#editing and proofreading? even more easy

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

hey google, can i skip ahead a couple months to where i already have my currently complete novella length manuscript published and have 2 of my in progress works seralized?

[killishin]

— ♡ right person at the right time.

PART 03.

pairing: jason todd x reader

category: lots of fluff, angst, he fell first she fell harder kinda trope, sfw, thinking of making this a slow burn but we'll see.

content warning: afab, mention of death (reader's mother), violence here and there, mention of blood, inaccurate medical talk, not proofread

summary: reader's just a normal citizen of Gotham, scrambling to making ends meet. after a fateful encounter, when he saw the reader kick ass and save a life- he can't get them off his mind. and fate just keeps pulling them together forcing him to do something about it.

a/n: i finally got the time to finish this, once exams are over I'll make the necessary edits. enjoy :)

wc: 5.3k

fic masterlist. previous. next

dividers by @cafekitsune

"that is not a wound."

"its a cut."

"not deep enough to come to me!"

"i thought you said we were friends— is that how you treat your friends hm?" red mused, though his modulated voice is supposed to be monotonous and blank, you've learned to really listen. and you could hear the amusement rolling off of him just like the easy sarcasm that trickles from his tongue.

its been more than a month since red hood came stumbling down your balcony, literally, and from then he's been coming too often. well too often for someone like him. you had thought that would have been the end of your interactions with the infamous vigilante— but life has a need to always prove you wrong.

sometimes he comes twice a week, sometimes he doesn't come a whole week— it was never steady. he came whenever he felt like it. about now you're certain that instead of 'help' , that he could basically get from his other vigilante... colleagues, he simply uses his injuries as an excuse. sometimes his wounds aren't even that bad! just a scratch or a graze, something he could so easily fix himself.

but, in the past days you've gotten to know him, he'd rather die than admit he enjoys your company.

"now you wanna admit we're friends huh?" you scoffed as your rolled your eyes and grumbled under your breath as you walked to the bathroom to get the kit. you were in a particularly ruined mood since you were just about to head to sleep when he rudely and loudly jumped into your apartment through your balcony.

he's more relaxed on your couch now, one arm on the arm rest while the other rested on the back of the couch, his legs spread. you paused infront of him then scoffed before glaring, kicking his feet lightly.

"is a wounded man supposed to sit that relaxed? at least pretend it hurts." you sit beside him and wait with an impatient frown as he rolls off his jacket. the cut is on his bicep, which he deliberately flexes when you look at the cut.

"it doesn't hurt, i have a good tolerance for pain, sunshine." he utters the pet name mockingly and your glare deepens, "it just needs medical attention. you're the one who always says to 'take care'."

you're almost baffled at how teasing and sarcastic he's gotten, he was guarded in the beginning, still sarcastic but more short and reserved. though you'll admit, it feels nice that he feels comfortable enough around you now.

the same goes for you too, you were cautious around him. mindful of your words and tone, barely commenting on the daily shit that goes in gotham, scared that you'd somehow offend the vigilante with a wrong opinion.

now you glared outright, you scolded more— but you even smiled more, treated him normal enough... like an old friend. it felt refreshing, this sense of normalcy with you. maybe because you weren't a vigilante which most people were in his life, or maybe because you were still untainted from the worst horrors of gotham— he doesn't know. all he knows is that he intends to hide this little something he's found, he cannot leave it he knows, far too selfish for that. so he'll keep you hidden from the people from his world, keep you safe from the claws of the crimes.

"right." you rolled your eyes before cleaning the wound, being more firmer than you should and he simply smiles under the helmet. his lack of response, not even a flinch irriates you further so you dress the wound tight, trying to be aggressive.

"you do know its morally wrong to torment a patient." he murmured and you gave him a pointed look, acting like you're done with him. "it is about to be 3 in the morning red. i have work." you remind him, hoping he catches the hint to not irk you further.

"you never told me about your job. what do you do?" he skirts right past your thinly veiled threat and you sigh before tucking in his bandage properly.

"neither have you." you said pointedly before sighing, "animations. its an entry level position right now. but i also do personal projects on the side." you reply still as you clean up, moving around the apartment.

he leans ahead, intrigued to get to know more about you finally, "and you like it? your job i mean."

"well... its hectic yeah, sometimes too much to make me wonder if its all worth it." you shrug as you head to the kitchen and opened your fridge, "but i think everyone with a job thinks that at one point. so its normal. animation is something i loved so it evens out the frustration of work."

you put the tub of ice cream on the counter before fetching a spoon. as he watches from the couch he realises he never steps in your apartment further than the living room, only till the couch and then out. at first he was... simply keeping distance, the rational self in him telling him to keep himself as untangled as possible.

but now he wants to delve deep, to see your life, to see when you're happy— or sad, what you do when you have nothing better to do. its a curiosity he convinces himself, just that.

and even though he knows it dangerous to keep crossing the boundaries he set for himself, he can't help but say why not just this once? blind leap of faith, something that has always disappointed him, something he never does yet he still wants to try.

he gets up and walks in your kitchen and you gulp down the ice cream quickly before waving your hands to stop him and he immediately freezes, wondering if he made a mistake.

"red! your boots!" you pointed out with a grimace, that were caked with dust and mud, "i didn't say anything about them before because you're always hurt and in a hurry— but not in the kitchen please." you plead as politely as possible, you hoped you didn't come off as too nitpicky or high maintenance but you just can't stand shoes in your apartment.

for a minute he just stares, and you try to discern what he's feeling from those slits in his helmet. then he barks out a laugh, leaning a hand against the wall and doubling over.

"shit– my bad." he does not sound apologetic at all though, and your brows furrow as you fail to see how its so funny, "what?"

"nothing. you just—" he paused as he stifles another laugh, taking off his boots carefully before walking to the balcony and keeping them there. he walked back in the kitchen and leaned against the counter beside you, "i wouldn't have been offended even if you said that when i first came here."

he saw how bothered you looked to see him walking with his dirty boots in your apartment, like literally appalled and he just wonders how had you kept in that request for so long?

"it felt a bit wrong to ask a bleeding man to take off his shoes first." you shrugged before digging in the tub, licking the ice cream right off the spoon and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to not follow that action.

"if you don't mind me asking-" you began as you paused, pushing a stool towards him before sitting on one yourself, "you might. since this might be encroaching all that secret vigilante thing." you said hesitantly, giving him an unsure smile before looking away as you carefully worded the question.

"so do you know all the vigilantes? like personally?" you questioned and he released a breath because he honestly thought you'd ask about his identity and he'd have to leave, "like i do see the news time to time, hear things but you're the source so....?"

you looked genuinly curious, no ill intent. just someone who's curious about his life like that of a friend's.

he shuffled on his seat, clearing his throat and you feared you asked wrong, "its not necessary to answer of course."

"i know." he reassured quietly before shrugging, "yeah i do. our interests, kicking gotham's criminal's ass and keeping citizen safe aligns so yes i do know them." he explains as vaguely as possible, carefully wording it and you know it.

"so who's better?" you ask and he blinks.

"what? in who?"

"you and nightwing."

now he's the one who's appalled. the simple question makes him spiral to a whole world of overthinking. his ego might not be able to handle the unfavorable answer.

"wha— the hell is that question?" he scoffed and you shrugged, taking another spoon of ice cream, unbothered. "of course im better!"

"are you sure?"

he knows he doesn't need to take off the mask to get the glare through, you know he's glaring by the way you cheekily laugh, "geez what a fragile ego."

"what, you his fangirl or something?" he scowls and you heartily laugh at that, shaking your head.

"im no vigilante's fan, red. but you can't blame me for wondering you know?" you teasingly nudged his leg with your foot, "alright another question."

"since when did this become a one sided 20 questions?" he grumbled as he folded his arms, wishing for once he did not have the helmet on so he could actually glare at that innocently charming face.

"since you decided to be a little wuss." you cheekily retorted before leaning in towards him, taking the sleeve of your tshirt in your fingers, you rubbed the grime off his helmet. you don't know why but you liked to see it spotless.

while you went back to being unbothered, eating your ice cream like a fucking brat, his heart damn near exploded. did you just do that? it felt more on his skin than it was on the metallic helmet. he forgot to even breathe for a second, still processing— and then getting mildly irritated at the fact that somewhere in his heart he yearns for you to do it again. its stupid, he tells himself, someone he's known for a just a month— someone innocent.

again, painting himself as the darkness that would snuff out the light in you.

"don't do that." he said, sharper than intended, letting his own overthinking get him. you freeze, your hand suspended in air before you awkwardly yet quickly drop the spoon in the almost empty bucket and tuck your hair behind your ear.

"ah my bad."you said, and suddenly it was harder to smile. and he realised he did it again, pushed someone away again. its for the better he tells himself, this would have happened anyway.

"im sorry—"

"its fine." he cuts you off before getting up, "i should probably leave— city doesn't save itself now does it?"

you were a bit stunned, he hadn't acted like this yet in the times he's visited. it was unnerving to not know how to act, how to tackle this side of him because you didn't quite like the distance that suddenly found its way between you both. you know he is a vigilante, has enemies— tons of 'em, and there's always a good chance that prolonged association with him could get you wind up in all that. it could get messy, it could get dangerous. you wanted nothing to do with danger. you just wanted to lead a simple life which was already too much to ask from gotham.

"take care." and yet you called out behind him, even though he already disappeared. the idea that you somehow offended this new friend of yours, someone you had steadily grown to like— didn't sit quite well with you. you suppose he doesn't like to be touched, of course. that was a bit creepy maybe.

you sighed as you went back to kitchen, putting away everything. you push red to the back of your mind, convincing yourself with that shitty saying that— everything happens for the best.

its a pitiful attempt at consolation, but life moves on.

you sigh as you open the door to your apartment, taking off your heels before walking in. blind dates really don't work for you anymore, not that it ever did actually. you never click with the other person, and somehow they always turn out to be somewhat of an asshole.

today was yet another failed date, boring one. the man chipped away at your braincells one by one as he literally chattered away about his 'big shot position at that big shot firm'— you don't know what it was, you stopped paying attention twenty minutes in.

sometimes you blame yourself, that maybe your standards are too high, you're being the one who's too reserved or shallow— but then your father's voice rings in your ears, 'never ever in your life settle for someone who doesn't make you feel seen and heard from day one.' your parents really had set the bar high for you.

you went into your room and threw your purse on the bed before taking off your coat, it drizzled a bit. your hair's a bit damp but somehow it makes you look more pretty.

sigh, all that effort down the drain.

oh wait! you remembered you were supposed to call your friend, fill her in about about this disaster. you quickly dialed her number in, tapping your foot as you waited, your eyes mindlessly checking your nails.

"it didn't go well did it?" she groaned lightly into the phone and you huffed out a smile, she was so quick to catch on. not that it was hard to, you ended the date pretty quickly.

"yeah.. im sorry but god he was just— not it." you explained with a scrunch of your nose as you press the phone in between your ear and shoulder while taking off your bracelet.

"there's nothing to apologise for, if he ain't it, he ain't it. there's always more to choose from. endless fishes, pretty." she tries to weasel a joke and your lips quirk up fondly, of course she's trying to make her feel better.

"im not sad so you can drop it. he wasn't an eye candy either that I'd feel bad."

"he was loaded."

"i'd be too one day." you retort with a chuckle pretending to be offended when she snorts. you get to your earrings, unclasping one and you gather it in your hand, about to keep it on your vanity—

CRASH!

you jolted, almost dropping your earring and unfortunately dropping your phone too. you cursed loudly, that phone is really gonna die on you at this point.

suddenly two sharp knocks rattled through your house, and they sounded less woody. they came from the balcony you realised. you hurriedly pick up your phone before running to your living room.

that sounded hurried. he never even knocks! but why was he literally banging on the glass?! its not even past midnight—

"hey are you okay?!"

"uh- i— yeah im—"

your breath catches in your throat as you stop dead in your tracks to see the glass sliding doors of your balcony with a bloody handprint, really selling the horror element right now. red hood was knelt down and you could see how hard he was heaving— his body was literally shaking with each breath he took.

your voice closed up in your throat for a second, all the air vanishing into the black hole that suddenly appeared in your lungs.

blood. blood. blood. blood—

you blink your eyes to tear yourself out of it, taking an inaudible deep breath. small wounds and trickle of blood do not unsettle you, not anymore. but anything beyond a cut, beyond mere drops of blood— it brings back the broken little girl in you.

"i— i'll call back yeah?" you hurriedly whispered before hanging up your phone, throwing it on the couch before rushing to slide open the door.

"red? red— fuck are you—" you bite your tongue as you physicslly stop the stupid question from getting blurted out as you knelt down, your hands immediately on his shoulder as you tilted your head down.

christ— even his helmet has a fucking crack.

"red? red say something please." all you got was his haggered breathing and a lousy gesture to the couch, you heard him mumble something but it sounded more like a grunt.

you pull back and your gaze scrutinize him, well as best as it can in the minimum light provided. he is bruised black and blue, you don't see it over all that armour and jacket, which by the way, is ripped, he is also losing blood. way too much.

blood. blood. blood. blood—

"alright no pressure at all." you whispered, voice tight with anxiety as you hawl him up on his feet, his arm over your shoulder while your hand held his waist.

"ugh— easy!" he scolded in his haggard voice and both of you almost stumble due to his overpowering weight on you.

"im trying!" you hiss back, taking a deep breath as you drag him inside. you were gentler, but really the situation had you freaked out, you were almost blanked out and mostly working on autopilot. "don't you die in my apartment. i can't handle the fucking gcpd and batman on my ass." that was your attempt at some humour. to lessen the burden of your anxiety or his, you weren't really sure at the moment.

he had noticed your attire, even in the moment of haze and fatigue, he noticed the singular earring hanging from your ear, dressed up with make up on rather than the oversized he's used to see. it doesn't take a genius to guess it was for a date. maybe that put him in an even more foul mood.

but then he realises the time, its early to be back home from a dinner date. he visits at ungodly hours but today, due to unsavory altercation, he had to turn up so early and unexpected. so he summarizes, all on his own, the date didn't go quite well.

and despite the pain he is in, it puts a fucking smirk on his face. he even leans more on you, he knows he would need to unpack whatever he's feeling, but thats a tomorrow problem.

you slowly put him down on the sofa and stagger back, panting heavily as you put a hand on your hip. that took out a lot of energy from you and you realised just how inactive you are, which is concerning considering you're a citizen of Gotham. you need to be prepared to run for the hills at the slightest hint for danger.

hearing him cough snaps you out of your reverie and you immediately get about your apartment, closing the draps, turning on the light before dashing to the bathroom. you really, really hope its not something out of your limited experience. you don't even care that he ghosted you for two weeks— you just want him alive, probably intact. you honestly do not have the stomach— or the mental state for something bloodier than a graze right now.

but surprise, surprise— its a wound on the shoulder. stab or bullet— you don't wanna know.

"jesus fucking christ red.." you whisper, your skin going a little pale and green as you look at his blood seeping under his hand that he has kept pressed on the wound. "is that— oh shit—"

"yes it is. now come here with that." he sounded more firm and annoyed than he ever did in the frequent interactions you've had with him, and that is understandable. he sounds like he's on his last breath with all the panting and huffing.

"right. sorry." you immediately walk and stand beside him, running your mind through whatever red told you about it. luckily, red had filled you in about different wounds, since you were currently playing nurse. he had mentioned shoulder wounds, hurts like hell and bleeds a lot but it can be patched rather easily, his words.

he lays himself down and you drag the coffee table closer to sit on it, your hands rummaging through the kit which had expanded. you may have had restocked and bought more— obviously for this certain vigilante.

"okay so uh— clean?" you repeat the steps to yourself as you watch him remove the small cloth from his shoulder— you almost puke from how messy it looks. its one thing taking care of cuts and bruises and its another thing to take a damn bullet out of a bleeding, ugly wound. "then remove the—" your brows raise as realisation dawns on you.

for fucks sake you can't fucking take the bullet out—

"you can. you can." he was facing you, and somehow you could feel the resolute stare through the helmet, "i know it'll be hard— but you can—" seeing him wince makes you gulp down whatever doubts you have down to your gut. let it worsen.

you let the adrenaline take over, push the tremors away that threaten to wreck your body. hide. hide. hide.

"if i kill you accidentally don't you fucking dare haunt me." you murmur to yourself as you look for a pair of tweezers, the jab makes him crack a laugh enough to hurt and he instantly winces again.

you clean the blood off first before grabbing the tweezers, taking your sweet time to drag it out— but then he grabs your wrist and pulls it slowly towards his shoulder. "eyes on here. focus, you can do it sweetheart." he murmured, and for a second he even sounded okay. you almost believed this all to be a facade.

"oh god—" you grimace as your fingers shook around the tweezers, you wished he went to some legal doctor who had actual forceps and all those medical instruments, instead of tweezers, but vigilantes are nuts. you have come to understand and accept that. "i will kill you if you die i swear— im so mad at you—" your quivering grumbles simply amuse him more, knowing its a way to distract you enough to dig in and take the bullet out.

and you did, after all the gagging and hurling a myriad of insults at him— you finally did. you slouched back as if you were the one that endured that pain.

"sweets you still need to stich, ya' know."

"no im not doing that." you snap as you sit up again, "i dont even know how to— do you honestly want to die??" you gape at him in utter exasperation, wanting to smash the remaining of his helmet.

"honestly? it sounds better than hearing all that noise from your mouth." he retorts with a scoff and you scoff back at his audacity, "i fucking helped you— and that's how it is huh? when the hell are you going to get proper care from someone who knows their shit?" you scold, your eyes momentarily shifting to the open wound.

seriously what the hell are you doing with your life?

"for that I'd need to go to someone i trust wouldn't yap away about me to my enemies or worse, tattle to the media 'bout me." he stated as he tried to shift, probably uncomfortable in the small couch where his legs fell off the other side. "and you haven't yet done that. so, you're the better choice here."

your lips simply pull into an annoyed frown, looking him up and down with clear exasperation. "should have left the damn bullet in..." you muttered to yourself, annoyed at the fact that his words got to you again. he may sound rational and logical right now as he wants to, you know the underlying meaning. he has come to trust you a bit— and his emotionally constipated self wouldn't accept that.

the stitching was done.

you looked far more exhausted than the poor guy who had to help you navigate through the steps and endure the pain.

you leaned forward with your arms resting on your knees, head dipped forward as you tried to calm yourself down. you've never been good at processing things, your mind has a habit of shoving everything in a box and let it rot in the depths of your mind.

"you okay?" he asked quietly, poking your arm with his gloved finger to get your attention and you blinked before nodding. "yeah. yeah of course."

you took a deep breath as you began gathering everything, while he simply stared at you. he knew for a normal person, seeing blood— a lot of it, can be overwhelming. he lets the guilt wash over him, lets his mind question his heart.

was he ruining you in his selfishness to see you? how long would you tolerate it till you break? how long till you kick him out of your life?

"red?"

"hm?"

"you'll pay for my new couch right?" though you weren't looking, he could see the tug in your lips that you were trying to hide. and just like that, he let himself be selfish.

"why do i have a feeling you'll buy one of those ugly couches that cost a fortune?"

"great idea, red." you smirked dryly and he scoffed, his eyes travelling down that red dress of yours and he poked the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowing as he debated whether to thrust himself in your personal life or not.

the glint of the earring caught his eye, like a glare straight to his heart.

fuck it.

"so how was the date?" cool, calm, nonchalant.

your brows furrowed for a moment and that was when you registered the weight on your ear, and looked down at yourself with a soft huff, "right. nothing escapes your eye, detective, even when you're dying." you take a tissue and cover your hands with it before taking off the earring.

"it isn't late yet. so i guess it was some boring prick hm?" he teased smugly and you raised a brow at him, turning your body slightly.

"maybe i just like to stay safe and return home before gotham's street turns rabid. it doesn't necessarily have anything to do with my date."

"but it is."

"it wasn't."

"that so?"

the illuminated slits of his helmet stared at you, and you could feel the amusement and challenge oozing off of him. you maintained the stare, but something about his confidence made your skin tingle and warm.

"kay fine! he was just like any other arrogant corporate asshole." you relented as you broke the stare, brows furrowing as you got up, his lips pulling into a triumphant, cheshire smile. again, this was something to be unpacked tomorrow.

"why'd you even go?" you rounded the table as you threw the bloodied cottons and clothes, walking to the bathroom and turned the tap on to scrub your hands clean. you angled your face away so he doesn't see the momentary quiver of your lips at the sight of blood pooling in the basin as water sloughed it off.

"why does anyone go on dates, red?" you quipped with a sigh, "besides it was a blind date. i was just trying my luck." you unknowingly dug your nails too hard while scratching the blood away, "which, like always, sucks."

you wrung your hands dry before patting it dry on the towel, clenching your hands under the cloth to calm the tremors. you cannot possibly let him see that, you won't. your weakness is your own secret, like his identity is his, and the mere possibility that someone knows even a peek about it... it rattles you deeply.

you maintain the facade. thats all you've ever done.

but in a way, him and you were alike, and he recognised the eyes that didn't seem as bright, the subtle signs of putting up a front. he noticed it, the signs transparent to him.

"do you do this?" you questioned, diverting the attention back to him, which he noticed but let it slide. "dates i mean."

"sure." he shrugged, "i mean i do have all the time in the world to prance around gotham with a beauty in my arms." he added, his tone turning sarcastic and you rolled your eyes, the corner of your lips twitching up.

"come on don't be shy. you must have dated a ton of people in your circle. superheroes and vigilantes." you tacked with a grin as you walked in the kitchen, rummaging around cabinets and fridge. you let out an exaggerated dreamy sigh, "i wish i could date them. just once. way better than those asshole i get."

his gaze narrowed while his lips pulled into a thin line. them? who's them? he is one of them too. you could date him too, he thought quite pettily before freezing up. where the fuck is his mind going?

"what the hell are you even doing there?" he called out, he couldn't hide the irate in his voice but you brushed it off. "to feed your dying ass. you might be built like a truck but even you would need something in you after all that blood."

he couldn't see much except your back and hear the sound of knife cutting against the board. he knows he shouldn't, but he can't help his eyes lingering on your back, how the dress fits your body.

"a sandwich will work right?"

"mhm."

to add fuel, the domesticity of this sudden situation has him by the throat. his mind lost, voiceless in his daydream and admiration. he may be a tough guy with walls no one could ever break, even land a scratch— but deep in the pitt lays his heart that is soft and craving. he may never tell a soul, but the thoughts of loving and being loved, no matter how far fetched it sounds, it always tugged at his soul. the idea of sharing a life, the idea of simply caring, of giving— he has a soft spot for the niceties of life that he knows he doesn't deserve.

"red?" you're holding the sandwich infront of him and he snaps out of his haze, looking at the plate on the table and then at you. he simply looked back and forth, and you sighed at the point he was getting at.

"i'll be in my room so you can have the privacy to eat." you murmured before putting down a glass of water with a pair of wet wipes and walking away to your room, closing the door.

for a moment he simply stared at the plate, not sure if he should eat it. things are getting too familiar between them, too easy— too nice. and he has a bad habit of getting attached. he has an even worse habit of getting his heart broken.

he looks back at your door, the quiet shuffling audible to his ears.

but reasons unknown to him, he takes off his helmet.

he doesn't let his lips smile, doesn't let his eyes soften. doesn't let his heart get smothered when he bites into the sandwich. doesn't let his eyes linger on the silver earring. doesn't let his eyes imagine how you'd have looked with both of them on, all pretty and mesmerizing.

he doesn't.

by the time you walk out, he's gone.

the following night comes and you don't wait for him.

morning comes and your eyes are barely working, but your sight isn't that blurry to not see the small red box on your coffee table. you paused and froze, hands slowly taking it and pulling the satin ribbon off.

a pair of dark ruby earrings stared back at you, intricately designed like it was made for the royals. and a tiny note with a quite neat handwriting.

this is an apology for all the inconvenience caused. and a thank you for the sandwich.

red.

p.s you looked beautiful.

and just like that he sweeped the ground right off your feet.

reblogs are appreciation! :D

taglist : @bmyva1entine @itzmeme

[jincapableoflove]

The One That Got Away (Almost) | one-shot

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: ex bf! jungkook, ex gf! reader, exes to lovers, second chances, wedding setting, mutual pining, angst, fluff.

Summary: You weren’t supposed to see him again. Not after everything. But when your mutual friends invite you to their wedding, you’re forced to face Jungkook—the boy who once had your heart, the man you never quite got over.

Word count: 3k+

Warnings:  tension-filled reunion, emotional vulnerability, painful reminiscing, longing stares, unresolved feelings, mutual pining, a near kiss, ambiguous ending (or is it?), fluff and angst intertwined.

Inspired by: diamonddaze01's fic "hesitate"

MOODBOARD

A/N: something i whipped up in less than an hour lmaooo idk what this i was studying for my finals and then suddenly got inspired. not edited/proofread

The moment you step inside, a wave of warmth and laughter crashes against you, loud enough to drown out the doubts still clawing at your mind.

You shouldn’t have come. You knew that the second you reached the grand entrance, standing outside for far too long, debating whether to turn around and disappear before anyone noticed you. But now, it’s too late. You’re here—surrounded by the golden glow of chandeliers, the delicate scent of fresh flowers, and the low hum of a string quartet playing in the background.

Guests in elegant attire drift past you, their smiles easy, their conversations effortless. You, on the other hand, feel out of place. Like a misplaced puzzle piece in a picture you no longer belong to. Your fingers tighten around the small purse in your hands, grounding yourself, trying to suppress the voice in your head that keeps whispering this was a mistake.

And then—your eyes lift, almost instinctively, drawn to a presence you don’t even realize you’re searching for.

There he is.

Jeon Jungkook.

Standing across the room, looking just as devastating as the last time you saw him. Maybe even more. His dark hair is neatly styled, but there’s still a hint of unruliness to it, like he ran his fingers through it moments ago. The sharp lines of his tuxedo fit him perfectly, tailored to a body you remember far too well. But it’s his face that steals your breath—because it’s different now.

A small silver pierces through his eyebrow, catching the warm light as he turns his head slightly. Your stomach tightens at the sight of it. Then your gaze drops, lower, to his mouth—oh. There’s a ring on his lower lip nowtoo, resting at the corner like it belongs there, like it’s always been there.

But it hasn’t.

He didn’t have them before. Not when you knew him.

And yet, standing there,with his piercing gaze locked onto yours, it’s impossible to imagine him any other way. Like this is who he was always meant to be. Like the boy you knew is long gone, replaced by someone sharper, someone who looks like he’s seen more, lived more.

Jungkook doesn’t look away.

And neither do you.

Because the moment your gaze collides with his, time folds in on itself, pulling you back to places you swore you’d never return to. Memories flicker at the edges of your mind, ones you spent too long trying to bury. Ones that still have the power to unravel you if you’re not careful.

But as he lifts his glass to his lips—piercing catching against the rim, a slow smirk tugging at his mouth—you realize something else.

You’re not careful. You've never been careful.

Not when it comes to him.

The air between you tightens, crackling with a tension you don’t know how to name. For a second, neither of you move. Neither of you speak.

Then—he takes a breath, tilting his head slightly. His lip ring glints under the warm lights, the movement drawing your attention, and suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of everything about him. The sharp cut of his jaw, his muscular frame, the way time has altered him in small, striking ways—yet, somehow, he’s still unmistakably Jungkook.

You force yourself to approach. You can’t just stand here, frozen, when he’s already watching you with that unreadable expression.

"Jungkook," you say, your voice carefully even.

"Y/N." His lips curve, just slightly, but there’s something guarded in his tone. Something that wasn’t always there.

The polite exchange feels strange—stiff and unfamiliar, like wearing a shirt that no longer fits right. There’s an awkwardness to it, a hesitance. You’ve spoken to him a thousand times before, but not like this. Not with this much distance wedged between you.

Before either of you can find the right words, a voice cuts through the thick silence.

"Oh my God, you two!"

You barely have time to process before Hana, your best friend, who is glowing and radiant in her wedding dress, steps between you, beaming. "I can’t believe this reunion is happening at my wedding," she gushes, clasping her hands together.

Jungkook exhales a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, while you muster up a smile, though your fingers tighten around your clutch.

"You were inseparable back then," Hana sighs dreamily, glancing between you. "I honestly thought you’d still be together."

Your smile falters.

Jungkook chuckles, low and soft, but there’s something strained in the sound—something only noticeable if you know what to listen for. And you do.

Before you can respond, another voice joins the conversation.

"Yeah, you two were a team."

You turn just as Namjoon walks up, hands in his pockets, a knowing glint in his eyes. He nods toward you both. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you both planned to avoid each other tonight."

Your breath catches, fingers curling slightly.

Because he’s right.

You weren’t supposed to see Jungkook. You weren’t supposed to be standing here, side by side, being dissected by old friends who still remember you as a pair.

It’s too much. The past presses in too tightly, threatening to unravel the fragile walls you’ve built around it.

You clear your throat, shifting on your feet. "I should—um, I need to go check on something."

The excuse is weak, but no one stops you.

Jungkook doesn’t stop you.

You turn on your heel, slipping into the crowd, the weight of his gaze lingering long after you walk away.

The memory creeps in before you can stop it. It always does when it comes to him.

Maybe it’s the way his voice sounded just now—lower, more restrained, like he was holding something back. Maybe it’s the way his lips curved into that half-smile, the same one you used to know, except now there’s something different about it. Something heavier.

Or maybe it’s just this place—this moment—forcing you to remember.

The beginning of the end wasn’t loud. There was no big fight, no shattered glasses or slammed doors. It was quiet. Subtle. The kind of unraveling that happens so slowly you don’t notice until it’s too late.

It started with the missed calls. You’d stare at your phone, watching the screen go dark after ringing out, telling yourself he’d call back. Sometimes he did. Sometimes he didn’t. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That he was busy. That you were busy. That things would go back to normal soon.

But they didn’t.

Then came the growing distance—conversations that used to last for hours dwindled to minutes. The effortless ease between you started to fade, replaced by careful words and spaces that never used to exist. You still reached for each other, still tried to hold on, but it wasn’t the same. It was like grasping at something that had already begun slipping through your fingers.

And then, one day, you realized—neither of you was fighting for it anymore.

Maybe that was the worst part.

Not the silence. Not the aching loneliness that settled between you even when you were in the same room. Not even the final moment when you walked away, knowing it was over.

No, the worst part was knowing that, in the end, you had both stopped choosing each other.

You wonder if Jungkook ever regretted it.

If he ever picked up his phone and almost called you. If he ever looked at old photos, reread old messages, and felt the same pang in his chest that you do now.

But as you steal a glance at him across the room—his piercing catching the light, his expression unreadable—you realize you don’t have an answer. Maybe you never will.

The soft hum of a love song drifts through the air, weaving its way through the golden-lit ballroom. You recognize it instantly—one of those songs that used to play in the background of late-night drives and whispered conversations, back when everything between you and Jungkook was easy. When love felt effortless.

You should walk away.

But before you can, Hana’s voice breaks through your thoughts.

She appears beside you, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, come on," she teases, giving your arm a gentle push. "It’s just one dance."

You blink. "Hana—"

"Y/N."

His voice comes from behind you, deep and low, sending a shiver down your spine. When you turn, Jungkook is already standing there, hand outstretched, waiting.

The sight of him like this—watching you with quiet intent, his fingers inches from yours—it makes something in your chest tighten. His eyebrow piercing glints under the chandelier light, and for a second, you wonder how much has really changed between you.

You hesitate.

You should say no.

But you don’t.

Instead, you exhale a quiet breath and place your hand in his.

The warmth of his palm against yours is startling, a reminder of how well you once fit together. His grip is firm but careful as he leads you to the dance floor, and when his other hand finds the small of your back, you feel the air shift—like the past and present have begun to blur.

You move together, slow and measured, like muscle memory kicking in. The tension that once hung between you begins to soften, melting into something quieter, something almost tender.

But beneath it, the pain lingers.

It lingers in the way Jungkook’s fingers tighten slightly around yours. In the way his eyes search yours, like he’s trying to remember something he lost. Or maybe something he let go of too soon.

And then, softly—so softly you almost miss it—he speaks.

"Do you ever think about it?"

You inhale sharply, your chest tightening.

There’s no need to ask what it is. You know.

Your fingers curl slightly against his shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself be honest.

"All the time," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook swallows. And when he looks at you, it’s not just him looking at you. It’s the boy you used to love. The boy who once knew you better than anyone else. The boy who, despite everything, still holds a piece of you.

He looks at you like he’s seeing a version of the past—one he still wishes was real.

The night air is crisp against your skin as you step onto the terrace, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The muffled hum of music and laughter fades behind you, leaving only the quiet rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the city. You press your hands against the cool railing, tilting your head back to stare at the sky.

You needed this. A moment to breathe. To gather the thoughts that have been unraveling since the moment you locked eyes with Jungkook tonight.

But you’re not alone for long.

Footsteps echo softly against the stone floor, and then—

"Running away again?"

The voice is unmistakable.

You don’t turn around, but your lips twitch. "Maybe."

Jungkook exhales a quiet chuckle, stepping beside you. His shoulder is close enough to feel, radiating warmth, but he doesn’t touch you. He just leans against the railing, mirroring your stance, gazing out at the horizon.

For a while, neither of you speak. It’s not the same suffocating silence that had filled the space between you before—it’s something different. Something hesitant, fragile.

And then, finally—

"I should have fought harder." His voice is low, but there’s no mistaking the weight behind it. "For us."

You swallow, fingers tightening against the railing. "We both should have."

Jungkook turns his head, watching you carefully. His eyebrow piercing catches the faint glow of the terrace lights, but it’s his eyes that hold you captive—deep, searching, carrying years’ worth of unspoken words.

"I never stopped wondering about you," he confesses. "Where you were. If you were happy. If you ever…" He trails off, shaking his head slightly, as if the words are too much.

Your chest aches.

Because you know exactly how he feels.

Your breath trembles as you force yourself to meet his gaze. "I never stopped missing you."

Something shifts in his expression—something raw and unguarded, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it out loud. His fingers flex against the railing, and for a split second, you think he might reach for you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, you stand there, under the vast stretch of stars, caught in the space between what was and what could have been.

The world narrows to this moment.

The distant laughter and music from the wedding fade into nothing. The cool night air, the stars overhead, the lingering scent of roses from the terrace garden—none of it matters. Not when Jungkook is standing this close. Not when his eyes are locked onto yours like he’s searching for something he lost.

You don’t know how long you’ve been standing there, just looking at each other. But it feels like forever. And yet, not nearly long enough.

Then, so softly you almost think you imagined it, his fingers brush against yours.

It’s the lightest touch—barely there—but it’s enough. Enough to make your breath hitch, to send a shiver through your skin, to remind you how it used to feel when touching him wasn’t a question, just instinct.

His hand lingers, and your fingers twitch, tempted to curl around his.

Jungkook shifts closer.

Your pulse thrums as his gaze flickers down—to your lips, then back to your eyes. You can feel the heat radiating from him, see the slight hesitation in the way he exhales, slow and measured, like he’s trying to steady himself.

Then, he leans in.

Just a little. Just enough that you can feel his breath ghosting over your lips, warm and intoxicating.

Your heart pounds.

And for one fleeting, reckless second, you think—Maybe this time.

But then—

"Jungkook!"

The name cuts through the night like a blade, shattering the fragile moment between you.

You both freeze.

His shoulders tense, his lips part like he wants to say something—but the spell is broken.

Reality crashes down.

The night is ending. You can feel it in the way the air shifts, in the distant sound of laughter echoing from the reception hall, in the quiet, unspoken weight pressing between you and Jungkook.

