the key that dangled tauntingly over his shoulder, within reach yet seemingly miles away. "It’s right behind you." Your words, firm, carried a weight of certainty, a challenge laid bare.

His response was a study in stillness, a monument to inertia, as if the very act of acknowledging the key's existence was beneath him.

"I need it." The finality in your voice, a blend of resolve and a barely contained plea, echoed in the cramped space of the gas station, a testament to the myriad small battles fought in the dead of night, under the fluorescent glow of a whole other world.

"Toilet's broken," he declared, an excuse worn thin by time and repetition.

Indeed, that very toilet had clung to its broken state for a spell nearing two years—a testament to neglect. "I don’t need to use the toilet. I just need to use the room—” you attempted to clarify, seeking a foothold in a rapidly closing door of opportunity.

"Boss said to not let anyone in," came his rebuttal, a line likely recited from a script of convenience rather than concern.

"Dude—" The word hung in the air, a precursor to the battle you felt brewing within. You inhaled deeply, a silent prayer for patience, your teeth clenching in an invisible grip. "Never mind. Have a terrific night," the words coated in a veneer of nicety that you mustered with all your might, your smile, though sarcastic, was an attempt to bridge the chasm of your frustration, hoping its curve was visible beneath the shadow of your hood. "Dickhead," the insult slipped from your lips in a whisper, a secret shared only with the night as you stepped through the door into the embrace of the outside world.

Tired and tinged with annoyance, your gaze swept the vicinity, seeking a haven for the simplest of human needs—to get cleaned up. Then, like a beacon in the night, your eyes settled on a car stationed at the farthest gas pump. It stood solitary, a silent sentinel in the fluorescent glow. You cast a quick glance over your shoulder, a spy's caution, to ensure the car's owner wasn't lurking nearby. The coast appeared clear, save for the presence of the obstinate cashier, now dubbed the idiot in your evening's narrative.

By the dim glow of the gas station's overhead lights, you found a temporary sanctuary beside the car, a silent accomplice to your solitary ritual. With deliberate motions, you placed your newly acquired treasures upon the cold, unforgiving ground and crouched, your body tensing as you prepared to confront the reflection you had been avoiding. The side-view mirror, initially angled to capture the expanse of the road behind, was now coaxed into a new purpose. With a hesitant push, you angled it to reveal your own visage, a canvas marred by the recent past.

The act of lowering your hood felt akin to peeling away a layer of armor, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. What greeted you in the reflective glass was a mosaic of bluing bruises and angry red slashes—a testament to a tale you wished remained untold. A grimace twisted your features at the sight, your heart sinking. The reflection bore evidence of a fierce struggle, a physical manifestation of pain that made the concept of beauty a distant, unattainable dream.

With a sigh, you sought solace in the ritualistic lighting of a cigarette, a small act of defiance against the night's events. The pack crinkled as you extracted one, placing it between your lips with a sense of purpose. Yet, as you patted down your pockets in search of a flame, a sinking realization dawned upon you—your lighter was missing, presumably lost amidst the chaos that now defined your living space. Disappointment seeped into your bones, mixing with the lingering adrenaline and fatigue that clung to your skin.

Undeterred, you turned your attention back to the task at hand. The cigarette, forgotten for the moment, dangled unlit as you began to tend to your wounds with the care of a seasoned medic. Each touch to your skin with a damp tissue was a whisper of comfort, a gentle caress amidst the harsh reality of your existence. The application of Neosporin was a balm not just for the physical scars, but a fleeting attempt to soothe the deeper, unseen injuries that lay beneath

As you were about to seal the wounds with plasters, a testament to your resilience and a badge of your suffering, the tranquility of the moment was shattered. A voice, unexpected and jarring, cut through the silence, startling you from your reverie. The sudden intrusion felt like an invasion, a breach of the fragile peace you had managed to carve out for yourself in the shadows of the night.

"Antiseptic works better."

Through the mirror, you caught a glimpse of the silhouette that dared intrude upon your moment of vulnerability. The cigarette perched precariously between your lips bobbed as you spoke, your voice tinged with the weariness of one too acquainted with pain. "You’re wrong," you countered through the cigarette hanging from your lips after grabbing a second plaster and ripping its package. "In fact," you continued, pressing the adhesive over another wound, "there’s a chance it may damage the skin." Your expertise on the subject was born from necessity, not choice—a testament to the scars you bore, both seen and unseen. As you finished tending to your injuries, gathering your things with a finality that marked the end of the unwanted interaction, you turned to face the source of the unsolicited commentary.

The dim light revealed his identity—the new guy, an unwelcome disturbance in your carefully maintained distance from the world. You shot him a look that spoke volumes, laden with the exhaustion of a soul yearning for nothing more than the sanctuary of a warm bed, before you attempted to leave his presence behind. His voice, however, laced with an unmistakable amusement, halted you once more. "Hey," he called out, a grin audible in his tone. "I know you."

The assertion sparked a flicker of irritation within you, a flare in the dimness of your resolve. "You don’t," you corrected sharply and turned halfway, vexed by your exhaustion and the want for a warm bed. "You might have seen me around, but you don’t know me."

"Christ," he swore, wearing a shit-eating grin that made you want to pull out his infuriatingly long eyelashes one by one. "What pissed in your—"

"Bye," you interjected, rolling your eyes as you turned your back on him, the roll of your eye a silent rebuke to his unfinished query.

"You need a lighter for that, sweetheart?"

Your feet anchored themselves on the spot, your shoulders slouching just the littlest bit; you really, really did need one. Aversion in your bones, you slowly turned back to him. Keeping your distance, you placed yourself across from where he was leaning against his car.

The smirk playing on his lips stretched into a full-blown grin, a silent prelude to the audacity that followed. In one fluid, almost theatrical motion, he reached out, plucking the cigarette from your lips and putting it between his with an ease that spoke of practiced finesse. The silver lighter appeared in his hands as if by magic, its flame dancing to life with a flick that carried the flair of showmanship. The lit cigarette found its way back to his lips, and he inhaled deeply, the smoke exhaling in a deliberate stream toward you, enveloping you in a cloud of provocation as he gauged your reaction, almost baiting an outburst.

Yet, instead of the explosion he anticipated, you simply reclaimed the cigarette from his grasp, a silent acceptance of his unsolicited gesture. "Thanks,” you uttered, the words hanging in the air as you resumed walking, leaving the moment behind.

His voice followed, a casual offer laced with an undefined undercurrent. "You want a ride?"

Your steps faltered, a frown creasing your forehead as his words registered. "That is one hell of a random question to ask a stranger. As a stranger,” you retorted, the skepticism in your voice as palpable as the cool night air that enveloped you both.

"You want one or not?" His reply was curt, edged with impatience, a stark contrast to the mysterious offer he had just extended.

"Why would you offer?" Curiosity laced your tone, mixed with a hint of caution. Billy Hargrove’s reputation had preceded him, painting a picture of a Californian rebel whose actions were as unpredictable as the ocean’s waves, and certainly, acts of chivalry seemed as foreign to him as a language unspoken.

"Forget it." His dismissive gesture, a psuh from the car before he swung the door open, spoke volumes of his irritation. Yet, as he made to seal himself within the metal cocoon of his vehicle, your voice pierced the night, a decision made.

"I do want one."

The car door slammed shut, and for a moment, the only sound was the car's engine coming to life, a growl in the quiet. His gaze, sharp and assessing, met yours through the glass. A roll of his eyes served as his acquiescence to your unspoken plea for a ride. The door cracked open, an invitation as gruff as his tone. "Are you getting your ass in the car or do you need a written invite?"

His words, brusque yet oddly inviting, spurred you into action. The interior of the car enveloped you, the scent of leather and the undercurrent of his cologne mingling in the confined space. No sooner had you fastened the seatbelt than the car lurched forward, tires screeching in protest as Billy Hargrove accelerated into the night, propelling both of you toward the unknown that lay in the direction you had originally been heading.

"I live at—" you began, the words barely taking form before they were cut short.

"I know." His interruption was swift, a statement so sure and unfazed.

Confusion momentarily clouded your thoughts, mingling with a spark of irritation. How the fuck could he possibly know? The question danced at the tip of your tongue, but before it could leap into the open air between you, realization dawned. The company he kept at school, the circles he moved in—those were all the answers you needed. Billy Hargrove, with his effortless charisma and an air of danger that clung to him like a second skin, naturally gravitated towards and was embraced by those you had learned to keep at arm's length. Those very individuals, Carol Perkins, Vicki Carmichael, and Tommy Hagan, had painted your world in stark, unflattering colors, branding you 'trailer trash' with their sneers and jeers for a decade.

A bitter laugh threatened to escape, thinking of them, their cruelty a constant shadow over your school days. If only they knew the disdain you harbored, so potent and vivid. You wished, not for the first time, that their arrogance and aspirations could be forcibly fed back to them, a grotesque cycle that would see their malice choking them, expelled from their mouths like a vile confession of their true natures.

You adjusted the window, allowing just a sliver of the night air to slip through, and extended your arm, the cigarette perched between your fingers, embers dancing with each inhale.

"What happened to your face?" Billy's voice, laced with a curiosity that didn't match his usual demeanor, cut through the hum of the road beneath the car's tires.

"Fell from heaven, of course," you retorted, the words tinged with sarcasm as your eyes rolled, a silent protest against his prying. His persistence was like a thorn—unwanted and sharp. "Nosy much?"

"Catfight?" His guess was off mark, yet it pricked your patience.

You exhaled, a mix of frustration and resignation coloring your tone. "Ran into a tree," the lie smooth on your tongue, as you took another drag, the cigarette's glow a brief flare in the darkness.

He scoffed, disbelief etched in the sound. "And the tree beat you up for that?"

Your agreement came out as a hum, a playful note in the solemn night. "Had a mean right hook, too. Damn birch trees," you quipped, allowing a brief smile to dance on your lips at the absurdity of it all, blowing the smoke out into the night, watching as it dissipated into the cool air.

Silence fell between you, a heavy, tangible thing that seemed to swell with each passing second. It was an odd sort of discomfort, more unsettling than the exchange of words had been, wrapping around you like a thick fog. You found yourself almost wishing for his voice again, to break through the quiet that now felt louder than any spoken word. Yet, as the car sped on, devouring the road with eager haste, the lights of the trailer park approached, promising an end to the journey and the silence that had settled between you.

Suddenly, he extended his hand towards you, an unspoken request hanging in the air. You found yourself momentarily puzzled, your gaze fixed on his fingers before realization dawned. After taking a final, lingering drag from the cigarette, you passed the diminishing ember to him. With an effortless flick, he sent it soaring out of the window, watching as it disappeared into the night after taking it down to its last breath.

"Since when are girls like you smokers of the good stuff?" His voice was casual, yet loaded with an unspoken judgment that hung heavily between you.

The implication behind his words, ‘girls like you’ didn't necessitate an explanation. You understood perfectly—the label wasn't about you personally. It was a placeholder, a stereotype applied broadly to any girl who found herself in his car, a commentary not so much on the individual but on the perceived collective. The notion that somehow, despite the vast differences among individuals, there was a uniformity assumed among all those deemed ‘other’ by those who never bothered to look beyond the surface. It was a tired, worn-out perspective, suggesting that understanding, respect, and equality were territories too foreign for those entrenched in their own narratives.

"I'm not a smoker," you retorted, your voice steady, pushing back against the label he tried to affix to you.

He turned to you, an eyebrow arching in skepticism. "Sweetheart, I think the tree might have hit you in the head." His words, meant to tease, danced in the space between you,

"Special occasions only," you finally spoke, breaking the silence that had settled between you, thick with unvoiced judgments and assumptions. Your voice carried a defiant edge, a sharp contrast to the vulnerability you felt. "Also, fuck you."

Billy's response was a chuckle, the sound low and somewhat amused, as if your resilience added an unexpected flavor to the night's events. "What's the occasion?" he inquired, his tone lighter, yet carrying an undercurrent of genuine curiosity.

You found yourself hesitating, caught on the precipice of disclosure and reticence. The likelihood of crossing paths with him again felt as remote as the stars dotting the night sky above, their light distant and indifferent. You weighed the ephemeral nature of this encounter against the catharsis of sharing, even if just a sliver, of your reality. "Having choices," you said at last, the words feeling like both a confession and a declaration.

"What choices?" His question followed, simple yet laden with the weight of stories untold.

You offered no reply, merely a shrug, a gesture cloaked in layers of meaning. Your silence was your fortress, safeguarding the complexities of a life marked by pain and defiance. Within you, a habit had taken root, a ritual born from the ashes of violence at the hands of your father. Smoking had become your rebellion, your assertion of control in a life that often felt governed by the whims of a man whose presence was as oppressive as it was destructive. To smoke was to choose the manner of your harm, to claim agency over your own demise, however slow and insidious it might be. It was a twisted form of empowerment, preferring the slow burn of tobacco to the acute brutality of paternal hands. Crushing the extinguished remnants of your defiance under your boots served as a tangible metaphor, a declaration that the man who should have been your protector held no more power over you than the spent cigarettes you ground into oblivion.

Entering Billy's car that night, accepting the ride from someone enveloped in rumors and mystery, was a choice emblematic of your current state of being. Bruised, both physically and spiritually, by the very person who should have been your haven, you found yourself gravitating towards choices that flirted with danger. In the shadow of your father's tyranny, even the potential threat of an unknown like Billy felt like a liberation, a dare to the universe that tonight, of all nights, you were the master of your fate, no matter how recklessly that fate was courted.

Merely blocks away from the shadowed outlines of the trailer park, you felt the tension knot tighter in your gut, prompting you to instruct Billy with an urgency that surprised even yourself. "Stop the car here." It was a calculated measure, a bid to remain unseen should your father's usual stupor be interrupted by a rare moment of vigilance. You couldn't risk him spotting you from the confines of an existence you both shared yet endured on vastly different terms.

