#// the other side of the spectrum is one step away from ad*y*s it's ridiculous out there !

[m0e-ru]

synthesis

[yamag00ps]

the in-between

pairing: akaashi x reader x bokuto

genre: friends to lovers, love triangle

contains: angst, fluff

word count: 3.3k

summary: What is the difference between the process of falling in love versus actually being in love?

note: this is longer than the others but it’s definitely my favorite part of all four :’) thank you for your patience! I had a lot of fun writing this and ngl I gave myself some butterflies.. Kjgfhbk ANYWAY! the flashback is a week before kuroo’s birthday party! after the flashback, the story resumes to akaashi and bokuto outside of kuroo’s apartment where the last chapter left off. I highly recommend listening to the songs mentioned while reading because it’ll really help you visualize the tone and mood of the story <3 enjoy!

 part 1, part 2, part 3

songs: can’t help falling in love (cover) - kina grannis crazy for you - madonna

flashback - a week ago

Kina Grannis’s cover of Can’t Help Falling In Love played from Bokuto’s speakers as your eyes were glued to the screen. You’ve watched the wedding scene in the movie Crazy Rich Asians a million times, but it never failed to put stars in your eyes. Nick and Rachel gazed at each other, despite an entire wedding unfolding in front of them as if they were falling in love for the first time all over again. You were in awe of how the film captured the feeling of falling in love so flawlessly, without a single word being spoken.

Your eyes watered as Bokuto silently chuckled to himself. You came over for a movie night, but it seemed that Bokuto was watching you watch the movie instead. Akaashi was out of town to see family for a couple of days, so it was just the two of you for the night.

Bokuto found his own eyes watering as well, but not because of the movie. You looked over at him from the other end of the couch and he quickly turned back to the TV.

“Wait are you also crying?” You sniffled. Bokuto threw a pillow at you and scoffed, “..No.”

“What?! I’m just asking! I’m not judging,” your giggle turned into a sigh. “It’s magical.”

He smiled at the small pout on your face.

“Yeah,” he agreed. Magical.

Eventually, the end credits rolled and you both scrolled on your phones for a bit, your head laying on one arm of the couch and his head on the other.

“Have you ever been in love?” You lay your phone on your chest and stared at the ceiling.

“Hm.. I actually don’t know,” Bokuto scrunched his eyebrows slightly, “I think I’ve been close to it though.” He peeked over his phone at you. The television screen was now black, the moonlight being the only source of light in the room. You seemed to be deep in thought, hair disheveled from laying down for two hours, and lips slightly swollen from crying because of the movie. Beautiful was an understatement. Bokuto put his phone down to fully look at you, pure adoration and a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“Do you think there’s a difference between falling in love and being in love?” You asked.

“I guess falling in love is when you believe you could eventually be in love with someone.”

“That’s a pretty way to put it,” you hummed in agreement.

“I wonder how long that ‘in-between’ time is, then,” you added, “like, if you think of it as a spectrum--beginning to fall in love on one side and then actually being in love on the opposite end. There’s that ‘in-between’ kind of grey area.” Bokuto watched in amusement as you talked with your hands.

Little did you know that that was where Bokuto currently was--the in-between of falling in love and being in love. With you. Bokuto smiled sadly upon realizing this. He was struggling not to cross that grey area, knowing it would only hurt him if he did. He couldn’t reach that far end of the spectrum, as it was currently reserved for his best friend.

At this point, Bokuto was well aware of his closest friends’ budding feelings for one another. It was in the way Akaashi looked at you when you weren’t paying attention. It was in your doe eyes every time you used Akaashi’s first name.

Bokuto had refused to confront his best friend for weeks now, convincing himself that if he ignored it long enough, it would go away and his premonitions wouldn’t be true. He also wasn’t ready to let go of his feelings for you, wanting to relish in them, without reserve, just a little longer. He was being selfish, not wanting something that felt so beautiful and pure to end just yet--even if it was unrequited.

However, despite everything, he found comfort in his feelings for you whether you reciprocated them or not. The feelings he had for you were so special, and most importantly, they were his alone. No one could take them away from him--not you, not Akaashi.

Until he met you, he had never known what it was like to feel so strongly for anyone. He had never experienced caring for someone so unconditionally and so purely. It felt like magic.

Magic. That was the only word that did you justice.

Bokuto was never going to forget these feelings and this was both a blessing and a curse.

“Bo?” you pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Hm?”

“I think I’m in that in-between right now.”

You didn’t elaborate, but you didn’t have to. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was it. At the end of this conversation, it was time for him to let you go.

Thank you, he thought. Thank you for the magic.

“I think he might be too.”

end flashback

----------------------------------------

“I know.”

Akasshi opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. How long has Bokuto known? Was it that obvious? Has Bokuto been silently resenting him all this time? If Bokuto knew, did you know too?

The two of them were now sitting on the steps of the building’s stairway with murmurs of the party on the other side of the door filling the silence. Bokuto’s head hung low as he contemplated what to say next.

“I’m sorry. I.. I won’t do anything about it if you don’t want me to,” Akaashi broke the silence.

Bokuto only shook his head at this, not saying a word. For the first time, Akaashi couldn’t read his best friend’s expression. Why did he look so defeated?

“I’d be a pretty shitty friend if I got in your way,” Bokuto finally spoke up.

“What? No, you knew her first. You have every righ--”

“I know I do,” Bokuto slightly smirked and nudged his best friend, “but she doesn’t look at me the way she looks at you.” Bokuto wasn’t angry. He almost seemed relieved, but Akaashi couldn’t pinpoint why.

Akaashi’s lips parted but was rendered speechless again. Was that true? He wanted to hope it was, but the guilt was eating him alive at this point. Truly nothing could have prepared him for this conversation.

“I’m not gonna lie, dude,” Bokuto let out a shaky sigh, “I want to be mad at you.”

Akaashi sighed and apologized again. He didn’t know what else to say.

“But that wouldn’t be fair. You can’t help how you feel and neither can she,” he shrugged.

“But I don’t even know if she likes me.”

Bokuto scoffed at this.

“Akaashi, I know I can be dense and a bit of an airhead sometimes, but even I can see it.” He snorted at his best friend’s obliviousness.

“You know, she asked me if you were single after you first met,” he quietly added with hesitancy in his voice.

“She did?”

“Yeah. At the time.. I convinced myself that I didn’t have to tell you because I assumed you didn’t care, but I was just being selfish,” Bokuto admitted.

“I don’t blame you. That’s fair,” Akaashi shrugged. The air around them seemed to feel less suffocating.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m really sorry. I mean it,” Akaashi added.

“Don’t be. You would have done the same for me,” Bokuto said sincerely. Akaashi didn’t have to say anything more, they both knew this was true.

Both of their phones chimed at once, receiving texts from you.

Y/N: where did you both go? I need a partner for pong :p

Y/N: wait who is even DD tonight

“Speak of the devil,” Bokuto joked. Akaashi stared at the screen a second longer.

“..Are you sure?” Akaashi asked for confirmation once more.

“Yeah man, I’ll get over it,” Bokuto forced a smile, “Now go find her before I change my mind.” He playfully punched his friend’s arm, though there was an edge to his voice.

“My only request is that you don’t do anything in front of me,” Bokuto added, scratching the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact.

“Of course not, I’m not a dick,” Akaashi scoffed, a bit offended at the request. Bokuto snorted at this.

“Debatable.”

The rest of the night was enjoyable, though Akaashi ended up not making a move, not wanting to take advantage of you while intoxicated. However, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t secretly enjoy how extra touchy you were, especially when you would discreetly yet casually reach for his hand every ten minutes.

But there was a specific moment of that night the two of you would ingrain into your minds.

A random girl stood at the front of the room, microphone in hand, as the opening lyrics to Madonna’s Crazy For You ran across the screen. This was your favorite karaoke song as a child, Akaashi knew this. He watched you from across the room and chuckled at the way your eyes widened and your tired figure suddenly sat up on the couch as you recognized the song. You caught his stare and rolled your eyes at his teasing, a slight blush on your face forming as you realized he was watching you.

I love this song, you mouthed. He smiled.

I know, he mouthed back. You smiled.

As the 80's hit played, you and a handful of other people sang along. Akaashi watched in amusement as you soulfully sang the lyrics with the girl next to you. Every now and then you would lock eyes with him and playfully point, singing the words as if they were directed at him.

I see you through the smokey air

Can’t you feel the weight of my stare?

You’re so close but still a world away

What I’m dying to say,

Akaashi was thankful for the dim lighting masking the blush growing on his cheeks. He shook his head with a smirk as you pointed at him, ignoring the growing ache in his heart. You have no idea what you do to me, he thought.

Is that I’m crazy for you

Touch me once and you’ll know it’s true

I never wanted anyone like this

It’s all brand new

He watched as you swayed your body to the music, singing with your eyes squeezed shut. At one point you put a hand over your mouth in embarrassment as you jumbled the lyrics. He shook his head again, laughing to himself. You laughed with him as your gaze softened before you sang the next line.

Eye to eye, we need no words at all

Akaashi smiled back at you, wondering how someone who had been drinking all night managed to look so lovely.

Soon we two are standing still in time

If you read my mind, you’ll see

I’m crazy for you

The two of you seemed to be in your own little world, despite being on opposite sides of the room. Your face was starting to hurt from smiling, drunk on both alcohol and emotion. Anyone paying attention would have seen the hearts in both of your eyes.

Everything seemed to fade away from your periphery and all you saw was him. His gaze refused to leave yours as he was convinced that if he looked away for a split second, he would somehow lose you. In a room full of jumbled voices, the silent adoration you shared was deafening.

You felt like you were floating while simultaneously feeling the adrenaline of going downhill on a rollercoaster. Your heart felt like it was going to burst at any given moment, but you have also never felt so at peace. You struggled to comprehend the duality of the serenity and chaos coursing through your veins--and then it hit you.

This was the grey area. This was the in-between.

You were falling in love with Akaashi Keiji.

----------------------------------------

A week had passed since the party and Akaashi still had yet to confess--the adrenaline from that night slowly vanished, replaced with an irrational anxiety of running out of time.

Ever since he got home that night, Akaashi had been wracking his brain trying to figure out how to properly confess. Being the over thinker he is, he went through every scenario possible in his head, rewording his sentences over and over. The longer he waited, the more discouraged he became.

Strangely enough, the one who brought him back down to earth whenever he would get too in his head about his feelings was the source of his restlessness itself--you. Somehow you were both his chaos and his calm.

As the days passed, you noticed that he had become distracted more often than usual.

You two had been studying in the library for hours when you noticed that Akaashi’s mind seemed elsewhere. By now, you had memorized his tells like your favorite book. His knee bobbed up and down under the table, his hair was disheveled from repeatedly running his hands through it, and his eyes glazed over the textbook in front of him, not having turned a single page in the past twenty minutes. You knew he hadn’t gotten anything done since you sat down.

You closed your laptop and waited for him to match your gaze. It wasn’t until you rested your hand on his bobbing knee that he looked up at you and became aware of the amount of tension in his body. You gave him a small but sincere smile, wordlessly asking if he was okay. You rubbed his knee and he immediately relaxed at your touch, relief rushing through him.

Your timing was always perfect--constantly pulling him out of his overwhelming thoughts as if you could read his mind.

“Let’s take a break,” you whispered. He placed his hand on top of yours and gave it a squeeze, nodding.

It was funny--the concept of you distracting him from his thoughts about you.

The two of you ended up at the mall, people watching from a bench. This had become a favorite pastime for the both of you--picking out random passersby and creating extensive backstories about their lives. It was a way to destress and put your own lives on hold for a bit.

You spotted a couple sitting on a bench far enough away for you to talk about them.

“Those two are secretly pining for each other,” you nodded your head in their direction.

“Hm. Are they in love?”

“Oh no, not yet at least,” you speculated.

“And how do you know?” Akaashi mused.

“They’re sitting too far away from each other,” you stated matter-of-factly. Akaashi silently noted the distance between the two of you and compared.

“Huh. Okay,” He scooted closer, not being discreet at all. You held back a smile and refused to meet his gaze.

“How else can you tell?” He watched you intently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“He’s giving her too much eye contact. He’s not nervous enough.” Akaashi scrunched his eyebrows in thought. Noted, he thought. Just as you looked up at him, he swiftly turned his head the opposite way with a small smirk on his face.

Doing your best to ignore him, you asked a question this time.

“Who do you think will make the first move?”

“Oh, definitely the guy,” Akaashi stated confidently.

“Oh?”

“It’s in his body language. His body is fully facing her,” Akaashi mimicked his position, now fully facing you with his right arm resting on the top of the bench behind you. You leaned back with your arms crossed, still facing forward to avoid looking at him. You felt his arm fall from the bench to your shoulders, his hand now tracing circles into your shoulder.  

“And what does that mean?” you rolled your eyes, still refusing to face him. Your heart warmed as he mindlessly took one of your hands and started playing with your fingers.

“It means..” Akaashi took a deep breath as if he had prepared a full-blown explanation. You raised your eyebrows waiting for him to finish, eyes still on the couple. When he took too long to continue, you turned to face him and silently gasped upon realizing how close his face was to yours.

You felt yourself stop breathing as he hesitated before speaking. He kept his voice low as if he was sharing top-secret information.

“He really wants to kiss her.” It wasn’t until now that you realized the proximity of your faces in this position. His eyes bore into yours, flickering to your lips as if to ask for permission.

“Do you think she’d kiss him back?” you held your breath, your gaze also lowering to his lips.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” he whispered, his lips just barely grazing yours.

You closed your eyes as you slightly tilted your head up, your lips lightly pressing against his, lingering a bit before pulling away. It was short and sweet. You looked down shyly, biting back a smile.

Akaashi watched you, his eyes low. He didn’t wait all this time for short and sweet. His left hand lifted your chin up as he attached his lips to yours again, kissing you with more passion this time. You held onto his wrist and kissed him back, matching his fervor.

“Keiji..” you barely managed to let out, as he wouldn’t stop kissing you (not that you were complaining).

If he initially thought your first name in his mouth was sweet.. The taste of his first name coming from your lips while they were melting into his? Jesus. His brain was short-circuiting.

You groaned upon realizing you were in a public space, but you couldn’t find the willpower to pull away either. All of Akaashi’s inhibitions were out the window. The only thing that mattered right now was you, as you wiped away every lingering trace of doubt, fear, and worry from his mind with every kiss.

“Keiji!” You laughed, attempting to pull away only for him to grab your chin and pull you back in.

One more, he thought.

“We’re the,” one more, “stereotypical,” another, “couple,” another one, “making out in the,” another, “middle,” one more, “of a,” last one, “mall,” for now. You giggled in between kisses. Akaashi chuckled and got a hold of himself, finally pulling away and resting his forehead on yours.

“Sorry,” he smiled shyly. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

You closed your eyes and blushed furiously at this. He pulled back further to get a better look at you with an eyebrow cocked.

“Couple, huh?” You already began shaking your head. “Wow at least ask me on a date first, you can’t skip important steps like that, F/N.”

“You kissed me first!” you laughed as you pushed him away.

“Did I, though?”

It took you a second to realize he was right. You were the one to lean into the first kiss. Ugh.

“Oh my god I’m leaving,” you walked off as you fought the smile on your face, not being able to handle his teasing any longer. He threw his head back laughing and quickly caught up to you. He tugged your hand and pulled you into him as his arm hooked around your shoulders again. You peeked up to catch him grinning ear to ear. He looked down at you, and pressed a kiss on your forehead. Not saying another word, you leaned into his hold and sighed.

You thought about all of the wordless moments the two of you shared. Akaashi Keiji wasn’t a very talkative person, but he didn’t have to be. All it took was one look, without a single word spoken, and you knew.

This was what falling in love felt like.

----------------------------------------

a/n: it’s finally done! thank you all for waiting!!! also, your feedback means so much and inspires me to keep writing so thank you all so much <3 (p.s. I love bokuto so so much I felt so bad hurting him but I’ll write something else to make it up to him lmao) also can I just say I love the way the chapter begins with her in awe of the love she saw on tv and then it ends with her finding that exact feeling with akaashi :p full circle hehe

part 1, part 2, part 3

[hongism]

storge - s. mingi

➻ genre: angst, fluff, light smut ➻ rating: M ➻ word count: 15.6k ➻ pairing: mingi x fem!reader ➻ summary: Best friends do everything together, right? ➻ warnings: language, mild smut, fingering, handjobs, oral sex (explicit m, mentioned f), thigh riding, kink exploration, bad practices, learning ➻ colours of love | part one

“I have a feeling that this mild, quiet happiness will last until December. - juansen dizon”

​​​

“So, you aren’t dating him?”

You sigh at the question, the simple string of words hitting your ears and grating against them in a way that causes annoyance to bubble in your gut. Instead of responding with words of your own, you simply shake your head at the girl who lingers at your side. She’s the third girl to approach you and ask you this question in the past week. If you’re honest, it’s starting to frustrate you to a point where you’re close to making a public announcement about your nonexistent love life so that no one would disturb you again.

With that being said, your best friend Mingi loves the constant barrage of questions coming your way. Each time you report back to him about which person asked you the same exact question that day, he gets giddier and giddier. You thought university was supposed to be a step up from the typical high school antics. Yet, you’ve been proven wrong day in, day out thanks to the overwhelming amount of love that girls seem to have for your best friend.

“No, we’re just friends. Best friends.”

“Oh, amazing! Could you please mention me or something to him then?”

“Why don’t you do it yourself? I’m sure he’d appreciate it a lot more.”

If only it were so easy to get rid of them that way. You use the same response on every person that comes your way, and none of them seem to be able to grasp the underlying message you’re sending their way. The “please get the fuck away from me, I just want to make it through one class without being asked about my relationship status with my best friend” always flies over their heads, but over time you’ve come to understand it. The whole notion of a girl being close friends with a guy is a concept that people tend to struggle with, apparently. So even though both you and Mingi find it quite ordinary, the people observing from the outside jump to conclusions before considering what your relationship actually is. (He calls it one of the perks of being friends with him, but you only see it as a detriment instead).

It isn’t a surprise that when you approach your friend less than an hour later, the first thing that he comments on is the expression on your face, no doubt one of disdain or exhaustion.

“Long day already?” He laughs as you drop your bag on the floor and sit in the seat across from him. His smile only stretches further when you glare at him from across the table. “How many today?” You scoff at his presumptive question, and even though he’s correct, you don’t want to give him the pleasure of being right quite yet.

“Remember the cute guy from our psychology class?”

Mingi rolls his eyes at the question, shaking his head ever so slightly. You silently wonder if he’s merely disappointed that you didn’t mention any people thirsting after him.

“He’s only cute to you. You have terrible taste in men.” He dodges the attack you send his way, smoothly moving out of the way of your arms reach, and sticks his tongue out at you. “I’m better looking than him though, right?”

“No!” You protest as you try to extend your hand further to actually make contact this time, but your efforts fail thanks to the unfortunate length of your arms. Mingi laughs at your struggles for a moment before leaning closer to let you smack his shoulder. You take the bait, grateful to have the opportunity now before he takes it away from you later.

“Well, are you gonna do anything about it or just let it sit as you always do?”

You fall back against the chair, fingers drumming against the table as you look up at Mingi with pursed lips.

“I know what that means.”

“I’m going to do som—”

“No, you’re not. You’re going to watch him from afar like you always do and secretly pine after him in the desperate hopes that he might notice you or talk to you at some point without putting in any effort into making an actual move yourself.”

“Okay, wow, fine.”

“I’m only speaking the truth.”

“I don’t have people lining up left and right for me. I don’t have it as easy as you do, so that’s not fair.”

“Whoever said I have it easy?”

“People come to me every damn day asking for your number and if I can tell you about them!”

Mingi cocks his head to the side, blinking at you with his wide eyes for a moment. The sudden silence catches you off guard; Mingi rarely sits still without making some sort of ruckus, leaving you to be the calmer, more level-headed one. In all honesty, you expected him to laugh and be a little smug about the attention. You blink back at him, lips still parted slightly.

“Anyways…” You bend down to grab something out of your backpack, but Mingi stops you with what he says next.

“Why won’t you initiate for once?”

You hesitate, glancing at Mingi from the corner of your eye.

“Why won’t you actually go on a date with one of these people?” You counter. You try to fight the embarrassment that creeps up your neck, but it’s too late, and the heat floods your cheeks before you can duck your head again. Mingi is fully aware of why you can’t initiate. Still, you’ve always refused to admit it, even though he’s in the exact same position.

“None of them have really piqued my interest, I guess.” He shrugs.

“That’s shallow.”

“Well, it’s better than leading them on, isn’t it?” Mingi asks, and you have to agree with him. You would certainly rather have someone be upfront about their feelings instead of leading the other on. After a few moments of silence, he continues,

“Anyways, you didn’t answer the question. Why won’t you just initiate?”

The heat on your cheeks deepens even though you were expecting the question. You try to duck your head to keep Mingi from seeing your embarrassment, and yet he keeps pressing his chin forward, so you have no chance to hide your face.

“I can’t,” you hiss through your teeth.

“Why not?”

“I’m scared to initiate things since I’ve never had experience with anything that falls in that spectrum. You know that.”

Admitting it out loud provides zero relief from the anxiety pumping through your veins at the moment. Still, the slight frown that creeps onto Mingi’s face sends you further into a frenzy. You tug a notebook out of your bag, slamming it down onto the desk before you, causing some of the other students within the library to send pointed glares your way.

“Well, I guess you’ll have to learn quickly then?” Mingi suggests, adding a slight shrug to accentuate his words.

“Is it that easy though?” You peer at Mingi with wide eyes for a moment before shaking your head. “Why am I asking you? You don’t know anything either.”

Mingi does nothing to defend himself, instead offering a slight shrug in response. You glance down at your notebook and thumb through the pages until you reach a blank one. Mingi’s hand hits the page. You jerk your head up to look him in the eye, and a hint of playfulness lingers behind his brown eyes, and you narrow your eyes immediately. You know that look, years of friendship have taught you that it can only mean one thing.

Mingi has an idea.

And when Mingi has an idea, you never end up liking it much.

Nothing against your best friend or anything, but he isn’t renowned for coming up with the smartest ideas. He grins at you, gums flashing as he exposes his teeth, and you frown at his enthusiasm.

“No,” you say preemptively, ready to shoot down whatever idea Mingi has.

“I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“It doesn’t matter. My answer is no.”

“Why?”

“I know whatever idea you have is a bad one.”

“That’s not true.”

“Name the last good idea you had.”

“Automatic page-turners so you don’t have to turn the page yourself.”

“That’s not — Mingi, no. How hard is it to turn a page?”

“Harder than you think.”

“It’s not that hard, dumbass.”

A brief moment of silence then— “That’s what she said, ha.”

“You aren’t funny.”

“You love me.”

“I’m regretting everything now.”

“Look, Y/N, listen for two minutes. That’s all I as—”

“Your time starts now. 120, 119, 118, 117—”

“Okay, chill! Damn, no need to be a bitch about it.”

You sigh, propping your elbows up onto the table and staring forward at Mingi with little interest.

“Alright, so I have an idea. Don’t say no yet, just hear me out for a minute. You could… you know, try it out on me.”

“Excuse me?” You squint, eyes meeting Mingi’s brown ones, and he dodges eye contact in favor of looking at the table.

“Since you’re scared to initiate things, you could test it out on me.”

“Mingi, you don’t have any experience either. This guy has probably has had twenty girlfriends in his lifetime and a hundred times more experience than both of us combined.”

“A hundred times zero is zero.”

“Mingi.”