He stands before you, hands buried in his pockets, eyes flickering with something unreadable. For a moment, he just looks at you—like he’s memorizing your face, like he’s trying to hold onto something before it slips away.

Like he wants to say something.

But then, instead of words, he exhales softly and smiles.

It’s small. Sad. Fleeting. The kind of smile that carries years of unsaid apologies, of missed chances, of everything that could have been but never was.

And just like that, you know.

This is goodbye.

Behind him, Namjoon watches the exchange, arms crossed, shaking his head with the kind of knowing that makes your chest ache. “Some things never change,” he mutters, almost to himself.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe this is just another chapter of the same old story—one where you watch Jungkook walk away, and he lets you.

Maybe this is how it’s always meant to end.

Your fingers twitch at your sides. You should let him go.

But—

"Jungkook."

His name barely makes it past your lips, but it’s enough. Enough to stop him in his tracks, enough to make his shoulders tense before he slowly turns back to face you. His expression is guarded, hesitant—like he doesn’t want to hope but can’t help it anyway.

Your pulse pounds, hands trembling at your sides. You don’t have the perfect words, no grand speech or well-rehearsed confession. But maybe you don’t need one. Maybe all that matters is this.

"Would you stay if I asked you to?"

The night air hangs heavy between you, thick with anticipation. For a heartbeat, you think he won’t answer—that maybe you’re too late.

But then—

His lips part on a quiet, shaky exhale. And when he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

"I would."

Your breath catches.

Jungkook takes a step closer, then another, closing the space between you. His gaze flickers over your face—searching, waiting, making sure this is real. That you won’t take it back.

And you don’t.

For the first time in years, you choose him.

A slow, tentative smile tugs at the corner of his lips, chasing away the sadness that had been lingering there all night. His fingers brush against yours—warm, familiar, grounding.

This time, you don’t pull away.

This time, neither of you let go.

Maybe he was almost the one that got away.

Almost.

taglist: @dreamersparacosm @taekritimin123 @claireshelby @toosweetforyall @iamstilljk @jjkluver7 @travelgurrl @baechugff @whoa-jo @junniesoleilkth @kxthx-b @smoljimjim @jk97bam @dna-black-and-blue @sanarin @rebwwca @belleilichil

lmk if u liked it <3 (if this gets a good response i may or may not write a part 2/drabble for this couple)

[aeragan]

ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴍᴇʀ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ʀᴀᴍʙʟᴇꜱ

✭ pairing(s): messmer x gn reader

✧ a/n: chat is it like financially acceptable to buy a $260 collectors edition when you already have the game just for a statue of a guy You Like Too Much (do i have a thing for redheads?) also before anyone says "you can do anything you put your mind to" i can but also all i imagine is him splitting me in half so penetration... i know that he's messmer the impaler but not of this boypussy he aint

🗒 cw: SMUT, SHADOW OF THE ERDTREE SPOILERS, gn reader, tarnished reader, size difference, a little ooc, frotting, thigh jobs, handjobs, oral, accidental manhandling, hair pulling, praise, pesudo-bondage(?), not proofread

✎ wc: 1.1k

MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY

Intimacy is a long abandoned thought within the lands between. Long gone are the days of tenderness, and in their wake, only blood and steel remain. That is to say, MESSMER is a virgin. Painfully so.

Sex is quite the foreign concept for someone who’s being is steeped within the flames of war. The most love he had known was his mother’s coddling before she had disappeared, and in his rage, he had never sought out another form of love. Torn between the want for his mother to look down upon him once more, and the need to kill, to earn her approval once more, the thought of loving another, of trusting another with his body, his mind, his heart, it is near unfathomable.

And yet, here you were. Someone who stirred such benevolent (and more) feelings within him. How so utterly kind of you to share with him your heart, your mind, your body. He must repay you in kind, of course.

Now, let’s talk about the elephant in the room, or the snakes in the room, if you will. He feels quite embarrassed to have them there when you two… engage. While they understand and know his feelings– and they were the very obvious sign of his interest in you– to him, it’s the equivalent of having your pet in the room while you have sex. He makes them look away, since that is about all he can do. It is quite awkward your first time. But, they’ll come into play, later.

Due to MESSMER’s size, he is quite nervous about entering you, even with his fingers. It takes him a little while to get used to it. He trims his nails just for you, and he draws the line at two fingers, one is almost enough as it is. He gets accustomed to fingering you quickly, to have you sit in his lap while he presses his fingers into you, his free hand resting on your thigh and pushing it open, it is his own little piece of heaven.

Oral is another option for him, of course. Something that is much more easy on his mind, he doesn’t have to worry about delving too deep, nor about hurting you. He can just settle his head between your thighs and take what he wishes as you writhe above him. Pull his hair and praise him, and he’ll cum untouched. I promise.

He excels at oral, though. Put that practiced tongue to use. He maintains contact all the while, even though his face is quite red. He gives you this beautiful look that speaks volumes, ‘touch me, I beg’, it says. ‘Please’. And if you answer that plea, even simply by stroking his cheek, he lets out an audible shiver. Even his snakes shake a little, letting out a soft hiss as he continues.

On that note, however, good lord does this man enjoy a good frotting session. He is afraid to enter you, like I said, due to his size. Frotting is a good way to atleast feel you, while also granting himself pleasure, without hurting you. He could go on for days and nights just rutting against you, whimpering into your skin, simply basking in the (rather lewd) intimacy of it all.

MESSMER also quite enjoys thigh jobs. He loves them, actually. He sits you in his lap, fucking his cock up into the plush of your thighs, head buried in the crook of your neck as he guides your own rhythm. Of course, he could let you grind by yourself, but he prefers to take matters into his own hands (literally). It’s the least he can offer you (less of a workout) while he lets go of all his sexual frustrations between your thighs. He doesn’t mean to jostle you around as much as he does, he can’t help it.

Speaking of sexual frustrations, this man is PACKED FULL OF THEM. I’m not saying he could be fixed by jacking off, but he could at least feel a little better afterwards. With you, good lord has he calmed down. He’s a lot less tense, happier, perhaps even jubilant. You cannot wash away the fact that his mother is strung up and imprisoned by a god, but perhaps all MESSMER needed was to feel the warmth of another, rather than simmer in the ever-burning flame that he has come to know, and despise.

Now, about his snakes… it takes a long while for him to open up to the idea of them being incorporated into sex. Having them simply turn away makes it feel awkward, of course, but perhaps they could do more…? They do adore you, after all. Perhaps a little impromptu bondage? Keeping your hands tied as he feasts upon you, or perhaps keeping your legs parted as his cock glides against your own sex.

He isn't the most kinkiest guy, of course. Although, “kinky” in the Lands Between and Land of Shadow might be totally different to our description. The most he does is overstimulate you, but never on purpose. Sometimes MESSMER gets too ahead of himself, too wanting. And he takes what he wants, what he needs. Though he always apologizes afterwards, not that you mind. He never takes it too far anyways. He's got quite the stamina, yet still falls short due to his experience (i.e, zero).

Perhaps the two of you cannot be as close as you wish during sex, but that doesn't make the act any less intimate. Especially to him, a life so devoid of such love, only consumed by hate and longing, but never yearning. He's the kind of guy to cry during sex. Partially because it feels so good to him, but also because he has never understood this intimacy. Not until now. All sorts of proclamations of love spill from his lips as he guides your thighs along his lanky cock, burying his face in the crook of your neck and sobbing even softer words. Stroke his hair, whisper even sweeter words to him, and return the sentiment. He’ll cum harder, cry a little bit more, and reward you in kind. He’ll lift his head from your neck and look upon you with a teary-eyed, soft expression, and then kiss you oh so sweetly despite his cum coating your thighs.

MESSMER also likes a little balance in your guys’ sex life. He wants– needs to please you as much as you do him. He lets no deed go unrewarded, if you were to jack him off, he'd return by fingering you. And if you allow him to fuck your thighs, he’ll go down on you with a fervor that is unmatched. He makes sure you cum as much as he does, and vice versa. He’s a very fair man, in that aspect.

© sentoooo, 2024 | masterlist | kofi | star header by roseschoices | sfw blog

DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN, REPOST ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[nakylvr]

Hey, can I request for Daniela Avanzini where Y/n is also a member of katseye and she’s dating dani (at this point they’re very popular) but Dani gets jealous because Y/n and Megan have been getting shipped a lot on tiktok and people make edits of them. Y/n gets a little annoyed bc she keeps telling Dani that obviously nothing is going on between her and Megan so she has nothing to worry about but Dani doesn’t wanna let it go.

I know it’s a lot lol but I love that you’re literally the only person writing katseye and I love your writing style. Thank you!

thank you so much for requesting this it was so fun! 🫶 im sorry it took a while 😓 and it lowkey went off the rails from the req im sorry

— ENVIOUS

daniela avanzini x fem!reader

warnings/tags: angst/happy ending, jealous!daniela, language, 7th member!reader, established relationship, mini argument, not proofread

main masterlist | katseye masterlist

it wasn't hard for daniela to get jealous. she could get jealous at someone merely looking at you for a second too long. but those were with people she didn't know. you figured she wouldn't get jealous over something silly like fans shipping you with megan and edits being made of you two.

you were unfortunately wrong.

it's what causes the first real argument in your relationship. you and daniela started dating right after the end of dream academy and the lineup was announced, having feelings for each other during the whole survival show and actually officially dating once it was all over. and it was great. you debuted, you went to kcon, you went on a mini asia tour, and everything was great.

you obviously knew it was easy to get daniela jealous. after debuting and getting popular there would be some celebrities that would try to talk to you or hit on you and she would suddenly appear beside you to drag you off somewhere. but you didn't think she would get jealous because of one of the members who was most definitely not into you.

the fans had grown to like you and megan as a duo, a ship even with some of the edits you've seen on tiktok. to the point where you two were one of the more popular ships in the fandom. you thought it was silly, and you would occasionally giggle at the edits because you didn't take it seriously and you thought it wasn't serious enough to worry about. until daniela saw.

she knows she shouldn't get jealous over it to the point she's essentially ignoring you. but that's just how she is. she knows she can't officially say anything cause management would go ballistic and they'd probably go on hiatus. she knows megan doesn't see you that way. but that's just how she is.

you knew something was wrong when daniela started ignoring you. and that was hard for her, you both knew that. she couldn't stand being away from you, let alone ignore you for days on end leaving you wondering what you did to cause this. so you knew something was seriously wrong then.

the girls noticed it too. the tension that had suddenly grown was odd for them all watching dani ignore you while you would stare with sad eyes trying to figure out what happened. but they couldn't do anything. daniela wouldn't budge on telling anyone anything. so everyone was left in the dark while you had to deal with how to address it.

it was late at night when all the girls were asleep that you decided to confront her on it. she was in the living room reading one of her books when you left your shared room with sophia and yoonchae, which you weren't surprised about. her eyes flickered up from the book only to look back down a second later once seeing it was you.

you slowly approach the couch before sitting down at the edge of it, keeping a distance between you two which the blonde notices. you glance over at her, letting out a sigh before speaking. "can we talk?"

"about what?" daniela responds, her eyes focused on the book but not reading anymore.

"gee i don't know, let's start at you ignoring me," you say, shaking your head and scoffing quietly.

"i'm not ignoring you." daniela's eyes stay fixated on the book, her hands gripping it more tightly in her hands.

"really? that's what you're going to say?" you look at her with furrowed eyebrows. "obviously you're ignoring me, and i don't know why. so please talk to me."

"there's nothing to talk about," daniela mutters.

your lips pursed in a thin line, your irritation starting to become greater at every word she says. without a second thought, you yank the book out of her hands and put it on the table in front of you, seeing her eyes widen as she finally looks at you.

"what the fuck, yn?"

"what the fuck?" you repeat. "what the fuck, daniela? that's what you have to say?"

when daniela's eyes meet yours for the first time in weeks, she can see the mixed emotions in them. you're angry, upset, confused. all because of her. she feels a twang of guilt rush through her at the sight.

"after ignoring me for weeks you're surprised i'm fed up with it?" you shake your head. "look, i don't know what i did, but i can't fix it unless you tell me. why have you been ignoring me?" you ask the question again.

"i'm not ignoring you."

you take a deep breath after her words, your anger starting to bubble up before you speak. "fine," you say, standing up. "if you won't tell me what's going on, then i think we should end this."

"what?" daniela's eyes go wide and her head jerks up to you when you stand, the expression on her face finally changing into something you hadn't seen, panic evident in her eyes. "you're not serious."

you just stare down at her, your arms crossed over your chest. "i am. we can't fix things if you won't say what the problem is. that's for everything. i don't even know what i did, daniela, because you won't tell me. how do i know if it's something serious or something petty like you being jealous? i don't. so yeah, i'm fucking serious," you tell her, your voice and look on your face being enough to tell her you are serious. "if you don't tell me in the next ten seconds then i can assure you this is over."

daniela feels her mouth go dry at your words. you're serious. you're serious about leaving her. she knows you're right. she knows she has to just suck it up and say it. just say it and she won't lose you. just fucking say it.

"i don't like how close you're getting with megan," she blurts out.

the words take a moment to process in your brain, and before you can even think of a response, she's continuing.

"i know she doesn't see you that way and you don't see her that way but i don't like it," she says. "i've seen all the edits, i've seen all the tweets, i mean fuck it's like how much more obvious can i be before people realize that you're with me? i know we can't officially say anything but i can't stand it. i trust you and the girls, of course i do, but what if a pr stunt happens? what if the company says you're dating some random celebrity and i-i'm left behind and you realize you don't really love me and–"

"dani, calm down." you sit down again, closer to her and cupping her face in your hands, cutting her off of her rambling. "are you really jealous over megan of all people? the clingiest girl ever? dani, there's nothing to worry about," you tell her. "it's nothing serious, you should know that. i love you, daniela. okay? even if for some random reason the company does a pr relationship i promise nothing will change between us. so please, stop worrying."

daniela slowly nods along to what you say, her eyes flickering across your face. "i'm sorry for ignoring you," she says in a quiet voice.

"it's alright," you reply, your thumb drawing circles on her cheeks. "i love you," you whisper.

"i love you too," she whispers back.

[dominiquelucalover]

Center of Danger | Dominique Luca x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: Your Tuesday plans are put on hold when you're caught in the middle of a bank robbery, but as if that didn't put a damper on your day, going into labor in the middle of it certainly did.

CW: fem!reader, pregnancy, labor, hostage situation, guns, death threats, death, blood, mild descriptions of violence, pre-established relationship. If any of these topics trigger you in any way, please do not read. Your wellbeing is so important.

A/N: I tried to make reader a behavioral analysis expert who works with S.W.A.T. but I don't know how well I incorporated that. ( not me trying to flex my Criminal Minds knowledge like a fucking nerd.) PS: I spent four straight hours writing this lol. and nother hour and a half proofreading and editing (and adding a whole 'nother fucking thing to the end of this jfc) (I'm having fun lol)

Your day had been going well. You went to one of your final doctors appointments before you were supposed to have the baby, you'd grabbed some of the last minute things on your baby list, and you were going over what you needed from the grocery store while you stood in line at the bank. It was one of those errands that you couldn't put off doing anymore, especially with the impending birth of your child, so it seemed easy enough to get out of the way today while you were already out and about. Unfortunately, a group of greedy, grubby-handed robbers decided to ruin those plans.

You couldn't lay on the ground like they wanted everyone to, which already irritated not only them but you too. The floor was uncomfortable as you sat against one of the desks while everyone else was forced to lay face down and not to move. It was a tense situation as the three robbers made the tellers fill their bags, one you wished would be over soon.

However, the robbers had already fucked up and got themselves stuck in the bank. A teller had sounded the silent alarm and in a fit of anger, one of the criminals shot the security officer dead. Another one freaked out because "no one was supposed to die" and seemed to be on the verge of tears, but it was hard to tell because they were all wearing plastic Halloween masks. This was turning out to be the worst bank robbery you had ever witnessed, not that you had ever actually witnessed a bank robbery but you had studied plenty.

"Shit, man! The cops are here!" one of the robbers all but growled. He turned his weapon on the tellers with a nasty glare from behind his ghoul mask. "Which one of you sounded the alarm, huh? Fucking idiots!"

He shot at the ceiling suddenly, causing people to scream. You jumped and held your belly protectively, taking a deep breath as you tried to stay calm. However, your blood pressure was already up and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. The baby was kicking, sensing your distress, and you rubbed your bump in an attempt to soothe them.

"Cool it!" another of the robbers chastised his buddy, seething with anger behind his devil mask. "You're gonna need those bullets. So chill the fuck out."

"I'll do as I damn-well please," the first one said, then walked away, seeming to look for another way out.

The freaked-out robber stayed out of the conversation, seeming more subservient to the other two. He just stood the to side, watching over the hostages like he'd been told to, hiding behind his clown mask. You knew from that if any of them were going to break first, it was him.

As things around you began to calm down, you leaned your head back on the desk and took even, deep breaths. Of course, the quiet couldn't last long.

A couple were whispering to each other a few feet away and as soon as the robber with the devil mask, who seemed to be the leader, caught wind of it, he stomped over and pointed his gun at the woman's head. "I said to keep quiet! You want me to blow her head off?"

"No, please! We'll be quiet!" the man begged.

"I should make sure you stay quiet for good," the leader said, teasing the trigger of his gun. The grin of his devil mask made the scene more unsettling.

At that moment, you felt a sharp pain in your belly and let out a heavy groan. All eyes turned to you and watched as you withered in your spot. You were caught between pain and confusion, hoping that you weren't going into labor. You weren't due for another three and a half weeks. Your baby couldn't come now, this was the worst-case scenario. Anywhere else but in the middle of a robbery would have been ideal.

The devil walked over to see what you were doing, letting out a frustrated groan. "Oh, for fuck's sake! Give me a break!"

You looked up at him as the contraction passed, irritated and not ready to give birth. You spat, "Sorry to ruin your parade!"

He pointed his gun at you but the clown ran over and pushed it down. "Dude, you can't shoot a pregnant lady!"

The leader looked at him, then walked away muttering under his breath about how this was going terribly and how the last thing he needed was a baby to mess it up further.

It was about that time one of the phones rang and he walked over to answer it, knowing it was the police outside. It was about time, but you thought that perhaps they needed a negotiator to show up, which was unfortunate for you. A few minutes earlier and you might not be in the early stages of labor right now.

"What do you want?" Devil asked brashly.

You couldn't hear who was on the other side of the call, sitting too far away. You watched closely, hoping your boyfriend was outside with his team. It would be the perfect fantasy if he came to your rescue; besides, they were the best S.W.A.T. team in LA. What were the chances that they weren't here?

The phone call only lasted about two minutes before the leader hung up having made no demands. He laughed, shaking his head. "They think I'm an idiot."

The ghoul came back into the room and grunted. "They've got the whole place surrounded! They probably have snipers ready to kill us if we walk outta here. What do we do?"

Devil thought for a moment, then gestured with his gun at the people laying on the floor. "Put them in front of the doors and windows. Use them as a shield. They won't shoot in here with hostages in the way and it'll give us time to think."

His accomplices nodded and started getting people up, guiding them with their guns to form a line around the center of the bank. The patrons followed orders dutifully and linked their arms together, their lives put further in danger by their captors.

The leader came over to you and grabbed your arm, but the clown came over and asked him what he was doing. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm getting her off her ass."

"She's pregnant, man," he said, his voice a little more confident than before. He didn't seem to like that you were there at all, but as soon as his bossy friend came near you, he jumped to your aid. "Just leave her alone."

"You questioning me?"

He seemed to think on his feet. "I'm just saying, if the cops know we got a pregnant lady in here, thye're gonna get more aggressive. They'll try harder to get in here. Think about it, man."

"Kid's got a point," Ghoul said, looking over. "She'll be our secret weapon."

Devil looked between them and shook his head, letting you go. "Fine, maybe you're right... this time. We'll see."

He walked away to make sure the wall of hostages was cooperating, looking out the glass doors and windows at the front of the bank to evaluate what his next move should be. He took slow, calculated steps, taunting the police and the hostages at the same time.

Another contraction hit you and you whimpered, holding your stomach and slightly curling up. The clown crouched down beside you, looking at you with wide eyes from behind his mask. He stuttered, "A-are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?" you asked through clenched teeth. He looked down, almost ashamed for asking the question. You would feel bad if he wasn't hiding his identity and holding a large automatic gun on his back. Once the pain passed, you breathed out. "How old are you?"

"Doesn't matter," he answered.

"Sure it does. They called you kid," you told him, making him look up at you. "Means they don't respect you."

"That's not true," he said, shaking his head. He stood up and walked away, but looked back at you as he did. That was how you knew you did it. You planted that seed of doubt in his mind.

The next call came in not that long after, but Devil made one of the hostages answer the phone, a terrified older man who had been there to help his son open a bank account. He instructed the man on what to say, telling the officer on the other end that they wanted an armored car and a one way trip out of the country for the three of them, all within the next hour. It wasn't possible, you thought, which you were sure was what they were told before the hostage was made to hangup the phone with the promise that if their demands weren't met by that time, someone else was going to die.

The time seemed to pass sluggishly. You wouldn't have known it was going by at all were it not for the contractions picking up speed. You had read all your books about pregnancy and birth, so you knew that wasn't a great sign in this particular situation. Your labor seemed to be fast approaching, but you didn't want it to be. Were this in line with your birth plan, that would be ideal. However, a speedy birth was not on your agenda for the day.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock," Devil taunted as he walked the line of hostages again. He'd been pacing behind them to needlessly remind them of his presence. It was cruel and having to watch him was intense. "Five more minutes."

"What if they get us what we want?" Clown asked, looking at his friend.

The leader shook his head. "They won't get us what we want. They'll try to bribe us with less than what we asked for just to get us outside."

"So you're just gonna kill one?"

"Yup."

A woman in line cried out at hearing this and she was snapped at to shut up by the ghoul. He held a gun to her back and laughed at her terror as she tried to muffle her cries.

Clown watched, clutching his gun to his chest, before looking at Devil. "Wasn't killing the guard enough?"

"Not until we get out of here with the money and our lives," the leader answered, then shoved him. "Now shut up and do your job."

You watched as the 'kid' shook his head and walked away, listening to the devil without another question. Paying attention to everything else around you was the only thing keeping you from going insane from the pain. It was more persistent now and you felt the baby had moved lower. It was getting harder to keep your cool as all you wanted to do was yell and kick your feet at these guys who had forced you into early labor.

You were trying not to think about the time passing, watching Devil pace back and forth behind the line. He was looking at them, gun pointed at their backs. Then, suddenly, another sharp contraction shot through you and all you could do was scream as he shot a woman in the back.

She would have dropped to the floor were it not for the two people on either side of her whose arms were linked with hers. They were told to drop her as she cried and writhed. Then Devil went to stand over her, watching her squirm on the ground and bleed, before lifting his gun and shooting her in the head. Everything stopped and grew quiet except for your cries. They echoed off the high walls of the bank, violently reminding everyone there that life came with pain.

Sweat and tears slipped down your face as people were forced to listen to you until you quieted down. The contraction passed and you were slumped against the desk once more.

The devil turned to Clown and motioned toward you. "Go make sure she's alive."

"Okay," he said and walked over to you. He put his gun on his back and crouched beside you, using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat from your forehead. "You're, uh, you're getting closer to, um, having the baby, aren't you?"

You nodded, keeping your eyes forward, watching the way Devil made two hostages move the woman's body closer to the door. They were going to use her as a block in front of the door incase S.W.A.T. came running in, which made you sick to your stomach. You'd seen a lot of malicious shit, but that was a new low.

The phone rang, but no one moved to answer it. Then the devil chuckled.

"Get her on her feet," he said, looking over at you and the 'kid.'

Clown puffed up his chest. "She can't possibly-"

Devil got angry. "Don't question me! Just do it!"

Clown looked at you apologetically and put an arm around your back and hoisted you up. You cried out as you felt the baby shift lower. It was hard to walk, awkward really. But he held you up and guided you to the phone as it rang. Just as you reached the desk, it stopped, and you wanted to scream but managed to hold it in. You knew they would call back. They had to.

The clown leant you against the desk and brought its accompanying chair over to you. He helped you sit in it as his buddies scolded him, but he didn't argue back or justify his actions then. Only when you were seated did he turn to them and bark back.

"You're making a pregnant lady do all this shit when she's about to have a goddamn baby! What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled.

Devil got in his face. "I'm the one calling the shots around here! You do as I say, and if I want that fat bitch to answer the damn phone, she will, or she and that baby won't-"

"Oh, so you're gonna kill a lady and her baby?"

"Wait a minute!" Ghoul interrupted, looking at the devil, "Who died and put you in charge?"

"I've been in charge, numbnuts!"

The argument would have continued on from there, but the phone rang. They all looked at your tired face and waited for you to comply with what Devil wanted. So, you did.

"Hello," you said.

The voice on the other end of the phone made you feel some relief as he said your name. It was Hondo. "Is that you?"

You didn't answer immediately, not wanting to put the robbers on edge or clue them in to anything.

He seemed to understand. "If you are who I think you are, say 'where's the car?' if you're not, say 'please help us.' Okay?"

"Where's the car?" you asked, eyes trained on the robbers. Devil nodded at you, seeming to like that you were apparently smart enough to understand the situation at hand - you got right to the point of things and had been paying attention. Little did he know...

"We're gonna get you out of there, okay? We're working on it," Hondo told you.

"Well work on it faster," you told him, wincing in pain. You held your belly with your free hand. You kept your mouth shut about being in labor, knowing the robbers didn't want that detail known to anyone outside. "They've already killed someone else."

"We know, we saw," he said, letting out a regretful sigh. "But our eyes can only see in through the windows. The camera system is down. How many people are left inside with you?"

You looked around the room, trying to count the number of hostages, but it was harder to concentrate on something like that. "I don't know."

"What did he say?" Devil asked.

"They want to know how many people are alive."

Ghoul huffed. "Why does he want to know?"

"I don't know," you groaned, feeling another contraction rearing its ugly head. You did know, but there was no way you could strategize what the right thing to say to them was at that moment. "They-they probably- ahh!"

Hondo said your name several times, keeping his voice even. "Talk to me, mama. What's going on in there?"

Devil came over and seethed at you, "Tell him to get us what we want or we're gonna kill another person. Then hang up."

You spoke through the pain. "Get them what they want-"

"Are you in labor?" Hondo asked, hearing the strain in your voice.

"Or they're going to kill again," you said. "Please, please hurry."

Ghoul took the phone from your hand shook, slamming it into the holder. He watched you as you grabbed the arms of the chair, digging your nails into the hard wood. You scraped it and he shook his head. "Pregnant people are weird," he mumbled.

He and the devil moved on, talking to each other about what to do next. They began to argue about it but it was short lived as they parted ways. Ghoul slammed his fist on a desk and stomped away to try again at finding a plan-b escape. Devil leaned on a desk out of view of the windows, near you, and waited.

Clown stayed with you and talked you through the contraction. His voice wavered with fear and nervousness, seemingly never been in a situation like this before, as far as pregnancy went at the very least. Once it passed, he wiped your forehead again. "What-what's going to happen if you give birth in here?"

You looked at him, unsure yourself. "Well, there will be a baby in here and we'll both need immediate medical attention. If at that point they know about that, S.W.A.T. might just do anything to get in here."

Now that Hondo knew you were in here, there was more pressure on him to get inside and ensure your safety. You knew he wasn't going to tell Luca that you were one of the hostages because it would cloud his judgement, damned be the third generation S.W.A.T. officer that he was. His girlfriend and unborn child were in the center of danger and he'd do anything to get you out of there.

Clown got you water and helped you drink it as you continued to wallow in pain. As you sat there, you knew the situation was dire. You could see out some of the windows, seeing S.W.A.T. officers gearing up. You knew that sooner or later, they were going to come inside. You also saw an armored car pulling up, but it was a great distance away from the doors.

Ghoul came back, a little bit of a skip in his step. "They got our car! Let's go!"

"Wait!" Devil said, standing from his position and walking up behind the hostages. He took a man from them by putting his arm around his neck and pointing his gun into his side. They slowly made their way to the windows so he could peer out. He seethed. "They're trying to lure us out."

When he got back to the safe zone, the devil scratched his head, clearly deep in thought. He knew they were in deep, and with your timely reminders about the impending birth of your child, their odds of getting out of here was getting slimmer and slimmer.

"Wait for them to call," he said, turning to his friends. "We tell them we're going to take a hostage with us to ensure our escape."

"Dude, they got the fucking car, why do we gotta wait?" Ghoul asked.

"Because as soon as we step anywhere near those windows, they're gonna gun us down," Devil said, shoving him. "This is why I'm in charge, because you don't think!"

"I think better than you!" the ghoul yelled. "It was my idea to come here, remember?"

"And look at where that got us! You could of picked any other bank, but it had to be this big fancy one in the middle of town!"

"The cameras are out! They can't see in here, dimwit!"

You were about to yell at them to shut up when the phone rang. Devil looked at you and nodded. As you picked up the phone, Ghoul tried to continue the argument, but the devil shoved him away and told him to be quiet.

"Hello," you said.

Hondo sighed with relief at hearing your voice. "Say 'what do you want?' if you're okay. Say anything else if not."

"What do you want?" you asked.

"Tell the brothers we have their car ready for them," he said, which peaked your interest. You looked at the robbers in front of you and it clicked. Their arguing and dynamics made sense now.

They were brothers.

"Your car is ready," you told them.

Ghoul leaned against the desk in front of you. "Tell him we want it closer!"

Devil shoved him away again. "And that we're taking a hostage with us, so if they shoot at us, they'll be killing the next innocent person."

You took a deep breath and nodded. "They want the car closer so that they can get in with a hostage."

Hondo grunted. "Of course they'd try that trick. Listen to me, okay, we're not gonna let that happen. But tell them that we have to make room to move the car, so it'll be a minute."

"Okay," you said and sighed, rubbing your belly. You were in the last stretch of contraction. You could just feel it. "They have to make room for the car to get closer, so it'll be a few minutes before you can leave."

Devil didn't say anything, only took the phone from you and hung it up. "Get ready to get out of here, boys. Make the hostages take our bags to the door."

Then he walked away.

Ghoul took control of that mini mission, bossing two of the men in line to move and hustle to get their bags full of money to the door. They dropped them off and promptly got back in line, seeing the robber's finger ever-present on the trigger of his gun.

You were leaning forward on the desk, head laying on your arms as you whined and tried to breath deeply. You tried to hold your legs closed, preventing the progression of labor in anyway you could. You cursed having worn a dress today. You tried to think about anything else but where you where in that moment and what was happening. You tried to put yourself at home, in your baby's nursery that you and Luca had spent the last few weeks putting together and decorating. It helped distract you for a few minutes until more yelling broke the illusion.

Looking up, you saw Devil and Ghoul arguing about which hostage to take with them, which was the stupidest thing you had ever seen. It made you angry as you sat there, in labor, having to listen to this. Devil wanted to take you but Ghoul wanted to take anyone else. You were at your breaking point.

However, Clown snubbed out your lit fuse. He came with more water and helped you sit up so he could bring the cup to your lips. You sipped it, thankful that he was the kindest of the brothers. From what you had observed, he had to be the baby of the three and didn't want to hurt anyone there. He was there to rob a bank, not kill anyone, and each time you were in pain, he came to your side. He took care of you as much as he knew how. Something inside of him was redeemable, you thought so at least.

"They're both idiots," you whispered to him.

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah... I can't believe I agreed to do this. I should have never let them talk me into this."

You nodded. "Yeah, that's true."

He leaned against the desk, staying close to you as you both listened to the argument devolve, once more, into who is in charge. It was beginning to sound like they were a broken record, but as they continued the back and forth, you heard how similar their voices were, how similarly they spoke, and you could picture them as brothers more and more. It was in contrast to the 'kid', who seemed a little more mild mannered and quiet. He only spoke against the other two when he was passionate about whatever he was fighting them for, be it the lives of the people there or your wellbeing. It made you wonder how he was a part of this family.

Suddenly, everything came to a head.

"I told you to stop questioning me!" someone yelled, followed by a round of rapid pops from a gun.

You couldn't process anything for a moment, stomach tightening and making double over, leaning onto the desk again. You held your belly, screaming with the other scared people trapped with you. The moment passed quickly, but you couldn't look up.

"Bobby, what did you do?" Clown yelled.

The devil, Bobby, turned and criticized his kid brother. "Shut up! Don't say my name, you idiot!"

"But-"

"I said shut up!" he yelled and pointed the gun at him. "Now stop asking stupid questions or you're next."

You peeked up from your arm, seeing how far Devil had devolved. In the beginning, he was semi-organized (given how shittily the robbery was planned, there was at least some effort on his behalf), but the stress of the situation and his brother's mouth had finally snapped his last nerve.

Clown backed down and slowly sank to the ground beside your chair. Bobby began pacing again.

The phone range and you answered it.

"What's happening in there?" Hondo asked.

You could feel the devil's eyes on you. "You need to hurry."

"What happened?" he said again, fearing the worst.

You let out a breath. "Someone else is dead."

"Tell them we're going as fast as we can," he said.

You looked over at Bobby. "They're going as fast as they can. Please don't shoot anyone else."

"I'll shoot whoever I damn-well please," he said and took the phone from you, putting it to his ear. "You listen here, buddy. You don't tell me what to do, got it? Now, if that car isn't at the front door in five minutes, I'm killing everyone in here."

He slammed the phone into the holder before ripping it off of the desk and throwing it across the room. He stomped off, going back to his look out position from behind the line of people. He watched the doors impatiently, seemingly unbothered by the crying people before him. Their anguish brought him no joy, unlike his now-dead brother, as it was obvious that the people were merely pawns in his game. He didn't care about them whatsoever.

You laid your head down and whispered, "He's gonna kill you."

Clown made a worried noise in the back of his throat. "No-no he won't. He-he's my brother..."

"You blew his cover. Everyone here knows his name and it won't be hard to track down a Bobby in an armored car," you said, pausing to moan and shift your seated position. You couldn't hold your legs together anymore, knowing it was dangerous. It was a feeble attempt anyway. "He's already angry and you're the only one left brave enough to stand up to him."

He whined. "I-I'm really not."

"Yeah, you are," you told him, hoping to break through to him. "You've protected me from him this whole time. That took a lot of courage, I know it did."

"But... he's my brother... The only family I have left now," he said.

You looked at him, meeting his sad eyes past the mask. "Family wouldn't put you in this position."

He stared into your eyes for a moment, then looked away in contemplation. He didn't say anything for a moment, which felt like an eternity, and then he looked at you again. "What's your name?"

"Why does it matter now?" you asked.

"Because if I'm gonna die, I'd like to know the name of the lady I protected," he said.

You didn't understand what that meant, it could mean many things, and as you felt the pain getting worse, you couldn't think very well anyway. You told him your name between heavy breathes.

He gently wiped your forehead again, talking you through the pain. Then he took off his mask, revealing his face to you, and you were saddened to see how young he was. There was no doubt he was in his early twenties but he still had a baby face and the biggest eyes you'd ever seen a man have, giving him a deer in the headlights look.

"I'm Eric."

Then he stood up and moved away from you, walking over to another desk quietly. He moved out of your sight and you couldn't move much anymore, too tired to do much of anything as it were. Despite the situation, all you wanted to do was get this over with.

Then, there was a loud thud from where Eric had disappeared to.

Bobby turned around and marched over to you. "What the hell are you doing?"

You groaned, looking up at him. "Nothing."

He seethed again, "I've about had enough of you and you're whining."

"I'm about to push a watermelon out of me, what do you want from me?"

