#is still the. same. so if i were ever to work in a society again i would need. them. most likely

[helielune]

[piracytheorist]

Idk I just really like that Twilight's reaction to being told "Your wife used to be a prostitute!" is to go like

and proceed to say how honourable and worthy of respect her dedication, self-sacrifice and mental fortitude are, and how we're shown he actually means that.

And then my girl Yor sees his reaction and hears his words and for the first time in her life she goes like "This is a man who literally just met me and has no connection to me yet he not only understands my position, he's also willing to bring himself out there and have my back when other people have free bait to judge me" and like damn how important that was to her, to have someone (who doesn't owe his survival to her like Yuri does) actually see her and respect her choices and have the absolute BEST of faiths in her. Like, what Camilla says there has the societal power to make her look like a pariah. Yet this dude comes over and without knowing anything about her, he vouches for her and immediately assumes her reasons were noble and altruistic. And though he doesn't know what profession he's actually vouching for, he's completely right in his assumption about her intentions, and considering how easily the general public judges sex workers, it's no surprise this support gives Yor the courage to believe Loid will understand her and won't think bad of her if she ever disappears on them due to her work, because he's open-minded enough for his first and immediate assumption about her is that she has good intentions.

And I just wanna SCREAM because she has absolutely no idea how little he will judge her about her assassin gig. She already considers herself lucky she's come across someone who is compassionate enough to think the best out of someone who works in a profession that is not considered "morally acceptable" by the public. But she has no idea the actual jackpot she's hit, because his own profession is far more dark and sinister yet he still has the kindness and empathy in his heart to understand people who do the same as he does.

Like, that's it with her character, isn't it? She sacrificed her own youth and morality to help Yuri grow up and be educated, and that caused him to idolize her, and because he was the only family she had left, she has been desperate to not cause any of her ties with him to break. But it also caused her impostor syndrome, and she had no confidence in any of her abilities aside from killing and cleaning up after her work, because she lives in a misogynistic society that is suspicious of unmarried women (like, that judgment alone, considering unmarried men don't experience such scrutiny, can be enough to damage a woman's psyche) and because she has been working under a man cruel enough to hire orphaned teenagers as assassins and nearly kill them in tests of their abilities ever since she was a teenager. For her it was either "I'm either perfect in something or I'm completely useless and I deserve people's judgment". Because if Yuri sees she doesn't have the perfect record, she thinks he will be horrified and she'll lose the ties to her last remaining family. And she will think she deserved that. If her killing skills waver in the slightest, she will be killed, either by enemies or by the Shopkeeper doing his little "tests". And she will think she deserved that. And if she doesn't abide by the society's expectations, she will at best be judged and mocked (for not cooking at home) and at worst get arrested (for being suspected as a spy). And she will think she deserved that.

Yet again, this stranger comes along, is told she's worked a socially shameful profession, knows she's shy and with so few connections that she can't even find someone to act as her pretend boyfriend for a party, and he supports her. And then he finds out how socially unskilled she is, how terrible she is at cooking, how she can't even pretend to kiss him for their mutual benefit, how she has the tendency to get so drunk she accidentally kicks him unconscious... And those things that she considers fatal flaws of her, he says are parts of her that she doesn't need to pretend don't exist. That's who she is, and there's nothing to fix, and she can just accept them without feeling bad or ashamed of it, that pretending she's someone else, someone perfect, will only make her miserable and exhausted.

And like... fuck. How can she not feel glad she got to marry that guy?

And how much will her heart break when she finds out he's a spy and will immediately doubt all the supportive words he's told her? And how astonishing will it be when she finds out that he actually meant pretty much everything he's told her, and that he really resonates with her and believes in her?

(anime only here, don't spoil me for the manga)

[dreamwritesimagines]

Declassified [7] - Whiskey

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves, you are so amazing🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 And please let me know what you think! 🩷

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: Alcohol leads to honest promises.

Warnings: Explicit language, drinking, angst, yearning.

Word Count: 5050

Series Masterlist

After Bucky’s win, you and the rest of the team had about two months to move to DC.

And needless to say, things were quite chaotic.

“I’m telling you, the best way to get over a relationship is a new city,” Kelsey said while you kept your eyes on the computer screen, and Caleb laid on his back on top of his desk, scrolling on his phone. “So you scheduled your break up perfectly.”

“I did not schedule my break up, Kels,” you muttered and paused for a moment. “Although, it is a good idea if I ever decide to date again.”

“You will date again.”

“Not anytime soon.” You turned the screen to her. “What do we think about this apartment?”

“What are you guys doing here?” Bucky’s voice reached you and you all turned to him, Caleb sitting up as he entered the bullpen to approach your desk. You tried to ignore how fast your heartbeat got when he smiled at you, and you nodded at him before forcing yourself to turn your gaze to the screen again.

Play it cool.

“We figured we’d pay our respects to the office before we closed it down,” Kelsey said. “What are you doing here?”

“Sarah says the boys forgot a toy figurine here somewhere,” Bucky said. “Came to look for it, couldn’t find it—you are not supposed to be working this week.”

“We’re not working.”

“So you decided to come to the office that we’re closing down on your time off just because?”

You tilted your head. “That sounds like judgment from the man who’s standing in the same bullpen as we are.”

“That’s probably because I am judging,” Bucky pointed out. “And I have an actual reason to be here.”

“So do we,” you said. “We were feeling sentimental and the wifi here is better—Kels, the apartment?”

Kelsey took a peek at the screen. “Meh, maybe. Depends on which one would be my room. Caleb?”

“I don’t care as long as the living room is big,” Caleb said and Bucky looked between you, his brows pulling into a frown.

“You’re moving in together?”

“Mm hm.”

“All three of you?”

“You know how people bond in prison and stuff?” Caleb asked. “Turns out, the same thing happens when you work in politics.”

“I don’t know DC, Caleb has student loans and Birdie has just got out of a relationship,” Kelsey said. “We figured all three of us together equal one functional member of society.”

That made Bucky pause for a second, his gaze on you warming your cheeks while you forced yourself to keep your attention on the screen.

 “And are you okay?” he asked. “With the break up?”

…Fine.

Things with Bucky were still a little weird.

He was still dating Hazel, who did not like you, and sailing through this break up while also trying to change cities was not doing your anxiety any favors. Kelsey had a point, you did not think you could stay alone at least for a while, especially when your crush on Bucky was evolving every goddamn day.

Who was, to repeat, in a relationship.

“Yeah,” you said. “Yeah I’m fine, I only cried for like two hours yesterday.”

“That’s why we’re getting you a new guy—”

“Already?”

 That made all of you turn to Bucky and he blinked a couple of times, then cleared his throat.

“I just mean…” He motioned vaguely. “You know, there’s nothing wrong with waiting a little. You just broke up with the guy.”

“I downloaded a bunch of apps after I broke up with my last boyfriend, and we weren’t even together for the quarter of time she was with that asshole,” Kelsey stated and Bucky’s frown deepened.

“You’re on apps now?”

“I’m not on anything except real estate sites,” you announced and if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought the exhale that left Bucky’s lips was one of relief. “And I’m not dating anyone for a while.”

“Birdie, you need to go on a couple of dates to at least catch up.”

Bucky made a face. “Catch up?”

 “Look at her, she’s like a newborn deer!” Caleb reached out to squeeze your cheeks “All clueless about how hard it is out there!”

You batted his hand away.

“I will kick your ass if I have to,” you grumbled, clicking on another listing while Kelsey nodded solemnly.

“She is a newborn deer and there are wolves out there, Bucky.”

“Don’t ask why they’re like this because I don’t have a good answer,” you told Bucky who scoffed a laugh as you pulled open your drawer to pull out a file. “By the way, I forgot to put it in the boxes and we sent most of them away. Want me to drop it off at your place later on?”

“Would you?”

“Oh yeah, I have to go to the bank around the neighborhood anyway. No problem.”

“You still have my key, right?”

“Mm hm,” you said and checked the time. “You should get going by the way. You have that lunch thing.”

“Hold on, how did you…?”

“Checking your calendar is muscle memory at this point, I do it every day.”

“To repeat, you’re supposed to be relaxing, not working.”

“And you’re supposed to be on your way to lunch.” You shot him a smug grin. “So how about you worry about the material of your own house instead of throwing stones?”  

Bucky held up his hands, gesturing surrender.

“Let me know if you see any toy figurines here?”

“Will do!” you said as he walked away and Caleb laid down on the desk again, then rolled onto his side.

“We all agree that he wants you, right?”

“He wants his girlfriend, Caleb.”

“In his defense, you had a boyfriend when he got himself a girlfriend,” Kelsey said, making your jaw clench. “He can’t just drop her the moment you break up with your boyfriend.”

“He can, actually.” Caleb commented and Kelsey shook her head.

“I was with the guy 24/7 during the election time, so trust me, he won’t. He was raised to be the perfect 40s gentleman, things worked differently when it came to relationships back then, so he thinks he can’t, at least not right now. If we look at it from his perspective—”

“We’re not going to look at anything from his perspective because there’s nothing to look at.” You cut her off, then turned the screen to her again. “Check this out?”

                                                  *

You liked Bucky’s apartment.

You didn’t know if it was because there were many things that looked like they didn’t belong to this century or the scent of him that lingered, but whenever you visited you always felt relaxed.

“Hi Alpine.” You bent down to pet the white furball when she came to greet you at the door with a meow. “Aren’t you the prettiest princess? Hm? Aren't you the cutest kitty?”

She purred, bumping her head on your ankle.

“I got you your favorite treat, just give me one sec,” you said as you made your way to Bucky’s study to put the file on his desk, and Alpine darted back to the hallway. You approached the phonograph at the corner of the room to take a peek at the records, running your fingertips over a Ella Fitzgerald record before the sound of keys jingling reached your ears, making your head whip around when you heard your name being spat in distaste.

“No I’m telling you, I don’t trust her,” Hazel’s voice was clear as the door closed and your eyes widened.

“Shit…” you whispered, looking around in frenzy before you rushed to the desk to get under it, her footsteps going past the study.

Alright.

Maybe you had not thought this through.

There was no way you could just announce your presence now, and judging by how angry she had said your name, you figured it would’ve made things even more awkward than they already were.

Trust Bucky to give his keys three months into the relationship.

“No I just dropped by his place, I forgot my fucking—oh here it is.” Her voice got closer before she entered the study and flung herself on the couch, making you grimace.

Fuck.

Through the small crack, you could see her putting her phone on the small coffee table by the couch before she stretched out.

“I’m so tired.”

“I just think you’re stressed out over nothing,” A female voice said from the speaker and Hazel groaned.

“It’s not nothing,” she insisted. “I’m telling you, she wants him. And if you saw that hug…”

Jesus Christ, what was it with everyone and that hug?

“It was just a hug.”

“He has never hugged me like that,” Hazel replied. “He didn’t even hug me like that that night!”

“I’d say he hugged you plenty for the rest of the night,” A laugh echoed in the room and Hazel scoffed.

“Sex with Bucky…” she trailed off, making your heart skip a beat. “Trust me, that’s a whole new level but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Great. This was just great.

Not only were you crushing on your boss, you now had to listen to the said boss’s sex life with his girlfriend while you were hiding from the aforementioned girlfriend under his desk.

All because you had to be nice and volunteer to drop that file off while he wasn’t home.

“Bucky has this wall around him.” Hazel’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “And no matter how perfect the sex is, the moment you so much as approach that wall, he just shuts down.”

Your eyes widened when you saw Alpine peek her head around the desk before she happily jumped into your lap, pushing at your folded legs.

“What are you doing?” you mouthed as if she could answer you, but she only head-butted your knee, then blinked up at you, making you run a hand over your face before you started scratching at her head.

This was not what you had imagined when you applied for a job in politics.

“And you know how it is,” she said. “Young female aide gives him puppy dog eyes whenever he’s around and the next thing you know…”

Alpine gave you a quizzical look and you rolled your eyes, then shook your head.

“I get it, but she’s been around him for a while now and nothing happened.”

“She has a boyfriend.”

Ah.

Bucky hadn’t told her about your breakup then.

“And he has a girlfriend,” her friend insisted. “A hot, successful, wealthy girlfriend, he’s not gonna throw that away for some dumb girl. And besides, you’re much hotter.”

The interesting thing was that Kelsey had said the exact same thing about you just a week ago.

“I don’t know,” Hazel said with a sigh. “I feel like I’m trespassing sometimes. Maybe he doesn’t actually like me. I mean, even his cat doesn’t like me.”

You looked down at Alpine who was kneading your leg while purring and ran your fingers through her soft fur.

“It’s a damn cat, Haze.”

Hazel scoffed a laugh. “I know it’s been only three months but I really like him, you know?”

Oh, you definitely knew the feeling.

“And I want to make it work, but I’m not sure if I can if she’s in the picture,” she said. “Not to mention they’ll both be in DC—”

“His whole team is moving there, not just her,” her friend reminded her. “And if she’s bothering you that much, just tell Bucky to fire her.”

That made your hand stop mid-air.

Excuse you?

“I mentioned it to him the other day,” Hazel said, making your jaw drop. “And at first he genuinely thought it was a joke as if even the idea is unthinkable, so he laughed it off but when he saw I was serious, it got kind of��tense.”

“Tense?”

“He just shut it down, refused to even talk about it, and he was so cold that—it’s like she’s his line in the sand. Untouchable.”

“No she’s not,” her friend said. “Honestly, I doubt he even thinks about her outside work. He just wants to keep her because she is good at her job, nothing more.”

Hazel rolled her eyes. “I’m gonna tell you something but you can’t call me paranoid.”

“Shoot.”

“I’m not sure but last night it kind of sounded like he muttered her name in his sleep.”

Her friend’s laugh was loud enough to cover the small gasp that left your lips, making you put your hand over mouth and you closed your eyes shut, half expecting Hazel to approach the table but thankfully, she hadn’t heard it.

“Paranoid.”

“It really sounded like that!”

“As I said, you’re being paranoid,” she said. “Haze, relax. The great Bucky Barnes is all yours, with or without that starry-eyed girl in the picture.”

That made you bite inside your cheek, the familiar ache twisting your stomach and she got up from the couch, making your head whip up.

“Gotta go, I’ll call you later,” she said and hung up, then walked out of the study before you heard the front door open, and close again.

Relief hit you so hard that you felt dizzy, and you let out a breath before carefully lifting Alpine from your lap to come out from under the desk.

“Well that was a new low, wasn’t it?” you muttered and turned to Alpine. “Come on, I’ll give you your food in the kitchen.”

Alpine followed you to the kitchen and jumped on the kitchen island as you rummaged through your purse to take out a can of wet food. You opened it and put it in front of her, and she dug in while you heaved a sigh, trailing your fingers over her fur.

“You know, contrary to what she thinks, I am not dumb,” you said. “I get why she doesn’t like me. I don’t like her either, but mine is because of the jealousy that Bucky is dating her, which I know, I know; that’s very immature and I shouldn’t do it but come on, she wants to get me fired.”

Alpine didn’t even lift her head.

“She asked him to fire me!” you insisted. “There’s a line, seriously. I would never do that, regardless of how jealous I was. You don’t fuck with people’s jobs.”

Unsurprisingly, Alpine was more interested in her food than your rambling.

“Your father doesn’t like me that way, for the record,” you added. “And I do not give anyone puppy dog eyes, okay? That’s just how I look at people.”

She finished her food and raised her head, licking around her mouth and you huffed out, then threw the can in the trash.

“I’ll bring you another one the next time if you promise not to tell your dad.”

“Mrow?”

“Good, you got yourself a deal,” you said and pressed a kiss on the top of her head, then grabbed your purse and walked out of the apartment.

                                                *

Going into the bank, getting stuff done and getting out was supposed to be fast but you could hardly focus on anything, your mind still replaying what Hazel had said about Bucky saying your name in his sleep over and over again. You wondered whether there was even a slight chance it was anything close to your dreams because more than once you had woken up, breathing out Bucky’s name, your whole body on fire, your mind fuzzy—

No way.

Bucky dreaming about you only existed in Hazel’s mind, nothing more.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you barely heard someone calling out your name, but as soon as you did, your head whipped around.

What in the goddamn fuck was with you running into people in this city at the most inconvenient time possible?

“Hi Tessa,” you said, plastering a smile on your face. “What a coincidence.”

“Hi,” she said, shifting her weight from one foot to other. “How have you been? Max mentioned…”

She trailed off, averting her eyes from you and you waved a hand in the air.

“Oh I’m totally fine. How about you?”

“I’m good,” she said. “I saw Barnes won the election, that’s great! I voted for him.”

“Aw thanks,” you said. “Max didn’t but um—I appreciate it.”

“He didn’t?”

“Nope,” you said. “Long story. How about you, how is work?”

“It’s good. So since he won, are you gonna move to DC?”

“Yeah.”

“Should be fun,” she said. “Listen, I know you barely know me but I know how stressful this whole thing can be, so if you need anything about the moving stuff, just let me know.”

“Thank you so much,” you said and she waved a hand in the air, then stepped in to hug you, the heavy perfume tickling the bridge of your nose, making you grimace.

That somehow smelled familiar—

Oh.

Oh, that motherfucker…

You could feel your jaw clench as the realization dawned on you, and she pulled back to smile at you.

“I shouldn’t keep you long, I’m sure you have so much to do,” she said. “But like I said, anything I can do, let me know.”

You gawked at her for a couple of seconds before you took a deep breath.

“Do you mind if I take you up on that offer now?”

“Sure thing!”

“Good. Can you tell me how long Max has been fucking you behind my back?”

That wiped the smile off her face, making her swallow thickly as a nervous laugh spilled from her lips.

“I don’t—I—” she stammered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do,” you said, your voice calm despite the anger burning in your veins, and her chin trembled as if she was on the verge of tears. “Is that why you asked about DC? You think I’ll somehow get him back if I stay here?”

She didn’t answer, just stared at you with tears in her eyes and you scoffed a laugh.

“Unbelievable,” you murmured and shrugged your shoulders. “No need to worry, he’s all yours.”

“It wasn’t my intention to hurt you, I—”

“You can have him.” You managed to grin at her. “I mean it, Tessa. I don’t give a fuck about him. Enjoy your weekly five minutes of missionary while he watches the stock market on his phone beside your pillow.”

 With that, you walked away from her, leaving her there dumbfounded.

                                           *

At this point, you were beginning to feel like this damn office had a hold on you with how you kept finding yourself in it, but you needed a place to hang out until you met with Caleb and Kelsey, so you figured you could do some more research on apartments in DC.

That wasn’t the surprising part. The surprising part was that when you walked in, Bucky’s office light was on and you could hear the shuffling coming from inside. You frowned and looked over your shoulder, then grabbed the nearest file and stepped closer to the office, holding the file over your head, ready to strike any potential burglars but stopped dead in your tracks when you saw Bucky in the office, staring at you like he could hear you coming from a mile away.

Which, he probably could.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” you asked back and he motioned at the office.

“Looking for the goddamn toy. Why are you holding a file?”

“I thought you were a burglar,” you said, lowering the file and Bucky tilted his head.

“You were going to beat the burglar with the clean energy draft meeting minutes?”

“I’m not open to constructive criticism after the day I had, Bucky,” you said and tossed the file on the couch. “Did you find the toy yet?”

“No.”

You furrowed your brows. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at this? You used to be a super soldier spy.”

“A super soldier assassin,” he corrected you. “Finding toys was not my expertise.”

You heaved a sigh, then went over to his drawer to pull it open, making him shake his head.

“I already checked there.”

“And your desk?”

“Yeah.”

You put your hands on your hips to look around the room, then pointed at the couch. “Here?”

“I lifted it, it’s not under it.”

You made your way to the couch to pull at the cushions, then stuck your hand between and felt around before your hand touched something plastic. You curled your fingers around it, pulled it back, and held the small figurine up, grinning at Bucky.

“There we go.”

“Thank you,” he said and you tossed it to him for him to catch it mid-air. He put it into his pocket, then leaned back to his desk.

“You okay?” he asked. “What are you doing here again?”

“I’ll just use the wifi and feel sorry for myself until Caleb and Kels pick me up. So don’t let me keep you.”

“Feeling sorry for yourself?” he repeated. “What happened?”

I hid under your desk from your girlfriend, heard about your sex life, bribed your cat with wet food and then found out my ex was cheating on me. Did you really say my name in your sleep?

That was not a good conversation starter.

“Just a bad day,” you muttered. “But hey, see you later—”

“I’m not letting you feel sorry for yourself all by yourself,” Bucky cut you off and you arched a brow.

“Bucky.”

“No way.”

“Don’t you have stuff to do?”

“It can wait,” he said and you heaved a sigh, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Fine,” you said. “Wanna pregame and raid Paul’s secret stash?”

“Paul has a secret stash?”

You let out a laugh, then wiggled your brows and walked out of his office with him following you.

                                                    *

Paul was an asshole but even you had to admit, he had good taste in booze.

“Is that crack on the ceiling new, or did I just not look at the ceiling the whole time I worked here?” you mused, your eyes fixed on the ceiling as you laid on the floor and Bucky took a swig of whiskey from the bottle, then held it out for you.

“It’s not new.”

“Really?” You sat up and leaned your back to the leg of your desk before taking a sip as well. “Interesting.”

“Birdie.”

“Hm?”

“What happened?” he asked softly and you pouted your lips, then took another sip.

“Do you remember Max?”

Bucky pulled his brows together.

“Your ex whom you broke up with just a month ago?” he asked. “The name does ring a bell.”

“Did you know he’s an asshole?”

“Yeah I did, funnily enough.”

You dragged your tongue over your teeth. “Today I found out he was cheating on me.”

 Bucky frowned. “What?”

“Remember the perfume?” you asked. “The girl he was cheating on me with, I ran into her today, she wears that perfume. That motherfucker gifted me the same perfume so that I wouldn’t notice when he showed up smelling like her.”

He gawked at you and you nodded your head.

“I know, right?”

“He is capable of planning all that?”

“Max can be very clever when it comes to his self-interest,” you said. “I was in a relationship with him for seven years, I—”

“Seven years?” Bucky cut you off and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Yeah.”

“Seven years and no ring?” he asked as if he wanted to make sure and you tilted your head, a huff of laughter escaping you.

“Why hello, senior citizen from Greatest Generation,” you taunted him. “Things work a bit differently nowadays.”

“In my day, seven months was too much.”

“I once spent seven months trying to pick a sofa,” you replied. “That’s not gonna happen. And to repeat, different century.”

Bucky took the bottle to take a sip, then put it down.

“Wait, did you say you ran into the girl?”

“Mm hm,” you said. “And you know what’s weird? I’m not even angry at her, I feel sorry for her.”

“How’s that?”

“Max was—well, he was obviously my first actual serious relationship,” you said. “So now that I think about it, now that I’m not in it, I can see that a lot of things in that relationship were designed to make him feel good and not me. He even—” You let out a laugh. “Okay, I am about to spill a sex secret that will be very traumatizing for your generation, you ready?”

Bucky motioned for you to wait for a second, took another sip of whiskey and nodded at you.

“Yeah, go.”

“You thought I was weird for checking my emails right after sex, right?”

“That is very weird.”

“Listen to this; Max and I would only have sex for five minutes because that was the most he could stay away from work,” you said. “And during those five minutes, his phone would be right beside my pillow so that he could check his investments and see if something was up with work.”

He blinked a couple of times, staring at you.

“One time,” you said and sipped the whiskey. “One time, while his phone was charging, he started a chronometer on his smartwatch so that he could make sure it’d be five minutes—Bucky, you should see your face, you look more traumatized than I was and I actually lived it.”

“Tell me you’re joking,” he managed to say and you shook your head.

“Nope.”

“I can beat this guy up.”

“No.”

“Please let me beat this guy up.”

“No.”

“Birdie—”

“I don’t give a fuck about him, I just can’t believe he made me do all that and then went behind my back and did that. Like what, additional five minutes in a supply closet or something?”

“And you were in love with this prick for seven years?” he asked, dumbfounded, and you grimaced.

“Of course I wasn’t.”

That made his head shoot up and he stared at you in complete silence for a couple of seconds, then licked his lips.

“You told me…” he trailed off, a bitter smile twitching his mouth like he couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea. “You told me you were in love with him.”

