#I’ve never projected onto a character in my life you shut your mouth | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonlit-jeno · 4 years

Text

evanescence (m.)

pairing: kim jungwoo x fem. reader

genre/warnings: ghost au, explicit sexual content, angst, fluff, mentions of death, some graphic violence/ gore, character death, brief mention of heights, i swear it’s not as bad as it sounds

word count: 7.8k

summary:

evanescence (n.): the quality of being fleeting or vanishing quickly; impermanence; i.e the evanescence of dreams

song to listen to: me & your ghost- blackbear, faded in my last song- nct, trampoline- SHAED, lonely heart- 5 seconds of summer, dreaming with a broken heart- john mayer

notes: evanescence i.e not the band who wrote my immortal <3 part of the almost collab!

The thing about fear is that it’s irrational.

Of course the doll in the corner of your room won’t suddenly come alive and kill you. Of course the spider on your ceiling is actually harmless. Of course nightmares won’t come true and haunt you in your daily life, won’t do more than bother you for a few minutes when you’re asleep. Knowing that doesn’t make it any less scary. Doesn’t stop the shivers from crawling up your spine, doesn’t ease your breathing when you curl into yourself in an attempt to hide.

Some people find comfort in crawling under their blankets, hiding themselves from the rest of the world as if the thick cloth will protect them. You don’t have that luxury. Because the thing you fear isn’t some axe murderer breaking into your house, or some mutant spider wrapping you up in a web. It’s not ghosts or ghouls or demons.

It’s sleep itself.

You used to love sleeping. Naps were considered a favorite hobby of yours, a way to escape from your obligations temporarily or lift your spirits during a bad day. But the line between like and dislike is thin, and the peaceful dreams you were accustomed to transformed into terrors that torture your nights and leave you shaking and sleep deprived when you wake.

Coffee becomes your best friend, the drink becoming a crutch that you use desperately to avoid reliving the nightmare that haunts you every time your eyes fall shut. It’s always the same scene: a basement, a young man being tortured by a masked figure. Punched, strangled, stabbed. It’s always in that order, with the exact same amount of punches and stabbings each time- six. It’s worse than any movie you’ve ever seen, worse than anything that you can imagine. And yet it doesn’t get any less horrifying as time goes on, as you relive the same thing over and over again.

The only thing that changes is the point of view. Sometimes you can see it from his perspective, begging for mercy from an expressionless figure whose ears fall deaf to the boy’s pleas. That’s the worst, you think, because you can feel everything. It leaves you frantically checking yourself for wounds and marks and bruises, the vividness of your dream leaving you shocked when you find your skin unmarred. Sometimes you watch from the corner of the room, able to see everything yet unable to help, your voice stuck in your throat when you attempt to cry for help. And sometimes, you’re the killer, repeatedly delivering blow after blow in a body you can’t control.

Tonight’s different. Instead of the boy strapped to the chair, it’s you.

You shake and cry out, trying desperately to free yourself of the restraints. They aren’t strong, and yet your limbs feel like jelly and you can’t break free of them. A shadow looms over you and you look up, expecting to see the killer, but you don’t. Instead, the boy stands over you.

His features are softer like this, not scrunched in pain or splattered with blood and bruises. He smiles gently at you.

“Hello,” He says, kneeling down in front of you. One hand lands on yours and the restraints fall away, your limbs now free. “I’m Jungwoo.” You just blink at him. “I’ve seen you in my dreams.” Jungwoo’s smile falters a bit, and he huffs a humorless laugh. “That… yeah. That’s less of a dream and more of a…” He trails off, shrugs. “Memory.”

It takes a moment for it to process fully. Memory? If that’s his memory, then that means that he had to go through all of that. “I’m- I’m so sorry. Who put you through that?” He shrugs. “Dunno. But I wouldn’t pity me too much.” There’s a tight lipped smile on his face. “I’m the one that’s made you go through it, too.”

You blink once, twice, and feel the sympathy in your bones turn to fury. “Why?” You ask, tears brimming at your eyes. “I didn’t do anything to you! And you still tortured me, every night. Do you know how terrified I was? I am?”

“I’m sorry.” Jungwoo says, eyes downcast. “I didn’t even know I was projecting onto you at first. I would just get so consumed with what happened that night, and I guess you would relive the scene with me.” He takes a slow step towards you and raises his head. “I never meant to hurt you, I’m sorry.” You nod, because what can you say? Jungwoo doesn’t seem to know either and he stands there, shifting from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at you. “So.” You start, head tilting to the side curiously. “How does this work?” “How does what work?” Jungwoo seems surprised, but whether it’s by your question or by the fact that you’re able to string a coherent sentence together is lost on you.

“I dunno. This. Like are you a ghost? Do you just like, live inside my head now.” “Yeah, I mean I’m dead so I must be a ghost. Haven’t had much time to talk to people and ask.” It’s not meant to be funny, but you can’t stop yourself from laughing. You clear your throat to cover it, trying to focus your energy on your next words. He doesn’t look too hurt at your amusement, though. His eyes are twinkling.

“Hmm let’s test it. If you live in my head, you should be able to hear my thoughts right?” Jungwoo stares at you, bringing one hand up to stroke his chin thoughtfully. Finally, he snaps his fingers. “Got it! You want pizza.” “Nope! I want you out of my head.” Your smile is sickeningly sweet. Jungwoo rolls his eyes, tongue sticking into his cheek briefly before laughing.

“Well, I want to be alive but here we are. Guess we’re at a standstill.”

Guilt fills you and you open your mouth to apologize, but Jungwoo disappears right before your eyes. You try to call out after him but it’s too late, the dream’s over. The annoying beep of your alarm replaces his soft laughter and you groan, fumbling with your phone to turn the sound off.

Classes pass quickly for once, although you’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t register any of the material. You’re done for the day before you know it, finding yourself at a cafe with Johnny. “You’re in a good mood.” He comments, looking at you with his eyebrows furrowed. “Did you get replaced by aliens?” You roll your eyes. “I can be in a good mood, Johnny.” It’s rarely true because you’re normally running off of approximately six minutes of sleep, but hey, it still counts.

Johnny raises his eyebrows. “Y/n, you’re never in a good mood. Not even when your best friend is here.”

“My best friend is here? Where?” Johnny gives you a deadpan expression and you laugh, popping a grape into your mouth. “Kidding, you know I love you. But guess what: I actually slept last night!” He gasps so obnoxiously loud that he inhales the chip he was holding and chokes around it, slamming his hand down on the table and hacking his lungs out. You put your head in your hands until he finally recovers. “You slept? You actually slept? Holy fuck, you did get replaced by aliens!”

“No aliens, John. No nightmares either.” Johnny, though he’s your best friend, doesn’t know the details of your dreams. He knows that they’re bad enough to make you cry and curl up in his arms from time to time, knows that you chug energy drinks to avoid sleeping, but that’s about it. No gruesome murders in sight for him.

“Holy shit, that’s great! We should celebrate.” Johnny reaches across the table to high five you, grinning from ear to ear. “Wanna come over and crack open a few cold ones?” He bites his lip and you know that it’s taking all of his effort not to finish that sentence.

You appreciate it, but you shake your head. “I’ve got a lab report to finish plus like two papers due. I really don’t have time.” That’s only slightly true. Yes, you do have homework, but you normally wouldn’t let that stop you. The itch to see Jungwoo again, however crazy it may sound, is driving you crazy and for once in your life, you can’t wait to fall asleep. Seeing Johnny’s expression drop makes you feel a little bad for bailing on him with a ghost. “Maybe this weekend?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Johnny grins again. “Hopefully you get to sleep tonight.”

The nightmares seem to go away permanently after that. Your dreams always take place in that one room, but Jungwoo’s always there to greet you. A month passes and you learn a lot about him, almost to the point where you see him as a friend. Almost. Because you can’t really be friends with someone who isn’t alive, right? But he feels real. His spirit is still alive, to the point where you forget he’s a ghost who you can only talk to in your dreams, and that’s what matters. Except tonight when you fall asleep, you open your eyes to sand and salt water, gentle waves calmly lapping at the shore. Strange. Jungwoo sits with his back facing you, knees drawn up to his chest. He doesn’t look up when you sit down next to him, but he does speak when you say his name softly.

“I think I figured out why I came back.” Jungwoo says, eyes concentrated on the water. “My brother’s in danger.” His head drops to rest on his knees and you pat his back, not knowing what to say.

You don’t learn what Jungwoo meant until the next night, the man so distraught that he isn’t able to form words before your time’s up. The scene is different again this time, a playground replacing the beach from the night before. Jungwoo sits on a red plastic swing, his feet dragging on the ground sadly.

“Hey Jungwoo.” You call out the greeting gently, taking a seat next to him. “Are you okay?” He nods, laughs a little. “Yeah, sorry for freaking out last night. It’s just. It’s a lot.” “Sounds like it is. You wanna talk about it?” You pat his knee comfortingly and he stares at your hand for a long moment before covering it with his own.

He tells you about his brother first, about how much he misses Mark, about how bad he feels for leaving him on his own. Mark’s younger than him, but only by a year, and he was nowhere near as good as him at FIFA. He tells you that he doesn’t remember who killed him, but that as soon as he was transported to the beach, he knew his brother was in danger. There’s no explanation on how the beach told him that, but you have no place questioning the afterlife. You listen patiently throughout the whole story, and it seems to help Jungwoo, his shoulders sagging with relief when he’s done.

“So whoever killed me,” Jungwoo squeezes your hand, stares at the woodchips dragging around. “They’re going to kill my brother next.”

“So we find your killer. Easy.” You squeeze his hand back. “Mark’s going to be okay, Woo. I promise.”

Tonight’s dream takes place on a rooftop. There are lights strung up that lead you straight to Jungwoo, the man facing you with a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. His arms are outstretched and you walk into them, sighing softly when he wraps you in his embrace. Lips press to your forehead and you swear you’ve reached heaven. “Dance with me.” He whispers it as if you have a choice to disagree with him when he looks this good. You nod and bury your face in his chest, swaying with him under the stars. There’s music playing now, music that you didn’t hear before, and he hums softly to it as you dance. A squeal leaves you when he spins you, dipping you down before pulling you close, your back to his chest. His lips graze your ear and he laughs before spinning you back around and pulling you into a kiss.

It feels so good and you find yourself getting lost in his touch. The warmth of him against you, the solidness of his chest under your palms. It’s so nice, so comforting, so… real. But it can’t be real. Because this is a dream, because Jungwoo is dead. The thought is enough to jolt you out of your haze and you try to pull back, need to pull back, but the hand on the back of your head holds you still and it feels so good that you almost don’t want to pull out of his embrace. “Jungwoo,” you mumble his name against his lips, not wanting to pull away from the kiss but needing to know the answer to your question. “Jungwoo, are you real?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Jungwoo chuckles, pulling you back for more. “Don’t I feel real?”

A gasp leaves you when his hand slips lower to your ass, squeezing before slipping between your thighs. He finds little resistance, easily reaching under your dress and past the thin panties you’re wearing to swipe through your folds and enter you, stretching you out deliciously well. You cling to him as if he’s your life line and not the other way around, letting him take you apart with his fingers. His name leaves your lips in a sob and you press your face against his neck, clutch at his shoulders. “Please, Jungwoo, please.”

Both of his hands slide to your ass and he picks you up easily, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically. He carries you over to the ledge of the roof, setting you down on the cool stone. He barely gives you time to take in what’s happening before he’s dropping to his knees in front of you, his eyes dark and so intense that you can’t look away from his gaze as he attaches his lips to your thighs. You slide one hand into his hair and he moans into your skin, the vibrations traveling through you as he kisses his way up your thighs and to your core. A sigh leaves you and you put your other hand behind you for balance, your heart dropping to your stomach when your fingertips wrap around the edge of the balcony. “Jungwoo!” You yelp immediately trying to stand up when you look behind you and see the darkness below you, decorated with lights from buildings so far down that they’re almost as tiny as the stars above you. “Jungwoo, I’m gonna fall. Ohmygod I’m gonna fall, Woo-”

“Shh,” Jungwoo hushes you, rubbing your thigh soothingly. He reaches for your hand and laces your fingers together, taking a moment to press his lips to the back of your hand. “Look at me, y/n. You’re not going to fall, okay? I’ll always be here to catch you if you do.” Something in his eyes looks so honest, so sincere, and you find yourself nodding slowly.

“Okay.” Your voice comes out as a whisper, too scared to raise it any louder and break the moment between you. “I trust you.” Jungwoo smiles up at you one more time before lowering himself down to your core. His free hand lifts the edge of your dress up and he takes his time rubbing slow circles into your clit, sighing out praises about how good you are when you shake from the unbearably intense sensation. His eyes stay on yours the whole time, even as he lowers his mouth to your pussy and eats you out like a man starved. It feels so good that you can barely process it, squirming against him and letting your eyes roll back.

“Fuck, Jungwoo,” You whimper, feeling your orgasm build up in the pit of your stomach. “Shit, c’mere.” You use the hand buried in his hair to tug him up, pressing his lips to yours for a sloppy kiss that feels way too good for the moment. He rubs messy circles into your clit that have you clutching him tight to your chest, crying out his name so loud that you’re sure the entire city can hear you. “You like that?” Jungwoo asks, although his voice is so cocky that you’re almost entirely sure he knows the answer. “Fucking love it,” You pant out, orgasm so close you can taste. “Love you, ohmygod.” The end of your sentence cuts off with a whine as you come so hard you nearly black out, holding onto him so tightly you’re sure you would’ve broken at least one of his bones if this were real.

If this were real, if he were real. If this wasn’t a dream with a ghost. The realization washes over you like cold water and the dream disappears before you in a flash, leaving you trembling and empty in more ways than one. Your hand is tingling and when you look at it, you realize that Jungwoo didn’t let go the entire time.

You’re not in your bed when you wake up. It takes you a moment to realize it, the weight of your dream still heavy on your mind, but then you open your eyes and process your surroundings and realize that even though you’re awake, you’re back in your nightmares.

A scream leaves you and you jolt out of the chair, falling flat on your ass. You scramble backwards a good few feet before relaxing, realizing that your mind was just playing tricks on you. This is no nightmare place, it’s just your basement. Except…

That chair is definitely the chair from your nightmares- or well, Jungwoo’s murder. You’ve never seen it down here before, but then again, you never go into the basement. It’s been years since you’ve been down here, the room always giving you the creeps. And you’ve never sleepwalked- you can’t fathom why you’d be down here.

“Jungwoo?” You whisper, not even flinching at the gust of cold air as he materializes next to you. “Why am I down here?” “This is where I was murdered.” Jungwoo murmurs, his gaze distant, cloudy. You furrow your eyebrows.

“Here? Are you sure?” He nods strongly, not an ounce of hesitation on his face. You get to your feet and watch him pace around, tentatively poking at objects. A violent shudder runs through him when he touches the chair. “Jungwoo, this is my house.” He freezes. “This is your house? Then you must know who murdered me.”

There’s a long second where you just stare at him, not knowing what to say. Thoughts abandon you and your mind goes blank, leaving you to shake your head and stutter out objections. “W- No, Jungwoo, I can’t-” A deep breath, a heavy exhale. “No one ever comes down here, and I can’t remember the last time I even had people here.”

“Well someone had to come down here!” Jungwoo presses, motioning at himself. “Y/n, I’m dead. You could help me find who killed me.”

You spend hours thinking through every person you know, mulling over all of your friends and anyone else who has ever been to your house. Parents are ruled out immediately- they live across the country, first off, and your mom nearly cries whenever she so much as swats a fly. Jungwoo tries to help, but he doesn’t know anyone the way that you do, and he’s a tad bit negative.