"I want you to shut u-" BANG!

He fell to the ground in front of you, his blood splattering on the desk. Looking over, Eric had his gun trained on his brother from behind the desk a few feet away, eerily still, like he was trained for this. It made your heart ache because your stomach was already twisted. What kind of life had this kid had that led him and his brothers to this?

As he walked over to you, he yelled at the other hostages, "Go! Get out of here! Go! Get out!" They listened without hesitance and ran screaming and crying for the door.

He crouched down beside his brother's body and took the gun off of him, sliding it across the floor. He then took his own gun and push it to follow. Then he turned to you, "Are you okay?"

You nodded. "More or less."

Eric couldn't say another word before S.W.A.T. came into the bank with guns at the ready. They aimed at him and he put his arms up, already on his knees. You screamed in pain and he turned to look at you, making Hondo yell at him to stay still, but he didn't seem to hear him. If he did, he didn't listen and reached out to you.

He took your hand and let you squeeze it as the pain made you sob.

You managed to cry out, "He's unarmed!"

The team got closer and saw the truth in your words. They pulled his hand from yours despite your tight grip and handcuffed him, getting him onto his feet. While Chris and Street patted him down, Luca and Hondo came to your side.

"Fucking hell, I could kill this guy for all this," Luca grunted, clearly angry. He took your hand into his.

You shook your head. "He's a hero, believe me."

"How is he-?" Hondo asked, but was cut off by your guttural scream.

Deacon shook his head as he watched. "We need to get her out of here. Now."

The paramedics came in with their gurneys and attended to the bodies on the floor, but by the time it was decerned that they were beyond saving, everyone was busy and there was no room for you anywhere. Luca picked you up and carried you outside in hopes of finding an ambulance to take you to the nearest hospital, but they were all tending to the injured who had run outside earlier.

Tan opened up the back doors of Black Betty and called out to Luca, ushering the team over. Street helped get you inside while Tan and Chris ran to the side doors to get in. Once you were laying on the floor, Luca behind you and holding you close, everyone else piled in and closed everything up, turning on the lights and sirens.

You were screaming the whole time, crying as it became too much. Your body was telling you to push and that was all you could think about doing. Luca was trying to soothe you, telling you that you would be at the hospital soon and that it would be okay. But your baby had other ideas, they had waited long enough.

"The baby's coming!" you cried out.

"We know, we're gonna-"

"No! Now! The baby's coming right now!"

You let out another scream as you pushed. Deacon slide onto the floor and pulled your legs up onto the seats on either side of you, pushing your dress away. He ripped your underwear to get a look at how things were progressing and then looked up at Luca, Street, and Hondo, "She's right. She's crowning."

Hondo called out to the front, "Tan, pull over!"

Luca held your hands as you rested you head back against his abdomen, crying as your body guided you. Everything you'd read and come to understand was nothing compared to the way your body told you what to do.

Black Betty came to a stop on the side of the road, but it only took three more powerful pushes that the ended the pressure. You ached, but the pain was lessened dramatically. You opened your eyes to see Deacon picking up your baby, who was a little chubby for a newborn and rather long, aka big like their daddy.

Deacon gently held them and patted their back, getting them to cry and clear their airways. He smiled at them and happily said, "Welcome to the world, Baby Luca."

Street rummaged around for anything to wrap the baby in, only for Chris to pass a fresh shirt to him from the front. He thanked her and helped Deacon wrap your little angel up to keep warm before they were laid on your chest. You took her, Luca's arm coming under yours to support you both.

"It's a girl," Deacon told you and you smiled. He smiled too, knowing that joy and pride well. "Congratulations."

Tan put Black Betty in gear and let everyone know he was going to start driving again, as you and your daughter needed to be taken to the hospital. After that, no one said anything. They just let you and Luca have your moment with your daughter.

Luca couldn't even speak. He had spent the day tirelessly trying to save hostages from a bad situation that only got worse as the minutes passed by, only to learn from Hondo that you were one of them minutes before they stormed in there. He ran to you as soon as he could and wanted to burn the robbers to the ground with how angry he was because you were caught in the middle of their idiocy. Then, as soon as he saw you were in labor, he was scared, too. However, now, all that stress and anger and fear was erased. You were safe in his arms with your daughter. He had a daughter! He was nothing my happy.

Street inevitably ruined the precious moment, but lightened it at the same time as he broke the silence. "I can't believe you gave birth in Black Betty."

The team didn't react until you laughed, which let them know they could laugh too.

"I'm just glad it wasn't in the bank," you said, the ache still in your heart for the people who were lost and the kid brother who had saved you. You looked at Hondo as you remembered him. "I wanna be there for Eric. He really did save those of us that he could."

Hondo didn't question you, because you were tired and hormonal and he knew you knew what you were talking about. He just nodded and said, "I'll talk to the DA, but for now, you just worry about that cutiepie you got, okay?"

"Okay," you said.

When you got to the hospital, you were taken to a room immediately. Not only because you were wheeled in with a baby in your arms, but because you had a team of S.W.A.T. officers escorting you. Luca went back with you and ensured you and your baby daughter were okay.

Despite being three and a half weeks early, she was healthy. She would need to stay a few extra days for observation, but that was okay with you. Both you and Luca wanted the best for her, so you knew she might need a little extra watching over because of her early arrival and the stress you were under, and you needed to recover as well. It would work out, you were sure.

Once that was cleared up, Luca sat beside you with your daughter asleep in her basinet at your bedside. He watched her with nothing but love in his eyes. He'd only been talking about how excited he was for her to 'hurry up and get here' in the months leading up to this moment. He hadn't cared if she were a boy or a girl, as you'd left finding out to be a surprise at the birth, because he was going to love his kid no matter what. You knew he was going to be an amazing father.

You watched him, tired as all hell, but couldn't fall asleep. Even after the day you'd had, you laid awake on some pain killers with a soft smile on your lips. "I love you."

Luca turned to you and chuckled. "I love you, too." He reached out for your hand and squeezed it gently. "You are the most amazing woman I've ever met, you know that?"

"You only tell me that at least once a day," you laughed softly, careful not to wake your sleeping angel.

"Well, I mean it so much this time," he told you, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles. "You're so strong and smart and brave. What you went through today was a lot and you powered through it like a champ. And you see the good in people even in situations when it's hard to see anything but bad."

"What can I say?" you asked, not really sure what there was to say. You just read the situation like it was. And it helped you and several other people get through it. "I'm just a woman."

"Nah, you're more than that," he said and leaned in closer, kissing your head. Your eyes closed and this time they were too heavy to lift back open. "You're Superwoman."

"If you say so," you mumbled. You then fell into a dreamless sleep, getting the much needed rest your deserved.

Lowkey, I'm now attached to the backstory I accidentally gave Bobby, Ghoul, and Eric, so here it is if anyone cares. Bobby, Ghoul - who's real name is Terry, and Eric were born in a less than ideal home. Raised by a worked to the bone mother and a father who had lengthy arrest record, they were doomed from the start. Bobby and Terry were closer in age to each other than either of them were to Eric, often getting into trouble and leaving him out. When they weren't getting suspended from school, they were pushing Eric around metaphorically and literally. They would often use Eric as a punching bag when they weren't getting into fights with each other. They mother wasn't around a lot as she worked multiple jobs to keep a roof over their heads. When she was around, she was frustrated and tired, often getting angry at them for little problems like leaving their shoes out for her to trip over and bigger issues like getting kicked out of school. Their father was in and out of jail for most of their lives, but when he was around, he taught them how to shoot, steal, and hot wire cars. Averse to these activities, Eric was once again the odd one out and often the target of his brothers' criticism. Their father often got drunk and ranted to his sons about his drawbacks in life, often blaming others. Due to this unstable environment, it was no wonder the brothers turned out the way they did. Bobby followed in their father's footsteps, often helping their old man with his criminal endeavors when he could. After their father's untimely death at the hands of a homeowner protecting himself after he broke into the house, Bobby was angry. He went on a bend of drinking and crime, ending him up in jail where he made friends. Once he was out, he started robbing houses and small business. Terry at least finished high school and got a job as a mechanic, which was stable enough for a while. He started to doing shotty work for cheap and got fired once his boss found out. He did a number of odd jobs after that. Eric was on the right track but couldn't catch a break. With a grant, he was able to start college but had to leave after his mother became ill. He was almost done with college when he dropped out to take care of her, but it was fruitless. He didn't blame his mom but rather the bad hand life had dealt him, but didn't grow very bitter. He got a shitty job and went about his life. However, their mother's death is what brought the brothers back together. It was several months after the funeral that Bobby came around with the idea to rob a bank. Terry was crashing on Eric's couch at the time and liked the idea, immediately liking the idea of free money and getting to go anywhere they wanted. The two oldest brothers talked Eric into it, telling him they could go live their dream lives and get out of the shambles they called a life. Plus, they were brothers, the only family he had left, was he really gonna left them do it alone?

And yeah, that's what I got for the bank robbing brothers. If it doesn't make any sense, I came up with all of this over the span of 8 hours and little to no sleep.

[marvelouslizzie]

I'm Not Sure If I Can Do This

Summary: You want to try something new and Bucky isn't sure if he can do it.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+, established relationship, teasing, dirty talk, pet names, edging, no protection, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 1.9K

A/N: I wrote this little filthy story because of my friend Andreea's prompt. I'm glad it turned out to be something decent.

You can also send me requests if you want. I can't guarantee I'll write it but I'll certainly try.

Thank you @notafunkiller for proofreading and editing ❤️

All work is mine, please do not repost or translate without my permission.

You thought explaining why you wanted this or even convincing him to do it would be harder, but it was quite the opposite. Bucky Barnes is a guy who loves to give, especially when it comes to pleasure. It’s like he’s thriving on your pleasure while he’s delaying his own. He never made you wait or made you beg for release. Not once. And you really want to be desperate for some reason. And you have no intention to find out why. You just want to experience it. You want him to tease you relentlessly, deny your orgasm, and finally when he allows it, you want it to be explosive.

It’s easy to imagine him doing all those things to you, but the idea of explaining it is just dreadful. That’s why you were so reluctant. You weren’t sure if he would like the idea or maybe he would misunderstand your intention. None of that happened, though. You just said you wanted to try it and as you started to explain why, you noticed how his eyes were shining mischievously. That’s when you realized it was more than okay for him.

And that’s how you ended up all naked and frustrated on your bed. Bucky is a man of his word, so when he said he was going to enjoy this, he was not lying. He has been teasing you for a while now, and all you feel is frustration and of course, that undeniable anticipation. 

“Bucky…” You whine as he’s moving so damn slowly inside you. The touches, the kisses, his damn tongue… It all feels good but not enough to make you come.

“Yes?” 

The way he looks into your eyes makes you melt. You are so close to forgetting that he has been torturing you. He has been denying your orgasm every time you are getting close, yet the look in his eyes… It shows his true feelings.

“What do you want, baby?”

He sounds like he has no idea what you want. You wish you could hate him for this, but you can’t. You’ve been imagining how this would feel like for so long, and he’s just turning your fantasy into reality while enjoying the ride.

“I wanna come.” 

You don’t care if you sound desperate because you are. You are desperate to come. You want that relief you took for granted for so long. All those times he never denied you, all those times he never even paused for a second before giving you all the pleasure in the world.

“Beg for it.”

His response surprises you. You can see the desire in his eyes and how much he’s actually enjoying this, but you never expected that he would be so into it. Maybe he didn’t know it either, but he definitely loves the state you are in. He even seems to enjoy edging himself because while torturing you, he’s torturing himself as well.

“Beg?”

“Yes, baby. Beg. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I-” You can’t deny that, can you? You always imagined it this way, but you never actually begged before. It’s easier when you are just imagining things, but looking at his face and saying those words… It feels incredibly hard.

“If you are not ready to beg yet, you are not ready to come, sweetheart.”

Oh, that’s awfully cruel of him yet so freaking hot. He knows you want to do this so badly, but your pride is standing in the way, and he’s willing to take you to the point where you wouldn’t care about it anymore. Yet your mouth says something else.

“But I am so close…” 

“I know.” He moves in and out of you. His pace is torturously slow, yet it still feels amazing.

Then his fingers move onto your clit, gently rubbing it, and you feel a jolt of electricity all through your body. It’s like a promise. The promise of blinding pleasure, but he stops after a couple of rubs and makes you whine.

“You know what you have to say, don’t you?” You nod in response, tears are beginning to well up. “You can get what you want, any time you want.” You know that, but it’s like your mouth is having a hard time saying those words. “And you know we can stop this any time you want, right?”

He’s trying to remind you of your safe word, but you don’t want to stop. You have no intention of using it.

“Please…” Your voice comes out so pathetically, but it makes him smile. Why is it so hard to say? 

“Please what?” He combines his words with actions. He moves a little bit harder inside you, and it reminds you of what you need. All you need is to ask him, and you know he will give it to you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, bracing yourself to beg.

“Please move harder.” When you open your eyes back up, you see Bucky smirking. It just spurs something inside you. “Please, please…”

“Oh, baby…” He sounds so condescending yet loving at the same time. You have no idea how that’s even possible. “You really need it, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Your answer comes out instantly. Fuck your pride, you need this.

“Then you will get what you want.” You feel relieved but it doesn’t last long. “But I have one condition.” He completely stops while talking. “You won’t come before I say you can, got it?”

“But…”

“I will move faster and harder, like you asked me to, but you gotta hold it.” He sounds like he’s explaining edging to someone who has no idea what it is. “Show me what a good girl you can be, and I will give you what you want.”

Fuck… He’s making it so hard and hot at the same time. You really didn’t think he would take it this seriously. You thought just a please would be enough for him but it’s not. Yet you can’t seem to find it in your heart to regret asking him to do this.

“Can you do that for me?”

“I… I don’t know. I’ve never tried it before.”

“I know you can take it, sweetheart. Just show me how good you are.”

He’s a menace. He knows praising you will help and he’s using it damn well. So you find yourself nodding, and that’s when he finally starts to move again. 

His hands are grabbing your waist, while he’s fucking you the way you imagined it. It’s rough, it’s fast, but god damn, it feels amazing. You feel your orgasm is quickly approaching, especially after all that teasing, and you try not to focus on the pleasure. It’s so hard to move against your nature. Your body just wants to give into it and enjoy it to the fullest, but no, that’s not what your mind wants. So you close your eyes to fight it. Maybe that will help.

“No, no, no.” You hear Bucky saying. “You gotta look me in the eyes, baby. No cheating.”

“But that’s not…” He doesn’t let you finish. 

“But it is.” 

“Fine.” You know you sound like a child when you open your eyes back to see his pretty ones. They are so full of love and desire. You could come just looking into his eyes but you won’t. Not until he says so. You want to experience that crashingly intense orgasm.

“Good girl.” 

As if calling you a good girl with that deep voice of his isn’t enough, he starts to gently rub your clit and you can feel yourself clenching around him. Your pussy is begging for release. So are you.

“You are doing so good for me, baby.” His voice is full of adoration. “You look so beautiful. All spread for me. Just waiting for my command to come around my cock.” He slams so hard inside you that it makes you moan even though you were trying to hold back all this time. “Let me hear you. You make such pretty noises.”

“Please, Bucky.” It’s so hard to hold back. You can feel tears running down your cheeks. You never wanted to come this badly in your life before. “Please let me come.”

Finally, those words come out of your mouth. It has been a tough journey, but finally, you can ignore your pride and just ask for what you really want.

“That’s all I needed to hear.” He suddenly pushes your legs onto your chest, practically folding you into two. That allows him to move deeper inside you. “You can come now,” he says right before he starts to move again.

And just like that, you start coming on his command. It’s unbelievable how your body was just waiting for four words to come out of his mouth. All that teasing, all the build-up and anticipation pays off. Your whole body starts to shake while he’s railing you like there’s no tomorrow. Your head is thrown back, your eyes are closed and your lips are parted with the most delicious moans coming out of them. 

“That’s it, baby. Take it all.” He sounds like he’s close himself, but you are too lost in the bubble of pleasure to do or say something about it. 

It’s nothing like you have ever felt before. It’s so intense that there’s no thought in your mind, other than Bucky and how good he makes you feel. It’s so long that you forget to breathe for a while. Your ears are buzzing, and your muscles are contracting. You never knew this was possible. You never knew it would be better than you imagined.

When you finally come down from your high, you open your eyes to see Bucky with the most pleased expression. He hasn’t come yet. You can feel how hard he’s inside you, but you can see how accomplished he feels.

“God, you are so fucking beautiful.” He keeps moving with the same pace, chasing his high.

“Come for me, Bucky,” you say while you reach out to touch his face. He has been working so hard to make your fantasy real. “Come inside me. Please.”

“Fuck.” You can see he’s about to come. The veins around his eyes get so visible when he’s close. “You want it, baby?” His voice comes out like a groan.

“Yes. I want it. Please, give it to me.”

That does it. You just watch how he starts to come and damn, it’s such a pretty sight. You have seen this many times before, but it never ceases to surprise you. Him losing himself in pleasure like that… Especially when you know you are the reason for it. You are the reason why he’s so turned on. You are the reason why he comes so hard. You are the one doing this to him. 

When he’s done, he gently moves out and rolls next to you. You whine a little because of how empty you suddenly feel. You feel his hot and deep breaths on your neck. As soon as you think you are feeling a little cold, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, as if you’re afraid someone else will hear you.

“It’s my pleasure, sweetheart. You have no idea how much I enjoyed that.”

“Oh, I saw how much you enjoyed it, Mr. I’m Not Sure If I Can Do This.”

He scoffs at you bringing up his first reaction. Oh, how wrong he was. It was a completely unexpected experience.

“Maybe we should try choking next time.” You test the waters reluctantly, but the look he’s giving you is nothing but promising.

[mejaemin]

easy - lee jeno

wc: 0.8k

summary: loving lee jeno comes so easy to you

warnings: fluff, best friends to lovers, implied fem reader, definitely not proofread or edited im to emotional for all that bs rn

an: piece of advice to everyone- love is NOT easy despite what im saying in this fic :( im literally in the trenches rn feeling like crying every second over a man i have yet to even speak to !! this drabble is the product of my emotions and what i WISH love felt like for me so i hope you all enjoy this little thing ab one of my comfort people :>

pt. 2 !!!

───── ⋆⋅ ⊹ ⁺ 𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ͡ ৯ ♡໒⁀ ᩧຼ ꒱ིྀ ⁺ ⊹ ⋅⋆ ─────

loving jeno has always come easy.

it’s nearly second nature when you lift your head up or your energy picks up just from sensing his presence in a room. you don’t even notice how your head ends up on his shoulder whenever you sit together, or how easy it is to say “i love jeno!” whenever he’s brought up when he’s not around. it’s so easy to excuse the emptiness in your heart for having a bad day when it’s really because he’s not with you, and on top of that not even in a romantic way.

loving jeno comes so easy to you that when your friends accuse you of being in love with him, your heart rate quickens and your cheeks heat as you quickly shoot down the idea. it’s so easy and so natural that whenever you’re upset you look at old videos and photos of him your smile comes back like it never left. whenever you miss him you can ask to facetime or for him to send a photo and he always says yes.

loving jeno is so easy that when you call him your favorite nickname, jenjen, that he always says he hates, you feel a sense of pride knowing he won’t let anyone else call him that. when you ask him to get something or do something for you, he’ll do it without question, but if your friends ask that of him he’ll say for them to do it themselves. your heart flutters at the exclusivity of his affections.

loving jeno is so easy that you always know how he feels or what he needs. for almost any of your other friends, you have a folder in your notes app that consists of their likes and dislikes or any other info on them. with jen you don’t even have to think twice about it. there’s a pout on his lips? you already know to scoot next to him and give him a hug. he’s upset? all he wants is your company. let him rest his head in your lap and maybe take a nap. don’t worry about asking him to let his thoughts out, you already know he will when he’s ready and you’re the only set of ears his worries will fall upon.

loving jeno is so easy that when you finally come to terms with your feelings, things make a little more sense. your ongoing question of why you care so much for your best friend finally has an answer; you’re in love with him. when you meet with him again, you don’t even feel nervous at this crush, you feel confident that no matter how things go, he’ll never leave your side.

loving jeno comes so easy to you that the next time you hang out, you’re not as responsive because you’re hung up on how to confess. you know that even if the outcome isn’t what you want, you’ll still be together but you want to make sure you say it in a way you won’t regret. you care so much for him you want to make sure you say it the right way. however, when he puts a hand on your thigh and asks if you’re okay with the sweetest, most concerned look in his eyes, it all spills out and your strategic confession falls apart.

“..jeno?” you ask softly.

“what is it? don’t be scared, you know you can tell me anything.” your nickname falls off his tongue so smoothly that your fear of rejection finally comes and you nearly tear up.

“jen i really can’t hide it anymore so i just have to tell you okay? please don’t be mad i don’t care what your response is just listen, okay? i really, really like you jen. more than a friend does. at this point, i’m already sure i love you. i don’t care whether or not you reciprocate, because i really just love you so much.” you sniffle, a tear dropping from your eye. “i really can’t hold it in so i’m sorry, but i love you so much and i really want to be more than just your best friend so please-“ jeno cuts you off with a soft call of your name, your real one.

“please, you didn’t have to work yourself up so much. i feel the same way. i should’ve been more obvious.. don’t you know i’m only this way with you?” he smiles, the hand on your thigh moving up to your cheek to wipe your tears.

loving jeno comes so easy to you that when he leans in and your lips finally connect, your heart is finally full. all the broken pieces of your life come together and you feel complete, like you have nothing else to want or wish for, because now you have your best friend. in every way you wanted, he’s now yours.

───── ⋆⋅ ⊹ ⁺ 𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ͡ ৯ ♡໒⁀ ᩧຼ ꒱ིྀ ⁺ ⊹ ⋅⋆ ─────

[winterzsurprise]

Change My Mind [8]

Pairing: BTS x reader

SUMMARY: As a make-up artist, you were expected to glamorize your clients with brushes and products that cost a week-worth of food, not to befriend them outside of work, let alone have them save you from dates yet here you are five years later as one of their closest confidants.

Being a stylist of the world's biggest boyband is no easy feat, someone is doing flips, someone can't stay still and one's asleep but its fine, you can work around their chaos but then one day, you find out they're all your soulmates, a whole different can of chaos you don't think you can handle.

Tags: Soulmates AU, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Not Beta Read, Slow Build, Polyamory, Attempts at Humor

Words: 7.3k

hello, sorry for ghosting you all. I got busy with school and projects. This chapter is brought to you by my PCD because I saw hobi a few days ago and its kicking my ass. I think this chapter being focused (kinda) on Hoba says a lot so yeah. Not proofread, will fix and add more later. Any tips on recovering from pcd cause woahhh wth

please do tell me if ya'll want to be added to the taglist. pls leave a comment or my jk pcs will be sleeping outside my window

edit 16/04/25: fixed grammar mistakes, added new scenes during Hobi and Reader's interaction in his studio, and a couple of paragraphs here and there, that is all.

edit 02/06/25: added a convo with Reader's friends' at the end

<<Prev || Masterlist || Next>>

________

When Seokjin came to consciousness, it wasn’t to the ear-shattering blares of Jungkook’s alarms a few doors down nor was it to someone shaking him awake.

For the first time in his life, he was instead woken up by the feeling of someone’s warm touch tracing the sharpness of his jaw.

His eyes flew open, heart jackhammering in his chest at the thought of someone climbing into his bed while he was at his most vulnerable state only to calm down at the sight of you looking down at him with the softest look in your eyes and the breath in his lungs was punched out. 

Seokjin is not a poetic guy, that was Namjoon and Yoongi, but if he had a morsel of their creative minds, he would’ve waxed anthologies upon anthologies just to describe how your gaze, overflowing with the sweetness of love, had made his mind stutter and his heart skip a beat. He’d say how it can definitely make a man win a war all by himself and the heat of your love to keep him warm during the winters.

Realization came to him like a sudden flash of thunder, his brain becoming more aware of the haziness and the peculiarity of it all.

Your gaze, usually warm and friendly, is mellowed out and overflowing with the sweet, stickiness of love as if you’re looking at him with all the love that exists in the world. His fingers trembled when it reached out to touch your cheeks, scared that once he touched this image, this hallucination of his would fizzle out and he’d wake up with more longing than he’s already feeling.

This is a dream, it must be. You’ve never looked at him like that.

Yet. His mind whispered.

He was dreaming but the warmth of your cheeks and the softness of your skin brushing against his fingers felt so real it made him shiver.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Li-like what?”

He didn’t know if this dream was a nightmare or not, hearing your voice and feeling your fingers caressing his skin so softly . It was cruel how gentle you were handling him, how the heat of your hands when it cupped his cheeks had sent electric shocks throughout his body, stirring every part of him awake. 

Then before the question could even leave his lips, you leaned down to press your lips on his and his brain short-circuits.

Your lips are as perfect as the rest of you, it slotted in between his so perfectly it ached. He felt breathless from the brief contact, stomach ticklish as his mind repeated the same sensations and memories over and over again. Suddenly, the cumulation of longing and withheld desires surfaces and his fingers twitch at where they laid on either side of your face.

It’s just a dream, you can do everything you ever wanted. A darker, greedier voice at the back of his head whispered and he almost let himself follow its whims.

“There you go again.” You said and his brewing thoughts faded into the background. “Stop looking so… sad.”

“I look… sad?”

“Like a kicked puppy,” You laughed, hand coming up to his cheeks and the smell of your sweet lotion invaded his senses. “I’m here with you now, stop looking so defeated.”

You kissed him again but this time it was in the spot in between his eyebrows and the tip of his nose. Seokjin didn’t know how greedy he could be, never knew how hungry he was until he felt your lips pressing against his skin. 

It’s just a dream , the logical part of his brain whispered to him but it still felt wrong .

He shouldn’t be doing this, he should be better than this. He needs to wake up before he completely lose himself in his own imagination.

This dream was toying with the already frayed thread holding his flimsily gathered self-control. It's like dangling a game in front of a predator who’s been starved for years. It’s so tempting to just lean in and kiss you, to pull you down and let his hands roam down the curves of your body.

“Jinnie.”

“Yes?”

“Stop holding back.” He takes a deep shuddering breath as his brain catches up on your words. “I want this. I want you.”

snip!

Suddenly overcome with the molten heat of desire lighting his skin, he surged up to capture your lips with his, hands cradling and pulling your face to him. With a yelp, you tip over to fall on top of him. Seokjin waited for you to push him away, to fight against his hold, to stand and walk away from him with a disgusted look on your face but none of those happened. Instead, your hands cradled his face and brought him closer for a kiss as breathtaking as you make him everyday.

Seokjin didn’t care that he was dreaming, his body burned with the intense desire he had tampered down for so long and if he didn't kiss you now he might actually combust.

How long has he longed to feel the heat of your skin against his? How long had he stirred restlessly at night wondering how comforting it would be to feel your weight on top of him and your body pressing against him? He couldn’t count how many nights had gone where he’d wake up sweaty, body electric from the rampant and unsatisfied need running in his veins, wishing he could expel the carnal hunger rooted deeply within him with you.

And he had tried, god knows how he tried to find someone else, to move on like you had done but his skin would crawl from their touch and his stomach would churn whenever they looked at him. Even staring at someone longer than what is appropriate felt like committing the biggest sin.

You had ruined him for any other woman without even doing much and he didn't know whether he should be thankful or not.

Seokjin doesn’t dream often but when he does, it is never about you.

Until tonight.

You gasped into his mouth as his kisses grew hurried and his roaming hands grew more confident in its exploration, teasingly brushing the underside of your breasts before it would fall to and your fingers threads into his hair before tugging on them. The sting of his scalp immediately melted into hot pleasure that dripped down to his abdomen. He was undeniably hard, bursting at the seams from harmless kissing and if lust wasn’t clouding his mind, he would’ve been embarrassed.

He trailed kisses down your throat where your perfume smells the strongest and he groaned before beginning to lave his tongue over your skin and gently sucking on them, relishing in the soft sighs he’s reaping. You shifted under him, no doubt feverish with desire like he is, and your thigh brushed against him, making him tighten his hold onto your waist as a shuddering exhale left him.

Seokjin wasn’t pure, he’s had one or two experiences with women before you came into his life, still it was embarrassing how he had reacted from how you had nudged against him.

“Jinnie…” You sighed and his heart stuttered at how sweet his name sounded spilling out your lips. “Stop teasing me, I want you.”

He detached himself from your throat to take a look at his masterpiece, gently thumbing the small but purple bruises on your skin before daring to look up.

And god, weren’t you a sight for sore eyes?

With your hair strewn messily around your head, you looked like an absolute angel with a halo. Your lips are swollen red and your eyes are blown black as it stared back at him with the same exact amount of need itching his skin. Letting his eyes fall to your neck littered with his marks and the uncharted territories of your thighs, he swallowed hard as his pants grew tighter.

“Jinnie…”

Seokjin…

“You’re so pretty like this, baby.” He whispered.

God, he wanted to do a lot of things with you. 

His head a mess trying to figure out what he should do first, fingers twitching as he figured out if he’ll start with shedding your top off—which he just noticed was one of his hoodies, holy fuck —or begin unbuttoning your denim shorts.

“Jinnie please...”

Seokjin…

All those years with only him and his pent-up frustrations whenever he’d see you wear your pretty dresses—the sensual floor-length maxi length dress you had worn for the luxury themed Christmas party with the high slit on the side of your thighs dangerously matched with a pair of red heels forever ingrained into his brain—finally resurfacing and all of a sudden, he’s insatiable, ravenous and one kiss away from his sanity snapping.

You were his to have, to hold and to revere.

God, he feels crazy just thinking about how you were his . He was descending into madness from the unbridled desire he's been holding back and now that he's got you within arms reach, he doesn't know what—

“SEOKJIN HYUNG!”

He shot up from his bed with a scream beyond what his parched throat could tolerate and he started coughing. 

Mind immediately catching up on what was happening, he quickly pulled his blanket up to hide the painful tent in his pajamas. The surprise from having his name called out by a voice that belonged to someone else fades and irritation begins to burn his back.

Jungkook, who was the one who had woken him up, eyes half open and blinked blearily back at him, absolutely clueless of what he had just interrupted.

“Why did you wake me up?! Did your parents not tell you how rude it is to wake up someone so abruptly?!” Seokjin didn't really mean to scream that out so loud but he was frustrated.

Who wouldn't be in this situation?

“Why so grumpy? Was your dream really that good?” Seeing the blush spreading on his face, a shit-eating grin grew on his lips. “Was it about noona?”

“What do you want?” He asked, attempting to stir the conversation away.

“Namjoon hyung called me to wake you up, something about needing your voice at the studio to record a demo he had made this morning.”

Turning to the windows, he immediately noticed how the sun was barely even peaking through the horizon and groaned exasperatedly. Namjoon’s mind is usually a blessing but all he could think about was how he wanted nothing more than to strangle the man for having an inspiration this early in the morning, interrupting the only pleasant dream he’s had in years.

Jungkook, although had woken him up due to an order, wasn't safe from the bubbling wrath at the pit of his stomach. How could the men he's supposed to be his brothers by heart do this to him?

If he slept in the car, would it—

“So… how was your dream with noona?”

“GET OUT!”

_______

To say his family was enthusiastic would be the understatement of the year.

The moment the news reached his mother’s ears, it quickly spread throughout the clan and everyone had demanded to hold a banquet, at least a week-long feast to celebrate their first ever tethered in the family. 

While he understood their enthusiasm, his shared sentiment quickly soured when the excitement stretched over to the next week and it plunged into the negatives when his aunties began to demand him to discreetly arrange a soulbinding without the other members of the nexus knowing, reasoning that man is born greedy and having multiple men pine for one girl is not a good look.

They didn’t say it outloud but it was clear what they thought of the nexus connection and it pissed him off.

Despite the concept of soulmates existing since the dawn of time, those who are considered normal think of multiple connections as some kind of taboo, something that shouldn’t even exist and having seven men only tethered to one woman is contradicting what mankind deem is typical and expected in a relationship. The underlying judgment under the fake smiles of his aunts’ and the playful comments of his uncles about having to compete with six other men had spoiled his excitement faster than an unrefrigerated fish.

He wouldn’t lie and say that he hadn’t judged a passing throuple before, he was guilty of once being a little unsettled when he had heard the five trainees a floor below them were all connected to each other. It was human nature to be unsure and frown upon the unnatural after all—not that he’s excusing his behavior from before.

But now that he’s found himself a part of a nexus, Hoseok had surprised himself when he realised how easily he had welcomed the idea of polyamory like a fish to water. Maybe it was the bond forged by sweat and tears he's had with the other guys had made it an easy pill to swallow but being a part of a nexus, he had understood why, despite being against what was considered normal and typical, those throuples and the five boys downstairs fearlessly flaunted each other despite the world's efforts to shame them all.

He eventually learned how to ignore their pestering calls and messages for the sake of his public image because he wouldn’t know what would fly off his mouth if he ever heard them utter another veiled remark about how impure and disgusting it is for one woman to entertain seven men.

Today, he finds himself confused by how Jin has been acting whenever you’re within a meter away from him, flinching back with his ears practically glowing with how red it has turned and stammering every word out like a flustered high schooler. Confusing because for as long as he knows, their oldest has long graduated from acting cute around his crush.

It was a fight between your determination to help him prepare for breakfast against his hyung’s easily embarrassed state brought by god-knows-what had transpired between yesterday and today.

Jungkook choking on his food from his constant laughter whenever they see the eldest fumble and stumble on air only stoked their curiosities further.

“What is it? Why do you keep on laughing?” Jimin asked, voice low and careful to not be caught by their eldest who is currently hissing, and bent over on one leg as he held onto his toe that he had just stubbed on the corner of the island counter.

“Let us in on the joke, come on.” Taehyung goaded on.

Jungkook, surprisingly, shook his head. 

“Does all of those years mean nothing to you?”

“Where does your loyalty lie?!”

“Even if I want to tell you guys, Jin knows all the passwords to my accounts. I just hit Grandmaster rank there, I’m not risking it.” Jungkook replied before continuing to stuff his face with his breakfast.

This didn’t deter the two other maknaes, if anything, they grew more determined to uncover the secrets their youngest and eldest managed to gain in a short time. Silently, the rest of them cheered on Jimin and Taehyung, also eager to learn what the secret was but not having the energy to bother.

Almost a month since Jungkook’s birthday, the doctors had finally given you and Jimin the green light to continue work when he found out you both can now last an hour and a half without being in the same room. 

It also meant that the tour could finally continue, the management had already informed them of their new schedules.

Days since he found out his tethered status, yet even with a very enthusiastic Taehyung’s help, Hoseok is yet to find what kind of soulmate link he has.

All they knew was that it can alter their appearances but they hadn’t specified what part of the body it’ll affect. There's a thousand possibilities and most of them involve being hurt, something he's not willing to do. He had to turn down a couple of Taehyung's suggestions in the fear of accidentally hurting you in the process.

It hurts him to reject Taehyung and seeing his excitement dull but who in their right minds would agree to his experimentations when all he could suggest was pinching him, cutting a small wound on his palm, shaving a patch of hair on his leg or arm, and finally, trying if baldness can also be inherited by the other.

Hoseok thinks the boy had momentarily forgotten they share the same soulmate. 

He wasn't rushing to find out his soulmark anyways. Hoseok can wait, he has done so for two years, he can wait a couple days more.

Tossing all the stress of yesterday to the side, Hoseok found himself staring blankly at his monitor, an unfinished melody looping on his speakers, and wondering if there is a soulmate mark out there that can gather all of his thoughts and feelings to become a song he'd just randomly blurt out to help him.