“That, my friend, is called overcompensating,” you stated. “I figured if I convinced people, I could convince myself. Funny how it doesn’t work like that.”

He ran a hand over his face, his jaw tightening.

“We were though, at first,” you said. “But I mean, who knows? Maybe it never was good and he was a selfish cheating asshole and I didn’t see it. I don’t know.”

He dropped his head back with a soft thud against the desk, letting out an exasperated breath.

 “For God’s sake, Birdie.”

“And I am not even sad that I broke up with him, I’m just sad that—” You nibbled on your lip, then slid a little on the ground with a huff. “It was easier to ignore it when I was with Max.”

“Ignore what?” Bucky asked and you dug the heels of your palms on your eyes like it could help push back the tears, then dropped your hands.

“I have this voice in my head,” you rasped out. “All the time.”

Bucky’s gaze on you was almost too hot. “What does it say?”

“That…” It felt like you were swallowing coals. “That it’s too difficult. To love me. That—that no one will fall in love with me.”

 A stunned silence fell upon the office. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the confusion on Bucky’s face like he couldn’t tell whether you were serious or not, but realization dawned on him after a couple of seconds, making him exhale. You could still feel his piercing blue eyes on you, but you made yourself busy with peeling the label off the whiskey bottle, sniffling.

His voice was low when he spoke: “I’ve got bad news for that voice.”

You raised your brows, still busy with the label. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Someone will kill it one day.”

That made you huff out a laugh and you rubbed at your eye with the back of your hand before turning to see him watching you with a fond light in his gaze. You scrunched up your nose, then held out your pinky, coaxing a chuckle out of him before he reached out to hook his pinky with yours, a warmth spreading from your hand to your whole body.

“Someone will kill it like an assassin,” you said, determination laced in your tone as you stuck your nose in the air and he gave you a soft smile.

“Someone will kill it,” he repeated. “Like an assassin.”

It felt physically impossible to look away from his handsome face, and you could feel your heartbeat getting faster, but before you could say anything he frowned and turned his head like he—

“Birdie? You here?”

Of course Bucky had heard Caleb before you.

You slowly pulled your hand back and cleared your throat, trying to pull yourself together as you stood up.

“Paul’s office!”  

Caleb’s footsteps came closer before he peeked his head in.

“Hey,” he said, his eyes darting between you two as Bucky stood up as well. “Kels is outside. Bucky, are you joining us? We’re gonna do shots.”

Bucky shook his head.

“I’m gonna go home, but you guys have fun.” He stole a look at you. “And be safe please?”

“Always am,” you said with a small smile and followed Caleb out of the office, then both of you stepped outside to approach Kelsey.

“Did I interrupt something?” Caleb teased you, making Kelsey raise her brows.

“What’s going on?”

“She was drinking whiskey with Bucky in the office.”

Kelsey’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“Anything you’d like to share with the class, Birdie?”

“Oh, not much,” you said as you started walking with them rushing to catch up with you. “Today I found out I have been cheated on, that Hazel hates me and asked Bucky to fire me and that apparently, Bucky is perfect in bed. But hey, how was your day?”   

Chapter 8

[thealexchen]

Why Dontnod's games feel original and inspired (and why Deck Nine's games don't)

So, I've talked at length about how Double Exposure feels much more like a corporate product than a playable piece of art entertainment [My initial thoughts on the DE trailer] [My thoughts on the early access paywall] [My thoughts on the weird marketing].

But now with the release of Lost Records, I feel like I have no choice but to confront the question: were any of Deck Nine's games truly original or inspired in any way? And honestly, I have to say no.

Objectively, I could say it's because Deck Nine literally has not produced any original IP's since their rebrand from Idol Minds in 2017. Their only narrative adventure games are all part of the LiS franchise. But even their most original game, True Colors, pretty obviously follows the first game's narrative formula (young woman with a superpower investigates a sudden disappearance/death in a small town with a dark secret, has two opposite sex love interests, learns about a twist villain, is nearly murdered, and goes through a psychological nightmare in the last episode) to a tee. But oh look, there's also a LARP!

But I believe there's more to it than that, because when I look at Dontnod's games, they are always inspired by other works. Life is Strange 1 plays very clear homage to Twin Peaks with the Pacific Northwest setting and Rachel Amber resembling Laura Palmer. Max Caulfield is named after the protagonist of The Catcher in the Rye, another novel about the fleeting innocence of childhood and superficiality of society. Life is Strange borrows tropes from Donnie Darko, Groundhog Day, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, Stand By Me, and even Blue is The Warmest Color for its themes and plot points. Just take a look at its "Shout-out" page on TV Tropes. And the result is... something completely original, with riveting plot twists, memorable characters, and an ending that will make you cry.

This shouldn't make sense, right? You'd think this big soup of references would turn into an indistinguishable mess of cliches, but Life is Strange managed to be a synthesis of everything the writers loved and were inspired by, to become something completely new. Why? Because nobody had tried to take Twin Peaks, Donnie Darko, and The Catcher in the Rye and turn it into a video game before! And make it gay!

The point being, Dontnod consistently makes original material because they take creative risks. This is definitely not done lightly, since they still need to be a company that generates profit, but they still prioritize making art over selling out. Their stories feel inspired because they are inspired; when writers love what they're writing about, the result is a passion project that has loving, clever nods to all the works that are woven into it.

So perhaps a way to reword that first question is to then ask, "Have Deck Nine's games ever been inspired by anything?" And unfortunately, the answer is still no. Instead, they just copy what they hope will sell well. And a bland imitation for the sake of generating profit is never going to produce anything that feels original.

This takes me back to Lost Records, which is also clearly inspired by the same works: Twin Peaks, It: Chapter One, The Craft, The Blair Witch Project, The Goonies, Stand By Me. But again, no other game studio besides Dontnod has ever looked at these works and thought, "But what if it starred teenage lesbians instead?" Or, more specifically: "How do we capture the spirit of what made these media great and incorporate that into a new story for a new audience?" And those characters have so much thought and care poured into them too: while I've been disappointed that Double Exposure Max looks airbrushed to hell and back, I love that the Bloom & Rage girls have asymmetrical faces, acne, freckles, body hair, skin discoloration, and diverse body types. Double Exposure is marketed as nostalgia bait for fans, where Max is reduced to a prettied-up, polished-up, representation of nostalgia, not even her own character anymore, in a game that otherwise has no connection to the original. Her quips are reduced to "Hey! Remember our good ol', dad-joke cracking, dorky Max Caulfield??" and her grief is shoved aside for "Hey, look at that appealing new love interest! Because we knoooow y'all love your sapphic romance, right?"

By contrast, Lost Records has only been out for 10 days, but I already feel like the girls are some of the most memorable characters I've come across in gaming for the niche they fill. Swann seems like your typical Max-like dork, except she's also a movie buff and giddy about bugs, horror, and the paranormal; and has clearly been affected by her mother's fatphobic beliefs. Autumn is a level-headed leader who always stuck to her desire to help others, and her Blackness naturally informs her desire to feel valued and not cause trouble in a small, very white, conservative town. Nora intrigues me so much for going from a fun-loving rebel punk teen to a more gender-conforming, capitalist-leaning, influencer businesswoman. And Kat feels like an evolution of Chloe's cynicism, where her scrappy charm belies an almost unsettling obsession with the occult and a deep, tragic chasm of rage at having to confront her mortality far too young. They make sense. They feel carefully written, genuine, and like real people.

But most of all, Dontnod's games have never felt like products. In fact, most of their characters have historically gone against the grain of what traditionally "marketable" characters are. The first LiS took all these aforementioned stories about straight white men and chose to remix and retell it through the eyes of a young, queer, time-traveling girl instead. Tell Me Why is the first AAA game with a trans protagonist, and Tyler is voiced by a trans actor in all the language dubs. Lost Records decided that it would tell its story through four queer teenage girls, with women writers onboard, and fucking own it. As long as Dontnod keeps making games that stick to their creative integrity, I'll keep respecting their vision in whatever they decide to create next. Also, maybe I should finally watch Twin Peaks.

Thank you for reading!

[zversed]

JEALOUS!ZAYNE

content: jealous!zayne who swears he’s not jealous (he’s not)

includes: zayne x afab!reader ft. caleb (l&ds)

tags: swearing, unprotected sex, creampie, overstimulation, fingering, cum play, subtle breeding kink

minors dni. this post containts 18+ content

JEALOUS!ZAYNE who swears he’s not jealous when he forces himself a smile as you compliment caleb on one of his accomplishments at work. zayne scoffs. doctors are important members of society as well, he thinks to himself. he shifts his weight, attempting nonchalance, but his mind races. zayne’s eyes flicks over as caleb shifts closer to you, showing you a photo of himself in his uniform. his jaw clenches, expression remaining neutral. you don’t notice the way caleb smirks at zayne, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “if you want, feel free to come visit me at work anytime,” caleb grins at you. “oh that’ll be fun!” you beam. “maybe after we cou-,” “it’s getting late, i think it’s time we get going,” zayne cuts in with a tight smile. your eyebrows raise, a silent reaction to zayne’s sudden shift in demeanor. caleb chuckles to himself, “you’re still as straightforward as ever, zayne.”

JEALOUS!ZAYNE who swears he's not jealous when caleb hugs you goodbye a little too long for his liking. he doesn't miss the way caleb's hand lingers on the small of your back as you pull away. he stiffens, the plastered smile on his face gone. you could feel zayne’s eyes burning holes in the back of caleb’s head. “if you ever need anything, just give me a call. okay pip-squeak?” caleb smiles, ruffling your hair. zayne’s eyes narrow at the old nickname. “it’s hard to imagine someone as busy as yourself have so much time on your hands,” zayne says, his voice cool, yet sharp. caleb scoffs, “i could say the same for you. don’t you have any patients to see today, dr. zayne?” the air between you three had shifted, thick with unspoken discomfort. you let out a nervous laugh. “well i’ll see you next time caleb!” you say, quickly pulling zayne along with you.

JEALOUS!ZAYNE who swears he’s not jealous when he sees caleb’s name flash on your phone in the middle of movie night. you pick up your phone to reply, chuckling to yourself quietly as you press send. he rolls his eyes, a mix of annoyance and possessiveness coursing through him. you couldn’t help but notice zayne next to you, his gaze flickering between your phone and the tv screen. “i didn’t realize you and caleb were still so close,” he murmured—a subtle, quiet warning. you know zayne isn’t the type to show his jealousy openly, but from the way his hand rested possessively on your thigh to the way his arm slightly grazed against yours whenever you typed spoke volumes. as if the world was testing zayne’s patience, your phone buzzed again, caleb’s name flashing brightly on the screen. he let out sigh. you felt zayne’s eyes on you, the arm resting on your shoulder tightening ever-so-slightly. you catch his gaze, his eyes dark and and he leans in, his breath hot against your ear, “you know, i’m right here.”

JEALOUS!ZAYNE who swears he’s not jealous while he fucks your overstimulated cunt for the nth time for the night. he has you in a mean mating press. your breath hitches as his hands roam over your body, gripping your hips as he drives himself deeper. “do you think caleb knows how soaked this pussy gets for me,” he grunts, ragged breaths hot against your neck. your cunt clenches around him, gripping him like a vice. “zayne, pleaseee” you whine, voice laced with urgency as you near another orgasm yet again. zayne, fueled by (not) jealousy and desire continues his assault. your body begins to tremble as you teeter on the brink of your orgasm. one particular hard thrust has your body convulsing, jolts of electricity and pleasure coursing through your body. your cunt gushes around him, pulsing and desperate as you scream zayne’s name. following suit, you feel zayne tense, his movements growing more frantic as he nears his own orgasm.

JEALOUS!ZAYNE who swears he’s not jealous when he buries himself to the hilt in your cunt. “fuuuck” he groans, brows furrowing. you feel his cock pulse against your walls, hot thick ropes of cum emptying inside you completely. you gasp at the warm sensation spreading between your thighs as zayne’s thrusts slowly come to a halt. he buries his head into your neck, trailing wet kisses along your jawline. “so pretty,” he mumbles. his cock, still buried deep in you begins to soften. zayne pulls out with a sigh, his seed slowly spilling out of your cunt. “it’ll be a shame to waste it,” he scolds, quickly scooping the remnants of his seed with his fingers and deftly guiding it back between your sopping walls. you moan at the stretch, walls throbbing as he lazily pumps his fingers in and out of you. his thumb brushes against your clit, and your body jolts at the sudden contact. you lock eyes with zayne, his eyes dark with need. you had a feeling the night was just getting started.

JEALOUS!ZAYNE who swears he’s not jealous when you ask him if he’s jealous. “so, you wouldn’t mind if i hang out with caleb for lunch tomorrow then?” you playfully tease. he grumbles, “don’t. it’s late, go to sleep.” he pulls you closer, arm wrapped protectively around your waist. he places a quick kiss on your lips before lulling you to sleep.

a/n: jealous zayne is the reason for my existence. it is my food, my nourishment, my sustenance, and the sole reason i am alive till this day. p.s. i haven’t written anything since 2013 back when i was writing stories on wattpad for one direction. give me some grace and constructive criticism pls. maybe even some grammar lessons. thanks :’)

[mariasont]

Please, Don't Prove 'Em Right - A.H

a/n: my girl sabrina can do no wrong and i have been listening to this song on repeat since it came out so i just absolutely needed to write a fic about it

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: aaron hotchner is a busy man and he tends to disappoint you by missing important events

warnings: angst (sorry in advance), aaron is like not a great husband, reader is also an imperfect character, reader is a girl boss though

wc: 1.2k

You were in your best dress. More expensive than you'd ever think about buying for yourself, but it had been a gift from Aaron. You had fought him on it, scolding him for spending so much on a dress you were sure to only wear once. But he had insisted, telling you that this opportunity was once in a lifetime and that it would be a sin for it to not be celebrated with a dress that made you shine like a ruby.

He was right, partly, you were shining--glowing, sparkling, glittering--as you moved through the library. It was beautiful, to say the least--all opulence and history that was almost too much to absorb. The marble floors almost seemed to amplify the conversations around you, the clinking of glasses, the swish of overpriced gowns and tuxedos.

Your eyes settled on the tiered desks fitted with bronze reading lamps, now repurposed as a station for hors d'oeuvres and champagne. The circular arrangement of desks, once centered around knowledge, now facilitated hushed gossip and the discreet laughter of society's finest.

You could almost hear what they were thinking: there she is again without her husband, that poor thing always by herself, and your personal favorite—does he even exist?

You wanted to be angry, to scold their prying eyes, for putting their noses into something that had nothing to do with them whatsoever. But could you��really blame them? Every event you attended you told the same story--my husband is a busy man with an important job--a line you had grown tired of repeating. 

And that was all true. He devoted most of his time to saving lives--how could you find fault in that? How could you complain to having a husband whose very essence was self-sacrifice and heroism?

This evening was set to be an exception; he was in New York for a case, and the Pulitzer Prize ceremony was not something he would miss. He had given you his word.

You understood his passion for his job, completely, because you held that same passion for your own. You dedicated years of your life to your journalism, investigating corruption at its highest levels. This is exactly how you ended up here tonight, nominated for a Pulitzer Prize for that very work. A Pulitzer Prize.

The term once seemed like a fantastical concept to you, a lofty accolade reserved for the likes of JFK, Bob Dylan, Robert Frost--icons, not someone as ordinary as you. Yet, against all odds, you find yourself among the select few, a nominee for an honor that has only been won by 1,512 individuals since 1917, a fact Spencer had supplied you with.

Someone was speaking to you, saying your name. Almost without thinking, your hand found a flute of champagne, taking a generous sip before turning to face them.

"You look stunning, and a well-deserved congratulations are in order. Everyone back at the office is cheering for you." It was your boss, her stilettos adding inches to her already imposing frame.

The flattery didn't quite mask her usual coldness, it was all too artificial. She wasn't your biggest fan, and she had made that clear from your first day. Still, you mustered a smile and thanked her anyway, taking another sip of champagne, hoping to drown away her nauseating voice.

"It's too bad your husband couldn't be here," she began, and you had to resist the urge to rip out her extensions. "This is an incredible accomplishment, but he's quite the busy man, as you say."

"Yes, he is busy, but he'll be here tonight," you replied, flashing her your best smile as you smoothed the red fabric that suddenly felt too tight. "He's actually here in New York on a case."

"Oh, how great. I can't wait to put a face to the name." You could tell by the look she shot her own husband that she didn't believe a word from your mouth. "Anyway, I have to go speak with an academy representative, but I'll see you and your husband at the ceremony?"

You responded with a nod, not dignifying her with words as she left, her giggles a bitter sound. You hated her. And you were ready to make her eat her words when your husband, who looked absolutely incredibly in a suit, showed up.

But then it was dinner, and you found yourself alone, surrounded by a table of important people whose names you couldn't remember. The seat beside you was empty and suddenly that omnipotent, cloud-nine feeling you had vanished with the time that passed.

The text you sent piled up, feeling a little juvenile, like you were back in high school again getting stood up at prom.

Let me know when you're close!

Is everything going okay?

Call me if you can.

An onslaught of anxious thoughts skyrocketed around your mind as you mechanically chewed the fancy food that only seemed to upset your stomach further. What if something happened? Was he okay? Did the case go wrong? Did he get in a car accident on the way here?

You were a bundle of nerves, gnawing on the inside of your mouth as your heel tapped up and down against the floor. But this wasn't borne from concern for his well-being; deep down, you were certain he was fine. The truth was simpler and sharper: he wasn't coming.

You should have been prepared, should have braced for this, but you were convinced that this time, this occasion would be an exception.

You name was being called, but this time not by someone wanting to extract prying information or stir speculation, no, this time it was carried across the crowed, wrapped in the microphone's static hum.

Your head snapped up, fingers ceasing their fidgeting as you struggled to mask the shock and avoid the gaping, breathless look of a fish out of water.

You had won.

People were clapped, but it seemed far away as you made your way to the stage, hands coming from all directions to offer pats on the back and handshakes of congratulations.

You had won.

Your feet were carrying you up a small set of stairs. You were trying to remember how to walk--left, right, heel, toe. There was a bright light on you now, prompting a slight squint and you worked to keep a smile on your face as you accepted the award.

You had to be dreaming. Had to be. There was no other explanation.

You were on display now, under the intense stage lights. Your body was on autopilot, stepping behind the podium, words flowing out of your mouth--a speech you had rehearsed over and over again in the slim chance that you would win. And here you are.

But the more you spoke the more you seemed to deviate from the script.

You paused, voice catching as you tried your best not to let the tears fall--your makeup was too pristine for smears.

"But tonight, as I accept this honor, I am reminded that while we may seek comfort in the presence of others, our truest strength comes from within." Your eyes dart around the audience, clinging to the slim chance he's there, that he showed up. "It comes from knowing that when we step into the moment, we step in with conviction, with passion, and sometimes, with a singularity that says we are enough."

The final words of your speech hang in the air, a brittle hope that disappears as quickly as it surfaced. He proved them right, and no amount of applause can drown out the sound of your heart breaking just a little.

part 2

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179

[seasaltandcastles]

I'm so fucking sick of young women having to reveal the terrible abuse that happened to them for all the world to see, to finally believe them. And then to turn around and see the only response is "oh no my favorite (whatever) is ruined!! I can't believe another man I idolized without knowing at all turned out to be a predator!! Woe is meeee!!!! How can I read/watch/listen to anything ever again!!!"

Girl shut the fuck up. Why is this about you and your feelings??? Why is it ALWAYS about you???? And then, why is it NEVER about you learning a fucking lesson, to stop idolizing men you DON'T KNOW??? The men you think you know- from their tweets, interviews, writings, what have you- ARE PERSONAS curated by these men and their PR teams to mass appeal to their targeted audience. Quit falling for the same shit over and over again, and acting surprised when it inevitably happens.

Also, if the first thought you think when yet another famous man turns out to be a fucking monster is "oh no, how will I be able to indulge in whatever he made in the past now?!?" you are a self centered piece of shit. Women are walking around branded as their victims for the rest of their lives, usually at the detriment to their career, and sometimes even their personal peace. They had to detail their trauma to some random journalist and had to provide "receipts" so y'all would even consider believing them. Many of them won't ever reveal these awful men that plague every aspect of society, let alone fame, because now women are getting sued left and right SUCCESSFULLY for daring to alert the public of these fucking parasites.

All these people and organizations are focusing solely on Gaiman, renouncing their past interactions with him and refusing to work with him in the future. I haven't seen one "these women were so brave to come out about their abuse", "we sincerely hope the victims are receiving adequate care to improve their healing journeys", or "we will be donating all further proceeds of (Gaiman property) to women's shelters." Still it's about THEM and THEIR reputations.

It's never about the victims. Ever.

[daisylolezzi]

wanna know whats so perfectly and endlessly exciting about fantasies? i can have them anywhere about anyone af any time.

i can be at work, in an important meeting with the ceo on a project, keeping professional and on topic while my mind wanders to how his old hands would feel fondling my breasts and sliding inappropriately up my inner thigh until his fingertips brush against the soft damp cotton of my panties, how his breath would feel on my cheek as he whispers that he only hired me because he wanted to stare at my tits all day, how his heavy body would feel keeping me pressed down over his desk while he slowly fills me with his thick cock...

i could be in a shop buying groceries and feel a chill go down my spine as i wonder how it would feel for a random man to press up behind me, grope my ass and my tits from behind, breathe against my neck that i should stay quiet and make this easy for him as his hand lifts my skirt, pulls my panties aside and shoves two fingers inside my cunt, fingerfucking me against the shelves until im tight and gushing and shaking as my wetness slides down my thighs, until i gasp as i cum, and he disappears as i buckle and slowly sink to my knees to catch my breath...

i can be at a pride event with all my lesbian friends, flipping off passing men and holding the hands of other women around me, as my thoughts flood with tingling accuracy at images of those same men getting fed up of my callous arrogance, charging the parade, grabbing me and my lesbian friends by our hair, throwing us to the ground and showing us what it really feels like to have the priviledge of society behind you.... shoving our legs apart and slamming into our obviously still virgin gold star cunts with their hard throbbing cocks, ignoring our screams in protest just like everyone else at the parade ignores us, laughing and fucking our wombs hard and deep as everyone who was once celebrating our lesbian pride is now cheering for the men raping us into the concrete street, our tits (and "unintentionally wet" pussies) on full display for these men to stuff and cum into over and over, taking advantage of our prideful lack of clothing to give us exactly what we were asking for...

i could be walking down my street just for some air and feel my body tremble with the anticipation of a random stranger running up behind me, tackling me to the curb and fucking me hard and fast because he just had to use me, needed to get off and i was the most available cunt for him to stuff...

i could be in a session with my therapist to work through my daddy issues and trauma, trying not to grind into the couch im sitting on as i picture him moving to sit beside me, whisper that he's here to help me overcome the difficult thoughts im dealing with, telling me as his fingers gently rub my nipples over my shirt that my trauma is the only reason i 'think' im a lesbian, promising as his other hand gently parts my thighs to rub my pussy and clit over my jeans that he can fix me and make me a good girl again, whispering as he kisses my neck to lay back, relax, dont think about it too much until eventually hes ontop of me, panting and moaning into my ear as he gets off, softly and slowly raping me for the first time of many...

and i can do this all day, without anyone ever knowing any better. these are just a small handful of all the ones i have 🤭🥴

[sevsgiirl]

— the altar is my hips, even if it’s a false god.

sevika week 2025: body worship, day 1.

synopsis: in which your plans to go to a dinner date goes south because you can’t fit into the dress you want, and sevika has to rectify the situation.

word count: 2.4k

tags: mirror sex, top!sevika, bottom!reader, strap-on referred to as cock, body insecurities.

note: helloo y’all , I know it’s been a while since I last posted something but I wanted to come back mainly because it’s sevika week! if you’re unaware the lovely sevika nation community on twitter are hosting this event from june 2-8 celebrating sevika with prompts for each day! and this is my submission for day one and I hope you guys like it <3

also!! warning ahead but this fic mentions weight gain and body image so if those topics are sensitive for you please proceed with caution.

you were never the type to keep track of what you ate and quite frankly, you never had any insecurities about the way you looked.

living in zaun, it was practically a luxury being able to eat at least three meals a day, once was already enough.

but after sevika got the opportunity to work for the council, your income finally sufficed to make up not just for the cost of living but for groceries as well.

not to mention the dinners.

sevika loved taking you out to dinner whenever she got the chance. she knows you don’t like being spoilt with material things and just because you finally lived in high society, doesn’t mean you were going to blend in with the rest of the piltovians by being stuck up and shallow.

that’s one of the many things she loved about you, however, she had to find a way to pamper you regardless.

so she took you out to lavish dinner and lunch dates during her days off work. luckily, with enough persuading you learned to cave in and just have her drag you along to whatever new restaurant she discovered in topside and let you indulge yourself to your heart’s desire.

it wasn’t until months had passed and sevika told you the day prior you were going out on another date that you found yourself running into a dilemma.

it was already evening by the time you got ready and you were thirty minutes away from your reservation, but still you couldn’t seem to find a dress that fit you any longer.

you’ve already seen the signs long before but didn’t pay them any mind. you never had a reason to be self conscious because again, you always viewed weight gain as a privilege especially with how you were brought up in the under city.

but ever since you and sevika moved to piltover, you’d be lying if you said the piltovian mindset didn’t rub off on you. at least just a little - and by that you mean their superficial mindset managed to snake its way into the back of your mind.

despite all the access to good clothes and food, piltovians like to maintain a certain aesthetic where being fit was the norm.

that’s why at some of the restaurants you’ve visited in the past you’ve noticed they liked to serve meals with such tiny portions, something you even laughed at because the prices would be so expensive but the platter wouldn’t even be the same size as your palm.

you’d see countless of women roaming the streets wearing corsets that practically suffocated their rib cage just to achieve a petite built where their waist was so cinched, the wind could’ve taken them away if it blew past hard enough.

you’ve even eavesdropped in conversations regarding their dietary plans and you rolled your eyes thinking what was the point of making a fuss over something so trivial.

it wasn’t until you stood in front of your body length mirror however, that those same exact moments flashed through your mind like a montage and you couldn’t help it as you inspected your body from head to toe.

your tummy had gotten rounder, your hips much fuller, and the fat in your cheeks became more prominent unlike before where they were basically hollow.

back then, you would’ve viewed these changes as an improvement because it meant that your body was finally getting the sustenance it needed. but for some reason, that’s not how you felt now.

instead, the words of every piltovian woman you passed by in the markets came to mind - whether it was when they read the label of every canned goods they bought, calculating the amount of calories it contained before putting it back in the shelves.