“Hear me out. Th-there’s this girl. I, uh, I’ve had my eye on her for a while… but I can’t initiate anything. I-I don’t have any experience either so that’s holding me back from doing anything. So, why not… why not just learn together?” Your friend glances up at you, eyes darting away as soon as he meets your eyes and clears his throat.

You let the silence settle and mull over the suggestion. You do everything with him, and you’ve done that since you were in middle school. The list of firsts you’ve had with him is not that long, and yet the offer of experiencing more firsts with him… You examine your friend’s face, putting a bit too much effort into analyzing his features. He isn’t bad looking — not in the slightest — and there’s a good reason why so many girls are chasing after him.

Tall? Check.

Sweet? Check.

Funny? Check.

Broad shoulders, large hands that dwarf yours, and thighs that you’ve definitely thought about a hell of a lot more than a best friend ought to think about? Check, check, and check.

Besides, you trust him, and he’s never done anything particularly shady (except for that one time when he told your high school sophomore year crush that you thought his ass was hot). You honestly trust him with your life. What’s the harm in trusting him with this too?

He’s still trying to avoid looking in your direction. A slight redness has risen to his cheeks, and he seems more unsure about the idea than you are, even though he’s the one who suggested it.

There's one glaring issue that's causing red lights of warning to go off in your mind. You love Mingi, there's no doubt about that, and he's your closest friend for a reason. That doesn't include sexual attraction, however, and despite thinking about his looks (and thighs), you made an executive decision a few years ago that meant you would never go after your friend with sexual intent in mind.

His soft-spoken suggestion is hesitant yet convincing, and you blatantly ignore the warning signs in favor of the pull of Mingi's words.

"I mean... why not give a try?" You shrug in attempts to hide the embarrassment beginning to creep up your neck.

Mingi freezes in place. A moment of silence passes between you, your discomfort grows exponentially, and you regret saying the words now. Then Mingi snaps his chin up, dark eyes searing holes into your own.

"Really?" He asks, lip trembling with the syllables.

"Yes?" You answer. You curse yourself for pushing the questioning lilt to your tone, chin tilting to the side slightly.

"Are you being serious about this though?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Do you really… you know, wanna… test things out with me?"

"That's why I said yes, Mingi."

Your legs begin to shake under the table, the nerves in your gut spreading throughout your entire body. If Mingi suggested it, why is he so hesitant all of a sudden?

"Were you expecting me to say no?"

"I don't—I have no idea what I was expecting to be honest." Mingi shifts in his seat, and his hands leave the edge of the table to most likely curl them into tight fists in his lap as he usually does whenever struck with nerves. You don't respond right away, instead of blinking at your best friend with a look of mild wonder.

"Um, so… what do we—when do we—you know?"

"Start?"

"I guess… yes?" You aren't used to this lingering awkwardness between you and Mingi. Typically, your friendship is all sunshine and butterflies with zero awkwardness or tension. Hell, any arguments the two of you have are usually based on something stupid and trivial, and it's been that way for as long as you can remember. Even after the incident where Mingi told the guy you liked that you thought he had a nice ass, you were more embarrassed to be around the guy than you were angry with Mingi for letting that nugget of information slip.

Just the prospect of engaging in physical affection and shit like that causes too much panic and awkward tension for comfort. Perhaps it's another red flag or warning sign indicating that this is a bad idea, but you continue to push that thought further to the back of your mind until it doesn't bother you anymore.

"Wh-whenever we want, I guess? I mean, whenever you want. That's probably the best idea."

"Well, school comes first. I have two projects coming up, as well as a few tests because midterms are on their way, and I refuse to fall behind at this point. I have to make sure I maintain a good GPA in order to get into my fall classes, and I've heard that they have no mercy once you're a sophomore, so I need to make sure everything goes smoothly from this point onward so that—"

"Ah, Y/N, I get it! School first! It's okay!" Mingi's hands come up again, held up in defense over his chest as he urges you to stop your rant. You inhale deeply in efforts to catch your breath, the lack of air during your rant causing you to feel lightheaded.

"W-We don't have to start right away. Take it slow at first? If you think that's best…" Mingi trails off and looks away from you, a redness creeping up his cheeks again. You shake your head at him even though he cannot see the action.

"I don't know what's best," you mumble, tugging the notebook that lies forgotten on the table closer to you. The odds of you getting any work done at this rate are minimal, especially since you know you will be thinking of whatever this arrangement entails for the next few days.

"A-Are you leaving?" Mingi jerks his head back in your direction as he notices your movements, and you shake your head a few times.

"I was going to suggest we head to the coffee shop. I'd, uh, I would rather discuss this there instead of the public library."

"Oh, yeah, uh, that's a good idea. Yeah, let's do that. The usual one?"

"Yes, dimwit, I was also assuming we would walk over there together as we usually do." Your use of the playful nickname alleviates a bit of the tension residing in the air, and Mingi breaks into a gummy smile at the sound of it. You continue to pull your unused belongings together and shove them into your backpack again, Mingi doing the same across from you.

He's first to stand, which would generally mean that you would have to jog to catch up with him and his long legs, but instead of leaving right away, as usual, he turns the corner of the table and joins you where you're still sitting.

You blink up at him with wide eyes, hand frozen on the strap of your bag. Mingi doesn't say a word before stooping down and snatching your bag before you have the chance to stop him. You release a noise of indignation that sounds a bit too much like a dog's yelp for your liking. Mingi doesn't give you any time to breathe, because he next grabs hold of your left hand that's still outstretched in the air for your backpack.

"Mingi," you hiss after a moment. Your gaze drifts between the awkward clasp of your hand in his and the man's cheeky grin above you.

"I got your backpack, don't worry. And your hand." He sends a wink your way, and lunch nearly makes an unwelcome appearance in your mouth again. Before you can retort back, Mingi gently tugs you to your feet and pulls you into step with him as he walks out of the library.

People are sending the two of you looks. Not the kind of looks you are used to getting, but looks. The ever so typical "ugh can they just get together already" and "everyone knows it but them" looks are no longer present. No, this time it’s looks of "oh is it finally happening?", "are they finally together?" and "it's about damn time" that have you bristling. Again, your brain pushes the thought that this may be a bad idea to the forefront of your mind, but Mingi's grip tightens ever so slightly and pushes that thought away.

You glance down at your joined hands as Mingi pulls you along, expecting to feel some sort of warmth blooming in your chest, and yet nothing rises. You shift your fingers in his grasp and slip your fingers between his, a childlike wonder to your gaze, and Mingi looks back at you when you stop walking. He sees your fixation on your joined hands and allows quiet to hang for a moment before breaking your reverie.

"Y/N, is everything okay?" He asks as he bends a bit to look you in the eye.

"It's nothing," you mumble back.

"We've held hands before, you know? This isn't anything new."

"I know…" you trail off, train of thought failing to be vocalized. It feels different, doesn't it? Is it because there is a different sort of intention behind it now? Or am I reading too far into things already?

"Hey, you dolt, you're thinking too hard again."

"Sorry." You shake your head to recover from the impending thoughts and smile up at Mingi. He grins back at you, gums flashing, then squeezes your hand tighter before continuing to lead the way to your usual cafe.

"S-So…this girl, um, do I know her or...?"

"Or what?" Mingi doesn't spare you a look, but his grip on your hand loosens, fingers slipping out of yours, and you wonder if you've said something wrong.

"I mean, is she someone who has come to me asking for every detail of your life or not?"

"N-No, she's not. She, uh, she doesn't seem interested in me at all."

"Would I recognize her if I saw her?"

"Maybe? Uh, she's in our history class. Hyerin. Min Hyerin?"

You purse your lips, shaking your head back and forth even though Mingi can't see you. The name doesn't ring any bells, although you try your best to avoid talking to your classmates. Mingi is the social one between the two of you, having enough extroverted energy to carry the both of you through social interactions and such. He may know this girl well, but you surely don’t.

"You know the guy in psychology yet?"

"What?"

"Do you know his name, you dolt?"

"O-Oh, uh, no? I haven't talked to him at all. I'm too—"

"Nervous, I know."

"That's not all there is, Mingi." You stop in your tracks, eyes bearing holes into your best friend's back. The walls of defense come up immediately, and you cross your arms over your chest. Mingi keeps walking for a moment before he realizes that you are no longer by his side. He glances back at you. A sigh passes through his lips when he reads the frown on your lips.

"Y/N."

"Mingi."

"Y/N."

"Mingi."

"Is this about the anxiety thing?"

You roll your eyes at the question, arms falling away from your chest. Part of you wants to argue and defend yourself, but the constriction in your chest prevents words from coming out. Instead, you stare at the ground, gnawing on your lower lip with a bit too much pressure. Mingi notices the expression painting your features and walks closer to you. He takes hold of your left hand, fingers interlocking yours, and tugs you closer to his side. Whether he knows that you don't really want to talk about it or that he doesn't want to address the topic either, you'll never know, but he starts walking again with you in tow.

You frown at your joined hands again, but the tightness in your chest begins to alleviate as you continue to walk, and for a moment, you think that the anxiety bubbling in your gut will go away. However, that thought is quickly dispelled because the longer Mingi holds your hand, the more you notice the glances and stares of strangers on you, on your joined hands, on the two backpacks Mingi carries. It's another moment of questioning yourself, wondering if you're making the right decision or a terrible mistake, but Mingi doesn't give you much time to dwell on those thoughts because his fast walking gets you to your usual hangout in less than five minutes.

"Can you order for us? I need to go to the bathroom." He asks as soon as the two of you step through the door. A typical gummy smile plays at his lips, one you can't say no to, so you shoo him off, watching as he drops your bags at a booth before he dashes for the bathroom. A sigh escapes your lips, and you walk up to the counter.

"Hi Y/N," the barista behind the counter greets, hitting you with a smile.

"Hi Yeosang, how are you?"

"Eh, as good as I can be. I work a double today."

"Hey, you're the one who chose this. You could've had the same psychology class as us, but you said you wanted a full day off school so you could work." You reach across the counter and poke at Yeosang's shoulder. He laughs at your childish behavior.

"Fair point, okay. I'm assuming you want the usual, by the way?"

"Of course. You know Mingi. He's a creature of habit, not very open to new things."

"Yeah, yeah, but you're the same way," Yeosang teases as he punches in your order on the register. You purse your lips. Should I tell him about the deal with Mingi? No, he wouldn't approve. He'd think it's stupid, wouldn't he?

"Y/N?" You lift your chin and look at Yeosang in the eye, startled by his sudden utterance of your name. "I asked you a question but you seemed to be off in la-la land."

"Oh, sorry. I—whatever. What's the question?"

"When are you actually gonna start working here with me?" Yeosang asks (again), head tilted to the side and bright eyes wide.

"If you want to see me more, all you have to do is ask."

"Pfft, you think I want to see your lazy ass more? Seeing you more means seeing Mingi more, and that's not a joint package I'm the biggest fan of."

"You know you love him," you chastise as you pass your credit card over to him.

"Oh, whatever, he's not all that great. But anyway, I'm asking because of money. You said you were gonna get a job last semester but never did."

"I know, I know. I just—the school has been my focus more than anything else." You glance over at the bathrooms where Mingi is on his way out. Yeosang follows your line of sight to land on the redhead. A small scoff passes through his parted lips.

"Yea, school." The dig is a typical one from Yeosang, he isn't shy about sharing his opinions, and that's something you've grown used to in the time you've known him. Yet it stings this time, perhaps because there are new intentions behind your relationship with Mingi, or it's the doubt still nagging at the edges of your thoughts.

"Be nice, Yeo. That's your roommate, so you're the one who gets to go home to an angry Mingi, not me." Yeosang merely rolls his eyes in response and passes your credit card back to you. A soft smile lands on his lips a moment later though, eyes still following Mingi as he settles into the booth.

"Whatever, I know he's the best roommate I could've asked for or something."

"Oh, by the way, we need to talk about something later. Uh, I'll try to catch you whenever Mingi and I are done with homework." You leave the counter before Yeosang has a chance to question you, fleeing his inquisitive stare and the feeling of anxiety in your gut. It's a last-minute decision on your part, a spur of the moment panic that surges through your gut and makes you decide to confess the deal you have with Mingi, which you regret almost immediately.

You go to join Mingi at the table, but when you sit down, you can see Yeosang glaring at you from across the small coffee shop, no doubt curious about what you desire to talk about, but you simply make a little 'x' with your fingers and shake your head.

"Okay, so…are we needing to make some ground rules or something?" You ask as you redirect your focus to Mingi. He snaps his gaze to you, turning away from the window on his right.

"Uh, I guess we should? I don't know." Mingi brings a finger to his mouth and catches the fingernail between his teeth.

"Okay...what's off-limits for you?"

"Off-limits? I don't know. Should there be those things?"

"Don't we need to have some sort of boundaries?"

"I was just gonna go with the flow honestly." Mingi shrugs and leans back against the cushion of the booth. Your eyes dart over to the counter where Yeosang is and find his gaze tracking you again. You curse under your breath, reach for your backpack, and pull out a notebook so that you at least look somewhat busy. Yeosang is undoubtedly suspicious already, especially considering the fact that you told him you had something you wanted to talk about, and you can't keep your mind from drifting to the thought that Yeosang knows precisely what's going on by now. Mingi watches your hasty movements with little interest but pulls out his own notebook as well.

"Even if we just go with the flow, shouldn't we discuss it?"

"Y/N, that's not what going with the flow means."

"I feel like we need boundaries," you claim.

You're avoiding Mingi's gaze now, and it's more than obvious, especially when he tries to make eye contact, and you jerk your head to the side to dodge it.

"Okay, give me an example."

"No sex," you spit out, cheeks flushing as soon as you say it. Mingi's eyes widen at the suddenness of your words and the volume, and you realize you might have said the words a bit too loud. Then, Mingi's cheeks turn red as well, almost matching the color of his hair.

"Y-Yea, okay, we can—look, we're just gonna take that off the table now, yea? Yea. We don't have to—ew."

"Ew?" You reiterate.

"I just imagined having sex with you."

"Mingi!"

"I'm not saying it would be bad, I'm ju—"

"Gross, I don't wanna know!"

"You're the one who brought it up!"

"I didn't mean for you to tell me about your sex fantasies."

"Oh my god, that's not what I was doing."

"Y/N!" Yeosang's voice interrupts your bickering, his bright tone sends across the cafe, and you instinctively sit up straighter. You excuse yourself from the table without a word.

"What the hell did you do?" Yeosang asks as soon as you get close to the counter. You reach for the coffees in front of you, but Yeosang pulls them out of your grasp at the last second. "Answer the damn question."

"I didn't do anything," you retort as you grab for the drinks again.

"Bullshit. I'm calling bullshit. You fucking yelled 'no sex.'"

Your heart plummets, and you can almost feel the sensation of it dropping. Eyes wide, you stare at Yeosang's blank expression. "So, what the fuck did you do?" Even having known Yeosang for quite a few years now, you still get scared of him at times. This is most definitely one of those times because even though his face is blank, there is an overwhelming level of something in his eyes.

"Can we talk about this later?" You hiss out, cheeks flushed and burning at this point. Yeosang refuses to let up though.

"You're about to make a bad decision, aren't you?" As soon as he voices his question, you realize precisely what you saw in his eyes.

Concern. He's worried about you yet again.

"I swear Y/N, are you letting Mingi drag you to another party? Do you not remember what happened last time?"

"No, I'm not," you mutter back. "Stop worrying so much. This isn’t about a party."

"Y/N." There's a hint of warning in Yeosang's tone, and doubt catches you in that moment of weakness. "I can't bail you out of everything. Especially when it comes to something between you and Mingi."

"There's nothing there!" You spit, eyes flashing anger at the accusation, and Yeosang instinctively takes a step back. "Fucking lecture me later, Yeo, I don't have time for this." You snatch the drinks off the counter and head back to the table where Mingi waits. Either your anger is radiating off you in waves, or Mingi watched your interaction with Yeosang at the counter. As soon as you take a seat, he pipes up with a question.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Were you two arguing?"

"No, no, it was nothing." You ignore the persistent stare that Mingi sends your way by sipping your coffee.

"Why does Yeosang look like you’ve just kicked his puppy then?" You hesitate, drink halfway back to the table, and glance over to the counter again. Yeosang isn't there anymore, however, empty space there instead. You redirect your focus to Mingi, tongue dragging across your front teeth.

"We can't let him know about this."

"What?"

"We can't let him know what we're doing," you reiterate, hand coming down on the table with a bit too much force.

"O-oh, yea, I wasn't planning on it?"

"I'm gonna talk to him about some of it but not all."

"What are you even saying, Y/N? I'm not following." Mingi drums his nails against the table, head tilted as he watches you struggle to find the words.

"I don't know! Just ignore me, I don't know what I'm trying to say."

"Well," Mingi starts, taking a deep inhale of air. "Do you wanna go to my apartment?"

"What?"

"Don't make it weird, Y/N, for fuck's sake!"

"I'm not making it weird!"

"God, you're being so awkward about this. No wonder you've never had a boyfriend!"

"I'm offended, Mingi."

"Good."

You scoff at his response. "How am I supposed to respond? I didn't even hear you clearly the first time."

"I asked if you want to go to my apartment," Mingi says again, slowing his words so that you can clearly hear them.

"Yea, that's fine. I'm fine with that." You glance over to where Yeosang is again.

"Why are you worrying so much about Yeosang right now? He has nothing to do with this, Y/N." You reel and face Mingi again, catching his brown eyes on yours.

"He wouldn't approve of this," you mutter, swirling your coffee around in its cup. Mingi narrows his eyes.

"You just said that he doesn't have to know."

"He's our friend, Mingi, and your roommate. He is going to find out eventually."

"You're the one who agreed, Y/N. I put up the offer, and you accepted it. You didn't have to, and we can still call it off if you've changed your mind." Mingi shrugs, much more nonchalant about this whole matter than you are.

"It's not that. I would just rather… I don't know. I would rather not have him witness it."

"So, you would rather have your roommate witness it?"

"We aren't friends with my roommate; however, we are friends with Yeosang."

"Okay, I see your point," Mingi relents, putting his arms up in defense. "I raise a counterpoint. Hear me out?"

"Go ahead, go ahead." You sit back and rest against the booth.

"Yeosang works late, remember? Full days on Tuesdays and Thursdays, until closing. Then he has to clean the cafe before coming back to the apartment. So that means he wouldn't get back until past eleven." Mingi draws invisible lines across the table with his finger. You follow the movements with your eyes, listening to Mingi's plan carefully.

"So…?" You prod in the hopes that Mingi will elaborate more.

"So, Yeosang is used to seeing you at the apartment without there being some underlying intention behind it. Even if we decide to make this agreement a reality, he doesn't have to know because we could limit ourselves to learning things when he isn't around. And when he does show up, we can just chill and do the things we usually do whenever Yeosang's around."

Mingi is making too much sense. Far too much sense, and he's using far bigger words than are usually in his vocabulary. That is a rather significant concern; however, you can't find any flaws in his argument, no matter how hard you try. And perhaps that's the purpose of Mingi's case and what his true intentions are, to be able to convince you with this, and you hate to admit that it's working.

It's your turn to drum your fingers against the table.

"Well then," you start, avoiding Mingi's gaze by looking at the table. "I guess…we ought to get started then?" You don't intend for it to end in a question, yet it does. Mingi cocks his head to the side, glancing over you with a slight bit of shock across his features as though he wasn't expecting you to agree, which is strange in your mind. You pack your notebook back into your backpack without another word, collecting your things and getting ready to head out. Mingi fumbles to catch up with your pace.

"O-Oh, you wanna go now?"

"You were the one who suggested it?" You peer at Mingi now, head tilted in question.

"I didn't expect you to agree so quickly, that's all." Mingi scratches the back of his neck. A light flush hits his cheeks. "Considering all your…prior complaints about it, that is."

"I'm trying to make sure this isn't awkward, okay?"

"It isn't awkward, it's just—well, it's weird, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" You hesitate, halfway out of the booth, and look back at Mingi again.

"I mean, yea, we've done a lot of things during our friendship. We grew up alongside each other and have done pretty much everything together. Yet, it doesn't feel like this was something either of us considered."

"And now that we're about to do it, it feels odd."

"Yea, exactly. I think you're overthinking the whole situation though. We're doing the same things we've always done: going to cafes, the movies, the park, hanging out at my apartment, those sorts of things. That's nothing new for us."

You sigh and slide out of the booth, collecting your things and not looking back at Mingi when you utter your next words,

"That's not what I'm scared of."

Mingi follows quickly and falls into step beside you a moment later. You feel the heat of his gaze on you but elect not to say anything. He waits though, following you out the door and back into the cold February air.

"I'm scared of things changing between us," you admit once the door snaps shut behind you, as though that will provide you with some semblance of security. Mingi opens his mouth, but you already know what he is going to ask, so you interrupt him. "I like the way things are between us. We're best friends, and I don't want some stupid desires to get in the way of our friendship." Mingi moves in front of you and reaches down between the two of you to grab hold of one of your hands.

"We're best friends. This won't change anything between us because we have been friends for this long without doing these kinds of things. Even when it's all said and done, we will still be friends, and nothing will be different." Mingi pulls you to his side, fingers slotting between yours, and leads the way down the sidewalk. “Let’s just… do this as though it’s just like anything else we would do together.”

You want to point out that this is different: there is a fine line between a normal friendship and whatever this game you’re playing. You can’t bring yourself to voice the concerns, however, so you keep your lips pressed together. Considering how much you’ve complained already, you’re sure that Mingi would just be annoyed if you said anything else. So you stay quiet, fingers squeezing tight around Mingi’s, and fall into step with him. It’s a comfortable feeling, aside from Mingi’s silence, which is a thing you aren’t used to. Still, it gives you time to just bask in the last shreds of normality between the two of you.

Then your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you let go of Mingi’s hand to pull it out.

Yeosang: if you get your sorry ass stuck at another party, I’m not bailing you out

Yeosang: deadass

Yeosang: you’re on your own

You huff as you read the messages, a small pool of annoyance bubbling in your gut. The good and right thing to do would be to respond and reassure Yeosang that it’s not that serious, not even close to what happened last time.

You do the opposite. Ignoring the messages, refusing to respond, and putting the phone back in your pocket to retake Mingi’s hand without saying a word.

“Hey, Mingi, I have a question.”

Mingi glances down at you, no doubt assuming that you’re going to ask something about the deal again, and you rush to clarify.

“How is it possible that none of the people who have been into you have piqued your interest? Just… statistics wise, I don’t understand how that’s possible. Surely at least one has caught your eye.” Mingi’s gaze drifts again, and he snaps his chin away from you before you can see the expression on his face.

“No. None of them have. I don’t know what to tell you. Just... I haven’t been interested in any of them. Sure, some of them are pretty, or have nice personalities, or simply would be a good girlfriend, but none of them are—” Mingi cuts himself off, and you hear the sharp inhale of breath he takes next. You think he’s going to continue speaking for a moment, but instead, he shifts the topic over to you. “I could ask you the same question, Y/N. There are plenty of guys who have liked you, plenty who probably do right now, but you never do anything about it.”

“Hm well, that’s different.”

“How so?”

“I don’t see it. I mean, you get people who approach you directly and an endless amount of girls who come to me because of you, but that doesn’t happen to me. So I never know if someone likes me, or… I have my eyes set on someone else, so I don’t think about it.”

“You never thought that I might be the same?” Mingi’s question shouldn’t catch you off-guard, but it manages to do so anyway. To be honest, you have never considered it. “I’ve liked people in the past, and when I like someone, it’s like no one else exists. That’s why I’ve never focused on the girls who approach you or me.”

In your eyes, Mingi has always been this single free-spirited kind of person. Never talked about girls or boys, never showed interest in either, and never talked about having feelings for anyone. You always chalked him up to be the type to not be interested in relationships, but it seems you were wrong about that.

