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oddinary4bts · 1 year ago

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Emotions of the Soul | knj

☆summary: when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: childhood/teenage lovers to strangers to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, anxiety, a reference to the reader in Now We Reign if you guys can catch it, cursing, stupid teenage threats of m*rder, an appearance from the reader in Forever, pet names, paparazzi, imposter syndrome, an ugly teenage breakup flashback, explicit content: mentions of blindfolding, switch!Namjoon, big dick!Namjoon, switch!reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, dirty talking?, balls fondling, face riding, breast play, fingering, protected sex, praise, hair pulling (ish), ass slapping, tummy bulge (? lmao), choking, cumshot, cum eating, unprotected sex, he calls OC a slut once or twice I think

☆word count: 36.3k

☆a/n: Oof I don't know why but writing this was so so hard?? I'm happy I finally managed to finish it tho! It delves into the subject of anxiety and its effects on people, so it's a little heavy, but I hope you'll still enjoy it <3 As always, thank you to @moonleeai for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3

☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!

☆☆☆☆☆

The music in the gallery was loud. It probably fitted a club better than an art exhibit, the upbeat melody having more than one person dancing and nodding their head to it. The atmosphere was warm, stuffy, even though the front doors had been left open in the hopes of getting the fresh November air in. It failed majestically, and you were sweating in your too-tight dress by the refreshment table in a corner, watching over the crowd.

You had never seen so many people in your gallery before. Had never thought your art would attract that amount of people, but it seemed the art enthusiasts of Seoul had flocked to your gallery tonight, looking to experience the art of a new talent firsthand.

At least that was what the journalists were saying, even though you had been an artist since you were a middle schooler. Fingers always stained with ink, teachers scolding you for never paying attention…

Middle school had seen your love for art blossom the way azaleas blossom after a long winter. With bright petals, vivid with life, though your art had first been the colour of the darkest nights. It had taken you years before you had incorporated colours into it, and now you were proud to see the myriad of shades painted on your pieces.

You sighed, and you reckoned maybe the mask you were wearing was the reason why you felt so stuffy. But you weren’t going to risk being recognized – no, you liked enjoying your exhibits in the anonymity of an art enthusiast. Rare were those who knew who the artist actually was, and you felt like it was the best way to have actual feedback on your art.

No one coated their words with sugar when they spoke with just another art enthusiast. So tonight, you wore the mask of the artist, the one people knew you for. It preserved your identity but also allowed people to know who the artist was when they had to. Like tonight, considering that it was the opening of your newest exhibit, The Colours of Fall.

You ordered a glass of apple-flavoured soju mixed with beer, bowing your head in thanks at the employee behind the table when they offered it to you. When you turned back around, your eyes trailed to the wall of windows on one side of the room. Though some pieces were hung there, with spotlights behind the windows to create shadows into the pieces, you still were able to see the black Sedan that was parking outside.

Paparazzi outside started flashing their cameras as someone walked out, and all you could see from where you were was a mop of black hair. More than one celebrity was in attendance tonight, so you didn’t pay attention to the person arriving more than necessary, instead focusing on the exhibit once more.

It was going well. Far better than you had first imagined it would. You had already sold numerous pieces, and your brain was running a mile a minute with ideas of what you could replace them with.

Your mask only hid the top part of your face, so you easily took a sip of your drink, inadvertently bobbing your head to the music. It was good music, it really was, but you couldn’t wait for the actual playlist you had chosen to begin.

Which wasn’t going to be for a whole other hour, unfortunately. After you said your speech and the lights turned to red, orange, and the rich yellow of autumn leaves.

Your manager moved closer to you, and she offered you a wide smile. You nodded your head and watched as she ordered the same drink as you, before standing next to you.

“The celebrity scene is going crazy over your exhibit,” Na Sooah said. “Most of those invited showed up.”

“I still can’t believe you invited the whole celebrity scene,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “Most of them know nothing about art.”

Sooah laughed. “Not all of them! Kim Namjoon just arrived.”

Your throat went dry, and the hand clutching your glass tightened at the mention of Namjoon’s name. Kim Namjoon. Your childhood friend Kim Namjoon. Your first kiss, your first time… and a member of the most famous boy group in the world. More than that, Namjoon was a fellow art enthusiast.

Namjoon’s love for art started at the same time as yours. He had been enthralled by your drawings, believing that you had a gift that needed to be nurtured and protected. Like his love for music, though his comparisons most often made no sense. To you, that is.

Namjoon had been your first heartbreak, back when every emotion felt deeper than the ocean, when anger, pain, and sadness ran longer than eternity. Back when he hadn’t even joined Big Hit yet.

“Kim Namjoon,” you repeated, tasting his name in your mouth for the first time since that ugly October night when you had told him you hated him more than anything in this world, and he had left without even a single look back.

You had never spoken after that. You had never talked about him anymore either, not to your friends or family. And when you had begged your parents to change school, they had caved in, letting you attend the same school as your cousin Miyoung.

Miyoung had been your closest friend since then, until Sooah had come into your life to form a trio with you and your cousin when you had attended college in arts.

“Yeah, he’s created quite a commotion outside,” Sooah commented, and you remembered the mop of black hair.

Could that have been Namjoon?

“And when he RSVP’ed, he mentioned that he would like to have a talk with the artist, so I hope you’re ready,” Sooah added, teasingly.

You glared at her through your mask. “You couldn’t have told me before?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes once more, not so playfully this time, taking another sip of your drink. “He’s Kim Namjoon, you could have let a girl prepare.”

At that, Sooah laughed out loud. “Got a little crush?”

“Quite the opposite,” you said through gritted teeth.

You hated Kim Namjoon.

You noticed him then. He was dressed simply, yet it was elegant, somehow. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself, with his large and tall frame, that made him elegant. Because you doubted a pair of jeans with a gray cardigan over a light blue polo was supposed to be this elegant. His long coat matched the colour of his cardigan almost to perfection, and he flashed dimples to the employee at the coat check as he took off the coat, revealing more of his large frame.

Needless to say, Kim Namjoon didn’t look like he could rip a log in two with his bare hands back when you had first known him. No, he had been a thin, gangly teen, with arms that seemed too long for his frame.

When he was rid of his coat, he moved to the side to let the man behind him give his coat away, and then the two of them started walking together.

You had no idea who the other man was, but from the looks of it, he was a friend, as Namjoon laughed along with him.

One of your hands moved to your face, gently grazing your mask to make sure it was still well-fitted. It was like one of those masks people wore at the Venice carnival. It matched the theme of your exhibit, with autumn leaves craftily molded into it. It was a piece of art in and of itself, like all the masks you wore as an artist.

He wouldn’t recognize you. You were positive he wasn’t going to be able to recognize you with just the lower part of your face on display, especially after so many years apart. Your voice had changed to – matured, aged, like your features, quite honestly.

After all, the last time Kim Namjoon had seen you, you had been a crying, yelling, angsty fifteen-year-old.

Sooah left you to a couple that was looking to buy one of the backlit art pieces, and you explained to them the process behind the creation of the art they had chosen, eyes once in a while flitting around to make sure Kim Namjoon wasn’t in your vicinity yet.

He wasn’t. He was perusing around the gallery, stopping to talk to other celebrities once in a while, and so far, you weren’t even sure he had looked your way. Which was a good thing, because that meant maybe you’d make it to your speech before he actually tried talking to you.

You could leave immediately after your speech, right?

“And what about the subject of autumn interested you so much?” the older man in front of you asked.

You blinked out of your reverie, offering him a practiced, easy smile. “If you had to choose, would you want to witness the beginning or the end?” you asked.

It was the catchphrase of your speech. Though people could argue that the year ended and began in the winter months, you had always seen a finality in the months of fall and had portrayed it in your art.

The man seemed taken aback by your question. He cocked his head to the side, before glancing at his wife. “The end carries weight,” the wife said pensively. “It carries age and wisdom.”

You offered her a polite nod. “Exactly. I find beauty in the end and chose to portray it with the months of autumn. When life seems to come to its end.”

“Fall is beautiful,” the man agreed. “But wouldn’t you argue the start holds more beauty? With all the possibilities that it carries.”

“A different kind of beauty. Which, maybe it’s going to inspire my next exhibit,” you teased, secretively, and the couple laughed.

You talked to them a little more, and it seemed life had salvation to offer you because Sooah was the one that came to you first, and not Kim Namjoon. You said goodbye to the couple, before following your manager to the spot where you were to say your speech. As usual, nerves wracked your whole body at the sight of the standing mic, and you had to resist not to bring your thumb to your mouth to nibble on the nail. It was a habit you had gotten rid of only recently, and you really didn’t want it to come back.

Especially not in front of a crowd such as this one, in which you knew Kim Namjoon was standing.

Sooah stopped in the crowd, pushing you forward gently, inciting you to walk the rest of the way yourself. Your heart beat out of your chest as if it was about to escape your ribcage, and you took a deep steadying breath before moving out of the crowd.

The music stopped, and the lights immediately dimmed, until all that was left was a single spotlight, which shone on you as you stopped next to the mic. Back turned to the crowd, eyes skimming over the biggest piece of your exhibit. Ilsan lay before you, draped in the colours of autumn.

You breathed in and out one last time, and then you turned, stepping in front of the mic.

“If you could choose,” you started, voice steadier than you expected it’d be. “Would you choose the end or the beginning?”

The couple you had been speaking to smiled wildly at your sentence, and you let the silence linger long enough for people to whisper their own answer. Music started with low traditional instruments replacing the upbeat melody from earlier.

“There is a form of beauty in the end. In knowing you’ve seen it all, and that rest is at your door,” you continued. “There’s beauty in looking back, in wisdom, and in the Colours of Autumn.” You paused, looking over the crowd. You noticed Namjoon standing at the back, listening politely. “My exhibition carries this: the end of the year, of the cycle of nature. The beauty of fall, of leaves and October nights and November rains.” You wondered if people could tell that your hand was slightly trembling, where it held the mic. “When the wind catches and leaves blow, it is time to look back. So tonight, I want you all to take a step back, to look back on your lives and ask yourselves, ‘Have I found the wisdom of The Colours of Autumn?’”

The spotlight turned off, and you walked away from the mic to the crowd. When you turned back to look at the piece of Ilsan, a projector came to life and the story you had prepared started.

You tuned it out: you had seen the shadow and light projections so many times already they had lost all sense to you. It often happened – if you stared at your art for too long, it lost all its meaning. So you usually didn’t look back on a piece right away. You waited for the end, for the concretization that came with your exhibits, and only then did you look back.

Except the lights and shadows. You had watched those fifteen times yesterday only to make sure that everything was perfect. And you were quite the perfectionist, you knew that they were.

While everyone was watching, you slowly made your way to the back of the crowd. You surprisingly still had your drink in your hands, and you took a careful sip as you finally slipped out of the big of the crowd. The drink was flat now, and you tried to head towards the refreshment table in order to rid yourself of it.

It seemed your calculations had been wrong, because Kim Namjoon stood in front of you, in all his tall glory.

All his infuriating glory, as dimples graced his cheeks at the sight of you. They stopped you in your tracks, and you gazed up at him, eyes connecting even through the dim lighting. His friend was standing next to him, and your eyes flitted to him once before looking at Namjoon again.

Namjoon nodded his head, politely, before taking a sip of the beer he was holding. You nodded back, and then you resumed moving, thoughts spiraling like leaves in the fall wind. You made it all the way to the small door that led to the stairs to your studio before you were stopped by a large hand on your elbow.

You knew who it was without having to turn around, and you would have cursed him for not watching the show had applauds not sounded, indicating that it was over anyway.

“Hi,” Namjoon politely said when you were finally facing his way. His hand had long returned to the pocket of his jeans, and he looked infinitely nonchalant, standing there in front of you. “Sorry for the intrusion, but your manager told me to be quick to speak to you at the end if I didn’t want to miss you.”

Sooah could go to hell.

You offered a polite chuckle, though to you, it sounded like you were choking on air. Because frankly, you felt like you were. “I do usually slip away in the night,” you answered. You glanced at the door, hating that your salvation had been so close yet so far. “You caught me right before I was to leave.”

When you faced Namjoon again, you noticed the confused look on his features. His brows were furrowed over his eyes, his lips were slightly parted, and he had tilted his head to the side in confusion. His eyes, slightly narrowed, made him look like some sort of dragon, and God were you well placed to know Namjoon could breathe fire if he wanted.

At least when he was a teen, he could.

“I’ve been trying to get in contact with you,” Namjoon admitted. “Your manager said to come here if I wanted a chance to talk to you.”

You cocked an eyebrow, though the mask hid it from view. What the hell could Namjoon want to speak to you about?

“I’ve noticed you portray Ilsan in your art a lot, and since I come from there, I wanted to know if I could buy a piece,” he added to your stunned silence.

“You didn’t have to talk to me to ask for that,” you said, and you glanced around at the employees on the floor that were in charge of the actual selling.

“I wanted to have the artist’s insight on which piece she’d believe would fit best for me,” he continued, and he seemed to realize then that this was weird. He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Or maybe even have one made personally?”

Now, you remembered why you hated Kim Namjoon. “I do not take commissions,” you flatly replied. “If you wish to buy a piece, you can auction for one with one of my employees.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon quickly said. “I didn’t want to sound rude. Like at all. It’s just… there was this piece I really liked from your last exposition, Winds of the West? I couldn’t buy it in time.”

“I do not remake pieces.”

Silence followed your statement. Had he only then noticed how cold you were towards him?

“Right,” he eventually said. “How unfortunate. I think the person that bought it is here today. Might as well go talk to them.”

It was said like a joke, but you didn’t bite, remaining entirely stoic in front of him. Kim Namjoon didn’t seem to like it, as if he was used to people bending to his every wish, and he probably was.

“Might as well,” you agreed, hoping that it was going to make him leave.

It seemed it did the trick, because he looked over his shoulder, probably searching for the person in question. When his eyes settled back on you, he said, “Guess I’ll let you escape through the night.”

You pursed your lips, nodding once. And just because you wanted to preserve your artist image a little, even though you reckoned you had been rude to him, you said, “Good luck with getting the piece.”

At that, he lit up, and the dimples appeared.

You hated that after all these years, they still had an effect on you.

“Thank you, Maehwa,” he gently said.

Hearing him say your artist’s name had you freezing on the spot. You hoped he didn’t see the panic in your eyes, and the colours draining from the half of your face visible to people. He did furrow his eyebrows once more though, looking pensive, but you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. Indeed, you quickly wished him good night, before turning around and stepping through the door.

Once you were in the cool darkness, back pressed against the door you’d just locked, you took another deep steadying breath, like the one you had taken before your speech.

Maehwa had been Namjoon’s nickname for you, all those years ago. Because back then, you had mostly been drawing flowers and had been attracted to the maehwas, the blooms of a plum. But maehwas were common and loved, and there was no way he could have connected the dots. He didn’t seem like he had, or else you were pretty sure he would have approached you in an entirely different fashion. Indeed, back then, he had told you he’d kill you if he ever saw you again, which, in your fifteen-year-old heart, had been quite the threat.

Once you were calmed, you walked down the stairs, breathing in a sigh of relief at the sight of your studio. Right now, it was pretty much empty, save for the painting you had started for Miyoung’s wedding next summer.

She wasn’t even engaged yet, but her boyfriend Doyoon had let you in on the secret since you were going to help with the proposal in a few weeks. You glanced at the painting, almost wishing to work on it a little just to get your mind off things. But it was late, and you’d rather be at home, with your cat Gabi.

Was it your fault if memories of Kim Namjoon swam in your head until late that night? You highly doubted so. And looking back, you couldn’t see any beauty in your ending. You, who preached that all endings held beauty. Had you just been too immature then? You thought perhaps you had been, but it didn’t really matter anymore though, did it? It couldn’t.

Why, then, were you unable to shake Kim Namjoon out of your thoughts, until troubled sleep found you in its embrace?

*****

December was grand. With showers of fluffy snow that left a blanket on the world, and Miyoung’s engagement party. You painted, stained your fingers with blue and purple to match the colours of the winter landscape, and by the time January came, you had all but forgotten how Kim Namjoon had just reappeared one evening in late November.

Your studio was cool at this time of the year, and the windows at the top of the walls had iced with frost. You were wearing a thick sweater, with a pair of leggings you had long stained with paint, back when you were working on the fall Ilsan piece.

Indie music was playing in the background, a new artist that had been taking over Seoul and South Korea with her music. It was sad, but Miyoung had insisted that you listen to it, saying that the artist had been rookie of the year at MAMA last year. You had been supposed to accompany Miyoung to the singer’s stadium show too, but you had ended up being sick, and Sooah had gone in your stead.

The music was lonely, nostalgic, but the lyrics were powerful and inspiring. So you kept on painting, as the light of the rising sun slowly melted the frost on the window, though the corners clung to it like one clings to a lover just returned from war.

You hadn’t slept last night. Had stayed up working on your current piece, and exhaustion was slowly catching up to you, even though the inspiration hadn’t worn off yet. So you kept working, head tilting to the side whenever you finished a small part, waiting to know what the next step in the journey was.

You had a fist on your hip when Sooah and Miyoung both appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the basement, voices cheery and loud in the relative calmness of your studio.

“Please tell me you haven’t been up all night,” Miyoung scolded you, and your gaze slid to where she was walking down the stairs, hands holding up two coffees.

She handed one to you when she reached the basement floor. You took it gladly with the hand that was previously on your hip, shrugging your shoulders. “I was almost done.”

Both Sooah and Miyoung looked at the piece.

“Clearly,” Sooah sarcastically said.

Your eyes also slid back to your piece. You took a step back, and clearly, you were far from done. You had been working on the middle portion all night, but you still had only a vague drawing for the rest of the canvas. You sighed, putting down your brush.

“I meant I’m almost done with what I wanted to finish,” you specified.

Sooah nodded her head, before plopping down on the couch in one corner. Miyoung glanced once at her, before resuming her attention on you.

“Why did it take two months for me to know Kim Namjoon came to your exhibit?” she asked, with the most innocent voice.

Your mouth fell open. “What? It was all over the news.”

“You know I don’t watch the news!” Miyoung exclaimed. “Sooah mentioned it while we were getting coffee.”

“I-“

“And why did you never tell me you dated that guy when you were younger?” Sooah interjected, not letting you finish your sentence.

“Mimi!” you burst, and you jumped towards Miyoung, fully in the hopes of tackling her to the ground.

“The art!” Miyoung screamed as she escaped you. “Be careful with your art!”

You stopped in your tracks, electing to glare at her instead. “Why did you tell her? I was fifteen!”

“Still counts,” Miyoung replied, the innocent act still on.

But you wouldn’t be fooled. “It clearly doesn’t.” You turned your head towards Sooah, who watched with a giddy smile from where she sat. “Right? Who cares about a teenage ex?”

She laughed. “Clearly, you, if you get so worked up about it, what, thirteen years later?”

You frowned, shaking your head. Instead of replying, you took a long sip of your coffee, hoping it would give you something to reply to that.

“I don’t care,” you said when the sip was swallowed, and you couldn’t really wait anymore.

Sooah nodded, getting up from her spot on the couch to head in front of the painting you had been working on. You watched her go, an eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

“Well then,” she said once she was standing there, with her back turned to you. She smacked her lips once, the only way you knew she was up to no good. “You won’t care if I tell you he asked to film something in the gallery, and I said yes.”

You loved your friends. You really did. But sometimes you hated them too. Like right now, as your brain immediately started planning their murder.

“What the fuck?”

Sooah finally turned towards you, acting as if she didn’t just announce the worst news of your life to you. “Yeah. The pay is going to be worth it, and it’s going to give a lot of worldwide visibility to your art. It really is worth it.”

“But Kim Namjoon?” you complained. “Couldn’t you have chosen… I don’t know, some cool indie artist?”

“He’s a cool artist,” Sooah stated, shrugging her shoulders.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Is he really?”

“His music is good,” Miyoung cut in innocently.

Your head snapped towards her. “You listen to his music?”

“Yeah, the album he released in December is good.”

And that was how you found yourself sleep-deprived, listening to a music album made by your teenage ex, as your manager explained to you the deeds of the project Namjoon was going to film in the gallery. Even though Sooah was one of your closest friends, you couldn’t really say no when she asked you to do job things. You trusted her entirely on her choices, had always did, but today you regretted it just a little bit.

Luckily enough for her, your exhaustion won over your will to fire her – or worse, to murder her – and you headed home when you finished listening to the album, repeating time and time again to you didn’t think Namjoon’s music was good.

It had led to Miyoung innocently mentioning that your breakup had been ugly, and really you had to get out of there before you committed the irreparable. It was only a few hours later, after a well-deserved nap, that you realized something.

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery didn’t mean you had to be present, right?

*****

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery actually meant that you were going to have to be present.

You had been too tired, that day with Sooah. Had entirely not assimilated that the project he was filming was a series of short episodes where he met up with various local artists, presenting their craft to the world. He had chosen you for the painting episode, even though you were quite convinced there were way better artists out there that he could have chosen from. You didn’t really have a say in this – what Sooah wanted, Sooah got.

Still, you were given a reprieve – the date chosen for shooting was still in a week, and so you took to arranging your gallery the way you believed would work best. And though you were pretty sure it was ready, some late Thursday afternoon you found yourself moving around some paintings, deciding to change the location of the Ilsan piece that had been the vehicle of the shadow and light projection you had shown at your exhibit in November.

You watched as two employees moved the piece where you had asked them to, fists on your hips, when bells rang, indicating that someone had walked in. You didn’t dare look behind you, instead giving directions to the employees as one of them carefully climbed the two first steps of a stepladder to hang the painting where it needed to be.

You surveyed them until the painting was safely hung, almost forgetting that someone had walked in. You only remembered when you felt a heavy gaze on your profile, and a silhouette appeared. You glanced their way then, and almost let out a startled scream that would have clearly made the windows explode.

Kim Namjoon offered you a tight-lipped smile.

“Are you Maehwa?” he asked.

You put a hand over your chest, trying to keep your heart from going into arrest. “You can’t just sneak on people like this,” you grumbled.

Then, the weirdest thing happened. He started smiling, wide, flashing his insufferable dimples, and his eyes lit up from within.

“It really is you.”

You gulped. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” You wanted to scold yourself for saying that, as if you wouldn’t know who Kim Namjoon was, even if he wasn’t your ex from so many years ago.

“Y/n, don’t play this game with me,” Namjoon said, teasingly. “I was pretty sure it was you in November, and now I have the proof.”

You scoffed. “What do you want?”

This time, his smile only allowed one dimple to appear, and you hated it even more. “Your manager told me that I could come over today to prepare for shooting. She said you were setting up the gallery.”

You would really need to fire Na Sooah, wouldn’t you?

You looked around, though it was pretty much ready. The filming crew was supposed to come at the beginning of next week to set up the spotlights and everything else they might need, as filming was only supposed to be Wednesday next week.

“Yeah,” you replied flatly. “What do you need to prepare?”

He tilted his head to the side. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and that’s how you speak to me? I remembered you to be a lot warmer.”

The nerves on this man…

“It’s been over ten years, I’ve changed.” You clenched your jaw once, before taking a deep, steadying breath. There were employees around, after all. “What do you need to prepare?”

He just smiled, mysteriously, before glancing around once. “Do you have an office somewhere around here?”

You looked up to the ceiling, rolling your eyes so far back you thought they were going to stick to the back of your head. “I have my studio downstairs,” you grumbled. “Follow me.”

He nodded, dimples flashing, and followed you as you made your way to the door through which you had escaped from him in November. Only this time, there was no escaping.

Namjoon’s heavy footsteps followed you down the stairs, and you braced yourself for the inevitable comments he was going to make about your studio. To your surprise, he remained silent, and you realized that he, too, had changed through the years.

No one remained quite like their fifteen-year-old self, didn’t they?

You moved towards the sitting area, vaguely motioning to an armchair. “Have a seat.”

You glanced over your shoulder, only to see Namjoon was looking at your current work-in-progress. It made you feel insecure, somehow, and you cleared your throat.

Namjoon’s gaze trailed to you. “Sorry.”

He walked towards you, and you felt small as he stopped right in front of you, still with that same infuriating, warm smile on his lips. “Your art has improved a lot through the years.”

You fled his gaze, motioning to the armchair again. “Do you want coffee? Or a tea?”

“Just water would be fine,” he replied, his smile falling for the first time since he had appeared in the gallery upstairs.

You nodded curtly, and as you headed towards the kitchen area of your studio, Namjoon got comfortable in the armchair. You brought back two glasses of water, mostly because you knew you were going to need something to hold to keep your nerves at bay. Namjoon accepted his with a slight bow of his head, and then you sat on the couch.

You exchanged a look, as you waited expectantly for him to say something. He remained silent, a pensive look on his features. It threw you off, as he had been the type to talk a lot back then.

“You’ve changed,” he stated out of the blue, and it made you cock an eyebrow.

“Obviously,” you drawled. “I would expect someone to change after thirteen years.”

Those stupid dimples appeared for half a heartbeat. “Yet you haven’t changed at all.” At your obstinate silence, Namjoon specified, “You’re still just as petty as I remember you to be.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you here to insult me or to prepare for shooting your show?”

He chuckled, a deep sound that had you busying yourself with a sip of water. He mirrored you, before saying, “I don’t mean to insult you at all”.

Should you call him out for his bullshit? Back then you would have, but you had grown up. So you remained silent once more, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just weird to see you again,” he said, and he motioned towards you with the hand holding the glass. “You look… good.”

Not at all what you were expecting. It made you gulp, and you hated that your cheeks were burning. “It is weird, right?”

He nodded once, eyes trailing away from you to look down at his glass. “I’m happy your dreams worked out.”

Now, the pang in your heart was unwelcome. Kim Namjoon shouldn’t have the power to make you feel like this, not after all the years.

“I worked hard,” you replied carefully. “As you have, I presume.”

At that, he chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “I sure have.”

Another awkward silence and you glanced at him as he took a sip of water.

“So, what did you want to prepare?” you asked once you couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Oh,” he let out. He sat back in the armchair, looking way too at ease with his thighs slightly spread. “I wanted to give you the list of questions that I’m going to ask so that way you can prepare in advance,” he told you, offering you another one of those disarming, dimple-flashing smiles.

You cocked an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have shared them by email?”

Another chuckle of his had you looking away, focusing on your project.

“I could have. But I wanted to see if my inkling was right at the same time,” he explained. “Before the day of shooting, that is.”

You sighed, before looking back at him. His eyes were already on you, and it made you gulp once more.

Namjoon had gotten really intimidating, after all these years.

“Well, now you know,” you said. “Was there anything else you needed?”

He seemed surprised at the dismissal in your tone. “Not… really.” He wet his lips, watching you carefully. “I just thought it’d be great to catch up.” His gaze moved to your surroundings, before settling back on you. “To get to know how you managed to get such a nice studio and all that. I haven’t heard about you since we broke up.”

“Because I wanted it to be this way,” you replied. “And why do you have to say it like you didn’t believe I’d make it?”

“Wait, no,” he quickly said. “That’s not what I meant.”

You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes. “Of course not.”

He laughed. “Really? After all these years, you’re still mad at me?”

“You did tell me you wanted to kill me,” you reminded him in a grumble.

He seemed surprised. He frowned, and his head once again tilted to the side. “Did I?”

“You don’t remember?”

At that, you were the one to be surprised. It had been such a pivotal piece of your existence, back then, that you expected it to be marked into his brain the same way that it was in yours.

He shrugged. “Not particularly. I got super busy with being a trainee, and I just… I guess I forgot.”

“Oh,” you let out. The silence that followed was heavy, awkward, and you hoped it was enough for Namjoon to get the cue and leave.

Maybe he was still just as dumb and clueless as he had been then, because he said, “I was intense, wasn’t I?”

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

You held his eyes for a few seconds until your gaze dropped to your glass. You hated how you couldn’t look at him anymore, but gosh, he looked a lot better than he did then, and you had already found him attractive all those years ago.

“I…” he trailed off, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I was wondering if I could have your phone number, to send you the list of questions.”

“Uh…” You scratched the back of your neck, shrugging your shoulders. “You can send it to my manager, she’ll have it sent to me.”

If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. “I guess I’ll see you next week, then?”

You nodded once, before clenching your jaw. Because why did some stupid part of you not want him to leave right away?

“Did you eat? I was about to order fried chicken.”

He looked almost startled by your invitation. “I… have eaten, actually,” he replied truthfully, never one to lie. “But if you want company while you eat, I can always stay.”

You shook your head. “Nah, all good. I was just asking to be polite.”

He didn’t call you out on your bullshit, instead offering you a tight-lipped smile. “Then I guess I’ll see you next week.”

You walked him back upstairs, teeth nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tried to ignore the weight of the awkwardness between you. He wished you a good day, flashing those dimples of his, and he left, without once looking back.

You watched him as he climbed in a company car, and your gaze dropped to the ground as the car drove away, quickly disappearing from view.

What the hell had just happened?

*****

Namjoon’s list of questions was good. Mostly, it was centered around what you used as an inspiration, which other artists did you look up to, and what kind of music you listened to while practicing your art, if you listened to any at all. There was also stuff about where you grew up, and how it might have affected your art.

Nothing too personal, yet the fact that the questions were from Namjoon felt incredibly personal, and your hands were clammy, heart beating out of your chest, by the time the day of shooting came. It didn’t help that there was some problem with the cameras, which was only solved a few hours after the shooting was first supposed to start.

This meant you spent the most awkward, long hours of your life in Namjoon’s company, barely even talking because, frankly, you had nothing to tell him. He seemed fine with the silence, or maybe he just sucked at small talk just as much as you, and he didn’t say anything, just sat there scrolling on his phone until the director came to get the two of you.

And when filming started, Namjoon started asking you his questions, and you tried not to be a blushing mess as you answered. Tried and succeeded, you liked to tell yourself, because you were used to being interviewed.

The fact that you were starting to be renowned in Seoul’s painting scene helped, clearly, because you made it through the introduction and first few questions without stuttering.

They were the easiest ones, after all.

“At what age did you start painting?” Namjoon asked as you sat on the little balcony outside of your gallery, looking over the Han River.

Your breath turned into a cloud as you exhaled, and you followed it with your eyes as it moved up towards the sky. “I started when I was seven. But at first, I only drew, and then started painting when I tried it for the first time in middle school and fell in love with the craft.”

Namjoon was there that day. Had ruined your painting when he had fallen next to it, feet getting tangled in the pots of paint. You had been furious, but you had also been two laughing messes by the time class had finished.

You had started dating half a year later, making the decision right outside of the art class, where it had all begun if you were honest.

“What do you like so much about painting?”

You met his gaze, not really knowing how to answer that question. You had been searching for what to reply for hours the day before, and all you had been able to come up with was, “It allows me to create, to evacuate emotions and to make something that is worth looking back at.”

You weren’t sure it was the answer he was looking for, but you still said it. He offered you a secretive smile, as if it made all the sense in the world to him.

You hoped the camera didn’t catch your eyes flicking to his lips, before getting stuck in the dimple on his cheek.

“I think that’s understandable,” he replied truthfully. “Creating music feels a little like that, at least for me.”

You pursed your lips, not really knowing what you could say to add to the conversation. Namjoon took it in stride, following with his next question.

And it went like that for the whole interview. At some point, you moved inside, with the aim of talking about certain art pieces of your choosing. Namjoon asked questions about your latest exposition, about what it was like compared to your first one, and frankly, you didn’t see the time go until the director cut the tape for the last time, telling Namjoon that it was closing time.

To your surprise, Namjoon had one last question for you.

“As we bring this interview to an end,” Namjoon said, eyes finding yours, “I have one last question for our artist.” He waited a few seconds, as if to give emphasis to his words, before adding, “Why did you choose the name Maehwa?”

You stared at him, he stared at you. You were pretty sure he could read the answer in your eyes, and you were pretty sure you didn’t want to say it out loud. It felt awkward, and this time you doubted the makeup they had put on your skin before filming could hide the blush on your cheeks.

“Uh,” you let out, coughing a little. “When I was younger, a friend of mine used to call me that. I liked the nickname, and I guess it stuck around?”

‘A friend of mine translated’ to him, to Namjoon, and you hoped he couldn’t tell just how much you were spiraling, like a leaf caught in the whirlpool of a leaking sink. Because you were caught in the current, feeling like you were stupid, to have held onto a stupid nickname that meant nothing, that never should have meant anything.

“It’s a pretty name,” Namjoon reflected.

His eyes were heavy on you because, of course, he knew that it was him. Of course, he remembered the days of youth where you had learned about love, by his side.

He had been there after all.

“Thank you,” you replied, a little breathlessly.

After that, Namjoon closed the interview, and when the cameras turned off, you let out a long, wavering sigh. It made him chuckle, as people buzzed around you to put everything away.

“Everything okay?”

You offered him a no-bullshit look. “You didn’t tell me about that last question.”

It sounded accusing, and frankly, you were accusing him. He recoiled, just a little, losing the small smile that was gracing his lips.

“I honestly thought it up during the interview,” he admitted. “I should have warned you.”

You clenched your jaw for a few seconds, before releasing yet another sigh. “It’s whatever. Why did you even want to know that?”

“Because I gave you that nickname…” he said, looking suddenly ashamed.

As if he was a child getting scolded for making a mistake. You didn’t like that look on him, even though he entirely deserved it, so you softened your expression before saying, “You did.”

He held your gaze, and the space between you filled with memories, with his laughter and the rain that early June night when you had kissed for the first time. It made you long for the warmth of his honey-toned skin, taking you by surprise.

Yes, you had once loved Kim Namjoon, but that had been thirteen years ago, when you were too young to actually know what love was.

“Do you…” you started, not knowing where you were headed.

Yet it was like he knew. “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime this week?” he asked, finishing your sentence.

You smiled, looking down as if that would hide the blush on your cheeks. “Only if you take me somewhere nice.”

“You deserve the best,” he said, nodding once. “I know just the place.”

You met his gaze again, and the smile grew like flowers under the sun. “Then yes, I’d like to grab dinner with you.”

At that, he offered you an award-winning smile, with the infuriating dimples creating indents in his cheeks. “For a moment, I was convinced you were going to refuse.”

The blush on your cheeks deepened as you asked, “Why?”

“You haven’t been…” he trailed off, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to the both of you, but most people were busy putting away the lights and mics from the set. “You haven’t been very warm,” he finished as his eyes settled back on you.

You nibbled at your lower lip, nodding curtly. “Right.” You held his gaze for a few seconds, and then you found you were too much of a coward, fleeing his dragon eyes to look at the tiles of the floor instead. “We didn’t part on exactly good terms, you know?”

“Yeah.” He took a step towards you, extending his hand in front of him as if expecting you to shake it. When he added, “I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s nice to meet you”, you understood that he was, in fact, waiting for you to shake it.

“What are you doing?” you asked, ignoring the hand.

He stubbornly kept it there. “Pretending that this is my first time meeting you,” he explained, even though it made little to no sense. When he saw the confused look on your face, he clarified, “So that way, we can pretend that the past never happened, and we can start again on better grounds.”

It made you giggle, a shy little sound that had you finally cave in, your small hand closing around his large one. “I already agreed to grab dinner with you, but…” you trailed off, finally meeting his gaze again. “Nice to meet you, Kim Namjoon. I’m Y/n.”

He held your hand for a second longer than necessary, before letting it go. Your fingers twitched as if wishing he had held on longer, and you hid it by hiding your arm behind your back.

“You come here often?” he asked, adding your name at the end. “I’ve never seen you around.”

You cocked an eyebrow, and you both burst out laughing at the same time.

“You’re bad at this,” you teased him. “We’re in my studio, of course, I come here often.”

He nodded. “Ah, I apologize. It’s my first time around, after all.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him in the shoulder. It just made him laugh again, and there was something so familiar, so warm in his laugh that you turned wistful. He immediately noticed the shift in you, and his smile slowly died down to be replaced by a serious look.

“I’m serious,” he told you. “It’d be great to start on new grounds.”

“I know. I fully agree,” you said. “It’s just… who would have thought I’d accept to grab dinner with the first boy that broke my heart.”

He didn’t reply. Just turned a little apologetic, though you reckoned you had broken his heart too. You both had been young and dumb, there was no way to deny it. And it was strange indeed, that thirteen years later, you had met again. Both of you having changed, having grown until you weren’t sure you really recognized him.

Except for the dimples. The dimples were the same, a never-changing feature that you didn't doubt had stolen the heart of a million of his fans. It had stolen your heart back then after all.

“So,” he said after his manager told him that they were ready to leave, breaking the bubble of the little dimension you both had fallen in. “This time, I assume you’ll allow me to write down your number?”

You snorted, holding out your hand between the two of you, a little like he had done earlier though you were waiting for him to give you his phone. “Sure, I’ll put it in your phone.”

He pouted, looking like the child you had known all those years ago. “I lost my phone.”

“What?”

He repeated sheepishly. “I think I left it in the company car that dropped me off here.”

That was such a Namjoon thing to do you found your heart growing warm once again. “Okay then, I’ll write my number on a paper, and you text me when you find your phone. That works?”

The bright smile returned, and he nodded his head. “That works for me.”

You held his gaze for a few more seconds, before moving away to go get paper in your studio downstairs. When you came back up, he was still waiting, though this time his manager was next to him, looking somehow a little pressed. You felt bad, assuming that he was upset because you were making him wait, so you jogged to Namjoon.

“There you go,” you said, handing him over the paper. Your eyes glided to the manager, before returning to Namjoon. “Text me when you can.”

“I will,” he said.

It sounded like a promise, just as much as it sounded like a beginning.

*****

“You are shitting me,” Miyoung said, eyes wide like flying saucers.

Cheeks burning, you avoided her insistent gaze. “No…”

“You’re grabbing dinner with Kim Namjoon?” she repeated, and the words sounded so foreign in her mouth that you winced a little.

“Huh,” you let out. “Yeah, seems like I am.”

She shook her head in disbelief, before chuckling lightly. “I can’t believe him. You’re supposed to hate him. You didn’t even want to listen to his music, and now you’re going out with him?” She paused to laugh again. “Sooah won’t believe this.”

“Come on,” you whined. “It’s nothing.”

“Shut up,” Miyoung said as she grabbed her phone. “I’m texting Sooah right now to let her know.”

You tried to steal your friend’s phone from her hands, but she darted away, out of your reach, long enough for the message to be sent. You were pretty sure your cheeks had gone purple now, and all you could do was fold your arms on your chest as you glared at Miyoung.

“It’s just dinner,” you pointed out. “Nothing to freak out about.”

Miyoung narrowed her gaze, eyeing you suspiciously. “Why are you even grabbing dinner with him? What are you hoping to achieve?” Her gaze widened before you could even speak. “Are you only going because he’s RM of BTS?”

You rolled your eyes, looking at the ceiling of your studio. Miyoung had come over when you had texted her about the dinner earlier, claiming that she needed to see for herself if you were just playing with her.

“No?” you said. “I don’t care that he’s RM. I accepted the offer because… I don’t know, at the end of the day, he’s a childhood friend.”

“A childhood friend? He was your first everything.”

Touché. Today, you felt weird whenever you remembered that he had taken your virginity, when you both were so young you shouldn’t even have been thinking about that. You had regretted it for years after – mostly because you had started hating him so bad, but also just because you had been so young. It felt wrong somehow.

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “I only told you because I don’t know how to date. I never really go on dates.”

She laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh my God, it is a date, right?”

You felt yourself flush red, furiously, and your gaze fell to the floor. “I mean, I think so? Don’t you?”

“I thought it was just dinner with a childhood friend,” she mused, hands going behind her back as she rocked on her feet. She was teasing you, and you glared at her. “Alright, alright,” she let out after a few seconds of holding your gaze with a shit-eating smirk on her lips. “First, we’ll need to figure out what you need to wear.”

You nodded, nibbling at your lips. “He mentioned dinner at a restaurant.”

He had. Namjoon had texted you the night after the shoot, claiming that he had indeed forgotten his phone in the car. He had also sent you the link to a famous restaurant in Gangnam, one that you were pretty sure was way over your budget even though you were relatively well-off financially. He had told you he knew the owner, and that the restaurant had private rooms where you could eat without fearing for fans or paparazzi seeing you.

“So then you want to dress nicely,” Miyoung said, nodding once. “A nice pair of dress pants with a cute blouse would do. Or maybe that long black skirt you have that ends right over the knee? You could pair it with…”

“Y/n!” Sooah yelled from the top of the stairs, startling both you and Miyoung. “How dare you not tell me you’re getting dinner with a celebrity?”

Your gaze widened in fear as you watched your manager walking down the stairs, purpose filling her every move.