“Okay, but how do you know they’re not killers.” He asks, tone flat. “I mean, do you have hard evidence? Because somehow none of them are killers, and yet…” He smiles humorlessly and holds his arms out, doing a twirl for you. “I’m dead.” “I’m trying.” You say tiredly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s just hard. Literally no one ever comes over, and I can’t picture my friends as killers. Plus, no one has access to my house except for me.” You purse your lips, staring at your sad little notepaper list with dozens of names scratched out. “Is it possible this happened before I lived here?” Jungwoo shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.” He doesn’t look convinced.

You purse your lips, groaning in defeat when your mind stays blank. “I’m sorry, Woo. We’ll figure it out eventually, I promise. I just can’t think right now.” “Hey, it’s okay. Thank you for helping and not like, I don’t know, calling an exorcist.” Jungwoo presses himself to your side, poking your cheek when you laugh, and his presence is so comforting that it’s easy to forget that he’s not really there. You swat at him good naturedly, your laugh cutting off early when you realize that he’s disappeared. You call for him a few times, panic racing through your mind, until he manifests again a few feet away from you.

“Ohmygod, I’m so sorry! Did that hurt you? I didn’t know that would happen!” You jump to your feet, reaching out to him on impulse before thinking better of it.

Jungwoo laughs softly, but his form flickers. “It’s okay. I guess you can only touch me in dreams.” He smiles, but it’s with his mouth closed tight. The chair becomes visible through his form as he flickers again.

The mention of touch jolts your memories and you scratch the back of your neck nervously. “Wait, Woo, I meant to ask.” He looks at you expectantly, humming for you to go on. “Last night, in the dream. Was that like, was that really you?” “Hm? Are you asking if it was real or not?” Jungwoo asks. You nod, unable to look away from his gaze. “It was me, y/n. I’m real.”

You nod, lips pursed as you think it over. Jungwoo smiles though it’s hollow, hard to see the usual light in him when he’s nearly translucent again. “I’ll see you tonight?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before vanishing, leaving you alone in the cold basement.

“Yeah.” You whisper softly, a dark cloud hanging over your head.

“What’s in the bag?” Johnny asks you, nodding towards your bookbag. It’s normally empty, save for a notebook or wallet, but today it’s stuffed full of newspaper clippings and binders.

“Nothing.” You shrug. “Just some old articles.”

Johnny thumbs through a stack of the papers before looking up at you, his forehead creased. “On murders?”

“Yeah. They’re interesting. Figured I should know the history of the town I live in, right?” You take a sip of your coffee, hoping you don’t look as insane as you feel. It’d taken you hours of searching to find those articles, digging through the library archives and reading murder after murder to find ones that seemed similar to Jungwoo’s case. They were unsettling, to say the least, and the fact that someone had taken a life under your own roof left you jittery. “I mean, I guess?” Johnny shakes his head and thumbs through a few more, hesitating at one of the clippings before shoving them back in your bag. “Kind of an appetite killer.” He says, pausing after a second and laughing. “Hah, get it? Killer…” The cold stare you give him has him sobering up quickly. He clears his throat. “Anyways. What else have you been up to? You’ve been kinda distant lately.” Have you been? Probably. “Sorry.” You shrug. “Caught up in my work, you know how it is.” Johnny wiggles his eyebrows. “Seeing a new man?” You shoot him a withering look. He throws his hands up innocently. “Woman? Person?”

The word ‘ghost’ is on the tip of your tongue, but that sounds insane even to you. You can’t be seeing someone whose body fades out of existence when you so much as blow air on him too strongly. “No, Johnny. I’d tell you if I was dating someone.” “Promise?” He asks. You hold your pinky out to him, interlocking the digits and offering him a smile. He grins back. “Good. You wanna come over tonight? Play some video games, order some pizza?”

It sounds good, and you really don’t want to be alone at your house after discovering it was the site of a murder, but you don’t want to leave Jungwoo. He’s kind of counting on you for something big, plus you have all those articles to show him…

At your hesitation, Johnny pouts. “Come on, I feel like I’ve barely seen you for like, a month. Please? It’ll be just like old times.” The promise of old times has your resolve fading, and you give into his whining. He cheers and knocks your coffees together, dramatically complaining when the liquid splashes onto his sleeve.

Taking a nap had seemed like a great idea when you had gotten home from lunch, but it’s the first time you’ve dreamt without Jungwoo in your dreams, and all of the nightmares were so genuinely disturbing that you wake up sobbing. Every room seems so foreboding that you can’t bring yourself to sit in the house any longer and you run out the door without any further thought. The rain soaks through your thin sleep clothes and you find that you have three missed calls from Johnny, but you don’t bother to call him back. You’ll be at his place soon enough, and the rain is starting to blue the screen too much for you to see. Or maybe it’s your tears, you can’t be sure, and you really don’t care.

You knock on Johnny’s door, stepping back and impatiently shifting from foot to foot before stepping forward and knocking again. Exhaling harshly, you raise your fist to knock again. The door opens.

A very disgruntled Johnny stands before you, one hand wiping at his face. His hair is disheveled and you have the conscious thought that he must have just woken up, but your brain is flying a million miles a second and you don’t have time to spend worrying about if you’ve interrupted his beauty sleep. “Y/n?” Johnny yawns out, opening the door wider. “You were supposed to come over like 3 hours ago.” His sentence goes unfinished as you push past him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him to the living room. With your hands on his shoulders, you push him down to sit on the couch. He looks less tired and more confused now, which makes sense considering he’s never seen you act like this- you’re not even sure that you’ve ever acted like this- but he keeps silent, trusting you enough to tell him what the fuck is going on. He patiently puts his hands on his knees, watching you pace around the area.

It takes you a while to formulate exactly what to say to him. How exactly do you tell your best friend that you’ve been helping a ghost solve his own murder without him attempting to send you to a psych ward? After a few moments of pacing, in which you accidentally leave a trail of muddy footprints on Johnny’s carpet, you pause.

“This is going to sound insane.” You start, facing Johnny. He nods encouragingly, motioning for you to go on. “I need you to believe me. Promise me that you’ll hear me out until the very end.” Johnny nods. “No, I need you to promise me.” Maybe it’s how frantic your voice sounds, or the fact that you’re soaking wet and still breathing heavily from your run, but Johnny promises without hesitation. His voice is soft and his eyes are wide and you thank God for giving you such a good best friend. You search his eyes with your own, and finding nothing but encouragement and trust, you begin.

“Okay, so. You know those nightmares I’ve been having?” A nod. “Okay, so apparently there’s a ghost living in my house that’s been like, projecting their memories onto me.” Johnny blinks, not even trying to hide the skeptical look on his face. “Before you say anything, I know it sounds crazy. But ghosts are real. Jungwoo- Jungwoo’s real.” Johnny inhales sharply. “His name is Jungwoo?”

“Yeah. He was murdered 4 years ago in my basement. My basement, Johnny.” You take a deep breath, shuddering. “Whoever did it is still out there, and Jungwoo thinks that his brother might be in danger.” You shift anxiously from foot to foot, hands wringing together in front of you until Johnny takes them into his own, thumbs rubbing over the backs of your hands to calm you. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but can you help me find him? I just need to make sure that he’s okay, and I know it’s silly that I promised a ghost but-” “I’ll help.” There’s a reassuring smile on Johnny’s face when he interrupts you, and you breath out in relief. “It’s okay, y/n. I believe you.”

You launch yourself forward into his arms, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I don’t deserve you.” Johnny laughs. “Yeah, you don’t.” He pulls back from the hug long enough to look you in the eyes. “For right now, let's go to bed, yeah? You really look like you need some rest.”

“Okay, so here’s his address. I mean, I think it’s his address.” Johnny looks over your shoulder at the satellite image of Mark’s house, nodding. “We can get there in about two hours.” Johnny hums, stepping away from the computer. “I can get us there faster than that, don’t worry. C’mon, let’s have some coffee and then we can go.” He makes sure you eat something that actually has nutritional value before you go, even going as far as to pack a bag before you hit the road. Johnny does his best to reassure you throughout the drive, but you’re a nervous mess. You compulsively take sips from the water bottle Johnny had forced you to take with and it’s empty in no time, leaving you to drum your fingers along your thighs and squirm with a full bladder.

The house looks so much bigger, so much more foreboding in person. Johnny gives you a reassuring look and after a deep breath, you knock on the door. It takes a few seconds before it creaks open to reveal a man around your age peering at you through black-rimmed glasses that sit crookedly on his face. “Hello?” “Hi, Mark?” he nods, looking you up and down. “Do you have a moment to talk? I just have a few questions, it w-” He’s already moving to close the door before the sentence is even out of your mouth. “Wait, Mark!” You manage to wedge your foot in the door before it closes and he groans, rolling his eyes.

“Look, I’m really not in the mood to buy anything, so if you could just please-” He tries again. “It’s about your brother!” You exclaim, finally succeeding in getting Mark to listen. He freezes and stares down at you dumbly. His eyes stay on you for a little too long before lifting to look behind you.

“Johnny?” Mark asks, eyes widening. “Is that you?” You look over to find Johnny standing behind you, a soft smile on his face. “Yeah, it’s me. How you doin, kid?”

Mark lets you into the house after tackling Johnny into a hug, offering you tea and a seat on the couch. “I didn’t know you knew Jungwoo,” You whisper to Johnny, watching Mark grab cups from the kitchen.

Johnny shrugs. “Never had a reason to bring him up.” He definitely could’ve brought him up earlier, like when you mentioned you were seeing his ghost, but you brush it off as nothing. Maybe he didn’t want to upset you.

Mark returns, offering you each a cup of tea before taking a seat on the couch opposite you. “Wow, it’s been so long.” Mark laughs, clutching his tea for dear life. “It’s so good to see friends of Jungwoo’s again. It’s like, it’s not the same as seeing him but. It’s nice.”

“Good to see you too, Mark.” Johnny smiles. “I looked all over for you after Jungwoo’s death, but I couldn’t find you. When did you move?” Mark sniffs. “Um, I think like a month after it happened. They arrested the guy that killed him and I dipped. It was too painful to see all those little reminders of him everywhere.” Mark sniffs again, and wipes harshly at his eye. It makes you tear up a little too, thinking about how fondly Jungwoo talked about his brother, how unfair it is that they got ripped apart so soon. One phrase sticks out to you and you manage to reel yourself back in before you start crying too hard.

“Wait, they caught the guy? Do you know who killed him?” You side eye Johnny because he must have known that the killer was caught already, and it doesn’t make sense that he didn’t tell you considering that was the sole reason for this trip.

“Um, well. Jungwoo uh, he had a sort of accident.” His hands are shaking, you notice. Some tea spills onto his leg. “He used to go out to all these parties and he swore he’d be safe but I guess he slipped up this one time.” Mark takes a deep breath and his voice cracks. “He was driving home from a party and he probably thought he was fine but he was way too drunk and he hit a pedestrian. He drove away but her boyfriend saw the whole thing and followed him.” Mark drops his head down and sobs a little.

Johnny moves to comfort him and Mark calms down after a few moments, skillfully changing the topic away from his dead brother. All the water that you drank in the car finally catches up to you and you excuse yourself for a second. Mark’s laughter rings clearly from the living room and you can’t help but to laugh too, smiling at Johnny’s ability to make everyone happy. You fix your hair in the mirror, a little spring in your step at the thought of being able to fulfill your promise to Jungwoo.

You wish he was with you right now as you walk down the hallway back to the living room. There are so many pictures on the walls, Mark’s accomplishments framed proudly. It sends an ache through your heart that you’re here to see all of this by yourself. It’s only then, when you’re picturing Jungwoo exploring the house with you, that you realize how quiet it’s gotten.

Frowning, you call out Johnny’s name. You get no response and call out again, finally catching movement out of the corner of your eye. “Johnny, why’d you sneak up on me?” A laugh leaves you when you turn to fully face him, cutting off only at the flash of color that slowly fades to black.

Your head is throbbing when you come to, vision taking a few seconds to clear up. A groan leaves you and you shake your head softly, coming face to face with Mark. A Mark whose mouth is covered with duct tape. You freeze, eyes widening, then look down to find that the rest of him is bound, too. “What-”

Panic surges through you when you realize that your hands and ankles are bound too, and you jerk your head to the side, frantically searching to make sure that Johnny’s okay. You don’t find him. It’s only you and Mark in the room. “Johnny? Hey, whoever the fuck has us down here better leave Johnny the fuck alone!” You might currently be tied up, but the fact that your best friend is missing and potentially hurt overtakes any concern you may have for yourself. Mark’s eyes widen and he shakes his head frantically. You furrow your eyebrows and go to ask what he means, but you don’t get the chance.

“Oh, don’t worry. Johnny’s just fine.” The sentence comes from the man himself, standing right in front of the door. Relief fills you, turning to dread the second he closes the door and flips the lock. “You however…” “Johnny? What are you doing?” You ask, watching as he rolls his sleeves up to the elbow.

He tips his head to the side, looking at you with confusion. “Isn’t it obvious?” The glint in his eyes matches the knife he picks up, the dim light catching on the shine of the blade. “For someone who apparently experienced Jungwoo’s death dozens of times, you should be able to figure it out.”

You blink once, twice, and then your eyes bug so far out of your head you worry they might fall out. A soft wheeze leaves you as your chest constricts, panic blooming in your gut. Johnny wheezes too, but his is a wheeze of laughter. He’s amused.

His eyes slide down to Mark, whose eyes are glimmering with fresh tears. “Did you know it was me Mark? Did you know it was me who killed your brother?” The boy shakes his head frantically, tears free-falling down his cheeks now. There’s some muffled cries that you think sound like no, but the tape traps them and makes him incomprehensible. “Really?” Johnny asks, stepping forward until he reaches Mark and then squatting down in front of him.

“Liar.” Johnny whispers, dragging the syllables out. The point of the knife presses into the boys throat, and while the noise Mark makes is barely audible, you can feel his suffering. There’s a tense moment as Johnny increases the pressure, Mark leaning backwards as far as he can to get away, before Johnny pulls it away. Mark exhales strongly, relaxing a little bit. He’s still crying. “It doesn’t matter, though.”

Tears would probably be rolling down your cheeks if you could process what was happening. But shock has taken ahold of you, and you can only watch helplessly as Johnny turns to glance back at you. “Thanks to y/n, now you’ll never get the chance to tell anyone.”

Johnny whips back around in record speed and slices the knife right through Mark’s throat.

A scream leaves you and you fall forward, unable to do anything but watch in horror as the line in Mark’s neck wells with blood, the poor boy convulsing in horror. A wretched gurgling noise leaves him as he chokes and frantically gasps for air, made even worse by the duct tape over his mouth. Johnny sets the knife down delicately and uses that hand to pinch his fingers over Mark’s nose, effectively shutting off his air-flow. The fight drains out of Mark’s body along with his life, and it’s just a few more seconds before he stills completely.

You can’t think of anything to say, can just gape at Mark’s body as Johnny lets go of him and the boy hits the floor. Johnny turns to you next, picking the knife back up.

“It’s a shame you’re always so curious, y/n.” Johnny sighs, shaking his head. “You’re my best friend, I’m going to miss you.”

