#beach canvas painting easy

[cowboybeepboop]

Heated

"You're incredible," he whispers

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x fem! Reader

Genre: Smut

Word count: 3k

Summary: You’re Bradleys best friend and when you come to support him you catch the attention of a certain blond.

Warnings: P in v sex and unprotected sex.

a/n: This is a quick one for once, I hope you all enjoy <3 I’m always willing to take requests, can be any fandom or character! Just let me know 😊

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the beach as the waves gently kissed the shore. Above the horizon, the sky was painted with a breathtaking array of colors, a canvas of pinks, oranges, and purples that seemed to stretch on forever.

On this picturesque evening, a group of young men, their muscles honed from military training, played a fiercely competitive game of football. Among them was Bradley, also known as Rooster, your childhood friend and the person you had come to support today.

Rooster comes running up to you with a smile as their game comes to an end. You didn't even notice him at first, being too busy ogling a blond haired man. The sunglasses come in handy as Brad is entirely clueless to the way you're staring.

“Hey,” he lays down next to you, chest heaving as he relaxes on the blanket you're sitting on.

“That was one intense game,” you reply, handing him a cool water bottle as he puts his head on your stomach. “Bradley, you're all sweaty, get off.” you tease him as you squirm under his damp hair.

Bradley grins cheekily, his head resting comfortably against your stomach as he gratefully accepts the water bottle, uncapping it with a twist and taking a large swig, before replying to you with a lazy smile.

"Aw, come on. I know you don't mind a little sweat, princess," he teases back, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he looks up at you through half-lidded eyes. "Besides, you know you love it when I'm all hot and sweaty, don't you?"

“You wish,” you roll your eyes, noticing the stares of the other pilots as they relax onto the sand near you. “What's up with that blond guy?” you try to ask him nonchalantly but it's quite obvious *why* you're asking.

Bradley, ever observant, picks up on your not-so-subtle query almost immediately, and his lips curl into a sly smirk as he follows your gaze across the beach to the blond man that you had been eyeing moments before.

"You mean Hangman?" he says, raising an eyebrow at you. "What about him?" you tangle your fingers in his hair pulling at the roots.

“Don't make it so obvious where you're looking.” you whine out, “but what’s his deal? Is he seeing anyone? Or anything?”

Bradley laughs at your response, enjoying the way you tangle your fingers through his hair. But as soon as your question comes out, he lets out a low, knowing chuckle. "Of course it's Hangman you're curious about," he teases, grinning wider. "Always the troublemaker, that one."

As you ask about his relationship status, Bradley's expression becomes a little more serious. "From what I know, he's single. *Very* single. Not looking for anything serious, though. Why, interested?"

“Just curious,” You sit up, forcing Bradleys head onto your lap with the movement. “He’s pretty easy on the eyes.”

Bradley lets out a muffled sound of protest as you force his head onto your lap, but he doesn't struggle too much, settling comfortably against your legs. He looks up at you with a cheeky smile.

"Easy on the eyes, huh? Should I be worried here?" he teases, but there's a hint of concern in his voice. "He's a bit of a diva, though. Cocky, arrogant, the whole package."

You put a hand over Brad’s eyes to block the sun from them, “There's no need to worry,” you reply sweetly.

At some point Bradley introduces you to his fellow pilots and you end up sharing drinks with them. The night continues to go on with shared flirtatious looks between you and Hangman, but now you’re currently sitting off to the side of the group with your blanket wrapped around your body enjoying the peaceful night sky.

Hangman was sitting on the sidelines with his friends as they all exchanged stories and drank. He had noticed your presence, glancing at you every now and then while his friends continued to talk. From the corner of his eye he noticed you sitting alone with a blanket wrapped around your frame. Something about your lonely figure piqued his interest and he took another swig of his beer before heading over.

He crouched beside you, his lips curled into a smirk as he watched you. “What’re you doing over here all alone, princess?” you look at him with a small smile.

“Just enjoying the night,” you tighten the blanket around you, with a slight shiver. Hangman noticed your shiver, his eyes flickering over your form and taking in the way the blanket was wrapped tightly around you.

He chuckled, a teasing glint in his eyes as he spoke. "Just enjoying the night, huh? Alone?" he asked, his tone a mix of mock surprise and intrigue.

He sat down beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his body. "You look a little cold there, princess. Need something to warm you up?"

You scoot closer to him, enjoying the heat of his body. “Sounds nice,” you hum, leg pressing into his. Hangman lets out a low chuckle as you move closer to him, feeling the warmth of your leg pressed against his. His eyes flickered over you, taking in the way you snuggled up against him for warmth. There was something about your proximity to him that sent a thrill through his body.

“You know,” he said slowly, his voice dropping to a lower, huskier tone. “There are other ways to warm you up than just sitting near me.”

“Yeah?” you turn your body to face him. “Like what?” you feign innocence with the question, letting the blanket go just enough for him to see your cleavage and hardened nipples.

Hangman's eyes widened slightly at the sight of your exposed cleavage, his gaze involuntarily darting downward before quickly snapping back up to meet your eyes. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly feeling dry.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice hoarse with desire. He leaned closer to you, his body now pressed up against yours. "I can think of a few things." His hand snaked around you, resting on your hip and pulling you closer to him. "But I'm not sure if you can handle it, princess."

“Mm, I sure I can handle anything you throw my way..” your hand goes to his bare abs, sliding down his warm skin.

Hangman's breath hitched as your hands glided over his bare abs, your touch sending electric sparks coursing through his body. He swallowed hard, his hand gripping your hip a little tighter as he looked down at you with dark, smoldering eyes.

"Anything, huh? You sure you're not biting off more than you can chew, princess?" he teased, his voice low and seductive. He suddenly grabbed your wrist, stilling your hand as it continued to move downwards. "Careful now."

You smirk as you press your breasts onto his arm, moving close enough to whisper in his ear. “Maybe I am,” your other hand goes to his hair, fingers running through his hair as the blanket falls off your shoulders.

Hangman's breath hitches as your breasts press against his arm, and he feels a surge of lust coursing through his veins at the feel of your body against his. Your fingers running through his hair and the sound of your seductive whisper in his ear drive him wild.

He turns his head to look at you, his eyes dark with desire. His free hand slides up your thigh, his fingers tracing the skin lightly as he speaks. "You're playing a dangerous game here, princess," he warns huskily. "Are you sure you're ready to see where this goes?"

“Of course,” you continue to move your hand down his chest, “But I need you to take me somewhere more private first.”

Hangman's breath hitches as your hand moves further down his chest, getting closer and closer to the waistband of his shorts. His eyes lock on yours, dark and hungry, as a sly smile curves his lips.

"More private, huh?" he purrs, his voice low and sultry. "I can arrange that." He stands up, grabbing your hand and pulling you up with him. He then leads you away from the group, towards the safety and seclusion of the nearby hangar.

You follow close behind him, watching his determined eyes as he pulls you inside with him.

Once safely tucked away inside the hangar, Hangman pushes you up against the wall, his body pressed flush against yours. He pins you there with his hips, his hands planted on either side of your head as he looks down at you with darkened eyes.

"This private enough for you, princess?" he asks huskily, his breath hot against your skin.

“It’ll do,” you murmur, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips as you wrap your arms around his neck.

When your lips meet his, Hangman lets out a low growl of pleasure. He responds passionately, his hands moving to your hips as he presses you harder against the wall. Tongue meeting yours as the kiss deepens, hungrily and possessively.

He breaks the kiss, his breath ragged and voice rough. "You are a dangerous little thing, you know that princess?"

“Dangerous hm?” you move one hand to his shorts, hand sliding over his growing erection, eyes glimmering with desire. Hangman's breath hitches at your touch, his eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a guttural moan. His hips instinctively push forward, seeking more of that delicious friction.

"You have no idea," he rasps, his voice low and thick with need. "The things you're doing to me..." He captures your mouth in a bruising kiss, his hands roaming over your body, desperate to feel more of you.

You moan into the kiss as his hands brush over your hard nipples, fingers teasing your body.

Hangman's mouth leaves yours, his lips moving to your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. As he reaches the top of your chest, he gently bites the sensitive skin, his hand moving to your breast, palm rubbing against your hardened nipple.

"You're absolutely addicting, princess," he breathes out, his voice low and rough with desire.

His free hand roams down to your hip, his fingers gripping you roughly as he pulls you even closer, his erection pressing against your thigh. His hands moving down to your thighs, grabbing you forcefully and lifting you up to wrap your legs around his waist.

He pins you harder against the wall, his hips pressing up against you as he feels the heat between your legs through the thin fabric of your bikini. “Fuck, Jake.” you let out a soft moan as he grinds up against you.

"More," you whine, your voice a breathy plea that echoes off the metal walls. The desire in your voice sends a jolt of excitement through him, and he smirks against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

Without breaking the kiss, he reaches down and deftly unties the strings of your bikini bottoms. He slides them aside, the fabric whispering against your skin, exposing your wetness to the cool hangar air. Your legs tighten around his waist, urging him closer, desperate for the friction to turn into something more substantial.

The feel of you, hot and ready against him, is almost too much for Hangman to handle. He groans into your mouth, his hand moving to cup your ass and lift you higher. The tip of his cock brushes against your folds, sending a shock of pleasure through both of you. You whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders as you arch your back, silently begging for more.

"You want it, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "You want me to fill you up, make you scream?"

Your only response is a nod, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you stare into his eyes. Hangman chuckles darkly, his eyes filled with desire and challenge. He lowers you onto his cock, inch by delicious inch, until you're fully seated on him. The sensation is overwhelming, your walls stretching to accommodate his size.

He pulls back, and with one powerful thrust, he enters you completely. You cry out, the sound swallowed by his hungry mouth. His hips begin to move, setting a relentless pace that has you clinging to him, your legs tight around his waist. The friction is perfect, sending bolts of pleasure shooting through your body with every movement.

Hangman's hands roam your body, gripping your breasts and squeezing gently, his thumbs flicking over your nipples. His other hand slides down to cup your ass, his fingers digging in as he drives into you. You can feel the muscles in his arms tensing, the sweat on his back as he uses every ounce of his strength to give you what you want.

Your hands find their way to his hair, pulling him closer as you move with him, your hips matching his rhythm. The feeling of his cock inside you is like nothing you've ever experienced before, and you can't help but moan his name with every thrust.

As the pleasure builds, your movements become more erratic, your breathing shallower. You know you're close, and you can feel Hangman's own tension rising. His grip on your hips tightens, his movements becoming more frantic.

"Cum for me, princess," he grunts, his voice thick with need. "Let me feel you cum around me."

Your body responds to his command, the orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You moan his name, your nails scratching his back as the sensation overwhelms you. Hangman's eyes widen, watching the pleasure play out across your face, and with a final, powerful thrust, he follows you over the edge.

The world fades away for a moment, leaving only the two of you and the sound of your muffled cries of ecstasy as you cling to each other in the aftermath. When you finally come back to reality, you're both panting heavily, your bodies slick with sweat and the salt of the ocean air.

Surprisingly, you feel him harden again, his cock still buried deep within you. You look up at him with wide eyes, unsure if you can handle another round so soon. But Hangman seems insatiable, his gaze locked on yours as he starts to move again, slower this time, savoring every inch of you.

"Again?" you question, your voice still shaky from the last orgasm. He smirks, his eyes gleaming with a mix of challenge and lust.

"You can handle it," he whispers, his voice a seductive promise that sends a shiver down your spine.

Your body responds almost immediately, your hips moving in sync with his, the friction building once more. His hands grip your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he supports your weight, his thrusts deep and deliberate. Each movement sends a new wave of pleasure through you, making your legs tremble around his waist.

Hangman's eyes never leave yours, watching as the passion builds in your gaze. His strokes become more urgent, his breath coming in ragged pants against your neck. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he's holding back, drawing out the moment for both of you.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "I could do this all night."

You lean into him, your heart racing as his words send a warmth through you that has nothing to do with the heat of the moment. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he continues to move inside you.

Your kisses become slower, more deliberate, as if you're trying to memorize the taste of him. Your hands trace the contours of his back, feeling the muscles ripple under his skin as he moves with you. The hangar feels like it's spinning around you, the only real things in the world are the two of you.

The waves of pleasure start to build again, more gently this time. You can feel it rising from deep within you, coiling in your stomach like a spring ready to release. Your hips begin to rock against his, your breath coming in shaky gasps as you get closer to the edge.

Hangman groans into your ear, his teeth nibbling on your earlobe as he continues his slow, torturous movements. His breath is hot and damp against your skin, sending little shivers down your spine. His head is buried in your shoulder, his face hidden from view, but you can feel the tension in his neck and the way his body is shaking with the effort of holding back.

You arch your back, pushing yourself further onto him, your nails digging into his shoulders. His response is a low growl, his hips moving faster, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back in your head. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of passion and need.

"I'm going to cum," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. Hangman's only response is to tighten his grip on your thighs, his hips moving in a steady, punishing rhythm that has you on the brink. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, you're there, your body convulsing around him as you cry out his name.

He follows you over the edge, his own orgasm ripping through him like lightning. You can feel his cock pulse inside you, his body shuddering with the force of his release. He holds you tight, his face still buried in your neck as he tries to catch his breath.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes are filled with something you can't quite place. It's a mix of satisfaction, desire, and something else—something deeper. He kisses you softly, gently, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips. "You're incredible," he whispers, his voice still thick with lust.

You smile up at him, your legs still wrapped around his waist, his cock still inside you. "So are you," you reply, your voice equally as soft. For a moment, you just stand there, basking in the afterglow of your shared passion.

[wheeboo]

tell me that you love me | joshua hong {part two}

SYNOPSIS. in which you and joshua are simply different in more ways than one, yet only seem to find a common ground in struggling to chase your dreams. so why does life keep throwing you two at each other, despite your different worlds, and why does it feel so terrifyingly right? PAIRING. musician!joshua hong x deaf-artist!reader (ft. cafe owner!jeonghan, musician!seokmin, best friend!seungkwan, best friend!wheein, producer!jihoon) GENRE. fluff, slice of life, kdrama romance-esque, mild angst, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn WARNINGS/TAGS. cursing, shua and reader has some self-doubt issues :(, someone makes insensitive comments about reader, mention of alcohol (beer), mention of cigarettes, everyone ships them, kissing, terms of endearment, Softie Domestic Joshua™, it conveniently rains when they're together, this is 85% fluff and 15% plot and the brainrot was giving me an existential crisis, honestly there's not much warnings it's just a love story <3 WORD COUNT (FOR PART TWO). 17k WORD COUNT (FOR FULL FIC). 37k

notes: for some reason even tho this whole part is almost as long as the first part it still feels rushed asf lmao. there are a bit of time skips between most sections, and prob a noticeable decline in quality the more u read HAHA. idk what else to say other than i hope you all enjoy and thank you for joining me on this journey <3 your feedback and reblogs mean the world to me !!

part one | part two

The taste of the salty breeze is sharp on your tongue. Sand raids onto your sandals and crawls playfully up to your ankles as you step foot on the expansive beach. 

“Ahh, it’s been a long time since we’ve gone to the beach!” Wheein exclaims proudly while running up to you and locking arms with yours, her hair tied back in two french braids, the carefree grin to her face infectious as ever. “No sad thoughts today. We’re here to have fun, ‘kay?”

She grabs you by the shoulders and eagerly shakes your body before you have the chance to respond. Wheein is right𑁋no sad thoughts today, it is. Seungkwan dashes up from behind as well, carrying with him two plastic bags full of drinks and snacks when the three of you stopped by the convenience store earlier. You carry a large blanket in your grasp as you all make your way to a spot a good distance away from the water. Ah, and you’ve brought your camera along too. 

It turns out that Wheein and Seungkwan had planned a surprise trip to the beach solely to celebrate your art being selected for the museum. But even though that didn’t happen, they still wanted to cheer you up and lift your spirits (meaning, they stood by your front door for nearly half an hour and constantly shone their phone flashlights to get your attention inside, practically dragging you out of bed. You still love them either way). 

The beach isn’t that busy at this time in the late afternoon during a weekday, so finding a quiet spot is easy. You lay out the blanket on a patch of smooth sand, making sure it's free of any debris. Seungkwan sets down the bags of snacks and drinks, and Wheein helps arrange everything neatly.

The water laps calmly up the coast, stretching for miles under the soft glow of the sun. As you settle yourself on the blanket, you catch sight of a trio of seagulls flying peacefully overhead while feeling the warmth of the sand below you and the cool breeze hitting your skin. 

It’s hard not to look at the picturesque scene right before your eyes. A sun, sunrise, or sunset on the beach is something you’ve painted many times before, but you probably wouldn’t tire of it. There’s a variety of colours that the sky contains𑁋from fiery oranges and bright blues to soft pinks and purples𑁋and many people would say it’s the easiest background to capture on a canvas. But you know better. 

Taking a hold of the camera around your neck, you adjust the lens and frame the seemingly endless skies right within the small viewfinder. The shutter clicks a few times as you capture the vibrant hues of the sunset slowly but surely beginning to take its course, freezing a moment of beauty in time. 

After taking a moment to review the photos, you bring the camera back up to your eye again and whip your head around with the intent of taking some candid shots. However, you certainly don’t expect to capture the face of Joshua mid-laugh. He's not looking at you, or the camera, but at Wheein and Seungkwan who seemed to have quickly dropped their belongings in order to greet him. There’s two other boys behind him too𑁋Jeonghan was one of them, the other one you weren’t able to put a name on, but the wide grin on his face was enough to tell you all that you needed to know. All of them are too far for you to be able to read what they’re talking about.

Happiness looks good on them, You think. 

Zooming out just slightly, a singular click is all you need to capture. It’s like everything that you need in a small, rectangular frame𑁋an encapsulation of pure joy. You lower the camera and take a few seconds to admire the candid show, the way the sun casts a golden glow on their faces, and the unguarded expressions of happiness that make the photo more than just perfect. 

Bringing your camera back around your neck, you stand up from the blanket and slowly approach the group. Joshua is the first to notice you come up, as he always is, and his face doesn’t shy away from seemingly brightening up. He’s wearing a plaid button down shirt with a few of its buttons undone, a seashell necklace around his neck, and a pair of black shorts. You also notice his guitar case slinging on his shoulder. 

You muster up a surprised look towards Wheein and Seungkwan about the guests you weren’t aware that were invited𑁋not that you’re complaining at all. 

Wheein waves a hand in front of your face, directing your attention towards her. 

“They’re here to sing!” she tells you, signing animatedly to you.

You lift a brow, letting your hands move in the air as if you’re conducting. “Sing?”

“I thought it would be a fun touch!” Wheein exclaims, then she steps closely right in front of you, seemingly lowering her voice and signing briskly so the others wouldn’t see, “I’m doing you a favour here.” 

“Y/N! This is Seokmin,” Seungkwan gestures to the boy who finally has a name standing right next to Joshua, spelling out the letters of Seokmin’s name with his hands.

Immediately, Seokmin switches whatever he was holding in his right hand𑁋a microphone stand?𑁋to his other hand before extending it out to you for a handshake in perhaps the most humourously, gentlemanly way possible. The goofy grin on his face is enough to make you giggle as you shake his hand firmly. 

“Nice to meet you,” You sign to him, and Seokmin’s eyes light up in awe at the way your hands move. He turns towards the others with a questionable look, and when they tell him what you signed, his grin widens even more. 

“It’s nice to meet you too!” Seokmin exclaims, the enthusiasm bouncing off him. Then he briefly glances between you and Joshua, wiggling his brows and adding, “I’ve been told a lot about you.” 

Glancing over at Joshua, you notice the way he brings his head down to his feet for a moment, but then he lifts himself back up and meets your gaze with a fond smile.

“Okay, you guys can go set your things up. Seungkwan and I will set up the snacks and drinks,” Wheein says. “I say we go in the water after the performance. Who’s in?” 

Right away, the remaining five of you come to a simultaneous agreement. Jeonghan, Seokmin, and Joshua begin to move towards a spot a little further down the beach where they can set up their equipment. Wheein and Seungkwan grab the bags with the food and drinks to set them up near the blanket, leaving you behind to soak in the sight of the beach once more. 

“Right here is good.” Joshua motions to a spot on the ground where Jeonghan sets up the speaker for the microphone. “Did you bring the extension cord?”

Jeonghan pleasantly rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he whips out the extension cord and connects it to the speaker with ease. “You really don’t believe in me, don’t you?” Then he glances past Joshua’s shoulders, smirking faintly to himself. “Target incoming. Six o'clock.”

Joshua turns his body around, wiping away the sand from his hands, and his eyes land straight on you approaching up to him. The corners of his mouth turn upward at the sight of you, dazed eyes lingering on the way you carry yourself quietly toward him. The sunlight catches in your hair, and the backdrop of the ocean makes you appear like a painting that had come to life. He quickly clears his throat.

When you come up to him, you hold out your phone towards him.

Didn’t expect to see you here today

Joshua stifles a half-hearted laugh, plucking the phone from your grasp to type right below your line. 

Is that a bad thing? 

As you read the message, you could only scowl playfully, before taking your phone back.

How did you even know about this anyway?

After scanning your message, Joshua glances around before pointing at something behind you𑁋to Wheein and Seungkwan, who were both dashing away from a wave that was washing onto the shore. 

“Your friends are really adamant about cheering you up,” he remarks teasingly. “I couldn’t just say no.” 

You could visibly see the utter panic in Wheein’s face from afar when Seungkwan nearly stumbles into the wet sand, her hands coming to grab the younger boy’s arm to pull him up. Then their faces shift into a fit of laughter. You really don’t know what you would do without them, honestly. 

“Thank you,” You sign to Joshua when you turn back to him. 

Joshua’s eyes roam over your face with a soft, contemplative expression. Then he motions down to your phone that was in your grasp, and you hand it to him, your fingers briefly brushing against each other.

A thoughtful look spreads across his features, before he types a response on your phone, fingers moving swiftly over the screen, and you read his message:

You look beautiful today.

The words on the screen seem to glow brighter than usual, and you feel a rush of affection flood into you like the waves at high tide. Your hand nearly goes limp, almost dropping your phone into the sands below, your heart stuttering in your chest as you regain your composure. For once, even communicating with your hands feels clumsy, inadequate. 

But before you can say anything, a damp hand lands at your shoulder, and you whip your head around to see Wheein standing there, hair dripping wet and chest heaving with exhaustion. 

“If we don’t start, I’m going to kill Seungkwan,” Wheein says while exaggeratedly signing, face scrunched up in annoyance. 

You scratch the back of your neck bashfully before turning off your phone and averting your eyes away from Joshua. You drag Wheein away to help her dry off while the others set up the rest of the equipment. 

By the time everything is set up, there’s a small gathering of curious beachgoers nearby who seem to be drawn by the preparation going on. Some were sitting on blankets spread out on the sand, while others stood in small groups at a respectful distance. 

You find yourself sitting on a blanket with Wheein and Seungkwan right next to you. The two of them were conversing with each other, and all you could do was watch Joshua. He takes out his guitar from the case before sitting on a folded up plastic chair. He runs a hand through his hair and seems to strum a few notes, probably checking the sound levels𑁋Jeonghan sends him a thumbs-up from the side. Seokmin also sits down in a chair right next to him, adjusting the microphone to his mouth and tapping a few times on its head. 

“Hello, everyone!” Joshua announces into the microphone. He’s too far away for you to read his lips properly, but he’s still signing for you, for you to understand even when you’re not directly in front of him. Did he practice all of this beforehand? “Thank you all for stopping by to listen.” 

It’s hard to fully catch what he signs next. He might be nervous, you think, but that’s still endearing in itself. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the beach, as Joshua begins to strum his guitar. Seokmin fixes himself up to the microphone, fingers tapping beats against his thigh. His face shifts into focus, eyes closing to the music taking over that you can feel reverberate through the fresh air. 

Joshua's fingers dance across the strings, then Seokmin's voice joins in. You watch their performance unfold, catching glimpses of their expressions𑁋Joshua's focused yet occasionally glancing your way with a reassuring smile, Seokmin's eyes closed in immersion with the music.

At the corner of your eye, you see Wheein and Seungkwan swaying to the music. When Wheein turns towards you, she reaches down to grab your hand into hers and lifts it up into the air with a grin, swaying your hands together from left to right. She also does the same with Seungkwan, and it’s just the three of you moving your bodies enthusiastically to the music as it swarms throughout the lively atmosphere of the beach. The small gathered audience around seem caught in the moment too. 

When the first song ends, you clap along with the others, feeling the exhilaration of the performance blossom within your chest. Joshua lets his eyes roam around, briefly settling in your gaze for a moment, and the sight of your genuine joy only encourages him even more. He nods to Seokmin, who flashes him a thumbs-up, and then they dive into the next song.

It’s an emotional one this time. You could tell from the pensive looks on everyone's faces𑁋Seungkwan seems like he’s even about to cry𑁋and it only makes you think what they’re singing about. But you don’t let it bother you; instead, you still slowly sway your body, closing your eyes and letting yourself immerse in the moment. 

Grains of sand slip through the cracks of your fingers. The sun has almost fully set at this point, merely just a golden half-circle sinking into the horizon. Water drips down your hair and skin onto the towel below you, goosebumps crawling its way up your arms from the night breeze that was beginning to settle in. You have no idea what time it is right now𑁋the beach is probably going to close soon, you think. 

The others are still wading in the water, except for Jeonghan who might be passed out on another blanket not that far away from you. The events from the past few hours have started to rain down on you, a small yawn leaving you as you use the towel below to dab at your legs. 

However, you feel something encase around you suddenly, and you perk up to the warm feeling of a towel being draped over your shoulders. Looking up, you see Joshua standing right above you, a towel of his own in his hands. He places himself down right next to you as if it was the most natural thing to do, and you let him. You like… being close with him like this. 

Joshua dries off his hair with the towel, and you have to take your gaze away from the fact that his arms are exposed because of the sleeveless black top he was wearing. His hair comes out in a loose mess, wet strands sticking to his forehead. He glances over at you for a second, sending you a brief smile, and again, you avert your eyes away, moving your neck around to ignore the heat creeping up your body. 

You don’t suppress the smile passing over your own face, though.

A light nudge at your side blinks you back to reality, making you turn to see an illuminated phone screen right in front of you.

Tired? 

That was all to make another yawn leave you once again. Joshua just chuckles at the way you angle your face away from the phone screen, trying to hide your weariness. He brings the phone back to type something else before showing it to you. 

Feeling happy though? 

You almost want to scoff at that, but you don’t. It’s hard to not notice the way you feel happy right now. Maybe you’re glowing or something, maybe the pain that you feel in your cheeks is from all the smiles that was plastered on your face throughout the day. Whatever it is, you can’t deny it𑁋yes, you feel happy. 

Joshua sees it too. There was probably no use in asking. The answer blooms on your features, perhaps brighter than the first stars beginning to twinkle above. 

And so, you simply nod. 

When Joshua retrieves his phone back, there’s a subtle shift in his face that was noticeable in the light. His fingers start typing across the screen, but then it stops, starts again, and stops. 

He turns to you, expression turning serious. “Is it okay if I ask you something? You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.” 

You huddle more into the towel and meet his gaze with a curious tilt of your head. His eyes flicker between you and his phone. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, he hesitantly shows you the screen.

Have you ever wished that you could hear again?

For some reason, Joshua expects for you to be taken aback by the question, maybe even awkward or offended. But, instead, a relaxed look graces your features, a subtle curve at your lips, and you shake your head. Then you take the phone, typing out: 

Not really. When I lost my hearing at 7, I used to cry to sleep knowing I won’t be able to hear my parent’s voices again. But over time, I didn’t let it bother me. It’s a part of who I am. It doesn’t make me any less than anyone else. It doesn’t make the world any less beautiful than it is now. There will always be challenges, like missing out on a joke or an important announcement. But I’ve learned to find beauty in the little things. Like feeling music through vibrations, or how sunlight hits my skin and tells me that the day is beautiful. I could read people’s faces and feel their excitement or their sadness. These are sounds in their own ways. So no, I don’t really wish I could hear again. I’ve found my own way to listen and be heard. 

You even feel out of breath after typing all that out, but you feel lighter. Your heart feels completely vulnerable right now, all the thoughts swirling around you seem easy to catch in another’s hands. But Joshua is gentle with those thoughts, as if he’s placing them back down on the ground for you to navigate them together. You notice a flicker of something akin to awe wash over his features as he quietly reads your words to himself, a thoughtful crease forming between his brows. Then, he starts to type. 

For me, I’ve been surrounded by sound all my life. Voices, instruments, the noise of the city. It’s kind of hard to imagine going through life without it. I’ve learned to grow up analyzing tones, pitches, chords, and notes. And because of that I get afraid of being the one off-key. But I like being quiet with you. And I like talking to you. And I like getting to know you. There’s a part of me that thinks I wouldn’t get tired of looking at you. I don’t know if it’s the silence that helps me focus, but I just know it helps me focus on you. 

You swear you don’t even blink when you read over his words, once, twice, five times over. There’s a tugging at the strings of your heart, a sweet ache spreading through your chest, a sensation much to the pull of the ocean’s tide. When you draw your eyes away from the phone and to Joshua, his gaze meets yours in the middle, a hesitant question lingering painted over his features. 

He brings his hands once more. He points to himself first, then faces his hand towards his chest, putting his thumb and index finger close to his chest with the other fingers extended out. Next, he slowly moves his hand forward, bringing his thumb and index finger closer together. And finally, he points to you, like you’re the last piece of the puzzle.

“I like you.” 

A lump forms in your throat, and that familiar flutter of butterflies takes flight in your stomach, but it’s demanding this time and impossible to ignore. Letting your eyes drift over his face𑁋from his somewhat damp, tousled hair and down to the curve of his lips𑁋you know exactly how you feel.

Without hesitation; without doubt, you kiss him the next moment. It’s a tentative touch at first, making Joshua’s eyes widen in surprise and you pull away with uncertainty. For a second, he could only gaze at you, but then an adoring smile blooms across his face, an admiring sparkle in his pupils. Then he tilts his head just slightly, almost in a teasing manner, and leans back in to capture your lips against his once more. 

Even when your eyes flutter to a close, you still feel his smile against your skin, matching the warmth that spreads through you like strokes of paint on a canvas, like music that fills a silent space. Something comes to cover over your hand on the towel𑁋Joshua’s hand rest over yours, warm and securely, thumb coming to reassuringly rub over the skin there. 

When you pull away, you have the urge to bury yourself in the towel wrapped around you or run away in a fit of panic. You end up doing the former, burying your face further in the soft cotton. But Joshua doesn’t let you completely disappear, a shy chuckle of his own leaving his lips as he reaches out to gingerly tug the towel down just enough to reveal your eyes.

“Hi there,” he says softly, before some worry stretches across his face. “Are you okay?” 

You loosely release yourself a bit more from the towel’s grasp around you and meet his eyes with a small, reassuring smile. 

“I meant what I said,” Joshua continues. His hand still rests on yours while he lifts the other one to sign again, “I like you. I really do.” 

Glancing down at your laced hands, you absentmindedly brush away a few grains of sand that stuck to his knuckles. His skin is warm to the touch, and the intimate gesture makes you take a shallow breath. You lift your gaze back to this, and he follows the way you bring your hand up. 

You stick out your pinky finger, almost like a promise, and extend out your thumb as well, before moving your hand back and forth to sign,

“Me too.” You continue to run the tips of your fingers over his hand. I like you too.

“Did Seokmin tell you about Jihoon?”

Joshua sprays a bottle of disinfectant on a table before grabbing the rag that was hanging loosely on his shoulder. “Who?”

“The producer guy.”

The smell of the chemicals sends an unpleasant crinkle to Joshua’s nose. He pauses his cleaning for a moment. “Haven’t heard of him.”

“Well, he’s a producer apparently. A fairly new one. I think Seokmin mentioned that he went to high school and university with him𑁋wasn’t entirely close to him, though. Just a name that was sort of tossed around.” Jeonghan stops to take a loud bite out of a bag of chips. “But I’ve heard he’s got a studio opened now somewhere. So maybe…”

Joshua lightly chuckles. “You know I’ve gotten scammed from this type of stuff, right?”

“I’ve done my research.” Jeonghan promptly sits up in the chair (yes, he’s not helping with cleaning at all). “No heinous crimes have been committed. If anything, the only thing I could find on him is𑁋”

“Yo, Jeonghan! Where do you want this box of shit?” 

Jeonghan turns somewhat annoyedly towards the source of the voice: this guy named Wonsik that he had hired recently since having Joshua as the only other worker around was proving to be insufficient. Joshua can’t say he’s exactly a fan of him though. His attitude is a bit… brash, to say the least. 

“Just leave it in the storage room,” Jeonghan says, pointing in the direction with a chip in his hand. 

After wiping off the final corner of the table, Joshua feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. As he takes it out and catches a glimpse of the notification, he can’t help but smile to himself.

Joshua takes off the apron he’s been wearing, neatly hanging it up on a hook by the door that was designated for staff.

Jeonghan catches him mid-chew. “Curfew time?” 

“Yep.”

“Gross,” Jeonghan mumbles sarcastically while crumpling up his bag of chips. “You know, just because you’re in a relationship now doesn’t mean you get to slack off on closing duties.”

Joshua rolls his eyes playfully. “Whatever, I’ll make it up tomorrow.”

Wonsik emerges from the storage room, catching Joshua’s attention with his loud, assertive footsteps and nearly running into him, the scent of cigarette smoke trailing behind him. He mumbles something about finally finishing taking in all the boxes, carrying the last one labeled with supplies, his expression a mix of boredom and disdain as he spots Joshua preparing to leave.

“Finally taking off, huh?" Wonsik sneers, eyeing Joshua up and down. “Off to be the hero for your little deaf partner?”

Whatever politeness Joshua had to his features had faded away in an instant, his jaw clenching tightly to the words. He adjusts the strap of his guitar case on his shoulder and meets Wonsik's arrogant gaze evenly.

“Watch your mouth,” Joshua says sharply, a warning edge to his voice that cuts through the room like a knife. 

“What? I’m just saying it must be hard to deal with them, that’s all. Like how do you even communicate? Doing your little hand stuff? Must be an ass to handle all that shit.” 

Joshua's nostrils flare at that, sensing his patience wearing thin at Wonsik's blatant insensitivity. His fists clench at his side momentarily, but he keeps in his anger, knowing that losing his cool most definitely won't help the situation at all. Taking a deep breath, he meets Wonsik's eyes with a steely glare.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Joshua replies firmly. “Don’t you have some human decency and respect in you?” 

Wonsik just scoffs haughtily. That dumb, conceited smirk on his face widens even more as he leans casually against the counter, folding his arms across his chest. "Hey, I'm just saying what everyone else is thinking. It's not like I'm wrong, right? You could do so much better, man. You’re just pitying them because you feel bad.”

Just at that, his words strike a nerve in Joshua. “Y/N is more than capable of handling themself. They don’t need anyone else’s pity, least of all mine. So why don’t you mind your own business? Learn some respect while you’re at it, asshole.”

Wonsik shoots Joshua a final contemptuous glance before turning on his heel, shoving past Joshua, and disappearing back into the storage room, muttering something under his breath that Joshua isn’t bothered to decipher. 

Heading back into the main area of the café, Joshua stops right before the door to turn towards Jeonghan. “Do me a favour and𑁋”

“Don’t worry,” Jeonghan interjects, waving him off dismissively. “He won’t come back tomorrow.”

Joshua’s shoulders visibly relax at that. “Thanks,” And when his hand lands on the door handle, he stops again. “I’ll do that thing, by the way.”

“That thing?”

“Mhm.” Joshua just nods. “I’ll ask Seokmin about Jihoon.”

Joshua hums quietly after every pluck of his guitar string, twisting the tuning pegs at the head of the guitar with every note deemed off-key. The sounds leaving his guitar bounce off the walls of your apartment and blend with the smell of leftover ramen that lingers in the room. 

You sit across from him with two steaming cups of tea in your hand, carefully placing them on the coffee table in front of him. He glances up from tuning his guitar, eyes softening as they meet yours. Resting the guitar against the arm of the couch, he gratefully takes the mug that was waiting for him on the table, taking a quick sip of the jasmine tea you had prepared.

You peer at him worriedly, forming a claw shape with your hand and moving it downward to sign, “Hot?”

Joshua shakes his head, sipping once more and setting it back on the table. 

“It’s perfect,” he tells you reassuringly. 

Placing the guitar back on his lap, he positions his arms comfortably over it as if preparing to play something. Yet he catches the way your eyes watch his fingers glide over the strings. Joshua fixes his posture and presses his back against the couch behind. 

“Do you want to try?” he asks. His fingers rest lightly on the strings, demonstrating a chord before letting them hover, waiting for your response.

The hesitation within you is shunned aside from the subtle hope of his invitation. Warily, you shift closer to him, settling between his legs as he positions the guitar in your grasp. His hands cover over yours, guiding your fingers over the frets and showing you how to press down on the strings. The wood of the guitar is smooth under your touch, vibrating weakly as you pluck the strings a few times tentatively.

His breath fans over your skin as he leans closer to help adjust your grip on the guitar neck. You have to turn your head in order to see if he’s saying anything to you. His face is so close to yours now that you can see the fine details in his expression. There’s a slight tiredness in there too, but you don’t comment about it. 

Joshua's fingers move dexterously as he shows you another chord. This time, you press down with more confidence, and the sound resonates more clearly. He watches your face light up, and you can feel the vibrations of the strings through your fingertips. It’s a bit ticklish and you can’t help but giggle softly at the sensation. His hands still hover over yours for a few moments, but then he pulls back to give you a bit more space.

The chords you're playing aren't perfect𑁋they come out off-pitch and you aren’t able to tell, or the strumming patterns are a bit uneven𑁋but Joshua doesn’t mind. He doesn’t seem to notice or care about the mistakes. 

After some time, you cautiously set the guitar on the floor, letting it lean back against the couch. By the time you finish taking another sip of your tea, Joshua is already holding out his phone to you.

If I wanted to get your attention without accidentally scaring you, how could I do that?

A feeling of déjà vu slithers down your body at the question, and you could tell Joshua feels it too. Briefly, you think about the first time the two of you met. It’s quite surreal how far you’ve come already. 