‘ugh too much fat. I wouldn’t want to gain a pound especially since summer is nearing’

‘you better put those chips back unless you still want to fit in that gown you reserved for the upcoming gala this week.’

“baby?”

you snapped out of your trance as sevika softly knocked on the door of your shared bedroom, the buttons of her dress shirt popped open at the top, exposing a slither of brown skin as she stepped inside the room and scanned the mess around you - bundles of dresses scattered across the room - before her gaze fell on you, still clad in your underwear.

“our reservation is twenty minutes away. just throw on whatever you have. you’ll look beautiful either way,” she said as she walked past you and pressed a chaste kiss at the top of your head, striding inside the bathroom as your eyes lingered at her broad shoulders and defined legs that were confined in her black dress pants.

you felt a heaviness in your chest as you realized that while you were here over indulging yourself at home, sevika still managed to look after herself and maintained her wonderful physique. which you weren’t surprised by, she was always a woman of great discipline.

so it begs the question of why you hadn’t been able to do the same?

“better hurry, you know how those hostesses are when you’re even five minutes late. that red dress you wore last time would be-“

“it’s not…” you cut her off as sevika turned to you “about the dress, sev.”

she raised an eyebrow, rolling her sleeves up to her forearms “then what is it?”

you bit your lower lip, trying hard not to get emotional as you refused to spare another glance at the mirror.

“I mean, it is about the dress but it’s also me,” your throat was tight as you wiped a stray tear on your cheek “I can’t fucking fit in it. in any of it. I’ve gained so much weight and I should’ve taken better care of myself but now I feel huge and…”

you shook your head, not wanting to meet sevika’s eye as she stayed silent amidst your meltdown “can we please just cancel the date if it’s okay? I don’t wanna go out looking like this.”

there was a beat of silence and for a moment you wondered if sevika was even there or if she had left the room due to your dramatics.

but when you looked up, you were simply greeted by her clenched jaw and intense eyes as they raked over your form, making you squirm as she started walking towards you.

you sighed “sev, look, I’m sorry okay? let’s just reschedul-“

you squealed when out of nowhere sevika suddenly took you by the hips and turned you around so your entire front was facing the mirror, bracing your arms around the edges as her warm breath fanned against the side of your neck and you shuddered when her lips met the shell of your ear.

her voice low and dangerous as she squeezed the meat of your love handles.

“you know, I don’t work day and night to provide for you and make sure you’re well taken care of just so you can stand here and tell me you look awful for gaining weight when that’s all I’ve ever wanted when we spent years eating scraps back in zaun,” she scolded and you couldn’t even get a word out before she suddenly lifted her hand, and swatted a harsh slap against your ass.

making you gasp, gripping the sides of the mirror tightly as you heard sevika fiddling with the buckles of her belt behind you.

“tell me,” she said gruffly as she pushed your hips back “what exactly is the problem now that you’ve gained weight, hm?”

you swallowed nervously “I-uh… I can’t f-fit in any of my clothes, sev-“

“then we’ll just buy bigger ones,” she stated “what else? let’s reschedule the date sure, and buy shit that fits you better. problem solved.”

you huffed out a tired breath “sev, that’s not the point-“

“then what is it so I can understand?”

you pondered over your answer for a minute, debating whether or not you should tell her “I know you’re taking care of me but I need to lose weight. it’s one thing that I can’t fit in my clothes anymore but I just look horribl-“

you let out another yelp when her large palm landed across the skin of your ass, no doubt leaving a mark and you stared at sevika from the mirror just to see her eyes were dilated, focused solely on your backside and how it jiggled every time she swatted it.

she lets out a scoff, squeezing the handfuls of flesh from your waist and you began to feel your legs shake at the way she started pawing at you.

“you’re so fucking ridiculous. you got a body this fucking great yet you’re out here complaining that you can’t fit into a dress and because of that, you think you’re any less beautiful than you actually are,”

her fingers pulled at the strings of your thong and your eyes widened when she started slipping them down until it pooled at the ends of your feet.

“look at the mirror,”

your cheeks reddened because all this time your attention stayed solely on her, not once did you look at your body which apparently didn’t go unnoticed by sevika.

and she wasn’t having any of it “don’t make me repeat myself. look at the mirror,”

squeezing your eyelids shut one last time, you cracked them open and faced the sight you were too embarrassed to confront - at how your boobs nearly spilled over the cups of your bra, and how your hips became noticeably wider. if it weren’t for the improbability you would’ve assumed you were pregnant at this point.

“tell me what you see,”

you gulped, shaking your head “sev, just stop-“

“tell. me. what. you. see.”

feeling self conscious, you wanted to curl up into a ball but sevika wasn’t having any of it as she held you in place “I gained weight-“

“yes,”

“and I’ve gotten fat-“

“yes, and?”

you pondered over your next words because you knew your answer had varying outcomes.

“this is silly. sev, let’s just cancel the dinner and-“

you weren’t able to finish because she didn’t even let you, because one moment she was staring you down like you were prey and the next, she’s kneeling behind you and licking a fat stripe up your cunt, making your knees buckle as you yelled her name.

“oh my god, sev-“

she pulled back and snarled at the sight of your throbbing folds and brought her lips back to your clit, sucking it between her lips as you let out a broken cry.

her hand finding its way to unzip her pants and when you looked down, you couldn’t help the way your mouth fell agape at the sight of her stroking her strap from the confines of her boxers.

“this was supposed to be a surprise, you know? but then you decided to be fucking ridiculous thinking you’re too thick to go out,” she shook her head, her tongue prodding at your hole “but you wanna know what I think?”

you whimpered when she kneaded the supple skin of your rear, the flesh folding in her palm as she lets out a curse.

“I think you’re out of your goddamn mind if you could see the way your body looks right now and think that you’re anything else if not fucking perfect,”

with that, her tongue plunged inside your cunt and started rubbing against your tight walls, making your eyes roll at the back of your head as you backed up against her face, to which she encouraged as she lets out an almost animalistic growl at the way your ass bounced deliciously.

all the while she sunk a finger in at the same time her mouth devoured you like you were the dinner planned for tonight, and you couldn’t stop the way your body seized before falling apart entirely at her hands.

your breathing labored while you held yourself up using the mirror, meanwhile sevika was already standing up and pulling her pants down to take her cock out.

she aligned herself in between your folds and reached forward so she could pull the cups of your bra down, your breasts spilling out as she took one in her hand and used the other to inch her way inside you.

“f-fuck baby,” her voice was raspy as she ogled at the sight you of swallowing her, your cunt fluttering at the sheer size of her cock as you tried your best to adjust “I can’t believe you get to look at yourself every single day and not see what I see…”

with that, she began to do deep, slow strokes into your cunt before she began a punishing pace, one that made you throw your head back as it rested against her shoulder. meanwhile, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the way your ass rippled with every harsh thrust she made. it was damn near like ecstasy, the way you and your body responded to her.

her hips pounded against yours relentlessly and you sensed the build up of your climax nearing.

she kissed the side of your neck and groped your tits as she fucked you “I never wanna hear you say a single bad fucking thing about the way you look, you got me?”

you nodded, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes “y-yes. fuck, I’m gonna cum. please, please, oh my g-god.”

it didn’t take long before your body started convulsing and your pussy coated her cock to the hilt, all thick and warm and sevika gave it a couple more strokes until she pulled out.

letting out a whistle as she watched the way your cum dripped out of you, at how your thick thighs shook while trying to hold yourself up but failing miserably.

she took you into her strong arms, turned you around and held you close, tongue slipping into your mouth and you couldn’t stop the contented hum that slipped past your lips as you tasted yourself on her tongue.

“you good now?” she asked, her tone much softer compared to earlier as you blushed “or do we have to go for another round so I can get it through your head that you look gre-“

“n-no,” you couldn’t help but laugh as your hands flattened against her chest “I’m okay now… you were right, I was being irrational.”

“talk about an understatement,” she lets out a tsk “tomorrow we’re heading out and buying new clothes that fit you. and I don’t wanna hear another word from you complaining about the way you look again. got it?”

you couldn’t the smile that teased at the corners of your lips as you nodded “okay, I promise.”

she smirked, pecking you one last time “good.”

[nocreativityfornames]

I must love being tortured with unrequited love, because why does my brain keep cooking up different ways for Sylus to break nonmc's heart with this trope? Guess I should thanks @comatosebunny09 and her writing of Second Best for this (check it out right now!), because now I'm thinking of this trope with a nonmc who's a dragon, like Sylus.

He finds them through rumours of "the last of the dragon species" being captured and placed to be sold at an upcoming auction, and although he doubts the legitimacy, he goes to check. Sure enough, there they are- broken and bleeding, one wing torn as they tremble in the corner of the cage.

Crazy amounts of money are being put on the line, because dragons were believed to be extinct for centuries now and who wouldn't want to get their hands on the last one? But Sylus is the most fascinated, hopeful, for he'd long ago accepted he was alone grieving the death of his kind. He'd never been more glad to be proven wrong.

Of course, his bid surpasses all others and he gets the "product." But it's not that easy, since he still has to work to get their trust—the trust of a dragon who'd lived in isolation from society their entire existence, and very much acted like an animal still.

Even after showing them his dragon form, it was a struggle for them to allow him close enough to examine their wounds. But Sylus has taken strays before. He thinks of the street cats, used to being mistreated and fending for themselves in a world with no allies. He approaches them with the same gentleness, slowly gaining their trust by just hanging around, silently watching from afar as they eat the food he brought.

It's a slow process, but they go from hiding in the corner of the room to just being weary of him, and then letting their guard down in his presence, eventually allowing him to check on their injuries. And when it becomes clear that he isn't a threat, they start being the one to approach him. "Can I... see your wings again?" And he lets them take in his form a second time, now with more ease. Even lets them touch him when they reach out for his wings and horns.

He essentially teaches them how to be human from then on, and part of him heals with each step, being able to give someone what he never had and had to figure out on his own. Sylus sees them as part of the family he deeply cares for and he treats them as such, unaware that they've been developing feelings all along.

Then she comes around, and he starts putting all his time on her. What Sylus cares about, they do too, but it becomes too much. They rarely ever see him, and the routine that had built over the years is broken by him not being around, shared daily activities that a "complete day" couldn't go without long forgotten.

And they have to hold back from attacking Sylus' human whenever she's around, because just like him, they have urges to feed on the oh so tempting Aether Core. They need to show restraint, but they're not nearly as good as him at doing so, and it's not as though Sylus is around to help them either, with how much time he's investing into better things.

So it's incredibly hard to keep control. Especially when she's so worried about them avoiding her and looking away from her when they talk, nails digging into their palms like they need to escape before something tragic happens. Always so kind and ready to help others—in another life, they think they could fall in love with her, too.

Then it comes the day when they're hungrier than usual. Happens to every dragon, a period of time where they're more insatiable. They do their best to send her away but she keeps on pushing, sweetly wanting to ensure that they're okay. And when she places a gentle hand on their shoulder, they attack.

When the scent of blood rushes through their nose, their stomach churns. They scramble away from where she's bleeding on the floor and cover their mouth, holding back from vomiting as they call the twins. Please, please, please–

To everyone's relief, she ends up okay. Bedridden and still unconscious, but on the way to recovery. But Sylus is furious, and they'd never been a target to his anger before, especially not like this.

So they mostly just stand there quietly as he yells.

"I know but I didn't mean to! I-I'd never hurt her, Sylus. I swear, I couldn't control–"

"Well, if you don't have any self control, then maybe you were always meant to be alone in the first place." His words cut deep, freezing them on the spot.

They didn't know what to say after that, and the relationship that was already broken felt beyond repairing. By the next morning, all of their belongings were gone from the base and they were nowhere to be seen.

[mythalism]

The lore drop that bothers me the most with how it's glossed over is that ancient elves were actually spirits and how, without delving more into what spirits actually are, it ends up diminishing them as a people & undercutting their complexity. Even Solas says they reflect the world, a pure embodiment of an emotion, but then what does that say of their society, of their goals and aspirations, hell, even of their war crimes? I'm not trying to argue they're not people, it's just sad that the best exploration of it remains in Awakening with Justice and the only one who argues for their personhood is this game's chosen antagonist. That this is the direction they chose for the people they heavily coded as indigenous makes it all the more egregious that they're relegated to set-dressing (Crossroads, Hall of Valor) or a couple of examples to show some of them are Good (I miss how in Inq, Compassion is said to be a rare spirit and easy to corrupt, Cole is terrified by what he almost became and could become, and in VG u find 2 who are mostly fine, if a bit rattled. Harding even compares them to a mabari puppy??but I digress). Ofc they couldn't humanize the spirits more bc then we'd have to contend with how we're supposed to want them to stay fenced in for all eternity for the safety of the status quo. All the while, their earthly descendants have been invisibilised or killed off-screen, with the exception of a small group u can save and that's used as an opportunity to showcase Solas's growth and how bad the Venatori are. Ancient elves don't exist, city elves are functionally the same as any other npc, and the Dalish have been replaced by the Veil Jumpers, who are totally cool with anyone plundering - I mean, exploring their ruins and seem mostly concerned with isolating dangerous artifacts and shoving them in a museum, hmm... Honestly, I gave up when Irelin said it was easy to forget about the halla. Thank fuck Merrill isn't in this cus she'd be Cyrian. Others have pointed out how nonsensical it is they're all fine with their gods being fake, but also real and evil (yet still invoke the Creators & Mythal and wear vallaslin), so I'll move on to the real horror for me: that none of them knew. There's a banter between Bellara & Emmrich that turned my stomach where he says that elves originally being spirits was a working theory some of them had (oh, to be a fly on the wall during THAT racist debate!), once again placing humans as the natural custodians of elven history and it's all so cruel that it's world-breaking for me. It's awful that elves were abandoned not only by their 'gods', but by what it turns out are their brethren. Am I supposed to believe that for millennia they prayed to their gods, but they only ever spoke to Tevinter magisters? That spirits never shared anything about their common past with the elves? Why did Mythal keep them in the dark? The Dalish have taken great pains to ensure every scrap of history is preserved and shared, despite the genocides, but I guess oral history doesn't count (and they never thought to use spirits? ig they weren't interesting enough to be reflected by spirits either, otherwise they could've found out even more from that) and most of their books and artifacts got stolen/destroyed by humans, too bad the ancient elves never felt any kinship to them, they could've used the lore boost.

1/2

[littlejoyss]

𝓯𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 1

“One single thread of gold tied me to you.”

Stray Kids - Felix x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count (so far): 21k

𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 → 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: Everyone gets a golden string on their pinkie that connects to their soulmate when they turn 18. After measuring yours and seeing your soulmate was long away, you thought you would never meet them. Until, one day you go to Korea for work as a fashion designer and find out your soulmate is an idol.

Once everyone turned eighteen, a golden thread appeared tied around their pinky. Most people discovered it at dawn, just as the first light spilled over the horizon, when the string is most visible to the owner.

The string shimmered like a captured sunrise. It never tangled and it never dulled. Where the old tales spoke of a red cord, rough and knotted with destiny, this was liquid gold. From the moment it appeared, society revolved around it.

Golden‑mornings. Families gathered for a ceremonial breakfast, slicing warm honey‑cake to celebrate the new thread‑bearer. There was always an extra place set at the table for the unseen soulmate at the string’s far end.

Length‑measuring. Thrumming with nerves, the newly bound stretched their hands skyward, guiding the filament between thumb and forefinger to gauge its reach. Long meant distant, sometimes oceans away, and short could indicate a lover already in the same room.

The First Pull. Sometime within that first year, the thread would tighten and tug. Legends claimed that if you followed the pull immediately, no power on earth could keep you from meeting your counterpart before nightfall. Most people waited for many reasons, but the bold few who obeyed the first pull were said to find love.

When you turned eighteen, your family did all those. You remember the empty cake slice at the table. You were so excited until you measured.

The string was long. Not just long in the hopeful, “maybe they're in another town,” way. It was longer than anyone in your family had seen before. When you tried to gauge its length, holding it between trembling fingers, it didn’t just stretch across the room, it had vanished straight through the open window, catching the light as it disappeared into the sky like it had somewhere urgent to be. Somewhere far.

You remember your mother’s hands pausing mid-slice through the honey-cake, her smile faltering just a little. Your father reached out instinctively, as if he could comfort you through a touch. But no one said it, not then. Not during the rest of breakfast. Not even when the first sunlight faded, and your string still hadn’t settled into a visible direction.

But the message was clear.

Your soulmate was not here. Not in this city. Not in this country. Maybe not even on this continent.

You smiled politely for the photos. For the relatives who squeezed your shoulder and called your string “adventurous,” “romantic,” “rare.” But later that night, when the cake had been cleared and the ceremonial candle had burned low, you stared at the ceiling and whispered the truth into the dark:

“I think they’re too far away to ever find me.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The Incheon International Airport was busy.

Luggage wheels hummed against polished floors. Announcements echoed overhead in three languages. Perfume from duty-free stores mixed with the scent of brewed coffee and nerves. It was loud and alive, and yet somehow, you felt oddly calm.

Then, your pinky tingled.

Not sharply, not like The First Pull. That had only happened once, many years ago. But the thread was awake again, like it had noticed where you were. Maybe because you were finally closer. Finally within reach.

A sliver of gold danced from your finger, glittering faintly under the airport lights as it tied in a bow around your wrist and disappeared into the terminal's ceiling, trailing out into the Seoul skyline beyond. You gave it a glance, then tucked your hand into your coat pocket before you could think about it longer. You were used to hiding it for your own sake.

“I didn’t come to Korea for the string,” you murmured to yourself, more out of habit than certainty. “I came for the job.”

And that was true. Mostly.

You had been working toward this for years. Late nights sewing until your fingers cramped, dragging your fashion portfolio through every audition room you could find. This show in Seoul was everything: a global fashion week showcase, hosted by one of the biggest design houses in Asia. And you made it. You actually made it.

The gold thread hadn’t brought you here. Your work had.

You clutched the strap of your bags a little tighter as the taxi car rolled through the city.

Seoul blurred past the windows in flashes of neon, headlights, and unfamiliar street signs. The driver was quiet, the radio murmuring low in Korean, and you didn’t mind the silence. Your thoughts were loud enough.

Your body ached from the flight, your stomach growled for something more than airport pretzels, and the only thing keeping you upright was the mixture of caffeine, adrenaline, and ambition humming through your veins.

The thread remained quiet. Dormant. But present.

When the car pulled up to your hotel, you blinked.

And blinked again.

“…Is this it?”

It looked like the sort of place a travel site would generously call “rustic” or “budget-friendly.” Faded letters hung from a cracked neon sign, half-lit and flickering. The entrance was tucked between a convenience store and a karaoke bar that was already pulsing with bass-heavy music. A stack of plastic crates leaned dangerously close to the lobby door. A cat lounged on the front steps, staring at you like even it was unimpressed.

You groaned, dragging your suitcase out of the car with one hand and rubbing your face with the other. “Please let this be a mistake.”

But it wasn’t. You double-checked the address on your phone. Triple-checked. This was the place your agency booked for “temporary creative housing,” whatever that meant.

The lobby didn’t improve things. It smelled faintly of old ramen and air freshener. The wallpaper was peeling in one corner, and the only person at the front desk didn’t look up from their phone until you cleared your throat three times.

You signed the guestbook in silence, already regretting every life decision that had led you to this exact moment. The elevator creaked all the way up to the fifth floor and dropped you off in a hallway lit by flickering fluorescent lights.

Room 508. You turned the key.

And promptly groaned again.

The room was tiny. Like, two steps and you hit a wall tiny. The bed sagged in the middle, the window was stuck shut, and the air conditioner made a sound like it was chewing gravel.

You threw your bags down and collapsed face-first onto the bed. “I didn’t come here for a getaway,” you mumbled into the pillow. “I came here for the show. For the job. For the chance.”

The mattress creaked beneath you like it didn’t believe you, either.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The next morning you awoke far too early, with sunlight forcing its way through the stiff curtains and into your poorly rested eyes. You peeled yourself off the mattress with a groan, hair tangled, and joints stiff from the awful bed.

You got ready quickly, smoothing your best blazer over your shoulders, pinning stray strands of hair back, and applying just enough makeup to look like you hadn’t spent the night silently screaming into a questionable motel pillow. Your portfolio was tucked neatly under your arm, along with the tablet holding your designs and notes for the upcoming Seoul Fashion Week showcase.

By the time you stepped outside, the street was already humming with life. You caught a cab and texted your contact.

Bora Kwon. Your Korean liaison, business agent, and the woman who had helped get your foot in the door here. You hadn’t met in person yet, most of your communication had been through late-night emails and voice notes, but she’d seemed efficient, sharp, and unapologetically blunt.

Ten minutes later, you spotted her standing outside a glass-walled café near the fashion district, dressed in a structured beige trench coat over tailored slacks, her dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She was typing something furiously into her phone until she caught sight of you.

Then she gave you a brief, brisk, but real smile.

“You must be (Y/N),” she said, immediately holding out a hand. Her English was clear, polished. “You look better than I expected, considering the flight and that hotel. Sorry about that, by the way. Budget cuts. You’re not the first person to complain.”

You laughed softly and shook her hand. “It’s, uh… definitely memorable.”

Bora tilted her head, her gaze quick and assessing. “Well, we won’t let a bad mattress ruin your debut, right? Come on. Coffee’s on me. We’ve got a packed day.”

The two of you slid into a booth inside the café, and within minutes, Bora had pulled out a tablet of her own, sliding it across the table between sips of an Americano.

“The Seoul Fashion Week opening showcase is a month from now. You’re in the final segment, headliner’s guest designer. That’s you. Your collection will follow Shin Jiwoo’s spring line, and precede the closer, Rena Takahashi from Japan.”