You were pretty sure the purpose was to murder you.

She pointed a finger at you in affront, her cheeks a little red from the anger. “This is manager business. You can’t just decide…”

“Cut it,” Miyoung interrupted. “You literally bet with me last week that it would happen.”

Sooah dropped the act, face cutting into a bright smile. “I sure did, and I won.” She held out a hand towards Miyoung, who begrudgingly took ten thousand won out of her wallet to put it in Miyoung’s hand. “Thank you,” your manager said. “Now, what’s the plan?”

“They’re getting dinner at a restaurant,” Miyoung declared before you could speak. “What’s the name again?”

You didn’t remember, so you grabbed your phone to look at your text conversation with Namjoon. “Huh…” you trailed off, scrolling up to when he had sent the menu. “Seasons of Seoul.”

Sooah’s mouth fell open. “The Seasons of Seoul? That’s one fancy-ass restaurant.”

You startled at the sound of the curse in Sooah’s voice, before bursting out laughing in time with your friends. “It is,” you said, voice lilting into a whine. “It’s definitely above my budget.”

“Namjoon seems like a gentleman,” Miyoung pointed out “I’m pretty sure he’ll pay.”

“For sure,” Sooah agreed. “When’s the date?”

You blushed, shrugging your shoulders. “We haven’t decided on a day yet.”

“Just tell me when and I’ll clear your schedule,” Sooah said. “I don’t care about any interviews when you can be going on a date with Kim Namjoon.”

You rolled your eyes, though a playful smiled teased the corners of your mouth. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Yah, I believe I should be the first to know since I was helping you plan what to wear!” Miyoung interjected, which led to your two friends bickering, and then to them helping you out with what to wear. It was a little hard since you weren’t at home and couldn’t rummage through your walk-in closet. Since it was already running late, Sooah suggested heading over to yours, and that was how you found yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor of your living room, back against the couch, as you ate fried chicken and drank soju with your friends.

You were definitely a little buzzed by the time you finished eating, washing your hands at the kitchen sink before you aimed for your closet, where you started pulling out outfit after outfit.

You said no to all of your friends’ suggestions, mostly because it didn’t feel right. Sooah, growing annoyed, suggested to go shopping on the morrow, which made Miyoung jump in excitement, which in turn scared your cat Gabi away.

“Yes, please, please, please!” Miyoung exclaimed. “We haven’t gone in forever. It’ll be like when we were in college procrastinating studying.”

You laughed, brain swimming with alcohol. “As long as you don’t bring me to those fancy stores,” you said. “I hate when people talk to me while I’m shopping for clothes.”

Both your friends threw you no-bullshit looks.

“Come on,” Sooah let out. “Maybe we can even get you another nice outfit for the launch of your next exhibit.”

“I’ve barely even started working on it, it’s not going to be for another full year, at least,” you pointed out. “No need to shop for an outfit now.”

“Pleaseeee,” Miyoung begged. “It’s going to be fun. We can even go to that Samoyed café you like so much.”

The perspective of seeing the Samoyed puppies suddenly made a shopping trip all the more interesting. “Mmh,” you hummed. “I’ll consider it.”

“Bitch!” Miyoung burst, punching you in the shoulder hard enough to hurt. “We’re going tomorrow, just accept your destiny.”

You rolled your eyes as you massaged the spot she had hit, before finally nodding. “Alright, we’ll go. As long as you don’t make me spend my entire paycheck on clothes.”

“Your entire paycheck is like five times what I make so, shut it,” Miyoung pointed out.

“You did sell a piece for over 50 million won last week,” Sooah reminded you.

They had allied against you, hadn’t they?

“Right,” you let out.

“So you have nothing to say for your defense,” Miyoung said sternly, fists resting on her hips in mock authority. “We’re going tomorrow, and you’re coming with us. And,” she added, nodding forcefully, “And you will enjoy yourself.”

You laughed at how dumb she looked. “I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

To your surprise, you actually enjoyed yourself the next day. Miyoung and Sooah were great company, had always been, and it really had been a long time since you had spent time together like this. The whole day was spent laughing and gossiping and just enjoying yourselves, and you did end up buying a lot more outfits than you probably needed. Which would be a problem when it came to what to choose for the date, but you didn’t really care.

It was late in the afternoon when your phone buzzed on the table of the Samoyed café, and you picked it up as Miyoung cooed at the fluffy dog she was playing with.

It was Namjoon, asking you if you would be willing to go out with him this Friday.

“Oh my God,” you let out, and you felt your cheeks burning as your outburst had attracted the attention of other clients of the café. “He texted me,” you whispered then for only your friends to hear.

Sooah yelped, clapping her hands. She looked so far from the fierce manager you knew her to be you burst out laughing, slightly shaking your head.

“What did he say?” she asked.

You didn’t answer for a time, letting suspense hang in the air between you and your friends. When Miyoung got up, clearly aiming to grab your phone out of your hands and read the text herself, you finally spoke. “Looks like you’re going to have to clear my schedule this Friday night.”

Sooah shrieked as Miyoung grinned wildly.

“Consider it done!”

*****

You were anxious. Had been anxious all week, and it had shown up in the painting you were working on. It had turned into a hectic mess of colours, inching closer to a dark cloud than to anything else. It represented your mental state well, even though you tried to keep reminding yourself that it was just Namjoon. If there was such a thing as just Namjoon.

Gosh.

You sighed, looking at yourself in your standing mirror. You were wearing one of the designer outfits you had bought earlier this week, and the skirt hugged your frame well, enhancing your curves. You had curves, you were aware of it, but you weren’t sure they were supposed to look this good. Paired with the white blouse and black blazer, you looked like you were going on a date with a CEO, and not Kim Namjoon.

Though, nowadays it felt almost as if one was a synonym for the other.

You liked the fit, you really did, you were just afraid Namjoon would think you were overdoing yourself. But somehow, you felt really comfortable, ready to conquer the world if need be. Maybe just not Kim Namjoon.

But it was too late to back out of the date. Indeed, the doorbell rang, indicating that he was here, and you met your gaze in the mirror one last time before going to open the door.

Namjoon looked … incredible. With a pair of dark dress pants along with a pale cardigan over a yellow polo. Over that, he was wearing a long coat that looked way too expensive, yet still fit the look. It was more of an artist look than yours, and yet it suited him perfectly.

He was an artist, too, after all.

Most of all, he was holding a bouquet of pale flowers – rose and white and lilac – and he handed it to you as he took in the sight of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he complimented, and he flashed you a corner smile that had just one of his dimples appear.

Your cheeks burned as you nodded once. “You as well,” you said, grabbing the flowers. You hesitantly inhaled them, satisfied with the sweet floral scent that took over your nostrils. You glanced over your shoulder, before opening the door wider for him to come in. “You can come in, I’ll just go put these in water.”

He nodded, stepping in as you retreated into your home, searching for an appropriate vase for the bouquet. Once it was safely tucked in a vase with room temperature water, you moved back to where Namjoon was still waiting, right next to the door. You smiled, a little awkwardly, before putting on the high heels you had chosen for the date.

Namjoon patiently waited for you, and once you straightened, you put on your winter coat, grabbing your purse where you had left it on the table near the door.

“Ready?” Namjoon asked when your gaze finally met his.

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yes. Let’s go.”

He smiled his dimple smile, and he opened the door for you. You walked outside, waiting until he had shut it behind him so you could lock it. The cold air hit you right in the face, and you hid your face in the flaps of your coat. To your luck, Namjoon had picked you up in a company car, considering he didn’t drive, and you climbed in first, quickly followed by him.

You sighed at the warmth in the car, and watched as Namjoon leaned forward to tell the driver the address, before sitting back comfortably next to you.

Conversation was somehow awkward at first, mostly because you struggled holding Namjoon’s gaze. In all truth, you reckoned the awkwardness stuck around until you got to the restaurant, and even still as you were led to the private room Namjoon had rented for you both.

He helped you out of your coat, ever so the gentleman, hanging it before taking off his own and putting it beside yours. You just stood for a time, not knowing what to do as you took in the elegance of the restaurant and the dim, private atmosphere that reigned.

You felt like you had stepped right into a palace and, frankly, you weren’t sure you belonged in such a place.

“Sit!” Namjoon quickly said as he noticed you were still standing. And then he rushed to pull the chair for you, making you chuckle embarrassingly.

“You don’t…” you trailed off as you caught a whiff of his cologne.

A dark, masculine smell that made your head a little dizzy. You couldn’t tell why you hadn’t smelled it before – maybe it was because of the coat. All that you knew was that the oaky smell wrapped around you comfortably, refusing to let you go.

“What?” he asked as he sat in front of you, offering you an encouraging smile.

You took a deep breath, chest moving up and down as you tried to regain your composure. When you felt like you could speak without embarrassing yourself further, you said, “Since when are you such a gentleman?”

That made him laugh, full of dimples again, and he slightly shook his head. “Wasn’t I a gentleman when we were dating all those years ago?”

Not at all. He had been an awkward teenager, and you both knew it. As such, you cocked an eyebrow, a teasing smile growing on your lips.

“Were you?”

He winced, chuckling again. “Not at all. But I grew out of it.”

He sure had. He barely held any resemblance to the boy you had once known, except for those damned dimples that were making it hard for you to focus. And now the cologne? You were done for.

“Bangtan changed you, didn’t it?”

He nodded pensively. “I think that, having to be the leader of all these kids? Yeah, it really made me mature faster than I thought possible.”

You furrowed your brows in question. “I don’t know a lot about Bangtan but… isn’t Seokjin older than you?”

Before he could answer, a pretty waitress walked in, pulling a cart with different wine bottles on it. She greeted you two, stopping next to the table before asking you what you wanted to drink. You glanced at Namjoon, who offered you an encouraging smile, as if saying, ‘I’ll have whatever you have’.

“This Cabernet is actually my favourite. So we’ll take this one, please,” you asked, and the waitress offered you a bright smile as she picked up the bottle.

You watched as she put it on the table, eyes trailing to Namjoon longingly. A fan – she was clearly a fan. Namjoon offered her a professional, practiced smile, and she flushed red as she grabbed a wine opener to uncork the bottle. She carefully opened it, before pouring you two a glass.

It was awkward, somehow. And it was only then that you noticed there was jazz music playing in the background. It felt odd that you hadn’t noticed it before – had the beats of your heart been too loud for you to hear it?

When the waitress finally left, offering Namjoon one last look over her shoulder, you cocked an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“Does this happen often?”

He chuckled, fingers playing with his glass as he evaded your gaze. “More than you can imagine.” He met your gaze then, and you watched his features as they softened. “But you don’t have to worry about us being here getting out in the media. The owner of the restaurant is an old friend, and she assured that all of her staff can be trusted.”

It hadn’t even crossed your mind, but you weren’t surprised that he had thought of it.

“That’s more of a relief for you than it is for me,” you pointed out.

He nodded, a warm smile on his lips. “You have a reputation too! You’re an artist, just like me.”

That made you snort as you shook your head, eyes falling to your untouched glass of wine. “I don’t think I am in the same category as you, Kim Namjoon. I’m just a painter.”

“You’re much more than just a painter, Maehwa.”

Your throat went dry at the way he said the words, as if they held so much meaning they were heavier than the world. And you wouldn’t be surprised if they did – Kim Namjoon had always been a poet, after all.

“I’m not a member of the most popular K-pop band in the world, though,” you reminded him, and dimples answered you as he humbly smiled.

“Evidently not.”

A comfortable silence moved between you – the first of the evening, you reckoned – and your eyes once more fell to your wine glass. You picked up, spinning the wine to bring out the aromas of it.

“Want to taste?” you asked him, motioning to his own glass.

He picked it up, nodding his head. “Please. I’m surprised to know you have a favourite wine.”

“Trust me, it’s worth it.”

He chuckled, and you clinked your glasses together before taking a sip. You let the rich taste roll on your tongue, appreciating every milliliter of it until you swallowed, and even the aftertaste was good.

A really good wine, indeed. Way too expensive, in your opinion, but you had always liked expensive things. As your designer clothes could tell, and as your date across the table could tell, too.

Not that you were a snobby artist – you were far from it. But you had learned how to appreciate the good things in life long ago when you had first discovered art.

“I like it,” Namjoon commented as he put down the glass. “Nice choice.”

You smiled, relieved that he indeed liked your choice.

As wine flowed between the two of you, you found conversation with Kim Namjoon was a lot easier than you had initially expected. He put you at ease, like he did when you were younger. Together, you reminisced about middle school and high school, about that time he had spilled hot chocolate on his uniform and you had helped him clean up, which had brought you guys closer.

Until he had kissed you as you were doodling maehwas on his arm, and the rest was history.

“No, but,” he insisted, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink as he closed his eyes in embarrassment. His dimples winked at you, and you looked at him as he collected his thoughts. “To be fair, I never planned to break it. It wasn’t even my fault.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “You were the one holding it,” you reminded him.

You were referencing a fragile plate your mom had offered Namjoon, from her collection of nice plates she usually only displayed during fancy events. Namjoon had broken it a whole hour after he had been gifted it, and to this day, you still couldn’t understand how he had broken it.

“You tickled me!” he burst out, narrowing his eyes at you. “It was entirely your fault.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, before chuckling lightly. “I barely even touched you.”

He glared at you, though it didn’t last, melting into a soft smile that had you looking down at the table.

Right at the same time, a lean girl walked in, clad in a chef’s outfit, holding up the food you and Namjoon had ordered earlier. She offered you a polite smile, and it turned nostalgic as she looked towards Namjoon.

Namjoon said her name, before turning to look at you. “This is the friend I told you about.”

She was beautiful, in an easy, elegant kind of way. Her shoulder-length hair swayed nicely when she walked, and you had half a thought that she probably should be wearing something to make sure no hair could get in the food. Then you figured she probably had taken it off to come here, and you only realized that she had spoken to you when both she and Namjoon settled their gaze on you.

“Nice to meet you too,” you replied, because you were 75% convinced that that was what she had said.

You were relieved when she smiled knowingly, eyes trailing back to Namjoon. They talked a little more, and it took you a moment before you understood that she was one of Namjoon’s friends’ ex. They continued speaking after that, as you listened politely, nodding whenever she looked your way to encourage her to continue.

She looked sad. Nostalgic. Whoever her ex was, you had the intuition that she still loved him.

“Have a good evening,” she told the two of you about a minute later, bowing.

You bowed your head back, as Namjoon wished her good evening, and then you watched her walk out of the room, hair prettily moving around her head.

“She’s Seokjin’s ex,” Namjoon let out pensively once she was out of earshot.

Your eyes widened, and you looked back towards him. “Your bandmate?”

He nodded. “They broke up a few years ago, during the pandemic,” he explained. “They were engaged.”

You weren’t sure Namjoon was supposed to tell you any of that. It sounded personal, and he seemed to get the cue as you remained silent, eyes falling to the steaming plate in front of you.

“Anyway,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Shall we eat?”

“Yes,” you immediately replied, a little too quickly.

It had both of you laugh, and the awkwardness lifted to be replaced by that same familiarity the evening had held until Seokjin’s ex had come in. It had you fall back in your nostalgic memories, as you ate the delicious food on your plate.

When you were done eating, Namjoon suggested dessert, and not really wanting the evening to end yet, you accepted. It led to you both drinking a little more, your inhibitions slurring as alcohol rushed through your bloodstream, making you feel young and alive.

The feeling lingered with your lively chatter, with the exchanged laughs and long looks. Sometimes, Namjoon’s eyes burned on you, and you found you were too afraid to hold his gaze, too afraid to let it mean anything. Whenever it happened, you looked down at your glass, and the tenth time that it happened, you found the glass to be empty.

No salvation for you there. Especially considering that dessert was eaten and long gone, and all that had been left was the bottle of wine.

“So,” Namjoon said as he, too, took in the sight of the empty glasses and bottle. “I…” He chuckled, ears turning pink as his dimples flashed on his cheeks. “Thank you for tonight.”

You couldn’t help your own blush as you replied, “I’m glad I said yes.”

He met your gaze, eyes darting to your lips once. When they settled back on your own gaze, you swallowed a sudden lump in your throat.

“We should…” he started, falling silent as he scraped his throat. “We should do this again.”

The lump dissolved into nothingness as you smiled, softly. “I would love to.”

“What about on Sunday? There’s this exhibit I’ve been meaning to visit, thought you might want to join?”

“You want to bring an artist to another artist’s exhibit?”

He seemed surprised at your question, as if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. And truth be told, you liked visiting your fellow artists. There was just something about a shared passion that made you feel calm, understood. As if, no matter the sorrows your life could hold, there would always be someone out there who understood. Someone who could share the burden, who’d offer you a helping hand in the form of art whenever you needed it.

So you quickly added, before Namjoon could say anything, “I’m kidding, yes, I’d love to accompany you.”

He looked so relieved something warm blossomed in your chest, and your cheeks burned.

“Well then,” he said, smiling that dimpled smile. “I should get you home, it’s getting late.”

The perspective of the date ending made your heart squeeze in your chest, for a reason you couldn’t quite understand. “Right,” you agreed.

It was all you said before you both got up, moving to retrieve your coats by the door. After that, you walked towards the outside world, and when Namjoon’s hand accidentally grazed yours – or perhaps it was on purpose – you hooked a finger around his pinky.

Looking up to him, you caught him looking down at you already. From so close, he towered over you, though there was nothing threatening with his height. It felt comforting, safe, as if you were under his protection.

By the warmth in his eyes, you knew you truly were.

You waited in the lobby for the car to come pick you up, Namjoon with his back turned to the people. Though no one looked your way, no one acknowledged your presence, and for a second, you wondered if you really were with a worldwide famous singer or if Namjoon was just a normal person.

Someone like you, someone who could revel in anonymity wherever he went.

“The car is here,” Namjoon told you as you were looking behind him, observing the patrons slowly exiting, laughing about a joke only they knew.

You smiled up at him, before letting him grab your hand properly this time as he led you outside. His large palm engulfed your small one, warmed it up, and your fingers were tingling by the time you reached the car door that Namjoon opened for you.

He really wasn’t a gentleman when you were younger. There was something oddly relieving to see him act in such a way now, showing you that he had grown since you were sixteen and too dumb to actually know what love was.

You settled in the car, reveling in the warm vehicle as Namjoon sat in the seat right next to you. And when the car jostled forward, you became all too aware of the place where Namjoon’s thigh rested against yours, and of where his arm pressed against yours.

You turned your head to look at him, admiring the soft glow on his features induced by the neon lights outside. He met your gaze, offered you a smile, and you felt yourself leaning forward. As if there was a pull between you, something that was inevitable. You had never been good at resisting, so you let yourself be pulled, let yourself find him.

He met you halfway, lips infinitely and surprisingly soft even with the cold January night out there. He sighed against you, shifting slightly so he could angle his head better, deepening the kiss.

And kiss you he did, with memories and yearning and nostalgia that had you part your lips when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, only to meet it with yours. You remembered days of early art, of words whispered in the dead of night when nothing seemed like it could bring you apart, when you believed it was you and him against the rest of the world.

Your breakup flashed in your thoughts as he rested a hand on your thigh, carefully, but you pushed it away, refusing to let the memory stain this moment with him.

As much as the kiss was unexpected, bubbling out of neon lights on Namjoon’s soft features, it was also expected. As if fifteen-year-old you had expected to find him again, somewhere, even though you had fled to an entire other high school.

As if the story had just been put on hold then, to resume once the time was right. And as much as you usually were wary in your relationships, tonight felt right. It felt right in all the ways that mattered, in his arm on your thigh and the soft smile he offered you when he pulled away, reminding you that you weren’t alone in the car.

You chuckled, blushing deeply, and your hand landed on top of his on your thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

You leaned into his touch, sighing dreamily. “I don’t know if it’s the wine,” you said, low enough to make sure only his ears could perceive your words, “but I really want to kiss you more.”

That made him laugh, and his hand fell away from your cheek. “Not here,” he said, head motioning to the driver. “You’ll have to wait until Sunday.”

You pursed your lips, thought about it for half a second before you said, “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”

His grip on your thigh slightly tightened, the only indication that your words had had an effect on him. “You’d like that?”

You parted your lips, tongue darting to wet them. “Yes.”

It was no wonder Namjoon ended up pinning you against your closed door as soon as you walked in, locking you between his strong arms as his lips ravished a hungry kiss on your mouth. You grabbed at the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him closer, right as he slipped one of his large hands to arch your back, pressing your front against him.

The second he left your lips to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, you fought against his coat to rid him of the clothing. He sucked on your jaw as he helped you, and soon enough, the coat was abandoned on the floor, right as he pulled you in.

You kicked off your shoes, lips meeting again in a kiss that had your head spin, right as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He groaned when you bit on his bottom lip, and then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He put you down on the decorative table near the door, and in an attempt to rid him of his shirt, you pushed a vase.

The sound that it made when it shattered on the floor startled both of you, and Namjoon looked down, eyes wide.

“Oh no,” he let out.

You caught his startled gaze, breathing raggedly. “Don’t worry, it was just a cheap vase.”

He looked down at the mess, nodding once. “I’ll buy you another one.”

And then he was finding your mouth again, sucking on your lower lip as he started to fight against your coat, trying to get you out of it. He shortly had to pull away, brows knitting together in concentration because, as much as he tried, the zipper of your coat wasn’t budging.

“Hold on,” you said, putting your hands above his.

Much gentler than him, you managed to unzip the coat, and he helped you slip out of it, throwing it towards his. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where your skirt had ridden up to reveal more skin, though you were wearing pantyhose. He ran his hand along your thighs, head hanging low. You watched him do so, watched his jet-black hair falling in his eyes until you couldn’t resist anymore, reaching between you to push it back.

The strands fell right back in front of his eyes, but it attracted his gaze. He looked at you through his hair, dragon eyes burning a hole through you, and you grabbed his cheeks to pull him into yet another heated kiss.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, and he subconsciously grinded against you, though the skirt and the fabric of his own pants kept you from feeling anything.

“You think we can make it to my room,” you whispered as he moved to your neck, kissing a hot kiss just below your ear.

“You’ll have to show me the way.”

You chuckled, gently pushing on his chest until he finally disconnected from your neck and took a step back. It allowed you to plop down from the table on which he had sat you, and you grabbed his hand, right as he dipped his head to kiss you again.

You kissed him back, moaning softly when his large hand cupped your ass, grabbing at the meat hard but not enough to hurt. It had even more heat pool at your core, liquid lava that was slowly making you unravel, and you needed more.

You pulled away from the kiss begrudgingly, mostly because you wanted to stay here, to be consumed with the passion Namjoon’s lips were carving against you.

You had to make it to your room before you went insane. So you pulled him behind you, not once looking back, or else you wouldn’t get there at all. Luckily enough, you held on strong, but the moment you crossed the threshold to your room, Namjoon pulled you against him, large hand resting on the base of your neck to keep you from moving away.

It took all of three seconds before your brain zeroed in on the spot where his hard dick was pressing against your back.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he asked, voice low and husky, sending shivers all over your body.

You nodded, tilting your head to the side to give him access when he lowered his head. Too tall, he didn’t quite reach your neck, but his breath skimming over your skin made goosebumps erupt on you.

“I want you too,” you replied breathily.

You could hear a dangerous smirk in his voice when he said, “Take that skirt off”.

Something settled deep inside of you, making you into a puppet he could control. Stepping away from him, your hands went behind your back to unzip the skirt, and you let it fall to the floor. It pooled around your ankle, but when he stepped closer again, one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass, you found yourself unable to do anything.

“You should take off the pantyhose, too, before I rip them”, he added.

You didn’t doubt that Namjoon often miscalculated his strength. Even when he was just a gangly teenager, he already struggled with clumsiness. So you pulled the pantyhose down your legs, and you stepped out of the pile of clothing, waiting for him as he moved closer again.

This time, his hands slipped to your front, and he looked over your shoulder as he started undoing the buttons of your blouse, not even caring that you were still wearing the blazer. His breath skimmed on the side of your face as he did so, and your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on every brush of fabric against you while he worked his way down your blouse.

He pushed both the blouse and blazer off your shoulders when he was done, and they fell on the floor behind you. He didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his arm to your front, moving up until he grabbed your breasts through your bra, squeezing slightly.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded then, and still the good puppet you did, walking to the mattress and sitting down, eyes finally finding him again.

He didn’t say anything as he slowly undressed, pulling his cardigan off. It fell somewhere next to the pile of your clothing, and then he attacked the polo, taking it off in one swift motion that revealed the expanse of his wide chest.

His honey skin seemed to prettily gleam in the moonlight, where it was pulled taught over the big muscles of his chest. He looked sculpted in marble, big and buff, and you closed your thighs in reflex at the thought of his weight over you.

Needless to say, he didn’t look like that when he was a teenager at all. Adulthood looked good on him.

He unbuckled his belt next, taking his time as you just surveyed him. Even in the dim light from the full moon outside, you could see the bulge in his pants, and you salivated at the thought of wrapping your lips around him, of tasting him and making him feel good.

The belt fell with a thud to the ground, and your lips parted as he palmed himself, enhancing the size of his bulge. Your eyes widened slightly – he looked far bigger than you had initially thought he’d be, though you weren’t all that surprised with his large frame.

“Take off your bra,” he said next. “I want to see your breasts.”

You nodded, hands going to your back as you unclasped the bra. You slowly took it off, nipples perking when cold air hit them. You shivered once again as his eyes roamed over you, and even more so when he said, “Beautiful” as if you were a piece of art made for him to admire.

And with the way he was looking at you, you thought maybe, maybe you were.

He took a few steps towards you, and your eyes darted towards the lamp on your bedside table. Namjoon caught your motion, and he tutted lightly. “Not tonight,” he told you. “Tonight is about feeling, not about seeing.”

For some reason, you had expected him to be a lights-on kind of partner, but you weren’t mad about his will to stay in the dark. Because you knew all too well how much pleasure could course through your blood when your sense of sight was taken from you. As an artist, you relied on it far more than a lot of people – the loss of it made you weak, in a burning kind of way.

If you were honest, you enjoyed being blindfolded a lot, but you didn’t see yourself asking Namjoon to do it today. Lights off seemed the closest thing to it, so you didn’t argue with him as he used a knee to part your legs in an attempt to get closer to you.

He grabbed your chin, making you tilt your head back so he could catch your gaze. His eyes were dark, even in the silvery moonlight, and you gulped as he gently patted your cheek.

“You’re going to feel good for me, mmh?”

You nodded, entirely unable to use words right now. Mostly because you were but a puppet, and he the puppeteer. He smirked, satisfied, before unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes dropped, and you watched him do it expectantly, teeth gently digging into your bottom lip in apprehension.

The good kind, the one that made you burst into an explosion of flames.

“You think you can wrap your pretty lips around my dick?” he asked.

For a reason unknown, all you were able to mutter back was, “Namjoon.”

“Yes, baby?”

You gulped, and you looked up at him again. You didn’t watch as he took his pants and underwear off in the same motion, didn’t budge your gaze as you heard the slap of his hard dick on his abdomen. From the way his arm moved, large bicep popping slightly, you knew he was jerking off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look down. Couldn’t bring yourself to gaze away from his eyes as they burned on you, searing their mark right on your soul.

“What is it?” he asked again, with a barely concealed warning in his voice.

He wasn’t one to have to repeat, was he? No, you were pretty sure Namjoon was used to being obeyed, with being the leader of a boyband like BTS. Pretty sure he expected to be obeyed, and somehow that turned you from puppet to puppeteer, as your hands rested on his thick, muscular thighs.

“You want me to suck your dick?” you asked, voice sultry as you moved your hands up, never touching him where he so visibly wanted.

His lips parted, though he remained surprisingly silent. He clearly didn’t expect you to take control of the situation, but from the way his features darkened even more, you knew he liked it.

“Want me to suck you dry?” you added. “Want to come down my throat?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and he grabbed the base of his dick to gently tap it against the corner of your mouth. “Better get to work, baby. You’re a lot of talk for someone that hasn’t touched me yet.”

“Say please,” you teased, and you let one of your hands move between his legs so you could cup his balls. They sat heavy in your palm, seemingly ready to explode.

“Fuck,” he repeated, adding your name at the end. “Who would have thought you had this in you?”

Emboldened by his words, you licked at his tip, collecting the precum on his slit. “That wasn’t please.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes shutting in frustration before he finally said, “Please, baby. Please suck my dick.”

You sucked on his tip once, tongue swirling around it, before pulling away. “Good boy.”

That was Namjoon’s undoing. He let go of his dick, grabbed your head, aligning his dick with your mouth as he repeatedly cursed under his breath. You liked him like this, liked the power you had over him. So you resisted, just to piss him off further, but it only seemed to turn him into a whiny mess as begging mixed with cursing.

Only then did you finally start sucking him off, jaw straining from how big he was. It hurt, and your eyes watered as he reached the back of your throat with not even half of him in your mouth. All you could think of was that he was going to be quite a stretch down there, too, as you looked up at his features, casted in the soft silvery glow of the moon outside.

You pulled almost all the way out, but the hand on the back of your head held you in place, forcing you to keep him in your mouth. You played with the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around it, teasing the slit as the salty taste of precum filled your mouth. You moaned, softly, and Namjoon cursed once more, before falling entirely silent as he watched you take as much of him as you could again.

Once he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed, eyes watering again as you tried to hold in your gag reflex. It didn’t really work, and when you choked, Namjoon pulled out of your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked.

“You’re so big,” you praised, and you grabbed his dick with a loose grip, jerking him off slowly. Mostly, you spread your saliva on his length, wanting to make sure he was well-lubricated for what was to come.

“Why don’t you sit?” you told him, letting go of his dick.

He looked conflicted for about a second before he did. You readjusted yourself so you were kneeling between his powerful thighs, and the new position allowed you to bite at the hard muscles of his abdomen. He hissed, hand going to the back of your head as he guided you towards his dick once more.

“Suck me, baby,” he said, still sounding just as whiny.

Feeling like a brat, you replied, “What do I get in exchange?”

His forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, searching for something to reply. Though Namjoon was not a man of many words, always choosing his words carefully, right now, it seemed he was entirely silenced.

“I’ll fuck you good,” he finally answered, voice low. He bent a little, grabbing your face, and his thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I’ll fuck you good until your legs shake and you can’t walk anymore. Is that a good deal?”

You bit your lip as he let go of you, once again grabbing his dick so he could hold it up for you. Not moving towards it, you rested your head on his thigh, before reaching between his legs to cup his balls. They were heavy in your palm, and you gently massaged them, earning you a soft grunt from him.

“Careful with the balls,” he warned you.

You pouted before leaning between his legs. You avoided his waiting cock, instead aiming for the base of his dick, right between his two balls. You then licked a long stripe towards the top, and Namjoon cursed as you swirled your tongue on his frenulum.

“My bad,” you then apologized, letting go of his balls as you made a mental note that they probably were too sensitive for him to enjoy. “Let me make it up to you.”

He cocked an eyebrow in question, but the second your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and you sucked hard, he threw his head back, cursing out loud. It finally convinced you to get to work, and you replaced his hand on his dick so you could jerk him off in time with the bobbing of your head.

As big as he was, you found you couldn’t keep going for much longer. So instead of taking all of him in – or as much of him as you could – you focused on his tip, jerking him off faster after having spit in your hand. Looking up at him, you noticed his teeth digging into his lower lip, a clear indication that he was enjoying himself, and then you closed your eyes, focusing on the job at hand.

Focusing on pleasuring Kim Namjoon.

You sucked him off for a while, long enough for his dick to turn rock hard under your ministrations. Long enough for him to be a panting and cursing mess, long enough for your jaw to hurt so bad you almost thought it was going to dislocate. When the pain grew too intense, you sat back on your heels, and stroked his dick, twisting your wrist as you reached the tip.

“So big I can’t even suck you properly,” you commented.

“I’ll stretch you wide open, baby,” he said, and he leaned back on his hands as he looked down at you. “I’ll stretch you so wide you’ll cry my name.”

It was so crass your hand slowed on his dick as you clenched your thighs. “Fuck, Namjoon.”

He smirked, dimples dangerously decorating his cheeks, but an expert motion of your hand had him close his eyes, mouth falling open on a low moan.

“Should I ride you?” you asked him. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

“You’ll need me to get you ready,” he answered once he was able to look at you again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You almost wanted to tell him that you were going to be okay, but he wasn’t wrong. Fucking yourself on him without having been previously fingered would definitely hurt like a bitch.

“Ride my face?” he suggested as you debated what to do.

You wet your lips, desire pumping through your blood before you told him, “Lie down.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and you quickly climbed on top of him, straddling his face. His large hands cupped your ass, squeezing and parting your cheeks as he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves, and you hissed, fingers getting lost in his hair as you pushed it out of his eyes.

You maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself on him until you were properly seated on his pretty features. His tongue parted your folds, dipping in your entrance, and you instinctively grinded. He pushed the wet muscle deep inside of you, as deep as he could before arching it, searching for your sweet spot.

When you let out a soft moan, he flicked at the same spot again, and you grinded into his face once more.

“Fuck,” you told him. “Right there.”

He understood right away, and he started fucking you with his tongue, hitting that same spot again and again, making the corners of your vision blurry. All you could focus on were his eyes between your legs, and you moaned his name as his fingers dug into the skin of your ass. It hurt a little, and you wondered for a time if he was unaware of his strength.

You wouldn’t be surprised – he was a lot stronger than you had imagined he was.

As Namjoon kept working on you, eating you out and lapping your juices, you palmed your breast, rolling the sensitive nipple between your thumb and index. The added sensation had more of your vision turning blurry, making it hard for you to focus on Namjoon. So you closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure moving through you, and soon enough, a knot started tightening in your core.

Instinctively, you started grinding into his face, following the rhythm of his tongue inside of you, and the knot tightened and tightened, almost painfully so. When Namjoon landed a surprising slap on your ass, you lost it, knot snapping as your orgasm hit you.

You came hard, walls pulsating around Namjoon’s tongue, and he milked all of your orgasm out of you, lapping your juices as you dripped on him. When you started getting oversensitive, you moved to sit next to him instead. Namjoon didn’t move right away, catching his breath, but when he did move, it was to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. He sat up after that, catching your lips in a quick kiss that left you breathless, mind spinning with the taste of yourself.

“Now I’m going to fuck you,” Namjoon promised.

All you could do was moan as one of his large hands moved between your legs. He pushed two fingers in, and they slid right in with all the lubrication your orgasm had just brought out of you. He fingered you for a few seconds as he littered small kisses on your shoulder and up your neck, and he nibbled at your ear once he reached it.

“You’re going to take all of me, mmh?” he asked right in your ear, voice so low and husky your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Yes,” you answered.

He pulled away, smirking in satisfaction before saying, “Get on all fours. I want to look at your ass while I’m fucking you.”

“You’d like that?” you teased him. “You want to see my ass bounce while you pound into me?”

Your two sentences were enough to silence him once more, and all he managed to do in reply was nod. It made you chuckle, and before you got into position, you crawled to your bedside table, fishing a condom out of the half-empty box you owned from a previous relationship.

“Put this on,” you told Namjoon as you handed him the condom.

He looked down at your hand. “What size is that?”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Regular.”

He laughed before shaking his head at you. You were about to argue when he got up, moving to his discarded pants so he could grab his wallet. “I need bigger than that, baby,” he told you as an explanation, and you rolled your eyes playfully as you put the condom back in your bottom drawer.

Namjoon fished an appropriately-sized condom from his wallet, and he was quick to get it out of the wrapper and put it on his hard length. He hissed a little as he rolled it down his dick, but once it was in place he moved back to the bed, kneeling behind you as you propped your ass up, keeping your face down.

“Gosh, you’re so sexy like this,” he praised you. “Ever since he saw you again, I’ve been wanting to see you like this.”

A drop of warning clouded your senses for a few seconds, but when he rubbed his dick between your folds, pushing it against your clit, lust took over once more. You grabbed at the sheets as he teased the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, and when you had enough, you cursed.

“Fuck me,” you told him. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”

He slapped your ass. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Before you could reply, he pushed the fat tip of his cock between your folds, and you moaned at the burning sensation. It was the good kind of burning, the one that left stars dancing behind your eyelids and on the periphery of your vision. It made you clutch the sheets harder, and then Namjoon pushed in, embedding himself deep inside of you.

He grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the supple skin so hard you were pretty sure they were going to leave marks behind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you did was moan loudly, especially as he pulled almost all the way out before slapping his hips forward again.

It was rough, and your body jerked forward from the impact of his pelvis on your ass. You couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the stretch between your legs, and when he started pounding into you, you felt him so deep you cried out his name.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you. “You take me so well.”

He slightly slowed down, but his hips still snapped forward in quick and harsh thrusts as he leaned forward, adjusting the position. When he was satisfied by the new angle, he resumed his previous speed, as one of his hands grabbed at your hair, pulling it in a makeshift ponytail so he could keep you in place.

He didn’t pull on your hair harder than that, didn’t force you look back at him, and for a moment, all that could be heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin, and the moans and grunts you two were making. It was loud, and you were glad you lived in a house and not an apartment – you were pretty sure your neighbours would have heard otherwise.

When Namjoon landed another slap on your ass, you cursed loudly, and it made him still halfway out of you. He massaged the spot gently, soothing the skin with his warm fingers. “Do you want to switch position?” he asked.

As much as the current position felt good, you knew this angle would never make you cum. So you nodded your head, and Namjoon pulled out of you, sitting back on his heels. You turned towards him, and your eyes fell to his hardened length. To your juice coating the condom, and you got an idea.

“Lean back on your hands,” you ordered.

He cocked an eyebrow in question, yet he still obeyed. When he was properly positioned, you climbed on top of him, grabbing his cock to guide it towards your entrance. You help onto his shoulder with your other hand, and you slowly sunk on him until his cock hit your cervix. It hurt a little, the angle different from earlier yet making you feel so much more, and you grabbed onto his other shoulder.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “You’re so fucking deep.” And then you leaned back a little, and both of your gazes dropped to the space where your bodies were connected. To the bulge in your tummy as you slightly leaned back. “So fucking big we can see you in me.”

He moaned and threw his head back as you moved up, only to slam back down a second later. He put all of his weight on one hand, and his other settled on your waist, following you as you established a slow and sensual rhythm, rolling your hips whenever he was deep inside of you. It had his big cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you, and when the corners of your vision turned white, you started moving faster.

You grabbed onto his neck, not squeezing, and you felt him swallow under your palm. Your pleasure increased tenfold as the hand on your waist moved to cup your breast, and when he squeezed your nipple, you clenched your walls hard against his dick.

“Fuck,” he let out, and he looked at you.

The moment his gaze met yours, you started choking him, increasing your speed to chase your orgasm. His mouth fell open, and his dick reached deep inside of you as you kept going, kept splitting yourself on him.

When your orgasm hit, you wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He circled your waist, fucking up into you as much as he could in this position. He rode you through your high, and you were a shaking mess when he finally slowed down, hand rubbing your back soothingly.

“Lie down for me,” he gently said.

You were too lost in ecstasy to argue, and you craved his dick the second it was out of your pussy. He wasn’t out for long, and he kneeled between your legs, holding them to his chest as he pushed in in one powerful thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with the sensation, and you moaned out his name as he established an unforgiving rhythm.

When his teeth sunk into your calf in a clear attempt to muffle his own moans, you clenched hard around him, and it was enough to get him close. To your surprise, he pulled out of you, quickly taking off the condom, and he pumped his dick, emptying his load on your stomach and pelvis. The feeling of every hot spurt on you had you reach between you, and when some landed on your fingers, you quickly brought them to your mouth, getting a taste of him.

Namjoon grunted, and he slowly decreased the rhythm of his jerking off until he was just holding his dick over you, one last drop of cum meeting the rest on your stomach. You didn’t move for a long time, both of you trying to catch your breath. It took a while, but once your pulse had stopped racing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the white mess on your stomach.

“You made quite a mess,” you teased him.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly said. “Was that okay?”

You nodded. “As long as you clean it up, yes.”

He laughed, bending so he could retrieve some tissues from your nightstand. He first cleaned his fingers, and then your stomach, making sure not to leave a single drop behind. Still, you felt sticky, and when you offered him to take a shower, he agreed right away.

You let the warm water run on your body, taking with it your sweat and Namjoon’s cum, as you ran your hands through your hair. You sighed, opening your eyes to the sight of him as he looked down at you, a fond smile on his lips.

“Can you pass me the shampoo?”

He nodded, but instead of giving it to you, he motioned for you to turn. “I’ll wash your hair.”