You grab his phone to type:

I wouldn’t worry about scaring me like before, since I know that it’s you. I’m familiar with you. A small tap on the shoulder is okay, or you can flash your phone light. Wheein and Seungkwan do that to get my attention if they’re outside the door

Joshua reads your response, then shoots an understanding look, a thoughtful curve to his lips. The next thing that you catch is a yawn leaving him, which he tries to cover up with a sheepish smile.

“Tired?” You sign to him. 

“A little bit,” he replies meekly. “Just some things on my mind.” 

You tilt your head slightly, curiosity piqued at that. 

Joshua practically melts into the couch, the exhaustion in his posture evident as he stretches out his legs and lets out a soft sigh. 

“Work has been picking up a bit, people are ridiculous sometimes,” he starts, a twinge of frustration to his features. “I haven’t been able to go busking recently either, but… I think an opportunity came up. For music.”

Your eyes widen with interest, and you lean forward slightly, encouraging him to continue.

But he only hesitates. “I just don’t know if it’s worth pursuing. There are so many people out there who make big promises, but not all of them deliver. I don’t want to get involved in something that could turn out to be another dead end.”

A frown crosses its way across your lips. You can sense his apprehension and understand the reason behind it, but you also recognise the glimmer of hope in his eyes. Slipping out your own phone, you type:

You should go with what your heart is telling you to do. I’ll be there to support you either way :)

Your words drip of care and affection, feeling the uncertainty in his heart soften when he pinpoints the sincerity in your eyes. For a brief second, his gaze flickers down to your mouth before returning back up to your gaze. Without another word, he leans in, letting his lips brush against yours in a fleeting kiss. 

Even in the few weeks the two of you have been together, moments like these will take some time to get used to. It’s both intimidating and exhilarating, comforting and thrilling all in one. But it’s undeniable that it feels… right, natural. 

As cheesy as it sounds, that is what his heart told him to do at that moment𑁋to kiss you as a way to say thank you. A shy, boyish grin tugs at the corners of Joshua’s mouth when he pulls away. He takes a visible deep breath, as if drawing strength from your closeness, attentive eyes roaming over your face for any discomfort, but he finds none. The tips of your ears feel like they’re on fire, if anything. 

“Cute.” He lightly taps the bud of your nose, causing you to scrunch up your face in response. “Thank you. I mean it.” 

You only smile and nod under his gaze, signing with a simple, “I know.”

You lose track of time in front of the canvas when a yawn of your own leaves your mouth. Admittedly, it’s been hard motivating yourself to paint lately ever since your rejection at the exhibition, but somehow this time around, the colours on the canvas look more… livelier. 

You glance between the unfinished canvas and to the candid picture that you took that day at the beach of your friends’ smiling faces. If this is how you’re going to encourage yourself to get back into painting, then so be it: painting a moment that you could simply define as happiness. 

When another yawn leaves you, you swirl your paintbrush in a murky cup of water to clean it off before setting it aside. You stand from the chair and stretch, feeling the stiffness in your muscles from sitting in one position for too long. When you shift your gaze behind you, the sight that appears before you sends a leap of surprise through you.

Your eyes land on a sleeping Joshua, whose head rests against the arm of the couch, relaxed body slumped against the cushions, and one of his arms dangling off the edge. Tiptoeing over to him, you grab a blanket that Wheein had crocheted for your birthday from a nearby armchair and drape it over him. He shifts slightly at the movement but doesn’t wake, instead settling more deeply into the couch with a soft, contented sigh. 

You don’t have it in to wake him up, because this feels right𑁋him at your place, falling asleep, and a sense of peace floating through the air. 

If Seokmin didn’t come along, Joshua would probably have turned around on his heels by now and declined the offer. 

Apparently Jihoon’s studio was located in a somewhat sketchy part of the city, and it took only one tumultuous month later to finally set a date to meet up. Joshua glances around the area, taking in a few worn-down buildings and graffiti-covered walls, wondering if this is really the right place.

“This place better not be a dump,” Seokmin mutters under his breath, scanning around nervously. “I swear, Jihoon has always been a bit of a mystery, but he’s got talent for sure. He was practically the maestro of the entire music program back then.”

“And you reunited with him… how?”

“At the gym,” Seokmin answers, but it’s more under his breath as if he was a bit embarrassed by it. The sly laugh that leaves Joshua makes him jut out his bottom lip. “I wanted to know his workout routine! I didn’t even recognise him after all these years.”

Joshua just rolls his eyes, the lighthearted banter lessening some of his nerves. 

It would be his first time to walk into an actual studio. Somehow, Jihoon’s place was a good size to accommodate a variety of sound equipment and a living space at the same time. Compared to the gritty exterior, the inside certainly had more of a calming ambience. Neon lighting illuminated the room, casting a warm glow over the sleek equipment and musical instruments. Records lined the shelves and posters of artists decorated the walls, all bringing more character to the place. 

Jihoon himself was the epitome of calm and collected, bringing an aura of meticulous confidence that caressed every inch of the studio. He’s been working independently this entire time, and according to Seokmin, he's been steadily putting a name for himself in the underground music scene right after graduating from university. 

“So,” Jihoon starts, spinning around in the chair he was sitting on. Even when he was wearing a simple pair of sweatpants and a black tee, he still appeared effortlessly cool. “you’re a singer?” 

Joshua looks down at himself for a moment as if questioning his own presence here, fingertips gliding steadily over the strings of his guitar. “Yeah. Been busking for the past year or so. Played guitar for my entire life. I’ve written some of my own songs, too.”

Surprisingly, this is enough to convince Jihoon. “Alright, then. Show me what you got.” 

In its entirety, it was a surreal experience, and there’s just this inkling, this pinch of hope in the space between the tips of Joshua’s fingers whispering to him that he’s finally on the path to accomplishing his dreams. He’s never heard the sound of his voice so clearly before. Unlike the studio, there are no walls surrounding him when he busks𑁋only the open air, the street sounds blending with his music. But in the studio, the environment is different. 

It’s as if his music is finally being given the space it deserves to breathe and thrive, just like he had always wanted for it to do. 

The excitement is even evident in the way he’s gripping your hand as the two of you are walking back to your place together later that same night. Walking together has always been routine between the two of you, yet now there’s a certain lightness in the air knowing you both share the same love for these moments together. 

Joshua feels the way you squeeze his hand, and when he looks at you, you’re holding out your phone for him to read.

So are you planning on seeing him again next week?

A contemplative look crosses his face, but it doesn’t take long for the corners of his lips to curve up. 

“I think so,” he answers, eyes lighting up with optimism. “I think I might be getting to where I want to be, you know?” 

The excitement that trickles down his body flows through your interlaced hands, and you find yourself smiling alongside him. You love knowing you get to be a witness of this pivotal moment for him. You love seeing him happy just as much as you love being happy around him. 

When you reach the entrance of your apartment building, your hand still hasn’t left his. Joshua gazes past your shoulder towards the door, and then back to you.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” he asks, a teasing tilt to his head. “Even for just an hour?” 

You wiggle your eyebrows at him, only giving him a simple shake of your head. 

“Hm, am I that much of a distraction?” he muses, stepping just a tad bit more closer to you, and you know you’re digging yourself more into the ground at this point. “I love watching you paint though.” 

You attempt to power through the way his words send a jolt through you, stubbornly standing your ground with the most serious expression you could muster. It’s not that you don’t want him to stay with you a little longer𑁋because you might quite possibly set everything aside for him without a doubt𑁋but you’ve made it a goal to get back into painting on your own terms and slowly but surely regain your confidence. 

After putting on a small pout, Joshua’s gaze just softens. “Promise me you won’t stay up late?” 

You nod, feeling the warmth of his concern and signing, “Promise.”

He still doesn’t let go of your hand, his thumb coming to caress tenderly over your knuckles. Joshua’s eyes flicker to your lips, and he leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you wanted to. But you don’t. Then he leans in and pauses once more, nose briefly brushing against yours, before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

“Goodnight,” he signs when he pulls away, running a hand down your arm before reluctantly stepping back.

You could never get over the satisfying wave of relief that hits you whenever you complete a painting. 

The first time you finished a painting was when you were eight years old. It was a simple watercolour painting of your family house, distinctively placed on a large hill instead of being surrounded by your neighbouring homes. Your mother had stuck it on the refrigerator for as long as you could remember alongside other family photos until it got too worn out from being taken down and put back up so many times, even being forgotten at some points when other mementos covered it. The fridge seemed so empty without it.

Seeing that painting every day reminded you of the joy of creating something with your own hands𑁋filling a space with something beautiful and meaningful, just like you had envisioned it in your mind. It’s not just about copying the photograph you used as reference; it’s about translating those fleeting, joyful moments into something real. You want people to look at your painting and feel the same happiness, the same warmth that you felt in that moment. It’s about capturing a moment in time and making it last forever. This is what art means to you. 

“This is stunning, Y/N!” Wheein exclaims when you stand right next to her. “You made the sand look so real! And you used such a gorgeous gradient for the sky. You gotta give me some tips later! Have you thought about showing this to your teacher?”

You frown a little at that. You haven’t exactly been putting in the effort to show up at all. The sting of that rejection at the exhibition still lingers, making you hesitate to put yourself out there again. You’d rather put on a show for yourself before determining whether or not it’s worth sharing with others. 

“I don’t know,” You answer.

“That’s okay!” Wheein says brightly. “But whenever you’re ready, let me know. We can make a killer portfolio together.”

You let out a laugh at that, mentally taking note of her offer for the future. Wheein just nudges you lightly on the hip with her own.

“You seem so much happier lately,” she acknowledges teasingly, a sly smirk crossing her face. “probably because of a certain someone…”

You feel a light flush creeping up your cheeks, and you glance away with a smile that you can’t quite hide. It hasn’t even been that long since you and Joshua have been together. Yet even though you can call him your boyfriend, he still gives you the space to grow, to dream, and to be yourself, just as you do with him. And in those times you two are together, reveling in the quiet language of your hands, letting your guard down has never felt this easy. You could share a simple smile with each other and the world seems a little brighter, a little more colourful, and a little more hopeful and meaningful. 

“Oh my gosh, you’re smitten!” Wheein exclaims amusedly. “If that’s not love in your eyes, I don’t know what is.” 

Love. What a silly, little word𑁋so small, yet carries so much in between its letters. 

You just chuckle to yourself, savouring the way the word swirls around you.

[07:15 PM | y/n] are you nearing the place? I’m waiting by the front 

You turn your phone off and bring it down, searching around for any sight of Joshua. Passerbys fill up your field of vision, all of them rushing past or casually walking by with their own different lives, but you don’t see him among the crowd. You check the time again, noting that he’s already fifteen minutes late, but you remind yourself that he’s been at Jihoon’s studio for the majority of the day and has probably been busy. 

As you continue waiting, the slight chill of the evening air runs through your bones. It’s getting noticeably colder outside as winter is approaching closer and closer. You glance at your phone again, but the screen remains dark. Another ten minutes pass, and you could feel the worry creeping up your spine. It’s not like him to be this late without a reason.

The vibrant evening around you slowly begins to lose its charm, the excitement within you boiling down into a pit of disappointment, and the thought of standing alone any longer becomes unbearable. So, with a heavy sigh, you decide to walk away, pushing away the disappointment with every step that you take.

[07:28 PM | y/n] I’ll be heading home. let me know when you’re finished at jihoon’s 

You slip your phone into your pocket, feeling a twinge of sadness as you start walking towards the nearest crosswalk. Above you, the streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement below and swallow the lively colours of the evening. 

Approaching the crosswalk, the signal light shines a deep red, instructing you to stop and wait. A crowd of people all stop behind you as you wait for the light to change, and you become acutely aware of their presence surrounding you. 

Your eyes wander across the street, where the traffic light turns red, and cars begin to slow down. Anticipating for the light to signal for you to cross, a sudden flash catches your attention from across the street. It looks like a flashlight, and it was flickering in a deliberate pattern.

The moment the signal light turns green, the flashing stops, unraveling Joshua standing on the other side. People brush past you in order to cross the street, yet you can only find yourself frozen. There’s a flash of urgency you catch to Joshua’s features, and your focus narrows on him as he dashes across the street toward you. 

He’s breathless the second he reaches you, and his face is flushed with relief and desperation. 

“I’m so sorry,” he apologises, signing frantically to you. “I lost track of time. I tried getting on the bus to get here faster but the traffic was bad. I…” His shoulders sink in dismay. “I’m sorry.”

You just shake your head dismissively, but it’s not hard to miss the subtle hurt in your face and the way you sign back to him. “It’s okay. I know your music is important to you.”

“You’re my top priority,” Joshua says quickly, eyes intense with sincerity. “Let me make it up to you, okay?” 

His words send a flutter that makes your heart ache in your chest. Joshua reaches down and takes ahold of your hand in his, squeezing reassuringly. You feel a warmth spread through you as he intertwines your fingers.

“Would you like to have dinner back at my place?” Joshua offers, his lips curling up in a hopeful smile. “Jeonghan is staying at a friend’s place tonight, so it’ll just be us.” 

You look up at Joshua, your heart racing at the thought of spending the evening with him. 

“Okay,” You sign to him. 

It’s been years since the last time you saw a record player. Your parents used to have one in the corner of the living room. It was a vintage piece, and you remember how your father used to meticulously handle the vinyl records, placing them carefully on the turntable before lowering the needle. You didn’t hear the music that came from it𑁋the music that they played before you lost your hearing was vague to memory𑁋but you loved watching the way the needle danced across the grooves of the records.

Joshua has an entire vinyl collection, and you look through each one curiously. You see names like Amy Winehouse, Radiohead, Pink Floyd, Elton John, Frank Sinatra, Nirvana, The Beatles, and even some contemporary artists like Billie Eilish, Boys Like Girls, and Lana Del Rey. The covers of each one are like pieces of art themselves, with their vintage charm and intricate designs. 

When Joshua turns away from the stove, he looks at you, where you’re already peering at him.

“Do you want to play something?” You sign to him, thinking that he might want to listen to something while you’re here together. 

Joshua’s eyes only soften as he takes in your question. “You don’t have to play anything.”

You smile bashfully. “I want to.” 

He feels a tug at his heart at the pleading expression to your face. He briefly checks the food cooking on the stove before walking to where you’re sitting on the floor, his vinyls scattered in front of you. 

“Okay,” he tells you. “Pick whichever one you want.” 

Joshua watches as you carefully pick a vinyl𑁋you end up picking The Beatles, a classic𑁋and with practiced hands, he helps you place the record on the turntable and lowers the needle. You watch as the record starts to spin and the needle settles within the grooves.

You turn toward Joshua, signing, “Is it playing?” 

The sound that comes off the record player is a bit distorted at first, but after some time, it manages to smooth out. Joshua just nods, his face lighting up with a smile at the way you appear so engrossed by the spinning record. 

Dinner comes by in a jiffy. The singular kitchen light hangs above the small table that you both are sitting at, the aroma of Joshua’s cooking wafting through the air. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but the simplicity of the meal𑁋steamed vegetables, grilled chicken, and fluffy rice𑁋makes it all the more comforting. You definitely would have preferred this over restaurant food. 

You eat slowly, savouring the flavours of each bite. You can feel Joshua's eyes on you, and you can't help but smile.

“Good?” he asks. 

You give a few enthusiastic nods, and the sight lights up Joshua’s face even further. 

The record player was still faintly playing music in the background, yet the quietness that he gets to share with you is what he cherishes the most. It’s not awkward or forced; it’s a comfortable silence that pleasantly wraps around you both. The occasional pop or crackle from the record player blends in with the sounds of your contented chewing and the soft clinking of utensils.

Afterwards, you find yourself settling on the couch in Joshua’s living room as you wait for him to come back to the bathroom, and you take the time to peer around his space.

You already know that he’s living with Jeonghan too, so you love how you’re able to easily distinguish the small snippets that belong to Joshua. Apart from the collection of vinyl records, you also see a few microphone stands and a keyboard set up in one corner, as well as an empty guitar stand where you know his guitar belongs. 

Letting your eyes drift, the coffee table in front of you catches your attention. There’s a couple of coasters, the remote for the TV, a cute succulent in the middle. But then your eyes land on something else. 

On it, you spot a book laying flat on the table. Curiosity piqued, you reach over to examine it. The book is a sign language dictionary. You open it to find that it’s filled with detailed illustrations of hand signs, and throughout the pages you see Joshua’s handwriting scattered throughout. Some of the pages are marked with sticky notes, others you spot silly doodles of smiley faces in the corners. 

You hardly ever thought about the amount of effort he put into learning how to talk to you, to understand you. A small part of you feels bad that he has to go through all this trouble to learn sign language. But then you remember that he chose to do this, that this was his decision, not yours.

The spot on the couch right next to you dips down slightly as Joshua sits down. He glances at the sign language dictionary in your hands and glances at you with a soft, curious look, and it makes you look away sheepishly.

Dropping the book in your lap, you fumble for your phone, typing out:

You did all of this for me?

When Joshua reads the message, a small chuckle leaves him. 

“I wanted to get to know you better,” he tells you, your eyes flickering between his hands and his lips. “I don’t regret it at all.” 

As his words wash over you, you feel your fingers struggle to put together how much this is affecting you. You type after a few thoughtful moments. 

It must have been hard. I’m sorry

Joshua only shakes his head. “It was worth it. I promise.” He pauses for a moment, gears turning in his head. “Do you want to know the first word I wanted to learn?” 

You watch as he picks up his right hand, opening it up so that his fingers pointed up and his thumb toward his cheek. Then he fans his fingers across his face, and closes his hand in a relaxed fist to sign the word beautiful. 

“You’re beautiful,” he finishes, his fingers gracefully forming the sign again. “I happened to have thought that the first second you walked into the café.”

You could only stare at him incredulously. Even though it isn’t the first time he’s expressed this kind of affection in your few months of being together, it still takes you by surprise, still sends those surges of flutters shooting down your limbs, still makes your mind go blank and your hands go limp.

Cowering behind a hand of your own, you motion a shy finger at him, before rolling your hand over your face, then forming a Y-shape with your hand, and shaking it slightly.

“You’re beautiful, too.” 

Joshua purses his lip together at that, suppressing the giddiness threatening to stretch across his features.

“Well,” he starts, cocking his head to the side endearingly. He won’t ever get over how adorable you are when you’re flustered. “I say we compliment each other quite well then.”

From there, the two of you let out some shared, heartfelt laughter, and it sounds like absolute music to Joshua’s ears. He shows you the pages he’s gone through in the book𑁋from the alphabet and grammar, to basic common phrases, and to more, nuanced, complex sentences𑁋and it looks like he’s more than halfway done with reading and annotating through it. He eagerly points out the words and phrases he's already mastered, and the ones he's still struggling with. It's cute seeing the little doodles and notes he's written in the margins.

When he places the book back on the table and turns to you, a lightbulb goes off in your head.

“I can teach you,” You sign to him, a willing passion in your hands. 

Joshua lifts a brow, copying your movement. “Teach me?” 

When you nod, his face morphs into a pensive look. After a few moments, he brightens back up.

“How about the seasons?” he suggests. “We can start with those.”

You begin with spring. Your hands move as if they’re opening up to new life, the gesture mimicking the blossoming of flowers. Joshua watches intently, his eyes following your movements carefully, before mimicking the motion a few times. 

Next, you move on to summer. You form a fist with your palms down at your forehead, before taking your index finger and drawing it across your brow a few times, almost as if you’re wiping away a drip of sweat. 

For autumn, you use your hands to mimic falling leaves from a tree off your non-dominant elbow, making a gentle fluttering motion. 

Finally, you teach him winter. You simply make a shivering motion, as if you’re cold, and Joshua chuckles as he imitates the sign. You watch in awe as he successfully goes through the signs a few times without a hitch. Giving him a few rounds of claps, he gives a shy, pleased smile, clearly proud of his progress.

“I hope we…” Joshua starts, some unsureness flowing through his hands, but he signs the seasons so easily (unbeknownst to you, he already knew them). “...we get to see spring, summer, autumn, and winter together.” 

Perhaps he could feel the way your heart swells in his hands, because he’s cradling it so preciously as he speaks, and he looks at you with such hopeful eyes.

You want to spend every single season with him. 

Later that night, you find yourself standing in front of the sink in Joshua’s kitchen, washing the dishes because you lost him to a game of rock-paper-scissors. 

As you’re rinsing off the final dish, a light tap lands on your shoulder, making you wince for a second before quickly relaxing. A pair of arms then sneaks around your waist, pulling you close and causing you to nearly lose your grip on the plate. 

Joshua gently rests his chin on your shoulder from behind. His breath hits your neck as he wraps his arms around you. He stays like this for a few moments, simply savouring the closeness of your presence against him. Then, with a mischievous smile that you don't see, he brings a finger up and slowly begins to trace your back lightly with the tip, almost like a whisper against your skin.

I…

Curious and slightly ticklish, you crane your neck slightly to look back at him over your shoulder, scrunching your face up as you try to focus on deciphering what he’s trying to write.

… l… o… v… e…

Joshua pauses momentarily, sneaking a glance at the way you’re standing so still in his hold, before tracing the final letters.

…y… o… u.

Eyes widening, you shift around in order to face him, and Joshua rests his arms on either side of you, hands gripping onto the counter behind and practically enclosing you in. 

He leans in, and the world seems to narrow altogether. His half-lidded eyes flicker between your eyes and lips, as if asking for permission, and you could only anticipate what’s coming next as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Chuckling softly, Joshua inches even closer to you, and you feel his nose lightly brush against yours. But instead of pressing his lips against yours, he first kisses your forehead softly, making you shoot your eyes open in a bit of a confused daze. 

But before you can fully process everything, he’s leaning in once again, and this time, his lips gently meet against the tip of your nose. You crinkle it back as a pout runs across your mouth, and Joshua’s grin widens even more. 

“What’s with the face?” he teases, feigning a hurt look. “Is it because I haven’t kissed you properly yet?” 

You answer with him a shy, petty tug at the fabric of his shirt. 

“Give me a smile then,” Joshua insists impishly. “Please?”

Just from that alone, a shy curve sprouts at your lips, and Joshua just watches with a satisfied look. 

“Hmm,” he hums skeptically, but is leaning in closer anyway. “I’ll take it.” 

Then he finally kisses you, mouth moving with an ardent sweetness against yours that renders you breathless. He playfully chases after you as you manage to escape out of his grasp. But he’s quick to catch up to you anyway, the sounds of your giggles mingling with the soft crackling of the record player as you both collapse on top of the couch. 

You tentatively trace I love you on his back when you’re both settled on the couch together, legs intertwined and your head perched at the crook of his neck. He’s asleep, you consider𑁋you can tell by the way you feel his chest rising and falling against yours. 

Yet after you write those words, a shaky, relieved exhale leaves him that you don’t hear.

“All you have to do,” Jihoon starts, offering a seemingly heavyweight set of headphones in his other hand towards Joshua. “is press play right here, and tell me what you think.”

Joshua takes hold of the headphones as Jihoon scoots a bit of his chair away to give him some room. He places it carefully over his ears, feeling the soft cushions envelop them. Then after taking a deep breath, he reaches over to press the play button on the keyboard, and Joshua can feel his heart racing in anticipation. 

Upon playing, he’s greeted with the familiar sounds of his guitar filling his ears, and then his voice comes in. Hearing himself in such a professionally produced track and not just as raw vocals bouncing off the walls of his room is absolutely unbelievable. He could also pinpoint the subtle layers Jihoon has added to the track𑁋a faint drumbeat and soft vocal harmonies. 

It was a song that was once simple lyrics in a dusty journal and a few rough guitar chords. It wasn’t meant to be anything grand; it was originally a personal project made on a whim in the middle of the night just to channel his feelings and his dreams into something palpable. 

But now, hearing it with such rich yet attenuated production for the first time, it feels as if the song has taken on a life of its own. 

“Holy𑁋wow,” Joshua says the moment he takes off the headphones, staring at Jihoon with disbelief. “Are you sure this is my song?” 

Jihoon chuckles at that. “Positive, man.”

Joshua’s eyes remain wide. He holds the headphones in his hands, turning them over and inspecting them closely as if trying to decipher the magic hidden within. 

“I never imagined it could sound like this,” he admits meekly. “I mean, I’ve always dreamed about this, but... to actually hear it like this? It’s incredible.”

Jihoon nods encouragingly. “You had the foundation; I just built on it. I’m telling you, with the right push, it could really connect with people.”

Joshua leans back in his chair, still holding the headphones in his grasp like it's a sacred bar of gold, and lets out a deep breath. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“The recording will be on this USB drive,” Jihoon shows off a tiny, ruby red drive in his hand. “I’ll work on polishing it up a bit more, but this is essentially it. You could also gain some attention from your busking gigs. What do you say?”

Well, it’s not like he can say no to that. 

“I’m in,” Joshua replies with a grin.

The minute that he steps out of the studio later that day, a breeze of cold air suddenly nips at his cheek. Joshua brings his head up to see the sky thick with clouds, and to his amazement, delicate snowflakes begin to fall, gently drifting down and settling on his hair and shoulders. It’s the first snowfall of the season.

There’s something almost magical about the way the snow falls, he thinks. As he continues to walk through the streets, there’s a sense of renewal that washes over him, a fresh start, just like the song he’s worked so hard on and the dreams he's held at the tips of his fingers. He takes a deep breath, letting the cool air fill his lungs, and pulls out his phone to text you. 

[05:39PM | joshua hong] Still have time to meet up later? 

Your reply comes in almost instantaneously. 

[05:41PM | y/n] just left the museum :) it’s snowing outside!!!

[05:42PM | joshua hong] Dress warmly ❤️ I’ll meet you at your place?

[05:42PM | y/n] I will. see you soon ❤️

Chuckling to himself, Joshua pulls the jacket tighter around his body and stuffs his hands inside his pockets, quickening his pace at the thought of seeing you.

When the season of spring rolls over, trees are budding with beautiful, bright green leaves and flowers are blooming in a vibrant array of colours. Spring has always been one of your favourite seasons, and this year is no different𑁋especially if you get to see it with the people close to you.

You’ve been coming back to attend your art class at the museum, and you’ve decided to pick up a small side role as a teacher’s aide to earn some extra money since more people have been enrolling into the art programs. So far, it’s been very rewarding and fulfilling, and meeting new people who share your same passions has been a joy. 

Plus, you could proudly say the spark for painting has been getting stronger and stronger each passing day. 

Wheein greets you with enthusiasm when you walk out of the classroom, explaining with annoyance about how one of the girls in her classroom was someone she heavily despised back in high school. Seungkwan shows up when you both step out of the museum, and you have to remind them that you can’t sacrifice your plans with Joshua to hang out with them at the arcade that just opened down the street. 

“They’re in their honeymoon phase,” Seungkwan rolls his eyes teasingly. 

“They’ve been in their honeymoon phase for, like, half the year now,” Wheein grumbles, though her irritation is more playful than serious. “It’s not like they’re going to stop anytime soon.”

“And Y/N is practically dating a celebrity at this point. Have you seen the way people are talking about his music online?” 

Your best friends are boasting about your relationship right in front of you, making you roll your eyes. But you can’t help the way your cheeks colour with a tad bit of embarrassment and… a hint of proudness too, because they’re right. 

Joshua has had a few more songs released under his name, and performing at the busking centre has become a regular part of his schedule, his days working at the café lessening as he’s been focusing more on his music. His performances have been slowly drawing more attention, both locally and online, and it’s clear that his passion is shining through. You’re incredibly proud of him𑁋you’ve always had been.

Your footsteps are as light as a feather by the time you reach the busking centre. There’s already a good size crowd gathered around, and you can see Joshua sitting in the middle, propped on a stool with his guitar. Seokmin is there too, sitting on a stool of his own with a microphone in front of him, and there’s one more person. Judging by the small details that Joshua alludes to𑁋with the man’s distinctive button nose and laid-back stature𑁋you could only assume it’s Jihoon sitting behind the keyboard with a calm and focused expression. 

As you, Seungkwan, and Wheein find a spot at the edge of the crowd, he seems to spot you almost immediately in the midst of singing a song, his eyes lighting up the moment they meet yours. He gives you a small smile, and you can’t help but feel a rush of warmth spread through your chest. Joshua looks completely at ease as he tunes his guitar, his fingers moving cleverly over the strings.

He looks really, really pretty. The sun seemed to be shining down on him in all the right ways, the sleeves of the white collared shirt that he was wearing pulled up to reveal his forearms, and a dainty pair of glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. The subtle spring breeze rumples his hair just enough to make him look effortlessly handsome. You couldn't take your eyes off him.

The entire crowd is captivated, yet it's as if he's singing directly to you, and in a way, he is. The vibrations fly through the air and hit every inch of your skin and into your chest, each note reverberating in your heart. You watch the way his lips move, the way his eyes light up, and the way the crowd responds𑁋it all tells you just how special this moment is.

As the song comes to an end, the crowd erupts in applause once again, and you find yourself brightly clapping along with everyone else. He looks over at you, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still. Then he stands up with Seokmin and Jihoon following, the three of them taking a bow together, before he sets his guitar down and makes his way toward you. 

Seungkwan and Wheein give you knowing looks before stepping aside to give you two some space, leaving to approach Seokmin and Jihoon. 

“Did you like it?” he asks while signing to you. 

You purse your lips together, shooting a musing glance up at the sky, before signing, “You already know what I think of it.” 

“In fact, I do not,” Joshua responds playfully, stepping a bit closer to you. “That’s why I’m asking you, love.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, feigning mock suspicion, and he seems to already know what you’re trying to point out. 

“Of course I’m fishing for compliments,” he adds on with a cheeky grin, endearingly wrinkling his nose that his glasses slide down just a bit. “Your opinion matters the most to me. Winning your approval means that I’ve accomplished the world, you know.” 

You can't help but laugh faintly at his words, though his earnestness warms your heart. Tentatively, you reach out to adjust his glasses, pushing them back up the bridge of his nose. His gaze follows your movements as you pull away from him slightly, the corners of his lips twitching up even further.

“It was wonderful,” You sign back bashfully. A blush creeps up your cheeks as you realise how cheesy it sounds, but Joshua’s features only soften as he reads your hands and catches a glimpse of a twinkle in your eyes when you look at him. 

He reaches down and takes one of your hands into his. “That was all that I needed to know.” Then he glances at the time displayed on his phone and looks back at you. “The aquarium is still open, right?” 

Your eyes widen at that𑁋that’s right, you were too caught in the moment that you nearly forgot about your plans𑁋and you give an eager nod.

“Perfect,” Joshua chips eagerly, his hand squeezing yours encouragingly. “The painting you did the other week reminded me of the jellyfish exhibit.”

“This awfully feels like a break-up.”

Joshua furrows his brows at that while folding one of his shirts and placing it inside a box. “What are you even talking about?”

“You’re breaking up with me,” Jeonghan retaliates jokingly, fauxing a sulky pout. “and moving out. I thought we had something special going on here.”

“You were the one who wanted me to move out in the first place.”

Jeonghan sighs dramatically, slumping his body against the doorframe of Joshua's now half-empty room. “That was before I realised how lonely it would be without you here. And now you’re spreading your wings and flying off.”

As sarcastic as that sounds, the corners of Joshua’s lips turn up fondly. If it weren’t for Jeonghan taking him in as his roommate from the very beginning ever since moving away, he wouldn’t lie about feeling a little sentimental. 

After packing up the remains of his clothes, Joshua stands up from sitting on his ass on the floor for two hours straight, crossing his arms together and shooting Jeonghan a pointed look. “You know I’m only going to be living like… fifteen minutes away, right? And I’ll still be working at the café.”

“I’m officially putting you as full-time then.” Jeonghan’s lips quirk up in a smirk.

“Screw that,” Joshua huffs with a laugh. “I’ve already got enough on my plate.”

“Right, because you’re so famous,” Jeonghan remarks exaggeratingly. “Heard you signed a napkin for someone the other day.” 

Joshua snorts at that in response. Okay, he’s certainly not as famous as Jeonghan depicts him to be, but apparently famous enough for someone to approach him and ask for his autograph on a napkin. Apart from the gigs in the busking centre, he also has a few social media accounts set up where he can post song covers on occasion and drop updates about his music. 

All he has is his presence, a guitar, and a dream that’s slowly taking shape right before him. He knows it’s a long road ahead, but even with the small progress that’s been made so far, he’s hopeful, determined.

The new apartment is small but cozy. It’s not much, but it’s a place to call his own𑁋his own little corner of the world. He decides it’s not worth the energy right now to unpack everything and instead settles on top of the lone mattress that’s currently on the middle of the floor, feeling both exhausted and oddly content. 

He stretches his body on top of the soft surface and lets out a sigh of relief as he sinks into the mattress, gazing aimlessly at the barren ceiling above him. The remnants of packing are scattered about the place, with boxes sitting in corners and unopened bags lying around. His guitar sits on its stand right next to the window. There are still many things to figure out𑁋how to decorate the place, where to put everything, what this all means for his future. 

But for now, he allows himself this moment of stillness; this brief, quiet pause before turning the page to the next chapter.

After nearly nodding off, a few knocks at the door jolt him awake. He blinks in surprise, pushing himself up from the mattress. Stretching out his tired limbs, he makes his way to the door, opening it to find you standing on the other side. 

You stand there with a bag clutched at your side, suspended under the singular hallway light that highlights the fondness in your eyes. You shake the bag lightly.

“Food?” You sign to him.

Joshua swears his heart drops down to his knees just from that alone, his exhaustion melting away from your simple offer. Then his stomach rumbles, as if in agreement, reminding him that he hasn’t exactly had a proper meal the majority of the day from how busy he was with moving in. The nod he gives you makes you chuckle.

As you step inside his new place for the first time, you take a moment to gaze around at the barren walls and scattered boxes. Like any new, fresh canvas, the space holds so much potential and possibilities. If it’s home for Joshua, then it’s also… home for you too. 

The two of you sit down cross-legged on the mattress while unpacking the bag of its contents. The aroma of takeout food travels through the air. You spread out the food between you, and Joshua seems to light up upon seeing the familiar, comforting dishes.

Sharing a meal together feels a bit different now. You don’t exactly know why, but there’s a subtle shift in the air you haven’t noticed until this very moment. There’s a sense of beginning, of making this place feel like home, and it’s oddly intimate. It's a blank slate waiting to be filled with new memories. New memories that you can’t wait to make with him. 

Joshua feels a nudge at his knee while chewing on a sushi roll, seeing that you’re holding out your phone for him to read. 

Can I show you something? 

He swallows his bite of sushi and looks up at you with curiosity, taking a second to clear his mouth while giving a nod.

Shrugging off the nerves, you set your plate of food down to reach into the bag. You pull out a small canvas, and when you turn it over to show him, it shows a beautifully painted scene of a sunset casting over the horizon. The vibrant hues of yellow and orange blend seamlessly with soft blues and purples. Along with that, the silhouette of a couple sitting together𑁋with one leaning their head on the other’s shoulder𑁋under a tree completes the picture. 

Joshua reaches out to touch the canvas, letting a fingertip caress over its coarse surface.

“This is beautiful,” he tells you. “Did you make this for me?”

You nod, and he watches closely as you type on your phone.

I wanted to give you your first piece of decoration for your new place

Joshua’s eyes soften as he reads your message, the warmth in his chest spreading to his entire body.

“It’s perfect, honey,” he says. “I’ll be sure to hang it somewhere special.”

In your eyes, you can already imagine it hung on the empty wall beside the window, where the morning light will cast a gentle glow on it and bring the colours to life. In your eyes, you can imagine your easel sitting right below it, with Joshua’s guitar propped right beside it…

“I should have the stuff to hang it in one of the boxes. I’m not sure which one though.” Joshua’s eyes flicker between the unopened boxes standing intimidatingly in the corner of the room, letting out a small, airy laugh. “But I’ll find it soon, I promise.”

You give him a warm, reassuring smile, as if conveying that there wasn’t any rush in finding it right now. 

When you both finish eating and cleaning up, you find yourself sitting on the mattress, body turned so that you are staring out the window of Joshua’s apartment, reveling in the stillness of the summer night and the way moonlight filters on the wall. Your silhouette is quickly joined by another one as Joshua settles closely beside you, your shoulders brushing lightly. 

At the corner of your eye, a glowing phone screen catches your attention, on it displayed a message from Joshua. 

What are you thinking about? 

The question almost seems silly somehow, yet you ponder for a few moments, before taking the phone to type back: 

I made a big decision today

Joshua lifts up an intrigued brow, and he tilts his head inquisitively at you, the soft brown tones of his eyes glistening like honey. It makes you lose your train of thought briefly as your fingers drift clumsily across the screen.

I’m going to participate in the upcoming exhibition at the museum. I’ve been thinking of trying again for a while now

“You are?” Joshua’s eyes widen. “When is it going to be?” 

“During fall,” You sign in response.

Fall isn’t that far away. The reminder seems to gnaw uneasily at your nerves, and Joshua notices it right away. 

“Feeling nervous about it?” he asks. 

You nod slowly, the weight of your decision settling heavily in your chest.

“It’s okay to be nervous. I know it didn’t go well last time,” Joshua continues. “But, well𑁋you already know what I’m going to say, right?” 

Now, the nod you give is a bit more confident. You bring your hands up to sign, “I believe in you.” You wonder if it’s his favourite phrase, since he’s said it to you so many times before. It holds a special place in your quiet conversations. 

“Exactly.” He wiggles a playful finger in front of your face, the moonlight makes his eyes twinkle with reassurance. “I believe in you. I’ve seen the way you pour your heart into your art. No matter what, you’re going to shine, love. And you have to believe in yourself too, okay? That’s the most important step.”

Joshua reaches over to grab your hand into his, squeezing firmly, before bringing it up to his lips to place a kiss right at your knuckles. You melt at that𑁋probably into the mattress at this point𑁋and hang your head down bashfully. 

When the silence rolls over again, you lean your head on Joshua’s shoulder, your silhouettes intertwining together on the wall.

Maybe this is where you belong, after all. 

There’s a quiet comfort you find in the palette of fall: the colours of leaves changing to warm oranges, reds, and yellows, the subtle crispness of the air that reminds you of the sweet taste of cinnamon rolls, and the way the sunlight feels a little softer on your skin.