He has a vision. 

There’s an almost non-existent melody playing at the back of his head that had been tormenting him since the day he had found out his new status.

Ideas overflowed in his mind so much that he might as well have none because of how cramped and cluttered his brain had become. If he were to explain it, his mind was like a lottery ball machine that is teeming with so much it refuses to spill anything out.

Hoseok wanted to dedicate a song to you with a melody as sweet as your voice yet as sparkly and bright as the glint in your eyes. He wanted the word to know that he's been spoken for while barely revealing anything but his mind wasn't cooperating. 

Maybe Yoongi can help me with this one...

A shrill sound of his phone shattered through his train of thoughts. Seeing his mother's name on the screen, he quickly picks it up but to his surprise it was Jiwoo who welcomed him.

“Hey, mom’s wondering if you guys plan on ever introducing her and her parents to us and the others?” His sister began, her head popping from the side and covering most of the screen while their mother’s body stood behind her.

Almost every member has complained about their parents wanting them to go through a soulbinding ceremony as soon as possible, claiming it was useless to drag it out. 

While he does understand the benefits of being formally and spiritually bonded, everyone thought it was better to court you first.

A bit traditional and pointless as they're all tethered but dating and courting you with roses and fancy dinners has been at the back of everyone's mind. With their eldest insistent on doing so, the others had no choice but to follow.

There's also the North American tour they have to start. The management had made it known how important it is to continue their tour, saying it had been delayed for too long and ARMY were getting antsy so it was difficult to make room for a pre-bonding party and the soulbinding ceremony itself.

“We can't delay the tour any longer so we'll have it once we return home. Besides, the guys and I wanted to properly court her before any binding takes place.”

His mother made a disapproving sound. “I’m worried. You all know that not being formally binded means you guys are more susceptible to hyperactivity, right?”

“Of course we know, we all had a discussion a couple of days back but the tour’s just a couple of weeks. When we all return to Seoul, we'll finally seal the deal.”

“I'll ask the other moms for help arranging it so you guys won't stress about it during the tour, okay?”

“Do you even know how to woo a woman?” Jiwoo asked, a teasing grin on her lips.

“Obviously! What do you take me for?!”

“You buried yourself in work for years, I think I have a good reason to be suspicious of your ability to woo a woman.” Jiwoo retorted. “Your last relationship was back in high school and she dumped you for reasons you haven’t told me yet.”

“Because it's dumb and I’m not giving you more ammo than you already have.”

“Children, the both of you,” his mother sighed, shaking her head. “Can I finally speak now?”

When she was answered by the ashamed silence from the both of them, she continued.

“What are you planning for your date? Where will you guys be when it's finally your time?”

Hoseok turned away from the intense stares he's receiving through the screen because for someone who had insisted he had plans earlier to his sister, he absolutely has no idea on how he'll take you on a date. 

A food trip date around a city in disguise has been taken, a dinner on a yacht and a date on a fair got snatched away by their youngest before anyone could even start raising their ideas. A musical in New York is out of the equation too, a romantic night walk in Paris also.

Basically, almost all the date ideas he had were stolen by the others and he’s beginning to consider locking them all in their rooms and cut their charger cords.

“See? I can’t trust my baby brother to know how to woo a woman!”

“What does she like? We’ll help you.”

“The others got most of my ideas, except Jungkook. Nothing can make me ride rollercoasters.”

“Even if your soulmate asks you to?”

Hoseok pondered for a moment. 

Does he love you more than he values his life?

“I don't need to anyways, she's got the other maknaes to ride it with her.”

“I mean—”

“What does she like? We need to give you ideas on how your date with her will go.” Their mother interrupts before they continue bantering. “Have you all decided on whose first and last?”

“Jungkook goes first, I don't know how that kid did it but he won against all of us in rock, paper, scissors.”

“You guys are losers.” Jiwoo sighed in the background. “The world's biggest boyband are dorks trapped in handsome bodies.”

“How about you?” His mother asked.

“Miraculously, I got second.”

“Where would you guys be at the time?” 

“I can choose between Hamilton and Newark. Chicago is already reserved by someone else.”

“Stargazing?” Jiwoo suggested.

But before he could respond, a knock cut him off. Turning to face the door, his eyes met your concerned pairs as you entered with a plastic bag in hand and a styrofoam food package inside it.

You had your hair in a braid today matched with the most minimal makeup due to you waking up late compared to their usual schedule yet Hoseok thinks you the cutest human he’s ever laid eyes on. 

Moreso when you’re the one who’s bringing him food.

“Yoongi had me bring this up to you and to tell you to take a break.”

“Is it time for lunch time already? I think I just ate earlier.” He says, standing up to take the food from your hand and muttering a ‘thank you’ under his breath.

Stepping aside, he invites you into the studio and motioned his hand towards the sofa on the corner of the room. Instantly, you fall into its plush cushion comfortably with your feet hanging on the side and the rest of your body on the cushion. 

You look absolutely cozy in your loose pants and oversized hoodie combo that he almost leaned down to fit himself into the space next to you and cuddle up to your side to see if you’re as comfortable as you looked.

Like the others, he had sometimes laid next to you, but he always maintained distance from your body. He wasn’t like the maknaes who had grown used to your hugs and cuddles. Whenever it does happen, he’d always freeze up and pull out his phone to distract him from the loud thuds of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears. 

Hoseok wouldn't lie and say he was never jealous of how easily the maknaes could saddle up next to you. It was something he had to learn to swallow or force to the back of his head every time its ugly face rears into his mind.

Seeing you strewn comfortably on his couch, he thinks that maybe he could finally muster up the courage to cozy up next to you.

“Aren't you a bit too comfortable lounging in my studio like this?” He jokingly said.

“We've been together for years, you should know how I act when I see a couch.”

“Still, it would be nice if you could have a bit of decorum.”

You rolled your eyes. “But I’m your soulmate.”

It was astonishing how a word could evoke so much within him. Hearing the word ‘soulmate’ felt like a balm after years of stolen gazes and aching yearning to be yours. You were confirming and acknowledging the existence of the still undiscovered bond between you both, something he hadn’t thought he’d ever get, and it made his chest warm.

It was a bit hard at first to get you and Namjoon—who still couldn't believe the very subject he had dedicated a school paper to deny happened to him—to accept the bond but to be constantly exposed to each other at the dorm and be surrounded by the familiar joy from the days before the marks’ manifestation, the both of you grew to welcome the idea more comfortably with each passing day.

And today just happened to be the day where you had verbally acknowledged the bond. 

He's sure the others would be ecstatic to hear that you're beginning to accept and see the link in a positive light.

“Were you talking to someone before I came with the food? I didn’t interrupt anything, right?” You asked, grounding his mind to focus on you.

“Just my mom and sister asking about the tour, don’t worr—”

“LIAR! We were teaching him how to woo yo—!” Jiwoo’s voice screamed from the phone before his mother’s reprimanding hushes took over.

“We’ll call you back later to continue our discussion, son. You both have a nice day, alright?” 

“Bye mom!”

“See you, auntie.”

With his screen returning to Twitter’s homepage as the call drops, the pin drop silence in the room had reminded him how it's just you and him together. 

Alone. 

In his studio.

Never in his life did he think having you alone with him would be so daunting.

He stared at his chair in front of the unfinished melody on pause on his monitor then to you who had sat up to unfurl the knot on the plastic bag where two food containers, one rectangular and the other a deep cylinder, stuck between the decision to continuing his work before eventually settling next to you to uncover his food himself.

“So," He began but his voice sounded weaker than he wanted and he cleared his throat. "What did you and Jin have today?”

“We settled with a salad and chicken paired with a milkshake. Yoongi ordered our lunch from that new store by the intersection, you know, the one you pointed out on our way here.”

Leaning down to take a sniff of the biggest container, he then turned to you.

“What did you get me?” 

“Guess.”

It doesn't take a genius to know what is inside the container and it made his chest warm at how his friends always remember if he’s craving for something. Yesterday during dinner, he had asked Yoongi if he ever plans on making beef bone broth anytime soon.

Said bone broth is now filling the cylinder container while kimchi fried rice and bulgogi filled the other.

“Did Yoongi order this? Because if he does, I will thank him with my forehead touching the ground.”

“Yeah but Namjoon was the one who brought it up.” You answered as you opened the lid of the big container while he brought the bone broth up to his lips for a couple of quick sips. “Also, the reason why I came here was because we need you down in the styling department. There’s changes made with the tour outfits and they wanted to see if it fits.”

“Now?” He asked before placing down the soup to start eating from the larger container.

“They’re busy with the maknaes now so eat slowly or you’ll choke.” 

“But that means they'll have to wait for me.”

“You're paying us to wait for you, so don't worry much.” You said, waving him off.

“You know you don't have to worry about money or working, right?”

He knew not to bring up the matter of jobs and money, but he really couldn't help but be a bit disheartened at how you continue to refuse their offer to pay and buy you everything you'd ever need. 

You might just be the only person he knows who'd vehemently deny being spoiled by seven billionaires who are already at her beck and call. Hoseok knew you liked working as their makeup artist but couldn't you still enjoy working for them while dressed in clothes and wearing jewelries they want to adorn you with?

If you were more accepting of their fortunes, you'd have all the diamonds and precious gems in the world filling the kitchen and lounging area of their dorm by tomorrow.

But unfortunately, he and the others have to hold back on spending ridiculous amounts on you.

“I know but sometimes I'd rather be Y/N the makeup artist.” You say, standing up to leave. “It can be a little exhausting being the Bangtan’s Soulmate Y/N.”

For a moment, he panicked. Shouldn't he have brought it up again? Had he set back the progress they had made since the day Jimin had told them what happened?

He almost broke down from how worried he was at your reaction, until you returned with a kombucha in your hand to offer him.

“Don't look so distressed you'd get wrinkles.” You teased.

“I was worried I messed up by saying that, the others would have my head if I had.”

“I'm not angry or annoyed. Surprisingly.” You fall to the space next to him with hands intertwined on your lap and your eyes staring a hole onto the ground. “Didn't know there'll come a day where I'd be more accepting of the fact.”

“Me too.”

_______

Ever since this morning, everyone in your department had been bugging you about your unexplained and sudden absences that spanned over for weeks. Your friends from other departments had jogged up to you in the cafeteria, asking if you felt better after catching a stomach bug.

Minhyuk had successfully spread the news that you got sick from drinking yourself dumb during Jungkook’s birthday with his expansive connection as a cover up and you were struggling with how careful you have to be with your words and keeping your answers as vague as possible.

But out of all the events of today, all you could think about was how Alexa’s gaze had eyed you skeptically and scanned you from head to toe as if she was searching for something.  It lingered on your forearm when you had tugged your sleeves up to your elbows and you had subconsciously closed your hands to try and hide the musical note tattoo hidden between your fingers.

Who knew having soulmates could make you a little paranoid?

That being said, there’s been a new rotation for makeup noonas so you couldn’t accidentally activate your soulmarks with Taehyung and Jimin. Even then, everyone had been instructed to take Amoneuron before they leave the dorms to dull the body's sensitivity to the new bond and to somewhat slow the effect from having someone of the opposite gender touch you pre-binding. It would stall it long enough until you both activate your soulmate mark together.

You were assigned to those with the less noticeable soulmarks like Namjoon and Hoseok while Minhyuk and Nabi were assigned to Jimin and Yoongi, Saeyoung—one of the oldest make-up noonas—was lined to only assist Namjoon; which left Jihae and Alexa to tend to Taehyung and Jin

Minhyuk had the stinkiest grimace on his face when he heard.

It was Jihae’s honest mistake since the changes had been abrupt and the pairings were given out on-the-spot. It wasn’t until later did she realise her mistake.

“So you’re saying, the girl with the wild delusions about Jin being her soulmate will be handling Jin? How did that happen?” Hoseok asked, voice barely a whisper as you both dismount the elevator.

“Jihae, bless her old soul, made a mistake when she was matching us up.”

Hoseok’s eyes scanned your face, searching for something you don’t know yet before turning his attention back to the front.

“You and I both know who Jin loves right?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, confused. “Of course..? What are you getting at?”

Instead of giving you a proper answer, he just smiled and said: “Good.”

"Hey, I'm not gonna be jealous. He's only got one soulmate and that's me."

A radiant smile splits his face as he lightly pinches your cheeks. "I'm glad you know."

The double doors to the correct styling room parts open and you both head in to see all the stylists and make-up noonas fluttering around in a somewhat organized chaos while the rest of the boys either sat in front of the mirror or stood still in the middle of the room as someone takes their measurements and hold up accessories to their faces.

Like second nature, Hoseok heads to the last available seat at the far left next to Yoongi and a standing Namjoon who’s scrolling through his phone while his stylist fetched a different top from the clothing rack.

“How’s the bone broth? Is it good?” Namjoon starts as the dancer sits down and you began to pull out the palettes and bottles from the rack in his shade.

“Our leader takes care of us so well, I loved it.”

“Why do you say it like he doesn’t care about us at all, Hoseok?” Yoongi instigated next to him with a blank expression as he scrolled through his phone.

“Oh come on, hyung. You know I don’t mean it like that.”

Instead of replying, Yoongi just grinned.

Soon enough, Hoseok’s primary stylist approached you both and began to list down possible make-up looks to match the outfit he’ll be wearing in the US. Picking up the primer and twisting the lid off, you began to work as the stylist pulled up reference pictures of his past make-up looks and other idols faces for inspiration.

Spreading and patting the product onto his face, your heart began to pick up a pace as you grew hyper aware of how close you are to him. Being aware of the unknown soulbond connecting the two of you had changed how you perceive what you used to deem as normal and routinely.

Hoseok has always been stunning with his cute nose and a jaw sharper than the finest of blades but since when did he begin to look as radiant as he does right now? And why are you so nervous?

You take out the foundation bottle with shaky hands and try your best to collect your composure.

But having your brush glide gently down the slope of his nose and having to touch his chin to tilt his head up made the task almost impossible. 

It didn’t help that instead of his usual routine of scrolling through his phone, Hoseok was openly staring up at you with an unreadable look. You felt the heat of his gaze as it roamed up to your eyebrows, down to the tip of your nose before it paused at your lips. It left a trailing blaze that instantly melted the wall you tried so hard to establish between you and your soulmates during work. 

You were tempted to keep your brush resting on top of his eyelids just so your heart could rest a little.

Every time you sensed it lingering on your lips, your heart would soar. You don't dare to listen to the voice in your head that tells you to look up to meet the other pair of eyes trained on you.

You could see Namjoon staring at you from the edge of your eyes, no doubt hearing how fast your heartbeat is going. You try not to fluster under his gaze too and switch your brush to the other hand to shake the tremble off of your dominant hand.

When Aera, Hoseok’s stylist, had walked away to answer to the other stylist's call, you narrowed your eyes at the dancer.

“Stop looking at me like that and do your usual scrolling through Naver.” You whispered, resolution faltering as a grin splits through Hoseok's perfectly sculpted face.

“I left my phone on the makeup table though.” 

Without skipping a beat, you turned to pick up his phone and pushed it into his hand.

“Please look away, you're distracting me.”

Then, as if his stage persona had possessed him, his smile sweetened into a flirty grin. Suddenly, you were faced with an immovable force that is Jung Hoseok. His eyes flit down to your lips and his entire demeanor takes a sharp turn when his gaze grows heavy with longing, deep, desiring red flashing across his eyes and for a moment, you thought he was going to lean in to devour your whole.

Your heart skipped a beat and this time, Namjoon had snapped his head to the both of you.

“Stop teasing her, Hoba. You don't distract your make-up artist when they're doing their job.” Their leader said in a low voice, careful of any eavesdroppers as he placed a hand on his shoulder in almost a warning.

“I've never seen you be flustered like this before, noona. It's a bit addicting to see you turn red for me…” 

Namjoon sighed. “Please remain professional inside the BigHit building please. We agreed to not let our personal feelings affect our work, didn't we?”

You sent the man a silent thanks and continued to work. When Aera returns, Hoseok had begrudgingly returned to his usual programming with him scrolling through his phone. But it didn't mean that your heart had calmed down from the previous encounter.

“Y/N? Are you sure you’re okay?” The stylist, Aera asks, concern marring her face as she touches your forehead. “You’re a little red.”

“I-I'm fine, don't worry.”

Hearing this encounter, a proud smile grew on his face.

Doing the rest of his make-up passed by uneventfully, Hoseok had listened to their leader and kept up a professional facade in front of other observers with an ease and coldness of a perfectionist dance leader. Yet even then, you couldn't stop the tremble and the suddenly halts whenever his heady gaze flashes in your mind.

When it was Namjoon’s turn, Minhyuk had finally appeared after discussing with the other stylists, his bright presence immediately drove away the emotions from earlier.

“God, I know we should be professional and all that but I really hate seeing her doing Jin's make-up.” The other make-up artist whispered as soon as he arrived, his eyes trained at the girl behind you. “She looks so smug and it's making me want to scratch her face with a foundation spatula.”

“Isn't a foundation spatula blunt?” Namjoon asked, confused.

“You underestimate how much I hate her with my entire being, Namjoon. Even the bluntest, roundest edge can be turned into a weapon in the hand of a hater.” Minhyuk responded as he took the eyeshadow palette you were stretching out to him before reaching over the brush container for the correct one.

“I think you've just given me inspiration.”

“Well, I’ll be honoured to know that my random blabbering has helped the magnificent leader, RM of BTS.” Minhyuk then bowed his head exaggeratedly, making Namjoon chuckle.

With Minhyuk taking over Namjoon’s eye makeup, you looked over your shoulder to see what he was referring to and found yourself staring at what might just be the most uncomfortable look you've ever seen on Taehyung and Seokjin as Alexa made her preference for Seokjin obvious as she flutter around him, singing honeyed praises and touching his face longer than a staff should.

With Jihae busy bouncing ideas with the head of the styling and Saeyoung, Alexa was left unattended with all the freedom to do whatever she wants.

Irritation prickled your skin, not because you were jealous but because she was practically coaxing out a soulmate hyperactivity out of him with how long and often she's brushing against his face.

It wasn't like with Nabi who's careful not to touch your soulmates or Saeyoung and Jihae who are already married old women, Alexa has expressed her romantic intentions for Seokjin constantly, something that can still coax out a hyperactivity.

Granted the woman doesn't know your status but as someone destined for someone else, shouldn't she be focusing on that person instead of wasting time with someone who doesn't care about her?

Catching Taehyung’s gaze through his reflection in the mirror, he gave you a panicked look, his thoughts the same as yours.

Luckily, there hasn't been any rising dread or your senses being dialed up to the nines which means the medicine is working.

“That amount of touching would be dangerous, no? I think I should step in.”

But before Minhyuk could begin to march towards them, Seokjin turned to Alexa with the politest grin as he finally let her down slowly if the amusement in Taehyung's eyes were anything to go by.

Shocked and embarrassed by being rejected by the idol in presence of another, she hastily left the room to the confusion of the leaders and oldest women standing near the entrance. Turning to you and Minhyuk, Jihae raised an accusing eyebrow to which you both replied with a shrug. With a sigh, the woman excused herself from the conversation to tend to Seokjin and Taehyung.

“Serves her right.” Minhyuk snorted before turning his attention back to you and ushering you away. "Go calm down the bond with your man. There's chocolate in my bag and go eat it with him."

"Have I ever told you how much I love you, hyuk?"

"Only when you're drunk. Now go!"

Quickly retrieving the sweets from Minhyuk's bag, you jogged up to Jin and offered the chocolate to him. 

With no second spared, he tore through the wrapper and tossed the small candy into his mouth. Its sugary taste bleeds into your tastebuds before the candy touched your tongue.

Despite not experiencing any hint of hyperactivity, there was still a rush of cold relief flushing through your body from having your soulmarks get activated together, as if it was glad to have the bond still intact. A resonating warmth soon replaced the coolness and Seokjin expelled out a long exhale.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

Unsure of what to do in the eyes of the public, you had settled with placing your hands on his shoulders and giving him a comforting squeeze. Taking a glimpse at the reflection of the crowded room, he shyly reached up a hand to clasp over yours in return.

_______

[Yesterday, 13:02]            [13:02] The BADDEST: i cant laugh just yet in public rn but            [13:02] The BADDEST: HAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHA            [13:02] The BADDEST: GOD IS REAL AND HE HAS FINALLY GAVE HER WHAT SHE DESERVED            [13:02] The PRETTIEST: minhyuk you're so mean            [13:02] The BADDEST: i saw you giggling to yourself earlier            [13:02] The BADDEST: dont ever lie to me again            [13:02] The MOTHER: please refrain from using your phones during work hours ladies            [13:02] The MOTHER: @The BADDEST i can see you still typing, put that phone away            [13:03] The PRETTIEST: hopefully that's the last time we'll see alexa being an annoying fruit fly around seokjin            [13:03] The PRETTIEST: but between you guys, me and god? i doubt that            [13:03] The BADDEST: she can try😤            [13:03] The BADDEST: i got years of unresolved anger issues I'll gladly unleash on her            [13:03] The MOTHER: GO BACK TO WORK KIDS

_______

“Noona, have you packed everything you need?”

You huffed. “Of course I have. I've been doing this for years, you know?”

“Well, even if you forgot something, the others can bring it to you anyways.” Taehyung shrugged as he pushed open the doors of the van and stepped out, offering a hand to you as you followed him out with Jimin behind you.

“I'm starting to hate having idols for soulmates. Leaving the country at midnight to evade reporters and stalkers just isn't for me.”

“On the bright side, you'd never have to worry about money and losing your best friends.” Jimin replied as the three of you strolled into the hidden entrance of the airport. “Plus, you get to have handsome men with all that money and companionship.”

“Can't deny that…” You sighed as the two bodyguards assigned to the three of you guided you into the establishment and you yawned. “God, I'm so sleepy.”

Taehyung pats your back.

“We can sleep on the plane then you can choose between the two of us who you want more," Taehyung paused as he considered his words. "Or you can have both of us at the same time."

“Tae, you know how bad that sounded, right?”

“It's not my fault that you have a rotten mind, Jiminie. You know that I don't mean anything by that.”

TAGLIST: @wildestdreamsblog @canarystwin @prettywheenicry @jmnscutie @sassy-snassy @misuguru @11thenightwemet11 @yoongibaybee @rinkud @bri602 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @marvel-potter-1d-korea @comingupwithacoolnameishard @sooha-neul @juju-227592 @coffeewanderer @x-uno @diamonddia-mond @eggsysstuff @dearmyfavoritepeople-bts @sld88 @katsukis1wife @bjoriis @btsgangleader @butterfly-lover

[temis-de-leon]

Obey Me and Streamer!MC

Characters: gn!MC

Main Masterlist

A/N: I wrote this in half an hour because I couldn't get it out of my head. It's not proofreaded (at all), so the grammar is weird.

.

While most people are ready to forget the quarantine due to Covid-19 and all related loses, it would be borderline disrespectful for you to ignore how much of a goldmine it turned out to be in your situation.

You already had a Twitch account in which you streamed religiously from three to four times a week, and that gave you a small, yet loyal number of followers. From Just Chatting to Gaming and even a couple of amateur events, people liked the way you played and how you interacted with the chat.

It wasn’t enough to make a living, but you saved enough to improve your setup and buy more games to amplify the variety in your channel.

By the time everyone was forced to stay inside and discovered you, you had managed to have your own aesthetic, some niche memes and harmless beef with your subs.

Everything went up from there, and in a couple of years you reached 3 million subs on Twitch, and almost the same amount on YouTube and Twitter.

It’s easy to say you were more than happy and content with your life. You had plans for the future and for your channel, and life couldn’t seem more perfect.

And then you disappeared.

Out of nowhere.

Your family, irl friends and online friends knew nothing of your whereabouts, and as much as they wanted to keep everything under the radar to not raise suspicions, it was impossible to fool the internet forever.

Only a month passed until Twitter went insane with theories and multiple YouTube channels uploaded videos describing “what really happened to you” and “the dark secrets that led to your disappearance”.

Of course, all you had to do was ask Diavolo to give you your human phone so you could give your loved ones an explanation and keep the police uninvolved.

Your first tweet after three whole months consisted of a selfie surrounded by a bunch of unknown, handsome men.

People went absolutely batshit crazy.

It was the ‘I lived bitch’ meme, but with even less context.

You needed to start a threat or post a couch video for your hardcore fans so they didn’t get unnecessarily worried. After all, they went from seeing you almost every day of the week to nothing at all for months.

You said that you took a very “in the spur of the moment” decision and that you were living abroad for the time being, for a year. The guys in the selfie were your roommates, and no, you weren’t dating any of them.

Fanmade edits were being made as you recorded that update video.

As months go by, you only stay present on Twitter, sharing memes and daily moments of your life and interacting with your fans and whatnot.

They learn that one of your roommates is a beauty content creator, but they can’t find his channel anywhere. Another one of them is a hardcore otaku, who, despite the surprising amount of fans amongst your subs, doesn’t like sharing his face on the internet.

The one dressed in a suit that watches you with bedroom eyes is a favourite, but so is the one that can’t admit how much he likes you. However, some people prefer the radically different twins or the book-lover blonde boy with a serious obsession with cats.

There are literal fights about the brothers in the comments and replies, and some of them are kind of worrying.

You guess that’s what parasocial relationships do to people.

One of the best days in your Twitter, which will probably be remembered forever, was when your dark-skinned friend posted a picture of his little brother and his roommate making a mess in the kitchen.

You apologized and said he didn’t know much about technology, that he did it on accident, but the tender moment will remain as iconic for as long as you allow it.

Another time to remember is when you posted a picture with the man that started it all.

The day your mysterious coordinator and his soft-spoken assistant appeared in your feed was the day you hired more moderators for your Discord.

All in all, it was a weird period for your channel.

You organized a comeback stream, not expecting much to happen, but lo and behold, your follower amount almost doubled.

Some conspiracy theorists accuse you of faking everything for views, but what are you going to do about it? Cry? You know the truth, and so do the most important people in your life. You left and now you’re back, let the haters cry about it.

It’s obvious in camera that you’re happier than ever, anyway, so your fans are content.

And then the donations start coming.

At first it’s your usual subs, ecstatic to see you back, but also newcomers who’re just discovering your channel thanks to the Twitter threads.

After a short while, the new donations grow. It goes from several 100 bits to some scattered 500, to a couple of 5,000 every now and then and to a steady 25,000 donation every stream.

People are wild, wondering who TheRealKingOfHell6D6 could be and why he’s giving you so much money so often.

It’s obvious that you changed after your absence, but you’re still healthy and very obviously thriving, so no one says anything of substance.

It all adds to your new mysticism.

The day you make a stream with your new friends, you break records.

Suffice to say, that stream is one of the longest and most chaotic of your channel, and not much time passes before you start seeing other streamers react to the best moments.

.

.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom @mia4gotcookiez

[heartepub]

the cities in which

summary. three lives are tied together across cities and oceans. in this life, and perhaps in others. ft. lee seokmin, chwe hansol, afab!fem!reader genre/tags. angst, fluff, romance, inspired by past lives (2023), "what if vernon never emigrated", copious wong kar wai mentions, one (1) glück poem mention, there's korean but you'd understand the convo even wo translation, unbeta'd and not proofread (mistakes my own) warnings. alcohol, two allusions to offscreen sex, no physical description of reader but she grew up in skorea and speaks korean wc. 10k 17k suggested listening. hey, that's no way to say goodbye, leonard cohen // quiet eyes, sharon van etten // paper houses, niall horan // when we were young, adele // stay, cat power // the view between villages, noah kahan

notes. a day late (crying) but happy birthday 218 bros! i followed a lot of the original (full credits to celine song and the writers for those parts), but deviated as well ! no photo borders for each small scene jump cos of the limit. korean dialogue is only italicized when all three of them are together. not fully happy so may return to it for edits, you have been warned.

ACT I: SEOKMIN

24 years ago

“Do a diamond next.”

You oblige him, yet the marker barely touches his skin before Seokmin snatches it out of your hand.

“Hey!” You whine.

“Don’t use red, that’s for rubies!” 

He hands you a pale blue marker, already uncapped, before resuming his former position, shoulder to shoulder with you. His forearm is nestled between both of yours, which are already covered in his doodles. Seokmin’s breath ghosts over your cheek as he leans in, observing. Unbothered, you carefully draw a crystal shape, adding sparkles around it for good measure. He giggles as the felt tip drags on his skin.

“Don’t move, you’ll ruin it!” You swat his back. He yelps.

“But it tickles!” You just grip his arm tighter as he whines and giggles.

It’s as easy as breathing to lean into his weight as he curls against you, laughter shaking his shoulders. The rest of the classroom fades away, nothing else being quite as important as the way your sides almost fully touch each other, despite sitting on separate chairs.

--

You first befriended Lee Seokmin on the margins of one of your mother’s bookclubs. Fellow skirt-clingers turned partners in crime. He told you he would often nag his mom to finish her book more quickly just so that he could come over sooner; what a revelation it was, then, that you could see each other outside of those chatter-filled meetings. More so when you found out you’d be going to the same elementary school.

It was an easy friendship, one filled with scabbed knees and marker-filled arms. The occasional covert homework-copying. He keeps two extra pencils with him in the same way you have an extra stash of pad paper (which unfortunately the rest of the class has become privy to). Your parents would scold you for the telephone bills because of the days you’d spend ours talking, as though you hadn’t just spent the whole day in school together.

In the years you were not in the same class, Seokmin would wait outside every day without fail, just to walk home together, until the fork in the road where he’d bid you goodbye with the same blinding grin. Sometimes, you’d buy hotteok wrapped in newspaper from the stands and laugh when the print transfers onto the fried dough. He tried some tteokbokki from the stall a few streets down, but forced you to finish it once he realized it was too spicy for him.

These were days when sunlight streamed, golden, through the windows of both your lives.

--

Boxes litter the floor of your home, some full, but most still half-empty. Sunlight filters in through the windows, skimming over cardboard and wood tile alike and casting a burnished-golden glow. From your father’s office, there are soft strains of music and the faint lingering smell of tobacco smoke. 

You look around. The posters have been taken down, separated into those you plan to bring and others you are either to throw or give away. Nothing else is on the once-messy desk save for the notebooks and pens needed for this week’s schoolwork. The walls are bare, the only reminder of the pictures you had being the faint tape marks and spots where the paint peeled off as you tried to remove them. Even your bed is absent of the plushies you used to have surrounding you, most of them already sealed and packed in one of the boxes outside. All that’s left is the bedsheet, so that you won’t be sleeping on a bare mattress.

Your room no longer seems your room.

--

“Darling.” You don’t look up from the book you’re reading.

“Hm?”

“Is there anyone in school you really like right now?”

You think about it. A smiling face emerges in your mind’s eye. The ghost of a weight presses against your side. 

“…Seokmin,” you decide.

“Lee Seokmin? Why?”

“He makes me laugh. I think I’ll marry him someday.”

“Really? Does he want to marry you too?”

“I think he does. Or he will if I tell him to, anyway.” You shrug.

Your mom mulls over this as she sorts the papers on her desk. On it are your immigration documents, including passports, birth certificates, and the family registry. The edge of your picture can be glimpsed from where the passport lifts, not quite laying flat on the wood.

“Do you want to go on a date with him?”

You nod enthusiastically.

--

“Seokminnie.”

“Hm?” he peeks at you from behind the concrete block. You giggle, shoving his shoulder in a clear message of tag! before sprinting away. He lets out an indignant squawk before giving chase. 

You evade him for a few breathless minutes before he eventually swipes his hand across your back. Shrieking, you shift your weight and lunge with your hand extended, which Seokmin swerves to avoid with a triumphant cry. Gleeful taunts echo across the space.

Your mothers have taken you both today to an unfamiliar place, one somewhat reminiscent of both a yard and fortress. There are large stone installations in the outdoor space, ones perfect for chasing each other around until you are out of breath from both running and laughing. Eventually, too tired to continue, you both lean against the twin stone faces, facing each other. Your eyes rove over Seokmin’s features, watching him do the same.

Though she did not say it outright, a little part of you senses that this date was part of a goodbye. She had warned you, as you all began to pack, that you might need to begin your goodbyes soon, lest dumping the surprise of your moving on your friends ends with you leaving on bad terms.

Your classmates, you did not mind; but Seokmin is your best friend. You know he would sulk and hold it against you to the ends of the earth if you could not even say goodbye. Yet goodbye feels too real for a day that has been as light as a dream.

As you leave, the sun is just beginning to set; the car was a wash of orange and pink light moving across the seat. Leaning your body on Seokmin, you rest your head on his shoulder, and feel a responding weight on the top of your head. Fingers tangle with your own, slotting together as they had done a thousand times before. Like this, you drift further into dreams.

--

You break the news over recess. The marker hovers over his skin. Sighing, you remove the cap nocked on the top of the marker and closing it over the tip. Seokmin glances at you, confused.

“My family…we’re leaving.”

“Like, a trip?”

“No. Forever.”

“Forever? But…why?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug helplessly. “Mom and Dad said so.”

“Do you want to?”

And because you cannot be anything but kind with him, you try to play it off. “No. But,” you inject the truth this time, “I don’t hate Mom and Dad for deciding to leave. It could be fun.” Seokmin stares at you, his gaze unreadable. For the first time in what feels like forever, the air between you is tense

“Huh, you’re leaving?” A classmate interjects. 

The moment is broken; you look up, a little startled. It takes a moment to reply.

“Yeah. To America.” More people begin to crowd your space, and Seokmin untangles his arm from you. You glance at him. Seokmin’s face is a mask.

“Like, never coming back?” Another classmate asks. You turn your focus back to the growing crowd.

“Yeah.”

“But why?”

“Because Mom and Dad said so. Besides,” you puff your chest, “I want to win the Nobel Prize for Literature. Can’t really do that here.”

Your classmates tilt their heads, completely clueless. Seokmin says nothing.

--

Today is your last day in Korea. Seokmin still hasn’t spoken to you.

As the clock strikes for dismissal, you wonder, for a split second, as you have these past few days, whether Seokmin would even want to walk home together. Each time you flounder, unsure, yet each time all he does is stand and look at you expectantly. Today is no different. Almost robotically, you sling your back and follow behind him. You leave together as always, and you wave at the classmates shouting their well-wishes with a smile.

There is a conspicuous distance between you as you trudge up the sloping roads. The silence stretches it even wider. Neither of you try to bridge it, not even as you reach the fork in the path where you part ways.

After a long moment, Seokmin whips around to face you. “Hey!” he says, voice loud. 

You turn, finding the tears shining at the corners of his eyes. A part of you, the one always helpless to his tears, bursts into life, surging painfully against your chest. The leaving never felt real until now.

“Seokminnie—” 

He gathers you in a hug, nothing like the gentle embraces you used to share, even as the contours of his body is familiar. He shoves you away, still roughly. 

Something opens up here. You gaze at each other from opposite sides of a chasm too wide to cross for two people so young. Seokmin stares at you hard, struggling to speak.

Eventually, he just slumps. “Bye,” he settles on, before walking away.

There is nothing to do but watch him leave.

12 years ago

You flick through the papers, skimming the notes you made from the feedback session on your latest screenplay draft. The desk is white and sparse, nothing like the gorgeous mahogany you remember of your mother’s study from your childhood. Overall, the dorm is just a generally unremarkable space, though it does its job of being a place for eating and sleeping in between your writing classes.

The comment about your lackluster desk makes it to your mother, on the phone as you prepare the takeout you had just bought from the Chinese place at the ground floor. She laughs.

“Yes, well, you should have the shitty desks before you have the nice ones, so you appreciate them more.” You laugh, nodding along as you open the still-hot pack of chow mein, tilting the water on the lid to flow into a napkin. Your mother carries the conversation along as you begin to eat.