"Why?" Billy's inquiry sliced through the hum of the engine, a roaring beast that seemed all too eager to encroach upon the sanctuary you so desperately sought to protect.

"'Cause I said so!" The words burst from you, a mix of fear and insistence, as panic clawed at your chest with icy fingers when he veered dangerously close to the trailer park's entrance. "Stop the damn car!" The command was punctuated by the violent squeal of tires as they ground against the asphalt, the sudden deceleration forcing the seat belt to bite cruelly into your already tender flesh. "Thanks for the ride," you managed to huff out, a terse farewell as you swung the door open and exited with a haste born of desperation, the door slamming shut with a resounding finality. "Asshole," you muttered under your breath, a feeble attempt to regain some semblance of control over the rapidly fraying edges of your composure.

You had barely taken a few steps when a compulsion, inexplicable and unnerving, urged you to cast a glance over your shoulder. There he was, Billy, his gaze already locked onto your retreating form. Even through the cloak of night, his silhouette was unmistakable, and the distance did little to obscure the wink he sent your way—a gesture that felt both mocking and oddly comforting in its audacity.

With a swift turn of your head, you dismissed the fleeting connection, quickening your pace as if to outstrip the myriad emotions that encounter had stirred within you. The night air, cool and indifferent, seemed to whisper secrets as you disappeared into the labyrinth of shadows that promised both sanctuary and imprisonment.

In the sanctuary of shadow and silence, you made your way to the trailer that bore the dubious honor of being called home. The silver metal shell, tarnished by time and wear, loomed before you, a testament to a life far removed from the dreams you once harbored. With each cautious step, you moved with the stealth of a creature well-versed in the art of invisibility, ensuring that your presence remained undetected by Billy's lingering gaze.

Approaching the window to your room, the cool night air kissed your cheeks, a stark contrast to the warmth that awaited inside. Your hands, acting on the instinct honed by countless nights of return, deftly managed the small but significant task before you. The purchases, a meager collection of necessities and small comforts, found their way through the open window with a soft thud against the carpeted interior, a silent testament to your return.

With the grace of a practiced climber, you hoisted yourself up and through the window, your body moving with an economy of motion born from necessity. The interior of the trailer welcomed you back into its cramped but familiar embrace, the air tinged with the scent of a life lived on the margins.

That night, as the world outside continued its indifferent spin, you took a moment to secure the only sanctuary you knew. The lock on your door clicked into place with a finality that spoke of a desire for solitude, or perhaps, a prayer for safety. In the dim light of your room, surrounded by the humble trappings of your existence, you prepared to surrender to sleep.

The act of locking your door was more than a mere precaution; it was a ritual, a whispered plea to the universe for just one night of peace. As the shadows deepened and the trailer park settled into the quiet hum of the night, you lay down, your thoughts a tangled web of hopes, fears, and the stubborn resilience that had carried you this far. In the stillness that followed, sleep arrived, a reluctant visitor, to claim you in its embrace, offering a temporary reprieve from the trials of a world that waited just beyond the thin walls of your silver metal haven.

…

Dawn's first light crept through the cracks of the blinds, casting a muted glow across the room. You stirred from the uneasy dreams that had plagued your sleep, finding the morning's silence a stark contrast to the tumultuous echoes of last night. With a deep breath, you summoned the strength to face another day, one that began with the painstaking task of camouflage.

Seated before a mirror streaked with age, you embarked on the delicate art of concealing the evidence of yesterday's storm. Each brushstroke was a silent battle, each dab of powder a feeble attempt to erase the marks that pain had etched upon your skin. The bruises, a palette of purples and blues, refused to be hidden completely, protesting under the layers of makeup you applied with a desperation born of necessity.

As you dressed, a sharp twinge of pain caught your breath. The mirror revealed a ghastly bloom of purple spreading like a shadow across your side, just below the ribs—a grim reminder of the violence you wished to forget. A lie formed in your mind, a necessary deception for the physical education teacher, claiming the protection of a condition as natural as it was unrelated to the truth.

The ritual of preparing breakfast unfolded with a practiced ease, though your heart was elsewhere. You moved through the kitchen, your gaze carefully avoiding the man who sat at the table, expecting the service you provided as if it were his due. The sizzling bacon and the scramble of eggs filled the silence between you, a silence as heavy and uncomfortable as the bruises hidden beneath your clothes. His expectations hung over you, a constant reminder of the narrow path you were forced to tread to avoid further displeasure.

School offered no respite from the act you were forced to live. With your hood pulled high, you navigated the halls with a deliberate slowness, dreading the moment you would have to enter the classroom and face the day's challenges. The quiet comfort of anonymity was shattered when Mrs. O'Donnell's voice, sharpened by authority, cut through the air. Your heart sank as her words found you, a beacon spotlighting your defiance.

"I do not condone hats or hoods in my lessons," she declared, her tone leaving no room for dissent. In that moment, the weight of the day pressed down upon you, a reminder of the battles yet to be fought, both in the light of day and in the shadows of your own life.

The atmosphere in the classroom thickened, a palpable tension that clung to your skin as you stood at the precipice of decision. Around you, the collective breath of your peers hung suspended, their curiosity mingled with the anticipation of rebellion they'd come to associate with you. Yet, in that moment of scrutiny, you chose compliance over defiance. With a slow, deliberate motion, you slid your hood back, exposing the canvas of your pain to the voracious eyes around you.

A collective inhale filled the room, a chorus of shock and disbelief that painted you in a light far removed from the anonymity you craved. Even your teacher, usually so composed and authoritative, faltered under the weight of the revelation, her voice lost to the ticking clock that suddenly seemed deafening in the heavy silence.

She recovered, albeit shakily, her command to continue an attempt to restore normalcy to the disrupted order of her classroom. But the damage was done, the facade cracked. You couldn't wait to escape, and the moment the class was dismissed, your hood resumed its place, a shield against the prying eyes and whispered judgments.

The day unfolded exactly as you had dreaded. Each class became a battleground, your hood the flag of your defiance and your bruises the wounds of wars fought in the shadows of your life. The whispers followed you like a relentless shadow, and when lunch arrived, you sought solace in the solitude of the cafeteria's farthest corner. Surrounded by the outcasts and the unnoticed, you found a semblance of peace, even if it was the peace of a pariah among peers dreaming of revolutions they did not understand.

You observed them, the future rebels with their leather bracelets and spiky hair, their existence a stark contrast to the battles you fought daily. They wore their rebellion like a badge of honor, unaware of the true cost of surviving a war against the very fabric of one's life. And as you sat there, hidden in plain sight, you couldn't help but wonder about the diverging paths of those destined for a picture-perfect existence and your own, forged in the crucible of pain and resilience.

Stepping out from the confines of the school building as the day bled into the mellow hues of late afternoon was like shedding an invisible shackle, a temporary respite that made your shoulders relax and your breath come easier. This fleeting sense of liberation accompanied you, a silent companion that whispered promises of tranquility, until the familiar sight of the trailer park loomed ahead, shattering the illusion with the harsh reality waiting within.

As you navigated the maze of silver metal homes, the sight of the lights blazing through the windows of your own trailer felt like a physical blow, a harbinger of the storm that was about to break. Your heart, a frantic drummer in the cage of your ribs, seemed to echo ominously with every step you took toward the creaking door that served as the barrier between you and what awaited inside.

He wasn't supposed to be there, not yet. The very thought was a cold hand squeezing around your heart, draining the color from the world. With trepidation lacing each step, you entered, your gaze flitting nervously from the desolate sofa to the ominously closed door of his bedroom. The strap of your school bag became a lifeline, something tangible to anchor you as you tiptoed toward the sanctuary of your room.

But fate, it seemed, was not on your side. The floor beneath you, a traitor clad in aged wood, groaned loudly under your weight, a sound so jarring in the silence that you couldn't help but wince, your entire being tensing in anticipation of the fallout. Time seemed to stand still, a suspended moment filled with the electric charge of impending doom.

Then, movement shattered the silence. The bedroom door was flung open with such force you half expected it to fly off its hinges, revealing the man who stood in the doorway. His presence filled the space, an imposing figure that you could barely reconcile as the one responsible for your existence. In that moment, as you faced the man who should have been your protector but felt more like a looming threat, you realized the fragility of the peace you so desperately sought in the confines of what you called home.

The utterance of your name, whispered with a darkness that cloaked the room, immediately heightened your senses, alerting you to the imminent storm. Instinctively, your feet shuffled backwards, attempting to put distance between you and the tempest that was your father. His voice cracked through the tension like a whip, "What did we talk about?" The words barely left his lips before your body responded with a quiver, the dread manifesting physically.

"You're just as useless as your bitch mother," he bellowed, his hand cutting through the air with predatory speed to clamp around your throat. Your legs struggled to bear the sudden weight of fear and despair as he dragged you, your resistance feeble against his force, through the claustrophobic hallway into the stark light of the kitchen. There, he released you not in mercy but to crash onto the unforgiving floor, his grip morphing into an iron band around your neck. "Now, I know you ain't the smartest but how can anyone be such a dumb cunt?" His eyes flicked toward the refrigerator with a menacing expectation.

Frozen, more by terror than choice, you remained motionless, inciting his fury further until he yanked you upward by the very lifeline he was squeezing. "Open it!" His command was a shout, propelled by anger, as he thrust you toward the cold metal of the fridge. With every fiber of your being screaming to comply just to make it stop, you mustered the strength to lower your shaking head and fumble with the fridge door.

"What did I tell you?" he growled, his breath hot against your ear.

"To take care of things," you managed to whimper, your voice barely threading through the tightness of his grip.

"That's right," he confirmed with a dark, rumbling voice. But his next words were like daggers, each one punctuating your worthlessness in his eyes. And then, with a brutality that seemed to echo in the sparse kitchen, your head was forcibly introduced to the side of the fridge. The sudden release from his hands felt as much a punishment as the assault, a clear message that you had once again failed to meet his expectations. "Fucking take care of it," he spat, leaving you with the pain and the cold echo of his disdain.

For a fleeting moment after his departure, you remained motionless on the cold kitchen floor, the echo of his retreating footsteps a temporary relief. As you coughed, savoring the rush of oxygen filling your lungs once more, you rose with shaky resolve. Closing the refrigerator with a soft click, you retrieved some cash from the hidden savings can, each movement automatic, driven by necessity rather than thought. Your feet carried you swiftly to your car, a sanctuary of sorts in the midst of chaos.

With trembling hands, you inserted the keys into the ignition, pausing as you caught sight of their unsteady dance. Just as you were about to press the gas pedal, a different sensation caught your attention. Blood, warm and unsettling, trickled down from your nose to your lips. Instinctively, you reached up to wipe it away, only for a solitary tear to escape, tracing a path down your cheek. In a burst of anger, you struck the steering wheel, imagining for a split second it was his face absorbing the impact, receiving the punishment he so richly deserved.

The drive out of the trailer park felt like an escape, albeit a temporary one, as you headed deeper into town. Your destination was the only supermarket in Hawkins that turned a blind eye to selling alcohol to minors. The cashiers, two souls long since resigned to the monotony and despair of their roles, barely registered your presence, their gazes fixed on some distant, unseen point beyond the walls of their confinement.

You found yourself wiping your face again, this time checking the rearview mirror to assess the damage. The sight of your bloodshot eyes was a grim reminder. Physical blows you had learned to endure, but the insults, the verbal lashings that cut deeper than any fist, remained wounds that refused to heal. The most painful barbs were those aimed at your mother, a woman who had possessed nothing in terms of material wealth but had fought valiantly, albeit futilely, to escape the tyranny of your father. She was a woman of courage, standing between you and his wrath, even as cancer waged its own merciless battle within her. Your admiration for her was boundless; on her deathbed, she had worn a smile, radiant and victorious, for in her passing, she had finally escaped the man who had sought to break her spirit.

As you entered the supermarket, you smoothly plucked a basket from the stack beside the entrance, weaving your way through the aisles with a practiced ease. With each step, you carefully selected items, filling the basket with an assortment of goods that you knew would appease your father's palate. The basket grew heavier, a testament to your meticulous effort, until you reached the final checkpoint: the beverage section.

The coolers stood before you, a chilled barrier between thirst and satisfaction. You reached for the door, the cold air brushing against your skin as you grabbed a six-pack of your father's preferred beer. It was then you noticed him, a figure barely three weeks familiar with Hawkins, yet here he was, navigating the town's veins as if born to them. His friends had evidently provided a thorough briefing. Your attempt at a discreet observation failed miserably, as his attention snapped to you, an unspoken acknowledgment between strangers.

Your brows arched in involuntary surprise, not at his presence but at the sight of fresh cuts and bruises marring his face — wounds absent just the night before. A silent question hovered on the tip of your tongue, but before it could take flight, he dismissed the moment with a roll of his eyes and brushed past you, leaving a trail of unspoken stories and a fleeting connection dissipated as quickly as it had formed.

The line at the checkout moved slowly, a trivial inconvenience, yet it granted you a few more moments of anonymity. The store's quaint little bell announced Billy's departure, a sound that seemed to echo the finality of a moment passing. When it was finally your turn, you engaged in the mechanical transaction with the cashier, your mind elsewhere. Stepping out into the waning light, the sight of Billy Hargrove, casually nursing a can of beer against the cool metal of his car, intruded upon your thoughts. His car parked nonchalantly beside yours felt like a deliberate coincidence. The brown paper bag, a temporary vessel for your burdens, found its place in the backseat as you closed the door, acutely aware of his gaze tracing your movements, an invisible tether pulling at the edge of your consciousness.

You cleared your throat, a prelude to breaking the silence as you stood by your car, the keys dancing a nervous ballet in your hand. "Birch tree got you too, huh?" The words slipped out, a tentative bridge spanning the gap between you two.