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm the racing thoughts in your head. This is it. The moment you’ve been dreading and anticipating for weeks. You toy anxiously with the sleeves of your cardigan as you walk into the museum, the grand hall stretching out before your eyes. 

It’s all familiar just like last year𑁋the same setup, some familiar and new faces. More people are probably participating than last time since the art program has grown exponentially, and the thought fills you up with trepidation, if anything. Wheein is also here too engaging in the exhibition, Seungkwan was going to come later, and Joshua had already texted you that he's on his way after ending his performance at the busking centre early (though you insisted he didn’t have to… yet he did anyway) though you’re unsure when he’s going to arrive.

Along with the other artists in the room, you take a seat as you wait for the exhibition to finally begin. Then you feel a tap on your shoulder, and you perk up to see Wheein quickly engulfing you in a hug before pulling away.

“Jeez, there you are! You’re sitting like a wallflower and I couldn’t find you anywhere,” she rambles quickly that you don’t entirely catch what she’s saying, but you could tell she’s nervous too. She takes a visible breath, and brings her hands up. “How are you feeling? Heard there’s more competition this time.” 

You offer her a small, reassuring smile. “Nervous, but excited. I feel more prepared.”

Wheein nods, her eyes lighting up at that. “Good. You've got this.” She glances around the room before turning back to you. “See you on the other side?”

“Definitely,” You assure her, feeling a surge of confidence flow through you. 

Wheein squeezes your hand with a firm look one last time before moving off to find her own spot. A short while later, the exhibition officially begins with a long speech by the museum director once more. There’s still no sign of Joshua anywhere, but you tell yourself that you got this. 

Ignoring your sweaty palms, you spot your artwork hanging on the wall. It feels like a small part of you is now on display. And for the first time, there’s a feeling of pride that wraps around you comfortably. You feel more prepared than last time; with the help of Wheein, you wrote down some written statements you could present to the critics and the visitors who come by if they ever ask about your piece. 

A few minutes later, an interpreter approaches you𑁋one who isn't late this time, thankfully𑁋and you greet her with a friendly nod. She offers a kind smile to you, and you feel a bit more at ease, knowing that you’ll be able to communicate effectively with any critics and curators. 

As people start to crowd around the extravagant hall, you find yourself observing their reactions from a distance. Some pause to study your piece closely while reading the written statements you prepared. Others seem to take in the scene with thoughtful silence and then move on to the next artist after you. However, before you know it, time seems to slip away fairly quickly, and you’re surrounded by a sea of curious faces willing to engage in discussions about your painting. 

It’s a bit overwhelming having to explain and answer to so many people at once where you can feel their eyes practically boring into you, but you’ve rehearsed this part so many times that you feel yourself becoming more comfortable, more natural in the way you’re confiding in your work. 

As much as art can be interpreted, reinterpreted, and misinterpreted, you know that in the end, beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. Your work is supposed to continue conversations, not end them. And you hope that yours does just that.

After talking to a sweet-looking old couple, you take a moment to catch your breath. You can’t tell if the stars have possibly aligned for you or if it’s just the magic of the night that’s making everything feel so right.

Just as you're starting to relax a bit, a familiar, comforting sight at the corner of your eye captures your attention. And when you bring your head back up to welcome the next visitor, you find Joshua right in front of you, coming up with his arms behind his back and a playful look on his face. He’s dressed in a comfortable navy blue sweater and a pair of beige jeans, appearing effortlessly handsome and soft as always. 

“Hello,” he greets warmly before stopping in front of you, letting his eyes trail past you in order to roam over the large painting that sat behind. So this is what you’ve been keeping a surprise all this time. “Your painting is beautiful. Can you tell me more about it?” 

You blink in surprise at his sudden performance on being a visitor, biting back a smile creeping up your lips and the affectionate flutters bursting in your stomach. 

Gesturing to the painting, you start to explain as your interpreter steps in to translate to Joshua. You start with the basics of your piece: the inspiration, the styles and techniques you used, and what you hoped to convey, and Joshua listens attentively, though he seems to be more focused on you than anything else. For some reason, him being the only one standing here is making you more nervous than the group of people you talked to earlier. 

“I could see the passion you put into your piece,” Joshua says softly. “It’s admirable. It was the first thing that caught my eye when I walked in here and I could tell that there’s something truly special about it𑁋that there’s a lot of heart in it. So thank you for sharing this part of you to the world. You have a gift, honestly.”

You find every ounce of wanting to thank him shy away as a blush rises to your cheeks. Instead, you give a small nod, head hanging down as if the floor was the most interesting sight in the world, feeling overwhelmed by his words. If you look at him, you’d feel like you would melt into a puddle on the floor.

Joshua chuckles quietly at your reaction before giving you one last lingering look. You watch as his shoes walk out of your line of sight, his presence leaving behind a comforting feeling to settle in your chest, right by your heart. You feel like you can conquer the world right now. 

When you finally bring your head back up, you don't spot him anywhere. For a moment, you scan the large room, looking for the familiar navy blue sweater, but you assume he’s already moved on to another part of the exhibition. 

You let out a breath you hardly noticed you were holding until now. 

As the evening winds down and time is getting closer to the dreaded announcement of results, the atmosphere in the museum starts to shift from the excitement of the exhibition to a more anticipatory hush as everyone returns back to their seats. The tremble in your hands returns back once more as you peer around anxiously, hoping to see some sight of a familiar face𑁋of Joshua, of your best friends, of anything. 

Minutes later, Wheein and Seungkwan run up to you with wide, beaming grins. Joshua isn’t with them, though. Your shoulders deflate slightly.

“They’re about to announce the results!” Wheein exclaims, signing to you with more enthusiasm than you can ever have right now. “How do you feel?”

“I swear I saw so many people gathered at your painting earlier,” Seungkwan adds in. “That’s got to be a good sign, right?”

“Not all the time,” Wheein reassures him with a disappointed tone, but she keeps a light-hearted smile. “Usually it just means people were interested, but hey, it’s definitely a good sign! You should be proud of yourself, no matter what happens, Y/N, okay?”

You force a smile at that, trying to hide the nervousness that’s crawling up your spine. You're not sure if you're ready to hear the results, yet at the same time, there’s a pang of excitement that’s hard to not acknowledge too.

The museum director steps up to the podium once everyone scrambles to return to their seats. You shoot glances around the room, spotting familiar faces, some looking calm and composed, others nervously tapping their feet or fidgeting with their clothes. You can hardly catch up with the way your heart is racing like it's running on overdrive, but you attempt to readjust your focus to the director. 

“Now, I would like to formally express congratulations to all who have claimed a place in this year’s annual exhibition. We had an outstanding number of participants and submissions this year. It was a very challenging time for the judges…”

The director’s voice is steady, yet each word that you watch leave his mouth seems to stretch on as your nerves make the second feel like minutes then to hours. Your palms have become clammy, and you grip your hands into tight fists, your nails digging into the skin of your palm. 

“…the judges have taken into consideration to select the works that stood out in originality, technique, and emotional impact. And now, for the results…”

Your breath catches as the director begins to announce the winners slowly but surely, one by one, heartbeat thumping stronger with each one. The names come and go, each following with a few moments of applause erupting around the room that you echo along with as the artists hop onto the stage to retrieve their certification from the director. It’s like a momentary pause of time before the next. 

The moments that pass feel as if a small weight is being lifted from your shoulders, only to be replaced by a heavier, more pressing sense of anticipation, of dread, of doubt. Déjà vu starts to seep into your thoughts as you bite at your bottom lip and bring your eyes down from the stage, feeling your chest tightening with hopelessness. There’s no point. 

And it’s because you’ve become so attuned to your thoughts that you don’t notice the collective murmur of excitement that ripples through the crowd right before you. You pick up to clap your hands for the name was just called, only to be met with quite literally everyone’s faces on you. Nothing but confusion clouds your mind. 

Are they… clapping for you?

The realisation hits you hard, and for a few long seconds, you’re caught between disbelief and elation. Your body feels absolutely frozen in place; everyone’s mouth is moving too fast for you to fully process; the world around you feels like it’s spinning. The moment seems to stretch into an endless void, and you can barely believe what’s happening. The crowd’s faces blur into a sea of smiles and congratulations… for you. 

Your name𑁋your artwork𑁋had been recognised.

You nearly tumble on the way to the front at the way your legs feel numb underneath you, each step feeling as if you’re floating on air. Perhaps this is really just one, long, tortuous dream, but the way your trembling hands clutch the certificate as you receive it from the director feels startlingly real. 

The director offers you a handshake and an acknowledging smile, but you hardly register it all in your mind. In those short moments, you take the opportunity to swiftly scan the room, catching sight of Wheein and Seungkwan clapping happily for you, and Joshua standing right next to them. He’s clapping along too𑁋is that a bouquet of flowers in his hands?𑁋with a warm, proud smile painted across his features. You consider it more important than any of the applause around the room; more important than the award itself, ironically.

You make your way back to your seat, the certificate feeling both heavy and light in your hands. Every congratulatory smile that the other artists send to you is like a burst of warmth against the cool autumn night.

As the last of the names are called, you find yourself drifting among the crowd, eyes in search of your friends. But it isn’t long for your body to be engulfed by the arms of Wheein and Seungkwan who have managed to squeeze their way through the crowd to find you, their faces glowing with uncontainable excitement.

“Y/N, you did it!” Wheein exclaims, her eyes glistening with joy as she shakes you by the shoulders. “I knew you could! I’m so proud of you!”

“I told you it was a good sign!” Seungkwan remarks to Wheein before facing you with a wide grin. “Shit, I’m about to cry again𑁋I’m so happy for you, Y/N!”

As their words sink in, an overwhelming bubble of triumph grows within you. A shaky laugh leaves you as they continue to shower you with their happiness, heat beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes from how much your heart feels so fully right now. 

Wheein drags Seungkwan by the wrist to greet the other artists, and you’re left standing at the very side of the museum, gazing wandering around through all the faces within your vicinity. You don’t see any sign of Joshua anywhere. Did he get lost? 

With that, you pull your phone out to text him, before your eyes widen in surprise at the way you missed a message from him sent five minutes ago. You were a bit too distracted by everything else that you didn’t feel the notification of his text.

[09:03PM | joshua hong] I’ll meet you outside ❤️

Without any hesitation, you slip your phone back into your pocket and make your way toward the exit of the museum, leaving behind the lively inside and into the peaceful night. The cool autumn air greets you with a refreshing embrace as you step outside, the sky painted with the soft hues of dusk.

Joshua isn’t standing that much farther away from you, spotting him waiting idly by the small gate at the entrance of the museum, a singular spotlight shining down on him from above. As you start to approach him, he seems to notice and turns his body toward you, a smile spreading across his lips. 

“What are you doing out here?” You sign to him curiously.

Joshua’s lips form a thin line in thought, signing back expressively while answering, “Too noisy in there, and I thought you deserved some fresh air. Plus, I wanted to give you something.”

After that, he pulls out the bouquet of flowers from behind his back and extends it toward you with a sheepish look.

“I know you probably already saw them, but I couldn’t hide it any longer,” he tells you. “Congratulations, my love.”

The pleasant fragrance of the flowers float to your nostrils as you take them into your grasp. The flowers themselves are a perfect assortment of colours you find dear to your heart, like each one was personally handpicked for you. The thought and everything else has heat prickling at the corners of your eyes. It’s all too much and just enough at the same time.

Joshua grabs ahold of your hand, pulling you close to him so that one of your arms is wrapped around his waist. He places a small kiss on the top of your head before leaning down to look into your eyes.

“Look at you,” he coos softly, perhaps a pinch of tease behind his words you detect. “You’re glowing.” 

You nearly laugh at that, coming out as a shaky and probably ugly snort instead that makes you bury your face into Joshua’s shoulder. Maybe you are glowing, maybe it’s just the spotlight hanging over, or maybe you’re just too happy to even care. You feel his chest lifting and receding from the laughs of his own as you cling to him. For a moment, everything else fades away𑁋the museum, the crowd, the nerves.

When you pull away slightly, he’s still looking at you, taking the chance to let a finger slowly caress the skin of your cheek. There’s stars in his eyes that you could pinpoint, ones that seem to shine brighter than even the largest of constellations. You feel like you could get lost in them, in him, and for a moment, you do. Your breath hitches in your throat. 

A gentle breeze carries the scent of fallen leaves, the soft rustling of leaves surrounding the two of you. It's as if the world has paused, giving you a moment to simply be with each other.

You bring the arm that was around his waist back to your side. He still holds you by the hips as you bring a hand up to sign.

“I know that I can’t hear,” You start to sign slowly, his gaze flickering down to your hands curiously. “but I can feel your voice when you hold me.”

Joshua nods thoughtfully. He seems to contemplate something for a moment, before bringing his hands from your hips and up to sign. 

“How does it make you feel?” 

You purse your lips in thought, trying to find the right signs to express what you're feeling. It's hard to put into words, or even signs, the way you feel when you're with him.

“Safe… loved…” You draw your fingers graciously through the air, and Joshua’s eyes soften with affection as he watches. “...heard… understood…”

The words fly off your hands and swirl around like a planet orbiting its sun. As you peer into Joshua's eyes, you know he understands. He's always understood.

“I want…” You begin hesitantly, somewhat feeling silly at what you’re about to ask from him. “...to feel you say something to me.” 

Joshua’s eyes widen slightly, and he tilts his head intriguingly, waiting patiently for you to continue. 

You start with taking the fingertip of your hand touching your chin, before drawing it away in the form of a small arc. Next, you point to yourself, then you point towards him. Taking both arms, you cross your arms over your chest as if you were hugging yourself. And then finally, you point back at yourself. 

“Tell me that you love me.” 

A faint hint of a smirk crosses his features, before it softens into a simple look, a simple smile. Joshua just steps back forward and takes you back into his embrace, letting you press yourself against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close enough that you could possibly even feel his heartbeat. You love feeling that as well.

You swear that if there was one place you could stay in forever, it would be in his arms. And right now, it was only the beginning of something beautiful.

“I love you,” he tells you. For the first time, you don't read his lips to know he said it, yet you feel those three words resonate through your entire being and down to the very core of your heart, just where they belong.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @eternalgyu

@lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @ryuwonieebae @wonwooz1

@mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23

@phenomenalgirl9 @mirxzii @bookyeom @parkjennykim @melodicrabbit

@bewoyewo @honglynights @bananabubble @treehouse-mouse @starshuas

@totomoshi @armycarat2612 @etherealyoungk @maesvtr0 @gigification

fic taglist (open) ʚɞ @iamawkwardandshy @hope122598 @bokk-minnie @writingmeraki @lllucere

@gaslysainz @intoanothermind @chariseiswriting @sarranghao @minvxq

@lullips

[amirasainz]

can you do more of baby!sainz crushing on lando and lando really likes it and flirt with her any time ++ carlos’s reaction

Of coure I can. This is a Part 2 story, so I would recommend reading the first part. My stories are usually seperate stories, however it was quiet fitting in this case. Btw, Carlos ec gf is mentioned, Isa I love writing requests for you guys and hope you enjoy reading my work. Let me know if you have any whishes! -XoXo

Three times when....Part 2

4. The Quadrant video

Ah, the delicate dance of family dynamics and romantic getaways—the kind that unfolds against the backdrop of sun-kissed beaches and whispered secrets. Carlos Sainz, the Ferrari sensation, had planned a romantic vacation with his girlfriend, seeking moments of stolen kisses and moonlit walks. And what better place than Bali to weave their love story?

But life, ever the mischievous storyteller, had other plans. A new Quadrant video emerged, casting its spotlight on the youngest Sainz sister. There stood Amira, flanked by Lando’s friends, Max and Keegan, her eyes fixed on Lando as he explained the rules of their karting challenge. Karting—a miniature ballet of speed and precision—would be their canvas.

Lando, the showman, draped his arm over Amira’s shoulder. His friend Keegan would take the wheel, aiming to beat Lando’s time. But first, Lando had to set the benchmark. As he zipped around the track, Amira’s gaze never wavered. Her words flowed like a river of admiration: “He is an amazing driver. It won’t take long before he takes his first win. Look how easy he makes it look.” Her grin was infectious, like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds.

And then, in a hushed whisper, she added, “Como un profesional.” Keegan and Max exchanged puzzled glances, their linguistic compass spinning in confusion. But Amira knew. She’d witnessed her friends’s journey—the sweat, the sacrifice, the hunger for victory. In that quiet moment, she held a secret: Lando Norris, the boy who’d captured her heart, was destined for greatness.

When Lando finally finished his run, he sprinted toward her. “And, what do you think, darling?" he teased. “Maybe I’ll be able to take you on a ride one day.” His flirtatious tone hung in the air, and apparently, it was working—because Amira was giggling.

Throughout the video, Lando would sweetly explain things to her while she had her whole attention on him. At the end, Max had to do the outro, because Lando was sitting in a kart with Amira on his lap. He clearly showed her things on the wheel, so he moved her hair aside and rested his chin on her shoulder.

"What the fuck did I just watch" thought Carlos to himself

5. The Spa crash

Carlos Sainz found himself in the midst of an interview when his eyes caught sight of his friend sliding across the treacherous Spa track. The Belgian circuit had claimed its share of lives over the years, and the rain only intensified its danger.

In that heart-stopping moment, Carlos’s mind painted worst-case scenarios. But then, relief flooded through him as Lando Norris responded to Sebastian Vettel’s thumbs-up signal and was soon escorted back to the safety of the team garages. Carlos wasted no time, ending the interview abruptly to ensure Lando’s well-being.

Yet, what awaited him upon his arrival was unexpected—a scene that tugged at his heartstrings. Lando stood in the rain, his little sister, Amira, by his side. Tears streamed down her face, and Carlos heard Lando’s soothing words: “I’m fine, darling. Nothing happened. It was just a little jump-scare. I promise, I’ll always come back to you.”

But Amira’s worry persisted. “How can you be so sure about that, Lando? What if—” she began, her voice trembling. Lando cut her off, determination in his eyes. “Hey, none of that, okay? It will take a thousand armies to keep me away from you, okay?” He waited for her nod, their bond unbreakable.

Carlos watched the scene unfold, touched by the depth of their friendship. He approached them, pulling them into a group hug, seeking solace in their shared connection. Together, they retreated into the warmth of the Ferrari garage, a sanctuary against the rain-soaked night.

Later, as Carlos settled into bed with his girlfriend, Isa, he recounted the events. “I didn’t know the two of them were such good friends,”he mused. Isa sighed, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. “You truly know nothing, Carlos Sainz.”

6. DJ Lando

Ah, the nightlife—the pulsing heartbeat of music, neon lights, and secrets whispered in the dark. Lando Norris, the McLaren sensation, was no stranger to the DJ booth, spinning beats that made the crowd sway and lose themselves. Clubs welcomed him like an old friend, and this weekend was no exception.

But amidst the thumping bass and swirling lights, something shifted. A new presence graced the scene: Amira, Carlos little sister. Her usual decline to join club outings had become a predictable pattern, making Carlos’s job as the protective older brother straightforward. Yet this time, she stood there, defying expectations.

And what a sight she was—dressed in a short dress, high heels elongating her legs. Lando kept her close, his arm around her waist or fingers tucked under her hairtie. Carlos’s attention zeroed in on them—the way Lando leaned in, whispering things in Amira’s ear. Her cheeks flushed crimson, embarrassment or amusement dancing across her face. What secrets did they share? Carlos couldn’t fathom, and it gnawed at him.

Lando’s proximity to his sister grated on Carlos’s nerves. Why was he so close? What did he want from Amira? The frustration simmered, and Carlos’s annoyance grew. Why hadn’t anyone clued him in? The club’s rhythm pulsed around them, but Carlos’s mind spun with questions. Perhaps it was time to confront Lando, to unravel the mystery that danced between them.

[madebyrolo]

Beach date

Rafe Cameron x Reader

She/her

one shot / fluff

summary: “VICTOR, YOU ACTUALLY DID THIS!?” Type fic.

Obx masterlist

┗ •◦இ•◦ ┛

I was sitting on my bed scrolling through TikTok when Rafe texted me.

“Be ready I’m picking you up at 6.”

“And for what can I ask?” I responded

“It’s a surprise peach”

Rafe came up with that nickname when I was over one day and I accidentally drank the rest of his peach juice.

“Okay okay see you then :)”

With the time being 5:38, I get up and put on denim skirt and white halter top with little blue flowers on it. I grab my Uggs cause they’re cute and comfy and I put my vanilla perfume. I get my purse and make sure my lip gloss is in it and soon I get the text that my bae has arrived. I love calling Rafe bae cause he hates it.

“Mom I’ll be back, I’m going out with rafe!” I call out from the stairs.

“Okay honey, be home before 10 please!” She calls out from her office.

She absolutely loves Rafe and luckily she trust me and him enough to let me out without asking anything. And with her having my location on 24/7

I shut the door behind me and I walk to the black truck in my driveway. I see Rafe standing right by the passenger door with his dopey smile plastered across his face.

“Hey dream boat” I say walking up to him placing a small kiss on his lips.

“Hey hey? That wasn’t a kiss come one give daddy a real one.” Rafe said earning a laugh from me before pulling me in by the waist completely smashing his lips on mine.

“That was sweet but you’re eating me Rafe.” I joke with him.

“Oh so with that hurtful joke, I don’t think you deserve these.” He said grabbing a bouquet from inside the car.

“Rafe, you didn’t oh my god they’re beautiful!” I saw grabbing them from him and smelling them.

It was a mix of blue hydrangeas with lilies and mums with the perfect amount of greenery . They smelt amazing, like peace which I loved about flowers.

“Blue like my eyes so you think about me every time you look at them.” He somewhat joked.

“I always do Rafe.” I say before planting a small cute long kiss on him.

“Now come on, I’m dying to know what you’ve planned.” I say adjusting the collar of his white dress shirt.

“Okay peach get in.” he said opening the door and letting me in.

After a 15 minutes drive with a quick pit stop for a pizza at dominos, we finally made it. We stopped by the beach putting the car in park and once again opening the door for me.

“What are we doing at the beach? I didn’t bring a suit.” I say while he grabs my hand leading up to the sand.

“We’re not gonna for a swim.” he said.

“You should’ve mentioned the beach, I wouldn’t have picked these Uggs Rafe.” I tell him.

“You know Uggs were actually meant for the beach? They were for surfers” he explains.

“Do I look like a surfer?” I complain.

“Hey I got you to stand in the board once!” He nudged me

After a short walk we are greeted with a blanket that had a basket with lemonade and other goodies. There was 2 easels and some paint supplies along with more flowers.

“Happy date night!” Rafe said as let put down the pizza.

“Rafe this is so cute!” I say as I sit down in the blanket and look at everything he got.

“I did this all myself, thought we deserved a nice cute date to end off the summer.” Rafe said sitting next to me.

“Rafe this is perfect. Thank you.” I said hugging him.

“I got us some paints so we can do a little couples art maybe and some extra canvas for fun but mainly cause I know I’ll mess up.” He joked bringing out all the colors.

“You’re actually the best boyfriend ever Rafe.”

“I know I know. You can pay he back later.” he said with a wink as you nudge him.

“Okay give me a plate I want pizza.”

After your small dinner and some laughs shared with Rafe you finally get to the painting.

“Okay so we can do thumb prints, handprints, kisses, little things that represent us,” Rafe listed ideas as he scroll through Pinterest.

“Let’s do a handprints, something easy and then maybe we can cover it in sand to reminds of us this little beach date.” You offered

“Yeah I like that” he kissed your nose.

“Alright so many kisses today I think you just did this to get some.”

“No no I actually did this for us, but that’s just a perk” Rafe gave another kiss but on your neck and started going down.

“Okay okay! Let’s get to painting!” You giggled due to the friction of his warm lips on your skin.

As you guys finally decided on a paint color which took absolutely forever because Rafe wanted to do blue to match his eyes (once again) but you wanted a sage green because it was nice and calming which was a perfect way to describe this date. Certainly not this relationship yk how Rafe is.

“Okay your hand first cause it’s giant” you as you painted his hand a dark green.

“Hey you love these hands, especially these finger-”

“OKAY. So place it straight don’t make it crooked.” You guide his onto the canvas

“I can do it myself I’m a big boy okay y/n” he said placing his own hand down.

“Okay leave it there for a couple of seconds to get a good print.” You order.

You grab a lighter green to match his and paint your hand. The ticklish feelings and smell remind you of elementary, and the one time Jayj ate paint (not as a dare.)

“Oh that’s a cute color” Rafe said as you put the paint back.

“Okay you can take your hand off now. Longer you keep it, it’s probably gonna dry on there.” You joked.

“Don’t make it crooked.” He said as he grabbed your hand placing it down on the canvas on top if his.

After a couple of seconds you take it off and see the perfect imprints of you and Rafe.

“Aww it’s so cute!” You commented

“Oh now we have to make another, I’m gonna want one too.” He said admiring your art work.

“Here you go.” he said handing you a cup of sand

You sprinkle the sand ontop of the paint making sure to put enough then shaking the rest off.

“Okay now while this drys I wanna paint another.” you say grabbing another canvas.

You decide to paint a turtle on the beach. Turtles are your second animal cause they’re just so darn cute. As you paint, Rafe also decides to paint whatever he is. He has an assortment of colors and he’s just in his own world. As you watch him you can’t help but notice how his tounge pokes the inside of this cheek as he concentrates.

After 20 minutes, you finally have finished yours projects.

“Okay on, one…two…three!” You count down and flip your canvas.

“Oh thanks cute!” Rafe says and you stare as his… maybe pizza?

“Nice…I don’t even know. Rafe what is that?” You say confused.

“It’s a boat!” He says excited.

“Look it’s me and you!” He points to small blobs

“Oh I thought those were olives…”

“Y/n…” he says with a pout.

“Oh come on it’s cute!!!” You say trying to make him feel better.

“Maybe you should just keep to gallery walks instead of making the art…” you pat his shoulder as you both stare as his “boat”

“Your turtles are so good but look at my boat.”

“Rafe calm down it’s fine beside you can always buy classes.”

“But you’re a natural! It’s unfair.”

“Rafe quit it, besides you’re better at other things than me!” You try to cheer him up.

“Like what?”

“Golf”

“Wow lousy golf. Topper is the king let’s face it.”

“Whatever who cares he got cheated on.” You managed to crack a smile from him.

“Beside, you’re an absolutely an amazing boyfriend. My boyfriend.” He turns to look at you.

“Look at this amazing date you planed. And set up all by yourself too. Gotta give yourself props.” You give him a hug.

“Yeah I’m a pretty good man..” he said playfully rolling his eyes.

“My man.”

You guys share another slow and passionate kiss.

“Come on let’s clean this up. You can spend the night at mine.” You offer as you began to throw things into the basket.

“Okay good, I already told my dad I was.” He said as he grabbed the trash and threw it in a bag.

As you guys drive home you play your oldies playlists. You singing along while Rafe learns new songs.

Soon you guys make it to your house. Rafe parks the car and you guys make your way to the front door with him holding the insane amount of followers.

“Wait we never made my painting” Rafe stopped in his tracks.

“Here you can have the hands, I’ll take your pizza boat.” You say handing him his.

“Guess we have to have another date night to make another !! Ugh!” You said sarcastically.

“What a bore.” Rafe plays along.

You guys reach upstairs. Taking a joint shower because Rafe kept insisting on taking one first but you were too tired to wait. You both got the amazing date night, and hot and steamy sex.

┗ •◦இ•◦ ┛

Came out of hibernation and finally wrote 😩

Sorry for any typos I got too lazy.

Love me some soft Rafe 💁🏽‍♀️

[foxymoxynoona]

Over the Falls (Ch. 5)

Sexy Banner & bar by @borabae-gx

Summary: Jungkook sees a lot of things as a pool tech. It’s…  fine. It pays the bills between mornings on the water and evenings  rocking out with his garage-band. His favorite thing to see on the job has been Grace Birch –older but a hottie, wealthy but nice, and  unfortunately very married. At least until Grace learns what her husband  has been up to behind her back. Now that she’s free, Jungkook finds  himself wondering: what does it take for a guy like him to catch the eye of a woman like that?

Genre: Poolboy Jungkook x Rich Divorcee OC

Tags: Age gap (older woman), socioeconomic gap, Surferboy JK, drummer/guitarist/vocalist JK, Wealthy divorcee OC, househusband

CW: Mature/Explicit,  Infidelity (not between JKxOC), language, alcohol, recreational drugs, lots of explicit sex, ageist/racist/classist remarks down the road, outdoor sex, beach sex

Chapter Four | Masterlist | Chapter Six

The scent of coffee wafted around the kitchen, the gurgle and sigh of the Keurig tinkling coffee into her mug. For a moment, Cafe Bustelo overpowered the smell of drying paint. She dragged her finger impatiently along the warming mug, her nail catching the glaze coating the blues and browns of the stoneware ceramic. She’d bought a set of these when Tim had dragged her along to Germany one year –ostensibly for business meetings but shockingly they all took place at Oktoberfest events and the most expensive BierHalls to be found in Munich. Grace had spent most of her time wandering the museums and historic churches and a lively marketplace where she’d found the handmade mugs.

She loved those mugs. She decided they made her think of beauty and independence and times when she had made the most of being dragged around as a trophy by her ex-husband, so the mugs were allowed to stay. The other option would have been to donate them; no way would she have allowed Tim to keep something she’d carefully selected for its beauty, which he refused to use because “it’s like drinkings from rocks.” 

The second the coffee was done, she snatched the mug up and breathed the scent deep into her lungs. This was one of the small things she was trying to make more space for in her life: the scent of coffee, the crisp look of freshly done nails, the warmth of a steamy bath at the end of the day, perhaps with a glass of wine and a mystery novel perched on the edge. 

She glanced at her nails, then turned her grip on the mug so she couldn’t see them. Her nail tech was going to have a fit. They were a mess, but she didn’t see the point of getting them fixed until she was done with the cabinets. Which would be soon!

She tentatively touched the doorless cabinet above her, testing the dryness of the most recent coat of paint. One more, she felt like, and probably the same for the cabinet doors that had been outside drying overnight. The new hardware sat in a box on the marble counter. She couldn’t wait to screw those in and put the doors back on. Having work finished on a central room was going to feel so fucking good. 

The rest of the house seemed to call to her, reminding her of all the in-progress things standing between her and her finished home. But at least she was almost to the fun part, the filling out part. The walls and ceilings, once dark and oppressive, were now white and taupe throughput, a much more fitting canvas for the art she intended to collect. There would be furniture to buy once the floor guy was finished restaining all the wood, and plants to tuck everywhere she could fit them, and functional space to fill out. When she hosted, did she expect folks to congregate in the living room or the dining room or the deck? What would she need to make them comfortable?

It was easy for her daydreams to run away with her and to feel impatient about it. She was trying to romanticize and enjoy, but the truth was she felt late to be starting a new life from scratch. She’d already done this! She’d already worked so hard to make dreams a reality… Sometimes starting fresh was fun and at other times utterly demoralizing. 

The remodel of the master bedroom and bathroom were the most frustrating right now and the living room wasn’t far behind, but at least the kitchen would be done soon. She hadn’t even been in the house eight weeks yet. She sold houses, she knew the settling in took time. When she’d moved in with Tim though, it had been such a simple, straight-forward process. He’d wanted something totally move-in ready, no updates needed, and he’d never wanted her to “fuck with it” much in terms of personalizing. They’d ordered whatever they didn’t already have between the two of them in a week and paid for expedited shipping to get it done quick.

This time, she wanted quality, even if she had to wait for it. 

Which she reminded herself daily, hourly. Every time she noticed more “little things” she suspected she would want to do later, once this big things were done. A re-do of the downstairs bathroom, turning the downstairs guestroom into a work out room, adding at least a pool shed–

“Breathe out,” she told herself, lifting the coffee to her nose again. One thing at a time. Well, several things at a time, but not all the things at a time. She could chip away at things around the house until she had it exactly the way she wanted it, even if it took years. There was no rush, no one to impress, no expected interruptions to this pursuit. Life stretched before her with blue skies and gentle breezes. She could do whatever she wanted for as long as she wanted. No husband, no kids, no real financial worries once this shitty divorce was behind her. So long as Tim didn’t successfully clean her out. Thank god her lawyers were going to make sure that didn’t happen.

She breathed out again. Yoga that morning on the deck outside the master bedroom had given her the strength to keep the stress at bay. Yoga and a healthy dose of snuggles from her partner in crime. 

Foam headbutted against her leg and curled around, stepping on her toes and then ducking down for a nibble. He was an odd cat, that was for sure. She loved him. She gave him a little scratch behind the ears and then lifted him to ride on the crook of her arm as she gathered avocados, eggs, and her favorite artisanal bread. Foam sniffed and stretched, then pulled back quickly when she let him sniff each ingredient, no longer interested. She set him down and pulled the Everything Bagel topping from the painfully bare spice drawer. The glass bottles of her collection had broken during the move and she hadn’t had time to order replacements.

Foam wove in and out of her legs as she cooked before dashing off to chase ghosts, which so far seemed his favorite pastime. At first she had thought he might hear mice or insects in the house –but of course he wasn’t hearing anything! Nor could she find any evidence of pests, thank god. Just a silly little cat living out his best life. 

Coffee and avocado toast and eggs arranged, she was just carrying it out to the outdoor dining room when she heard the back gate grind open. She’d only given the code to a couple of the contractors she trusted enough not to show up in the middle of the night and murder her –namely the woman managing the bathroom remodel and the pool guy. 

JK’s truck crunched to a stop on the gravel, muffled music breaking the quiet stillness of the morning. He banged out a drum solo on the steering wheel, then the music abruptly shut off seconds before he stepped out, still singing along. It was only eight, earlier than she’d expected him, though he wasn’t on some set schedule. He looked shockingly awake and she suspected that meant he’d been out surfing this morning; other days he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed at ten. 

“Surfing this morning?” she called over as he lowered the tailgate of his truck, so he’d know she was there and not think she was just standing around gawking.   

He stopped what he was doing and grinned over at her; it caught her off-guard, that grin, like he’d known she was there and expected her to ask. He grabbed a big white bucket and hauled it closer, at which point she realized his hair wasn’t just wild today but wet, like he’d just hopped out of the shower. 

“I was out, yeah,” he said. He didn’t look it now, more bundled up than she’d ever seen him in a gray hoodie and long pants. 

She worried he’d noticed her look him over and teased, “You look cozy. Not very beach bum.”

“I took a cold shower before I came here,” he said. “So… I’m cold.” He grinned wider, dimples showing on each side of his mouth.

Damn. He had quite a smile.

“Do you want coffee or tea?” she asked.

“Nah, hate the stuff. I’m more of a Bacchus-D guy.”

“I’m not familiar.”

“It’s an energy drink,” he answered, shrugged. 

“Ah.”

“I’m good though. Thanks. Figured I’d get an early start today scrubbing that baby down.”

She had the urge to bite her toast and realized she was just standing there, holding her plate and her mug, still wearing the tank top and leggings she’d done her yoga in. A tap made them both look back at the French doors, where Foam was pawing to get her attention.

“That your cat?”

“I should hope so,” she laughed. “Isn’t he cute?”

“Yeah. I’m more of a dog person but cats are ok.”

She didn’t know why that made her feel a bit put off. You could be a dog person but still think cats were cute. Or you could just be polite and say yes, your pet is cute. 

“I’ve never had a dog or a cat,” he continued. “Once I had a bird.”

“What kind?”

“Oh, it was wild. Like a bird that you just see in the yard. It had a hurt leg so I took it in. My mom was pissed,” he laughed.

“So… what happened to the bird?” she asked, because it seemed like the right question to ask.

He grimaced and admitted, “I don’t know. She told me she took it to a rescue but… I doubt it.” He looked to the side and scowled. “She’s kind of– I don’t have a good relationship with my mom.”

“Oh.”

“But I do with my stepmom, I don’t have like sad puppy syndrome or anything,” he quickly clarified. “I’m not weird about women just because my mom probably killed my bird.”

“You think she was capable of killing it?” Grace asked, not quite sure what else to say. He was an interesting character, this JK, telling her all of that first thing in the morning.

“Even if she just tossed it out, it probably died, right?” He shrugged, like he’d learned to live with this. Grace decided not to mention she’d been dragged along on duck hunts several times as a teenager until she threatened to become a vegetarian. It was natural to search for those types of thematic connection when someone shared something personal, as a way to comfort, and yet this conversation felt like it didn’t quite follow the rules of etiquette she’d learned growing up. Conversations with JK rarely did. 

“I’m sorry. That sounds… upsetting.”

“Anyway,” he said, and stretched, allowing a glimpse of a tanned toned stomach. “I’ma get started.”

“Need anything at all?”

“Nope.” He grinned and waved and grabbed his bucket in one hand. “Actually can I give you a CD to put on?”

“Sure…” Actually she’d been looking forward to her quiet breakfast but fine, music could be ok.

It felt too awkward to sit outside to eat anyway, since it might seem like she was just watching him, even though she couldn’t see him at all once he hopped down into the empty pool. Instead she ate in the kitchen, windows open to hear the music, trying to identify the heavy drums and shout. It sounded like… old rock music? But maybe it was a modern band that only sounded old, like Greta van Fleet. 

Foam leapt into her lap and she scritched under his chin, almost asking if he liked the music  –would he be able to feel the vibrations from this far away? She wondered if he’d enjoy it up close. She kinda liked it. It sounded like the thing she would have listened to as a teenager to piss off her parents, if she’d been that kind of teenager. Maybe it was the kind of music you listened to even into adulthood to piss off a mom who’d killed your rescue bird. Yikes.

But it was endearing, him being the kind of guy who’d bring home a wounded bird, expecting to take care of it. That was charming. 

She bobbed her head along to the music as she chewed her toast and scrolled through a digital copy of The New Yorker on her iPad. She was trying to get back into breakfast being a routine rather than something to grab on the go or skip, now that her time was her own. She used to love slow, coffee-laden, literature-infused breakfasts, but over the years she’d lost them in favor of the hustle. It became a bagel on the way to a house showing, a parfait halfway through the morning when she realized she’d forgotten to grab something between yoga and the list of phone calls to make with her clients’ real estate attorneys and inspection officers and the occasional mortgage broker. An occasional brunch with friends had done its best to keep breakfast alive as a tradition, waiting for her to return to her roots. Growing up, her family ate breakfast together every morning.