“Have you tried looking up some of your old classmates on Facebook?”

“No? What’s up?”

“Do you remember Jiwon? She’s a lawyer now.”

An image of a girl tilting her head at your mention of the Oscars flashes across your mind. You swallow your mouthful before responding.

“Really? I never would have thought. We covered up for each other once when she forgot her homework and I peed my pants.”

“A forgetter and a bedwetter, making their way in different parts of the world, eh?” Your mother remarks, and you snort.

“Mm.” You unlock your computer, stretching your hands over your food to open Facebook and type her name. True enough, the first post on her profile is her brand-new photo as a passer of the bar exam. Other photos include her skincare routine, makeup preferences, and some club-hopping shenanigans. Just another normal girl in her 20s in Korea. 

You click on the search bar, pondering. “Ah, but Mom, who’s the boy again? The one I had a huge crush on.”

“Oh, we took you to Gwacheon, didn’t we? Hm…”

“Seokminnie,” you say, as your mother says, “Lee Seokmin.” You type his name into the search bar. A low sound of exclamation leaves your throat.

“Whoa, that’s crazy. He’s been looking for me.”

“What?”

“Yeah. He posted on Dad’s page.” 

Hello, the post reads. I am your daughter’s childhood friend. I’d like to get in touch with her. You click the name on the post, opening the page to his profile.

“Oh, wow,” you whisper.

Though older, you recognize his face immediately. The same sharp jaw and soft eyes. A smile that lights up his face. There’s just something ever-so-slightly different about his nose, but you chalk it up to either puberty or the all-too-common plastic surgery in Korea.

“Mom, I’ll call you back, okay?”

“Mm, okay.” You hang up. Clicking on the Message button, you tap your laptop, figuring out what to say. Eventually, you settle with: Seokminnie, it’s me, your Gwacheon date. Do you remember me?

--

Up until this point, Seokmin thinks he’s lived quite an ordinary life. There is little that would sway him into thinking otherwise. Blearily, he blinks at his blaring alarm clock before slamming his hand on the snooze button. God-forbid there would ever be a night drinking with Soonyoung and Seungkwan that would not end with an awful hangover.

There is a vague memory, one of Soonyoung’s warbly comments after the third bottle of soju: Do you have a girlfriend? Who the hell…is messaging you at this time?

He opens his phone, scrolling through last night’s notifications. Seokminnie, it’s me, your Gwacheon date. Do you remember? The message reads. He clicks on the profile, and is transported to the past.

“Whoa.” He smiles, even as his head is pounding, zooming in on the face in the profile. While it was true that he did his best to find you, asking through your old classmates and even finding your mom’s writing page on Facebook, the sheer lack of any good leads had chipped away at any hope of it going anywhere. A response, after all the searching, still seems unbelievable.

Somehow, your face is the same as he remembers, even as it is twelve years older.

“Seokmin-ah! Wake up!” His mother’s voice pulls him from his trance. He glances again at his phone. The same smile, though he notices now more softness in some places in the jaw and some sharpness in others.

Somewhat reluctantly, he rolls off the covers. Even now, his mother enforces a rule of no phones on the table.

From the dining room, the smell of spicy broth hits his nostrils. His mouth waters. There is already rice on the table. His mother carries a bowl of soup where Seokmin is already seated. Beside her, his father is handing out the chopsticks. He and his sister receive their pair with a quiet thank you.

“Thank you for the meal,” he murmurs. The metal clangs softly against the bowl as he scoops a spoonful of spicy broth and beansprouts into his mouth. With every bite, he feels his hangover slowly subside.

“Did you drink a lot last night?” His mother asks.

“Kinda? Soonyoung-hyung just got broken up with, though, so he drank the most.” His father chuckles quietly, commiserating. His sister squints at Seokmin.

“But you look happy today? Why?” He looks up, the smile frozen on his face.

“Aren’t I always a little happy?”

“Hm,” his mother regards him critically. “You are, more so than usual.”

“Ah.” He should know better than pretend his parents cannot read him. “I am,” he admits. “I think something amazing is about to happen.” He leaves it at that, playfully deflecting his family’s grilling, even as his sister threatens to stalk him to figure out the mystery.

--

The Skype seems to take forever to load. Seokmin drums his fingers on the touchpad, each tap coming faster than the last. Finally, it does, with an add friend? notification already blinking at him. He beams, accepting the add and pressing the video call button without delay.

As though from a dream, a familiar yet different face stares at him from the laptop. Seokmin can’t help the smile that blooms on his face.

“Whoa,” he says softly.

“Whoa,” the dream echoes, voice a little staticky, somehow both everything and nothing like he has imagined.

Seokmin chuckles, breathless. “Is that really you?”

“It’s me. And you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

He’s at a loss, and it seems you’re the same. Only your chuckles fill the sound of the call. Eventually, Seokmin says, “I can’t believe we’re meeting again like this.”

“I didn’t even know you were looking for me! Or that you remembered! I just looked you up by chance, and saw the message you left on my dad’s page.”

“Oh, well, it wasn’t by chance for me.” Seokmin scratches his cheek. “It just became a challenge, and the harder it got the more I wanted to be able to find you. You don’t go by your Korean name anymore.”

“Ah, yeah.”

“Huh…so that’s why it was so hard to find you…” he trails off as he catches sight of your face. You seem to be squinting at him. 

“Is your nose different?” You blurt, catching him off-guard. Hurriedly, you begin to explain, “it doesn’t look bad, don’t get me wrong, but it’s a little…more striking than I remembered.”

“Oh!” Heat flushes his cheeks, and Seokmin chuckles, surprised and flustered at the comment. “Yeah, I had an accident while in the military, and had to have a minor surgery on my nose. It’s okay, then?” He touches his nose self-consciously.

“Yeah, you look great,” you reply honestly.

With the heat not quite receding from his face, Seokmin changes the subject. “S-so, are you based in New York, now?”

“Yeah, I’m a writer here.”

“Oh, a little like your mother?”

“That’s right—” You seem to be saying something, but the Skype lags. Seokmin only catches the tail end of your words. “—hear me? Seokmin?”

“Hey, I can hear you now. Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Oh, I was just asking about what you’ve been up to.”

“Well, I finished military service a few years ago, nose and all.” You hum in acknowledgement. “I’m doing something a little related to your work, actually. Well, kind of?”

“What’s that?”

He begins to explain. “My parents wanted me to get an engineering degree, and I’m finishing that up, but I wanted to try some singing, so I auditioned for some small plays here and there.”

“Really? That’s exciting!” You seem to come to life then. “I don’t know much about engineering, but you’ve been trying out for musicals?”

“Yeah, nothing too intense since I’m doing it in between studying for the engineering exam, but it’s been fun.” He sings a quick tune from his latest audition, the smile bleeding into his voice as he sees your expression, full of wonder.

“That’s lovely, Seokminnie.”

The chatter lasts for hours. Seokmin glances at something above him and seems to realize something.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “but I have to go to class soon.”

“No problem,” you respond, tamping down the disappointment. “I have to get started on my assignment and eat dinner, anyway.”

“Oh, you haven’t eaten yet? Isn’t it late?” He’d added your timezone in the world clock on his phone yesterday.

“Midnight,” you confirm.

“Huh?” Shocked, Seokmin splutters. “Go eat now! Jeez.”

“Okay, okay.”

Seokmin shifts, his stare at you softening into something familiar yet unreadable. At his continued staring, you raise an eyebrow.

“What?”

Seokmin scratches his cheek. “I don’t know if it’s weird to say.”

“It’s fine, what is it?”

He pauses, hesitating, before he continues. “Is it strange to say I missed you?”

Your expression softens. Pixelated as it is, Seokmin catches your eyes rove over his face, as though like him, you are cataloguing new features. Familiar, yet so different. “Of couse not, Seokminnie. I missed you too.”

A weight in him lifts, and Seokmin chuckles, soft and warm, relishing in the sound of soft laughter from his headphones. He should hang up now, but he hesitates. It seems you do too, until you huff a little laugh and offer a small wave. The movement is so achingly familiar that Seokmin’s chest clenches.

“Call later?”

He brightens. “Sure!”

--

“Hello?” The Skype opens to you rubbing your eyes.

“Don’t you only get up at like, 10AM?” Seokmin watches you, amused yet endeared.

“Mm,” you murmur sleepily. “But you said this is the only time that works for you.”

--

It becomes routine.

Good evening’s are replied with Good morning’s, calls connect over his commute while you eats dinner.

“Your Korean has gotten rusty,” Seokmin teases.

“Aish—I only get to speak Korean with you. Even my parents have gotten to using English more.”

“What’s that been like?”

“Hm?”

“Learning English, going to school…” he trails off. “It’s amazing that you’ve ended up pursuing writing in English too, of all things.” On the screen, your mouth parts in surprise.

“Oh, well…it’s been hard, of course, especially when you’re new. Different places, different food, different people. You have no choice but to go along with it, even if you don’t really belong.”

“Did you cry?”

“Sometimes,” you admit, briefly checking on something behind the screen before returning your focus to him. “Especially at first. But eventually I realized that no one really cared.” Despite your words, there is little sorrow on your face. Your expression is distant, reminiscing, as though time had sanded down the sadness into nostalgia.

“…I’m sorry,” he murmurs. He doesn’t really know what to say except for that.

You grin. “Ah, don’t be like that. It’s been a long time, and as you said, I’m even writing in English now.”

“That’s right. You even said you wanted to win the Nobel. How’s that going?”

“Nowadays, I’m interested in the Pulitzer.”

Seokmin cracks up, and you begin to laugh too. He smiles at the screen. “You’re the same.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah. Greedy.”

You level him with a glare that’s only partially offended. “You can’t go by life without wanting anything.”

“Yeah, but you want everything.”

“Nooo,” you drag it out, only half-denying, as Seokmin continues to laugh. 

--

Seokmin looks up the Pulitzer in between classes.

--

Seokminnie, I’m sorry! I had a bender and couldn’t wake up early enough. Did you wait long?

No no, it’s okay! How are you?

--

It takes longer than normal for the screen to load. The internet connection today isn’t the best. He isn’t quite sure if it’s his or yours that’s slow.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

--

 Would you ever come to New York?

I don’t know.

--

How did your audition go this time?

Ah, I didn’t get in.

Oh, I’m sorry.

--

The screen does not load for a very long time. The call fails.

--

Would you ever come to Seoul again?

I don’t know.

--

“Look, you can see the skyline from here.” Seokmin flips the camera on his phone, showing the view from the top of the Wonder Ferris Wheel in Gyeonggi-do.

“Oh, it’s pretty.” You are silent for a moment. “Wish I were there.”

“I hope you can see it some time. Let’s go together.”

“I mis—” the sound cuts off. Seokmin stares at your image, frozen midsentence. In front of him, the sun sets over Seoul’s skyline. The lights blur and swim, ever so slightly. As do you, still unmoving.

The view is beautiful, regardless. Heartbreakingly so.

--

Can we talk?

--

He senses something is off the moment he answers the call. Your expression is different. You fidget with the hem of your sweater offscreen. He checks the time on the world clock. 2AM.

“You aren’t asleep yet?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you answer.

“You okay?”

“Mm. Of course.”

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Hypothetically…how long before you can come visit me in New York?”

Seokmin considers it, visualizing his calendar, the course program he’s in, along with his current responsibilities. “At least a year and a half. I’m studying for the PE exam, and I have to pass it to be an engineer, so…”

“No need to explain,” you cut him off, kind despite the firmness in your voice. “I also won’t be able to visit you soon. I’m apprenticing under a director here, and there’s a writing residency I’ll be joining soon, too. It’ll be at least a year until I can go to Seoul, assuming I even have the money.”

He closes his eyes at your next words, already anticipating them.

“I think…” you begin carefully. “We should stop talking to each other.”

“Why?”

“I just…I’m here now, not in Korea. I uprooted my life twice, first when my family moved to Toronto, and then now when I came to New York. I can’t keep living in the past; I can’t keep looking up flights to Seoul.

“And it’s not fair to you; you’re studying to be an engineer, and finding a life of your own…” you trail off. If anything, he tries to find solace in the heartbreak he hears mirrored in your voice. Solace, yet at the same time there is no small amount of guilt that he is drawing comfort in another’s pain.

“So you want to stop talking?”

“Just for a while.”

“I finally found you after twelve years…”

“You aren’t losing me, Seokminnie.” The gentleness in your voice feels like ruin. “It’s not for forever.

“Seokmin, please don’t hold a grudge,” you beg, speaking again as he does not reply. “We’ll be back talking before you know it.”

“No, I—you’re right,” he admits. It isn’t a platitude. He stares at his reviewers, stacked beside the laptop, the calendar with dates encircled in red pen. And yet he can’t help but want to cry. “It’s a good idea.” 

You look away. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. We’re not dating or anything.”

“Yeah.” You stare at each other from across the Pacific—eleven thousand kilometers.

“Bye,” Seokmin whispers, already feeling the weight of the silence. He reaches a hand out, touching the screen. Inevitability does not lessen the heartbreak. Seokmin finds this out the second time, no longer too young to understand. 

You attempt to offer him a smile. “Talk to you soon, Seokminnie.”

“Yeah.”

He hangs up before the tears begin to fall.

ACT II: VERNON

6 months later

In the writing residency, only one other person is also from New York. Roughly your age, he extends his hand toward you, all thick eyebrows and finely-sculpted features. There is an echo of something in his face, features you would only really see in someone with mixed heritage.

“Hi, I’m Hansol Chwe,” he says. “But I usually go by Vernon.”

You shake his hand, replying in English with your name and a quick nice to meet you before switching to Korean. “반쪽 한국인인가요?”

There’s no recognition in his eyes, and you quickly realize your mistake. “Sorry, I can only understand tidbits. But that was Korean, right?”

“Oh, um. Yeah, I just asked if you are half-Korean. I just thought, with Hansol…”

“I’m third-gen. My father’s parents immigrated.”

“I see.” The embarrassment doesn’t quite abate, but Vernon confirming your hedge does make gratification ease it a little.

“Are you Korean? You talk like a native.”

“I grew up in Seoul before my parents moved.” You keep the chatter as you enter the cabin. He offers to help you with your bags, which you accept with a grateful smile.

To both of your pleasant surprise, your rooms are not so far away. He set down your bag outside the door labelled with your name. For a moment, the conversation stills, and you just stare at each other. After a beat, the corner of his lips quirks upward.

“See you around, then?”

“Yeah,” you smile. “See you, Vernon.”

--

There’s something wonderfully easy about being with Vernon, and you often find yourself gravitating toward him and his feedback as you go about the residency. You aren’t the only one; the lingering glances in his direction are obvious to any keen eye, though how much is for his acuity in commenting on syntax and how much is for the way he runs his fingers through his hair remains to be seen.

You feel those stares at the back of your head now.

“Kimchi with cream cheese?” 

Vernon’s mouth quirks upward at your incredulous voice. “Yeah.” 

“The most I’ve seen people do to tone down the spice was when my mom would wash the sauce off with a little bit of water when I was a kid. But cream cheese?”

“It’s like pink sauce, you know? Like you mix tomato with cream for penne ala vodka.”

“Yeah, but tomato and kimchi are two different things.”

“Hey,” he says in mock offense, “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it. Maybe there’s an Asian mart here somewhere and we can go on a grocery run.”

To be fair, it’s almost both your turn to take charge of cooking; the participants had all agreed to divvy up the tasks while you all were in the cabin, and you had both volunteered for Wednesday’s dinner. You frown, trying to imagine the taste before giving up.

(No, don’t buy that much, he advises you a few days later, walking through the imported goods aisle. The fridge will smell like kimchi for the rest of our stay. Just enough for the one meal.)

(Pairing kimchi and cream cheese together wasn’t bad, per se, but your idea of adding gochujang into the tomato-based pasta was a much bigger hit among the other writers. The kimchi itself was not as good as the one you could buy from the ahjumma across the street of your old home; but here, you allow grace. Some tastes that are more nostalgia than anything else.

You do, however, phone your family to ask for some kimchi to be sent to you after you’re back in the mainland.)

--

“Can’t sleep?” You nearly jump out of your skin from fright, swearing in a voice a little too loud for a 2AM sneak-out.

“What the fuck. Vernon is that you?” 

“Yeah.” He looks a little sheepish from his spot on the couch, laptop casting a dull glow on his face.

“Nearly gave me a heart attack, oh my god.”

“Sorry. But you too? Can’t sleep?”

“Mm.” You grab a glass and the juice carton from the fridge, pouring yourself a drink. “Thought I fixed my sleep schedule, but turns out it’s not that easy.”

“I’m watching Days of Being Wild, if you wanna join me.”

“Ooh, I’ve watched all of Wong Kar Wai’s movies, but I wouldn’t mind watching them again.” Intrigued, you approach him, going around the kitchen counter to settle on the couch. The screen is frozen at the scene where Maggie Cheung’s character is walking with the policeman. Vernon presses play, and you nurse your glass of juice as you watch the tangled lives of Leslie Cheung, Maggie Cheung, and Andy Lau play out across both Hong Kong and the Philippines. 

As the movie fades out with Tony Leung walking out the door, it’s just past three. You’re fighting back a yawn. Vernon closes the tab, turning to you curiously.

“Do you have a favorite? Wong Kar-Wai film, I mean.”

You try to think about it for a moment. “It’s been a while since I watched any of his work. But…right now, and this is gonna sound really basic,” you warn, “the first that comes to mind is In the Mood for Love.”

He huffs a little laugh. “That is basic, but I’m just as bad since I like Chungking Express the most.”

Your body chooses this moment to yawn again, inordinately long. Almost immediately, you cover your mouth, mortified. “Oh my god. That was not a commentary on Chungking Express.” At your expression, Vernon’s shoulders begin to shake, and he hunches over to muffle his chuckles. You swat his back. “Hey!”

He waves off your embarrassment, straightening. The corners of his mouth are still twitching upward. “No harm done. But,” he adds, “I do have Chungking Express and In the Mood for Love on my laptop. We can see whose favorite holds out better tomorrow night?”

His boyish smile is disarmingly charming, even more so in the low light. You grin back, feeling your heart flutter in a way that feels both familiar and new. “Deal.”

--

Of course, there are days when Vernon’s blunt honesty grates on your frayed nerve endings. 

Yesterday you had to explain again to your mom why you had lost touch with Seokmin—he’s taking the PE exam that you need for an engineer’s license, and I’m here pursuing my own dream, besides there’s nothing stopping us from talking again after we’re both settled with our lives—which she never quite understands. She and your father had, after all, been the type of people who stayed together amid individual tumults; in her opinion, the Pacific Ocean shouldn’t stand in the way of childhood friends. You begged to differ; it wasn’t just the Pacific that was the problem.

Today had you irritable, noise-sensitive, and frankly, not at your best.

“To be honest,” he says, flicking through your latest output, “I think you’re just not that good at handling soulmates. I don’t feel much of you in the writing.”

“Bold of you to say you know how I feel in writing.” Your reply is just shy of a bark. Vernon startles, his gaze snapping to you where it was roving again over his scribbled notes. His face jolts you back to yourself. You shove the irritation back behind your teeth.

“Sorry. It’s not been a good day.”

“Er, it’s fine.” His fingers pinch the pages, restless. “Do you want to write about something that feels out of a fairy tale? Or something more like real life?”

“I don’t know, and that’s the problem.” The story you crafted was about two childhood friends who were soulmates, yet one moved away before they could discover it. Time and distance had rendered them different people, yet as their souls recognized each other—even the jagged pieces fit together.

In Vernon’s reading, it seemed that there was a relationship forced between two characters with little chemistry. Which hit entirely too close to home.

“This isn’t my own advice, so take it with a grain of salt,” he starts slowly. “But the voice we find in our writing isn’t always the one we wanted to have. Like, even if, say, I wanted to sound like Garcia Marquez talking about love, sometimes it’s just gonna feel weird actually doing it. And when I find a certain style fits me, I get disappointed when I compare it to the voice I initially wish I had.”

“In this analogy, am I trying to be Garcia Marquez?”

“I guess? I’m not saying whatever style you do have, it’ll be bad,” he hurries to qualify, “it’s just that you don’t have to force your voice or story to fit into something it’s not trying to be.”

You sit back, stunned a little at the sageness of his words. “Oh, wow, Vernon.”

He scratches his cheek, suddenly unable to meet your eyes. “It’s not my advice, stop acting like I gave it. I read it from somewhere.”

Some old emotion stirs in you—hunger, competitiveness, desire—that old friend that carried you across fields and deserts in the name of continuous improvement. 

Despite no real incentive toward being the “best” in this residency, you are sharply reminded that this is a program where the bright gather. It would not do to half-ass anything. You remember what your mom had said, the first time you moved to Toronto: Some things must be set aside for new things to grow.

As you tap your pen on your little black notebook, a smile begins to bloom. “It’s great advice. Is it from a book?”

--

You stretch, the cushion of the couch shifting as you move your weight this way and that. On the table, the credits to Chungking Express play. Vernon pauses the roll of names before turning to you.

Apropos of nothing, he asks, “What was the biggest culture shock you had as a kid?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, silently asking if he’s going to explain why he raised that to you out of the blue. Vernon just looks at you, expectant. Deciding to humor him, you tilt your head, running through possible answers in your head. “Do you want a funny answer or a depressing one?”

He blinks. “Whichever you want to share, I guess?”

You lean aganst the headrest, focusing on some spot on the ceiling obscured by the darkness. “I don’t know how to decide what was biggest, but definitely the first one that comes to mind would be the lunchboxes.”

“Oh, like, packed lunch?”

“Yeah, or like, the food they’d have in the cafeteria. All the kids would call mine—”

“Stinky,” the both of you say in unison. You laugh, nostalgic. “Yeah. I was also pretty bad at English, back then, since the kind you learn in Korean school is different from the ones kids actually use. I remember only liking Math, just because numbers are the same whether you’re in Canada or Korea.”

Vernon’s eyes are soft as he regards you. “It must have been hard to make friends.” The words are simple, yet you feel the sincerity all the same. An understanding that comes with knowing what it means to be different, and living through it. You shift your head, turning to face him.

“I can’t imagine it’s been easy for you either,” you acknowledge.

“Mm. Kids could be particularly cruel.”

“Yeah, but I’m thankful all the same. I can’t imagine doing all the hellish cram school stuff just to get into SNU or something like that. And then work under a chaebol.” Perhaps it would have been be you in a different life, but in this one, the image feels like one from far away.

“You’re okay here? Not gonna fly somewhere else?” He references the ending of the movie. 

“I’ve had enough of travelling, to be honest.”

“Yeah?” The stare he levels at you is weighted, the air charged with something you don’t want to name quite yet. You hold his gaze.

“Yeah.”

Eventually, the corner of his lips quirk in a smile. The air eases up, and you inhale, only then realizing you have been holding your breath the whole time.

“Okay, then.”

--

Despite the call with your mother having gone better this time, something weighs your bones down. It’s fortunate that the cabin is a short walk from the shore.

You leave your shoes on the dry part of the beach, folding the hem of your jeans up to just above your calves.

The saltwater laps at your bare ankles. It’s that magical hour between sunset and dusk, when blue washes the world in quiet melancholy. Your gaze is trained north, but it is not New York you’re thinking about. Home has been a concept—less a house with roots, more a nebulous idea that you could never quite hold, like water or dry sand. 

The first time you left home—with all its hotteok stands and sunlight-dappled mahogany desks, it was at the behest of your parents. The second time, it was a choice of your own: a leaving on your terms. It was a whiplash of its own kind, one where you had to brave New York alone as a still-struggling college student. Home has always felt like something always just out of reach—is it something to find in the past, or is it waiting for you some place else?

Lost in thought, you murmur some lines of your favorite poem. Despite your finger bookmarking the page in the book in your hand, you know the words by heart.

“You ask the sea, what can you promise me…and it speaks the truth; it says erasure.”

On your lips is the taste of salt and loneliness.

--

Vernon looks up as you finally step into the living room, settling beside him.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you sigh. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No worries,” Vernon says. His finger trails quickly over his laptop’s trackpad, rebooting it from when it had fallen asleep. He doesn’t comment on your slightly windswept appearance, but he does eye the thin, well-worn book you have with you. “Glück?” He asks, gesturing.

“Yeah.” He seems to sense your melancholy, and leaves it at that.

As the movie plays, you dare to rest your head against his shoulder. He says nothing, but he wriggles a little, letting your weight rest more comfortably against him. Like this, you watch Tony Leung and Maggie Cheung yearn under the smeared lights of retro Hong Kong.

--

Vernon wonders if it was the tragedy that first drew him in. One so much like his, yet different in many ways.

It was the defiant tilt of your chin even as you remained open to the chatter around you; the intensity with which you approached your work; even the indecipherable array of micro-expressions that crossed your face when you first bit into the store-bought kimchi from the only Asian mart you had found in Montauk.

Most writers are tragic creatures; especially those who made it this far to make it a career. Vernon knows this. At the very least, there is something in their souls that could taint a page with words—either a hunger or too-muchness (or both) that needed some kind of release.

“I never got to ask,” he begins, “but I noticed in our conversations that you’d mention not just Korea, but Toronto too. You immigrated twice?”

“Pretty much,” you nod. First from Seoul to Toronto, then Toronto to New York. You explain this to Vernon, who shakes his head in amazement. Despite no longer having any reason to meet each other at the couch—the premise of watching Wong Kar-Wai behind you—you still, without fail, emerge from your room at some ungodly hour. And he’s always there, waiting. Vernon knows your routine, now: setting the electric kettle to boil before spooning some honey citron tea (from the jar that cost a ridiculous amount in the Asian mart, yet split the bill of nonetheless) into two mugs. Offering him the other while you settle beside him on the threadbare sofa.

“Is that what you meant when you had enough of travelling?”

“You remember that?”

He turns his head to look at you, confused. “Why wouldn’t I remember?”

You keep your gaze to the ceiling. “Didn’t expect you to, sorry. But yeah, that’s why. Does this have anything to do with Wong Kar-Wai?”

“Nah, just wanted to ask.”

“Okay.”

“Must have been lonely, huh?” 

You turn to him, still leaning against the couch, tilting your head. The cushion dips under your temple. “Didn’t we have this conversation before?”

“Sure, but I didn’t know you immigrated twice. I was born here; technically I never immigrated at all. Everything I know of Korea is from my parents and grandparents.”

“Huh.” You mull that over. “Did you ever think that home was actually there, not here?”

“…Sometimes,” he eventually admits. “But it’s more imagination than reality. I’ll probably be too American there, just as I was too Korean here. Might even be worse since I don’t speak the language.”

You don’t offer an answer to that, but you do shift your body to lean on Vernon’s shoulder, a quiet gesture of comfort. Both of you settle yourselves in the silence until Vernon eventually speaks again.

“Immigrating twice, though…that’s a different kind of tough.”

“I guess. But I don’t regret it, on the whole. At least the second time, it was my choice.”

“Does that make it better?” He asks, genuinely curious. 

“I used to think so. Now…hm, it’s both better and worse. Canada does have better healthcare, though.” Vernon chuckles at that. “This time, I decided to leave, not my parents. I’d rather…I guess write my own story than live someone else’s out. Or have it written by someone else.”

He inhales, muscles in his jaw feathering as his mind conjures up the vivid memories of his childhood. Not quite fitting in. Big emotions, too big for a child’s small hands. Choices he had to carve out for himself. 

“I know what you mean,” he whispers.

Your reply is half a yawn. “Good.”

In this dream-like space between sleeping and waking, you nestle deeper into Vernon’s warmth. Your head lolls, dropping softly onto his shoulder. You smell like the bergamot-scented body wash stocked in the bathrooms.

He closes his eyes, letting this moment sink into his memory.

(Eventually, he carries you to bed, leaving a message both on your bedside and through email—the only contact he has of you right now. Vernon waves off your embarrassed thank you the next morning, his fluster betrayed only by the red that lingers on the tips of his ears. Neither of you speak of it, even as you sit together again for that morning’s plenary.)

--

The last night in the cabin is marked by an especially voracious round of drinking in the gazebo. Empty bottles of beer and wine are scattered on the marble table, a wooden chopping board still adorned with the last few slices of ham and crackers.

“There’s this word in Korean,” you begin, swirling the last dregs of beer left in your bottle. “Inyeon. My dad first introduced me to the term. It’s like…fate, or providence, but specifically on the relationships between people. There’s a little of Buddhism and reincarnation in it.

“It’s inyeon when two strangers walk by and their clothes accidentally brush. Even then, for that to happen, there must have been something between them in their past lives. They say that if two people marry, there are eight thousand layers of inyeon over eight thousand lifetimes.

“Or, like…the cop with the pineapples and the undercover thief in Chungking Express, that’s Inyeon. Maggie Cheung and Tony Leung in In the Mood for Love, that’s also inyeon.” You make eye-contact with Vernon, who watches, amused, as you explain a Korean concept with Cantonese movies. A reference only he, out of everyone in this writers’ residence, would understand with special acuity.

Questions are thrown, and you answer, a little tipsy. Vernon coaxes you to let go of your now-empty bottle for a glass of water, which you readily take from his hand with a sort of smile you’d only make while drunk. Eventually, the conversation moves to different topics, until, either one-by-one or in groups, excuse themselves for bed.

It’s only the two of you now in the gazebo.

The water has made you a little more sober, and you allow yourself to indulge in the sight of Vernon under the outdoor string lights. The warmth paints his skin a soft gold. 

He’s watching you, too.

“I’ve been thinking about it, but both movies…you could say they both discuss loneliness in different ways.”

“Yeah. And they all had some kind of inyeon, but that didn’t mean they were meant to be. But ’s nice to think of a past life where they were. Not that they exist outside of the screen, though—I don’t know where I’m going with this,” you admit, cutting off your own ramble. Pointedly, you swallow a gulp of water, ignoring his amused stare.

The conversation tapers off, nothing but the distant sound of waves lapping at the sand. You swirl the glass of water in your hand, tongue moving with your thoughts again.

“Maybe… maybe you and I were somebody to each other in a past life.”

The air holds your words, suspends them for a moment in the silence. 

“Do you believe that?” Vernon asks eventually. He’s searching your face—cataloguing, perhaps, how drunk you are for those words to have tumbled out of your mouth.

“What?”

“That we knew each other in a past life?”

“What, because we’re here now—this night, in the same residency, in this gazebo?” You don’t know what’s so funny about what he said, but you can’t seem to stop giggling.

Vernon huffs that quiet laugh of his. “Isn’t this,” he gestures to the both of you, “inyeon, too?”

“My dad would think so.”

Vernon hums. “And you?”

“Me?” Under the table, your thighs brush. Your laugh stops, and you realize the weight of his gaze has never abated. You wonder if you’ll ever get used to the intensity of his attention. A part of you hopes you never do.

“What do you think?”

Alcohol loosens your lips enough to be brave. Or maybe just stupidly honest. “I’m not thinking about inyeon,” you confess. “I just want to kiss you.”

His eyelids flutter, those unfairly pretty lashes casting a subtle shadow across his skin. The upward quirk of his lips is a mix of smug and abashed. “Yeah?” 

(Tomorrow morning, you will chalk it up to lowered inhibitions: the sunlight will stream through curtains not drawn, the first thing that will tell you it is not your room you wake up in. The second thing will be the weight of an arm thrown across your waist; the third, a soft breath against your neck. Tomorrow, you will pretend you didn’t know better.

Tonight, though, you lean in, as close as you dare. A toe dipped into the sea. You catch the remnants of a haze over his eyes, the reminder that he’s also drunk, just more adept at hiding it.)

“Yeah,” you whisper. He seems to absorb this, quiet even as the sound of the waves is drowned by the blood rushing in your ears.

After a beat, Vernon closes the gap even further, head tilting, lips maddeningly parted…and then stops. His pause prompts a soft, impatient noise out of your throat, one that, based on the smirk that pulls up the corner of his mouth even higher, has not gone unnoticed.

Despite the relatively cool night, the air is heavy with promise.

Your tongue flicks out to wet your lips. His focus darts down, following the movement, before flicking back up to you, the question evident in his eyes. His restraint, even with alcohol in his system, is simultaneously maddening, thrilling, and endearing. You give a miniscule nod.

It’s a clumsy kiss, a bit too much teeth—both of you are evidently drunker than you’re trying to come across. Yet it’s enough for him to pull away with a soft hum before leaning in again, meeting your mouth with much more finesse and a hand cradling the back of your neck. You tangle one hand in his hair, feeling the thickness of it around your fingers. You’re not sure who presses closer, only that your world has narrowed into the smell of cheap beer, sweat, and his cologne. Him, him, him.

Not many words are exchanged after that.

(The clothes come off in the morning, not in the middle of the night, but that’s neither here nor there.) 

(The pretending lasted all but ten minutes.)

ACT III: YOU

Present day

The pedestrian streetlights blink green. From the other side of the street, the funny face you’re making at him dissolves as you begin to walk. Vernon’s still chuckling as he meets you halfway, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before walking together. 

As you reach the sidewalk, you press his usual coffee order into his hands. “Double shot sea salt latte to get you by today’s book signing.”

He grins. “Thanks.” Vernon swirls the cup before taking a sip, relishing in the cool drink amid the current heat.

“I’ll be late tonight,” you begin, apologetic. He looks up at you as you talk. “Rehearsals might run until after dinner. Your mom asked me to help her a while ago, though—she stocked our ref with the newest batch of grandma’s kimchi.”

“Right, it’s almost the production.” Vernon squeezes your hand, reassuring. You smile, before looking at the amount of coffee left and batting his arm.

“I bought you that to drink during your signing!”

“But the ice will dissolve by the time I get halfway through the line,” he protests. “Might as well have it while it’s not salty coffee water.”

You just roll your eyes, stopping as you arrive at the back entrance of the bookstore he’s holding the signing in. “Fine. But make sure to eat, okay?”

“I should be telling you that.”

“Oh, don’t worry, the director said she’ll be treating pizza tonight.” You check your watch. “I got to go. See you later!”

Vernon leans forward, pecking your lips even as you rummage your purse for your phone. You bat his arm again before waving as you jog away.

--

You trace mindless patterns on his arm, staring at the ceiling. Around you, the duvet is a mess, mostly because of his leg, thrown over yours, which rests on top of the covers. He doesn’t understand how you want to burrow under a blanket after sex, but you insist that he just runs hotter than you.

“배고파요.” Vernon tests it on his tongue, feeling the words.

“Mm. Me too.” 

“뭐 먹고 싶어요?” 

You ponder it before shrugging, turning to bury your face into Vernon’s neck. “Dunno,” you murmur sleepily into his skin. He shifts his one arm so he can better cradle your head. Your arm shakes off the covers to fiddle with his hair, still freshly cut into its current length. The sun peeks through your blinds, intent to ruin your intention to stay in bed this weekend.

After a few moments, you speak again. “I got it. Know what I want?”

“What?”

“Chicken wings.”

“Ohhh.” Vernon groans, even as he doesn’t move. His breath fans against the top of your head. “Genius. Holy shit.”

“Yeah?” You smile against his neck.

“Yeah. Brunch?”

“Yeah.”

--

“What’s on your mind?” You look up from your plate of wings. Something crosses your face, a mix of not-guilt and trepidation that makes Vernon pause from deboning the chicken in his hands.

“Do you remember I told you about Seokmin?”

Ah. “Is that this week?”

“Yeah.”

“Why is he coming here, again?” He resumes his task, popping the meat in his mouth after cleanly pulling out the two bones.

“Vacation, I think.”

Vernon just hums.