Billy's scrutiny lingered, a silent appraisal, before his eyes dropped to the testament of violence painted on your skin, eventually locking with yours. "You want a smoke?" His voice broke the tension, an offer hanging in the balance.

Surprised, yet intrigued, you glanced around before nodding, a silent agreement forged in the twilight. You gestured for him to follow, leading him to the supermarket's side where the guardians of refuse, a row of large dumpsters, stood in solemn assembly. Climbing atop one with an ease born of necessity, you found a perch, waiting for him to join you in this makeshift sanctuary away from prying eyes.

Billy, with a nonchalance that seemed to cloak him like a second skin, produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, its silver surface catching the last rays of the sun. With a practiced flick, he ignited a flame, bringing it to the cigarette perched between his lips. The glow of the ember briefly illuminated his face, casting shadows that danced with the smoke. Taking a drag, he then passed the cigarette to you. As you inhaled, the sharp, acrid taste of tobacco filled your lungs, a bitter reminder of choices made, of moments shared in silence and smoke.

As the minutes melted away under the haze of shared smoke and silent camaraderie, the cigarette passed between you became a temporary truce, an unspoken understanding in the twilight of shared solitude. Eventually, Billy broke the silence, his voice rasping slightly from the smoke. "You have blood on your nose."

"Yeah?" Your response was tinged with a nonchalance that belied the undercurrent of tension between you. You accepted the cigarette once more, its ember glowing faintly in the dimming light. "You have some on your lip." Another drag, a momentary escape, then silence enveloped you both once again. The final act of discarding the cigarette to the ground felt almost ceremonial, as you crushed the lingering spark beneath your boot, a definitive end to the fleeting respite. "See you 'round, Hargrove."

Your words hung in the air as you turned to leave, a tentative goodbye to a shared moment of vulnerability. His voice reached out, halting your retreat. "You hungry?"

The question paused you in your tracks, the afternoon sun casting long shadows as you turned to face him. There was something in his gaze, a reflection of weariness and something unspoken, that mirrored your own. For a fleeting second, pity stirred within you, its target unclear, as empathy blurred the lines between self and other.

"I am," you conceded, the admission heavy with an unspoken understanding of the complications it invited. Yet, the reality of your own circumstances pulled you back from the precipice of further entanglement. "But I have to get home, actually." Your smile was a feeble attempt at normalcy, a polite curtain falling on the scene. "Bye, Billy."

His acknowledgment was a silent nod, a mutual recognition of the distance being placed between you once more. As you drove away, the rearview mirror captured the solitary figure of Billy Hargrove, a temporary companion in your shared narrative of survival and solitude, fading into the background of your departing world.

…

An unsettling sense of change lingered in the air, a silent shift that had settled over Hawkins High like a thick fog, imperceptible yet undeniably present. This peculiar feeling began to wrap around you, a subtle yet persistent presence, in the days following your second encounter with Billy Hargrove. As you stepped through the school's doors, braced for the usual barrage of sneers and the biting sting of ‘trailer trash’ hurled in your direction, you found instead a surprising void where hostility once thrived.

This newfound anonymity was strangely soothing, a reprieve wrapped in the unexpected guise of indifference. For once, the hallways that had felt like gauntlets now offered passage free from judgment, allowing you a semblance of peace amidst the storm of daily life. It was an odd sort of liberation, moving unseen and unmarked by the cruel jibes that had once shadowed your steps. For the first time in your tumultuous high school saga, the final bell did not signal a hasty retreat but a deliberate detour to the sanctuary of the art room.

The art class assignment, a canvas awaiting the touch of inspiration, became your excuse to linger in the quiet aftermath of the school day. While your peers carried their artwork home, eager to splash their visions across the canvas in the comfort of their own spaces, such a luxury was a distant dream for you. Home was no haven for creativity; your trailer, a place where art met its end not in completion, but in destruction—torn, smashed, a casualty of the chaos that waited beyond the school's gates.

There, amidst the smell of paint and the soft light filtering through the dust-speckled windows, you found solace. The art room, with its clutter of brushes and the palette of possibilities, offered not just an escape but a moment of creation untainted by the harsh realities that lay in wait outside its doors. It was in these stolen hours, surrounded by the silent witness of unfinished projects and the ghosts of inspiration, that you dared to believe, even if just for a fleeting moment, in the possibility of a world shaped by the stroke of a brush, rather than the sharpness of words.

As the day waned into evening, the corridors of Hawkins High slowly emptied, leaving behind a tranquility punctuated only by the distant hum of the cleaning crew making their final rounds. The fading light cast long shadows across the halls, painting everything in a soft, melancholic glow. You glanced at the hallway clock, a silent reminder of the hours you needed to kill to ensure you'd return to an empty, quiet home, free from the looming presence of your father.

Chewing thoughtfully on your lip, you diverted towards your locker, thoughts swirling with the prospect of solitude. It was then that a wave of laughter and lively banter washed over you, as a group of jocks, fresh from the showers and glowing with the invincibility of youth, breezed past, oblivious to your existence. Their jubilance, a stark contrast to your solitude, left a fleeting shadow across your spirit, one you shook off as you reached your sanctuary—a small, metal locker.

The ritual was familiar and comforting: exchange the day's burdens for the evening's necessities. But as your hand lingered on the locker door, preparing to seal away the day, another hand, unexpected and swift, slammed it shut. Startled, you spun around, only to find yourself inches away from a familiar face framed by a blond mullet, a figure who had become an unexpected constant in the landscape of your days.

"That was rude," slipped from your lips, a feeble attempt to assert some distance between you and the uninvited closeness. Yet, Billy Hargrove stood unyielding, a smirk playing on his lips, evidently amused by the discomfort flickering across your face. The proximity was overwhelming; his presence, a force that seemed to challenge the very air between you. You yearned to retreat, to press back into the cold, indifferent metal of your locker as you had so many times before. But something within, a spark of defiance or perhaps a curiosity yet unnamed, anchored you firmly in place. His gaze, intense and searching, held a question you weren't sure you wanted to answer, igniting a silent standoff in the dimming light of the nearly deserted hallway.

"Oh, I might just disagree with you on that one, sweetheart," Billy chuckled. "In fact, I found it was rather chivalrous of me to spare you from having to close the locker." Billy's grin unfurled like a flag of both charm and challenge, hovering in the nebulous space between disarmingly sweet and maddeningly smug. It was as if his every gesture, every flicker of expression, had been honed to perfection before an audience of his own reflection, each nuance calculated for effect. Whether your suspicion held water mattered little; the notion that behind his practiced ease lay a carefully maintained facade wasn't far-fetched. After all, mastering the art of the mask was a survival skill in its own right.

You responded to his teasing not with retreat, but with a stance of quiet defiance, arms crossed as if to ward off the sway of his charm. Your chin lifted slightly, an unspoken challenge, while a reluctant smile threatened to betray your composure. "I was actually talking about you trying to scare me into having a heart attack, but sure, let's go with your excuse," you retorted, your voice laced with a mix of sarcasm and amusement.

His laughter, rich and unguarded, filled the space between you, a sound that seemed too genuine for someone so practiced in artifice. The hand that had been a casual claim on the locker next to your head shifted slightly, drawing your gaze despite yourself. It was an involuntary flicker of attention, pulled momentarily to the subtle play of his tongue across his lips—a gesture that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. In that moment, caught in the gravitational pull of his gaze, you felt a sudden, inexplicable connection, framed by lashes any starlet would envy. Yet, as quickly as it came, you shook off the allure, the momentary weakness. With a willful effort, you pulled away, stepping back from the invisible line that had drawn you dangerously close to his orbit. The air seemed to clear as you moved, dispelling the strange spell that had momentarily tethered you to him.

"Do you have any… plans for tonight?" His inquiry floated into the space between you, his hand retreating from the locker, leaving behind an echo of warmth where it once rested.

You found yourself momentarily caught in the headlights of his question. Friday evenings were the realm of raucous parties and cozy gatherings among friends, a social tapestry you found yourself conspicuously absent from. Your plans, if they could even be called that, consisted of nothing more than acquiring a solitary snack and retreating to the quiet of your car's hood in some forgotten corner of a parking lot.

"I'm more the spontaneous type," you offered, a deflection born of necessity as you idly scratched at your elbow. The admission of your solitude, especially in front of Hawkins' newest import, the effortlessly cool Californian, seemed a bridge too far.

"Good," he cut in, a word punctuated with decision as he turned on his heel towards the exit. You watched, a mix of surprise and curiosity bubbling within you as you followed him, your steps a beat behind, to his car. He performed the gentlemanly act of unlocking and holding open the passenger door, an invitation hanging silently in the air.

With a gesture towards the parking lot, you demurred, "I got my car here." Your thumb jabbed backward, signaling the aged Volkswagen that wore its rust and verdigris like badges of endurance, a relic from a bygone era now under the scrutiny of his oceanic gaze.

The tapestry of scars your car bore was a map of your tumultuous journey thus far. The rear windows, obscured by patches of duct tape, were a testament to a violent shove that had sent you crashing into them. The dented trunk narrated another tale of youthful recklessness, a collision with a telephone pole just weeks after your sixteenth birthday had granted you the freedom of the road. But it was the scar on your hip, hidden beneath fabric yet forever etched in your flesh, that told the most painful story. A vase, hurled in anger by your father, had shattered upon impact, embedding its fragments into your skin. Alone, you had navigated the sterile lights of the emergency room, weaving a tale of clumsy mishap to explain the glass shards that had to be meticulously extracted from your body.

Billy's gaze on you felt like a searchlight, probing for a jest or a convincing argument as to why you wouldn't abandon your car to join him. "I can’t just leave my car here, Billy," you found yourself protesting, even as part of you yearned for the escape he offered.

His response was a casual shrug, his posture relaxed against the frame of his open car door, the denim fabric of his jacket accentuating the lean muscles beneath. "Sure, you can," he countered with an easy confidence. "I can drive you back here after."

The word lingered between you, a mystery yet to unfold. "After what?"

Another shrug, the gesture becoming a signature of his nonchalance. "After." His reply hung in the air, an invitation to an undefined adventure, sparking a blend of apprehension and exhilaration within you.

The suggestion hung in the air, heavy with a dark humor that twisted your words into a sinister prediction. "You know, that kind of sounds like you are going to hack me up and then just dump my severed limbs here. After."

Billy's reaction was instantaneous, his voice laced with feigned hurt, "I would never do that." For a moment, you almost believed him, almost extended an apology, until the glint of mischief in his ice-blue gaze betrayed his jest. "You would get blood all over my car seats."

Your response was an eye roll, the tension easing into a grin at the absurdity of it all. "Fine," you declared, your resolve melting as you approached his car. "But don't you dare take me to someplace with all that healthy stuff," you added, a playful warning in your tone as he stepped aside, allowing you to claim the passenger seat as your own. Pausing, one leg already inside, you issued your culinary demands. "I want a burger, some greasy as fuck chili-cheese fries." You paused, a thought occurring. "And maybe a milkshake."

Billy's smirk was a beacon of complicity in the fading light, his teeth a flash of white as he gently closed the door behind you. Circumventing the vehicle with a swagger, he slid into the driver's seat, igniting the engine and bringing the car to life. The sudden eruption of Ted Nugent's distinct voice filled the cabin, the volume dialed to an almost reckless level. You recognized the voice, not out of personal preference, but thanks to a neighbor's musical obsession which had mercifully shifted from Nugent's raspy rock to the heady depths of heavy metal.

As the car pulled away, the world outside blended into a blur, the soundscape within dominated by Nugent's growling melodies. You found yourself enveloped in the paradox of Billy's world, where the threat of fictional dismemberment faded into the background, replaced by the immediate, vivid reality of a quest for the perfect greasy meal.

As Billy caught the wrinkled disapproval on your face, a chuckle escaped him, tinged with amusement. With a swift movement, he dialed the volume down, though the music still filled the car with a lively barrier against silence. It was loud enough to keep the void of conversation at bay, ensuring that the ride was enveloped in a continuous melody rather than awkward pauses.

You found a brief escape as you rolled down the window, extending your hand into the open air, mimicking the actions of your childhood adventures. The wind battled against your palm, inviting you to sway your hand rhythmically, an instinctive dance of freedom and nostalgia. Your eyelids fluttered shut, surrendering to the flood of memories that washed over you. Those adventures, as your mother had fondly termed them, were simple yet profoundly magical. They consisted of visits to art museums where she would craft whimsical stories behind each painting, imbuing them with life and laughter. There were hikes through dense woods, where she spun tales of bear hunts, making you believe in the thrill of the chase and the glory of imaginary conquests. On the rare occasion, she would navigate the aisles of thrift stores with you in tow. Financial constraints made these trips bittersweet, as the allure of unattainable treasures tugged at your young heart, a reminder of desires just beyond reach.

These excursions, modest in their execution but rich in imagination, formed a tapestry of cherished moments. They were escapes from the mundane, where every outing with your mother became a venture into the extraordinary, a testament to the power of love and storytelling to transform the ordinary into the unforgettable.

As Billy brought the car to a halt in front of the neon-lit facade of the arcade, you couldn't help but turn to him, an eyebrow arching in silent query. He responded with a heavy sigh, the weight of reluctance in his voice as he confessed the need to pick someone up. A brief glance at the digital watch strapped to his wrist revealed a clenched jaw, a silent testament to his impatience or perhaps something deeper, an annoyance or an obligation weighing heavily on him.

Before you could voice the questions dancing on the tip of your tongue, Billy's hand darted forward, retrieving a cigarette from the pack nestled within the confines of the glove compartment. The swift flick of his lighter brought the cigarette to life, its ember glowing fiercely with each inhalation, a beacon of his momentary escape. Exhaling a cloud of smoke through the window, he extended the cigarette towards you, a gesture of sharing in his solace, yet his eyes never met yours, as if the offer was made out of habit rather than genuine intent.