There’s the faintest breeze against your cheek bone, your hair blowing to tickle the back of your neck. You try your best not to shiver when it starts blowing against your wrists. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s not a draft from an open window, but it’s Jungwoo. He’s not visible, probably because he’s focusing his energy on freeing you. If Johnny notices anything wrong, he doesn’t say anything. Your wrists aren’t free yet, but you can feel the rope loosening. If you can buy yourself some more time…

“Why are you doing this? Why did you kill Jungwoo in the first place?” Your question obviously catches Johnny off guard and he stops walking, glancing off to the side and sighing softly. He seems to have an internal debate but then he shrugs, settling down on the floor across from you. It calms you a little to have him seated instead of looming over you, and you try your best to stay absolutely still.

When Johnny speaks, there’s a hint of regret in his voice. It’s hard to tell if it’s manufactured or not. “Jungwoo and I were best friends. We always had each others backs, always told each other everything. Ride or dies.” His eyes lower to his knife and he smears the blood around the blade with his thumb. “I was the one who hit the girl. I was drunk and it was stupid, but when I called Jungwoo to help me get rid of the body, he refused. He wanted to call the police, y/n. The police.” His eyes are brimming with tears now, and he looks up at you with an urgency that tells you to believe him. You don’t of course, and you can’t tell if he’s trying to convince you of his innocence, or himself. “My own best friend wanted to turn me in, y/n. I couldn’t let him do it.”

“How did you even get into my basement?”

“You were at a training retreat in the mountains for that job you ended up hating that weekend. I knew that your house was empty and where the spare key was, plus I knew that no one ever went into your basement.” Johnny shrugs. “His body’s in the backyard, in case you were wondering. Buried him under the dahlias.” The red dahlias, your mothers favorite plant. How many times had she gone out to water and tend to the flowers, unknowing of the poor boy who lay beneath? Your breath catches in your throat and you finally can feel tears pricking the back of your eyelids.

“You’re sick.” The sentence is barely above a whisper, but it carries enough weight with it. Johnny’s entire demeanor changes, his face twisting into an ugly scowl.

“I’m sick? I’m not the one that was going to betray my best friend by letting him rot in jail! How fucking dare you.” The ropes fall off of your wrists and you grab onto them to prevent them from hitting the ground and alerting Johnny. All that’s left is the rope on your ankle, and then you can make your move. “Yeah? Aren’t you betraying your best friend right now? Just like you did last time?” “I should’ve used the duct tape on you.” He murmurs, tightening his hold on the knife.

There’s enough give in the ropes that you can wiggle your ankles. You just need a few more seconds. “Why didn’t you?” “Ran out.” Johnny breathes, lunging at you. You squeak and roll to the side, groaning when your legs refuse to function. Sitting on them for so long made them feel like jelly and they tingle as the blood rushes back to your limbs. “What the- you little bitch.”

Johnny attacks again and you dodge yet again, doing nothing but rolling around and avoiding him. You definitely can’t beat him in a physical fight, but you can probably beat him in other ways.

Johnny’s breath catches in his throat. “J-Jungwoo?” He stops moving, obviously trying to process how someone who is clearly dead can stand in front of him. Unfortunately, his body doesn’t quite get the memo, and he trips over Mark’s form. A sickly thud resonates through the room as he falls, followed by a deafening silence.

When Johnny doesn’t move for a few seconds, you step closer to examine him. The first thing you notice is that there’s a little stain under his chest that’s steadily getting bigger, contrasting starkly against the wooden floor. The second thing you notice is the acrid stench of blood, too strong for the small room you’re in. Third is the tip of the blade sticking out of his back. After checking his pulse and finding nothing, you roll him over. You find the hilt of his knife sticking out of his chest and your breath catches in your throat. He must’ve landed on it when he tripped. You slump against the wall and try to catch your breath, staring at Johnny’s limp body and waiting for him to lunge at you.

He never does. You look up to say thank you to Jungwoo, but you don’t get a chance. He looks right at his brother’s limp body and disappears, leaving you alone in the room.

You sleep as much as you can, hoping that Jungwoo will pop up in your dreams again. You cry when you sleep and you cry when you wake, until you get to the point where your eyes burn and your face swells and you can’t physically cry anymore. You cry until you’re exhausted and yet you can’t sleep, can only frustratingly toss and turn and scream silently through your raw throat, praying to a god that you don’t believe in to let you see Jungwoo, just one more time. That’s all you need. Just one more time to say goodbye.

Promises are mumbled into your pillow and chanted in your mind but there’s only so much you can do to keep them. You swear to never forget Jungwoo but the words are meaningless and do nothing to stop his face from fading. Slowly, his features become less clear in your mind, his laugh blending with countless others until you can’t differentiate them. You get him a proper grave in a cemetery, and you go from visiting his grave every day to going every few days, until weeks pass before you remember you wanted to leave flowers for him. The flowers last even less than your promises, wilting and rotting on the stone, becoming a sadly unrecognizable mess. You do your best to clean it, and you cry so hard the first time you see the mess that you almost black out, but it’s now a sight that doesn’t even phase you.

Time doesn’t stop to wait for you. It’s not long before you finish grad school and get a job offer in a city 1500 miles away, much different from this one. Your sister drives down to help you pack, easily helping you throw things that you need into a suitcase and counteracting your hoarding tendencies. Something catches your eye just as you’re leaving and you pick it up, frowning at the little resin flower.

“What’s that?” your sister asks, leaning in over your shoulder. “Is that a dahlia?”

“I don’t know.” you furrow your eyebrows, trying to place why it seems so familiar, before shrugging. It makes a hollow sound when you toss it into the trash that seems to echo much too loud for such a tiny object.

She heaves your suitcase into your arms. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

You don’t look back.

#jungwoo fic #nct fic #jungwoo smut #nct smut #nct angst #kim jungwoo angst #nct 127 angst #nct 127 smut #jungwoo angst #nct 127 fic #kpop smut #kpop fic #kpop angst #nct: almost

360 notes · View notes

tsukishumai · 4 years

Text

Chemical Reaction - Kuroo Tetsuro

Summary: When the universe hands you a second chance, will you be able to move on from the mistakes of your past?

college!Kuroo x fem!reader

a friends to friends w/ benefits to lovers type of deal.

Warnings: some light NSFW, slow burn, aged up characters, mentions of smoking, mentions of alcohol, fingering, cursing, and a little heartbreak. angst to fluff

Word Count: 7.3k (it goes by fast, I swear (′ꈍωꈍ‵))

A/N: Jesus... this started out as a prompt, but it snowballed into whatever the hell this is. And it was supposed to be done by Kuroo’s bday T-T but better late than never! I poured in a lil extra love into this, pls give it a shot, lmk what you think, and I hope you enjoy !

Your history with Kuroo Tetsuro went back a little bit further than you’d like to admit.

He had been in your class for all three years you were at Nekoma, but you had really only popped onto each other’s radars second year.

He had been assigned the seat next to you, and while you were upset that your best friend, Eri, had been sat all the way across the room, you didn’t exactly mind the view.

Right off the bat, you knew this was going to be trouble for you.

The guy was cute, funny, and smart. How hadn’t you noticed him before?

“Hey, L/N-chan,” he said, already making you blush with the addition of the honorific, “I have many chemistry jokes… but I’m afraid they won’t get a good reaction!”

You couldn’t stop either the face palm or the giggle that slipped out of your lips.

Kuroo was an easy person to get along with. He always greeted you in the mornings, and never really bothered you during class. On the rare occasion he stayed in the classroom for lunch, the two of you would strike up a conversation, but it never went past the surface.

Until about halfway through the school year. Your teacher had assigned a project that required a partner.

You looked to Eri, only to find the little traitor pairing up with the guy she had been eyeing since first year.

You sighed, not even mad at her for trying to shoot her shot.

“Want to be partners?” your head shot to the boy next to you.

“Uhm. Sure!”

And so it went like this; the project was due at the end of the year, requiring a research paper, and a 7 minute power point presentation.

Once or twice a week, the two of you would meet up at the school library either before school or after your club activities.

Kuroo was smart; smarter than you but you’d never say that to his face, so more often than not, the two of you would finish what needed to be done that day, and spent the rest of the time just talking, and getting to know each other.

By the third time the two of you had gotten kicked out by the librarian for laughing too much, Kuroo suggested meeting at his house on the weekends.

Surely that doesn’t mean what you think it means right???

It doesn’t, lmao. This guy was a good student, he made sure you guys finished your parts, because there was no way he was going to get anything less than an A.

Oh, you guys finished a little early today? Great! L/N-chan! Help me with my receives!

As the weeks pass by, there was a mutual progression in the relationship, neither of you seeing each other as project partners anymore, and falling into a comfortable friendship.

For Kuroo, that is. You, on the other hand, just became way too good at acting like you weren’t falling in love.

The school year is coming to a close, and you turn in your project.

Surprise, surprise! You guys got an A.

Seriously, the teacher said she was going to start using it as an example for the future students.

You couldn’t even be happy about your passing grade; you were too sad that your time with Kuroo was ending.

“Well, it was really fun being your partner this year,” you said, and Kuroo cocked an eyebrow at you.

“Why do you sound like someone’s dying,” he joked, “Anyway, Kenma said he bought a new game, but it’s multiplayer. What time are you coming this weekend?”

Bitch, ya heart nearly jumped out of your chest.

For a little while, you were content with things being like that. You had become good friends with not just Kuroo, but Kenma as well. You guys weren’t always together, but definitely made a point to make time for each other.

While you guys were usually busy during the week, club activities, homework and school taking up most of your time, Saturdays at Kuroo’s had become a thing well into your third year. As much as possible, you would try to attend his games, and he would try to bring you snacks when he knows you’re stuck studying.

You tried really hard not to read into the things he would do for you.

Surely, he’s also held Kenma’s bag while walking him home, right?

He’s memorized his whole team’s schedule; it’s nothing special if he also has yours memorized.

You know that he only brought you lunch today because he had to share half of his when you forgot yours.

All normal friend stuff, right! Right?!

“I met a cute girl the other day,” he said to you absentmindedly one morning before class.

Wait. Your chest shouldn’t feel so tight, should it? Your eyes are swimming, and your head is floating. Every breath feels like lead in your lungs, and you kinda wished the ground would swallow you whole.

“Oh, Really?” you tried to be nonchalant, and hoped he didn’t notice the shakiness in your voice.

He nodded. “Yeah… she’s kinda funny.”

But you were really funny, weren’t you? You were the one that made him laugh like a hyena, made him clutch his stomach and gasp for breath, right?

“Is that so?” your mouth felt like sandpaper, “Why don’t you try taking her out on a date?”

You wish you had never said those words.

You knew the girl he was talking about; you had seen Kuroo approach her in the hallway.

She was your teammate in the track and field club; not one of the fastest, but she was beautiful, kind, friendly, and Kuroo was right – she really was kind of funny.

“You should have told him first, you know,” Kenma had mumbled from next to you once, eyes never leaving his game while yours quickly shot him a glare.

It was just the two of you at the lunch table – Kuroo mumbling an excuse about having plans with another “friend”.

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

Kenma just rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

You spend the next few weeks avoiding him; it was easier since he didn’t sit next to you in class anymore, you weren’t really replying to his texts as often, you stopped visiting him and Kenma at practice, and you had missed the game you had told them you would try to go to.

You were kind of starting to realize that it was mostly you that had to go and seek them out.

Now that you weren’t doing these things… where was he?

You would catch a glimpse of Kuroo when he would visit your teammate during practice; he would try to greet you but you’d only shoot him a tight smile.

So when you heard a loud knock on your door at eight o clock in the evening, the last person you expected was the roosterhead himself.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I could tell something was bothering you, and I’ve been trying to give you your space, but… it’s been weeks now so, I just have to know… Are you avoiding me?”

You didn’t really know what to say, if there is even anything else to. Even with your head down and eyes trained to your feet, you could feel the burn of his gaze.

“I...” the deep timbre of his voice always managed to give you chills, “I miss you.”

Is he fucking serious right now? He’s so smart, yet he can’t put two and two together? He can see his opponents’ moves before they happen, yet he can’t even see you standing right in front of him?

“I have feelings for you, Kuroo,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Kuroo’s eyes widened by a fraction, his mouth slightly hung agape, dumbfounded by your seemingly random confession.

Except, it wasn’t random to you. You’ve been harboring these feelings for months, and after hurting yourself by staying silent for so long, you decided that you deserve better.

You’ll accept whatever the outcome, if that’s the price for your peace.

“Y/N…” it took him a long time to finally speak, and you try to ignore the fact that this is the first time he’s called you by your first name.

His face clearly showed his struggle to get the words out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I –“

You raised your hand. You didn’t really want to hear any more than that.

“It’s okay,” you said, giving him a small smile.

And with that, you shut the door on Kuroo Tetsuro.

You do your best to move on, smiling and laughing with friends you wouldn’t usually talk to you, ignoring the ghost of your past that haunt you every time you walked passed by Kuroo and your teammate down the hall.

You throw back a laugh at whatever the person next to you had said, turning away to miss the fact that Kuroo’s eyes always followed you wherever you went.

Graduation day came and in the blink of an eye, your days at Nekoma were behind you.

The days passed, the seasons changed, the flowers bloomed, and then they died.

You started university, moving to a different city and living with the very same best friend whose betrayal to quench her own thirst became the catalyst for your greatest heartbreak.

You’ve forgiven her for that though, you guess.

Life in college was the breath of fresh air that you needed.

New things to learn, new places to discover, and new faces to help you forget the scars of old ones.

Years pass by, and while you’ve allowed yourself to feel the touch of others, allow them to make you laugh, allow them to make you cry, you’ve never really allowed yourself the luxury of falling in love again.

Who has time for that any way?

Definitely not you. You just needed to finish your undergrad, and get into med school.

You had plans for your life, you weren’t going to compromise your dreams just for another person, and no matter whom you dated or how much they liked you, this fact had always rubbed them the wrong way.

You were finally starting your last year at your undergrad, quite possibly one of the most important years of college, what with your thesis, med school applications, and your entire future pretty much on the line, no big deal.

Your first class of the day was chemistry. You had been avoiding the last chemistry class required by your degree, all of your friends telling you that it was one of the hardest classes they’ve ever taken, and so naturally, you ran away for as long as possible.

The class wasn’t due to start for another fifteen minutes when you walked in, giving you a perfect opportunity to grab a seat of your liking.

You ended up choosing one in the third row – you knew that if you sat in the back, you wouldn’t pay attention.

You take out your laptop, books, and all required materials, using this free time to check any emails from your professors.

You were checking the time – 5 minutes left until class started – when you were interrupted.

“L/N-chan?”

Your feel your body stiffen up at the sound of a voice you hadn’t heard in years.

You turn your head to your left, hoping to all the gods that maybe you were mistaken.

“Kuroo?” you said in disbelief, and oh honey… you could not believe he was standing right before you.

Kuroo seemed like he hadn’t changed at all. His hair seemed a little bit more managed, he was a little bit taller, his muscles filled out his shirt better… but he still had the same goofy smile on his face, and that undeniably mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“What are you doing here?” you blurted out. “I thought you went to a university in Tokyo?”

“I did, but I transferred this year,” he said, “This university has a great marketing program.”

“I can’t believe it,” you mumble out, more so to yourself than him, “It’s been years.”

He gave you a smile. “It has.”

He took the seat next to you, much to your surprise. You almost wanted to open your mouth in protest, but what could you say? ‘You can’t sit there’?

You were thankful that the class had only gone over the syllabus, because you didn’t hear a word the professor said.

When you told Eri about it later, she just laughed.

“I always thought Kuroo-san was a nice guy,” she commented, her back turned while she cooked the both of you dinner.

“I never said he wasn’t,” you said, throwing back the rest of the wine in your glass.

“What, you still like him or something?” Eri teased, plating the noodles she had created and setting it in front of you.