--

The restaurant smells like smoke, grease, and alcohol. Before them, the grill sizzles with both thick-cut and thin-cut pork. Seungkwan stirs the thin slices with a pair of metal tongs, letting the fat render so it unsticks from the metal.

Soonyoung picks a piece of the thicker pork off the grill, blowing into it. “Why are you going to New York, again?”

“Vacation,” Seokmin replies as he wraps meat, rice, and ssamjang into a piece of lettuce. “Sightseeing, eating, having fun…” He opens his mouth wide, shoving the wrapped meat into his mouth.

Seungkwan eyes him. “You’re not going there to see that girl, right?”

Mouth muffled with food, Seokmin asks, “Huh? Who?” Soonyoung scoffs.

“What do you mean, who? Her, y’know. Your first love? Seems convenient you’re going to New York just when you’ve broken up with your girlfriend.”

Seokmin just snorts, swallowing his food before giving a wry chuckle. “Hyung, she’s married.”

“Really?” Soonyoung seems genuinely surprised. “How long now?”

“Like…seven years? I think?”

Seungkwan ooh’s as he pours Seokmin and Soonyoung a drink. “She married early.”

“Mm.” They clink glasses. 

Seungkwan unlocks his phone, checking something before clicking his tongue. “Hyung.” His voice is a mix of amused and commiserating.

“Mm?” He holds up his phone.

“it’s gonna be raining the whole time you’re there.” Seokmin and Soonyoung stare at his phone, the weather app pulled up.

After a beat, Soonyoung begins to cackle, slapping Seokmin’s arm, who yelps as he barely saves his beer from spilling over the grill. “Ya!”

Soonyoung ignores him. “Aigo, you poor bastard!”

“No way. Really?” Seokmin squints at the screen, willing the forecast to change. Already, he feels a slump settling on his shoulders.

--

True enough, Seokmin makes a break for it after getting off the taxi. He had hurriedly retrieved his luggage from the trunk, then dashed to the hotel he had booked for the next two nights. New York is miserably wet, and he feels self-conscious as his shoes squeak and drip rainwater onto the carpeted floor as he checks himself in. His English is not very good, but he does have Papago to help him stumble through the conversation with the receptionist. He receives his key card and room number.

Seokmin moves as fast as he can to the elevator, mindful of both his appearance and the need to get the wet cloths off him as soon as possible.

Finally, finally, he lugs his damp body and luggage into his empty room. There is a window overlooking the city, yet it is only grey with rain. Droplets cover the glass. Seokmin sighs, and shucks off his windbreaker, slipping into the bathroom to hang it and his other damp clothes.

It seems his plans of sightseeing would not be a go.

--

Unexpectedly, at around midnight, the rain had stopped. The clear weather continued through the early morning, until this moment. Light flicks off the small puddles left on the pavement, and is reflected, serene, on the surface of the pool. Fresh off the bad weather, there are not much people around the garden.

Seokmin stands off to the side. Though the surroundings are quiet, his mind is awhirl with the significance of today. He finds himself fiddling with his fanny pack and rubbing the strap with his thumb and forefinger, regressing to his childhood habit.

Time passes painfully long; he is half-tempted to begin bouncing on the balls of his feet just to release more of the nervous energy plaguing his body. He doesn’t know how much that face would have changed, yet he trusts in himself enough to recognize both the face and the soul behind it.

“Seokmin!” He turns.

You appear from behind one of the trees, and Seokmin knows. You catch his gaze, and he sees the moment you also know. You begin to walk toward him, circling the edge of the pool.

Seokmin is frozen. It feels like coming face to face with a ghost.

There are subtle differences—your style is a more comfortable mix between business and casual. The way you carry yourself is more relaxed, assured in a way that only ever comes when the weight of adulthood has nestled itself in one’s bones. You stop before him, seeming to be equally shocked. 

He feels you taking him in, too; suddenly, he’s hyper-conscious of the shirt he chose for today, the comfortable sweater and light-wash jeans a little too strange against the smarter, albeit dressed down look of your blouse. It’s not like you’re a couple trying to match, he chastises himself.

Seokmin stares at a person he has not seen in more than twenty years, and he watches you do the same.

The distance that stood between you at your first and second goodbye’s lingers, still not crossed. So much has changed, and he doesn’t know yet what remains the same. His body is hot, then cold. Every emotion overtakes him—shock, sadness, disbelief. Yet the one that settles most comfortably into the moment is simply relief. Seokmin exhales.

“Wow.” He chuckles softly.

“Wow,” you echo, your laugh breathless as it hangs in the air between you. You close the distance first, wrapping your arms around his neck in a fierce hug. Startled, Seokmin’s hands hang in the air before he relaxes. He should have expected this of you. His own arms encircle your waist, pulling you in. You smell faintly of soap and ink, nothing like the shampoo he remembered from when you were children. 

Twenty years.

The utter physicality of your presence is overwhelming.

“It’s so good to see you,” he says, mouth a little behind your ear. Your chin grazes against his shirt as you nod before stepping away. 

A beat passes, and you start to laugh.

After a moment, Seokmin joins in, not quite sure why you’re both laughing, but it’s definitely much better than crying. For now, he just lets the amazement at the situation wash over him. Eventually, the laughter settles, and fades. 

“I really don’t know what to say,” you murmur, smiling at him.

“I don’t, either,” he confesses. “What should I say? It’s just been so long. Like, twelve years?”

“Yeah, around that much.” You look around, suddenly noticing the relatively quiet park. “Shall we go, then?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin smiles. “Tour me around your city.” You fall into step beside him. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, still not quite believing it. That gaze remains, even as you usher him into the New York subway, eventually forced into sharing a pole to hold onto as the car crowds with passengers. You catch his gaze, and smile, the same mix of giddy, disbelieving, and shy.

It really is so good to see you.

--

You walk along Dumbo pier—like the flying elephant? Seokmin had asked, to which you nodded with a, Yeah, same spelling, but it’s actually an acronym—having just gotten off the R Train to Brooklyn Bridge Park. Seokmin’s eyes wander around, absorbing the New York scenery. You walk down a narrow, well-maintained path, the edges lush with shrubs. A faint breeze blows, rustling the leaves around you. This close, Seokmin can also here the river’s gentle murmurs.

There’s a silent sort of buffer between you, as though both of you were equally conscious of not wanting to be perceived as a couple. Occasionally, a ship horn blows, distant yet cutting.

“Before I got married,” you begin, “Vernon and I visited Korea.” 

Seokmin suppresses a wince; it’s the first time you mention your husband to him. “I know.”

“I emailed you, but you never replied.”

 “I’m sorry.” He saw it; he just couldn’t bring himself to respond. It was a good year before he could bear to delete the long email he had kept in his drafts—only for you to message him, four years later, just not for the reason he was expecting. Or hoping.

“It’s okay,” you reply eventually. Seokmin feels your eyes on him, considering. Your steps, slightly ahead for the past few minutes, slow down so you walk together. He keeps his eyes forward, trying not to fidget.

“I wanted to meet your girlfriend too, actually. Is she doing well?”

“Oh, we’re not…we’re not together right now.”

“What happened? You broke up?” You sound genuinely concerned.

“No, not really.” You find a spot by with a good view of the pier, gesturing for him to join you. Seokmin obliges, continuing, “We just need time to think, I guess. We’ve started talking about getting married.”

“Do you not want to get married?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s holding you back? You love her, right?”

He stares at Manhattan, but his mind is hundreds of miles away. “I always thought if you get married, you have to be responsible. You have to have enough money, you know? She’s an only child; her parents will have high standards for her husband.”

“What does she think, though?”

“Oh, she’s more up for it than I am. But I just…thought things should be…more, you know?”

You tilt your head; he shifts, not expecting the sudden intensity in your gaze. There’s a light furrow in your brow. It strikes him, then, that he’s talking about this to someone already married. “Is it hard to get married if you don’t make tons of money?”

“At first we didn’t think so, but eventually we started thinking that way.” As the words leave his mouth, Seokmin feels the inextricable weight of age on his shoulders. You look away, equally quiet. The sun is already quite high up; in front of him the water glitters, beautifully clear. 

At the end of the path, apparently, is the edge of the riverbank. You’re much closer to the water now; if the wind was a gentle breeze a while ago, now it’s stronger, blowing against his hair. Seokmin pushes back the strands that fall against his eyes. 

“Do you want me to take a picture of you?” You ask suddenly.

“Oh, sure.” Seokmin stands by the railing.

It starts innocuous, at first. But a bit of the old theater flair takes over him, and he strikes a pose, flicking his wrist over his eye. You giggle, stepping out to a lunge so you could get more angles of him. At some point, he turns his back to the camera, jutting his hip out. You screech a little, doubling over even as you continue pressing the shutter button. After a few poses, you straighten and hand the phone to him, eyes bright with the remains of your laughter.

“You look good! Sorry if the camera shook while I was taking some of them, though.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “That’s fine, part of the memories.”

--

“Did you continue theater? After the last time we talked.”

“Not really, no. I stopped auditioning while studying for the PE, and just never tried again.”

“I see.”

The pier is lovely, the view even more so—the expanse of water juxtaposed by both the modern, urban feel of the buildings and the older, stately bridge. It’s just that there are couples everywhere—holding hands, whispering with their heads pressed together, one pair even full-on kissing in broad daylight. Seokmin subtly shifts his body away from the latter, trying to hide his discomfort.

He glances at you right as you crane your neck in the couple’s direction before quickly looking away. He gives you a look, which you return with a grimace. Even if neither of you are here on a date, the suffocating romance all around certainly makes it feel like one.

“Did you come here often with your husband?”

“Yeah, we lived nearby before moving to our current apartment. We dated here, though we’re not as bad as them.” Seokmin suppresses a laugh at your disgruntled expression. “Oh, and we fought here, too. A lot,” you add the last bit with a small smirk.

“Really? You fought?”

“Oh yeah, especially during the first year we married. We didn’t fuck around.”

Seokmin chuckles disbelievingly, floundering between concerned and amused. “Why’d you fight?”

“A lot of reasons,” you shrug, leaning against the railing. “It’s like…planting two trees in a pot. Our roots needed to find our place.”

Behind you, as the day grows darker, the carousel’s lights begin to turn on.

“Do your families get along?”

“Oh yeah, Vernon’s family loves that they have a whole bunch of people to speak Korean with. His grandma and my mom are quite close.”

“Oh, but does he speak Korean too?”

“Not as much; him and his sister don’t, and his mom is the American one—they know a few phrases, and he’s been practicing with me, but aside from that…” you trail off. Your gaze remains at the horizon. “He’s great at Hwa-Too, though.”

“Hwa-Too?!”

“Mm,” you turn, grinning at his surprise, pride shining in your eyes. “Beat my dad a few times, even.”

Seokmin whistles. “He’s not fucking around.”

“He’s not fucking around,” you agree, huffing a small laugh. Seokmin catches the way your eyes light up as you speak of your husband, gaze slightly distant, your lips curling up almost unconsciously. You turn to him. “Did you fight with your girlfriend too?”

“No.” You raise an eyebrow, disbelieving, until Seokmin relents. “Fine. Yes. Even though she’s not my girlfriend right now.”

“If you’re just as bad of a sulker—” you begin, “Never mind, I don’t want you upset at me.”

“Hey!” He whines. “I’m not that bad.” You just snort, nudging him lightly. He elbows you back, feigning a pout before the act cracks and he breaks into chuckles. 

When your laughter trails off to a comfortable end, you smile at him, the edges of your eyes crinkling slightly. The sky has painted New York pink, orange, and gold; Seokmin quietly admires a single golden ray that runs from your cheek down to your neck. “You should get married well.”

“You’re worrying about me?”

“Sure. Getting married is hard for idealistic people. Like you.”

“I’m not that old yet,” he retorts. “Let me worry about it when I’m past forty.”

You just smile, and huff a little laugh before returning your focus to the horizon. Your expression does not waver, still with that mysterious and distant affection, as though you were privy to something he has yet to understand. Perhaps you are. In silence, Seokmin watches you enjoy the sunset.

--

Seokmin and you sit on the steps by Jane’s carousel, the day’s walking finally felt the moment you eased yourselves down. Seokmin has his legs sprawled, long limbs stretching down the steps as he gazes up at the sky, now a stunning shade of twilight blue. Behind you, the playful music of the carousel plays on loop. The day has passed, and at this moment, there is no need to fill the silence with words.

The quiet stretches the twilight. Eventually, you turn to look at him. Seokmin meets your gaze, steady.

“Seokmin.”

“Hm?”

“Why did you look for me?”

His gaze turns curious, yet you remain quiet, waiting for him to respond.

“Twelve years ago?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you really want to know?” You nod. He looks directly at you, gaze intense yet open.

“I just wanted to see you one more time.” Seokmin pauses, seemingly gathering his thoughts. “You just left so suddenly, and I was pissed off, y’know? I thought of you, from time to time, while I was alone. You disappeared, and suddenly I found you again.”

Each word fuels the complex mix of emotion swirling in your chest, and you tamp down the expression that’s fighting to emerge on your face. You pinch your lips together.

“Sorry.” It’s all you can bring yourself to say without everything else spilling out.

“What are you sorry about?”

You exhale, quick and short. “Right. There’s nothing to be sorry about.” For that first time, at least—that immigration. Seokmin continues.

“I thought about you. During the military, even as I passed the PE…even when I realized I stopped pursuing acting seriously, I wondered if you’d be disappointed.” He laughs, self-deprecating.

Even before he finishes, you’re already shaking your head. “I would never judge you for that.” 

“We were babies back then,” you comment softly.

“I know,” he replies. “We were also babies when we met again twelve years ago.”

You tilt your head, considering him. Your eyes wander over his face, doing the same thing you’ve repeated throughout today: cataloguing the minute changes from the last time you saw him twelve years ago. Not much has changed with his face—he must have a solid skincare routine, possibly the fault of his girlfriend. His hair is more styled, though the breeze had tussled it somewhat. But he carries himself with a little more worldliness, even as his words are of the boy twelve years ago. Life had become a jacket he wore a little more familiarly around his shoulders.

“We aren’t babies anymore,” you murmur.

“Yeah.”

--

After dropping Seokmin off at his hotel, you return home.

From the living room, you hear the faint sound of Vernon’s latest game, and the clack of the buttons as he presses them rapidly. You shut the door quietly, toeing off your shoes and setting your bag on the hook by the entryway before you approach him. He’s already shifting, making space for you to squeeze yourself beside him on the loveseat, even as his eyes never leave the screen.

“Hi,” you mumble.

“Hi, love.” Onscreen, Vernon’s character is winning, little sound effects echoing around as he levels attack after attack at the level boss. You keep silent, choosing to talk once he’s done, but he speaks anyway. “How was it?”

“You were right.”

“I was?”

“He came to see me.”

Vernon glances at you quickly, catching the expression on your face: lips pursed, eyes a storm cloud of emotions. 

He pauses the game.

--

“It’s just crazy to see him be a grown-up man with a job and everything. And parts of it are so…Korean.” You dab a dollop of moisturizer on your cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin before rubbing it in with your fingers. “I mean, neither of us stayed with our parents once we started working. But he still lives with them. He’s not stoic, or conservative, or anything like that, but there are moments I feel like I’m talking to one of your grandparents.”

Behind you, sharing the small mirror, Vernon is patting on the last dregs of the toner you made him try. He stares at you through both your reflections. “Is he attractive?”

You squint a little at him, trying to parse what he’s saying through his question. Curiosity, perhaps, and some jealousy. Answering honestly, you reply, “sure, he’s handsome, and he smiles a lot. I mean at least one person has been attracted to him—his girlfriend. Or, not quite-ex.”

“Are you attracted to him?”

This time, you scrunch your face. “What? No. I don’t know. I don’t think so.” You face away from his reflection, turning to your husband. “He’s just this boy who I left, and who was just a face on my laptop for the longest time, and now he’s here. It’s just overwhelming, physically, I think. But no, I don’t think I’m attracted to him. I just missed him a lot. I missed Seoul.”

“Did he miss you?”

“He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.” You pause, contemplative. “I think he misses the twelve-year old me, who would tease him while he cries until he starts laughing instead. We were both crybabies, you know.”

“I didn’t know you were a crier.”

“Yeah. But I always tried to never cry when it was him crying. Not that it always worked.”

Vernon hums, expression unreadable as he crosses the room to sit on the edge of the bed. The air is tense as he opens and closes his mouth, figuring out what to say. After a long beat. He settles with, “When is he leaving?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

You sit beside him on the bed, tentative. “Are you mad?”

“No.”

“It feels like it.”

Vernon sighs, running his hand through short, choppy strands—not quite as buzzed as last month. “I don’t have a right to be mad.” 

Your brows furrow. “What? Of course you have the right to be mad.”

“That man flew thirteen hours to see you, I’m not about to say that you can’t see him or something. He’s your childhood sweetheart. And it’s not like you’d run away with him.” You laugh, loudly. Vernon seems to hesitate, swiveling to face you. He looks only half-joking. “Are you?”

Deadpan, you reply, “Sure, I’ll run away with my childhood sweetheart to go to Seoul and leave my entire life behind.” Vernon just raises an eyebrow. Exasperated, you continue, “You know me. I won’t skip rehearsals for a dude.”

You crawl into the bedsheets, lifting the corner of the duvet and wrapping it around you. You’re in your baggiest sleep shorts—the one you only wear when it’s your period. The edge of it peeks from under the comforter. Vernon looks at you for a long moment, gaze softening as you frown at him, still sitting down.

“I know.” The edges of his mouth pull up in a small smile. “I know you.”

--

Grumbling, you nose into Vernon’s neck. You know he’s awake. “If another truck honks at 2AM, I’m going to lose it.”

True enough, Vernon offers a sleepy chuckle, tilting his chin so you can nestle better against him. The room is dark, silent save for your breathing and the occasional noise from outside. The lights are off, but the lone streetlight visible from the window casts a dull glow over the duvet. 

Suddenly, he chuckles dryly.

“What?” you whisper.

“Just thinking how good of a story this is.”

“Seokmin and I?”

“Childhood sweethearts who reconnect twenty years later and realize they were meant for each other.”

You huff. “We’re not meant for each other.”

Vernon ignores you, continuing. “I’d be the fake Korean standing in the way of destiny.”

At that, you cackle, though it’s muffled by your position against his neck. “Shut up. Fake Korean?”

“We’re just sound so boring in comparison, I dunno. Met in a writer’s residency, flirted, watched a bunch of Wong Kar-Wai, slept together because we were both single. Then moving in together in New York to save rent. Until we decided to get married, but moved plans up so you could get your green card.”

“So romantic, when you put it like that,” you reply dryly.

“No, exactly, I’m the guy you leave when your ex-lover-slash-soulmate takes you away.”

“He’s neither of those things.”

Vernon’s hand comes up, creeping along your arm and tracing patterns on the back of your shirt. “What if you met someone else, someone who knew, maybe not Wong Kar-Wai, but Orson Welles? What if there was some other writer also from New York who knew the same movies, read the same books, and could correct you on your manuscripts and listen to you complain about rehearsals?”

“Mm. That’s not how life works.”

“Yeah, but still. Wouldn’t you be here with him? If you didn’t leave Korea, would you be with your childhood sweetheart?”

“Again, that’s not how life works.” You relent, though, and indulge him. It’s a rare moment where Vernon seems to be seeking solace in you, not the other way around. “This is my life. This is our life. Now. And we’re together.”

A beat passes. Something comes to mind, a memory from that first writing residency.

“Do you remember the first time I got mad at you? It was a bad day and you were giving feedback on that one horrible manuscript.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember what you said to me?” 

“…No?”

“I remember it word for word. ‘You don’t have to force your voice or story to fit into something it’s not trying to be,’ you said to me.” Even now, the advice makes you smile. He must feel it against his skin.

For a while, it’s silent—nothing but the low hum of the air con and his hand, playing with the fabric of your shirt. You feel his breath fan over the top of your head. “It’s just that you make my life so much bigger,” he murmurs, “and I don’t know if I do the same for you.”

“You do.” Shifting, you crane your neck, taking care not to bump against his chin. Your eyes meet his. “You’re forgetting the part where I love you.”

“I don’t forget it, I just have trouble believing it sometimes.”

You burrow into him insistently, throwing a leg over his hip. “I’ll do better then.” Vernon’s familiar huff of a laugh vibrates against your forehead.

“You already do enough.” He presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

He and you lay there, in comfortable silence. You listen to his heartbeat, steady against your ear. Vernon returns to tracing mindless patterns across your back.

“Did you know you only speak in Korean when you talk in your sleep?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You never speak in English. You only dream in Korean.”

“I didn’t know that. You never told me.”

“Most times, I think it’s cute, but…I don’t know. Sometimes I get scared.”

“Why?”

Vernon’s chest caves slightly as he exhales. “You dream in a language that I can’t quite understand. I’m still trying, but I can’t help but think that I was supposed to understand this whole time.”

He leans back a little to stare at you, a small, bitter smile on his face. You reach a hand up, cupping his cheek. Vernon softens slightly, leaning into your touch as he continues.

“I think it’s part of why I’ve been trying harder to learn lately.”

“You want to understand me while I’m sleeping?”

“Yeah. Is it stupid?”

You smile a little. “No. Well maybe, since I’m pretty sure I’m just saying gibberish.” He hums.

“You know, what if there’s a life where you never left Korea, and I actually did immigrate the way my parents planned to when I was a toddler. Would we have met then? Still gotten married?”

“You mean inyeon? Who we are to each other in another life?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a thought, for sure. But I chose you in this life. That’s what matters most to me.”

It’s quiet after that, Vernon absorbing your words in the way he always does, with that almost uncanny acuity. After a beat, he pulls you even closer, until there’s barely space between your bodies.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”

--

Seokmin is already lined up for the ferry by the time you meet him.

“Hey!” You’re slightly breathless, having run to meet him upon getting his message. He beams, eyes turning into half-crescents.

“Hey! Did you get home safe last night?”

“I did, thanks. Sorry I’m late.” It seems more people took yesterday’s sunny weather as a cue that the past week’s rain finally passed; the train was more crowded than usual.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

Seokmin unslings one strap of his backpack, rummaging before brandishing out a bagel sandwich for you. “Here?”

You accept it, mouth parted in surprise. “For me?”

“Yeah.” You bite into it with a vengeance. Seokmin grins as you eat.

This early, people are just starting to file in; the queue progresses quickly. You both shuffle forward every few seconds. As the boarding point to the ferry grows closer, Seokmin turns to you.

“I forgot to ask you something yesterday.”

You swallow your current bite before answering. “What is it?”

“What prize do you want to win nowadays?”

“Hm?”

“Before you left, you wanted to win the Nobel. Twelve years ago, you said it was the Pulitzer. What about now?” Seokmin clarifies. You look at him, a little lost. Things like that haven’t been on your mind for a long time; you tell him this, a little abashed. He just shakes his head with a little smile.

“Try to think about it,” he encourages. “There must be something you want.”

“…A Tony?” You try, and he laughs.

“Still the same.”

“Greedy?”

“Greedy.”

--

Today is more suffocatingly romantic than yesterday. It’s bad enough that someone had offered to take a photo of both of you together, confused when you turned her down. You lean against the ferry railing, keeping a safe distance from Seokmin.

Under you, the water churns into white foam as the ferry route curves into the view of the Statue of Liberty. As the right angle approaches, you tap Seokmin’s shoulder.

“Here, I’ll take your picture.” He positions himself near the railing, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. “A little to the left.”

When you return your phone to him, he raises it up with the front camera. “Selca?” Obliging, you sidle next to him before laughing at the screen.

“That’s too close!” You step back, pressing your back lightly against the railing. Seokmin snaps a few photos, each with a silly face that you match in turn. In one of them, you raise a hand, smiling, the ring on your hand briefly catching the sun. Behind you, Manhattan sprawls, gleaming in the morning light.

--

“Oh, pretty.” Seokmin taps your screen, flicking through your wedding photos. The ferry is now returning to Manhattan, and you’ve both taken to the empty seats near the middle row. Seokmin looks between the you beside him and the you in the photos. His brow furrows ever so slightly. “You look young.”

“We were young,” you reminisce. “The wedding happened earlier than planned because of my green card.”

You smile, staring at the screen. Right now, it’s on a picture of you and Vernon, his hair not yet buzzed, frozen mid-laugh. You’re clutching your bouquet with one hand, his shoulder with the other. When he laughs, really laughs, Vernon’s face is almost elastic in its expressiveness; you had to insist on a copy of this photo, after Vernon’s embarrassment at the way his eyebrows looked comically curved. You don’t remember why you were laughing anymore, only that this was your favorite photo purely because of how unscripted it was.

Seokmin hums, continuing to scroll through your wedding photos.

--

Vernon fidgets with his phone, distracted. He had gotten your message about an hour ago; you were on the way home, bringing your friend after he had checked out from his hotel. Tonight was supposed to be a dinner with the three of you before Seokmin leaves for Korea on an early morning flight.

He had spent part of his afternoon cleaning, both itching to release nervous energy and wanting to make a good impression. It took him twice as long as usual to pick a shirt to wear, unsure of what kind of impression he wanted to give to this man, as his childhood sweetheart’s now-husband. Eventually, he settled with a clean button down tucked into jeans.

After what seems like forever, he hears the faint jangling of keys, and then the door opening.

“Vern?”

He stands, smoothing down his shirt. There, by the doorway, bathed in warm light, is you, greeting him with a soft smile. He relaxes, shoulders settling more comfortably. Turning, you gesture to someone. 

“들어와.” A figure ducks through the doorway, already toeing off his shoes. And it is here that Vernon meets him for the first time.

Seokmin is a tall man. You were right; he is handsome, in the way Asian men often are—youthful, more innocent than his other burly, White colleagues, who grow their beards and prefer to exude a more rugged appeal. As you stand there, together, both staring at him, you reassuring and Seokmin tentative, Vernon suddenly understands. This is a person from another life of the woman he loves. He and Vernon are connected, not just through heritage, but with their love for you. Simple as that.

Vernon smiles warmly. “안녕하세요. 만나서 반가워요.

Seokmin startles a little before smiling back, hesitant but bright. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you too,” he replies in stilted but clear English. They both laugh awkwardly. Seokmin glances at you. “그는 한국어를 잘한다.”

Vernon can understand that much. “아니, 아니요.” You just look at him at Seokmin’s pronouncement, smug. Vernon feels his ears turn red. “배고파? Hungry?”

“Um, yes.” As though on cue, his stomach rumbles. You and Vernon exchange a glance, amused. Vernon turns to him. “뭐 먹고 싶어요?”

“Uh…pizza!”

“Pizza? You like pizza?”

Seokmin nods. “Yes!”

Vernon steals a glance at you again, biting back a laugh. “Okay, then. Pizza it is.”

--

The three of you walk the streets of East Village. It is well into the evening, and the streets bustle with people checking out the hole-in-the-wall, indie restaurants that are scattered around. You and Vernon walk beside each other, while Seokmin keeps a polite but still friendly distance from your husband.

“So what did you guys do today?”

“The, uh…” Seokmin tilts his head, opening and closing his mouth to reply, brow furrowing. Instead, he just raises his hand, miming a torch.

“The Statue of Liberty,” you supply. Vernon’s brows lift in realization.

“You took the ferry?” You nod.

“It was, uh, nice,” Seokmin says. “Uh, beautiful view.”

“I’ve never been.” You and Seokmin, on either of his side, look at him, shocked for different reasons. Seokmin shifts his focus to you, still incredulous.

“야! Why haven’t you gone with your husband there yet?”

“I don’t—” you look at Vernon, surprised and more than a little guilty. “You’ve never been? We’ve never been?”

Vernon huffs a laugh at both of your exclamations. “Yeah, I’ve actually never been.”

You look at him, eyes wide, even as he levels a smirk at you, amused at your reaction.

--

The pizza was everything he dreamed New York pizza to be—thin, large in serving, and just the right mix of fat from the cheese and acidity from the tomatoes. Both you and your husband had remarked that this was one of the better places, at least as far as both your palates were concerned. Vernon taught him, you translating at some junctures, how to fold the slice before eating it, prefacing it by saying that neither of you would judge if he just opted to cut the slice with a knife before eating. Adamant, Seokmin insisted on “the New York way,” to both your amusement.

After dinner, the three of you relocated to a small, nearby speakeasy. Faux-incandescent bulbs cast a warm light over the space, and you took your seats at the counter. You sat in the middle, translating between the two of them.

“At twenty-four, I, um…” he tries to think of the word, but falls short. Seokmin mimes shooting a rifle, and both your eyes widen in recognition.

“군대?”

“Military service?” Both you and Vernon speak at the same time.

“Yes!” Seokmin looks at your husband, who understands the question in his eyes.

“I didn’t go, I chose US citizenship at eighteen.” Seokmin’s mouth parts in an o, nodding as the pieces click in his mind. Vernon addresses him. “How was it? Did you like it?” You translate for him your husband’s question. Seokmin bites back a sheepish smile.

“No.” You and Vernon laugh. “I got accident,” he adds.

“Really?” Your husband leans forward, intrigued. Seokmin points to his nose, and you gasp as the memory finally returns to you. He levels a quick grin at you, knowing why.

“My nose was, uh, broken. Needed surgery to fix.” Vernon nods. His face is wonderfully expressive as he absorbs this new information. 

Looking at his nose, then the rest of his face, he replies, “it looks good. Healed well.”

“Thank you.” Seokmin scratches his nose, the unconscious habit returning for a moment. “But, uh, military and work…same.”

“Same how?”

“You have, uh…boss.” Both you and Vernon release a chuckle. He turns to you, switching to Korean. “There’s overtime pay here, right?”

You nod. “Of course. Why? Don’t you have?” He shakes his head. You stare at him, incredulous, before turning to Vernon, who makes a similar face when he hears your translation. “There’s no overtime pay in Korea.” To Seokmin, you ask, switching back to Korean, “Really?”

Seokmin nods. “In Korea, you do all you boss’ work, then your own, then you can go home. And you don’t get paid well.”

“That’s shitty. And hard.” Seokmin nods, face comically down.

He tries his best to translate, catching Vernon’s expression—who seems to be doing his utmost best at keeping up with the limited Korean he knows, but not understanding the important bits. “Boss work first, then your work. End late, but um…bad salary? Cheap?”

“I see,” Vernon says, and levels him a grateful look. Seokmin smiles sympathetically, catching his gaze. They hold it for a moment too long, and Seokmin is the first to look away, suddenly feeling awkward. Despite tonight’s relatively smooth camaraderie, they remain strangers.

Seokmin instead turns to you, switching back to Korean, finding comfort in the way the syllables rest on his tongue.

“It was good that you immigrated.”

You smile, responding in kind. “I think so too.”

“Korea’s too small for someone like you. It can’t satisfy your greed.” Both of you laugh softly. Seokmin swirls the drink in his hand, the ice clinking against the glass.

“Thank you for introducing me to your husband. He seems to love you very much. And he’s been so nice to me.”

Your smile widens, enough for light crinkles to appear at the edges of your eyes. “Of course. I love that you get along.”

Seokmin downs his drink. Gazing at the leftover ice, he murmurs, a little drunk, “I didn’t know getting along with him would hurt this much.”

You stare at him, mouth parted. He turns to look at you, mouth quirked in a bitter, sardonic smile. Around you, the speakeasy’s noise fades into a dull buzz. Your body swivels a little, facing him more.

After a long beat, you simply reply, “Really?”

“Really.”

It’s probably pathetic of him, to be so open to you, risking your husband understanding a conversation about him, but he’s drunk, and it’s his last night with a person whom he’s only ever seen in increments of twelve years. For all he knows, twelve years later he may not be as lucky.

The silence is intolerably suffocating.

“When we stopped talking,” Seokmin starts, “Did you miss me?”

“Of course.”

“But you met your husband, then.”

“You met your girlfriend too,” you reply, a little too sharply. The air is tense. From behind him, Seokmin spies Vernon glance at your direction, noting the change in your tone. After a few seconds, he returns to his phone. The sight of him makes him scrunch his face. Are you really both being jealous while your husband is a few feet away?

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking away. Shame swirls in his stomach.

“It’s okay,” you reply quickly. “I’m sorry too.”

“I just…Being here with you gives me weird thoughts.”

“Like what?”

“Like, ‘I found my first love twelve years ago, should I have just not let her go?’” He barrels on, clocking from your expression that you wouldn’t know what to say in reply anyway. “‘What if I went to New York when you asked? Or if you had gone to Seoul when I asked? What if you never left? Would we have gotten married? Have kids? Would we have dated? Broken up?’ Things like that.”

For once, Seokmin is thankful for the alcohol loosening his tongue; if anything, he can say that he at least poured his heart out to you, the one thing he hadn’t been able to do before. He breathes in, shaky, pushing back tears.

“But what I learned coming here, is that you had to leave because you’re you. And the reason I liked you is because you’re you. And who you are is a person who leaves.”

You close your eyes at that.

After a long pause, you open them, gazing straight at Seokmin as you speak. There’s a small upward curve at the edge of your mouth, even as your eyes glisten, suspiciously shiny, under the warm light.

“The girl you remember doesn’t exist here,” you say softly.

“I know.”

“But she did exist. She’s not here in front of you, but that doesn’t mean she was never real. I left her behind in Seoul with you, more than twenty years ago.” The gentleness of your voice feels like some necessary ruination.

“I know. And though I was just twelve years old, I loved that girl.” His smile trembles as he says it, and so does yours as you try to return his grin with one of your own.

You huff, a little watery. “You psycho.” His laugh, too, is wet. Seokmin sniffles as discreetly as he can. You hand him a tissue, which he accepts with a soft thank you.

You begin to speak again, one finger swirling around the water that had dripped down onto the wooden surface of the table. “I think there was something between us in our past lives. There’s no other reason for us to be here, in this city, twelve years after we reconnected, another twelve years after I left. It’s just that we don’t have the inyeon to be that for each other in this life.”

“I think so too,” Seokmin replies softly. “What do you think we were? A general and a concubine?”

You scrunch your nose at the image, even as you huff, amused. “A political marriage,” you propose. “And we haaated each other.”

“Or maybe just a bird and the branch it landed on.” Seokmin swirls his glass, drinking at the bits of water from the melting ice. “Even your husband, you know? Maybe in another life, he was in Korea.”

“Maybe you met in the military.”

“Maybe we all were in the same train. Or a bus and we occupied one row of seats.” He must be a masochist, bringing even your husband into this discussion of who you could be to each other. “In this life, you and Vernon have the eight thousand layers of inyeon. To him, you’re someone who stays.”

Seokmin breaks his own heart with his words, yet his smile is open, flayed as he feels. You smile too. On your other side, Vernon has perked up again from where he was scrolling through his phone, hearing his name. You finally turn to look at him.

“Just talking about you.” He smiles, a little unsure.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smile at your husband, eyes alight—the same glimmer that accompanies your smile every time he’d come up in your conversation. And just like that, Seokmin knows he is right on who you are to each other.

--

“I’m sorry we speak alone.” Vernon looks up at Seokmin, having just signed off on the bill. “We will stop.”

You’re off to the bathroom, but it’s taking longer than usual. Seokmin and Vernon had been sitting in silence for a handful of minutes, neither of them willing to begin the conversation until now.

“No, it’s fine, you both have a lot to catch up on.” Vernon swivels in his seat to face him, and laughs a little, shaking his head. “I never thought I’d be part of something like this.”

“Hm?” Seokmin tilts his head. Vernon gestures.

“Sitting with you.”

Seokmin understands, offering him a smile. His eyes are still rimmed slightly in red, and he hopes your husband does not notice.

“Do you know, um…inyeon?”