"I don’t smoke," you stated, a gentle reminder of your stance. His reaction was almost immediate, his gaze shifting to you, eyes searching for any sign of jest. Finding none, only the earnest clarity of your refusal, he muttered a blend of resignation and a half-hearted vow never to offer again, his attention quickly diverting to the arcade's entrance with a stare sharp enough to bore holes through the walls. "Are you trying to open the doors with your mind?" Your teasing broke the silence, a playful nudge against his intensity. As you sank deeper into the embrace of the leather seat, the corners of your lips tugged upwards. "I tried moving a pen once. I swear, I almost had it." Your words floated between you, a light-hearted attempt to pierce the seriousness that had enveloped him, inviting him back to a moment of shared levity amidst the unexpected pause in your night.

"She's late again," Billy grumbled under his breath, a tinge of irritation lacing his voice as his gaze flickered to his wristwatch once more, a silent sentinel of his impatience. "Little dipshit can skate home." His hand moved decisively towards the gear shift, ready to abandon the wait and drive off into the night, but you intervened, placing your hand gently over his, a silent plea for patience.

"We've been waiting here for barely five minutes." Your eyebrows knitted together in a mixture of concern and curiosity as you met his gaze, attempting to understand the rush. "We can wait a little longer. I don't mind." Your words were soft, an offering of compassion in the face of his growing frustration.

At that exact moment, as if summoned by your willingness to wait, a figure emerged from the glowing entrance of the arcade. A ginger-haired girl, her face flushed and breathless from her rush, her relief palpable as her eyes locked onto the familiar blue Camaro. With her skateboard tucked securely under her arm, she hastened her steps, almost speed-walking towards the safety and promise of a ride home that the vehicle represented.

As the ginger-haired girl approached, you smoothly exited the Camaro, your movements fluid and deliberate. Pulling forward the seat to allow her access, she clambered into the back with a graceless smile, her eyes flicking briefly to Billy with a mix of gratitude and irritation. You caught the exchange, a silent laugh hidden behind your facade as you adjusted the seat back into place and reclaimed your spot beside Billy.

The tension in the car was palpable, a silent storm brewing in the small confines of the vehicle. Billy's gaze, sharp and unyielding, found the girl through the rearview mirror, anchoring her with a look that brooked no argument, yet he made no move to merge into the street's flow.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper, a fragile attempt to quell the storm. Her eyes darted away, seeking refuge in any corner that wasn't filled with Billy's imposing presence.

"You remember what we talked about?" Billy's voice cut through the tension, clear and authoritative. His question, more an ultimatum than a query, hung heavy in the air.

"I said, I'm sorry," the girl retorted, her defensiveness surfacing with her words. A scowl began to form on your face, mirroring the growing frustration and discomfort that swirled inside you as Billy remained stationary, his focus unbroken.

His eyes never left her. "What did I tell you?" The gravity in his voice pulled at you, a painful wrench in your heart as you felt the weight of his words. "What did I tell you, Max?" At his question, your emotions teetered on the edge of a precipice, a quiver on your lip the only hint of the turmoil within.

Suddenly, the confined space of the car became too much, the air too thick to breathe. With a surge of resolve, you tore open the door, the sound of it closing behind you a silent scream for escape. Your hands balled into fists at your sides, a futile attempt to steady their shaking, as the silence from within the car enveloped you like a cold embrace, as his voice haunted your mind.

Billy emerged from the car, his silhouette framed by the setting sun as he rounded the hood with measured steps. You stood there, amidst the quiet chaos, closing your eyes to gather the shards of calm scattered by the storm. A deep breath filled your lungs, an attempt to cleanse the tumult within. When his voice broke through the silence, a soft yet piercing inquiry, "You all right, sweetheart?" it felt different this time. Where once the pet names he draped you in felt like silk, now they scratched against your skin like burlap.

The glare you returned was loaded with an unspoken dialogue, a debate raging within you about the wisdom of diving into depths where perhaps you had no place. Yet, the image of the girl, her spirit dimmed in the rearview mirror, tipped the scales. "You didn't have to berate her like that," the words tumbled out, laced with conviction, while your arms folded defensively across your chest. "She said she was sorry twice."

Observing him, you saw the muscles in his jaw clench, a physical manifestation of his rising defensiveness, and his nostrils flared, a silent herald of the storm to come. "How about you stay out of my fucking business?" The words were sharp, a dagger thrown with precision, meant to wound and warn.

As your scoff broke the tense air between you, it carried with it a bewildering sense of revelation. You found yourself staring, almost in disbelief, as the layers of Billy's persona peeled back to reveal the hot-tempered core you had only heard whispers of. Rumors of his impulsive shoves in crowded hallways and aggressive dominance on the basketball court had reached your ears, painting a picture of a boy who wielded his temper as carelessly as he did his charm. The teenage girls of Hawkins High had not been shy in sharing tales of his less savory deeds, and yet, in a strange twist of fate, they still crowned him with their affections, blinded perhaps by the handsome mask he wore. To you, until this moment, he had shown a different face—one that hinted at kindness beneath the rugged exterior.

"I don't think I can come with you. No, actually, I don't want to anymore." The words emerged from your lips, firm and irrevocable, sealing the fate of the evening that had taken an unexpected turn.

At your declaration, a storm seemed to gather on Billy's brow, his forehead creasing with anger as he teetered on the brink of letting loose a venomous retort. "Why are you being such a bi—" His words faltered, clogging the air between you as the realization of his near slip clamped down on his tongue. A sudden shift overtook his features, the anger washing out as if drained by an unseen force, leaving behind a pallid mask of instant regret.

"You know what, Billy?" you threw the words into the thickening twilight, not seeking an answer but rather casting them as a final verdict. Your feet started to retreat, each step a defiant dance away from the scene. "Fuck you. Oh, and while you're at it, why don't you shove those burgers up where the sun never shines, yeah?" With those parting shots, you spun on your heel, the world spinning momentarily before settling as you marched back toward the familiar silhouette of Hawkins High.

"You don't have your car!" His voice chased after you, a mixture of frustration and incredulity painting each syllable.

"And, still, I'd rather walk!" Your voice rang clear into the fading day, a declaration of independence. For good measure, and perhaps for the sake of your bruised pride, you flung one of your favorite gestures over your shoulder, hoping it would catch him in a moment of speechless observation.

Fucking men.

…

A month had woven itself into the fabric of your life since that tumultuous encounter with Billy Hargrove. His existence had become a silent shadow in your days, marked only by the occasional glimpse of his step-sister, a ghostly reminder of the confrontation that had severed whatever thread had begun to tie you to him. It was ironic, really, how the absence of someone could teach you so much about them. Your days flowed on, untouched by his presence, yet whispers of his life seemed to find you.

You learned of his origins, not through any desire of your own but through the idle chatter of classmates, their words painting a picture of a life you hadn't asked to understand. Billy Hargrove, the boy from California, now residing at 4819 Cherry Lane, wrapped in a scent that lingered in the halls—and apparently his pack—long after he had passed through. These snippets of his existence, caught in passing, seemed to stitch a portrait of a person you no longer knew, if indeed you ever really did.

Each revelation, each accidental eavesdrop, added layers to the image of Billy Hargrove, filling in gaps with colors you hadn't chosen. Yet, for all the unrequested knowledge that had found its way to you, the essence of the boy remained elusive, a puzzle pieced together from fragments overheard in passing. The tendrils of your past, entangled with dreams of a future beyond the confines of Hawkins, whispered to you in moments of solitude. Your aspirations reached far beyond the town's limits, aiming for the hallowed halls of college—a beacon of escape from a life mapped out by circumstances rather than choice. Each rejection letter that found its way to you felt like a door slamming shut, while the solitary acceptance, devoid of the golden ticket of a scholarship, seemed a cruel tease of what could be. College represented more than an education; it was your lifeline out of Hawkins, a chance to evade the shadows that lingered there, including him.

Financial realities cast long shadows over your dreams. The fruits of years spent toiling in odd jobs had been whittled away by the necessities of life and the unending demands of medical supplies, a silent testament to the sacrifices made. The money that didn't vanish into the bottomless pit of healthcare needs was swallowed by the mundane yet essential needs for gas and food, leaving nothing for the luxuries that others might take for granted. The memory of purchasing something solely for the joy it brought, something as simple as a new mascara or a piece of clothing in your favorite color, had faded into the realm of distant dreams.

Yet, as you maneuvered the car out of the school's parking lot, a resolve took root within you—a quiet declaration of self-kindness. The day's burdens lifted slightly at the thought of indulging in a small luxury, a token of appreciation for yourself after so long. The thrift store's familiar aisles offered sanctuary and the possibility of finding something uniquely yours. Amidst the labyrinth of second-hand garments, a splash of yellow caught your eye, halting your aimless search. Your fingers grazed the fabric of a flowy yellow dress, the color a vivid echo of happier times.

In that moment, a memory blossomed, vivid and sweet—a day at the lake with your mother, her laughter mingling with the breeze, her own yellow dress a mirror to the one now in your hands. Despite the harsh realities that awaited back home, her smile in that instant had been a beacon of pure joy, untainted by the shadows of daily struggles. The memory, so sharply beautiful, tugged at your heart with a mixture of longing and sorrow. For a fleeting moment, surrounded by the whispers of past lives encapsulated in the thrift store's treasures, you allowed yourself the luxury of reminiscence and the hope of brighter days, fueled by the simple act of choosing something that sparked joy in your heart.

Your fingers hesitated for a moment before firmly grasping the dress, lifting it from its crowded perch among forgotten stories and second chances. As you queued for purchase, the monotony of waiting nudged your attention toward the world beyond the thrift store's window. Your eyes traced the ebb and flow of life on the sidewalk—a tableau of youthful laughter and the disgruntled expressions of passing adults, caught in a silent battle over public decorum.

Your gaze was about to retreat back to the cashier's call when the distinct rumble of a familiar engine sliced through the ambient noise, capturing your attention. A blue Camaro, unmistakable in its assertive presence, blazed past the window, a fleeting shadow in your line of sight. The timing hinted at a routine you'd inadvertently memorized, perhaps Billy Hargrove on his way to collect Max from the arcade. Despite the distance you'd placed between yourself and him, his existence still managed to weave its way into the fabric of your thoughts, an uninvited yet persistent presence.

Groceries, bought with the remnants of your carefully hoarded finances, soon occupied the passenger seat of your car, a tangible reminder of the practical concerns that governed your life. You returned to the trailer park, your vehicle coming to a rest beside the rusted silhouette of home. The neighborhood was alive with the small, personal escapes of those around you—barbecues, beers, and the semblance of community in the individualistic survival of trailer park living. You offered a half-hearted wave to the scattered acknowledgments from your neighbors, a gesture of civility in the shared anonymity of your lives.

One neighbor, a boy around your age with a habitual distance from the trailer park's confines, returned your wave with a shy, fleeting smile. His presence was a rarity, his time usually spent in the freedom of friendships beyond the park's boundaries. A pang of longing touched you at the thought, a wistful wish for connections you hadn't the luxury to foster.

Stepping out of your car, the dress in hand and groceries by your side, you couldn't help but reflect on the paths not taken, the friendships not formed. The trailer park, with its rusted dreams and patchwork communities, held both the weight of your realities and the whispers of what might have been, had circumstances been kinder.

The descent of twilight had always carried a particular solemnity in the trailer park, a silent herald of the end of another day's labors and the beginning of the park's nocturnal repose. As you ascended the weathered steps, the weight of the grocery bags in your hands was a tangible reminder of the day's responsibilities, a mundane yet necessary burden. Your father's gaze, sharp and scrutinizing, met you through the window, his eyes flickering with a mix of wariness and disapproval between you and the neighbor boy who had offered a fleeting gesture of camaraderie. His expression, a familiar tapestry of anger and suspicion, caused you to avert your gaze and hasten your steps, seeking refuge in the relative safety of the indoors.

The call to the living room came at an hour when the world outside had surrendered to the darkness, the only witnesses to its secrets being the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the sky. The neighbors, those transient figures of your day-to-day existence, had retreated behind their doors, driven by the sudden onset of rain. It was in this secluded setting that your father awaited, ensconced in the worn embrace of his brown-leathered armchair, a throne from which he observed the small dominion of your shared living space.

You paused at a cautious distance, the air between you charged with an unspoken tension, a testament to the delicate balance of your relationship. In the dim light, your fingers absently traced the familiar imperfections in your nails, a diversion from the intensity of his scrutiny. Your father, a man whose actions were measured and deliberate, had managed to maintain a facade of normalcy to the outside world. Whatever speculations might have circulated among the neighbors about the dynamics within your trailer, they remained just that—speculations, with no concrete evidence to breach the veil of privacy that curtained your shared existence.

In that moment, standing in the living room's subdued light, the distance between you felt more than just physical; it was a chasm of unspoken words and stifled emotions, a silent battleground where every gesture and glance held weight.

"I'm very disappointed in you," he spoke, orbs glued to your face which was turned to the carpeted floors. "I give you so much and don't expect a lot in return, now, do I?" You closed your eyes, teeth catching your lips as you shook your head no. "That's right." He lifted himself up from his seat, stepping closer. You stilled. "What I can't have, is my daughter whoring herself out to some boys."

You flinched as a hand gripped your jaw. "I don't—"

His hold tightened, warm alcohol-tinges breath hitting your cheek. "And to have so much disrespect to lie to my face."

"Please, Dad, I don't even know his nam—"

"Shut up!" You winced at his harsh tone, a trembling falling into your bones. "How long have you been going around spreading your fucking legs, huh? You think you can just do that while you're living under my roof?" He shoved you back into the kitchen counter, its edges digging into your skin painfully. "Fucking whore," he hissed. "If I ever see you looking at him again, I'm not going to be so nice."

Your voice was a mere whisper. "But I didn't—" A slap echoed and a jarring stinging spread across your cheek.