“Of course not,” you grumbled, stabbing at the plate with a fork, and the amused look on Eri’s face tells you that her silence was just to placate you.

The next few weeks of the semester went by without any incident.

Kuroo stayed in the seat next to you, and you didn’t let yourself wonder why.

You were proud at yourself for being able to talk to Kuroo the way that you were; he still made the same stupid chemistry jokes in high school, but now you felt like you could laugh at them without choking on the air around you.

It was easy.

Until it wasn’t.

“Alright everyone,” your professor began one rainy morning, “We’re about halfway through the semester, and this is usually around the time I like to assign a little project.”

All of a sudden, you felt a strange feeling of déjà vu.

“Now, it’s only going to be worth about a third of your grade in the class, so I suggest not slacking off on this one. This is going to require a partner, and before you go texting your bestie that you want to ‘link up’, I’ve taken the liberty of assigning your partner for you.”

Oh, Christ. You were praying you wouldn’t get partnered up with a dead weight.

“When I call your name, raise your hand so I could introduce you to your new partner.”

You waited patiently for your name to be called, but Kuroo’s had been called first.

“Kuroo Testuro.”

Kuroo raised his hand.

“Your partner will be... let’s see here… ah, L/N F/N!”

No. No fucking way.

Your arm involuntarily raised, the professor nodding his head in acknowledgement.

You slowly turn to face Kuroo, who had an unreadable smile placed on his lips, your professor’s voice droning on in the background.

“Well,” he said, laughter laced in his words, “Isn’t this familiar?”

At first, you felt incredibly apprehensive at the thought of being partnered with your high school crush, but at the end of the day, you were actually incredibly thankful.

Kuroo was just as smart and diligent as he was back then, and you had every confidence that your project was going to get the highest grade.

You tried to make it a point to meet in public places – cafes, libraries, and the like.

But soon, Kuroo suggested that it would just be easier and more comfortable to meet at either your place or his.

He only ever came by when Eri was home too, which would have been fine if the smirk on her face didn’t make you so nervous.

You noticed that his roommate was always around when you came over as well. You learned his name was Bokuto, and though he was a little loud, his presence was actually a little comforting.

Honestly, it all felt so… nostalgic. Whenever you would finish your work for the day, then the two of you would spend the time talking, catching up, and laughing at stupid jokes, almost as if the two of you were friends again.

Almost like nothing happened between you at all.

“Hey,” you started one day, curiosity getting the better of you after a particularly steamy conversation about past relationships, sitting on the floor with your iPad on your lap and homework strewn about all over the living room floor, “Whatever happened between you and that girl from high school?”

Kuroo just gave you a sad smile, and you thought she must have broken his heart pretty badly.

“Oh that…” he waved it off, “That was a mistake. A big one.”

You figured it was better not to ask any more questions.

Eri walked out of her room soon after Kuroo left that night, her arms crossed and leaning against the door’s archway as she watched you wash the dishes.

You guys are getting pretty close,” she mused.

She couldn’t see you roll your eyes. “Well, yeah, we were pretty good friends in high school.”

Eri let out a humorless laugh. “I stand by my statement that Kuroo-san is a nice guy,” she said, walking up next to you to place a hand on your shoulder, “But I haven’t forgotten how long it took you to get over what happened.”

Your hands stilled in the soapy water for a second, but you chose not to say anything.

“I’m just saying,” Eri started to walk back to her room, calling out her last words behind her shoulder, “Be careful.”

Eri’s words echoed in your head whenever you were with Kuroo.

Every time he offered to pay for your food, you made sure to insist you’d pay for it yourself. If he tried to grab your bag from your shoulder when you walked, you’d hold on tighter and say you were fine.

You didn’t avoid him like you did before, but you made every attempt to keep him at arm’s length.

It seems your attempts were all for nothing, however, when the semester ended.

“Amazing job,” were the words that came from your professor when giving your passing grade.

“We did it,” Kuroo said happily, the two of you making your way out of the class, “It’s finally over.”

“Thank god,” you laughed back.

“Hey,” Kuroo started, though he was looking at everywhere but you, “Bokuto’s gone and visiting his boyfriend for the weekend, but I was wondering if you wanted to come over for drinks later?”

You blinked, trying to even your breathing.

“You know, to celebrate the end of the semester, and acing that nightmare class.”

You should say no, right? Wait, but you’re grown now. You’ve moved on from what happened back then. The two of you did work really hard this semester, what’s wrong with celebrating your achievements?

“I think we’ve earned it,” Kuroo laughed.

“Yeah,” you said, and you were glad for it just from the smile that spread on his stupid face, “We really have! I’ll be there.”

“See you at eight?”

You nodded at his words as he waved goodbye, going your separate ways.

Ten hours later, you were sitting next to Kuroo on his living room floor, sake cup full to the brim as BNHA plays on his TV.

“Ah, Deku’s in the hospital,” Kuroo slurred, sake sloshing out of his cup when he pointed to the screen, “That’s a shot!”

The two of you threw back the warm liquid, and you were kind of worried that it didn’t taste like anything anymore.

“Kuroo,” you laughed, “We’re only on the second episode… and I think I’ve taken, like, twelve shots at this point.”

“This was your idea!”

“Well, I have another idea,” you started to get up, causing Kuroo to get up as well, “Let’s order take out!”

He laughed at your red face, agreeing with you.

You started to make your way to the couch, but all of a sudden, you felt dizzy, a head rush taking over your senses as you stumbled over your feet.

Kuroo caught you before you could hit the floor.

“You okay?” he laughed, and the sound of it elicited a laugh from your own lips.

In a second, the two of you erupted in giggles, snickering at nothing in particular while his strong arms still held you in place.

Suddenly, you were hyperaware of his touch on your skin, and you let your eyes trail from the strong hands around your waist, to the golden honey eyes that were already staring at your face.

You can’t exactly remember how, but the next thing you knew, you were pinned under Kuroo on his bed, his soft lips moving in tandem with yours while his hot tongue took over your whole mouth.

Your arms were looped around his neck, and he slid his calloused hands up your arm.

You felt his hands grip onto your wrists before he pulled them off his necked and pinned them onto the mattress.

You took in a deep breath once he disconnected from your mouth, planting a trail of kisses along your jaw line and down to your neck, before you slid his tongue across your supple skin.

You shivered, acutely aware of the fact that he has you trapped.

“Be careful,” Eri’s words echoed in your mind.

Fuck, you tried to think but it was hard when Kuroo just threw his shirt across the room, hovering over you with chiseled abs and defined muscles.

The heat returned to your body when he lowered his head, and popped a hard nipple into his mouth.

Your body arched at the feel of his teeth grazing against your skin, goosebumps racing when he dipped his hand beneath your underwear, a slender finger gliding down your folds before inserting into you.

You weren’t prepared for the intrusion, and he captured the gasp that came out of your mouth with his lips.

He was now holding down both of your wrists with one hand, never realizing that he was that much bigger than you.

He slid out his finger, bringing it to his mouth to give a long lick, before dipping his hand back down, and pushing in two.

You threw your head back when Kuroo curled his fingers, wondering how the hell he was able to find your g spot so quickly.

You felt like an animal caught in his trap, caged in with your arms pinned down, no choice but to let Kuroo draw out your orgasm while he pumped and curled into you, circling his thumb over your swollen clit.

Your legs were shaking while you screamed out his name, embarrassed that you were cumming so hard when he hasn’t even actually fucked you

He didn’t give you a chance to recover from your orgasm

In one swift movement, Kuroo let go of your hands and pulled out his fingers so he could grab a leg in each hand to fold you over in a press.

You don’t even know when Kuroo had taken his pants – or yours – off, and you didn’t have time to wonder.

A moan escaped your lips at the feel of his length filling you up, and you distinctly hear Kuroo tell you to say his name.

“Kuroo,” you moaned, bringing your hands to his shoulders, grasping at his body.

Every buck of his hips shot a jolt of pleasure throughout your body, unable to escape the feeling with Kuroo holding you down in place.

Who the hell would want to escape from here anyway?

“My first name,” he growled, quickening his pace when he felt your walls tighten around his dick.

“Tetsuro!” you screamed without a second thought, the brutal rhythm Kuroo has set driving heat onto your stomach, repeating his name over and over even after you feel your pussy gushing all over him, your cum dripping down from his shaft to his balls.

“Fuck,” Kuroo growled out, driving into you one last time before he spilled hot white, trying hard to catch his breath while coming down from this high.

The two of you lay together in the darkness for a while, your head on his chest and his arms around his shoulder.

The silence that surrounded the room was comfortable; almost like a bubble of peace that neither of you wanted to pop by saying anything.

“Be careful,” Eri’s fucking voice told you, yet again

While you didn’t regret what had just happened between you and Kuroo, doubts were beginning to creep in your mind.

What the hell was supposed to happen now? You’re not sure if Kuroo was expecting this outcome when he invited you over for drinks, but it happened, and you’re not really sure where to go from here.

You’ve already built a life for yourself – one that was truly yours – and you had a path that you had every intention to follow.

Would Kuroo be like every other guy and run away when he finds out you’re not compromising your plans for him? Would you even want to try to fit him into your plans?

You shake your head.

Jesus, get a grip. A guy dicks you down /once/, and all of a sudden you’re thinking about this shit?

“Y/N? You okay?” He asked from beside you.

You lift your head from his chest, sitting up so you could lean your back against his headboard. Kuroo was quick to mirror your actions.

“Kuroo,” you begin to tell him, and he frowned a little at the sound of his last name, “That was… amazing.”

Kuroo blushed a little at your compliment, though he knew it didn’t stop there. “…But?”

“But,” you bit your lip, “I’m not really looking for anything serious right now.”

Kuroo didn’t respond right away, but maybe that’s because you just kept babbling. “It’s just… I have so much going on with school, not to mention grad school applications are due in a few months, and who knows which university I’ll end up going to after graduation…”

You finally had the courage to look at him, and you caught a glimpse of what you would have thought was sadness in his eyes if it hadn’t been blinked away so quickly, soon replaced with that same unreadable smile.

“Whatever you want, Kitten,” he replied, “This doesn’t have to be anything more than what it is.”

You let out a breath of relief.

He walked you home that night (or morning, considering it was 1am), still trying your best to set boundaries even though you pretty much let him thoroughly wreck you.

He didn’t give you a kiss goodbye, instead sheepishly waving when he sees you entering the door to your apartment, saying he’ll shoot you a text tomorrow.

You thought things would be weird between the two of you after that night, but you were happy to find that it wasn’t.

You had managed to rekindle your friendship with Kuroo – meeting up to study, grabbing lunch if you had the time, maybe catching the occasional movie.

Though, you didn’t tell Eri about the added benefits.

(Kuroo Tetsu-hoe) Today: 12:37AM

You up?

[To: Kuroo Tetsu-hoe] Today: 12:49AM

Yeah, doing my Lit. paper.

(Kuroo Tetsu-hoe) Today: 12:50AM

Wanna do me instead?

[To: Kuroo Tetsu-hoe] Today: 12:58AM

Say less.

ou didn’t have to tell Eri about the added benefits – she wasn’t dumb, where else would her roommate be going in the middle of night?

You’ve had other men before, going through your fair share of sexual experiences before climbing into bed with Kuroo.

But he was still managing to show you new things, reaching spots you never even knew existed before, putting his mouth in places that made your eyes water and lungs burn from gasping for air.

You can’t explain the feeling you get when he’s running his hands across your body, and when he stares at you and nothing but you while he’s pumping into you and making you feel so full in more ways than one, it’s something akin to a chemical reaction.

There was one time, when he took a belt, secured it against his head post before he brought your legs up to –

“Earth to Y/N,” Kuroo said, waving a hand in front of your face.

“Sorry,” you said, shrugging your shoulders, “I was having a flashback.”

Kuroo smirked, knowing exactly what you meant.

The two of you were lying in bed, your back against his chest and a strong arm wrapped around your waist.

You laid your hand on top of his, fiddling with his fingers and reveling in the calm that always came from being with Kuroo.

“What you thinking about?” You ask, and the way he stiffened up in your grip let you know that something really was bothering him.

It took him a little longer than you’d like before he replied.

“Do you ever feel like… you want more?”

This time, it was you that stilled in his arms.

“Be Careful.”

You turned around to face Kuroo.

“I thought we talked about this?”

Kuroo’s eyes searched your face, for what, you have no idea. But you stared back with just as much intensity, hoping that he would find the answer he was looking for.

Fear. That’s what was written all over your face.

Kuroo let out a humorless laugh. “Forget I said anything.”

He stood up to put his boxers on and slipping on a shirt before heading out onto the balcony that was attached to his room.

You gave him a few moments before getting up to gather your clothes from the floor, silently putting them on before you joined him outside.

You find him leaning against the balcony railing on his forearms, a cigarette lit in one hand.

He doesn’t turn his head towards you, but he does offer his cigarette, and you take it quietly.

You bring the white filter to your lips, taking a deep drag, closing your eyes when you feel your head get lighter, and releasing the smoke from your lungs.

“Kuroo,” you started, voice nothing but a soft whisper, “I’m sorry… I didn’t – “

He raised a hand to stop you.

“It’s fine,” he replied. “Like I said, forget I mentioned anything.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he said, taking his cigarette back from you and taking a drag himself, “Kenma’s having a party this weekend. They’re inviting over some old classmates from Nekoma. He says he misses you. You should come.”

Your ears perk up at the invitation, excited at the thought of seeing your old friend and a little happy that he’s moving past the subject.

"Kenma? Is having a party?”

Kuroo laughed. “Alright. Yaku is having a party, but we’re doing it at Kenma’s place. It’s actually not that far from here, just one train ride.”

You chuckled, shaking your head knowingly.

“Yeah, I’ll go,” you agreed, “But, uhm… I’ll just meet you there?”

Kuroo nodded. “Yeah. I’ll just meet you there.”

You didn’t see Kuroo the rest of that week.

You weren’t sure what it was – he wasn’t ignoring you, he replied to your text messages and answered your calls.

But he hadn’t once asked you to come over. And after what happened that night, you were scared to ask him to come over.

The night of Kenma’s party came, and you entered to find way more people than you had expected. You didn’t recognize more than half of the people there, but relief washed over you when Yaku threw an arm around your shoulder.

You didn’t see Kuroo right away when you arrived, but you were too distracted at the joy from seeing some of your old classmates.

You were half way through a game of beer pong with Lev as your partner before Kuroo was able to make an appearance.

He made his rounds, saying his greetings to everyone before stopping at you, giving you a friendly one armed hug.

You didn’t want to admit that you were a bit sad at the generic greeting.

Was it because maybe… you want…. mor –

“Y/N! Shoot the damn ping pong ball,” Lev exclaimed, and you were shook out of your reverie.

Kuroo excused himself, saying he was going to the kitchen to make himself a drink, but you were too focused on winning your game to notice.

Before you knew it, you lost three to two against Kenma and Yamamoto, cursing at Lev for forcing you to carry the team on your back.

By this point, the alcohol had spread all through your system. You were still able to walk straight, but with considerable effort. The words that came out of your mouth were just a little slurred, and you were kind of having a hard time controlling the volume of your voice.

“Where’s Kuroo?” you asked Yaku, who instantly shot a hand up to rub his ear.

“Jesus, woman, you don’t have to yell, I am /right here,” he grumbled, but he still let you sling an arm around his shoulders for support. “I thought he went into the kitchen to get some drinks?”

That’s right, he said that. But that was hours ago. Where could he be?

You stagger away from Yaku, pushing your way past unfamiliar bodies to get to the kitchen.