“So you… you do want a relationship?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Well, you know, some people are aromantic or don’t get that sort of attraction towards others, so they aren’t really interested in relationships. Some just aren’t into that kind of commitment, some just want to fuck and go. It’s different for everyone, and I just… I assumed that—you know?”

Mingi breaks into laughter as you stammer your way through the words. “I thought you knew me better than that, Y/N.”

“We don’t talk about this sort of stuff, Mingi. What do you expect? I can’t read your mind either, so I don’t know what to tell you!” You barely even notice where you are when Mingi releases your hand and pulls a door open. You have to shake your head and actually take in your surroundings, seeing Mingi’s apartment building before you. He waits for you to step through the door without saying anything. “Sorry, zoned out.”

“Obviously,” Mingi laughs under his breath. You duck into the building, warm air smacking you in the face, and you turn your head to avoid the onslaught of warmth. You don’t wait for Mingi to lead the way up to his apartment, you already know where it is. “Hey, remember that Yeosang gets stingy about liquids in the apartment! Try not to spill your coffee this time!”

“It was your fault last time, I don’t see why you’re blaming me!” You call out over your shoulder as you quickly jog up the stairs.

“You kicked me!”

“And you retaliated by throwing a pillow at me! Not my fault it hit the coffee cup.” Something hits the back of your thigh, right below the curve of your butt, and you spin to face Mingi. He cackles at the shock across your face. “Did you just—you did not!”

“Didn’t what?” Mingi laughs, stepping past you on the stairs and continuing up without you. “I didn’t do anything inappropriate.” You scoff and hurry to chase after him.

“You hit my ass!”

“No, I hit your thigh. There’s not much ass to hit anyways.” Mingi sends a grin your way. You can’t do anything except gape back at him, mouth hanging open as he simply laughs and continues up the stairs.

“I’m offended, Mingi. Not much ass? Why are you even looking?”

“Not looking at much, to be honest.”

“Shut up, Mingi!” If you didn’t like your coffee so much, you would consider dumping it all over Mingi in retaliation. Instead, you’re going to have to find another way to get back at him because no way in hell are you going to let him get away with talking shit about your ass, no matter how flat it may be. “You’re equally as flat, if not more.”

“It’s different for guys though.”

You roll your eyes back at the comment. “Don’t be shallow.”

“What’s the saying? Different strokes for different folks? Some people like boobs, some like butts.”

“And some like personality and other non-physical assets.” You can almost hear the roll of Mingi’s eyes even though he’s in front of you, but he doesn’t add any more salt to the wound. Thank goodness for that too, because you’re nearing his apartment on the third floor. The jingle of keys distracts you from your thoughts. Mingi fiddles with his keys, and you watch on with little interest as he unlocks the door to his apartment. You push your way in first once he opens it though, slipping past him to get inside. Sipping at your coffee, you turn to look at Mingi as he steps through the door as well.

“Why don’t you put your coffee in the kitchen this time? Just in case you decide to kick me again.”

“You mean, in case you throw pillows again? I can’t recall if Yeosang was more upset about the coffee on the carpet or the rip in the pillow.”

“Definitely the carpet. He hates stains.”

“He hates tears and rips more though.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Yes, he does. Have you seen how upset he gets about the dish towels at work?”

“Okay, but have you lived with him? No. Trust me. Stains are his biggest pet peeve.” You shake your head a little bit but decide not to argue with Mingi about it. Still, You listen to his advice and give your coffee one last sip before setting it on the kitchen counter. You hear quite a bit of movement behind you, and you assume that it’s just Mingi bustling about with his belongings. Giving your drink one last quick sip, you turn away from the counter.

Then, the breath is knocked out of you, a sharp force smacks you in the chest, and you gasp in surprise as some tall figure traps you against the counter without warning. You can do nothing except blink at the chest before you, fingers gripping the marble counter that digs into the flesh of your back.

“M-Mingi?” You stammer. You don’t dare look up, your heart descending into shambles at this point (mostly out of shock, yes, that’s precisely what it is, nothing else). “Wh-What are you—what are you doing?”

“Trying something,” Mingi mutters, voice much lower than you anticipated. You nearly choke on your breath. Your fingers grip the counter tighter as Mingi looks down at you. “Hm, interesting.” He steps back, and you inhale a gasp of air now that there is more space between the two of you. You press a hand to your chest in attempts to quell the frantic racing of your weak and fragile heart. Mingi crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes stay on you, and you don’t have a chance to catch your breath.

“In-Interesting?”

Mingi leans forward, and you instinctively lean back at the same time. There’s nowhere for you to go though, you’re still stuck against the counter, and your back bends painfully against the granite.

“Are… are we starting no-now?” You whisper, eyes glued to Mingi’s. His face presses closer to yours. Breath hot across your face, Mingi shifts his gaze so that he’s looking over your features. His arms fall to the counter, entirely trapping you now, one arm on either side of your body, and you forget how to breathe for a moment.

"Do you want us to start now?"

Mingi doesn't look you in the eye; instead, he keeps glancing over your features and following your nose's curve down to your lips. His gaze lingers there. He presses forward a little more, and one of his thighs slips between your legs with ease. Your lips part as you gasp a little, the pressure of his thigh pressing against your inner thighs eliciting a spike in your heart rate.

"Is it working?" Mingi asks after a moment. You can do nothing except exhale shakily as you look him in the eye, trying not to move otherwise for fear of brushing against his thigh again. His stupid fucking thigh that's wedged between your legs. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Is what working?" You hiss out between gritted teeth. Even though you're trying to seem upset, you're confident that your cheeks are the color of tomatoes.

"Can I… can I-I kiss you?" Mingi sounds surprisingly less confident all the sudden, as though the prospect of kissing you is dangerous, even though his thigh resides between your legs.

"Y-yea. Go for it." You grip the counter behind you a bit tighter. Mingi hesitates a moment then slowly leans in to close the gap between you two. Squeezing your eyes shut, you wait for the hard force of his lips hitting yours. It's soft, however, like a pillow against your lips. You don't move, instead of letting Mingi test the waters first. It takes a moment, but suddenly you have the confidence to. You use your weight against the counter to push forward, moving your lips against his with more force. Mingi matches the strength and pushes against you. His thigh involuntarily presses further between your thigh. You gasp into the kiss, clenching around his leg as it brushes your clit, and your hands fly from the counter to Mingi's arms. Mingi pulls back to glance down at your face, which is now surely gleaming with sweat because you can feel the heat radiating off your cheeks.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

As though by instinct, his arms slide closer to your hips. The pads of his fingers barely brush your skin, where the hem of your t-shirt has ridden up. You bite down hard on your tongue. He has a slight flush to his cheeks now that you really look at him, the redness tints his nose and ears, and you can see the slight stutter of his chest as he tries to catch his breath as well. He doesn't wait for a response to his question.

"I wa-want to kiss you again." His tone is quiet, too quiet for it to affect you the way it does, but there's a tightening in your gut as you hear the words. Instead of answering with words, you shift your hands to the collar of Mingi's shirt and pull him closer to you.

"Kiss me then," you mutter. Your breath is hot on his lips, and the action of pulling him to you causes an almost visceral reaction to washing over Mingi. A high-pitched whine passes through him. It startles both of you. Mingi's blush intensifies, and he ducks his head to hide the embarrassment. You don't give him a chance to hide for long, reaching up to push his chin back in your direction, then press your lips to his once more. Mingi sighs into the kiss. He slides his hands closer to you, taking hold of your hips. His fingers are hot against your skin, and you relish in the sensation as you press yourself further against Mingi.

He doesn't let you pull back for air until he's almost running out of it. Even so, he only gives the two of you a few moments to catch your breath. Whatever you were expecting from your first kiss just went out the window because you had no idea this is what it would be, nor did you think you would be sharing it with Mingi. Yeosang’s concern appears in the back of your mind again. The blaring sirens in your ears ring in warning as you drag your gaze over Mingi’s lips. You ignore all warning signals as you dip in for more.

Something tells you that you’re going to regret this.

⁂    ⁂    ⁂

If someone had told you that a month ago you would make a deal with your childhood best friend and that deal would entail making out and sexual explorations, you would have laughed in their face.

Mingi? You really think I would even think about him like that?

Yes, well, here you are a month later in his kitchen yet again (how many times this week?). His lips are on yours. You will say that Mingi has gotten a lot more confident with his kissing in only a month, which is quite impressive in and of itself. He’s also gotten more confident in other departments, wandering hands becoming more frequent, whereas you can barely stave off the embarrassment of kissing him. One thing he loves is marking you. Even if you’re just sitting on the couch, Mingi has his lips on your neck and busies himself with pressing mark after mark against your skin.

But not now. No, right now, Mingi has his lips pressed to yours, and he is kissing you with a particular fervor that leaves you both wanting more. You two haven’t gotten very far past the kissing stage. A little grinding here and there, some awkward orgasms, and a few attempts to get in each other’s pants, but Yeosang always seems to make a timely appearance in those moments. You haven’t been caught yet though, which is more than a miracle since you and Mingi are nothing shy of sloppy.

"I want to try something," Mingi mutters even though the two of you are the only ones in the room. He isn't as shy or reserved this time, no, he's carrying a lot more confidence, and there's a fire in his eyes that catches you off guard.

"More than you've already done?" You exhale shakily.

"Yes. Just a little. Maybe." Mingi's tongue slips out and moistens his lips. Pushing his thigh forward, he works your legs apart slowly. His eyes remain on yours, watching for any sign of hesitation, and you sink your teeth into your lower lip. It's uncomfortable at first; the width of his thigh is too much for your smaller stature.

"Hold on." You shift under him and try to get a better angle with his thigh between yours. "Mi-ingi, wait." Mingi halts immediately at your words. You keep shifting until it's comfortable, only for Mingi to further press his muscled thigh against your crotch. You gasp, the sensation pulsing through you. "F-Fuck."

"Language," Mingi chastises. A laugh courses through him before he presses further up against you. You grasp at his shirt, balling your fists around the material, and throw your head back. "Does... does it feel good?" His voice is much more hesitant, confidence lost from his tone.

"Y-Yes. Yes. It – oh, oh." You shake under him as his muscle works harder against your core. "Fuck, for someone who do-doesn't know what he's doing, you're doing just fine." Rocking back against Mingi's thigh, you feel your hesitations slipping away. The pleasure of the feeling is too good for you to care any longer.

"Your reaction is helping a lot," Mingi huffs out as you release a small moan.

"Wa-ait, I th-think I'm close."

"Already?" Mingi asks. You roll your eyes at his remark and slap his arm.

"F-Fuck you."

"I can stop."

"No, no, no." You bite out, teeth gritted together.

Mingi rolls his thigh forward again. An almost pitiful moan leaves your lips as he does. A string of moans continues to escape as he uses his hands to guide your hips against the muscle of his thigh. You brace yourself by holding onto his shoulder, feeling a wave of heat wash over you.

"Oh fuck, fu-uck, I'm cumming," you cry out as the high hits. Your whole body trembles and shakes as the warmth washes over you. Mingi holds you against him as you ride it out, both arms snaking around you.

"Well, that's one idea down." Mingi slowly pulls his thigh away from you. His hands come down to the counter again, forehead coming to rest against yours. The euphoric sensation quickly leaves you, and as the orgasm passes, you find that cold washing over you instead.

"Is it my turn to try an idea out?" You whisper. Your hands find the collar of his shirt, folding around the material and tugging him down to you.

"Yea, I'd like that." Mingi chuckles. His fingers trace down to your sides.

Then – something rattles and clicks, and you hear the door creak. You shove Mingi back in haste, he stumbles back, and you spin around to turn your back on him. Your hands find the edge of the counter and grip it hard. You try your best to seem somewhat normal, but the two of you look more awkward than anything. It’s glaringly apparent that you were doing something, and you can only hope that Yeosang doesn’t put two and two together.

Your face is hot when Yeosang comes into view. Mingi has moved to the fridge in attempts to hide his red cheeks. Yeosang doesn’t notice you right away, still focused on closing and locking the door, but when he turns to see you, his head tilts in question.

“I really thought you were going to another party.” He laughs under his breath. As he moves closer to the counter, his eyes land on where Mingi is positioned by the fridge. A questioning gleam begins to rise up in his dark eyes. “Why the hell is it so awkward in here?”

You sputter a little, rushing to deny the awkwardness, but Mingi makes the situation even worse by turning around and excusing himself.

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” he mutters as he slides out of the kitchen and down the hall. Yeosang’s brows shoot up. You two stay in silence until the door of Mingi’s room clicks shut. You gnaw on your lower lip as you watch Yeosang lower his school bag to the floor.

“You reek of sex.”

“Ex-excuse me, I d-do not!” You stammer, blinking furiously.

“And Mingi was popping a boner.”

“Oh my god, Yeos–”

“What the hell are you doing, Y/N?” The question isn’t spoken with vehemence or anger. Instead, Yeosang sounds tired and disappointed. That almost hurts worse.

“I-It’s no big deal. Just… we’re just learning. Together.”

“Learning together. Yeah, because that always ends well.”

“Listen, Yeo, what would you do in my shoes?”

“I have no idea, because I don’t even know why you thought to do this in the first place.” Yeosang leans against the counter and presses his palms against the granite. His gaze is hot on your skin, so focused on you that you have to look away.

“I don’t know anything a-about relationships or sex. Neither does Mingi. I… I want to know what I’m doing when I have sex for the first time. And when I get in a relationship. Isn’t that normal?”

“It’s normal not to know what the hell you’re doing, yeah. It’s not normal to make a sex arrangement with your childhood friend simply because you’re both horny.”

“That’s not what we’re doing!”

“Then what is it really?”

“J-Just tell me what you would do in my shoes.”

“Is this what you wanted to talk about earlier?”

“Yeosang, please.” Your embarrassment is skyrocketing at an impressive pace, no thanks to Yeosang’s increasingly invasive questions. “Yes, it is. But I didn’t mean for you to ask this many questions.”

“I would never do anything without feelings being present,” Yeosang answers after heaving a deep sigh. “I ask questions because I’m your friend, and as your friend, I worry. So just let me ask questions and worry about the two of you since you are my closest friends.”

“That’s probably a smart decision,” you mutter as you mull over the first half of Yeosang’s words.

“You aren’t going to make the smart decision though, are you?” When you refuse to answer, Yeosang sighs and turns away from you. “Y/N, I guarantee that you will regret this an–”

“It’s fine. Nothing bad will happen.”

“That’s what everyone says before something bad happens.”

“I trust Mingi with my life. Is that not enough?” You counter, arms coming up to cross over your chest. Yeosang squeezes his eyes shut, but you catch him rolling his eyes just before he closes them.

“I understand that, and I know you do. This is something serious. You should feel something for the person you’re giving all your firsts to.”

“There are feelings there,” you snap back.

“Romantic feelings, Y/N. You can’t tell me that you have any of those for Mingi because I know that you don’t.”

“And? Your point? I won’t be giving all my firsts to Mingi anyway.” As your defensive state grows stronger, Yeosang’s disappointment does too. He pokes his tongue out to drag over his lower lip. When he looks back at you, you almost wish he hadn’t so that you didn’t have to see the sadness on his expression.

“I don’t want to argue with you… especially not over something like this,” he mutters, bringing a hand up to comb through his hair. “I trust you, but I hope you will make the right decision about this. Not one that your body wants, but one that your heart wants.”

“I will,” you whisper back, all the fire and anger gone from your tone.

“I just don’t want you to regret anything, Y/N. Or for this to harm your friendship with Mingi.” The words spark an unprecedented amount of anger in you, and you drop your arms to your side.

“You don’t know the type of friendship I have with Mingi. It won’t ruin anything.”

Yeosang doesn’t get the chance to respond because Mingi comes back from the bathroom at that moment. He glances over you and Yeosang. If he notices the spike in tension between you two, he neglects to comment.

“I think I’m going to head home,” you mutter as you try to collect yourself. Mingi’s eyes rake over you in attempts to understand where your sudden departure is coming from. You don’t look back; instead, you stare straight ahead at Yeosang.

“O-Okay, do you want me to walk you out or…?” Mingi trails off. He fiddles with his hands, picking at a loose nail with little interest as he watches you.

“No, I told her I would walk her out,” Yeosang cuts in, finally looking away from you to nod at Mingi.

“Oh, cool. Uh, I’ll text you later, Y/N.”

“Yea, see ya. Tomorrow, I guess? I’ll text you.” You pull yourself away from the counter. Yeosang follows you out of the apartment, hot on your heels as you leave. It’s only when the door snaps shut behind the two of you that he opens his mouth to speak again. You cut him off before he gets the chance. “I don’t need you to worry about us.”

“I — I know you don’t, but you don’t get to decide when I care and when I don’t. I do. I care, and since I care, I’ll worry about you regardless.”

“I know,” you mutter, turning away from Yeosang before he catches the frown on your lips.

“I won’t lecture you to oblivion again, but… I just want you to be careful. I’m scared you’ll get in too deep or regret doing something with him. I know I’ve done that in the past. It’s not a matter of trusting you or trusting him. I just don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.”

You moisten your lips as Yeosang speaks and mull over the words. Part of you feels bad for jumping down his throat so quickly like you did. You extend a hesitant hand to grip his bicep, squeezing around his shirt.

“Thank you for looking after us.”

“You’re my friends. I would be a pretty shitty person if I didn’t.”

“Still… I’m grateful that you’re looking out for us.”

“I sense a ‘but,’” Yeosang states, shrugging your hand off his arm.

“We’re being careful, that’s all.”

“If you say so.”

You and Yeosang exchange a prolonged stare, then you reach forward to pull the taller man into your arms. He hugs you back with equal enthusiasm, folding his arms around your waist and pressing his face against your shoulder.

“I love you, Yeosang.”

“Love you too, Y/N.”

⁂    ⁂    ⁂

You should know how long it’s been by now. Emphasis on should because you most certainly do not know how long you and Mingi have been exercising your arrangement, and things have escalated in a way you did not expect.

In short, the two of you have gotten bold beyond belief. You barely wait to see if Yeosang is home before going at each other, and that’s not even the worst part.

Last week, Mingi fingered you during movie night with Yeosang. It was awkward, he fumbled a lot and had trouble finding the right angle, but once he did, you had to bite on a pillow to keep from screaming out.

Two days ago, you gave Mingi a handjob in the back of a lecture hall. Yeosang was one seat over. God knows what was going through your mind at that moment because that had to be the dumbest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life. The thrill and rush it gave you was sweet, but as you look back at it, you only feel the hot burn of shame.

And now. This is the worst thing that has happened yet because Yeosang walked in just as Mingi was slipping one hand down your pants. Needless to say, the two of you detached quicker than imaginable. That didn’t stop Yeosang from seeing exactly what was going on, and your whole body burns with the embarrassment of being caught in the act.

“Mingi, you were gonna take me home?” You inquire, turning to the man even though he agreed to no such thing. It’s a desperate attempt to get out of this awful and awkward situation you just put yourself in. Mingi doesn’t seem to realize that right away though, and he blinks back at you with inquiry in his gaze.

“O-Oh? Was I?”

You send a pointed glare his way, and he straightens his back as he realizes what’s going on. You can feel the heat of Yeosang’s presence nearby. Even though he doesn’t say anything, you can sense the disappointment radiating off his body in waves. This is precisely what he was telling you to avoid. Yet here you are. Doing just that after telling him that you had it under control.  

“Yes, I was. I remember now. Yeo, can I borrow your car?”

Yeosang’s glare lingers on you. He doesn’t respond for a few moments, and you think he’s going to say no at first. Then he tosses his bundle of keys towards Mingi.

“Fill it up with gas on your way back.” Tone cold and flat. It almost hurts to hear, but Mingi still seems to be oblivious to what’s happening.

“Will do!” Mingi catches the keys with ease. You step around Yeosang to move towards the door. He seems to want to say more to you, but Mingi’s presence deters him. Either way, you’ll get a text from him later tonight saying that he’s sorry and didn’t mean to offend you or snap at you. That’s just how your relationship with Yeosang operates.

Mingi grabs your hand before you’re even out the door, threading his fingers through yours. You dare to glance back at Yeosang. His stare lingers on your joined hands with even more sadness than before.

“So, why am I taking you home?”

“Because, uh, I-I…” You trail off, hurrying to figure out some sort of excuse to get away from Yeosang. “I’m exhausted? Yeah, I’m exhausted.”

“You know you could spend the night with me. We do that… all the time.”

“Yeah, but I just wanna get home. I haven’t been home in hours. Need to feed the cat next door too.” It’s a lie, but Mingi’s eyes light up at the mention of the pet.

“Oh, is Mrs. Parks out of town again?”

“Y-Yep, but I’ll take care of it, so you don’t have to come up!” Mingi frowns at your words, and guilt twinges in your gut a little. It doesn’t last long because the chilly air outside nips at your skin and pushes the feeling away.

You climb into the passenger seat as Mingi gets in on the driver’s side. As soon as you’re settled in the seat, a hand comes down on your thigh. You flinch at the sudden sensation and glance over at Mingi. He acts as though he hasn’t done anything, hand resting on the inside of your thigh and making you look small under him. You won’t admit it to him, but it makes your gut pool with arousal. Mingi pulls out of the parking lot, driving with one hand so that he can keep the other pressed against your thigh. You want to question it and ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but you can barely form a coherent thought. The simple action has you in shambles, and he isn’t even doing anything.

The drive commences in silence, the radio blares in the background, and Mingi occasionally drums the beat of the songs against your leg. You are trying your best to not think about it and just wave it off as a silly and harmless action. Emphasis on try, because every single time you begin to squirm under Mingi’s grip, he smirks. He knows exactly what he’s doing and isn’t even trying to hide the fact that he does.

When he pulls the car into your apartment complex, you don’t get out immediately. Partially because it feels awkward considering what went down in his apartment earlier, and mostly because his hand is still clamped around your thigh. You glance over at him and open your mouth to ask if something is wrong, but Mingi dips in before words get out. His lips hit yours in a mess of teeth and saliva, and you nearly bite the tip of your tongue off. It’s harsher than your first kiss; Mingi puts a lot more force into this one. You respond with an equal amount of ferocity though and reach down to undo your seatbelt. Mingi does the same, leaning into the kiss as he’s freed from the belt's restrictions.

You only part once you run out of breath, still awkwardly holding each other’s faces as you pant into the other’s mouth.

“You never got to try that thing you mentioned earlier…” Mingi trails off, lips brushing against yours as he speaks. You’re caught off-guard, however, completely unaware of whatever he’s talking about. That’s when it hits you. Before Yeosang came into the apartment, you told Mingi that there was something you wanted to try.

“A-Ah, yeah, th–well, yeah. I can — I can try it now maybe.” You stammer your way through the response and try to swallow the bundle of nerves that hits your throat.

“Y-Yeah, go for it. Just… go for it.” Mingi pulls away from you and puts his hands up awkwardly. You aren’t sure what you’re doing either, so you look equally as stupid. Mingi must be aroused from just the minimal kissing because there is a prominent bulge in his pants, and that’s precisely where you reach next. You place a shaky hand over his clothed erection. Mingi’s legs spread further open when you touch him, and you take it as an invitation. You reach for the button of his pants, popping it open, then you tug the zipper down.

Your motions are slow and calculated. You watch Mingi’s face for a reaction with each shift, delighted with the hiss that escapes him as you reach under the band of his underwear and grip his semihard member. You pull the underwear down just enough to expose his cock to the air and your eye. You aren’t sure what you were expecting — you’ve never thought about Mingi’s size — but his girth alone is enough to make you choke on air. You tighten your grip on his cock.