"Don't you fucking dare to talk back to me!" His fingers dug into your skin further as he yanked you forward and smashed you to the floor. "Who do you think you are, huh?" He ripped you upwards at the roots of your hair, wrenching you across the floor to the front door. Your head smashed into the wood as your father tore it open with no regard for you. His hand fell from your hair as he shoved you forward with his foot. As you didn't do as he pleased fast enough, he kicked you onwards and again until you tumbled down the stairs of your home.

"I don't want no disrespectful whore under my roof.” The night air was heavy with the scent of rain, a foreboding cloak that seemed to amplify your isolation as your father's anger found its final expression in the harsh, definitive sound of the door slamming shut behind you. Stranded in the aftermath, you lay there for a moment, sprawled on the cold, unforgiving ground, every breath a testament to the throbbing pain in your ribs. Gritting your teeth against the discomfort, you managed to pull yourself into a seated position, the tears that you hadn't invited nor could contain stinging your eyes, mingling with the rain that began to drench you in its cold embrace.

The world around you felt alien, a labyrinth of uncertainties and fears about where the night might take you. Trust, a commodity you found in short supply, left you without a door to knock on, without a sanctuary in which to seek refuge. Even the shelter of your car was denied to you, the keys a distant, unreachable comfort. Your heart heavy, you stood, the direction of your feet a mystery even to yourself as you meandered through the dimly lit streets of Hawkins. It was as if some unseen force guided you, leading you on a path paved with desperation and silent pleas for solace.

Cherry Lane materialized before you almost as if by magic, the familiarity of the surroundings doing little to ease the tumult in your heart. The houses stood like silent sentinels, guarding the secrets of those who dwelled within, until the sight of a blue Camaro, parked with an air of silent expectation, caught your eye. It was a beacon in the gloom, a signpost pointing towards a possibility you hadn't dared to consider until now.

With hesitant steps, you ascended the porch, each footfall a declaration of your vulnerability. The house before you was a tableau of quiet domesticity, its windows glowing softly in the night, yet betraying no hint of the lives unfolding behind them. For a moment, you allowed yourself the small comfort of shelter, the porch a temporary haven from the relentless rain. Gathering the remnants of your courage, you reached out, your hand pausing in mid-air as you braced yourself to bridge the distance between desperation and hope, between solitude and the possibility of finding an ally in the most unexpected of places.

Hesitation gripped you as the absurdity of your situation fully dawned upon you. What madness had driven you to seek refuge here, of all places? It had been over a month since any words had passed between you and Billy, and the possibility of him not being the one to answer the door loomed large in your mind, a specter of potential embarrassment you hadn't fully considered until now. Imagining the awkwardness of explaining your presence to his stepmother or father sent a shiver down your spine. Perhaps the familiar discomfort of your own leaky porch, where sleep would undoubtedly elude you amidst the elements, would have been preferable to the risk of utter humiliation here.

As you turned to make a hasty retreat, a clumsy misstep sent one of the plant pots clattering to the ground, the sound of shattering pottery piercing the steady drum of rain. Mortification washed over you as you knelt, frantically trying to salvage the situation by scooping the spilled soil back into its home, muttering curses under your breath for your own clumsiness.

"What are you doing?" The sound of Billy's voice, laced with confusion and rising over the roar of the rain, caused you to startle, nearly toppling the pot once more in your sudden panic.

You stood, hands smeared with dirt against the fabric of your wet pants, words tripping over themselves in a clumsy attempt to explain. "I'm sorry," was the simple, inadequate conclusion you reached. A nervous laugh escaped you, highlighting the absurdity of your predicament. "I... I don't even know what I'm doing here," you admitted, your voice tinged with the realization of your own folly. "I—I'm going to go. Sorry about the plant."

Billy's gaze drifted past you to the empty street, a silent question in his eyes before returning to you. "Where's your car?" The inquiry was straightforward, yet it left you grappling with the decision of whether to fabricate a lie about its whereabouts.

"I walked," you confessed, the truth slipping out with a hesitance that betrayed your vulnerability.

"In the rain?" His question hung unfinished in the air as his attention abruptly shifted, focusing intently on your face. Whatever he saw there caused a transformation in his demeanor, his previously questioning gaze hardening with resolve. He swung the door wider, an unspoken invitation hanging between you. "Get in," he commanded, a mixture of concern and command in his tone. Your uncertainty was palpable, a silent question mark in your stance until his impatience broke through your indecision. "Do you always need a second invitation? Get inside." His words, more a directive than a suggestion, propelled you forward, his intense stare ushering you into the warmth and shelter of his home. No sooner had the front door clicked shut behind you than Billy’s hand enveloped yours, his grip firm and unexpectedly warm. He led you through the hallway with a sense of urgency, the sound of your sodden shoes squelching against the floor marking your passage. The door to his room was next, closing with a definitive thud that seemed to isolate the world outside. Releasing your hand as though he suddenly remembered the protocol of personal space, Billy turned his attention to the task of decluttering his room with an efficiency that left his clothes arching through the air to land perfectly in a hamper across the space.

You found yourself standing somewhat awkwardly in the middle of his room, the chill of your drenched clothes causing you to shiver uncontrollably. Instinctively, you crossed your arms in an attempt to preserve warmth, your gaze drifting downwards before curiosity prompted a survey of your surroundings. The room was a capsule of Billy's world – his bed, a stark island in the chaos, lay opposite the door, while a white dresser burdened with an assortment of items claimed territory to your left. A stereo system and a mirror positioned at the foot of his bed stood guard in front of his closet, serving as silent sentinels of his privacy. The walls were an eclectic gallery featuring a mix of band posters—Metallica's ‘Kill 'Em All’ and Tank's ‘Filth Hounds of Hades’ among them—and a singular, provocatively posed woman adorning a minuscule bikini set.

A cough from Billy broke the silence, his posture shifting uncomfortably as he planted a hand on his hip, mirroring your own awkwardness. "Do you wanna take a hot shower?" His voice, hesitant yet earnest, sliced through the tension.

You matched his earlier gesture, clearing your throat before responding with a nod, your smile timid yet sincere, a silent thank you. "If you don't mind."

His response was quick, almost reflexive. "I wouldn't be asking if I did." The briefest flicker of something akin to regret crossed his features, a look that suggested he found the current situation less than ideal. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, as if to dismiss his own thoughts, he guided you to the bathroom adjacent to his bedroom. Handing you a towel with an awkwardness that seemed out of place on him, he promised to find you some dry clothes, leaving you with the comforting prospect of warmth and a momentary escape from the night's chaos. Peeling away the layers of your drenched attire felt like shedding a second, clammy skin, each piece a testament to the frugality that necessity had imposed upon your life. The fabric, cheap and worn, clung to you with a stubborn chill, and even as you stood bare in the relative warmth of the bathroom, shivers danced across your skin, relentless in their embrace.

You stepped over the edge of the tub with a cautious grace, turning the faucet with hands that trembled not just from the cold but from the uncertainty of the moment. As the water sputtered to life, you drew the shower curtain with a swift motion, sealing yourself away from the world for a brief interlude. The array of bottles lining the tub's edge caught your eye, prompting an involuntary snort of amusement.

Billy, it seemed, defied the stereotype of masculine simplicity in skincare, the stereotype that suggested a preference for efficiency over variety. Your father, with his staunch allegiance to three-in-one products, had been your benchmark for male grooming habits. Yet here, in Billy's shower, was a collection that spoke of a different creed. You couldn't help but smirk, a playful curiosity lifting your brows as you inspected the labels one by one. Shampoos, more than one might expect, each bottle worn from use, nestled beside conditioners—one clearly favored, its contents more depleted.

The body wash, singular in its presence, was an olfactory enigma. Unscrewing the cap, you were met with an assault of scents, as if the essence of every cologne and deodorant had been distilled into this one vessel. The smell was overpowering, undeniably masculine, a concentrated embodiment of Billy's presence. You searched for the words to describe it but landed on the singularly fitting—manly.

As the warm water cascaded over you, washing away the layers of the day—the sweat, the remnants of makeup that had survived the downpour—you moved with haste. There was a keen awareness of not overstaying your welcome in this unexpected sanctuary. Gratitude for Billy's kindness mingled with a sense of urgency; such generosity was a rare currency in your world, and you were acutely conscious of its value. In these moments, under the stream of cleansing water, you found a temporary reprieve, a fleeting sense of solace amid the turbulence of your life. The moment your skin felt the cool air of the bathroom, a soft knock echoed against the door, a gentle but unexpected intrusion into your solitude. Clutching the towel around yourself with a sudden modesty, you cracked the door open just enough to extend a hand into the gap. Billy's presence on the other side was palpable, his chuckle a low, soft sound that fluttered through the air as he passed a bundle of clothes to you. "Thanks," you murmured, a rush of words barely escaping before you retreated behind the door once more.

Dressed in the clothes Billy had chosen—socks, boxers, sweats, and a shirt—you paused at the threshold of his room, suddenly conscious of the absence of your bra and acutely aware that he was, too. With a final act of tidiness, you folded the towel meticulously and flicked off the lights, leaving behind the sanctuary of the bathroom for the uncertainty that lay beyond.

You found yourself lingering in the doorway, arms wrapped defensively across your chest, the fabric of his shirt a poor shield against the vulnerability you felt. Billy's gaze upon you was indescribable, heavy with an unspoken expectation as if he wished to peel back the layers of your being and examine the hidden scars that lay beneath.

Mustering what little composure you had, you broke the silence, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."

His brow furrowed, confusion and something else—was it concern?—etching lines into his forehead. "For what?" he queried, his voice a blend of curiosity and something softer.

You diverted your gaze, a sense of intrusion overwhelming you despite the sanctuary he'd provided. "Bothering you. It's late," you admitted, feeling the weight of your unwelcome presence.

The sound of his movement pulled your eyes upward, half-expecting, half-hoping he might bridge the distance between you. Instead, you were met with the sight of his back as he rifled through his nightstand, the tension in the room palpable. "Sit," he commanded, and though under any other circumstance you might have bristled at the order, the exhaustion and gratitude mingling within you coaxed compliance.

Without protest, you perched on the edge of the bed, a silent observer to his actions, the room around you filled with an unspoken dialogue made of glances and gestures, a fragile understanding hanging in the balance. As he pivoted towards you, a black box in his grasp, an electric tension filled the air. He chose not to sit beside you on the bed; instead, he knelt before you, an unexpected intimacy in the space between your parted knees. Your breath caught, a silent gasp lost in the moment, and irritation flared within you as you noticed the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What are you doing?" you inquired, a mix of curiosity and wariness lacing your words, your gaze sharply tracking his movements.

"If I remember correctly, Sweetheart, you gave me a lecture on using Neosporin or otherwise you get scars, right?" His voice held a playful rebuke, cutting off any response you might have mustered. "Let's make sure that doesn't happen, huh?"

His attention fixed on a spot on your forehead, drawing your own hand reflexively to the area he observed, only to flinch at the tender reminder of a wound you hadn't registered until now. The memory of the collision with your trailer door flickered through your mind, a painful blur in the chaos of the night. His touch was unexpectedly gentle as he attended to the wound, a carefulness in his actions that surprised you, challenging what you thought you knew of him. Despite the months you'd spent in his orbit, this moment revealed layers you hadn't glimpsed before.

"You don't have to do that," you found yourself saying as he procured a tube of Neosporin—a recent addition to his kit, no doubt on your advice. "I can do it, too."

"Never said you couldn't," he hummed back, undeterred as he meticulously applied the ointment, his focus undivided. With deliberate care, he placed two butterfly plasters across the cleaned wound, a silent testament to his unspoken concern. Gathering the discarded wrappers and used items, he compressed them in his hand and rose, moving to dispose of the trash. In that small, enclosed space, with the sound of rain a distant murmur against the windows, a different side of Billy was illuminated under the soft glow of the room's lighting — a side tender, careful, and starkly at odds with the rough edges of his usual demeanor. You cleared your throat, a gesture so small yet so loaded with the weight of the evening's events.

"Thank you," you managed to say, voice barely above a whisper. He paused in his motions, turning towards you with a smile so radiant it threatened to stop your heart in its tracks.

"No problem, Sweetheart," he replied, his voice a smooth salve over the jagged edges of the night. As he moved to dispose of the trash, a sudden, inexplicable tumult stirred within you. With a hand pressed against your chest, you sought to quell the storm brewing beneath your ribs, a futile attempt to calm the chaos his mere presence invoked.

Rising to your feet, you drifted towards the window, seeking solace in the steady downpour that mirrored your inner turmoil. The rain continued to fall, now more fiercely than before, a relentless deluge that held you captive in this moment. You felt his presence before you saw him, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the chill seeping through the glass.

"Didn't get much of this in California, huh?" you ventured, an attempt to bridge the chasm of silence between you.

He let your question hang in the air, unanswered, yet the fleeting shadow that crossed his face spoke volumes, a bitterness that matched the storm outside. His gaze shifted, momentarily caught in the past before refocusing on the present — on the wound that marred your forehead. "What happened?" he asked, the question simple yet loaded with unspoken concern.

You shrugged, a movement laden with the weight of untold stories. "Nothing," you replied, the lie slipping from your lips as easily as breath, a practiced deception you had mastered over time. "I tripped."

"And that had you walking through the rain in the middle of the night?" His skepticism was palpable, a challenge to the facade you'd constructed.

A battle raged within you, the urge to confess warring with the instinct to conceal. You bit back the tears threatening to spill, the pain of admission too great to bear. "I locked myself out and didn't know what else to do."

"Yeah?" he pressed, his disbelief a tangible force.

"Yeah." Your affirmation was a whisper in the storm, a feeble attempt to maintain the crumbling walls around your heart.

He moved closer, his presence overwhelming, trapping you between the solid reality of his form and the immovable barrier of his closet. "If you don't want to talk about it then say so," he declared, his voice a command that brooked no argument. "Don't lie and pretend to be fine when clearly you aren't."