The domesticity of the action had your cheeks burning, and all you could do was hope he hadn’t noticed. You still turned, and when he started massaging your head, you shut your eyes, sighing in contentment. When he was done, he made you turn around so he could wash the shampoo out of your hair, making sure you didn’t get any in your eyes. After that, you switched place so he could wash his own hair, while you busied yourself with cleaning your body, erasing what was left of the action that had transpired between you and Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t speak more in the shower, though you did exchange a slow kiss once you were both entirely clean. Namjoon’s lips seemed more hesitant now, but as you wrapped your arms around his waist, it was his turn to sigh in contentment. His kiss grew more affirmative now, as if he was trying to tell you that he, too, felt a certain way with you.

Because right now, you felt like you were floating, like you were an astronaut in zero gravity. It was dizzying, but in a beautiful way as you held onto him, and he held onto you. It was filled with memories of the past, yes, but also of promises of the future.

That was when you remembered what he had said right before you had started having sex. How he had been imagining you like this ever since you had met again, thirteen years after you’d disappeared from his life. The previous wariness returned, and you pulled away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his chest. He let you do it, unaware of the drop of doubt that was solidifying into lead in your stomach.

After the shower, you lied in bed, Namjoon by your side, unable to form a sentence. Unable to breathe your worries into words, unable to share with Namjoon that you were afraid he only wanted you for sex. And you tried, you really tried to speak, but all you could do was slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm your racing heart before it burst inside your chest.

Right when you thought you had gathered enough courage, Namjoon softly snored next to you, and you realized that, after all, it was too late to share your concerns.

*****

You stared at the scenery out of the window. You hadn’t been to Ilsan in a long time, but when Namjoon had mentioned he was going to visit his family, offering you a ride – a company official ride, considering he couldn’t drive – you hadn’t been able to say no. So you watched Ilsan from the window of your parents’ kitchen, remembering growing up.

Remembering days of childhood innocence, and of teenager crushes. Of teenager fights, and breakups that had shaped who you had turned out to be. It was strange to think that you were going to circle your way back to Namjoon, that you were going to come here to Ilsan, with him.

You hadn’t told your parents. When they had seen you arrive, they had asked how you had gotten here, considering your car was nowhere to be seen. You had lied through your teeth, saying that you had taken the train, and they hadn’t pushed, knowing that you indeed often took the train anyway, in an attempt to clear your head and sketch some ideas for your next art piece.

Instead, you had been at the back of a company car, chatting the ride away with Kim Namjoon as if it wasn’t only the tenth time you had seen him again after your breakup thirteen years ago. It was like you had never parted – complicity between Kim Namjoon and you was easy as breathing, as natural as the sun shining in the sky overhead. And the sun had shone all the way home, as if to tell you that your worries meant nothing.

But your worries were still haunting you. Hadn’t stopped haunting you since you had sex with him, chasing you through your days, taunting you through your nights. You weren’t able to escape them, especially not as he acted the way that he did.

That is, as if you were far closer than you were. As if the years hadn’t come and gone, as if thirteen years had been just the blink of an eye. It was strange to you, stranger still, that whenever you were with him, you tended to forget too. Tended to bask in his warmth, and it was no wonder your relationship was so physical.

Indeed, sometimes you even thought that it was all there was. Because each time you had seen him after your date had been physical, his body on top of yours as he fucked your brains out. As you climbed on top in an attempt to gain control, but you doubted you’d ever have the control when it came to Kim Namjoon.

So you looked outside the kitchen window, trying to remember who you were. Trying to remember what you wanted, and trying to figure out what you should eat for dinner later.

You were here for four days, and though you had brought supplies so you could paint here, hoping your childhood home would bring you inspiration, all you had been able to do was worry about Kim Namjoon and what he meant in your life.

You weren’t sure it mattered. Because even though your relationship was purely physical, it still brought you satisfaction. Always left you swimming in ecstasy, always made you sleep soundly for a few days.

It had been weeks since your date. Almost two months, actually. Namjoon had texted you regularly, though the conversation never really delved into subjects that mattered. He was too busy to hang out often, but he made you feel as if he was making time for you. Yet you couldn’t shake what he had said out of your mind.

Did you want to just be someone Kim Namjoon saw when he needed to fuck? When he needed to paint himself on you, to bring more confusion into the mess of art your mind had been since the date?

The answer was easy. No, you didn’t wish to be just that. You’d never been one to have fuck buddies, and every time you saw Namjoon, the impression was reinforced. Perhaps because he made small comments, about how he was glad he could fuck you, glad you were in his bed.

Glad you moaned out his name whenever you came, and evidently, he made you come plenty enough. But yet you needed more, and you hated yourself for it.

Why complicate something that was so easy? So you remained silent, never said anything, though you did hold onto him as much as you could when you slept in his arms, trying to remind yourself that if he just wanted sex, he wouldn’t sleep over, or ask you to stay.

Would he have offered to drive you to Ilsan if you were nothing to him? You highly doubted so. Especially considering how he had talked to you, how comfortable he was next to you.

You sighed, looking away from the window as you turned towards the living room. Your father was napping on the couch, and your mother had gone to the market, declining your offer to come with as she had claimed you needed to work on your paintings.

You had been staring at the canvas for an hour before you had come to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and you had already finished it as you had watched the world outside the kitchen window, lost in thought. You figured taking a walk would help clear your mind, and you hoped you’d find inspiration by the time you were back home.

Though the weather was warmer outside than it was weeks ago, when you had your date with Namjoon, you still wrapped a thick scarf around your neck, burying yourself in the warm coat you had brought here. You put on your Chelsea boots, and the minute you stepped outside, you loosened the scarf.

The air smelled fresh and hinted at spring. There was no snow, most of it having melted under the peculiar warmth, and by the time you made it to the end of the street, you unzipped your coat too, feeling too hot.

You turned to your left, bowing your head slightly at the older couple that you passed. They reciprocated, but you didn’t pay attention to them more than necessary as you walked towards the park behind your middle school. The middle school where you and Namjoon had first fallen in love when you were dumb and young.

Ten minutes later, the building came into view, and memories swarmed in, chasing Namjoon out of your thoughts. Well, chasing current Namjoon out of your thoughts as you remembered your classes, and the teacher that you had always hated. As you remembered sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field, chatting the evening away when you were supposed to be home.

It was no surprise that you found yourself making your way to those bleachers, and you sat as high as you could, eyeing the empty field. It was the middle of the week, and the soccer field was empty save for birds searching for worms in the wet grass.

You leaned back on your hands so you could look up, gazing at the few clouds in the sky. Wind played with your hair, blowing it in your face, but you ignored it, focusing on the fresh air. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you inhaled deeply.

You were calm and content... until you let out a startled cry as someone said your name. Your eyes flew open to the sight of Kim Namjoon at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at you.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you told him, hand on your racing heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just out on a walk,” he informed you. “Didn’t expect to run into you.”

He walked up the bleachers, sitting next to you before you replied. “Your parents are bothering you?” you teased, gently nudging him.

“Nah,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been songwriting since I got here? Can’t get this song right, so I decided to walk. Thought it’d help clear my mind.”

Of course, he was out and about for the same reason as you. Because you and Kim Namjoon were far more similar than you wanted to believe it. Sometimes, it led you to think that you were two of the same person, and usually, whenever you thought that you had to rein yourself in, reminding yourself that all he did with you was have sex.

“Couldn’t paint,” you admitted.

“Your parents are bothering you?” he asked, repeating your question with a corner smile and a single dimple.

This time, you pushed him, laughing before replying, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned, though you both fell silent as your gazes moved up to the sky, and you enjoyed the afternoon warmth. You knew the night would get cold, but you still had a few more hours of sunlight before the world gave way to darkness.

“You know,” he said as your eyes chased a white cloud on the cerulean expanse of the sky. “I was hoping we could hang out, while we’re here?”

He said it like a question, as if asking for permission, and it had your heart race in your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of your parents asking questions?”

“Not really,” he answered. “They know that you came with me. They want me to invite you over for dinner.”

Your gaze widened as it dropped to him. He was already looking at you, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. “Is that something that we’re supposed to be doing?” you enquired.

It seemed to take him by surprise. “What do you mean?”

You reckoned now was a good time as any to voice your concerns. Perhaps because the scene was familiar, safe, and you couldn’t deal with the concern gnawing at your nerves anymore.

“What are we, exactly?” you said, softly, finally giving voice to the worries.

Namjoon’s eyes went round as blush crept on his cheeks. “What?”

The drop of lead from that first date grew inside of you. “It’s just… we’ve only been hanging out for sex, correct?”

“Is that what it is for you?” he enquired after a few seconds of silence, of him just watching you with a somber expression.

You chuckled awkwardly. “To be entirely honest, I don’t do this. So no, I’d hope it’s not that, but…” you trailed off, eyes falling to the field in front of you. “You haven’t really made me feel like you’re in this for more than just sex.”

He leaned forward as if trying to gain your attention. As your gaze remained stubbornly on the empty field, he said your name once. His voice was soft, gentle, and that, more than anything, made you turn to look at him.

“I thought we were… dating?” he admitted. “I… I’m sorry if I just… assumed?”

It was such a Namjoon thing to do that you couldn’t even blame him. His revelation made the lead melt away to be replaced by a sweet warmth much like the one the sun rays carried. “Oh?”

As you didn’t say anything else, Namjoon straightened, putting a little distance between the two of you. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

In truth, yes, it probably was what you had been wanting since the beginning. Since he had arrived at your house with the flowers before the date, and since his lips had found yours for the first time again after thirteen years apart. You had been wanting him, more than just physically.

“I mean…” You chuckled awkwardly again, shrugging your shoulders. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

He grinned, dimples flashing blindingly, even more so than the sun in the sky up above. “Good. So you’ll come over for dinner?”

This time you laughed, and you cocked an eyebrow. “With just a few hours notice?”

“Yeah?” He shrugged. “My parents already know you, what does it change?”

And when you held his soft gaze, you decided why not? Why not dive in feet first, and not care about the consequences?

You doubted there’d be anything negative to come out of a dinner with Namjoon’s parents. And turned out you were right – both of them were happy to see you, and Namjoon’s mom kept repeating how proud she was that Namjoon had found you again, in Seoul. To Namjoon’s dismay, she told you about just how much Namjoon had cried after your breakup, and about how much it had encouraged him to become a rapper. Namjoon was red up to the tip of his ears as you looked at him, yet he didn’t scold his mother, didn’t tell her to stop.

And this, most of all, was the Namjoon you remembered from thirteen years ago. A shy, sweet boy who was always good to his elders, always polite and ready to help. He did help his mother, doing the dishes along with you after you’d eaten, and when it was time for you to leave, his father scolded him and told him to walk you home.

Namjoon grumbled that he was already going to do so, and you said your goodbyes to his parents before walking out into the night. It was a lot colder than it had been during the day, and you buried your hands in the pockets of your coat as you walked close to Namjoon, his arm brushing yours with every step that you took.

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologized.

You glanced up at him, gazing at the aura around his head caused by the streetlight behind him. “About what?”

He shrugged. “The dinner. I didn’t expect my parents to be weird about it.”

“They weren’t,” you reassured him. You walked in silence for a time, eyes moving back to the street in front of you. It was empty, even though it wasn’t particularly late at night. Perhaps it rendered you bolder, because you said, “I’m really happy I said yes. I missed them.”

He smiled, softly. “They missed you too.”

A comfortable silence moved between you, and you basked in it as you made your way home, with your teenage lover by your side. It was hard to believe that he was next to you right now, and just like that, you knew what you were going to paint when you were home.

“The night is beautiful,” Namjoon said softly. “Makes it feel like we never left, you know?”

“Like it hasn’t been thirteen years, right?”

He nodded. “The weight of the years does feel lesser since we’ve reconnected.”

His words had warmth blossom in your chest, heating up your body in the cold early spring night. They had you glance at him, and when you found him already looking at you, you stopped. He stopped just a step ahead of you, turning to look at you.

“Do you think we were just right people, wrong time?” you asked. “I’ve been thinking… it’s been so easy with you, since our date. It’s strange to believe that it would be, no?”

“The years haven’t changed us as much as you’d imagined they would,” he agreed. “Like…” he glanced up at the sky, searching for words to voice his feelings. “BTS came into my life after you. I’d say it changed me, made me grow up far faster than I thought I would. Being the leader and all, I had a lot of responsibilities on me, you know?”

You nodded, not really knowing where he was going.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be the leader,” he continued, revealing something you weren’t sure he had said out loud to anyone before. “I wish I didn’t have this weight on me and… in November, when I saw you again, I was going through a hard time. I didn’t entirely recognize you at first, but I was drawn to your gallery again and… I tried to find a reason to visit. To find a reason to talk to you.”

His eyes met yours again, and you almost balked at the intensity of his gaze.

“I felt lighter with you than I’d felt in years. So, when you say right people, wrong time, I think you’re right. I think thirteen years ago was all fucked up for us, but I think we were always meant to find each other again, through all the craziness of the world.”

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him down in a kiss. He kissed you back instantly, though his lips were slow against yours. Soft, anchoring you in this moment, in this space that had used to be yours when you were younger. He kissed you like time had slowed for you, like you had all night to stay right here, in this spot.

Your heart found a soothing rhythm in your chest, one echoed in his own ribcage, and his large hands found your waist to pull you closer. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth, you sighed dreamily, the taste of him so heavenly now that the lead in your stomach was gone that you thought you were going to start flying right here, right now.

Namjoon pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, and your breaths moved up in the sky, forming a single cloud over your heads.

“Had I known that you were worried I wasn’t into you like this, I wouldn’t have had sex with you every time we hung out,” he admitted, softly.

That, more than anything else, finished reassuring you.

“Hey,” you let out. “It’s okay. I should have spoken to you about it before.”

He pecked your lips once more before pulling away. He offered you his hand, and you gently took it as he smiled at you, his dimples so familiar on his cheeks that you wanted to drown in him.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”

“I’m an adult now,” you reminded him, earning a laugh as he pulled you towards your house.

He shrugged. “They are still your parents; they’ll always worry for you.”

His words held truth, so you didn’t resist as he finished walking you home. You stood in front of the gate, looking at each other, and Namjoon gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed down your face until they rested on your jaw, and he leaned down to press another gentle kiss on your lips, one that had you wish you didn’t have to part with him for the night.

One day, you liked to believe you wouldn’t have to part at all.

*****

Being in a relationship with Kim Namjoon was easy. The weeks following your trip to Ilsan had you growing ever so closer, and you accompanied him to a dinner with all of his members. There, you saw what it meant for him to be the leader, but you kept your hand in his, bearing the weight of it along with him, even though it wasn’t like he had to keep them in check in private.

You had left early as you needed to go to your studio early in the morning, but had been unable to part with Namjoon, which wasn’t all that surprising to you or him. You both liked sharing a bed, liked the closeness that it allowed you. So you stayed the night, and the next day you made your way to your studio level-headed, ready to paint all day after your meeting with your manager. Your phone was dead, but you knew she wasn’t one to miss a meeting, and you figured you could always charge your phone when you got to the studio.

To your surprise, Sooah wasn’t alone when you got there. There was a suit-clad man, and he bowed his head at you respectfully as you walked in. You threw a curious look to Sooah, and the expression on her face made your heart drop to your ass, if that was possible.

“Hi,” the man politely said. “I’m glad you’ve finally showed up.”

He sounded annoyed, and it grated your nerves right away. You cocked an eyebrow before saying, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am Jo Jonghyuk,” he answered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Hybe representative.”

You let out a nervous chuckle. “What’s bringing you here?

Sooah was the one to answer. “There’s been leaked pictures of you and Namjoon,” she informed you carefully. “They are… all over the media this morning.”

A drop of cold sweat rolled down your spine. “Excuse me?”

You hadn’t noticed it before, but the man had a briefcase. He quickly opened it, getting a stack of papers out of it that he handed to you unceremoniously. You looked at them, eyes widening as you saw the series of pictures, all of them of you and Namjoon.

And your face was far too recognizable. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t you, couldn’t pretend you had no idea what the man was talking about. So when he asked if there was a space where you could sit down to discuss, you let Sooah suggest heading downstairs. You followed them with fear in your gut, and even when you were sitting on the couches downstairs, you still couldn’t stop your heart from racing in your chest.

“So,” the man said. “We’re aware that our artists have lives outside of the company.” He paused, watching you carefully. “But we need to preserve their image. I’m sure you can understand?”

Sooah saved you by replying. “What is that supposed to mean for Y/n?”

“Namjoon is currently in a meeting with other representatives. He will be asked the same thing as you,” the man offered as an explanation.

You cocked an eyebrow. “And what is it that I’m going to be asked?”

“Keep the relationship behind closed doors.” The man motioned around you. “As an artist, I’m sure you understand how one’s image is important. The stocks are going to be impacted if it is said that Kim Namjoon is in a relationship, and not for the better. We are going to release a statement later in the day to refute the rumours.”

It wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, yet you still felt sick, down to your very core. “And this needed an early morning meeting?”

You’d like to think that you sounded arrogant, defiant, but your voice was filled with nerves, shaking pathetically.

The man offered you a polite smile. “No. I’m here to have you sign an NDA.”

That made more sense. And still, it wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be – it wasn’t like you were going to scream about your relationship with Namjoon. After all, it still was fairly new, and you also wanted to preserve your anonymity.

In that instant, as the man pulled out said NDA from his briefcase, you understood something. Your anonymity was gone, gone like the winds of winter as the world outside slowly turned to spring.

Your face was visible in the pictures. People had seen you around the gallery, outside of official events, when you wore your mask.

You signed with a trembling hand, barely recognizing your own name on the paper, and the man offered you a copy of it before saying that he had to go. He thanked you for your cooperation on the way out, and when he was gone, disappearing at the bend in the street, you turned towards Sooah.

“I’m fucked,” you said.

She pursed her lips, concern moving on her features. “You are not. There’s no indication that people will associate you with Maehwa. I don’t think this will affect the gallery.”

You shook your head. “You don’t understand.” You scoffed, gaze dropping to the floor as the lead you had felt after your first date with Namjoon rematerialized, turning into a reality you didn’t think you were ready to gaze at. “It’s just a matter of time. His fandom discovers everything. They will know it’s me.”

“Then we’ll use it as publicity.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at your manager. “You can’t be serious.”

“Your art is beautiful,” she reminded you. “You’ve been building your reputation for years. Why would you being a human, having relationships, impact it?” She paused as if to give weight to her question. “It’s just going to put emphasis to the emotion in your art. People won’t see you as a masked individual anymore, but rather as the person behind the artist.”

You didn’t want to hear her. Knew she was being rational, yet couldn’t bear the truth in her words. Perhaps because you had always loved your anonymity. Always wanted to keep it, to use it to protect yourself from the world of fame, a world you had never wanted for yourself.

No, you just wanted to make art. To enjoy the science behind the pieces, the emotions that made you create. You were afraid it was going to be taken from you now. And who were you to blame? It was just a question of time before people connected the dots between you and Namjoon, thanks to the pictures, yes, but also to the interview that had yet to be released.

“Deep breaths,” Sooah said calmly, cutting through your spiraling. “I promise it’ll be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” you asked. “What if I can’t paint anymore?”

“You’ve been painting your whole life,” she reminded you. “You won’t suddenly stop because of rumours about you.”

See, that was the logical way to think about it. You clung to the words, held them close to your heart and let them replay in your head. It eased the anxiety that was building inside of you, and soon enough, your frantic breathing returned to normal.

“Shit.”

Sooah raised her eyebrows, waiting to make sure your spiraling truly was over. When you didn’t say anything else, she nodded once, patting you on the shoulder. “It’s all going to work out. And besides, congrats on your relationship with Namjoon?”

She said it like a question because, frankly, you hadn’t told Miyoung or Sooah a lot about you and Namjoon, except that you were taking things slow. It was the best you had been able to come up with, back when you thought he was only seeking carnal union with you, and you hadn’t changed the narrative after you and Namjoon had made it official in Ilsan.

And later, as you worked on the painting you had started in Ilsan, you pictured the cold night, when he had kissed you under the streetlamps. When you had realized that you had truly been wrong all along, that life was a cycle bringing you back to him. Back to where it had all started. You remembered his soft lips on yours, and that, most of all, finished calming you down from the anxiety.

Every stroke of your brush on the canvas, every new line, meant a thousand words, as you painted. As you created art from nothing but the memories your art held, as you put them together to form the image that had come to you that cold night. It was beautiful, in a heavy kind of way, because the emotions were heavy. The love, the recognition and the knowledge of life and the cycle of it, all entwined together to form something that only you and Namjoon could understand.

And as you worked, forgetting all about the world outside, all about the threat to your anonymity, you believed everything was going to be alright…

Almost.

*****

“Thank you,” you thanked the young girls after they were done perusing your gallery.

It had taken all but a few hours for your artist self to be associated with Kim Namjoon and your gallery. On the same day, you had received more visitors than you had ever had, and though you had donned your mask, you knew it was pointless.

Knew from the looks and the whispers that people knew. Still, for the next following days, you kept wearing your mask. Kept trying to ignore how people weren’t here for your art anymore, but rather for you as a person. For your connection to Kim Namjoon, for what you meant to him and what he meant to you.

Namjoon had been understanding when you had told him how anxious the situation was making you. Had suggested avoiding public spaces altogether, and so far, you had only been able to see him once for dinner two days ago.

The dinner had been spent in far more silence than usual, while you both contemplated what this meant for you. You had settled on really taking it slow, letting the rumours die of their own volution instead of doing more about them. Because Hybe had released a statement, and already Dispatch was on the newest rumour, forgetting all about your possible connection with Kim Namjoon.

Except for the fans, that is. Because the fans came to your gallery, complimented your art, though you did see them snickering in your back. Before, you had believed you were above this, above petty gossiping and jealous bullying, especially coming from younger people. After all, younger people were that – young, and youth often held an amount of stupidity that was rarely found elsewhere.

As it had been the case for you and Namjoon, thirteen years ago.

Still, you found you were increasingly anxious, and instead of expecting Namjoon’s next message, his next call, you started dreading them. It was vicious, poisoning your blossoming relationship without him even being aware of it.

How could you blame him? He was used to this life, after all.

You sighed in your mask, hating the way your eyes burned. They burned more now that you wore the mask more often, drying out whenever you breathed out too strongly. You had gotten artificial tears, and you couldn’t wait to be able to lubricate your eyes as you watched the last few people milling about your gallery.

It was almost closing time, and you were looking forward to it more than you usually did. Mostly because you wanted to bask in calmness and silence for a while, if only to be able to get a grip on the anxiety.

Two older women approached you, hands behind their backs, where you stood by the big painting of Ilsan. They bowed politely, and to your relief, asked you if one of the pieces was for sale. Art enthusiasts, then. It was reassuring to see some of them in your gallery, even after all the recent events.

“Yes,” you answered them politely. “It’s currently on auction for the month. You can put in your own bid if you’d like.”

The smallest one pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “How expensive was the last bid?”

Even though this was supposed to be Sooah’s job, you still had access to the app where the bidding took place. So you took your phone out of your pocket, heart dropping in your chest when the screen lit up to show you three texts from Namjoon. You ignored them, swiping the phone open before clicking on the app.

As it loaded, you looked up to smile at the women. “Just a moment.”

They nodded in understanding, yet one of them looked over her shoulder as if annoyed. You felt bad, but it wasn’t like you controlled the technology. All you could do was wait, and the second the app opened, you scrolled down to the current bidding.

You hadn’t checked it since the bidding had started. Lowest bid had been set at 5 million won, but right now, the number you were reading on the screen didn’t even make any sense.

“Huh,” you let out, and you looked at the women, chuckling awkwardly. “It seems the bid for this piece has gone out of the roof.”

That was putting it lightly. Because, looking at the amount on your phone, you believed the bid had been sent to outer orbit.

The smaller woman winced. “How high?”

“1.2 billion won,” you replied. You checked your phone to make sure and even showed the screen to them.

“Oh,” she said. “We can’t afford that.”

You offered them an apologetic smile. “I have more pieces that are on sale and not on auction if you want me to show you.”

The one that seemed like she wanted to leave suddenly widened her gaze. “Oh, that would be lovely.”

They ended up buying a smaller drawing, saying that they were sure the value of it would skyrocket if they ever wanted to sell it. You wanted to tell them that it probably was just a bubble caused by the rumour and that it’d soon burst. Evidently, you couldn’t tell them that, both because of the NDA and because you were growing tongue-tied with the praise they were sending your way. Instead, all you did was offer them a wink, saying that you hoped they’d hold onto it dearly, and then you walked them to the door as it was closing time anyway.

When the door was locked behind them, you leaned against it, sighing shakily. With trembling hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, and you went through the different pieces you had on auction. Half of the profits were going to a charity for abused women, and still, it’d leave you with much more money than you ever thought you’d own.

You called Sooah, but it was her day off. You didn’t expect her to pick up, as she had told you she was going to be busy tonight, and of course, she didn’t. You still sent her a text to tell her to check the auction app, and then you pushed up from the door, heading to your studio downstairs.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, amidst the brushes and pots of paint you had left hanging around, not really caring about cleaning after yourself when you were in the arms of inspiration. But right now, the mess was making you feel like an imposter, like people would soon find out that you weren’t worth it.

It was then that you finally checked what Namjoon had sent you.

I hope all is well, his first message read. It was followed by, I’ll be in the studio until later tonight, but would you like to hang out after? Finally, his last message was, I’m going to come over to your studio after closing hour with take-out

For some reason, the thought of him coming here made you want to disappear through the floor, but it was already too late. Indeed, your phone started vibrating in your hand with an upcoming call, and his name on the screen taunted you, telling you that, yes, you were just an imposter.

You picked up, hands shaking slightly as you brought the phone to your ear.

“Busy night,” Namjoon said as a greeting.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. You’re on your way?”

“I’m outside,” he admitted. “Just waiting for some people to walk away before I come in. I assume it’s locked?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ll come open for you.”

There was an awkward silence as if he expected you to say something more. When you didn’t, he said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, and cringed at yourself. You weren’t a liar, hated lying, and lying to him felt like you were eating something foul. “Just tired.”

“Well, I hope you’re excited for some take-out. I got your favourite.”

Now, your heart ached in your chest. Because that was Namjoon. Namjoon would always get your favourite food, would always know what to do to cheer you up. Tonight, it felt wrong, as if you didn’t deserve it.

And really, did you deserve it at all? Did you deserve the attention that he had brought to you? Did you deserve the shine in the spotlight?

You highly doubted so.

Walking upstairs felt like a trek to the top of Mount Everest. You were aware that it was anxiety, that you probably shouldn’t listen to the thoughts right now. But they were taunting you, haunting you, a thousand little ghosts spinning around your head in dizzying circles until all that was left was a broken piece of you.

The sight of Namjoon, hood up and mask on, on the other side of the door wasn’t a relief. It was a hand clutching your throat, choking you up until you were left gasping for air on the ground. You stalled for a few seconds, and you wondered if he could feel your hesitancy. If he knew the spirals you had been going down, if he knew you were questioning everything.

You clenched your jaw, sighed deeply, and somehow a small spark of light split the darkness. Because this was Namjoon. This was the same Namjoon as a decade ago. The first boy you had ever loved – could he still really just be that today?

Finally, you walked over to the door, unlocked it and opened it for him. His dragon eyes were unreadable, but they were questioning. You felt as if they were asking questions to your soul directly and, ever bared in front of him, you were pretty sure your soul was answering.

“Hey baby,” he greeted you as he walked in, and you quickly shut the door and locked it behind him.

“Hi,” you said, voice vulnerable in the midst of your anxiety.

“You’ve been busy?” he asked, the soothing tone of his voice dragging a gentle hand on your back, telling you that maybe, maybe if you could let go of the anxiety, everything would be okay.

But could you, when its talons had sunk so deep into your heart you couldn’t quite tell if it was still beating?

“Yeah,” you answered. “I’ve been working on a piece and… didn’t see the time fly.”

He nodded understandingly. “Of course. That’s why I brought food.”

And that was how you found yourself sitting next to him on the couch in your studio, eyes trailing to your piece of art. You wondered if he could see your anxiety in the swirls of darker colours on the canvas. Could he tell you were haunted?

Could he be the solution?

“I think my album is going to be good,” he said as he swallowed the fried chicken he was eating. “You’re going to love it.”

You pursed your lips, not willing to tell him that you’d always loved whatever he made, even back then. “Of course.”

He flashed you a smile, but you could see that it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, and you both finished eating in silence. When you were done, Namjoon sat back in the couch, letting out a long sigh as one of his hands gently landed on your thigh. You immediately tensed, and his hand slid away, fingers flexing as if they wished they could hold onto you, but knew it was best not to.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his deep voice surrounding you, echoes reverberating through the fabric of your soul.

Could you tell him? Could you be honest with Kim Namjoon, or would it make him run away?

A scary thought formed in your mind, coming from the dirtiest part of your soul. Would it be better if he ran away?

“A lot,” you admitted, unable to hide the truth from him. “Quite a lot.”

You met his gaze for a few seconds before finding solace in your painting again.

“You know you can talk to me,” he gently said.

“I know.”

But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to have to tell him that this was all too much for you. That it was too quick, that you felt like you were stuck in a train aiming for a wall at top speed.

“I’m sorry,” he said after the silence had stretched so much, you thought it was about to rip the fabric of reality itself.

“What for?” you asked, genuinely wondering.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, pulling at some calluses on his palm that he got from working out without gloves on. “We haven’t really talked about the rumours.”

You hadn’t. Hadn’t even mentioned anything once, preferring to act as if it had never happened. Foolishly, you’d hoped that it would preserve your anonymity, even after it was gone. Even after the first fans stepped foot in your gallery, even after you’d seen articles about you in the press.

“Yeah.”

“Is that what’s on your mind?” he asked, and he turned his head towards you.

From this angle, it was entirely too hard to avoid his gaze. Instead, you latched onto it, hoping it would make everything better.

“It might be,” you said. You sighed, wetting your lips before you added, “It is.”

“How have you been feeling?”

You weren’t sure there was a way to answer the question. Because you didn’t want him to know just how bad the anxiety had gotten, didn’t want him to know that your life changing so much in such a short amount of time was the scariest thing that had ever happened to you.

“Stressed,” you answered, deciding to use a lesser word in the hope that it wouldn’t hurt him too much. “Especially now that the anonymity is gone.”

He nodded. “I was expecting that to happen.”

You cocked an eyebrow, but found yourself unable to say anything else.

“I’m sorry I took that away from you,” he murmured, and a flash of pain in his eyes told you that he really was.

That Kim Namjoon felt guilty when it came to you, more than he had probably ever felt guilty about anything in life.

“You didn’t mean to,” you reassured him. Because it was the truth – you couldn’t be angry at him for what had happened. You had been part of it just as much as him.

“But it’s still my fault,” he added. “It’s because of me if the media has been after you.”

“It’s not because of you.” You paused, searching for the right words to convey the meaning you wanted. “It’s not you as a person, but rather what you mean to the world.”

You slightly winced, convinced that you had somehow landed on the wrong words after all.

“Possibly,” he said. He sighed, before once again sitting back on the couch. His fingers twitched before he clenched them on his thighs, visibly resisting the urge to do something.

To touch you, you assumed.

“Possibly,” he repeated. “But it’s hard to separate the person that I am from the person that I mean to others. To me, it’s just me, both of these.”

You nodded, because you already knew that. Namjoon was authentic through and through, with everything that he did and was. With every single one of his words – he was a cool-minded reflective person, and it was one of the things you liked the most about him. Maybe because it was such a stark contrast from when he was young, blood boiling at any minor inconvenience.

Maybe because it was an anchor in an otherwise stormy life.

“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I don’t believe it’s your fault. You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And neither did I.”

“Still sucks that it did.”

You’d never heard a truer sentence before. And it was rhetorical, didn’t mean for a reply. All that you could do was nod, gaze escaping from his to find your wriggling fingers in your lap. A new silence stretched between you, still as heavy. Heavier than gravity – was it going to form a black hole between you and him?

“What’s that painting you’ve been working on?” he asked.

You glanced towards the art. Observed the paler backdrop, the painting that you had started in Ilsan. Your anxiety had splashed swirls of darker blue over it, adding melancholy to it that you’d never really visited in your art before.

“Something to get my mind off the edge,” you admitted. “I’ve been trying to pour my thoughts into it. To escape reality for a time.”

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Weeks later, you’d look back on this moment and realize that it was the catalyst to the destruction. But right this instant, you couldn’t even think past the words.

“To escape?” he prodded.

You nodded. “Don’t you use music as an escape?”

“Yeah,” he said, but somehow his voice was flat.

It brought your attention back to him, and you noticed his eyes on you. Noticed the grief that your words had instilled behind his pupils, hiding somewhere in the deep brown of his gaze.

“So I assume you must understand.”

He didn’t answer right away. Held your gaze as if time had stopped, and maybe it should have. Maybe time should have been kind to you and him, in its chronology.

“If you need an escape from this,” he said, motioning vaguely between you and him, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”

Your heart stopped in your chest, turning cold. Anxiety flooded in, washing away everything that you once were. You felt naked, young, as if you’d gone back in time and were watching him walk away again.

“I never said I needed an escape from us,” you said, and the venom in your voice surprised both you and him.

“Are you happy right now?” he enquired. In a whisper, as if it was the scariest thing. And scary words could never be uttered too loud – wouldn’t they just break everything in their wake?

“I’m not sure.” You saw the flash of hurt on his face, and you quickly rushed to add, “I’m just so anxious.”

“I’ve been making you feel anxious?”

You shook your head. “No. Not you. The situation. The sudden fame. The spotlight and my art being sold at crazy prices. The fact that I have to worry about paparazzi, about what I do or say. It’s so sudden.”

Namjoon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you, gaze heavy with feelings you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was understanding – because of course he’d understand what you were going through. He was going through it too, though he’d known this life for years now.

“I’m sorry I brought this to you,” he eventually chose to say, carefully. As if he was aware you were fragile glass right now, one wrong move and you’d explode into a million tiny little shards. “I can take it away easily,” he claimed.

You cocked an eyebrow, because was he offering you salvation? You highly doubted he could.

“How?”

He pursed his lips, features turning apologetic for a time. “We break up. We go our separate ways, I get the rumours off your back. No one’s going to be after you anymore if they think I’m with someone else.”

The loudest sound in the universe was your heartbeat, in that instant. It was so loud even your thoughts became distant little specks, unable to break the wall of sound.

“What?”

He sighed, shrugging. As if he was giving up, as if he’d given up even before he’d gotten here. “If being with me makes you so anxious,” he started. “And by that, I mean not me as a person. What I mean to the world, or whatever it is that you said earlier. If it makes you too anxious, I’m just going to remove myself from the situation.”

Were you stupid, for being unable to reply anything other than ‘what?’ again? Perhaps you were. Especially as he scoffed this time around, and something started aching in your chest, differently than it was before.

“I think it’s better for you if we break up,” Namjoon explained. When you remained silent this time around, he slowly shut his eyes, head hanging low. “I don’t think I could reassure you enough when it comes to your anxiety for us to be able to be together.”

Your heart felt as if it had slowed down in your chest, so much so that the world surrounding you turned silent, soundless. You heard the breath of air that you took in, cringing as it did nothing to ease the slowly rising panic in you.

“I don’t want us to break up,” you said, murmured, though the moment the words crossed the threshold of your lips you realized that perhaps this had been what you were aiming for all along.

“I can’t date someone that gets so anxious just because they’re with me,” he answered, and he looked truly apologetic. Guilty too, as if he had committed the worst crime humanity could witness.

And perhaps breaking a heart truly was the worst crime out there.

It felt unlike Namjoon. You’d gotten the impression that he was someone reliable, someone cool-headed who’d be able to support you, to help you go through your anxiety. But as you stared at him, sitting there on the couch in your studio, you realized that he, too, struggled with his own anxiety. Had probably struggled with a lot of it in the past, so much so that he couldn’t afford to put himself in a situation where he’d only get bad again.

The only solution appeared like a dark cloud looming over the horizon of your conscience. You wished wind could blow it away, wished you were strong enough to manage your anxiety without losing him, but you knew it’d be easier once he was gone. Knew your sleep wouldn’t be as troubled, knew you’d be able to dwindle away into anonymity once more.

You had to let him go. For your sake, mostly, but for his too. Because he deserved someone who could shine with him in his spotlight, someone who’d be able to accept all of him, including his fame. And that just wasn’t you.

“Namjoon…”

“It’s hard for me too, you know?” he added. “To watch the person that I love getting worse every day, knowing that I’m the cause of it. Y/n…” he paused, and this time he was the one to look away. “I haven’t even seen you smile in weeks. Ever since the rumours.” He shook his head. “Even before that. I’m not sure you’ve been happy since we started dating.”

“That’s not true,” you declared, trying to put as much conviction in your words as you possibly could. “I was happy in Ilsan. I was happy when we came back, too. It really is just the sudden fame that’s been throwing me off.”

You were relieved you’d finally found words to explain your anxiety. And somehow, them slowly falling out of your mouth eased the anxiety, eased the fear.

But you knew you were going to let him go.

“Then we take a break,” he continued. “I don’t want to be the source of something negative in someone’s life. We take a break, let the rumours dwindle away, and when it’s safe, we can try again.”

Your eyes blurred with tears. If he saw them, he ignored it, instead focusing on the calluses in his hands again.

“If that is what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay with me,” you said, voice small in the enormity of what was happening.

He scoffed. “What I want is just impossible. This is just second best.”

“Breaking up with me is second best?” you asked, anger and bitterness swirling under the surface of your ache. “It’s that easy for you?”

He frowned, meeting your gaze again. “Who said it was easy?”

“You’re the one that claims it’s a good thing. Second best.”

At that, he rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head again. “This is not what I meant.”

Maybe your anxiety was winning against you, maybe the knowledge that you had to let him go was stronger than anything else. Because you couldn’t watch him anymore. Couldn’t gaze at his deep brown eyes anymore, knowing that they’d become ghosts in your memory in just a few moments.

A few moments of breaking, of a glass heart dropped to a stone-cold floor.

“Then leave, Joon,” you said, voice unwavering even though you felt like ice was clutching your entire being. “Let’s take this break, let’s see if it’s better for both of us.”

The dark cloud rolled closer, engulfing you. Especially as he didn’t fight more. As he nodded his head, got up and motioned towards the stairs. As if that was enough when he was dropping you, giving up on you.

But weren’t you giving up on him just as much?

That night, you sat cross-legged in front of your canvas, watching the opened paint pots littering the floor around you. When your eyes slid back towards the canvas, a single tear escaped the confines of your eyelids, rolling along your cheek.

Deep brown eyes looked back at you, shining with their own unshed tears, reminders of where you failed in the timeline of your life.

*****

Thirteen years ago

You were going to kill Kim Namjoon. You would kill him, and be happy about it.

You’d heard from a friend of a friend that he had been hanging out with a certain Jeon Yuri, a beautiful, popular girl that had every reason to be liked by a guy like Namjoon. It was understandable – everyone loved Yuri.

Only, Yuri hated you. Always did, and took to insulting you in that covert way of hers that made people think she was complimenting them. But you saw right through her – you knew she was just a conniving rich girl. So you hated her back, with all the hate your little heart could summon.

To think Namjoon was hanging out with her? You’d kill him for it.

So you waited outside the gates of your childhood home for him to show up. You had been waiting there for a while already – partly because you needed to cool off, but also because you wanted to avoid your parents’ questions. Because obviously they loved Namjoon.

Everyone loved Namjoon, and everyone loved Yuri. You knew you were going to hate the both of them.

Namjoon arrived with a smile on his face, dimples flashing as if they’d get you to fold, to forgive him. To be fair, he did not know about your history with Yuri, as you never spoke about it to anyone. But when he saw your features, his smile immediately crumbled, replaced by worry.

“What’s wrong?” he instantly asked as he stopped in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, before scoffing. “Why did I have to hear from Kim Haru that you’re hanging out with Jeon Yuri?”

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with her?”

Your eyes widened and your fists landed on your hips. “Everything? She’s just a bitch.”

“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon let out, and you could tell by the reddening of his cheeks that he was already getting worked up too. “You told me to never call a girl a bitch and now you’re doing it?”

You rolled your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain. “It’s not the same thing.”

He scoffed, in that condescending way of his that he always used when he wanted to win an argument. And you saw red. You saw blood red, scarlet like you were but a bull attracted to a flag.

“Don’t you fucking condescend me right now.”

“Don’t you fucking curse at me.”

“No seriously,” you continued. “I don’t want a guy who’s only after popular girls.”

“I am not,” Namjoon drawled. “I’m tutoring her and Park Seojin in maths. You already knew this.”