Your eyes widened. “I’m between Shin Jiwoo and Rena Takahashi?”

“Yes,” Bora said simply. “And you’re expected to match that level. Or better.”

You blinked, heart thudding with equal parts terror and adrenaline.

She tapped her screen, flipping to a schedule. “Tomorrow, we visit the venue. You’ll meet with the stage team and lighting director. Models have already been cast, you’ll get final say after fittings. Your materials will be shipped and stored in your prep studio at the venue. You’ll want to double-check that everything shipped intact.”

You nodded quickly, trying to keep up. “Yes, absolutely.”

“Also,” she added, casually taking a bite of her croissant, “someone from the press will likely approach you after the first fitting. They always go for the international designers. Don’t talk about the string unless they ask. Even then, keep it vague. No one wants a soulmate scandal overshadowing their line.”

You blinked at that, surprised.

“I… hadn’t planned to talk about it,” you said slowly, glancing at your pinky. The thread was quiet today, almost as sleepy as you were.

Bora noticed. Her eyes followed yours.

“They always wake up in this city,” she said, voice quieter now. “Seoul is filled with gold. It hums with it.” Then she sat back and clapped her hands once. “But, you came for the work. And trust me, this is where everything begins.”

You nodded, shoulders squaring slightly.

tag list (comment to be added!): @hwangjoanna

[alwayscorvus]

Hello! I like your headcanons and I would like to suggest an idea. Can I request Jiyan from Wuthering Waves with a reader who was a slave in childhood and still has a barcode on his/her neck? I'm sorry if there are mistakes. English is not my native language 💕

Barcode on my neck

malereader x Jiyan, fluff;

warning! some heavy topics mentioned but no drastic details and no sexual aspects about reader

Brooo thats such a good idea. Like I would want to read something similar myself, I just don't know why exactly I got this request when I don't have enough telent to use this potential :”) Still thx and here it is:

And don't worry about your english, i'm not a native speaker either

Officially no more Jiyan request, I ran out of screenshots to make graphics [*] nah jk jk but this profile is really changing from wuwa profile to jiyan profile while im better with other characters…

You were never ashamed of your “mark,” as you used to call it. You also never hid your past. Yes, it may not have been bright and you would have given up a lot to be able to avoid it. But it also made you who you are right now. It turned you into a tough person. True, you could have grown up that way under less tragic circumstances. But at least you tried to take comfort in the fact that maybe thanks to your sacrifice someone else didn't have to suffer. That maybe you took someone else's place. Place of someone who wouldn't have had the will to fight to survive. Persistence that would allow them to free themself from this chains. Besides, ever since you regained your freedom you have been doing your best to crack down the idea of slavery for good.

You gained strength and attitude while still being young. Since childhood you served under corrupt nobility. Cleaning, running with tea, feeding farm animals. Year after year carrying heavier and heavier goods. From behind the curtains, watching your master, negotiating more and more deals.

This gave you the foundation for starting your own organization. Sure, at first you worked alone. But over time, others joined in. People with the same ideas, those you saved, or those who lost their siblings in similar circumstances.

At first you had to dispense justice by force. As infamous as it may sound. With tricks, you snatched victims from the hands of their oppressors. With fights you made them understand to never make the same mistake again. Back then, it was the only solution. When army couldn't help. And even refused to, bribed with money stained by suffering of innocents. When law changed, people got more aware, and slavery finally became a fact, not just a taboo topic swept under the rug, it was easier for you. Since society began to exterminate what you were fighting against, you could move on to less drastic methods.

You pretended to be important figures, gathered evidence, brought anonymously to the court. You traveled around and saved more and more. Even though you could never get enough, you were proud of what you had accomplished.

For some time. Until you met him.

Jiyan. He was the sweetest and most caring person on world. Always looking out for others. Put other people's well-being above his own. Never forgot to send his subordinates on much-deserved vacation. While he himself stayed up all night in the base. He rushed them to lunch and dinner while he forgot to eat. Moved to the front line, taking the most damage and rescuing his close ones. He was just so kind. So generous, thoughtful. And what's more, so intelligent, hardworking, resourceful. You were totally head over heels for him. And no, you would never in your life suspect him of supporting slavery or showing no sympathy for those who went through it. But you were still afraid of his reaction. Suddenly you felt dirty. After all, conditions in which you “worked” were awful. Especially when they sent you to the animals. You didn't maintain basic hygiene. You weren't worth wasting water on it. Except the time of guests visits, you walked around the residence in sacks. Until they tore to the rest. Your master didn't even bother to look at you. Would it have been the same with Jiyan? Would he feel disgusted? Start keeping you at distance? Or would he take you at his mercy? Start looking at you only through the prism of your past? Stop using your full potential?

Your heart would probably break at this sight that would accompany it. You wouldn't be able to stand it.

For the first time since childhood, you began to feel ashamed of the black ink adorning your neck.

When visiting Huanglong for the first time and meeting Jiyan, you put your organization on hold and covered your neck with thick turtlenecks.

You joined the army as a volunteer. Served under Jiyan's command. You spent more and more time together, and your friendship grew. You matched each other perfectly and both of you caught each other's eye. Your relationship moved smoothly to a higher level.

General never picked too much interest your unusual tastes. But one particularly hot summer he began to look suspiciously at your closet. Worried about your health, looking for potential disorders in your sense of temperature that could later threaten your well-being. He began to ask if you weren't feeling too hot. Whether everything was alright. After all, he covered himself up pretty well, but his clothes were made of a special, highly breathable fabric. To ease the situation you followed his footsteps and provided your closet with similar outfits. Though in a different color theme. Jiyan was satisfied, but only for a moment. It was really starting to get suspicious. Especially when you started sharing a bedroom with each other. He could understand sleeping wrapped up in the winter. But during the vacations? Were you ashamed of him? Jiyan began to feel insecure. He started to blame himself.

You saw this and couldn't forgive yourself.

Yet you were still afraid.

In the end, Jiyan couldn't stand it. At one evening, he pulled you onto a bed for a talk. You avoided his gaze while he looked at you hopefully.

You both held hands. Jiyan gently massaged your palm with his thumb, trying to give you some encouragement. And you squeezed him to the point when it started to feel unbearable.

Finally, you let him go. A shudder of anxiety went through Jiyan. Had he overstepped the boundaries? Did he make you feel uncomfortable? Did he just ruin everything that you two had built together? Do you want nothing to do with him anymore?

But you just closed your eyes, took a deep breath and reached for the hem of your clothing. You pulled it upward. Slowly exposing your body. You tossed the material aside and waited.

Jiyan looked at you surprised. Concerned, he began to scan your body. Too worried to be carried away by feelings that caused him to blush slightly at the sight of your sculpted stomach.

General was searching for something. Some kind of mark. A scar or a birthmark. Something that could “taint” your chest. He furrowed his brow unable to see anything.

You waited and waited. But after no response, you sighed again. You leaned your neck to expose it better. A row of numbers and a barcode made with some crappy ink appeared in front of Jiyan's eyes.

He froze. You could only hear him gasping for air in shock and when a pile of thoughts rushed through his head. He involuntarily lifted his hand up and you shuddered slightly.

-Can I?

You nodded. It's not like you could take it back anymore.

You felt a touch on your neck. Gentle, warm fingertips caused a pleasant tingling sensation. Forgetting the meaning of your mark, you earned a flush similar to that adorning your partner.

-Is that-…?

He wanted to confirm but words got caught in his throat. He was devastated. And at the same time so bloody sorrowful.

-Yes. It's a barcode. Exactly like the ones worn by slaves. Same ones to which I also belonged.

You explained briefly not wanting to prolong the moment. It was hard for you anyway. Not exactly because you were going back to the past but rather because you were worried about the future.

Jiyan didn't know how to respond. He never showed his emotions too boldly. He didn't have any special communication skills. Oh how damn sorry he was when he couldn't pour out all his feelings onto you. This sympathy and love that was once taken from you.

He clenched his fists tightly and ground his teeth.

You knew him well enough to know that he didn't know how to deal with this. This information had to be too overwhelming for him. Exactly as you expected. His well-being was the most important thing for you. So you had to reassure him as soon as possible.

-It happened when I was still a kid. I got sold at young age. I was mainly a helper, bottle washer. I got hit a few times, but as you can see not often enough or-... hard enough- to leave any scars. I didn't live in the best conditions, but for the men it wasn't the worst. You don't have to worry about that. My owners have never crossed the line.

You stuttered out quickly. As you got older, you talked about your feelings unmoved. Trying to take away any impact from these events. Not wanting to burden Jiyan more and really get over it.

You were afraid of rejection.

But it never came.

Not from Jiyan. Your Jiyan.

-Oh, [M/N]-

General let out a concerned voice, which you heard from his mouth for the first time in your life. After a moment, you got locked in a tight hug.

-I can't undo what you had to go through, but I can promise that I will try to make each of your future days the best ones in your life. To me, you will always be my [M/N]. And nothing will change that.

He assured, and your eyes filled with tears. You could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

After a night full of thrills, a new day had come. With a fresh approach to life, you borrowed some looser black shirt from Jiyan. Revealing your barcode, you felt yourself radiating a powerful and intimidating vibe once again. A confident smirk appeared on your face.

As you passed by the soldiers on your way through the camp, you could feel their stares. Familiar whispers, exchanged remarks. An experience so well-known to you. Once again, you felt comfortable in front of others, making them aware that such things really did happen.

But this too had to end. As you sat in your office chair, looking through a pile of documents, with your feet carelessly thrown over a table. You heard someone gasp. One of the recruits, by coincidence one of those you helped to train recently. He stared in fear with his eyes wide open and mouth gaping. Almost burning a hole in your barcode.

Again, an unpleasant shiver went through you. You didn't know why it set you off so much, after all, he reacted just like dozens other people you've passed today, maybe just a little more abruptly. Or... maybe you knew. What made this situation different from previous ones was Jiyan's presence. You were used to these reactions, he was not. Again, you were afraid of how this would affect him. Again, unnecessarily so.

General stood by a wall with a large screen displaying Huanglong's territories under threat of attack. He was analyzing next moves till he got startled by a sudden silence. The way you stopped looking through papers and clanking with a mug of hot coffee.

He turned around in a hurry and situation that he found definitely didn't please him.

He cleared his throat.

-If you have nothing to say rookie, I would advise you to return to your work immediately - Jiyan replied coldly.

Without considering any questions from the soldier.

Young boy panicked slightly, while you smiled triumphantly at that.

This possessive, fierce side of Jiyan that you hadn't known before, especially towards his subordinates... You liked it damn well.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can you write about the reader being either Ford or stans controversially young spouse? Like they're close to their 20s instead of their 60s

Ooh to be their controversially younger spouse what a dream I wish I could live lmao 🤣

Before you became Ford’s spouse, the man would always use the age gap between you two as the sole reason as to why you shouldn’t be together romantically, he’s sweating bullets and loosing sleep over it because it’s just so glaringly obvious to him that you shouldn’t.

However this was all just a cover up for the fact that he did indeed feel things for you in a romantic sense. You were great with Dipper and Mabel, encouraging their passions and even getting involved in them should they need someone to be dazzle in gems or go out into the woods to look for the supernatural.

You even got along with Stan, which was only an added bonus for Ford but still he kept reminding himself that he was far, far too old for you that he might as well have been old enough to be your father/ grandfather! Wasn’t that enough to disturb you?

He knew some people held a liking towards older people but believed it was more for their wisdom and life experience, not the romantic kind.

Apparently it wasn’t because Ford accidentally over heard a conversation between you and Wendy regarding his age;

Wendy: isn’t he too old for you?

You: negative, I love older men. Especially older men who are smart, a little socially awkward and plays dungeons, dungeons and more dungeons.

Wendy: …respect dude.

Needles to say after hearing that Ford’s face became as red as cherries and his worries regarding how you felt towards the age difference seemed to have dwindled slightly, but still he worried that others would view you as weird for being with a man more then twice your own age.

Sure there wasn’t many…worthy candidates to date in Gravity falls but surely he couldn’t be the only one worth your gaze? Mabel must’ve at least tried to set you up on more then one occasion, but according to her you just never seemed to jell with the people she set you up with, saying that you had a distant look in your eyes as though you could be anyone else then at the date.

When Mabel confronted you about it one day, you told her that you liked men a little older then you, Mabel then asked why but you only ruffled her hair and told her that she might see the vision one day. Ford was now being presented with more proof that you would be more then content with dating him, it was undeniable and he even indirectly heard it from your own mouth, so what else could he possibly be held back by?

Fear and rejection from society if they ever were to see you both in a romantic setting?

Then again you both lived in gravity Falls and there were things far weirder than an 20 year old dating a 60 -pushing 70- year old man. And thus began Ford’s new hypothesis; how to win over a 20 year old’s heart.

After you stated dating, you beating the other ladies and men off with a stick because that sexy silver fox was yours! FINALLY! It was your turn to have a sexy older man in your bed!

Other then that you loved being with Ford as no two days were the same, you could be going out with him to look for supernatural as a date, thankfully surviving when Ford got a little distracted by spouting facts on what was trying to kill you both and ending up sat on the porch of the mystery shack and laughing together afterwards.

Or be in his lab and watching him work while admiring how handsome he looked with greying hair and an aging face, but Ford would see it otherwise and become a little insecure and reserved.

‘Don’t you think it weird?’ He’d ask you one day.

‘About us?’ You didn’t have to hear him respond when you knew that Ford was still a little uncertain with your age difference still after seemingly accepting it. You sigh and walked over to him and sat on his lap, making him blush and his eyes widen as you hold his face between your hands.

‘Ford, sweetie I don’t care about what they think, I’m just glad that I got to be with you after pinning for so long. I understand this is new for you but all I ask is that you trust me,’ you kissed his nose softly, ‘and trust in our relationship, there’s nothing weird about it unless you make it weird.’ You add with a smile as Ford rested his head against you, his hands now resting comfortably on your waist.

‘You’re right my sweet,’ Ford said, ‘I’m just worried that you might find someone close to your age more appealing then some old man.’ You couldn’t help but chuckle as you leant further into him.

‘Who could I ever find more appealing than you mr sixer?’ You asked rhetorically, ‘you’re more than perfect the way you are and I’m the lucky bastard who gets to call you mine, so everyone else can stay jealous for all I care knowing I have the most perfect man ever.’ You add as you kissed his lips this time and smiling when Ford reciprocated it with his sweeter, soft kiss.

You probably have moments where you recall something Ford wouldn’t understand and Ford would reference something that was older than you, it’s funny regardless of how you looked at it.

Ford’s body still has aches and pains despite keeping himself healthier than Stanley and so you would help him during these times and coddle him lovingly, while reminding him that he needed to take it easy on himself once in a while.

Ford apologises for it but you only shut him up and remind him that he has nothing to apologise for.

You didn’t treat each other differently because of your ages, if anything you made Ford feel young again and Ford gifted you advice and made you feel just that little bit smarter, which boosted your confidence in yourself. It was a beautiful relationship that was pure and sweet it could give anyone cavities.

Stanley didn’t give a shit you were dating his brother, he knew you liked men above a certain age when you kept eye fucking Ford whenever he walked past you, or how Ford would look at you longingly when you weren’t looking . He saw this shit coming from a mile away as it wasn’t exactly subtle on either end and may have made a bet with Wendy about how soon you’d come to him to announce you were dating his brother.

Stanley won the bet much to Wendy’s dismay.

You saw Ford shirtless once and went apeshit much to his surprise because weren’t people your age into six packs and hairless upper bodies?

Nope, not you, you loved his tummy and body hair that you clung to his side and spent the afternoon kissing his scars and embarrassing tattoos he kept covered in turtlenecks while whispering reassurance that reminded him that you were attraction to him was more then surface level. Ford would return the favour when you had episodes of insecurity would remains you of such by comparing your every insecurity to something beautiful.

Acne? Constellations/ clusters of stars

Stretch marks? Lighting strikes

You’ve got a tummy and thick thighs? Didn’t you know that they(thick thighs) saved lives?!

Needless to say that you came out with a newfound love for yourself afterwards.

You constantly held his hand and kissed each finger to show that you didn’t care about anything but him and his wellbeing, it warmed Ford’s heart as he found to love himself a little more with your help, and in doing so he was able to show you love by kissing your cheek in greeting or making you breakfast in bed or draping his coat over your shoulders when he saw that you were cold.

It was sweet and innocent but still it was enough to have you smiling and feel loved, which is all Ford ever wanted you to feel while with him.

Ford’s love was chivalrous, stubborn and awkward, but you wouldn’t want it any other way as you wanted Ford just the way he was and thrived when you saw his eyes gleam with excitement as he makes a discovery, leading him to grasp your face and kiss you on the lips while holding you close to his chest as he explained what he had done; all the while you stared at him with awe and love because he was really attractive when he was talking about things he was passionate about.

Ford would then catch himself and apologise for rambling but you would kiss him on the cheek and ask him to continue, to which Ford happily obliged, now aware that you were staring at him as though he had hung the stars in the sky.

Ford would find himself looking at you in a similar fashion when you were going on about what you and Mabel did in town, and Ford couldn’t help but hone in on your smile, shining eyes and hand gestures that told him that you enjoyed the hijinks that had happened while wearing the sweater that Mabel made you the entire time.

You’d catch him staring intently at you and suddenly you’re flustered and playing with the sleeves of your bright and vibrant sweater. ‘It’s kinda corny isn’t it?’ You’d ask as Ford chuckles, reaching out to hold your hand reassuringly in his.

‘No, not at all my sweet, I in fact find your adventures with my niece and nephew endearing and sweet. So please continue to tell me how you drop kicked a gnome into Mabel’s leaf blower.’ Ford said and within seconds you were back to being bright and talkative about your adventures of fighting off gnomes, barf fairies and pulling Mabel away from fae traps.

You both were each others listeners and would remember anything and everything said because you actually liked to hear where the other got up to when apart from one another.

Bonus; you definitely have a spot in his journal where he goes in depth of your relationship before ending it with: ‘they’re someone I don’t think I could envision a future without, for they make me young again while loving me regardless of our differences in age and much more. Thank you for loving me y/n, even when I don’t think it’s deserved.’

[catboyieejeno]

because even then, i knew — l.sm { 1 }

You have (1) new voicemail from: seokmin <3 

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:58

“Hey. I know we haven’t talked in a while but… I wanted you to know that I miss you, and I miss us. And… I’m in love with you, if that means anything to you now.”

✰ genre: non idol! seokmin x reader, stanger to lovers / kdrama au

✰ cw: female reader, petnames, cursing, seokmin is desperately down bad, slowburn, pining, so much fluff, mentions of alcohol, consuming alcohol, nsfw, mentions of cheating, angst

✰ wc: 21k

✰ tracklist: {spotify} {apple music}

✰ navigation: {one} {two}

✰ note: this story is my absolute baby. i stared writing it one day with no plot in mind, and ended up with 45k. it's supposed to feel like a kdrama as you read it (and i mean this in every sense of the word—you will see), so please listen to the tracklist as you scroll. the songs are carefully timed in order to play as you read certain parts, but if you're not sure you're listening to the right song, part two will tell you where you should be and you will resync.

please love this story, it was written with an unbelievable amount of care, detail, and intention.

≡;- ꒰ ° one ꒱

Love at first sight is undoubtedly the biggest fabrication that the media and modern culture has ever tried to push on society. It only happens in the movies, and even then, it’s barely done right. There is no such thing as happy endings, because that’s not how things are in the real world. 

Make no mistake; Lee Seokmin is not a pessimist, nor is he a bitter person. He’s the kind of guy who helps old people cross the street during rush hour, or helps kids pluck their balloons out of trees so they won’t cry. He actually does like long walks on the beach, as a matter of fact, and he happens to be a casual enjoyer of rom-coms, something his other male friends would rather die than admit to. 

Once upon a time, he used to be a hopeless romantic, but that rug was pulled out from under him on a few too many occasions, and while he’s still a positive, amicable guy, he had learned that sometimes, things were too good to be true. 

For example: when he was 7, he fell in love.

His 20 year old babysitter, who his parents had hired to watch over him on evenings while they were at work, was absolutely perfect—he knew from the moment he met her, she would be the girl he’d marry. 

She was Korean, and a freshman in college with a major in business management. Every week, she would walk hand-in-hand with him to the corner store to buy him sausage sticks and sticky tteokbokki at the food cart with the money she could spare from her part time job as a tutor, since his parents would only leave money for emergencies. In return for her generosity, he’d sit still and play while she finished her homework, and occasionally, Seokmin would even pick flowers from his mom’s garden for her. This earned him a few scoldings, but that didn’t matter to him, because she was, and would always be worth it. 

Until one day, where he had promised to behave while she finished a practice test. Poor, unsuspecting, seven-almost-eight-year-old Seokmin with his cheeks stuffed full of sausage and rice cake, overheard her calling another boy (albeit a boy her age who could actually reciprocate her affection) a sweet name over the phone. He dropped everything and stomped over to her, bursting into tears and rambling on about how she broke his heart. She was fired the very same evening as a consequence of his tantrum. 

When he was 14, he fell in love again. And this time, it had to be love… right? 

A family of foreigners had moved in across the street, and their daughter, who was the same age as him this time around, would come over to study with him after school and on the weekends. She’d teach him English, and he’d teach her Korean. She was his first kiss and his first girlfriend—they lasted a reputable two months—until they moved back overseas. Apparently, her parents had only moved there for the summer as part of a work-related trip, and when they said goodbye and promised to write, little Grace revealed she didn’t want a committed, long-distance relationship at the ripe age of fourteen.

In retrospect… maybe she was right, but Seokmin would never forget the way his heart shattered. 

The only real, long-term girlfriend he’s had was a little over two years ago. They dated for over a year, she met his parents and he met her’s, the two of them even exchanged promise rings. At the time, he would gush to his friends about how he’d never met anyone as funny and brilliant as her, and how lucky he feels to have done so. 

Then, the week before his birthday, Seokmin found out she had been sleeping with her best friend for months. 

Love at first sight—true love—It was a flat out lie, and he refused to fall for its charm ever again. 

So why, he thinks to himself, why can’t he stop looking at you? 

He noticed you for the first time last week after his car had been totaled during an impromptu road trip the day prior. Soonyoung, one of his best friends, had gotten on the subway while drinking and somehow ended up eight stops away from his apartment at an ungodly hour in his wasted state. Seokmin was the only one that answered the phone. He picked him up, but on the way back, Soonyoung tried to crawl out the window of the passenger seat and Seokmin, whilst trying to pull him back inside, had crashed into a tree.

The car was old, and he was saving up for a new one anyway. That, and the insurance gave him some chump change for the wreckage, which was more than he’d thought he’d get, so it wasn’t too bad. The biggest inconvenience he faced now was getting to and from work. 

Every night, after his shift at the flower shop, Seokmin would take the bus transit home. The first night, he only saw you in passing, because he practically had to run after the bus to catch it after arriving late to the stop. He took the first seat he could find, panting and exhausted after his long shift and the blip of a marathon he just ran, and sunk down into it. 

Since he had never needed to take the bus until now, he spent some time glancing out the window and studying the route, discovering the stop near his apartment was the very last one, arriving at nearly 10:00 P.M. Yours was the second to last one, only a few blocks over. That evening, he only barely caught a glimpse of the side of your face as you climbed off, crossing the street and strolling out of sight with way too many things clutched within your jacketed arms. 

The following night, he made it to the bus on time, thankfully, and spotted you sitting near the back, though that didn’t mean much to him yet. He took his same seat near the front, despite the many empty spots throughout the vehicle. And just like before, at the second to last stop, you walked down the middle aisle to exit. 

This time, while wrestling your books, laptop case, walkman, and coat, your headset wire had snagged on the seat in front of him. He watched as you turned around and detangled it hurriedly, your gaze barely flickering up to meet his curious one for a split second. You flashed him a ghost of a smile and then, you were gone again. 

Seokmin found himself looking forward to seeing you every single night from then on. 

He decided to start sitting in the back of the bus too, blaming his avid interest in you purely on the distorted conclusion that it made no sense to sit in the front! He was always the last one aboard, and the back had so many more seats for him to get comfortable. 