This isn’t the first time you have given Mingi a handjob. It is your first time seeing his cock head-on like this though, because he usually keeps it in his pants whenever you jerk him off. Your intention now is a little different, and you’re nervous about going through with the idea considering his size. You swallow your nerves and lean across the seat to press your lips over the head of his member.

Two months. Now you remember how long it’s been. Because you have spent the past two months reading articles, watching porn, doing anything you can to learn what the hell you’re supposed to do. It’s your first blowjob. Sure, Mingi has never had one, so he won’t know the difference between a good one and a bad one, but that doesn’t keep you from wanting to do a good job.

You start with a few kitten licks to the head of his cock, blinking up at it through fluttering lashes, then you slowly lower your mouth to encompass his shaft. He stretches your lips nicely; it isn’t painful or unimaginable as you initially thought it would be. However, you know that there is no way in hell that you are getting his whole member in your mouth. That’s off the table. He would be halfway down your throat if you tried to do that.

Instead of taking in as much as you can right off the bat, you start small, worshipping the tip of his cock with kisses and licks. He tastes salty; each bead of precum that leaks from his slit is less salty than the last, but you might just be getting used to the taste. You let your tongue explore his length. It runs down to follow the lines of his veins, tracing the tip before dipping back down to run the flat of your tongue over the underside of his cock. It’s heavier than you anticipated, but you have nothing to compare it to, so you can only assume that this is normal.

You begin to bob your head a bit more as you gain some confidence. Mingi releases small groans when your teeth graze his sensitive skin. The sounds encourage you to increase the frequency of your movements. Soon enough, you have to hold your hair back because you’re bobbing up and down too quickly on his cock. Mingi’s moans increase in volume as you continue. That makes you feel a little bit proud because you’re only halfway down his member. You dare to go a little further though, pushing your tongue out further and wetting the next quarter of his dick. As you dip lower, he hits the back of your throat. It triggers your gag reflex in an instant, and you gag around his dick. The sensation must feel good to Mingi because he releases a particularly filthy moan.

You have to pull off before continuing though. You can barely breathe, and nearly gagging on him made you want to throw up. Mingi watches you with eyes filled with lust and desire as you heave a few deep breaths. Slowly you return to his erect member, holding it by the base before pushing your lips back over him. This time, Mingi holds your hair back for you. His fingers entangle in your strands, staying close to your scalp as you hollow your cheeks around his cock. He touches the back of your throat again. This time you are more prepared for the sensation, but it doesn’t keep you from gagging again. Mingi’s hips jerk as you gag around him. He unintentionally bucks up into your mouth, causing you to choke further. A small noise of indignation escapes you, and you groan around him. Again, that must bring Mingi pleasure, because he shifts his hips back.

You smack his thigh when the grip on your hair doesn’t let you up for air. Mingi gets the hint immediately and lets you pull off him. A disgusting amount of saliva connects your lips to his cock. It must look filthy and perverse beyond belief, but Mingi’s dick twitches as you make eye contact with him, spit covering your lips and eyes watering. You swallow roughly. Surely Mingi is getting close to cumming; at least you hope he is because you aren’t sure that you particularly enjoy having a dick in your mouth.

The idea of pleasuring him outweighs your disdain, and you bend back over him to swallow as much of his cock as possible. You make it further than last time, still gagging a little, but it doesn’t hurt as bad as before, so you’re more comfortable continuing it. You bob along his member, and he helps you along a little by grabbing hold of your hair again. He guides your movements like that. Every once and awhile, Mingi will buck his hips up into your mouth and hit the back of your throat harder than before. You have to push the discomfort aside because you’re too damn determined to bring an orgasm over him.

It works at long last after a few seconds of holding you on his cock. You pull off, gasping for air, and Mingi cums in that moment. His seed hits your face, and it’s a good thing that you had your eyes squeezed shut because he would have popped you in the eye if not. You flinch at the contact. It’s as warm as always, but that doesn’t mean you want it on your face. Mingi cusses under his breath as he rides out the orgasm, voice low and gravelly. You shift to look in the back seat, find a random sweatshirt under one of the seats, and use that to wipe your face clean. You can still smell it, but at least you don’t have to feel it on your skin anymore.

Mingi blinks at you in wonder as you sit back in your seat, hands folded neatly in your lap.

“So…?” You trail off. You are a bit embarrassed to ask him what he thought, but you might have to get the words out anyway because Mingi blinks back at you with a dumb expression on his features. “Was i-it — was it good?”

“Fuck yes,” he mutters, releasing another groan. He quickly shoves his softening member back into his underwear and zips his pants back up. You swallow around nothing. “That was… wow. Wow. Damn.”

“Good! Good, yeah – uh, yeah, I’m glad.” You nod awkwardly, unable to look him in the eye all of a sudden. It’s strange how sometimes you can handle the embarrassment of your arrangement with such grace and ease, and other times you can’t even look at your hands. “Well, I’m gonna – I’m gonna go up now. I guess. Yeah.”

“Oh, o-oh, yeah, okay!” Mingi stammers as you motion over your shoulder. He nods along with you then rushes to hit the unlock button on his door. “You… uh, have a nice night!”

“You too, Mingi.”

“Cool.”

“Yep.”

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Why are you still in the car? And why the hell aren’t you getting out? Two questions that you will ask yourself for the rest of your life because you aren’t sure what comes over you. All you know is that tears are hitting your cheeks, and you are having a breakdown in the passenger seat of Yeosang’s car with Mingi, your childhood best friend, and the man you just sucked off in the driver seat. It feels filthy now. You’ve never felt so disgusting in your life like you’ve crossed a line you were never supposed to cross or that you have done something you can’t come back from. All you know is that Yeosang was right.

You regret it now.

“W-What’s wrong? Y/N, hey, hey. It’s okay.” Mingi reaches forward to touch your shoulder, but you smack his hand away before he can touch you. The sharp impact echoes through the car. “Y/N… what’s going on?”

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Mingi, what t-the fuck are w-we doing?” Your shoulders shake as you sob into your hands. You don’t even care that you just held a disgusting sweatshirt covered in cum as you rub at the tears on your cheeks. Mingi doesn’t know how to respond. He brings his hands back into his lap and keeps them there as you continue to cry. “W-We’re so fucking dumb. Why? Why did I let you convince me to do this? Wh-Why did you even suggest it?”

“I… I thought you wanted this.”

“Why would I want this?” You shout with sudden rage. Mingi flinches at the volume of your voice, and for a split second, you feel bad. That goes away immediately though as you settle back into your anger. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“You agreed to it!”

“You should have known better. You’re my best friend!”

“I told you to say no at any time. I said if you didn’t want it, we didn’t have to, I told you that. Why are you suddenly so upset now? After what? Two months? Suddenly this is the worst thing in the fucking universe?” Mingi doesn’t look at you as he hisses the words, eyes forward on the steering wheel. You’re shaking again, but this time it’s the anger that causes you to tremble. Mingi is right. You know he’s right. That’s almost more infuriating.

He gave you the opportunity to walk away, he told you that you could say no, he left the door wide open for you to go. And yet you didn’t. For what? What was all this for? For some damn experience for a guy that you know you’re never going to ask out, let alone talk to? Good fucking riddance.

You push your way out of the car, legs shaky and trembling as you go. You don’t stop to look back at Mingi as you slam the door behind you. A few seconds after you leave the car, the car horn blares. You jerk your head to look back at the car and see Mingi slam a fist against the steering wheel. It’s not hard to walk away, but each step has your legs feeling like lead in an unexpected way. It’s hard to not think about your best friend sitting in the car with tears on his cheeks like yours. It’s hard to believe that Yeosang was right, and he literally warned you that this would happen. Yet you still ignored him. Why? Why, why, why?

You’ve never felt more stupid in your life.

⁂    ⁂    ⁂

“It’s weird, isn’t it?”

Mingi stands across from you, arms folded over his chest as he watches you pace back and forth in your living room. You aren’t sure why you agreed to bring him here. It’s been three weeks since the two of you last spoke, three weeks since that argument in the parking lot, and you aren’t sure what it was that convinced you to come when he asked to meet. You don’t stop pacing back and forth as you recall a conversation the two of you shared shortly before your fight.

“We kiss and do all this stuff… but I don’t feel a thing.”

Your chest tightens a little, but you manage to at least maintain a straight face as he looks at you pointedly. Still, you continue your small rant with a weaker voice.

“I’ve never been sexually or physically attracted to you. And that feels wrong for some reason. It feels like I’m doing something that isn’t right. Do you get that?”

“Yea…” Mingi trails off, looking away from your face to stare at the wall instead. “Is all love like this?”

“I have no clue.”

“I don’t want to be in a relationship if I’m not going to feel anything. That doesn’t sound enjoyable.”

“No, not at all.”

So why did you continue? Why the fuck did you both think it was a decent idea to let things blow up in your faces like this? Now you can barely stand to look at each other, let alone be in the same room as each other. It makes every damn class awkward and tense. Recently it’s escalated to a point where you refuse to sit near him, finding a new seat across the lecture hall just so that you don’t have to think about the things you did with him while sitting in the back. Yeosang stays at your side in those classes but casts glance after glance back at Mingi throughout the class.

It didn’t take long for Yeosang to confront you about what happened either. He first yelled at you for the sweatshirt incident, but that quickly turned into concern as he recalled the state Mingi was in when he returned home.

“What happened?”

“You were right.”

God, you almost wish that Yeosang had laughed in your face and said that he knew he was right. You just wanted him to lecture you and tell you off for what you did. Instead, you got a sympathetic sigh and disappointed stares.

“You were happier when the two of you were simply friends and nothing more.”

“I know. I knew that a while ago.”

“So why did you keep doing it?”

Why did you keep doing it? A fucking good question because you certainly don’t know the answer. You know that it became a habit in a short amount of time and quickly developed into a bad one. So maybe you have Yeosang to thank for the reason why you’re pacing in Mingi’s apartment with two fingers picking at your lower lip as though it will make you feel better. He told you that you should at least get closure. Closure for what? A ruined friendship?

“Uh, that girl… the girl I like started dating someone,” Mingi says after several minutes of silence. You whip your head to blink at him in surprise.

“And…?”

Mingi shrugs, obviously unsure of what to say next. He turns away from you. Your pacing comes to a halt at last, and you just stand in the middle of the room, staring at Mingi with glaring eyes.

“Makes me wonder, you know? What all of it was for.”

You have to bite your tongue to keep harsh words from leaving your lips. In the time apart, you have realized that not all of this was Mingi’s fault — you are at fault just as much as he is. That apology is so fucking hard to get out because you’re so upset with yourself for letting this happen.

“I’m sorry for getting us into this mess,” Mingi says, bringing a hand up to run through his dark hair. “I k-know there were th-things I sh–”

“It’s not only your fault.” You muster up enough courage to say the five words, then your voice seems to die in the back of your throat. Heaving a deep sigh, you force yourself to continue the thought. “I messed up too. I’m at fault too. I’m sorry for pinning all the blame on you. I was ashamed and embarrassed with myself and my actions, so I truly am sorry for yelling at you the way I did.”

“I… no, I did mess up a lot. Even if you agreed to it, it was still initially my fault. I-I’ve been hiding s-something from you.” Mingi’s words cause your heart to drop. You drop your arms by your side, barely able to look at his guilt-ridden face. Something tells you that you don’t want to hear whatever it is he has to say.

“What the hell is it, Mingi? And why did you wait until now to mention it?”

“I – well, I was scared to tell you initially. Then I was scared to leave without having a… I don’t know a special moment with you?”

“What are you talking about, Mingi?” Your throat feels tight all of a sudden, and you don’t dare look away from the man’s face. It’s his turn to pace now, walking back and forth before you as he wrings his hands together. “Song Mingi.”

“I’m transferring to another school at the end of the week. There is no girl I’m into. Min Hyerin is just a random classmate that I thought could pass as a crush. I-I’ve kinda, uh, I’ve liked you this whole time.”

Your jaw all but drops at his sudden revelation. All the air leaves your lungs, and you can’t look at him any longer, turning to face the wall instead.

“I got scared when you were talking about liking that guy from whatever class it was. Psychology? I don’t know… I was scared, and that’s why I suggested the idea of learning together. Then when we talked about it after I while, you said that you didn’t feel a thing when we were doing things together. All the hand-holding and the kissing and the fake dates… I wanted them to be real.”

“What the fuck?” You hiss out between gritted teeth. You are trying your best to hold your tears back, but reality is catching up too quickly for you to handle. “What the actual fuck, Mingi? You — you manipulated me? I-I don’t even know what the fuck I’m supposed to say. I just–” You can’t even finish the sentence, tears hitting your cheeks before you know it.

“I didn’t want to leave without shooting my shot at least. I’ve been planning to leave for a few months, but I was too scared to hurt you. I’m really sorry. I should have told you sooner.”

“Didn’t want to hurt me? You choose to manipulate me and use me for some sick fantasy of getting off to me while lying the whole time? Throwing away our relationship and using me? Abusing your position as my friend to get in my pants because you were jealous? What the fuck?” Mingi freezes under your barrage of words, seeming to shrink smaller and smaller as you continue. “If you wanted to shoot your damn shot, you should have been honest! Instead of using me and my firsts as a way of getting what you wanted! I hope your fucking happy with yourself.”

“I-I, no, I never meant to hurt you,” Mingi stammers.

“Then what did you mean to do then? Because I’m fucking confused and hurt beyond belief right now.”

“I…” Mingi trails off, unable to finish the sentence. You can barely see him through your tears, and no matter how many times you blink, you can’t get rid of them.

“Just get the fuck out. Just go. I don’t want to see you or hear you or talk to you. I don’t want you in my life anymore. Just fucking go.”

“I can’t. I can’t leave you alone like this. I–”

“Fuck off, Mingi. You can leave me alone like this, and you will. I don’t want any more damn apologies. Nothing is going to fix what you did. So just fucking go.”

Mingi stares at you for several moments without saying a word. You refuse to meet his gaze. Just thinking about being in the same room as him makes you want to vomit, and it causes a physical pain to constrict in your chest. How the hell did you end up here? Things weren’t supposed to turn out like this, things weren’t ever supposed to become this way, and yet here you are. There Mingi is. And between you — the ruins of a crumbled relationship.

And just like that, Song Mingi walks out of your apartment and out of your life, leaving a giant dork sized whole in your memories, but to you, it only feels like a waste. It was a waste of firsts and special moments. The effort put into a pointless relationship that ended in flames because you weren’t careful enough.

Perhaps one day, you will regret it and feel bad for cutting him off in such a cruel and hasty way, but you block Mingi’s number and all of his social media accounts. Yeosang gets the hint not to mention him even though he still keeps in contact with Mingi on occasion. He asked you to move into Mingi’s empty apartment space, and you said no at first. It was too much to think about, being in the same house where he lived, and it made you think about all the things you did together while there too much. Then Yeosang offered to move into Mingi’s room so that you could have his own instead, insisting that he was worried about you and wanted to at least look after you in some way. So you decided to agree and move into Yeosang’s old room. Eventually, you get used to the new arrangement and learn to deal with the bad memories that linger in your mind as you live there.

It takes time to do so – six months to be exact – with the passing of the semester and summer break and the entrance of the new school year that bleeds into the beginning of December far too quickly for your liking. It’s a cold and snowy Wednesday morning when Jung Wooyoung sits beside you in psychology, and yet it feels like nothing you’ve felt before. The cold doesn’t leave a mark on you, only Wooyoung does, a branded image over your cold heart when he turns and smiles at you, brushing long strands of black hair out of his eyes.

“Hi, I’m Jung Wooyoung. I don’t think we’ve met before.”

⁂    ⁂    ⁂ a/n: hi and welcome to the end of this way-too-long fic! i would really really love feedback and would love to know what you think of this part, as it is setting up for the future installments of the series, but it could be read on its own for its own story. but anyway! let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading :(

[dudeandduchess]

Affairs of the Heart: Chapter 2 [Knight!Sanemi x Princess!Reader](Royalty AU, Westernized Plot, SFW Scenario)

Summary: Sanemi is a knight for the (L/n) Empire’s second princess; only, their relationship isn’t simply that of a princess and her retainer. Behind closed doors, they’re merely a man and his lover. At least, until the day they dreaded the most comes: the day when (Y/n) finally gets engaged to another man.

Chapter: 2/3 Word Count: 3,420 blaze it

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

***

“Your Imperial Highness,” One of the maids dropped into a curtsy, maintaining her good composure as they waited for (Y/n) to acknowledge her with a simple ‘proceed’, before rising back up with a couple of letters in hand. “Greetings to the Jewel of the Empire.”

With that greeting, the maid set the letters down on (Y/n)’s table— a few inches away from the document that she had been reviewing, but still well within her sight. “Thank you. You’re dismissed.”

She didn’t even bother to look up from her work, preferring instead to keep scanning the numbers which had been written down on the paper. However, once the telltale sound of the door closing echoed in the room, she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose— all in an effort to alleviate the headache she felt coming on.

“Are you alright, Your Highness?” At Sanemi’s words, (Y/n)’s gaze immediately darted over to him. But instead of reminding him of how she’d wanted him to address her in private, she chose to turn her face away from him and let out a deep sigh.

His formality was to be expected; since they were in her office on official hours. Still, that didn’t make (Y/n) wish for him to be less formal with her; they were lovers, after all.

“You can always tell me what troubles you, my dear.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened at the rarely spoken moniker, cheeks burning a warm and vibrant red as she tried to calm her fluttering heart. Of all the times to be sweet to her, Sanemi had to choose a moment when she least expected it.

To save face as much as possible, the young woman pressed her fingers against her warm cheeks— hiding the blush that showed her lover just how flustered he’d made her. And, with a quiet chuckle, Sanemi glanced over at the door before standing directly behind his beloved princess.

Gently, the silver-haired knight set his hands on his lover’s shoulders; kneading her tense muscles while trying not to grin even more at the way that she practically melted beneath his touch.

Then slowly, he let his left hand glide up her neck, settling for cupping her chin so he could tilt her head up to look at him. “(Y/n)?”

Immediately, the hands that were still covering (Y/n)’s cheeks moved to cover her entire face; effectively shielding her embarrassment from Sanemi. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” His answer was teasing, totally meant to discombobulate her even more than she already was. And it amused Sanemi immensely. “I’m just asking you to tell me what’s been bothering you.”

At that, the young man moved his hands to encircle (Y/n’s) wrists— gently prying her hands away from her face so he could fully bask in her beauty. However, it was her eyes that drew him in— watching them practically glittering as the morning light illuminated the world around them.

He could feel his pulse race slightly at that; even more so when she gingerly shook off the grip he had on her right wrist, before reaching up to touch his cheek gently— feather light at first, until he felt her trying to pull him down for what he could only guess was a kiss.

It still amazed him that (Y/n) could go from shy to tenderly bold in the blink of an eye, especially when it concerned things that she wanted from him. She would blush at the tender words and gestures he doled out, but would retaliate with gestures that were enough to have him feeling lightheaded.

He chalked it up to her competitive nature, what with her always having to stay on the top of her game; as well as adding in all of the other noble ladies trying to get the upper hand.

But he would be lying if he said that he didn’t love the fact that he was the only one who could fluster her as much as he did.

Slowly, he bent down to give in to her silent whim; pressing his mouth to hers in a light, fleeting kiss that had him smiling against her lips. Still, that wasn’t enough to tide over his own need for her, so he swooped in once more and kissed her in such a way that he was slightly sucking on her lower lip.

And, with a quiet pop, he released her lip— which had her lifting her head in an effort to chase after him.

“You’re so unfair, Sanemi.” (Y/n) pouted, pursing her lips together while pinching her lover’s right ear lobe between her thumb and forefinger.

In response, the knight chuckled and claimed her lips in a kiss once more. “What’s unfair is you teasing me like this, my dear.”

(Y/n) was just about to answer, when a couple of sharp knocks rasped against the door. It had both of them springing apart, with (Y/n) quickly righting herself and fanning her warm cheeks— as if that would help her blush go down faster.

Meanwhile, Sanemi went back to his post a few feet adjacent from (Y/n), fixing the collar of his regal knight’s uniform, before assuming a neutral stance like before; hands firmly clasped together at the small of his back, and feet together in the off chance that he would need to spring into action.

“State your name and business,” (Y/n) answered coolly, her tone completely at odds with the residual butterflies that still fluttered around in her stomach.

“It’s Grey, My Lady. I bring a message from His Majesty, the Emperor.”

“Enter, but make it quick, Grey.” I have no patience for this today, the young woman thought to herself, while biting back the deep sigh that wanted to escape her lips. She already had the palace’s Autumn budget to go through, as well as her own social duties to attend to— which was only evidenced by the short stack of letters on her desk; all of them being invitations for parties among the nobles.

Immediately after her response, the door swung open quietly which was followed by her family’s head butler stepping into the room.

Grey swept down in a low bow, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground for a few seconds, before moving to stand upright once more. “Greetings to the Jewel of the Empire.”

The expression on (Y/n)’s face gave little to no indication of the irritation she felt at the greeting, as years of schooling her expression had trained her to keep a stoic façade even when she had the strongest urge to scream. After all, it would be unwise to tarnish her family’s reputation.

It was one of the reasons why she cherished every stolen moment with Sanemi; as he was the only one who knew her so well— to the point where he didn’t even bat an eye at the less than stellar attitude that she presented at times. She could be herself with him, and she could be honest about her emotions when he was the only one there.

He was her solace. The one person whom she knew would never turn his back on her, even when the world has forsaken her.

“You said you have a message from my father?” (Y/n)’s hands tightened into loose fists at her question, with her thumbs rubbing at the sides of both her index fingers in an effort to drown out the dread she felt brewing inside her.

Her father never bothered her in her own palace— the Lilac Palace, which was where she used to reside with her older sister before she had been married off. Aside from the occasional meetings, both of them never saw each other much; so, to have Grey personally deliver a message from him spelled something foreboding.

Especially when he had already had to cancel their prior tea engagement the other day. Something was not sitting right with (Y/n), and she didn’t like it at all.

“His Majesty is inviting My Lady to a party at the main palace, tonight at six.”

“A party? For who? And so soon?” She could feel her chest tighten up at that, dread stirring up within her to the point where she had to tamp down the urge to look over at Sanemi for comfort.

The butler’s words harped at the nerves inside her; making her so on-edge in her seat. Parties were held for delegates of foreign countries all the time, but for that particular party to have slipped her notice… it screamed suspicious to her.

“His Majesty has a few guests from the Eastern Kingdom, but that is all that he had permitted me to say. I apologize, Your Highness.” Grey wasn’t apologetic, at all; his words were no more than lip service and, even though it irked (Y/n) that he clearly knew what was going to transpire, he still chose to obey her father’s orders.

Then again, she couldn’t blame him. In the hierarchy for power, she was on the lower half of the spectrum— especially with three of her older brothers already ahead of her in the succession for the throne.

With her being fourth in line for the throne, the chances of her becoming the Empress Regnant were slim to none. So, she had banished the thoughts of those early on, most especially when she met Sanemi.

All she wanted was to live her days out as peacefully as she could with him beside her, even if they could never bring the real extent of their relationship to light.

“Why am I not surprised?” The princess whispered under her breath, sneering to hide the fact that she was already dreading whatever underhanded plot that her father had put in place.

Because she just knew, whatever was going to happen at that party was not something that she would like. And the Eastern Kingdom’s involvement only made her all the more apprehensive, as there had been talks of the peace treaty between the (L/n) Empire, as well as that Kingdom, slowly being breached.

(Y/n) wasn’t dumb; she could loosely piece together that all of it was a set up to announce another treaty with the Eastern Kingdom. And what quicker way to do negotiations, than to settle things with marriage? As was customary in their day and age.