As a matter of fact, you did not. “You never told me.”

“Because you never listen to me,” he spat. “You’re always just drawing your fucking drawings as if that’ll lead you anywhere in life.”

“Kim Namjoon!” you burst. “And you’re always just going on about how you want to be a rapper. You’re a kid, dude, stop chasing after pointless dreams.”

He stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stood your ground, crossing your arms on your chest. “You’ll be sorry you ever said that. Oh, you’ll be so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t think I will. I don’t even think I’ll remember you.”

It was a low blow, and you could tell it hit him right in the gut. “You’re breaking up with me over such a stupid thing?”

“I’m breaking up with you because you’re a liar. You said you were with your friends, and then I learn that you were with Jeon Yuri?”

He sighed for a long time, shaking his head in frustration. “Oh, so this is really what it is about? Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you I was tutoring her.”

You scowled. “Why?”

“Because I knew you’d throw a jealousy fit. You think you’re entitled all of my time.”

“Fuck you,” you growled. “Fuck you. I have all the rights to be jealous when my boyfriend hides stuff like that from me.”

“Boyfriend? I thought you broke up with me.”

Your gaze slightly widened. “What?”

“I’m not your boyfriend anymore,” he said, adding your name like it was an insult. “Get over me already.”

“Do you even love me?” you replied, your anger suddenly dying down to be replaced with gut-wrenching pain.

But you knew better than to expect his anger to ever die down. It took forever for Namjoon to calm down, and you feared you had crossed a line tonight.

“Not when you get mad at me for no valid reason.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. “I just don’t like her. Can’t you tutor someone else?”

“No.”

The simple negation brought back a shade of anger to you, and you said, “Then perhaps we really should break up. Maybe I can find someone that actually respects me.”

“Because I don’t respect you?” he said, hands moving around his frame in anger.

“Clearly not.”

“You’re right then,” he continued. “I don’t respect you. I don’t love you either, apparently, so I’m done.”

“Joon…”

“No, Maehwa,” he said, and this time the nickname broke your heart in two, splitting it right in the middle. “You don’t say my name like that.” He slowly shook his head, seething. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to ever speak to me again. To ever look at me. I don’t want someone that acts like a fucking child.”

“You act like a child all the time,” you interrupted, but he ignored you.

He ignored you, in favor of turning around to walk away. You watched his back, before taking a step towards him, yelling his name again. He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he said, “I’ll kill you if you follow me.”

You scoffed. “Oh please, as if you’d ever hurt me.”

“I’m serious, I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again.”

It felt enormous, to say such a thing. And perhaps youth was that – enormous in its drama. So you replied, “I hate you more than I hate anything in this world.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and then he walked away.

He walked away into the October night, and your cleaved heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.

☆☆☆☆☆

Read the rest of the fic here bc tumblr sucks and now we can't write posts longer than 1,000 blocks

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emmasbrain · 7 months ago

Text

Miscommunication (the fun kind)

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Warnings: slight alcohol consumption? i think that’s all, nothing NSFW in this one

Synopsis: Your good friend Penelope sees you in a bar and begs you to sit with her and her work friends. You realise you like one. She also realises you like one. She however, thinks you like the wrong one.

The moment Penelope spotted you, she gasped. “Oh my god!” You spun round on your seat on the bar towards her running over to you in unrunnable heels, a brilliant smile gracing her face and a surprised one falling to yours as you saw each other.

“Penelope?” You hopped off your bar stool and pulled her into a hug. “It’s been too long darlin’. I feel like we haven’t seen each other in years.” You gushed, definitely over exaggerating your circumstances.

“Didn’t we go for coffee last Thursday?” She giggles, and you see the familiar glint in her eye that she only got after a couple of margaritas.

“Like I said, years!” You giggled right back, and she held your hands, leaning in towards you more.

“Who are you here with?” She questioned, looking around.

You shrugged casually, “I came with some girls from work, but they all left with guys and I decided to drink my loneliness away… Except I haven’t actually had a drink yet because I’ve been sitting here debating whether I really want to drink alone.” Your words, though holding a little weight, came out with a laugh and a self deprecating sigh.

Penelope gave you a look, and you knew she was brewing something. “What if… you come sit with us?” Before you can ask questions or protest, she continues, “You know I’ve always wanted to introduce you to the team, which is who I’m here with, and it would be good for you too ‘cus it means you can drink not on your own.” She gives you puppy dog eyes, and clasps her hands together waiting for your answer.

You relent, deciding the sooner you had an interaction with her FBI friends the sooner it was over. You had heard some things, and they seemed lovely, but they were her friends and you had the feeling you wouldn’t be very welcome with your job as a journalist. “Okay fine, but you can’t mention my job. I don’t want them to hate me on the first impression.”

“It’s okay they know, I told them ages ago about what you do. Alright you stay here, I’ll go tell them and then I can introduce you.” She was practically buzzing, so excited you could see it in the air around her. She shuffled away happily, and came back to drag you over a moment later.

As you approached the group, she introduced you in order of where they sat around the table. “That’s JJ, Derek, David, Hotch, Emily, and Spencer. Everybody, this is my friend Y/N.” She smiles all big and goofy and then scrunches up her face in disappointment. “There’s no chairs left.”

You take this as an opportunity. “Well, I suppose that means I should g-“

“Here, you can have mine. I’ll grab one from over there.” Spencer quickly finds a solution, standing to walk over to an unused table and fetch another chair. You follow him with your eyes as he lifts it over. Doctor Spencer Reid. Penelope had mentioned the man on multiple occasions. Ever the problem solver, you gathered from her ramblings on the things he would do and say.

Penelope sits in the chair between JJ and Derek, and the latter lets his arm rest on Penelope’s shoulders. As you sit down in Spencer’s sacrificed chair, he pulls another one in between you and JJ, and you both awkwardly smile at each other before you look down to your hands in your lap. “Thank you.” You whisper to him.

“What for?” He whispers back.

“The chair.” You mumble, and he nods.

“It’s no problem.”

“Okay, I say we get some drinks. How bout it, pretty girl?” Derek's words snap you from your awkwardness, and you smile, realising he’s given you a nickname already.

“I am in dire need of a beer.” You reply, and Emily looks at you from your right.

“Beer, huh? I woulda coined you for a vodka redbull kinda girl. All for the thrills.” She looks at you with a smirk and you shake your head with a giggle.

“I’m normally a whiskey kinda girl actually, I get that from my parents. I only very rarely drink vodka, it just makes me want to make out with people.” The embarrassment soaks in the moment the words come out of your mouth and you realise you’ve just told a group of behavioural analysts that vodka makes you horny.

“Alcohol oftentimes does have the effect of making you sexually confident and can heighten feelings of affection and make you more open to try things sexually. One could assume that your specific set of hormones are just more affected by the chemicals in vodka in comparison to other alcohols.” Spencer pulls his lips into a straight line, and you giggle at his readily available information. Penelope wasn’t joking.

“Thanks, Doc.” You bump his shoulder, and he looks a little confused but mumbles a “No problem” anyway. As he looks away towards Derek and Penelope, you take the chance to study his features discreetly. The angle of his jaw perfectly contrasts the softness of his eyes, the honey brown colour almost sparkling within the dim lighting of the bar. His cheeks are tinged pink from the currently inaudible teasing from Derek, and there’s a little smile on his lips that you could almost envision yourself kissing.

Derek breaks you out of your head a second time. “Hey pretty girl, you wanna go get those drinks now?” He flashes you a grin and you smile, nodding.

“Yea let’s do it. Does everyone know what they want?” As you’re trying to split everyone’s orders between you and Derek, Penelope gives you a look that says “do you have the hots for my friend?” and you give her a look back that says “maybe..” she gasps and the whole table turns to look at her, making her realise that she’d turned the conversation into an out loud one now.

“You know what? Us girls can handle those drinks, Derek. Why don’t you have a seat.” She drags you up to the bar and orders quickly before she forgets, and then whips round to face you.

“You like him. I saw it on your face. You like him!!” She whisper shouts and you glance back to Derek and Spencer hunched over the table chatting. You smile.

“Look at him! Of course I like him, who wouldn’t like him? He’s simultaneously cute and hot and I swear men aren’t supposed to work like that.” You whisper shout back at her, and her smiles sadly.

“I wish I could set you up, but he’s taken. And his girlfriend is amazing so I can’t even be mad about it.” She sighs, and you slightly deflate.

“Oh man, I can’t believe the first time in years that I actually want a guy he’s taken. Just my luck, I suppose.” You laugh, and grab the drinks that have been sat on the bar. “Well, it was nice while it lasted.” You shrug your shoulders and head back over to the table with her, handing everyone their drinks and sitting back next to Spencer to sip your own.

After an hour or so, conversation was going a tad dry, and you decided to use an old icebreaker your college roommate had taught you to get things flowing again. “Okay, one after the other I want everyone to tell the group something embarrassing. It can be anything, as long as it’s about you.” Everyone nods in agreement, and Derek starts.

“There was this one time I was flirting with a girl while I was out with my mom. Now that was my first mistake, my mom comes over and starts talkin to this girl askin if she’s my girlfriend. I said momma I’ve only just met her, and she said ‘well then you better hurry up, this girl is far too beautiful for you to pass up’. Before I could even speak, the girl says ‘I think you’re too beautiful to pass up’. She was talkin to my mom! And I just thought hey maybe she’s just tryna get on moms good side, you know? You win over mom, you win over me. But then she spent 10 minutes flirting with my mother until I had to drag her away. My mom will not stop bringing it up just to mock me.”

Spencer cracked up beside you at the story, and you couldn't help laughing a little with him.

Penelope pipes in, “Tell them when this happened.” He grimaces.

“Last year.” He barely says it loud enough to hear, but you all catch it and it sends you all into a fit of laughter.

Rossi reminisces about the time he proposed to one of his ex wives, and she said no. In public. Then later in the day said yes, telling him she just wanted to embarrass him the way his public proposal had embarrassed her.

Hotch talks of the time he finished work early and decided to pick up Jack from school. The teacher had asked him if he was Jack’s grandfather, and he had to explain that he most definitely was not.

“I once hugged my friend from behind to tell her goodbye at a party. It wasn’t my friend.” Is all Emily gives for details. She grimaces at the sheer memory of it, and you can’t help the little smile that graces your lips.

“My turn then?” You question the group, and they nod. “I probably should’ve used this time to think of what I was gonna say. Well I suppose I’ll use the only one that’s currently present in my mind,” You turn to face Spencer, “I was gonna ask you out before Penelope had to drag me away and tell me you were taken. Which was slightly embarrassing for me in the moment, but as I’m saying this I realise I’ve just embarrassed myself even more.” You nod through your internal pain at how stupid you felt, and took a deep breath before trying to move on. Spencer looked too taken aback to let that happen.

“You were gonna ask me out? And Penelope told you I was in a relationship? Why would she do that?” He looks plain confused now, and you mirror his expression.

“I never told you Spencer was in a relationship. I told you Derek was in a relationship, because I thought he was the friend you said you liked! Wait. So when you said he was hot you meant Spencer?” Now even Penelope looked confused, although not exactly for the same reason you were.

“Yes! Of course I meant Spencer! No offence Derek, you’re lovely but you’re not my type.” You rushed, giving him a sheepish smile.

“And I am?” Spencer speaks again.

“Pretty much yea.” The smile he gives you at your words makes you look away nervously.

“So what you mean is that if you hadn’t been told I was taken I could have went on a date with you?” He’s looking inquisitively at your face now, tracing for signs of a lie as he waits for you to respond.

“You still could go on a date with me.” You suggest, with a little shrug and a smile that reaches your eyes.

“I’d like that.” He nods, slightly enthusiastic but trying to play it cool.

“Me too.” You nod with him. “I should probably be heading home, I have work I still need to catch up on. But I could give you my number and you could take me to your favourite place or something. Somewhere I can get to know you just from looking around.” You suggest, gathering your things and scribbling your number down on a spare napkin.

“That sounds good- great. That sounds great.” His eyes are filled with a mixture of excitement and something else you’re not sure about, but the look on his face makes you smile.

“Call me then.” You nod finally, getting up to leave. You give everyone their goodbyes, hugging them all lightly and giving Spencer a little wave.

Over the next few days the anticipation of his call is almost overwhelming. And when your phone begins to ring, an unfamiliar number popping up on the screen, you bite your nail before clicking the answer button. “Hello?”

“Hi.”

A/N: I don’t actually really like this, but it’s fine. I wanna do a part two, someone tell me to do a part two plsplsplspls. (May rewrite this once i’m not jet lagged and cramming it between studying but idk)

#doctor spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds

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atavist · 15 days ago

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On the eve of (the latest) most important election of our lifetimes, Mira Ptacin tells the story of the journalists, World War II veterans, rabble-rousers, lumberjacks, and policymakers who, when he tried to build a training compound for fellow fascists, ran a neo-Nazi out of rural Maine.

Issue no. 156, "The Crash of the Hammer," is now live:

Once he’d settled in Maine, Hammer kept his followers abreast of his progress breaking ground, frequently posting photos and uploading videos to Telegram. There was Hammer standing next to a pile of freshly chopped wood, snowshoeing through the forest, holding a beer in front of a bonfire. Followers saw him cradling an AK-47 in his arms. (Caption: “All this Slavic war training in the Maine woods has me exhausted!”) Hammer posted footage from a celebration he held with about eight of his followers, where he claimed they sacrificed a goat. Another clip showed Hammer helping a man in a balaclava slice the palm of his hand as part of an initiation ritual.

Hammer appeared excited, optimistic. He was careful—or thought that he was careful—not to reveal his exact location, lest it attract unwanted attention from his enemies, including the media and the FBI. If people wanted to join him at the compound, they could get in touch directly.

But unbeknownst to Hammer, he was being followed. A longtime Mainer was determined to wipe the smirk off the neo-Nazi’s face.

#election #fascism #neo-nazis #white supremacy #trump #Maine #true story #longreads #longform #atavist #The Atavist #blood tribe #racism #bigotry #hate

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jrswritings · 2 months ago

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Tingles and Giggles - Chapter One - Tyler Owens x Reader

Chapter One - Nice Try, Owens

It was the end of the second tornado-chasing season for (Y/n) and the Storm Riders. A couple of years ago a local bar in Oklahoma named the Dust Devil Dive hosted a yearly celebration party for all the storm chasers to relax and share stories from the year's chases.

Granted, most times it was just your team, a few from Storm Par, another smaller team named Atmosphere Aces, and the Tornado Wranglers. Thankfully when the owners, Kathy and Randy, threw this party they closed the place down to outsiders, which included all of the Tornado Wrangler fans. You and your team got tired of having their fans around constantly just because the leader, if you could call him that, was good-looking and charismatic enough to make any girl who looked at him melt. That man is Tyler Owens.

While, yes, he is good-looking and a smooth talker, he was also reckless and annoying. There were numerous times you had watched him and Boone drive into the middle of a storm in that old red truck of his and put it in park to then shoot fireworks up into the tornado. You’d have to admit that his bravery and respect for the storm were admirable; driving into the middle of a tornado was not as admirable.

You smirked to yourself while sitting at the bar while sipping your whiskey and diet coke thinking of all the crazy stunts the Tornado Wranglers have pulled. You turned your barstool slightly to watch the teams intermingle on the dance floor, forgetting about all the turbulence everyone had gone through the last few weeks.

As Rodney Atkins played throughout the bar, you turned back to the bar and finished your drink hearing everyone sing along at the top of their lungs.

“If you’re going through hell, keep on going, don’t slow down!” They all sang, “If you’re scared, don’t show it, you might get out ‘fore the devil even knows you’re there!”

In the corner of your eye, you could see Tyler playing pool with Dexter while trying to teach Ben, a journalist from a city near London. You smirked while watching Ben try to use the cue to hit the white ball on the table which was basically lined up with the seven ball and one of the corner pockets.

While he took his shot and missed horribly by barely hitting the white ball and almost falling onto the table, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. That caused Tyler to look up from under his cowboy hat and make eye contact with you.

For a man you didn’t necessarily enjoy talking with, he sure did something to your brain chemistry. You lifted your new drink and slightly tipped it toward him in a cheers manner. He did the same with his beer bottle, the two of you both took a drink and you turned back to the bar where the bartender was asking if you needed anything else.

“I’m good, thanks,” you said, placing your glass back on its chintzy bar coaster. You took your phone out of your pocket and scrolled Facebook for a minute or two to catch up on your family's lives that you had been missing for the last few years while out storm chasing.

“It’s hard for you, too, huh sweetheart?” A voice you knew instantly asked from beside you.

You glanced over and saw Tyler sitting on the stool while putting his bottle on the bar to signal the bartender for another.

“I wish I could go back more and- wait. Why am I telling you my sap story of not seeing my family for the last couple of years?” You laughed, putting your phone down and grabbing your drink.

“Because I’m just another friendly face at the bar?” He said, looking over at you and smiling slightly.

“I don’t know about friendly, but definitely another face,” you said, stirring your straw around.

“Ouch, okay, (Y/n)’s in that type of mood tonight,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m in no mood, Tyler,” you stated, “Just stating a fact.”

“I see how it is,” he chuckled, “And to think I was talking to quite a beautiful face.”

This statement took you back slightly, you were used to Tyler picking on you and calling you other things like your last name and calling you Salado, which is the town in Texas you’re from that’s about 45 minutes away from Waco, Texas. Salado is a quaint village with what you can call an artistic flair. While your parents were cattle farmers, you did your chores and spent time with a few favorite cows; you also liked going to the heart of the small town and enjoying the artists painting and sculpting in the parks and the numerous bands playing around the town in the little saloons. That’s where you fell in love with music and tried to pursue it as a second job aside from helping out on the farm as that was a full-time job.

When that fell through, you moved up to Oklahoma to try storm chasing as you had always been in love with storms when you were little. Instead of hiding under the covers or running to your parents, you were at the big picture window in the living room watching the lightning and trees blowing in the wind.

You were jolted from your thoughts by Tyler nudging your elbow with his.

“Hmm?” You asked.

“Dance with me?” He asked, standing up and holding his hand out to you. In the mirror behind the bar, you could see the teams paired up in couples to do their best slow dancing.

You laughed slightly, “Nice try, Owens.”

“Please? We’re the only ones not dancing right now,” he said, taking your hand off your glass and pulling you to the dance floor to the tune of ‘Made For You’ by Jake Owen.

He didn’t give you much of a chance to say no as he pulled you to his chest, his right hand going to your waist and his left finding your hand. You sighed to yourself and put your left on his bicep, which was more muscular feeling than it looked. You figured as long as you were here, you might as well enjoy the dance since the last time you slow danced was with your dad at a friend's wedding.

You weren’t sure if he was just that intoxicated or if he was fully coherent, but he was rubbing small circles with his thumb on your hip while you both swayed to the music. While your body relaxed you took a deep breath in, smelling the mix of leather, dried rain, an almost musky smell, and a hint of sweat. All of it combined made your heart swoon for this crazy cowboy.

“Hey (L/n)?” He whispered in your ear, holding his head close to yours.

“Yeah, Owens?” You whispered back.

“Think maybe sometime I can take you out?”

You looked up at his blueish green eyes that looked down at you with the most sincere look.

“Why?” You asked, giggling slightly, “Why would Tyler Owens want to go out with someone like me?”

“Because the girl I’m holding in my arms is the best woman I’ve met in my years of livin’,” he stated, pressing the bridge of his nose to the top of your head.

“Yeah right, Tyler,” you said, sighing, “Everyone knows you got a thing for Kate.”

“But she is nothing compared to you,” he said, pulling you closer slightly, “Call me crazy, but I fell in love with you when we first met and I knew I’d have to try and get closer to you somehow. I just hate that it’s taken me this long to finally say somethin.”

“I guess I don’t believe you?” You said softly, taking in the scent you’ve grown to want more of.

“I mean it, sweetheart,” he said, “It might be, well, I know it’s the beer talkin’, but everything I’m sayin’ is true. You’re one of the smartest and most beautiful girls I’ve seen. And that’s sayin’ a lot since I’ve seen my fair share of gals.”

“I can’t tell if that last part is an insult or a compliment,” you whispered, Tyler kissing the top of your head softly.

“Always a compliment when it comes to you, baby girl,” he said, pulling away and twirling you as the song ended and ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ by Luke Combs started.

You looked back up at him, his eyes looking back at you with happiness sewn in them.

“I suppose one wouldn’t hurt, just no YouTube star Tyler, got it?” You said, walking back to your seat at the bar. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked away.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, following you to the bar.

“You should probably get back to your game of pool before Ben hurts someone,” you giggle, Tyler looking over and seeing Ben almost hit Boone in the gut with the end of the cue.

“Good call, I’ll be back once we win,” he said while grabbing his beer.

“If you win,” you state, taking a drink of your now watered-down whiskey coke.

“Don’t test me, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your head, kissing it before walking back to Dexter and Ben.

You shook your head and laughed softly. If the tornadoes you chased didn’t do anything to you, this cowboy definitely would.

Want more? Here's Chapter Two! Masterlist :)

#tyler owens #twisters #tyler owens x reader #glen powell #tyler owens x you #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owens twisters #glen powell x reader #glen powell x you #twisters x reader #tyler owens fanfiction

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wardenparker · 11 days ago

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Bones Full of Words, Epilogue

Javier Peña x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

“He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Javier Peña had no way of knowing for certain the American journalist he sometimes sees sniffing around the embassy for her stories is also getting information about the narcos from the same girls that he is. After Helena is brutalized by sicarios, it is that same journalist who comes to take her away and look after her -- giving Javi reason to pause and reconsider his opinion of the woman he had previously not considered as anything more than eye candy.

He has no idea that once she has walked fully into his life, he will be battling with himself over whether or not he should stop her from walking out it of again.

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 8.4k Warnings: Cursing, alcohol, food/eating, talk of weight or size, domestic fluff, sass, married flirting, pregnancy, childbirth Summary: Thanksgiving time has come again, but the Peñas are in for more than just a nice meal this year. Notes: It has been such an amazing journey following these two through their love story! We hope you've enjoyed it as much as we have 🧡🧡

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12

There is nothing unusal at all about the dog being the first one to spot the car, but you're still slightly startled by the commotion when the hound in the living room starts howling to sound the alarm. After that it's the two kids who come scrambling out of their room and bounding down the stairs screaming "Daddy's home!" as if he had been gone more than just a few hours.

The whole brigade has sounded the alarm, and you can't help but grin.

Hearing the dog barking and the kids scrambling around in the house before he ever even hits the door, Javi is chuckling as he grabs the deli bag and his bag filled with papers he will need to read sometime over the holiday break. “Shit.” He hisses, turning back to the car to grab the drink carrier, knowing you would be disappointed if you didn’t get your root beer.

"Boys, you have to let your Dad into the house!" You call, coming out from the kitchen with a dishrag in hand. You had been chopping enough onions to sink a ship and washing the smell off your hands was extremely necessary.

“It’s okay!” Javi calls out, although it’s a juggling act to keep the drinks from spilling as the two exuberant kids launch themselves at him.

"You're going to fall over, babe." It is okay, though, and you're both laughing even as you reach forward over two young boys, one ambling basset hound, and a seven-month pregnant belly to grab multiple bags from his hands. "How was class?"

Javi snorts. “Half the class didn’t show up.” He chuckles. “I don’t blame them, I wouldn’t show up either.” He admits, knowing he had wished he was home with you and the boys rather than sitting in his lecture hall. “‘Professor Peña, whhhhyyyy do we have to do reading over the break?’” he pitches his voice up and imitates one of his students. “I really don’t give a shit if they read it or not, but they annoyed me so I assigned it.”

“Your reading list always makes for interesting dinner conversations, I’m sure.” There’s a grin on your face when he leans over to kiss you then head to switch gears immediately to catch your younger son as he launches himself into daddy’s arms. “It’s Steve’s book isn’t it?”

“Of course it is.” He flashes you a grin before he turns his attention back to his youngest child. “Were you good for mama today?” He asks, knowing that he is the mirror copy of a young Javier. So the answer is probably no.

“Yeah!” Your youngest affirms his innocence wholeheartedly, but you roll your eyes playfully.

“Come on boys, Daddy brought home lunch for everybody so let’s wash up.” It earns Javi another grateful kiss from you, since tuna sandwiches from the shop over by UGA campus are your new pregnancy craving. A tuna sandwich on their toasted oat bread, loaded with veggies and American cheese, with an ice cold root beer. He’s brought you home that same lunch every day for a week, and today he brought lunch for him and the boys too.

After the capture of the Rodriguez brothers and the take down of the entire Cali Cartel, Javier had been told his services were no longer needed in the DEA. Which was fine with him because he was going to tell them to go fuck themselves. He had thought about going back to Laredo, and you did for a month or so, but then a teaching position for criminal justice and political science became available at a respectable college and he took it. It only took two year for the University of Georgia to recruit him for their staff.

The blue house on the edge of campus with its white-trim windows and fenced-in yard has been your home ever since he took the job. The boys have started their lives here despite your oldest being born just before you left Colombia, and when they begged for a puppy last year it had been a beautiful basset puppy waiting for them under the tree on Christmas morning that really tied the bow on this being home.

“How are you and my baby girl doing?” After setting Oscar down to run after his brother, Javier pulls you by the waist to him, his hand moving to rub your stomach lovingly. He adores when you are pregnant and it’s especially sweet since you decided this was the last baby, and a little girl.

"We are not big fans of onions today." You grimace, knowing that it could be worse but that it feels like it's the only thing you've done all morning since getting the boys settled in their playroom. "But Marco came up wtih a new name he wanted to add to the list." The notepad on the refrigerator is where you keep the ongoing list of baby name ideas, and every once in a while the boys or another family member will contribute an idea as well. It was Chucho who ended up naming Oscar, and your brothers had pitched the name Marco originally. Names have become something of a family effort.

“Oh?” Javi hums, impressed by his excitement for the little sister due in February. “What did he come up with?”

The smirk on your face says you know Javi won't be as excited for long, considering his son's current favorite movie. "He would like to name his baby sister Donkey."

“That fucking movie” Javi closes his eyes and sighs, hating the fact he had taken Marco to see Shrek. Even though he loves it better than any other movie in the world. “Please tell me you didn’t write it down?”

"Oh no, I didn't." Your grin turns shit-eating as you point to the refrigerator where Marco's large, shaky handwriting clearly spells out the word and takes up four times as much room as any other name. "He asked to write it himself."

“Well I hate to burst his bubble…” Javi snorts at the slanted handwriting and the misspelled Donky written on the board. “We will not be naming our baby girl that.”

"Of course not." And that is where your expression turns fond again, shaking your head at your oldest baby but proud of him for wanting to contribute to a big family decision. "But I love that he's thinking about it."

“God.” He snorts, grinning at the antics of his children, but like you, he’s proud of them. “So no onions today, huh? Made you gassy?”

"The smell made me sick first thing," you admit. After washing your hands with the kids, the four of you can sit down at the table to have your lunch. "But I powered through. I don't even want to think about the chaos tomorrow would be if I couldn't make stuffing because of an onion aversion."

“You should have let me handle it when I got home.” He frowns at you, huffing slightly. “I know I can’t cook like you, but I can follow directions passably well.”

"I know you can, babe." The smell of tuna is like a balm over your senses when you unwrap your sandwich and you sigh happily. "But you have to go to the airport tonight to pick up our parents, remember?"

“I can do both.” He knows you want to have the perfect holiday, it’s just how you are. Even the few times you had thrown dinner parties in Colombia, you had wanted everything to be just so. Of course you want a family holiday to be perfect. “Let me help you. I know you’ve got to be tired.”

"I've got a plan." Having the biggest house out of your siblings after everyone had settled down and being the first one with kids has meant that the Peña residence in Athens, Georgia is now family holiday headquarters. While you love it, it is also a lot of work, so you've been working on creating a system. "Once everybody gets here this afternoon there will be plenty of childcare and Michael's wife insisted they're getting pizza and salad for everybody for dinner tonight. Paper plates and plastic cups so we don't make more work for ourselves. At that point there will be lots of helping hands and the work will go a lot faster."

“Beer is in the back of the car.” He had picked that up on the way to the deli you love. Thanksgiving wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without some Budweiser while watching the football game. Although he makes sure everything is done and you are sitting beside him before he sits down.

"Perfect. Thank you, cariño." Having a partner for a husband feels like it sets you apart from the other faculty wives that you end up spending time with, but not in ways that you're upset about. While the other ladies are rightfully bitching about how their husbands don't help out around the house or don't do their part with the kids, you tend to just keep your mouth shut. Javier is always there to support you and share the workload, helping to raise the boys as their other parent and not as a third, older child you constantly have to prod at. Right now is a prime example of it, as he gets the boys set up with their shared sandwich so that you can dig in to your lunch right away.

Javi moves to pour the kids juice into their cups. Marco has a Shrek cup and Oscar with his favorite Barney cup and then he cracks open a ginger ale for himself. The days of starting to drink right after coming home are long past him and he doesn’t miss it as much as he might have expected.

"So, Papa's flight lands at 3:00 this afternoon and Grammy's lands at 3:15." You managed to work the flight times out for both of your parents to come in at the best possible time. "Joey and his wife want to rent a car so they'll get down here on their own after they land, and Michael decided to road trip from Chattanooga so they'll probably be in last even though they're aiming for the same time as everyone else." Coordinating the families does take a little work as they grow, but it's work that you're all willing to put in. Especially so all the kids can spend time with their cousins a few times every year and really get to know each other.

“Okay.” He nods and smirks. “I would have driven to Atlanta to pick them up, but I’m happy as hell I don’t have to.” Both his father and your mom opted to fly into the smaller, local airports so they can be with their grandchildren faster.

"It worked out, thank god." The boys are currently engrossed in a conversation about something Saturday-morning-cartoon related that you can't quite catch, so with the first few bites of your sandwich you enjoy the relative peace. They'll be up early tomorrow to see every second of the Macy's parade so any peace you get today is wonderful. "And I am not grappling with your dad's addiction to pecan pie this year. I ordered one from the bakery along with the apple. Homemade pie crust is officially my nemesis."

Javi chuckles and nods. “Good choice” He teases. “Do I need to go brave the stores for anything else?”

"At this point, if we don't have it, it's not ending up on the Thanksgiving table." And that's the final word as far as you're concerned. "The last thing is picking up the pies, and my sisters-in-law already offered to make that trip tonight for us." You smirk, knowing your brothers' soulmates fairly well at this point. It's only been a few years but you're a tight knit family. "If they're willing to do the last errand, I'm not going to begrudge them getting out of the noisy house for a half hour later on."

“Damnit, she figured out why I always make the last run.” Javi grumbles, but he winks at you playfully. He actually enjoys when the house is in chaos and noisy. Far different from his own solitude for so many years. He’s less in his own head these days.

"Big time." You grin at him, stifling your laughter by having another bite of lunch. "You're the one who wanted a big house, babe. The price we pay is being the holiday house."

"I don't mind it." He had insisted the kids all be able to have their own rooms and he had wanted you to have a dedicated office as well as him. That required a big house.

As it does so often with him now, your smile softens at the edges. "I don't either. And it's going to be even nicer not having to bundle three kids into the car or onto a plane a couple of times a year to see family."

"Well, we had already agreed that the kids having their holidays at home was the most important thing." He reminds you. "Luckily our parents agreed and are willing to come to us."

"Marco gave us that privilege," you remind him, glancing over at your boys. "My mother would have flown to Timbuktu to see her first grandbaby."

"That's true." Your mother had been upset when you hadn't wanted her to come to Colombia for the last month of your pregnancy and the birth. She had flown to Texas to meet him as soon as the three of you had returned to the States.

“And honestly I’m glad that we’re close enough for your dad to get here without much trouble.” Chucho is still pretty spry for his age but that doesn’t mean you aren’t grateful for the quick flights between Laredo and Athens.

"I think dad enjoys flirting with the flight attendants." Javi jokes, shooting you a smirk.

“Probably,” you agree, smirking even though you shake your head. Chucho isn’t the kind of guy who would make trouble, so it’s harmless as long as the attendants don’t mind. “Gives the waitresses at his bar a break.”

"He's asked about your mother a lot." He waggles his brows suggestively. "We might have to put bells on our parents at night. Make sure they stay in their rooms."

“Nothing could be weirder.” The look of absolute confusion and discomfort in your face is immediate. “Our family tree does not need to tangle that way.”

He laughs at the abject horror in your eyes and reaches over to squeeze your knee under the table. "I'm teasing, sweetheart." He promises. "Pop asks about your mom, but only in a friendly kind of way." He can't be offended at your reaction, he would have the same kind of instinct if he heard something like that.

“Oh thank god.” You huff, trying to recompose yourself. “I know we live in the south. But we don’t need to be a stereotype.”

He huffs again, amused as you continue to shake your head. "Pop has started seeing another widow, someone from that support group you turned him on to." He had never really thought about his dad needing to talk to other widowers who had lost their soulmates, but you had seen it. Another reason he loves how you have folded into his life so perfectly. You softened his rough edges and noticed the unspoken needs of both of the Peña men.

“Oh good!” That seems to wipe the other thought clean from your mind. “I mean I didn’t show him those groups thinking he’d start dating, just that having some friends who went through what he did would be good for him.”

"Mama wouldn't have wanted him to be alone for the rest of his life." That he knows, having discussed it with her when it had become clear she wasn't beating her cancer. She had known that Javier could and would hold a grudge if he had thought it was disrespectful to her memory. So she had made her wishes clear to her only son. "It is good for him. He said he feels like a kid again."

“I wish we had known before.” Having devoted half your sandwich already, you reach for your soda. “I would’ve have invited her, too. Though in sure she has her own family to see.”

"She is visiting her grandchildren." He nods. "Although pop said he might ask us to come out to Texas this summer to meet her?"

“Absolutely.” That sounds just like your father-in-law. Chucho plans for the long term much better than short term in all areas of his life. “By then our little girl should be okay to travel a bit.”

Javi grins. "I think that was his plan. Show off his newest grandbaby."

“Donkey!” Marco supplies cheerily, having heard his mother say the word girl.

Javi rolls his eyes and sighs heavily while you giggle. "I'm glad you think this is funny." He huffs quietly.

“I have final veto naming rights on anything that comes out of my body,” you remind him with a smug grin. “Of course I think it’s funny.”

"Thank God for that." He rolls his eyes again and gets up when he sees your drink is finished to get you a glass of water.

“You won’t be saying that if I name her something ridiculous in a fit of sleepless silliness.”

"I don't think you want to give our daughter a name that will embarrass her." He points out and licks his lips before voicing something that he's been thinking about since finding out that that baby is a girl. "Is it strange or inappropriate that I was thinking about Helena for a middle name?" He asks softly, watching you to gauge your reaction.

“Oh.” That makes you pause, but when he puts the glass of water down in front of you, you reach for his hand rather than the glass. “I—I actually think that’s so nice,” you admit with tears in your eyes. Though your contact with Helena has waned slightly in the years since she moved to America, you still send each other letters a few times a year to keep up. “Someone we both love dearly…I think that’s a very sweet gesture.”

“I—” he flounders slightly. “She is the reason we found each other.” He murmurs. “The reason we have this life, our children.”

"She is." He is completely correct, and you squeeze his hand tightly for just a brief moment. Now that he's suggested it, there is no other possibility in your mind. "Whatever we pick, it has to go with Helena."

Javi sighs softly, smiling at you before he leans down and presses his lips to yours. “I wasn’t sure how you would like the idea.” He admits. After all, both of you had slept with her, so it could have been a horrible idea in your mind.

"I don't think it's a conventional decision, but we aren't very conventional people." Looking around the table, though, and then back up at him, you shrug. "At least, we didn't used to be."

He chuckles at that and shoots you a grin. “We have slipped into domesticity with surprising ease, haven’t we?” He asks you.

"We really have," you agree, leaning up to kiss him again when the phone on the wall rings.

"You stay there." Javi pulls back and points at you, knowing you would try to heft your pregnant belly out of the chair to rush over to the phone. "I’ll get it." He steps over to the phone and picks it up, reminding himself that he needs to get another cordless phone set so you can just carry one around. It would make it easier and the last one had been broken by the movers. "Peña residence." He answers.

“Hey mijo!” Chucho’s voice is cheery through the cracking connection of the cellphone that Javier had bought him to have while he traveled. “I just boarded and that gorgeous wife of yours said to call before I left Texas.”

“Hey pop.” He twists his body around and winks at you. “Yeah, she worries about you.” He tells his father while watching you. “Didn’t want you to get lost in the airport and miss Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Not a chance.” Chucho chuckles at that. “Tell my grandsons I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“They will be looking forward to it.” He promises and then hangs up the phone after Chucho says goodbye.

“Is Papa here?” Oscar asks hopefully, having heard his father refer to Pop and knowing that holidays mean his favorite family member in the whole world will be coming to play Spacemen with him.

“He will be in just a few hours.” Javi lifts a brow. “If you take a nap, he will be here as soon as you wake up and you will have allllllll the energy to play.” He’s not above making a nap sound like a good thing. Not if it lets you get a nap while he’s gone to pick up the parents.

"All done!" Your youngest announces with an enormous amount of ceremony, pushing away his plate – which actually is empty – and throwing up his hands as it was proof of having finished his lunch.

“Good job, buddy.” Fatherhood has taught Javier a patience he never knew he could have, and he’s been rewarded for it. His boys are already far better than he ever was and he knows they will only become better men than he ever could claim to be.

Getting the boys down for a nap is one of Javier’s best Dad chores, but when he comes back down twenty-five minutes later with the baby monitor in hand you both breathe a sigh of relief. “They missed you this morning,” you tell him, smiling softly over the kitchen clean up. “So did I.”

He hums, knowing that he had missed them too. “Too bad I can’t just lecture from my office.” He shrugs, moving over to where you are rinsing the glasses and softly shooing you out of the way. “Go sit sweetheart.” He huffs. “I know your back is hurting.”

"I won't fight you on that." Your back was a bit of an issue with your second pregnancy so you know Javi is being extra watchful this time around. The balance is good, though. Otherwise you would just go-go-go as much as possible.

“I know you didn’t get any writing done between the kids being out of school and prepping for tomorrow.” He talks as he continues the chore and loads the dishwasher beside the sink. “But how’s the chapter coming along?”

“Honestly I’m a little blocked,” you admit, leaning back in your chair and sighing at the slight relief on your back and belly. “I’m hoping that focusing on family this weekend shakes some words loose.”

“They will come.” He knows that. You are too good of an author for words to fail you. “Anything else you need to prep tonight?” He asks.

“I can wait until more people get here and hand out prep jobs. We like sitting around the table and bitching while we work.” It’s practically a family pastime, if you’re honest. Which is why it’s so fun. “There’s a few things to do but we’ll manage okay.”

“Sooooo.” He closes the door to the dishwasher and stands straight, turning around while he wipes his hands in a dishrag. “What about a nap for mama?”

"Could." You agree, folding your hands under your belly to support the bump. "But Mama missed Daddy and wants to actually see him a little."

He smirks and pushes off the counter to move over and lean down for a kiss. “How about I lay down with you until I need to leave for the airport?” He offers. “I’ll even rub your back.”

"You tryin’ to get me into bed, Peña?" You raise one eyebrow at him and smirk, pointing to your belly. "That's what got us this in the first place."

He smirks again. “Oh I know.” He grunts. “I was there for the whole thing.” You are absolutely irresistible to him when you are pregnant, even more than normal. He loves you carrying his babies. Although, right now he’s simply trying to get you to rest. He worries about you taking on too much this late in the pregnancy.

"Okay, okay." It's not difficult to see the worry in this eyes, and you put up one hand in defeat. "Help me up, love? We can snuggle in bed until it's time for you to leave."

“Okay.” You gave in far too easily, telling him that you are more exhausted than he imagined.

“I’m okay.” At the top of the stairs he is practically cradling you and you kiss his cheek in reassurance. “It’s just third trimester, that’s all.”

“I’m going to worry.” He’s good at that, but the worry over his family is far more meaningful than worrying about sicarios and drug dealers

“I know.” And just the fact of it brings a soft smile to your lips. “I love you, too.”

******

“You look amazing.” Your mother beams at you, eager to see her glowing daughter happy in your last months of pregnancy. “You’re carrying low, I’m so surprised it was a little girl on the ultrasound.” She teases. “What are you going to do if she was hiding a little thingy?” She works as she asks, filling the little tartlets that will be the appetizers first thing.

“We’ll be just as happy to have another boy if it turns out that way.” You promise your mother. While she fills the ham and cheese tarts for the appetizer table, you’re making the stuffing for the mushroom caps, and on your other side your oldest brother is making his jalapeño popper dip.