In that charged moment, with the rain as your sole witness, the space between you became a battleground of unspoken words and concealed wounds, a testament to the complexity of human connection. Your jaw clenched tightly, a tangible manifestation of your frustration and defiance. The notion of receiving unsolicited advice, particularly from him, was almost laughable. Gratitude for his shelter in the storm did not extend to welcoming painful truths. "Oh, that's rich coming from you, Billy. It's not like you aren't just fine all the time," you retorted, your words sharp, laden with a bitterness born of too many hidden truths.

The shift in him was immediate, his anger dissipating as though your words had pierced a veil, revealing a glimpse of the vulnerability he so meticulously guarded. When he raised his hand, the gentle brush of his forefinger against the stray tear on your cheek sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. "I never said I wanted to talk about it," he murmured, his voice soft, revealing a hint of his own battles fought in silence. Your heart fluttered uncontrollably, his touch igniting a flurry of sensations, momentarily tethering you to a moment of raw connection.

The sudden crack of lightning, followed by the deep rumble of thunder, jolted you back to reality, breaking the spell that had momentarily bound you. The urge to flee, to return to the semblance of normalcy that awaited at home, surged within you. "I should probably go," you whispered, hoping against hope that your father's drunken stupor would erase the night's events by morning, that a simple act of domestic normality could smooth over the fractures in your life. "Do you have an umbrella or something?"

His response was instant, a resolute rejection of your plan. "Do you really think I'll let you get back there now? So, you can flash a cut lip and a blue eye tomorrow at school, too?" His words, though posed as a question, left no room for argument. In his refusal to allow you to venture back into the storm, both literal and metaphorical, lay an unspoken pledge of protection, a sanctuary against the tempest that raged beyond his door. "What does it matter?" you found yourself arguing, feeling the weight of your own arms as they fell limply by your sides. The sense of defeat was palpable in the air. "So, I stay tonight, then what, Billy? I'll have to go back eventually, and it's only until the school year's over. Then, I'm gone anyway."

His response came in the form of a growl, though you could tell his anger wasn't directed at you. It stemmed from a place of shared desperation, from having clung to the same sliver of hope himself. "So, you're just gonna let him beat you for the rest of the year?"

Your response was a snort, laced with sarcasm, as you tilted your head, challenging him. "Aren't you doing the same thing?" The silence that followed was telling, even if no words were spoken, until he dared to step closer.

"It does matter, you know," he said, his voice softer now, reducing the physical distance between you yet careful not to invade your personal space.

"Why?" The question came out more as a whisper of disbelief. For the past month, he had acted as if you were barely visible, and suddenly, he seemed to care deeply. "Why now?"

His hesitation was palpable, as if the words he was about to utter could scorch his tongue. "I like you." The simplicity of his confession hung between you, fraught with unspoken complexities.

You bit your lip, a sad, resigned smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you lowered your head. "Don't do that to yourself." The words were barely a whisper, yet they carried the weight of a lifetime. Tears threatened to spill over, a testament to a sentiment you had never expected to receive. The idea that someone could not just tolerate but actually like you was foreign, almost too much to bear. All your life, you had erected walls to keep people at a distance, for their affection meant empathy, and with empathy came pain. The sight of your wounds would become their agony, and in a twisted way, their suffering would become yours, completing a circle of shared hurt you had always sought to avoid.

"Who do you think I am, Billy?" You backed away slowly, trying to maintain some semblance of distance between you and Billy, but the inevitable happened—your retreat was abruptly stopped by the wall. A wave of unfamiliar pressure washed over you. Was it fear? Or perhaps vulnerability? You couldn't quite place the emotion. "I'm not the kind of person to have around. I won't complete you, won't enrich your life,” you stammered out, your voice a mix of warning and fear. These words were your feeble attempt to shield him, to prepare him for the inevitable disappointment that seemed to follow you like a shadow. "I—I'm just so fucked up and stuck trying to put everything... everything broken back into place. I... I can't look for your shards, too."

When your eyes finally dared to meet his, you expected to see annoyance, maybe even rejection. Instead, what you found was empathy, his expression softened, recognizing the turmoil within you as something he too understood. "I don't want you to try and fix me," he said, his tone gentle, soothing the chaotic thoughts swirling in your mind. His hand reached for yours, not as a claim but as a gesture of companionship, of solidarity. "But searching for shit goes so much faster if you do it together." In the dimly lit room, where shadows danced across the walls with a life of their own, Billy Hargrove revealed himself in a way that words could scarcely capture. The man you thought you knew, encased in layers of protective anger and a cocksure swagger, allowed those defenses to melt away in your presence. It was as if he peeled back the veneer of bravado, exposing the raw, unguarded depths of his soul—a mosaic of past hurts and present struggles laid bare for only your eyes.

The moment his fingers brushed against your cheek, a cascade of sensations unfurled within you. It was more than a touch; it was an electric current that surged through your veins, rendering you speechless, breathless. As you locked gazes with him, drowning in the ocean of his bright blue eyes, the world seemed to pause. Every attempt at drawing breath felt like an insurmountable task, and yet, paradoxically, you felt more grounded than ever, as if an invisible force tethered you to the very core of the earth. Simultaneously, there lingered an exhilarating sense of lightness, a curious wonder if you might suddenly break free from gravity's embrace and ascend into the ether. The effect Billy had on you was profound, leaving you to ponder if perhaps, in some small way, you affected him similarly.

Did you trouble his thoughts as he did yours? Did your presence steal his breath and unsettle him to his core? Within the quiet chambers of your heart, a small, worn, and lonely piece of you clung to the hope that he might feel the same.

As his index finger traced the contours of your face with reverence, from the softness of your cheek to the furrowed worry lines on your forehead, and finally to the tender vulnerability of your lips, you sensed a hesitancy in him. His other hand, which had been a mere whisper away from yours against the wall, dropped slightly, fingers brushing against the fabric of the shirt he had lent you. With a subtle tug, influenced by a brief flare of his nostrils, it was as if he was battling a storm of desire within, restraining himself with a Herculean effort from crossing a line from which there was no return. In that moment, Billy Hargrove was no longer just a name or a face; he was a force, simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating, threatening to unravel the very fabric of your being.

The words stumbled from your lips, frail and unsteady, shattering the facade of indifference you had desperately clung to. "So—" you began, only to have your voice fracture cruelly midway, exposing the turbulence beneath your calm exterior. "You want to be friends…like officially?"

A crooked smile unfurled across his face, his deep-set eyes twinkling with a blend of amusement and an unexpected trace of shyness. His grip on the fabric of the shirt intensified, his knuckles whitening with the strain. "Trust me, Sweetheart, friends isn’t what I had in mind," he confessed, his voice a low murmur that sent a wave of heat cascading down your spine, igniting a flurry of desire that pooled in the depths of your stomach.

You stood petrified, a statue of anticipation, as an inexplicable longing surged within you, compelling your fingers to twitch at your sides. You yearned to weave your fingers through the silky strands of his meticulously styled hair, to explore the contours of his being with a touch. Yet, as he retreated, fishing a pack of cigarettes from the depths of his jeans, you found yourself anchored in place, watching him with a mixture of astonishment and burgeoning disappointment. It wasn't the withdrawal you had anticipated that took you by surprise, but rather the keen sense of letdown that he didn't pursue the tension crackling between you further.

When he turned his back to you momentarily in search of an ashtray, a childish pout began to form on your lips, a silent testament to your discontent. Billy, however, remained oblivious to your turmoil, opting instead to lean casually against the wall by the open window, exhaling smoke into the tempestuous embrace of the rainy night. You pondered over his actions, the deviation from his usual indifference to smoking indoors. The scent of tobacco, which had once been a source of discomfort, had, over time, woven itself into the tapestry of comforts associated with Billy's presence. It was an aroma that, in the context of his room—a sanctuary of chaotic tranquility—had become oddly reassuring. Mixed with the other, more elusive scents that lingered in the corners of his space, it crafted an ambiance that was undeniably Billy, and in that moment, you realized how deeply entwined your senses had become with the essence of his existence. The array of colognes that enveloped him carried none of the hallmarks of the cheap fragrances that typically permeated the crowded hallways of Hawkins High. His presence, and indeed his room, was suffused with a complex aroma—slightly woody, perhaps a hint of leather, and beneath it all, a subtle undertone of sweetness that floated gently in the air. It was an olfactory melody that intrigued you, a scent that you found unexpectedly comforting.

Wrapped in your own arms, you approached him, a silent figure against the tumult of your thoughts, pressing your back to the wardrobe adjacent to his window. Without a word, he offered the cigarette to you, a gesture that halted you momentarily. As you reached out, the brief touch of his warm fingers against yours sent an inexplicable shiver down your spine, a sensation that seemed to echo on your skin long after the contact had ended. Drawing in the acrid taste of the smoke, you allowed yourself a moment to indulge in the bitterness, your eyes lifting to meet his.

There he was, a grin playing on his lips, watching you with an intensity that rendered you momentarily breathless. The world around you narrowed to the space between you two, your senses hyper-aware of his proximity. The cigarette, now a forgotten prop in your hand, no longer demanded your attention as you found yourself irresistibly drawn into the depths of his blue gaze. An unconscious bite to your lip betrayed your thoughts as your eyes darted to his lips and back again.

He closed the distance with a single, purposeful step, igniting a trail of warmth that flickered to life within you. Billy leaned in, his breath—a mix of smoke and something indefinably sweet—brushed against your cheek, sending ripples of anticipation through you. His lips curled into a knowing smirk, his voice a blend of amusement and challenge. "You gonna smoke that, Sweetheart, or are you just gonna keep staring?"

In that moment, under the weight of his gaze and the heat of his breath, you realized the cigarette was merely a bystander in a dance of tension and unspoken desires, a dance that had you captivated and wanting more. A blush crept up your neck, a vivid testimony to the turmoil within, as you extended the cigarette towards him, a silent plea for normalcy. Yet, instead of simply taking it, he lingered, his chuckle a low rumble against the shell of your ear, sending a cascade of goosebumps down your flesh. He leaned back, his movements languid yet deliberate, eyes locked on yours as he accepted the cigarette, drawing in a slow, purposeful drag. Under the weight of his gaze, your heart raced, each beat a drumroll of anticipation. His lips twitched into a smirk, and in that moment, the tether of your restraint snapped.

Driven by a surge of boldness, you seized the fabric of his shirt, pulling him into a collision of lips. The world narrowed to the point of contact, where fear and desire mingled in a single breath. But as quickly as the impulse came, it retreated, leaving you to recoil in a mix of surprise and mortification. "I'm so sor—"

But your apology was cut short, his hand finding the nape of your neck, an anchor pulling you back into the storm. His lips sealed over yours with a fervor that spoke of raw need and simmering frustration. The sensation in your stomach exploded into a wildfire, racing through your veins, igniting every fiber of your being. His hands, emboldened and roaming, traced paths filled with longing and anticipation, his grip on your hip a silent command that spurred a sharp intake of breath. Yet, as Billy drew you closer, melding your body to his with a hunger that spoke of endless waiting, the kiss deepened, transcending the confines of time and space. The world outside this embrace dissolved into insignificance, leaving nothing but the intensity of your connection, a thirst quenched in the meeting of lips, finally stilled in the embrace of shared desire. Emerging first from the embrace, you found yourself ensnared in a heady daze, breathless from a mixture of oxygen deprivation and the intoxicating effect of Billy's touch. Your hands clung to his shirt collar, a desperate bid to maintain the closeness, the electricity that buzzed between you. Yet, Billy harbored no intention of releasing you into the cold reality just yet. As your eyelids fluttered shut again, his lips embarked on a fervent exploration along the tender expanse of your neck. Each kiss was a brand, igniting fires within your veins, stirring a wild rush of blood that screamed for more.

In his ministrations, Billy was anything but tentative, his actions painting the strokes of your silent wishes with bold, assertive colors. You reveled in the sensation, a glorious chaos made of his fervent kisses and the playful nip of teeth against your skin, eliciting a hitch in your breath that morphed into a soft whine. This sound drew a triumphant grin across his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the effect he wielded over you.

The moment shifted as he gently maneuvered you backward, only to ease himself onto the edge of his bed, pulling you into his orbit with an unspoken command. You remained on your feet, a silent statue, until he chastised you with a playful tilt of his head and a tug on the waistband of the pants he had lent you. "You do always need a second invitation, huh?" he teased, his voice a blend of amusement and desire.

His hands, firm and insistent, found your thighs, drawing you irresistibly onto his lap. Positioned intimately close, your breath caught as the proximity sparked a fresh surge of desire. Your gaze flitted over his features, captivated by the intensity in his eyes before inevitably being drawn to the smug curve of his lips. In that moment, caught in the gravitational pull of his gaze and the promise of his smile, you teetered on the edge of surrender, every fiber of your being alight with anticipation.

In the charged silence of the room, your voice was a mere whisper, a soft breeze that dared not disturb the delicate sphere of intimacy that encased you both. "Is anyone else home?" The words barely left your lips, a testament to the fragile moment you were so afraid to shatter.

Billy's response was a grin, one that spoke volumes of the thoughts he'd kept at bay, now unchained in the privacy of his domain. "No," he breathed, a single syllable heavy with unspoken promises. His hands, emboldened by the assurance of solitude, resumed their exploratory journey with renewed vigor. They ascended your thighs, ventured over the curve of your behind, and continued upwards until the rough warmth of his calloused palms met the smooth expanse of your waist. "Concerned you won't be able to stay quiet, Sweetheart?" he teased, a playful challenge in his voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

You shook your head, a flush of warmth crawling up your neck, betraying your inner turmoil. "Just curious," you managed to say, your fingers finding solace in the soft strands of his blonde hair. Under your gaze, something flickered in his eyes—was it adoration?—a fleeting glimpse into the depths of Billy Hargrove that few were privy to. The realization that you were witnessing the unguarded essence of the man beneath the facade was both exhilarating and daunting, a secret you cherished deep within your heart.