It took her long enough to notice the harsh buzzing to also recognize that the person held the buzzer for a painfully long time. Grace startled and Foam vaulted from her lap, back claws leaving red lines of nearly-cut skin in his haste. She winced and hobbled to the console by the back door to see which damn door had something going on.

An older woman with a visor and long-sleeved shirt and large sunglasses stood at the back gate, her lips pursed so tightly the camera seemed to zoom in on them.

“Hello, can I help you?” Grace asked.

“This is a nice neighborhood, you know!” the woman shouted. “Turn that horrible noise down right this instant! Good people are trying to have a good morning and you’ve got the gall to–”

Getting yelled at by an irate neighbor was not on Grace’s to-do list today.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’ll look into it,” Grace interrupted her. Curious if the music seemed louder away from her house –where she could hear it but not excessively– she stepped outside. She could see the shadow of the woman’s feet still standing at the gate, shuffling like she couldn’t decide whether to stay or go. A small dog stuck its nose under the gap.

The music didn’t seem that loud to Grace, even directly on the patio where the speakers were. Still, not excessive. She thought this had just revealed she had at least one annoying old lady neighbor, but maybe a weird acoustic was happening and causing it to somehow seem louder elsewhere, so she walked the perimeter of the yard. 

The inside of the pool briefly distracted her from her investigation. She hadn’t come to look since JK’s friend had finished draining the pool the other day, nor when JK had come by to do an inspection of all the pumps and filters and heaters and decide what needed to be replaced (everything, unsurprisingly.) The water had been green and slimy before but she hadn’t realized there were plants beneath the surface. It looked like the bottom of an aquarium down there, with actual patches of moss or grass or whatever it was, and leafy plants, and who knew what else!

Something went flying through the air and landed behind her. 

“What was that?” she asked, worried JK was going to cover her grass in slimy shit.

“Oh!” His eyebrows raised and he stiffened in surprise at seeing her. “Uh, a frog.”

“A frog.”

“Would you um… rather I catch them and put them somewhere else? They’re just frogs though.” He looked so completely guilty that she half expected the frog was a lie but when she looked back at the blob, it was in fact a frog.

“Won’t they just come right back in?”

He looked around at the ecosystem he was charged with dismantling, thinking about it, then answered with that familiar confidence he had, “Nah, there won’t be anything good for them down here once I finish today. All this will be gone.” He spread his hand out, gesturing to the whole pool. Grace didn’t see how that was possible to do in a single day. “Hey, did you know there’s all this pretty tile at the bottom?”

“No,” she admitted. He crouched and dragged a bunch of plants to the side and wiped at the muck with his hands to reveal a glimpse of small bright-blue tiles.

“It’s kinda cool. I feel like a– what are those guys that dig up dinosaurs?”

“A paleontologist?”

“Yeah. Hey, don’t laugh at me, smarty. English isn’t my first language,” he said. She was positive she had not laughed at him but quickly checked herself.

“I didn’t laugh! I would never.” 

“I know, I’m teasing.”

“Oh.” It was a horrible thing to tease about. It kept her from asking what she was curious to know now, what his first language was. She worried there wasn’t a way to phrase the question that wouldn’t sound racist, especially since he might be joking about that, she realized. He might be messing with her, waiting for her to ask what is your first language? She couldn’t quite understand this man, or how to tell when he was serious or teasing. She used to think he was always serious and polite but now she wondered if he’d been teasing a lot. Or making fun. She suddenly felt very self conscious about it.

“She doesn’t like being teased,” he muttered, seemingly to himself. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine! I just would never insult you like that.” The self conscious feeling got worse. It was like he’d read her mind!

“I know that’s why it’s funny… so, frogs? Stay, go? Put ‘em in a box to toss at that lady?”

“Oh, you heard that?” she asked, glancing over to the gate. The woman’s feet were gone but she had the sixth sense she hadn’t gone far.

“Yeah, I even turned it down from where you had it. Guess you were partying last night?”

“That’s where we left it the other day! I didn’t think it was that loud but thanks. I guess I don’t want to go to war with my neighbors just yet.”

“Guns n’ Roses is a good thing to go to war with a neighbor over though.”

Instantly she thought of the band’s logo design, something she’d seen printed on the T-shirts of trendy twenty-somethings. She didn’t know their music but she did know they were an older band and felt very proud of herself for having blindly guessed correctly.

“Maybe once I’ve established myself…” She trailed off, contemplating now just where that woman could live. She’d already gone around to all the neighbors on this street with boxes of pain au chocolates from Republique and her business card which had her phone number and email on it, putting her best food forward. It amused her that every single one of them had seemed so surprised by the introduction. None of them knew each other, she understood. This wasn’t that kind of neighborhood. Her previous one hadn’t been either. But it was the way she’d been raised! Her parents would be severely disappointed when they came to visit if she couldn’t name her neighbors and wave to them when they passed on the street.

She had not met this woman yet though.

“And how do you do that, exactly? Establish yourself?”

“Hm?” Belatedly she processed the question and answered, “I prove myself to be a good neighbor.”

“Which means quiet music? Lame. Guess I’m the shittiest neighbor but no one’s egged my house yet.”

“Maybe at least quiet until ten. I guess folks around here are late sleepers.”

He was coming towards her and she instinctively backed up, watching with dumb curiosity as he leapt up to grab the pool edge and pulled himself out the way she might if the pool was full of water. He’d done it so quick and fluidly that it startled her; there was no other explanation for why it felt like an adrenaline shot through her.

He dusted off his hands but the muck remained. 

“Folks,” he muttered, she didn’t know why. “Well, what’s the verdict on the frogs?” She blinked at him, her mind dragging confused at how he’d gone so quickly from standing beneath her in the Jurassic Park of her empty pool to now looking down at her. How had he actually pulled himself up that way? She never would have that upper body strength.

He added, “I’ve got a bucket in the truck, I can take ‘em with me if you don’t want them in your yard.”

“And do what with them?”

“Kill them probably, like mother like– no, shit! I’m joking!” he laughed because her face had failed not to react to such a blunt answer. In an instant his face went from an intense, lowered-brow stare to lifted eyebrows, softened eyes, a supplicating smile. “I wouldn’t kill them,” he quickly assured her. “I’ll set them loose in a park pond or something.”

“Won’t that upset the balance of the ecosystem there?”

“Uh… don’t know, don’t care? It’s fine, they’re just frogs.”

“They can stay, I don’t mind some frogs as long as they aren’t going to live in the pool,” she assured him. Because obviously she couldn’t be like his mom. And his jokes were weird and kind of flustering her. “Maybe I should make a pond somewhere… They’ll eat the bugs in the yard, won’t they?”

He grabbed two blue tubs and tossed them right down into the pool before answering, “I’m not an expert on frogs but I’ve heard they do that.”

OK, that made her crack a smile.

“You don’t watch Planet Earth documentaries in your spare time?” she teased.

He seemed to take this seriously though and gave her a curious look as he admitted, “Ah, no. A documentary? You watch those for fun, huh?”

“That’s a very normal thing to do,” she said, a combination of flustered and annoyed by the way he grinned at her.

“Watching documentaries for fun?”

“Yes, don’t you like animals?”

He laughed and held his hands up, like he didn’t understand what she was talking about, and assured her, “Yeah I do. And I like the earth. I watch little clips of stuff that come across my feed.”

“What feed?”

“Tiktok?”

“Oh, isn’t that…” She cut herself off before finishing for teenagers? “I’m not on that.”

“YouTube has short animal things too. I’ve probably watched one about frogs but if I tried to watch like an hour of frogs, I’d fall asleep.” He nodded, as if thinking through it more and growing more certain.

“That’s a shame. You really learn a lot and they’re beautiful…” What the fuck was she talking about, preaching nature documentaries to this guy? God, he brought out weird behavior in her. Not her best, sadly. 

“Know what’s even better than a nature documentary? Being in nature, riding the waves. I bet I could make you a better documentary while I’m out than like the mating cycle of two-tone shrimp or whatever. I see animals every time I’m out. You ever had a seagull snatch a hotdog out of your hand?”

“...no, I have not,” she could say with certainty.

“Scared the shit out of my sister,” he snickered. “You want to learn about nature, you should be out in it.”

“I go out into nature,” she clarified. “I hike. I… travel. But I’m not trekking through the forests of Madagascar the way documentary filmmakers are. I’m certainly not taking an Arctic cruise.”

“Why not? God, if I could afford to go see all that crazy stuff…” He shook his head, then grabbed a sort of rake lying on the ground. It thwacked her leg as he lifted it, not hard enough to hurt, but he flinched like he’d been the one hit and apologized.

“You may be more adventurous than I am,” she suggested, not sure what else to say.

“Nothing stopping you now though, right? Now that you’re free.”

Free. What a word to use. She liked that better than ‘divorced.’

“I don’t think getting divorced made me suddenly athletic.”

“You work out, I’ve seen you,” he argued. He suddenly clutched the handle of the rake to his chest and looked stunned, like he’d said something he hadn’t meant to. His reaction made it weird; what he’d said on his own wasn’t, because he’d come over when she was coming up from the gym, that would have been fine. But again, he looked so guilty! His face was more expressive than she’d realized before. “I mean, you know, yoga or whatever it is you do.”

It was kind of fun watching him squirm instead of herself for once.

She crossed her arms and leveled a serious look at him as she demanded, “Is that how you got that video that we promised never to talk about? Do you peek in–”

“Fuck no, I swear I don’t!” he cried. “I swear I’m not a window creeper. I just happened to see that one time because they were making so much noise–”

“Lovely, thank you.”

“I just meant— I just know you work out because you’ve come out to say hi after you’ve clearly been working out,” he said. “At least I think so? I don’t know, I don’t know what you do in your house. I swear that’s all I meant. I don’t look in windows. Not one of my hobbies. I just surf and play in my band and thrash my roommates in video games and… and hang out with my family. That’s it, that’s my life.”

He seemed sincerely panicked now, but not guilty. Grace studied his face. He sure could flip back and forth quickly between sexy smirk and doe-eyed innocence. She wondered how intentional it was. She didn’t really know much about JK, after all. Maybe he fucked women over too. 

Well, not her at least, because he just worked on her pool and did a good job of it.

“Fuck,” he huffed. “I swear I’m not a creeper. I felt like a fucking creeper taking that video but I didn’t think you’d believe me any other way and I knew you deserved not to be with that piece of shit so… yeah, sorry. I swear I’ve never looked through your windows– through anyone’s windows!” 

Ok, he looked like he was literally starting to sweat.

“I believe you,” she relented. 

“Ok good I’m going to shut the fuck up and just clean your pool now…”

She didn’t like that it was all so awkward between them now though. She hadn’t meant to leave him squirming, she’d just gotten briefly thoughtful about how little you could ever actually know anyone. She hadn’t even known her husband, of course she didn’t really know JK either. And he didn’t really now her and now he was anxious. She could recognize the power dynamic. She could imagine the damage done by an errant accusation like that from a wealthy customer, just one phone call to his boss.

“I mean it, I believe you. You don’t seem like the type.”

“You’re familiar with the type of guy who looks through women’s windows–”

“Maybe not that in particular but I was married to an asshole for years so…”

“True.” That seemed to have placated him, a weird sort of peace offering she hadn’t expected.

“All right. Cool. I just don’t want you to worry that like… I’m not an asshole or a predator or anything.” He held his hands up, the rake handle still deftly held in his fingers. Not that it weighed a lot, but it still demonstrated an impressive finger strength. Drummer, she remembered. Damn. “I swear,” he continued. “I’ve got two sisters, I babysit my nephew a lot, I’m a good son to my stepmom.”

His insistence continued to be weird but in a way she was starting to equate with him. He talked so much sometimes, like he had no idea when to stop. Her lawyer would hate him.

She couldn’t help it, she propped her hands on her hip and pointed out, “Lots of assholes are good sons though. I think it’s more telling what your ex-girlfriends would say.” 

“Ah, that I’m great in bed but not going anywhere in life and I spend too much time with my family and my band,” he quickly rattled off. It obviously wasn’t even a brag or a joke, he meant it sincerely, he had been given this direct feedback.

Grace couldn’t help it. She laughed. She covered her mouth and laughed and he responded with a crooked grin like he was relieved she found this funny.

“What, do you give your exes a poll?” She couldn’t help herself. “God, I can’t imagine what Tim would have written.”

“Well none of my exes were like that asshole.” He shrugged. Which was kind of refreshing, actually, that he didn’t take the opportunity to claim his exes were all crazy bitches. Low bar? Maybe she’d just been hanging around the wrong men all her life. 

Damn. Maybe Tim really had done a number on her expectations of men. Most of her friends were women. Actually, maybe all of her friends were women… was that just a natural order of things, or was it because Tim had always tensed up if she mentioned other men… she hadn’t thought about that until right now. 

“You ok?” JK asked, looking at her like something embarrassing had flashed across her face.  

“Yes, just… every day realizing new things about myself and the type of men I’ve had in my life…” She trailed off, realizing she was saying too much while talking to a man. But not a man in her life. Well, a man in her life, but not in a relationship way. In an employer-contractor type of way, that was all.

“Well don’t think too hard about it, you deserve to just have some fun now.”

Whyyyyy did he say things like that? With that smirk? With the rake propped against the ground and held out from his body, showing off the flex of his muscles as he swayed it playfully, possibly a bit coy?

She was imagining things. The whiplash from the weird things he said and the weird things she thought and that thing he kept doing with his tongue in his cheek that she couldn’t figure out if he was doing it without realizing it or to be sexy except obviously he wasn’t trying to flirt or be sexy right now as he dug amphibians out of her pool –see? She was losing her mind.

“You can leave the frogs,” she decided, not sure if she’d already said that. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

“Wait!”

She’d turned but hesitated at his call, much too loud, as if she was already halfway across the yard. She hadn’t even begun to move.

“Uh, what about you?”

“Hm? What about me?”

“I answered what things I do for fun. What about you? What do you do for fun?”

Grace found herself baffled by the question. Why would he ask her that? Her pool guy? She stared at him, trying to comprehend what would lead him to ask such a flirty question. It was flirty, right? She definitely hadn’t asked that… had she? Oh god, had she flirted with the pool guy? No. Definitely not! And he definitely wasn’t either. No way, not possible. Maybe it was just friendly. 

Did men sincerely ask friendly questions of women? No, right?

“I don’t know, you know, normal things.”

“Like…” 

“Like… reading books. Going to museums. Yoga. Travel… brunch….” She could see clearly on his face that she was growing more foreign to him by the second, which made no sense because she was listing the most normal things for a woman to do. “Not a museum guy?” she guessed.

“I got kicked out of one once… haven’t been back.”

“Wow, real bad boy, huh? What did you do?”

“I laughed too much.”

“That’s not true,” she said with a sigh.

He looked immediately and obviously offended and defended with that innocent look again, “It is true!”

“What, was the artist standing right there or–”

“...maybe,” he admitted. Cheeky grin back. “It was a lot of nudes. The guy was definitely exaggerating…”

“Ah, a dick measuring contest?”

“Trust me, you would have been giggling into your little nails.”

“My nails?” she gasped and immediately closed them into her fists. Really?! The guy was going after her nails?!

“Yeah? You know, tee hee?” he demonstrated, covering his mouth with one hand. “The little polite lady laugh? I don’t think you’d laugh loud like that.” He hesitated, then added, “I don’t think you know how.”

“How… to laugh?”

“Yeah, loud.”

“I… what a weird thing to accuse me of…? I know how to laugh.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he shrugged, clearly not believing her.

“Maybe you just aren’t very funny.”

He threw his head back and laughed, eyes scrunched tightly closed, full rows of white teeth on display.

“Now that, that is definitely something my exes have said on the morning after survey,” he laughed. There was a joke to be made there about him saying “morning after” and not “end of relationship” but she couldn’t figure it out quickly enough. Instead his laugh flustered her. People didn’t usually think she was very amusing, that was true. 

He shook his head, still winding down, and added, “But hey I don’t think they went home with me because I was funny, so…” He shrugged and looked down at himself, as if inviting her to do so. It was kind of crass. She refused and kept her eyes leveled at his face, as if she didn’t understand.

This seemed like it was maybe nudging against inappropriate, didn’t it? This was definitely more than she needed to know about her pool guy. Her pool guy didn’t need to know what she did for fun. She didn’t need to know what women said the morning after fucking him. She was glad now that her answer had bored him instead of giving any indication she was flirting back. 

“A sense of humor is really important.” She didn’t know what else to say.

“Oh right, that’s what drew you to your ex, huh?”

She leveled a stern look at him, which he met only with a cheeky grin. Ok, this had definitely gone on long enough. 

“Weeeell,” he dragged out. “Now that I know how boring your life is, I’d better get this pool into shape so at least you’ll have something exciting in your life.”

“I’m remodeling my house. That’s pretty exciting.”

“You think my music is quiet enough for your bougie neighborhood?” he said, which she thought meant it was another joke but she didn’t know what that word he’d said was and she wasn’t about to ask. 

They’d had an entire conversation over the rock music. If the nosy lady complained about this, Grace would have to correct her.

“It’s fine,” Grace assured him. 

“Do you know who it is?”

“You said it’s Guns n’ Roses.”

“This is Iron Maiden.” He suddenly pulled the rake across his body and played it like a guitar along to the music and mouthed the lyrics.

“I thought you’re a drummer.”

“You can be more than one thing, you know.”

She didn’t know what to say. He seemed to be doing that to her a lot, leaving her unsure what the right next thing to say was. He was a hard one to figure out. He didn’t follow the normal rules of polite conversation and while she spoke with plenty of people who didn’t, none were quite as baffling to her as this guy. He was weird and borderline inappropriate. Maybe more than borderline.

“I will keep that in mind,” she said, pulling on professional real estate agent persona because it was all she had left. “Thank you, let me know if you need anything else.” 

“You got it!” he called after her, then immediately began singing the song. She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see him jump down into the pool like a movie superhero. The mucky wet sound of his landing made her glad she was paying him to deal with that. Hopefully frogs were the worst thing he found, but maybe there’d be snakes or dead things too, who knew! She might not ever know. He’d handle it. That, at least, was very nice, to not have to worry about it. He might be odd, but he was a great pool guy.

Great in bed. Definitely not something she needed to know about her hot pool guy, what the hell was wrong with him, telling her that?! She didn’t think he, young and clearly with women dancing at the ends of his fingers, was trying to flirt with her, old divorced idiot. Was he mocking her? But nothing he said ever seemed unkindly meant… teasing, not mocking… unless her Bullshit Rader was as bad with him as it had been with Tim.

Maybe, she considered, JK was just really bad at conversation. Guess you could be if you moved through life looking like that and being Great in bed.

The scrubbing was a bigger job than he’d expected. Getting the plants out was no big deal and he’d made good headway power-washing the green hue out of the grout lines. He’d called for Grace to come once he got the power-washer hooked up, so she could watch the grand unveiling of all that pretty blue tiles from beneath what had to be at least eight years of muck.

To his gratification, she had been just as excited as he was, she got it. He didn’t have to explain himself at all to her! He thought pools were pretty cool and he got to see some really nice ones and this had once been a really nice one, that’s what he would have defensively explained if she looked at him like he was making a big deal out of nothing. A swirling mosaic of overlapping waves in shades of blue covered the bottom of the pool, hand-tiled, not quick-lay blocks. It was rad as hell, someone had put a lot of time and money into this thing.

Sadly, the glass tiles had not weathered the neglect. The grand unveiling revealed a significant number of them had chipped and dislodged over time. He didn’t think that came from sitting underwater, but that it had sat empty for a while at some point, which was way worse. Judging by the large ring of busted tiles in the deep end, he suspected someone had dropped something. Maybe someone had tried to skateboard in this thing? If so, they’d eaten shit pretty bad. 

Darker thoughts came to mind. Jungkook blamed it on watching too much Walking Dead the night before and decided not to suggest those things to Grace in case someone really had died or something and she’d freak and want the pool ripped out. It probably wasn’t a body anyway, it would have had to fall from higher than that, right? He didn’t really know the physics of it but probably. Not big enough for a car driving in. Maybe someone dropped a table or threw a chair. 

He really needed to not watch Walking Dead right before bed. 

But he could fix it! The only thing really sad about the damage was that it was going to cost Grace more money than he’d estimated. He did give her the option of trying to fix it cheap but she didn’t want cheap. She didn’t even bat an eyelash at the number when Bob texted him the time and materials estimate. He felt bad to add to the project cost, he should have predicted there might be an issue like this but he’d assumed the water meant it hadn’t sat empty!, so he pushed off the decision to Bob –only for her to not even care. Bob had offered Kyle to take over the tiling job but Jungkook was confident he could do it, and Bob knew he was good for it. Jungkook had done plenty of repair jobs with Tyle Kyle and there wasn’t enough damage to warrant two guys, he could handle it. Grace wasn’t in a rush. Also that guy was a such a fucking flirt with customers, Grace didn’t need that guy bothering her.

The sun wasn’t out today. The waves had been too choppy for him to hit that morning, and he’d slept through dawn anyway and then had a morning of pools to clean before he could make it over to Grace’s.

Damn, it really felt wrong still to call her Grace. It felt like… like calling a doctor by their first name or something. He hadn’t called her Grace out loud yet –not that he was talking about her to anyone anyway, but it would feel weird to call her… what, Miss Arison? Yeah that made him sound like a fucking second grader. If somehow she ever came up in conversation, he was going to have to just avoid calling her anything…

He chipped away at the broken tile, thinking normal thoughts like that about the woman who’d hired him to repair her pool. 

He shivered in the shade and crouch-walked around the space, hammering away at the chisel to pop out the busted tiles. The replacements sat piled beside the pool, hauled over first thing to get that sweaty task out of the way, but this was tedious and he found himself wondering if he should have let Tyle Kyle help with this part after all. He’d been here over an hour without a sight of Grace anyway. Her car was in the driveway but she hadn’t even come out to say hello. There was no way she didn’t know he was here, with how loud that fucking gravel driveway was, and he’d put on a Tori Kelly CD because he had a suspicion Grace might like Tori Kelly, just based on the things she’d said about the things they’d listened to so far. 

He glanced towards the house over the edge of the pool and contemplated pushing the buzzer to ask if he could use the toilet as a way to get attention. He supposed it was just dumb luck that so far his work days at the house had aligned with days she was also outside a lot. She was fun company every time she wandered over to chat for a couple minutes. She was easy to talk to and never asked something stupid or acted like she was judging him or whatever –unlike some women his own age he could think of who acted like conversation with him was such a fucking chore. So what, they just wanted a fuck and get the fuck out? Maybe he wanted to just shoot the shit sometimes, huh? And it wasn’t one-sided, he was down to listen. 

Annoyed with the state of conversation in his life, he took it out on the tiles, crawling across the bottom of the pool to find the cracks in the design. At least he had Jimin and Taehyung, they talked to him, but lately they were both so busy… Yoongi had taken some extra hours to get the amp they needed for Flowerfest so he’d bailed on dinner plans Jungkook tried to make, and it wasn’t a big deal, but it wasn’t like Jungkook made plans with just anyone. He’d put effort into texting him about why didn’t they hang out and cook and whatever.

Yeah and while he was thinking of things that annoyed him, he was positive Yoojin was texting with a fucker and if it was her fucking ex again, Jungkook was going to fucking lose it. The guy had commented on a photo Yoojin had posted of Max’s birthday –months late, to be clear– and Yoojin had responded with a fucking laughing emoji and wouldn’t answer Jungkook’s question about whether she was laughing at him or with him. Fuck, if she let Jordan slide back into her life like that… and Max’s life, especially! If she was going to fuck around that was one thing, but Max deserved better than a flake for a father and Jordan had made it pretty fucking clear he had no interest in his own son…

The crunch of feet on gravel was his alert that Grace had stepped from the house. Immediately he popped his head out of the pool and spotted her looking around the back of his truck. He wasn’t there, obviously. He waved at her from the pool when she looked further around, then felt kinda stupid about it and dropped back down.  Let her come to him, that kind of thing. 

He was being an idiot. He shook his head at himself and tried to look busy surveying his work as he listened to her footsteps across the gravel, then more quietly along the deck and walkway.

“Good morning. I didn’t know you were here,” she immediately said. He couldn’t help but think she sounded a little put out about it, which he liked. 

“How did you miss me driving across that gravel? Sounds like a fucking landslide every time,” he complained. Fuck, his voice had hitched when he looked up at her and he hoped she hadn’t noticed. She was dressed up today, a little skirt suit, dark blue, blousy white shirt.

Wait, damnit, did he have a thing about skirt suits?! He’d never had a thing about that before. Usually he thought they made a woman seem… mean. Not in a good way, in an principal’s office way. But her legs looked fucking whatever as she balanced on one foot and brushed the gravel out of the slip-on sandals that didn’t match the look at all. He liked the combination. A lot. 

“Well it’s good, means no one can– well, I was going to say it means no one can sneak into my house without my knowing but I guess you basically did…”

“Yeah, get a dog or something, don’t rely on gravel,” he scolded. Instantly agog. Surely she wasn’t being serious…

“I have a really good security system, I was only joking. You’re on candid camera!” She said it like it was a joke. He didn’t understand and waited for her to explain more. “Oh, it was an old TV show…”

“Never heard of it.”

“It… nevermind.” He wished she had explained it so he’d understand the joke but she didn’t.

“You’re dressed up,” he pointed out at the same moment she said, “You’re making a lot of prog– oh, I… yes.” She looked down at herself as if remembering and added, “Yeah, long morning and then I got wrapped up in stuff and haven’t changed yet.”

He couldn’t help it, he had to know and asked, “Is that what you wear to sell houses?”

“Uh… sometimes, why?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know what real estate people wear,” he quickly shrugged. It wasn’t that he thought she was only good at her job because she looked like that in a skirt suit but he did feel like it probably helped. Like were inspectors not going to give her whatever she wanted? 

Ok, he really didn’t know anything about what buying or selling houses meant. 

“It’s not uncomfortable as long as you get a nicely tailored suit,” she told him. “Well the shoes get a little uncomfortable… not these. Obviously I wear heels.”

“Obviously,” he repeated, and smirked, because she was talking more about her outfit than he’d expected and it was kinda cute. 

“But I wasn’t selling houses this morning, I was– nevermind. This looks tedious.”

“What were you doing that’s not selling houses?” he asked because why not? Sometimes she seemed confused enough by his nosy questions to answer them, even if he knew they were kinda borderline not okay to ask the lady paying your boss. “That sounds suspicious. Do you actually sell houses or do you launder money for the mob or something?”

“Actually I was at a funeral.”

“Well fuck me.”

“No,” she gasped and covered her mouth. “It was a joke.”

“Which part was, the funeral?”

“I wasn’t at a funeral,” she laughed and touched her forehead and flinched like she was not someone used to telling jokes and was positive she’d done it wrong. Which made it even funnier. He liked that kind of almost-mean humor. He didn’t know she had it in her. He was glad she was talking to him but it was even better if she was joking. 

He didn’t want to be standing down in the pool anymore and pulled himself up onto the ledge while teasing, “Well now I’m even more convinced you work for the mob.”

“I think if I worked for the mob, my ex would already have been ‘taken care of,’” she suggested, complete with air quotes –only to quickly correct, “Oh shit, now if something happens to him I’ll be the first suspect.”

“I think you’d already be the first suspect.”

“Oh. True…”

“But I’m offended, actually. You think I’m going to rat you out?” He’d meant to sit casual and cool on the side but it put him on eye level with the fabric hugging her thighs so he decided to stand instead. “I’m ride or die.”

“Are you offering to help?” she laughed. “We should change the subject…”

“I’m saying I wouldn’t rat you out. What’s the amendment that says I wouldn’t have to say anything in– no wait, that’s only for a husband, right?”

She nodded and laughed, “Yeah, that’s only spouse privilege. You’d be legally compelled to turn me in.”

“Well… nah. They can try and catch me first.” He crossed his arms, trying to look like someone experienced in flouting the law.

“We should probably be careful what we say out here, that neighbor lady might be listening. Oh my god, I didn’t tell you– yesterday I drove around the front of my house coming back and I swear she was peeking through the cracks in the gate.”

Jungkook could not have explained why he was so excited by her excitement to tell him this. 

Immediately he assured her, “I don’t doubt it for a second.”

“She hates me.”

“She’s a nosy bitch,” he snorted. 

“Well… that may be a bit much but… I definitely think she’s not thrilled I’m living here, but I haven’t figured out yet where she lives. She’s not on this street so she must be a couple over.”

Jungkook immediately considered this and pointed out, “She’s like eighty-five, how far can she walk?”

“Oh my god,” Grace laughed. There was a brighter laugh! “She’s like in her sixties, JK, she’s not that old.”

“Isn’t that old?”

“How old are your– nevermind,” she said and held her hands up. “We’re off topic.”

Jungkook took his time, letting his face do the talking before asking, “Was there a topic?”

“I’ll let you work,” she suggested and turned to go. 

“Oh, you were telling me what you got dressed up for this morning.”

“I don’t think I was telling you that,” she countered. Then shook her head at some thought Jungkook would have loved access to before she ruined the topic with honesty, “I don’t mean to make it sound secretive. It was just a divorce mediation bullshit thing.”

“You wore that to see your ex?”

Her face immediately scrunched up, transparently unhappy, as she said, “I wore this to a court mediation I had to endure his presence for… why?” He worried he’d insulted her somehow without meaning to.

“Oh, just seems mean which, good for you.”

“Mean?”

Damnit, the compliment wasn’t any good if he had to explain it!  

“You know, because, like….” He waved his hand and looked away from her, wanting to get back to work now. It sounded so stupid to say something like you look nice and it’ll make him jealous. Because the stupidest thing was, Tim was a fucking idiot who didn’t appreciate his hot wife and probably was too busy trying to screw her out of money to even notice how she looked. “Like dressed to impress or whatever.”

“Oh. Right, well, I need to look professional around lawyers and obviously I don’t want to look like my life is falling apart.”

Jungkook looked around her yard, across the back of the mansion she lived in by herself, her shiny car, all of it, and snorted, “Yeah, it definitely doesn’t look like that.”

“Speaking of falling apart…”

For the briefest moment Jungkook thought she meant him. But very quickly he realized of course she meant the pool, which currently was looking worse as he ran around prying out the broken tiles.

“It’ll get worse but then I swear it’ll get better. I got a late start today but it’s going. I should be able to get a lot of the tiles replaced today before I have to head out.”

She held her hands up and assured him, “No criticism from me. It’s fascinating to watch the process.”

She hadn’t asked, but he wanted the chance to brag and continued, “Yeah, I’d be willing to stay later but I’m supposed to watch my nephew tonight. Uncle-nephew time is very important.”

“That’s really sweet. How old is he?”

“One.” Yep, that’s right, I’m good with babies.

“Well he’s lucky to have you.” He liked the words, but the tone she used was disappointing. He didn’t think she sounded that impressed. Maybe she didn’t like babies? Or families? Or involved uncles?

“Do you have any nieces or nephews?” he asked.

“Yes, though none are close by,” she said, obviously distracted and looking at something in the yard. “You know what, it’s a really nice day –if I’m not going to bother you, I think I’ll try to get some gardening done.”

“Gardening?” he repeated, before reminding her, “Hey, it’s your house, lady.”

Her smile seemed more sincere then as she agreed, “It is. I was in such a bad mood after this morning, but I think some time in the yard will be just the thing. You can turn the music up if you want, this is nice. Who is it?”

“I’ll start it over. It’s Tori Kelly. Promise you’ll protect me from bitchon freeze lady?”

“It’s pronounced bee-shaan free-zay,” Grace whispered, “and you shouldn’t go around calling women bitches.”

“No, it’s the dog!” he insisted. She pursed her lips and gave him a look like she didn’t believe him, and he wasn’t sure if it was worse for Grace to think he was cleverly calling the woman a bitch or that he genuinely didn’t know how to say that breed of dog. “The little white yippy ones at dog shows.”

“Uh huh.”

The look she tossed him over her shoulder had no right being as sexy as it was. He knew she didn’t mean it sexy, but damn. The things he’d do if he let this fantasy roll…

Later. Fuck. He tucked that little look away into his pocket, eyebrows raising at the way that look and pencil skirt combination were going to play out when he took a shower tonight… 

When she’d said she was going to work in the garden, she really meant it. Jungkook restarted the CD once she reappeared from the house, changed into a different blousy shirt and blousy pants and a wide-brimmed sunhat, which he supposed was what you should wear when gardening but it all looks so summery and fresh, not like what you actually wore digging around in the dirt. Like what you wore in a photoshoot or something. She had a bucket of gardening tools, all clean and new looking. She had a little purple pad thing which he eventually figured out was for her to kneel on, like a princess.

Needs a pillow under her knees, he noted for that later fantasy. That made sense, since she was older.

He’d expected her to wander around pruning things that probably didn’t need it, watering things, maybe sweep some leaves off the patio. He was prepared to swoop in and save her when she screamed upon finding a bug unexpectedly. He’d only tease her a little about it. Never in their conversations had she mentioned any skill at gardening and she didn’t seem like someone who’d done a whole lot of digging in the dirt. Maybe she’d clip some flowers to take into her rich house so she could post to insta bouquet from my own garden and call it a day.

That is not what she did. 

Grace got it into her head that pulling a bunch of plants out of the ground was the gardening that she herself wanted to do. He watched with mounting fascination as she pulled out a shovel, shears, and one of those little gardening spade things, and tore her way through a flower bed like a berserker. He didn’t even hide that he was watching as she’d bend at the waist, wrap her hands around the base of a pretty thick plant, and yank with her whole weight –without budging a fucking thing. Then she’d dig around the base, bright yellow gardening gloves like little gopher hands, then go back to the bend and yank.

The spank bank content she was blessing him with today was starting to make him feel kind of predatory. It was too generous. 

He’d just decided to be a better man and focus on getting the last of the broken tiles out when she yelped, “FUCK!”

Jungkook was out of the pool and across the yard to her side in a matter of seconds, already bracing for the toe she must have sliced off with the shovel, or a rake spike to the eye, something that had caused that cry.

She grimaced, clutching her gloved hand.

“Shit, did you cut your finger?”

“I… I broke a nail,” she grimaced, slowly opening her eyes. The pitiful look she gave him did something really stupid in his chest. “And I just got them done…”

For the first time in his life, Jungkook understood what Taehyung meant about high maintenance girls being good. If you’d told him six months ago he’d find it endearing for a woman to cry over a broken nail– No, in fact, he’d found it very prissy and annoying in girls he’d dated before! But something about the way she gingerly removed the glove and looked down at the manicure with the same dread as if a bone was going to be sticking out, it just made him want to take hold of her head and kiss her forehead and tell her you beautiful idiot, go get your nails fixed and I’ll rip the plants out for you.

Then he actually looked and saw the broken nail and he turned quickly away and hunched his shoulders and made a strangled noise. 

“What’s that?!” she cried.

“Jesus that looks bad. Do you need to go to the hospital?!”

She laughed and insisted, “It’s not that bad.”

“Is it bleeding?”

“Oh my god, are you bothered by blood?”

“No, I get fucked up all the time surfing, but nails… how bad is it?”

“JK…” Her laughter at least reassured him that she was not, in fact, badly hurt. “It just scared me more than it hurt. I guess it’s fine… but I’ll have to file it down and go get it fixed… damnit.” He glanced over his shoulder, only to startle when she thrust her hand into his view. “See? It’s fine.”

“It’s bleeding,” he insisted, and grabbed her hand to show her, mainly so he could control where it was and not look.

“Oh. A little bit…”

She, shockingly, did not seem that bothered by it. So was she high maintenance or not?! Meanwhile Jungkook felt like chills were rolling up his spine because there was a part dangling. He’d seen people knock their teeth out on boards. He’d been adjacent to a bar fight where a dude busted his face open. He and Mo had gotten into so much shit as teenagers and it never phased him but this…

“Maybe you should go lie down,” he suggested because he wasn’t sure what else you were supposed to do. “Does your nail lady do house calls?”

“No, she doesn’t.”

Grace was clearly laughing at him.

“Ok, it’s freaky looking,” Jungkook told her defensively. “It’s really broken.”

“I’m going to go file this down before you faint,” she teased. 

“I’m not going to faint.”

“Maybe you should lie down.”

He rolled his eyes aggressively and announced loudly, “I’m going back to my work where I manage to use a hammer and chisel without breaking a nail.”

“Oh, you want to put acrylics on and make this a competition?”

It had Jungkook laughing all the way back to his pool and helped him endure the boring part where she went inside and fixed her nail. He figured she might be done for the day, but eventually she was back and pulled her gloves on and went back to the flower bed and picked up her tools and got back to work.

Damn, what a woman.

He put on a new CD and an hour passed. He was to the point now he could start filling in the replacement tiles, which was going to be fun. He stood on the edge of the pool and looked down, surveying, calculating if he’d brought the right amount and shades. And maybe watching out of the corner of his eye as Grace tried to pull a rather large shrub out of the ground. She had a grip on it and pulled in repeated short jerks, like a dog playing tug, which Jungkook thought was probably brutal on her muscles and didn’t seem like the right way to go about that.

Just as he opened his mouth to offer some help, some of the shrub ripped from the ground and smashed her in the face, sending her tumbling backwards onto her ass. Dirt flew everywhere, covering her eyes and mouth; she spluttered, trying to slap it away as he once again flew to her side.

“Hold on, hold on,” he encouraged, grabbing her massive water bottle. “I’m going to pour water on your face, hold on.” He figured that was enough warning and dumped it over her forehead, but she gasped and choked like she was dying. He didn’t know what else to do but pull his shirt off and wipe the mud from her face. 

“Oh my god it’s in my mouth!” she cried, dirty tongue hanging out as she wiped his shirt across it. He froze, certain she didn’t realize what he’d used to wipe her face off, not sure how to react to her licking his shirt. “It’s everywhere!” She wiped at her eyes and brushed at her hair.

“Yeah, what are you doing, lady, you have a yard guy! Let him pull this shit up!”

She let out a deep sigh through her makeshift mud mask and looked up at him with those eyes again and said, “Well I want only native plants in here and these are invasive.”