The first thing you saw when you tripped into the kitchen was Kuroo, dressed in a fitted black shirt and blue jeans, looking every bit the Greek God he was as he leaned against the counter. His arms were crossed atop his broad chest, a drink in one hand.

He was talking to someone, and you thought you recognized the long black hair that flowed from the back of their head, but were too distracted studying the veins that protruded from Kuroo’s forearms.

You opened your mouth to call out to him when the person in front of him stepped up, pressing their body into his. She uncrossed his arms and snaked two long arms around his neck.

You recognized her in that instant.

It was his ex from high school.

Looking down, you were surprised to see your clothes dry, because it felt like someone poured a bucket of ice water directly on top of your head.

“Be careful,” Eri’s words echoed in your head for the ten millionth time.

Yet here you were

In the same exact place you were a little over three years ago.

You scoffed at yourself.

Well, there’s nothing else for you here now, is there?

You shoot Yaku and Kenma a quick text in a group chat to let them know you were leaving.

The air outside was cold, your breath coming out in puffs. You wrapped your jacket around a little tighter, cursing yourself silently for not wearing a scarf cause it’ll ‘ruin the outfit.’

“Hey, the party’s that way.”

The sudden voice behind you nearly made you jump ten feet in the air.

“Jesus, you really are like a fucking cat.”

Kuroo chuckled.

For some reason, the sound made you angry. You kept walking, following the path of dimmed street lights that led you to the train station.

“Yeah, but home’s this way.”

His heavy footsteps trailed behind you.

“Great, I was getting tired of the party anyway.”

“What are you doing here?” You finally turned your head to him and asked.

Your voice was surprisingly clear and even, despite the unsteadiness of the ground beneath you.

“What do you mean? I’m walking you home.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s late, and you’re my friend.”

‘Friend’. The word made you wince, even though you were the one that drilled the idea into his head.

“I saw you talking to your ex,” you grumbled, crossing your arms and turning the other direction.

You could practically feel his smirk.

“Oya? Is that jealousy I’m hearing in those words?”

You felt your face get hot.

“Of course not!”

- “I thought we were just friends?”

“Will you shut up for once in your life, idiot!”

He wanted to tease you some more, but was stopped by the pensive look on your face.

“Why would you leave the girl that broke your heart behind just to walk me home?”

Kuroo looked at you with a confused expression.

“Girl that broke my heart?”

You nodded. “When I asked you about her, you said she was a big mistake.”

Kuroo stopped walking. You turned your head back to look at him curiously when he doubled over in a full bellied laugh.

“Are you laughing at me?!” You asked incredulously, giving him a glare from where you stood.

“You... you think she’s the one that broke my heart?”

Kuroo wiped a fake tear from his eye.

“Wow. That was a good one.”

“What the hell are you going on about, Kuroo?”

The jovial look on Kuroo’s face slowly faded, the entertained smile on his face shrinking his lips into a thin line.

“Y/N, she didn’t break my heart.”

Now it was your turn to be confused.

“You want to know why I said she was a big mistake?” Kuroo took a step towards you, “It was because of her that I lost you.”

Your jaw dropped.

Kuroo ran his fingers through his hair, ruining the perfectly waxed locks that he had spent thirty minutes styling.

“Please don’t run away when I tell you this.”

You couldn’t move your feet even if you wanted to.

“The only reason I ever brought her up to you in the first place was because I wanted to see your reaction. I wanted to know if you would get jealous. But without hesitation, you told me that I should just go ahead and date her, and you know dumb young men and their pride... then... it just... snowballed into something I didn’t even...”

Kuroo couldn’t finish his sentence.

Your vision begins to shake.

“But... but I confessed to you!”

“Yeah, then you slammed the door in my face and stopped talking to me!”

You couldn’t deny that.

“Do you have any idea how confusing that was for a teenage boy? I had no idea what the hell was going on, one day, I blinked and I was stuck with a girl I didn’t love while I watched my best friend smile and laugh and walk passed me like I never even existed.”

You swallowed the guilty lump that was caught in your throat.

“All I knew was that you weren’t around anymore; you weren’t there to make me laugh with your dumb jokes, you weren’t coming over and leaving your presence all over my room, nothing, it was all gone, and it all felt so fucked up. Being without you felt so fucked up.”

Had Kuroo always felt this way? Were you really so busy running away from him that you couldn’t even see that he was hurting too?

“Now the universe or the gods or whatever brought me back to you, and it’s like everything makes sense again, and fuck, all I want to do is just show you how much I’ve missed you, how much I care, how much I love you.”

You gasped, and you were waiting for Kuroo to try and take those words back, but the resolve was painted in his eyes.

“But all you do is just keep me at arms length. You wanted to be just friends when I wanted everything.”

You choked back a sob, tears were now steadily streaming down your face.

Kuroo closed the space between you, wrapping one arm around your waist while bring his other head to wipe at your tears with the pad of his thumb.

“She wasn’t the girl that broke my heart. You were.”

He moved to place his fingers on your chin, tilting your head up to force you to look at his eyes.

He wanted you to see that he meant every single word.

“If this is all you’re willing to give me, I’ll take it. I’ll break my own heart. Every day, over and over again, if that’s what it takes to be with you.”

His voice was in a whisper now, bringing his lips to kiss both sides of your cheeks.

“Because I love you.”

He brought his hands to cup for your face before pulling you in for a kiss.

This wasn’t anything like you’ve ever experienced before.

Every time his tongue brushed against yours, you felt all the love adoration he was trying to convey in this one physical act, hoping he could transfer it all into your lips.

It felt like time stopped just for the two of you, to have this moment in the middle of the sidewalk, bathed in the orange glow of the street light that hung above you.

He pulled away finally, resting his forehead on yours for just a second before he engulfed you with his arms.

His head rested on top of yours, feeling the vibrations as he spoke.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he said nervously. “Do you want something more?”

You wiggle out of his grip just so you can move your hands up to caress his cheek.

“Tetsuro... I love you so much.”

Later that night, in the safety of your room and away from Eri’s judgmental eyes at the two of you stumbling in and giggling through the door, you trace small circles on Kuroo’s chest with your fingers while Kuroo had an arm wrapped around you tightly.

“Hey, Tetsu,” you broke the silence with a whisper, “What if I end up going to grad school that was... further away?”

Kuroo couldn’t help but smile and shake his head. You were never going to change.

Not like he would ever want you to.

“Y/N... we didn’t talk for three years, and not once did I stop thinking about you. A little distance isn’t going to get rid of me.”

You try to bury your face in embarrassment.

If he had to spend every day of the rest of his life reassuring you that he’ll be by your side no matter what, well - that’s just too easy.

You find yourself holding onto him a little bit tighter, making a silent vow that never again were you going to push away Kuroo Tetsuro.

477 notes · View notes

snackhobi · 4 years

Text

pairing: jungkook x (gender neutral) reader / word count: 20k / genre: fluff (author!reader, florist!jungkook)

summary: “You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.” or: the story of how you meet a pretty florist with soft hands and warm eyes, how he mends your broken heart, and how he helps you realise some other things along the way.

warnings: use of a few curse words, reader is self-deprecating and suffering from heartache towards the beginning (v mildly angsty ig? but dw it passes), but otherwise this is a Very Soft fic!

“It’s time to get up.”

“It absolutely is not.” Your voice is muffled under a layer of pillows and blankets, material pressing down on your body and head, covering you. A protective cocoon. “I’ve become one with my duvet and we shall never be parted.”

You yelp when the blanket is ruthlessly ripped from you. Your curtains have been thrown open and you can feel how the sun is streaming in through your windows, warming your skin, even if you can’t see it; there’s a particularly fluffy pillow smothering your face right now to keep the world outside at bay.

“This has to be against the Geneva convention,” you whine as your collection of pillows is similarly stripped from the bed, leaving you entirely bereft from their comfort and protection. You curl into a tight ball around your Pusheen cushion and try to protect her from Jimin’s grasping fingers— your final bastion of defence against him. “No! Not Pusheen! Please! Take me instead!”

Jimin rolls his eyes before stealing Pusheen right from your arms, ignoring your dramatic sob as she’s pulled from your desperate hands. He tucks the plush grey cat under his arm before fixing you with a stern gaze. “I said it’s time to get up,” he repeats, ignoring the chaos of pillows and blankets and toys now littered around him. “You know the drill, Y/n.”

You suck in a deep breath, filling your lungs with air before letting out a long, weary sigh. All your theatrics disappear with your escaping breath, strength seeping out of you. “A week of wallowing,” you say in a small voice, eyes squeezing shut. “I know.”

You don’t have to look up at Jimin to know what expression is on his face right now. You feel the mattress dip and then soft fingers are gently stroking the hair out of your face. “A week and then we get up.” His voice is soft as he repeats the mantra.

Your cheek drags across the cotton of your sheets as you open your eyes and turn your head into the hand that Jimin’s still drawing down your face. “You’ve always been better at getting back on your feet than me,” you say, and Jimin affectionately pats your cheek.

“You’re being melodramatic,” he says kindly. “You’ve seen me at my worst and you know that’s not true. I’m only good at getting back on my feet because I have you to lift me up, and I’m here for you too.”

“Can I have Pusheen back?” You sound hopeful as you pout at him, pushing your bottom lip out.

“You can have her back once you’ve showered and had breakfast,” Jimin says.

Your limbs are leaden weights as you drag yourself out of bed. The cold water of your shower shocks some life back into them, and you’re almost back to your regular self once you pull yourself from the bathroom, thoroughly scrubbed and refreshed. Jimin greets you with a fruit smoothie bowl, the most wholesome meal you’ve had in the past week; it’s infinitely healthier than the ice cream and snacks and junk food you’ve been shovelling into your mouth.

“I didn’t realise I had half this stuff in the fridge.” You use your spoon to swirl the oats and fruit into the yoghurt, muddying the pretty rippled effect Jimin had created with it. “I’m guessing you brought it with you?”

Jimin is eating eagerly from his own bowl and swallows down a spoonful of banana and berries before he responds. “No, it was already in there, actually,” he says.

“Oh, yeah.” Your free hand goes down to Pusheen, who’s safely in your lap, and you dig your fingers into her soft velvet skin. “Of course.”

Your face is twisted into a wince as you look down and continue to knead the cushion on your knees. Seokjin loves fresh produce, taking you to the farmer’s market for organic strawberries and blueberries and raspberries, lifting them up for you to breathe in their bright scent before laughing at how you go cross eyed at how close he brings them to your face. Your fridge must still be full of these reminders of him, food you’d bought for him, things he’d made for you.

“Well!” Jimin’s voice is loud and bright, cutting through your thoughts with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. “You better finish up— we’re going out soon and you’ll need all the energy for today!”

You’re immediately on guard, eyes narrowing at him. “Going out where?”

“Shopping, duh,” he says, raising his eyebrows at you. “You said you’d come with me and Namjoon to pick out stuff for our new apartment, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” It’s only been a week and it’s like you’ve forgotten that the world is still moving on around you, taking no notice of how your own world has been upheaved and irreparably fragmented. You know Jimin is being cheery and upbeat in an attempt to distract you from this, and it’s working, but it’s also highlighting exactly how much you’ve been wallowing. You normally never would have forgotten. “Alright, let me finish up and get my shit together and then we can go.”

Getting your shit together takes longer than it should. You have to wade through the piles of blankets on the floor to get to your wardrobe, and the desk in your office is in similar disarray, notes and stationery strewn across its surface from your week long stint of wallowing and writing about said wallowing.

You’d never planned on the romance in a novel about magic in the modern world to be so depressing, but hey. They always say write what you know and all you know right now is heartbreak.

(“I’m sorry. I just… don’t feel the same.” Jaerim’s voice is soft and gentle, even now, even as he’s breaking Lily’s heart, so tender as it falls apart in his hands. “You’ll always be my best friend, Lily, but nothing more.”

Lily’s smile is pained. “I know,” she says, her own voice small and weak. “I know. I just couldn’t hold it in any longer. I— I had to tell you or I felt like it was going to burst out of me. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll always love you, Lily.” Jaerim sounds sorrowful. “But not the way you want.”

Why had she ever expected anything different?)

You’ve been feeding all of your sadness and heartbreak into your most recent heroine, using your latest novel as a way of catharsis, but the problem is that your stories always have happy endings. Right now Lily may be heartbroken after a failed confession, but at the end of the story she’s going to be happy. You, however, will still be sad and lonely once the book is finished and for all that you project your hopes and wishes onto your main characters, you know your own story will never go so smoothly— real life is never as neat as that.

You pause when you catch sight of one of the Polaroids scattered on your keyboard. Seokjin’s beautiful skin is washed out and there's a glint of red in his eyes from the bright flash of your camera; it's a terrible photo and the focus is all wrong, but he still looks radiant as he smiles at you, ever beautiful.

The heroes you write are soft and kind and lovely; fierce and strong and admirable; talented and smart and impressive. You, however, are clownish and sarcastic and nonsensical. Just an absolute mess of rough edges and endlessly tangled thoughts. Unwanted. Undesirable. Unlovable.

(No wonder Jin— bright, brilliant, beautiful Jin— doesn’t love you back.)

You swallow and steel yourself before opening the top drawer of your desk to sweep all the littered bits and pieces of your life into it before slamming it shut, trying to ignore how metaphorically fitting it is, and then grab what you came here for in the first place: your camera. You loop the strap of the Polaroid around your neck so that you’re ready for the day ahead.

You know that Jimin thinks you should just stick to using your phone, considering the piles of film you get through, but there’s something about the whole instant photo process that just works for you. Maybe it’s just a writer/artist thing. Maybe it’s just a you thing. Either way, you like to take your camera everywhere so that you can take photos of things that inspire you and incorporate them into scenes of your stories.

(You have so many photos of Seokjin, and he’s reflected in so many parts of your books— from the jokes that characters tell, to things they eat, to hobbies they have. You may not have ever been so transparent as to project him directly onto the love interests of your main characters before now, but he’s ever present in other ways. There's a part of him in every thing you’ve ever written, even before you fell for him.)

(Your love for him must have been obvious from the start, and yet he’d never mentioned it at all.)

(What made you think it would be a good idea to confess?)

“Y/n?”

You look up from where you’ve been staring at the same bowl for the past three minutes, the leaf pattern stamped into its edge blurring together into eyes that are staring back at you. “Huh? Yeah? What?”

Over Jimin’s shoulder you can see Namjoon trailing around the small store, staring at some pretty wall-hangings with appreciative eyes. For all that Jimin had claimed to be concerned about his boyfriend’s taste in decor, they’ve asked for very little input from you, so you’ve been left alone to zone out for most of the morning and afternoon.

“I was saying Joonie has a suit fitting he needs to get to, so we were going to get that done before lunch,” Jimin says. “You’re welcome to come along as well if you want?”

“So I can watch someone ask your boyfriend which side his penis hangs down so they can tailor his slacks accordingly? I think I’m good.”

You sound almost like your usual self which is why you think Jimin lets this pass without comment— you’re very happy being independent but it’s true that you’re somewhat more delicate than usual so you understand Jimin’s worry.

“I’ll drop you a message when we’re done.” Jimin smiles at you. Behind him, Namjoon picks up a large ceramic crab, only to immediately drop it onto an incredibly fluffy shag carpet— which fortunately saves it from breaking. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Eh, take your time.” You keep hold of Jimin’s attention as Namjoon sheepishly attempts to pick up the crab, only to immediately drop it back onto the rug. “I haven’t been out for a while so I could do with a walk in the fresh air and sunshine. I’m sort of like a dog. Or a plant, I guess. Just with slightly more complex emotions.”