Vernon nods. “A bit of it, yes.”

Seokmin mirrors his earlier gesture. “You and I…We…”

“Yeah,” Vernon huffs a small laugh, “you and I are inyeon too.” He swirls his glass, the ice already fully melted. There’s a smudge of condensation left behind when he moves his glass. “Thank you for coming here. It was the right thing to do.”

For the second time, Seokmin feels his vision blur. He looks away quickly, blinking back the tears. He can’t help but betray himself to your husband, the one person whom he probably should not be giving such a display to. And when you are absent, to boot. But when he finally manages to pull himself back together, Vernon has returned his focus to the table, drawing patterns with the smudge of condensed water. He does not say anything else, even as you return with an apologetic remark about the long lines in the womens’ bathroom.

He makes no mention of Seokmin’s tears.

It strikes him, again, that even to him, your husband is kind.

--

Seokmin picks up his luggage, which he had left in your shared apartment. While he’s checking his things, and lacing up his shoes, you reach out, squeezing Vernon’s hand softly. He looks at you. 

“I’ll just walk him to his Uber.” The night had steadily grown colder, and in response, you threw on a cardigan.

“Okay.” Vernon squeezes back.

In front of him, Seokmin straightens, facing him before bowing a little. “Nice to meet you.”

“It was nice to meet you too.”

“Visit me in Korea.”

He offers Seokmin a half-smile. “Of course.” 

“I’ll be back,” you murmur. He and you exchange a glance.

Vernon nods. “Okay.” Your lips quirk up, and you release his hand, stepping back to reach for the knob. The hinges creak as you both step outside.

(For a moment, he’s terrified. Stay, he almost says.)

The door closes behind you softly. Vernon stands there, alone, staring at the door, allowing himself this moment of silence.

--

Seokmin’s Uber has a pickup point some ways away from your apartment. It’s just past one block before Seokmin stops, as per his phone’s instructions. You follow suit behind him.

“Will it be here soon?” You ask.

“Yeah. Two minutes.”

Neither of you speak after that. Silence stretches each second one hundred and twenty-times over, and he can do nothing but look at you, and have you look at him in return. He looks at this face, the one he’s only ever seen whenever time has already done more than a decade’s worth of work. He’s spent yesterday and today cataloguing your features; yet as he does it again, today, for the last time, he can’t help but be afraid he’ll forget the particulars of your face.

The Uber arrives, braking to a stop in front of you. Seokmin gathers you into a hug—a gentle one, like the many ones you’ve known before, the one he wished he gave you in that very first goodbye. You squeeze him back, tightly, face pressed against his shirt. It takes a while before he lets go, but when he does, you laugh softly at the wetness already glistening in his eyes, offering him a tissue you had kept from the bar in your pocket. He accepts it with a teary grin.

You watch as Seokmin loads his luggage into the trunk. He’s about to open the passenger door, when he turns. 

“Hey!”

Just like that, he’s twelve years old again. He’s twelve, and so are you. 

You raise an eyebrow, waiting.

“What if this is already a past life, and we’re already something to each other in the next one?” He exhales. “Who do you think we are to each other then?” 

Silence. You offer him a small smile. “I don’t know.”

He returns it, heart miraculously light. “I don’t either. But see you then.” Seokmin folds this memory quietly into his heart, willing to himself that one day, the thought of you will no longer ache as much. And that even as the ache will be gone, the love will remain.

Seokmin enters the car, closing the door firmly behind him.

--

The walk back to your apartment is agonizing.

After the tenth step, you’ve rolled your cardigan sleeves up, tracing patterns on your arms. A heart. A rocket. A crystal. Each step feels like one further from a life you never realized you were still holding on to. Despite your attempts, you begin to cry after the thirty-second step.

You reach the front gate of your apartment at the two hundredth and eighteenth step, finding Vernon sitting at the steps, lost in his own world yet already waiting for you. He looks up as you approach. He opens the gate with one hand, stepping down until he stands in front of you.

There are no words needed. You fall into his arms, dissolving into tears. Vernon embraces you, gentle in all the right ways, quiet as you sob and sob and sob. 

Behind both of you, it is almost the beginning of dawn.

[…] I enter, without retreat or help from history, the days of no day, my earth of no earth, I re-enter the city in which I love you. And I never believed that the multitude of dreams and many words were vain.

— the city in which i love you, li-young lee

[aloesarchives]

JJK Headcanon: Megumi cockblocks Toji/Megumi "Menace" Fushiguro/ Toji having beef with his 15 yr old son

Warning: Swearing, Female reader, Mentions of sexual activities but not explicit, ooc on Megumi’s part, Toji being Toji

Series: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Toji x Fem!Reader(romantic), Megumi x Mom!reader(parental/platonic)

Pronouns: She/Her(Reader is referred to as mom, mama, and mother by Toji and Megumi)

Word Count: 2.2K

(A/N: This is based on my one-shot I did and I wanted to expand on it because I just felt the need to. This headcanon went off the rails and is in different directions. Let me know if I missed any warnings!)

[Edited and Proofread! on 12/9/23 8:05pm. Forgive the strange format, Tumblr wouldn’t let me edit the post so I had to do it on the original doc and paste the edited version.]

Please enjoy!

So Megumi cock blocking Toji started out unintentionally and by accident. But as he got older, he did it more to annoy his dad and get on his nerves.

I will die on this hill but Megumi is a Mama's boy. Though it goes unsaid(by him at least), everyone knows it. Toji knows it, Gojo knows it, his classmates and friends know it, and everyone at Jujutsu High knows it. Hell, his own shadows know it.

Obviously you know it but you don’t want to embarrass your son. But it does fill you with love and contentment to know your son loves you dearly.

But that’s the problem, he LOVES you. Loves you more than Toji. Well, Megumi loves Toji as a dad and father. It’s just as he gets older, especially as a teenager, he often butts heads with Toji and gets fairly annoyed by his presence. All Toji has to do is breathe in Megumi’s direction and your son groans, rolls his eyes, and leaves.

When Megumi was younger, he was attached to you. You were always carrying him inside the house, when you were cooking, and even when folding the laundry. He didn’t like being far from you. All you had to do was be within 6 feet of your son or where he can see you and he will be fine.

So when Toji holds Megumi because you need to get or do something where you can’t bring your son, Megumi is all fussy and cranky. He doesn’t cry often but he is just all over Toji. Pulling at his hair, shirt, and cheek. Toji has been mostly successful with Megumi when putting him down for a nap, feeding or bathing him but sometimes it’s a struggle.

When you do it for Megumi, he is all cooperative and easy to handle. Toji clicks his tongue when he sees it happen and looks at Megumi as your son nuzzles into your shoulder. “I see how it is Megumi. All nice and easy for Mama but not for me.”

After successfully putting Megumi to bed, Toji gets frisky as wants some alone time with you. Since Megumi was born, your son has taken up most of your time. Leaving your poor husband with a lack of attention and affection. You want to make it up to him for lost time so you let him have his way with you.

However, just before Toji could go down on you and make you see stars, you hear Megumi’s crying. So out of instinct, you grab one of Toji’s shirts and make your way to comfort your son. Half the time, the mood gets instantly lost and Toji gets sexually frustrated. He was so close to boning you and your son just has to stop him from doing so. 

Toji gets blue balls so many times during Megumi’s youth, it’s a straight-up crime to him.

There are times when Toji doesn’t care if Megumi starts to cry in his bed. He read somewhere that babies just cry for no reason so at times let them cry it out. When he reads that, he’s not letting you out of his grasp when his son is crying in his crib. You feel the urge to comfort him but when Toji makes you wait a couple minutes and start to hear Megumi’s cries grow quieter, then they stop. That gives you two the green light to each other to yourselves.

75% Toji would have success with you but there was the other 25% he didn’t.

When Megumi was a toddler, he mostly would knock on your door in the dead of night either because he had a nightmare or wanted to sleep with you two. Luckily, this happens after your “nightly session” with Toji.

But Megumi would ask Toji to help him with stuff or pop up out of nowhere when wanted to have a piece of you. Toji hugging your front and cups your body while you cook? Megumi is by the kitchen table asking what are you making for dinner. Toji cages you against the wall as you put away the laundry? Megumi pops his head out of his room and asks Toji if he saw his dog plushie that was on his bed. 

But Megumi’s clinginess to you is genetic because Toji is the exact same to you. Way before Megumi was on the drawing board, Toji was either all over you or near you. No in between, it was one or the other.

You felt bad because it feels like your son and your husband are fighting for your attention. You know Megumi’s a child, who needs more guidance and help, but you know your husband has needs too. 

But as Megumi goes to school, it was easier for you two to have some alone time. Mostly easier for Toji to be inside of you.

But as Megumi gets the hang of summoning his shadows, it’s all over for Toji. This happens when he’s older as Megumi sometimes lets his dogs out and roam around the house. Like their user, the dogs and shadows love you too. One time, they saw Toji being too close to you and thought he was harassing you. So the dogs ran and pounced on Toji. One of them caught Toji’s wrists in their mouth and started pulling him away from you. Obviously, you called Megumi over to stop his dogs or to call them back. He does so but not without giving Toji a smirk, he definitely may or may not put his dogs up to it just to fuck around with his dad.

For the timely and observant boy he is, Megumi really is just popping in at the wrong times. He didn’t mean to do that to you, he’s well aware of how much you love Toji, both body and soul. He just doesn’t like how Toji isn’t quick and sleek with his intentions with you. Sure, it was Toji’s house and he can do whatever he wants in it. But Megumi also lives here too, so Toji should be more cautious and considerate of his son. Because everyone knows that they would rather bury themselves than see their parents try to give them another sibling.

Though Megumi now dorms at Jujutsu High because of missions, he does come home on weekends and breaks. But it varies from time to time, he would mostly tell you in advance when he would come home or visit. But he sometimes forgets and just drops by unannounced.  

Thus, that’s how scenarios like this occur. 

He will come home, sometimes knocking/ringing the doorbell but mostly lets himself in, then he walks inside, takes off his shoes, and goes to the living room. His heart slightly beats faster as he awaits the inevitable. It’s like a coin toss, 50/50 chance he’ll be safe or not. He relaxes when he doesn't stumble upon another eye bleaching but when he encounters the other 50%. He cringes inside so hard, he just blames Toji. Nah, he never blames you.

Yes, he’s well aware of men and women having… carnal desires… But you were never shameless about it in public or out in the open. He doesn’t know when it’s just Toji and you. But frankly, he DOES NOT WANT to know or find out. So he believes his father is just a dog in heat almost every time there is an OUNCE of spare time with you.

He either coughs, grunts or speaks to make his presence known. 99% of the time when this happens you are the one to push yourself away from Toji and try to make the situation less awkward for your son. It always ends up embarrassing you in the end.

Toji, in his head, lowkey wants to smack his son to another dimension. Way too salty in his mind.

‘Brat, let me have a moment with your mother, it’s not that hard.’ ‘IDGAF if you're my son, I’ll smack and give hands to my own son if you keep doing this.’

Like father like son, Megumi is doing the same thing in his head.

‘That’s a skill issue’ ‘This is an issue, not an iss-me’ ‘You fell off, what happened? Cause you’re too old?’ ‘Fucking cope, Old Man’.

Because of this, Toji literally has beef with his 15-year-old son. 

Should he be pressed about someone younger than him? No! Does he care? Also No. If this man can beef and fight Gojo Satoru and LIVE to see another day, he can have beef with anyone. 

Even if it’s his own son.

You should be a good parent and spouse and try to dissipate the fact your husband and son have an unspoken feud with each other. But you can’t help but watch everything unfold when they interact sometimes because it’s just funny and you get a kick out of it. 

Just to clarify, it’s never a shouting match or an actual argument. It’s more of petty insults, backhanded compliments, or brutal honesty minus the honesty. It’s like being a spectator at an event. You were watching for entertainment and you were getting your money’s worth. When you would come by Jujutsu High, you would talk about Megumi and Toji’s “interactions”. Saying something along the lines of “They don’t see eye to eye.”

One day, Toji and you decided to pay a visit to the campus because Principal Yagi needed to ask you about something in person. Since it was only you, Toji just wandered the halls and the school’s grounds, waiting for you to be done. As the odds were in his favor as he stumbled upon Megumi and his group doing some training. Toji just pops in and starts talking to Megumi. He acknowledged Yuuji and Nobara but he didn’t spare a glance at Gojo. In fact, he straight up looked at Gojo, gave a look of disgust, and continued talking to Megumi whilst ignoring him.

It didn’t take for some banter to rise between father and son, while no loud voices or malice was felt or seen. This was probably the few times Yuuji and Nobara had seen Megumi get heated, but this was the first time they saw Megumi beefing with his dad.

After a few minutes, Megumi summoned his shadows and Toji decided to change into his fighting stances. Yuuji thinks this is a bad idea but Gojo just smiles, saying that seeing them spar was a “learning experience”. Plus it would be good for Yuuji to watch Toji because Toji was a physical fighter considering his Heavenly Restriction. Though Yuuji has some curse energy, he must box it out with his opponents so he considered and the three watched the two fight it out. 

Megumi forgot his old man was an actual threat to the Jujutsu Society because Toji was straight up dodging Megumi’s shadows, their attacks, and even Megumi's own physical attacks. Though Toji wanted to have a little fun, he had to hold back so he wouldn't destroy/kill any of Megumi’s shadows. If he did, you would definitely find out and he would be a dead man for sure.

Anyway, it was so fast-paced that only Gojo was keeping up with the action. He was smiling but he had a shiver up his spine as he remembered that Megumi’s dad was the very reason for his enlightenment and Hollow Purple ability. It was obvious that Megumi wasn’t going to win but he wasn’t one to admit defeat. Then like a blur, Toji charged at Megumi from above and when he landed he created a decently large cater with Megumi at the center. Megumi’s shadows disappear since he is low on curse energy and is completely exhausted.

Both men were heaving and sweating like crazy. Yet out of nowhere, they suddenly hear your voice, LOUD and DESTRESS. You ran over to the two, eyes widening as the carter became bigger the closer you got. You see your son lying on the floor and help him up. You tried dusting off some of the dirt on him while looking concerned. You snapped your head towards Toji, whose smirk disappeared and then returned back again. You began to reprimand him for what he had done. Fighting his own son and damaging the training grounds, like wtf man.

You weren’t really raising your voice or yelling at him. But the firmness and seriousness in your tone about the small sparring session was enough to make someone straighten their posture and use very respective language towards you. There were moments where you tugged at Toji’s ear, pulled at his shirt so he was looking straight at you, or held his forearm tightly while you expressed your disappointment and concerns to him.

Ngl, Toji was a bit bricked up when you were all serious and angry at him. He didn’t mind sleeping on the couch if it meant he got to see this side of yours more often. 

Megumi reassures you that he is not physically hurt but his pride is wounded. You told him that if his dad pulled this again, to not engage with it and back off for his own safety. Megumi, because of his agitated mood, felt a bit offended that you didn’t believe your own son could hold his own. Let alone, go toe to toe with his own father.

“Mom, I don’t understand. Why don’t you trust me in fights even though I can handle myself.”

“Megumi, sweetheart, it’s not like that at all. I know you are a strong, smart, and capable person. You are my son, after all.”

“Then why don’t you want me to fight with dad?”

“Oh Megumi, honey. You have no idea the strength and capabilities of your father. You do realize, my dear, your dad was holding back a lot when he was sparring with you.”

Megumi looks shocked at his Pops, who winks at him, before turning his attention back to you.

“Wait, what? Just how strong is he, Mom?”

You didn’t give him a full answer.

All you said was, “Ask your teacher, Megumi.”

Megumi and his two classmates look at their teacher to see what you were talking about all the while Gojo was sweating bullets. That’s a story for another day, now you are dragging your husband home and telling your son to call you if anything changes.

So Toji and Megumi have eternal beef with each other. Though it’s more of annoyance and for shits and giggles really. Toji really does love his son and Megumi loves and respects his dad a lot.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading and hope you have an amazing day with your favorite drink!

[mono-dontidae]

linger

c/w: situationships, no fluff, not proofread at all

a/n: half-assed i dunno lawl. do ppl still write & read haikyuu fics?

pairing(s): (!timeskip) suna, bokuto, kenma x !fem reader

suna

it was intoxicating. it was like a drug; addicting and horrible for your health. you both knew the consequences of getting into a relationship with one another. thus, why you both opted for a situationship. no full commitment was needed, it was casual, stress-free and cheating wouldn't be a problem. so, why did it hurt when he would see you smile at a guy after he compliments you? why would it keep him up at night when you'd look at a random dude the way you look at him? since when was it a problem that his roster wasn't filled by you enough? when were other women so irrelevant? he's never uttered these questions out loud before. it's casual afterall. dare i say he knew the answer to all of these; he's grown attatched. he didnt need an answer on how your pressence lingered with him to this very day and to make him constantly think this way. he grew even more distant when he found out how attatched you were. arguments arose on why he stopped wanting to hangout or go forth with how it's always been. then you grew tired of it. he wonders how was it so easy for you to say, "hey. i think we should end this." after finding some other random guy to date, to commit to, to love instead of him? something deep within him resonates and he knew he overdosed on you and the withdrawal symptoms are kicking in.

bokuto

loud and upfront. that's how it's always been with him. every moment together with him was forever an adventure. truly expressive with himself, he was a firework. he was bright, splashes of colour painting a dark night sky and always noticable by a well-known "boom!" in a distance. much like a firework however, he was quick to dissapear when the moment's over and proceed to reappear again, bright as ever. that's how it's always been. as amazing as it felt to be in his pressence, it was odd of you to forget how much of a big carreer he has. the kou you know has always been a sweetheart, not a famous volleyball player. you've always cared more about how he was when it was just the two of you. he'll always light up your world at first and then back up at the mention of a relationship, excuses about how his life-long passion comes first. thus, that's how it'd always be. the cycle repeats and the both of you go back into your situationship mishap. he never thought of it as a problem, he never understood why you wanted to make such a commitment to someone as busy as him. neither did he understood why, one day, you just dissapeared. why he felt so empty inside, so desperate to see you, so crestfallen at the fact you blocked his number alongside with every social media account he has and ever so confused at why you were leaving a lingering feeling onto him when volleyball has only ever been his focus. you're the firework of his night sky now, a thought of you igniting at a sudden and thinning when he remembers what had happened.

kenma

he was always busy. either it was with planning on filming and editing his youtube videos, checking with his stock-trades or uni, he was always busy. you were nothing but convenient to him though; a distraction, breath of fresh air or even a change of pace. he was never ready for commitment however, with how busy he is. but he hates it. it's always been boring and repeptitive. he's never liked 'boring'. he hates how typical his day can be and that's where you come along! a day together doing whatever, watching movies in his living room, laughing at random videos on his phone, doing self-care before heading to bed or even cuddling in bed with occasional kisses, he was always happy to hangout with you. but outside of his apartment? never. he doesn't want people to spot him with you and ask if you were his girlfriend. he didn't want to deal with the allegations and go through the trouble of making posts to clarify it either. he knew you thought of him as someone special and he couldn't bear the thought of letting this go on. he let you go and tried other women to fill his mundane schedule. yet, none of them could compare to the way you'd smile, the sweet kisses you'd press onto his forehead whilst being in each others arms, the pure ecstasy that he gets when he hears you laugh or the way your hands comb through his hair as you massaged hair oil during self-care nights. your entirety lingered onto him like a haunting memory. he'd never forgive himself for not taking the risk but after seeing your post the other day with another man, smiling the same way you used to smile at him, was enough. he had no one else to blame.

(ill keep it a buck, idek i just felt like making this & im sooooo lazy pffhahahahgagaja. lmk if i should make more & request me thx love u)

[estherscorner]

Do you think that Scaramouche would've made a good lover if he had fallen in love?

(cw: kinda toxic relationship, self sabotage, light angst & not proofread/edited.)

Think about it. His tongue is sharp and unforgiving. He wouldn't hesitate to jab hurtful words onto your mind, he wouldn't have a second thought to spout nonsense just for the sake of it hurting your feelings or getting on your nerves. But you were patient. You thought he could atleast be tolerable if you understood him on a deeper level.

You've told yourself multiple times- if you maybe understood him, he would be more softer and much more gentle to your feelings and thoughts. Maybe you would get why he was acting that way, why he was harsh to those around him.

But loving him had sacrifices you were pressured to make. It wasn't simple as a calm sunny day, and being with him was never a walk in the park.

Loving him meant that you need to be patient. That you need to wait until he felt safe around you, that you needed to slowly build trust just so he could feel comfortable around you.

And the worse of it all? You needed to understand what he was thinking, and if he truly wanted to be with you.

You weren't a mind reader. You could never understand him when he chooses to push you away, but then pull you back in soon after.

You never understood why he would be distant most of the time, but then be vulnerable while he's holding you in his arms. Opening up to you about his doubts and worries while the night was still young, both of you sharing warmth to contrast the cold air.

Eventually, there comes a point in time where his doubts and fears were much more terrifying than anything. How fear would plague his head everyday- taunting him that you would leave him. Mocking him for laying his heart out to you.

But despite your efforts, he wouldn't utter out a word to you.

Scaramouche isn't one to open up easily, instead he bottles his feelings up until they end up cracking and spilling- until they end up burning you in the process.

Communication was never his strongest suite. It never was and you knew that.

But for him you try your best to be patient, be strong just for him. To be someone he could cry to, someone he could trust.

If only it was easy.

"I can't understand you. One moment you're distant, then the next you're looking for me."

You told him. You wanted to be honest, to let him know how you felt. You tried to be close to him, to read him like an open book. But it was as if he wasn't allowing you.

He was quiet as you talked to him. He was looking for the right words to talk to you, to tell you what was on his mind. But he was never good with words.

"Don't be an idiot, you shouldn't worry about such trivial things. They only plague your mind for no good reason."

To him, it was to protect himself. If he pushed you away, you wouldn't be able to hurt him. And he wouldn't be able to hurt you.

But you persist.

"I just wish I could read your mind. To know why you're so..harsh. And I wish i knew if waiting for you was worth it."

Silence were shared between you as he took in your words. He always thought of himself, always thought of how he could be shielded away from pain, from betrayal.

From the mistakes he had made.

"..Do you think it was worth it? Loving me unconditionally despite everything?"

You didn't answer instantly. You hummed as you thought of his words deeply. It struck something within you, a question you never truly thought of.

Was every effort you put into the relationship worth it? Even after the times he would push you away?

You looked at him. A soft smile on your lips as you averted your gaze down.

You didn't have a proper answer. But you knew that you'd wait for him. Even if it hurts you at the end. Even if you had to sacrifice everything just so he could call you home.

"I just want you to love me, the same way I loved you."

(A/N); "lmao I couldn't post for a bit coz I was forced into cheer and had my body hurting for a few days 💔 also tell me why everytime I write for scara I have such good ideas but I HATE the execution. Doing a req next tho <3"

[fushiguruuzzzz]

ᥫ᭡ A Strangers Heart

𝄞 “I think it’s strange you never knew || A stranger light comes on slowly || A strangers heart without a home” — Mazzy Star

Playlist — that minx ! 🍓 | Moodboard

Itadori Yuji x Fem!Reader

Words — 9.6k

Cw — mentions of violence, mentions of alcohol, mentions of catcalling, strangers to reluctant friends to lovers, no animal death I changed my mind but forgot to remove the tag oops, foul language, leads are both 16, a 20yo hits on reader he’s creepy asl, reader sort of inspired by Kat Stratford, aesthetic is Maxine minx inspired, not proofread, lmk if I missed any !!

Another summer, another hick on your farm desperate for an extra buck. Except, this time, something’s different. It isn’t just some douchey, approval seeking suck up chasing your father around and spending his extra time hoping you’ll hop on something other than your horse. This one’s different. And when late night bonfires and early morning horse rides turn into something more, what’s a girl to do with only a few weeks left?

a/n — hello edit!!!!!!! please ignore the double spacing; I wrote this in my notes. not my best work. please visit my masterlist for more recent fics (I have another yuji fic that I like a little better :3)

By definition, summer was that warm chunk of the year spent basking in sunlight, free of the stress that came with education and growth. It was cold beer and campfires and sleeping from dawn to dusk, being awake at the call of the night. Everyone always talked of their vacations, their countless hours spent at the side of their friends (if you could even call them that, it was more so anyone that they could gather up) with no regard for responsibility at all.

In a way, your personal summer was as said. But simultaneously, it was far, far different. To you, summer was stargazing and picking strawberries and riding bareback through the forest. Summer was the thrill of driving down the gravel road, screaming as loud as you wanted to. It wasn’t like you were disturbing anyone, anyway. Nobody was around for miles, aside from the crazy old couple living by the church and the Kugisaki family, whose youngest was usually in your passenger seat. It was the crimson tint left on your lips after a long day of lounging and snacking on the cherries you’d picked up from the market just the day before. Summer was blissful, free.

Summer was also fucking annoying.

With every summer came more activity on the ranch. Your father was a simple man, he could handle his own farm, but sometimes things got too much. The summer brought on more horseshows, more wild animals itching to sink their teeth into the livestock, and the sticky uncomfortableness that came with every move. So, the staff consisted of just a few more people. The year rounds were you and your father of course, as well as two of his close friends. More your uncles than anything, if you’re honest. Occasionally they brought their wives or their kids, and if they were chill enough, that wasn’t a bother. Others came and went, barely spared a second glance by you. The one problem came with summer, the need for an extra set of hands bringing excuses for more pests to wriggle their way into your peaceful farm. The summer workers.

It was only one or two boys, only two months of the year, but they had much more of an effect than one would assume. Your father was a wealthy man, he was generous with his pay. When word spread of this –as much as it could in this scattered excuse of a town, at least– the power hungry assholes scrambled for their place. Usually it was aspiring cowboys decked out in shiny buckles and enough leather to make you a new back seat, hoping that doing well enough would get them on your family’s good side, get them “in”, as they said. It never worked. Your father may seem arrogant, but he isn’t stupid. It’s easy to see a peacocks intentions when it bares its feathers at you.

Often times, when they realized that their consistent efforts weren’t doing much good, they chose another form of preoccupation. You. You and your babydoll tops and sunkissed skin and bows in your hair that seemed to work in your deceit were often a target of various wolf whistles and not-so-creative rewording of asking what colour underwear you were hiding beneath your jeans. Even when they were warned, told stories of what happened to the rest of them, they persisted.

“Don’t be fooled,” they’d been told. “She’s tough as nails. She’ll stab you with ‘em, too. Ever wonder why she hangs around that Kugisaki girl?”

Fools.

It wasn’t your fault, really! You can only take so many catcalls, so many sly comments laced with thick southern accents until you find them looking conveniently punchable, and then you’re washing your knuckles of a red substance, either strawberry juices or blood depending on the day. It wasn’t like you didn’t make a point to avoid them, in fact, you might even be considered harsh for it. Better to be safe than sorry. You always ended up sorry though, somehow. As they lay on the ground below you (hopefully not in the manure pile) clutching their ever so precious faces, you almost feel a pang of sympathy. But then a profanity falls from their lips like it’s the most natural thing in the world and you remember who you’re looking at.

“New intern starts today,” your dad says, glancing up at you from the plate of sausages and pancakes you’d thrown together for him. You felt a need to groan, and for a moment you were convinced you’d let it slip, your father raising a brow and giving you a pointed look. “Don’t hit this one with your car.”

“I told you that was an accident, daddy!” you rolled your eyes, letting your fork fall onto your plate with a soft clang. Your shoulders slumped, letting out a huff of disdain. He simply shook his head, though the just barely hidden curl of his lips didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Sure,” he said. “Accident or not, any more blood hits this property, you’re in shit. We can’t keep trusting they won’t call the cops.”

Yeah, sure. You doubt the police would do much anyway, they barely existed out here, let alone acted. Though you knew arguing was pointless, so you pushed your pride to the bottom of your priority list and nodded.

“Yeah, ‘kay. Stop hiring assholes and we’d have much less problems, though.”

“Hmph.”

𓍼

“Another one?”

“I know. I’m surprised they keep comin’ with how they all end up leaving,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips. You tossed your head back, shutting your eyes and letting your face bathe in the sunlight. You were sprawled out over a heap of hay, the compressed cubes scratchy against the exposed skin of your limbs. It dragged over the bottom of your thighs with every movement, kneading into your hair if you weren’t careful enough.

Nobara eyed you, her expression mirroring yours. Considering the two of you were pretty much attached at the hip, she’d gotten to see all of the reality TV worthy strategies you’d come up with to rid your farm of the parasites known as farmhands. There weren’t many people around these parts of the country, you could count two neighbours, only one whose house you could spot from yours. So that one neighbour having a girl your age was a luckily miracle, your friendship was fate. Not to mention you actually enjoyed her company, too.

“Hey, maybe you’ll get lucky this year. Maybe it’s a gentleman come to sweep you off your feet and whisk you away to the city, make you a housewife,” she grinned, orange hair shining in the sunlight as you met her eye.

“You and the city,” you rolled your eyes, picking a stray piece of hay and lazily tossing it at her. “As if.”

If there were any differences between you and Nobara, that was the largest one. She longed for the city, was desperate for it. You were sure the moment she got the chance, she’d pack up and leave. She was a city girl at heart and everyone knew it. You, on the other hand, were perfectly content with your little farm life and intended on keeping it that way. It had always been that way.

“Forgive me for not wanting my cause of death to be a horses foot,” she grumbled, though no real malice lingered in her tone. You shook your head, shook off her words.

A comfortable silence settled over you, the distant whirring of tractors and the pounding of hooves against dirt fading to background noise. You gazed out over the field, the stables parallel to the barn the two of you were leaned up on. Then, you noticed something. An unfamiliar head of hair, attached to a boy who was holding the reins of a horse, leading it towards the building you’d been looking at. Had it been brown or black you would’ve paid no mind, but it was pink. Was that natural?

“Well, there he is.”

“Our mortal enemy for the next two months.”

He paused, seeming to feel your eyes on him. He turned, spotted you, eyes narrowing as the bright sun shined into them. And then, he smiled. It was big and bright and warm, a stark contrast to the wolfish, greedy smirks you were used to receiving. His eyes crinkled at the sides, his irises almost as welcoming as his grin. You felt something odd in your chest.

He was still your enemy. You were sure. Just… maybe he was worth giving a chance.

𓍼

The sifting of dirt beneath your feet made a soft sound as you walked, doing little to warn the salmon haired boy of your presence. You came to a halt behind him, and you were beginning to think he was a little too spatially unaware to work on a farm, because he still didn’t turn around. He was busy tending to the horse, gently brushing through the chestnut fur. You had an urge to clear your throat, but the guy was unaware either way, so you chose the more efficient route.

“What’s your name?” you asked, your voice cutting through the otherwise quiet atmosphere. He flinched, head turning in your direction all too quickly. Upon seeing your face, his guard seemed to be let down, a more relaxed expression taking the place of the startled one from moments earlier. He was silent for a moment, seemed to be caught in some sort of trance. Only when you cocked a brow in question did he realize, a somewhat bashful grin on his lips.

“Oh- I’m Yuji. Itadori. You’re… Mr. [l/n]’s daughter, right?”

You gave a nod, somewhat curt. You didn’t want to waste your breath being too nice, not if he was going to be like the rest of the piggish teenage boys hanging around every summer. Truth be told, you weren’t mean, just guarded. Especially with men, you’d grown a sort of buried resentment towards them, as much as you hated to admit it. That was a story to later be told, though.

“That’s right. You’re here for the summer, yeah?” you asked. It was better to be sure you were correct about his role here, to prevent looking stupid in the case that you were somehow wrong.

He nodded. “Hey, you’re my age, aren’t you?”

“Sixteen?”

He nodded, his cautious smile turning to a full grin. You could basically hear his thoughts jumping out of his mind, screaming at you.

“That doesn’t make us friends,” you said, hip popping out to the side as your arms crossed over your chest. “Just so you know.” Why did you feel such a need to push him away? Were you always this defensive?

“Eh?” He gazed at you for a moment, eyes narrowing a fracture as if he were figuring you out. His hand had stilled, the brush now resting pointlessly against the fur of the horse. “…okay,” he shrugged. Though for a moment, it was like he knew something you didn’t. That sparkle of determination in his eyes was all you needed to see to know exactly what his motive was.

𓍼

The moment Yuji Itadori set his eyes on you, his purpose for the next two months was set in stone. This goal wasn’t to harass you, to make your life a living hell. It wasn’t even to annoy you, or to make you fall in love with him. It was to make you his friend, make you like him. He wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t the loser you seemed to take him for (even if he was). Yuji wasn’t one to suffer and dwell on those who didn’t like him, he could deal with that, even if it bothered him some. Being the outgoing and kind guy he was, it wasn’t something he dealt with often, anyway. It was the fact that he could tell you didn’t hate him that drew him to you, he wanted to know why you put on that act.

The interactions started small, like a thrown comment about the shirt you were wearing or the offer to help you out with whatever chore you’d been tasked with. That was his job after all, so you couldn’t tell him off for that. He’d hang around you and Nobara, and as much as it pained you to say, she was warming up to him. Maybe you were, too. It had only been two weeks, for fucks sake! He’d already weaseled his way into your life, you couldn’t escape him. Your dad loved him, his boyish nature being something your father always sought out in his workers. Probably the longing for a son, honestly. You knew it wasn’t a jab at you, he loved you with his whole heart, but every man wanted a son in the same way every woman wanted a daughter. It was that familiarity of who he once was.

Because of this, the little fucker had even begun eating with you.

“Hey, Mr [l/n]!” came a voice, a head popping in through the side door. Your dad suppressed a grin at the sight of him, looking over his shoulder from where he stood beside you, seasoning the meat as you chopped vegetables. You didn’t bother looking back, it was always the same person anyway.

“Yuji,” your father greeted, nodding at him in acknowledgment. Yuji stepped inside, smiling mindlessly as he glanced around the kitchen. Every time he was in here, it was as if it were his first time seeing the place. You didn’t understand what was so fascinating about your old western kitchen, anyway.

The phone on the wall rang, and you momentarily dropped the green onion you were slicing to answer it. You assumed that was your job, considering your father’s hands were covered in various spices and seasonings.

You grabbed the dull beige telephone, the coiling chord extending out as you raised it to your ear.

“Daddy,” you said, placing your hand over the microphone of the device. “They need you down at the Kugisaki’s. Their fence broke.”

He nodded, placing your uncooked dinner back down on a plate and moving to rinse his hands, the leaky tap in front of the window sputtering out some water. That was country life for you.

You picked the phone back up, alerting Nobara’s grandmother of your dad’s pending arrival and saying a quick goodbye. Yuji still stood by the door, watching the whole interaction. You were much calmer in the comfort of your own home, when darkness creeped over the sky and the stimulation of the bustling ranch wasn’t ringing in your ears.

A mischievous grin crossed your face, making your father groan. He knew exactly what you were going to ask, and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to say no. “I’ll pick up Nobara while I’m there,” he grumbled, though as he stepped out the door, turned back with a pointing finger in the air. “Wake me up after dark again and I’m throwin’ both of yous in the corn field.”

You watched with a snarky grin as he walked away, hopping into the worn down truck sitting in the driveway.

Then, you looked just a few inches to the side. Oh. Yuji was still here.

You opted to not pay him much mind, taking the few short strides from where the phone sat on the wall. You took up your task of preparing dinner once again, knife in your hand as and chopped up various veggies and sides.

“You need help with that?” he called, not bothering to wait for an answer as he took an onion from where it was sat on the counter. He grabbed a knife as well, beginning to chop it.