The princess had never felt so helpless in her life, than in that moment.

“You’re dismissed, Grey.”

The old man didn’t even wait any longer. With one more bow to the only remaining Lady of the empire, he made haste to exit the room. And once the door had clicked shut behind him, (Y/n) brought her fists down on the table; out of both anger and sheer helplessness.

“Fuck!” She yelled irately, banging her fists once more against the hardwood. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, yet she could do nothing to stop them from forming. “Fuck. Damn it.”

She had known that it was coming— both her and Sanemi did— yet it still didn’t lessen the pain that both of them felt at that moment.

Sanemi, despite his blood feeling like ice in his veins, forced his own legs to carry him back to stand beside (Y/n); gently swiveling her chair to face him, as he got down on one knee in front of her.

It was all he could do to prove to her that he would be there for her, no matter what. And it was all that was left of him to give to her.

He’d known that he would only get hurt in the end, yet he’d still given in and pursued a relationship with her. For six long years, they had been together— he had been hers, just as much as she was his; but there was no changing the fact that he had always known that her place was never with him.

All he could do was accept their fate, no matter how much he wanted to ask her to run away with him.

Gently, the silver haired knight took his lover’s hands in his own, squeezing them when he felt just how cold and shaky they had gotten. Tears pricked the backs of his eyes, yet he blinked them away as he focused on staring into her own tear-filled gaze.

“(Y/n), whatever happens… I swear on my honor as a knight, that I will never leave you.” Sanemi’s heart broke when a tear rolled down his beloved’s cheek, yet he forced himself to look past it to continue with his oath. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, willing his lips to keep moving.

“I swear on my life, that you will always come first. And I swear on my heart… that you will always own everything that I am…” He took a deep breath at that, trying to center himself to make his voice sound even, yet it still came out softer than he intended. “And everything that I will be. From this day, until the day I leave this earth.”

What Sanemi had just recited was the sacred oath of the Imperial Knights, and it was only uttered when one was completely devoting a part of themselves to their master or mistress. As it was, a knight could choose which oaths to give, and which to omit; but to promise all three meant that (Y/n) had full ownership of him.

If proven that Sanemi had broken his oath, she could choose to end his life; which made it a dangerous one to make, even when there were no magical or extraordinary factors involved.

With Sanemi’s piece already given, (Y/n) could only stare at him as more and more of her tears rolled down her cheeks. Part of her had wanted to stop him, but a bigger part of her didn’t want to turn him down like that. Not only would it be a hit to his pride, but it would be akin to throwing his feelings back in his face.

Shakily, the young woman shook off her lover’s hold on her hands; moving to cup his face tenderly. She then shook her head, and bent down to press her forehead to his in a tender gesture that had Sanemi’s heart racing wildly in his chest. “You’re an idiot. An absolute idiot.”

Instead of dampening his mood even further, however, it only served to make the silver haired knight smile, as he blanketed his hands over the princess’. “I know, (Y/n). You make me so goddamn stupid for you.”

***

The party was already in full swing inside the palace’s grand ballroom, yet (Y/n) still made no move to get out from behind the trees where she and Sanemi had ensconced themselves between. Her legs were already shaking with the effort it took to balance herself on the balls of her feet— if only to keep her heels from sinking into the ground beneath them; but the last thing that she wanted was to go and enter the lion’s den.

Because she knew, she would never be able to do anything if she willingly fell into the trap that her father had set for her. Originality was not his strong suit, as he had done the same thing with (Y/n)’s older sister.

However, unlike the first imperial princess, she wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Even if it meant tarnishing her family’s reputation, and possibly getting imprisoned, then she would take any punishment; as long as she could remain beside Sanemi forever.

But Sanemi didn’t know the reckless plan that she had in mind. If he’d known what she was planning to do, he definitely wouldn’t have allowed her to leave her palace.

(Y/n) took another deep breath to calm her nerves, biting down on her lower lip before looking at her lover. He looked so handsome even in the dim light, almost ethereal with the faint glow of the chandeliers in the palace illuminating his fair skin.

“Have I told you that you look very beautiful?” Sanemi whispered softly, as he lifted a hand up to trail the tips of his fingers across the princess’ right cheek. He then glided his fingers closer to her hair, tugging on a tendril that artfully framed her face.

All he could think was that, and how it was the last time that he was going to be allowed to touch her like he was doing at that moment. His heart was breaking inside his chest, but he still pushed himself to give her a small smile; if only to ease some of her worries.

“You have, but I’m not complaining,” (Y/n) returned his smile at that, placing a hand on top of the one that was still by her face, and nuzzling her cheek against Sanemi’s warm palm. She closed her eyes then, breathing deeply for a handful of seconds, and taking in the music that drifted out into the night.

Her heart felt so heavy in her chest, and her stomach felt like it was in knots, yet the longer that Sanemi touched her, the more she felt at ease; as if nothing could hurt her when she was with him. And that was how she found herself wrapping her arms around his middle— pressing her cheek against his shoulder, and closing her eyes as she breathed in the minty scent that she’d always associated with her silver haired knight.

In turn, Sanemi locked his arms around her and pressed his lips to the side of her head— kissing her temple in such a tender gesture that had him fighting back tears.

Inadvertently, both of them had begun swaying to the music; shrouded in the darkness, and well away from prying eyes and listening ears— much like how they had spent the last six years together: as a secret from everyone.

(Y/n) balled held on to the back of her lover’s uniform then, balling her hands into fists as she savored another moment of peace with him.

No words were spoken between them; only the soft rustling of grass beneath their feet, the music wafting from the ballroom, and the occasional sound of clothes shifting coloring the air between them.

Neither of them could have wished for a more perfect moment.

And that moment had Sanemi thinking: Was he ready to let go of (Y/n)? Would he ever be ready to let her go? He already knew the answers to those questions, yet he pushed them down in favor of doing what was expected of him— and what was right in the eyes of the Imperial Family.

Still, he held (Y/n) closer and shut his own eyes to bask in her touch even further. For a moment more, he could still play blind to all of the truths that the world held for both of them.

“Run away with me.” The words were spoken quietly, but it still surprised Sanemi that they had even spilled from his mouth. Immediately, he tried to pull away from (Y/n)— in order to apologize for such an unthinkable question— but she held him in her arms as tightly as she could.

It wasn’t his intention to be selfish, but it had just come out in his moment of weakness.

Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, the princess blinked almost owlishly at her lover. She couldn’t quite believe it herself: that her straight-laced and selfless knight had uttered something so… utterly selfish and reckless. Still, instead of worrying her, she felt herself grinning at his words.

The dread that had stewed inside her slowly turned into excitement, and the tightness she felt in her chest lightened up to make way for the excited thumping of her heart.

“I’m sor-” He couldn’t continue his apology, as the princess took her right hand and laid her index finger flat against his lips; effectively silencing him.

“That has to be the most reckless thing I’ve ever heard you say, Sanemi,” She mused with that same excited grin. “I was planning on refusing the engagement the moment I went in there, but I prefer this. Let’s do it; let’s run away.”

Note: Initially, I wanted everything to have been a huge misunderstanding, but where’s the fun in that??? 😂 Next one will have sexy times tho.

Also, please tell me if any part is confusing, as I wanted to include all the details and may have forgotten to write down some clarifications. 🥰🍉

[capricornus-rex]

Hiii!💖 I hope that you are doing well! I just wanted to request a little something with Cal if you don’t mind or aren’t busy. I just failed an exam and I’m feeling really bad an dumb so uh I guess I would want something to make me feel better. This request sucks lmao I’m sorry, I am in crisis🥺 i’ll stop crying now hahaha you can ignore this ily

Oh no sweetie, I hope you’re doing okay! Sorry if the fic is a day overdue and I couldn’t help but consider this as an emergency—no one gets sad on my watch! ÙωÚ I hope this fic can make you feel better. And no, sweetie, you’re not dumb—YOU’RE ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL!! 💖💖💖

I know I’m knee-deep with requests but if someone is sad and relies on me to cheer them up, I can’t simply ignore that~ :”) I hope sooner or later, I’ll hear from you smiling already~ :3

Oh and little fun fact, I took inspiration from your previous profile icon—the one with Rapunzel—and listened to I See The Light while writing this for an extra personal touch *finger guns* 😉 I also referenced a festival that we usually celebrate here in my country UwU

“Festival of Flowers” | Cal Kestis x Reader

Tags: Flower Festival, Inspired by Tangled

Also posted in AO3

Masterlist

Cal noticed that you have been awfully quiet the whole day ever since you two got back from Dathomir. You couldn’t help but keep recalling the moment where you flunked a move that allowed the Nightbrother to strike you with his mace. You feared that you’ve lost your touch, your skill, and grace and lost to someone with a crude fighting style.

Asking you if you’re okay didn’t exactly do much, whenever Cal looked away, you’d go back to skulking; now, you’re whiling away your time reading BD-1’s databank entries uploaded to your datapad at the couch. He pretended to go to the galley, fixed himself a glass of water, and peered over your shoulder and found you reviewing lightsaber combat forms.

He didn’t say anything, he finished his glass and marched back to the cockpit, leaving you in the solace of your privacy. Cal went to the holotable and typed the coordinates of a planet. It was a planet that he had heard from Master Tapal as a child.

“Setting course for…” Cal shushed Greez before he could say the name of the planet out loud. The captain got the hint. “Aggio? Never heard of it.”

“It’s a planet my master told me about, I’ve never been there myself,”

“And we’re going here because?”

“It’s a surprise,” Cal smirked. “For her.”

Cere and the captain exchanged glances as soon as Cal stepped out of the cockpit to join you at the couch. He casually settled himself next to you on the sofa, propping his foot over his knee and slouching his back against the backrest.

“Hey,”

You turned to face him and parroted his greeting.

“What are you up to?”

You stammered, “Oh, um, studying… reading…”

“That’s a new thing I’ve heard from you,”

“I was a bit of a study bug when I was a Padawan whenever Master and I are back at the temple,”

You heard the humming of the ship and saw the flash of blue light through the windshield.

“Where are we headed?”

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough,” he cooed.

Now that he has piqued your interest, the first phase of his plan is proceeding accordingly. You took his statement with a grain of salt and continued studying. Hours later, you have completed the learning modules of the lightsaber forms from Form I to Form IV—all that time you spent studying and figuring out if one form is compatible to mix with the other was the exact travel time the Mantis needed to get to Cal’s secret planet.

When you felt the suspension bounce against the surface, you put the datapad away and joined Cal by the cockpit. The Mantis landed in a high forest clearing, in the north, a town can be reached with just a short trek. Cal abruptly grabbed you by the hand and dragged you out of the ship, clearly, he was excited to show you everything there is to see about the planet.

You stand at the edge of the small rise of land that overlooks the town. Even in broad daylight, the town radiated a certain kind of brightness around it—as if its aura pooled and then burst for everyone to see.

“Where are we?”

“This is Aggio, it’s a planet that I’ve only heard from Master Tapal, the stories he used to tell me about this planet was something straight out of a fairy tale,”

“Oh?” you cooed, your curiosity obviously more piqued than earlier.

Not once did Cal ever let go of your hand as he brought you into the town. Left and right, colors flooded your vision—the sparkling blue of its lake, the vibrant colors of the flowers that are too many to name, even the most neutral of colors like white and beige pop out just right in the spectrum! All the townsfolk—diverse as they are—were in all sorts of cheer, it was the contagious kind and you can’t help but smile as well.

All of a sudden, you forgot all of your worries drowned by the colors and the music.

Street musicians filled with the air with their instruments, artists joined by children color the streets with paint and chalk, and vendors offered you their trinkets. For each and every thing the two of you pass by, BD-1 was there to scan everything he could get his lenses on.

“Slow down with the scanning, buddy! I don’t want you overworking your processor!”

“Boo! Bee, trill woop!”

“This place is so beautiful,” you gasped. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”

The two of you came across what ought to be the town’s main plaza, you were separated when a group of children tugged you by the hem of your shirt and asked you to join them in painting the road. You drew the Shyyyo Bird and told its story to the children, enamored with the fantastic beast, they decided to draw their own versions of the bird in different sizes and colors.

Meanwhile, an elderly vendor has been noticing Cal fawning over you as you play with the children; he then offered Cal a bright-colored flower and spoke in his native dialect, it was a foreign one that Cal wasn’t fluent in. Luckily, BD-1 was there to translate it word-for-word.

“Give it to the person with whom you share a deep, special connection to,” Cal repeated. “Since when did you have a translator?”

“Bee, woop!”

“[y/n] did that, huh?”

He stared at the flower and then spotted you sitting with the children, continuing to draw pictures on the street, this time you were drawing BD-1 for them and then explained to them what it is. He smiled to himself and the elderly vendor spoke to him again adding more bits to the lore, shortly after, a woman approached the two of them.

“My apologies, my father is not used to Galactic Basic,” said the young woman. “He said that it is in Aggio’s culture, especially during the Pabena Festival, for a lover to give a flower to their beloved. It’s what makes the celebration all the more special—it deepens the lovers’ relationship.”

“I see, I’ve only heard much from someone. I didn’t know about this one until now,”

“I see that you are a traveler, this is my first time seeing you,”

“Frankly, I didn’t know there’d be a festival. I only decided to bring her over,” he returned his attention to you. “Though, I do know that this place was very festive. Please, let me pay for this.”

“No, no need. It’s a gift. My father likes giving them often. Besides, we have enough from this month’s harvest!”

One child walked up to you and tied a ribbon strewn with flowers on your hair. The woman spotted you as she glanced past Cal’s shoulder and she got the hint.

When the parents from the crowd began waving their hands at their children, beckoning them to come to them, they towed you along. The children were so small that you had to lean a bit lower so you could understand them when you’re spoken to.

“It’s time for the parade!” the little boy chirped as his tiny hand held onto your three fingers together, but his mother snatched him up and settled her boy on top of his father’s shoulders.

“I’ll watch it, don’t worry!” you cooed.

You found Cal in the crowd. He showed you the flower that he had been hiding behind his back. It was a pleasant surprise to you, Cal’s heart fluttered when he saw your smile.

Your eyes lit up as you held the flower close to you, “I’ve seen this flower before, but only in pictures at the Jedi Archives. It’s so much more beautiful in person.”

“They said it’s part of their culture to give flowers to their beloved. It gets extra special when they do it during the Pabena Festival,”

“Really? That’s such a beautiful tradition, perhaps the best one I’ve heard by far!”

The entrance of the parade began with a rhapsody of trumpets, drums, and whistles. A chorus of singers marching in the frontline of the band. A column of dancers brandished their colorful costumes and lithe movements on both sides of the marchers.

You held onto the flower as you hooked your arm around Cal’s, the two of you continued to watch the parade until its last segment. When the energy from the town subsided after the performance, Cal decided to be your tour guide and strolled along the town. BD-1 is still having his fill of scanning everything you pass by in the town. The three of you came across a mosaic mural depicting the first dwellers of the planet, possibly hinting how the festival came to be.

You were enjoying your time in Aggio so much that you didn’t realize that it was already dusk. Although the sky was still so clear, hints of golden sunlight began to deepen in color as the sun sank.

Cal leaned closer to your ear, “Come on, there’s another thing I want to show you.”

He led you to the docks by the town’s vast lake and bought a candle fixed in front of a water lily on a pad.

“They said these candles and flowers are offerings to keep the land fertile so they can still grow more crops and flowers,” Cal explained as he inched it closer so he and you hold it on both sides. “And we have to make a wish before we set it out to the water. Ready?”

The glow danced about in your faces as the candlelight flickered.

“Yeah,” you beamed, even in a whisper.

There was brief moment of silence between you and him. He peeped his one eye open and watched you solemnly saying your wish in your mind. It was only a few seconds’ worth and then you’re ready to sail it to the lake. Carefully setting down the lily pad on the water, you and Cal gently push it at the same time so it flows along the current with the others.

You and Cal sat down by the shore, he wrapped his arm around you as the sky began to darken and the candles illuminated the lake. You snuggled close to him with a smile that you can’t seem to take off of your face even if you wanted to.

“This has been the best evening I’ve ever had, Cal,”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Thank you,”

He inched closer to you until your lips met, he shifted in his seat and caressed your face as he locked lips with you. He’s certain that he felt your smile in between kisses, your heart fluttered, goosebumps pelted your skin, and your hand wandered to his cheek. When you pulled away, you kept your gentle hands on his face, nose-to-nose with each other, the two of you exchanged smiles while watching the night drift by the sea of candlelight with your fingers intertwined.

[mayrubyy]

Clouded (m)

➻ Pairing - Chanyeol x Reader  

➻ Genre - Angst

➻ Word Count - 4.4k

➻ Rating - (M) |  Masterlist  |  Status - Ongoing

Warning! this contains mature and angst themes. (don't worry nobody's going to die) but please don’t read if you’re not comfortable with the said themes and if you’re under 18.

also, I want to thank @yeoldotcom for being a sweetheart and helping me out whilst working on this series. Go show Zee some love! ♡

☾ Part One

Every time he hooked his arm around and told you ‘love wasn’t real’ you believed it. He was right─ love cannot be real and so you agreed. Until you realized how wrong all of this was. He didn’t believe in love and neither did you. Yet, every time his lips pressed into yours, it gave you the kind of rush nobody else could. Even when your heart was broken, he was there to help you heal and piece it back together. So much for mending it until he earned the privilege to shred it back to pieces again. His crooked smile before he left you without a trace, his words gnawing at your heart like venom seeping through you, slowly killing every fiber of your fragile being.

He warned you and it was true.

Love was never easy with Park Chanyeol─ it was nothing but a clouded mess of emotions, mercilessly fogging up your heart and your mind in the worst possible ways with no escape.

And turns out, it wasn’t real all along, just like he had told you from the very beginning.

“How conflicting,” you gasped under your breath, digging your balled fists into the large pockets of your–his–hoodie. Oversized and fluffy, its purpose was to keep you warm in this cloudy and damp hour, not remind you of him. 

“Get out of my head. Ugh.“ 

If you earned a penny every time he crossed your mind, you wouldn’t be standing here sulking like a pigeon. Do pigeons sulk? They do look paranoid but they are very adaptable, aren’t they? They could be working undercover for all we know, you however, were struggling. 

Your best friend was taking too long to return with your drinks. Should have helped yourself, you chew on your bottom lip as you cross your arms to fight the cold weather and its thoughts that were sweeping around you. It was him who was eager and bent upon stopping by 7-Eleven, a major excuse to catch, in his words ‘a quick glimpse’ of his crush who worked there. Moreover, the word ‘crush’ in your head, wasn’t so uplifting. 

Rainy days like these, oddly enough, resonated with things you strongly felt about. Your emotions gusting through the wind and your feelings like raindrops dripping down the foggy panes. The thumping of your heart was loud against your chest and your eyes were on the ground watching the stream of rainwater gushing and coursing down the road against the sidewalk. If anything, you wished the pain got washed away along with it.

Was it comforting? In some ways, yes, maybe because it felt like nature knew you, that perhaps it was genuinely listening to you, unlike the rest. The silent wailing within you was hopelessly awaiting its turn to expose itself– making you believe it came in the form of thunder. 

The thunderstorm was your ultimate white noise, the one you relied on, always doing a good job at drowning your incessant thoughts away, down into an abyssal corner within your waning threshold, the one you thought you created for your own good, a space where you held the darkest of your secrets, all perfectly sealed in one place. 

You had your flaws, it wasn’t like you could declare them to the world. Nobody cares anyway, right? So, what were you before this? It got rubbed into your face plenty of times. “Things aren’t always what they seem”. The same old warnings. “You can never let your guard down”. 

Bullshit. 

The idea of falling in love, as dreamy as it may sound, very well was planted somewhere in the back of your head that had its own untold glitches. As you grew up, you came to realize the world wasn’t innocent. After the many heartbreaks you’ve seen your friends have and especially after dealing with one yourself– love was starting to fade from view, like a toxin that needs to be labeled with several warnings everywhere. 

It was delusional enough to fancy that on a warm summer’s day, conversely, you were going to be head over heels for that certain someone. Things like that happen only in fairy tales for crying out loud, not in real life. But merely being aware isn’t always enough, either. It’s never enough to be quite honest.

The pain and hurt would come for you sooner or later in life. It was universal. 

Sure you were aware but, him? You couldn’t tell if you were cynically chuckling to yourself for believing you were never going to fuck up or quietly bawling your eyes out trying to erase him from your mind as you stood by yourself on the pavement in the heavy rain. 

At first, it was painful, gnawing at your heart like it was going to kill you. Now? It was more or less a kind that ripples, warning you subliminally, floating beyond your spectrum of understanding. There’s this uncertain feeling like you’re not able to decide. Isn’t that what everyone’s been warning you about? 

This awful disease called love? 

You lift your heels up, balancing your frail body on your toes out of boredom or rather to give yourself a break from all the incoherent babbling in your head that won’t stop. 

“Sorry for taking long”. 

His voice brings you back on your feet. “Watch your step, Y/N. You don’t want to slip and fall into those puddles,” he added, concern floating in his eyes as he hands you a steaming cup of coffee.

“That would be painful and..embarrassing”.

It wasn’t like you were clumsy or anything. Embarrassing is fine but pain? What could possibly hurt more than having the person you loved unconditionally to desolate you like this? Definitely not the cold hard ground. 

“Ah don’t worry about it, Kyungsoo,” your voice came out unusually hoarse, considering you hadn’t been speaking much lately, the scratchy tone didn’t surprise you. 

Clearing your throat you watch him waving back at his crush in the store. His cheeks had turned a warm shade of pink and his face was gleamingly radiant, unlike the gloomy weather. His glasses were attracting steam from the coffee– fogging his vision and making him take them off to wipe the condensed frame with a sigh. Your best friend was adorable, you know, the dorky kind of adorable. 

You were glad to have him around. To help you out of this wrenching lovesick of a voyage, being the emotional klutz you were, he kept you from straying away and suffering all by yourself and he never really seemed to be complaining. Kyungsoo offered you all the support you needed but inevitably, it didn’t fill the empty space that lingered in the depths of your heart, a certain space that desperately longed for someone. 

A space that could never be replaced. 

The warmth from your own cup begins to seep through your palms, bringing the rim to your lips, you take a whiff of the beverage and for a moment, you halt your breathing, the strong aroma infused with caffeine wafts through your nose, implacably threatening to burst open the floodgates you’d so struggled to seal. 

The clouded memory of him returning to you.

“Isn’t this your fifth one?!”.

“I need to finish this song,” mumbling in his husky voice he makes a plea, “please”. 

His long fingers busily tapping keys, going back and forth between using the mouse and adjusting something on the audio mixer. His composure was unswerving as he glided on his chair from one instrument to the other. 

For a brief second, he had his tongue out, wetting his lips, eyes unwaveringly fixed on the screen. You couldn’t help taking your eyes off him as he swallowed, watching his adam’s apple bob slightly. Swiveling in your direction, you hear him rasp, “just one more”. He was drumming his knees now, giving you his signature puppy look, amusing you more. 

“You might get a heart attack silly,” a soft chuckle erupts from you. “Too much caffeine is never good, Yeol”. Your eyes scan the freezer and you’re baffled by the amount of Iced Americano(s) all perfectly lined and stocked in his mini-fridge. God, he’s addicted. He simply couldn’t get enough of it, could he? You can see why. This probably answered your question to his hyperactive self and the plausible conclusion to why he keeps rushing to pee every odd god wilding hour. 

Maybe a second has passed, you’re not sure, you peer back to his side and all you see is him casually springing up from his chair, towards you. There’s nothing but silence except for your own muffled breathing and he’s dangerously closing the gap, squishing you to a corner. You feel his hoodie press into your soft arms, his knee scraping against the bare of your thigh as he helps himself through the door and reaches for his favorite drink in the fridge.