“Ok? I’ve seen your yard guy, he can get ‘em out of here.”

“But he got all booked up and can’t come for a couple weeks–”

“So wait.”

“You know I like to be able to do things on my own though,” she insisted and damnit if he wasn’t flattered that he did know that about her. “It’s just ripping up some plants, it’s not rocket science.”

“Well the plants seem to be winning.”

“No they aren’t, I’ve got almost all of them out,” she argued and pointed to the pile of her defeated foes. 

“That one got you pretty good though.”

“Yeah well… I’ll win in the end. Don’t give me that look, I realize this is a little pig-headed but I spent two hours in a room with my ex-husband this morning, it was either rip out plants or tear down a wall and I don’t know which ones in the house are load-bearing so…”

“I was going to suggest boxing but maybe not with your nails.”

She snorted, “I can’t imagine what my mother would say if she called and I was boxing. I come from more… yoga people, you know?”

“Hm… drumming.” Instantly he thought of setting her down at his drum kit, showing her the ropes, then showing her how it’s done, her sliding into his lap all admiration–

“I have absolutely no rhythm,” she admitted. 

“You just need someone to– oh, damn, you’re bleeding.”

“Again?”

Without thinking he brushed the blond whisps of her bangs away from her forehead, where a decent cut had now bled enough to show through the mud. 

“How bad?”

She flinched as he brushed the dirt away and he suggested, “Not bad. Sorry, I don’t want to hurt you, but you should get the dirt off and wash it good.”

“Fine,” she sighed with an obvious huff, like this was all his fault. He found that funny too. She was a little bit of a brat, huh? As to be expected of a rich white lady. At least her brattiness seemed harmless. He half expected her to stomp off like a toddler when she returned to the house, shaking dirt off like an angry cat.

As soon as she was gone, Jungkook grabbed her tools and began hacking at the roots. If she was so fucking stubborn that this shrub had to come out today, fine, he’d help before she actually busted her tailbone or eye socket. The piece she’d managed to unearth lay limp across the path, a martyr for a cause Jungkook wouldn’t let stand. At least he had the wherewithal to realize that she had probably been trying to pull up what were actually several trunks at the same time. The roots were all twisted together and he went to town snipping them, snip snip snip until he could wrestle one, two, three of the trunks out of the ground and toss them on top of the other one.

“What are you doing?” she called, running over like he was doing something. It gave him a jolt of panic; had she decided she didn’t want the shrub out after all and he’d just killed her bush?

“Saving you from yourself,” he offered. She’d put a bandaid on her forehead over the cut and it looked adorably stupid.

“The roots have to come out too,” she said. “I didn’t cut because I thought that was the easiest way to pull them out…”

“Just brute strength? They didn’t want to come out that way, I tried. And before you say anything, I’m pretty strong.”

“But now how am I going to get the roots out?”

“We’ll pull them,” he insisted. He wrenched another trunk out, yanking several times to pull up as much of the roots with it as he could, which was certainly more than she would have been able to do. Dirt went flying but only thwacked him in the stomach and he tossed it aside, then brushed it away from his skin. Grace watched this quietly.

“One more,” he said. “Then you’re done, right?”

“Except I have to get the roots out.”

“Geez, woman, one thing at a time.” He shook his head at her doubt in his method. Hers hadn’t been working so great! He bent at the waist and crouched and took hold of the last, thickest trunk as close to the roots as possible. The cut ones snaked all around, and he suspected he was only going to be able to get it partway out of the ground before he’d need to hack at more of the roots. 

“Excuse me?”

Oops.

He gave her his most charming smile and said, “Sorry. Lady. Um… Miss Arison? Feels weird to call you Miss though–”

“Grace is fine– wait for me to help!” She rushed forward.

“I don’t want you to get hit,” he grunted out, giving the trunk several sharp tugs to test the hold. It wiggled. That was good. 

“We’re stronger together.”

He was not sure that was true, but she was so damn determined, and her closeness as she pressed against his side and wrapped her hands just above his was kind of nice. 

“Put your gloves on,” he scolded, and at least she did that, grabbing them where she’d ripped them off. She had a bandaid around her broken nail finger and it made him shudder again. Then she was back by his side, and damnit if he didn’t have the urge to just playfully knock her over, body her to the ground. She was still covered in dirt, crumbs of it in her hair and around the edges of her face. He could make it worse, press her down into it–

She yanked and he scolded, “Wait for me! We’ll do it together.” Oof that combination of words paired with where his mind kept trying to wander –this was a problem he’d need to handle. He shook his head. “On my count ok? Pull a little each time like one–pull, two–pull–”

“Ok ok I’ve got it. Wait! We should have goggles.”

He’d been about to pull and just let go and sat down on the lawn.

“I’ll be right back.”

She ran off and he sighed and shook his head. He definitely wasn’t going to finish the tile today. Not that he minded another day added to his work here, but she really did make projects difficult, didn’t she? He could already have the bush out of the ground. In fact…

He stood and grabbed it, ready to just do it on his own when she started shouting from the house, “Don’t you dare, JK! Wait! Wait for me right now or I will…” She trailed off, clearly unable to think of a threat as she slammed the door and ran back to him, two pairs of goggles in her gloved hands. “Safety is important! It will be traumatizing for both of us if I have to drive you to the hospital with a twig sticking out of your eye!”

He rolled his eyes because he did not think that was likely to happen, but he took the goggles and put them on.

“Happy now?” he asked her, knowing he looked ridiculous –but also secretly a little glad she’d insisted and provided the safety gear because actually he’d be kind of fucked if he had to be out of work for a while. And he didn’t want to lose an eye. He liked his eyes.

“Do you want a mask in case dirt flies into your mouth?”

“Nah, I’ve had worse things in my mouth.”

Her eyebrows raised but she didn’t say anything. 

“You have a sick mind,” he teased her, thrilled she’d displayed this bit of juvenile depravity.

“What?!”

“I saw that look,” he snickered, and crouched to reach the trunk again. 

“What look? There was no look!”

“I saw the look.”

She crouched as well and grabbed the trunk, her hands right above his, and insisted, “There was no look. I don’t know what kind of things you put into your mouth. OH, do you want gloves? Don’t you have work gloves?”

“Just pull the fucking plant or I’ll never get your pool done. Ready? One –yeah, rock your body like that.”

Well shit. He heard it too. He’d meant because when he said one, she pulled afterwards like he’d told her to do, using her weight to tug! 

He quickly let go of the plant and insisted, “I meant that purely professionally–”

“Pull the fucking plant, JK,” she said right back and he kind of loved her a little in that moment. He took hold, counted again, tried not to let his mind wander to the way she crouched and tugged and grunted and how her hands looked wrapped around –though admittedly he was not as thick as this trunk, sadly.

At three, they both pulled back, legs straining, feet sinking into the dirt. The plant stretched and a bunch of roots popped but it didn’t come out.

“Ok one more time,” he said. “We’re almost there.”

She nodded, gasping for breath. 

Again they counted, again they pulled, and this time Jungkook could walk his hands further down, and dig his fingers into the roots beneath the trunk. They strained and pulled and her feet slid out from under her, rendering her mostly ineffective, but still she pulled!

Enough roots finally snapped and the plant went rocketing over their heads to land in a defeated heap behind them. Grace simply laid the rest of the way, and Jungkook stretched out beside her because why not?  The damn thing was out, and a lot of the roots with it.

“There. Done,” he beamed at her through his own strained breath.

“I still have to get the roots out.”

“Make the yard guy do it! Damn, you’re really determined, huh?”

“I am.” She beamed at him, lying next to him in the dirt, and damnit if that wasn’t a moment ripe for kissing… and grabbing… and maybe fucking, yeah? Right there in the dirt under the shade of the trees… animalistic. He’d never done something like that. Could be cool.

But he wasn’t so fucked in the head not to know his little fantasy was one sided. Obviously he wasn’t going to do something aggressive like that. It helped when she started to giggle.

“What?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“You are covered in dirt.”

“Yeah you too.”

“That plant put up a fight but we won.”

“With minimal blood.”

She sighed loudly, “God I wish I could jump into the pool to cool off.”

“Jesus, lady, I’m working on it!” he laughed, knowing she wasn’t actually complaining but eager to pretend he was offended. 

“No, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean that as a complaint!”

He pushed to his feet and continued to pretend, “Fine fine I’m going, I’ll get back to work.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she cried, and grabbed his arm. “I really wasn’t complaining! Thank you so much for helping me and– here, let me get you something to drink and–”

He grabbed her arm too and pulled her to her feet before admitting, “I know, I’m just playing with you. Jumping in the pool would be great. It’s going to be a great fucking pool.”

“I know. It’s worth the wait.”

“Lots of things are worth the wait.”

“I know…”

“So I’ll get back to it.” He grabbed his shirt from the grass and shook it out because the sheen of sweat was now leaving him quite cold in the chillier air. He didn’t mind the dirt or blood on the fabric, but she grabbed it from his hands.

“I’ll wash this for you.”

“Nah, it’s fine.”

“You have a sweatshirt, don’t you? I’ll wash this, it’ll be done before you leave. It’s the least I can do. I can see my blood on it.”

“It’s not much blood.”

“Do you want something to drink? I don’t have those Bacchus-D things you like but I have water or lemonade or wine or… oh, I got Sprite.”

“For me?” he asked, surprised into it.

“Yes, you want that?”

“Sure. Ok. Thanks.” He didn’t know what else to say as she walked off with his shirt to get him a Sprite she’d bought for him. She was nice. It made him feel a little bad for the depraved things he thought of doing to her –but they were nice depraved things! He was a giver, even in his fantasies, he’d make her cum really hard, definitely harder than that asshole little Timmy ever had.

She seemed almost meek about it when she brought him a Sprite and a wet towel to wipe his face with and also a box of Girl Scout cookies. He wasn’t going to say no to Girl Scout cookies! 

“I really appreciate it. You don’t have to keep helping me like that,” she insisted. “Or at least let me Venmo you some money or something for the extra help–”

“Nah, it’s fine. Seriously. Thanks for the cookies and Sprite though.”

To be honest, he was a little annoyed by her offer of money. He appreciated it but still, couldn’t they just be friendly enough he could help and it wasn’t a big deal? He couldn’t imagine Tim-tim racing over to help her rip up plants, so it made him feel superior. 

“Ok well I promise not to get into any more trouble while you’re here.”

“Better than getting into trouble without me,” he argued.

“I don’t always need saving, you know.”

It was like he could read it on her face, hear it in her voice, that she was getting a little defensive. He’d just meant to be playing with her, but he’d seen that defensiveness from her come up enough now to recognize it. She wanted to be independent and strong on her own. Ok, he could understand that, especially with her ex. He did think she was strong and independent and all that. Smart and nice and a really good eye for things, and not afraid to get her hands dirty. He could see the cabinets installed and her kitchen looked nice as hell. 

“I know, you just need some muscle sometimes.” Yeah, he heard how that sounded. To make it better or worse, he flexed his bicep; probably it was for the best he had his sweatshirt on so she couldn’t see. At least she’d know he really did mean strength and not dick. Though he’d be happy to help her with that too, if she wanted.

She did not want. 

“Well, thank you,” she said again, and that was that. He couldn’t think of an excuse to keep her there any longer, so he went back to tiling and she went to clean up the gardening mess she’d made and dig out the remaining roots. He heard her hiss again at one point and wondered if she’d broken another nail. If so, he didn’t want to know.

By the time he was wrapped for the day, he’d managed to replace all the missing tiles in the bottom of the pool, but not yet started the new tile pattern she wanted around the lip. She brought him his freshly cleaned shirt, hanging on a fucking wooden hanger. The shirt was still warm from the dryer and he couldn’t bring himself to pull it on his sweaty body. When he went to fold it to carry with him she insisted he just take the hanger with him, so he did because damn, that was a nice hanger. 

He drummed on the steering wheel, singing along to the Green Day CD as he headed home. Dookie had come out a few years before he was born but come on, everyone knew Green Day. Even Grace had known Green Day. She said her brother had the album and listened to it in secret and it made him want to ask her about her brother, if he got into trouble too or if listening to Green Day was the worst thing he ever did. Rich kids could go hard, but they could also just be bratty over nothing, if he’d learned anything from the couple somehow stuck in his public high school.

The memory of Grace singing along to I went to a whore, she said my life’s a bore when she hadn’t realized he was listening made his smile grow. It was the first time he’d heard her sing and he regretted it was too quiet to really hear, more like talking. Did she sing well? He wanted to know! She said she couldn’t but maybe she was just humble, possibly the first humble rich person to ever exist. 

By the time he parked at his parents’ apartment that afternoon, he was showered, changed, and his favorite jacket now hung on the wooden hanger in his closet. He bounded up the steps and pulled out his key and sang out,

“Helloooo, favorite uncle is heeeere.”

Max’s shriek of delight revealed his location: systematically pulling the take out containers from the low cabinet in the kitchen. 

“K!” he called. “Hi, K! Hi!”

“My man Max,” Jungkook greeted and scooped Max up to blow a raspberry on his cheek. “Where’s your mama?”

“Just getting ready.”

“Ready for what?” Jungkook asked, eyes narrowing as she came around the corner. She had a headband with a floppy bow on and it fell across her forehead in a way he thought looked silly and also reminded him of Grace’s silly bandaid. 

Apparently it made him smile without meaning to because Yoojin crossed her arms and demanded, “What are you so happy about?”

“Huh?”

“You’re smiling like an idiot. You’re in a good mood, I can tell. Get a girl or something?”

“What a weird question to ask your brother but no.”

“Come on, I’m a cool sister. You can tell me if someone finally took pity on you–”

“Why do I have to meet someone? Why can’t I just be happy about… you know, life. Good waves and a new amp–”

“So you didn’t meet anyone, you’re just being weird. Whatever, that’s fine. Seems like you two will have fun,” Yoojin cooed to Max. “Uncle JK isn’t grumpy today!”

“Screw you, I’m never grumpy. You’re the grumpy one this week.”

“Um, I’m in a great mood, I’ve got a new job and everything,” she pointed out. He didn’t think desk girl at the gym was going to pay great but it was definitely better than her big fat paycheck of $0 she’d been making before.

“Hope it’s great.”

“Day two,” she beamed. “Be good for Uncle JK, my big Max Man.” She took Max for a moment to hug and kiss and giggle with before handing him back.

Max immediately told Jungkook a stream of gibberish he couldn’t make any sense of.

“Good luck!” Yoojin called and was gone. Max frowned for a hot second, then waved at the closed door, “Bye bye! Bye bye bye. Akka?” he asked Jungkook.

“What’s that?”

“Akka? Akka?” He whined and reached towards the cabinets.

“Akka… banana? Apple? Rice cakes? Crackers?”

“Yaaaay.”

Jungkook bounced Max on his arm, tossing him playfully over to the other arm, as together they went to dig out all of those things and see which was right. Maybe Yoojin was right, he did feel pretty light and energetic. Had he been cranky lately? He didn’t think so. But he felt very much the opposite of that right now. Maybe he’d get dinner started before Appa got home. He felt like he could manage that while also playing with Max. He felt like he could kind of do anything right now, if he could retile a pool and pull a stubborn plant out of the dirt. The ache in his shoulders felt good.

Her pool was going to look so fucking good. He wondered if she’d remember him when she swam in it. He wondered if she still had that white bathing suit. That tile was going to have a great view…

Stephanie raised a bejeweled, manicured hand and easily waved at Grace over the heads of those in the restaurant. She was so tall, always the first one to be spotted in a crowd –a skill she had put to good use with some modeling in New York in her 20s, though she’d ultimately condemned the industry and moved into a completely different role: art lawyer.

A wave of greeting rolled around the pulled-together high tops as Grace slid onto the stool between Alicia and Stephanie, Ashley and Catherine already sliding drinks around to make room for whatever she ordered.

“She lives!” Ashley cheered.

“Girl, you had us worried,” Alicia scolded, waving with a tortilla chip. “Like you just disappear and we’re hearing about your divorce but– hey, don’t elbow me, she knows she’s divorced, we know now, no need to make it some big thing it’s not.” Alicia glared at Catherine, always the more subtle among them.

Catherine corrected, “Maybe we talk about something before we go right into it?”

“There’s nothing to go into,” Stephanie argued. “Tim’s a dick. Fucking good riddance. Welcome back.”

“Is there a club?” Grace asked as their voices continued to bubble and churn over each other in the busy restaurant. She wasn’t sure what club connected these women other than being 30-somethings. Stephanie lived life floating from one dalliance to another and loved it; Alicia hadn’t had anything serious in five years since she called it off with her fiance, but Victoria was married with a son, Ashley was engaged, and Catherine newly married, to a much older but allegedly wonderful man. Grace had only met him at the wedding –it was a bit of a fast thing– but he’d seemed nice.

“The club of not being hitched to a prick,” Alicia explained, then raised her hand to gesture for their waiter. Her thousand-watt smile no doubt bewitched him as it did everyone and he was with them in an instant, nodded as she gestured to Grace. “Our friend has arrived and would like a very strong drink.”

“Alicia,” Grace complained. She laughed and assured the waiter, “It doesn’t have to be any stronger than usual but an amaretto sour, please?”

“Coming right up, normal strength,” he told her. She could see why her friends had obviously immediately made buddies with him in that way sexy women and handsome waiters do. His teeth were shockingly white in his tan face, his blond hair streaked by the sun, the cut a little long like had been heartthrob popular when they were children in the 80s and 90s. He could have walked off the set of Saved By The Bell with that chiseled jaw. Was he a surfer? He looked like a surfer. She wondered if he knew JK.

“Don’t leave, we want to order appetizers too,” Victoria said, as if he’d started to run. He had not, too busy grinning at Stephanie’s flirty banter.

“Did you want to pick something out?” Ashley asked Grace, handing her the menu while Victoria rattled it off, Alicia adding and Stephanie subtracting from the things she said.

Grace waved it off with, “No, I’m just along for the ride.” She’d heard once that there was always a dominant one of a friend group, a sort of leader who drove the planning and the food ordering and such. Well in this friend group there were at least four of them and yes, the squabbles erupted sometimes, but it was beautifully upfront and direct. Her other social circles had the kind of conflict that was all all simmering resentment and gossipy whispers and passive aggressive snark at brunch. This group addressed disagreements –of which there were plenty– head on, sorted them, and moved along.

“Aren’t you going to write this down, Matt?”

Matt gave them a charming grin alongside the assurance, “Don’t need to, I remember every word you’ve said.” Then he rattled off their list of appetizers-as-entrees like a showman pulling off an audience participation trick. They acted duly impressed as he gathered the skinny menus and then turned his grin to Grace, “I’ll be right back with your normal strength amaretto sour.”

By the time Matt set the drink in front of Grace, her mind was already spinning from the onslaught of updates from these girls. They were women on the go, all of them, busy and bright and ambitious. Fear of their opinion was, secretly, one of the instigating factors in her pursuing her real estate license years ago. Too many brunches having to admit that her day consisted of pilates, social calls, and a dash of volunteer work. Not that they’d begrudged her –in fact they’d sighed about how lucky she was. But she could see the near-pity in their eyes at her having nothing of her own to compare to their director of marketing promotion, success with fundraising for the new start up, the completed surgical residency. They had all started out privileged, though not quite the status she came from, but for them it had only been a launching off point, not a totality. 

So Grace had given real estate a try, because she loved houses and interiors and homes, and it turned out, she’d loved it. She still loved it. She credited these women for keeping her grounded and stable –and realized in letting herself get wrapped up in their energetic, overly loud conversation just how much she had missed them. Why had she not spent time with them since her divorce?

“Ok so how did you figure out he was cheating on you?” Ashley suddenly asked, turning to Grace expectantly her mouth full of food.

“Oh.” Grace covered her mouth and chewed dramatically to look like she was rushing to answer. She was not.

“Oh don’t ask her that,” Alicia gasped. “That’s so rude!”

“Yeah don’t ask for the juicy details!” Catherine scolded. 

Victoria gave Grace a devilish grin and teased, “So are they? Juicy?”

“Ladies ladies,” Stephanie intervened. “This is a ruined marriage here. A betrayed woman. Our friend, not the latest season of Love Island.”

“All the more reason to care,” Ashley insisted. 

Grace did not think Stephanie and Catherine had defended her very strongly, but didn’t wish to be enigmatic about it either. Maybe listening to her friends curse Tim to hell and back would be cathartic.

“Can I have another one of these?” she asked Matt as he came by to check on them. Her friends took it as a sign and laughed and clapped while he just grinned and promised not to keep her waiting. He was obviously just flirting for his tip, but the wide eyes and raised brows as he departed were followed quickly by poorly stifled giggles.

“Well well, he didn’t say that to any of us,” Alicia snickered.

“He has been checking by our table a lot, right? More than his other tables,” Victoria mused, tapping her chin.

Grace rolled her eyes and scolded, “You’re all terrible. I am in the middle of a… rancid divorce.”

“Which you filed.”

“Which I filed,” she confirmed. “And which I will not speak about the details of because with my luck he’s got a private investigator following me for dirt he can use in court.”

“He wouldn’t,” Catherine gasped.

Stephanie guffawed, “Of course the piece of shit would.”

“It’s been longer than six months, right? Isn’t that how long it’s supposed to take?” Ashley asked. “I looked it up.”

“Six months and a day if it’s mutual and simple. Unfortunately…” Grace trailed off as Matt returned, fast indeed, and set the drink in front of her.

“Anything else I can get you ladies right now?”

“Ladies,” they groaned. “Might as well call us Ma’am! How old do you think we are?”

“Twenty-eight,” he said, his face leaving it unclear whether it was a joke.

Alicia snorted and flapped her hand at Catherine, joking, “You know he’s young if he thinks we want to be twenty-eight!”

“We are women in our thirties and you couldn’t pay me to go back,” Victoria agreed.

“Seriously, can you remember when it felt like we’d be dead at thirty?”

“Yeah but there is that thing that happens when you sleep funny…” Grace suggested, because Matt looked like he wasn’t sure what was going on and if he’d said the right thing or not. When her friends just stared, she continued, “You know, where apparently you slept wrong or sneezed wrong and now your neck is convinced you’re–”

“Batman!” Alicia and Stephanie cried together. That was not what Grace had been going to say, but she could understand what they meant when they both stiffened their necks and turned their whole bodies.

“Not me, thanks, it’s got me reaching for the–”

“Ibuprofen,” Catherine suggested, but Ashley corrected, “Percocet.”

“Oh Lordie,” Alicia giggled.

Grace grinned up at Matt, “I’m so sorry about my friends. I think we’re fine for now.”

“I agree,” he said, and winked, and sauntered off. 

Grace startled, not sure if he’d meant he agreed they were fine or agreed they were fine. The wink?

Stephanie had, of course, seen, and elbowed her, teasing, “Eh, eh? I think he likes you in particular.”

“He’s our waiter.”

“Seriously though, I ask you this… so what? We’re not talking about marrying the guy,” Alicia said.

Victoria nodded, then leaned in close and stage-whispered, “We’re talking about fucking.”

“Jesus, how many have you had?” Stephanie laughed. She playfully nudged Victoria’s drink away from her.

“I have a three year old, you know I can’t hold my vodka anymore,” Victoria laughed and slid it back.

Ashley motioned for everyone to wait while she chewed, wait while she swallowed, then safely said, “I hope you know you’re way too hot to sit around.”

“Yeah, take it from me,” Alicia agreed. “We’re not saying to rush anything. I get it, babe. I’ve been there. Don’t sit around wondering what the next thing is, just grab what you want and have a good time.”

Catherine passed a napkin to Victoria, who had just dragged her sleeve through her plate, and assured Grace, “You’ll know when you’re ready for something new.”

“I can’t imagine being ready for something new,” she admitted, because she was just a little tipsy and so were her friends, so it felt safe to have a moment of vulnerability in this trendy gastro-pub. “I mean the pool guy is the one who caught Tim and let me know… My husband! It was mortifying.”

“That’s right, he sucked.”

“Let it out, let it out.”

“No, that’s… that’s all I had to say,” she laughed, and sucked down the last of her drink. “It was unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant!” her friends repeated and giggled into each other’s shoulders. She rolled her eyes.

Stephanie patted her arm, sighing, “Grace, my dear old friend. I think Ashley and Victoria may be right. You’re so…”

“So what?” Grace pressed, eyebrow arching.

“So bottled up,” she tried.

“So careful,” Catherine suggested.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Ashley sighed. “I’m a doctor so I say this with a medical degree backing: you need to get fucked good. You need to fuck someone good, just get all that anger out and like… cum your feelings and your frustration and your brains–”

“This is medical advice, hm?” Victoria asked, barely holding it together. She and Alicia caught each other’s gaze and lost it.

“It is! Grace is always so proper and polished and I just– aren’t you mad? You did everything right and that loser fucked you over.”

Grace nodded, feeling herself fade away. Sure, she was mad. Really mad. But as much as she was enjoying this time out and knowing her girls were in her corner, she didn’t have the same spirit that Alicia and Victoria and Ashley had to just rage about it. It felt… private. Painful. Shameful.

Also she didn’t know the first thing about finding someone to fuck.

“You deserve to get a little wild,” Alicia told her. “Not crazy, don’t do something you’re going to regret, but like…”

“Take the waiter home,” Ashley suggested, then pretended to be innocently watching the TV over the bar as Matt returned with another round of requested drinks. Grace knew she might regret this come tomorrow. The hangovers were another part of their 30s they ought to have warned Matt about. He didn’t look like he’d reached his yet, but probably not far off. Maybe twenty-eight, twenty-nine? Surely not younger than that… though it was possible JK was skewing her ability to guess ages because he had such a youthful face.

“Anything else I can get for you?” Matt asked her, and Grace had the horrifying fear she might have been staring. His blond hair was really beautiful. She’d never been with someone like that, surfer guy, sunkissed cheeks, hair that would drape around his face–

Oh good god.

“No,” she said quickly, and buried her face in her drink. “Last one. Cut me off after this.”

“If you say so,” he smiled and was gone again, laughing when Victoria and Ashley called something after him that Grace completely missed in her embarrassment.

Catherine managed to steer conversation away from fucking and over to a hospital workplace drama of Ashley’s that got them all as rabid as they’d been for details of her divorce. Grace was more than grateful for the break –which seemed intentional, judging by Catherine’s smile. Despite Grace’s misgivings about Catherine marrying a wealthy man in his early 50s when she herself was only thirty-six, she seemed happy and like things were going well for her. Maybe it wasn’t all older men who sucked, just her not-yet-ex husband in particular.

But a younger guy… could Grace really see herself taking someone like Matt home? She watched him glide between tables in his all-black uniform, crisp below the neck, a little wild above, his smile radiating sunbeams upon whoever he addressed. A younger guy would have no reason to pursue her though, not when he looked like that and could catch women his own age, easily. She wasn’t old or anything, and thought she looked her age in an attractive way, but still, what unique thing, what special draw did she really have that would lure someone in for a night of… that? She was wife material, not a brag-worthy catch, but she didn’t want to be anyone’s wife again for a long time. Probably never. 

God, she really couldn’t imagine going through marriage again. A wedding? What a nightmare.

She’d lost track of Matt, which meant he surprised her suddenly appearing at her shoulder.

“You look like you need something,” he said, and you could have heard a pin drop at the table.

“I… do not,” she told him.

“Are you sure?” He leaned in close and joked, “Look, I’ve got connections here. I can get you anything you want. Amaretto sour? Glass of sparkling water? One of those chocolate cakes with a strawberry on it which it’s not even supposed to come with, but I know a guy…” 

It wasn’t possible. Was he flirting with her?

Suddenly he laughed, “It’s me, I’m the guy. I can just put a strawberry on the cake. If you want one.”

“She wants the cake,” Alicia assured him.

“She definitely wants the cake,” Ashley agreed.

“Honestly I think we may all want the cake?” Victoria asked, looking around.

Grace could only nod as Matt went to get some unknown number of chocolate cakes. She actually didn’t want the cake. She couldn’t figure out if anyone was actually talking about cake because all she could understand in the moment was that a good looking man might be flirting with her out of everyone at the table. Had he overheard about her divorce? Worse, had her friends put him up to this before she arrived?

But their giggles seemed sincere as they kept wiggling their eyebrows at her and dug into chocolate cake.

“Why don’t we ever treat ourselves like this?” Ashley demanded. “We should always be getting the chocolate cake.”

“It’s better with the strawberries,” Catherine said.

Stephanie smirked at Grace and agreed, “Thanks for getting us the strawberries.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Just being hot,” Alicia assured her.

Grace was not sure what to make of this. She didn’t even want the cake but felt rude not to at least have a few bites. The strawberries were not in season and were a little sour. She downed it with water to stave off any headaches tomorrow, and waved Matt over for the tab. 

“We should go to Mexico or something,” Ashley sighed. “So we can actually stay out instead of work and significant others– shit, I mean, not that you have to–”

“Hey, I’m single too,” Alicia pointed out.

“Yeah but by choice, I just didn’t mean to–”

“Shut up, Ashley,” Victoria laughed. “Go back to slicing people open instead of talking.”

“Rude!” But she gave Grace an apologetic look that was more painful than the reference to significant others. She wasn’t bothered by that!

Cards rained down into the tray for Matt, and upon his return he made a playful show of calling names and passing the booklets out for them to sign.

In Grace’s booklet was an extra slip of paper, on which he had scrawled: I get off in twenty or I’m off Saturday if you feel like grabbing a drink (amaretto sour, normal). 31, if it matters. –Matt

Grace slapped the book closed, face instantly aflame. Seriously?! Couldn’t he lose his job doing something like that?? Not that she was going to file a complaint or anything because, well, in this particular situation she felt flattered, not bothered. 

Should she do it–

NO, of course she shouldn’t do it! She’d had enough drinks for one night, any more would be courting disaster. And coming back Saturday felt like such a thing, and she wasn’t ready for a thing, she wasn’t even actually divorced yet. And what if drinks led to something, hm? She hadn’t been with anyone but Tim in a decade. She’d made a fool of herself and her ego just couldn’t handle that right now, disappointing someone who looked like he might be the actual biological son of the ocean.

Not that she wouldn’t like to surrender herself into the experienced arms of someone who could really “fuck her brains out” –as Dr. Ashley ordered.

She was mortified by her own inability to do anything with this obviously dream-like scenario. She tucked the paper into her pocket, afraid it might fall out of the booklet and get noticed by one of her nosy friends. It felt rude not to say anything back but she didn’t know what to say, just tipped him very well and scurried out of the restaurant between her friends so she wouldn’t accidentally make eye contact.

Grace made sure her friends were all safely in cabs, caught her own, and was home, in-bed, unfucked by 10. 

“Shit.” Jungkook’s brow lowered as he flipped the keys around on the ring, confused by the lack of house key. He patted his pockets despite knowing that at no point had he removed the house key from his keychain and put it in his pocket. He checked the ring again, eye twitching with annoyance that it had not reappeared. The metal ring was a little loose, but loose enough for a key to fall off? One single key? Not the three mystery keys that he had no fucking clue what they went to but only his very useful housekey? Eomma and Appa’s key was still there, his car key, the garage key, an old gym locker key… no house key.

He resorted to knocking on the door and ringing the doorbell in case anyone was home. It was almost eight, someone ought to be home.

No answer.

A crack of thunder rattled the frame of the house and, like it was the sound of the sky breaking, torrential rain fell in a sheet so physically heavy Jungkook felt like he’d been hit by a wave. He scurried to his car and ducked inside, poking around between and beneath the seats to see if his key had fallen out there. He found two guitar picks, a pacifier of Max’s, someone’s melted lipstick, and three half-empty water bottles and made a note to vacuum out all the sand when he had a couple quarters, but no key. Maybe it was in his work truck… but he was wearing baggy sweatpants today with shallow pockets, the little metal fucker could have fallen out anywhere. 

Well, good thing they kept a spare key in the garage. He had to brave the rain again to dash from driveway to the garage, lifted the door just enough to duck under, then went for the lock box stuck to the underside of the tool table they did not own any actual tools for. The box was there but he had to try each of their birthdays because they all kept resetting the passcode. It unlocked on 1-2-3-1, hinting Taehyung had been the last one to open it, which meant he’d know who to murder because the spare key had not been replaced.

“Fucker,” Jungkook sighed. 

He returned to the front door and pounded again as another crack of thunder rattled the windows. Thunderstorms were unusual, it gave everything a sort of suspense-movie feel. He fished out his phone and tried calling Taehyung and Jimin but neither answered like the assholes they were. So Jungkook could either drive back to work and see if the key fell out in his truck or go hang out at Eomma and Appa’s until someone answered.

Another thought occurred to him. He’d been at Grace’s that morning, finishing up the final patches and protective coat over the tile before it would be time to fill it –meaning he was (sadly) just about done with the project. When it was time to go, he’d asked to use her bathroom because she had one just off the back patio, and then they’d spent a few minutes talking about how he would fill the pool soon, and then about some road construction going on nearby and whether that was annoying her because he was looking for any conversation to prolong his departure, and it was possible he’d spun his keys around his finger while they talked.

When one more round of banging on the door and calling Taehyung and Jimin and then Taehyung again didn’t get him anywhere, Jungkook jumped back into his car and set off for Grace’s house. The rain came down in sheets pushed sideways by the rain, making it hard to see, so he drove slowly. It made it an even longer drive, they lived in different parts of the city and there was traffic at this hour (haha, there was always traffic) and the traffic was slower because of the rain too except for the occasional shitbag flying down the road, two blocks at a time, as if they’d get there faster. More like kill someone on the way.

Eventually he got to her place and punched in the back gate code and pulled in. Her yard beyond the reach of the motion light looked like a shadowy lush forest in the downpour and it made him jealous. At his house the rain was annoying and he was worried the garage would flood again but here there was something refreshing about it, like the LA smog couldn’t reach. He knew he shouldn’t talk shit about the rain, in a month they’d be in another drought and longing for a storm like this. They didn’t happen often. But it was definitely going to flood his garage again and they needed to practice in there tomorrow! 

If he had a yard like this, he could enjoy it. Instead he just thought of missed surfing and angry oceans and leaky garages.

He ran from his car to the back door; for some reason it made him recall being a little boy attempting to dodge the raindrops, back before he became a surfer. Once you got hooked on surfing, you got used to “wet” and “dry” being states of mind.

She he had apparently not heard the gate open or his car on that crunchy-ass driveway. Instead she moved around the kitchen making dinner, washing dishes it looked like, mouth moving like she was singing or talking to someone, completely unaware he was about to knock on her backdoor. She didn’t look like she was dancing but she could just be really bad at it.

He felt only a brief flicker of guilt for interrupting her evening. He’d be quick. In and out and gone before she knew it. He knocked on the door. 

At first she didn’t react at all, so he knocked again harder. 

This time she spun around with a visual gasp, her hand shooting out to grab something in defense –a sudsy spatula which flung soap all across her counter, which Jungkook noticed only peripheral to the wide, terrified look on her face.

Oops.

He would have hoped that settled as soon as she saw it was just him, but the shift to her expression was only slight as she crept towards the door, as if he was actually just someone else in a JK costume.

“JK?” she verified when only panes of glass and a couple feet separated them.

“Hi,” he said. He gave her an awkward wave. He hadn’t expected to scare her. “Yeah, just me.”

“What are you doing here? It’s–” She broke off, glancing at her wrist but there was no watch there. Her voice was muffled through the door, which she hadn’t opened.

“I know, sorry,” he said. “I lost my keys.” Thunder cracked right as he said it, drowning him out.

“What?”

“I lost my keys!” he repeated, louder.

At this point she unlocked the door and opened it, spatula still in hand, and said again, “What? Please don’t be here to murder me.”

“What?” he repeated as thunder rattled the frame of the house and rain pummeled the patio behind him because he thought she’d just said something about murder.

She leaned further out the door and asked, “Why are you here so late?”

“Did I leave my keys here?”

“Your keys?”

“Did I drop my housekey when I used your bathroom today?”

“Oh. I– no!!” she shrieked so loud that Jungkook took a step back because yeouwch right in his fucking ear. It left him unprepared for her to suddenly lunge forward. Maybe she tripped. Either way, she collided bodily with him and they sprawled together to the ground, her fully on top of him and his ass taking the beating on those fancy patio stones.

“Foam!” she cried and tried to leap to her feet, only to knee Jungkook in the groin, almost a fatal blow. He managed to twist just enough, just in time, so she at least missed direct assault on his balls but it still left him shuddering.

“Fuck,” he groaned and grabbed her arms to lift her off him so he could take a moment. 

She stood and looked forlornly around the yard, spatula clutched in both her hands. The tree cover made things pitch black and her yard lights weren’t on so it was impossible to see anything through the torrential curtain now that the motion light had clicked off.

“What just happened?” he asked, dragging himself up, testing out his body to make sure her knee hadn’t just done permanent damage to his future as a father, should he care to. He couldn’t even enjoy the moment she’d been sprawled on top of him! 

“Sorry,” she said, distracted, like she didn’t really mean it. “You let my cat escape!”

“What?”

“I mean… sorry, it wasn’t your fault, I shouldn’t have opened the door but–”

“Why would your cat run out into a thunderstorm?”

“I don’t know! He’s… special.”

Jungkook joined her survey of the yard, half expecting a very regretful cat to come streaking back, but no such luck. Lightning lit up the yard but there was no sign of any cat.

“He’ll come back,” Jungkook assured her. And for good measure, called, “Here, kitty kitty!”

“He’s deaf, I can’t just leave him to roam the world! He’s an indoor cat! He doesn’t know anything about– shit,” she huffed. 

“Oh.” Now he felt like an asshole to have called for the cat but it’s not like he could have known! He’d never thought about the fact cats could even be deaf.

She seemed to only just notice the spatula in her hand. She tossed it back into the house, then turned and promptly ran into the rain –no umbrella, no jacket, no shoes. 

“Foam!” she called, only to break off with a curse, “Fuck, he can’t hear me…” as she disappeared behind some tall bushes towards the front of the house.

In a flash of lightning, Jungkook thought he saw a blur of motion in a very different part of the yard. 

He thought hunting for her cat in a thunderstorm was only going to end in failure but he’d seen people do dumber things over pets. He’d never had one, but maybe if he had a dog or something, he’d do the same thing.