That’s what he convinced himself of, at least for the first few days. He tried sitting in a couple different spots, though he wouldn’t dare sit too close to you—he’s not that bold.  He did, however, decide after his trial and error period that his favorite seat was the far left one on the last row. Your seat was forever unchanging, on the second to last row and all the way to the right. 

This way, he could watch over your shoulder as you typed away on your computer. You seemed to be writing something personal, because night after night, you’d create paragraph after paragraph, working tirelessly to craft whatever it was that you were working on so extensively. He figured it couldn’t be just any assignment or work-related exposition. This meant something to you, and that only spiked his curiosity more. The only pause in your routine of clicking away at keys was skipping a song or two on your walkman or glancing out the window for inspiration.

He’s never sat close enough to actually read the words on your screen, but then again, that might be overstepping a bit. The urge does frequently bug him, though, especially when he notices how immersed you become the moment you lift the screen of your laptop and open your document. Every night, he watches you do the same thing, and every night, he fights the urge to strain his neck and catch a glimpse of a single word on your screen. 

He contains himself, though, on the principle that eavesdropping is wrong, and he intends to never do you wrong. 

On the sixth night he spends in his new seat, he notices about twenty minutes in when your fingers stop clicking away. At first, he considers the possibility that you may be thinking or planning your next sentence. But, as the bus nears your stop, you don’t move to start picking up your things. It immediately alerts him, and he sits up straighter as he realizes, you’ve fallen asleep. 

He’s never given something so simple so much thought in such a short time. He can feel the bus slowing down, and he can hear the brakes screeching and wheezing. Would he feel worse for disturbing your rest and making an inevitably awkward first impression, or letting you continue to sleep and possibly (definitely) miss your stop? 

Certainly the latter.

Without a second thought, Seokmin hurriedly slides out of his aisle and climbs down the two steps of the back row to reach you at your seat, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder and giving it a light shake. You don’t budge, even when he calls out to you. 

“Excuse me, Miss. Miss?” 

As the bus comes to a full stop and the engine’s roar becomes suppressed, he can hear the music playing through the headset that sits still over your ears. With a grimace, he softly slips them off, and the action is enough to stir you awake. You blink in confusion as you adjust to the brightness of the lights inside the bus, and your eyes land on his widened ones. 

“Sorry for waking you, but,” he gestures outside, “this is your stop.” 

You look around to confirm, and upon seeing the familiar intersection and corner store, you realize what he’s saying is true.

A few things go through your head: First of all, the stranger in front of you has the kindest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. Secondly, his nose is absolutely huge, and for some reason, he knows your stop, which makes you wonder where else he’s capable of poking it. So naturally, you ignore the sweet charm behind his eyes and shrug off his arm, grabbing your things quickly and booking it for the door that the bus driver has to reopen when he sees you approaching. 

You climb off and consider taking a different route, but if he knows your stop, he likely knows which way you walk every single night. You curse at yourself for even falling asleep in the first place, then drag your feet along towards your apartment after accommodating your headphones back over your ears, your walkman clutched in hand, its music swirling in your ears once more.

Because of this, you miss the way Seokmin shouts after you for leaving your phone behind, and the way the bus driver then shouts at him for holding him up. 

“I’ve got a wife to get home to, kid. Get back on the bus or I’m leaving you here.” 

He looks between the device in his hand, you, and back at the burly bus driver who raises a threatening brow his way. 

In defeat, he gets back on board and walks down until he’s reached his seat, but not before stopping at yours, or rather stumbling there with how aggressively the driver steps on the gas and sends him flying. He does a quick once over your seat to make sure you haven’t left or dropped anything else, but your phone is the only thing you forgot in your rush. 

The drive to his street is rather short, and when he does some calculations on the maps app, he discovers it’s at most a half-hour walk from his place to yours. That revelation makes him regretful, because as he dismounts the bus, crosses the street, and climbs the flight of stairs to his apartment, he realizes he could’ve run after you and given you your phone and just walked home after. It would’ve allowed him to explain that he’s not a creep, and that he only knows your stop because you’re the only other person on the bus at that hour. 

He thinks about his encounter with you the whole way to his apartment, and even at home while he takes his shower and brushes his teeth. And still, when he plugs your dead phone in, so that he can give it to you fully charged the next day. As it comes to life, half a dozen messages come in with a series of ‘dings’ from a contact you have saved as just a heart. He can’t read what the messages say because of the privacy settings you have in place, so he just silences it as more messages come in. He would have tried to let them know your phone isn’t with you, but the person with the heart alias never tries to call, and so there’s nothing Seokmin can do about it but hope tomorrow comes quickly. 

That thought brings him back to you, and as he lies down, he finds himself tossing and turning in bed, unable to fall asleep because he’s mulling over the way you shrugged him off. It’s only the long day at work, where he spent eight hours on his feet watering ficuses and making arrangements with daisies and lilies, that manages to silence his brain and lull his eyelids to a close so he can get some rest. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

His shift at the floral shop had gone by painfully slow today. The hours that usually pass relatively quickly with the friendly faces of Korean grandmas that stop by after going to the market, have dragged on for an eternity. 

He reminds himself that he’s going to see you tonight and that thought gets him through the day. He’ll at last be able to redeem himself of the interaction that’s been haunting him for the last twelve hours. He even dreamt about you, specifically about the conversation going a completely different way than it did. 

“Sorry for waking you, but this is your stop.” 

“Oh, my god,” you said. “Thank you. I didn’t even realize I drifted off.”

“No worries,” Seokmin would flash you a smile and help you with your things, since he had noticed your tendency to travel with more than you could carry. “Here.”

“Thanks again, uh…”

“Seokmin.”

“Seokmin,” you’d repeat, and even in his dream, he had reeled over the way his name rolled off your tongue.

In an extra effort to mend things over with you, Seokmin dips into his weekly paycheck at the end of his shift to buy you a tote bag from the shop. That way, you’d have a place to pack your laptop when you weren’t typing up stories, and your coat that you insisted on draping over your arm? It could go in there, too! 

Why you chose to listen to music on a walkman in today’s modern age, he has no idea—but now you’d have a place to store it so you won’t leave it behind like you had your phone. 

The tote bag he picks out for you is the nicest, most sizable one in stock. It’s the first time he’s bought anything from the floral shop, so the measly ten percent employee discount he got was rather underwhelming. Still, it would be worth it. He’d hand you your phone, explain himself to clear up the previous night's confusion, and offer you the tote bag as a gift. 

When he climbs on the bus later that evening, you’re sitting in the same spot as always, except this time, you’re expecting him. Your eyes flash up at him then fall back to your laptop. Subsequently, you slump further down in your seat, and Seokmin quickly realizes you’re trying to avoid him. 

Now—he had talked himself through the plan of approaching you all day, it’s all he thought about during the less busy hours of his shift to pass the time. He had walked through the process once, twice, and then again in hopes of nailing down every detail, but he didn’t once account for your very obvious disinterest. 

It offsets his mood entirely, which was confident and sociable just moments ago, and he trails down the aisle, past your seat, and to his own instead with discouragement. 

The moment he sits, it’s as if someone winded up his leg: it starts restlessly bouncing, and his mind mirrors the action, his inner monologue providing no relief for his grief. 

If he was any other rational person, he would’ve taken your coldness with a grain of salt; he’d hand you your phone, say “you left this.” and go on about his day—no, his life, as if this moment, as if meeting you, was nothing more than an insignificant scene in the story of his life. He wouldn’t spend every hour overthinking your first impression of him, or feeling disappointed that it wasn’t what he wanted it to be. And he certainly wouldn’t be here, talking himself up to the task of walking over to you once more. 

Even his own forgiving conscience is embarrassed when he readies himself to stand, chanting “Ok. 3…2…” and then sits back down in defeat. 

This goes on for the better part of an hour, until Seokmin remembers you’d be getting off soon. This realization materializes as the last person besides the two of you gets off, and the familiar buildings that are just a few blocks away from your stop come into view. At the same time, a new string of messages come in from the same individual who was writing to you last night, and Seokmin decides it’s about time that he returns your phone to you—for real this time. 

With a nod to himself, he pushes off the chair with his legs and forces them to move him over to you, where he stands for a few seconds, waiting for you to notice him. In one hand, he’s holding out your phone, and under his other arm is the folded tote bag he’s planning to give you. He can’t get his tongue to comply, making his feet work was hard enough, so hovers over you a little longer until you practically feel his eyes on you and look up. 

“Hi–” 

You slide your headphones off one ear, and he clears his throat. 

“Hi.” He repeats, “My name is Seokmin. I’m the guy who woke you up last night.” 

“I know.” You cast your eyes down to your phone and he leans it closer to you.

“You left your phone here.” 

Your lips purse contemplatively as you take it, mumbling out a quick “thanks,” and unlocking it to inspect your pile of notifications. Seokmin only clears his throat again.

“I also wanted to apologize for yesterday. I didn’t mean to come off as a weirdo, It’s just–”

You seem to lose focus of what he’s saying as you read through the messages on your phone, a deep frown molding over your features. The fact that you’re not listening at all trips him up, especially when he’s trying so hard to recite the mental script he prepared for this very moment. 

“Uh, I just… The only reason I know your stop is because it’s only you and me on the bus this late. So, you know–” 

As he points this out, you perk your head up and look around, as if to check for yourself that this is, in fact, true. It doesn’t ease your apprehension about him, but his kind eyes look so desperate in their plea for your understanding that, for a fleeting instant, you manage to hone in on his explanation and dismiss your suspicions about his nosy tendencies. 

“Naturally, I just noticed, and I didn’t want you to miss your stop.”

When you nod once and say “ok,” he almost wishes you hadn’t said anything at all. That’s it? That’s all you have to say to ease his discomfort? 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he didn’t almost forget, he just wanted to sound nonchalant, “I got you this since you’re always–” 

“Well, Seokmin…” It’s even better than in his dream, hearing you say his name, “You should know better than me by now that,” you point outside and the bus reaches a halt, “this is my stop.” 

Hurry up, Seokmin. “I got you this bag for your things.” 

You take it from his outstretched hands with the smallest mutter of gratitude, but don’t bother to inspect it or put it to use. You simply pile it atop of your laptop and coat with pursed lips, not sparing it a second glance. He’s almost confused about why you’re still staring him down expectantly after that, until it becomes clear to him that he’s blocking the aisle and in turn, your exit. 

Somewhat awkwardly, Seokmin moves aside, and you waste no time in passing right by him and heading for the door with all your trinkets stacked up in your arms. 

Dejection is an appropriate word to describe how Seokmin feels right about now. So is frustration. 

Even after you leave, cross in front of the bus, and make your way home, Seokmin stands in the same spot, dumbfounded. He stays like this for a few seconds, even when the bus moves and messes with his balance. It’s not until his annoyance really settles in, nestling in his bones and making his face glow red, that he manages to stomp back over to his spot and plop down. 

You are easily the most irritating person he has ever met; ill-mannered, ungrateful, rude, and downright selfish. Seokmin stopped going to therapy months after he recovered from his ex, but he finds himself regressing in the ‘self-recognition’ area at this moment. Although he can consciously acknowledge that his anger stems from your interaction not going as he wanted it to, he still decides to dump the blame on you and call you all these names in his head. Why he so desperately wants to be liked by you, he doesn’t know. Why he’s irrationally spiraling in the absence of your approval, he also doesn’t know. 

What he does know is that the next twenty-four hours are going to be just as bad as the last, and he’s going to be kicking himself until he sees you again and gives you a piece of his mind. 

Tonight, he rolls around in bed longer than usual, until the clock strikes two and he can’t keep his eyes open any longer.

The next day, when Seokmin boards the bus, you’re nowhere to be seen. You’re not at your seat, nor anywhere else for that matter, which he decides is for the best, because he’s able to swallow down his explosive complaints for another day instead of possibly causing a scene on the bus. 

Ha! You’re lucky you didn’t get on tonight, he thinks, I'll spare you from my lecture for another evening. 

Except the following night, you aren’t there either. 

As it turns out, you aren’t on the bus for the next six days straight. 

And instead of recovering from his emotions like a normal person, Seokmin is only spurred on, tormented and pursued by his thoughts of you. They've shifted, because now he can only help but wonder what you’re up to. He’s back to square one, wondering if he weirded you out so much that you resorted to finding another means of transportation with the sole intention of avoiding him. 

Then, he reproaches himself, his rationale telling him that surely, there must be another reason for your absence—one that isn’t at all related to him. He ponders this as he piles a few stems of lilies and eucalyptus on one another, wrapping them and tying them closed. 

“Seokmin-ah. What’s the matter?”

He turns quickly to face Ms. Boo, the owner of the flower shop and the grandmother of his best friend. On more than a few occasions, she had acted as a grandmother to him, too—bringing him lunches and pestering him about eating enough, or nagging him for not dressing properly in cold weather. 

“Nothing!”

“Look what you’re doing to my flowers.” She narrows her eyes, extending a wrinkled finger out in his direction. 

Seokmin glances down to find that his knuckles have gone white against the stem of the baby’s breath he's been unconsciously shaking like a rattle. The delicate white flowers have been pulverized, reduced to white fuzz on the arrangement he was attempting to make and the surrounding surface of the work station. 

“Ah, shi-“ She gives him a glare, “Sorry.” He quickly rephrases, “I’ll clean this up.”

As Ms. Boo straightens out some gardenias in a vase, she asks him again, “What’s wrong?” 

He takes a deep breath, reaching for the dustpan under the counter. “It’s just… Someone I met on the bus.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Very.” He nods, then sighs. “I just wish the conversation we had went differently, that’s all.” 

“Well,” She seems to be mustering up her years of wisdom, eyebrows raising as she fixes her apron, “You’re a handsome boy, Seokmin-ah. And you’ve got good sense. God knows you’ve got more than Seungkwan,” she grumbles the last part, and it makes Seokmin’s lips curl up a bit. “Your car isn’t fixed yet, right?”

He shakes his head, “No.” 

“So, then get back on the bus tonight and talk to her.” She insists with the assurance only an 85 year old grandmother could have. 

“I would, but…”

“And stop moping. You’re making the flowers sad. They feel these kinds of things.” She nods, feeling the petal of the lily between her fingertips. Suddenly, she snaps her fingers, “Finish this arrangement and get back to work.”

He finishes brushing the white fuzz of the carnation into the dustpan and discarding it before tackling the bouquet he was previously working on with a tad more care. He finishes after deciding the pale flowers need a touch of color, so he adds a few pink roses and places it in a bucket near the front window of the store on display. 

He takes a moment to glance outside at the busy street, watching the people that pass by. Couples stroll hand in hand, and more often than not, the girls will stop their partner to point out the flowers. This was a common occurrence, and if Seokmin was lucky, the displays would draw in a few more customers than usual. 

Not today, though. As he does a once over every arrangement he’s chosen to display on the window, he realizes they all lack something besides effort. He can’t put his finger on exactly what they’re missing, but Ms. Boo was right— the plants do feel emotions—and these weren’t particularly joyous creations. 

As he sprays the leaves with a little mist bottle he carries around in his apron, he watches through the window each person that passes by in an effort to pass the time. It isn’t like there’s much to do during the less busy hours, and there’s only so many arrangements he can make when they’re all coming out dull and lifeless to match his gloom. 

So, Seokmin opts for people watching, until a specific individual catches him by surprise. 

At first, he thinks he’s seeing things. 

Not only have you stopped outside the shop to gaze and gawk at the flowers while wearing a soft, admiring look, but soon enough, the bell above the door has chimed, meaning you’ve actually come inside. 

He would greet you, as he’s supposed to do when a customer enters the shop, but he… can’t—at least not from where he is now, ducking behind the sales counter.

Before you could have spotted him, his fight or flight reflexes, or in this case just flight, had kicked in. He could’ve easily ran behind the curtain to the room where some of the flowers are stored, but then he would’ve ran into Ms. Boo, who would have questioned his reasons for leaving the counter unattended.

Then, he realizes that Seungkwan wouldn’t be coming in until later, and their other part-timer Eunchae didn’t work today because she had an exam at school.

The service bell at the counter rings once and he grimaces, full of hopeful thinking that you’d just go away if no one appeared. Instead you ring it again, and he ducks lower, until some shuffling behind him and the voice of his best friend’s grandmother gives him away.

“Seokmin-ah, there’s someone at the counter!”

There’s a pause, and though he can’t see how your ears perk up at the sound of the familiar name, he knows he’s absolutely busted because even if you didn’t correlate that ‘Seokmin’ was also the same guy who woke you up on the bus, he’d be forced to show himself before long. Ms. Boo continues to ramble, much to his dismay.

“Are you still sulking over the pretty girl from the bus?” Yeah, that’ll do it. “Ah, Seokmin-ah… I don’t pay you to sulk.”

At this, Seokmin covers his face with his palm. 

He has no way of knowing that as he’s willing and pleading with the ground to swallow him whole and spare him from the incoming embarrassment, Ms. Boo’s comment had brought a little smile to your face. You’re peering around the shop for him when you see someone start to peek out from the other side of the counter. 

First, his fingers. They land on the marble surface, and less than a second later, his dark mop of hair follows, appearing past the slope. Then, his kind eyes, big nose, and his teeth, clenched together tightly in reluctance as he takes in your amused gaze.

You cross your arms over your chest and Seokmin scoffs, shooting up suddenly. 

“This is unbelievable!” His laugh is loud and theatrical, though a touch ironic, given the whole ‘hiding-from-you-behind-the-counter’ situation just seconds prior. He doesn’t let his obvious preposterousness stop his rampage, though. In very Seokmin fashion, he commits to the bit, puffing up his chest a little. “You call me a stalker and now you go and stalk me to my place of employment!” 

“I never called you a stalker.” You say simply, and his face falters only slightly. “Nor did I stalk you.” Seokmin rolls his eyes as you continue. “Also, who even says ‘place of employment?’” 

As if straight out of a bad middle school play, which Seokmin had plenty of practice at back in his day, he regains his confidence at his turn to speak his line, scoffing again at your nonchalant attitude. Why were you so unbothered about the way you treated him? He ignores your question, and readies his next comeback.

“Yeah? Well, then how did you know where I work, huh?”

When you wordlessly turn to show off the tote bag slung over your shoulder, a few things occur. 

The color of Seokmin’s cheeks become very red, very fast. His ears quickly glow a similar shade to match. He completely deflates—letting up on his accusations and dropping the theatrics. There’s a reason he’s a florist and not an actor. 

Then, he realizes what you’re showing off—the tote bag! You’re wearing the bag he got you! You’re actually using it! He can see the wire of your headset poking out of the top, and the square mold of your laptop filling the material!

At the same time, however, his eyes land on the only design or pattern it has. Sewn in black, the bag boldly displays the name of Ms. Boo’s flower shop. At this, Seokmin smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck.  

“I figured I’d find you here.” You mumble, taking a look around, “it’s a pretty place.”

“Yeah.” He nods, but he’s still eyeing you suspiciously, waiting for you to announce the reason for your visit. 

“I came to…” your fingers reach over the counter to brush off the fuzz of the baby’s breath that remained on his dark green apron, and Seokmin tucks his chin to his chest, exposing all of his chins as his eyes shift between your hand and eyes that are both set on his torso.

”There.” You sigh, “I came to apologize. I was going through a… Well, anyway, I wasn’t exactly nice to you, so…” 

“Yeah, that’s an understatement,” Seokmin grumbles.

“Sorry. And thank you.” 

“For?”

You swing the bag around again, “It came in handy.”

”Oh,” He knew it would, “I’m glad.” 

“Seokmin-ah… There’s someone at the—Oh, hello.” Shuffling over with a wad of eucalyptuses in her arms, Ms. Boo smiles warmly at you, as she does with all customers who stop by the shop. 

”Ms. Boo, this is…“

”Y/N.” 

“Y/N.” Both of them echo your name, though Seokmin does it under his breath, in a quiet affirmation to himself. He decides instantly that it’s perfect, and that it suits you perfectly. He doesn’t intend for it to be a Tony and Maria situation, but the way it sounds, rolling off his tongue, is seamless and simply, right.

”It’s lovely to meet you,” Ms. Boo adds.  

“Likewise. Excuse me, I wanted to know if I borrow Seokmin real quick? I owe him a coffee.” 

Seokmin hisses apprehensively, reinstating his act momentarily as he begins rolling up his sleeve to search for the time on his watch. “Yeah, well, my break isn’t for another—“

”Take him, please. But only give him back when he’s in a better mood.” She gives him a light-hearted glare as she scurries away, calling out, “every plant he’s walked past today has wilted.” 

“I plan to do just that. Thank you.” 

He makes it look like he’s in some kind of distress when he unties his apron and lifts the neckloop over his head, but really, he can’t wait to cut work for a coffee with you. There’s a little cafe nearby, and he’s almost sure that’s where you’ll be taking him. He also can’t wait to recommend his favorite drink to you, though part of him worries you might not enjoy it and consequently bruise his ego a little—given the fading but still ever-present grudge he’s holding against you.

Seokmin can’t help but prolong the act of clocking out: changing shoes, grabbing his wallet and phone from his cubby, folding his apron (instead of hanging it up in whatever state it’s in, as he usually does), while you shift your weight between your heels and gawk at him in wait. He does all this in an effort to extend the minutes he has with you. His break is fifteen minutes, but those fifteen minutes can’t go by if the clock technically hasn't started counting.

You stand by patiently, following him around with your eyes as he tidies up a single flower out of place or wipes his hands down on a rag. When he’s finally ready, and can’t be bothered to pretend that lacing his sneakers actually takes longer than two minutes, he joins you on the other side of the counter and follows you to the door. 

Feeling a little nervous, he clears his throat. “You don’t have to do this, you know. We can just go our separate ways.” 

“I do. This way, I can properly convey my apology and gratitude. You know: two birds, one stone.” 

“Those are two separate things… It’s only right that you would owe me two coffees then.” The way he grumbles under his breath unveils some of his bitterness, though you can tell by the half-hearted side-eye he gives you as he fights back a grin, that he’s really only messing with you.

So you laugh, and Seokmin feels his heart do a somersault in his chest. With a shake of your head, you turn to him, defeated. “Alright. You can get a coffee and a muffin.” 

Suddenly overwhelmed with the need to see your smile again, he brings his hand up to rub his chin, “Hmm, I don’t know. I don’t really like muffins.” 

“Well, then I’ll just have to stop by tomorrow, too.” 

At this, Seokmin smiles from ear to ear, tilting his head away towards the street so that you don’t catch the way he lights up at the prospect of possibly seeing you again. 

As the two of you cross the street, you notice a bus stop a little up the way, nodding towards it so he can look. “Is that where you catch the bus?” He nods. “Funny, my stop is only two blocks down the street we came from.” 

Seokmin reaches for the door of the cafe, holding it open for you to walk through. To his delight, you seem to be fascinated by the space—meaning it’s likely you haven’t been here before. He watches as you study the rustic lights on the ceiling, the shiny wooden tables, and the botany at the window. 

“These look like the ones from your shop.” 

“That’s because they are.” He stands beside you. “The owner of the cafe loves the classics. So do I. So, in exchange for a floral arrangement or two, he lets me borrow a book.”  He watches your gaze leave him to face the singular bookshelf he had gestured to, a tall collection of literary classics neatly sorted by author. Your eyes almost bulge out of your head as you take it in, mouth agape as you slowly step toward the shelves. 

Not yet grasping the extent of your fascination, and with the line to order clearing out, Seokmin remembers he’s on a schedule. “Do you wanna order?” 

“I…” You shake your head, fingertips ghosting over the spine of the books without grazing them, because you know better than to touch an antique collection. It doesn’t stop you from admiring them, mumbling out a response to the boy next to you without giving it much thought. “I usually get… You know what, just order whatever for me.” 

You dig for your wallet in the tote bag, handing your card to him without tearing your eyes away from the sight before you. Seokmin only laughs and takes it without the slightest intention to use it. He orders you the drink he thinks you might like the best, as someone with a taste for the traditional things--like classic literature and walkmans--and orders himself a more sugary poison to nurture his sweet tooth. 

When he pays, he doesn’t use your card, but he wraps the receipt around it anyway so you won’t holster any suspicion that he did exactly what he did. He only checks over his shoulder to make sure you’re still distracted, and you are, ogling the books as if you had never seen anything as marvelous as the contents of this bookshelf before. 