Namjoon has just put the crab back into place by the time Jimin turns around, though his hand lingers on it. “Baby, can we—?”

“You’ve already filled the quota when it comes to crab-themed decorations, Joonie,” Jimin interrupts.

When Namjoon looks at you with imploring eyes, you raise both your hands and step backwards. “Don’t involve me, I’m just an innocent bystander,” you say, before escaping so that Namjoon can (unsuccessfully) try to persuade Jimin to up the amount of sea-life themed decor allowed in their new home.

This part of the city isn’t one you get to often, but it’s really beautiful. You know Namjoon likes it around here, near the river, because there are a lot more offbeat and avant-garde shops than you’d find more centrally, a warren of curiosities and pretty places around each corner. You pass by shops selling antiques, fabric, jewellery; you pause to take photos of the eye-catching doorways into each of the shops, the mismatched bunting fluttering overhead, the utterly eclectic nature of it all.

You pass by a tiny baking shop and pause in your tracks, peering into the window at a collection of rolling pins— the wood is embossed with different designs that get pressed into the pastry when it’s rolled out, all sorts of pretty patterns on display.

Jin would love these, you think, and then you tear your eyes away.

Stupid.

You continue to wander through the maze of shops but now you’ve sunk into your own thoughts. Kim Seokjin. A close friend whom you’d been harbouring feelings for, for so long now; it had been getting so hard to try and keep that love at bay, to try and shove it down inside you, keep it hidden and safe. But it had been bleeding out of you at every turn, in the way you moved and spoke and wrote, every sharp edge of you softened by your tenderness for him, impossible to ignore.

And so you’d finally let go. You’d let it out into the world, spoken the words you’d been holding onto for so long— and for a moment, just a moment, you’d had hope. Jin is bright and kind and lovely to everyone, but surely what the two of you had was a little more, a little different; all those hours spent together, the friendship you’d built, the language you’d created with each other of jokes and references that other people didn't understand. You’d thought it was something more.

You’d thought that maybe you could get your storybook ending. That maybe, for once, rather than having to imagine a mutual love and pouring that quiet desire into your books, it could be real— that the cheesy, embarrassing daydreams you’d always kept to yourself and only expressed through your writing could finally come true.

But no. Jin only loves you as a friend. You know he still considers you a friend, even now, for all that you’ve ruined things by opening your big dumb stupid idiot mouth; you’ve spent a week wallowing after his gentle rejection but you know he’ll still be waiting for you once you come back to yourself.

You’re just not sure how long that’ll take.

You’re finally pulled out of your reverie when a burst of colour catches your eye. There’s a soft blue bicycle which has been adorned with flowers and trailing leaves, part of a display in the front of a store that’s brimming with blooms, buckets set up in a cascading rainbow of colours. The windows are similarly full of plants, all enjoying the sunshine of the afternoon. Your eyes trail across the flourishing bouquets and then up to the sign, lovely and pretty, in what seems to be a hand-painted cursive: Spring Day.

You have a single, tiny cactus in your office— the only thing you trust yourself to keep alive— but screw it. You’re itching to buy something for yourself and everything seems so pretty in here. You might just buy yourself a fuck-off huge arrangement of flowers, as a sort of metaphor for the death of the hope you’d held in your chest, that your love for Seokjin might be returned.

That ship has sailed. You’ve cast it off from the shore and set it ablaze. You’re not sure they had bouquets at Viking burials, but it’s the 21st century now. You think you’re allowed to mix it up a bit.

A bell lets out a tiny, crystalline tinkle as you swing the door open, announcing your presence to anyone inside. The front counter is covered in plants, some larger, some smaller, with a few pots of flowers that you would be hard-pressed to name; there’s a glass bowl of water, too, that has unlit rose shaped candles floating in it. Cute.

You peer behind the large leaves of a ficus plant to see if there’s anyone behind the counter but it looks deserted. The only evidence that someone has been here is the book that’s open and resting face down on the wicker chair there— The Language of Flowers, okay, that makes sense, you guess. You take a sneaky photo of the set-up, something about it resonating in your chest; although there’s no one here right now their presence is still undeniable. It’s poetic, in a way. You love visual poetry.

You wave the photo about in the air to help it develop as you make your way towards the back of the shop. Spring Day seems surprisingly big, extending back farther than you had initially thought. It’s hard to gauge the actual size, with displays of flowers and plants everywhere and even hanging from the ceiling above. You meander through the store and pause to touch a hanging glass planter, which slowly spins and scatters light across you. It’s like every spare inch inside is covered, but somehow it doesn’t feel chaotic. It’s so pretty and peaceful here.

There’s clearly some sort of order to things even if you can’t tell what it is. Each display is labelled with the names of the plants and how to look after them, but just as you’re leaning forwards to read one, a noise catches your attention. You pause and tilt your head. Drifting closer to the source of the sound, you realise that it’s someone singing, a soft melody that you don’t recognise. You find that you step lightly, almost enraptured, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment with heavy footfall as you step into a greenhouse; you round the corner to find who’s singing and stop in your tracks.

There’s a pretty doe-eyed boy bent over a selection of blooms that he’s watering, white and yellow and purple and pink flowers softly trembling at the touch of the drizzle that runs over them, and it almost seems like they’ve turned towards the lilting tones that slip from his lips. You watch as he draws the watering can in a sweeping arc, the motion causing his earrings to move, catching your attention when the sunlight cascading in through the glass of the greenhouse shines off the glinting silver; his hair hangs a little in his eyes, eyelashes fanned across his cheek as he keeps his attention cast downwards, smiling at the flowers on display near his feet.

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you can see the definition of his arms, the flex of his muscles under a tattoo as he moves the heavy watering can without effort— and yet he looks like he belongs here, surrounded by flowers and plants and sunlight, soft and neat in his loose shirt, narrow waist cinched in by the ties of his apron. He turns the watering can a little further and you can see that the tattoo looks like a lily, petals unfurled over the soft skin of his inner arm.

You love visual poetry. And this man is poetry in motion.

It seems like he’s finished watering the flowers because he straightens up with a smile, song finally coming to an end. “All done,” he says to them in a quiet voice, and then he finally looks up.

He immediately startles when he sees you, water sloshing audibly in the watering can in his hands. You jump too, surprised at his surprise, the two of you like startled rabbits when you spot each other. Skittering around and trying to recatch your balance.

“Sorry, sorry!” You lift your hands in apology, holding them in front of your face as you wince. “I didn’t want to interrupt, you seemed really focused!”

The florist is blushing. He looks absolutely mortified, a pink flush stealing across his cheeks and the tips of his ears, betraying his embarrassment. “I, uh. It’s fine!” He stammers. “I wasn’t busy. Um. Can I help you?”

Your hands fall back to your sides, your heart immediately going out to this poor boy, who looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up. “I was just looking around, actually, when I heard you singing,” you say. “I didn’t mean to be like— a sort of weird voyeur, I guess? Sorry. Your voice is lovely, by the way.”

The flush has crawled down his neck. “Um, thank you?” You get the feeling he’s only saying this because you’re a customer, and if this were any other circumstance, he would have turned tail and bolted by now. Unfortunately he’s trapped by the fact he works in a retail job and he can’t escape. He shuffles a little from foot to foot as he resolutely avoids your gaze.

You take pity on him. What can you ask to change the topic? Hm. “Can you give me some advice about plants, actually?”

This seems to be the right thing to say. He carefully sets the watering can down, fingers plucking at the ties of his apron as he readjusts them, but he seems a bit more comfortable now that you’ve moved away from complimenting him and onto work related talk. “Sure,” he says. “What would you like to know?”

“I was wondering what sort of plant would be good for someone who’s only good with cactuses. I mean cacti,” you correct yourself. “I’d like something different, but I’m worried about killing it if I forget to water it. You know, the bane of every novice gardener’s existence— their own forgetfulness and ignorance. Of which I have a lot. I am spectacularly ignorant.”

The florist blinks but then he gives you a little smile, finally glancing at you. His eyes are so lovely and deep, sunshine refracting from the greenhouse reflected in his eyes, points of brightness against that endless, warm brown. “I think everyone is guilty of under-watering plants,” he says, apparently unperturbed by how unsuitable you are to be a plant parent. “I think a peace lily might suit you. Would you like to come have a look and see if you’d like one?”

A peace lily. Lily. The name of your most recent novel’s heroine. How weirdly apt. “Sure, I’d love to see the lilies.”

As you follow him you notice that there’s still a little tinge of pink on the back of his neck, evidence of how he must feel embarrassed at being caught singing and talking to plants. You find it endearing, actually, but you’re not about to say this to a stranger, especially as he clearly wants this entire interaction over and done with as quickly as possible.

The peace lily turns out to be a pretty white flower, emerald green foliage curling out from the simple unglazed pot the florist hands over to you with an infinite amount of care. He holds it delicately— it looks so small in his careful hands— and makes sure you’re fully supporting its weight before he finally lets it go. Your fingers brush his as he does and you notice how he draws back immediately, shy.

“You don’t have to water her regularly, you can just touch the soil to see if it’s moist and give it a little top up if it’s not. Even if you forget, as long as you water her when she starts to droop a little she’ll be fine. Just make sure she gets a little sunlight and you wipe down her leaves once or twice a year so dust doesn’t stop her from getting enough light, and you’re good to go.” He’s smiling, but you notice he’s still looking away from you, resolutely staring at the plant in your hands instead. “Peace lilies are incredibly forgiving.”

“Oh, that’s good, I’ll probably be asking for a lot of forgiveness,” you say. “I can guarantee I’ll forget to water her so it’s good to know she can take it.”

When you refer to the plant as ‘her’ and ‘she’— just like the florist has been— it seems like he only just notices that he’s been doing that. He looks a little embarrassed, yet again. “She’ll be— I mean, it’ll be fine, I’m sure,” he says.

“I promise I’ll do my best to look after her.” You tighten your grip protectively around your newly adopted plant. “I’d take a bullet for her.”

The florist lets out a little laugh, revealing a slip of his white teeth before his mouth clicks shut. He looks almost surprised at the fact he’d let out a chuckle and tries to cover it up with a cough. “Hopefully you won’t have to.”

You watch as he draws a ribbon around the pot, looping it against the patterned, unglazed ceramic before tying it into a neat bow. His hands are sure and his motions are practiced, fingers deft as he finishes the knot and tucks a business card into the bag alongside your plant. You can’t help but watch him, magnetised— he’s absolutely fascinating. Cute and soft, but with an undeniable strength to him, underlying each of his movements, almost hidden under the clothes that envelop him.

“Is there anything else I could help you with today?”

He’s blinking at you with those large, pretty eyes. His mouth is still a little open and you can’t help but reminded of—

“What song were you singing earlier? It was so lovely, but I didn’t recognise it.” You want to find that song immediately and keep it close forever, listen to it on a loop, even if it won’t be the same if it’s not being sung in the dulcet tones of this pretty florist. It’s such a beautiful song, whatever it is.

His mouth snaps shut again and the blush returns full force. “Nothing,” he squeaks. “It’s nothing.”

You squint at him. “Is ‘Nothing’ the name of the song?”

“No! It’s. Um. I mean, it doesn’t have a name yet.” His voice is so high right now. You pause before you light up, eyes widening.

“Wait, are you saying it’s your own song? You wrote it? Oh, wow! That’s so cool,” you say. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I didn’t know. My bad. Totally understand wanting to keep your work private.” You quirk a smile at him. He doesn't know that you're a writer, one who publishes under a pseudonym for privacy; only your close friends know the truth. You totally get it. “Guess you probably want me to pay so I can get out of your hair now, huh?”

“N-no, it’s fine,” the florist stammers. He’s still so polite, even when he’s obviously flustered.

“Ah, you don’t have to be polite just because I’m a paying customer.” You wave your hand dismissively. Before taking off as an author you’d worked back-to-back retail jobs and it had sucked. “I’m being a pain, I know. How much do I owe you?”

He stays silent as you give him money and he hands over the change, dropping the coins into your outstretched hand. You give him one last smile before lifting your bag from the counter and turning to go, finally leaving this poor man in peace. He must be glad to see the back of you.

But then.

“Magic Shop.” His voice is quiet from behind you.

“Hm?” You pause and glance over your shoulder, confused. “Pardon?”

The handsome florist is looking down at the counter, wrapping an offcut of ribbon around one of his fingers, staring down at it as he does. “Magic Shop,” he repeats, a little louder. He tightens the loop of ribbon around his finger. “The song. I was thinking of calling it that.”

“Oh.” You continue to look at him for a few moments longer before a wide smile crosses over your face. “That’s a really beautiful name for a really beautiful song.”

He glances up from where he’s been staring at the end of his finger flush deep red, almost purple; the ribbon goes lax in his loosening hold and blood rushes back into his fingertip. “Thank you,” he says, bashful as he smiles back at you. “I’m glad you liked it.”

The peace lily takes pride of place on your desk once you’ve cleared it of the crap you’ve let pile up over the past week. She watches as you bend over your keyboard and mutter to yourself, pruning back a lot of the raw hopelessness of your most recently written passages before starting a new chapter.

Lily’s escaped to the neighbouring city to get away from Jaerim and her broken heart. She gets lost as she’s wandering through this new, mysterious place, trapped in a maze of alleyways before she stumbles across a mysterious building with roses climbing up the trellis by the door. The front garden is full of flowers and tended by the prettiest woman she’s ever seen, eyes wide and dark as she startles at Lily’s sudden appearance over the small stone wall. Lily might not know it now but she’s just met someone important and special, a future friend: Yunhee, a witch who can speak to plants and sells dried bundles of herbs and flowers and spells to anyone who finds her.

It’s cheesy and cliché and you know it.

“It’s cheesy and cliché but it’s cute!” Your agent, Hoseok, is as upbeat as always, and he seems genuinely onboard with the snippet you’ve just sent him. “Especially after how sad the chapters were before this one. I think it’s a nice change of pace, considering how heavy your last novel was too.”

“Haha, yeah,” you say.

Hoseok has no idea about your botched confession to Seokjin and how it had fuelled the subsequent heartbreak you’d put Lily through; you’d put your heroine through the wringer to let all your feelings out, because if you have to suffer, she does too. Especially if she’s going to get a happy ending after all of it. Lucky her.

“Your fans will love it.” Hoseok continues, oblivious. “Where did the inspiration suddenly come from, though? I thought you said you were struggling with where to go with this one.”

“I don’t know really.” You sound absent as you stare at the neatly tied ribbon that’s still affixed around your lily’s pot, Spring Day’s business card still nestled into it. “It just came to me, I guess.”

You have to resist the instinct to take a photo of the peace lily to ask Seokjin what he’d name her. (He’s always so good with names.)

You know you’ll have to see him eventually. That’s the problem when all your friends are friends with each other; it might still be a while off but once Jimin and Namjoon have moved into their apartment and decorated it, they’ll hold a housewarming party and everyone will be invited. You can’t avoid Jin forever. You don’t want to, either, but right now you still feel like your heart is an open wound, and you need to give it time. Seeing him right now will just peel back the bandage you’ve tried to lay across your weeping heart to try and hold it together until it heals.

And you still feel awkward as fuck, too. Rejection hurts but it’s also embarrassing. Struggling through ten layers of repression to be sincere with someone and open yourself to pain, only to be let down? Ugh. Awful. Terrible. Never again. You’re gonna stick with repression from now on and just live vicariously through the stories you write. It might be lonely but at least you can keep your heart safe. (Not that anyone wants your heart, anyway.)