“Oh I know you will.” She assures you. “Javier is a wonderful father and you make me so proud.” Her voice cracks up a little, looking over into the living room where Chucho is keeping the boys entertained and Javier is diligently cleaning up when one of the boys had broken the rule of ‘no drinks in the living room’ and spilled it on the carpet in his excitement to see his family. “You have an amazing little family.”

“It won’t be so little pretty soon.” Michael’s soulmate, your sister-in-law Maria, reminds the table happily. Being in her first trimester with their first baby, she is sharing in the joy of pregnancy very happily. “Five counts as a big family, I think.”

“Not as big as some, but nowadays some couples are only have one child.” Your mother tuts, as if only having one child is an offense.

"Mom..." You shoot her a warning glance, reminding her silently that Javi is an only child. "All we care about is the kids being healthy and happy. One or two or three... it doesn't matter."

She grimaces and glances towards the living room, remembering that detail. She knows from talking to Chucho, they had wanted a big family. “You are right.” She quickly agrees. “Healthy.”

"Especially since this is the last one." Both of your families know that you're planning on a more permanent form of birth control for your family now. It didn't seem kind or reasonable to let your parents keep wondering if more and more grandkids would keep coming. "The only things I'm birthing after this little girl are books."

“How is your next book coming?” Her eyes widen with anticipation. “When I tell you, the book club is salivating over your last one, I mean they have extended the read.”

"I'm pretty sure your book club are my advanced sales every time," you laugh, grateful to your mother for all of her support in keeping your dreams alive and being just as proud of you as she possibly could be. Your family have really been your biggest cheerleaders. "This one is coming on a little more slowly."

"Pregnancy brain?" Your sister-in-law only half jokes. She's already experiencing some of that for herself.

"Absolutely." More laughter is shared at the table. "Pregnancy brain and being tired all the time."

Chucho ignores your protest and makes it a game, the boys competing for who can make mama the most comfortable.

"I was trying to prevent a fuss." Even though you direct the comment at your husband it seems to fall on deaf ears as everyone moves around again, and your other brother takes over making your mushroom recipe so you can go and lay down. Chucho and the boys have moved the pillows around the couch for you and while Marco is ready to give Mama and Baby Sis cuddles, Oscar has offered up his favorite teddy for your comfort as well. It's moments like those -- the most meaningful gestures from your young kids -- that tell you unquestionably that you and Javier are doing a good job. At their ages your boys have gotten past most struggles with sharing and have instead become compassionate kids who want everyone around them to be happy.

Javi grins as he brings you a Shirley Temple in a cup with a lid and straw. “You think a fuss wasn’t going to be made over you this weekend?” He huffs in amusement.

"I'm not the only pregnant woman in the house," you point out, gesturing toward your sister-in-law who is still sitting at the table.

“But I’m not as pregnant as you are.” She snorts, smirking when you huff. “You can cater to me when I’m about to pop, okay?”

"Thiry-two weeks still has a little way to go," you argue, though you sigh measurably when one of the couch throw pillows hits your back just right. It really is hell on the body to be pregnant, that's for damn sure.

“I hoping for a Christmas baby.” Your mother admits and Javi snorts, shaking his head. “Don’t put that on our baby girl.” He huffs playfully. “She would hate her birthday falling on a holiday where her brothers get gifts too.”

“Healthy and happy.” Michael recites your mantra for you, since you’re a little still trying to get comfortable. “But yeah, Ma. Don’t wish a Christmas birth on your grandkid. That’s hard for anybody.”

Your mother sighs softly and shrugs. “You’re right. I was just thinking about how wonderful the birthday pictures would be.” She admits with a laugh.

“What if we made a flower wreath for her, Mom?” You offer, setting it as nondenominational but evoking that beautiful celebration that she imagines. “An oval one big enough to lay her in for pictures?”

“That would be lovely!” Her eyes light up at the possibility. “She would look so beautiful.” The baby isn’t bore, but she already knows she will be the prettiest baby. “I loved your baby pictures.”

"And you'll love your granddaughter's too." Even through another wince, you have no problem promising your mother that. She has loved every picture of each of her grandkids and you know the next will be no exception.

Javi doesn’t notice this next pain since he’s walking back into the kitchen, but Chucho does. Glancing at you and then at his watch discreetly. “Boys, I think it’s time for bed.” He announces after a moment. “Do you want to say goodnight to everyone?”

Marco and Oscar go around giving good night hugs and kisses to everyone individually before Chucho volunteers to bring them upstairs and go through their nighttime routine with them. He always brings a new book of kids stories with him whenever he visits and this is no exception, so doubtless he'll read them a brand new bedtime story tonight as well.

Javi fixes everyone else drinks, another Shirley Temple for your sister-in-law and wine for Michael and your mother. He cracks open a beer for himself, but he doesn’t take a drink yet, waiting for his pop to come back downstairs.

When Chucho does finally reappear in the living room, he wipes his hands off in a show of a job well done. "They needed two stories, but they're out now," he tells you and Javi happily.

“That’s good.” Javi hands his father a beer and motions him into the living room. “Go keep your favorite daughter company.” He tells him. “I’ll help finish up the food.”

"I can make a little room," you offer, starting to shift on the couch.

“No, you stay put.” Chucho insists, taking the recliner next to the couch where Javi would normally sit and watch the news. “You need some rest.”

"I was fine all day." A fact which frustrates you to no end. Only starting to feel exhausted and a little unwell after your nap is a nuisance. "This is just a pain in the ass."

You wince again and Chucho hums, glancing down at his watch again. “Each time is different.” He reminds you. “You were so sick with Oscar the first few weeks.”

"This is Marco's fault," you joke, not meaning a word of it. "My first pregnancy was easy right until the end and it made me think more would be the exact same way."

He chuckles as he sets his beer down. “You were floating on air when you were in Colombia. Even with the stress Javi was under.”

"It was our honeymoon phase." As patently absurd as that might sound to anyone else, it's true. You and Javi were as blissful in your actual relationship at that time as any other pair of soulmates could hope to be.

“He has really changed with you in his life.” Chucho admits. “I used to worry about that phone call, you know the one I mean. Knowing how easily Javi would follow someone to hell to do the right thing - in his mind - it was hard to let him live his life.” He smiles. “When you came back to him, he was determined to do things right. To be the best man he could and I think he’s done it. Not that he was ever bad but his rough edges have been smoothed out by you.”

"We did that for each other, really." Reaching over, you set your hand on Chucho's and give his a gentle squeeze. "I needed him to soften and bolster me just as much as he needed me."

He turns his hand and his smile widens when your little grunt of pain comes again. Almost silent if he wasn’t looking for it. “And soon, your family will be complete.” He murmurs.

"Just a few more weeks." Your other hand soothes over your belly, urging this to just go away. If it's the baby being active, you want her to calm down. If its Braxton Hicks contractions, you're just going to have to wait until they pass. Either way you just want to get past it.

“More like a few hours, mija” He chuckles. “You are in labor.”

"It's probably just Braxton Hicks." Saying it out loud, the thought in your head, makes you firm on the point. The best you can do is just shake your head and press on. You've had two babies, already. You would surely know if you were really in labor.

“Pains are about twelve minutes apart.” He tells you, leaning back and smirking and looking very much like his only son.

"Pops." You groan, throwing him a pout. "You've been timing me?"

He snorts. “That’s your gripe right now?” He shakes his head. “You’re perfect for my son. I will say it again.”

"It's just Braxton Hicks. I'm not going to the hospital." The warning in your voice ends up making it rise and three heads whir in your direction.

“You don’t have to go yet.” He promises, reaching out and patting your hand gently.

"Hospital?" Your mother looks up, finding Javi's eyes with worry.

Javi glances over at you and knows what you’ve been trying to deny. “She’s in labor. Has been for a few hours.” He trusts you to know your body, even if you are denying it right now. You might not want to believe it, but you wouldn’t put your baby in any risk.

It’s like hearing it from your husband cracks the dam, and the near-instant spring of tears to your eyes makes your voice waver too. “I can’t be in labor!” You sniffle, dropping your head back on the couch. “It’s Thanksgiving!”

Javi stifles a chuckle and moves over to you from the kitchen, kneeling down beside you and cupping your cheek. “It just means we will have to be extra Thankful this year, sweetheart.”

“But what if she doesn’t like pumpkin pie?” Is, probably, the silliest worry and most ridiculous sentence to ever come out of your mouth, but it’s clear that the extra emotions and hormones and worries flooding through you are in control of your thoughts at the moment.

Everyone starts to chuckle and Javi grins at you. “There’s always pecan pie.” He reminds you, kissing your hand.

“I know how stupid I sound,” you huff, laughing along with them in spite of yourself, and look back at Javi with concern. “She’s early,” you point out, concern lining your eyes. Marco Was born four days after your due date and your labor with Oscar started in the wee hours of the morning on your due date. Early is a new concept for you.

“It’ll be okay, sweetheart.” Even though that worry is one he shares, right now his job is to keep you calm. “Why don’t we go out to the hospital and make sure?”

“I haven’t even packed my hospital bag yet.” He’s right. You know he is. That especially if the baby is going to come early, you should be at the hospital and not take any chances. But you just haven’t gotten yourself ready yet. “I guess it doesn’t matter now?”

“Tell me what you want.” Your mother is abandoning the food and immediately jumping to her feet. “I’ll go pack you a bag.”

You describe the place in your closet that you keep your most comfortable clothes and are specific about the ones you want packed, also asking her to add your slippers and a few hygiene items to your yoga bag.

The onesie you’ll bring your baby girl home in is the same one her brothers were brought home in too, and having goes to get that from the laundry room once you’re on your feet. “Honey?” You stop him in his tracks, but a smile is peaking through your nerves. “Don’t forget to grab the list from the fridge.”

“I won’t forget.” He doesn’t remind you that he’s done this three times now, but he knows you are starting to panic slightly. “I’ll double check it.

“Thank you.” With a heavy sigh and a hiss of pain, you look around at your brother, sisters-in-law, and your father-in-law and half-laugh. “I guess she just really wants to meet everyone.”

“I’ll stay here with the boys.” Chucho tells you, wanting you to feel good about having to leave tonight.

“And we’ll come back first thing in the morning to keep Chucho and the boys company.” Joey promises. With his own soulmate pregnant they had booked a hotel room this year, but nothing will stop them from being on board to keep their nephews busy while Mama welcomes the newest member of the family. “In fact…” He glances at Michael, who nods. “Mickey and I are going to cook dinner. Everything we planned on and have prepped. So tomorrow when the baby’s here we can bring you Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Sounds like we’ve got everything planned.” Chucho chuckles as Javi starts cursing from upstairs. “Let me go help him with your list, mija.”

“Of course.” It wouldn’t do any good to remind them that you can still waddle upstairs — no one in this house would ever let you.

He disappears upstairs and everyone starts to move, getting things together and murmuring about what you might need at the hospital.

It's an hour before Javi is pulling the car up to the emergency room door, and by this point you're past denying that you're in labor. Your mother opted to drive her rental car behind the two of you to be with you in case a second pair of hands is needed, and you're climbing out of the car with Javi's help when she pops up on the sidewalk next to you.

“Let me get the bags.” She insists. “You get her inside, Javier.” He barely resists rolling his eyes and smirks at you slightly. “Sure thing.”

"Inherited trait." You hum under your breath, knowing that both your boys are stubborn as well.

“Don’t I know it.” He huffs, as if he’s not just as stubborn as you, maybe more so. Love and marriage, having children has taught you both to compromise a little more than you would normally, but the only place Javier will never compromise is yours and the boys’ safety and welfare. “I’ve got you.” He holds tight when another contraction hits you and you have to stop walking to concentrate on breathing.

"I can check you in." The nurse at the desk waves to Javier to get his attention.

He cuts his eyes up, his expression not exactly relieved. “Maybe after my wife finishes her contraction.” He snorts.

She smiles, polite and professional, but already has one hand on the phone to call up to Labor and Delivery as soon as she has a patient name. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Only when you sigh softly, the signal that the pain has passed, does Javier even attempt to urge you forward. “Come on sweetheart.” He chuckles. “The sooner we get to a desk, the sooner you get to ride in the wheelchair.”

“Yes please.” It will be a relief to be whisked around the hospital in a wheelchair instead of hobbling around trying to balance between contractions, and you give Javi’s hand a grateful squeeze before letting go to pull your ID and insurance card out of your purse. The nurse at the counter is sweet enough but you’re rather task oriented at the moment.

“I’ll fill out the paperwork.” Javi tells you, taking the clipboard when it’s offered. “You sit down, sweetheart.” He looks up at the nurse. “She’s six and half weeks early right now.”

“I’ll tell the L&D nurse.” Though the desk nurse betrays no concern the speed at which she picks up the phone says otherwise.

“We’ll get you up in the room, and then the doctor will tell you that everything is fine.” Javi reassures you - and himself. Babies come when they want to, not on your schedule. “Maybe you can even have a glass of wine with Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Maybe.” His demeanor being as calm as it is makes you so grateful you could cry again, but a nurse comes over with a wheelchair to get you situated and soon enough your mother is there beside you again. It is going to be alright; you tell yourself over and over. Because you’re taken care of and your little girl will be, too.

Javi is holding your hand. “You want a drink sweetheart?” He knows that if you are having the baby tonight, soon enough they will limit you to ice chips.

“Might as well, while I still can.” You’re thinking the same thing he is, and gratefully accept the water bottle he hands you. “It’ll be ice chips before too long.”

“Yes it will.” He leans in and presses his lips to your hairline. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too.” And that, especially right now, is enough to make the difference.

******

You are definitely in labor. Javi holds your hand and reassures you through the pain. The doctor monitoring your progress for hours until suddenly everything speeds up and you are wheeled into the deliver room, Javier smocked up in a gown and gloves. He’s been present for both of the boys’ births and he’s not missing this.

It’s just after midnight when your little girl makes her squalling entrance into this bright new world, shaking her fists and blinking with wonder at all the new things to see and hear and feel.

Like the boys, Javi cuts the umbilical cord and is the first to hold his daughter when the doctor hands her to him, bringing her up to you. “Our little girl.” He chokes out with tears in his eyes from joy and relief that she seems just perfect.

“She’s perfect.” At five pounds and six ounces she’s a little on the small side, but the doctor seems satisfied that she’s healthy and was just determined to arrive early. “She really is perfect.” You have cried at the arrival of each of your babies and have absolutely no impulse to hide it, open shedding tears of joy as your little girl stares with wide eyes up into your face.

“Just like her mama.” Because of the risk of complications, only he has been allowed in the delivery room, giving you three time together. “She’s our perfect little joy.”

“Joy.” Your eyes turn up to his, barely able to tear them away from your daughter except to smile at your husband. Your soulmate. “Joy is a nice name.” But since you try to infuse their family heritage into each of your children’s names, you end up smiling wider. “Alegría. We could call her Allie for short?”

“Alegría Helena Peña.” He tried out the name and smiles softly, reaching out to caress her still wet hair. “It’s perfect”.

"I love you." Three words murmured to your soulmate when you smile up at him again, and repeated to your baby girl when you can't help but look back down at her again. "And I love you, Alegría. We both love you more than you'll ever know."

It wasn't on the list, but you don't care. The overwhelming happiness of this moment being immortalized by your baby girl's name is a perfect homage to all the unplanned things that have lead you to this point. Sometimes the best laid plans go awry, and sometimes that is exactly what fills you with love and happiness right down to your bones.

After a few more minutes, the nurses take Alegría away to do all the tests and clean her up. Javi holds your hand while other nurses help clean up the afterbirth. “It’s a good thing I got your gift early this year.” He chuckles, kissing your lips again. “I’m so damn proud of you, sweetheart.”

"I'm just glad she's healthy." It was your greatest fear and you know it was his too. Being left alone in that quiet hospital room together is almost deafening in an odd reversal of the sensation after so much commotion during Alegría's birth. "No NICU. No scary uncertainty. Just an eager little preemie who wanted to meet her whole family at once."

“Our Thanksgiving baby.” Javi smiles. “Even though her birthday won’t fall on Thanksgiving every year.”

“November 22.” All you know is that is after midnight, so it’s technically Thanksgiving Day now. “Add that to February 3 for Marco and August 15 for Oscar. Thank God they’re all well spaced out so they never have to share.”

“True.” He flashes you a grin. “Although the boys might be jealous when she gets a special dish on Thanksgiving.” He teases.

“Birthday cake is about to become a Peña Thanksgiving tradition,” you joke, knowing it could well become true.

“Baby, thank you.” His hand is holding yours again and he’s looking at you like you’ve hung the moon. Even though you are tired, sweaty and would probably say you look horrible, you are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, right after the birth of all three of his children. “This is for you.” He offers, holding out the small velvet box he had shoved in his pocket hours earlier.

"Cariño." He has become a fan of push presents ever since first hearing about them, and while you always insist they aren't necessary when asked, it is a special kind of keepsake to have an item that reminds you of this moment. The first moments are the births of your children have all been special in their own ways, so you don't protest, but accept the box from him with a kiss. "I love you," you murmur against his lips, savoring the sensation before cracking open the box in your hand.

A beautiful three stone diamond ring winks back at you, the three baguette cut stones lying end to end in the beautifully carved band in the same metal as both your engagement band and wedding band. A third piece to complete the set like your complete set of three beautiful children. "It's beautiful."

“I figured it could be worn on the other side of your wedding band.” He explains, playing with the jewelry in question. Luckily your hands had not swollen with pregnancy like they had with Marco. “Your children represented on one side.” He murmurs softly. “And my commitment to you on the other.”

"Happily. Without hesitation." You lean over to kiss him again, wading through this feeling of exhausted euphoria for all that you can.

The doctors finish with Alegría and bring her back over to you, making Javi smile at the image when you greedily pull her close. “Do you want me to go get your mom?” He asks softly.

"Yes, please." Nodding and sniffling happily at having your daughter back in your arms, you tilt your chin up to ask for one more kiss before he goes. The new ring has settled on your finger comfortably but all of your attention is back on your little girl. "She'll text the rest of the family for us. At least the announcement is easy this time."

“No international phone calls.” He snorts, letting his lips linger on yours before he bends down more and kisses his daughter’s head. “I love you, mija.” He whispers softly, just like he had when you were carrying her. His life has been changed completely by you and the kids. For the better in every way. Javier knows joy, knows peace, and he knows that his family is the most important thing he could ever fight for. He had decided that he couldn’t let you walk out of his life a second time, and it was the best decision he had ever made.

------

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

BFoW: @haileymorelikestupid @theorganasolo @missladym1981 @alexiamargot06 @southernbe @cloudroomblog @the-queen-of-sorrows

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Javier Peña #Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña x you #Javier Peña x female reader #Javier Peña x f!reader #plus size reader #Narcos #Narcos fanfic #soulmate au #forced proximity #and they were roommates #enemies to lovers #pregnancy #pregnant reader

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glossdebut · 3 months ago

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Take a Bite Ch. 1

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you're finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off... Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You've accepted the fact that romance isn't for you, under any circumstances. You won't risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.

✧ TAGS: slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you'll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up

✧ WARNINGS: social drinking, mechanical bull-related injuries lol

✧ WORDCOUNT: 2.7k so far

✧ STATUS: complete

✧ AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi! i'm aqua and this is my first ever fic so please be nice!! i will be crossposting this work and all future works on my ao3 of the same name. i'm figuring out how this works as i go, so please be patient with me. tags are subject to change with every update. i won't have a posting schedule for this one, but i have the first few chapters pre-written, so expect an update sometime next week!

Chapter 1: Lay Your Cards Down, Down, Down, Down

Although this is the furthest thing from your scene, you can’t help but think to yourself that you should invest in some cowboy boots. You could make them work, you’re sure of it.

Even if you know you would never pull the trigger on purchasing any, too far out of the comfort zone of your normal style, the thought is the only thing keeping you sane—that, and the sound of Cowboy Carter blasting through the speakers of the bar, a welcome reprieve from the drawling, boring country anthems you’d been suffering through for the past hour or so.

You pride yourself on seeing the merit in all genres of music, you do. You were always the type of person who puffed up her chest when you told people ‘I listen to everything,’ uncaring of how pretentious it may sound. You mean it. It’s an asset in your line of work, and as far as you’re concerned, a little bit of pretentiousness is a small price to pay for the, quite frankly, baller route your fledgling career is heading in.

But a Western bar? Not the kind of place you’d spend a precious Friday night willingly. Another hazard of the job.

After months of skillfully avoiding the weekly Friday nights out with the other rookie reporters at the magazine, you’d run out of excuses not to join them. If four years studying communications taught you anything, it was that connections are everything in the journalism business. Even more so where the music industry is concerned.

So here you are, at your fourth stop of your night of bar hopping with your extroverted and extremely drunk coworkers, nursing warm beer and observing from the least populated corner you managed to scout upon entry. All things considered, you had been a good sport at the three previous stops. You just draw the line at square dancing with the people you work with. College may have beaten your fear of impromptu phone calls and talking to strangers out of you, but your social battery can only take so much.

Your phone battery, too, you think bitterly as you stare down at the low battery warning on your screen. Okay, so you’ll finish your shitty beer (because you’re not quite successful enough yet to afford wasting alcohol that you’re paying for) and then use your phone’s remaining juice to catch an Uber home. No biggie.

You’re in the middle of turning off your phone with full intent to work out the kinks of your exit strategy when you realize, with irritation, that your chosen corner is about to be invaded.

Your eyes land on a pair of black Jordans ( in a Western bar? your mind supplies, as if you have any room to judge in your Docs) and travel up, past torn black jeans and a black shirt, and just when you’re sensing a theme with this guy, your eyes reach a head of (regrettably, very nice) black hair and a pair of the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen. Anish Kapoor would wail at the sight of these eyes, you think.

As if sensing your apprehension, your corner-thief raises his free hand (the other clutching a plastic cup of his own) palm out, as if to say ‘I come in peace’ and stops in his tracks.

“I can find another spot,” corner-thief says, the low rumbling of his voice barely audible above Texas Hold ‘Em. “I’m just waiting for one of my friends to get bored or injured so I can leave.”

“Injured,” you repeat, despite your better judgment to take him up on his offer and let him be on his way. But your phone is dead and you’re a little bit drunk, bored, and even for an unwanted partner in social evasion, this guy is nicer to look at than the frat guys playing beer pong you’ve been observing for the better part of an hour.

Corner-thief grins a stupidly charming gummy smile, leaning just the slightest bit closer to be heard better but still keeping a respectful distance. As if he’s still wary that you’ll lunge at him if he encroaches on your space any further. Good man.

“There’s a mechanical bull upstairs,” he says, using his index finger on the hand holding his cup to point at the ceiling above you both.

Of course there is. With your luck, you’ll also have to peel someone off of the floor later after going head-to-head with the bull.

“Not your thing?” you guess, glancing pointedly at his Jordans, and he shakes his head, huffing through his nose in what you can only guess is a laugh.

“No, I wouldn’t say so.”

He pauses, shifting from foot to foot for a moment before speaking again. “So, will you share your wall? I can look around again but this place is more packed than I would’ve pegged it for.”

You nod and he smiles again thankfully, taking the spot on the wall next to you. That should be it. Two strangers who don’t want to be here standing in companiable silence next to each other while they wait for their friends–or coworkers, in your case–to put them out of their misery and let them go home.

But… You consider your options, your phone taking its dying breath in your pocket, and you sigh, turning to him.

“Y/N,” you say, holding out your hand for him to shake.

He takes it with his free hand, giving you an amused look. “Yoongi.”

“What’s that look for?”

He laughs again, a little bit more this time, and your heart does a stupid, funny thing. “I don’t think I’ve ever been greeted by a pretty girl in a bar with a handshake,” he says, causing you to flush and pull your hand away as if it’d been burned, your shoulders tensing as you take a sip of your beer.

A western bar certainly isn’t your scene, but admittedly, neither are bars or clubs in general. You got all of that out of your system in college where everyone was awkward as fuck or too drunk to care that you were, and ever since you got your degree you have lived and breathed your work. Your social skills were never quite up to par, but you didn’t realize you were this fucking embarrassing.

“I came out with coworkers right after we got off, so I think I’m still kind of in work mode,” you lie, and as if sensing that you feel slightly made fun of, Yoongi shakes his head.

“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, swear,” he says, tilting his head at you. Dark eyes considering you. “Honestly, I’m thankful you’re putting up with me at all. I don’t think I’d be so kind if the roles were reversed. I know firsthand how hard it is to find a spot to breathe in places like this.”

You feel your shoulder muscles relax just the slightest bit. “I thought about sending you away, but I couldn’t help it. My heart aches when I see an introvert in need of a hiding spot,” you attempt to joke.

“At least I’m out with friends,” he says sympathetically. “I’ve done the coworker thing before. It’s a drag.”

“It’s weird ,” you correct. “I mean, I sit in meetings with these people. I avoid answering their emails all day. Why is it considered rude to not want to see them piss drunk?”

Yoongi hums in agreement, nodding his head. “What do you do, anyway?”

“I work for Look Here Magazine,” you reply, straightening up a bit in pride when Yoongi’s eyes flash with recognition, his body turning so his shoulder is against the wall now. You turn as well, facing him. “I write for the music section.”

“No shit? I’ve probably read your stuff, then,” Yoongi says, grinning.

He’s cute. Hot. You can’t help but notice, no matter how hard you’re trying not to. The way that he seems to carry himself in particular, you think, might end up driving you crazy if you’re exposed to it for too long. Maybe you’ve been living under a rock, but you’ve never met a fellow wallflower that still exuded such confidence. He wears it insanely well.

“Look Here covers a lot of big artists,” you hear him continue. “I’m a little surprised you’re hugging the wall, honestly. This place is nothing compared to music industry parties.”

“Ah, I only started a few months ago,” you admit, looking down into your cup. “Not a lot of bylines yet. I haven’t made it into a room with an artist that big yet.”

“But you want to,” Yoongi guesses, and you nod, looking up to meet his eyes. He looks impressed, impressed by you , and that… does something to you. Huh. “Shit, that’s… That’s really cool.”

“Thanks,” you say. You can feel your cheeks heating up again, and you’re suddenly very eager to turn the attention away from yourself. “What about you? What do you do?”

“Ah,” Yoongi says, fixing his eyes to his cup just as you had a moment ago. “I’m a music producer, actually.”

You perk up at that. So that’s why he reads Look Here, why he seemed so interested when you told him what you do.

“Anything I’ve heard?” you ask, leaning in like he’s about to tell you a secret. Networking never stops.

He watches as you lean, his mouth turning up at the corners in a smirk. “Probably.”

You wait for more, but it doesn’t come. Shithead. So much for that.

“You’ve gotta give me more than that,” you say, and god, you can hear the pout in your own voice. Are you that drunk? Flirting for a lead in a story?

“I don’t,” Yoongi says simply, his smirk in full force now. Mean and annoying and hot. He hasn’t leaned away from you yet. “I want to know more about you, actually. Journalism is hard work. I’m surprised you have time to go out like this.”

“Like I said, I was forced.”

“Still. Spending time with your friends or family or partner or whatever must take priority when it comes to your free time.”

Why is he so interested? You scrunch your nose, trying to figure out what he could be fishing for here. You don’t make it a habit to divulge the details of your sad excuse for a personal life to strangers, but the alcohol has loosened your lips. Maybe you need to talk about it. It’s not like you’ll ever see him again, anyway.

“My family is back home. My best friend is this insanely talented playwright. She’s constantly traveling. I see her when she can get some time to fly out.” You take a quick sip of your drink, ignoring the pang in your chest. Sometimes it sneaks up on you, how lonely you are. “Other than her, it’s just me, really. The dating thing… Nobody really seems to get how demanding my job can be, and it always ends in hurt feelings.”

There’s a long pause, and you’re worried you’ve shared too much. You’re enjoying talking to Yoongi. You know it doesn’t matter, that you’ll likely never see him again, but it would really, really suck if his permanent mental image of you ends up being ‘lonely weird drunk girl,’ even if that’s what you are. You force yourself to look up at him. The look in his eyes makes your heart flip stupidly again.

“I get that,” he says, and his voice is soft, barely audible over the music filling the space. You’re reading his lips more than anything, honestly, and you don’t let yourself look at them for too long. He may be pretty—unbearably so, you’re realizing—but he’s a stranger. A mean, annoying, hot, pretty stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. Every guy says he gets it. This needs to stay what it is, you think. Momentary companionship between introverts who would rather die than square dance.

You don’t get much time to agonize over it. Whatever is going on between you and Yoongi is intercepted quickly by his phone buzzing in his pocket and his responding grimace when he pulls it out to check it.

“Namjoon fell off of the mechanical bull,” he says, like he’s completely unsurprised by that news. He downs the rest of his drink and pockets his phone again, pushing off of the wall. “I’ve gotta deal with that.”

You nod, pulling what you hope is a sympathetic face. “Good luck.”

His bottom lip catches between his teeth, and you hold your breath. He looks like he wants to say something, torn between rushing upstairs to save his friend and staying, just for a moment.

You think you know what he wants to say, think foolishly that maybe he wants to ask for your number, and you honestly don’t know if you’d give it to him if he did. You’re so used to saying no.

He runs his fingers through his hair, opens his mouth to speak, and then he looks down like his phone is buzzing again. When he looks back up, it seems like he’s thought better of it.

“Thanks for sharing your wall,” he settles on, smiling congenially. You smile back, and then he’s heading towards the stairs.

Good, you think. You know better. If he really gets it, he does too.

★ ★ ★

You’re dragged out to one more bar before you finally make it home, your interaction with Yoongi having knocked you off-kilter enough to agree to a few more drinks.

It does wonders for your social status at work, you’re sure, but by the time you’re dropped off you’re dizzy-drunk, fighting to stay upright in the elevator of your apartment building.

You’re fumbling and failing at getting your key into the lock of your front door, tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration, when a voice calling your name a few feet to your right almost makes you jump out of your skin.

You yell, clutching your chest, and when you turn to face the owner of the voice that almost made you lose the contents of your stomach on your doormat, you’re greeted by none other than corner-thief-mean-annoying-hot-pretty Yoongi himself, leaning against the door to the apartment two doors down.

“What the fuck,” you blurt out dumbly, and he laughs. At you! How dare he stand there, lean there, all hot and annoying and in your apartment building for some fucking reason and laugh at you.

“I was going to ask if you needed help,” he says, and oh, fuck. You were safe from just how deep his voice was under the thrum of the music at the bar, but in the quiet of your apartment building this late, you can hear it just fine. Feel it, even. Feel it in places you do not want to humor right now. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say you do.”

It’s obvious that Yoongi is faring much better than you are, although his night clearly didn’t end after the mechanical bull incident. Faster than you can react, he’s right in front of you, gently taking your key from your hands and turning it in the lock, like it’s easy.

“Gonna make it in okay?” he asks, looking down at you. You force your brain to make words.

“I’ll be okay,” you assure him, your tongue heavy in your mouth. “Are you stalking me?”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “I think we’re neighbors.”

“Oh.” Oh. Okay. That’s fine. Just because he’s your neighbor doesn’t mean you have to do something stupid, like see him ever again.

“Give me your number,” he says softly. Oh.

You blink at him, and he grins. Gummy smile. You feel like you’re going to vomit all over his Jordans.

“In case you ever can’t use your keys again,” he clarifies. “I told you, those music industry parties are killer.”

And really, you’re powerless to resist. You give him your number, using all of your remaining brain power to remember the order of the digits. Seemingly satisfied, Yoongi pockets his phone and steps back, heading back to his front door.

“Goodnight, neighbor,” he says, unlocking his door with ease. “Sleep on your side.”

You swallow thickly and nod, slipping inside your own apartment as quickly as you can manage.

Once you’re in, you sink onto the floor, your back pressed against the door behind you. Your cat, perched on your coffee pot, stares at you in your drunk, flustered state, unimpressed. Offended, even, judging by the way she licks her paw.

You’re so fucked.

✧ shoot me a reply or an ask if you enjoyed this chapter! feedback is always appreciated <3 join my taglist if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✧ MASTERLIST ✧ NEXT CHAPTER

#ugh i hope the formatting on this isn't trash i tried so hard #take a bite #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x oc #min yoongi x y/n #min yoongi fic #yoongi fic #bts fic #bts fanfiction #min yoongi fanfiction #yoongi fanfiction #minors dni #glossdebut #Spotify

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mcflymemes · 7 months ago

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GONE GIRL (2014) PROMPTS * assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

what are you thinking? how are you feeling? what have we done to each other?

i felt i needed to shoot something.

we've never fucked in a bookstore.

you know i have to kiss you now.

sometimes i want to punch us in the face, we're so cute.

when you're upset, you bottle up.

brought you a present.

i need you. now. touch me.

that's very sweet of you and very unnecessary.

pour me a bourbon, would you?

it's a bad day.

i'm so crazy, stupid happy.

i met a boy. a great, gorgeous, sweet, cool-ass guy.

things could get ugly.

whose beer am i drinking?

i prefer men who are funny, not "funny."

i'm the guy to save you from all this awesomeness.

it's hard to believe you. i think it's your chin.

you are way too into that cat.

tell me how it ends.

i'm not someone who hits the panic button, but... it's weird, right?

you mind if we look around?

so what do you do now? for work.

perfect, time for a quick tour of my failings.

i love your parents, but they can be assholes.

people want to hear from you.

i thought that'd be embarrassing.

i am here on a strictly journalistic capacity.

[name], you are beyond amazing. you are incredibly smart but entirely unsnobby. you are kind, but never a martyr.

you surprise me. you challenge me.

isn't it time we fixed that?

we're going to take this very, very seriously.

i go there for the quiet.

we're still not sure what we're dealing with.

please don't take that tone with me.

everyone told us... and told us and told us... marriage is hard work.

technically we're supposed to fuck at the next stop.

books, sex, bourbon... life is good.

i knew you shouldn't have moved back here.

maybe i'll teach you a thing or two.

i'm a little drunk.

let's swear we will never be like them.

everything else is background noise.

why are you throwing that in my face again?

it's like you're daring me to be someone i don't want to be.

i'm not that person. i'm your wife.

suddenly i knew everything was about to get worse.

i'm asking you nicely.

everyone is projecting their shit onto me.

i feel like i could disappear.

i've been so worried about you.

i don't want to fight. i just want to be with you. that's all i want.

you fucking lied to my fucking face.

for valentine's day, i thought i'd buy a gun.

you have to fucking talk to me!

i'm not going to be scared anymore.

this man of mine may kill me.

men always use that as the defining compliment, don't they? she's a cool girl.

i will admit. for someone who likes to win, it's tempting to be the girl every guy wants.

we were happy pretending to be other people.

i need to show you something.

see we have the same taste in men.

you're reading it again? you know how it ends.

whatever the hell they found, we have to assume it's very bad.

everyone would hate me.

why are you so good to me?

my defense is the truth.

i've never seen it in my life.

i feel myself fading.

i just said what you wanted to hear.

take off your clothes.

i'm a fighter. i fought my way back to you.

kiss my cheek.

you're not at risk anymore.

you know you can sleep with me, right?

we should hold hands.

you called me a murderer.

i haven't touched you.

i've killed for you.

#rp meme #mcflymemes #rp memes #rp prompt #roleplay memes #roleplay prompt #rp starters #ask meme #ask memes #roleplay meme #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #sentence starter prompt #sentence starter #sentence starters #gone girl #dramatic prompts

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kaiijo · 2 years ago

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CAUGHT IN 4K — ITOSHI RIN

pairing: itoshi rin x fem! reader content: based on prompt 5 on this list, one physical description of reader (dimpled cheek), rin’s a lovable jerk and bad at flirting notes: rin has my entire heart <3

There are many things in life that Rin dislikes. Rainy weather. Clingy people. Overly crowded places. His brother — though, admittedly, his relationship with Sae is much more complicated than any other thing on this long list of “Things Itoshi Rin Dislikes.”

There are a few things on the “Things Itoshi Rin Likes” list, including good running shoes, horror movies, and ochazuke with bream. And, at the top of the list, competing for first place, are soccer and you. If he really had to choose, Rin knows that you eke out soccer, which says something.

And Rin’s unwavering love for you is also the main reason for another item on his dislike list: when people ask how you met and got together.

“Come on!” Bachata grins, throwing an arm around your shoulder, beer bottle in his other hand. “Tell it again! It’s such a good story.”

Rin’s glare is withering. “You were there for it.”

“But I like reliving it through the retelling,” Bachira replies.

Isagi smirks. “I want to hear it again too.”

“Me three!” Reo chimes in, and Rin is regretting letting you talk him into inviting his teammates for a get-together with each passing second.

Rin scowled. “All of you were there.”

“Okay, okay,” you say, leaning against Rin on the couch. He instinctively wraps his arm around you tighter, frowning in a way you always tell him is actually pouting. “I’ll do it.”

Bachira and Isagi always made fun of the fact that the only sort of media interaction Rin was ever willing to do were press conferences about the upcoming seasons. “There’s nothing but soccer in that head, huh?” laughed Bachira, and Isagi joined him with a couple of their other teammates snickering. Rin always sneered back, “As if any of you lukewarm fuckers have room to talk.”

But they weren’t wrong; Rin was notorious for brushing off any questions that were not soccer related, fixing an incredibly cold glare at whatever reporter dared to try. But he was typically focused when it came to these press conferences.

“Underlashes Junior,” Shidou said, kicking Rin under the table. Rin snarled at him and Shidou, unbothered, continued, “they asked you a question.”

Rin turned back to the mass of reporters. “Repeat it.”

“Do you think your approach to your gameplay will be any different this season?”

Rin doesn’t even remember what he said, turning his mic on and rattling off something about how his skills will just be even better than last season, eyes not even on the reporter but to another journalist a few people to the left of them. You were waiting patiently to ask whatever question your bosses drafted for you. At first, Rin’s eyes were drawn to your pretty face and the little dimple in your cheek that deepened when you smiled. And his eyes probably would have stayed staring at your face, if not for the necklace hanging around your neck along with your press pass.

Kunigami took the next question and Isagi leaned over the Rin, asking, “What’s up with you today? You’re pretty distracted.”

Rin glances back at the journalist — you — who he had been staring at and he answered, “That’s the ugliest necklace I’ve ever seen.”

Isagi’s jaw dropped as the rest of the reporters and their own teammates grew silent. All eyes turned to you, the only person wearing a necklace noticeable enough from where the soccer team was sat.

Rin’s eyes widened a little. Fuck, he hadn’t turned his fucking mic off. Shidou, Otoya, and Karasu roared with laughter at his expense as Isagi apologized on Rin’s behalf and, on Rin’s other side, Bachira chimed in, “I like your necklace! Very colorful!” with a little thumbs up.

Rin ventured an (admittedly embarrassed) peek at you as you gave Bachira a thumbs up back before your eyes settled on Rin, expression morphing into something he couldn’t read and he couldn’t understand why it bothered him so much. It wasn’t like he hadn’t said stuff before that had garnered disapproval from everyone for being ‘rude’ and ‘unnecessary,’ and he generally didn’t care. But there was something about this instance that had guilt creeping up in his gut.

“You need to go find her and apologize,” was what Reo said immediately when they finished the press conference.

“Can we go watch?” Shidou asked. “Maybe she’ll slap you.”

Rin glared at him and stalked off ahead of his teammates. He wasn’t about to tell them that he had already planned to do that.

You were finishing the last of your notes, standing just outside the venue that had been in when Rin found you. He stopped a few feet beside you, shifting his weight on his feet and running a hand through his hair. The movement caught your attention and you turned to look at him.

Rin couldn’t help but glance down at that necklace. Hideous. Absolutely, positively ugly — an explosion of mismatched beads and tasseled pieces with dried macaroni. Who in their right mind would wear that?

You and Rin stared at each other for a little, and Rin opened and closed his mouth no less than three times, mind in overdrive. He was supposed to say, “I’m sorry for making such a rude comment about your necklace.”

Instead, what came out of his mouth was, “Why the hell would you wear that?”

Your eyebrows raised again in the same way they had when he first said it but to his surprise, you just looked amused. “You don’t think it suits my outfit?”

Rin looked you up and down quickly. Your pantsuit was a nice, neutral color that complimented your skin tone and was tailored well to your body. The rest of your jewelry was simple and classic. “No,” Rin said.

Your mouth twitched into a smile, that dimple returning, and Rin felt his ears heat up. You just hummed and replied, “Not that I need to justify myself to you but this fine piece was handcrafted by my favorite artist.”

“Who would that be?” Who the fuck would make jewelry that ugly?

“My nephew.”

And suddenly, it made sense and Rin felt himself flush, unsure if it was from shame or from your unfettered attention but he found himself mumbling, “I’m sorry about what I said earlier.”