He feels something fluttering in his chest, and he knows very well what caused it, but he pays it no mind—opting instead for leaning into the cashier who he’s frequently talked to during his coffee breaks with his caffeine crazy friend, Boo Seungkwan. 

“Hey, Josh. Do you know if Mr. Kim is in today?” Kim Jongdae, the owner of the cafe, had a soft spot for the flower shop boys ever since they helped make him a beautiful bouquet for his wife’s birthday. Then, for their anniversary and every celebration thereafter. 

Joshua shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he starts on the drinks. “He’s out for the day. It’s the little one’s birthday.” 

“Shame. I wanted to borrow a book.”

“I mean… You know you can just grab any off the shelf.” He mumbles, hissing as he nearly burns his finger with the steaming espresso maker, “Which one do you want?” 

“Whichever one she does.” He turns to you,“That’s why I wanted to ask. It’s not for me, but for her.” 

“Ah.” Joshua looks between the two of you, without missing the gentle smile on Seokmin’s face as he watches you. He only manages to look away when the older boy at the counter sets both drinks down and clears his throat. “Here.”

“Right.” 

“And about that book,” he gestures to you, “I’ll ask Mr. Kim when I see him tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” With both drinks and your card wrapped in his receipt all clutched in his hands, he makes his way over to you quietly, as if any abruptness would disturb your studying of each and every title. But you hear him coming—that, or you smell the fresh coffee nearing you—so you spin around on your heels quickly, whisper-shouting as if he wasn’t right beside you now.

“This is incredible. I’m usually at the library until I get on the bus but–thank you,” You take the drink and instantly bring it to your lips for a sip, “Even the library doesn’t have this good of a–ah, hot!” 

“Be careful!” Seokmin fights the urge to beckon his hand closer to you, but his shoulders still jolt up in concern that you may have burned yourself.

“–good of a collection–wow, this is really good.” Your shift in focus makes him hold back a snort. 

“You like it?” 

“Yes, thank you. Should we sit?” He follows you to a table by the window, where the two of you can glance out at the bustling street as you chat. 

“Ms. Boo is nice.” You comment, as you notice one of the displays from the shop sitting at the sill.

“She is. She nags, but it’s only because she cares. I wouldn’t change anything about her.” 

You wear a warm smile on your lips as you take another sip, savoring the rich taste of your coffee. “I really like my drink. What did you get for yourself?”

Seokmin’s fingers move lazily to push the cup towards you. “Do you wanna try it?”

You hesitate, your gaze flicking between his inviting smile and the drink. After a moment’s pause, you reach for one of the wrapped paper straws sitting near the sugar and salt. You peel it open, pop it into the cup, and take a sip. You seem to like it at first, but then, the overwhelming sweetness hits, a syrupy storm that floods your taste buds, and you immediately regret your decision.

Your face scrunches up in disbelief as you try not to choke on the sugary onslaught, your throat resisting the thick sweetness. “Oh god,” you gasp, your eyes wide.

Seokmin’s laughter bubbles up effortlessly, and he rolls his eyes, clearly entertained by your reaction. You slide the drink back across the table to him, still reeling from the shock of it. “That’s—how can you even drink that?” you manage between soft chuckles.

“Really? It’s not that bad,” he says with a teasing grin, unbothered by the fact that you’re clearly struggling. “I’d say your drink needs an acquired taste.”

“Mine? I’m drinking coffee.” You set your cup down, now fully convinced that whatever he’s drinking is a bizarre concoction. “I don’t know what you’re drinking.”

Seokmin shrugs, his grin only widening. “Agree to disagree.” His cheeks aching from the persistent smile that seems to be permanently affixed to his face now.

You laugh in disbelief before taking a few large gulps of your own coffee, feeling its familiar warmth wash over you and effectively wiping away the remnants of Seokmin’s sugary disaster from your palate.

“So,” you begin, eyes narrowing slightly as you shift your focus to him, “how long have you been working there?”

“For a year now.” He leans back slightly in his chair, clearly more relaxed than before.

“Do you like it?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

He pauses, as if considering his words carefully before answering. “It’s… I mean, yes.”

You raise an eyebrow, “I spotted some hesitation there.”

He sighs, a quiet exhale of air as he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not like I wanna be there forever.” His tone shifts, like he’s trying to brush off the weight of the subject, but it lingers.

Glancing down at your cup, you swirl it around absentmindedly to cool the contents. You try to lighten the mood, teasing him, “Not taking over Ms. Boo’s position in the future?”

Seokmin smiles, clearly amused by the suggestion. “I’ll leave that to her grandson. He works there, too.” He shrugs, a nonchalant gesture, but there's a quiet finality in his words.

Feeling the need to dig a little deeper, you sit up straight, eyes bright with curiosity. “Okay, so what is it that you wanna do?”

Seokmin’s smile falters just a fraction, and for a brief moment, the easy-going confidence he always wears slips. His fingers fiddle with the edge of his cup, and he looks off into the distance, his expression turning distant. “It’s nothing,” he mutters, his tone dropping low.

You pause, sensing something behind the simplicity of his words, but you don’t press further. “It isn’t nothing.” You shake your head, “It’s what you wanna do with your life. I wouldn’t call that nothing.” 

After a brief pause that consists of looking between your eyes and playing with the syllables stuck thickly in his mouth, Seokmin mumbles a single word. “Music.” 

“Music?” You echo him, then stay silent so he can elaborate. You can tell he feels some degree of discouragement, obvious in the way his shoulders slump down. His hands start fidgeting and he looks out the window again as he seems to recall some memory. 

“But it’s nothing serious right now. I mess around with my guitar and write stuff every once in a while, but… I haven’t really played since—“ 

“I would love to hear,” you cut him off, leaning forward, “If you ever feel like showing someone, I would love to listen to you play.” 

There’s a sudden bitterness in his throat (that definitely isn’t his coffee) as he recalls a slightly stirring memory. It’s not as distant as he would like it to be, despite his attempt to store it in the ‘do-not-open’ file of his mind, but it doesn’t stop him from nodding along and agreeing to your offer with some apprehension, because truthfully, you had no part in carving that scar.

Simply put: you were not her. 

“I haven’t played in a while,” he rephrases, “but when I pick it up again, you’ll be the first person I show.” 

It doesn’t take long before you start telling him about your studies, now that you had succeeded in interrogating him with a few of your burning questions, and it becomes apparent to Seokmin very quickly how easy conversation flows with you. Each word you utter is warm, welcoming, almost familiar, as if he had known you for longer than he did–and he suddenly feels very guilty for having misjudged you. 

It’s not like you know of the way he bad-mouthed you in his sensitive mind, so there really is no need to compensate for it. Even then, he feels he owes you something—like he should make it up to you for thinking such things about a person of your nature. 

He learns that you’re a student who’s majoring in English literature, with the aspiration to be a writer. The two of you agreed that he’d show you his music, and you’d show him what you’re working on—the last of which delighted him, seeing as he’d spent weeks trying to guess what your fingers typed away on your computer each night on the bus. You hate sugary drinks, that much you made clear, and you had a strong distaste for the smell of holiday candles. 

Every word you’d spill left him on the edge of his seat, wanting to know more about you. If it wasn’t for the fact that he needed to go back to work, he’d have sat with you for the whole afternoon listening to you talk. 

But instead, you join him on his walk back to the flower shop, unknowingly having fulfilled your promise to bring him back in a better mood. 

“Ms. Boo?” 

“Seokmin-ah? You’re back right on time. There’s a customer who needs a graduation arrangement for their son.” Seokmin can tell she’s in the backroom, wrestling the hose to fill the watering can from the strain in her voice.

“I’ll get my apron on!” He calls, then spins around to face you, “Thank you for today. I liked my coffee, even if you didn’t think it was great.” 

“Good to know. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” 

“Tomorrow? Won’t I catch you on the bus tonight?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he hopes you didn’t catch the disappointment behind them.

“Tonight’s the last night of my study group, and those usually run late.” So that’s why you hadn’t been taking the bus lately, “So, tomorrow it is. Unless you don’t want that second coffee…” 

“I do.” He insists, and your lips curl up as you reach for the doorknob. 

“Alright, then.” 

The instant the door shuts behind you, he starts counting down the hours until he can see you again. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

Seokmin’s shift could not have gone any slower. Unlike any day before, the hours could not seem to pass, despite how badly he willed them to. Aside from Seungkwan’s occasional side-eyed-glares and complaints of his uncharacteristically fast work pace today, Seokmin has managed to complete his tasks for the day and more: he prepared two graduation orders placed last minute and a walk-in customer who was uncertain of what ‘I’m sorry’ bouquet to get his girlfriend, all while trying to appease potential buyers who entered the shop, drawn in by the six new bouquet’s he’d made this very same morning and displayed at the window. 

All that, and it’s only fifteen past eleven in the morning.

“What has you in such a rush? I’m like four orders behind you. Usually, it’s the other way around.” The last part is but a grumble under his breath. 

Unable to explain, because he isn’t exactly sure of the answer either, Seokmin brushes Seungkwan's suspicious raised brow off and mentions something that would pique his interest instead, in hopes of changing the topic. 

“You know Soonyoung said Chan blew him off for a date? They were supposed to go out drinking and then—” 

“And then Minji called him and he bailed, I know. Can’t say I’m surprised.” 

“And then—” 

“Slow down!” Seungkwan all but yanks the scissors from his best friend’s hands, which is, needless to say, not the safest thing to do, and puts them at his own station. “You’ve been hogging them for the last hour.” he hisses, “If my grandma comes in and sees that I’m this far behind, she’ll make me skip my break.” 

“I just need time to pass by quickly. I figure if I keep myself busy, it just might.” 

“Time doesn’t work like that, idiot.” 

“Actually, it does. Idiot.” He sneers back, and Seungkwan could not look more offended if he tried—eyes wide, lips puckered to shape a word he doesn’t quite get to say. He swings back his arm, but before Seokmin could get smacked by the handful of tulips in his grip, Ms. Boo comes bustling through, humming a mindless tune as she clutches a pen and a few envelopes in her arms. 

“Boys, I've got your pay for this week and the next. I have an appointment with Dr. Hong next Friday, so I won’t be here. I expect you’ll take care of the shop while I’m—these arrangements are lovely. Who made them?” 

The boys look between each other, and Seokmin huffs out before answering. “We both did, Ms. Boo.” 

“Good work. Lovely…” She starts mumbling to herself again as she shifts her attention from the flowers at the windowsill to the bills in her hands, counting them and separating them into two even piles. 

At Seokmin’s reply (call it an unspoken truce), Seungkwan visibly relaxes, releasing the flowers before he could ruin them and scurrying over to his grandma. “Have you been taking your medicine? You know he’ll scold you otherwise.” 

“I’m too old to be scolded,” She replies stubbornly, and their conversation fades momentarily as the door chimes again. 

“Welcome to Botanical–oh.” Seokmin’s scripted introduction is cut short as he notices that it’s you who has entered the shop, wearing a small smile. 

“Hi.” You greet him, “and hello, Ms. Boo.” 

“Hello.” She chirps, “Y/N, was it?” 

“Yes, that’s right.” 

“Hey,” Seokmin’s wide smile, which nourished the moment he laid eyes on you, suddenly falters as he realizes the time. “Shit, are you here for-” 

“Language.” 

“Sorry,” he bows his head apologetically at Ms. Boo, then grabs your arm to drag you a little further from the pair, “I can’t take my break right now.” He tells you, regretfully. Your smile falls a little.

“Really? I was looking forward to our coffee time. Plus, I desperately need some caffeine. I’ve been reading this boring manuscript since seven.” You scowl, gesturing to the stack of papers overflowing from your bag.

That pout, the one on your lips: it needs to be fixed as soon as possible. Seokmin holds a single finger up as he scours his brain for a plan, “Wait here a second. Let me see what I can do.” With that, he turns around and speedwalks over to Seungkwan, who hands him his half of the money. 

“Here.” 

“Thanks.” Seokmin takes the bills, not quite meeting Seungkwan’s eyes as he pockets them. “Hey, listen…” His voice drops, just low enough that it almost feels like a secret. “I need to take my break now.”

Seungkwan blinks in confusion, his brow furrowing. “What?!” 

“Shh!” Seokmin urges, his face a mix of impatience and pleading. He tugs at his sleeve, leaning closer so only Seungkwan can hear. “Please.”

“No way,” Seungkwan protests, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest. “I take the morning breaks, you take the afternoon. That’s how this works.”

Seokmin’s expression hardens just a fraction, the edge of desperation creeping in as he stands a little taller. “Seungkwan, I’m begging you to switch with me just this once.”

Seungkwan stares at him, weighing his options. His arms remain crossed, a stubborn defiance settling into his posture. “No way.”

With no other option, Seokmin huffs and crosses his arms firmly over his chest. 

“Fine,” Seokmin finally says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “I’ll just go tell your grandma how many customers I’ve helped today and that all the displays were my doing and—”

“Okay, okay!” Seungkwan interrupts, throwing his hands up in surrender. “God, dude, you really suck. Don’t make this a habit, yeah?” 

Spoiler alert: he would.

Seokmin’s face lights up with a grin. “Thank you!” he exclaims, not even giving Seungkwan a chance to protest before his apron is untied with a swift yank. It’s tossed into Seungkwan’s arms, and Seokmin is already dashing toward the back, his shoes clacking against the floor with each hurried step.

He doesn't wait for the usual stream of complaints to catch up to him, knowing full well that they’re coming. Quickly, Seokmin kicks off his non-slip shoes in one fluid motion, leaving them in a pile as he slides into his own sneakers. 

Less than a minute later, he joins you by the door. 

“Coffee time?” His tone is playful, and you mirror it as you nod once.  

“Coffee time.” 

The cafe has a few students scattered around with their laptops when you enter. There’s also a few others, people who Seokmin knows work in the stores and buildings nearby. They stop by occasionally for their lunch and coffee breaks, but even then, the cafe is emptier than it is most days at this time. Mr. Kim is alongside Joshua, tending to something on the register, when the two of you approach them. 

“Morning,” 

“Good morning, Seokmin.” Kim Jongdae offers the boy a warm smile. 

There’s a bit of small talk exchanged between them—Mr. Kim asks about Ms. Boo and Seungkwan, Seokmin asks about his son’s birthday—until Seokmin goes to introduce you, but turns around to find you near the bookshelf once more. This seems to remind Mr. Kim of something he discussed earlier with Joshua. 

“My answer is yes, by the way.” He starts, “Joshua asked me this morning. He said you, or rather, she wanted to borrow a book. Go ahead. It’s the least I can do to repay you boys for the hard work you do to make this place look nice.” Mr. Kim gives him a firm nod, patting Joshua on the back after briefly explaining a new menu item on the screen. He walks off, and Seokmin calls out to him. 

“Thank you, really!” He turns to Joshua, “and thank you, too. I’ll get the same two drinks as yesterday. ”

“You got it.” 

He pays quickly and turns around, pausing for a few moments to admire you before taking two long strides over. When he’s beside you, he lowers his head so it’s by your shoulder and speaks quietly, so as to not disturb you. “Which one piques your interest?” 

“Which ones,” you correct, marveling up at him before looking back to the shelves. “There’s so many. I wouldn’t know which one to grab first if I could.” Your index finger comes up after a pause, “Maybe this one.” 

“Go on, then.” 

“I wish.” you sigh, and he can no longer withhold his smile.

“I’m serious. Grab it. I asked the owner for permission.” 

Your head cranes slowly over to him, eyes so wide he swears he could have seen his reflection in them.

“Are you serious?” Your voice is soft, unsure, surprised, grateful. You’re almost not sure whether to believe him or not, but when his gentle brown eyes look between you and the book, and he gives you a little encouraging nudge on your shoulder as a go ahead, you finally move to reach out slowly and pick it off of the shelf, cradling it in your hands as if it was a precious thing. 

“Thank you. You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” His voice is calm but sincere, and there’s a small, almost thoughtful smile tugging at his lips as he watches you. The shelf you’d been looking at earlier, once so absorbing, now feels distant as your attention shifts entirely to him.

You blink, unsure how to respond, and for the first time in a while, you find yourself lost for words. “Gosh, I-I don’t… I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” He mutters with a crooked smile.

“Thank you.” You repeat the words, quieter this time.

“Anytime.” He shrugs. For a moment, the two of you are caught in a quiet, comfortable pause.

It’s only Joshua calling Seokmin’s name from across the room that snaps the two of you back to reality. You blink and suddenly remember—you’re the one who owes him a coffee, not the other way around.

“Wait, you ordered already?”

“I kinda had to.” Seokmin shrugs sheepishly, his eyes flicking over to the counter before returning to you. “Honestly, I’m more scared of going over my break time while Seungkwan is there than when it’s just Ms. Boo.”

“That’s your friend, right? Seungkwan?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. 

“Yep,” Seokmin replies. “The one with the dyed blonde hair who always looks like he’s about to complain about something.”

“That’s Ms. Boo’s grandson, then.” You piece it together with a grin, and Seokmin hands you your drink. You take it but find your thoughts drifting again.

“What’s wrong?” Seokmin asks, noticing your distracted gaze.

“I still owe you,” you admit softly, looking down at the drink in your hands. “For the bag and the book.”

Seokmin bumps your shoulder lightly, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I guess you’ll just have to keep stopping by.” 

“I guess I will,” 

To his delight, the rest of Seokmin’s shift was effortless and quick. There was the occasional bickering with Seungkwan, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. And, for some reason, he didn’t seem to mind it as much today. Because, waiting for him at the bus stop when he arrived later that very same evening, was you, eager to tell him all about the book you had started reading. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

Seokmin had never been a fan of routines. His personality was spontaneous, and so the things he did on a day-to-day basis were too. Up until now, the only constants in his life were the flower shop and his friends, who provided their own random spontaneity in the form of unpredictable weekend plans or an ever-changing work environment that depended solely on which side of the bed Seungkwan woke up on that morning. 

Seokmin gets bored easily, an issue he resolves with movie marathons or long walks or hangouts—just about anything will suffice, if it means his mind is occupied and distracted the majority of the time. 

Lately, though, a new element has been introduced to his daily life. A routine. 

A routine where, during every shift, you stop by after your time studying at the library and pick him up for ‘coffee time’ during his breaks (much to Seungkwan’s disappointment, coffee time was usually during the first half of the day). Then, you’d stay at the coffee shop reading the book—because despite Seokmin insisting that it was okay for you to take home, you’d always refuse—until his shift was over. He’d find you at the bus stop, waiting for him, and the two of you would chatter on until you were dropped off at your stop. 

In a way, he had become dependent on this routine—something he thought could never happen. It was admittedly his favorite part of the day, catching up with you, hearing what you had to say or what thoughts you had cultured after your time reading the book. And when you finished that one a few weeks in, he made sure to take some new potted plants and flowers over to Mr. Kim in exchange for another. 

And for some time, that’s the way things were. He had contemplated asking to do something with you outside of the usual bus or coffee shop pattern, but everytime he intended to ask, he’d cower and procrastinate. Next time, he’d tell himself.

Early on a Sunday morning, Seungkwan came into the shop rambling about how his Grandma was at his older sister’s house and wouldn’t be coming by. It’s not like the two of them couldn’t handle the shop alone—they had done it countless times before—but her presence was primarily longed for when it came to getting the two of them back on track. Especially on Sundays, where the task at hand was to clean, fertilize, and redecorate wilted displays. For obvious reasons, this was something neither of them enjoyed doing. 

At the moment, it’s just him in the store. Seungkwan was taking his morning break that he insisted was non-negotiable today and Seokmin only agreed so easily because Sundays are the only days he doesn’t see you. 

The doorbell jingles softly as you step into the flower shop, and Seokmin glances up from behind the counter looking for a customer or Seungkwan, his hands momentarily pausing in their careful arrangement of flowers. A surprised look crosses his face as you poke your head in.

“Hey,” he says, his voice lifting with a bit of surprise, but the smile that quickly forms softens his expression. “I didn’t think you’d stop by today.”

“Actually, I only came by to see Ms. Boo,” you tease, and Seokmin hisses through his teeth. 

“I regret to inform you, she’s not in today.” 

You grin, stepping further into the shop, the familiar floral scent filling the air around you. “I’m kidding. I was nearby and I thought I’d keep you company for a bit.”

“It’s not usually this quiet around here,” he says, his hands brushing against the flowers almost absently as he talks. “It’s kind of nice when it’s just me, but I guess I don’t mind the company.” He rolls his eyes, but it’s easy to see right through him when he’s so clearly beaming that you're here.

Your presence, standing so casually by the counter, feels like something he didn’t know he was waiting for. He’s used to the steady hum of the shop, the quiet buzz of the day, the mildly irritating sounds of Seungkwan, but with you here... it’s different. He can’t quite pinpoint why, but there’s a feeling in his chest that settles somewhere between contentment and something else he’s been trying to ignore for a while now.

Before he can dwell too much on it, the door jingles again, and Seungkwan strides in, looking as effortless as ever. His eyes dart between you and Seokmin, already catching the shift in the air. 

“Why, hello,” Seungkwan says, grinning widely as he crosses the shop and leans against the counter. “I was wondering when we’d be properly introduced.”

“You must be Seungkwan,” you say, arching an eyebrow at Seokmin, who rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.

“And you must be Y/N. It seems like I took my break right on time.” Seungkwan continues, throwing an exaggerated glance at Seokmin. “He can’t shut up about you.”

Seokmin groans as he shifts uncomfortably behind the counter. “Seungkwan, please. You don’t have to make it sound so weird.”

You smile at the light teasing, the way Seungkwan’s attention naturally shifts to Seokmin with that familiar comfort only best friends seem to have. It’s clear they’ve known each other for a while. Seokmin, though, is less than amused by Seungkwan. His cheeks glow pink as he glares.

“Well, you are weird,” Seungkwan mutters.

“Alright, Seungkwan,” Seokmin says with a sigh. 

“Okay, I’m off to the back to unload fertilizer.” He announces and you give him a polite wave as he turns to you, “It was nice to meet you.”

As Seungkwan heads out the back door, Seokmin lets out a quiet breath, shaking his head. The shop feels quieter, now that it's just you and him. It’s strange, but Seokmin finds himself oddly aware of the space between you two.

He glances over at you again, trying not to seem too obvious, but there’s something about the way you’re standing there—easy, comfortable, but somehow still pulling at him in a way he can’t ignore. His fingers hesitate over the vase in front of him, caught in the motion of arranging flowers but not quite focused on the task.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “I guess you get to work in peace for now, huh?”

“Yeah, it seems that way.” Seokmin huffs. He takes a step toward you, to reach for something behind you. His hand brushes over a batch of roses, then pausing as if he’s suddenly unsure of the next move, painfully aware of how close he’s gotten. He clears his throat, the casual tone of his voice not quite matching the thoughts swirling in his mind. “So, um... you like flowers?”

You tilt your head, a teasing smile on your lips. “Is that a serious question?”

“I-” Seokmin laughs softly, his fingers running over the petals of the flowers before grabbing them and attempting to focus on his station. 

You lean a little closer, your voice light but playful. “Well, I like you, don’t I?” The way you say those words with a teasing tone makes Seokmin nearly choke, “So I kind of have to like flowers. Otherwise, how am I meant to hang around you?” You gesture at the shop. 

Seokmin’s breath catches, and for a moment, he feels like he’s losing the thread of the conversation.

"I didn’t expect to find you working today. I didn’t even know the shop opened on Sundays," you say casually, glancing up at him. “I’m sure the flowers appreciate the extra attention.”

"I’m pretty good with the flowers, but I think they’d appreciate the company more if you came by more often."

You arch an eyebrow, “Oh? You think they’d enjoy my company more than yours?”

“I know Seungkwan would.” You laugh at this, and Seokmin revels in the sound, joining you. 

After a pause, he shifts his attention back to the flowers, showing you the final product. “What do you think?” 

“They’re pretty.” 

“I think so, too.” He decides, not necessarily talking about the flowers, “Even though I was a little distracted.”