“You were saying?” he quips while his hand slithers from between your arm and your waist, amorously in fact, for a straw in a holder that was on the shelf behind you. A quiet yelp falls from your lips as his hand caresses its way back out and the next thing you know, he’s looking into your eyes, popping the straw in and saying, “sip it”. 

“Come on”.

The tip of the straw was now aligned to your lips and his knee pressing into your inner thigh wasn’t helping the tension that was compellingly building between you two. “Has the sugar gotten to your head, Park?” you pierce your eyes back into his. Except, he doesn’t budge, his lips conceitedly curl into a smirk instead. Seeming utterly unfazed, hovering his huge self over you, he leans closer.

“I believe I said,” with his gaze undeteringly much sharper than before, he repeats himself, “sip”. 

Fuck, he was rude. 

Who was he to order you around like this anyway? He was many things– a giant baby? a fluffy human? an incredibly talented man? His collection of Rilakkumas and his Nick Wilde sheets screaming furry for fuck’s sake. 

Chanyeol was all things but your boyfriend. 

“What if I don’t?” you chirp prodding your finger into his chest. Proving him wrong that you weren’t the only one affected by the proximity. Looking down at you, watching you wantonly drag your finger down his torso, he quirks an eyebrow.

“Playing, are we?”.

What exactly was he getting at? He was the one towering over you. He was the one forcing the cold metal straw against your lips. He was the one further pushing himself into you, practically pinning you against the shelf. All you did was a small nudge and look at him go. 

“Look who’s talking,” you taunt as your palms land on him, smoothing over his chest. Feeling his chiseled frame through the hoodie you bite your lip, quite wishing it was off so you could feel the real stuff that was hiding underneath the fabric instead. You were quick to run your fingers up his broad shoulders, maybe he liked your ministration a little too much. Maybe it helped him release all the stiffness he procured from spending all night in his studio.

“Fuck, do that again–,” a string of hissing and groaning followed. Chanyeol was definitely liking the digging of your thumbs into the blades of his shoulders. Resting your fingers around his nape, you ran them up, feeling his hair brushing against them faintly before trailing back down. You then began drawing circles with the ends of your thumb into the crevices above his collarbone earning another satisfied groan from him. 

The look on his face was so captivating, his head was flung back and the strong desire to want to kiss him was slowly creeping up your mind. Should have just listened to him and sipped the goddamned coffee. You were now more than intrigued with how exposed his neck was to you. Why did he have to be so attractive? You were so enraptured by him like he had cast some enchanting spell on you. You knew you had to take your hands off him otherwise–

“Hmm?”. 

Mayhaps, he sensed the tensing of your fingers on his skin. There was a pout adorning his face and his brows were cutely furrowed. What exactly was this man? How could he switch from looking extremely hot mere seconds ago to now of a soft baby wolf? Who was the furry now? You or him? 

Ugh. 

Exasperated, you shake your head. “If you’re done,” you huff, quickly drawing your hands away from him, “let me through”. 

“What?”.

“I thought you liked when I was like this,” the victorious glint in Chanyeol’s eyes was nothing short of cocky. His right hand was slowly skimming along your waist and his thumb was fervently stroking its way up to a certain spot on your body, the one he knew too well that made you writhe under his touch, the one that was below your rib. 

“That’s not what I–,” before you could protest, in a blur, the stupid drink in his hand was gone, tossed aside and his large frame was engulfing you, pulling you into his huge arms.

How long had it been that you were confined like this? 

If only he had given you the chance to calculate which he obviously didn’t. 

His lips eagerly crash into yours without any warning– allowing you to taste traces of coffee in his mouth as his tongue languidly rolled against yours.  At first, you were not exactly sure if you were liking it or hating it. Heck, you’d be wrong if you said if he was bad at kissing. He wasn’t lying when you first met him and he jokingly raved about how his expertise was kissing, that you won’t ever come across a better kisser than him who walked this earth.  

What a cocky loser Park Chanyeol was. 

The studio was small and the sloppy sounds from your messy but incredible snogging session had left you both needy. You were still pinned against the shelf, your hands clutching onto his hoodie, your bottom lip between his teeth and his expensive rolex grazing against your thigh, cold on your skin as he gripped onto it tightly. His other hand was around your face, holding it on one side, thumb sensually sweeping over your cheekbone. 

Godfuckingdamnnit. 

Why was it so difficult to push him away? 

“Chanyeol,” you let out a stifled moan against his swollen lips. You hoped he would listen, you wish he did, he was fiercely leaving kisses down your neck and along your collarbone, the sensation sending you into a euphoric swirl as he began nibbling on your delicate skin, leaving traces of pink in his wake. 

He was so eager and so erratic, with his hot breath fanning against your ear, he teases you. “I drive you crazy, don’t I?” his voice was rough and so tantalizingly deep, he was right. He was driving you crazy, maybe furious even. “Tell me Y/N– ”, before he could continue the sudden ringing of his doorbell startles you both. Hesitantly he detaches himself from you, pausing before tilting his head to the sound like a puppy. 

Who could it be at this hour of noon? 

He looked slightly annoyed but unbothered like he wasn’t intent on ever receiving the door because he was more absorbed on you right now. Lowering his eyes back on you, his intense gaze softens as he returns to cup your face for a small peck before another bell goes off. 

Geez. 

This time Chanyeol groans, kicking the shelf as he clumsily pulls himself away from you, the jerking causing one of his action figures of Luffy to tumble and crash straight onto your head. Ouch. Fuck, did it hurt. He drags his feet to attend the intruder who ruined his moment with you. Checking through the security cam he realizes it’s Taehyung. 

“What the fuck is he doing here?!”.

“Shit! I completely forgot!” you storm out of the studio cursing and towards the bedroom looking for your jeans. God knows where Chanyeol threw it during your heated moment with him last night. “Taehyung’s here to pick me up”. You tell him nearly out of breath as you rapidly start throwing your clothes on.  

Hearing you from the room, quickly enough, Chanyeol’s expression turns dry, he looked so displeased hearing the other’s name fall from your lips. “I’m telling him to go home,” sullen with downcast eyes, he mumbles ruffling his fingers through his pink tousled hair.  

“Why don’t you stay?” It was odd hearing him say that, especially for someone who didn’t believe in love, everything he ever says has always been a complex puzzle to you. Something you struggled to piece together. You watch him stand firmly in front of the cam like he was ready to knock the teeth out of Taehyung if heard him press the bell one more time. Hearing you sigh loudly, he pauses, momentarily pursing his lips as he watches you pull your jeans up. 

You really wished you could stay but you had to go. 

“Yeol, you promised,” you remind him as you fix your hair and tuck your shirt into your jeans. This was the part you didn’t like dealing with. To look at him like this – to come to terms with whatever that was going on between the two of you. 

“I know,” he walks towards you, his hand scratching the back of his neck and this time, though his tone was soft, it was laced with so much need, it made it even harder for you to swallow. “We promised”. Looking down at you he wraps his hands around your waist, slowly pulling you closer to him, he presses his forehead against yours as he tries to coax you, “but, I want you to stay”. 

“Please”.

You feel his lips ghost over yours and there were so many parts of you screaming, telling you to stay but you know you couldn’t, not like this, not after the many arguments you’ve had with him. It may have seemed like things were going pretty smoothly up until now but quite frankly, they weren’t. You had been pushing it aside for months now and it had reached the point where you knew it had to stop. It did not matter if it was for better or for worse.  

Never had you both confessed what you truly felt for each other. It was more like a let’s comfort each other thing than being in love or dating and all of this was strange. It was strange to have fallen for the wrong person, strange to have found comfort in someone who wasn’t willing to take it any further. You were so vain about love, right? You thought you knew better but here you were.  

‘On a rainy day, you can come to me and I’ll make you pancakes–you know if you’re hungry and all but when the sun’s out again and shining, our rainy night filled with all this cozy stuff will come to an end. You cool with that?’. 

That’s what he told you. That it wouldn’t be anything more than this. That there would be no strings attached. That’s what the promise was about.

And tonight? It was probably just another rainy night for him. Like it was last night. The sun would soon be back up and you’d have to part again. You were okay with this in the beginning but now? It was bothering you, fostering you that you couldn’t have him like you truly and hopelessly wanted to. He would ask you to stay one more night and then what? Tell you to leave? No. He didn’t do that. He would just disappear until it starts raining again. Until you go knocking and begging at his door. Sometimes he’s quick to invite you in but sometimes.. 

He never answers the door.

In his words, ‘love is all make-believe’ and illusive and you rolled with it at first having thought that you wouldn’t ever fall this deep but never had you been so wrong in all your life. Out of all the people you had to fall for Park Chanyeol. The one who had the same belief as you about love. Someone so rigid, someone who wouldn’t surrender to the idea of commitment. 

It was exhausting to keep arguing with him and endure an endless torment when he would disappear every time you brought the matter of what if there’s more to us. And now, you weren’t going to let it happen again, not anymore. You reached the point where you’ve had just about enough of these vexing whirl of emotions. 

“Chanyeol, please listen to me,” with a clutch on your heart you struggle to remind him of the promise you made to each other, “if I stay, we’re only going to fuck things up”. If only he would listen, this was the thing about him, he only made things harder for you, never easy.  

“Y/N…”.

“I’m not asking you to stay forever”, it wasn’t helping that he was squeezing the side of your arm, his words, however, as bad as it may sound, were squeezing your heart. You were fine moments ago inside the studio. Why does he have to make everything so personal and so complicated when you’d both already figured it out by now that you weren’t meant for each other. 

“Stay the night,” he had crossed the line. He softly began peppering kisses on your neck, “please”, repeating himself word after word, “just for tonight”. 

You’ve lost count of how many times you’d given in. But, it was the way he touched you, kissed you and spoke so sweetly to you, his sweet lies always pulling you back towards him, like you were being dragged deeper into the lion’s den. He wasn’t bad or anything of that sort, he just had many flaws- like the ‘awful disease called love’. 

“Come stargazing with me,” he plants a kiss to your forehead, lacing his fingers with your own, “please?”. 

You knew it was a terrible idea. The aftermath would be beyond your control. Perhaps, it already had slipped out of your hands when you agreed to stay last night alone and now you were being pulled onto the loop being completely aware that the elastic might snap at any moment and hurt the both of you. Yet, you’re allowing it to let it slip again. 

“For the last time, Yeol”. 

With a heavy heart, you bury your head into his chest, letting him consume your meek frame completely.  

“Only for tonight”.

How exactly did you get yourself into this mess? What could have possibly gone so wrong that you were stuck in this rut? 

It was so clear in the back of your head, big red flags everywhere. Maybe you should have simply stayed away from the perpetual matters of love. But, isn’t running away from it solely what brought you here? Where you least wanted to be in the first place. 

Why couldn’t Chanyeol understand this? It also didn’t help that he would get extremely territorial and upset whenever you crossed paths with Taehyung. You hadn’t planned for any of this, it was like you were being hauled deliberately, by some dark cruel force, something you couldn’t keep a leash on. 

Was it your luck or simply your fate? 

You should have known better when you both first made the ‘fuck love’ pact. Acting like you did was definitely not helping where all of this was going.

“Yeol,” you call his name softly, trying to wake him up from his slumber. You could have easily left him, without having to worry about the argument that would eventually follow but that was worse than acknowledging and telling him the truth. Avoiding the situation wasn’t going to fix the trouble you two were so unawarely brewing. 

“Babe, wake up,” combing through his pink locks, you kiss him on the cheek, “don’t you want to go stargazing?”. He looked beautiful, his eyelids were puffy, tired from spending all night working in the studio. You didn’t want to wake him up but you couldn’t stay much longer either. You watch him slowly stir, turning his large body to your side. He takes your arm into his own, hugging them and nuzzling his face against your hand. He was purring like a kitten, his sleepy groans making your heart swoon. “Wake up, baby wolf,” you pat his face to which he smiles with his eyes still closed, being the sneaky little pupper he is. 

“Want me to leave?” drawing your hand away from his strong grip, you push yourself off the bed, instantly, before you could get off, he was pulling you back into his body and his arms began tangling around you as he buried his nose cozily into your neck, his breath fanning against your skin, hugging you closely from behind. 

“Who said you could leave?” he rasps in your ear, the tone in his voice making you shiver. You never understood what this boy was. He was so clingy but also so unforgivably cold. You thought you could predict his movements yet, he was so unpredictable. He would behave one minute like he’s cool with it but the next second he’s already changing his mind. 

Not a few hours ago he was this furious, an out of control asshole, raging telling Taehyung to fuck off. You had to make several calls and apologize for Chanyeol’s irrational behavior. You knew why he was so mad at Taehyung but it had already been settled and he didn’t have to act so tough. 

Now? He was being this cuddly giant, hugging you and completely wrapping you in his warmth. 

Talk about being possessive. Something was definitely wrong with him but you weren’t really complaining. He was flawed, sure. But these things about him, they were what drew you towards him and as much as you hated admitting the truth, Chanyeol made your heart flutter. You were falling for him, harder than you could have ever imagined and this is why you had to remember the promise. This is why you couldn’t stay. You both had to accept that, the truth was and is always going to be bitter.

Much bitter than what you both deemed of love to be.

A/N - alright this took forever and unfortunately I couldn’t squeeze in the original almost- 8k words yikes because Tumblr keeps glitching. Part one of Clouded is finally out and I’m not sure how I feel? I’m excited but also very nervous? If you’ve read the prologue and the snippets you might have an idea of what’s going to happen later. There’s a lot more coming and I promise it’s going to be an emotional roller coaster. Things are going to go down and y/n is going to suffer I’m sorry ahsjskk. Thank you so much for waiting for Clouded and for taking your time to read it 😭 I hope you’ll enjoy this series! ♡

☾ Clouded Masterlist ✧

Taglist ♡ - @littleflowercrown13 @wifechungha @rashidamesrur 

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged too! ♡

[barbyisafangirl]

Let the heart melt - (F)

Paring: Namjoon x F.reader

Genre: Fluff & Angst

Summary: A big hug warms your body, a nice cup hot chocolate calms your soul and a sweet kiss makes you remember what truly means to be in love.

2.5k words

Part of the 25 Days of Christmas: A BTS Anthology Masterlist

☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

The sound of metal clicking interrupts the silence, keys moving around as Namjoon finds the latchkey that belongs to his apartment. His big and bulky jacket makes it hard for him to move, the restriction making him even more clumsy than his usual self. As he inserts the key into the doorknob, he can smell the faint scent of beef in the air, the smell of different spices filling his nostrils. With the sound of the door unlocking and the sound of his feet on the floor, he opens the door to the warmth of his apartment. The smell of the food now stronger and combined with different tasty scents. While getting rid of his shoes and coat, hearing the faint Christmas song in the background. The “Feliz Navidad” lyrics being sung by the delightful voice of his sweet girlfriend.

Namjoon likes the atmosphere the holidays created, the heart-melting aura that carries this time of the year makes his mind more inspired. He wishes he could be able to celebrate these festivities like any other person but yet again, he isn't a normal person. He is a celebrity, a pop star that has a busy life and is surrounded by millions of loving fans. Time is something that unfortunately is not an element that Namjoon possesses. The schedule of an idol is a never-ending cycle of activities. But Namjoon is used to this lifestyle that he has appropriated since he was a teenager, his years of youth reducing down to nothing but a few seconds of existence. 

He wasn't complaining, his lifestyle is a vested one. Having the privilege of getting whatever he wanted whenever he desired too. Yet that does not mean that he felt unfulfilled certain times, but that's simply what life is. There are days where he feels down, with almost no energy to be in his life and he just wants to do nothing. There are other days when he feels lonely when working it's too much and he is not able to socialize and recharge. Those days are the hardest in his opinion, his body and mind not feeling like his own. The world around feeling like a dream and everything having an odd sentiment in his body. The only thing that brings him back to reality is the thought of going home and being met with a warm hug from his girlfriend and the familiarity of his apartment

With his fingers combing his wild hairs and his warm feet trembling against the cold wooden floor, he walks to the origin of such a sweet environment. He could see the little decorations that were scattered around the apartment, bright red and green colors bringing life to the pale flat. At the foot of the kitchen door, he sees (Y/N) swiftly moving around, following the rhythm of the song as she cooks. Too distracted to notice the presence of her boyfriend, she remains blissfully happy adding the finishing touches to the Christmas dinner. The melting warmth that Namjoon felt at the view was overwhelming.  

(Y/N) was excited for this Christmas, to say the least. Even though she has been dating Namjoon for over three years, they never had a proper Christmas together. His overpacked schedule never let him have any free time these times of the year. So when he told her that we would be home on Christmas Eve to have a three-day break, she felt ecstatic. She can finally have a Christmas with her loved one, the way she always imagined it. 

Back in her home, her family would always do the same traditions to celebrate Christmas, and all she craved was to share does traditions with Namjoon. The holidays to her have childhood nostalgia ingrained in them and she yearned to create new memories and traditions with Namjoon; to relive that nostalgia with a new sentiment added to it. Although time was never on their side, this incident was different. His schedule gave him three days free on the holidays and she was not going back to work until January, so this was the perfect time to feast with him. It was rare time would line up to something as perfect as this, and (Y/N) was going to get the advantage of that. 

As she was turning around to leave the room she makes direct eye contact with a smirking Namjoon. The dark color underneath his eyes displaying the tiredness in his face, dimples in display in his soft cheeks. The pink-tinted blush that covers her face is enough to show the surprise of seeing her boyfriend in the flat. 

"How long have you been standing there?"

"I arrived at the apartment about 20 minutes ago, but I’ve been watching you cook for around 10 minutes, and I must say the food smells delightful"

With the struggle in his legs and the burning sensation of his muscles as he slowly walks to (Y/N), he uses the little strength he has to stay up and embrace her into a warm hug. The instant reaction his body has to the softness of her shape makes his knees tremble, muscles easing. 

"You smell like chicken soup"

"Well, that's because I made some, you dummy " the giggly tone in her voice was music to his ears, her happiness radiating in the air. "And I also made some meatloaf, pudding and like two patches of nut cookies. You know, the ones I made for Jin's birthday" 

"I fucking loved those cookies, everyone at the studio ate them like crazy! You should make them more often"

"But they are a hell of a lot of work! It takes me an hour to cook one batch, I don't have time for that dedication"

Planting a kiss on her forehead their bodies started to sway from side to side, dancing accompanying the now faint holiday song. "I should help you then, more hands would get the job done"

"I love you Joonie but I won't let you anywhere near the oven, not after what happened last time" 

"Okay! In my defense, you were distracting me"

"How was I distracting you!?" moving from the comforting embrace, she walks over to the sink, removing her apron and placing it in on the counter next to it. 

"You were wearing only one of my shirts and some panties, that in and of itself was distracting" 

With a sigh leaving her lips and an eye roll, she washes the remains of food off her hands. "It was a hot day and the oven wasn't helping either, but it's truly your fault for being a pervert" with a playful smile on her face and a tantalizing tone in between her words, (Y/N) moves over to him once again, the playful banter elevating the already sparkling mood.

"I am offended you brought that up, and just to clarify you never complained of my not so PG thoughts before"

"That was before you almost burned the entire flat down" 

The silence that comes as an effect of that playful banter is light yet tense, the last Christmas song fading into the next one. The eye contact between the two is almost like a staring contest to see who breaks first. With the beeping sound of the oven shattering their joking engagement, causing their laughers to float in the air.

Grabbing the baking mittens and taking out the meatloaf to carefully place it over the wooden plank. 

"Okay, let this cool down before you start nibbling on it" leaving a kiss on Namjoon's cheek she walks to exit the room "I know you must be sweaty so let me take a quick shower then it is your turn" and just before she stepped foot out she turns to look at him one last time "I bought you a sweater! I will leave it on the bed so you can put it on and then we can start celebrating Christmas"

It all went too fast, taking him a couple of seconds to understand what was going on. She wanted to carouse Christmas eve night but Namjoon lacked the energy to do so. He would much rather just eat the delicious food then go to bed, but he couldn't deny her that. She worked so much to make this perfect for him and we would break her heart if he casts all of it away just to sleep. So with a deep sigh and a tired yawn, he walks to room his room, hoping to get at least some rest.

°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○

"I fucking hate this"

"You don't get to complain, I sent you pictures of the sweaters and asked you which one to choose but you never responded so you get what I chose" 

"Not going to lie love, this is a fucking disgusting design" with the itching feeling of the red sweater on his skin, the horrible pattern of white lines, a green Christmas tree in the middle and the horrendous combination of yellow makes his eyes dizzy "Why did you have to buy this one?"

"To teach you a lesson" filling her glass with white wine, a confusing expression is displayed in Namjoons face not getting (Y/N)'s point "To not ignore me" 

Placing the wine bottle on the table and graving the wine glass filled to the brim, she finally sited down to eat and savor the grand dinner. The silence in the room never went to the uncontrolled side of the spectrum, and that's something (Y/N) loves about their relationship. Even back before they were even a couple, they could be in each other's company and stay in complete silence. The atmosphere could never feel anywhere neither awkward and has time went on this never changed.

With the sound of the utensils against the porcelain plates and the chowing of their mouths, no conversation was being made. (Y/N) to concentrate on the joys of this evening and Namjoon too tired to make a proper sentence come out of his mouth. Dinner went out faster than what (Y/N) intended, has any afford she had on creating small talk has rejected by a quick response. Something felt off about him and she couldn't put her finger on it, it's almost as he is there physically but mentally his thoughts were somewhere on the moon. 

°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○

The smell of hot cocoa surrounded the air, the compact space of the small living room compacting its aroma. Into their third movie of the marathon, Namjoon could barely keep his eyes open anymore. His struggle wasn't that bad in the first movie has being cuddle up next to his beloved one made him regain some strength to be fully awake but by mid of the second movie, he was losing it. The only reason why he came back to reality was the loud and cute (Y/N) did to the events of the movie. A part of him doesn't think that sleeping throughout this movie wouldn't be so bad.

"It's not like she will notice anyway"

But the other part of his feels bad by not being there for her when she asks for him. When he's too busy with upcoming albums, touring, films and writing music she doesn't ask much from him, only making sure he gets enough sleep and eating healthy. He has missed so many important things in her life and she doesn't show any signs of being angry at him for the lack of support. So the least he can do is give her this, these little moments that would make her happy and show how much he loves her. 

"Oh my God! Namjoon can you believe that bitch did tha-" 

A small smile grew on her lips at her boyfriend's sleepy state, one eye closed while the other desperately trying to stay open. With a giggle falling from her lips, leaving the couch to go and pick up a blanket from the basket next to their TV. Carefully placing the soft material over him, making sure that his body was fully covered. Turning off the TV and taking the last sips of her hot chocolate (Y/N) cuddles with the now fully asleep Namjoon. 

The fluffy feeling this was creating on her was too overwhelming, her body tingled as a response to all of the emotions she was feeling at once. Joy at the thought of having such a wonderful boyfriend at her side, sadness that time is not one of the things they get to enjoy trying to savor moments like this where they at least are in each other's arms. Melancholy knowing that all of this is temporary and that once their time is up they would have to go back to being separated by work and life, but she knew that was a price to pay to be with him. He was worth the wait, the time she stays in the dorms and supports him with her daily call and check up on his studios. The molding of her schedule to fit his and be able to see each other once a day to have lunch and to spend countless sleepless nights awake in the living room just to greet him once he decides to come home from a long and tiring day at the studio. 