You crossed your arms across your chest and said, “I don’t know if I can forgive you for insulting his hard work.”

Rin frowned and racked his brain for what else to say. What did his teammates say to pretty women when they got in hot water? “Maybe I can take you out to dinner then?” he asked, cringing a little as the words left his mouth.

You snorted, “Hmm, no thanks.” And Rin’s heart sank. You instead said, “Maybe I’ll consider forgiving you if you stop by at my nephew’s birthday this Saturday.”

“Really?” he asked, tone flat.

“He’s a big fan. You’re his favorite player, which I can’t say I necessarily agree with.”

Rin scowled. “Who’s your favorite then?”

You shrugged. “Yoichi Isagi.”

Rin’s scowl only deepened. You stepped closer to him and Rin could smell your perfume and it made him a little weak in the knees. You added, “If you come, maybe we can grab dinner afterwards.”

“Okay,” left his mouth before he could think and you grinned, reaching into your handbag. You pulled out a business card and a pen, scribbling your cell phone number and an address on the back.

You pressed the card against his chest and Rin grabbed it as someone shouted your name from a car. You turned on your heel and called over your shoulder, “I’ll see you Saturday, Itoshi!”

“I still can’t believe you went on a date with him after all of that,” Kunigami says, and you giggle. Rin grunts in disapproval and you just lean up to kiss the underside of his jaw.

His eyes flicker to Isagi, who’s grinning wide. “I never heard that part where you said I’m your favorite player.”

“Yeah, Rin definitely omits that part,” chimes Reo.

“Shut up,” Rin growled.

“Don’t worry, babe,” you say. “You’re still number one in my heart.” Rin rolls his eyes as his teammates chuckle and you snuggle deeper into him. He watches with an embarrassingly fond gaze as you carry on talking with the others, your eyes lighting up, that dimple appearing in your cheek as you laugh.

He may hate the way he comes off in the story of how you met, but he can safely say that he doesn’t regret a single thing.

#itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock scenarios

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deancasbigbang · 2 months ago

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Title: Physical Graffiti

Author: entropic_saudade

Artist: BasketcaseBetty

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Endgame Dean Winchester/Castiel, Brief Dean Winchester/Ash, Brief Dean Winchester/Max Banes, John Winchester/Kate Milligan, Past John Winchester/Mary Winchester, Past Dean Winchester/Lee Webb, Past Dean Winchester/Cassie Robinson, Past Dean Winchester/Others, Past Castiel/Others, Implied Bobby Singer/Rufus Turner, Past Bobby Singer/Karen Singer, Harper Sayles/Vance, Edward Carrigan/Madge Carrigan, Jenny Sorenson/OMC, Larry Pike/Joanie Pike, Background Max/Stacy.

Length: 75000

Warnings: Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings. Additional Content Warnings: Self Harm, Alcohol Use Disorder, Recreational Drug Use, Child Abuse, Past Non-Con, Past Underage, Past Drug Addiction, Minor Character Death, Mental Health Issues

Tags: Case Fic, Murder Mystery, Horror Elements, Slow Burn, Journalist Dean Winchester, Detective Cas, Eventual Hopeful Ending, Families of Choice

Posting Date: November 4, 2024

Summary: The only ghosts and demons are the ones inside his head. Fresh from a prematurely-ended stint at an inpatient psychiatric facility, ‘former’ self-harmer and functional alcoholic Dean Winchester returns to Sioux Falls, where he works as a crime journalist. His editor, Bobby Singer, sends him back home to Lawrence to gather the story on the murder of a teen boy and the recent disappearance of another. Painful memories from growing up resurface as the missing boy turns up horrifically dead and another goes missing. The investigation is further complicated by the town’s gossipy tight-knit nature, Dad’s judgment, and botched attempts at making inroads with his estranged half-family, Kate and Adam Milligan. Dean crosses paths with Castiel Novak, a renegade detective from Kansas City with a troubled past of his own. As they work together, they slip past each other’s defenses, unearthing each other’s secrets and digging for the truth. As it turns out, monsters just might be real—and they just might live at home. A Sharp Objects-inspired AU.

Excerpt: A dumpy parking lot, leaning against Baby’s hood, looking to the stars—it reminds Dean of doing the same with the football jocks. The way he’d smuggle stolen beer cans in Dad’s jacket pocket, turning him from ‘homo’ to ‘hero’ in their eyes. Stupidly, it reminds him of Lee. Dean sneaks a glance over at Cas’ profile, tracing the angle of his jaw as he tilts his head up. The same stupid butterflies flap in his stomach. He suffocates them with a few swigs. “So, our arrangement. I’ll answer a question for each one you answer,” Cas offers, his adam’s apple bobbing. “Deal.” “What was it like growing up in Lawrence?” Dean whistles. “Starting with hardballs, huh? You don’t pull any punches.” “Would you rather I ask for your favorite color?” Cas teases. He groans. “No, none of that grade school shit. Gimme the real scoop.” Cas raises a pointed brow. You first. “Alright, Lawrence.” He sighs, bracing himself. “Mom had… my brother when I was four.” His voice wavers slightly when he brings up Sammy. “Adam is much younger, though, isn’t he?” “Different brother, Kate’s my stepmom. Me and Sam, we’re our Mom’s. She died when Sam was six months old. House fire.” Cas’ eyes sadden, but he doesn’t say anything. “But, as far as growing up—normal, I guess. Went to the school district nearby, was in wrestling for a little bit. I wasn’t some prodigy but I did okay, grades-wise.” “I bet you were Mr. Popular.” Dean barks a laugh. “Uh, no. Sorta depends on who you ask.” Depends on what year. “After graduation, I left for college.” Dean skips over the rest of the highlight reel. “And Sam?” “Hey, you gotta answer at least one question first,” Dean pokes him. “Why is a detective from Kansas City down in Lawrence?” “My supervisor likes to send me out on solo cases for assists. I don’t exactly work well with others.” “Well, you and I make a pretty good team—a little chaotic, maybe, but at least we ruled two suspects off your list.” “That we did. It’s a shame you’re not a detective.” “Reporters are detectives of sorts. We both look for narrative, just in different ways.” Cas gives a thoughtful hum. “My turn again. What happened to Sam?” Dean’s throat convulses. “He died. We were in our teens.” “What happened?” “He was sick all the time. One day, he just… kept getting worse. His body couldn’t take it.” Sammy’s ghost observed them, sadly, flickering in an in-between state. “I’m sorry, Dean.” They sit in silence for a few moments. Panic builds in Dean’s chest, and he worries that he’s ruined whatever rapport they’d been building. “I’ll tell you something if you swear to not tell another soul?” Dean nods, relief settling over him. He eats secrets for breakfast. “The real reason I work Homicide is because it’s better than what I used to do.” “What’s so bad that working Homicide is better?” Cas looked down and didn’t answer.

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2024 #fic preview #2024 promo #deancas #destiel

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thursdaygxrls · 1 year ago

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thin ice — three

part one | part two | part three

summary — the lightning bolts have made it to the semi-finals, and parties are the best way to celebrate. they’re also the best place to run into familiar faces.

pairing — uni hockey player!peter parker x fem!journalist!reader

disclaimers — sadly, i don’t own peter parker and his yummy face

warnings — this isn’t your first rodeo: this shit is unedited, mentions of drinking/being drunk, possible ooc, reader is referred to as ‘kitty’ (finally gets explained in this part!)

Death was approaching, she could feel it. The sickening, deadly vibrations of the music thundered in her ears like a funeral march. Maybe if she’d grown a spine, she would have avoided this all.

“We’re not even inside yet.”

MJ’s voice broke her from the trance she was stuck in. The Lightning Bolts had made it into the semi-finals, meaning they were one of the last four teams standing. Delta Alpha Kappa, home of half the hockey team, decided to throw their (nearly) weekly rager in honor of that. So, of course, Harry invited MJ, and MJ forced her very unwilling roommate to come.

“Being near the door is scary enough.” Her voice squeaked.

“I didn’t realize you hated parties this much,” MJ giggled, stuffing her hands into her jacket.

“There’s a difference between parties and frat parties,” she responded with a shudder, “You can probably get thirty-five different diseases from just walking inside.”

“I’ll nurse you back to health.”

Before a retort could be made, they were already hopping up the steps to the front door. There were some people outside the house, littering the grass and porch. At the door was a guy with a grey snapback. He smiled at them as he opened the door, throwing out a ‘hey, ladies’ as he let them in. He was harmless and hadn’t done anything wrong, but she already felt herself getting faintly annoyed at his grin.

The inside of the house was to be expected. Dull neon lights streaking the walls from the Five Below LED machines, unintelligently music rippling through the air and vibrating the floors, the hazy smell of weed that hung heavier the further you moved into the house. There was an open room people were dancing in on the left, a kitchen on the right, and stairs ahead of them.

“We don’t have to stay here all night, right?” She pleaded with MJ, her voice somewhat lost in the loud music.

“Of course not,” MJ shook her head, “An hour—two tops.”

“And you’re not leaving me,” she said, punctuating her words by grabbing ahold of MJ’s arm. A chuckle bubbled in the redhead’s throat as she returned the grip, though, with less fervor.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she shook her head.

Apparently, she would dream of it, because within a half an hour, MJ was swept away by Harry. It wasn’t MJ’s intention to leave, nor was it Harry’s to strand Kitty—he’d hoisted her over his shoulder and was gone within seconds. MJ had sent her an apology text minutes later, saying they were playing beer pong out on the patio. Part of her wanted to join them so that she wasn’t so alone in an unfamiliar place, but then a couch had just opened up in a deserted corner of the living room. She replied with ‘all good :).’ Things were very much not all good.

The settings of her phone had become extremely interesting. She’d increased and decreased the size of the text on her screen multiple times. Changed her wallpaper. Played with the magnifier. Ran out of lives on Project Makeover. Changed her wallpaper again. The obnoxious music faded to the background of her mind as she tucked herself away. She should’ve just gone to the patio with MJ. A sigh escaped her as she caved, opening her texts.

“Are you stalking me?”

Her eyes shot up from her phone immediately. Of course he was here. Hazel eyes, choppy brown hair, a nearly healed lip that was rosier than normal. His words echoed her own from the last time they’d spoken. She hadn’t had any need to speak to him, really: they’d given an overzealous freshman a shot at handling the sports section, so she’d been taken off the duty for at least another week.

“You came up to me,” she replied, “And you could still be stalking me for all I know.” Peter grinned, the same grin he’d given her when they met, and when he was being dragged to the penalty box, and when he’d swiped his card for her at the dining hall.

“Not stalking.” He raised his hands in defense, showing off the red solo cup in his grip. He was still smiling that stupid, toothy smile.

“Then what are you doing here?” She raised her brow.

“Well, uh,” he chuckled, “Not to sound like a dick, but this party is sort of for me—for the team, really. We made semis.”

Hot embarrassment flooded her at the realization. She knew that already. Would it be worse to say that and admit she had actually been watching the game on her laptop late last week, or just pretend that she was a lot more dense than she already was?

“Oh,” she hummed, not quite doing either, “I see.”

“So, can I ask what you’re doing here?” Peter asked. He moved slightly, like he wanted to take a seat next to her on the couch but decided against it.

“Isn’t it obvious? I live here,” she replied, the sarcasm thick on her tongue. He seemed to like it because he let out another one of those throaty chuckles.

“Ah, yeah, should’ve figured,” he nodded. With his free hand, he scratched the scruff of hair above his left ear. Then, he spoke up again, “Mind if I sit?”

“A little,” she cringed internally at her own words. Though contradictory, she scooched a bit, asserting that maybe it would be okay if he sat. He took the invitation.

“Where’s MJ?” He cocked his head.

“Kidnapped by your lovely teammate.” “She just left you alone?”

“It’s not her fault—she apologized and told me where he was holding her captive, but…well, the couch opened up,” she shrugged. Another deep laugh.

“That’s pretty sound logic,” he nodded. The last time they’d been this close, she was interviewing him. Well, she was trying to interview him while he flirted incessantly. Peter held his cup between his knees, taking slow sips every once and a while.

“Do you live here?” She turned to fully face him, “Are you one of those frat guys?”

“I thought about it, but I just didn’t have enough time,” he shook his head, “I’m actually in an on-campus apartment. I have my own bathroom, so, hey, I’m winning, I guess.” For perhaps the first time, a light laugh was drawn from her lips. It wasn’t necessarily real, more like a confirmation that she heard him, but it was enough to make Peter’s lips twitch into another grin.

“What about you, Kitty?”

And there it was. He had to ruin it.

“What’s your obsession with trying to call me that?” She grumbled.

“You said your friends call you that,” he replied, acting so nonchalant that it took all her strength not to roll her eyes.

“We’re not friends,” she corrected him quickly. His face fell for only a minute before he was already picking his lips up into another grin.

“Can’t we be?” He asked. His words were so sincere, like he was actually searching for friendship behind her eyes. Maybe he was being sincere. She shifted in her spot.

“I don’t know. I mean, I know I probably came off sort of strong before, inviting you to the game and everything, but you came, so I sort of thought…” he shrugged again, “We’re…friends? Of some sort?”

Well, he wasn’t entirely wrong. She’d shown up. But it was because of MJ, because MJ wanted to go. Yeah, that was why.

“MJ wanted to see Harry,” she disputed.

“But you still came,” he pressed. She still came. A sigh left her.

“Okay, we’re, like, sort of friends,” she finally admitted, “But that doesn’t mean you just get to call me that name.”

“Well then what am I supposed to call you?” He questioned, and her eyebrows furrowed in response. A smile split on his lips, “You never actually introduced yourself to me, y’know.”

Another burst of molten embarrassment. She searched her mind, trying to remember if she’d ever told him her name, but she was drawing blanks. She’d been so pissed off during the interview that she never introduced herself. Her scalp burned.

“Y/n,” she swallowed her pride for a moment, “That’s what you can call me.”

“I sort of like Kitty better.” Now he was just pushing the limits.

“Well, it’s not for you to use,” her voice was sharp.

“Harry uses it.” “Harry is a dick that doesn’t listen to me when I tell him to stop calling me it.”

“MJ uses—”

“MJ uses it because she’s allowed to use it,” she interrupted, “Hearing other people use it is like hearing a stranger refer to you by your family nickname. It’s freaky.”

“Is there a reason for it? The nickname, I mean?” Peter, for as genuine as he was trying to be, couldn’t hide his grin.

“A stupid one.” Why would she admit that?

“Can I hear it?” He pressed.

“You are just full of questions,” she huffed. Silence settled between them. Beats of unspoken words fell like snowflakes as the dull thump of the party shifted to the forefront.

“It’s a stupid reason,” she repeated, breaking the seal. Peter looked at her again.

“Is it?” His voice was a little softer than before.

“Yeah,” she sighed. Why was she giving in so easily?

“It’s because I always land on my feet somehow,” she began to explain, “Not literally. Like, back in high school, I’d have a test I forgot to study for, and I’d ace it somehow. Or when I used to do the professor spotlight for the paper, I would put it off until the last minute and bullshit a whole piece just to be told it’s one of the best things I’ve done. Stuff like that. MJ said I’m like a cat, but cuter, so she started calling me that freshman year.”

Like clockwork, Peter let out a huff of laughter. He looked at her, eyes sparkling with the new information and he curled his lips. She must’ve been getting some second-hand smoke, because her head seemed a little fuzzier than before.

“I thought it was going to be something traumatic,” he chuckled, “Like, you got stuck in a tree or something.”

“It’s just personal,” she rolled her eyes.

“So,” his laughter subsided, “I don’t have Kitty privileges?” “No,” she shook her head.

“Do you mean ‘no’ or ‘not yet’?” His smile was unbearable.

“I mean ‘no’.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Are you sure sure?”

She was going to have to physically restrain herself. Instead of arguing, she shuffled in her seat, “I think I’m gonna go see if MJ is still—”

“Hey,” he said softly. His hand landed on her arm in a featherlight touch that had her nerve ending lighting up. Her eyes met his. The softness that consumed the hazel caused her to still.

“Before you go,” his tone was more subdued now, “Can I possibly have your number?”

The question caught her off guard. If she hadn’t already stopped moving, she would’ve come to a screeching halt. Perhaps what confused her the most was that her instinctual response was to say yes, to reach for her phone and let him make a new contact.

“I promise I won’t set your name as ‘Kitty’,” he added, “Scout’s honor.” “Were you a boy scout?” She cocked her head.

“Nope,” he replied with that same giddy grin that melted her resolve. Another sigh escaped her as she grabbed her phone. He waited patiently as she created a new contact and handed over the phone. His fingers darted across the screen before taking a picture of himself. Well, more like a picture of his eyes and nose way too close to the camera. He gave the phone back, seemingly proud of himself. The picture was set, and the name he’d chosen for himself was ‘peter :)’. He also sent himself a text so he would have her number.

“I’ll let you go now,” he grinned, “Have fun watching drunks play pong.” She nodded and nearly stood, but was planted back to her seat in a moment.

“How did you know where I was going?” Her eyebrows creased. Peter’s smile fell slightly as his eyes widened.

“Oh,” he coughed, “Well, I bumped into MJ earlier, so, y’know.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, “And I bet you didn’t ask her where I was, either.” He chuckled nervously and scratched the spot above his ear again.

“Nope,” he lied. She shook her head at his tone.

“Right,” she stood, “See you around, stalker.”

“Bye, Ki—Y/n,” he cut himself off, grinning proudly when he noticed his mistake. His smile had to be contagious, infectious, because her own lips began to curl in response.

It was surprisingly easy to find MJ. She didn’t know where the patio was, but luck was on her side tonight: after shoving through a dozen drunks, she found sliding glass doors. The fresh air felt like a cold shower as she stepped out. It was much less loud out here. Only the filtered thump of the music and the buzz of voices could be heard. That was until a light splash and a cacophony of deep yells filled her ears. When she cautiously approached the hoard of people surrounding the beer pong table, a pair of hands wrapped around her in death grip.

“I am so, so sorry!” MJ’s voice eased her nerves immediately, “I’m horrible! I’m the worst! I promised to stick by you, and I bailed! I—”

“Honey, it’s okay,” she let out a small laugh at her behavior. She should be angrier than she was, but she just couldn’t pull herself to get mad.

“I promise I will never ever force you to a party again, and I’ll never leave you,” MJ continued, “I’ll wait outside the shower for you!”

“That’s tempting, but you don’t have to.” Her voice seemed to somewhat quell MJ’s nerves, though the redhead was still on high alert.

“Are you just acting okay but really you’re harboring a deep resentment for me that will slowly boil into hatred?” MJ scrunched her nose. She was definitely a few drinks in.

“I promise,” she said, and she actually meant it, “I do not hate you.” MJ sighed in relief as she finally let go of the girl in front of her. True to her word, she stuck by her the rest of the night. When they finally made their way back to the dorm—both tipsy—she finally checked her phone. There was a message from Peter; a screenshot of her contact info with the name set as ‘y/n :)’ and a text:

‘scout’s honor’

a/n — OKAY OKAY i know nothing humongous happened in this chap, but we’re getting there 🤭 you guys just wait until peter *redacted* and *redacted* so reader has to *redacted.* also, at the time of posting this, i hit 400!! love you guys so much, you're all my sweet little baby muffins

taglist

@reidslovely @iamliterallyspidergwen @tarzinnia (tarzinnia, hon, i cannot for the life of me remember if you asked to be on the taglist so i added you just in case—let me know if you want off!)

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laiiaaa · 1 year ago

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A NICE NIGHT — CARMEN BERZATTO

summary Carmen happens to meet a stranger at the party Claire takes him to. A brief conversation is shared during a cigarette break.

length 2k

contents literally just nonsense, not infidelity but sorta toying with the idea idk????, inside Carm’s mind (he’s a nervous wreck), reader is a food journalist bc i just think the pairing is cute, Claire slander lowkey…look i just want Carmen to meet some random person organically and bond without feeling pressured to like them :/ very self indulgent :/ baby bear :/

Carmen’s not sure why he agreed to come here: a party with people he doesn’t know and doesn’t particularly care to, too much drinking, too much conversation, too much noise.

He’s trying not to hate it completely, he really is, but there’s that nagging in the back of his mind that just screams unwanted. And maybe a little regretful, or undeserving, or unsure of himself. He wants to like it here. He wants to tolerate it for Claire. Maybe. Maybe just a few more minutes. Maybe a few with a cigarette.

He’s lucky to find the backyard more or less empty, save for red solo cups and beer bottles thrown askew—and a girl standing against the railing, back to the house to face a dark canvas. At least this is better than the mess inside.

Playing it safe, he leans against the railing on the opposite side of the steps, figures it sends a message. We don’t have to talk. Or, more accurately, I don’t really want to. He feels that familiar itch crawling down to his fingertips and pulls out his pack, pops out a cigarette and props it between his lips. He pats down his pockets. And again. He pats down his jacket. And again.

Fuck…

“Do you need a light?”

His head turns in her direction. Did I say that out loud? She’s looking at him, expectant. He must have. “Yeah, I, uh, it must’ve slipped from my pocket or somethin’.” He can’t tell whether he’s more on edge in a crowded room or in a conversation alone.

She walks over to him in a few steps, clad in a black leather jacket that catches his eye. Her cheekbones glow in the pale yellow haze seeping outside from within the house, and her lips are glossy and a little tinted like she’s just eaten cherries. Not that he’s paying any of this any mind; she’s only offered him a glimmer of her flame. She reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out a bright blue BIC lighter, like one of hundreds he’s lost or forgotten about over the years.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and she nods in response, turning back to the yard just a foot away this time, taking a drag. A metallic flick gives him his fill and his nerves subside only slightly. He fiddles with the lighter for a moment, watching her almost, before extending his arm. “Here.”

She peeks over her shoulders, shakes her head lightly, and looks back. “Nah, you keep it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

He pockets it and inhales. “Thanks.”

She hums and it quirks up into a smile. “You, uh…” Another pull and plume of tobacco. “You do this typa thing often?” Carmen pauses, and she must take it as confusion. “Y’know, like…” The hand holding the cigarette makes a few circles as she turns her body towards him. “Parties. Kickbacks?” An eyeroll, a shrug of the shoulders he thinks is playful. “I dunno what the fuck this even is.”

“No,” he chuckles, and he thinks it comes a little easier than usual. A little lighter. “I-I don’t.”

“Yeah.” She sighs and smiles back at him, looks him in the eye for a blip of time. “Me neither.” Backing up, she moves down onto the first step and sits. She offers her name nonchalantly, adds by the way to the end of the introduction while shooting a look up at him.

“Carmen,” he offers. He clears his throat and steps closer. Am I supposed to sit with her? He chooses to stay standing.

She scoots to the side until she meets the railing, turns her hips to prop her legs along the step below, crossed at the ankle. Leather boots hit an inch or two below her knees. “You can sit here if you want.” Her head pivots toward the house to eye the furniture—two dingy lawn chairs and a collapsible table—and she takes another hit off her cigarette. “Not much place else.”

He nods, smiles because he thinks it’s the right move, and tries to sit down coolly. A few beats pass and he doesn’t know what to do in the silence. “Do you know anybody here?” he asks, lending a glance before looking down at his feet.

“Not really. A friend dragged me here to get me away from work. She’s busy actually talking to people.”

He smiles to himself, a gentle one hidden behind the collar of his jacket that makes his chest warm. I know the feeling. “I dunno anyone either. I, uh…” Fingers run through his hair to the nape of his neck. “A friend dragged me here, too.” A friend… The syllable feels heavy rolling off the tongue. Is that the right word for it?

“Really.” She smiles and exhales. “How come?”

“Uh…” He lets out an airy laugh, mouth tightening into a half-smile as he looks at her while still messing with the back of his hair. “To get me away from work, I think.”

A quiet giggle makes him think he could be doing something right for once—like maybe the whole social thing doesn’t have to be so hard, and he doesn’t have to be the funniest person in the room, and he doesn’t have to try and carry the weight of a conversation. Maybe he can just be.

“What do you do for work?”

Here we go again… He lets the question simmer for a beat. It’s an uncomfortable one: he doesn’t make money, the prestige is anything but, part of him shrivels up when he has to see the reaction. Another inhale before he ashes his cigarette. “I’m a chef,” he says, though it’s quiet. Ashamed.

“Oh, really?”

His heart drops. Maybe he thought better of a situation than he should’ve. “Heh, yeah, it’s not—it’s not, uh…” It’s not that special. Half of what I do is fuckin’ pointless. No, I don’t make a lot of money. Thanks for fuckin’ asking.

“No, no, I think it’s cool.” She tilts her head to the side, another soft thump of laughter to break the tension. She doesn’t seem to mind too much. “I’m a, uh…” She looks to her hands, snubs out the last of her cigarette that’s burnt down to the filter. “I’m a food journalist, so—or, whatever you’d call it—just a writer now, maybe? I don’t even know at this point…”

There’s an exhalation that has Carmen thinking that for once someone feels like he does—a quick-beating heart, jittery hands, an embarrassment unique to someone whose passion is a shame to a respectable world.

“What I’m saying is, I’m not judging.”

His brows lift, a subtle nod—half relief, half surprise. “You’re not.”

“Correct.”

A comfortable silence. A few more plumes of tobacco escape his mouth before he realizes he can’t remember the last time he smoked more than half a cigarette. He likes a quick fix, just a taste of it to make the nerves go down before getting back to work; he doesn’t take it slow, enjoy the pull, indulge in the company of someone else. He doesn’t usually have someone else.

He looks at her again, and for a blip of time he thinks she’s gorgeous, her head gently turned to the side, a barely-there smile adding warmth to the space between them. Part of him is thankful she hasn’t gone back inside, and he doesn’t bother wondering whether she’s staying because she wants to enjoy a crisp night in a bit of quiet, or if her friend isn’t all that much of a friend, or anything else. He’s here with Claire, anyway. He’ll be back with her any moment now, and he’s not sure whether he wants that moment to come. He likes it out here, in the dim light, away from the bustle, stumbling through a conversation with someone who isn’t running miles ahead. It’s not buried under a past that’s grueling to dig up.

So he goes out on a bit of a limb and asks, “What do you write about?”

She looks at him then, mouth open only slightly like she didn’t think he’d ask. “The food industry, mostly. Ethics, culture, history, that typa stuff.” A pause before she adds, with a bit of a tanginess to it, “Not recipes, or cookbooks, or anything like that. Might not be your style.”

“Not my style?” A crinkle forms between his brow, his lips curl up at the corners, gaze shoots down to his feet again.

“What, you’re reading Gastronomica in your free time, Chef?”

He strangles out a breath that’s somewhere between a laugh and a cough, making her smile. “Gastronomica?”

He tries not to think about it too much. Even in his professional prime he wouldn’t fuck with journalists; they were too prying, too nosy, asked the wrong questions about the wrong things. Who cares where his love of cooking came from? Is it a good dish, or is it not?

This is different though. He’s not entirely sure why. Just that it is.

She offers a shrug, and a dismissive smile to follow that slowly wanes. “Doesn’t mean much in the real world, though.”

Self-deprecating. “I get that…” Too well. “It’s the same, bein’ a chef, y’know? It’s, uh, not a lotta money.”

She hums. “Not at all. I still like it, obviously, but—y’know, my parents would’ve been a lot happier had I…” A beat of laughter, sardonic and a little self-loathing. “I dunno, become a fuckin’...a fuckin’ doctor, or somethin’.”

He smiles to himself. A doctor…Claire’s gonna be a doctor. Respectable, easy to confess about. Not a lotta shame there.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t be complaining like that to you; I don’t even know you.”

“No, no I get it. I know what you mean.” He nods and watches his hands before looking back. “The, uh, the judgment. I get that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But, uh, it…it’s nice,” he admits, looking her in the eye, “It’s nice to meet someone who’s in that—that world, y’know?”

She hums and smiles in a way that makes his chest flutter. In a way that makes him think he’s understood. In a way that makes him painfully confused as to how he even broached the topic with someone who’s little less than a stranger.

The back door opens, and light spills onto the porch. Heads turn to inspect.

“Carm?”

Claire.

He freezes before sparking up a smile. “Hey,” he answers. It’s been too long since ashing his cigarette; he flicks it to the ground, standing up and turning to face his…friend.

She takes a few steps yet stays tethered to the door. Music booms from inside and just the thought makes Carmen’s head throb. Her gaze flickers from him, to the girl sat on the steps, and back. “You made a friend?” Her grin feels mocking, almost accusatory.

“N-No—” he shakes his head, turns to look at the girl standing up— “Just, uh…”

“Just lent him a light,” she fills in. He watches her dust off her skirt, adjust her slouched over jacket, check her phone for a second before she looks back up at him. She smiles at him and looks at Claire with the same expression. “I’m headed out, though, so…” Her face softens when she looks at him again, and he wants to think it’s for a reason. “Have a nice night.”

His mouth goes dry before he remembers his manners. “Yeah, uh, you too.”

“Thanks.” Her boots make a satisfying click as she descends, her hand an axis around which she pivots the railing to leave through the gate. He wonders where she’s going, whether she drove here herself separate from her friend, if she’s going to wait for an Uber to pick her up. If she'll ever visit The Bear once it's open.

“So,” Claire starts, grabbing for his attention again. “Ready to go?”

He nods, mumbles a hushed Yeah, and heads toward the door. She bares her teeth in a smile as she looks him in the eye and hovers an open hand near his. He follows her back inside where the music consumes his thoughts and the bass rattles through his shoes.

After letting the air hang between their hands for a moment, he tucks them away into his pockets, thumbing away at his new lighter.

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto fluff #the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear season 2

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unknownperson246 · 2 months ago

Text

a/n: Can you make smut of Vince Neil and Axl Rose after having one of them sees their groupie with the other one and they fuck them to make sure they know who they belong to? Or a threesome?

All Night Long:

Words: 874

warnings: *threesome* *p in v* *cheating* *cussing* *come play* *come eating* *oral sex* *m receiving* *alcohol used and mentioned* *praise kink* *toys mentioned but not used*

✮⋆˙ ☠︎︎ ★☠︎ ✮⋆˙✮⋆˙ ☠︎︎ ★☠︎ ✮⋆˙✮⋆˙ ☠︎︎ ★☠︎ ✮⋆˙✮⋆˙ ☠︎︎ ★☠︎ ✮⋆˙

You were sitting at the very infamous club called the Troubadour. Many rock bands come to play there and you have met several of them. Many of them come and go but you saw Vince Neil from Mötley Crüe and Axl Rose hanging out a couple of months after the VMA incident where Vince punched Izzy and then he got into a brawl with Axl. You were bewildered watching them together. You thought they hated each other's guts. Well, it turns out they both made up and dealt with each other's differences. They were out to celebrate. Vince is still with Sharise and Axl is still with Erin. They both looked happy getting away from their wives. You went up to them hoping they would be nice.

“Hi guys,” You said with a grin.

“Hi,” Axl said to you.

Vince just watched and smiled. He was observing what you were going to do.

“I thought the two of you despised each other?” You asked in a cautious tone.

“What?. Are you a fucking journalist or something?” Vince scoffed.

“No, just wondering,” you said in a softer tone.

You went back to the bar disappointed and sad even though you asked the question that got Vince annoyed. Later on, when they finished their beer they went up to you. Surprisingly they weren’t high or drunk. They were normal and perfectly intact to the world around them. They were aware and defensive. You were surprised with them coming to you again.

“Hi,” you said resting your chin on your opened beer bottle

“We wanna fuck you,” Axl said straightforwardly and confidently.

“Wow!” You said laughing, taking it as a joke.

Once you heard no laughter coming from them you knew they were serious.

“Wait really?” You asked.

“Fuck yeah,” Axl said.

“Okay then” Vince grabbed you and he lifted you to his car like he was kidnapping you.

You felt the wind hit your face, awakening you from your tiredness. Axl sat in the passenger seat while Vince was driving. You were in the back seat paying attention to Vince’s hands on the wheel. Vince started driving to a nearby hotel room. Vince rented the place out because he didn’t want to go home to his wife Sharise. Vince got out a duffel bag with the toys he was going to use on you. Axl suddenly opened the back seat door and he lifted you over his shoulder playfully. He put you down inside the lobby. Vince went up the stairs to where his room was. You went up to the stairs with Axl and Vince. Vince threw you on the bed as soon as you got into the room. He slowly started to rip your skirt off. He saw your leopard print panties that matched your leopard print bra. He slowly ripped them off. Axl was getting hard watching Vince remove your clothes. You felt Axl's hand make contact with your right tit while Vince’s hand made contact with your left tit. You slowly let your body get used to their aggressive touch.

“One at a time. You get to go first Vince” You moaned quietly while getting horny.

Axl started to play with your clit while Vince entered his erection into you. You felt your energy level elevate.

“Fuck” Vince groaned.

“You like two men fucking you?” Axl whispered in your ear which made you wet.

Vince felt your slick and he felt him slide inside of you very easily now. You felt Vince’s dick hit your cervix. With your energy, you got up letting Vince do his job. You pulled Axl's pants down feeling the hard lump under his pants. Axl threw his pants off.

“Wanna give me head?” Axl laughed as your hands were clawing at the side of his pants.

“Here you go darling it’s all in front of you,” Axl said looking down at you and stroking your head.

You felt Vince thrusting inside of you holding your ass to make sure your position was secure.

“Fuck” You and Vince moaned at the same time. Your breaths were getting heavy.

Axl kept stroking your hair and you went for his dick. Your tongue softly swirled and made wet rings on his cock.

Axl started to pant softly as your tongue began to do its magic on his dick.

“Such a good girl” Axl painted.

On the other hand, Vince was degrading you.

“Such a whore for a dick like mine aren’t you?” Vince pinched his fingers into your hips.

You uncontrollably clenched your pussy around Vince’s dick. When you clenched around him you started to go faster on giving head to Axl.

“You’re doing so well” Axl moaned.

Axl finally left his load around the sides of your cheeks. You swallowed letting your throat feel the pleasure of your work. Mentioning come you on Vince’s dick. In return, Vince came inside of your warm and tight hole. You felt yourself coming down from your high. Your body crashed because of a wave of exhaustion. You plopped down on the hotel bed. You soon fell asleep. Vince and Axl left planning to return to you. They both talked about their bands all night long while drinking 10 bottles of beer each.

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lonelyharmonies · 1 year ago

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all is fair in love and war

when you meet a guy once and forget his name, the last thing you expect is meeting him again on your new job.

pairing: haechan x fem reader genre: fluff; college!au; (sort of) coworkers! warnings: suggestive; cursing; and i think that’s it. word count: ~19k a/n.: another repost <3 i love this one very much

"How's the job search?" your roommate asks while putting her earrings on.

Another week of failed attempts of looking for an internship, you think. Maybe you weren’t in your right mind when you decided to quit your job of 2 years at the campu’s café, but it was time for you to start looking for jobs related to your field of study. You want to become a journalist, you need real experience! Did you quit after impulsively screaming at your annoying boss because you were fed up with his rudeness? Yes, but you were unhappy and senior year is getting closer by the minute, you have no time to waste. At first, your parents and friends supported you, but after almost two months of unemployment, you were starting to question your own decision.

"Nothing yet." you mumble, playing a game on your phone.

"Have you thought about what Renjun said?" she turns her head to look at you expectantly.

"We've already discussed this," you sigh and she turns her head back to the mirror in front of her. "If it was only for the money, I could just go back to 7Dream,” you stubbornly answer.

“And you think they’ll take you back?” your roommate raises an eyebrow at you “I know it’s not the best choice, but listen to Renjun this time. At least it would be something.”

Huang Renjun, your roommate’s boyfriend, is a fairly rich art major and, in your eyes, a very sophisticated person. At least one of the most sophisticated people you know. The only one, actually. But as he comes from such an influential family, you thought he would be able to find you a job at a good newspaper or a famous magazine. You had to ask him for a job recommendation because, hell, if you’re friends with a nepo baby, take advantage of them.

Needless to say you were not expecting to be offered a part-time position at a beaten-up theme park in the city. You obviously declined, being too stubborn to go from one underpaid job that made you miserable to another.

You did accept, however, the invitation to his friend's birthday party. Free food, free alcohol and some socializing, you couldn’t say no to that. That’s how you end up in an overcrowded apartment in the downtown area of the city to celebrate the birthday of Renjun’s friend that you have never seen before.

As soon as you got there, you were introduced to the birthday boy, Lee Jeno, before being ditched by your roommate and her boyfriend. Deciding that it was too awkward to just stand in the kitchen by yourself, you are left with no choice but to choose your drink: cheap vodka with cranberry juice or cheap canned beer? Hard choice.

Your eyes were scanning the alcoholic drinks shoved in the kitchen sink when you felt someone standing right next to you. You cursed silently, too tired to deal with drunk men flirting tonight. You decided to grab a beer and get out of the kitchen as fast as possible, when the person next to you spoke.

"These ones in the sink are always hotter than the ones in the fridge no matter how much ice they put in there," you turn your head to meet the person next to you, beer in your left hand. "If I were you, I wouldn't grab the drinks from there."

"So I should just stay thirsty?" you ask ironically, raising an eyebrow.

"No, you should grab a drink from the fridge," the brown haired boy smirks and goes straight to the kitchen's fridge.

He grabbed an expensive Japanese beer from inside and placed it on the counter between the both of you. Your eyebrow is raised and the boy still has a smirk on his lips. He motions his head towards the bottle, silently telling you to take it.

"How do I know you didn't spike this drink?"

"How do you know the one you just grabbed isn't spiked?" he challenges you, tilting his head to the side.

"Isn't it a little impolite of you to just open someone's fridge? Especially to grab an expensive drink to give to a stranger?" The beer is long forgotten when you cross your arms and see the boy moving one step closer to you.

"If the stranger is cute it’s fine," he shrugs and you raise an eyebrow, clearly not falling for his attempts at flirting. "Plus, I bought these,” he points at the bottle he put on the counter “And the birthday boy is my best friend and roommate."

Oh, boy, he was bold and you didn’t even need to wonder why: if you looked that hot only in a pair of jeans and a simple Adidas shirt, you would be brazen too.

"Hm, I believe you," you puckered your lips and looked around the kitchen as if uninterested.

"I'm serious, we've known each other since we were little, I’ve seen Jeno butt naked thousands of times," he blurted out and you stifled your laugh.

"That's…" you can't really find the words to answer whatever that information meant. “I…I have no words.”

"What? We barely talked and I'm already leaving you speechless?" he got one step closer and you had resist the urge to move away. "Damn, I didn't know I was this good."

"You think you're smooth, but you were just spilling nonsense," you uncrossed your arms and moved to hold the cold bottle of beer he got for you.

"And yet you're still here listening," he moved one step closer, and this time you could even see the small moles spread across his face and neck.

"I find you really, really annoying," the smile on your face contrasted with the words leaving your lips.

"I get that a lot." He chuckled and you moved a little bit closer and felt him holding his breath.

"Yeah. We need to do something to shut your mouth for a bit, don’t we?" you were looking straight at his lips and he didn't waste much time, kissing you right after.

You find yourself in a very complicated situation the following day when the alcohol wears off of your system and it seems like you remember every little detail of that party, except the name of the boy who kissed you all night long.

You don’t really have much time to dwell on the boy’s name because you find yourself getting more desperate thanks to your financial situation, so all Renjun had to do was mention the job one more time.

“The Lee family is very influential in the entertainment business, you know? I’m sure they will transform that place in no time.” He said one night.

“I bet,” you answered uninterested, eating the soup your roommate had made you.

“It’s a way of having some income while looking for internships,” he reasoned “you can always quit when you find something better.”

“Okay, you’re right,” you sigh defeated “What number should I call?”

Fast forward to three months later: you are working in the job you’ve sworn you wouldn’t take.

That’s the story of how you became a ride operator at Sunny’s Funfair Park and Recreation last April. It is a very big name for a park that small, though, you have to admit. The Funfair is just as nonsensical as the name, but it’s not the most unpleasant workplace. Plus, you found out it’s a very traditional theme park in the area, the neighbors say it has been around since the 70s (considering how old everything looks, you don’t doubt it). It is like the city’s Disneyland, just dirtier. And smaller. And uglier. And unsafer. But it’s just like the city’s Disneyland. I mean, there’s even a mascot: the brown bear named Sunny who seemed to be fairly popular among children.

"How do these kids seem to like Sunny so much? He’s creepy,” you think out loud chewing the jelly Jisung just gave you.

“He’s like our Mickey Mouse,” Jisung turns his head to look at the bear as well.

“But Mickey is not that creepy.”

“Have you seen him in the 50’s? Girl…”

"Who are you talking about?" Yuta, one of the managers, creeps behind you and your friend.