"Distractions can be good, though,"

"Well, you’re a pretty good distraction," he tries for the words to sound casual, but his tone betrays him. He also said it much quicker than he intended to, and he’s grateful for the chance to turn around while grabbing another pot because it offers him a means to hide his reddening cheeks. 

You let the words hang in the air for a beat longer than usual, enjoying the teasing, the way it feels easy between you two. "Good to know," you reply, smirking.

Before Seokmin can respond, the door swings open and Seungkwan walks in again, wiping his hands on his apron and immediately launching into his usual dramatic self. 

"I swear, I’ll never get used to that fertilizer smell," he complains, tossing his apron on a hook. He looks over at you and Seokmin, "Glad to know you two haven’t burned the place down."

You grin, "Not yet, but we’re working on it."

Seungkwan scoffs half-heartedly, glancing between you. "Nice to see him finally making some friends outside of the plants."

As Seungkwan heads toward the back, he gives you both a knowing look. “Don’t let him get too distracted, alright?” he calls over his shoulder with a grin.

“I’ll try my best.” You give Seokmin a wink and he shakes his head, showing you an idea for another potential bouquet.

The last hour passes seamlessly fast, now that you’re here. Before Seokmin knows it, you, him, and Seungkwan are locking up the store and parting ways from the blonde as the two of you walk side by side to the bus stop. 

As he sits beside you on the bus later that night, looking over your shoulder at your collection of tapes for your walkman, he wrestles with the invitation that sits in the forefront of his mind. Spending time with you at the shop was great, but it somehow still feels like it follows your usual pattern. That, and Seungkwan’s presence, albeit lively and entertaining, keeps him from being able to spend as much time as he’d like with you—without the time constriction of a fifteen minute break or a forty minute bus ride. But like always, he decides to ask a different question in place of the one he really wants to. 

“How come you use a walkman? I always meant to ask you.” 

“I like the way the music sounds on it. I don’t know. It was my dad’s.” You smile warmly, “He used to let me borrow it when I was younger and I just kind of… inherited it.” 

“It’s cool. Makes you look all mysterious. Like you’re from a different time.” 

“You think?” He nods fervently, but your shoulders still sink in doubt as you fumble with the multicolored tapes. “Everything sounds nicer on it. When you listen to music on it, it’s like a mini time-machine. Or, it might just be me, I don’t know.” 

“I’m sure it’s not just you. Here, let me try. Pick one for me.” 

The corners of your mouth twitch upwards for a second as you ponder which song to play. Delicately, your fingers brush over each tape, hovering in thought like they had with the books on Mr. Kim’s shelf, until you finally land on one.  

“It’s my favorite.” You tell him shyly, “I think you’ll like it.”

Carefully, you pull the cassette out of its case and click it into the audio player with a low snap. Seokmin watches as your hands slip the headset off from around your neck, watching as you shift in your seat and place them gently over his head. He tries not to think about how close your face is to his but… how can he not? You’ve leaned in to ensure that both spongy cushions are perfectly sat over his ears, and now you’re only a few inches away—close enough that he can catch the faint scent of your shampoo. It lingers, soft and floral, wrapping around him like the embrace of something he hadn’t realized he’d miss until you finally sat back, asking “ready?” 

You press down on the play button and look up at him, eyes full of expectation.

There’s that familiar, comforting crackle of the cassette winding into motion, a sound that makes Seokmin feel as if he’s in an old-timey dream. And then, the music starts: your song—your favorite song—something you had chosen specifically for him to hear. Every note feels warm, intimate, melodic. For some reason, it temporarily diminishes his burning curiosity about you, but not because he finds himself any less intrigued, but because it finally feels like he’s taken a real peek inside your mind.

As someone who loves music, Seokmin is a firm believer that a person’s favorite song says a lot about them. The more it plays, the more he realizes that this song, in every sense of the word, is an extension of you. 

As the melody flows, you watch him, eyes studying his reaction with that same teasing smile. You lean closer again, and he subconsciously holds his breath as you whisper, “Do you hear it?” He nods.

There’s a warmth in it, a rawness that makes it feel like more than just music. This was something deeply yours, a piece of your world that you were letting him in on, if only for a few minutes.

He listens with his eyes closed, letting himself drift along the rhythm, feeling the weight of each tone and key change and lyric the artist sings, full of intention. When he finally opens his eyes, he finds you still looking at him with a kind of question in your gaze, a quiet hope. The song fades out, but Seokmin keeps the headphones on for a second longer, letting the last notes dissolve into silence. He looks up again, meeting your gaze. 

For a moment, he’s not sure what to say. Anything he could say feels too small, too plain for what he wants you to understand. So he starts with the only words that come out easily, his voice low and sincere. “I… I think I get it.” He pauses, then adds, “And this song… it feels like you.”

Your eyebrows lift slightly, a playful gleam in your eyes. “What do you mean?” you ask, though there’s a softness in your tone, like you’re hoping he’ll really answer.

He glances down at the walkman, watching your thumb tracing along the edge as he gathers his thoughts. “I don’t know. It’s just… this song is so warm. It’s like the way you laugh, the way you make everything feel a little bit lighter.” He feels his cheeks warm but keeps going, his words coming out before he can second-guess them. “It’s like a piece of you, and I can feel it, even with my eyes closed.”

You go still, your expression shifting, the playful smile that played on your lips softening into something more serious. Neither of you say anything for a moment.

The bus begins to slow, and you both glance out the window, realizing this is your stop. You reach up, fingers brushing his ear as you gently pull the headphones from him, careful not to disturb the sense of closeness still hanging in the air. You slide the walkman back into your bag, a little slower than necessary, as if that might make the night last, if just for a few seconds longer.

“This is me,” you say softly, feeling the finality in the words as the bus comes to a gentle stop and the doors sigh open. You start to stand but pause, glancing down at him one last time. There’s something unreadable in his gaze, as if he’s searching for the right thing to say, something more than just “goodbye.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you ask, your voice soft, almost hopeful.

He nods, his smile widening just a little. “Yeah,” he says, gentle but certain. “Tomorrow.” You’re about to turn around when he adds, “but not here. I want to go somewhere else with you. I mean, if you want to, that is.” He finds his breath catching again, “The flower shop closes early on the weekends. I was thinking... Maybe we could go to the beach?”

With a grin playing on your lips, you nod, “Yeah. I’d like that.” 

Giving him one last glance, you turn and step off the bus, feeling the warmth of his gaze linger behind as you walk down the street. As the bus pulls away, you catch his face framed in the window, waving until you’re out of sight. And though the music has stopped, the tune of this moment plays on, promising something to carry with you both until tomorrow. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

The sky stretches out in a hazy blue as Seokmin walks toward the beach, his guitar case slung over his shoulder. His fingers tap a nervous rhythm against its side as he looks around, hoping to spot you before you see him.

He barely slept the night before, having spent the better part of the morning hours contemplating and talking to himself with his guitar on his lap. It hadn’t been touched in nearly a year and a half, so he had to spend some time wiping it down, re-tuning it, and even fixing a string that had managed to come loose in the process.

He said he’d play for you, but then again, he hadn’t played for someone in a while and naturally, that made him extremely nervous, though that feeling didn’t even fully capture what he felt when he remembered he’d be playing for you. What would you think? Did you actually mean it when you said you wanted to hear him play? Or was that some automated response to boost his spirits? Would you even remember? It was weeks ago, on the first day at the coffee shop. Needless to say, he mulled over it endlessly.

Seokmin sighs, trying to calm himself down. By now, he had to slip off his shoes that were sinking in the cool sand, so he chooses to focus on the sensation of it against his skin instead of overthinking any longer. 

He finally spots you standing by the water, arms wrapped around yourself as a light breeze blows through your hair. When you turn and see him, your face brightens, and that smile of yours—bright and open—fills him with warmth instantly. “Is that—” you begin, your eyes widening as you notice the guitar.

“Thought it was time,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal despite his heart thundering as he sets the guitar down and dusts off a spot in the sand beside you. You sit next to him eagerly, your excitement spilling out in the way you lean closer, eyes sweeping between him and the guitar case, as if you’re finally being let in on a long-held secret. And, in a way, you are. 

He stretches his legs out, digging his heels into the cool sand. He watches you rummage through the tote bag beside you, and a curious smile tugs at his lips.

“You came prepared,” he chuckles, watching as you pull out a couple of neatly wrapped sandwiches and a small container of fruit.

“Of course I did,” you say with a smile, offering him a sandwich and holding out the fruit container. “I figured we’d get hungry eventually.” You shrug, glancing out toward the waves. “Besides, I thought it would be nice to have a little picnic.”

Seokmin accepts the sandwich with a grin, unwrapping it and taking a bite. He’s pleasantly surprised by the fresh crunch of lettuce and the perfect balance of flavors. “Did you make these?” he asks between bites, raising an eyebrow.

You nod, a bit of pride flashing in your eyes. “I did. You think I’d risk buying store-bought for a beach day?”

“Touché,” he laughs, grabbing a few grapes from the fruit container you’ve placed between you. “Honestly, this is already ten times better than what I packed.” He gestures vaguely to a plastic bottle and an uninspired granola bar that now seem almost laughable compared to your carefully prepared spread.

The sun has settled lower in the sky, casting the beach in a soft, golden haze. Seokmin leans back, resting his hands behind him as he glances over at you, a lazy grin playing at the corners of his mouth. The two of you have polished off the sandwiches, and now the empty wrappers lie folded beside the fruit container. He pops one last grape into his mouth, savoring the refreshing sweetness as he watches you tuck the food away with a little, satisfied sigh.

“So, did I earn any points for bringing the snacks?” you tease, dusting a few crumbs from your hands before looking over at him expectantly.

Seokmin laughs, squinting a little in the sunlight as he tilts his head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm… I’ll give you extra points for the sandwiches. But for the fruit,” he says, grabbing a couple of the last grapes with a mischievous smile, “I think you’ll need to try a little harder.”

“Oh, please,” you scoff, leaning back beside him. “You’re just mad you didn’t think to bring anything.”

“Maybe,” he admits, laughing as he looks out at the waves. “But next time, I’ll bring something better.”

“Alright, big shot,” you say with a smirk, crossing your arms. “What’s on the menu then? A charcuterie board?”

“Definitely,” he says, nodding with exaggerated seriousness. “Maybe even some tiny, fancy desserts, the ones that look way too pretty to eat.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to impress someone.” You raise an eyebrow, letting the words hang in the air just long enough that Seokmin can’t miss the playful edge in your tone. Not like he could have missed it anyway, with the way he hangs on your every word. 

He laughs again, but there’s a slight flush to his cheeks. “Hey, I’m just saying I know how to put together a memorable picnic,” he says, attempting a casual shrug. “But, you know, only if you’re there to witness it.”

You grin, unable to help the smile that breaks through at his subtle, almost shy attempt at flirting. “I’d hate to miss such an extravagant spread,” you reply, matching his casual tone with your own. “Guess you’ll have to invite me.”

Seokmin pretends to think it over, tapping his chin. “Hmm, alright, you’re in. But no backing out,” he says, his smile widening. “I’m holding you to this.”

There’s an ease between you, a lightness in the conversation that feels effortless, and for a while, the two of you just sit there, chatting about nothing and everything. He asks you about your favorite places to visit and listens as you share stories about the other hobbies you have. In return, you ask how he met Seungkwan, and he tells you about him and Soonyoung, recounting each memory he has made with them with an enthusiasm that makes you feel like you were right there with him.

Then, as the conversation dips, he glances down at the guitar case beside him. He reaches for it almost absentmindedly, brushing his fingers along the edge of the case, but there’s a faint look of hesitation in his eyes that you don’t miss.

“You don’t have to, even if you brought it all the way out here. It’s up to you.” 

Seokmin lets out a small laugh, scratching the back of his neck as he glances away. He’s more grateful for your patience than you could ever know. 

 “Yeah… I haven’t really played in a while,” he admits, his voice dropping slightly. “It’s been over two years, actually. I brought it… Well, because I think it’s about time I get back into the habit.” He trails off, watching the waves again, his mind flickering to a different time, a different place, one he’s not sure he’s ready to revisit.

There’s a quiet understanding in your eyes as you nod. You don’t press him, don’t ask for more details. Instead, you just let the silence stretch out between you, the sound of the ocean filling the space where words might have gone. It’s almost as if you’re giving him permission to take his time, to decide for himself if this is something he wants to do.

After a moment, he takes a breath, exhaling slowly. “I used to play a lot, actually,” he says, almost to himself. “Just… haven’t felt like it in a while.”

The air feels thick with unspoken things, but Seokmin pushes past it, fingers brushing the guitar case almost impulsively. The weight of the past lingers for a second, but with a quick glance at you, he lets go of the hesitation clinging to him. This is different, he reminds himself. This isn’t for anyone else, no memories he needs to cling to. Just the open beach, the sun dipping low, and you, waiting beside him with a patient, easy smile.

He pulls the guitar from its case, its weight grounding him, though it feels different today than it had last night. It’s less scary, now that he’s with you. 

He glances over at you, a grin tugging at his lips. “Ready?” he asks. You nod, your eyes wide, leaning just close enough for him to catch the faint, floral hint of you drifting in the salt-laced air.

Seokmin strums the first couple of notes, letting the music rise and blend with the gentle crash of the waves. His fingers move on instinct, but his mind is all on you, capturing every little reaction—the way your eyes soften, the way your shoulders relax, reassuring him that his music is something you’ve been waiting to hear. He’s suddenly very relieved.

“I wrote this a few years back. It’s… Well, yeah. I think the lyrics speak for themselves.” 

It takes a few seconds and one or two badly played chords for him to regain a little bit of the confidence he had lost some time ago. But his fingers find their place quickly enough, and he parts his lips to sing. 

As Seokmin's voice fills the space between you, soft and hesitant at first, he notices the subtle shift in your expression. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, brows lifting in quiet surprise as if you hadn’t really expected him to sing so well. There’s a moment of stillness, only filled with his voice, warm and unpolished, floating in the air.

Your gaze flickers to and from him, watching the way his lips move to form each syllable, and then back to the water, where the waves blur in a streak of light. You can’t help but notice the way his face softens when he sings, his features loosening as he melts into the words. 

You look back at him, your lips parting in surprise. There’s a shy kind of amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth, like you're unsure if it’s okay to smile just yet, but the quiet joy you feel is evident in the warmth that floods your chest. You tilt your head slightly, caught between admiration and a soft, disbelieving smile.

I should’ve told you I’m in love with you

Then I wouldn’t have been regretting right now

The longer you listen, the more the words he’s written seem bound to him, something like an itch he couldn’t reach. You find your lips curving upward again, but there’s a sad sentiment behind your smile this time, eyes full with a kind of quiet affection. Something tugs at your heart just then, causing your brows to furrow slightly. Maybe it’s from the lyrics he wrote, or maybe it’s the simple, unguarded way he sings, you’re not entirely sure.

When he looks up, your gaze meets his, soft and steady. You don’t speak when he finishes. Instead, you reach over, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers as light as the spring breeze.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and in that moment, Seokmin realizes he doesn’t need to say anything at all.

You sit back, letting the sound of the water fill the space between you, the silence stretching just long enough for Seokmin to look out at the horizon, his fingers still idly plucking at the strings of his guitar. His expression has changed slightly, distant, like he's somewhere else for a moment, lost in thought.

You turn toward him, studying his profile. “Why don’t you play anymore?” you ask softly, not wanting to break the calm vulnerability of the moment, but still unable to ignore the quiet curiosity rising inside you. “I mean, you’re really good. Why keep it to yourself?”

He freezes for a second, his mindless strumming halting abruptly. He exhales, the sound almost like a sigh.

“I used to,” he begins to explain. His voice is quiet, almost like he’s talking to himself. “Back when I had someone to play for. It didn’t work out.” He swallows thickly. “She… She had been hooking up with her best friend practically since we got together.” 

You wait, letting him speak, but his lips press together for a moment, unsure if he should say more. His gaze turns toward the ocean, but there’s a shift in his eyes, which are normally so kind and full of spirit—something like a hard edge, as if a memory he had thought of has sharpened into something more painful. “I played for her all the time.”

You can’t hide the surprise that flashes in your eyes, and Seokmin glances at you. He doesn’t want pity. He’s not asking for it.

“I stopped playing after that,” he continues, “It just... didn’t feel the same anymore. It was something I gave to someone who didn’t deserve it.” He shrugs, as if the words are too heavy for him to carry all at once.

You can feel the hurt in the air, hanging around him like a shadow. You want to reach out, but you don’t know how to offer comfort without crossing a line, so you just sit still beside him, close enough that he can feel your presence but far enough to give him space.

And at the time, you didn’t know it, but for him, it was enough. 

After a long pause, you finally say, “I’m sorry. That’s... that’s a lot.”

He nods, and the tightness in his jaw softens slightly. “Yeah,” he says, his voice a little steadier. “But... maybe it’s okay.” Seokmin’s eyes flicker to you, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Today felt right, you know. Playing for someone who’s actually listening.”

And in the quiet that follows, he feels something shift between you, the weight of unspoken things starting to lift.

“Seokmin,” you say, your voice gentle, as if careful not to disrupt the quiet peace he’s settled into. He can tell you’re about to say something, maybe offer some comforting words about his story, but he’s already lost in thought.

It hits him, then, so suddenly it almost makes him laugh at himself. The way the late afternoon light catches in your hair, the soft curve of your smile, the way you’re watching him with that steady, thoughtful gaze. It’s all so striking that it feels like something he’s never noticed before, and yet it feels so familiar at the same time.

He decides then, that this is the prettiest you’ve ever looked. 

Suddenly convinced you might be able to read his mind, he clears his throat, feeling a warmth creeping up his neck as he looks back down at the guitar, trying to hide the smile that’s fighting its way to his face. He wants to say it—wants to tell you that you look beautiful, that sitting here with you feels like some kind of dream he didn’t know he was allowed to have. But the words don’t come out; they sit, caught in his throat, trapped by the sudden nervousness that’s settled over him.

Instead, he finds himself brushing a hand over the guitar strings again, as if that small action might keep him grounded. “Thanks… for listening,” he manages, hoping it’ll distract from the fact that he can feel his cheeks warming.

You smile, nodding gently, still looking at him in that quiet, understanding way, and it only makes him want to blurt it out more. But for now, he lets the moment stretch, watching as you lean back in the sand, your gaze shifting back to the waves. The sun is sinking lower, and everything is bathed in that soft, warm light that makes the world feel as if it’s been suspended in time. And Seokmin realizes, right then and there, that this is one of those good memories he’ll hold on to; one he doesn’t intend to forget any time soon. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

It starts with a simple conversation over coffee, the two of you tucked into a cozy corner booth at the cafe, each with a steaming cup in hand as usual. It has become the norm, seeing you like this, nearly every morning and evening. Seokmin stirs a bit more sugar into his drink despite the crazed look you give him, then glances up at you with a warm, toothy smile as you tell him about your latest read. He leans in, listening intently, nodding as if every word you say is the most fascinating thing he’s heard all week. 

When you pause, taking a sip of your drink, he takes a chance to jump in, “You know, I’ve been meaning to go to the art museum downtown. It’s supposed to have this new exhibit.” He hesitates, looking down at his cup for a moment, then back at you with a shy, hopeful glint in his eyes. “If… you’d want to check it out with me?”

You perk up at the suggestion, grinning. “I’d love that! Museums are kind of my weakness.”

Relieved, he chuckles, “Then we’re in good company,” he says, the words coming out a little softer than he intends. He clears his throat, trying to play it cool, but his heart beats a little faster as you chuckle.

“Alright, Mr. Museum,” you say, teasing. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Great,” he replies, glancing out the window at the overcast sky. “How about today, then?”

With a nod, you grab your things, sliding out of the booth as Seokmin hurriedly follows, waving goodbye to Joshua. As you both step out onto the sidewalk, he can’t help the familiar rush of excitement at the thought of spending the rest of the day with you. The two of you stroll side by side down the bustling street, exchanging small talk and the occasional smile, his heart lifting with every step closer to the city.

The walk to the museum is a mixture of laughter, subtle glances, and playful nudges that neither of you can seem to resist. The air is crisp, a light breeze tugging at your sleeves as the two of you meander down the busy street, dodging the occasional cyclist or dog walker. Every few steps, one of you makes a half-serious comment—maybe about the art you’re about to see, maybe about the bizarre mannequin display in a shop window you pass—and it doesn’t take long before both of you dissolve into laughter, your steps momentarily slowed as you lean into each other, trying to catch your breath.

Seokmin, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, finds himself glancing your way more often than he’d like to admit, watching as you tuck your hair behind your ear or lift your face to the sky for a second, enjoying the clouds. He doesn’t know why he feels like a kid right now, heart skipping with each shared smile and laugh, but he can’t seem to shake it. The closeness of walking side by side with you makes him almost giddy.

At one point, you nudge him with your elbow, a light-hearted challenge in your eyes as you try to keep a straight face. “So,” you say, feigning seriousness, “ready to become cultured?”

He rolls his eyes, laughing as he nudges you right back. “Please.”

Seokmin steps into the museum lobby with you by his side, wandering across the high ceilings and polished floors. There’s almost a sacred quietness to the place, the kind that makes every sound seem amplified, even the shuffle of your footsteps. 

You hand him a ticket that you get from the booth, brushing his hand lightly, and he tries to hide his smile, hoping you don’t notice the faint flush that blooms in his cheeks. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous; he always is around you, but he never knows why. Somehow today, he’s more nervous than other days. Maybe it’s the atmosphere, or maybe it’s just you—standing there beside him, glancing around with the same sort of wide-eyed curiosity that makes him want to see everything through your eyes.

The two of you wander through the galleries, pausing in front of each painting and sculpture, taking your time. Every so often, you glance at him to see his reaction to something particularly strange or fascinating, and catch him already looking back, smiling at your expressions just as much as he is admiring the art.

“Do you think they meant to paint it like this?” you ask, leaning closer to a particularly loud modern piece that’s all bright, chaotic lines. Your voice is soft, as though you’re afraid of disturbing the tranquility.

Seokmin leans closer, squinting as if trying to unravel some secret meaning, though he hasn’t a clue what he’s looking at. “Maybe they were just… feeling inspired,” he replies, lips quirking with a grin he can’t suppress.

“Or maybe they dropped their paintbrush,” you add, matching his grin.

The sound of your laughter echoes slightly in the otherwise silent gallery, and for a moment, he’s aware of how close you’re standing. The space feels smaller, and though there are other visitors around, it feels for a moment like the museum is yours alone. You move on to the next painting, your eyes bright with curiosity, and he follows, longing to shorten the distance once more. 

He notices a stray piece of hair that’s slipped from behind your ear, and without thinking, he lifts a hand to tuck it back. But at the last second, he hesitates, his fingers barely brushing your shoulder as he pulls his hand back, a shy red spreading over his complexion. You don’t seem to notice, lost in thought as you step closer to the next painting, tilting your head to take it all in.

At one point, you point out a painting of a starry sky, something dreamlike. “Imagine being under a sky like that,” you murmur, almost to yourself, your gaze soft and wondrous as you look at the canvas.

More and more often throughout the visit to the museum, Seokmin finds himself staring at you instead of the exhibits. On this specific one, he can’t seem to look away from your face, your expression so captivated, as if you’re somewhere far away.

“Maybe one day we can find a place like that,” he says softly, almost not meaning to say it aloud. When you turn to look at him, a bit surprised, he clears his throat, pretending to be suddenly very interested in reading the placard beside the artwork.

Seokmin finds himself feeling almost weightless, caught up in the dizzying whirlwind of his own thoughts for a minute. There’s something about you—something he can’t quite put a name to—that makes him feel like he’s constantly walking on a tightrope, and with each step, he’s leaning a little further in, a step closer to letting go of the balance he’s tried for so long to keep.

You whisper an eager “come on,” and grab his sleeve to drag him further into the maze of galleries. 

As you wander into a room filled with ancient statues, he catches you examining one with a particularly serious expression. “Thinking of getting one of these for your place?” he teases. 

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Only if you help me carry it,” you reply, and he finds himself grinning again.

Soon, you reach a new room, filled with work from the Renaissance, each painting rich with detail and vibrant colors that have held their vibrancy for centuries. You lean in slightly, admiring the delicate brushstrokes, and Seokmin watches you, his gaze drifting from the artwork to the fascinated look in your eyes—possibly for the hundredth time today. 