He wasn't easy to handle all of the time, stress and anxiety proving difficult, clouding all thought of reason and letting him act on impulses only. The fights proved challenging to resolve, almost always ending in a silent war until one decided to apologize and finally talk about it like a normal adult. It becomes more vexatious when in comeback season as Namjoons tolerance evaporates into thin air as the pressure of the album carries on his shoulders. But time has shown her that it all relies on being there for each other in the small things. Like watching their live performances in the living room and call to give her congratulation on the wonderful performance or him helping her plan her next English class for her class in fun and penetrating ways for the high schoolers. Does little expressions of care have been the biggest memories in her head, not needing a big act of true love to know that he loves her. because she can already tell by the small acting he does for her just like today. Even with the tiredness being all over his body he tried his best to make her Christmas the one she has been longing for, for so long. With the ugly sweaters, the exquisite, the hot cocoa and the movie marathon. He could have said that he was just too tired to do celebrate Christmas eve and to just go and sleep the holidays away but he didn't, he tried to make her happy and for her, that was enough. 

Hugging close to the hot body of her boyfriend she let her heart melt. Because while giving him a sweet goodnight kiss on the forehead it reminded her of how much she loves her beautiful dork.

[harley-quinnn]

Guilty

Jared Leto x Reader

{A/N} After being gifted Gucci Guilty by my love, I was entirely inspired by its beautifully sweet scent. So, please enjoy being Jared’s latest collaborator for a new campaign in this fic (that started as an imagine) that no one asked for but I, your friendly neighborhood writer, suddenly wanted.

Can Gucci cut me a check for this ad? Lol, just kidding.

xo Harley

Warnings: The steamiest kiss you’ve ever known.

“Are you ready for hair and makeup?” A sweet face asked you, gesturing toward a chair in front of a large vanity lined with shining white bulbs in a room of a home in the Hollywood Hills- the newest set for the latest Gucci Guilty campaign.

The girl couldn’t have been older than twenty-two, with her rosy cheeks and bottle blonde hair tied up in a bun, indicating she’d been at work long before you arrived. She dug through a large case full of makeup supplies, picking what she needed for the look they assigned for you.

From what you’d been briefed on, the look for this campaign had a beautiful vintage fashion with a modern twist. Always on two ends of the spectrum, Gucci played every angle just right. Your makeup was going to consist of an old pin-up classic, dark red lips and thick winged liner. Your hair was already teased just right, and there was a real flower just above your ear. You had already spritzed your skin with the perfume, there was no helping it.

“I think so!” You chirped, hurrying to sit in the chair with an excitement you weren’t sure how to conceal.

“You’re so lucky,” the friendly girl began, pulling brushes and palettes from the case. “He’s a real looker isn’t he? I don’t think I’d be able to keep from screaming if I got the chance to do what you’re doing. I have to do his makeup when he arrives. How do I keep from crying?” She giggled, shaking her head as she carefully pinned some hair away from your face.

“Sorry. I’m Haley. It’s nice to meet you, {Y/N}. I’m a big fan, and I will- in case you haven’t noticed-  be doing your makeup for the shoot today.”

Her grin was warm and refreshing to see. You returned her giggle quietly, waving a hand to assure her it was okay.

“Trust me, you’re good. If I’m honest, I really have no idea how I’m even going to handle this. We haven’t met yet!” You revealed.

She gasped, and you nodded with doe-eyes.

“So your first time meeting will be just an hour before you have to work together? And I thought I had it bad. At least all I have to do is a little touch up makeup! I don’t even have to look him in the eye, really.”

You laughed, while she put you at ease, the all too real notion of a first meeting happening soon with a man you’d always admired seemed to be front and center all of the sudden. She was talkative, something you enjoyed to pass the time, keeping you giggling and distracted from any nerves you might’ve felt beforehand. You even exchanged phone numbers, and she promised if you needed her skills for any event, she’d make the time. You were glowing with delight in mid conversation when the entire room around you fell silent. Not noticing, you carried on, a sweet grin on your now burgundy lips.

“I just still can’t wrap my head around acting opposite Jared. It’s like a dream.”

Haley turned around from the vanity to face you, a tight-lipped smile on her lips as she drew into herself, saying nothing more, but pointing a dainty finger in the direction behind you. Your brow furrowed at her sudden clam-up, and you suddenly wondered if you said something wrong. When your line of sight landed on her finger, you felt your heart drop into your stomach. You let your eyes travel around the room slowly as you turned around in your chair even slower, noticing everyone in the room staring in the same direction she was pointing.

“Shit,” was all you could manage once you made eye contact with your new co-star, Jared Leto.

His stance commanded respect, though you doubted he meant for everyone to drop what they were doing when he entered. He wore dark sunglasses and a flannel shirt, his pants fitting just right. His hair fell just perfectly as it always looked to, and there was a cocky grin on his lips, showing he was clearly amused at your comment.

And then there you were, sitting in the makeup chair, your hair pinned back with clips, wearing leggings and an oversized hoodie paired with the Ugg boots you kicked off while you waited for Haley to finish up.

“You can quit dreaming, sweetheart. Here I am,” he said, mocking a sexy, masculine tone as he removed his shades. The entire room relaxed with laughter. You felt your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment as you turned back to Haley, cringing at your own expense, one eye closed shut and the other on the ceiling as your gritted your teeth for just a second.

“Oh, God…” you damned yourself.

“Don’t worry,” Haley whispered. “I hear he’s just as sweet as he is handsome.”

You nodded solemnly, forcing a grin as she gingerly unpinned your hair and added a few final touches. You discreetly glanced in the mirror, watching as he made his rounds with each and every person in the room. He greeted them all with a kind charm you hadn’t expected.

“Close your eyes!” Haley requested, and you did as she told you to.

She swept a brush over your eyelids a few extra times, then spritzed your face with what you assumed to be a setting spray.

“Is it my turn yet?” You heard Jared say just beside you, feeling his hand come in contact with your shoulder via a gentle squeeze.

Your eyes popped open, and Haley made a fist as she hoped you didn’t wreck your eye makeup with the sudden movement.

“If she keeps it up your turn will be tomorrow!” Haley scolded playfully, examining your makeup one last time before clearing you to leave.

When you stood, you felt dizzy at the curt movement, catching yourself on the vanity with a soft “whoah.”

You were met with his arms wrapping carefully around your waist, holding you upright again.

“You okay?” He asked. “I know it’s common for everyone to fall for me…”

He chuckled then, and it was beautiful. You lifted your brows, nodding with a wide grin.

“Guilty,” you joked in return, and he caught your pun with a nod of his head and a heart stopping grin.

When he let go of your frame, he looked down at you, taking in the job she’d done on your face.

“You look like a million bucks,” he stated, seeming almost in awe as his blue eyes bore into yours. “The look suits you, very well.”

Despite your hopes that the makeup was heavy enough to hide your blush, you were wrong.

“Thank you, Mr. Leto,” you said softly.

He winked at you before setting his sunglasses down on the vanity and taking a seat in the chair, rubbing his hands together.

“You better do my face as well as you did Miss {Y/N}’s over there. I want the whole nine, nothing less,” he pretend to demand, eliciting a giggle from both Haley and you.

“You got it, honey!” She exclaimed, though you both knew he didn’t need anything at all.

You stepped away from the scene as she chatted him up, happy for her that she was able to set aside her nerves and get to work.

As you approached the set, which was just down the stairs, you noticed the hustle and bustle of what seemed like a real dream. Extras were being told their positions, the creative director was focused on the task at hand and the wardrobe girl was frantic, handing everyone what they needed and helping everyone into their ensembles.

“{Y/N}!” She called out. “There you are! Here’s your first outfit! The other is laying up in the main master bedroom. I can’t risk them getting wrinkled down here should someone mess with it.”

She handed you your outfit, a beautiful Gucci look that was modeled after a 1950’s swing dress with matching pumps, gloves, and jewelry. The excitement settled in nicely.

You made your way back up the stairs quickly, disappearing into the master bedroom she’d pointed out to you and slid out of your clothes. You pulled the dress on, not bothering to check out the second outfit. It fit like a dream, tight around the top and torso, and flared at the bottom. After sliding into your shoes and accessories, you slipped out of the room, peeking around the door before making your way down the hall to the staircase again. As you were walking, you noticed a full length mirror. There was no harm in stopping to admire what Gucci had created for you.

You couldn’t help the grin that crossed your lips as your own eyes raked over your new look, your hands holding the bottom of your dress as you spun in a delicate circle.

“Beautiful. Magnificent,” Jared said from behind you, leaning in the doorway of the room used for makeup.

Your eyes caught his in the mirror, and you were taken aback by his own style.

“Wow, you.. You look amazing!” You assured, turning to face him in all his glory.

He was out of the time period you’d been modeled after, clad in a suit that could send anyone into an envious rage. His hair seemed to fall over his shoulders even better than it had earlier, and you weren’t sure how the stars seemed to align for you so wonderfully. All you could do was gawk in silence as you lifted your gloved hands to gesture in his direction.

“You’ve stolen the show,” he assured, holding his arm out for to you to take.

You gingerly moved some hair behind your shoulder and wrapped your hand around his toned arm, gripping gently as you made your way down the stairs.

“My God. It’s the prom king and queen,” the director said, looking up at you both as you descended to the first floor.

You jokingly gave your best pageant wave, and he held up a peace sign. Everyone looked as though they wanted to cry at the sight of you and him, and you deemed that a success.

“Doesn’t she fit the look perfectly? I think this is going to turn out great,” Jared said, lifting your hand and spinning you in a circle.

You bashfully came back to his side, squeezing his arm in a small show of thanks with a light giggle.

“This silver tongued devil over here. I’m not sure he’s looked in a mirror yet!” You complimented in return.

He was sweet, and you could already feel yourself falling for his ways in such a short amount of time. You figured it must’ve been easy for anyone to do so.

Once everyone took their places and the lighting changed, it was like your nerves suddenly turned off completely. There wasn’t much of a script, but there were general guidelines. You were to have as much genuine fun as possible within those guidelines and Jared made it painfully easy to forget there were cameras and a crew there at all.

In one scene, he clasped a diamond necklace around your neck, moving your hair tenderly over your shoulder to do so as you sprayed Gucci Guilty gracefully on your neck. He took your wrist in another, spritzing the eau de parfum against it before spinning you in a circle to a retro tune, -You’re Gonna Miss Me by Connie Francis- and kissing the inside of your wrist with his eyes on nothing else but your own. He ran with you hand in hand down a long corridor before carefully pinning you against the corner of the wall to another hallway, sensually burying his nose against your neck and hair, his lips delicately pressing against your soft flesh.

All the while, you were either all smiles and laughter, or biting your lip at the sudden rush of sensuality. A true match made in heaven to anyone who could see you together.

It wasn’t until the final scene to film that you couldn’t push away the nerves he made melt away any longer. You hadn’t realized that final outfit change was going to be a doozy.

With an inhale, you stepped out of the master bedroom again, this time in a black silk robe, with nothing but a set of lacy black lingerie underneath. Instead of stopping by the makeup door’s mirror, you scurried past, not wanting to see what you looked like as you almost tripped down the spiral staircase.

“Please remind me what this is for,” you whined to the director, a pout on your lips.

You knew exactly what this was for, but hoped that maybe they decided to flip the script somewhere. It wasn’t that you weren’t comfortable in your body, or that you didn’t love lingerie- you certainly were and did. But you were unprepared to be seen so scantily clad by Jared, especially after being caught up in the moment with him so deeply earlier.

“The boudoir scene..” the director began, as though announcing something marvelous. “Gucci is elegant, classy.. Sexy, passionate.. Who wouldn’t want to romp around with Leto, anyways, no?”

You had no response. Of course you wanted that. He was the most beautiful person you’d ever laid eyes on. But it didn’t negate the fact that you were feeling self conscious about yourself. Who knew how many women he’d seen this way. Sure, he complimented you all day, even let his touch linger a little longer than it usually would have when they called cut, and you only wanted more of it. But your mind loved to race on you, and you weren’t sure how to relax.

When you looked on into the bedroom, you saw him already laying on the large, plush California king sized bed. Haley was touching up his face and a man you recognized from the set earlier was touching up his hair. He was shirtless, but wore a pair of black slacks and had his dark hair tied up in a slick man bun this time. Your heart screamed with desire and anxiety all at once.

You cautiously made your way into the room, moving past the busy crew who were too caught up in making sure their preparations weren’t in vain. When Haley caught sight of you, she immediately grabbed your hand and pulled you quickly to the bed. You drew into yourself as she tugged at the sash holding your robe closed.

“You can’t wear this thing for.. this thing!” She exclaimed, opening your robe and sliding you out of it quickly, giving you no time to react before you found yourself half naked in front of Jared Leto. Forget the rest of the cast and crew, he was your main concern. You dared not turn around before you had to, trying to keep your breathing steady as you watched Haley walk further and further away with your robe for as long as you could.

“Am I scary?” He asked from behind once more, the grin evident in his voice.

You took a deep breath before turning around and faking calm and confident.

“You look like that dream I mentioned earlier when I didn’t know you were there,” you said a bit too enthusiastically.

His chuckle was all you heard before they called for quiet on the set. You climbed onto the bed next to him, ready for whatever he was going to throw at you. During this shoot, you realized he was a sucker for creative freedom when it came to these kinds of projects, and he kept you on your toes the entire time. He’d already revved you up to the hilt with his sweet and sensual antics just before. This time, as the anxiety seemed to fade, and as a sort of game, you wondered if you could do the same to him.

You were tangled up in one another, his lips on your neck, his hands on your bare flesh. These actions were all part of the “script” you’d been given. While it wasn’t exactly easy to be in the mood with a million people surrounding you, he once again proved to you that he made it easy to forget.

Your hands began to travel over his frame, your fingers digging into his skin as he touched you. You let yourself react to every move he made, and when it came close to wrapping the scene entirely, you did something completely off script. You let your lips meet his in the most feverish kiss you’d ever given, or received. Every sense tingled beautifully through your body as though you’d just received a sweet electric shock, and his touch became almost unbearably hot. You heard yourself sigh against his open mouth, but it sounded as though it were a thousand miles away in your ears. There was no more room in your chest for your heart as you felt his hand tangle in your hair just behind your ear, and his skin under your fingertips almost seemed to come alive with a blissful sensation that also hinted faintly between your thighs.

When the kiss was broken, your eyes remained shut, and so did his. When you opened them again, he was opening his. His stare was intense, deeply pulling every ounce of yourself into his own mind. Nothing else existed around you as you got lost in the world you’d just created between the two of you. It was clear there was an undeniable spark on both ends, and this was no longer acting.

“And, cut!” The director called. “I think we got it. I think that’s a wrap. That was truly phenomenal, guys. Wow..”

The room seemed to be just as in awe as they came back to earth themselves, starting to clear up the space as you and Jared remained in place on the bed.

You blinked a few times, trying to get your bearings on what had just happened. His eyes traveled from yours and downward as he smoothed a hand over his hair. It was almost a state of confusion you found yourself in as you sat up, swallowing hard.

“Wow,” you whispered.

He lifted a brow, sitting up and getting off of the bed.

“I think we should do that again sometime,” he mused with a smirk.

You hopped off the bed next, grabbing the robe you wore earlier from a hanger Haley had placed it on. Jared quickly moved to help you slide into it, his fingers brushing against your skin.

“I think we should, too,” you said quietly, turning around to face him.

Everyone was too busy to notice your private conversation now, and you were reminded of a quote from The Great Gatsby about large parties creating intimacy and privacy.

“You’re stunning,” he said, dragging his thumb down your lip before caressing your chin. “And you smell delicious. Is that Gucci Guilty?”

His grin was that of pure, cocky sarcasm.

“And you’re a God,” you gushed. “Who also smells amazing.”

That elicited a laugh from him.

“I can show you so much more where that came from,” he urged.

“So can I… If you think you’re up to the task of taming a brat.”

“Have I met my match?” He smirked.

“Maybe,” you smirked right back, your tone breathy. “I guess we’ll find out, huh?”

“I guess so, baby girl.”

[bonbrizzle]

Here you Rise, Furiously and Fearlessly

Log Line: Labeling in Tattooing: Seemingly Disastrous or Actually Misconstrued?

For my lovely Tumblr followers, this piece is written especially for you.

To give a bit of info about myself to those who are new or aren’t familiar with the writer of this blog, I’m Bonnie, an undergrad at UC Davis. If you’re an OG here, you’ve seen me experience tremendous changes throughout the years I’ve maintained this blog. Due to a mish-mash of circumstances I’m unfortunately not as keen about writing long feel-fests as as often as I did in high school. Back then, days were slower, school meant less, and we all had so much more much needed free-time. As many of you may or may not know, I’m a first generation Vietnamese-American girl born and raised in the most ecstatically eccentric part of the country, the (San Francisco) Bay Area. While I was able to grow up in one of the most progressive areas in the world, my parents weren’t given this luxury we take for granted here. The rift between our two cultures forced me to grapple with a singular sense of “identity” throughout the majority (or entirety? actually) of my life. Many of you fellow Asian Americans are aware of the difficulty in regards to finding a comfortable medium between the lifestyles of both your parents and yourself. 

Any-who, I am writing to my fellow tattooed folk in zealous hopes. I have a willful and fire-y desire to push you all to keep on fighting. Fight the stereotypes burdened upon us as a people. Fight to change the way we, society (as a whole), interpret labeling. If you haven’t already noticed, our culture is bizarrely infatuated with the need for identification. Let’s try to undermine this idea with a grand plan. 

While I usually materialize just my subjective POV in this diary-like blog of mine, at this instant I’ll be tacking on a little something extra. This piece has the familiar anecdotal experiences that one is familiar with in reading my style, (mixed with subjective thoughts, etc) AND will have some interlaced informative/factual bits to provide you with some background info. If you are compelled, you’re more than welcome to investigate further...and or skim as you wish! I mainly chose to write about resistance and tattooing’s marriage with labeling because I’m enamored about tattoo as a culture. Don’t be alarmed! It is not a research paper. It is a branch of anthropology that requires me to provide some sort of anecdotal recollection of my experience(s) with resistance. In actuality, I haven’t updated in so long, I’m not even sure if anyone’s listening. “Posting into your Tumblr is like talking to your cat. You’re not sure if anyone is listening, but it feels good anyway.” To those who will continue to be loyal to my musings, I hope this piece leaves you with a sprinkle of new insight or a refreshed perspective.

You may or may not be familiar with the newfound anxiety that tags along with getting your first piece. Going into the shop on the day of, I was like anyone else...ridden with anxiety and feverishly wondering if this life-changing decision would alter the way I fit into the world. Would the modified version of me be rejected and outcasted by society? My cocktail of feelings was mixed with a variation of things. Some of it dismal, because maybe my parents would disown me. Others were optimistic, I finally was getting one step closer to the way I only dreamed to look. As I was being escorted onto the tattooing chair, I discovered my circumstances were changing everso quickly. Was I leaving my previous identity behind? Yes, this does seems dramatic, but to be frank, I didn’t fully realize the intensity of this horrifying possibility until the days to started to dwindle. Imagining my future around my family and wanting their acceptance seemed grim, but I stayed positive because I knew this was exactly what I wanted. 

Maturing through the lessons of traditional Vietnamese folks meant I was constantly torn between accepting the traditional aspects of being a Vietnamese daughter, while also trying to navigate myself around what being American means to me. Pressure to fill the image of a traditional Vietnamese woman in the eyes of my parents surrounded many reasons behind my actions and plagued my subconscious. I feared they would judge their ability to raise a child by watching me grow into what they dreamed, while evaluating me by my qualities of submissiveness, obedience, and "normality,” But I didn’t want to blend into the rest of the colors and become a muddled brown, being arbitrarily mixed with everybody else. I am not only Vietnamese, but American. Being American means a plethora of things. To me, it is mainly founded upon the notion that you should always allow yourself to have an opinion. Not only in America should you be informed and form opinions from what you’re surrounded by, you need be unabashedly outspoken. In my specific case, being an American in the bay meant even moreso using these exclusive opportunities to fight courageously both for your rights and for what’s right. In an overall sense, this meant acceptance. Let yourself thrive, be who you want to be––without a care in the world––and bloom wherever you are planted.

Let’s take at a comparison between my brother and I. To someone like him, the identity route resembles straight line. My brother seems to lie on the side of the scale that’s on the complete opposite end of what I’m on. He is undoubtedly a gifted child. With that being said, he became simply a breeze for my parents to teach. Never to stray to committing anything outlandish, my brother willfully blended into the cloak of “normality.” I want to note that there is nothing wrong with the desire to be normal. So for my parents, he was a prize, a gifted student with not a single note of resistance; a child who was everso far from the idea of “troubled.” On the other end of the spectrum however, was little ‘ol me, a small Asian girl who started out as a little bit obnoxious and is still honking and tonking with confliction to this day.

It originated early on in my life but came to show it’s face in high school. The amount of worrying about my future my parents were plagued with increased every time I dyed my hair abnormal and kooky color. In high school I died my hair more than 30 times. Throughout the process of maturing, gnawing teenage angst hindered me from communicating the way I needed to with my folks. Because of this, my parents didn’t understand me at all, and thought even moreso that I was trying to erase my identity as a Vietnamese woman after dyeing my hair bright blond for the first time. “Are you trying to be white?!” My dad roared at me as he stared at my bright, freshly bleached blond hair in disbelief. This idea of me that I was running away from the idea of being normal was devastating to my parents. “Will she be okay? Will the kids at school make fun of her?” The idea of me being bizarre to hasn’t stopped there though, unfortunately. However, it’s started to take a change in direction. 

After adding several new piercings to my ensemble of body modifications, I eventually broadened myself to a new and considerably “outlandish” form of self expression, the tattoo. Writing this now, I just wanted to say that luckily for me, my parents were able to find a a new meaning for my eccentric taste and childlike imagination. Going out of my way to receive this tattoo, a completely unfamiliar form of body modification meant I was changing myself drastically. This fear only translated to one thought: I would never be the same. Being tattooed meant permanent “disfiguration,” to my parents, and that frightened them immensely. With their somber fear riding on my shoulder, in moved in my old pal anxiety. Would I regret this? Would my family be ashamed to be seen with me, or even worse, reject me fully? Making this conscious decision to permanently alter myself opened a new door of unfamiliarity, something so scary but something I wanted so badly at the same time. I argued with this little voice in my head, the voice that kept telling me that I wasn’t making a bad decision, and would still of course, be a respected member in society. This dream of mine, looking and feeling the way I wanted to unapologetically and fearlessly, gave me the the courage to make the decision to finally make the change. This new drive to bravely make conscious decisions for myself gave me a sense of empowerment and even security. My skin was my own, and I can bravely defend that idea. In getting tattoos, I am forever altering my identity and resisting the labels primarily associated with being an Asian female in today’s world.

So first, what is it about tattooing that’s so special to this project about resistance?

The tattoo on my arm in Davis is a nouveau form of self expression. To the myriads of people around me, it might be perceived in many different ways, depending on the individual is who’s looking at it. Those of you who are familiar with me know that in me is an immense appreciation for art. So tremendous that I even applied to UCLA as an art major 3 years ago. This blossomed into the supreme desire to be inked, having a permanent form of art to adorn on my body forever. I dealt with bullying in the past for dyeing my hair the range of the rainbow, but nothing felt like what I was about to do to my skin. Hair is always able to grow out and revert back to the way it was. Skin, however, was not. But the possibility of bullying didn’t scare me. It never scared me because it always came from doing something I wanted, and loved. In this case, it was the same, but not...the new audience was my parents, my respected relatives, my extended family...not my immature classmates from school.