Maybe not. It was really coming down out there. He saw the shadow of Grace jogging along the edge of the yard and couldn’t just let her search alone. At least he had to try since apparently she really cared about this cat of hers. 

Another clap of thunder this time preceded the shriek of an animal which for a brief moment he thought might be Grace. Just as quickly he realized it must be the cat because it didn’t sound like a noise classy Grace would make and it was from the wrong part of the yard. The yowl sounded terrified and Jungkook knew he had to help find this dumb little cat.

Jungkook took off in the direction it had come from, hand shielding his eyes from the rain as he tried to make sense of the moving shadows. At least her motion light activated and gave him some help but it was so fucking bright it left swirls dancing across his vision when he tried to see in the shadows again.

“Foam!” he called out of habit, then cursed. She had so much stuff in her yard –bushes and trees and plants and shit– and usually he thought it was cool but right now it made it hard to find a shivering wet beast. At least in the denser parts the rain was less of a slap against his face, but still it dripped from his hair and ran down his nose and chin, and he was used to being soaked from his time in the ocean but it was beginning to feel like he’d never be dry.

“Foam, where are you?” Grace called, a desperate edge to her voice. 

“I think he’s over here,” Jungkook shouted back. 

“Where? JK?”

But Jungkook couldn’t answer because he’d spotted the cat, miserable and shivering and panicked. The cat looked up at Jungkook with his spooky reflective eyes and something in his expression made clear he was about to take off again and Jungkook felt sure he would be even harder to find a second time.

So he did the only thing he could do. He grabbed the kitty by the scruff of the neck and dragged it, writhing and chirping into his arms. It was wet and hard to hold and shockingly strong though, so he felt like there was no choice but the next move: he shoved the cat under his shirt and held it there as he dashed towards the house.

Which the kitty, to be clear, did not like. He thrashed and tried to escape, first through the bottom, then through the top. He’d managed to get his head stuck in the pit of Jungkook’s sleeve just as Jungkook reached the back door of the house. He flung open and then shut the door behind him to try and wrench the cat out in the kitchen, only to realize he’d slammed it in Grace’s face and opened it for her again.

“You got him?!” she gasped, as if it wasn’t obvious from the weird clicky cries yodeling from Jungkook’s armpit as he tried to drag the cat out the bottom. The cat put up too much of a fight and now his stomach was starting to sting from the scratches so Jungkook just yanked his shirt up and let the cat drop –after a moment of simply hanging there, claws dug into his body.

“Oh my god!” 

Just as Grace reached forward, her cat vaulted off Jungkook with a final slash of his back claws and tore through the house, leaving a trail of spattered water in his wake.

“Shit,” Jungkook hissed, curling forward and looking down at his bare torso. His body shuddered at the sharp pain as it rolled up his torso and then down again. Thin bloody red lines cross-crossed all down his abs, heavier blood seeping out in a few places.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Grace gasped, hands reaching forward but stopping just shy of his body before she pulled back, only to almost reach again, like she couldn’t figure out what to do. “Um… uh…”

“Maybe a towel or something,” Jungkook mumbled as a hint.

“A towel!” she repeated and leapt into action only to slip and crash into the counter. The rain had pooled around their feet, turning the tiled kitchen into a death trap. Jungkook hissed at the red welts and shivered again as the air condition made pebbles of his skin and nipples. He lowered his shirt just a smidge, self conscious about his nipples. In the background a drawer slid open and slammed shut.

Grace abruptly pressed the towel against his torso and he yelped. 

“Oh…?” she said, eyes going wide. As if it hadn’t occurred to her a rough kitchen towel shoved against a torso full of raw scratches wouldn’t be comfortable. 

Gingerly he pulled it away and used it instead to wipe his face and hair off so it would stop running down his face, then squeezed his shirt out with it.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for… do you need to go to the hospital?”

“It’s not that bad,” he assured her. He almost laughed but his smile seemed misplaced next to her worry. Sure, it hurt, and he was soaked, and he’d had a long day and just wanted to be home in bed and instead he was dripping water and blood on her rich person tile but it wasn’t like getting a little roughed up was new to him. Maybe it wasn’t usually cat nails scratching him but– well not that kind of cat–

“I have… hm… Oh! I can get you dry clothes and maybe… medicine? I’ll see what I have,” she said and spun away again. This time when she slipped on the tile, Jungkook reached out to steady her, hands clamping to her hips.

“Careful, you’ll bust your head open.”

Briefly her hands pressed over his and then simultaneously they both released.

“Uh.” She glanced over her shoulder at him for a moment. “I’ll get dry clothes for you.”

“Right,” he said as she shuffled away. “Wait, nothing that belonged to your ex husband.”

“I didn’t keep anything,” she called back, her voice quickly an echo across the house. He heard her heavy footsteps on the stairs and it made him pause. Damn, she really stomped on those. He wondered if she always pounded the stairs like that or if she was just really panicked right now.

Shit, the scratches really hurt. He hissed again and looked down. That damn cat, he’d been trying to help! He wanted to splash some soap and water on it but also didn’t want to extend the pool of water further through the kitchen. She was bringing him new clothes –whose, then?-- anyway and wouldn’t be back for a moment, so he tugged the shirt off and then his pants, letting them fall in a pile by the backdoor, then strode quickly to the bathroom. There he grimaced further at the full reflection of the scratches… yeah, he was going to tell his friends a chick scratched him up, no way did he want to let smuggling a wet angry cat under his shirt take the credit for this. He’d definitely need to wear a rashguard if he hit the waves or his board was going to tear those lines up bad.

He leaned over the sink as best he could to do a quick scrub down with the blue hand soap in a glass bottle by the faucet –after knocking it with slippery hands down into the bowl of the sink and freezing until he was sure it hadn’t shattered. It sure sounded like it had. The smell of “fresh” wafted up at him as he rinsed the suds off. Probably the soap was “clean linen” or “ocean breeze,” even though an ocean breeze smelled nothing like that.

“Oh. Uh… I mean… you’re just– here are some dry clothes you can borrow,” Grace said from the doorway and gently tossed a stack of fabric onto the closed lid of the toilet. “I’ll get my first aid kit while you…”

She shut the door without finishing her sentence. Jungkook looked back at the shut door, then smiled at his reflection in the mirror. Was she… flustered? He looked at more of his body than the cuts this time. His black boxer-briefs hugged his ass pretty good, and his abs were looking good today because he hadn’t had dinner yet because he was locked out of his fucking house. He lifted his eyebrow in the mirror, trying out a smolder just to cheer himself up, then lifted the clothes to see what she’d brought him.

The gray sweatpants were the softest material he had possibly ever touched and looked shockingly well sized. He couldn’t bring himself to put them on over wet boxers and so traded the bottoms, then shook out the t-shirt. Red with a graphic of Christmas lights zigzagging back and forth across the front, it read Santa Run 10k December 2024 Ho Ho HO.

“Hey, who decided to capitalize the third ‘ho’ like this?” he asked, leaving the bathroom once dressed. The shirt fit him comfortably and frankly he was going to have a really big morale decision about whether he remembered to bring these sweatpants back.

Ok he’d remember.

Probably.

Grace paused digging through a red zippered first aid kit, contents strewn across the counter. She had on dry clothes, her hair pulled back into a real mess at the back of her head, like she’d been in a hurry. It was the most disheveled he’d ever seen her.

She cracked a smile though and admitted, “I don’t know but I thought it was funny too so I kept the shirt.”

“You trying to tell me something?”

“What?! No! It was just the first thing I grabbed that I thought might fit you–”

“I’m joking. I think it’s funny too. The sweatpants are fucking awesome.”

“Yeah, Brendi, it’s a unisex brand so I thought they might fit– my friend does marketing for them so I– here, I found antibiotics. Let’s see?”

“I washed off already, it’s fine.”

“With hand soap?”

“Yeah. I smell nice now, huh?”

Again she smiled, looking slightly more herself with each grin, and assured him, “Yes, but you really need this and bandaids.”

“I’m not putting on bandaids,” he snorted.

“Hm… why not?”

“Because…” He trailed off, judging by her narrowed eyes that she was not going to agree with bandaids on your tummy look stupid. “None of them are that deep or anything.”

“Ok, let me see. Obviously if you wind up needing to buy any medicine or bandages bring me the receipts and I’ll reimburse you–”

“Eh,” he shrugged. Actually that was a really nice offer but obviously he wasn’t going to show up with a Walgreens receipt.

“Come on, at least let’s check that the bleeding has stopped.”

“If you wanted me to take my shirt off, all you had to do was–”

“That’s not–!” she gasped but he thought her surprise was way too funny. Even though he had no interest in letting her inspect the cuts, now he felt compelled to follow through, and so dragged the hem of the ho ho HO t-shirt up. Only then did he realize that now, in this moment, after all his attempts, she would be directly checking out his body, no distractions or interruptions.

She promptly dropped to her knees in front of him and Jungkook’s hands flew up to hover in the air, stunned by this development.

To his immense disappointment on all accounts, Grace merely methodically and without any apparent blush, surveyed the cuts across his stomach without seeming to even see his stomach. Try as he might, he could not really paint it as sexy for her to keep squeezing splurts of antibiotic onto her finger and then dabbing them against various sore points. That’s not to say he didn’t start to chub up because a beautiful woman was kneeling before him and touching all over his stomach! But thankfully her clinical, almost jabbing approach to medicine application kept it from reaching a noticeable state, even without the security of boxers. It was like she wanted as minimal contact with his body as possible. Grace was definitely no bedside nurse.

“I’m really sorry about this,” she said as she stood and screwed the lid back on the medicine tube. “And thank you for helping me find him.”

“Yeah no problem.” For a moment they just stood there before Jungkook realized she was holding the tube out to him. “I don’t want to take your medicine, I’m all good now.”

“Cat scratches can be painful and I don’t want you to risk getting an infection or anything.” She waved the medicine tube.

He wrapped his hand around hers and pressed it back in her direction, insisting, “You need it more than I do.”

“I’ll just buy more.”

“You live alone,” he insisted, not sure what that had to do with anything but looking for any argument not to take medicine away from her that he was never going to use anyway. “I’ve got some at home.”

“Why do I not believe you?” she asked, but did pull the tube back and tuck it away in the medicine bag. Jungkook had never seen someone with an actual full-blown first aid kit in their house, like the kind they had at the pool where he lifeguarded sometimes. 

“I wouldn’t lie,” he lied.

“Ok, if you say so…” 

But now he was offended and insisted, “Really, I would never lie to you.” Which made him feel a little bad because he was technically lying right now but actually probably Jimin had some, so see? Not a lie.

She stared at a moment which made it seem so serious, what he was saying. He meant it! Then her mouth twitched and she admitted, 

“We really got soaked, huh?”

“You need to teach your cat not to do something dumb like that.”

“Oh? How will I teach my cat something, exactly?”

“You can train cats,” he insisted. “Train him not to run out the door.”

“He’s never run out the door before.”

“He seemed pretty good at it,” Jungkook pointed out.

“Maybe he was trying to protect me from a guy randomly showing up at my back door at night?” she countered, and now crossed her arms and turned to face him. “You can’t do that, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Show up at the backdoor unexpectedly at night when a woman lives home alone! Or ever, really, for that matter.”

“I didn’t sneak up on you,” he defended. “I told you, I just wanted to know if I left my keys here.”

“Knocking at the backdoor of a house with a gate is sneaking,” she argued. “I have a front door. And a buzzer.”

Jungkook paused now and thought about this, just a little bit. He hadn’t considered before that the gate applied to him because she just let him come and go for work and had told him the code. 

“Ok, well… I didn’t think I had to buzz because you said I didn’t,” he admitted.

“It’s dark outside! You could have been a murderer.”

“Yeah and you were going to fight me off with this, huh?” he snorted, stooping to pick up the spatula that had lay in the middle of the floor for some time now. 

“It’s the first thing I grabbed.”

“At least keep a bat or a knife by the door or something,” he suggested and set the spatula in the sink.

“That’s why I have a gate!”

Another fair point, but he still pointed out, “Didn’t stop me.”

“Because I gave you the code.”

“Didn’t we talk about this? You need a dog instead of a cat,” he suggested. “A dog would come when you called and not scratch the shit out of my stomach.”

“You did put a frightened angry cat in your shirt,” she pointed out.

He couldn’t help but laugh, “Oh so now it’s my fault? He’s squirmy when he’s wet! It’s like trying to hold a snake. You sure he’s a cat?”

“Definitely a cat,” she assured him. “Speaking of which, I should go find him and dry him off…”

“Well don’t put him under your shirt.”

“Oddly, the thought never occurred to me.”

A moment passed before he realized she was waiting for him to recall, “Oh right. Uh… have you seen my key?” 

“I haven’t. Did you see it in the bathroom?”

He’d forgotten to look. They walked together there, passing close together through the door so that he could feel the warmth from her body for the briefest moment.

“No,” he sighed.

“There,” she corrected, and pointed to one single key in the middle of the mat in front of the sink.

“My key!”

“You really didn’t see it? Or step on it?” she clarified as he scooped it up and pressed it with relief to his forehead.

“No, how did you see that? You have vision like a hawk.”

“You don’t need to flatter me.”

“I’m trying to apologize for scaring you,” he said, which hadn’t occurred to him until just that moment because she was being casual about it, but now he did start to feel more bad about it, like maybe he shouldn’t just tease her about being scared by him. 

“There’s another way to do that.”

He choked. 

“Use your words,” she said quickly, looking stunned. Good, he was glad she’d noticed the double meaning of what she’d said. Look if she wanted a sexual apology he would be more than happy to– She cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry I scared you?” he tried and she nodded. “I do know how to apologize,” he quickly added. “I just didn’t think about it scaring you.”

“Don’t sneak in the backdoor of women’s houses, JK,” she said, her smile growing as she teased. “You deserve to go through the front door.”

“I… don’t really know what that means but thanks? And now I will take my key and go home so you can deal with your wet… cat.”

She gave a decisive nod, clearly not noting his verbal stumble, and added, “Do you want a bag for your wet clothes? Or I can just dry them.”

“Ok, thanks.” She probably had an expensive dryer and they would come out all soft and maybe he’d get another wooden hanger out of it. He line-dried his clothes as much as he could and sometimes they felt sort of crunchy, which wasn’t a big deal but he thought it would be nicer to get dry clothes back than slop a bundle of wet clothes home.

“Sorry again about your body,” she said. “I mean the scratches.”

“It’s fine, we’ll call it even,” he said, and held his fist out without thinking about it, because that was something he might say to his surfing buddies and they’d fist-bump and he’d done it out of habit.

Just before he dropped his hand, she tapped it with her own, her lips twitching with a suppressed smile.

“Goodnight, JK. Drive careful. Looks like the rain has stopped.”

“Oh yeah, look at that.” He hesitated. Not for a reason, or at least not a good one. It was nice being around her, that was all. 

His stomach itched so he scratched it, then flinched when his nails rubbed the shirt against his raw skin.

“Tell your cat I expect a better introduction next time,” he told her, then slid out the door without even a wave, because he got the feeling that had possibly been an odd thing to say. 

He felt keyed up heading to his car, wearing Grace’s clothes. Rain still dripped from the trees, loud on the top of his car as he started it up and paused for the gate to let him out. The streets were quiet and as clean looking as they ever were –definitely cleaner here than near his place. He had a long drive home still.

Ah, she kept her house too cold. She hadn’t put a bra on when she put on dry clothes. It wasn’t his fault he’d noticed, yeah? He’d had to look somewhere when she insisted on dabbing medicine all over his stomach while kneeling in front of him and then obviously looked away and done his damnedest not to notice again.

It all started to catch up to him now: Grace sprawled on top of him, the dash around the yard, how confused she’d looked at first about the cat scratches, the view of her from above, the–

On second thought, air conditioning was a great idea. He cranked it up and nudged the radio louder and thought about how Grace’s sweatpants were the softest fucking thing to have ever touched his dick. Very, very different than her knee. But hey… tonight was the most action his dick had seen in…

He cranked the radio louder. The air conditioner too, just to be safe.

Chapter Four | Masterlist | Chapter Six

[climbthemountain2020]

Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met

Part 1/? | Ao3

I was momentarily and violently possessed by the spirit of Taylor Swift to write this Feysand

Biggest thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher @cauldronblssd and @rosanna-writer for the best betas a gal could ask for!

[In a world where the Archerons never lost their fortune, fate finds Feyre on the night of a masquerade ball.]

The sun was setting low and bright over the horizon of the lake while Feyre brushed out her hair, her hips leaned casually against the side of the stone railing of the balcony to keep her balance. Before too long, the nights would begin to bring a chill into the air and it wouldn’t be as easy to stand out here and marvel at the colors in the sky. But here at the end of September, the breeze was still balmy enough to skirt over her exposed shoulders like a soft blanket.

The upper register of the sky was turning a deep navy, the stars already sparkling like diamonds. They felt familiar and comforting to her, as they always did. Lower, the blues bled into a menagerie of lavenders, periwinkles, and the lightest, brightest pinks. She wanted to paint the colors so badly, lay them one by one onto a canvas until they merged together seamlessly. The colors reminded her of the smooth interior of a seashell her father had brought home once from a trip. Feyre kept it on her dresser, touching the glossy bridge of it every so often, holding it up to her ear to hear the sounds of the waves lapping the shore, though she’d never actually been to a beach herself.

She sighed, letting the arm with the brush fall to her side and flipping her hair back over a freckled shoulder.

The moon was going to be large in the sky tonight–a good omen for the masquerade in honor of Elain’s twenty-first birthday. If Feyre leaned far enough over the edge of the balcony, she could see the twinkling lights that spread across the entryway to the estate, glowing brightly and welcoming the already-surging crowds of nobles. Though she couldn’t see them from where she was standing, she knew from careful preparation how magical the lights looked, reaching criss-crossed over the main pathway up to the massive oak front doors, though Feyre couldn’t see them from here.

Despite all the shining luster, she felt her elation ebbing like the tide in her chest.

These hosted events were nothing new, but Feyre had trouble getting excited for them anymore. Something about them felt so shallow and empty–forced laughter, fake smiles–it was always the same. The same people, the same conversations, and the same…nothingness that followed.

Elain and Nesta enjoyed them well enough, though you might not know it by Nesta’s face or attitude. The two were born and bred for high society. In theory, Feyre had been too, but something had always been different. She’d taken the same lessons, been born of the same bloodline, suffered the same teachers, and fumbled through the same etiquette courses. But, still, something felt different about her.

A half-wild beast.

Nesta’s favorite insult. Yet, in the quiet privacy of her room, Feyre wore it like a badge of honor.

She would sit on her balcony often, long after the manor was asleep, and stare up at those same smiling stars, dreaming about the stories in her books, and wondering if, in some other lifetime, she was the one slaying dragons, riding horses, and falling in love. She dreamed of wielding the weapons that the guards tossed around so effortlessly in the yard, her fists clenching and unclenching with the want to hold them in her hand. She dreamed of the bow and arrows so vividly that sometimes she woke up feeling as though her arm had been drawn back at the ready, the golden eyes of some animal in the snow flashing brightly in her mind.

But, at the end of the day, Feyre understood her role. She knew her place here, even if she hated it. She’d have gone down swinging and fighting if it weren’t for her sisters, but she knew she’d never forgive herself if she ruined their chances at a life they wanted for her own selfish wants.

So, she allowed the soft dress to be pulled up her body, the corset laced so tightly she could barely breathe. She let the long, golden tresses of her hair be pulled into a braid–nothing efficient or practical, but wispy and loose and lovely. She let them apply powder and blush to her cheekbones, only to roll her eyes to herself knowing she’d be wearing a mask anyway.

Her mask was a glittering mass of crystals inlaid on the softest navy fabric, the tops of the gems twinkling brightly as she turned it in the light. She’d seen the mask in a shop in town and couldn’t take her eyes off of it. It had reminded her of the silent nights spent outside, and she hadn’t been able to leave without it. She may have hated getting dressed and paraded for these events, but at least she’d have chosen one aspect of her presence this evening.

She slipped into the satin shoes, and she listened to them click, click, click down the stone and marble of the halls on her way to the foyer.

The manor smelled magical, the air filled with sweet, sharp, and savory spices from across the world. Her father always returned from his expeditions with barrels of the best foods, cans of spices, and wooden boxes of the loveliest, most exotic teas. Their house regularly smelled of some beautiful delicacy or another, but on nights where events like this took place, the whole manor was awash in the smells, and Feyre always liked that best.

The loud rise of voices became nearly deafening as she reached the massive set of stairs in the entryway.

As she looked down, she could see Elain and Nesta already socializing and doing their duty. Elain was floating like a butterfly around the room, twirling her skirts without even meaning to and catching the wandering eyes of every eligible–and ineligible–man in the room. Elain was effortlessly beautiful and charming–a perfect fit in this life–all soft, rounded edges and sweet sighs. Her mask was a soft, brushed suede in a light brown, the gems rounded up and shaped to mimic the face of a doe. Fitting, for every bit of Elain was that beautiful, gentle, cushioned etiquette that high society expected of her.

If Elain was the cushion, though, Nesta was the pin.

Nesta had dressed in black and red tonight, the ruby gemstones of her mask catching the light and reaching out like the wings of a great creature around her face. Her silver eyes cut across the room, daring any man to come closer. She looked as though she was ready for war, and in truth, she might be. The expectation weighed heavily on Nesta to marry, and soon.

Even Nesta’s calculated coldness couldn’t combat the pressures of society for much longer. She may be cold, but with money and a noble name came the burden of responsibility. Even with her reputation, the men had been lining up for her for nearly two years already. The time she had left was running out. While Feyre knew Nesta did not care one bit for the implications of being an unmarried noble, Nesta knew the consequences for her family and her name were she to be labeled as unmarriageable, and she wouldn’t dare harm Elain’s reputation in such a way. And, in addition, Elain had been breathing down her neck, anxious for her turn and knowing that she could not step forward for a marriage offer until Nesta had accepted one herself.

Feyre sighed as she reached the bottom of the steps, turning immediately to the back walls behind the circle of pillars surrounding the foyer and leading out into the main ballroom. The estate was absurdly large–so large, in fact, that as a child, Feyre had spent years discovering rooms she’d never even seen before. It was a gross misuse of money, from her point of view, but it’s not exactly like they could give rooms to the needy. She had suggested it once as a child, and her mother had their governess strike her for it. Their mother might be long dead, but her lessons lingered into their lives.

As Feyre passed the great doors, the strung-up lights again caught her eye, glowing against the backdrop of the now deep-black sky with the woods behind them. Something stirred within her.

Go. Go see.

But she’d long felt that pull to the woods. She’d also long learned to ignore it for the sake of propriety.

She ribbed at Nesta and Elain often for their expectations, but she knew someday they would fall to her, too. She was nineteen now, and once her sisters had been paired off, it would be her turn to find a nobleman who she’d be handed off to and expected to run his home and birth his children until she died.

The thought was almost enough to send her running to the woods.

Feyre could barely hold a conversation with any of the insufferable, pompous pricks for more than five minutes; she wasn’t sure how she would ever be able to warm one’s bed long term. But she saw her life for what it was: a gilded prison where her options had been predestined, planned, and chosen for her the minute she was placed as a squealing babe in her mother’s arms and declared a girl.

Feyre grabbed a drink from a passing server, sipping it delicately and letting the bubbles settle on her tongue and in her spirit, calming her as she walked into the wide open ballroom and began to skirt around the walls. She’d need to limit it to just the one–she had a tendency to drink too much at these events, and she notoriously could not handle her drink well.

If Feyre was honest with herself, she had wondered more than once what it might be like to meet a handsome young man who was more than the surface-level idiots of the rich families. Not that she was one for a vulnerable moment, but as beautiful as these parties were, they were just the same, old, tired faces again and again. In her bed in the dark, she’d thought more than once what it might be like for a handsome prince like the ones in the books she’d hid away from her governess by shoving them in her mattress to come and whisk her away for something more–something wonderful. Not just for the love story, but for the adventure, too. They’d run off arm in arm, him setting her on a horse by his side to roam the wide world beside him, never behind.

She continued along the curved wall, watching the crowd of twirling bodies embellished in jewels and brightly embroidered threads. She could be in her room, painting the colors swirling together across a canvas, instead of being here and watching it all pass her by.

Abruptly, Feyre stopped in her tracks, the air stolen from her lungs as though by force. She’d been hiding in the near-shadows as the others danced in the light. But across the room, almost entirely encased in shadows of his own, a pair of violet eyes met hers.

Feyre felt as though she’d been punched in the chest, her entire world narrowing in on the singular raised brow attached to those beautiful eyes, staring directly into her soul as though asking have we met? He seemed to hesitate, to recognize her almost, his hand raising nearly imperceptibly as though to wave.

Had she imagined it?

She could almost hear the voice now as she took a tentative step in that direction, closing the gap as she made her way around the room.

Come. Come see.

Silky and smooth and low, like warm honey in a cup of tea, like the burn of whiskey in the swigs she’d stolen in her father’s office. He pushed off the wall and walked towards her, looking quickly to the sides as though to check if anyone else was watching. His approach caused her heart to thunder wildly in her chest.

Come see.

As they approached each other, the gap closing with each step, she was taken aback by his overwhelming beauty. His hair was the color of raven’s wings, softly catching the light of the chandeliers above. The rest of him that wasn’t covered by his mask appeared to be carved out of stone, his chiseled features sharp, but kind. Those beautiful violet eyes up close sparked like they held a galaxy within them, the glittering reminding her of the patterns of the gems in her mask.

This is the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.

His lips arched up at the corners as though he’d heard her.

Impossible.

He looked familiar as he passed behind each of the marble pillars lining the room, the swirling and twirling of dancers in her periphery not breaking her focus for even a moment. She was a woman possessed, all her energy focused entirely on this beautiful stranger, only steps away. She felt a strangely familiar comfort as they closed the last few feet between them. She was sure she’d have remembered someone like him.

“Hello, darling.” His voice nearly knocked her breathless again as he took her hand in his, sketching a bow as he pressed his lips to her knuckles delicately. The touch of his skin to hers was electric, the currents coursing through her veins like lightning and fire and shooting straight to her chest where they swarmed and tore like bees in a nest.

She must have gasped, her body reacting before her mind could catch up, because his lovely twilight eyes locked on hers, a brow quirking up again as he stared at her. There was something unidentifiable in his expression–something so wide open and unguarded and vulnerable that didn’t match his raised brows or rakish smirk at all.

Underneath all that, there was something like wonder.

Every so often, his carefully curated expression would tic just the tiniest bit, a strain of his jaw, a twitch of his brow, and Feyre could see something different hiding beneath. Something almost nervous.

“Hello.” Her voice was a curious whisper, full of awe and jittery trepidation, but the smile she was granted in return was as bright as the full moon over the lake outside the manor, and it felt especially reserved for her.

“What’s your name?” His voice was deep and rumbling, the timbre of it shooting to her ribs and tugging briefly, so visceral and real that she nearly stepped forward with the ghost of it.

“Feyre.” There was no use playing coy. She wanted to hear her name off his lips–had never wanted anything more than she wanted it.

She swore she could hear his thoughts twirling the name around in his mind, likening it to the tolling of bells. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

“Feyre,” he murmured, eyes still full of stars and staring at her. “Fey-ruh,” he mouthed wordlessly this time, as though tasting it on his tongue and savoring it. She shivered to the tips of her toes, her eyes tracking the shape of his plush lips as they moved around the syllables.

“Yes,” she said, embarrassingly breathless. “What’s yours? I don’t recognize you.” The corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. Feyre had never been good at the rules of high society, failing even the most basic points of etiquette repeatedly and fantastically. But he seemed delighted, and the thrill of it all kept her heart threatening to pound out of her chest.

“Rhysand. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Feyre.” She loved the way he said her name; she loved the way it fit with hers. Feyre and Rhysand.

Rhysand. Rhysand. Rhysand.

He still held her hand in his.

“Would you honor me with a dance, Feyre darling?” She nodded mutely, still struggling to find words in the wake of meeting this familiar stranger, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

He took her hand in his, his midnight black suit with silver embroidery glinting in the light and catching the reflections like beams of light. Rhysand. She tried the name in her mind over and over again until it felt like home on her tongue.

I could see myself calling him Rhys, warm on a couch, his lips on mine.

The thought came out of nowhere, startling her and making a blush race across her cheeks and up her ears. She must have physically flinched, because she could feel Rhysand almost shudder beneath her hand.

At long last, they reached the dance floor right as a new song queued up from the musicians, a light and sturdy waltz that would allow for space to talk between them. She placed her hands on his shoulder and arms, beginning the steps that she knew by heart. He kept time immediately, almost as though the dance was something he’d also grown up knowing.

“You’re not from around here.” Not a question.

“No, I am not.” He offered nothing more. She scrunched her nose, studying him, and he grinned down at her, his hair tumbling down across his forehead.

“Where are you from?”

“Somewhere further north of here. I’m here for business.” She wasn’t one to ask family names, lest she seem like she was throwing herself at his feet. But his words were so vague she couldn’t help but cock a brow at him. He smiled, a laugh on his lips.

“Hmm, family business. Sounds very serious.” The mocking in her voice was not lost on him, and his smile widened.

“It’s all a bit dicey right now. I’m a little out of my element.” She could surely understand what that felt like, nodding almost imperceptibly in agreement.

“Well, what part of business requires you attending a masquerade in the forest?” She couldn’t help but tease him. the words flit off her tongue before she could bite them down, but she relished his surprise. He seemed to enjoy the teasing.

“Just an errant invite to a nobleman passing through. I make it a habit to know the people in the important families when I travel. You never know what you may find.”

“Or whom.” The words were coy, and his eyes flashed momentarily with something akin to hunger before it cleared.

“This is your manor, is it not?” Perhaps he cared more for propriety than her.

“Yes. I’m Feyre, the youngest. The ball is for my sister, Elain. She just turned twenty-one.”

“Ah, and you?”

“Nineteen. Yourself?”

“A bit older, not in spirit, though.” His grin was heart-stopping, her breath catching in her chest at the sight of it. He was stunningly gorgeous, a work of art. Her fingers itched to paint his face embraced by the night sky, the stars humming and shooting past behind him as though they were alive…

Her thoughts were interrupted by his hands on her waist lifting her into the air as though she weighed nothing, her small yelp bringing yet another flush to her face. She’d lost her place in the dance while her thoughts had wandered, but he just chuckled lightly as he set her back down and they resumed. The music slowed to a quieter number and they readjusted their holds on each other to fit the new tempo, stepping close enough to feel his breath flit across her neck.

“You’re not at all how I imagined you’d be.”

“How you imagined?”

“Just the daughter of a noble family. You don’t act like them.”

She scoffed, then raised herself up a bit on her toes, arching her neck to place her lips closer to his ear, never breaking the slow rhythm of the dance. “Can I tell you a secret, Rhysand?” He shuddered lightly beneath her touch as they swayed.

“Anything.”

“I hate it here.” He laughed, something warm and welcoming blooming in her at the sound.

“I can see you somewhere different,” he said, voice still filled with amusement.

“Hmm, where?”

He pulled back a bit and pretended to think about it while she took in his face again, the mask doing nothing to hide the lovely strong jaw and high cheekbones, his dark golden skin nearly glowing beneath the chandelier lights. He looked like he belonged in the galaxies above them, flying through the night sky like some sort of Angel of Darkness in a painting. The thought brought a thrill to Feyre’s lower stomach that she’d only ever felt in the dark of her bedroom alone at night.

“I can see you outside, somewhere beneath the stars with a clear view of the sky.” Feyre could hear her own sharp intake of breath as she felt it, so she was sure he could too. Perhaps, it should be strange that someone she didn’t know at all could guess something so easily about her, something so intimate.

But instead of fear, the only feeling she could summon was comfort. Had anyone ever really known her? It was nice to be seen. It was nice to be known.

“I’d like that.”

The song came to an abrupt end, spooling immediately into another, more fast-paced dance. Feyre let the mischief flare to life behind her eyes as she grabbed his hand in hers.

“Can you keep up?”

His smile could rival the sun, and suddenly it was all she cared to see again.

He grabbed her hand, his skin warm and comforting against hers, and they launched into the steps for the dance, holding each other–perhaps a bit closer than was expected.

Song after song, dance after dance, the two twirled around the room. Feyre could sense time was passing, but she couldn’t find it in herself to track it or care, the world and people an inconsequential blur around them. They weren’t speaking with words, but it all felt like a conversation in and of itself, their bodies and minds somehow in step with each other, learning one another as his starry, violet eyes met blue. His smile crinkled around his lips, and left the smallest, almost unnoticeable dimples in its wake. Feyre grinned to behold it, and something told her it wasn’t a smile most were lucky enough to see.

She felt breathless, bubbly, intoxicated–and she knew that it was unrealistic to fall for someone so suddenly. It was something she expected of Elain, ever the romantic, but for the first time in her entire life, she imagined what it would be like if someone did make a bid for her hand.

For the first time, she thought about what it might be like to accept.

Please don’t be in love with someone else.

After what could have been hours, the songs began to slow again as the night began to wind down, the lights lower and the people quieter. Their hands regrettably dropped off the other, but Feyre wasn’t ready to let this go, not just yet. She leaned in almost imperceptibly, her whisper just barely a breath on her lips.

“Meet me in the garden? The back side of the house with the lake view.” Then, before she could view his expression or regret her actions, she walked off, very audibly complaining to her sisters that her feet hurt and she was off to bed.

Feyre sprinted down the halls, cutting corners so closely she almost slammed into the walls. She rushed across the marble floors, crashed into her bedroom doors, and flung them open and back shut with an intensity of which she didn’t believe herself capable. She shut and locked them behind her, kicking off her uncomfortable heels, ripping off the beautiful mask, and pushing her loose hair off her face as she strode to the balcony. She’d gone out this way in the night so many times it was like second nature to her now, the light breeze smelling of flowers and earth. She crept down the trellis, feet expertly catching on all the holds until she jumped the last few feet. Feyre skittered to the large stone wall to the garden, avoiding the gate in favor of scaling up the thick, twisted vines, swinging a leg over, and dropping wildly down to the other side.

Nesta’s words once again rang in her head, but if she could see Rhys again, even for a moment, then propriety be damned.

She turned to run but pulled up short with a gasp when she found him already there, nearly running into his chest.

“Hi.” The word was a breathy exhale on her tongue.

“I’ve been looking for you.” His words were soft and quiet in the night, a kind smile already on his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners in what appeared to be delight. Without his mask, she could see his lovely face in full, somehow even more beautiful than before.

“Would you like to walk? I can show you the lake.” It was one of her favorite places on the property. Elain favored the gardens, Nesta the copse of old oak trees that were older than the manor itself, but Feyre had always loved the lake. More times than she could count, as a child and even older, she’d had to be dragged from its murky depths. She loved to play in it, the time slipping away as she swam around, played with the fish, and even laid on her back just watching the clouds. Nesta called her a swamp monster, but she hadn’t minded.

Under the light of the moon, she led Rhysand to her favorite lakeside view, a small stone bench beneath the curtain of a weeping willow. Here, she couldn’t be seen from the house, and it was often she’d come here to paint, or relax, or just be left alone.

“Is this your favorite spot then?” He asked coyly, almost as though he’d heard her think it, as she grabbed her skirts up and sat down.

“I like to be alone, more often than not, and it’s easy to come here and buy some time unseen.”

“Unseen, hmm.” He sat beside her, the warmth of his thigh brushing against her own. “Did you take me here to kill me then, Feyre?” A laugh burst out of Feyre before she could stop it, loud and unrestrained as she raised a hand to her mouth. He was so funny; men were never funny. She should have been embarrassed that she’d guffawed like a goat in front of him, but when she looked up, his face was lit with an intangible sense of joy that stopped her short.

“You have a beautiful laugh.” The words weighed heavy in the air around them, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “I hope to hear it again.”

“You could.” She wasn’t sure what had come over her, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them with any sense.

“If I make you laugh too often, I think they require a proposal in these parts.” A grin split his face, but something about his tone felt serious to Feyre.

“Would that be so terrible?” His responding smile was sad, almost pained, as he grabbed her hand in his.

“Please believe me, Feyre, when I tell you nothing would please me more than to ask for your hand in marriage this very second. If I was able, I would have already asked your father.” The words froze and ached in her chest, making it hard to swallow, but she couldn’t look away.

“I wouldn’t say no.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, seeming to fight with himself over something. “In my current home, I am unable to make any propositions, and it would kill me to make you a promise I couldn’t fulfill. You deserve more than that. More than me.” It was the first true crack she’d seen in his mask, the first real show of that vulnerability that she’d sensed immediately. He huffed a mirthless laugh.

“What if I waited?” His eyes shot back to hers. “My sisters are not yet wed, and I cannot go before them anyway. What if we waited until your circumstances changed? We have time.” The hope and awe and wonder in his eyes was almost enough to unseat her entirely. His hand came to touch her jaw delicately, softly, as though she was something precious in his hands.

“I can’t ask you to–”

“I want to. Rhysand, I want to. This is crazy, I’m never this way. Truly, Nesta likens me to a beast more often than anything else. I don’t get along with others, but…” When she looked up again, he was staring at her like she’d hung the stars and moon. “You see me. I don’t know how I know, but I can tell. You see all that I am, here, now.” He nodded, brows deeply furrowed, as though thinking before he spoke.

“You would wait?”

“I would, unfailingly.” Something cracked wide open in her chest at the admission she hadn’t quite even felt herself deciding to make. Who was this man who had enthralled her so completely and utterly? And why did it feel more right than anything ever had before?

His eyes searched her face, as if looking for any reason to say no and failing.

“Would it be wildly improper of me to ask to kiss you?” His voice was as breathless as hers, as though they were speaking on sacred ground. She’d tipped forward a bit, leaning her face into his hand.

“It would, but do it anyway.”

“Can I kiss–” She didn’t let him finish as she surged up, pressing her lips to his.

The effect was immediate, sparks shooting off in her mind like a cracking piece of firewood. The tug in her chest became overwhelming as she wrapped her arms around his neck, his tongue moving against the seam of her lips as though asking for permission. She let him in, the smooth caress of his tongue against her own drawing a sound out of her that she’d never heard before. He smelled like jasmine and lilac as she ran her hands through his silky, inky hair, the motion drawing him closer as he ran his hands down her sides to hold her waist. It felt monumental, world-shifting, right.