“I never said yes,” you said, observing him from the corner of your eye. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbow, dirt staining various parts of his clothes, which you assumed was the doing of your horse. She wasn’t fond of men.

He pouted in mock offence, placing a hand over his heart as if he was physically pained. “Wow, just kill me I guess. I figured some help wouldn’t hurt.”

He wasn’t exactly wrong, though you would’ve protested a little more before admitting that. A defence was on the tip of your tongue, but you bit it before the words could leave your lips. Over the time you’d known him (or rather, he’d been inserting himself into your days and forcing you to hang around him) the disdain in your tone had faded, becoming more sassy than resentful. That was progress in his mind.

“…thank you.”

His lips curled into a smile, momentarily taking a gander at you before looking back to the knife in his hand. “‘Welcome.”

Aside from the rhythmic chopping of blades against the wood of the cutting boards, the room was silent. There was a dull hum coming from the refrigerator, though you’d grown used to it. It was a constant noise in the background, it had been since you were born, even before that.

“Would you mind putting this in the microwave for a moment?” you asked, noticing his free hands. You gently nudged a dish towards him, the fork you’d been using to chip away at the dish sticking out of the top. It was in desperate need of defrosting, a little nudge in the right direction wouldn’t hurt, right?

He nodded. “Alright,” he said, picking up the platter. His next moves were unknown to you, your back turned to him as he –supposedly– popped it into the microwave. The sound of the buttons being pushed accompanied by the robotic whir of the machine started alerted you of such.

“You cook often?” Yuji said, leaning back on the counter. “You’re good at it.” You picked up the diced bits of vegetable and put them into a separate bowl, dusting your hands of the remnants of them. You allowed yourself to face him, to actually give him your attention for a moment. He’d proven that he was worthy of that much, at least.

“Usually,” you said, mirroring his stance. Your palms pressed into the edge of the counter, the marble cold against your skin. “Daddy’s always busy, but he helps sometimes.”

He nodded. He may have been lacking a couple brain cells, but he knew well enough not to ask why it was only you and your dad. He wasn’t that stupid. He couldn’t help but wonder, though.

Sensing his curiosity, you let out a soft sigh. “I never knew momma. Just me ‘round here.”

He looked surprised to hear you say it, as if the question wasn’t written all over his face. He was more surprised how willing you were to share it, though. He thought you’d hit him with your car or something if he dared to ask, thought you viewed him like the rest. He barely lived a similar life to yours and he’d still heard the stories, but it was rather obvious that something was being left out. Maybe you weren’t such a maneater after all, maybe there was a good reason. There was.

“Oh,” he said. He opened his mouth to speak, but your attention was quickly moved elsewhere when you saw a faint flickering of electricity in the window of the microwave.

“Yuji!” you lurched forward, opening it in a haste. Inside it was revealed to be the dish you’d given him, just as it had been. Just as it had been, as in the fork was still inside. You mentally facepalmed, closing your eyes and bringing your fingers up to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“You’re kidding me.”

“What?” he asked. Your head shot up. Was he serious? He seemed to know his way around the kitchen just fine, you were even a little impressed. How could he be so familiar yet so… unaware?

“You put a fork in the microwave. You can’t do that,” you sighed, the second sentence coming out more condescending than you intended.

“…Oh.”

A beat of silence passed, a dumbfounded, somewhat embarrassed expression on his face. It was comical. Suddenly you felt the irresistible urge to laugh, the chortle leaving your lips before you could bring yourself to stop it. He just looked hilarious like that, and you were growing sick of withholding your amusement.

He somehow looked even more confused, though when he realized this was the first time he’d seen you laugh (save for the chuckles and giggles you shared with Nobara when you thought he wasn’t looking), the corners of his lips couldn’t help but quirk up. “What? Why are we laughing? What’s funny?”

Through hearty giggles, you managed to stutter out the first thing that came to mind. “You’re- you’re dumb. You know that?”

His mind buffered for a moment, staring at you blankly. You almost thought he was offended, but then, that thought was quickly washed away. A breath left him, soon turning into full belly laughs that matched yours. Soon enough the two of you were doubling over in laughter, falling all over the tile kitchen floor. You barely even knew what you were laughing at anymore, all you knew was Yuji’s stupid face and the unwelcome feeling of warmth you’d began feeling every time he was near.

You were so distracted that you failed to notice the two figures standing in the door, the two closest people to you. Your best friend and your father watched the two of you as you nearly clutched eachother in laughter. They didn’t know what was so hilarious, but they knew one thing. That one thing was shared in a short glance, teenage girl and burly man connected by one thing: you.

Later that night, Nobara ever so boldly brought him up. The two of you were sat in your bedroom, some calm music playing from the radio on your dresser as you mindlessly chatted away.

“So… you seem to like Yuji better than the rest.”

You glanced at her from where you sat at the head of your bed, her sprawled frame over the covers making a pang of amusement shoot through your chest. You shrugged. “Well, he hasn’t tried to get in my pants, so I think that automatically means somethin’, doesn’t it?” you asked, something beneath your words saying ‘duh’.

She let out a huff of laughter, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “It means no new dents in your bumper?”

“Exactly.”

The two of you shared a laugh, the muted red checkers of your bedding being crinkled with the movement. She grinned, “Remind me to make you drink more often.”

Your eye twitched, slapping a hand over her mouth and letting out a hurried “Shhhhh!”

She let out muffled protests against the skin of your palm, eyes narrowing. The feeling of her teeth readying to sink into it was enough to make you remove it, though, knowing that she wasn’t playing around. She did it once, she’d do it again. She was still the same kid she was ten years ago at heart.

“My dad is in the next room, stupid. Believe it or not, I’m not supposed to get in my truck after two beers and some Bailey’s.”

“Oops,” she said, smiling in feigned innocence. You could punch her. You let out a sigh, flopping back against your headboard.

“Back to my point,” she began. “You seem to… not hate him. And I think he likes you.” She propped herself up on her elbow, orange hair falling to the side. It brushed over her shoulder, the delicate fabric of her (your) pyjama shirt moving at the contact.

You nearly choked on your spit. That had been the last thing you’d expected her to say, and you were expecting many things. Was she actually stupid or something? I mean, you called her that a lot, but you never genuinely meant it. You were starting to believe your own words.

“Hush. Don’t say dumb shit like that.”

“It’s true! He’s got to have a thing for you, at least. Come on,” she groaned. She was real sick of your denial whenever it came to being liked. You always shut it down, always dismissed her with an eyeroll and shake of the head. She always assumed it was because you didn’t like the guys, deemed it an insult to be of their interest, but this was different. This guy was good.

You shook your head, just like you always did. “He’s just friendly like that, Nobara. Don’t be silly.”

She quirked a brow, a devious smile hinting at her lips. “Oh, so you notice him enough to know that, huh?”

You tossed your head back, your skull hitting the worn wood of the headboard. “Oh my gosh, shut up! I can never win with you!”

“Damn right.”

𓍼

The sun was yet to be high in the sky, casting a soft golden glow over the expanse of the farmland. The sky was painted orange and pink, clouds strewn about the soft canvas of the sunrise. Your boots thumped against the ground as you walked, passing over gravel, grass, and dirt alike. You approached the stable that was home to your horse, the smaller structure coming into view. Beside it was the barn; the place that held the other animals aside from the horses. On the other side of it was a fence, closing in an area for them to roam freely.

You swung open the door to the building, taking note of a birds nest in the nook of the roof that you hadn’t seen before. The ground was littered with hay and bugs, the occasional spider skittering across a floorboard.

You made your way to your horses stall, the word ‘Matrix’ carved into a silver nametag on the door. You slid into the small, enclosed space, shutting the clunky sliding door behind you. You lovingly patted your dear horse, a warm smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Once she was decked out in her reins and saddle, you lead her out of the stable. You’d grown all too used to this routine, setting off into the sunrise every morning you got the chance. It was your peace, the moment of the day that felt like you were on top of the world. Like everything was yours to have, to keep, yours to live and experience and laugh and love in.

You had just made it to the gate at the back, the one leading to the trails within the clusters of trees that separated yours and Nobara’s house, when you halted. Something caught your eye, the silhouette of someone sitting atop the fence just a few paces behind you. Yuji. Of course he was here, he was always here. The thing that bothered you most was that you were beginning to question if that was a negative thing or not.

He called out your name, waving tall and proud as if he was miles away instead of a few short metres. He hopped down from the fence, and you were honestly surprised the wood was holding up so well. You were wealthy, yes, but there were many things around this place that needed either a good fixing or to be completely replaced one of those things was that fence, most likely because it wasn’t paid much attention at all.

“Where’re you going?” he asked once he’d caught up to you, hands resting in his pockets. There was an early morning chill blanketing the air, seeping into your bones further with every gust of wind.

“A ride,” you said, beginning to walk again now that he was at your side.

“Well, I see that. Where?” he pushed. He was a little more sassy than you’d expected, honestly. The ball of sunshine could bite back when he wanted to. You suppressed a grin, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“Through the forest. S’real nice at this hour.”

He let out a hum, nodding. He looked over the stretch of the treeline, where the earth met the sky and formed a pattern of the zigzags and spikes that were the tips of great pine plants.

“What’re you doing up, Yuji?” you asked, attempting to sound less interested than you actually were. You’d given up the act of disliking him, but you still kept your distance. What was the point of getting close, anyway? You only had 5 weeks left of him, so to keep him at arms length was the most logical thing to do.

He smiled. “I always see you out here. I wanted to see what that was all about.”

He’d… been paying attention? Come out here for you? You hated the way that made your heart thump against your chest, that attentiveness and interest in you something you weren’t even sure teenage boys were capable of.

“Stalker,” you said, smirking. The both of you knew you didn’t mean it, you couldn’t hide it if you tried. You passed through the gate, the bright red metal clanging against the lock as it shut behind you. He followed you, silent for the first time in… forever?

You situated a foot in one of the stirrups, swiftly throwing yourself upward and swinging your leg over to the other side of your horse. It was a split second before you were sitting comfortably in the saddle, no struggle at all. Yuji always found it mesmerizing, how well you knew your way around these things. He could ride a horse just fine, but not like you. It was as if Matrix was an extension of you, so familiar that it barely took you any effort to have every bit of her all figured out.

You wriggled your hips against the leather beneath you, holding the reins loosely in your grasp.

“You comin’ or not?” you asked, looking back at a distracted Yuji who perked up immediately at your offer.

“Yep! Uh- Wait- hold on!” he shouted in a panic, not wasting a second before darting back to the stables. He was oddly fast, you’d noticed. He seemed to be blessed in the physical department, not that you’d been paying attention or anything… he just drew attention to it, okay? Yeah. That was it. Blame the T-Shirts and the rolled up sleeves and the summer heat for causing it, not your wandering eyes.

It was only a couple minutes before he was approaching you once again, saddled horse in tow. He sported a proud grin, one that had grown all too familiar. It was the same as when he’d get you to smile, when you would eat the dinner you cooked together and agree with your father when he complimented it. He wore it when he successfully managed to infiltrate yours and Nobara’s girl time, and you were sure that when he inevitably convinced you to let him in on everything else, he would wear it then too. That wasn’t to say you exactly minded, perchance you’d even grown somewhat fond of it.

The trees provided shade as the two of you walked along the trails, the chirping of awakening birds ringing through your ears.

“You’re right, it’s nice out here when it’s early,” he said, looking around at the lush trees, eyes sparkling in awe.

“Isn’t it?”

You kept walking, though it didn’t make much of a difference, the greenery looked the same all around. The red of your wool sweater stuck out against the emerald background, making you look like the centrepiece of an oil painting. At least, that’s what Yuji thought.

“Yuji,” you began, making his head snap to you. He’d gotten a little distracted by a bird fluttering above you, the flapping of its wings making a crisp noise. “How come I’ve never seen you around school?” you asked.

“Oh, I had to drop out to take care of my grandpa,” he said, looking ahead. He stole a glimpse of you every few seconds, but for once, he avoided your gaze. “He was sick and… he’s all I got left, so…”

Oh. You were silent, blinking away the shock of his reasoning. You’d expected him to say he went to school in the city, or that he was staying in town for the summer, or… something. Something else, something lighter. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. He’s better now, anyway. That’s why I’m here.”

You nodded, allowing a hint of a smile to cross your face. “That’s good to hear.”

“Good to hear that I’m here or that he’s better?” he joked, grinning. He cocked his head to the side, rosy locks of hair rustling with the breeze. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head.

“…maybe both.”

His brows shot up, surprised. Usually such a joke would’ve been shut down immediately, whether that was by a one finger salute or a straight up order to be quiet. You couldn’t help but let out a breathy huff of laughter, realizing that maybe you were a little too mean to the poor boy.

“You aren’t so bad, Yuji.”

To say Yuji beamed was an understatement. Best believe he rode that high for the rest of the day. The rest of the week, maybe. Even when your horse kicked him in the mud and left him looking like a dirty, squashed bug, even after Nobara nearly ran him over whilst learning to drive in your truck and excused it with an ‘oops’ and a ‘you’re a man, you can take it!’ But that was okay, both circumstances were okay, because you’d tended to him after. Well… maybe you’d sprayed the mud off of him with the hose like he was a rabid dog, but it was attention nonetheless. Maybe you’d have been nicer if he hadn’t chased you around and insisted on giving you a hug, sludge and all. The second time you’d asked if he was okay, played it off with a laugh. Maybe he himself was oblivious to it, but Nobara saw the worry in your eyes. But of course Yuji had responded with a bright smile and a corny thumbs up, which although stupid and boyish, had both eased your nerves and made a dopey smile of your own threaten to appear on your face.

𓍼

“How can you tell if it’s good or not? It’s a peach. They all look the same.”

“No they don’t, idiot! Look!”

“But that literally looks the same?!”

Your two friends bickering was simply background noise to you as you strolled through the humble little market of Chiudam, the closest town to your settlement of farms. Originally, this was supposed to be a solo trip. Keyword: was. Your plans had been spoiled when the happy go lucky, pink haired boy had hopped into your truck the moment he saw you, didn’t even bother to ask. An unfortunate chain of events had lead to Nobara joining as well, your smooth drive down to the grocery store turned into what felt like a mobile zoo exhibit.

There you were, actually shopping whilst they argued over peaches.

You let out a sigh under your breath, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. You loved her, but you’d come to realize that whenever Yuji was around, Nobara got increasingly stupider. Honestly, though, you were just happy to see that she was making more friends. She wasn’t exactly popular around these parts, her temper had granted that.

“You guys keep bickering, I’m gonna check out,” you called back, dropping the last of the items on your list into the basket hanging from your elbow.

You left them in the dust, making your way to the one and only cash register in the shop. You didn’t pay much mind to whoever was standing behind it, their back turned as they punched something into a computer at the back wall. You began unloading the groceries, placing them on the counter one by one.

And then, you glanced up. You felt something in you shift, your guard immediately going up.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he smirked wolfishly, like a predator looking down on its prey. You sneered, disgust written all over your face.

“Kotaro,” you said, a curt greeting. You stood stiffly, expectant as you waited for him to scan your items. Could this guy do his job instead of staring at you like that? His scruffy brown hair nearly touched the flannel draped over his shoulders, and he seemed oddly dirty for a store clerk. He’d been banned from working on your farm, along with the rest, after being particularly creepy for his entire time there. A hand sliding up your bare leg, inching under the fabric of your sundress, a wolf whistle as you walked by, gross comments behind your back, you name it. A punch in the face and the threat of his downfall didn’t seem to bother him, because here he was.

“Haven’t seen you around lately,” he said.

You mumbled under your breath, “I wonder why.”

“You been avoiding me, little lady?” The fact that he was 20 didn’t help the way that nickname made you nearly recoil. Coming from anyone else, it was endearing, most often used by role models and father figures. From him it felt much more perverted, much more odd.

“Don’t call me that.”

He leaned over the counter, breath nearly wafting over your face. His scratchy, stiff hand was placed on your arm, forbidding you from moving without making a scene. You didn’t know why you felt so defenceless. Making a scene had never scared you, but it was different when you were here in public than it was on the outskirts, at your home.

“Come on, you know you like it. Admit it,” he said, voice low and eerie. You pulled away from his grasp, eyes narrowing in a glare. You were about to speak, ready to spit some sort of insult or name at him, but you were cut off.

“I think it’s pretty clear she doesn’t like that, man. Take your hands off of her.”

Yuji was just behind you, nose scrunched up as he took in the sight before him. He looked oddly serious, more than you’d ever seen him before. He swatted the man’s hand away, gentle but enough to pry it off. There was a red imprint left on the skin of your arm, the traces of his greed staining the flesh.

Kotaro laughed arrogantly, clearly sizing Yuji up. He puffed out his chest, jaw ticking as he glanced between the two of you. “What are you, her boyfriend or somethin’?”

Yuji paused for a moment, glancing at you as if to ask for permission. He looked back to the social reject standing behind the counter, speaking. “Maybe I am. What’s it to you?”

He scoffed, shaking his head. He grumbled to himself, nothing but a gruff murmur under his breath as he scanned the last of your groceries, lazily shoving them into a bag and taking your cash. Nobara joined the two of you once you left, she’d been waiting outside. As the bell atop the door rang softly through the empty streets, Yuji turned to you.

“Are you okay? Sorry, I uh… I didn’t know what else to do,” he said, a lopsided grin making its way onto his lips. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he waited for a response, hoping and praying you wouldn’t think he was weird for what he’d said. He visibly relaxed when you smiled, a huff of laughter leaving your lips.

“Yeah, I’m okay. It’s okay,” you said, nodding as the three of you walked. The concrete was run down, pebbles poking into your shoes with every step as you approached your truck. You halted for a moment, a delicate hand placed on Yuji’s arm. He stopped in tow with you, and Nobara obliviously continued her pace. Or maybe she wasn’t oblivious, maybe she was all too aware, walking away for the complete opposite reason to what you’d thought.

“Thanks, Yuji.” You pushed yourself up on your tiptoes, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his cheek. You were pulling away in an instant, but he could’ve sworn the feeling of your lips lingered. His lips parted, face heating up as he gently placed his fingers over where you’d kissed him.

He stood there motionless for a moment, struggling to get a word out as he watched you join Nobara. It was only when the two of you turned around and waved for him to follow that he snapped out of it. He smiled, jogging to catch up with you. That lovesick grin didn’t leave his face, not for a long while.

“Uh.. how do you know that guy, anyway?”

Nobara cut in, all too eager to give Yuji the run down. “Oh my gosh I have to tell you. We fuckin’ hate him.”

Though Yuji’s eyes widened a fraction at her foul language, he was somewhat eager to hear her. The entire ride back home was her airing him out, because somehow, she knew everything about everyone in this damn town. Not that you minded. All you could do was grin as you drove, glancing into your mirror to get a fleeting glimpse of Yuji in your back seat. The way he’d defended you made something within you stir, something you hadn’t felt before. Was this what Nobara was talking about?

Just later that night, the three of you found yourselves circled around a bonfire, sharing a flask of whiskey you’d swiped from your kitchen. It was at the back of the property, a small clearing so far from the road that it couldn’t even be seen. Over the years, you and Nobara had mapped out every bit of the farm, knowing it like the back of your hands. You knew every good spot, every trail, every dip in the earth. On nights like these, the perks of that really shone through.

This was Yuji’s first bonfire. You hadn’t invited him before, keeping the little event a secret between you and Nobara. Because of recent changes, though, you decided Yuji was worthy of the experience.

The fact that this wasn’t only his first bonfire with you, but his first bonfire ever wasn’t apparent until the heaps of wood in front of you began going up in flames. He stood there like an awestruck child, mouth open in shock. It was a wholesome sight to see. The flames danced in his wide brown eyes, and you cursed yourself for paying more attention to him than the fire before you.

“Woah…” he said, voice soft and low. You shared a look with Nobara, smirking. It had become less impressive and more routine to you by now, so to see it be so foreign to someone was undeniably entertaining.

You sat down in some lawn chairs, taken from the depths of the shed in your yard where nobody would notice their absence. The sky was only beginning to darken, a cool chill beginning to set in the air. The three of you chatted mindlessly as you stared at the stars above, tips of the raging fire creeping into your line of sight.

You pulled the cool metal flask from the pocket of your sweater, unscrewing it with ease. You took the lid off with a flick, letting it land in the grass with a soft thud. Taking a swig, you winced. Bitter.

You passed it to Nobara, who downed a sip with a scarily straight face (though you both knew her mind would spin after just a few more). Next was Yuji, who eyed the drink like it was an artifact from another planet. He took a drink from it, his face contorting in disgust and nearly spitting it out. He coughed, placing a hand around his throat to ease it.

“Blegh! That’s gross,” he said. You laughed, taking the flask from his hand and downing some of it. He eyed you, taking in the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed. A drop of it fell from your lips, down onto the skin of your chest. He pulled his eyes away to be respectful, telling himself he wasn’t staring, but his throat felt dry. He glanced back at you, looking at your eyes this time. “Gimme another sip.”

It wasn’t long before drunken giggles filled the air, though contrary to what most would expect, Yuji was the main cause. Though Nobara was somewhat a lightweight based on country standards, Yuji was the worst of you. You assumed he wasn’t one to drink, especially since he’d spent the past year taking care of his grandpa. When would he even have the time? Besides, you were sixteen, it wasn’t like you could waltz into the liquor store and get some yourself. You and Nobara only drank because you were allowed though, it was normal here. Nobara’s family was more strict in that sense, but your father wasn’t. He’d slip you a beer on cool summer nights, and the three of you could sit on the porch and reminisce like a group of old women. It was nice. It wasn’t like you were a few delinquents stealing booze from your parents cabinet, though with the way you’d basically fed Yuji that whiskey, it sort of felt that way.

You laughed at something insignificant, probably a stupid face someone had made or the memory of that time Nobara and Yuji had fallen in the mud whilst running to you. So much had happened in the past month, or rather the nearly six weeks since you’d met. It was funny to think about how you’d been so cold yo Yuji upon first meeting him, and now you couldn’t peel your attention off him. Even just being his friend, if it would still be classified as such, had changed you.

Everyone had noticed. You weren’t so stand offish around most people now, it seemed his happy-go-lucky attitude had rubbed off on you. You just felt… happier. More you. It felt as if a piece of your soul had been kept from you, only reuniting with its whole when Yuji came around. Your heart was with him, and now that he was here, it had found home… for the next two weeks, at least.

Two weeks. Fuck. You only had two weeks left with him, and the boldest thing you’d done was a thank you kiss on the cheek.

Suddenly a lazy arm was draped around you, heavy and strong. A cheek was squished against your shoulder and you could feel him grinning against it, crooked and dumb. And cute.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?” he asked, speech slurred and dragged out. He laughed at himself, drunk but not drunk enough to ignore how drunk he was, I guess.

“Nothin’ Yuji, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

Nobara laughed, draped out over her own chair just a few feet away. She let out a snort, to which she only laughed harder at. Yuji joined in, his laughter racking both yours and his body, as he was still wrapped around you. You were honestly just as intoxicated as the two of them, but you handled it better. Well enough to not end up falling to the ground in hysterics because of a snort. The corners of your lips did quirk up, though, much to your dismay. As their laughter died down, the only noise heard was the warm crackling of the fire and the crickets chirping from all around you.

Somehow, some way, Yuji ended up asleep. His position didn’t change, still holding onto you like a sloth, but soft snores rumbled against your sweater now. You glanced down at him, brushing a stray tuft of hair out of his face. He looked so pretty, so peaceful. You liked that, you wanted peace for him. You liked him.

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the undying need to get it off your back, but you spoke. “I think I might be falling for him.”

“Glad you finally accepted it,” spoke a half awake Nobara from the chair beside you. Her eyes drifted shut, a grin tugging at her lips as she mumbled some last words before falling asleep. “You better do something about it soon, he’s too scared. Then he’ll be gone and you’ll be sad and whiney, and I don’t wanna listen to you.”

As she peeked at you one last time before unconsciousness took over, you knew she wasn’t lying. She was all too right, as bitchy as it sounded.

“Yeah yeah fuck you, I know,” you mumbled. Then your eyes fell shut, shifting to lean against Yuji as sleep enveloped you. You knew you had to do something. Someone like him didn’t come around often, people with hearts as big as their minds and eyes that sparkled every time you came around. He was different, and you wouldn’t lose him.

𓍼

“I like you.”

You were once again out for a ride, the sun rising over the horizon and spreading the mornings glow over the trees as you passed through them. You’d slowed, the sound of hooves beating into the ground lowering to a soft, steady beat. This had become routine for the two of you, something you looked forward to. Usually he’d come to wake you up every morning, the sound of pebbles hitting the glass of your window something you expected every day at 6am sharp. He told you he wanted to get out before the sun rose, but really, he just liked how you looked when you’d just rolled out of bed. All messy haired and droopy eyed, that annoyed look etched into your face. You just looked so mundane and pretty, a contrast to the composed girl he was used to seeing.

That had been the case this morning, too. When you first awoke, you didn’t have this planned. You were expecting another little horse ride, maybe some laughter and conversation, but not this. You don’t know why you just blurted it out like that. If you hadn’t, though, you weren’t sure you’d ever say it at all.

He choked on his spit, both of your eyes widening simultaneously, as if you had only heard your words when he did. “…what?”

“What?” you echoed. He made a face, a mix of ‘am I schizophrenic’ and ‘don’t act oblivious now.’

“I’m dumb, but not that dumb,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact. You still moved leisurely through the forest, the trees passing by slowly, slower than time. “I… I heard that.”

You let out a breath of air through your nose, chest rising and falling. Your hands felt shaky, and you were sure you were on the verge of passing out. You could only imagine what would happen if he didn’t like you back. Well… at least there was only one more week of him staying here?

“You did.”

He began speaking, but stopped. He kept opening his mouth and closing it again, like a floundering fish on land. He was struggling for words, speechless for once. He felt dizzy, his mind scrambled. “I- do you mean that?”

You paused for a long moment, one that to Yuji, felt like years. He had been yearning to hear those sweet words fall from your lips for… well, he couldn’t exactly remember when it started. He’d even asked Nobara what to do, desperate for some sort of help. The thing was, he wasn’t convinced that you liked him back. Even when Nobara pushed it, even pinky promised, he couldn’t bring himself to believe her. But now you’d said it. You were right here and you’d just told him you liked him, and he just needed to hear you say you meant it.

Well, there wasn’t much of a point in denying it now. “Why would I say it if I didn’t?”

He swallowed thickly, hastily nodding. That was true. He knew that, you weren’t a liar. He felt so dumb. He just felt all over the place when he was with you, more than usual, and that had been multiplied tenfold now. He brought his horse to a stop, a short neigh meeting your ears as well as the sound of his feet meeting the ground.

You stared at him for a moment, mind blank, before coming to your senses and following him suit. The two of you tied their reins to a fallen log nearby, that was the closest you’d get to something proper.

He stood parallel to you now, shakily meeting your eyes for brief seconds before staring at the ground once again. He didn’t look all that nervous, but internally he was freaking the fuck out. He was screaming and yelling but at the same time, resisting the urge to pump his fist in the air and cry from joy.

“I uh… I don’t know where to start,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

His head shot up, panic overtaking his features. He reached out without a second thought, shaking his hands and head simultaneously in defence.

“No- no! I like you too! A lot!” he exclaimed, eyes wide and shining with something you couldn’t quite recognize. Your throat closed up, blinking at him in shock.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling as he rubbed the back of his neck. He did that often, you noticed. A nervous habit of his. “I just… I didn’t think you liked me back, so I didn’t say anything. I thought Nobara was just saying that, you know? But I really, really like you, like I just said, I was just scared. I’m a coward, I know. You’re not supposed to be the one to confess, I-“

He was cut off as you lurched forward, pressing your lips against his. They slotted together perfectly, like they were always meant to. It barely took him a second to kiss back with equal fervour, equal enthusiasm. His eyes fluttered shut, matching yours. His hand rested at the back of your neck, holding you, but giving you enough room to back out if you wanted. He held you as if he kissed you first, as if he was unsure that you wanted to.

You parted with a pant, breaths mingling. It took the both of you a couple moments before your eyes opened again, and it was then that he regained some of his consciousness.

“What was that for?!” he asked, though any suspicion you had of his anger were washed away as his lips began spreading in a smile. “I was talking there.”

You mimicked his grin, lovesick and stupid. “Had to shut you up somehow.”

He laughed, eyes crinkling just like they had the first time you met him. When he’d been nothing but a stranger, one you had a particular distaste for at that. Nothing but a heart without a home. That strangers heart had found home on your little ranch, with you.

“In that case…” he said, though his sentence wasn’t finished with words. It was finished with him reeling you back in, kissing you like he wanted to make up for lost time as well as the next few centuries. Like you were delicate and eternal and everything he wanted, and in a way, you were. He’d be fine spending eternity with you, but if that wasn’t possible, he supposed the rest of his life could suffice.

He pulled away, gazing down at you as if you had placed every star in the sky just for him. “I think I’m doing this backwards,” he said, “but will you be my girlfriend? Please.”

You grinned, your heart racing wildly in your chest. You were sure it would jump out if that pace kept up, but at the same time, you figured it wasn’t yours anymore anyway. It was his, it had been for a while.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

𓍼

Yeah, Yuji went home the week after that. But he didn’t leave, no, not in the slightest. It wasn’t long after that when he got his license, and he made sure to take frequent trips to your farm. Also, a pleasant surprise (or moreso something he’d forgotten to mention) was that he was starting school again, at your school. You could imagine the surprise you felt when you sat down in homeroom only to see the bright face of your boyfriend staring at you from the doorway.

He was there for every big event, and every small one too. Your weekly campfires with Nobara became ritual, after which you’d end up curled up in your bed, his face squished against your neck and suffocating you with his weight. He was there for every rodeo you took part in, screaming and clapping ridiculously loud. He was your number one cheerleader, always right next to Nobara and your dad, the former yelling almost as loud as him. You couldn’t have been more grateful for your morning routine, and your mouth that moved before your brain did, because it gained you who you were convinced was the love of your life and lost you nothing but the nuisance of dealing with other boys.

It was safe to say your dad hired him next summer. And every summer after that. And for every summer after, he loved you just the same.

Perma tag(s) — @anotherwriternamedclara

[mejaemin]

my heart - johnny suh

day three of my valentine’s day countdown! ♡

wc: 1.1k

summary: yours and johnny’s valentine’s coffee date, where he proves to you time and time again how much he loves you, his heart ♡

warnings: hint of bsf2l, sm love, sm fluff. that’s it ♡⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⸝♡

an: finally it’s done !!! i might rewrite, proofread, and edit this later, but here it is for now :> ik its probably really rushed so i promise i’ll edit it sometime soon, i just wanted to get it put for u all

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

you’re just finishing up getting ready, doing the last finishing touches to your look when you get a few text messages from your boyfriend, johnny.

john 🤍: hey beautiful, are you ready?

john 🤍: i’m outside ❤️

you: yess i’m coming now!! 🤍

setting your phone down, you grab your bag (adorned with all of the matching keychains and pins you’ve received from your boyfriend) and make your way to the front door. once it’s open, you nearly flinch when a conveniently placed gust of wind pushes a set of heart shaped balloons bump right into your face. jumping back, you finally take it in and realize there’s a gift bag with your name on it, paired with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a bunch of balloons, corny valentine’s day quotes and hearts covering them. you look up, seeing johnny run back to his car, catching his breath and pretending he didn’t run up to put them there, which is what you assumed happened.

from the sidewalk he calls out, “happy valentine’s day! go bring that all in, i can wait!” he winks, gesturing to the inside of your apartment.

you giggle, reaching down to pick it all up before bringing it all in. laying it on your table, you grab a vase for your flowers and leave the rest. you turn around to meet johnny and find him right behind you, pulling you in and giving you a kiss in greeting.

“you should really close the door behind you,” he kisses you a few more times, and you can’t complain when the feeling is so addictive, “someone might come in and kidnap you, y’know.” he’s smiling down at you as he leads you out of your home, out to his car and into the passenger seat.

as he buckles your seatbelt in you ask him, “i doubt anyone here wants to kidnap me.”

he comes around to the driver’s seat, getting in and beginning the drive to your date location. “i can think of a guy. you’ve probably seen him around before, too. pretty tall, funny, did i mention he’s hot shit?”

you hum, nodding your head. “hmm, from your description it doesn’t sound like too bad of an experience.”

you two share a laugh, falling into the same easygoing dynamic you share every time you meet. even though it’s a special holiday, one full of love and romance, johnny always makes it so easy to get comfortable and talk the same way you did before you got together. sure, the flirting and the way his hand rests on your thigh while driving is a little of an adjustment, but he couldn’t make you uncomfortable even if he tried.

after a while the car falls silent, but it’s comfortable. the ride to your date location is a little longer than usual, having planned to go to a certain café holding a valentine’s day event. for couples who come and order drinks, they’ll get to share a free cake together. it’s a little silly to go just for free food, but what’s more exciting than that?

after a while time flies by, and you’re finally parking by the sidewalk of said café. after a small bit of bickering when it comes to how he knows which store is the right one, it all fell silent once you both realized it was quite obvious. out of all the stores on the sidewalk, only one had heart paintings and garland on the outside. with a hand in yours, you and johnny make your way inside. he lets you find a table while he orders your drinks, not even asking what you want because he knows you well enough to not have to.

you pick a seat in the corner, right next to a window covered in pink and red hearts. it leaves a pink glow on your skin, and as soon as your boyfriend sits across from you he takes a picture of it. pocketing his phone, a hand reaches out for yours across the table, his other housing his cheek. for the time that you’re waiting for whatever he ordered, johnny reaches into his pocket.

“don’t get mad, don’t freak out, but i got one more gift.” he smiles at your skeptical expression, finally revealing the item closed in his palm, fingers pulling away to reveal a small white box.

he slides it towards you, gesturing for you to open it. slowly, unsurely, you pull the lid off, revealing a ring with your favorite jewel, paired with a chain and ‘j’ charm. your face lights up, and when you look up at him he looks shy, but happy as ever at your reaction.

“i didn’t know if you’d want it as a necklace or what, so i bought a chain too. oh, and there’s a j for me obviously, so you can keep me by your heart.” to laugh off the last of his nerves, he theatrically winks at you, eliciting a giggle from you both.

you take the ring and the charm out, before putting them on the chain and holding it out to him. “put it on for me?”

he gets up, taking the necklace from you and stepping behind you. fingers brushing your nape, he moves your hair from the back of your neck and clasps the chain together. he sits back down, and you readjust your hair before pulling out your phone to take photos of it on. one selfie, and one close up of the chain resting on your collarbone.

almost as soon as you put your phone down an employee comes to your table, taking two mugs off of their tray to place them in front of you both, along with a miniature cake covered in buttercream hearts. you thank them, taking a photo of the designs in the cups. one is a heart, and the other looks almost like a plant. once done, you’re about to reach for the plant one since it’s closest to you, but your boyfriend stops you, taking it and sliding the heart one to you.

“a heart for my heart.” he winks again, and you playfully roll your eyes before sipping on your latte. it’s flavored just how you like it, and you sigh in comfort.

“you’re so corny, i can’t believe i’m actually with you.” you tease, playfully giving him a judging look.

“i know why.” you hum, tilting your head, as he reaches for your hand. “because you love me more than you hate me.”

“hmm, i guess so…” you say, rolling your eyes.

he laughs, reaching out for the ring on your necklace to twirl it between his fingers. “you know so. and, you’ll love me forever, right? i know i will. this ring is proof.” the jewel shines in the sunlight through the window, highlighting the metal that’s in your favorite type, and the jewel being your favorite. without even having to ask, he knew just how you wanted it and bought it as a promise to love you and keep it in his heart forever.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