"Hyung, that’s not cool!” Jisung jumps as he gets startled by Yuta’s sudden presence and you can’t help smiling at how much of a scaredy-cat he is.

“Mickey Mouse” you say, stealing another Jelly from Jisung. “Who do you think is creepier, Mickey or Sunny?”

In the beginning you were still very reluctant to accept that it was a good idea to take up Renjun’s offer (and your only choice). But the thing is that you need the money and the job is so much easier than working at the café, considering the Funfair is slow basically every single day. So, you adapted to the Funfair in no time and, slowly, started to see how fun it can be to work in a place like that. You have to admit that the job in itself is usually boring, but the people here are the highlight of it all.

“Sunny’s not that creepy,” Jisung says, making you scoff.

“No, it’s just an old ass costume of an ugly bear wearing a blue overall. Why do kids like it?” You say looking at the semicircle of children cornering the bear near the merry-go-round.

“Who’s Mickey Mouse, though?” Yuta asks you and Jisung.

“Are you kidding me? The Disney rat, hyung,” Jisung looks mildly offended at Yuta’s question.

“He’s not a rat, he’s a mouse. It’s literally his name,” you say, faking interest just to steal one more jelly from Jisung’s bag of candy.

“Never heard of this Mickey guy,” Yuta says with a poker face and you snicker.

"You don't know… Mickey Mouse?" You think Jisung’s face is priceless. Oh, the ever so sweet and gullible Park Jisung.

"Where is he from?'' he asks again, leaving Jisung even more confused.

“Hm… Hollywood? I don’t know where he’s from,” Jisung fishes for his phone and you are sure he is about to google ‘where is mickey mouse from’.

“Oh, I’m from Osaka. That’s probably why we never met.” Yuta finishes talking and walks away, leaving a bewildered Jisung behind.

“I don’t know what to do with this information,” you start feeling bad for him, the boy just looks utterly confused. “He’s joking right? They do have Mickey Mouse in Japan, right?”

“Yes, Jisung he is joking,” you pat his shoulder, but he seems hesitant. “He’s messing with you because you're literally the only one that still believes in any absurdity that comes out of Yuta’s mouth.”

“It makes me kinda relieved, I'm not gonna lie,” he sighs and you just chuckle. Why are your coworkers so dramatic? “I mean, it’s Mickey Mouse. Everybody likes Mickey Mouse."

“I don’t know about that…” your eyes go back to the weird bear as he starts moving around, now having Taeyong as a bodyguard to protect him from the kids jumping at him. "Wait, I think this is the first time I see someone actually dressing up as Sunny. Is it a new thing now?”

"I don't know, it's my first time seeing it too," Jisung frowns "Should I ask Mina?" you shrug. It didn't really matter, it's just that, working in such an uneventful workplace, anything could be something.

"I think you should start running if you don't want Doyoung beating your ass up," you say leaning on the railing of the bumper cars.

Jisung turns to look at his back and sees an angry Doyoung coming for him. "Shit."

"PARK JISUNG, DON'T EVEN TRY TO RUN."

"Serves you right for purposely shutting down the merry-go-round."

"If you had to stay there, you would understand the stress I go through," he says, handing you his bag of candy and running away from Doyoung.

So much for an uneventful workplace.

After you started working at the theme park, you had less time for parties and pubs and even dates. It was hard to fit in any social interaction in your now tight schedule: your shifts were usually 4 to 10 p.m on weekdays and 6 to 12 a.m on weekends. You never had time to go out to drink with your friends, unless they agreed to go clubbing on Monday. Damn, you didn’t want to go to a club on Monday, you had morning classes.

Juggling your job, your degree and your social life was not easy, and you started realizing that you couldn’t catch up with some of your friends and, eventually, they just stopped inviting you to hang out. Inevitably, you have to start hanging out with your coworkers and that leads you to Jisung’s dorm, a round of cheap beer, spicy snacks and a game of truth or dare in the crack of dawn on a Saturday. You, Jisung, Chenle, Yeri and Mina were all sitting in a circle looking at the bottle that was about to stop.

Bottom asks, top answers.

“Truth or dare, Mina?” Chenle asks mischievously and she whines.

“I don’t want Chenle!!! Please, someone else ask me”

“He got the bottom of the bottle, though,” Jisung smiles apologetically.

“Okay, truth.”

“Is it true that in middle school you had a crush on Jis-”

“DARE!!!! I WANT DARE!” she stands up on her knees, profusely shaking her arms so Chenle would stop talking.

Funfair might not be too amusing for the customers, but the whole workplace drama is absolutely entertaining to you. Yeri’s family owns the property where the theme park is located, so she (forcefully) works there to help her cousin Taeyong run the place (though she rarely does any actual work). There is an ongoing rumor that, since last year, she was in a love triangle with Taeyong’s accountant, Suh Johnny, and a mysterious guy named Lee. No one knows exactly who the Lee guy is and what happened between them. Chenle says he’s not brave enough to ask, but he thinks “Lee” is the last name of the guy, which also makes it weird because it could be another one of Taeyong’s relatives.

Taeyong is the sweet boss in charge of all of us, including the managers Yuta and Doyoung, although there has always been a suspicion that the latter is his (boy)friend.

Chenle, Jisung and Mina are freshmen that have been friends since elementary school and decided to work together at Funfair because it was their go-to spot to skip classes ever since they were little. You’re sure they chose the park, though, because they wouldn't be allowed to work together in any other environment, they are all just a bunch of kids. Chenle is that outgoing and kind person yet a menace, especially when it comes to Mina, Jisung and their painfully obvious crush on each other.

After some hair pulling (Mina got really angry after Chenle tried to make her confess to Jisung) and the last rounds of truth or dare, everyone starts to get sleepy.

“Alright, guys, I think it’s time to go home…” you stand up, but Mina holds your arm to stop you.

“Wait, before we all go, did you guys know about the new part-timer that got hired?” Chenle perks up and Jisung lifts his body from where is laying on the ground to look at Mina.

“What guy?”

“Another part-timer? I thought Taeyong was on a budget considering how slow the business has been since… forever,” you say truthfully and Chenle’s eyes widen .

“Do you think the Funfair is some sort of money laundering scheme?”

“I don’t think Taeyong would be driving that old ass car if he had a choice,” Jisung says, and you gasp.

“That’s mean, he’s always giving you rides!”

“What are you guys talking about?” Yeri asks, coming back from the bathroom “New part-timer? Oh, you’re talking about Donghyuck.”

You frown, feeling that you know that name, and yet can’t give a face to that name. Do you know anyone named Donghyuck?

“Do you know him?!” Mina exclaims a little too excited for Jisung’s liking, who scoffs.

“Yeah, I asked Taeyong if we could hire him,” she says sheepishly and you and Chenle exchange confused looks “What about him, though?”

“I was just curious,” Mina answers. “I saw this cute boy two days ago near the breakroom and he said ‘hi, I’m the new guy Donghyuck’ and then, never again.”

“Why are you so curious? Do you wanna see him that bad?” Jisung asks, clearly bothered and the three of you roll your eyes at the sight of a blushing Mina.

“It’s not like that…” she scratches her head “It’s just that I never saw him again. Where is he even working?”

“I think Taeyong put him in the ticket booth or something,” Yeri brushes the girl’s concern off and just grabs her bag.

“No way, I was in the popcorn stall near the entrance today and I haven’t seen him at all,” Mina affirms with wide eyes.

Yeri, tired of all of you and the workplace gossip, just brushes it off by shrugging and wishing everybody a goodnight before leaving Jisung’s dorm.

"What do you guys think of Sunny?" you suddenly ask and your friends make a confused face. "Sunny, the bear, guys."

"Creepy" Chenle says without second thoughts

"Not you again with the mascot rivalry. Be proud of our Mickey," Jisung points at you, making you roll your eyes.

"It's weird looking, but it's a very fun mascot," Mina says, drinking the remaining soju in Jisung's bottle.

"Not like that, guys." You apologize, starting to feel drowsy. "I should've worded it better."

"Are you already drunk?" Chenle scoffs and Mina motions to kick his legs.

"I meant,” you say louder, glaring at Chenle. “What if the new guy is Sunny?"

"It's plausible considering Mina hasn’t seen him again. Or any of us, really."

"Bear or not, I think he's Yeri's boyfriend." Jisung says as a matter of factly.

"His name is not Lee, though." Mina points out. "Plus, I'm team Johnny."

"You're all so nosy," you make a judging face at them, but giggle right after "I like it."

The four of you there stay there in Jisung's dorm for a couple more hours, conspiring about who was the new part-timer, what he was doing there and creating what had the potential to be the new hot gossip of Sunny's Funfair.

"I can't believe you're here again," you roll your eyes when you see Jisung standing next to the control panel for the bumper cars.

"Change places with me one day, that's all I ask!" he pleads and you turn away to pay attention to the cars that had just started to move around.

"Go to work, Jisung. I don't know why Taeyong hasn't fired you yet."

"Because he knows I'm a valuable addition to the team.” He fights back, making you scoff.

"Nah, it's probably because he has noticed that the high school girls keep coming back to flirt with you." You glare at him when you see him blushing. “Stop with this act, we all know you love it because it makes Mina jealous.”

“What’s with you today, woman?” he raises his hand defensively “I’m just keeping you company.”

“You should be at the merry-go-around. Working.”

“That’s why I always go to Mina,” he complains. “She always talks to me.”

“It’s because she doesn’t like working either,” you say harshly.

It’s Sunday and the park is fairly busier than usual, you think. Not enough to make children line up on the bumper cars, but busy enough to keep running it every three minutes. Suddenly, a stereotypical carnival music starts playing, startling both you and Jisung, who never really noticed there were speakers spread throughout the park. Then, you see Sunny happily walking around greeting small children and their parents.

“What the fuck is this?” you spit out and look at Jisung who has the same dumbfounded expression as you.

“Our Mickey Mouse is here,” Jisung laughs and you keep staring at the scene in front of you.

“I swear to god if they put this song in a loop I’ll k-”

“Where’s Mickey?” a little girl wearing a Disney t-shirt smiles at the both of you. “I like Mickey Mouse!"

“If you like Mickey so much, where is he from?” Jisung asks and you roll your eyes, going back to the control panel to see how much longer until this round is up.

“Well, I don’t know…” her smile falters and Jisung holds a finger up in the air while saying.

“Well, you can only ride the bumper cars if you know where Mickey Mouse is from-”

“But… I…” you see the girl’s eyes watering and you punch Jisung’s arm

“No, you don’t,” you say, giving him the stink eye. “But you do need to be old enough to ride it by yourself. How old are you?

“I just turned eight,” she smiles confidently with both hands on her hips.

“Sorry, sweetie, if you are under 12 you need adult supervision,” she deflates so fast that you almost feel bad for her.

“Can’t he go with me?” she points at Jisung and you scoff.

“He can barely supervise himself,” you smile at her. “Plus, there is no one else to ride the bumper cars, you would be all alone.”

The little girl tries to persuade you to let her go but you can’t. You could bend the rules a little and supervise her in the car, letting Jisung in the control panel, but you didn’t trust Jisung that much. Plus it wasn’t worth it getting in trouble because of a cute little girl. Eventually, you convince her to go talk to the creepy bear, saying he was friends with Mickey Mouse, and she runs to where he is standing.

“By the way, Mickey Mouse is from Mouseton in Calisota,” Jisung says looking at his phone and you groan.

After months working in the same place, with the same people, you are bound to get into a routine. Yours consisted of arriving at the Funfair around 3:50 pm, going to the break room, filling your water bottle, putting your backpack in locker 606 and putting your lunch box with some packed dinner in the fridge.

Any minor change in this calculated routine could mean something big.

That’s why you are surprised to arrive one day and see a black insulated lunch bag inside the fridge. You were used to see Mina’s green tupperware, Chenle’s half-eaten subway and Yuta’s energy drinks inside the fridge. You were not used to see an insulated lunch bag inside the fridge. You brushed it off as someone changing habits and bringing healthier food to work. It could even be Taeyong packing food for him and Doyoung.

You should have taken that more seriously, though, because the second change in your routine was much bigger and much more inconvenient than the lunch bag.

The next day, the lunch bag disappeared, but now, there was a backpack in your locker. It wasn’t that the locker is specifically yours per se, but there is a silent agreement of which locker belongs to whom. There are 9 lockers in total, Jisung and Mina’s are 607 and 604, the top left one and the one right under it. Chenle takes 608 and Yeri takes the one next to yours, 605. The only available lockers, then, are the 609, top one on the right, and the 3 lockers at the bottom, that are rarely used. 606 is an unavailable locker and yet, one day you get there, slightly late, and you see it occupied by a backpack that’s not yours — and locked.

Differently from the lunch box, the locker issue does not go away. In fact, no matter how early you get there, every other day there is a black backpack locked inside the 606. You aren't tall enough to reach 609, forcing you to use one of the lockers at the bottom. Everytime you try to crouch down to get something from your bag, you curse at the person who’s using your locker.

The last change to the quiet routine you led at Funfair was Sunny, the bear. In three months working there, last week was the first time you started to actually see it walking around. Of course, during your training, Taeyong made sure to give you a very detailed explanation of the origins of Sunny and even let you see the bear costume. Seeing someone wearing it, though, was something completely different. Considering the near-bankrupt financial situation Funfair has been suffering for a while, it is normal that the park is understaffed (and not a real problem because there aren’t many customers, anyways). But, with some many improvements to be done, why did Taeyong decide to hire someone to give life to that creepy looking bear? No one besides Taeyong seemed to care about Sunny’s presence, why is it around now?

You are too focused on your own thoughts to pay attention to Mina and Jisung entering the breakroom. They seem excited about something and trying to speak at the same time.

“Shut up, Jisung, I will tell everybody!” she squeals and Jisung mumbles something along the line ‘I barely breathed’. “Where’s Chenle? I have bombastic news.”

“He texted the group chat saying he will be late,” you answer unamused.

“Girl, cheer up, I have hot gossip.” You hum, more interested in your sandwich than the gossip.

“We saw the new guy enter Yeri’s car yesterday after work.” Jisung blurts out and Mina slaps his shoulder. “What? Someone can appear in the breakroom any minute.”

“We already know she knows him. Taeyong hired him because of her, remember?” You bite your sandwich and see Jisung deflates, agreeing that it wasn’t the big deal he was thinking.

“Well, she didn’t say that his last name was Lee,” she whispers the last word, making you and Jisung snap your heads to her direction.

“You didn’t tell me-”

“Doyoung told Yuta who told me that the name of the guy is Lee Donghyuck and he works part-time here every other day. That’s why we don’t see him that much.”she says, pulling a chair for Jisung to sit on.

“Do you think he is the Lee in the love triangle?” Jisung whispers, fishing for his phone. “Oh, Chenle’s gonna love this.”

“Have you guys seen this Donghyuck in the breakroom, yet?” you ask, looking at the lockers. “Or coming to work, at least?”

“Nope.”

“Do you think he is the one using my locker?” They look at you confused. “I usually see it locked with a black backpack inside.”

“Well, he works every other day,” Mina starts “I don’t think it’s him, you’re here everyday.”

“Who would do that, though? The managers use Taeyong’s office. I’m sure it’s him. I don’t like him.”

“You don’t even know him,” Jisung reasons, making you glare at him.

“He stole my locker!” you fight back making them shake their heads at you.

Two whole weeks have passed and everybody but you have met the locker thief. It's not that you are obsessed with knowing who the hell this Lee Donghyuck is, especially not after Mina tells you in secret that he is very funny and very hot (and begged you not to tell Jisung that). You are curious to meet the one who is behind the creepy bear that makes children laugh and forces all of you to listen to circus music (Taeyong said it is a new tactic so people can associate the song to Sunny and they will know when he is around. You don’t care, you just hate both the bear and the song).

It is on a Friday evening that you understand why people say “curiosity killed the cat”. You are sent to help Mina in the food stalls because Jisung, being the annoying brat he is, ended up breaking the merry-go-round thanks to his habit of shutting it off to avoid the children. When one of the rides breaks down, it means sending someone to help with the food stalls, but Taeyong knew that between sending Jisung or a lamppost to work with Mina, the lamppost would be more useful. That’s why Jisung is at the bumper cars right now and you are stuck in the food stall, with your hair and clothes smelling like butter and old popcorn.

"Hey, what's broken today?" she asks, leaning her arms on the counter and bending her body forward.

"The merry-go-round," you roll your eyes. "I bet it's Jisung’s fault for shutting it down on purpose at least three times per shift to avoid the little children."

“I thought they would send you to the haunted house to give Doyoung a break, though.” She hands you wet wipes so you can help her clean the counter.

“Nah, Doyoung has too much fun scaring away the horny teenangers trying to have sex and use drugs in there.”

"Aw, at least you're here with me today!" she smiles and you give her an unamused smile. "I'll be nice, I know you hate the smell, so I’ll stay here and you can do the stocking tonight!"

Your problem is being a little naive around your friends. Sure, the popcorn smell was bad, but you didn't know that stocking the stalls would mean walking around, back and forth, carrying paper bags, corn bags, cans of soda and even organizing the pantry's shelves. You also didn’t know the stockroom is basically all the way across the park.

"Who knew we sold that much soda here." You murmur after your 5th trip to the pantry to restock soda.

"It's not that we sell a lot, it's just that this mini fridge is too small."

"Yeah, I noticed," you narrow your eyes at your friend who just laughs and talks to a new customer.

After a couple of hours, things start to get slower at the stall, so you have time to organize and store everything in their right place. You were definitely not used to this kind of job, just staying behind the scenes, not dealing with annoying adults and small children, but you seem to enjoy it. You pull out your phone and plug your earphones to listen to some music to pass time. The stockroom was a container that stayed behind the ferris wheel and the walls of the park didn’t allow people to see it.

The songs coming from your headphones distract you so much that you don't notice someone hiding behind the open door of the container. They opened from outside, so they blocked the view of who was behind it, but the lights from the ferris wheel allowed you to see a weirdly shaped shadow. You get closer and jump at the sight of the Sunny, the bear too close to your face.

"What the fuck?" you hear him say and you get so startled that you end up pushing it, almost making it fall on the ground.

"I should be the one saying that, dude," you answer, holding the stack of popcorn bags close to you. "What are you doing here?”

"Hiding," you can faintly hear the person's voice through the gigantic head of the costume.

"What?"

"I'm hiding from the kids," the bear points to your left, the direction of the park. "There is a little kid today that is just obsessed with kicking my ankle."

You laugh at that and go back inside the stockroom to put the popcorn bags in their place. The bear stays outside and you wonder if this is your chance of finally seeing the mysterious not-so-new guy that has been the hot topic for a while.

"Hey," you lean on the door's frame, calling the bear's attention to you "How long have you been working here?"

"Since the 90's, or something like the story Taeyong told me." you laugh at that, hearing the bear chuckle as well. "I started some weeks ago. Why?"

"I was just wondering, because I’m seeing Sunny around too often," you shrug. "You’re the new guy Donghyuck, right?"

"You have a lot of questions, I see," you hear the teasing tone and just roll your eyes. “Flirty, much? Can’t resist the bear’s charm?”

"I hope you can't see shit with this big ass head in this terrible lighting, and end up falling."

"HEY! I was just kidding, don't be mean," he moves a little bit closer to you.

“You are very good at being vague and changing the topic, mister Sunny, the bear.”

“What can I say, I like being mysterious,” with the silence between both of you, you can hear Taeyong cursing, which is very unusual of him. "Shit, I think I hear Taeyong."

"Are you afraid of getting fired?"

"No, I'm afraid he's gonna make me work," he answers and you can't help but laugh, calling Taeyong's attention to you and the bear.

Ever since that shift, you started getting somewhat closer to Sunny, who you are sure is the Lee Donghyuck, even though he didn’t confirm it. You still haven't got the chance to see him without the costume and your interactions are always short, but there is something so familiar about him…

It is also very fun to see Sunny interacting with the staff. Sometimes, he walks past the food stall and shakes Mina's hand, or hi-five Chenle when he passes by the spinning cups. But your favorite thing is when he stays next to the merry-go-around, right across the bumper cars, and throws flying kisses in your direction. It feels like Donghyuck is showing a little bit of his personality through Sunny and you have to admit that the guy is pretty nice to be around. And just like that, what was once a very creepy looking bear that you avoided at all costs, becomes a very creepy looking bear that you expect to see during your shifts.

Today, Donghyuck decided to walk past the bumper cars and make a “call me” sign, right after sending you hearts and dancing with little kids. You try not to pay much attention to him, but it’s cute how he never forgets to interact with everybody around him and doesn’t leave until he makes his coworkers smile at least for a few seconds.

There is a particular child giving him a hard time, though. You see the little boy, probably ten, trying to take the bear's head at all costs. It tried climbing on Donghyuck, pulled his arms and even kicked his ankle once. There was usually someone to keep him company to avoid annoying kids like those. Where is Taeyong?

"Hey," you see a girl getting out of the bumper cars all by herself. "You, pigtail." The girl seems tall and strong enough to win a fight, you think . "I'll give you five bucks if you push that boy over there."

"Make it ten and I'll pull his hair too," she opens her hands, motioning you to give her money.

Eventually, Taeyong ends up putting you in trash duty for three days after finding out that you "incited" a fight in a family friendly environment, even though you will deny it forever. You don't mind it too much, because it allows you to walk around the park and talk to everybody, and whenever Sunny is around, you can get a little bit closer while he sends you flying kisses.

You don't know why, but having that huge weird-looking bear around has definitely made working here better.

"Well, I have some news," Taeyong says, calling everyone's attention. "We will be shutting down the haunted house, the merry-go-round and the spinning cup."

You shouldn’t be surprised, really. Although you were all expecting that summer break would be a game changer for the business, only a miracle could save the Funfair. To be fair, Taeyong had managed to improve a couple of things here and there: he repainted the front of the park, fixed the broken trash cans and even hired Renjun to make a nice mural at the front (which was really nice for marketing, because teenagers love to take pictures there). There was a general feeling that the business was changing and the summer was a breath of fresh air to everybody, but the summer break wasn’t as miraculous as your hopeful and young minds thought.

"Why the spinning cups? They were fine though," Chenle pouts and Taeyong just shakes his head.

"I know you like it there, Lele, but a third of the cups aren't spinning properly and there are just so many vomits I can clean up in a day," he sighs and you feel the tense atmosphere in the air.

“We should have shut down the haunted house a long time ago, in my opinion,” Yeri says, eating a lollipop. “I don’t know how Doyoung endured horny teenangers trying to have sex in there for so long.”

“It was nice staying inside to scare them away,” he shrugged.

“I bet the merry-go-round is Jisung’s fault though,” you say, provoking Jisung, who sticks his tongue out.

“Actually, the engine is heating up so, if anything, Jisung shutting it off every now and then actually helped.” Yuta says besides Taeyong, leaning on the lockers.

“Okay, let’s stop,” he says, visibly stressed. “This is a report, it’s not open for comments, everyone.”

“But, I have ques-”

“Shut up.”

"I know you are all wondering what's going to happen, but don't worry, we got this!” Taeyong starts speaking again, expecting us to be silent. “I have reorganized everybody’s positions: Jisung will take the bumper cars. Y/N and Chenle can decide who will take the ferris wheel and the roller coaster, I just can’t have Jisung on neither because I don’t trust him with the safety procedures. No offense, Jisung."

“None taken, hyung,” he says, eating a lollipop.

“We don’t have experience in those rides, it was usually the more experienced staff who took care of it,” you raise your hand, worried.

“It’s okay, we’ll train you.”

“What about Doyoung hyung and Yuta hyung?” Chenle asks worriedly.

“Kids, don’t worry about anything else, alright?” Taeyong smiles reassuringly, ending the meeting and sending everybody home.

A week after the sudden change of positions, everything was running smoothly. Doyoung and Yuta helped you and Chenle and for the first three days, teaching you how to control the rides and slowly letting you do it by yourselves. Despite everything looking almost the same as usual, you couldn’t shake the weird feeling out of your chest. Why did Taeyong suddenly shut down part of the park? It’s not as if there is much of it left anyways. He didn't say much about Yuta and Doyoung after they stopped training us. Did they get fired? You haven’t seen Sunny in a while. Did Taeyong fire Donghyuck too? Will you be next?

The prospect of getting fired makes you realize you haven't really worried about looking for a good internship in a while. You can’t really blame yourself for getting tired of it after the countless no’s. And, honestly, you were comfortable working for Taeyong. Sure, the pay wasn’t great, but the job isn’t demanding and your boss is not pressuring you to do anything more than come to work, press a few buttons, make sure no one gets into an accident, and go home. But your parents had already started to worry about your career, thinking your job at the theme park wasn’t as temporary as they thought it would be. You think it’s time for you to start worrying about it too, so you decide that as soon as the summer break is over, you must find somewhere else to work.

Even though you know you need to find another job, a tiny little part of your heart hurts at the thought of leaving everyone behind. Would you be able to find such nice and welcoming people anywhere else? You realize your mind has wandered for too long when you see brown paws shaking in front of your face.

"A penny for your thoughts?" you hear Donghyuck’s voice and smile.

"Sunny does not use human language to communicate. Taeyong will get angry at you," you cross your arms and lean on the railing behind you.

"It's not like there's a lot of people around anyways. The only kid is you" he stands next to you, just looking at the empty park. You slap his arm and he chuckles. "It's almost closing time, I don't know why I'm still wearing this."

"You get more breaks than we do, work for once, please," you joke and hear his sweet laugh muffled by the costume.

"Try walking around with this gigantic stinky head to see if you wouldn't need a break every 30 minutes too." You smile and make your way to the control cabin when you take a look at the time.

“Time to turn off the lights and go home,” you say, pressing a few buttons on the panel.

“I didn’t know they changed your position,” you hear the boy speaking loudly so you can hear him from the cabin. "I found out the hard way.”

“And what is the hard way?” you scream back, starting to get out of the cabin and heading to the stairs.

“I can’t really see from afar with this mask on, you know…” He sighs and you frown at him. “Yeri told me today I had spent the past week sending flying kisses to Jisung and not you.”

You cackle with laughter from the sudden confession. Now it makes sense why you have spent the entire week without seeing a sign of him. You just thought Sunny was one of the things Taeyong was slowly getting rid of.

"You must be completely blind with this head on," you say, walking down the steps and being face to face with the bear. "Can you even see anything now with the lights off?"

"I can figure it out."

You extend your arm, offering it. "C'mon, I'll lead the way."

“The ferris wheel is very far from the breakroom, you know. That’s why I never come here,” he says, locking arms with you.

“Yeah, I know. On the weekend I always have to run if I don’t wanna miss the last bus.”

“Will I have to keep walking all the way down the ferris wheel to see you?”

“Yes,” you laugh wholeheartedly as he groans. You start walking, your arms linked together, and your curiosity perks up. "I have a question," you hear some humming and decide to keep going. "Why have I never seen you, Donghyuck?"

"It’s because I’m not Donghyuck, I’m Sunny, silly!” you scoff and listen to his cheeky laugh.

"You are a little frustrating, you know that? I like it better when you can't speak." you huff, but keep walking towards the exit of the park. "Should I wait for you outside the bathroom to know who you are?"

"Don't be a creep,” he teases, and you slap his arm covered by the costume.

"I just think it’s unfair how you know who I am and I only know your name because Mina loves gossiping around,” you pout and feel a pet in your head.

"You really have no idea who I am?” he scoffs, sounding disappointed and you get confused. “Yeah, didn’t think you would remember me.”

“What are you talking about?” you frown and he just shrugs it off. “Am I supposed to know you?”

“I don’t know, are you?”

“Stop it!” you say, slightly frustrated.

“Okay, okay," you hear him chuckling. "I think our schedules are just incompatible.”

“I think you are just ugly and are embarrassed,” you tease and you hear him gasp.

“Holy shit, you’re mean,” he pretends to be offended as you laugh. “But, wait, have you been thinking about me and what I look like?”

You can’t see his face, but the smugness you hear in his voice is enough to annoy you (and make you blush, because… yes, you have.)

“If you don’t stop with the nonsense I’ll leave you to walk alone in the dark,” you warn him, passing by the merry-go-round, reaching the middle of the park.

“I think you are the one who doesn’t want to be alone, honey,” he teases you again, and you motion to unlink your arms but he immediately apologizes. “No, no, sorry, sorry. I’ll shut up.”

You keep walking in a comfortable silence until you decide to speak again “Do you think we’re getting fired?”

“Why do you think that?”

“It’s just…” you sigh and Donghyuck starts to slow down your pace. “I mean, we know this business is not flourishing, but I can’t lie, I thought summer break would help. Now with Taeyong shutting down part of the park, summer break is almost over, I don’t know…”

“I think you shouldn’t worry too much about that,” he says sincerely and you scoff.

“Yeah, sure,” you keep silent for a little while, but Donghyuck feels you still have some things to get off your chest. “If I get fired before getting an internship I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ve already disappointed my parents so many times, and I’m so frustrated with myself. I.. Should I even keep trying to become a journalist? I think I should just ask Renjun to set me up with some rich dude. I don’t think he would, though, He was the one that found me this job when his parents are filthy rich and know basically every businessman in the city.”

“Renjun’s parents are not that rich, they just know a lot of people,” he adds, making you sigh again.

“I wish I knew a lot of people. Actually, I wish I knew the right people. I wouldn’t be here struggling to find an internship if I did.”

“Well, I think you shouldn’t worry too much about this.”

“Yeah, easier said than done. I have been trying to get an internship for, what, six months? I must be really bad because I didn’t even get a single interview.”

“I think you shouldn’t worry too much because what is supposed to happen, will happen.” He turns his head to you and tilts it to the right. “Maybe, you won’t find the perfect job you’re looking for right now, but there will be some other opportunities that might help you achieve your goal. Have you ever watched Monsters University?”

“Oh, you are not about to give me advice based on a Pixar movie,” you chuckle and Donghyuck gets defensive.

“Well, if you haven’t seen it yet, you should, because you’re being very Mike Wazowski right now,” you laugh at his comparison, promising him you would see the movie as soon as you got home.

Even after the heartfelt conversation, you haven’t met Donghyuck as himself yet. You don’t know if your schedules really didn’t align or if he was actively avoiding you after you just spilled your worries out of nowhere. You don’t think it was a reasonable option considering he would still go out of his way to greet you at the ferris wheel, even if it meant cutting his break 5 minutes because it took him longer to get to the breakroom.

But you can’t help but feel weird when you hear Yeri and Mina casually talking about Donghyuck's opinion on the drama they are watching together. How did they even get that close? I mean, there was still the theory that he was Yeri’s boyfriend so you guess that made sense, but why wouldn’t he talk to you about the drama too? You could start watching it. Even Chenle seemed to socialize more with Donghyuck outside work than you, as he constantly mentions how they meet up sometime to go to a cybercafe to play games. Why are you the only one that has short interactions with him dressed up as the fucking creepy bear? Plus, there is the constant feeling of familiarity when you’re around him, but you can’t remember from where you might know each other. It was all driving you really, really mad.

“Why are you frowning?” Doyoung asks as you’re sitting down in Taeyong's office, waiting for him.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Your face looks like a raisin.”

“Don’t call me raisin!” You raise your voice, getting angrier by the minute. “Do you know Donghyuck?”

Doyoung seems startled by your sudden change of subject. “Of course I do, he works here.”

“Have you met him outside work? Like, in normal clothes, not in a bear costume.”

“Obviously, he’s Jeno’s childhood friend,” he says matter-of-factly. Jeno? You know that name… “Why are you being so-”

“Wait, Jeno? Lee Jeno? As in Huang Renjun’s friend?”

“I don’t know any Huang Renjun, but, yeah, Lee Jeno, he’s like a brother-”

“HOLY SHIT,” you gasp and cover your mouth. “Shit, what the fuck, this is not real.”

“I know you’re off the clock, but it’s sorta rude to curse like that.”

“Doyoung, I know Donghyuck,” you ignore him, standing up and holding his arms with pleading eyes. “I know who Donghyuck is.

“Considering you have been working together for a month or so, that’s… great?” He says cautiously.

“Tell Taeyong I’ll talk to him tomorrow, I have to make a phone call,” You say, grabbing your backpack and bolting out of the room.

As soon as Doyoung mentioned Jeno, everything clicked together.

You remembered the night at the party, when you met that cute guy and you just decided to kiss all night long, chat about the most random things while you get drunk on the expensive Japanese beer he said he bought, but you find out later that it was Jeno’s. You remember talking about your favorite seasons and him telling you you might be meant to be because you love summer and his gaming nickname meant fullsun. You should have recognized him as soon as you heard him tease you for the first time. Damn, he even mentioned Renjun’s parents as if he knew them personally and you didn’t bat an eye. How could you be so stupid?

The first problem is not recognizing him. The second problem is how are you going to face him after taking so long to recognize him. Now you understand why he probably didn’t want you to see him without the costume, imagine how embarrassing it will be for you.

Donghyuck never works two days in a row, so hopefully he won’t be here today, right? Wait, was he here yesterday? You don’t remember. If you don’t remember, he probably wasn’t, so, does that mean you will have to see him today? But maybe it’s just your bad memory. You needed advice about this situation, what would you do from now? You are sprinting to the breakroom, ready to put your things away and call your roommate.

When you get there, you immediately couch down to put your things on the locker, not bothering to look if the 606 locker is available. It hasn’t been ever since Donghyuck started here anyways. As you are having trouble shoving the backpack inside the small locker, you see someone standing behind you, silently opening one of the lockers too.

“Your phone’s on the floor.”

He points out to the bright screen of your phone that has fallen from your hands and is sitting right beside you. You take a glance at the lock screen, seeing Doyoung’s threatening message, and scoff.

[doyoung manager (dangerous)]: If you canceled this meeting to gossip with the other kids, I’ll make Taeyong put you in trash duty for a whole month.

“Honestly, I’m here having a crisis and Doyoung thinks I’m gossiping,” you grumble while still trying to shove the backpack inside “What’s wrong with this locker tod-”

“Do you need help?”

You feel like someone has knocked the air out of your lungs when you see Donghyuck crouched down beside you, wearing a cheeky smile. You fall on your butt and he immediately holds your arms to help you stand back to your original position.

“Do you need help?” he repeats, his head motioning to the lockers and you simply nod. “It can be tricky to fit the whole bag inside these lockers.”

You just nod again, and stand up, letting him put it inside the tiny metal box and close it. “Password?” you look at him confused. “Are you not locking it?”

“No, we never lock it,” you shake your head and gasp. You move a little to the side to see the 606 locker taken, and look back at him angrily. “So it was you this whole time. You stole my locker!”

“I didn’t steal anything, it was there and I took it.”

“It was my perfect little locker, perfect height., perfect size,” you mourn half-jokingly.

“Why don’t you take the other ones?”

He stands up, meeting you face to face and you have to admit that it is a whole new thing to see him in good lighting without his bear costume. He is hotter than you remembered. His hair is also longer and wavy, different from when you first met. Damn you and your thing for boys with long hair.

“They're all taken and I can’t reach the one above yours,” you shrug, avoiding his eyes. “I didn’t know you had work today, Haechan.” You use the nickname he told you back at the party and that makes him smile.

“Oh, so now you remember me?” The smugness of his voice makes you shy and he notices it by the way you smile and starts to move away from him.

“Yeah, about that, I should apologize,” you say, sitting down in one of the chairs. “I should have connected the dots as soon as you told me about Renjun’s parents.”

“Oh,” the smug expression on his face dies as he lets out what seemed to be a disappointed sigh.

“What?” you ask with wide eyes. “Am I being stupid again?”

“Oh, no,” he chuckles humorlessly as he leans on the lockers and puts his hands inside the pockets of the leather jacket. Be damned the leather jackets, you think. “I thought you were going to apologize for not calling.”

“What?” you let out an airy laugh.

“That night at the party, you said you would call me.”

“I don’t have your number though, how would I call you?” You remember the kissing, and his hands, and his hoarse voice whispering sweet nothings in your ears, but you definitely don’t remember having his number.

Donghyuck takes his hand out of his pocket and stretches it out in front of you, asking for your phone. You give it to him, open it on the keypad, and he gives a few taps before handing it back to you. He didn’t even need to finish typing the whole thing because it was there, on the top of the screen: “Lee Donghyuck” written in bold, with his number right beside it.

You start to think you don’t remember as much from that night as you thought you did. You grunt and he just chuckles.

“At least now I know I wasn’t rejected, you just forgot” he jokes and sits in front of you, who was hiding your face in your hands. “I just don’t know if that’s better or not.”

“I don’t know what happened, I wasn’t that drunk to forget your name and your number.”

“You forgot my name too?” he says half-offended, now understanding why you didn’t recognize him before. “Damn, were you that cock drunk?”

“Now, don’t cross a line, Lee Donghyuck,” you immediately sit up straight, sending him a glare. “We didn’t go that far.”

“Sorry, bad joke,” He lowers his head, avoiding your eyes, “We could’ve.”

“We could have what?”

“If you had called,” he says, leaning his body on the table as he doesn't break eye contact. “We could’ve gone as far as you wanted.”

“WHAT’S UP!” Chenle says loudly as he opens the door abruptly. “What are you guys talking about?”

You use that as your cue to compose yourself from Donghyuck’s very suggestive words, and point at your own ears, giving Chenle a sign that he needs to lower the volume of his earpods.

“Oh, sorry, was I screaming?” he puts his stuff in his locker and sits between you and Donghyuck, painfully unaware of the tension in the air. “What were you guys- Oh, Y/N, you finally met him!”

Donghyuck snaps his head in Chenle’s direction and you start praying he will not say anything that could embarrass you. “You were so jealous that you were the only one that hadn't met him properly yet.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you say distressed, stressing your distaste for his choice of words. “It was just weird how-”

“Oh, you so were,” both boys giggled and you rolled your eyes, standing up hastily, making the chair screech. “Please, you got all pouty the day I mentioned we play together.”

“Honey, if you wanted my attention you could’ve just asked.” Donghyuck is clearly having the time of his life with Chenle’s information.

You groan as you leave the breakroom and they keep teasing you. You definitely need better friends.

"Who would have thought that all you had to do to start dating was confessing, right?” Chenle says sarcastically while all of you are hanging out in the breakroom.

“Wait, so you weren’t dating before?” Taeyong asks the couple sitting in front of him.

“No, they were just very much in love and just as oblivious,” you say, munching on the chocolate chip cookie Taeyong baked for the staff today.

"Well, it’s not like that, I was already planning on confessing…" Jisung scratches the back of his head and Chenle scoffs.

"Yeah, since freshman year… of HIGH SCHOOL," and you see Mina blushing when Jisung giggles and kisses her cheek, giving her a silent confirmation that Chenle's statement was nothing but the truth.

"Oh my god, she still blushes at everything he does!" Yeri exclaims and Chenle gags, muttering 'disgusting'.

Apparently, the past weekend has been full of surprises. Taeyong had a “pressing family matter” to attend to, so he decided to close the park and give everybody the Saturday and Sunday off. Probably not the smartest move for a failing business but who are you to complain?

With two days off on the weekend, everybody had their own thing: Yeri went to the beach with her boyfriend (Mina is still Team Johnny, but Jisung and I think he is too tall compared to the silhouette photos Yeri showed us). Chenle went to a basketball game and adopted a dog, out of nowhere. He only shut up about the game to show us Daegal’s pictures which we very much appreciated. Jisung had invited Mina on a picnic date, but she accidentally heard him practicing his confession, which led them to, finally, become boyfriend and girlfriend.

You, well, you had a date with Donghyuck. It was a friendly date, he just asked you out to get some coffee. And have lunch. And you eventually ended up going with him to his friend’s photography exhibition. In your defense, he was very pleasant to be around and it’s always good to be in contact with the arts.

You woke up that Saturday ready to do something fun, but your roommate and her boyfriend already had plans, just like everybody else from work. At first you decided to stay at home and just enjoy your day alone, but then you remembered how long it had been the last time you had a free weekend. Like, the whole weekend. After the whole ordeal with Donghyuck, you became good friends so you thought it wouldn’t hurt if you messaged him to see if he wanted to do something, right? As friends, of course!.

[you - 10:30 a.m]: hey how’s your day off?

[donghyuckie - 10:30 a.m]: damn honey

[donghyuckie - 10:30 a.m]: not even a whole day

[donghyuckie - 10:30 a.m]: miss me already?

[you - 10:30 a.m]: oh fuck off

[you - 10:31 a.m]: i just wanted to know if you had plans

[you - 10:31 a.m]: because i don’t and i’m bored

[donghyuckie - 10:32 a.m]: i can be free

[donghyuckie - 10:32 a.m]: why?