The kiss deepened as he shifted her into his lap, his hands pulling, gripping, grabbing at every inch of her as they slid up her thighs to cup her ass. She ground down against him, feeling him against her and losing the fight against tipping her head back as his mouth left hers to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down her jaw and neck. She gasped as she felt his teeth, feeling sharper and more dangerous than they were, skirting lightly over her pulse point, something deep and primal thrumming within her at the action.

He murmured against her, “Feyre, you’re my–” And she would have given him anything he asked of her in that moment. A kiss, herself, the entire world.

But, abruptly, the sound of laughter and shattering glass broke them apart. Someone at the party had dropped something on their way out, but Feyre and Rhysand stared at each other, eyes wide and wild, chests heaving for air as they broke free of the spell.

“Feyre.” The word was a prayer on his lips as he licked them, as though he were tasting her one more time.

She pressed another, more chaste, kiss to the corner of his mouth, smiling as he sighed against her.

“Will you write to me, when your circumstances change?” She asked. His face was full of such wide, open hope. She would wait, and she’d do so happily if there was even a chance of this being the future that awaited her.

“Yes, of course. I’ll call on you when all is settled. I will see you again.” It sounded like a promise, an oath. She believed him as she felt the surge of joy and anticipation welling within her, the feelings stronger and more potent than she had ever felt before.

They stood, so unwilling to untangle their limbs and let go. He walked her back to the stone wall, offering to give her a hand and help her up. She sat atop it, gazing upon him a final time.

“I am very glad to have met you tonight, Rhysand.”

“Rhys.” He sketched a bow. “Call me Rhys. I was enchanted to meet you, Feyre.”

“Goodnight, Rhys.” He smiled, and as she turned to quietly dismount the other side, she looked back a final time to find him already gone.

+++

Rhys stood on the stone wall surrounding the manor as the moon dipped low in the sky. The colors of the sun on the horizon would be coming soon, but he hadn’t been quite ready to go yet. Instead, he stood, shrouded in the dark, hands in his pockets and the entirety of his focus on a single balcony. The wall was large and sturdy, at least two feet across and spanning the entire estate.

Good, Rhys thought. There are predators here.

Through the balcony window, the gossamer curtains flowed in the breeze, the low, golden light inside highlighting the fuzzy shapes within. He could see movement, the motion he’d been waiting for since she left the lakeside bench. His breath caught in his chest as she appeared, her hair down from her braid, loosely flowing over her shoulders and back as she spun around the room in her nightgown.

Dancing. She was dancing.

For the first time in decades, Rhys felt something like tears burning behind his eyes. She was so incredibly beautiful there in the window, holding her arms out and mimicking the moves that they had completed together only hours before. He’d have stayed a lifetime if only to see her dance again, to see that beautiful smile light up her face when she looked at him.

He’d been a fool to accept her offer, but it had been so long since Rhys had felt hope. He’d been an idiot to come here in the first place, considering the circumstances, but he had to see her, touch her, know that there was something worth fighting for. If he was going to make it out alive, he needed hope.

Mate. My mate.

He’d heard her thoughts all night long, so open and honest and forthright, not even second guessing herself. She fit him so thoroughly, her thoughts often matching his as they flitted through his own mind.

She was perfect.

It had been years since the first time he’d seen her in his dreams, just snips and flashes of her running through the woods, sloshing through the lake, then more detailed pictures of her pranking her sisters and governess, painting the undersides of furniture and the trees of the forest so no one would see. It had been a particularly horrible day when he’d finally broken and gone to see her, the lights of the ball providing a convenient ruse.

He’d told himself to be aloof, just a visiting guest, only there to observe.

Then he saw her. The pull nearly painful and he was pushing off the walls to look for her the second their eyes met.

If he had suspected the mating bond before, he was certain now, the tether alive and glowing in his chest, though unsnapped. He wondered how it felt to her, a human, but they’d been sharing thoughts and emotions all night, to his great joy.

Please don’t be in love with someone else. Please don’t have somebody waiting on you.

Half of that promise he could fulfill–he would never love anyone but her, his mate, the female from his dreams. He would always belong to her, the visual of her pressed against his chest as they danced, her smile bright and warm and eyes happy to see him. There would never be anyone else for him but the human girl who was a dreamer, who wanted more for herself in this life than the pretentious, materialistic world of a nobleman’s daughter. He watched as she threw herself back onto her fluffy bed with a sigh, kicking her feet against it as he smiled.

It was time for him to go, to flee back beneath the mountain before Amarantha looked too closely into his absence. He wouldn’t risk Feyre, no matter how much his heart ached to be near her. Just this glimpse would get him through, get him one step closer, one move further into a future where he might fulfill his promise, might be able to come to her again. Might even be able to bring her back home with him. Home, to his family.

He gave her a final look, smelling that pear and lilac scent on the breeze and filling his lungs with it.

“I’ll come back for you. I promise.” And then he was gone.

[moonlit-doodles]

i need to disappear because work is hell this week and esp today but pls take this while I'm on my shukita brainrot

“When did I lead you to think I’m something to be earned?” is what he asks, not yet withdrawing.

Yusuke looks at him, measuring him, and slowly his lips curve into a cogitative smile. “Ah, that is the very thing. You test my resolve in ways unlike any other. If I thought my answer would satisfy you, Akira, I would provide it.”

“You don’t need to satisfy me.”

“I want to,” swift and easy.

Akira closes his lips around a straw, garners himself a few seconds to steep in it. “...Then, have I not made my invitation clear enough?”

There is an answering hum. “I’m not convinced it was an invitation, Akira. More an allowance.”

What do you mean?

“...Do you think I lied, Yusuke?” A stab of apprehension, I wasn’t lying, I wasn’t, even if this is more than I... “I don’t think I did. Do you?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

He shakes his head. “I have no answer that will satisfy you.”

Any answer, then. But Akira does not chase it. He twirls his straw around his cup and watches as Futaba tackles Makoto over and the splash war begins. Morgana is curled up asleep in the cradle that is Akira’s bag, sitting half open on a beach towel carefully insulated from the sand, having dutifully groomed himself clean after Ann shaped the fur atop his head into a mohawk.

And Yusuke continues to paint, and Akira is simply...here.

An allowance?

But he’s right, isn’t he?

Yusuke lifts his head to watch a gull coast by, and a thin line of deep grey makes its way onto his canvas.

“What was it like?” he asks.

He is testing the waters. “Missing a subject, Yusuke.”

“Prison.”

What is he testing for?

Akira steps closer to peer at the canvas, and points up at a solitary speck of light poking through burnt orange and sienna. A pale yellow star is born from the tip of Yusuke’s brush.

It looks lonely.

“Boring,” he answers.

Yusuke clicks his tongue. Wrong answer.

“Barren. Lifeless.”

Closer. Warmer.

“Isolating,” Akira concedes, the word grating against his teeth.

[aclowntiny]

Task Failed Successfully- Hyunjin x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2.6K | Friends to Lovers, College AU | Warnings: none really, very slight alcohol mentions but Reader doesn’t explicitly drink, one small swear

In all honesty, you were thankful for that tiny little art class with that temporary professor who moved universities the following semester. You were thankful even though you felt like those new brush types you were made to use irreversibly brought down the quality of the one portrait you painted- paint was a difficult, sometimes fickle medium anyway. Even though sometimes it felt like that class so few people had heard of was but a fever dream, it was more than worth it to you since you wouldn’t have met Hyunjin otherwise.

Your tablemate was a gifted painter, humble as he was toward every compliment paid him. The joke you two shared was that he could have taught the class, but art was Hyunjin’s major and he was truly eager to soak up every piece of knowledge his seniors had for him- even if he disregarded it sometimes to prove a point. Art types, you know. You remained more of a rule-follower, but you guys shared one of your famous stingingly enthusiastic high-fives for it. High-fives came so naturally to you two, neither of you had to look anymore. Hence why Hyunjin’s friend Minho described you two’s ‘creepy eye contact’.

Hyunjin was what you called a hopeless romantic. Many of the gorgeous children of his brush were roses, couples from movies that had become his muses. You teased him, called him the type of guy who must have had a ring already in his nightstand just waiting.

“Easy,” he shot back, “or are you trying so hard to get rid of me?”

“No, of course not,” you shook your head and mirrored his grin, “who’s going to buy my drinks at the campus café if I marry you off too soon?”

“Oh,” he elbowed you, “so that’s why you keep me around, huh? Bold of you to assume I’m going with you.”

Giggling, you shouldered your backpack and kept on down the posh brick walkway that marked the campus rose garden. Hyunjin kept by your side the whole walk past the waving blooms and right to the student center where the little restaurants and cafés were.

“Alright, fine, but only if you take bowling with me next semester.”

Your campus had a bowling alley and its own ‘sports’ course set there, a class that filled up quickly with students eager to get credits for fun, even if they sucked, because how do you fail bowling?

“Oh, no,” you placed your hand over your heart, eyes rolling away from him dramatically, “truly a fate worse than death.”

“You’re welcome.”

~

“What’s that supposed to be?”

Hyunjin was peering at your canvas, tracing the latest line you’d smeared across it with his head tilted and eyes darting. He looked like a curious cat.

“Why, what does it look like?”

“Oh, no,” he shook his tilted head, “this is the ultimate trap. I say the wrong thing and it looks terrible. Not falling for that one bit.” He punctuated his statement with an enunciated pronouncement of your name and a finger booping your nose.

“Well, I’ll give you a hint, it’s going to be a landscape.”

“Ooh! The beach! It’s the beach, huh? I should have known you were painting the sea again!” Straightening up, he clapped and pointed in excitement, having gone from cat to puppy in three seconds flat. That was one of your favorite things about him.

“Guess I’m predictable,” you replied jokingly, giving him a smile, “it is the beach. Well, sort of. At my family’s little spot there was this pier that would silhouette perfectly in the sunset, the water trapped on the sand reflecting it as an inverse on the ground. All the orange melting into blue- the sky geld more colors than the sea! It was like setting foot into another world.”

“Wow,” Hyunjin breathed, “and you say you’re not much of an artist. If I had half the way with words you do, it’d be over for everyone.”

“Well, then we’ll have to take over the world together.”

“Sounds good to me. Dictatorships sound lonely anyway.”

~

With that nature of his, it was only a matter of time. Hyunjin’s art spoke volumes about his subconscious, so it was no surprise when he started telling you about a blind date a friend of his was setting him up on.

“So I guess he sits by her in his fashion design class…”

“Ooh,” you muse. Sounds up his alley.

“And she’s been looking for a date for a while, so he told her ‘I have this art major friend’ and the rest was history.”

How was it so easy for some people? Though then again, volunteering your friends was a considerably different task than asking someone out, especially if your friends were as hot as Hyunjin. Not that you thought about that often. It was just a sort of objective appreciation thing, like straight guys talking about Ryan Reynolds. Yeah.

“So besides being single and taking a fashion design class with Felix, what’s her deal? Did he give you any detail?”

“She’s twenty-one. A bit of a partier, but sounds like nothing I can’t handle.”

At that, you suppressed a snort. Hyunjin was an E type, but the last thing he was was a partier. Getting a few drinks with his eight-person friend group or attending a wine and paint night was as crazy as he ever got. For being such an amazing dancer, he never hit the club and you were fine with that. All the noise and crowds could be sort of anxiety-inducing. Call you a child after heart, but you’d take the nights you two had painted the arcade red over going out dancing with strangers.

Enough about that, though. Pulling your jacket a bit tighter about your chest, you shook your head as if to dissipate a cartoon thought cloud. “So, where are you taking her, then?”

Hyunjin smiled, a bit…nervously? “We’re just meeting at the bar-and-grill across the way here, nothing fancy.”

“Hiding that side until a few nights in, huh?” You nudged him, chest feeling like it expanded at the way his smile opened up, relaxed.

“She’s a fashion major, she’s going to be way more pretentious than me.”

“I dunno, Mr. Windows to the Soul,” you kept teasing, this time with the name of his last assignment sketch of a pair of eyes.

“Not my last minute title,” he waved a hand before playfully grabbing yours and swinging it back to your side, “next time I’ll just use a drama quote like you did. Really show how serious I take the assignment.”

“Hey!” You protested, shoving his hand away in mock offense.

“Gotcha,” he grinned.

Hopefully Miss Fashion could handle him as well as you could.

~

Forwarding a picture of your pet that your parents had sent you earlier in the day, you texted Hyunjin ‘Good luck!’. Too robotic? You hoped not, because by whatever cosmic dice roll the vibes had just been off all day, clouds rolling across the atmosphere of your mind and obscuring any small good that came your way. If you seemed off, he would worry, and he didn’t need to carry anything unnecessary into his evening.

Hyunjin 🐹: Thank you 👍🏻 heading to the bar now! Hope we both have a fun evening 😁

You shook your head as your phone’s backlight illuminated your face an artificial blue-white. Hyunjin was too sweet for his own good.

Me: I’m just having a night in lol so have fun for both of us!

Squirreling your phone back into your hoodie’s front pocket, you wiggled a bit deeper into the garment and sighed. It wasn’t that you wanted his blind date to go badly or anything…so why weren’t you feeling the excitement you led on in your text?

~

It was about forty minutes later, just about seven-thirty, when your phone buzzed again. Reaching into your pocket with one hand, you paused the video you’d been watching with the other. The first word you registered was Hyunjin’s name, the little hamster emoji you’d given his contact because they didn’t make a ferret for some reason.

Hyunjin 🐹: She never showed.

Just three words, but that message alone was enough to have you kicking your blankets off and feeling your hand curl into a fist. You barely bothered beyond a perfunctory check and touch-up of yourself in the mirror before you had your keys in your hand, all but stomping out the door of your dorm suite.

How dare she! How dare Whatever-Her-Name stand him up! Guys like Hyunjin didn’t grow on trees, and whatever planet she was on where she thought she could do better than your friend, it wasn’t much like Earth. Had Felix’s words been cause of any caution, set forth any reservation? It sure hadn’t sounded like it from Hyunjin’s recounting.

Me: Stay there, I’m coming to get you.

Hyunjin 🐹: You don’t have to do that. She just forgot, apparently. She was already out with friends when I texted a follow-up thirty minutes into sitting here.

Swallowing down some very uncouth nicknames, you sent one more message before starting your car.

Me: I know I don’t have to, but I want to. Not cool 😕

Metaphorical red clouded your vision, forcing reminders from the greatly-diminished level fraction of your brain to slow down, keep a vigilant eye upon the dim road still. This was the kind of thing you read about in ridiculous website articles about ‘Top Ten Dating Nightmares’ or saw on a corny sitcom, not a real-life thing. Petty, sure, but you wondered how many assignments Party Girl had ‘forgotten’ in her college career.

After what felt like much longer than a twelve-minute drive you were pulling into the bar-and-grill, where a serendipitous front-row parking space was just opening up. Swiping the black SUV’s former resting place, you parked and took a short, forceful walk through the doors. It didn’t take long to find Hyunjin as he sat blank-faced in a red leather stool beneath the bar’s wine-tinted neon, chin in his hand and cocktail in front of him. The lights splashing the place perfectly mirrored the literary light of your fervor, spurring you on… and inspiring your next piece for class, but that was beside the point.

“Hey,” Hyunjin greeted you in a deadpan, giving you a halfhearted wave.

“I- I- I cannot believe her!” You spluttered, forgetting yourself as you grabbed Hyunjin’s hand and practically yanked him out of his seat. “But it doesn’t matter- we are not giving her the power to ruin our evening.”

When it became ‘our’ evening who knew, but such did not even occur to you until much later. Only one thing was on your mind, after all.

“Come on. Let’s forget all about that and have some fun at least.”

No resistance from Hyunjin- he simply followed you out the door, chuckling and sarcastically thanking you for making sure he’d paid for his drink.

Stopping right before the doors, you cocked a brow. “Had you?”

“Yes.”

“Look at you- picture of integrity,” you remarked, disappearing back out from the reddish glow into cool night air, the feeling of your friend’s hand in yours a warm tether.

~

Soon the two of you were bathed in a much different light, the brighter-and much cheerier in your opinion-blinking of the arcade. Your spot. Fiddling sheepishly with your hoodie strings, you bid Hyunjin pick a game since you’d paid.

He chose air hockey. Good man. Whirs and rampant clicks drowned out the echoing thoughts you both were surely having, brought forth shaky, then stronger and stronger smiles. He won. You pretended to be upset before relenting with an infamous no-look high-five, secretly happy he got the victory.

“You paid and you lost!” Hyunjin urged, waving a hand as if to usher you deeper into the colorful madness. “Pick the next one!”

“Alright, basketball!” You agreed, following the wave down to the hoop-shooting game.

With a swipe of your card, you were off, tossing with the best of your aim and protesting the snickering at your side when you proverbially ate it. Like a Jedi sense, you leaned to the left right as Hyunjin made to nudge you, something he’d done on your last trip too, and vowed your revenge.

In a way, you got it, because you won that game. Playing clean, you reminded him.

Neither of you brought up the evening’s previous half for several games, truly successful in your endeavor of distracting yourselves. It rose to your mind a few times, mostly when the sight of his smile drew one from you. No longer were your eyes framed crimson, though- rather all you felt was gladness at your move, satisfaction like the last piece had tumbled into a puzzle.

It was after the roulette spin that the subject of your un-ruined evening was broached. Your head had swiveled in search of the next expense of credits when his voice at your side had you turning back.

“Hey,” he’d said, and when you faced him again he tugged at the hem of his jean jacket and glanced up to your eyes and back down, “this means a lot to me.”

Your gaze softened into his, chest leapt at the sudden heartfelt words. “Of course. I told you, no reason to let the evening be ruined.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, scratching sheepishly at the back of his neck, “but I guess what I really mean is I realized something when we came here. When Felix told me about the blind date, I just jumped at the chance without thinking. Well, we see where that got me.” He gave a short, sardonic chuckle. “Now, though, I’ve been thinking. Everything just feels right like this with you and I. You’re the one I’d rather be with.”

You gaped. “Like, date?”

“What happened to inverse worlds reflected on sand?” Hyunjin teased, giving you one of those infamous smirks of his.

“I wasn’t exactly surprised out of my mind talking about the old bay pier,” you shot back, though your expression was anything but intimidating, a smile no part of you could fight spreading across it in place of any pout or death glare you normally would have attempted.

And there he was, smiling back with a hopeful look in his eyes that had your heartbeat stuttering. “So, we going to unpack ‘surprised out of my mind’ or nah?”

“Nah,” you shook your head beneath the whirlwind of thoughts and thrumming of heartbeats, all your vision’s red faded to the rosy glow of something you never thought you would let yourself give into, “I’m just going to surprise you out of your mind.”

Ryan Reynolds, your ass. It blew your mind someone could pass over a person as amazing as your classmate, someone who could translate their heart into the most amazing things and feel like home in physical presence too. An open conduit for all the teasing banter that never went too far. Well, no matter- the floodgates had been opened, and with no further warning you surged forward to shut out every centimeter of air between Hyunjin’s lips and yours, smiling and resisting the urge to shake your head at- well, everything. Your arcade light fireworks lighting up the insides of your fluttering eyelids, the way his fingers found the curves of your cheekbones, tracing them like he was plotting his next painting.

Maybe both of you were hopeless romantics.

[intheticklecloset]

A Brush of Inspiration (Big Windup!)

Summary: Abe struggles with an assignment in an art class he shares with Tajima and Oki, but they know just how to help inspire him.

A/N: The first full Big Windup fic I've written in ages. Honestly, I stayed away from writing full stories for this fandom because I figured no one else cared to read them like I do, but I really miss my anime baseball boys - especially my beloved Abe Takaya - so I just HAD to write for them again. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! 💖