Tattoos can have a lot of stigmas behind them. Stigmas come from a variety of individuals who interpret something in a certain light. Here in reality there obviously is a plethora of different perspectives one can interpret the tattoo as. Because of this diversity, I must connect what I learned in my anthropology class this fall, to the idea trying to be expressed in this blog post, that there is a multiplicity of ways we as a people can digest the things around us, depending on who we are as people, whether be in groups like socio-economical or individually, like “Asian American,” for example.

On a personal scale, the tattoo on my arm to me is a beloved form of self-expression. It is an area of my body that represents, or shows some indication about who I am and the things I love. It is a form of my identity that gives me confidence and comfort in my own skin, it makes me feel more beautiful, special, etc. But to others, it can be taken in a completely different light.

To authoritarians, like my future employers, it may look entirely different. These authoritarians, based on the previous history of tattoos, may believe that I may be harboring some criminal tendencies, may not take school or my education seriously, or am frankly––even a “good for nothing,” individual. This all depends on many different things, however, like what environment the authoritarian grew up in, what kind of environment they are surrounded by now, what their personal views on “x” and “y” are, etc. Because of this dangerous tendency, individuals like me who like to wear tattoos may be slightly more secretive, and get pieces done that are easily hidden. In places like Portland, in Oregon, however, tattoos are very common and popularized by the rising modernity scene. You can easily see a bunch of tattoos individuals hanging out at multiple joints in the city, all without a care in the world. This is because the city of Portland is open to this form of art, and has gotten moreso used to it by now. In other places, say maybe more conservative states where tattoos are less popularized, like Philadelphia as a friend once told me, tattooed individuals can be shunned, stared at viciously, and even treated with disrespect.

To older-generations, tattooing comes off as taboo and an indicator of poor-morals.  Because tattoos are constantly shown off on criminals, adorned by gang-members, etc. These stigmas in tattooing have been constantly perpetuated by tattoo culture in criminalized areas, or jails and prisons. Those who spend some of their time in these institutions typically get tattooed by non-professional “friends,” who don’t use cleanly measures like sterilization. Those who get these “homemade tattoos,” can give tattooing a bad rep, because the public views these individuals as a whole image, a criminal with tattoos, so a person with tattoos will most likely have some tendency to do immoral things. Because of this constantly breathed idea, the tattoo to the public can give a lot of citizens anxiety. They can be immediately threatened by this individual who looks like they’re up to no good, and if they were to assume who the tattooed individual is, they would probably not reach for the guess of say, a doctor or a lawyer.

Likewise to the Japanese, tattoos are an indicator of a troublesome individual who is associated with some type of Yakuza group, or “gang,” in Japanese. Those who are dedicated to the lifestyle of their respective gangs in Japanese culture prove their loyalty by getting big tattoos spread all over their body, because obviously if you weren’t a dedicated member why would you A) subject yourself to that type of pain B) be committed to permanent body art for the rest of your life? Because of this traditional idea, Japanese people, although conservative already, are not able to be comfortable around tattooed individuals, and even go as far as banning tattooed individuals at public bath-houses, the “onsen,” they call it.

To give an even more extreme example, take tattooing during WWII. Jews who were captured and wrongfully imprisoned by Nazi concentration camps during the war were not only cruelly mistreated and tortured, but were also branded like caged animals. Jewish prisoners had numbers etched into their wrists in order to mark them as prisoners but also label them so they were easier to keep track of. This marking gave them a huge sense of shame and misery, and was forever a reminder to them of a nightmare so horrible they wish it didn’t really unfold. Because of this, Jewish people, as I noted when browsing on Quora this one day, are not at all interested in getting tattoos. They may not be so critical of others getting ink done, but for themselves, would never because of the terrible past and memories associated behind it.

To tattoo artists, on another note, tattoos are a form of art that they create, but also prosper from. The tattoo on my arm may look like a mark of criminalization on me to naysayers, but to these artists, the creation of the tattoo on my arm meant they were able to eat dinner or have a roof over their heads for another day. After meeting a couple artists while searching for the perfect artist for me, I learned a little bit more about the tattooing scene in their perspective. Lianna deFleur, a floral specialized artist in San Francisco, noted to me that tattooing to her is a form of valuable and beautiful expression. Every time one of her clients leaves with a new piece, she feels like she is giving the world another beautiful piece of artwork to be loved and cherished, and that all those who are marked by her all share a beautiful piece of herself, that she worked so long and dutifully to create. Likewise, because of those who want tattoos, the industry has grown so large and normalized that you can now see cities like San Francisco, Berkeley, and Portland full of tattooed individuals. The rising scene has given birth to an abundance of careers, whether giving ink or tool shops more business, or giving an artist more fame. These artists give rise to individuals who are selling certain materials: ink, tattoo needles, sterilization tools, spaces for rent, etc. Such a new industry has also gifted communities with more openness and awareness to the trueness of tattooing, that it is an art-form that shouldn’t be feared. While I usually don’t support capitalism and the monetization of everything, the monetization of the process of tattooing has gifted certain individuals with a new way of life, while blessing others in the process.

To other tattooed individuals, my tattoo may be a source of common ground, another way to connect to a stranger that they’ve never met before, even without ever speaking to them. I know that when I go out and I see a fellow tattooed person, I feel a little more connected and comfortable with them, because they understand the way it feels to be marked and forever changed by ink. There’s a quote that I heard that I believe is exceptionally true. It is as follows, “The only difference between tattooed people and non tattooed people is tattooed people don’t care if you are not tattooed.” I think this quote represents our population pretty well. When hearing the quote for the first time, I am reminded of American politics. This is because a lot of individuals who fight against something sometimes fight for things that don’t relate to them. For example, I can speak about the issue of marriage equality when talking about gay marriage. A lot of conservatives who voted against gay marriage argue that it is to protect the purity of marriage between a man and a woman, and to allow marriage to be in a different form would be allowing the sanctity of marriage to be at risk. Although allowing gay marriage to exist may not apply to the person directly who is voting against it, it hurts those that want it. Similarly to how people who aren’t tattooed despise tattoos and don’t want others to get them, although it doesn’t directly affect them. I say if it’s not hurting anyone to let it be. However, in this case I am no way trying to equate tattoo culture to the need for marriage equality, for those who feel like I am being insensitive, I apologize, and wanted to use a simple example, although not perfectly appropriate.

There is a great deal of types of tattoo in the community. Because of this, many different genres of tattoos have developed over time. From the homemade, branding types that scare people away, to other more recognizable types like “Old American,” tattooing. I think all the people who get the same genre of tattoo also feel a strong sense of connection towards each other, the connection through mutual appreciation of the same artform. In my case, I especially love blackwork tattoos, a tattooing style that places special appreciation and priority for black and grey ink only, without color at all. This style of tattooing to me, as a form of art, looks very crisp and clean cut. Other styles I especially love are florals. The different genres in tattooing allow smaller groups to form from the overall larger group, and allows individuals like me to seek out other people who also enjoy the same art form, again a part of tattooing that specializes individuality but also the seeking of mutual common ground.

After announcing to my housemate about the subject on my final project, he asked what about tattooing am I trying to write about? I told him that tattooing has so many different genres, and sub-genres, and subgenres of those sub-genres, for example. He noted to me, “Actually, I was just going to mention that. That tattoos can have so many different meanings. A tattoo can represent a positive, happy thing, but also a terrible negative thing. Like if someone has an anti-semitic tattoo sprawled largely across their backside.” I think this is true. While I for one try to always see the positive side of tattooing, there is a stigma for a reason. I have to admit that this is true. The problem of the stigma arises because some individuals choose to get tattoos that are hurtful, and are negative, and this hurts the community in a general sense.

Likewise, you could get a tattoo that is both sad and positive. Some individuals get the date of their loved ones deaths tattooed. This is both to commemorative in the best, loving way, but also melancholic and can be opening up to a sad memory, a bad thing. Tattoos can be viewed in so many different ways, but to me I want to try to alter it to be more accepted as less of a bad thing and more of an individual thing, like dyeing your hair for example.

The enormous stigma behind tattoos have created a rift between people who understand and perpetuate the culture and those who resent and fight against the culture. Let me talk to you about how tattoos fit in our world and how we fit in the world of the tattoo.

My tattoo was produced by an artist at Black and Blue Tattoo named Michael DeMatty. He first drew up a drawing and presented it to me, asking me how I wanted it tweaked, trying to adhere to my taste as much as possible. This is a time-consuming process that he needs to get right perfectly in order for the tattoo to exist in the most positive light. The drawing may take a long time, need a considerable amount of retouching, and may have many opportunities to change into something else. Most often busy artists charge a fee for a drawing that they use as a deposit to the tattoo, because they only want committed clients who will not back out and waste their time. After my initial consultation with him, DeMatty drew up my design, then stenciled it onto special tracing paper. On the day of it was his responsibility to adhere the stencil precisely and accurately onto my bicep so all the lines would match up as accordingly. This was a tiring process because the horizontal lines wouldn’t line up much of the time, and the stencil had to be redone time and time again. Afterwards, when everything was stenciled on and placed correctly, DeMatty started tattooing me, a process that took multiple tattooing needles of different sizes, widths, and amounts. All these needles were stabbed a gazillion times into the skin on my bicep.

The ink involved in my tattoo is from a laborer that DeMatty has sought out himself, the ink supplier is a trusted laborer and that creates ink that went from their own production line to now inside my skin, for the rest of my life.

Tattooing history has come a significantly long way. It went from being a practice in villages in Southeast Asia and even the earliest Native Americans to being a common form of self-expression in many countries and the beyond, in this case, the US. Villages used tattooing as a form of marking, status, and symbol. In the past it has been traditionally done with needles tied around sticks, dipped in ink that was made from mashed up flowers. It has it’s dark history, however, as a means to mark Jews during WWII, in concentration camps.

Nowadays, tattooing has evolved, because mine was made through the effort of a tattooing needle machine, which is automatic, and electric. The creation of the tattoo happens primarily in the shop, it sometimes originates from the ideas of the individual getting tattooed, but after the action has been completed at the shop, the tattoo is generally maintained on the person.

After I got my tattoo, I healed it with special burn victim ointments, like bacitracin. I kept it covered for the first weeks, and now I maintain the color with sunscreen, everyday.  

The tattoo originated and inked into my arm in San Francisco, California, but it’s traveled to a plethora of places. It’s traveled to my hometown in San Jose, the cities on the way to Davis, California where I go to University. It has even traveled to Los Angeles and all the cities on I-5 N and I-5, so the cities in between.

Here is a picture of myself, staring at the Seattle sky during a great weekend in May. I wasn’t reluctant to wear a tank-top here because Seattle is more progressive than other places, and I happily and gratefully noticed that there were other tattooed individuals scattered across this city as well! I think my tattoo is simple enough that people won’t judge it very much, and if they do, I wouldn’t know what they would really say about it anyway. The three band tattoo sitting on my right bicep pays homage to Native American styles of tattooing. One that places special emphasis on lines. The three lines represent each member of my family: mom, dad, and brother. I would assume no one would really know this by looking at it, which is nice. I think it also looks really aesthetically pleasing, which is a good reason to get a tattoo too if you like it!

A Wide Angle View

Tattoos are generally scrutinized as a categorization, one that links criminal or suspicious looking citizens into a group as a whole, unfavored by most of society. However, tattoos also can mean a plethora of different things. In this case, tattoos as a form of historical art are a form of self-expression, and continue to act as a visual culture to all those who love and adorn them.

Tattoos, in a historical sense, were meant to mark tribe members with important symbols to shine light upon them as special group members. This could mean adorning the leader of the tribe with the most detailed and beautiful ink, or even to brand criminals as those who need to be taken note of and feared.

The economy behind tattoos as a form of art has grown tremendously throughout the past decade, from being labeled as an illegal act in the state of Massachusetts previously to be a bustering new business in the city of San Francisco, where tattoo shops are in full demand. While tattoos before looked simply like a way to brand those who broke the law, there now is a whole new meaning to the act of tattooing itself, one could look at it in a whole sense as a form of resistance against society, but on a more personal sense––as a form of belonging, one that allows us to express ourselves, but also be a sort of rite-of-passage to those who are old enough to get it done legally.

I for one, felt like I was breaking the stereotype culture of Asian women as submissive and obedient when I went into Black & Blue Tattoo in San Francisco to adorn myself with new ink. I got 3 bands done around the bicep of my right arm, in thus paying homage to the Native American tribal style of tattooing, one dating back to as far as 2000 BCE. This style of tattooing was prominent when the natives were tattooed, becoming a religious ritual, usually during war-time. The band style of tattooing was usually present to distinguish different tribes from each other.

To me, it meant personally to rid myself of the submissive stereotype but also be there to remind me of my family’s permanent impact on me, with 3 bands being for 3 family members––my mother, father, and brother. My parents at first, were not crazy about me getting tattooed. I thought to myself, that this was a choice for me to make. I loved the artistic side of tattooing, and wanted to be a collector, but was also afraid of all the prejudices society already has set up for me. Tattooed individuals are not looked at with the most equal and honest eye by society due to the general criminal stereotype. I think personally, with the general introduction of good-mannered, kind-hearted individuals with tattoos being present in society, there will be at least a small shift in the perspective of those who still view tattooing as a negative categorization of criminals, with my existence being as useful as possible.

So what does this all have to do with labeling and resistance?

I feel as though these two aspects of tattooing go hand in hand with each other. Tattoos, on one side are a form of categorization. Those who are tattooed are lumped together as a group, judged collectively in a lot of time bad ways, and are stereotyped as a group accordingly. At the same time, the idea that tattooed individuals are looked as a group has its perks as well. I mentioned earlier that when I meet a fellow tattooed individual, I feel a little more connected to this person, even if I don’t know them personally. This is because I feel as though the person also experiences the same judgements placed upon them by society as me, and because of that we can be empathetic towards each other. Likewise, when we are grouped together as a collective, I feel as though we can resist the stereotype together, not while acting as a group, but changing people’s of tattoos on an individual scale, making it better for the group in general.

Tattooing as a group can be seen as a special thing to help individuals relate and understand each other. While we can be judged harshly as a group, the same group is able to help each other feel and understand each other’s feelings and experiences, which I deeply appreciate. Knowing the stereotype for tattooed individuals and then taking heed this information and changing it by not being the stereotypical “criminal,” or “suspicious,” person will make our group look less daunting as a community. These little steps to resist the stereotype together are what I think can be considered as a new way to interpret the verb, “tattooing,” and “labeling,” Labeling our group as a whole may mean categorization, but it also is a means to help our group come together and resist together.

There is this mutual experience with tattooed individuals about the dilemma about openly showcasing your tattoos. We bond as a group when we know the annoyingness of people who intrusively come up to you to touch your skin or ask you what your tattoo means. We have this silent agreement in the tattooing community that those who come up to you musn’t be intrusive, disruptive, or too invasive to you as they see you. If they do, it’s fine for you to ignore their interaction if you wish. I feel that this is true, and some people don’t have respect for others space when they try to inquire knowledge about another person’s body modifications. This is a way for the group of tattooed individuals to understand each other.

The visual culture surrounding tattoos gives a whole new meaning to the practice now, than it did before. Before, labeling could be seen as a harsh way to judge a tattooed person, instilling upon them stereotypes that they didn’t ask for that may not accurately depict them. Nowadays, tattooed individuals are now in a community that expresses new principles. The tattooed community focuses on the sharing of visual culture through self expression. Tattoos are meant to portray an artist’s best work that also physically symbolizes something a person values, loves, or wants to remember, all in the form of ink.

In tattooed culture, it is wrong to copy another artist’s work, stroke for stroke. There is however, welcoming attitudes to inspiration from another artist, but it is the new artist’s responsibility to make the new piece unique and in a style individually connected to them, therefore keeping the work’s integrity. It is also a very important point to remember that “tattoos are not for today, they are for forever.” This rings true to those individuals who knock down a couple of drinks in a sitting and want to get inked. Artists refuse to ink these people, one because they are making a decision without being sober and therefore have impaired judgement, and two because alcohol thins the blood, making the individual bleed more during the tattooing process, which is dangerous.

There are a couple of conflicts in the community, however, about certain things. A lot of artists scoff at trendy tattoos, while others don’t really care enough for them to reject them outright. This is true for trendy tattoos like: native American dreamcatchers, feather tattoos, infinity signs, Chinese characters, etc. These trendy tattoos can sometimes be harshly judged in the community when an artist refuses to do them, a lot of the reason because society doesn’t respect tattoos that are cultural appropriation, which they shouldn’t be anyway. Those who get tattoos that appropriate another individual’s culture usually make fools of themselves, this is because they usually don’t get the right word they were trying to communicate tattooed. I remember watching a YouTube video on Chinese character tattoos where one individual thought it mean, “bravery,” but when they showed it to their Chinese friend they soon learned that it meant “refrigerator,” which I thought was both humorous and tragic...humorously tragic. On this kind plane, it is easy to see why some people don’t respect tattooing. If you are going to get another culture’s language permanently etched into your body, why not go through some research to get the write meaning instead of making yourself look like a fool? This creates a negative image on those who get tattoos in general.

There is also a firm understanding in the culture that novices should not tattoo professionally. This is because homemade tattoos give professionally done tattoos a bad rep, and make tattoos look bad, or “trashy,” and not respectable. Novices are supposed to learn from professionals by being “apprentices,” and must be recommended and backed by a professional typically to get a permanent position in a tattooing group. There is a special gripe in the community about “tattooing schools,” that artist are insulted by. Tattooing schools serve to simply turn tattooing into a monetized means of production. That is, those who want to start tattooing others to make money can just apply for some generalized class to start their new career. This is dangerous to those who perfected their art and have taken special time to develop their own sense of style, go through hoops to secure a shop, and have learned through the help of fellow tattooed artists. Going to a school for tattooing that doesn’t really care about your work or you individually as a person is a joke to the tattooing community. You can see this easily by reading up posts about “tattooing schools,” on your own.

The fact that there is rules in this new community makes the whole thing so much more special. You can easily see the form of resistance to the stereotypical ideas of tattooing and strip away the previous label placed upon it. The tattooing culture has grown so large that those who love the culture have made strong rules to live by to practice integrity, respect, and mutual understanding of each other. To follow these rules means that you are giving tattoos a new label, one that can connote respect, sensibility, and cultural awareness.

Tattoos as a form of art, contrary to the belief of group categorization, are obviously a way to promote individuality. Many of us individuals who choose to get tattooed look for unique artforms to get adorned onto our bodies. Because of this, you can see in the tattooing world that often tattoos are not repeated exactly as they are, not only because copying another artist’s work is wrong in tattooing culture, but because you usually want a unique piece.

Snake tattoos are common in tattooing culture. Why would anyone get a tattoo of a snake, you might ask? This is a time for me to give you some cultural awareness of tattooing culture. Snakes can be interpreted as vile beings to be feared, but to some, they are beautiful. One point is that snakes have to do with religious texts, such like the inclusion of the snake in the story of Adam and Eve. Secondly, in some cultures, snakes represent healing and rebirth. When a snake sheds its skin and grows into something new, it is like it is being reborn, and healed again into something new. You wouldn’t have really thought about this if you didn’t get an explanation right? It does make sense.

Likewise, when people get tattoos of say, scary symbols such as skulls, this is sometimes an expression of their lack of fear to death. People who are not moved by death sometimes get skull tattoos because they accept that life has it’s unexpected turns and you should live it to its fullest potential. I see that skulls get a bad rep in tattooing culture because some people think it’s a tacky symbol, but it’s there in the traditions of tattooing for a reason.

People are nowadays also placing special emphasis on floral tattoo designs. I see that many individuals think that flowers are beautiful, so why not let them wear them in the form of permanent art? I too stand behind flowers being a beautiful thing to tattoo, and support this movement completely. I love it. The image of a flower is also less scary to people who don’t understand tattoo culture, and therefore can help resist the stereotype of scary tattooed people, one step at a time. I think this movement of including tattoos that aren’t super traditional helps us relabel the idea of tattoos as less of a way to label someone in a negative way, but allow people to think that some people just like the way things look and want to wear them permananently.

So how does this affect me on a more personal scale?

For instance, I noticed you wrote at length about 'labeling' - how others label you, how you sought to relabel yourself, how tattoos can be a way of (re)-labeling, and also how you seek to escape labels entirely.

When I started growing up and noticing the realities of life, I noticed that everyone around me will judge me without my consent, no matter if I like it or not. This is not necessarily a reflection of who they are as people, although it can be, but I think is a simple and integral part of what makes us human. With this being said, I remember in high school sulking and being hurt over the bullying I incurred do to my taste in hair color. I routinely mocked by constant whispers around me when I came into class, and I especially remember those who called me names such as, “Crayola,” and “carrot-head.” While my classmates at school chose to judge me on that part of myself I chose to reveal, I noticed that some individuals who judged me prior decided to still try to be my friend and therefore try to get to know me. My best friend to this day was one of the individuals who thought my hair made me “odd,” and somewhat unapproachable even, but she chose to disregard that for the most part to get to know me personally. Through this, she was able to understand who am as a person and discard her previous idea of me. I want to work this way continuously to escape labels entirely, person by person.

To convert my parents to my side, I first started to warm them up to the idea of me getting a tattoo by slowly hinting at it, and showing them designs that I liked. They didn’t believe me at first, because to them, it was such a preposterous idea. No one in my family has a single tattoo. It is not spoken about, ever, and no one has dared or desired to get one either. I think in Vietnam at least, tattoos are not popular at all, and are simply a part of the idea of a typical street-gang member or institutionally jailed individual. Because of this, my parents weren’t keen on me also “branding” myself and making a choice that I could possibly regret my entire life. Sure enough, I realized that they were going to react this way, and chose to try to educate them instead of permanently resist and do what I want. I started out by telling them how common tattoos are nowadays and noting what percentage of my classmates had big and small tattoos, and also showing them multiple Instagram pages of tattoos, so that they would see how wildly common they are. I also let them know that employers nowadays are more understanding of body art, if it is in moderation. At the end of the day, they just wanted me to be comfortable in my own skin and not bullied or mistreated for being a certain way. I understood this and assured them that this was my dream, and if it would help, I’d get it in an easily hidden place, just in case.

Sure enough, everything ended up alright. I guess my parents are more understanding than others, but I’m glad I was able to convince them from downright rejecting it and saying no, to giving me their blessing, as long as I do my research and get it done at a reputable shop. My extended family however, is a different story. I haven’t gone out of my way to show my tattoo to other family members, who I don’t know as personally, and who I feel won’t choose to accept me in a positive way. I am still taking my chances with these people, and choose to hide it, at least until I’ve gotten a secure job in the outside world. I know that I cannot convince everyone to see my side of the field, but I will continuously try to change people’s ideas of me personally by acting in a different way than they expect me to be.

I admit, to get to know people on a personal scale is extremely difficult. If I were to try to befriend everyone who judged me and get close enough to them where they would learn that I am not “weird,” in a bad way or odd, is too time-consuming, difficult, and honestly, just unrealistic. However, I do want to make it a point to come across to every individual I have an interaction with to change their opinion of me just a little bit, just enough to make me seem like less of a stereotypical person. I go about this in my everyday life, when I’m getting coffee, when I meet a classmate for the first time, etc. At the beginning of a relationship, I usually try to escape from labels by firstly, covering my tattoo. This may seem backwards because I shouldn’t be hiding it, but I find that it is a strength of mine if I can allow myself to be known first, as a non-tattooed individual, and then later, reveal it, to not make it as big of a deal as it usually would be if they just met me for the first time and saw it.

I have this dream that someday people who are tattooed will slowly change the minds of others who think tattoos are are indicator of a person with low morals, etc. I honestly think that this can be accomplished on a small scale, one step at a time. I know that it may take years and years to get to this point, but I feel that if we slowly show others that we are normal, loving, caring, understanding, feeling people like themselves, people will slowly understand