[you - 10:33 a.m]: wanna get some coffee?

[you - 10:33 a.m]: u pay

[donghyuckie - 10:35 a.m]: 🙄

[donghyuckie - 10:35 a.m]: meet me at 7dream in 10 min

[you - 10:35 a.m]: i need 30 to get ready tho

[donghyuckie - 10:35 a.m]: be there in 10 or you pay

You did your best to look as presentable as possible in record time, only for Donghyuck to arrive at the café twenty minutes later, saying he didn’t think you would take him seriously and would just take your time getting ready. He did apologize for being late and after eating breakfast, he waited as you went back home to look more presentable during lunch.

You see, spending time with Donghyuck was very confusing for you because he always made flirty comments and dirt jokes around you, but never really tried to initiate anything. He was pretty hard to read, in your personal opinion, but it was so fun to have him around and he was always so thoughtful and nice, that you never let useless thoughts fill your mind. And what if you made out once in a party months ago? You didn’t remember his name, you never called and you only met again by chance. You could totally be friends, all the “tension” that you once had, if you ever had it, was water under the bridge!

At least that’s what you thought.

"Are you gaslighting me into thinking I don't like you?" Donghyuck asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I am simply stating the fact that you are most likely only having fun flirting with me," you explained, sipping your drink. "It's like a sport to some people."

It was late, really late. The workers at the diner were probably cursing both of you for getting there as it was about to close, so you just decided to keep drinking your milkshake so you both could leave as fast as possible.

"Well, not to me," he scoffed, leaning back on the couch feeling frustrated at your words.

“Earth to Y/N,” Mina shakes her hand in front of your face, taking you out of your thoughts.

“OH, sorry, what’s up?”

“What did you do on the weekend?” Yeri asks, and you suddenly feel shy when everybody’s attention is on you. “Wait, are you blushing?”

“No way!” Jisung exclaims and you start to feel your face hotter by the second.

“And just know she was so distracted…” Mina smirks and your eyes widen, shaking your head.

“Y/N’S GOT A BOYFRIEND, Y/N’S GOT A BOYFRIEND,” Chenle sing-songs like a nine year-old and the other ones join him.

“It’s not-” you try to speak but they just sing louder, making you sigh in frustration.

“Stop, children,” Taeyong calls their attention and you sigh in relief, thinking he is going to scold them. Your peace doesn’t last long, though. “We don’t know if it’s a boyfriend or a girlfriend!”

They all look at each other before Chenle starts singing again:

“Y/N WENT ON A DATE, Y/N WENT ON A DATE.”

“You are all absolutely insufferable,” you say, standing up and pretending you don’t hear how they keep teasing you about your “date”.

Donghyuck opens the break room door right when you are ready to leave. You stop yourself before your bodies collide and he simply smiles. “What’s going on?”

“Noth-”

“Y/N WENT ON A DATE, Y/N WHEN ON A DATE.” Chenle chants again and you turn your body to face him from across the room.

“Shut up, Chenle! Nobody said it’s true.” You don’t have time to lay a guilt trip on Chenle because Donghyuck beats you to it, giving the crowd exactly what they wanted.

“It’s true, though, you went on a date with me,” Donghyuck says seriously and everybody gasps. He walks towards the lockers and smiles when he sees that you took locker 606 before him today. “We spent the whole Saturday together.”

You see Jisung flabbergasted as he lets out “Oh my god, you’re dating Yeri’s boyfriend?”

“Shut up, Jisung,” Mina elbows him at the same time that Yeri, Taeyong and Donghyuck scream a “What???”

“It was a friendly date, I’M NOT DATING ANYBODY!” You scream the last part, storming off the break room and pretending you don’t hear Donghyuck quietly say ‘yet”.

“So you’re telling me you have a boyfriend and his name is Mark?” Mina confirms the information, still not sounding quite sure of it yet.

“Don’t mind her, she was team Johnny.” Chenle tells Yeri, making her look more confused.

“Team who?” Taeyong just stands there, trying to understand the whole situation. “I have so many questions…”

“And you,” Jisung says, turning to Donghyuck. “Met Y/N months ago at Yeri's boyfriend party, fell in love, but she forgot about you, so you had to get this job as Sunny, the bear to make her fall for you again and remember you?” He finishes, leaving Donghyuck absolutely stunned at the boy’s lack of ability to hold a single information in his brain.

“This is not what I said at all, you literally made up 90% of this story.”

After you stormed out, you went outside some of the opening tasks for today and you were hoping someone would come to help you out soon, but twenty minutes later, only Doyoung appeared, asking where the others were. After not having any answer from you, he calls Taeyong who just says ‘wait 10 more minutes and we’ll have so much to talk about’. He decides to go to the breakroom and see for himself what on earth is going on in the park today, only to find the boss, one of the managers and all the other workers sitting around the table, gossiping.

“She does seem a little silly, I have to admit,” Yuta says nonchalantly.

“She’s worse than Mina and Jisung together, honestly,” Chenle shakes his head, “Dumb as a door.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Doyoung says in a serious tone, startling everybody.

“I told you to wait 10 minutes, Hyuck is about to finish his story,” Taeyong shakes his head, shooing Doyoung away. “Someone needs to be in charge. Go, go, I’ll tell you later.”

“YOU are the one in charge.” Doyoung scoffs, but goes anyway, someone should be helping you.

Donghyuck retells the whole story of how you met and how disappointed he was when you didn’t call. He told everyone about how he got this job because his friend’s girlfriend, who is Yeri, knew he needed a part-time job. He got to the Funfair having no idea what he was going to do, much less knowing that you worked here too. He told them how happy he got the first time he saw you helping Mina at the food stalls, and how he recognized you by your voice, because he couldn’t really see much when he was wearing the costume.

He told them all about how he tried getting your attention as Sunny when you didn’t seem to recognize him, but it backfired because you couldn’t remember him and he was starting to get sad. He told them that he actively avoided you when he wasn’t wearing his costume to avoid the embarrassment of you not knowing who he was. Then, he said how you accidentally found out who he was, how he got closer to you each day and how it all backfired when he confessed last Saturday and you rejected him.

"Are you gaslighting me into thinking I don't like you?" Donghyuck asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I am simply stating the fact that you are most likely only having fun flirting with me," you explained, sipping your drink. "It's like a sport to some people."

"Well, not to me," he scoffed, leaning back on the couch feeling frustrated at your words.

"Either way, it's probably not real feelings. At least not towards me." you said, not looking in his eyes.

"You are unbelievably stubborn, blind and borderline rude," he spitted out, feeling the anger building up. How dare you have a say on what he feels about you?

"See? Why would you like someone with a nasty personality like that?" your arms moved around excitingly, as if you were proving your point. "You like the chase, not me!"

And then, Donghyuck confessed how he was ready to look you in the eyes and fight back, but the words died on his throat when he saw the huge smile on your face. He paid attention to the way your palms were open in front of you, arms stretched towards him, the way that wrinkles were all around your eyes from how much you were smiling and how excited you looked. He admitted that it dawned upon him that he likes you to the extent that he could let you keep thinking, for a moment, that he's not absolutely in falling for you if it meant that you would keep smiling like that.

Donghyuck understands that he can't always win. So, he gave you that one, letting you think you were right. He let you go back to your milkshake and your pancakes tasting of syrup and the satisfaction of being on the winning end of an argument.

He let you win that battle so he could win the war. Eventually.

“How will you win her over, then?” Mina looks at him curiously.

“I don’t have a plan,” Donghyuck sees the disapproving look on their faces and quickly adds. “Yet.” They all look at him suspiciously, and he can see Taeyong’s amused face. “Can’t you guys help me? You’re all her friends.”

"Oh, no," Chenle clicks his tongue while excessively shaking his index finger "No, no."

"We're here to judge not to meddle," Jisung says and all of them start moving around, getting ready to go to work.

"Yeah, take Jisung and Mina as an example, they got together by themselves. We never helped, only judged.” Yeri complements, making Jisung agree with a sad ‘yeah’.

"That's so messed up," Donghyuck shakes his head in disbelief. "You are all insane."

"Well, I can call her a coward if it helps you," Chenle. "It's what I did to Mina all these years."

"That's mean, Chenle,” Taeyong says disapprovingly.

"Frankly, it worked eventually," Mina replies as she stands up from the seat and stretches.

She kisses Jisung cheek and heads out, and, slowly, everybody goes to their normal, uneventful job at Sunny’s Funfair Park and Recreation.

After the eventful Saturday when Donghyuck confessed, you never touched the “feelings” subject anymore. He is still Lee Donghyuck, your friend and coworker whom, sometimes, you go out with. Nothing more, nothing less. And on days like today, when it has been raining non stop since 10 a.m, it was amazing having an energetic friend like him.

You don’t know how he did it, really. The rain caught you all by surprise, so Donghyuck, who works outside, had to stay in the breakroom until the rain stopped, and that only happened around 9 p.m. There were no customers at all, the park was empty and even though you were supposed to stay open until midnight today, Taeyong decided to let you all go home early.

Chenle was complaining how the last hangout had been the one at Jisung’s house before Mina and him were even dating, and just like that, all of you end up in Donghyuck’s apartment drinking hot chocolate and playing card games.

It’s time for all of you to show your cards and you hear Chenle groan as Donghyuck smirks and gets all the tokens from the table.

“It’s rigged, he got a full house twice and then royal flush right after,” Chenle scoffs and Donghyuck just laughs.

“Damn, he really won three times in a row?” Mina says and you and Jisung just exchange confused looks, having no idea what had happened.

“Poker is a very confusing game,” you think out loud and Donghyuck smiles sweetly at you.

“Lucky at cards, unlucky in love,” he mumbles, shuffling the cards. “Do you wanna play again or will you keep crying?”

You look at the empty popcorn bowls and mugs beside you and look at Jisung who is just as confused as you. Tired of playing a game you can barely understand, you just shake your head. “You can keep playing, I’ll wash the dishes.”

Before you can even get all of the mugs around you, Donghyuck is standing up, holding the popcorn bowls and a few mugs. You don’t have time to tell him to keep playing because he just goes straight to the kitchen, making you follow him. When you get there, he already has the gloves and the sponge on his hand.

“I thought I said I’d do it,” you angrily put your hands on your hips, scolding him with your eyes.

“I’m sorry it’s against the house rules to have a beautiful lady washing the dishes,” he bumps his hips with yours, making you scoff as you try to hide your smile.

“Where’s Jeno, by the way?” you say, leaning your back on the kitchen sink, right next to him. “You invited us over before telling him, didn’t you?”

“Nah, it’s cool.” He shrugs. “He told me he wasn't going to spend the night here today anyways.”

“Girlfriend?” You raise an eyebrow, leaning a little to his side, almost brushing your shoulders together.

“Why are you so curious? Do I have to compete with Jeno?” He asks playfully and you just push his shoulder.

“I was just asking.” You mumble, moving back to your original position. “By the way, Doyoung told me the other day that Jeno is like his brother? And Yeri gave you this job? Your relationships are so confusing.”

He laughs looking at you fondly. “What do you wanna know? Ask away.”

“Hm, how do you know Doyoung? And Yeri? And Jeno?”

“Do you want to know my family tree too?” He jokes and you show him your tongue. “Jeno, Mark and I are childhood friends, Doyoung hyung’s family is really close to Jeno’s, so we all just know each other from birthday parties and stuff. We are not that close though.”

“Oh.” You mumble nodding. “Yeri told us she got you the job though?”

“Yeah, she's been dating Mark for like a year?” He says, shrugging. “Either way, that was a coincidence, I didn’t know she knew Doyoung hyung. Actually, I thought he was working at his father’s law firm? I don’t know what happened, his family is weird.”

“Damn, I was here waiting for the tea and you don’t know anything!” You huff, faking annoyance. “You’re really bad at gossiping.” You notice he is starting to rinse the dishes in the sink, so you grab the towel that’s on the counter.

“And you’re really bad at poker.” He fights back, giving you some mugs to dry and put away. “Why did you say you liked playing cards if you’re bad at it?”

“It’s because I don’t know how to play poker,” you answer, lining up the dry mugs on the counter. “I like to play rummy, not poker.”

“You should have said so.” He gently places the two big popcorn bowls and closes the faucet. “We could have played that instead.”

“It’s okay, I just wanted to hang out with you.” You confess, hoping he understands you weren’t using the plural form of the pronoun. “I didn’t know you were that good at poker, though, I thought you only played League of Legends or whatever.”

“I’m not good, it was rigged,” He leans to whisper in your ears and you feel your pulse hammering on your neck. He chuckles at your startled expression, thinking you’re reacting to his confession, not to his proximity. “I’m joking, don’t be that shocked. Jeno and I just play a lot.”

“What about your other friend?” you ask, not really minding his proximity.

“Mark?” He scoffs when you nod. “He can’t bluff to save his life.”

“You smell nice,” you blurt out and his eyes go wide at your sudden confession. “I- I meant your house.” You use this moment as an opportunity to slide away from him. “Your house smells nice, do you use scented candles?” He chuckles, ready to tease you, but lets it slide.

In the living room, Jisung is sleeping like a rock on Mina’s lap, who is starting to doze off as well. Chenle pokes his friends' arms, saying he has to go because his mom is already worried about his whereabouts. Slowly, they all start to collect their belongings and when you and Donghyuck are back from the kitchen, they are all ready to go. The two of you are taken aback as they bid their goodbyes and thank Donghyuck for being the host for the night.

You decide to stay a little longer to help the owner of the apartment to put everything back in place, when he suddenly asks you to stay the night.

“It’s late, I’ll worry if you go back now,” he pouts. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, I’m serious.”

“I go home late everyday, it’s fine.”

“You have 2 choices,” he raises his index and middle finger in front of you. “Either I take you home or you stay the night.”

“Why didn’t you suggest taking the others home too?” you cross your arms in front of him, clearly challenging Donghyuck. Oh, he is so ready for another battle, but this time he won’t bend.

“Because Jeno has the car.”

“Then how are you taking me home?” you tilt your head playfully.

“I’ll get an uber,” he shrugs, making you laugh.

“I was already gonna do that, silly,” you fish your phone out of your pocket to open the app, but Donghycuk steals the phone from your hands. “Donghyuck!”

“I’ll get an uber,” he says, locking your phone and putting it in the front pocket of his sweatpants. “And go with you to drop you off.”

You laugh, clearly amused at his absurd suggestion. “There is no way I’ll let you do that.”

“There is no way I’ll let you get inside a stranger's cars by yourself at 1 a.m.” The firm tone of his voice was enough to let you know he was not dropping this argument like he did last time.

“And how will you get back to your apartment?”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s none of your-” you get too close to him and he feels the words dying in his throat at the thought of you hugging him. Donghyuck quickly reacts, though, when he feels you putting your hands inside the left pocket of his sweatpants, making him hold your arms to keep you in place. “HEY. Bad girl.”

“Don’t say that, I’m not a dog.” You grunt, trying to break free from his hold. “Give me my phone, back Hyuck.”

Your whines don’t affect him too much, as he keeps his strong hold on you. You start to take a few steps around the living room, shaking your arms as you try to make him let go. Picturing this scene in your head, you start laughing at how ridiculous the whole thing must look.

“Good girls don’t fight with daddy!” He forces a mocking sexy voice, making you laugh even harder. “Damn, I love you laugh.”

You are still giggling when you turn to look at his face. Donghyuck is already staring at you with utmost adoration and slightly curved lips. Your heart skips a few beats when your eyes lock and he bites his lips to hold his ever growing smile.

“I really love the sound of your laugh.”

His face is closer to yours than you remember, and it’s when he loosens the hold on your arms, only to slide his hands to hold yours, that you realize you have been holding your breath.

“If you don’t want me to go with you, then, stay.” He whispers, using your interlocked hands to pull you closer to him. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“You suggested riding the uber with me,” you smile shyly, slightly moving your head to the side, giving him the space he wanted to pull you closer and nuzzle up against your neck. “Aren’t you being overprotective?”

“Is it a crime, now?” you get goosebumps when you feel him mumbling against your neck.

“It’s toxic,” you joke, taking your hands out of his grasp and raising your arms to place them around his neck. “You smell really good,” you whisper again and feel him taking a deep breath, before wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Stay, please.”

Donghyuck may have not convinced you the first time he confessed because he had been too straightforward, too casual about it. He should have known better than that. Casual flirting and occasional dates weren’t enough to win you over. That’s why he lost the first battle. But when he wakes up in the middle of the night to turn his AC on because even though you’re both sweating, you don’t let him get out of your arms, he knows he’s one step closer to winning the war.

The first thing you do when you open your eyes the following morning is wonder what time it is. You palm the side of the bed to look for your phone, only to feel a human arm. You open your eyes, recognizing Donghyuck’s room. He has one of his arms under your neck, the other one is lazily around your waist and his head nuzzled against your nape. You smile, dreading the moment he wakes up and starts teasing you for staying the night and sleeping on his bed holding him.

You consider calling out today, because you are almost sure that by the time you get there, everybody will be aware that you and Donghyuck cuddled all night long.

Carefully, you get out of bed and go straight to the kitchen to get a cup of water. You shouldn’t feel as comfortable at somebody else’s house as you are right now. When you were about to head back to Donghyuck’s room, Jeno entered the kitchen, with damp hair and wearing only gym shorts. The boy stops on his tracks and you two stare at each other, frozen.

“Hello?” The boy greets you with a frown and closed fists, and you give him an apologetic smile.

“Hey. Hi. Good morning.” You answer avoiding eye contact, completely mortified of the encounter. “I-I just- Hyuck told me-”

“Oh, you're with Hyuck?” he acknowledges, smiling at you. “I thought somebody had broken in.”

“Yeah, sorry. I thought he had let you know I was staying the night.” You apologize again, and suddenly feel self-aware of your outfit consisting of Donghyuck clothes. “I’ll go back-”

You hear a door opening and steps heading towards the kitchen, and, suddenly, Donghyuck appears. Swollen face, bed hair and shirtless… you feel like melting right there.

“It’s not even 11 yet, why did you-” He looks at Jeno with his squint eyes and then back at you, only to gasp and slap his friend’s chest. “JENO? BE DECENT, GO PUT ON A SHIRT.”

“OUCH, THAT HURTS, ASSHAT!” The boy soothes the place where he was slapped, looking angrily at his friend. “You’re shirtless too!”

“I JUST WOKE UP!” He slaps his friend again, now getting in front of him to block your view. “HONEY, DON’T LOOK!”

“AND I WAS JOGGING?” Jenos slaps Donghyuck Back and you just laugh at how childish they look. “Oh, wait, honey?” He moves to the side to look at you again, but Donghyuck stays in his way. “Dude?”

“Stop moving around, she doesn’t need to see how ripped you are.” Donghyuck bites back and you chuckle.

Jeno shoves Donghyuck to the side and waves at you. “Sorry, he’s very impolite and didn’t think about introducing us. I’m Jeno.”

“SHIRT, JENO. SHIRT.” Donghyuck shouts, as he pushes his friend towards the hallway.

You stay there in the kitchen, holding your laugh, because of course you couldn’t have a nice and calm morning with Lee Donghyuck.

“Hey. Hi. How are you?” Donghyuck comes back a few seconds later, panting. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah.” You nod, biting your lips to hold your laugh while Donghyuck just walks towards you very, very flustered. “Why are you shirtless? I clearly remember you going to sleep fully clothed.”

“Well, if only someone wasn’t holding me so damn tight the whole night…” He grabs you by the waist, making you yelp in surprise. “When did you wake up?”

“Not long ago.” You answer as he nuzzles your neck and hums.

“What about Jeno?” He asks again, pressing you closer to him, making you involuntarily put your hands on his shoulder to keep your balance. “Did you stare at his ripped abs and toned arms for a long time or did he just get here?”

“You’re so annoying.” You cackle at his question, which only makes him hug you tighter. “Why? Are you jealous?” He tightens his hold on you even more, making you let out chuckles and whines “OUCH, you’re hurting me.”

“I’m holding you.” He answers, walking with you further down the kitchen. “I know the competition is strong, but, come on, I’m hot too, right?” He creates some space between you, just enough to look at you, pouting.

“Donghyuck,” you start and he hums, telling you to keep going. “Do you think you could set me up with Jeno?” You say mischievously, making him squint his eyes angrily at you.

He pokes his cheek with his tongue and rolls his eyes at you. Before you can see it coming, he presses you against the kitchen counter and starts tickling your sides, making you squirm and beg him to stop, but having fun nonetheless.

You can’t say you didn’t see it coming. After that night in Donghyuck’s house, it was getting harder and harder to ignore the butterflies in your stomach each time he did something for you.

You really try to restrain yourself as much as possible, but there is so much a human being can resist when Lee Donghyuck comes out of nowhere and slides his hands from your nape down to your lower back and kisses your cheeks right after. Or when you’re sitting next to each other in the break room and he plays with your fingers under the table. Or when you’re eating out and he makes sure to keep your hair out of the way for you. Or when he takes Jeno’s car and picks you up late at night from your shifts, even when it’s his day off. Or when-

“Hey, pay attention,” Mina nudges you as Taeyong enters the room, followed by Doyoung, Yuta and a panting Donghyuck, who’s late.

“Sorry, I’m late, I had-”

“Just sit down, Hyuck.” You have never heard such a serious grave tone coming out of Taeyong's mouth before. “Please.”

You all look at each other worried about what is about to happen. When the words leave Taeyong’s mouth, you shouldn’t be as surprised as you all are, though. It’s still shocking, though. From the moment you started, you knew this job wouldn’t last.

“You’re closing forever?” Jisung asks cautiously, making Yuta look at him fondly.

“Yeah, buddy. My parents decided to sell it.” Taeyong smiles apologetically at the three best friends. Chenle is frozen, staring at the managers with his mouth agape. “I know how Sunny’s Funfair is special for the three of you, I’m sorry, Lele, Ji, and Min. I wish I had something else to say, but I can only apologize for this news.”

“Don’t make a speech or else Jisung’s gonna cry.” Chenle tries to joke to lighten up the mood, but his friend only reacts by giving him a light tap on the shoulder.

“In the meantime, we will keep working.” Doyoung moves around the break room and hands us a sheet of paper. “Opening tasks, everybody! Let’s do our best during the time that’s left.”

You take a glance at Donghyuck who looks at you worriedly. You offer him a sad smile and shrug, which he mimics, making you smile wider.

“Hey, you two, did you hear Doyoung?” Yuta points at you and Donghyuck. “Stop flirting, go back to work!”

The gloomy vibes don’t go away for at least four days, when Taeyong appears with a cake and a box full of old pictures. The park was closed, but he asked us to stay, telling us it would be worth it and promising to give us a ride home.

We are all seated around the table, eating cake, with taeyong in the middle seat showing us old pictures of the park. There were pictures of families, of former employees, and even of Taeyong and his family. You could see from the first day at the job how much he liked being Sunny’s Funfair Parks and Recreation. It was more than an old park that he had to manage because it’s what his parents told him to do. He actually believed that this small, beaten up amusement park could serve as a way of bringing happiness to the community and help families build cheerful memories together. But there is only so much one can do. You could see that this moment of bringing together the staff and encouraging us to share our best memories of the park is a way of giving Taeyong some comfort.

You sigh, looking sadly at your boss as he rummages through the box of pictures and feel Donghyuck’s arm resting on your shoulder, slightly bringing you closer to his side.

“A penny for your thoughts?” He whispers in your ear and you just turn your head to look at him. Oh, you owed Sunny’s Funfair so much.

“Just thinking.” You lower your head to look at the piece of cake in front of you. “Taeyong did a great job.”

“Hey, you two lovebirds, stop flirting,” Taeyong says, quickly standing up.

“When did I become the butt end of your teasing and not Jisung and Mina?” You ask no one in particular, but Chenle replies.

“Ever since you and Donghyuck started dating.”

“We are not-”

“I have THE ultimate picture here in my hands.” Taeyong interrupts you, as he holds one picture close to his chest, with the back facing us. There is something written behind it and you squint to try to read it, but he is too far from you. “This one here is our most prized possession as a team. We have to cherish this picture.”

“Show us this damn picture.” Chenle’s impatient demeanor falters when Taeyong turns the picture and we see three little children holding hands at the entrance of the park. “What the-”

“How did you get that picture?” Mina tries to take it from Taeyong, but fails.

“Is that us?” Jisung asks dumbfounded.

“There’s a note too.” Taeyong flips the picture and reads the note. “ ‘Today is the day where our Chenle is celebrating his sixth birthday. Thank you so much for the fun memories, Sunny!’ and it’s signed by Mrs. Zhong.”

After their initial shock, you start analyzing the picture, looking at the details: the birthday hat on Chenle’s chubby face, Jisung’s missing teeth and Mina’s ice lolly that was melting in her hands as they were taking the pictures. Then, you see dozens of other pictures, all sent by Chenle’s mom with a note, thanking the staff for the happy memories they created with the children. Taeyong says that his mom was one of the people who used to send messages and pictures to the administration, back when the park was a little more lively.

When you get home, almost ready to go to bed, you reflect on how that place has meant so much for some people, how it is full of memories and how it holds stories from the entire neighborhood. You think about how that was supposed to be only a job, and yet, it is the place that has brought amazing people to your life. You know Funfair’s closing is inevitable, but you finally understood what Taeyong was trying to do that night: closure. He doesn’t want to shut it down and just let everyone move on with their lives as if it didn’t matter, because, for many people, like Chenle, Jisung and Mina, it mattered.

Sunny’s Funfair Parks and Recreation holds stories and you might not be able to save it, but you are ready to tell them.

“Shouldn’t you be looking for another job?” Donghyuck asks as he enters the parking lot. “I mean, I think it’s a nice idea, I really do. But…”

“I am looking, I just haven’t found anything yet.” You say, taking the parking ticket from his fingers and putting it inside your bag.

“I know you’re lying because you've been saying this for three weeks.” He parks the car and turns off the engine, but doesn’t open the doors. “Have you at least applied to anything?”

“Look,” you sigh and hold his face in your hands. “You don’t need to worry about me, I’ll figure it out.”

He sighs as he sees you unbuckling your belt and unlocking the door. “I hope you know you can’t be my trophy wife yet, I don’t have enough money to pay both of our bills.”

“To be your trophy wife, first and foremost, I need to be married to you.” You turn around to see him leaning on the car with the door open. “We’re not even dating yet.”

“Because you rejected me when I asked you out.” He closes the car’s door and reaches for your hand.

“Ask me again, then.” You say raising an eyebrow at him.

“Will the answer be different?

“I don’t know. Ask me out again.” you shrug and interrupt him when you see Donghyuck opening his mouth. “Properly.”

“Damn.” He sighs and you chuckle at him. “Why me? The world is female, you can ask too, you know?”

You enter the building, telling Donghyuck to wait while you talk to the receptionist. A few minutes later, a very stressed Renjun appears to talk to you. From afar, Donghyuck can see that the boy seemed frustrated at whatever you were arguing, glaring at you and sighing a lot. He knows Renjun was forced by his parents to drop out of art school and start business so he could work in his family company, so the least he needed right now was a very stubborn you adding to his stress.

At some point, he sees Renjun grabbing his phone from the inside pocket of his blazer and making a phone call. Donghyuck starts to think that it was better if you went to a more private place, but you seemed adamant about cornering Renjun in public. Not even two minutes later, he finishes the phone call and tells you something that makes you hug him and Donghyuck sees how his angry demeanor falters. You bid him goodbye and wave at Donghyuck so you can both go.

“What was that?” He asks as you hand him the parking ticket.

“I just needed one last favor from him.” You simply say, reaching for his hands.

“And that is…”

“You’ll see.”

It’s when you intertwine your fingers with Donghyuck and beams at him, that he knows he’s ready to confess again.

You did promise that he would see. Well, not only Donghyuck but the whole student body as well. A week after that weird interaction with Renjun, there is an article about you in the school’s official website, first page. It was also mentioned on the school’s newsletter and official social media pages. It was not only an article about you, but about Chenle, Jisung, Mina, Taeyong… All of you at the Funfair.

Donghyuck had to admit that when you told him your idea at first, he didn’t think you would go through with that. You wanted to tell the others the stories that the Funfair had seen throughout the years throughout an article and later, compile them in a book of memories, with pictures, messages, notes, stories about the place. He really didn’t think you would go through with that considering how much time and planning something like that takes, but, somehow, you did it.

It’s your last day. You spent the past month talking to people, curating pictures, writing, organizing schedules… you were tired, but it was all worth it. You wanted to let this old beaten up park tell the stories it held, even if it was gone. That’s why now, when the lights are already off and Taeyong is only waiting for you to come outside and lock the side door for one last time, you hand him a book with a small bow on top. You see, a little far from where you stand, your friends looking at each other confused, Yeri particularly impatient to go home.

“I want you to have this.” Taeyong looks at you confused. “It was a lot of work to get this done, especially because I’m not very artsy, but I think I owe you this one.”

He opens the book only to find, in a very neat handwriting, the words “Sunny’s memories” written. He looks between you and the book, slightly confused about what it is about, but when he flips the next page, he smiles. He finds a picture of him, Doyoung and Yuta taken many years ago. There were a few arrows connecting their faces to the words “boss”, “manager #1”, “manager #2”.

On the side, there was a small text about each one of them, how they ended up working there, what were their thoughts about the job and their favorite memory there. Every piece of information you gathered in these months working at the park was there, even some of the stories your boss has told you. Taeyong keeps flipping the pages, only to find more pictures of each one of you working there, your names, your thoughts, your memories, all written as if it was from Sunny’s perspective. He looks at you with watery eyes and pulls you to a hug.

“What it’s all this?” He sniffs.

“That day, when you showed us the pictures, I realized places hold stories and this one had many to tell.” You smile and he pats your head. “I know you didn’t want to close the park and let everybody move on as if it never mattered to anyone because it did. To some of us, at least. You did a great job, boss.”

“Oh, kid.” He sniffs and once again hugs you. “It’s perfect!” Taeyong said happily, taking you and his present towards the others. “Everybody, you need to see this!”

Now, after Sunny closed down, you are back to square one.

It’s a Friday night and you were invited to a party, but you managed to convince Donghyuck to stay at his apartment with you. You certainly needed a distraction after another week of failed attempts at getting a job and you know Donghyuck is much more entertaining than any party.

Your relationship status is still pretty much complicated. Even though it was already clear that you both liked each other, Donghyuck still hasn’t asked you the question, waiting for the right moment. It was really hard for him not to cross the friendship line, though, especially when, more often than not, he has make out sessions with you on his couch.

The worst for Donghyuck is how your friends have been keeping their promise of not meddling, but making sure of judging the both of you each time you deny you’re dating while Donghyuck’s hands are intertwined with yours. Tonight, with Jeno away at a party, you have his apartment all to yourselves and Donghyuck decides to make the most out of it. He needs to confess today.

“Hi.” You smile, showing him the take out bag you’re carrying when he opens the door. Your smile falters when you see him frown. “Am I too early? I can-”

“I thought I was supposed to pick you up.” He pouts, moving to the side to let you go inside. “And you shouldn’t have brought take out, I told you I could cook for us.”

“Oh my god, I barely got here and you’re complaining already?” You put the take out on the kitchen counter and go wash your hands.

“It’s just that you’re ruining my plans.” Donghyuck says while peeking inside the bag. “Is this…”

“Yeah, your favorite, kimchi-jjigae.” You turn around to look at him when you hear his groan. “What, now?”

“I had the whole thing planned, you just-”

“Well, maybe you should have told me then!” You scoff. “I just wanted to make something nice for you because I know your new job at the office is killing you, but I’m sorry I guess?”

You start to feel frustrated at his reaction. You were expecting tight hugs, warm smiles and maybe some cuddles, but all Donghyuck has done in the past few minutes is complain and blame you for ruining something you didn’t even know that existed. He senses your frustration and sadness and just quietly holds your hand.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles, not really looking at you. “It’s just that I really wanted to do something nice for you too.”

“You always do nice things for me. You’re too nice to me.” You say, turning around to grab bowls to pour the food in. “I got this one.”

Despite Donghyuck’s plan of picking you up, bringing you to his apartment, cooking your favorite food and confessing the words that he has been dying to say failed, he still needs to do it tonight. Well, after months of pining, it was now or never. If you reject him again, he needs to be ready to move on.

“How’s the job?” You ask before taking a bite of your food.

“Hell.” He answers, groaning. “I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to study business. I hate that job.”

“Do you really hate the job or do you just hate the boss?” You raise an eyebrow, knowing fully well that Donghyuck doesn’t really hate what he does, he just can’t stand the presumptuous guys in his office, treating him like garbage just because he’s an intern.

“What about you?” He frowns when he sees you pouting at your food. “I don’t like this face.”

“Yeah, me neither.” You laugh humorlessly.

“I told you, give me five years and you can be my trophy wife.” He jokes, knowing how much you hate the idea.

“Wow, five? That much?”

“I can compromise and make it three if you don’t want kids in the future.” You laugh at his words and try to kick his leg from under the table, but he traps you.

You keep moving between topics because it was just that easy to talk to him. You mentioned how you had seen Mina and Jisung at the campus the other day and Donghyuck points out how he thinks they’re going to get married before graduation. You disagree, Jisung is still a kid. Then, he mentions how he had often seen Chenle around his office, only to find out later that the company he worked at was his grandfather’s. After the Funfair closed, he started working at the family’s company, but Donghyuck says that they are in different departments. You asked about his family that you haven’t met yet, but always heard stories about, and he tells you everything about his younger brother’s record card and his middle sister’s new boyfriend. He doesn’t forget to mention Jeno’s friends with benefits situation, and that he only found out after finding lingerie lost in the washing machine.

After dinner, Donghyuck suggests teaching you poker for the tenth time, which makes you slightly annoyed because, at this point, you just hate the game. You are both sitting on the floor and he is leaning his back on the couch while you are seated between his legs. He says the proximity is for “pedagogical purposes”.

“No, honey,” He stops your movement by putting his arm around your body and pulling you closer to him. “Look at my cards! I’m showing you my cards!”

“I don’t know what your cards mean!” You groan as you throw your cards on the pile in front of you and lean your head on his shoulder. “I wanna play rummy.”

“It's a children's game.”

“Well, it’s the only one I know how to play!” you exclaim, easily convincing him with a kiss on his cheek.

You realize playing games is not working very well because you shouldn’t see each other's cards, but that’s a very hard feature to achieve when you don’t want to move away from each other. Eventually, you also get tired of Donghyuck constantly cheating and just suggest that you watch a movie instead.

“Should we watch Monsters University?” you ask, leaning your head on his shoulder and he nods.

“Let’s go, Mike Wazowski!”

You move to the couch, complaining about being too uncomfortable for your butt, and at the end of the movie, you are both sprawled on his couch, with a blanket over you and your legs tangled. You see his eyes closed and smile at how tired he must be, but still chose to spend the night with you. He is close enough for you to nuzzle against his neck, making him stir at the sudden contact. You don’t smell his cologne, but the faint smell of your favorite lavender soap is there, making you smile against his neck.

“A penny for your thoughts?” He asks, running his hands from your nape down your spine.

“You owe me so many pennies.” You joke and he smiles. “I’m just thinking that I’m happy.”

Things didn’t happen the way you wanted from the beginning. You still feel like your life is a mess and sometimes you really think it will be the end soon. But you don't need to think that you’re alone anymore. Not when you have your friends. Not when you have him.

“I’m happy too.” He hums and a comfortable silence rests between you, the only sound is the music from the movie credits on the TV.

You think you are about to drift off to sleep, when Donghyuck stops his hands on the middle of your back and, because you're still nuzzled around his neck, you feel his pulse quickening. You hear him gulp a feel times before he has the courage to speak.

“There’s something that would make me happier.” He cautiously changes your positions, so he can face you when whispering the question he has been dying to ask and you have been dying to hear. “Do you wanna date me?”

“Do you know how impossible it is to say ‘no’ to you?” You kiss his cheek and he closes his eyes, feeling relieved already. “It’s especially unfair when you keep me so close like this.”

When you close the gap between you, holding his face tenderly and giving him the sweetest kiss he has ever tasted, he knows he has won. He definitely has. He moves, making you lie down under him, and as he kisses your neck, he says:

“All is fair in love and war, honey.”

Donghyuck has always tried to communicate with Jeno not only because they are childhood friends and roommates but because they also need privacy. Everybody does. So when Donghyuck tells his friend that he will be away for two days because of a conference, Jeno understands that he will have the apartment all to himself.

What Donghyuck doesn’t expect is to get an email as soon as he arrives at the airport telling him that the conference was canceled and he should head back to the office. He gets so mad that nothing would make him more happy than just killing his boss. He shouldn’t though, because he had promised to make you his trophy wife in five years, so he needs to get a promotion soon. He smiles, thinking of you, and decides to pick you up today.

Even after months of dating, he was still pretty much elated to say that he could pick up his girlfriend at work. His girlfriend. As soon as he pulls up in front of the office’s building, you send him a message.

[mike wasowski - 5:35 p.m] are you here already?

[donghyuck - 5:35 p.m] just got here babe.

[donghyuck - 5:35 p.m] ready?

[mike wasowski - 5:36 p.m] can you give me 15 more minutes?

[donghyuck - 5:36 p.m] i’ll be in the parking lot.

He smiles as he sees you exiting the building wearing a scowl. Oh, he was so ready for your work gossip. Your scrunched up face doesn’t last long, because you can’t help but smile when you see him waving at you. You run to him, hugging him tightly and kissing his lips tenderly, which is his favorite part.

“Hi, girlfriend.” He steals one more kiss from you, making you smile.

“Hi, boyfriend.” You smile, pushing him away from you and opening the car’s door. “Let’s go, I need to tell you what that bitch made me do today.”

That's how you spend the whole drive to his apartment, complaining about one of the managers that keeps making redo things, only to say that you’re slacking off and never get things done. ‘I could get things done if she didn’t keep asking me to solve problems that don’t even exist’, you would always say. He let you vent your pent up anger, so he would do the same about his coworkers.

You had finally found a job at a publishing house, a small one, and it wasn’t exactly the experience as a journalist that you wanted to have, but learning about publishing and editing is surely something positive and way more useful than working at a café like you used to. When life closes a door, it opens a window.

And your boyfriend is very proud of you not only for taking his advice and applying for your current job, but also for admitting that he is very smart. Donghyuck is smart in a lot of areas, it’s just that when it comes to you, he gets a little stupid. That’s why you get to his apartment and see something both of you shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t.

“WHAT THE FUCK, JENO?” Donghyuck screams and you run to the kitchen, thinking something bad happened. “NO BABE, DON’T COME, CLOSE YOUR EYES!” He puts his hands on your face before you can even understand what’s going on.

“WHAT THE FUCK, DONGHYUCK? YOU TOLD ME YOU’D BE AWAY FOR TWO DAYS.” Jeno screams back, hurriedly looking for his shirt to cover himself.

“I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WOULD BE BALLS DEEP INSIDE SOMEONE ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER!” You fight him, trying to take his hands off your face, but Donghyuck is faster than you. “Don’t try to look, what are you trying to look at?”

“Jeno, I-” The girl sitting on the counter looks mortified.

“I’m not trying to see anything, I’m trying to set free because you’re crushing my skull.” You keep moving, trying to fight him while Jeno and the girl are putting their clothes on.

“I know you’re tryna see Jeno naked. I’m your boyfriend, the only dick you’re allowed to see is mine.” He keeps his hand pressed against your eyes making you whine even more.

“Stop being a freak! You’re just pressing my eyes too aggressively.” You reach forward, trying to find his face. “And what about you? Uh? Are you trying to see Jeno’s girlfriend naked? I’m the only one you’re allowed to see naked.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” “She’s not my girlfriend.” Both of them say at the same time, looking at each other sheepishly, while you and Donghyuck keep bickering at the kitchen's door.

“IF I CAN'T SEE JENO’S DICK, YOU CAN’T SEE HIS GIRLFRIENDS BOOBS!” You say, accidentally slapping his face as you try to cover his eyes as well.

“Are you SLAPPING me because I won’t let you see JENO’S DICK?” Donghyuck complains.

“I SLAPPED YOU BECAUSE I CAN’T SEE SHIT, YOU MOTHERFUC-”

He cuts you off by kissing your lips and pushing you to the hallway, warning the ones left behind: “JUST CLEAN EVERYTHING WHEN YOU’RE DONE!”

Donghyuck thinks that the first step before turning you into his trophy wife is buying his own place.

#nct fluff #nct scenarios #nct drabbles #nct timestamps #nct dream fanfic #nct dream fluff #haechan drabbles #haechan fluff #nct dream scenarios #nct x reader #haechan scenarios

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