Word Count: 1377

~~~

Abe didn’t care much for art.

He wasn’t good at it, and he didn’t enjoy it. It wasn’t necessarily stressful, it was just…not his thing. Not something he sought to do on his own. The only time he’d ever pick up a paintbrush was if he had to for a project or a class.

Like right now.

The blank canvas wasn’t mocking him, necessarily. It just sat there, empty, waiting, and Abe had no clue where to even begin trying to create a nature scene, like they’d been instructed to do. Did he paint a forest? A lake? A volcano? What was easiest?

A light breeze pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced around. On his left was Tajima, tongue sticking out as he easily dragged the brush across the canvas, surprisingly focused. On his right was Oki, tapping the handle against his chin as he contemplated his own ideas.

Their teacher had chosen to take the class outside; it was fall, and the temperature was just about perfect – not so hot they’d swelter, not so cold they’d shiver holding the brushes. The leaves were changing colors, too, and Abe suspected the teacher thought they’d gain better inspiration for their nature pieces from all of the nature right there around them.

He glanced back at his white canvas. He tried to concentrate.

He drew a blank.

“Agh,” he grumbled at last, startling Oki out of his reverie. “One of you, tell me what to paint.”

“Uhh…” Oki started, just as Tajima said, “Whatever you want!”

“Whatever I want isn’t happening,” Abe grumbled, glancing down at the paint bottles around them. “I’m no good at this stuff. Just give me something, and I’ll do what I can.”

Tajima paused his brushstroke to look at him. “Let me ask you this, then: when you think of being outside, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?”

Abe gave him a withering look. “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?”

“Ooo, look who’s being a grumpy jerk, as usual.” The third baseman rolled his eyes, setting his supplies down and getting to his feet. “Let me see what you’ve got…oh. You haven’t even started?”

“Like I said, I’m no good at this. I can’t just choose a nature scene; that’s why I asked for one.”

Tajima reached past him, picking up a brush with a tiny tip and twirling it around as he considered. “Well, when you think of the outdoors, do you think of camping? The beach? Mountains?”

Abe glanced at Oki, silently asking for help, but the other boy looked just as interested in his answer. He huffed. “I don’t know. I just…think of outside. It’s not like a particular spot comes to mind.”

Tajima sighed. “You’re impossibly stubborn sometimes, you know that?”

“I’m not trying to be stubborn! I’m serious!”

It was at this point that Oki finally spoke up. “Whoa, Abe. Easy. He’s not trying to make you feel bad or anything.”

Abe clenched his fists, closed his eyes, gritted his teeth. He took a deep breath. He just had to be patient, like he was learning to be with Mihashi.

In the next instant the catcher had leapt out of his chair, nearly toppling the table along with all three of their canvases. His hand flew up to his left ear as he whirled on a surprised looking Tajima. “What the hell?! You can’t just do that!”

“Do what?” Oki asked, confused, but Tajima only smirked at him.

“Oh? Didn’t know you were so sensitive, Abe~”

Abe clenched his jaw, willing the blush he could feel coming on away before it manifested. He reached for the paintbrush the other boy was holding. “Give me that.”

“Ah-ah!” Tajima teased, easily evading him and flipping the tool so the handle jabbed into his ribs, making him stumble back a step. “Not so fast. I think this is just what you need.”

The catcher hesitated, glancing around. The nearest set of three classmates were set up several yards away, and they weren’t paying much attention to what the three of them were doing. Still…

“You wouldn’t. Not in class.”

Tajima winked. “You must not know me very well, then.”

What happened next took only a few seconds, though it felt like an eternity to Abe. Tajima aimed the bristle end of the brush at his neck, which made him scrunch up instinctively and try to grab onto the tool himself, only for a new set of arms to hook under his from behind and trap him. He barely had a chance to whirl around and snap at Oki – “What the hell are you doing?!” – before Tajima had lifted the hem of his white t-shirt and started dragging the dry brush across his bare waistline.

Abe nearly crumpled to the ground right then; as it was, helpless snickers slipped out that he was mortified came from such minimal stimulation. “W-Wahahait, don’t—!”

Tajima pulled back, looking frustrated. “What am I doing? This tiny thing won’t work.” He discarded the small-head brush for the largest one and returned to his earlier ministrations, this time pulling full-on giggles out of the catcher.

“Nohohohohoho! Tajima, dohohohohon’t! We’re in clahahahahahass!” Abe half-demanded, half-pleaded, eyes darting first to their nearest classmates who were finally beginning to glance their way, then back at Oki as well as he could manage. “Lehehehehet me gohohohohoho!”

“I didn’t know you were so sensitive,” Tajima said again, grinning with genuine enthusiasm this time as he “painted” all over Abe’s waist and hips, gradually fluttering up to his ribs. “I figured someone had to really work at it to make you laugh, but this thing is super gentle and you’re already a mess!”

Abe felt the blush cover his cheeks at last, but he couldn’t even focus on that for how tickly the paintbrush was against his skin. He now found himself fighting back a squeal of laughter every time it got near his hips, shooting sharp, ticklish sensations through his entire body.

“You jeheheheheheherk! Stahahahahahahap!” Abe pleaded, squirming in Oki’s hold while Oki did his best to keep him from lashing out at the art table. He didn’t want to ruin the progress he and Tajima had made, at least.

“What about here?” Tajima asked innocently, now trailing the weapon of destruction against Abe’s neck and collar.

At this point, Abe couldn’t help the squeak he let out, nor the hysterical giggles that followed. “S-Stohohohohohohop! Plehehehehehease! Tajima, it t-tihihehehehehehehe! Tihihihihihihickles!”

“Aww, does it?” the cleanup hitter teased, dusting it under his chin and finally beneath his earlobe – the spot that had gotten Abe to jump out of his chair in the first place. “Does it really, really tickle? Hmm?”

“Gahahahahahahahaha, fuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuck! Plehehehehehease, no mohohohohohohohore!” Abe begged, nearly hurting himself trying to scrunch up protectively, his head almost parallel with his shoulder. “I give, I gihihihihihihihive!”

Oki suddenly let him go, and Abe did the only thing he could think to get away, and that was to drop to the ground in a giggly heap. To his relief, Tajima didn’t follow, but only because he could hear that their teacher had come over to gently admonish them for getting off-track.

Once she’d walked away and Abe had gotten to his feet, blushing furiously and trying to ignore the murmurs he was overhearing from the girls in his class about how cute he’d been, Tajima handed the offending paintbrush back to him with an unbothered grin.

“Maybe that’ll help you come up with something, now that you’re done being a grump,” he said good-naturedly.

Abe snatched the paintbrush and then pointedly ignored him, practically glaring at the canvas…until suddenly he could see it. A scene unfolding in his mind’s eye. He stifled a smirk, unwilling to give Tajima the satisfaction of seeing him happy after that fiasco, but he did reach for the beige-colored paint and squeezed some onto his palette.

Being tickled like that must really have brought everything into focus for him in more ways than one, because as he finally dragged the brush across his canvas for the first time this afternoon, he wondered why he hadn’t thought about this before. Really, when it came to the outdoors, there was only one place that mattered.

The baseball field.

[littlebosslady7]

Thank you for the comic con updates and your cm fanfics during the downfall arc. You set them in Nicodranas more than once. What does their beach house look like?

You're very welcome. I had fun writing those over the BH hiatus.

Outside Ocean view. Right on the beach, but far enough away from the sea to avoid monsters and high tide. Bricked walkway. Two vehicle garage. 1 of which stores Ashton and Fearne's crawler/tools. Their crawler is essentially a Harley motorcycle, but with steam pipes. The other side stores any brumestone vehicles that they rent and boxes of their treasures. It's cream colored, brick reddish brown shingles, dark wood front door. All arched doorways.

Living room has a couch that could double as a guest bed. Overhead torch lights that have a touch of fey whimsy. Two maroon arm chairs, a crystal that gets that same channels as Nana Morri, plants that Fearne constantly has to reinvigorate with her druidic magic because the hot sun can sometimes be too much. A decorative hour glass on the wall, but instead of sand, it may or may not be healing water. (It does) A second sturdy wood coffee table built by Chet. A portrait of Mister on their crawler by the sea.

Kitchen: Bar like. Blue tile backsplash. Ice box. Stools at the long island. Stove, not as nice as their cabin, but it works. Fearne likes to do outdoor bonfires. Little nook in the corner with cushioned bench seats. Tropical fruit in a bowl.

Hallway has mirrors, various crawler race portraits, and abstract paintings of gems and flowers.

Upstairs: Always gotta have a playroom for Mister with his indoor climbing tree. Next room has a writing desk for Fearne. Ashton also occasionally does graffiti art on canvas or their clothes. Also there's a long day bed should they relax in other ways.

Their bedroom: Always a huge bed to fit their Titan forms. Canopy style, they always need replace the curtains. Metal trunk for Ashton's winnings and Fearne's beginning deals with impressionable sailors. Grey chaise/daybed. Balcony with little outdoor table and chairs. Spy glass. Wood floors cuz carpet would be too hot.

Their closet: Blue double doors. An array of rainbow color. Things are always left on the floor. A silver full length mirror that's easy for Ashton to move. If I’m being honest, I feel like Fearne and Ashton keep their smutty stuff here — lingerie, swimsuits, books, and toys for both of them. There may be some Burlesque style paintings poorly done after a paint and sip night. Obscured by a trophy or two.

Their backyard: Lounge chairs. Crappy falling apart umbrellas, but Fearne prefers to make shade with giant plant growth leaves.

Bathrooms: Powder room downstairs: Peeling palm tree wallpaper. Upstairs: Chisels of various sizes for Ashton's hair cuts. Tons of fur conditioners and shampoos for Fearne.

[dingochef]

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (MDNI 18+ Only), Stalking, P in V, oral (female and male receiving), Semi-public sex, light spanking,

Summary: Jake officially moves in, but that's not what throws you off kilter, it's memories from the past.

Word Count: 3.4k

Chapter Specific Warning: Brief mention of eating disorders in general. No character has an eating disorder in this story.

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 5

Chapter 6: From Afar

Jake wasn't kidding when he said it wouldn't take him long to pack and be out of his quarters. He has packed up his belongings and is back at your house in under four hours.

You are relieved, the few times you had visited the apartment always felt lonely and impersonal. It also didn't help that the floor below him was all of his students, which was too close to have any real separation from his job.

You've only lived with one other person before and in a place you both chose to move to so it was a blank slate you filled together. Jake is moving into your house where you've lived for a couple of years. You want Jake to feel like this is his home, too.

You had cleared out a drawer in your dresser for Jake to stash some clothes early on in your relationship, but now you need to reallocate storage space in the bedroom. You and Jake are standing in the bedroom discussing it.

"I won't lie, I do have an absurd amount of clothing between work clothing, casual clothing, and cycling/workout gear," you say.

Jake laughs,

"We'll figure it out, besides I like all your clothes especially when I'm taking them off you," he replies and kisses your temple.

"So, I was thinking I'll clear out half the closet for your frequently worn hangables and we can put the rest of your stuff and formal uniforms in the guest room closet. We could also get another dresser for you or get a double one, I think there's room for either option," you say as you lay out a plan.

Jake wraps his arms around you and replies,

"You are such a cute engineer, the way you pounce on a problem is adorable."

You give him a little scoff and he continues,

"I think the closet will work and that another dresser is a good idea, it gives us more flexibility in layout."

Nodding, you reply,

"I think I can get a matching dresser from the place you got this one, or there's a neat vintage shop in Old Town where we could find something."

The bedroom settled, you walk into the guest room. You have a very fancy futon with a good mattress for guests and a desk, but not much else in the room.

"This room doesn't really have a function, I sometimes get friends visiting, but when my family comes for Christmas my parents just rent a beach house for a week and we all hang there."

"Christmas in San Diego, sounds nice."

"Yeah, with my parents in Michigan and my sister in Chicago convincing them to come somewhere warm in the middle of the winter was an easy sell."

"Back to this," you wave your hand at the room, "If you want to carve out a space that's yours or have any ideas this room is a blank canvas."

You step over to Jake and wrap your arms around his waist,

"I want you to feel at home here, that this house is your home, so if there's anything you want to do, change, or need, let's talk about it. You know, paint, sheets, whatever."

He kisses your forehead.

"I appreciate you putting so much thought into all of this," he looks down at me, "I do feel at home here, I like the way it's decorated, light and airy, you have very comfortable furniture and whatever 12,000 thread count sheets you use are like sleeping on a cloud. This is home because you're here with me."

"You are too sweet," you respond standing on your tiptoes to give him a kiss.

"I have a few things back in Texas at my parents house that I'd like to get up on a wall and a few other mementos that I thought I'd grab when I went back for Thanksgiving," he pauses,

"Speaking of, would you like to come with me and meet my family?"

You are surprised and not at the same time that Jake has asked you to meet his family. A brief memory of meeting Liam's family for the first time flashes into your brain; it is not a good memory.

"Depends, do you like your family? I've walked into a hornet's nest of passive aggressive familial animosity and I'd prefer not to do it again."

Jake chuckles,

"I do like my family, in fact I love them. I think you'll like them and they are definitely going to love you. Seriously, my mom is probably going to write me off and adopt you as the daughter she never got."

It's your turn to laugh,

"It sounds great, I'd love to spend Thanksgiving in Texas with you and the Seresin clan."

"I'll call my mom later and let her know the news, that and my new address."

Jake is beaming, the panty dropper smile is brilliant on his face.

The transition of Jake living with you is hardly noticeable or different than how things were before in the daily routine of your lives.

It's a few days into your official cohabitation when you get a large box in the mail from your mom.

You're opening it up when Jake gets home.

"What's all that?" he asks as he takes his shoes off. You have placed the large box on the coffee table and are looking through it.

"My mom sent it. My parents have decided to downsize and are looking at getting a condo on the lakeshore, so they've been cleaning out the house in DeWitt. My mom said she was sending some 'important stuff' that I left there," you answer.

"The lakeshore?" Jake asks.

"Sorry, Michigan thing. A condo somewhere in one of the towns on Lake Michigan, in this case, or any of the four Great Lakes that Michigan borders."

He laughs at your very tourist guide answer and sits down next to you. There's a few formal family portraits in frames on top, you laugh as you look at the absurd 90s clothes and hair.

Jake laughs,

"El, you had a perm."

"I know, a poodle perm, too. I asked my mother later in life if she laughed when she sent me to the bus stop in the morning."

The next artifact to come up is your high school diploma and tassel. you put it aside and look under it. There are about a dozen DVDs with homemade labels on them.

"Oh yeah, my dad said something about taking our family videos and putting them on DVD."

Flipping through the DVDs you see that most are in chronological order and include things like birthday parties, holidays, and school events. The last two give you pause. The first is labeled with your mom's handwriting and says, "Elsa Gymnastics - Before" and the second one says, "Elsa Gymnastics - After."

You look down and the rest of the box is filled with gymnastics medals and trophies and other useless trappings of competition. Something in you flares up in anger.

"Jesus Christ, mom. It's been nearly 20 years and she still hasn't let it go," you spit out.

Jake takes the two DVDs from your hands and reads the labels.

"Are these seriously divided by when you fractured your ankle?" he asks, an incredulous edge to his voice. He has peered into the box and seen the mountain of medals and trophies. He puts his hand on your back and starts to rub gently, sensing your agitation.

You huff an angry laugh through the tears that are starting to form, "Nothing like your parents making you feel like a disappointment from afar, thank you US Postal Service."

"That's a little fucked up, El. I can't understand how any parent wouldn't be busting with pride for all that you've accomplished in your life."

You sigh,

"Please let them know that. They had one dream for me for so many years, but it wasn't my dream. They poured so much time, energy, and money into making that happen. I get the initial disappointment, but it's been almost 20 years and I've gone on to do some pretty god damn amazing things with my life, but they still hold onto the grief of losing that one dream. I always thought that a parent's dream for their kid would be for them to be happy in life and not a serial killer."

He snickers at the last part and takes your hands in his,

"I think most parents aim higher for 'not a serial killer'. What matters is if you're happy with your life, El. Not them. You are an amazingly smart, beautiful, funny, and kind woman who has a goddamn PhD in aerospace engineering with a job that engages and challenges you and a devastatingly handsome boyfriend who is a decorated fighter jet pilot."

You laugh softly at his self assessment.

"People wouldn't write that in a movie script because it sounds too good to be true," he says, earnestly.

You look at him through the last of the tears and say,

"Did I mention I love you?"

"Not in the last five minutes, but I'll take that any time. Here," he stands and pulls you up. He rifles through the rest of the box to see if there's anything else besides medals and trophies. Seeing none he picks up the box and grabs your hand.

"Come with me and grab some shoes," he tells you. You break apart for a brief moment to slip on some sandals by the back door. He is outside and heading towards our garbage bin in the alley with you following close behind.

"I think I'm reading the situation right, this all shit you don't want in your life anymore?" he asks, putting the edge of the box on the edge of the now open bin.

"Yes, I've made my peace with it and it's all just reminders of the past and shit I don't need," you answer.

With that answer he tips the box of medals, trophies, and bad memories into our trash. It is a loud din of metal clanking and jingling. There is a silence after everything settles in the trash and you feel lighter. Jake responsibly breaks down the box and puts it in the recycling bin.

Taking your hand he leads you back into the house. He sits down on the couch and pulls you down with him.

"I didn't throw the DVDs out because I want to see that part of your history," he says, almost asking gently.

You nod and you get it, it was such a big part of your life that it makes sense that he wants to know about it.

"No time like the present. I'm already in an emotional state so why not go with it," you say a bit darkly. You pick up the DVD labeled 'After' and put it in the player and turn on the TV.

Surprisingly, the first meet to come up is one from college, you recognize the shiny shamrock on your leotard as you run for a vault, your face determined. As it plays you look over to Jake, who is mesmerized.

"That's unbelievable you could do something like that with your body. Hell, most people pull a muscle getting off the couch," he says watching the past you on the TV.

The TV you had landed the vault beautifully, you bow and trot off out of the frame. The next thing to appear is you on the parallel bars. You snuggle into Jake and he wraps his arms around you.

"Babe, not to be blunt, but you seemed really small back then," he asks with a bit of hesitancy in his voice.

"Yeah, I was about 15 pounds lighter than I am now. There was immense pressure to keep your weight down, I'm lucky I didn't come out with an eating disorder. I didn't really have tits or an ass till you went to grad school and stopped working out four hours a day, basically."

"Really, you are a tiny little thing right now and in incredible shape. You don't even weigh enough to give blood. I didn't realize how intense some of the training was and how that would have affected you growing up. It makes it even more amazing that you're a well adjusted human being after all that."

"Yeah, it took some therapy and mostly just getting away from my parents and living the life I wanted."

Jake looks down at you where you have your head on his chest.

"And that life led to us, so I'm incredibly grateful for that. Plus, I do have to tell you how much I appreciate your tits and ass among other things," he says leaning down to kiss me.

You let out a little laugh,

"You are a very good man, Jake Seresin."

Your storm of your emotions has wound down and you are filled with the need to have Jake surround you with his love in every way possible.

Pausing the TV, you stand up and pull on Jake's hand to get him up off the couch. You take his hand and guide you and Jake to the bedroom.

You guide his head down and kiss him,

"I need you, Jake, I need your love," you whisper into his neck, your voice cracking a little at the end. You see the understanding in his eyes, in what you're asking for. Jake brings his hands up to your cheeks to cradle your head and kisses you so tenderly it brings tears to your eyes that Jake wipes away with his thumbs. He wraps his arms around you and squeezes you into a tight hug.

Lifting you up he gently places you on the bed. He pulls back and undoes your pants and slides them off. Then he works on his clothes, unbuttoning his shirt then his pants letting them all fall on the floor. The bed tips as he kneels down and crawls up to you pulling you into his arms and kissing you. His hand slips under your shirt and rubs the soft skin of your stomach.

You lean up to pull your shirt off and Jake's hands have slipped to your back to undo your bra. Clothing discarded Jake rolls you so that you are on your sides. He pulls your leg on top of his and pulls you close so that you are chest to chest. He brings his hand up to stroke your cheek and looks in your eyes and whispers,

"El, you love you so much. I can't change your past, but know our future together is brighter than any shitty medal ever would have been."

His words overwhelm you and you feel a part of yourself heal, his love so strong and pure. It strikes you that is what love really is, unconditional and beautiful. You can't form the right words, so you desperately kiss him trying to let him know how much you are feeling right now. Small tears slip down your cheeks as you process it all. When you're finally able to talk, all you can say is, your voice a little thick,

"Jake, you need you, need you right now."

He understands and slides down to slip off your underwear and his. Sitting up he gently pulls your arms for him to straddle his lap.

You sit in his lap and enjoy the feeling of strength and protection that envelop you as Jake wraps his strong arms around you. Your head is tucked into his neck and he smooths his hands over the expanse of your back and you for the same. The position places your core over his rapidly hardening cock and you start slowly running your heat over him, your quickly forming slick wetting him. Everything you've ever wanted is here at this moment, and is Jake. You reach behind yourself and guide him into you. You both moan at the contact and connection. You savor the initial stretch, the initial joining, your breathing starting to speed up and your foreheads together.

Rolling your hips Jake's breath catches and a low groan bubbles up from his chest. His hands slide down to your hips and join the gentle pace you have set. The room is filled with soft moans and heavy breathing. Your hips are suddenly lifted by Jake's strong hands and you are moving farther up and down his cock. You engage your legs to help speed up the pace. A stab of pleasure shoots through you. Jake has moved one of his hands to your clit and is drawing circles around it in time with your pace.

There is so much emotion running through you right now; you feel raw, vulnerable, and most of all safe. That thought combined with your now almost frantic pace and Jake's efforts on your clit brings your orgasm hurtling towards you. The intensity overwhelms you and tears pinprick at the edges of your eyes as you cling to Jake as the waves wash over you. Jake's breathing has stuttered and he spills into you reaching his high. Wrapping his arms around you, he murmurs words of praise as your breathing slows,

"My El, so strong, so amazing."

You let them wash over you along with a warm feeling of comfort. Jake gently lays you down. You are so exhausted, emotionally, physically, and sexually and you quickly slip into a light sleep.

You wake a little while later, a little disoriented, not used to taking a nap this late in the day. Jake is cooking something, the smells luring you out of bed. Throwing on one of Jake's t-shirts and some underwear you walk out to the kitchen to find Jake putting some bowls of food on the table. He is wearing a pair of gray sweats and, of course, a faded Navy t-shirt. He turns and gives you a bright smile and says,

"I was just about to wake you, figured you needed the rest."

Stepping up to Jake you wraps your arms around his waist, nuzzling your face into the soft fabric of his shirt on his chest.

"I did, definitely helped me recharge a bit. What's for dinner?"

"Whipped up a quick stir fry," he answers. You break the embrace and lead him to the table sitting down to eat. He is looking at you trying to read your face to see where you're at emotionally. You take a bite, chew and swallow it savoring the umami and other delicious flavors. He continues to watch your face closely, you help him out and say,

"First, this is really good. I like the sauce," you reach out and take his free hand,

"Second, I want to really thank you for being here today, for that emotional landmine. I know if it was just me, I don't know how I would have dealt with it. Probably would have angrily drank too much wine and then put all that emotion into a box and not dealt with it."

He snorts,

"So you would have worked through it in a totally healthy way."

"Yeah, but having you here to share it and do something about it, even if it was just a mostly symbolic act, it was a million times better. Thank you."

He gentle shakes his head,

"El, that's just one benefit you bring to our relationship, besides keeping you knee deep in orgasms." You give him a well earned laugh.

"I'm here to share your burdens and support you, that's what love is. I think it was more than a symbolic act, your mom said 'important stuff'. Those medals and trophies were important to her, not you. They were just bits of metal that brought you back to bad memories. Getting rid of them shows you've moved past that. All the good that gymnastics brought you, your degree, your crazy capable body, and your own joy when you did it for yourself, that's what you get to take with you, not trinkets that supposedly made your parents proud."

"Jake, stop, I'm going to start crying into your stir fry," you squeak out through a few tears. Wiping them away and you squeeze Jake's hand.

"I want you to know this goes both ways, I'm here to support you too, babe. You and you are a team," you say as you point to both of you.

"I don't want you to pull some stoic soldier shit when life hands you a problem. I will always be here for you."

"It's a deal, El. It's a deal."

Chapter 7

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@mayhemmanaged

@callmemana

@dempy

@hangmanscoming

@lanie-k

@callsign-viper

@senjoritanana

@djs8891

@atarmychick007

@memoriesat30

@genius2050

@midnightmagpiemama

[amirasainz]

Hey sweetie, could you do more Kelly and max with reader please, reckon their underrated

FLUFF!!! Enjoy reading and let me now if you have some requests. I will take a short break from writing to focuse on my lasts exams. But afterwards, I'll write all of your requests.

-XoXo

No Part 2!!!

Sunset Serenade

Max Kelly and Amira had always been inseparable. Their love story was etched in the sands of time, and the beach was their sanctuary—a place where laughter danced with the waves and secrets whispered through the salty breeze.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the Amira Luxury Resort’s private beach. Max, with his sun-kissed hair and easy smile, spread a blanket on the sand. Kelly, her eyes the color of the Aegean Sea, unpacked a picnic basket filled with fresh fruit, cheese, and a bottle of chilled wine.

Amira, radiant in her sundress, twirled toward them. Her laughter echoed as she skipped across the sand, her feet leaving delicate imprints. Max and Kelly watched, hearts swelling, as she spun like a dervish, her joy contagious.

“Look at her,” Max whispered to Kelly. “She’s our sun, our moon, our everything.”

Kelly nodded, her fingers brushing against Max’s. “We’re lucky, you know. To have found each other and to share this paradise with Amira.”

As the sun dipped lower, they settled on the blanket, toes buried in the sand. Amira strummed a guitar, the notes blending with the rhythmic lapping of the waves. Kelly leaned against Max, her head on his shoulder, while Amira sat cross-legged, her eyes wandering towards the horizont.

“Sing for us, Schatje,” Max pleaded, his voice like a seashell pressed to her ear.

And so, Amira sang—an old spansih ballad of love and longing. Her voice carried across the beach, weaving through the palm trees and reaching the distant cliffs. Kelly hummed along, her eyes never leaving Amira’s face.

The sky transformed—a canvas of pastel hues. Pink melted into orange, and the sea mirrored the colors, as if the universe conspired to paint their love story. Amira’s fingers danced on the guitar strings, and Kelly’s heart swelled. She knew this moment was fleeting, yet it held eternity within its grasp.

After a while, Amira leaned against Kelly, her head resting on her chest. “Tell me a story,” she whispered.

Kelly glanced at Max, who nodded. “Once upon a time,” Kelly began, “there were three souls entwined by fate. Amira, the poet, sang of love. Max, the racer, painted sunsets. And I, the dreamer, wove their stories into constellations.”

Amira’s eyes sparkled. “What happened next?”

Max leaned in, his lips brushing Kelly’s temple. “They danced under the moon, their laughter echoing across the waves. And when the stars blinked awake, they made promises—of forever, of love that transcended time.”

Amira sighed, her fingers tracing patterns in the sand. “I want that,” she said softly.

“You have it,” Kelly whispered. “In every sunrise, every shared smile, every stolen kiss.”

As darkness settled, they huddled closer, wrapped in the cocoon of their love. Max hummed a lullaby, and Amira’s eyes fluttered shut. Kelly pressed her lips to Max’s, tasting salt and sweetness.

“Forever,” Max murmured against her mouth.

“Forever,” Kelly echoed.

And so, they sat—a trio of hearts, bound by love, watching the stars emerge one by one. The waves whispered secrets, and the moon painted silver trails on the water. Amira slept, her dreams filled with sunflowers and seashells.

As the night deepened, Max and Kelly held hands, their love a constellation in the vastness of the universe. They knew that tomorrow would bring new tides, but tonight—the beach, the music, and the magic—belonged to them.

And so, they stayed, under the star-studded sky, doting on Amira, their love story etched in the sands of time.

[101flavoursofweird]

Emerald Trio Week: Day 2 - Inspiration

Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Watching and Dreaming regarding Hunter’s new…talent.

Set: After Watching and Dreaming. Hunter is attending Hexside with the others.

Warnings: A reference to the Titanic movie is made… Gus doubts his artistic skills… Contains more Huntlow and Gustholomule— glad I can tag them now!

Note: Again, thanks to @loosescrewslefty for the prompts.

Resting on his stomach above his bedroom rug, Gus squinted at the sketchpad in front him. He gnawed on the end of his pencil like a hungry echo mouse.

Legend had it that human pencils used to contain lead , which was poisonous for humans—

Stop getting distracted!

Gus shook his head and returned to the issue at hand: Matt’s birthday— tomorrow.

Gus could have (should have) gone out and purchased Matt a gift, but, never one to pass up a challenge, Gus had decided to create something instead.

Illusions were too easy. Matt had received plenty of illusions from Gus, and by this point, Matt was proficient at casting his own illusions.

Matt would be expecting something better from Gus. Something Gus had worked hard on. A challenge!

So, Gus had decided to take a page of out of Matt’s book. Gus was going to draw him a picture…

It sounded childish when Gus put it like that. No— he was going to produce a portrait. Paint the canvas. Compose an artistic masterpiece!

…As soon as he could figure out what to draw.

Think, Augustus, think…

No thoughts manifested. His brain was completely empty.

“Uuuuuugh!” Gus groaned and dropped his pencil. “Guys, what should I draw for Matt?”

So engrossed was he in his art that he’d almost forgotten Willow and Hunter were there with him.

They had come over an hour ago to start work on a project for History class, which only Hunter was still invested in now.

“Not sure…” Hunter replied without looking up from his books on Gus’s desk.

Willow made an ‘ I dunno’ noise from Gus’s bed, where she was watching a professional flyer derby match on her scroll.

“Thanks, you two!” Gus said flatly. “Such helpful, reliable friends I have—“ Willow tossed a pillow in his direction.

Gus gasped and moved his sketchpad aside. “Willow! You’re gonna wreck my canvas!” He chucked the pillow right back at her.

“Ha!” Willow caught the pillow. She placed the pillow at the end of his bed and planted her elbows on it.

“You can draw me!” she suggested with a smirk. She held her chin in her hand. “Draw me like one of your French girls!”

That made Hunter’s head turn. Willow pursed her lips at him.

“Ew! No!” Gus protested, poking his tongue out. (Why had he insisted on watching Titanic with them in the Human Realm? He’d thought it was a documentary…! ) “You two can just leave if you’re going to be all lovey-dovey!”

“Very well…” Willow sniffed loudly. She rolled to the left side of the bed and slowly slipped off. “But I promise I will… never… let go—“

Hunter snorted. When Willow’s hand sank weakly out of view, Gus wheezed with laughter too. Hunter joined him, clutching his sides as he rocked back in Gus’s chair. Willow popped up from behind the bed, chortling.

“This really… isn’t funny!” Gus gasped, after a minute. “The Titanic sinking was a real disaster in human history—“

“Kind of like our History project?” Hunter hummed.

“—and so is this!” Gus thrust a hand at his blank sketchbook. “How am I going to impress Matt? How?!”

“Why don’t you draw a beach?” Willow supplied, actually being helpful this time.

“Not a beach in the Boiling Isles… ” Hunter mumbled. Gus glanced at him. Hunter glanced away, rubbing his lip.

Willow said, “Maybe a beach from the Human Realm would be better?”

“Yeah…” Gus agreed. “ Yeah—  that could work!”

One sunny day during their stay in the Human Realm, Camila had driven them all to a beach, where the sand was soft and the sea didn’t boil. They could actually swim in the water, without fear of burning…

Witches still had to wear sunblock. (Amity, especially…) But it was definitely worth it for that beautiful sunset.

Gus pictured it in his mind— the sand, the sea, the sunset— and he projected it as an illusion the size of a crystal ball.

“It was great,” Hunter said, smiling at the memory.

“Who needs photos,” Willow quipped, “when we’ve got Gus’ power?”

Gus grinned, grabbed his pencil and his sketchpad, and started to draw the scene. It was much easier when he had the memory in front of him.

The beach had been bustling and bright with colour: The sapphire waves, the golden sand, the pink and purple sky…

Gus had the outlines of the beach, but it was bland and grey with pencil.

Gus frowned. Should he try shading? He gently rubbed a pencil mark with his fingertip and winced at the mess he made. “I need colours— right now!”

“Paints or crayons?” Willow asked, shooting to her feet

Paints would be too messy… “Crayons!”

“You’re a witch,” Hunter reminded Gus. “Why don’t you just—? ”

“‘’S’cuse me!” Willow shoved past Hunter to reach the desk. She pulled a pack of colouring crayons out of a blue pencil pot, and passed them to Gus. “Here you go!”

“Thanks…”

Gus coloured in the lines he’d drawn, but when he was finished, it still looked… wrong. The crayons were too waxy, too artificial, and they didn’t blend together.

A baby could have done better than this!

“I’ve ruined it!” Gus moaned. His illusion-bubble popped. He threw his sketchbook away and flopped facedown on the rug.

“No, you haven’t!” Willow went to pick up his sketchbook

Still on the rug, Gus turned his head to Willow as she crouched beside him. She held the picture up to him, hoping he would see it in a different light.

“See? It’s fine, way better than my doodles—“

“Fine isn’t good enough,” Gus huffed.

Hunter said, “Why not?”

Rubbing his wrist, Gus sat up. “Because… Matt’s a really, really good artist. I just wanted to draw him something— something I put a lot of effort into…!”

“You did put a lot of effort in, Gus,” Willow assured him. “Of course Matt will see that, but if anyone doesn’t, who cares?”

“You can’t please everyone,” Hunter muttered, sympathetically. Willow offered him a reassuring smile.

Gus looked between the two of them. He took the sketchbook back from Willow, staring at his picture .

“But,” Hunter added, with surprising optimism, “do you know what would jazz it up even more…?” He stood up and pulled a small carving knife out of his apron pocket.

“A… palisman?” Gus guessed. “But Matt already has…”

Gus trailed off as Willow made a rectangle with her thumbs and index fingers. Closing one eye, Willow moved the rectangle over to Gus, as if she was snapping a photo of him.

“Oh!” Gus gasped.

-

Matt ripped the wrapping paper off the box. “You got me… a hunk of wood?”

“No !” Gus sighed. Carefully, Gus removed the hand-carved panel of wood and flipped it over, revealing his picture inside the frame.

Matt’s eyes widened. “Wait— you made this?”

Gus wasn’t sure if Matt was referring to the picture of the beach or the frame or both, but he nodded shyly.

Matt snatched the gift off him. For a horrible second, Gus thought Matt was going to throw the framed picture away, but then, Matt held it up for all of his party guests to see.

“Everyone— look at this! Look at THIS! The first of many masterpieces from Augustus Porter! And it’s all MINE…!”

Gus blushed and beamed at Matt’s adulation.

He glanced back at Willow and Hunter, who were both watching behind him. Willow gave him a thumbs-up. Though Hunter looked a little tired, he was smiling.

Gus mouthed, “Thank you—“ but he was cut off as Matt caught him in a one-armed hug.

-

Hunter smiled at Gus and Mattholomule.

He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night— between woodcarving and their history project— but it was worth it to see Gus and his friend/rival/crush(?) so happy together.

Rubbing his eyes, Hunter wondered how much longer he would have to stay at the party…

Mattholomule wouldn’t mind if Hunter left, would he? He and Hunter weren’t really close (Hunter was more familiar with Matt’s brother, Steve), and Hunter didn’t have a present with him…

An arm wrapped around Hunter’s shoulder. Willow pulled him down so her mouth was level with his burning ear.

“You can take credit for the frame,” she whispered. “Gus won’t mind…”

“Nah…” Hunter chuckled. “I’ll let him have this one—“

“That’s sweet of you…” Willow hummed hopefully. “Could you make me a photo frame— when it’s my birthday?”

“S-sure…”

To make sure it was absolutely perfect he’d have to start preparations immediately— finding the right wood, marking the measurements…

Willow pecked him on the cheek, interrupting Hunter’s plans.

“Thanks, Hunter.”

[brailsthesmolgurl]

RAFAYEL HEADCANON

It has been a while since I had made a comeback for writing but since I am into Love and Deepspace and I do not see as much content for Rafayel, I figured I shall take things into my own hands and come up with some headcanons related to me baby boi <3

It shall have both sfw and nsfw version!

Do drop me a message for any Love and Deepspace ideas you have and maybe I might just write one accordingly :,)

SFW

Rafayel definitely puts you as his first priority over everything. Although you are his 'body guard', I think he is still pretty much taking care of you like how a 'body guard' would.

Rafayel would definitely seize the chance to have you in every single one of his paintings, be it the strokes in the sky that reminded him of your outings with him by the beaches, or simply a colour that you bickered with him about. Your traces would be everywhere throughout his paintings.

He is definitely the type to call you out of nowhere just to say hi. His meek smile behind the phone call would be wide when you realise that it wasn't anything urgent. BUT ADMIT THE FACT YOU WOULD SECRETLY LOVE IT!

Sends you Tiktoks and Instagram reels and any short videos about colour differences so that he could 'cure your blindness towards colours'.

Tells you he dislikes cringey videos but would most likely hole up in his bed, under his bedsheets and watch them.

He seems like the type to do colour analysis for you when you ask him for it.

Does not talk about you AT ALL during interviews, because he secretly does not want anyone to know about you, as he would be worried someone else might be head over heels for you.

Given that he is flamboyant, I can see he would be the type of boyfriend to try out different clothing styles just because you asked him to and that you say the keyword 'You would look stunning in it!'.

Brings you on spontaneous trips, dates and etc. Saying it is for 'inspiration' and for 'art' but just wants to spend alone time with you in different parts of the world.

Loves going on long walks with you.

He is the type to hold your hands whenever you guys are out, wipes your lips if there are smudges, would arrange your hair before taking any pictures of you and would kiss you whenever you're least expecting it.

He loves PDA with you but doesn't want paparazzis around.

He prefers candid pictures of you rather than staged ones. Keeps the silly ones for his own record, in a secret album with a passcode on.

Does not really like electronic devices but he knows he has to fit in hence he is somewhat forced to use them.

When he had first gotten a phone, I can see him typing on it like how a boomer would, with one of his hands holding the phone and the index finger would do the screen touching.

Has a huge love for white clothing, and would encourage you to dress in the same colour as him most of the time.

Plays games with you, flaunts how good he is most of the time, but would be a huge loser most of the time. AND, would want you to comfort him because you didn't go 'easy on him'.

NSFW

Rafayel is a huge neck kisser I can see. Would trail down from neck and downwards. His kisses would be slow and featherlike but as time goes by even more his kisses would turn into bite marks and he would be relentless.

Would definitely be the type to fuck you against his canvas, with paint splattered on either parts of you and said that it is 'for art'. He would definitely be keeping that to his own private collection.

I can see Rafayel being the dominant type, but would like to switch every once in a blue moon. This would only happen if you wanna take charge and he allows you to.

Would press you against windows and fuck you, that's for sure. He enjoys the idea of being caught but not ACTUALLY BEING CAUGHT.

He would be the type to drill himself into you HARD, but pulls out slowly and goes FULL ON IN again. He wants you to feel EVERY INCH of him.

I can imagine his dick to be slender and long, perhaps with slight girth. The tip of his dick would definitely have a pinkish hue given his skin colour takes on a rubicund shade.

His fingers indeed aren't for painting only, he would make good use of them, fingering you with his long slender fingers. Foreplay with him would most likely consists of a lot of fingering.

I can tell he would be sensitive around his neck and chest area, if you were to leave a trail of kisses on those parts, you would watch his face slowly turn red, but he would strongly deny that he is blushing or that he actually enjoys what you're doing to him.

His favourite position would most likely be Cowgirl. Something about watching you bouncing on him, while watching the curves of your body move under momentum would turn him on very well. If he were to take control, if would most likely be The Chairman. He would position you on his lap, ofc slamming you onto his dick and fuck you according to his own rhythm.

He does enjoy slow and languid sex often times, but would have dashes of rough moments throughout the process.

In an average week, I can say sex might be on daily basis or at least 3 to 4 times a week if he has art exhibitions and deadlines to tend to.

He is definitely the type to overstimulate you. Something about you calling out his name and begging him to stop while at the edge of tearing up makes him feel proud.

Would make you call him by his name in bed. And only his name. But he would want it to be loud.

Would make you beg for his dick or vice versa, would love you to make him beg. Lord have mercy on me please.

Rafayel would be clean shaven as he does seem like the type to worry about his personal hygiene given he is a public figure himself.

Would most likely have a safe word for when things get a bit too much. No safe word, no stopping whatsoever.

Would come inside if he gets the chance to, but wouldn't do it if you're uncomfortable with it.

Kink: Public Sex.

Dislikes in bed: When you are constantly teasing and degrading him. I can actually imagine his frustration turning in anger and he gets it out on you.

After sex with him would be decent. He would get ready a warm bath and relax in the tub with you. He also would most likely sleep naked with you and would not mind either if you choose to be naked around him all day.

As mentioned above, any ideas for the other boys or want more of Rafayel? Drop me a message and lemme know about your spoicy ideas or non-spoicy ideas :)!

[finalmere]

WHEN: Spring

WHERE: The Annual Lollux Convention

WHO: Meredith & Sam (@uncannysam)

WHAT: Meredith & Sam paint lollux shells and catch up. Very wholesome!

WARNINGS: None

Lollux were odd creatures, but they were something Sam had grown up with, and the Annual Lollux Convention had always been a childhood favorite. She had even begged her parents for one, and when they told her no, Zach had surprised her. She named it Shelly, and Shelly was her best friend (besides Zach), until she found it belly up in its tank one day. Sam cried for nearly a week, and vowed that if she ever had another pet, she would love it with all of her heart just as she had loved Shelly. But it didn’t stop her and Zach from going to the convention every year.

However, this year was different. And she had almost thought about skipping, until she remembered that Zach was probably by her side anyways. She just couldn’t see him. So when she saw the table set up with Lollux available to adopt and paint, Sam decided to honor him with one. The only problem? She would be decorating her newly obtained Lollux with one hand this year, and Captain America’s shield didn’t exactly lend itself to be an easy pattern to paint with one good arm. But she would try.

Finding an open seat, Sam gently put her Lollux on the table and sat down. Settling in, she glanced over to the person sitting next to her, not realizing she knew them, “Is this your first time here?”

—

Meredith had to get out of the apartment- she knew this.  She left to go to work and the grocery store and the occasional somber walk on the beach, but she hadn’t been doing a lot lately.  She painted, she cried, she stared at the ceiling while listening to Fleetwood Mac.  She didn’t socialize, she didn’t roller skate, she wasn’t herself.  She didn’t like it, she didn’t know how to fix it.  She figured, maybe, the Lollux Convention could be a place to start.

It was all an odd affair.  An entire convention for a weird, clam thing?  She didn’t completely understand it, but perhaps it was just the strange place to do something silly and get her mind off of…life for a while.  As it turned out, there was Lollux painting available, so Meredith had slid over her cash and grabbed a chair and got to work gathering brushes and paint.  Soon enough, another body sat down next to her.  She recognized their voice.  “Sam?” she asked, turning to face her.  One look into her eyes and memories flashed through her head.  A night when Mallory was rushed to the hospital and Sam was called to sit with Mere at home, another spent hiding outside her big sister’s door frame as the two girls worked on a school project and talked about high school.  It was almost a comfort to see her. 

“You know, I think my family came to one of these when I was a kid but the clams totally freaked Mallory out,” she said with a small smile.  “I thought they were weird and cool but she said they were creepy, we didn’t stay long.”  Meredith laughed, looking back down at her shell.  She began with a white base coat to create her canvas.  “It’s been awhile, how have you been?” She looked at Sam out of the corner of her eye.  “I guess maybe not so good, considering the arm.”

—

When the person next to her spoke her name, Sam looked over to find she knew them. A familiar face she hadn’t seen in a while, “Meredith!” She could remember a much younger Meredith and her sister Mallory, who she was surprised wasn’t with her. Of course, that had been years ago, and she had lost touch with the family after a while. Life was funny like that. One minute you were a constant in someone’s life and the next you weren’t.

As she looked over to see the start Meredith had on her lollux, Sam smiled, “Do you remember my best friend, Zach? We used to come to this thing every year. It was sort of a tradition. If I had known Mallory was creeped out by them, I would have invited you to come with us.” Perhaps an even stronger friendship would’ve formed bonding over lollux every year. It was something Sam couldn’t help, but ponder briefly.

“It definitely has been a while, and I’m doing okay. It’s been a rough year.” Sam glanced down at the cast on her arm, “A few more weeks and I think this thing can come off.” A soft smile spread across her face, “What about you? How are you and Mallory and your family?” Sam looked back to her lollux and then reached out for some red paint and a brush laying nearby. Sorry Zach, Captain America is about to go grunge. No clean edges on this lollux shell. With her best effort, after managing to squeeze out some paint onto a paper plate nearby, Sam started painting a red ring roughly around the edges of the shell.

—

It was odd, Sam had always felt grown up to her.  Of course, she’d only been a few years ahead but to Meredith she was the cool older girl that hung out with her sister.  Mere’s idolization of her older sister was often transferred to her friends and acquaintances; Sam was no exception.  So there was something strange about sitting with her now, her face changed slightly by time.  “Aw yeah, I remember him.  That would’ve been fun,” she smiled.  She could remember hearing about an accident, she didn’t know any details but she knew he was gone.  At the time, she couldn’t have imagined the pain.  Now she was all too familiar.  She wanted to say something more but she didn’t know what.  It wasn’t the right time or place, so she left it.

Meredith swirled paint across the shell and quickly her ever present nerves settled.  She’d been so on edge the past months, but with a brush in her hand the world around her grew softer.  She could focus, she felt at home.  “Yeah, I get that.  I’m glad you won’t have to wear it through the summer.  That can’t be comfortable,” she finished up her base coat and reached to rinse her brush in the provided cups of water that had already become muddied by the people around her.  She watched as the white paint swirled around in the glass.  “Oh um, I’m alright,” an understatement, but she still wasn’t sure how to broach it all.  “Mallory is good, really good actually.  She’s been living in London the past few years.  She’s a child life specialist, we’re all very proud.”  She said it with a sort of goofy tone, but the sentiment was genuine.  She was proud of her sister, more than words could say; she knew her parents were too.  She’d like to think they were proud of her as well, and of course they would say they were.  They’d probably attach it to a string of words like brave and strong, but Meredith hardly felt those things.  She wondered if they’d still think so if she had two kidneys.  

“I waitress these days, down at the Codfather.  Feel free to come down if you ever want a drink.  I’m still training behind the bar, sometimes they let me mess around and give out my concoctions for free,” she smiled, grabbing a clean brush to mix together a few oranges and yellows on her paper plate palette.  “You run that comic book shop, right?  That’s so awesome, gotta be a lot of work.  I was never super into comics but I feel like I should be, I’ve always admired the artwork.  Maybe I should stop in sometime for some recommendations.” 

—

It was so strange hearing Zach be mentioned in passing. Sam knew why Mallory had done it, but it was still hard in a way. Of course, from what Sam had seen in the local news, Meredith had been facing some struggles of her own, but now was definitely not the time and place for a conversation about death. Lollux painting was supposed to be a fun time. Relaxing and a way to take your mind off of everything life had thrown at you. Otherwise, this lollux that was being painted in honor of Zach would’ve been a lot darker in content.

Sam was glad for the brief pass by though, but her arm had been a completely different story, and one she wasn’t fond of getting into either, “Yeah, I’m really hoping this thing comes off sooner rather than later. I haven’t even been able to go swimming this year, and it sucks majorly.” Swimming probably hadn’t been the best idea either, but summer time was supposed to be fun, and so far this summer was turning out to be shitty. Meredith didn’t need to know that though. And instead of elaborating, Sam continued to slowly work on the red ring around the shell of the small animal listening to her friend talk about Mallory, “Really? That’s amazing! Good for her.” She was happy for the woman. While they hadn’t been best friends, Sam had still enjoyed getting to know Mallory. She had been one of the more enjoyable people during the woman’s school experience in Wicked’s Rest, so it was nice to hear Mallory had gone on to follow her dreams.

At the mention of the Codfather, Sam paused briefly, remembering the date with Winter and how poorly it had gone, at least until they had left to go get burgers and shakes instead. She had wondered if Meredith had been working that night, but nevertheless, that was in the past, and knowing she had a friend who worked there had given her a legit reason to want to go back, “And count me in, at least for keeping you company. I’m not much of a drinker myself, but I think it could be fun watching other customers trying your new drink ideas.” She smiled warmly at her friend, “And yeah. Escape Your Fate. It can be a lot sometimes, but I love it. Stop by anytime, and I’ll be glad to give you some recommendations.” Sam finally finished with the red ring and dipped her brush into a cup of water, cleaning it as she scanned the table for the next color she needed, “So what are you painting today?”

— 

“No swimming!? Now this-” Meredith placed her hand against her chest, “-is an issue near and dear to my heart.  We need to get you back in the water.  Can we wrap it up with a garbage bag and some duct tape and sneak you out on a boogie board?” She smiled, looking over at Sam.  “I’m sure your doctor wouldn’t advise it but I always say that a bit of sunshine and salt water cures all wounds.”  Meredith began to use a bit of orange paint to map out her design on the shell.  Slowly but surely, the flames began to take form.  

“In that case, maybe I can sneak you out some calamari or something.  Plus, I need someone to test out my mocktail recipes too,” she grinned earnestly.  It was nice to just have this time to talk to an old friend.  Sam wasn’t looking at her with pity or concern, she felt like she could just chat.  It was a relief.  “I’d love that.  I think I could use a few badass female superheroes in my repertoire,” Meredith laughed.  She finished her rough outline and began to dip her brush into a bit of yellow and red to add more dimension to her painted shell.  “Oh, I’m going with Calcifer.  Have you seen Howl’s Moving Castle?  It was one of my favorites when I was younger.”  She’s had demons on her mind lately, she supposed.  There were two books from the library on her nightstand on demonology, one about cults, and a slew of bookmarks on her iPad about poltergeists and the occult.  Perhaps it’s what influenced her decision to paint the fire demon on her lollux shell.  Her mind was swirling with scary images that reappeared in her nightmares, it helped maybe to think of a more playful spirit. 

“And you?  Have a particular design planned?”  Meredith continued to try and blend paint together on her rough canvas.  “Have you done this before?  Painted a lollux, I mean.  I swear, I really only hear about these things when this convention comes to town.  I tried to Google and came up empty.  Weird, right?”  She shook her head.  Lately she was looking at the world with fresh eyes.  She scrutinized everything with suspicion.  She was worried that soon it could consume her.

—

Sam laughed at Meredith’s reaction, “If you want to make me a summer project and figure out how I can go swimming, then please, by all means, I’m open to suggestions. But you have to promise me one thing…You’ll be there too, because my track record hasn’t been the greatest lately. Case and point.” She held up her arm, before putting it back down and grabbing the white paint.

Squeezing some out on her plate, Sam looked to the shell to see if the red had dried yet. She had to give it a few more minutes. So while she waited, Sam took in all the other fun designs being painted, including Meredith’s, “Don’t at me…” She grimaced, “But I’ve never seen it before.” It was true. She hadn’t. There was a lot she had seen, but even more she hadn’t. She was willing to put it on her watch list though. “Uh, I would love you forever, because I love calamari, and mocktails, I’m your girl.” She laughed.

When she noticed her red ring had dried, she dipped the brush into the white paint and began working on the next ring on the shell, “I’m doing Captain America’s shield. He was Zach’s favorite superhero, so I thought, why not?” A smile came over her face as she thought of her friend, “And yeah. Pretty much every year. But I know what you mean. I’ve tried to find them on the beach, and I never have any luck.” Of course lollux were just the tip of the iceberg, when it came to weird in Wicked’s Rest. She didn’t know how much her friend knew, but she really didn’t want to take her down a rabbit hole. Besides, it was a fun day. Not a “ponder every weird thing in Wicked’s Rest” day. In fact, that’d probably take months if not years to do. “Are you keeping your lollux or setting it free when you’re done?”

—

“Of course I’ll be there!  Don’t threaten me with a good time.”  Meredith laughed.  It was nice to laugh, to just joke around with someone.  She swirled her brush against her palette again and rounded out the base of her design.  “Well, Calcifer here,” she began, holding up her shell, “is this sarcastic fire demon that fuels the castle.  Not sure what exactly brought him to my mind today, but I’m going with it,” she shrugged, carefully placing the lollux back on the table to add Calcifer’s face.  “Forever, huh?  Well then, it’s a date,” she teased with a small chuckle.  “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Meredith looked over at Sam’s shell as the shield began to take form. “Oh yeah, I see it now.  That’s…really sweet.”  She smiled softly, looking back down at her own work for a moment, the brush resting in her hand.  She wondered what Stevie would’ve painted.  Probably something abstract.  Meredith could picture her flicking her brush to splatter her lollux with paint and bothering the nearby artists.  She wouldn’t have cared one bit.  Mere let out a small quiet sigh and got back to work.  “I’ll have to keep my eye out next time I go for a swim.  Maybe I can catch a glimpse.  As for this one, I think they deserve to be free.  Now they’ll just have a beautiful new shell to show off and brag to all of their weird lollux friends.  I’m not sure I’m ready for motherhood,” she joked.  “I already have a stray cat I’ve been feeding.  That’s about all I can handle right now.  What about you, are you taking your new sweet angel home with you?”  She looked over at Sam and smiled.

Her artwork was coming together.  She set her brush down to let the design dry before going in to add a few finishing touches.  “So you come to this thing every year, are there any other activities I should make sure I hit before I leave?”

—

Sam smiled. She had needed this. Needed the return of an old friend. This past year had been a rough one to say the least, and just having a day of fun with someone she hadn’t really expected to reconnect with had been nice, “I’ll one up it. You figure out how I can swim, and I’ll provide ice cream afterwards.” The ultimate summer plan. A day swimming followed by a delicious cold treat afterwards. It reminded Sam of her childhood. Something she missed greatly on some days. And as she listened to Meredith explain what the character was that she was painting, Sam couldn’t help but take in this moment and the sights around her. Something she found herself doing more so after Zach had died.

“Okay, yeah. This definitely sounds like something I need to watch. Maybe a good follow-up to free calamari and mocktails.” Sam laughed and shot a wink in Meredith’s direction as she continued to finish up the remainder of the details on her lollux. She could hear Zach now making fun of her shitty one handed painted lollux, but she also knew he’d probably love it. “Thanks, and I think yours is looking pretty rad too.” The more she looked at it, the more she realized she had seen that character before. She had just never seen the movie, “Tell me if you ever see one. And, honestly, my little grunge looking lollux is going right back out to the sea with his buddies. Maybe our lollux can be friends and see the world together via the ocean.” She looked between the two as she finally finished up with its star in the middle.

Sitting back to admire her work, Sam laughed, “I really needed this today.” She let out a soft sigh, before looking back to Meredith. “I can show you around, if you have some time. I’m not doing anything the rest of the day. I know they have a contest for the best painted lollux. There’s merch vendors where you can get a fancy new lollux shirt and other lollux themed items. My favorite are the plushies, but I have to keep them away from my dog, Scout. He loves them too.” Sam explained all that she knew about the convention with the hopes that maybe next year, instead of going to Lollux Con alone, she’d have a new-old friend by her side, who she could make new memories with.

[julianrchandlerx]

setting: blank slate  featuring: julian chandler & open

Art could be therapeutic. Julian had learned that from a young age and spent most of his time when stressed or upset with a pen and paper in hand, just sketching until the restless thoughts and difficult feelings melted away and his entire focus was instead on the artwork he was creating. When he died and then was turned, he spent most of his time alone with his easel just trying to make sense of what happened and what he was now. It had helped for the most part, at least to keep him somewhat centered and feeling like himself. So when the dust settled after the nightmare which Lunar Cove lived through, Jules turned back to his most trusted method of coping.

Many paintings of blood splattered frozen lakes and fiery stage scenes later and now he was at a usual Wine & Paint night, assisting a smaller than normal group with a simple painting which he hoped would maybe give them a mental reprieve. Tonight was a particularly easy one; a pink-orange-yellow sunset background with an all black beach silhouette at the foreground. A very easy and forgiving composition anyone could master, the customers sure to walk away that night with a canvas they could be proud of. As one of his coworkers lead the instruction, Julian went around to offer individualized help and supplies. The smile that grew on his face was warm and genuine, pausing as he came onto an in progress painting which caught his eye. “This is wonderful,” he said softly, a dash of excitement present in his low voice. “You did a fantastic job at painting that sunset — isn’t it fun to see your painting come together so beautifully as you build upon it?”