In an unexpected move, he drew you against him, erasing any distance that remained. The gasp that escaped your lips mingled with the air as you became acutely aware of his desire pressing insistently against you. His lips found yours in a seal of fervent need, prompting an involuntary arch of your hips against his. A groan, laced with curses and unbridled yearning, vibrated against your mouth as Billy's restraint began to unravel. And then, with a fluidity that left you breathless, the world flipped—Billy loomed above you, a figure of strength and passionate intent, casting a shadow that promised an escape from the confines of reality. One arm kept him propped up above you, the other sliding beneath your butt, lifting you to meet his movements. A delicate moan fled your tongue, almost lost in the kiss as he sealed his lips onto yours, excitement thrumming in your core. As Billy's lips departed from yours, a reluctant retreat that sent a pang through your chest, you were left gasping beneath him, the room spinning slightly in the absence of his touch. For a brief moment, the world outside the cocoon of his room ceased to exist, leaving nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths hanging in the air. Your eyelids fluttered open only when the tender caress of his thumb traced your bottom lip, drawing your gaze upwards to meet his. In his eyes, a storm of emotions hinted at a struggle, a reluctance to break the connection that had so fiercely ignited between you.

Silently, he rolled away, the loss of his warmth immediate and stark. The soft click of the light switch plunged the room into semi-darkness, illuminated only by the moon's glow filtering through the curtains. "Night, Sweetheart," he murmured, a term of endearment that now seemed to carry a weight of unspoken words between you.

Your brow furrowed, confusion and a myriad of unanswered questions swirling in your mind. The impulse to voice your bewilderment, to ask why he had halted the crescendo of your shared passion, rose sharply within you. Yet, each time your lips parted, no words emerged, as if the gravity of the moment held your voice captive. With a heavy heart, you turned away, presenting your back to him, a silent testament to the tumult within.

As the minutes trickled by, Billy's breaths deepened into the steady rhythm of sleep, a testament to his drift into tranquility. Left alone with your thoughts, the questions continued to dance at the edges of your consciousness, unanswered, echoing in the quiet of the night. Despite the turmoil, the pull of exhaustion proved stronger, and eventually, your eyes closed, surrendering to the elusive promise of rest, even as the mystery of his actions lingered, a shadow at the back of your mind. Upon awakening, you found yourself momentarily lost in the fog of disorientation, the remnants of sleep clouding your senses. As your consciousness gradually sharpened, the events of the night prior began to piece themselves together, painting a vivid picture of unexpected solace. For the first time in what felt like eons, you had been gifted with the luxury of a deep, undisturbed sleep, free from the clutches of anxiety that so often held you captive. The sensation of safety enveloped you, a cocoon of warmth that was both foreign and immensely comforting.

As awareness seeped further into your waking mind, you became acutely conscious of the presence beside you. An arm, strong and reassuring, draped across your middle, its weight a silent promise of protection. A leg, muscular and firm, intertwined with your own, anchoring you to this moment of peace. The thought of disrupting this tranquil intimacy, of stirring him from sleep and thus dissolving the delicate bubble of comfort you found yourself in, was unbearable. So, you settled back down, surrendering to the warmth, allowing yourself a moment more of this rare contentment.

However, reality was never far behind, its relentless march signaled by the crimson digits of the alarm clock on his bedside table. A quiet groan escaped your lips as you registered the time—6:30 a.m. The demands of the day loomed large, a reminder that the sanctuary you found in Billy's arms was but a temporary reprieve. School awaited, a stark return to the routines and expectations that defined your everyday life.

The fragile silence of the morning was shattered abruptly by the growl of an engine cutting through the calm, a harbinger of the chaos to come. The sound of car doors slamming, followed by the rise and fall of angry voices, punctured the tranquility of dawn. A woman's pleading tones, desperate for discretion, clashed with the male fury, an unwelcome intrusion into the peacefulness of the early hours. Footsteps, heavy and ominous, approached the house, the finality of the front door slamming open a jarring wake-up call.

In an instant, Billy was alert, his body tensing as he sat up, the sudden movement a stark contrast to the gentle stillness that had enveloped you moments before. The reality you had momentarily escaped was crashing back down with undeniable force, the impending confrontation a stark reminder of the world waiting beyond the haven of his room. You cursed under your breath, a sharp departure from the warmth and safety that had enveloped you just moments ago. The bed suddenly felt too large and cold as you distanced yourself, your presence—a constant source of comfort—receding with each step you took. Alarmed, you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching your silhouette navigate the dimly lit room. You paused at the door, an unmistakable tension in your posture as you strained to listen to the cacophony of voices and footsteps echoing through the house. It was a dance of shadows and sounds, one you knew all too well, having played the same game of anticipation and fear in your own life.

The voices crescendoed then waned, the storm outside your sanctuary dissipating momentarily. A male voice, harsh and demanding, cut through the relative calm, summoning you with a ferocity that made the air in the room heavier. You watched as the boy before you transformed, your body stiffening, every muscle coiling in dread. It was as if you could see the gears turning in your head, a frantic search for any misstep that could have incited this wrath.

"What's wrong?" Your voice was barely a whisper, a ripple in the tense atmosphere as you moved to join him. But his arm shot out, a barrier between you, a silent plea for you to keep your distance.

The impending confrontation burst into your room with the force of a storm. Your father, a tempest of anger, filled the doorway, his eyes wild, the veins in his neck bulging with every shouted word. His rage was palpable, a living entity that sought to crush everything in its path. And then his eyes found you. In that instant, the fury that had contorted his features melted away, replaced by a facade as thin and fragile as ice over a winter lake. It was a look you recognized, one your own father adopted in the presence of outsiders, a mask that barely concealed the storm raging beneath. His gaze flicked between you and Billy, a silent accusation in the shift of his eyes.

"I thought we agreed on no more... guests?" His voice, though softer, still carried the undercurrent of a threat. You remained silent, a statue in the eye of the storm, your resignation more telling than words could ever be. Your father straightened, adopting a veneer of civility that did nothing to ease the tension clawing at your insides.

"I'm sorry, but my son isn't allowed nightly visitors. Why don't you show your lady friend the door, hm?" The words were spoken with a superficial politeness that did nothing to mask the disdain and control that simmered beneath the surface. It was a moment suspended in time, a crossroads between the sanctuary of the night past and the harsh daylight reality of your present. Billy remained motionless, his gaze fixed unflinchingly on his father. The silence between them was heavy, laden with unspoken threats and long-standing grievances. It was in this tense tableau that he uttered your name, a sound so rarely heard in such a context that it jolted you. “Why don’t you get dressed?” His voice, though soft, carried an uncharacteristic gravity.

With a nod that was more reflex than conscious agreement, you skirted past the palpable tension in the room, escaping to the sanctuary of the bathroom where your clothes awaited, still bearing the chill of being slightly damp. Once enveloped in the privacy it offered, the murmur of voices beckoned you closer, curiosity and concern pressing you to eavesdrop.

“You’re gonna say goodbye to your whore and then you and I are going to have a talk,” you heard, the venom in the elder Hargrove’s voice unmistakable.

Billy’s reply was a shadow of his usual defiance, “She isn’t—”

“What was that?” The threat in his father’s voice was sharp, a warning that brooked no argument.

Unable to bear the thought of the situation escalating in your absence, you stepped back into the fray, positioning yourself as a physical barrier between Billy and his father. The air was electric with tension, a tangible force that seemed to test the very limits of endurance. Yet, your voice, when it came, was steady. “Billy, you promised to drive me home.”

“I’m sorry, but Billy can’t right now,” his father interjected smoothly, a sneer barely concealed beneath his veneer of civility.

“But I have no other way of getting home, sir,” you countered, meeting his gaze with a defiance born of necessity.

“I’m sure it’s close enough to walk. It’s Hawkins, after all,” he dismissed, his tone laced with condescension.

“See, sir, I live just outside of Hawkins, actually.” Your reply was calm, measured, even as you laid bare the stakes of the situation.

“Is that so?” His skepticism was palpable, a challenge thrown down between you.

“Yes, and Billy assured me he would take me home, otherwise I’ll miss school, sir.” Your words, carefully chosen, were a gambit, one that played on his momentary hesitation.

The standoff that followed was a testament to the complex web of power and defiance that characterized the Hargrove household. Eventually, he took a step back, conceding ground with visible reluctance. “Now, we can’t have that, can we?” His once-over was dismissive, reducing you to nothing more than a problem to be solved, a nuisance to be dispatched.

“We will talk when you get back,” he finally said to Billy, his words heavy with unspoken threats.

“I’ll have to drive straight to school after dropping her off, otherwise I’ll miss first period.” Billy’s response was a careful negotiation, a bid for time and a brief reprieve from the confrontation that awaited him. His father’s glare could have scorched the earth, a silent vow of retribution that hung in the air long after he had left the room. Billy closed the door with a quiet click, sealing off the outside world. He leaned against it, a solitary figure momentarily bowed by the weight of his father’s expectations. The sigh that escaped him was one of relief, a brief respite in the eye of an ever-present storm.

"Are you okay?" Your voice was laced with trepidation, the words barely a whisper in the charged atmosphere of the room. A part of you feared his anger, worried that your intervention might have only served to escalate the already volatile situation. Maybe, in his eyes, you were to blame for exacerbating the tension. He turned to face you, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that halted your breath. The silence that followed was thick, a tangible entity that seemed to pulse with your racing heart. When he remained motionless, the void of his response sent a spike of panic through you. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to make things worse. I should have stayed quiet—"

But before you could further berate yourself, his lips crashed against yours, an urgent, fierce motion that swept away the remnants of the confrontation like debris in a storm. His arms encircled you, pulling you into the eye of his tempest, while your hands found the solid wall of his chest, a grounding point amid the whirlwind. Billy's grin, felt rather than seen, infused the kiss with a defiance, a silent declaration that no force, no matter how daunting, could intrude upon this moment he claimed as solely yours. His hands shamelessly groped at your hips and behind, tongue dominating yours. You pulled away in desperate need for air, panting and dazed. Billy’s lips fell to your neck, sucking and licking at the saltiness of your skin. “You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now.” Squeezing your ass again, he let go of you and, with one last kiss, went to get dressed.

You found yourself adrift in the center of his room, each breath a testament to the whirlwind of emotions that had carried you from silence to this uncharted territory. How, you pondered, had the distance between you closed so swiftly, transforming into an intimacy that left you both breathless and bewildered?

Moments later, the bathroom door swung open, revealing Billy. His readiness was astonishing, his preparation swift beyond anticipation. With a nonchalant ease, he emerged, the very image of casual confidence. "Come on, Sweetheart, let's the hell outta here," he beckoned, his voice a mix of warmth and urgency. Grasping your hand, he guided you towards the promise of freedom beyond these walls. Yet, as fate would have it, his father's voice shattered the brief illusion of escape, calling out to him once more. Instantly, you felt the change in Billy, a tension coiling within him, visible in the rigid set of his shoulders. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, a silent plea for respite, an attempt to shield his spirit from the weight of reality. Casting a fleeting, half-hearted glance your way, his fingers slipped from yours, leaving a cold absence in their wake as he turned to face whatever storm awaited him.

Left in limbo near the front door, you strained your ears, hoping to catch a fragment of the exchange, but silence was your only companion. With a soft sigh of resignation, you turned your gaze outward, taking in the Hargrove residence bathed in the soft glow of morning light, nestled among the uniformity of Cherry Lane, Hawkins, Indiana.

The neighborhood was a palette of similarity, each house a variation on a theme, distinguished only by the creativity or neglect of its occupants. Some lawns bore the scars of a relentless summer, patches of grass striving towards life amidst the drought, while others lay untamed, a testament to indifference. The Hargrove's lawn, though touched by the season's harshness, was neatly trimmed, a small rebellion against the decay. The path leading to their home was worn, stones cracked and yielding to time, yet adorned with recent attempts at beauty—flowers and bushes planted with hope at their edges.

It was a scene markedly different from the chaos of the trailer park, where the dance of avoidance was a daily routine—sidestepping the debris of forgotten nights and broken dreams. Here, in the relative tranquility of Billy's world, such hazards were absent, a small mercy in the grand tapestry of his life. When Billy reappeared, his stormy demeanor spoke volumes before a word was uttered. The disheveled state of his collar hinted at a confrontation, a silent testament to his father's harsh grasp. He breezed past you, the air crackling with the tension that followed him, his gaze barely grazing yours. You trailed behind, a frown etching your features, though you kept your thoughts to yourself. Settling into the passenger seat of his Camaro, you fastened the seatbelt, a silent barrier between you and the world outside. The cozy sanctuary that had briefly cocooned you both seemed to dissolve into the ether, leaving a palpable distance. Billy had begun to wall himself off once more, retreating from the fragile bridge of intimacy that had been tentatively constructed between you. His words echoed hollowly in the cramped space of the car.

‘Searching for shit goes so much faster if you do it together.’

The Camaro's engine roared to life, its vibrancy a stark contrast to the quiet turmoil unfolding within. Your lips pressed tightly together, trying to hold back the surge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. The sharp pang of regret and what-ifs punctured your heart with relentless precision. Had Billy not halted his advances, you might have found solace in his arms, seduced by the illusion of safety he offered. Alone, you might have scoffed at your own gullibility, labeling it as sheer desperation or foolishness. Yet, it was Billy's words that had resonated so deeply with you, mirroring the silent pleas that had haunted your thoughts for far too long. The desire to escape the solitude that clung to you like a second skin was overpowering. You yearned for something more, something profound to anchor you to this world, beyond the fleeting dream of liberation that the future promised. You sought a connection that bore significance, a beacon to guide you through the shadowed corridors of your existence. With the final stretch of senior year unfurling before you, the promise of college lingered on the horizon, a beacon of hope that signaled a departure from the shadows of your past. It was a chance to shed the oppressive weight of your father's legacy, to carve out a space in the world where his influence couldn't reach. You clung to this future with a desperation that was silent yet palpable, the prospect of freedom a balm to the wounds of your upbringing.