You start to play music to your plants. You can’t sing as well as the florist, but at least your lily and cactus can benefit from the sound of music, even if you’re probably off-key when you sing along to the soft songs you choose for them.

(“Plants grow better when they’re spoken to.”

“What? Really?”

“Really,” Yunhee says with a small smile, fingers curling tenderly around the petals of the deep red tulip. “They respond to love and affection just like we do.”

Lily stares at the bloom and watches how the witch touches it so gently— with so much love and affection— and for a second she wishes was a flower, too.)

You have very little faith in your abilities to keep a plant alive, but your peace lily seems to flourish under your care. It’s only one plant but alongside your cactus it seems to bring light and life to your office, and there’s a bubbling sense of satisfaction in your chest each time you see them, still alive despite your ineptitude. It’s a brief distraction from the lingering sadness that still dogs your heels, opening up each time you find yourself thinking of Seokjin before having to quiet those thoughts.

The lily and cactus are fine but it doesn’t take long before you find yourself wanting to add more members to your green coterie. Plus, you never did buy that fuck-off huge bouquet, so maybe you’ll treat yourself to one this time around.

When you step into Spring Day you’re greeted by the sight of someone actually behind the counter today, barely visible behind the large leaves of the ficus plant; when the bell rings they pop up and it’s the same florist as before, eyes wide as he peeps over the counter and only growing wider when he spots who it is.

“Hi,” he says. He’s not as squeaky as he was last time but he still seems a little flustered at your appearance, fumbling with The Language of Flowers as he drops the book onto the chair and stands up straight; his hoop earrings have small chains today and they’re jostled by the motion. He looks away from you to brush his apron down. He’s wearing a loose button-up underneath it, sleeves rolled up like before, revealing the thin bracelets he has on each wrist. “You’re back.”

“I am.” You smile widely, surprised he's remembered you and weirdly happy at the sight of him. You’d half expected to see someone else; there’s no way this guy is the only person who works here, but you’re glad it’s him. “I was worried my lily would get lonely so I thought I’d get her a friend. Can I pick your brain for another recommendation?”

He takes you to the succulents. There’s a menagerie of terrariums to choose from, bursting with different shapes and sizes of plants, bright greens and soft teals and muted browns.

“I think you’ll like this one,” he says, lifting up a dodecahedron of glass, each geometric plane trimmed with metal. He holds it up for you as you peer inside, small succulents nestled in a scattering of pebbles and soil. “They like bright light, but keep them out of direct sunlight because the glass can magnify it and burn them. And water them really sparingly, because there’s no drainage.” He taps the base of the terrarium. “It’s really easy to over-water succulents.”

He’s always so careful when he handles things, even if he lifts them like they’re weightless. No wonder the plants and flowers bloom so prettily here. They know they’re loved and looked after.

“They’re so cute.” You smile at the collection of contrasting plants that somehow live harmoniously together in such a small space. “And there’s more than one! So my lily will have plenty of friends.”

You’re too busy looking down to painstakingly accept the terrarium to notice the small, shy smile that flits across the man’s face as he watches you, your hands so cautious and protective as you accept more members into your growing family. “You’re right,” he says. “She won’t be lonely.”

You have the glass ball hugged against your chest as you trail behind the man, but then you come to a stand still by a selection of floral arrangements and realise that there’s no way you’ll be able to carry both the terrarium and a bouquet; at least, not one the size you’d been planning for. The florist notices the sound of your footsteps disappearing and stops to look over his shoulder. He seems concerned.

“Sorry,” you apologise, staring at one particularly large collection of flowers and foliage all gathered together in brown paper, soft pastel colours surrounded by greenery and smaller pale blooms. “I was just thinking about how nice your bouquets are. They’re so pretty.”

“Would you like one?”

“Of course, but I only have so many hands.” You laugh as you glance down at the terrarium you’re clutching onto. “I wouldn’t trust myself to hold a bunch of flowers at the same time as this. That would be a disaster waiting to happen, honestly.”

The florist pauses. “How about if I make you a boutonniere to pin on your shirt?”

You look up from the terrarium, blinking. There’s that tinge of pink stealing over his cheeks again and you find the sight surprisingly endearing. “You can do that?”

“If you’d like.” He’s looking away from you again, staring intently at a bucket of sunflowers. “So at least you have some flowers to take home.”

Something twinges, deep down in your chest, right at the bottom of your ribcage. Something you can’t put a name to. “That sounds nice. Yes, please? If it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

You carefully put your succulents down on the counter and lean against it as you watch him select flowers for the corsage, pausing before he chooses each one; he keeps his gaze averted from you the whole time but you think it’s because he feels awkward about the attention you’re giving him. You’re not pretending like you’re not watching him intently, wanting to take everything in, intrigued. He keeps his eyes cast down as he starts to bring everything together but there’s still a flush on his cheeks. It’s… adorable. He’s adorable.

“Feel free to say no, but can I take a photo?” You point at the camera you have looped around your neck. “Not of you! Well. Not all of you. Just… your hands as you make the corsage? I swear I don’t have a hand fetish, I just like to take photos of things I think are cool. Totally get if you don’t want me to, I—”

“Sure.”

He’s staring down at the tiny floral arrangement in his hands as he interrupts you, but he seems resolute despite the blush on his face. You pause for a second and then smile. You lift the Polaroid camera up to peer through the viewfinder and take the shot, but before you have the chance to take a proper look it seems like the florist is finished.

He only looks up at you now that he’s done and holds his work shyly up for you to inspect, as if it’s not the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s framed a soft purple rose with small blooms of lilac and white baby’s breath, offset by a burst of greenery, delicate and perfectly balanced.

“Oh, that’s so beautiful,” you breathe. You reach out to touch it with reverent fingers, lavender petals of the rose so soft against your skin. “You did that so quickly, too! How did you choose everything? Did you just go for things you thought would match?”

“Um.” The florist has turned red. “Yes?”

You decide not to press further, even if you wonder what it is that has him so embarrassed right now. Probably because you complimented him on his floristry skills. “You have a really good eye,” you say, smiling. “It’s so lovely.”

He somehow flushes an even brighter shade of scarlet when you struggle to pin the boutonniere on and ask for his help; he’s so careful as he secures it in place, staring at his hands as he settles the flowers gently against your chest.

“Perfect.” You beam at him and feel triumphant when he gives you a small smile in return despite how shy he seems, but then he seems to realise that he’s still got his hands resting against the fabric of your clothing and rips them away like they’re on fire.

“Um.” He has his head turned away from you but there’s a wide smile on his face, teeth on show as he looks down at the ground. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

You’ve just finished paying when you realise— “I don’t think you’ve charged me for the boutonniere ?”

The florist seems like a rabbit caught in headlights. “It’s a, uh, promotional thing. An incentive to come back and buy a full bouquet or arrangement. You… uh, you actually get a discount on your first bouquet if you get a boutonniere or corsage first. I just— I need your name to make sure you get the discount. Next time you come. If you come back,” the man says in a rush, before sucking his lips in and looking away from you. “If that’s okay?”

Of course you’re going to come back. “Oh! Sure! It’s Y/n,” you say.

“Y/n,” he repeats. He’s staring at you, lips parted, soft around the shape of your name. You wait for a beat, looking back at him, before one of eyebrows rises.

“Um… do you have a book to write it down in? Or do you just memorise all of your customer’s names straight off the bat?”

The florist blinks and then his eyes go wide and his cheeks flush again. “A book! Of course, um.” He scrabbles around behind the counter, flustered, but seems to come up empty-handed. You watch as he grabs the only book he can find— The Language of Flowers— and cracks it open to the title page to scribble your name down in pencil before shoving the book under the counter and out of sight.

“I feel bad that you’ve just, uh, defaced a book because of me,” you say. “You didn’t have to write it down, I was just kidding? I know not everyone is as forgetful as me.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he says. “It’s my book. I can write what I want in it. The, um, the logbook seems to have gone missing,” he continues, staring at his hands as he scratches his palm. “Yoongi-hyung must have moved it. I’ll, uh, write your name when he comes back with it. Yeah.”

“Yoongi? Is that your boss?”

“Hyung? Sort of. He owns Spring Day but he basically treats me like a co-owner, I guess.”

“Oh, wow, that sounds so cool, even if it must be a lot of responsibility.” You smile softly at the florist. “He must really trust you.”

He glances up from his hands, eyes warm when he spots the expression on your face. “Yeah,” he says, smiling back. “I owe Yoongi-hyung a lot.”

“Oh!” Your fingers tighten around the handles of your bag, terrarium safely encased inside. “You know my name, and now I know Yoongi’s name, but I don’t know your name…?”

He flushes again, imperceptibly, the tiniest spread of pink on the apples of his cheeks. “I’m Jungkook,” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook,” you repeat. His eyes flicker and he looks away from you. You’ll have to work on that shyness— but you’ve always been good at coaxing people out of their shells. You’re unapologetically yourself, and that helps other people feel comfortable being unapologetically themselves, too. “Alright, Jungkook, thank you for the help again today. And the beautiful boutonniere.” You wiggle your shoulder so the flowers affixed to your chest shift a little. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.” He sounds a little breathless. “Yeah, I’ll see you around.”

Once you get home the terrarium is carefully unpacked and placed on your desk with your other plants; you’ve had to relocate some of your general filing clutter to another table to make space (the plants make you feel better than staring at a rose-gold in tray with letters that you need to get to, so whatever). You finally have a chance to look at that photo you'd taken earlier and fish it out of your pocket.

The background is a little blurry, not the focus of the shot, but you can see the neat pile of offcuts on the table, a small scattering of equipment. Jungkook’s hands, however, are in perfect focus. He has such lovely hands, from the pronounced knuckles to the subtle flex of his tendons to the pale blue veins that are visible as he holds the tiny bunch of flowers together and wraps them in ribbon. You stare at the picture for a little longer than you probably should before resting it against the peace lily’s pot, in eyeline as you begin to write.

(Lily watches, enraptured, as Yunhee prepares the sprigs of herbs and flowers that she hangs from the kitchen’s low ceiling. Her pretty hands are so fast as they bring the dried flora together, encircling each bunch with twine, quick and delicate. Careful. Reverent.

“Would you like a go?” Yunhee has seen her watching and holds up a spray of dried lavender rosemary, colours muted from their usual brightness, but no less pretty. “I can teach you, if you’d like.”

Lily smiles. “I would love that.”)

“What do I want in my bouquet? Hmm… that’s a tough one. What’s your favourite flower?”

You’re back at Spring Day the day after buying your terrarium, and once again, Jungkook is there. You’d caught a brief glimpse of another man on your way in, his hair a bleached-blond mess, but he seems to have disappeared— although his apron has been cast haphazardly over the back of the wicker chair behind the counter so you don’t think he’ll be gone too long.

Jungkook pauses. “I don’t know if I could choose just one,” he says. “But if I had to, I’d say the tiger lily.”

“Oh!” You point at his arm. His t-shirt today seems to be as baggy as the rest of his clothing choices but it leaves his lower arms visible. “Is that the tattoo you have?”

Jungkook turns his arm towards you so you can see it properly, the delicate lines of the lily blooming across his skin, and you can see the scratched lines of some words silhouetted behind it, ones you hadn’t spotted before. “Yeah.” He’s smiling. “It’s my birth flower.”

“That’s so pretty,” you say, awed. “What do the words say?”

Jungkook’s been less shy today, but when you ask this, he seems bashful. “Please love me.” He traces the words with his finger, the letters hidden behind the large petals of the flower. “It’s what the tiger lily means.”

He keeps his gaze averted from you, staring at the black and grey lines that bloom across his skin. You’ve barely scratched the surface of Jungkook, but there’s something so… so fascinating about him. Undeniably powerful and masculine, yet still so soft and considerate. Romantic.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, truthfully. “Both the tattoo and its meaning.”

Jungkook smiles shyly. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad you like it. I, um, drew it, actually.”

You’ve been staring at his arm but when he says this, you reel back. “You designed that tattoo? Jungkook. Are you telling me you can sing and draw?” When he doesn’t respond, still shy, you giggle. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I know the truth.”

“So what would you like in your bouquet?” Jungkook’s clearly trying to change the subject and you laugh.

“I have no idea. I’m a dunce and you’re the expert, so I’ll let you do the heavy lifting,” you say. “How about something with some tiger lilies?”

The tiger lilies are beautiful, vivid oranges flecked with brown; Jungkook lets you select the ones you want, accepting the flowers from you carefully as you pluck them from the buckets and then laughing at yourself when you end up with water spattered over your shoes, dripping down the long stems. After that you let him take over and he chooses the other flowers to bulk out your arrangement, mulling over each decision before he seems content with his choices.

“I can recognise the roses and lilies, but what are the others?” You ask, intrigued.

“Roses, hypericum berries, tiger lilies, orange lilies, goldenrods, and some greening for filler.” He lifts each flower up as he lists them off for you, a cascading gradient of red to cerise to orange to yellow. “Do you want me to change them?”

“No.” Your voice is gentle. “It’s perfect. It’s just like a sunrise. I love them.”

Jungkook’s responding smile is wide enough to show his teeth and squeeze his eyes.

There’s something soothing about watching him work. His eyes are entirely focused as he puts everything in its place, uncompromising when it comes to his perfectionism; things will look fine to you but he’ll seem to think differently and shift things around until it passes his rigorous standards. You want to take a photo. Not just of his hands, but of all of him— the little furrow of his brows, the intense look in his eyes, the tiniest pout on his lips; the softness of his hands, the tenderness of his fingers, the relaxation of his shoulders. Someone who’s intent on perfecting his craft but finds joy in its practiced motions.

You're just considering risking it all to ask him if you can take a photo when you're (thankfully) interrupted.

“That’s a pretty bouquet,” someone drawls. “What’s the occasion?”

The other man has appeared out of the back room. His eyes are fox-like but his mouth is soft and his fluffy white jumper seems even softer, fuzzy against the dark apron that he loops back over his head.

“Hi, Yoongi-hyung. Um.” Jungkook glances up at you. “Is it… for… a partner? Or someone else?”

“Nope, just thought I’d treat myself. Is that weird?”

Yoongi looks at you consideringly, clearly thinking something, before he shrugs. “Nah. You should tell your partner to step up their game, though. You shouldn’t have to buy yourself flowers.”

You laugh, trying to cover up your sudden awkwardness as Seokjin’s face flashes in your mind. Partner? You? Haha. “I’m single, so this is the only way I’ll be getting flowers, I’m afraid.”

Jungkook drops a handful of goldenrods. Yoongi’s eyes flicker over to him, watching as the younger man scrabbles to pick the yellow flowers back up. “Huh,” Yoongi says. “I see. Well, as long as you’re paying, I’m not complaining.”

You already like Yoongi, as forthright and blunt as he is, an utter juxtaposition to Jungkook’s unassuming shyness; he plops himself down and watches Jungkook finish putting the arrangement together, arms crossed as he leans back in the wicker chair. He looks a little lazy and a little sleepy. A cat reclining in the sun.

Jungkook finishes the bouquet by wrapping it in layers of brown and white paper, layering orange and yellow and white ribbons around the stems, pulling the sunrise of plants together with more bursts of bright colour.

“It’s so beautiful,” you say.

Yoongi makes a small grunting noise of agreement. “Good work, Kookie.”

Jungkook seems almost overwhelmed by the praise and holds a hand over his face, a shy curve of his fingers over his nose and mouth as he coughs and pretends he’s fine. “It’s alright, I guess,” he says. “Do you want anything else?”

“No, that’s everything for today, thanks.” You beam at Jungkook, who smiles back; he’s so cute. “How much is that?”