“I feel like I’m supposed to be having some deep, life-changing revelation right now,” he whispers by your ear, half-joking.

“Who says art has to be that serious? Sometimes, it’s just… pretty.”

You’re just pretty. 

As you move through the quiet museum halls together, Seokmin catches himself watching you again, realizing just how pretty you look in the warm glow of the exhibit lights. It’s not the first time he's felt this way; he remembers the flutter in his chest when you’d gone to the beach, and the way his thoughts had lingered a little too long on the curve of your smile. He watches as you lean a bit closer to a painting, eyes narrowing in focus, oblivious to his gaze. There’s a calmness to you here, the way you examine each piece as if it holds a secret, and he finds himself drawn to the little things: the way your fingers rest on your chin in thought, the faint lift of your brows when something catches your eye, and the gentle concentration in your expression.

He watches you for longer this time, taking advantage of the fact that you’ve busied yourself reading a plaque, and noticing things he hadn’t paid attention to before right now: today, your smiles linger a little longer, your laughter rings out just a bit brighter, and he finds himself captivated by these subtleties, like he's uncovering new pieces of you with each glance. When you look at him, eyes crinkling in a way he hadn’t dared imagine was just for him, his heart stirs, and he can’t shake the thought: Have you always been this lovely, or am I just starting to see it now? 

His mind drifts, painting scenes of possibilities—fleeting, half-formed images of laughter, of late nights talking, of small moments shared just between the two of you. Each image feels almost real, so vivid he can practically reach out and touch it.

There’s a spark in his chest, a sensation that’s both exhilarating and terrifying. Part of him wants to pull back, to reel himself in, a quiet warning in the back of his mind whispering not to get carried away like he had before. But he can’t help it; there’s something magnetic about this, about you, something that pulls him closer despite himself. 

He steals another glance at you, his heart racing as he does. You’re just looking at the art around you, as though this is any other day, but for him, it feels monumental. His thoughts get lost again, imagining what it might be like to hold your hand right now, to simply be beside you without any of this hesitation.

And then, you look at him and laugh, catching him staring, and his ears go red, a little embarrassed but somehow happy to be caught.

By the time you reach the last hall of artwork, the sun has started to set outside, casting a warm glow through the large windows. Seokmin watches as the light catches in your eyes, making them shine in a way that leaves him a little breathless. There’s a comfortable silence between you as you look around.

As you both step outside into the cool evening air, he catches your eye, intentionally this time, his smile small but genuine. “Thanks for coming here with me,” he says, his voice soft, almost shy.

“Anytime,” you reply, and the word feels like a promise. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

The night starts with laughter and neon lights as Seokmin leads you through the bustling street to the karaoke room, his two friends, Seungkwan and Soonyoung, trailing just behind and rambling on about something indiscernible. The place is lively, bursting with music from rooms down the hall, each one echoing snippets of songs and off-key shouts. 

Seokmin can’t help but beam when he sees how easily you fall into conversation with his friends, joining in their jokes and even taking a dig at Seungkwan when he hypes himself up as the “true vocal talent” of the group. Having heard Seokmin sing just a few weeks back, you couldn’t help but feel defensive on his behalf. 

Once everyone’s settled, drinks start flowing freely. The first few songs are cautious, each of you easing into the familiar, buzzing rhythm of karaoke night. But as the night goes on, any sense of shyness melts away in the glow of pulsing lights and laughter.

Seokmin watches with undeniable fondness as you and Seungkwan bicker over song selections, and he tries not to grin too widely when he catches you belting out the lyrics with Soonyoung during a duet. 

At some point, he notices how naturally you fit with his friends—the way you make Seungkwan laugh with a remark about his questionable song choices, or how you nod along enthusiastically as Soonyoung gives a dramatic toast, proclaiming you as “one of them now.” For Seokmin, it’s everything he hadn’t realized he wanted: his closest friends getting along with you.

As the night hums along, Seokmin picks up the microphone, sending you a lopsided, slightly tipsy smile that makes your heart flutter before selecting a song. His choice surprises you—it’s one of those classic ballads that’s probably too high for anyone but the original singer to sing. The melody starts slow, and his voice flows soft and easy, but with a control that reminds you just how talented he really is. You practically feel your admiration soar, and as you watch him, his hazy, glossed over eyes settle on you. 

Every so often, he adds a bit of exaggerated flair, trying to coax a laugh out of you, playfully stretching out the notes or adding dramatic hand gestures to match the lyrics. It’s impossible not to smile, and you feel yourself relax as his antics draw you in. The song suddenly feels a little less serious, a little more fun, as he throws in a wink here, a knowing grin there.

As he finishes, you clap, unable to hide your smile. "You know," you say, a little breathless, "it’s honestly unfair that you’re this good."

He laughs, cheeks pink from both the praise and the drinks. “What can I say? Talent just comes naturally,” he jokes, a little bolder, that playful gleam returning to his eyes. Then he looks at you, his expression softening. “How about we do one together?”

“Oh no,” you protest with a laugh, shaking your head, “I can’t follow that.”

“Come on,” he coaxes, handing you a microphone and grabbing you by your hand to pull you to your feet,  “I’ll sing the verses, you can handle the chorus. It'll be easy.”

With a mix of reluctance and excitement, both of which mix together with the alcohol in your system, you take the mic, scrolling through songs until you settle on something you both know—The music starts, and the two of you exchange a grin before starting.

At first, you both sing a little awkwardly, tipsy laughter interrupting every other line as you stumble over the lyrics and try not to trip over each other’s parts. But as the song goes on, you find a rhythm, and every so often, Seokmin leans into the mic to harmonize with you, his voice blending with yours. By the end, you’re both laughing, the microphones forgotten as you clutch your sides and stumble around, out of breath and giddy.

Seokmin looks at you, eyes bright, face flushed, smile so wide that you could count his teeth if you wanted to. He reaches out, touching your hand ever so lightly, his fingers warm and steady. “You did amazing,” he says, voice soft, his smile a little shy despite everything.

“Likewise,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you that’s more than just the drinks. And as you both sit there, you realize that there’s other people in the room. 

Before you even have time to catch your breath, Soonyoung jumps up, grabbing the microphone. “Move over!” he declares with a grin, completely ignoring the indignant look Seungkwan shoots at him as he stands up to join him. “It’s duet time for real now.”

Seungkwan, rolling his eyes, snatches the other mic and leans in with a smirk. “Prepare yourselves. You two are about to be outshined.” He cues up a song with exaggerated flair, and the upbeat tune starts, loud and impossible to take seriously as they start belting the opening lines completely off-time.

“They’re usually better than this,” Seokmin tells you, “especially Seungkwan. I think it’s the alcohol.” 

You laugh as you watch the pair start to coordinate with each other, finally managing to sing to the beat of the song. 

“It’s good!” You argue, “Are you all just super talented?” 

Seungkwan’s voice suddenly cuts through, loudly. “Hey! I can’t hear myself over you two!” He shoots you both a look, his mock glare breaking into a grin as Soonyoung pulls him back to belt out the chorus.

Seokmin shakes his head, laughing as he leans in closer to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “I warned you about them, didn’t I?” he says, his voice soft, he’s close enough that you feel his breath beside you, gaze lingering as he speaks. He’s a little past the point of tipsy, cheeks and nose slightly flushed, but somehow the hazy glow of the karaoke lights makes him look even softer, easier to smile at.

You giggle, feeling a little light-headed yourself, but whether it’s from the drinks or the warmth radiating between the two of you, you’re not entirely sure. Your eyes subconsciously bat at him as they trace his features, tugging at his heartstrings as Soonyoung and Seungkwan sing with wild abandon in the background.

Seokmin’s arm rests casually on the back of the booth behind you. “You know,” he murmurs, leaning just a bit closer, “I’m glad you’re here.”

The words are simple, but somehow they send a warmth spreading through you, making the whole room seem to slow down. “Me too,” you say, a little shy but meeting his gaze, feeling that same unspoken something settle around you.

Then, somewhere between another toast and Soonyoung’s next drink, things start to get a little fuzzy for him. Soonyoung has, predictably, taken things a bit too far, eyes glazed as he sways to the music, occasionally belting out lyrics that don’t match the song on screen. Seungkwan sighs knowingly, standing and giving Seokmin a helpless shrug. “I’m taking him home before he tries to start chugging Soju.” He nods at you, adding with a smirk, “Good luck with this one.” And then, with a wave, they’re gone, leaving the two of you in the dimly lit room, half-empty drinks scattered on the table.

Alone with you now, Seokmin’s pulse races, the soft glow of tipsiness making him feel both bold and nervous. The room feels quieter, somehow more intimate, with just the two of you here. He reaches for the remote, scrolling through song choices, trying to keep his eyes on the screen and not on the way you’re leaning back on the couch, your gaze drifting over to him with a glint he can’t quite decipher.

“Do you want to pick the last one?” he asks, his voice a little more shy than he intended.

You smile, shrugging casually, but he doesn’t miss the hint of a blush on your cheeks. “Only if you promise not to laugh if I butcher it.”

He grins, feeling his own face warm. “I make no promises,” he teases. But there’s something in his gaze—a hint of anticipation that he can’t quite hide, even if he tries.

As you start singing, he watches, captivated by the way you let loose, tipsy confidence making you bolder. The words are a little off-key, your voice rising and falling with the tempo, but to him, it’s perfect. When you’re finished, he can’t help but clap, cheering as if he’s at a concert.

“You sounded amazing,” he says, his voice softer than the playful bravado he’d intended. He feels a little too exposed under your gaze, a little too aware of just how close you’re sitting. 

“Thank you, thank you,” you reply with an exaggerated bow, but your eyes linger on his a little longer than they should, and the tension between you feels thick, heavy with possibility. 

He clears his throat, laughing nervously. “You’re going to put me out of a job with that voice.” But his words sound almost sincere.

There’s a lull in the conversation, a quiet beat where neither of you says anything, just looking at each other, the warmth of the drinks and the moment settling over both of you. You move a little closer, your knee brushing against his, and Seokmin swears he feels his heart stutter.

“Seokmin,” you say, voice barely a whisper, eyes bright with that boldness that only alcohol can provide.

“Yeah?” His voice comes out breathier than he intended, and he has to resist the urge to reach for your hand.

You smile, almost shyly, but there’s a warmth in your gaze that reassures him. “Thanks for inviting me tonight. I had… a really great time.”

“Me too,” he murmurs, his eyes meeting yours. His hand, almost on instinct, drifts a little closer to yours, his fingers brushing against your knuckles.

As you step out of the karaoke bar, the cool night air feels refreshing, and Seokmin falls into an easy rhythm beside you. The streets are quiet, the lights soft and glowing, casting a warm hue on everything around you. He insists on walking you home, and you can see a bit of that familiar determination in his expression—a mix of sweetness and subtle nerves, the kind that makes him even harder not to smile at.

The two of you talk softly as you walk, laughter spilling into the night as you recount moments from earlier, but the conversation drifts into a quiet calm. Seokmin feels a little tipsy, though he knows it’s not solely the drinks making him feel this way. It’s the warmth in your laugh, the way your gaze lights up when you look at him. Everything feels a little brighter, softer, like the world’s colors are blurring into a hazy glow.

Eventually, you pause, looking over at the buildings below the hill you’ve climbed, and above them, the faint sparkle of stars cutting through the city’s glow. Seokmin stops beside you, following your gaze, but when he looks back down, it’s not the skyline he’s mesmerized by. It’s you, standing there with that quiet, contemplative look in your eyes.

At that moment, he’s overwhelmed. Something about this night, this moment, feels like a dream—one he’s afraid might slip away if he blinks too long. He wants to say something, to tell you how lovely you look standing there, bathed in city lights. He can feel his heart pounding. He’s been trying to find the right words for some time now, something that could capture the feeling building up in his chest when he’s with you. He’s not sure if it’s the night, the laughter still echoing in his mind, or just the way you’re looking up at the sky. Before he can overthink himself out of it, he takes a breath and speaks, his voice just a little unsteady. “You know… you look beautiful right now.”

It’s the first time he’s said something so openly to you, and he can feel his cheeks heat up the second the words are out. You turn to him, a bit taken aback, your eyes wide with surprise before a smile slowly spreads across your face, soft and a little shy.

The moment stretches between you, and for once, he doesn’t feel the need to fill it with laughter or play it off. He’s content just looking at you, watching that glow in your eyes as his words settle in. 

A soft laugh escapes you, and you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, looking down for a second before glancing back up at him. “I was going to say the same about you.”

He can’t help but laugh, his own nervousness melting away a little. You both stand there, caught in the gentle pull between you, feeling a little bolder, a little lighter.

When you start walking again, his hand brushes against yours, and this time he doesn’t pull away, letting his fingers linger close enough that if you reached out, they’d intertwine. It’s a simple gesture, but it says everything he’s been holding back, and as you walk together through the quiet streets, he knows something has shifted.

The stone path thuds beneath your footsteps, clumsy and unsteady as you both navigate the uneven terrain, sharing quiet laughter over your shared lack of coordination. Seokmin, glancing down, suddenly stops.

"Look!" he says, his finger pointing at a small penny on the ground, glinting faintly in the light. “What’s this doing all the way out here? Take it. For good luck.”

You shake your head, amused, and explain, “It’s only good luck if it’s face up when you find it.”

“Ah.” Seokmin considers this, then immediately drops into a crouch, carefully flipping the coin over so Lincoln’s head is proudly facing the sky. He straightens up with a grin as if he’s just accomplished something important.

“What’d you do that for?” you ask, your tone laced with affection.

“Now someone else can have good luck,” he replies.

You feel something warm tug at you in response, watching him as he stands there, content with his small gesture of kindness.  Suddenly, you see very clearly the kind of person Lee Seokmin is. It’s so like him—turning even the smallest, most mundane thing into something significant. As he begins walking ahead, you linger just a moment, looking back at the coin on the ground, then up at him.

You don’t move to follow him. Seokmin halts, slightly startled, his gaze questioning as he glances at you. But before he can ask why, you step closer, closing the space between you. You’re both quiet, caught in a bubble of giddy anticipation, his eyes searching yours, wide with surprise. And then, without a word, you reach up, resting a hand lightly on his chest, and lean in.

The moment your lips meet his, it’s like everything else falls away, replaced by a feeling that’s as soft as it is electric. He lets out a small, breathless laugh amidst his shock, hands stuck to his sides as your mouth presses to his.

When you pull back, you find him grinning, a little dazed, his eyes bright with surprise. Then he closes the space again, meeting your lips in another kiss, quick but more eager, like he’s savoring the feeling.

And then another. His hand drifts to your waist, drawing you in just a little closer each time your lips meet, each kiss growing a little bolder, a little sweeter, until the space between you disappears entirely. By the fourth kiss, his fingers have settled at the small of your back, warm and sure, and this time he lingers, letting the kiss deepen. It’s slow, unhurried, something unknown flooding through him as he feels your hand slide up to cup his cheek, tilting his face toward you so you can taste his mouth with ease.

You both feel a little unsteady, leaning into each other for balance, your hands anchoring each other as the world spins quietly around you. His heart races, thrumming against yours, and there’s a shy smile on his face when he finally pulls away, keeping his forehead close to yours, his eyes searching yours, dazed and happy and overcome with affection.

“I… I wasn’t expecting that,” he says, his voice a little unsteady but full of quiet excitement.

“I wasn’t planning it,” you admit, your cheeks flushed, but you don’t pull away, savoring the closeness.

For a moment, you both just stand there, eyes locked, breaths mingling in the cool night air, as if tethered to each other by an invisible string. Then, without thinking, you lean back in, your lips finding his once more. This time, there's no hesitation, no pause, just a shared need to be close—as close as possible. His hands tighten at your waist, pulling you in with a touch that’s both careful and desperate, as though he’s afraid you might slip away.

He lets out a quiet laugh against your lips, a sound that’s soft and breathless. It makes you laugh too, and you pull back for a moment, catching your breath, only to find his lips chasing after yours again. There’s something almost frantic in the way you keep returning to each other, like you’re both overwhelmed by the discovery of this closeness, unable to let it end just yet.

His hand moves gently to the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he deepens the kiss, and you can feel the tenderness in his touch, in the way he’s holding onto you. 

His voice is barely a whisper, warm and a little breathless. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” His words, shy and sincere, only pull you closer. Hand in hand, you start walking, the quiet night around you filled only by the soft sounds of your steps. He keeps his grip loose, fingers intertwined with yours, thumb brushing along the side of your hand as if he can’t bear to let go ever again. You walk in silence, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering touches, both of you stealing glances, unable to stop smiling.

Every so often, he pauses, as if some thread is tugging him back to you. He leans in to press a brief kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw, reeling over the way your eyes flutter closed from the feeling, and before you know it, his lips are back on yours. You laugh against his mouth, feeling both light-headed and grounded in a way that’s wholly new and otherworldly. He pulls back with a grin, his eyes crinkling, looking both bashful and thrilled, like he can’t believe this is real. You’re unreal, you have to be. A fabrication of his imagination, so delicate, so perfect, so you. 

As you continue walking, his arm slips around your shoulders, drawing you closer to his side. You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace, and the quiet contentment that settles over you feels as natural as breathing. When he stumbles slightly, you catch him, and he grins sheepishly, pulling you close again in a half-hug that turns into yet another kiss.

“I might never get home at this point,” You say breathlessly.

“Would that be so bad?” Each word is mumbled into your mouth as his fingers weave into your hair, holding the back of your neck and letting his tongue shyly lick your bottom lip. 

The hum that you let out, either as a response to his rhetorical question or his tongue now moving against yours, makes his head spin. Your nails, raking down his chest over the material of his shirt, your hips pressing to his—it’s all too much and at the same time, not enough. 

The closer you get to your doorstep, the slower your steps become, as if prolonging the walk will somehow stretch this night just a little further. Every so often, Seokmin pulls you close, and you laugh as he wraps an arm around your waist, leaning in to kiss you again, each one deeper and more unhurried than the last. 

Neither of you speak, as if words would break the fragile spell cast over the night. Instead, you stand there, wrapped up in each other, exchanging soft, dizzying kisses that grow lazier, more lingering. 

There’s a pause, a beat of hesitation, as he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes warm and soft, and he murmurs, “I should probably let you go.” But even as he says it, his hand remains on your cheek as if he’s not quite ready to leave.

“Probably,” you whisper, lips barely brushing his, but neither of you moves. It takes a moment, maybe two, before he reluctantly lets out a quiet laugh and pulls away, his hand slipping from your cheek to squeeze your hand, holding onto you just a moment longer. He gives you one last look, filled with a warmth and tenderness that leaves you breathless.

“I’ll see you soon?” he asks softly, already a few steps down the hall, as though he’s hoping for just one more promise to look forward to.

“Soon,” you reply, his gaze lingering on you as he walks away. You watch him go, the warmth of his kisses still lingering, the last few moments of the night settling over you as you turn to head inside, feeling light, tipsy, and wonderfully, utterly alive.

[click here to continue]

[marichive]

𝐖𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒

A collection of prompts from Wuthering Heights , by Emily Brontë. Adjust gender / pronouns / wording / etc. as needed.

❝ He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. ❞

❝ If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger. ❞

❝ Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! ❞

❝ I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free. ❞

❝ May you not rest as long as I am living. ❞

❝ You said I killed you--haunt me then. ❞

❝ The murdered do haunt their murderers. ❞

❝ Oh, God! It is unutterable! ❞

❝ If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years as I could in a day. ❞

❝ I have not broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. ❞

❝ She burned too bright for this world. ❞

❝ Terror made me cruel. ❞

❝ What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained here? ❞

❝ He's always, always in my mind. ❞

❝ If you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you, I would be your slave. ❞

❝ I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death; and flung it back to me. ❞

❝ I have dreamt in my life, dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas. ❞

❝ You teach me now how cruel you've been - cruel and false. ❞

❝ Why did you despise me? ❞

❝ Why did you betray your own heart? ❞

❝ I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. ❞

❝ Yes, you may kiss me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears: they'll blight you - they'll damn you. ❞

❝ You loved me - what right had you to leave me? ❞

❝ I have to remind myself to breathe -- almost to remind my heart to beat! ❞

❝ It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn. ❞

❝ It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those wasted hands. ❞

❝ Honest people don't hide their deeds. ❞

❝ May she wake in torment! ❞

❝ She's a liar to the end! ❞

❝ You said you cared nothing for my sufferings! ❞

❝ Heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth. ❞

❝ He wanted all to lie in an ecstasy of peace; I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. ❞

❝ He shall never know I love him ❞

❝ A person who has not done one half his day's work by ten o'clock, runs a chance of leaving the other half undone. ❞

❝ Treachery and violence are spears pointed at both ends; they wound those who resort to them worse than their enemies. ❞

❝ You know that I could as soon forget you as my existence. ❞

❝ ❞

❝ Why am I so changed? ❞

❝ I am now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town. ❞

❝ A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself. ❞

❝ Time brought resignation and a melancholy sweeter than common joy. ❞

❝ Had he been in my place and I in his, though I hated him with a hatred that turned my life to gall, I never would have raised a hand against him. ❞

❝ You may look incredulous, if you please! ❞

❝ The moment her regard ceased, I could have torn his heart out, and drunk his blood! ❞

❝ If you don't believe me, you don't know me. ❞

❝ I'll be as dirty as I please. ❞

❝ The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her. ❞

❝ I hate him for himself, but despise him for the memories he revives. ❞

❝ The thing that irks me most is this shattered prison, after all. ❞

❝ I’m tired of being enclosed here. ❞

❝ I pray every night that I may live after him; because I would rather be miserable than that he should be. ❞

❝ That proves I love him better than myself. ❞

❝ How cruel, your veins are full of ice water and mine are boiling. ❞

❝ Existence, after losing her, would be hell. ❞

❝ I have lost the faculty of enjoying their destruction, and I am too idle to destroy for nothing. ❞

❝ She was a wild, wicked slip of a girl. ❞

❝ You must forgive me, for I struggled only for you. ❞

❝ How can she love in him what he has not? ❞

❝ Your presence is a moral poison that would contaminate the most virtuous. ❞

❝ Your cold blood cannot be worked into a fever. ❞

❝ Good words, but deeds must prove it also. ❞

❝ Remember you don't forget resolutions formed in the hour of fear. ❞

❝ Why does my blood rush into a hell of tumult at a few words? ❞

❝ Make everything stop and stand still and never move again. Make the moors never change and you and I never change. ❞

❝ As different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire. ❞

❝ It’s no company at all, when people know nothing and say nothing. ❞

❝ I never told my love vocally; still, if looks have language, the merest idiot might have guessed I was over head and ears. ❞

❝ He might as well plant an oak in a flowerpot, and expect it to thrive, as imagine he can restore her to vigour in the soil of his shallow cares! ❞

❝ I have no pity! ❞

❝ It would degrade me to marry him now. ❞

❝ Hereafter she is only my sister in name; not because I disown her, but because she has disowned me. ❞

❝ In secret pleasure — secret tears, this changeful life has slipped away ❞

❝ Thoughts are tyrants that return again and again to torment us. ❞

❝ I begin to fancy you don't like me. ❞

❝ I wish I could hold you 'till we were both dead. ❞

❝ I care nothing for your sufferings. Why shouldn't you suffer? ❞

❝ Will you forget me? Will you be happy when I am in the earth? ❞

❝ Would you like to live with your soul in the grave? ❞

❝ I'm not going to act the lady among you. ❞

❝ You'll be ashamed of me everyday of your life, and the more ashamed, the more you know me; and I cannot bide it. ❞

❝ Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living. ❞

❝ Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves. ❞

❝ Nonsense, do you imagine he has thought as much of you as you have of him? ❞

❝ This lamb of yours threatens like a bull! ❞

❝ I'm mortally sorry that you are not worth knocking down. ❞

❝ I have neither a fear, nor a presentiment, nor a hope of death. ❞

❝ I could not help wishing we were all there safe together. ❞

❝ He’s not a rough diamond - a pearl-containing oyster of a rustic; he’s a fierce, pitiless, wolfish man. ❞