Billy, however, wasn't afforded the luxury of such dreams. The grim reality of his situation was a constant companion, a reminder that not all paths led away from hardship. College, a beacon for some, remained a distant, unattainable star for him. Influenced by the harsh criticisms that had echoed from his father's lips, he had internalized a belief in his own inadequacy. Education, a potential key to unlocking doors to a brighter future, held little allure for someone who had been taught to expect nothing from life. Instead, Billy had embraced a different kind of dream—a painstaking accumulation of savings with the hope of one day returning to California, to start anew on terms of his own making.

Yet, a shadow lurked in the recesses of his mind, a specter of doubt that cast long, dark silhouettes across his aspirations. On some days, it was but a whisper, easily ignored. On others, it roared to life, a cruel reminder that perhaps his dreams were just that—figments of wishful thinking, doomed to remain unfulfilled.

The journey to your trailer park passed in silence, each lost in their own reverie. As Billy's car rolled to a halt, you murmured a terse ‘bye’ and exited, the finality of the gesture marking the end of an era. Retrieving your spare key from its hiding spot beneath an empty vase, you slipped inside, intent on changing clothes and gathering your belongings. You assumed Billy would have driven off by then, his presence a chapter closed as abruptly as it had opened.

However, upon emerging from your room, you found him rooted in place in the heart of your kitchen, his gaze transfixed by something beyond the window. The sight of him, so unexpectedly still and contemplative, caught you off guard. In that moment, the kitchen—a space so familiar and yet suddenly imbued with a new, unspoken significance—became a silent witness to the complexities of connection and the quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, some dreams refuse to be confined by the shadows that chase them. In the fading light of the afternoon, the question hung in the air, heavy and unexpected, "Doesn't that one drug dealer live around here?" It was an innocuous inquiry, perhaps, but in the context of your shared silence, it felt charged with an undercurrent of concern.

Billy's presence, both imposing and unexpectedly comforting, loomed beside you, a steadfast figure in the shifting sands of your tumultuous life. Your voice, laced with a hint of surprise at its own firmness, broke the stillness. "Why are you still here?" The question was more than just words; it was an expression of the myriad emotions swirling within you, a mix of confusion, desperation, and a fragile glimmer of hope.

He seemed taken aback, as if your tone had shattered an invisible barrier between you. The moment stretched, filled with an unspoken tension that danced in the air, palpable yet elusive. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a warmth, a promise, "I thought I had made myself clear, Sweetheart. I'm not gonna put you up to that shit alone anymore." His words, sincere and unwavering, offered a beacon of solidarity in the chaos that had become your existence.

You found yourself at a crossroads, teetering between skepticism and the yearning to believe in the possibility of an ally. It was a delicate balance, the choice to trust, to lean into the uncertainty rather than retreat into the familiar embrace of solitude. With a quiet resolve, you chose hope over despair. "Let's get out of here," you agreed, stepping into a future uncertain yet suddenly less daunting with Billy by your side.

The journey to Hawkins High was a study in contrasts, the roar of Billy's Camaro slicing through the quiet streets, a herald of change. Anxiety gnawed at you, the prospect of walking into school with Billy Hargrove by your side—a notion so fraught with implications, real and imagined. His presence was a double-edged sword, offering protection yet drawing attention, the weight of countless eyes a tangible pressure against your skin.

Yet, as you emerged from the car, Billy's protective aura enveloped you, his glares warding off the curious and the judgmental alike. He became your shield, a guardian against the world's harsh judgments, his reluctance to leave your side a testament to a burgeoning bond, forged in adversity and softened in moments of shared vulnerability.

The day passed in a blur, the rhythm of school life punctuated by Billy's steadfast companionship, a promise kept. And when the final bell rang, it was his car that awaited, Max in the backseat, a silent acknowledgment of the shifting dynamics of your intertwined lives.

The drive home was a brief interlude, a moment of calm before the next chapter. Billy's insistence on ensuring your safety, his promise to meet at the Hawkins Community Pool, was a new thread in the tapestry of your unfolding story.

…

The pool, a place of childhood traumas and lost innocence, loomed large in your memories. Yet, as you drove towards it, the realization that Billy had carved out a space for himself there, as a lifeguard, offered a glimpse into his own attempts at navigating life's turbulent waters. The parking lot was deserted, save for the familiar silhouette of Billy's Camaro. The unlocked gate stood as an invitation, a threshold to cross into a space that was both familiar and fraught with the echoes of past fears.

Yet, in this moment, it was not the specter of childhood bullies that filled your thoughts but the prospect of standing beside Billy in this quiet, abandoned sanctuary. It was an opportunity to redefine the spaces that had once defined you, to reclaim a piece of yourself in the company of someone who was, against all odds, becoming an integral part of your journey. As you navigated through the dimly lit gates, the air hung heavy with the anticipation of the evening. Your voice, laced with a mix of irritation and playful defiance, cut through the quiet, "Billy?" The words fell into the silence, unanswered, as you moved deeper into the shadowy expanse of the pool area. The setting sun cast a soft, yellowish hue over everything, the lights around the pool flickering to life in a welcoming yet eerie glow.

Again, you called out, a whisper tinged with exasperation. "Billy?" It seemed ridiculous, this cat-and-mouse game, and yet, there was a part of you that couldn't deny the thrill of the chase. Your footsteps echoed against the concrete as you approached the locker rooms, the sound a solitary reminder of your presence in the vast, empty space. With a mix of annoyance and determination, you halted, the frustration evident in your voice as you threatened the unseen presence of Billy Hargrove with playful retribution. “Billy Hargrove, you had better get your butt out here now, or imma kick it when I see it.” No sooner had the words left your lips than you found yourself abruptly pulled backward, a gasp escaping you as you collided with a solid, reassuringly warm chest.

"Damn, Sweetheart," came Billy's hushed voice, a smile evident in its timbre, sending shivers down your spine. "Didn’t know you would be so violent."

The annoyance you felt dissolved into an electrifying tension as you turned within his grasp, your gaze lifting to meet his. The grin adorning his face was infectious, his fingers gently brushing away a stray lock of hair from your forehead with an intimacy that set your heart racing. There he was, inches away, the warmth of his breath caressing your cheek in the cool air of the locker room. The proximity was intoxicating, a mere tilt of your head away from a kiss that seemed both inevitable and yet delicately suspended in the space between you.

You stood there, caught in his gaze, the world outside the locker room melting away. The anticipation was palpable, a tangible force that seemed to draw you closer without moving. It was a dance of moments and possibilities, each second stretching out as you waited for him to bridge the final distance.

In the soft, flickering light, the realization dawned on you how swiftly and completely Billy Hargrove had ensnared you, his presence alone enough to tilt your world off its axis. And there, in the silence that enveloped you both, you wondered if he too felt the gravity of this moment, this turning point that seemed poised to redefine everything. His hand, a warm presence against your skin, retreated, leaving a cool trail of longing in its wake. As he stepped back, the absence of his touch was immediate and stark, a silent protest forming in the back of your mind, yearning for the connection you were on the cusp of deepening. You watched him, a mix of emotions swirling within you. The situation had spiraled into a realm of the ridiculous—a term that barely scratched the surface of this intricate dance you both found yourselves entangled in.

"What are we doing here, Billy? It's still way too cold to go swimming." Your voice carried a hint of bewilderment, laced with a curiosity that refused to be quelled.

His response came with that signature grin, a look that promised mischief and excitement in equal measure. "Who said anything about hopping into the pool, Sweetheart?" The question hung between you, playful and inviting. As he pulled you along, a sense of adventure bubbled within you, despite the confusion that furrowed your brow.

The sauna loomed ahead, a promise of warmth and perhaps something more—an intimacy yet explored. Billy's excitement was palpable, his enthusiasm for the job and its perks infectious. "Since I'm going to be working here, I thought I'd show you what kind of privileges you could have over the summer."

"Privileges I could have?" The concept seemed foreign, amusing even. A sauna, of all things, wasn't exactly on your list of desired amenities. The skepticism must have been clear upon your face as you questioned the appeal, the idea of sweating in a small room hardly enticing.

"You'll see what I'm talking about," he assured you, his confidence unwavering.

As he opened the door to the sauna, a wave of heat greeted you, enveloping your senses in a cocoon of warmth that was surprisingly welcoming. The wood-paneled room, with its benches lining the walls and the gentle hum of heat radiating from the stones, offered a retreat from the world outside. It was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where the chaos of daily life could not penetrate.

Billy's hand found yours once again, his touch grounding as he led you inside. The door closed behind you with a soft click, sealing you both in this haven of warmth and whispered promises. As you took a seat, the heat began to work its magic, loosening muscles and easing tensions you hadn't even realized you carried.

The air, thick with warmth, seemed to draw you both closer, an unspoken invitation to explore the connection that had been building between you. Here, in the seclusion of the sauna, the rest of the world fell away, leaving only the two of you in a space where time seemed to slow, where every breath and heartbeat felt magnified.

Billy's gaze met yours, a question lingering in the depth of his eyes, a silent query if you were ready to dive into the unknown together. In that moment, the sauna became more than just a room—it became a crucible for whatever was simmering between you, a place where the heat wasn't just physical but emotional, a catalyst for desires and confessions yet unspoken.

The air vibrated with anticipation, each moment stretching, filled with the promise of revelations and a closeness that went beyond the physical. In the dim light and enveloping warmth of the sauna, you realized that this wasn't just about the privileges of summer or the novelty of a new experience. It was about discovering each other, about unraveling the layers of connection that had drawn you together.

Pent-up was merely one of many ways to describe what you were feeling, with his fingers dancing beneath your shirt and withdrawing as quickly as they had come—a teasing grin on his face, making you aware that Billy knew exactly of the effect he had on you. “You’re such an asshole, you know?” You hissed, frown deepening as he pulled his shirt over his head and put it down on the bench, using it to sit on.

He chuckled lowly, hands threading through his wild locks, tongue running over the sharp edges of his teeth. “’C’mere,” he simply stated, fingers moving in a lazy motion to accompany his words. You hesitated for a second, lips catching between your teeth as you moved forward and into his grasp. “You gotta be so hot, Sweetheart,” he started, fingers already working at removing your top. “Let’s take this off, hm?”

Words vanishing from your lips, just as quick as your common sense, you nodded, letting him pull the shirt over your head. You didn’t know where it ended up, didn’t—couldn’t—care when his hands started unbuttoning your pants with swift movements. The loose article of clothing fell from your form and Billy’s hands instantly went forward, grasping your thighs and pulling you closer. He groaned greedily, fingers digging deeper into your flesh as he nosed along your stomach and the line of your panties. There was an incessant fluttering in your stomach as his tongue slowly slid from your naval lower.

“Billy,” you breathed, eyes fluttering shot, as his teeth pulled on the fabric of your panties, your hands falling to his broad shoulders.

“Yeah, Sweetheart?” He mused, fingers sliding to the sides of your panties, before hooking his thumbs in the cotton. Flashing a grin up to your dizzy frame, he started pulling the fabric down your legs. “S’there something you wanna ask me, baby?” You shook your head in answer, swallowing heavily as you felt the cotton drop at your feet. “Had me so hard the whole day,” he groaned, pressing a sudden kiss to your core and you went rigid in anticipation. Heat gathered low in your stomach, down to your unsatisfied center.

“Kept thinking ‘bout pulling you into the locker room and fucking you stupid.” At the moan that tumbled from your throat, a dark chuckle fell from his lips. “Yeah, you’d have liked that, Sweetheart, ain’t that right?”

You whispered again, “Billy,” you tone edged with want.

“Hm?” He hummed, raising a casual brow at you as though his fingers weren’t trailing along the seams of your core. Even if he seemed utterly unaffected by the moment, you noticed the slight shift in his hips, as he adjusted himself. You forced yourself to swallow, eyes straying to the hardening bulge in his tight jeans. So terribly affected by only the thought of him, another rush of heat slithered to the pit of your stomach and lower. “C’mere here,” Billy said again, leading you onto his thigh with a quiet wickedness that set your chest aflame. He chuckled at your hesitance as you slowly settled on his thigh, the pressure against your core immediately pulling a whimper from you. His rough hand slid back to your hips, gripping tightly as the other one found your neck and brought your lips to his.

Sweat was leisurely building at the nape of your neck, a result of not only the sauna’s heat but Billy’s unhinged action, as he started to move you on his thigh. You nestled your head into the crook of his neck with a low moan, desire overshadowing your humiliation as you started to follow the pressure of his hand. Your head was starting to float with pleasure when Billy lifted his leg a little, the rough material of his jeans hitting your small bundle of nerves. A whimper slipped from your lips and onto Billy’s glistening skin. His thigh beneath your core felt so thick and sturdy, as he was whispering words so terribly vile they shook your being. One of his palms snapped harshly against the bared skin of your ass, the slap echoing in the small confinement of the sauna.

“Look at you,” Billy cooed, moving you back on his thigh before he jerked you back forward, your chest flush again his as he held you still. “Making such a mess for me, Sweetheart.” With a particularly hard grin of your hips, you felt his bulge pressing into the side of your thigh, straining beneath the blue fabric of his jeans. You whimpered at the feeling, the graze pushing a low groan from Billy’s reddened lips. Trying to move again against his thigh, his arm gripped you closer against him, a broad grin flashing at the needy whine that came from you in response. “Tell me what you need, Sweetheart,” he hushed in such a sinister tone, the devil couldn’t have said it any sweeter.

“You,” you said with no second of hesitation. It wasn’t just an admission of the desire lingering in your core, but a promise of not wanting to fight the world alone anymore. You had done it long enough, both of you.

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