Yoongi’s mouth opens but Jungkook speaks over him to tell you the price, which is lower than you thought, but— “That must be from the boutonniere discount, right?”

Yoongi squints at you. “Boutonniere discount?”

“You know, hyung, the boutonniere discount.” Jungkook’s voice is a little high. “The promotion.”

Yoongi stares at him. Jungkook stares back. You think Jungkook’s about to break in the face of Yoongi’s blank pokerface, but then he nods. “Oh, yeah, that one,” Yoongi says, slowly. “I forgot. The boutonniere discount. Absolutely.”

Yoongi lapses into silence during the rest of the transaction, and though he looks sleepy, his eyes are sharp as he watches the two of you. Not that you notice, too busy carefully accepting the flowers from Jungkook and hefting the huge bouquet in your arms, mindful not to jostle them too much.

“Thank you so much, Jungkook!” You tilt your head forward to breathe in the soft floral scent, smiling. “It’s so lovely. And it was nice to meet you, Yoongi.”

“Likewise,” Yoongi says. “We’ll see you again?”

“Of course!” On your way out you go to take a hand off the bouquet to give them a jaunty wave, but unlike Jungkook you can’t keep the whole thing steady with just one hand and settle with giving them a nod instead. “I’ll see you again!”

As the door settles shut behind you, bell tinkling as you go, Yoongi raises an eyebrow at Jungkook. “Boutonniere discount?”

“Shut up, hyung,” Jungkook mutters, embarrassed.

Once you get home you unearth the vase Namjoon made you in his last ceramics class, unwrapping the bouquet and easing it into the water. You watch as the flowers come a little loose from the tight presentation and jostle lightly against each other as they settle into the vase. It’s a bright burst of colour on your breakfast bar, eye-catching and beautiful.

These flowers should last longer than the corsage from yesterday, which had already started to wilt; you know practically nothing about preserving flowers but you’ve sandwiched the purple rose and lilac and baby’s breath between layers of tissue and squashed them between some books on advice from the internet, wanting to press them and keep them close. (Maybe you’ll frame them or something. That would be cute.)

You pause. You pluck out a tiger lily, disrupting the careful balance Jungkook had strived to create, spinning the flower slowly between your fingers. Your friends send you congratulatory flowers after each new book publication, but this is the first bouquet that’s ever been made specifically for you— not the you that’s hidden behind a pseudonym. You. Even if you’d asked for this yourself, Jungkook had been the one to choose everything for you. He'd been the one to put the thought and time and effort into it.

You stare at the tiger lily for a few moments longer before slipping it back into the arrangement, turning it so it rests just as it had before you’d pulled it out.

(Spring is turning to summer and everything is starting to bloom, the garden alive with a riot of colour, full of the buzzing of bees and other insects— drawn here just as Lily had been. But Yunhee finds Lily in the greenhouse, away from the noise and activity, quiet and contemplative as she stares around her.

“What are they?” Lily points at a plot of flowers that have yet to bloom. The yellow and orange buds are long and heavy, weighted towards the ground.

“Tiger lilies.” Yunhee squats down and touches one of the furled flowers. “They’re shy to start with, but once they start to blossom, they’ll be some of the prettiest things here. Yes, that means you,” Yunhee laughs as the plant in her fingers seems to twitch. “They’re always so bold once they’re in full bloom. You just have to wait until you can coax them out.”)

“You seem to be doing better.” Jimin puts his coffee down. “Have you spoken to Jin yet?”

“Good god, Jimin,” you laugh. “Straight in there, aren’t you?”

Jimin fixes you with a stern gaze and you wince a little.

“Sheesh. No, not yet.” You fiddle with your napkin, curling it around the end of your teaspoon. “I’m starting to feel… like… kind of okay about it, I guess, but I’m worried that it’s going to be weird when I see Jin again.”

It’s been over a month since your confession, and it’s the longest you’ve gone without talking to Jin since you’ve met him. It’s… weird. You miss him so much. But you don’t know if it’s too soon to try and reintroduce him into your life, even if Jimin clearly disagrees.

“It’s only going to get weirder the longer you go without talking to him,” Jimin says, and you hate that you know he’s right. “You keep asking how he is, and he keeps asking how you are, and it’s obvious you both miss each other. I’m not saying you have to jump back to how things were straight away, but you can ease back into it, you know?”

You sigh. “I know,” you say. “It’s just hard, Minnie.”

Jimin, your oldest friend, had been the first person you’d called after your failed confession. You’d been tearful and honest when you’d said that it felt like you were going to hurt forever. But it’s weird how quickly that’s ebbed away, even if you still regret opening your mouth in the first place; most of the hurt you feel right now is from missing Jin, not from lingering pain about unreciprocated feelings. You miss your-friend-Jin, not your-crush-Jin.

“You seem to be doing okay, though.” Jimin raises his eyebrows at you over his latte. “Anything to do with whoever’s sending you those pretty bouquets that’re all over your apartment, hmm?”

You splutter into your coffee. “What? No, don’t be ridiculous, I’m buying those for myself,” you say once you’ve wiped the coffee off your chin. “Me? Getting sent bouquets? Pfft.”

You never planned on becoming some sort of manic flower hoarder, but Jimin isn’t exaggerating when he says that they’re all over your apartment. You’ve even had to buy extra vases to hold all the bouquets and arrangements you have, every hue and shape and size of flora imaginable on almost every flat surface— only your desk remains untouched, sacred ground for your potted plants. You’d bought a rubber plant a few days ago, but beyond that, nothing new has been set on your desk recently.

It’s just… whenever you’re in Spring Day it’s like there’s no space in your brain or heart to think about Seokjin. It’s a place of respite for you, now. Somewhere you can go that’s untouched by the outside world. Somewhere you can go to be surrounded by beauty and life. Somewhere you can go to talk to Jungkook, the sweet, soft florist who’s slowly opening up to you, a blossoming flower, petals unfurling further with each visit.

He’s not always there. Sometimes it’s just Yoongi, and you like Yoongi and enjoy his company, but… it’s different with Jungkook. He’s growing bolder, less shy, and every conversation with him is so riveting; you eagerly gobble up every tidbit of information he feeds you. He sings. He draws. He paints. He takes photos. He dances. Everything he finds interesting, he tries, and everything he tries, he tries voraciously— he never settles for anything less than 100%. He puts himself entirely into everything he does.

He’s incredible.

Anyway. You can’t come away from Spring Day empty-handed, hence all the flowers that are filling your apartment. Even though Jungkook says it’s okay for you not to buy things, you’d be a supremely awful customer if you just distracted him by talking and then leaving again, so you always make sure to buy something. Even if it’s just a tiny flower themed bookmark that you don't need.

“I’m all for retail therapy, but why not buy stuff for yourself that doesn’t eventually die and wilt?” Jimin seems mystified. “That many flowers can’t be cheap.”

“I’m a relatively successful author, I can afford to blow money on flowers if I want.” You wave your hand dismissively. “Besides, my latest novel involves a lot of flower and plant related stuff, so I’m basically investing in my writing. I’m killing two birds with one stone: research for my novel, as well as filling the gaping hole in my chest by buying flowers for myself because I’m destined to die alone and no one else is ever going to buy them for me.” You finish brightly.

Jimin looks equal parts frustrated and sad. “You know that’s not true, Y/n. Just because Jin—”

“It’s fine, Jimin, I’m kidding! I’m kidding,” you insist. “The reason I’ve been single for the past billion years is because I’m just too much of a catch and people find it intimidating, I know.”

You’ve used fake, inflated narcissism and mocking self-deprecation as ways of protection for years. Most people take your confidence at face value. However, Jimin knows you too well to be fooled by it; not to mention he’s one of the few people who knows about your books and has read every single one so he’s well aware of all the schmoopy daydreams you keep close to your chest.

Ugh. This is why you write under a pseudonym. Autumn Lovett is allowed to enjoy clichés and have unrealistic and dumb romantic fantasies. A lot of their platform is built around it. Meanwhile the real version of you tries to pretend that you’re not obsessed with the idea of true love and yearn for it almost every waking moment despite how utterly impossible it is that you’ll ever find it. Because it’s embarrassing.

“I’m going to kick you,” Jimin says lovingly. “Right in the shins.”

“God, please don’t.” Jimin’s kicks are lethal. “If I say I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll, will you promise not to hurt me?”

Jimin takes longer to think about his answer than you’d like. “Okay,” he says eventually. “You have to really mean it.”

“Alright, I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll. I just haven’t met the right person yet.” Your words seem to pacify Jimin, even if they ring a little hollow in your own ears.

The truth is that, on a deep level, you do feel unlovable. It’s maybe a bit self-pitying, because you have friends who adore you and you know you’re worthy of love, but… it’s kind of hard to really believe that when you have yet to have your feelings genuinely reciprocated. There have been a few moments in the past, a few brief, fleeting connections, but never anything wholesome and real. You feel like you’ve been waiting for something that’s never going to happen.

Besides, if it does happen, it’s never going to be as soft and loving as the relationships you write into your books, right? You’re a sucker for clichés. You love the idea of someone bringing you flowers, watching the sunset with you, dancing together in your kitchen to a song on the radio— every overdone and overused formula that’s shoved into every romantic film ever. You want all of it. (You’ve never been on a ferris wheel but god do you want to have a date that involves one.)

Maybe you’re still alone because you’ve been asking for too much. Not everyone is as lucky as Jimin and Namjoon; you doubt you’d ever be so fortunate to find someone who loves you as much as they love each other and express that love, too.

You’re still brooding over these feelings when you visit Spring Day later. Jungkook’s singing again, something smooth and lovely and mellow, and when he sees you he brightens— he cuts himself off, but not because he’s embarrassed, but because he’s happy to see you.

Something inside you goes soft and warm at the sight. He’s so nice.

Still, despite Jungkook’s soothing presence you’re far more distracted than you usually are and he seems to notice this; you end up sitting cross legged on the floor of the greenhouse under the leaves of a monstera while Jungkook keeps flicking you looks between watering plants.

A few weeks ago, he would be too timid to say anything, but by now he’s grown far more bold. You’ve been encouraging him to speak his mind. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” You’ve had your head tilted back to watch the fluttering leaves of the monstera plant but you look down to turn your attention to Jungkook. He’s wearing a dark plaid shirt today, loose sleeves rolled up past his elbow as he hefts his blue watering can; he looks soft and approachable, eyes warm with concern. “Yeah, I just have some stuff on my mind, I guess. Sorry. I’m not exactly a great conversational partner at the best of times, so I’m being even worse right now.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.” Jungkook hesitates. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

You let out a light chuckle. “Ah, you don’t want to hear about the nonsense I’ve got in my brain, but thank you. It’s very sweet of you to offer.”

“No.” Jungkook’s voice is surprisingly firm and you internally startle. “If there’s something on your mind, it’s not nonsense. I’m not saying you have to tell me if you don’t want to, but— please don’t think I don’t want to listen to you.”

You blink. He’s not looking away from you like he normally does— there’s a hard set to the line of his mouth, like he really, really means what he says and he wants you to know that.

“Oh.” For once you’re the one who breaks eye contact, glancing down at your lap. You’d found a lone daisy on the floor and you’ve been cradling it in your hands, rolling the stem between your fingers, and you watch as the petals fan out and shiver at the motion. “Okay. Thanks, Jungkook.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. His voice is gentle. You keep your eyes fixed on the daisy, and you can hear the slosh and drizzle of the watering can as he goes back to the plants. You take in a deep breath.

“What’s your opinion on romance, Jungkook?”

There’s a splashing noise as Jungkook fumbles with the can and drops it. Luckily it stays upright and doesn’t spill over the floor. “I, um, what?”

You look away from your daisy and stare at him earnestly, as embarrassingly open and raw as you feel right now. “What’s your opinion on romance? You know, love and all that.”

Jungkook pauses.

“I know it’s a weird question.” You wince. “You don’t have to answer it. I’ve just been thinking about it.”

Jungkook stares at the watering can by his feet before he stoops over and picks it back up. He’s not looking at you. “How come?” His voice is a little strained, but you don’t notice.

“Ah, I don’t know,” you sigh. “I think about it a lot, honestly. Sometimes I just wonder if it’s realistic? Like, of all the people in the world, what’s the likelihood you’re going to meet someone that you really… really resonate with? And they’re going to feel the same for you? Part of me has always believed in fate, or like… serendipity, I suppose. Bumping into someone that turns out to be so much more important than either of you could imagine. A soulmate? In a way? But as time goes on I… I guess I’m worried I’ll never actually find that and it’s all a ridiculous pipe dream.”

You feel small and defenceless after admitting this. You might be a loudmouthed sarcastic clown, but underneath all your theatrical buffoonery and snark, the truth is that you’re an utterly hopeless romantic. It’s the world’s worst kept secret, sure, but you’ve never laid it out so plainly to anyone before.

The longer Jungkook stays silent, the more awkward you feel, and you desperately need to break the tension.

“Bweh.” You make a little noise. “I get nauseous whenever I express real emotions. I didn’t mean to word vomit all of that at you, sorry—”

“I believe in soulmates.” Jungkook’s back is to you as he stands in front of a collection of osteospermums, but he’s stopped watering them. “And romance. And true love. I don’t think it’s always going to be easy, and it might hurt along the way, but… I think there’s love and happiness waiting for us at the end of it. Yoongi-hyung always calls me a hopeless romantic.” He laughs a little and glances over his shoulder at you, his expression warm and sincere. “I always cry at sad scenes in romantic films and books and he likes to tease me about it.”

He doesn’t seem ashamed about being open and vulnerable with you. It’s terrifying and yet Jungkook seems unafraid. Honestly, you admire it. “Me too,” you admit, your voice a quiet hush. “Everyone keeps arguing about if Rose could have let Jack onto the door with her but I’m always too busy crying to pay attention to how big the piece of wood is.”

Jungkook lets out a breath of laughter, nose scrunching as he smiles at you. He’s not judging your sappiness at all. “Titanic is such a sad film,” he says. “It makes my heart ache every time I watch it.”

You hit your knee with a fist. “I know! Why couldn’t they just be happy? Ouch,” you say. “Wow. I punched myself harder than I thought. I just get very passionate about happy endings. Sad endings— well, they make me sad, especially if the rest of the story has been sad too. What was it Guy Fieri said? I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.”

Jungkook blinks. “Guy Fieri said that?”

“Now that I think about it, I think it was actually Haruki Murakami.” You rub a soothing hand over your knee. “But yeah. I’m not saying sad endings don’t have a place, and sometimes it’s right for the story that’s being told, but… I’m more of a happy ending person. If I were James Cameron I’d have to let Rose and Jack end up together. I’d be too soft to write the ending he did, even if it was appropriate. You know?”

Jungkook turns away from the osteospermums, his eyes as soft as he looks at you. “Yeah, me too,” he agrees. “I think everyone deserves a happy ending.”

The monstera plant above you patiently listens as you and Jungkook have a long, quiet conversation about love and romance, and it’s… weird. You never thought you could have a conversation like that without wanting to cringe so hard you collapsed in on yourself and imploded into a black hole. Submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known is usually a lot more… well… mortifying, but somehow with Jungkook, it isn’t.

Maybe it’s because he’s so open himself. Maybe it’s because you can tell he’s not judging you at all. He doesn’t think your desperate yearning for love and romance is anything to be embarrassed about— and he clearly feels the same yearning. You find it baffling that someone as lovely as Jungkook doesn’t have someone special in his life, though. Wild.

“Monsteras are actually nicknamed Swiss cheese plants,” Jungkook informs you, running a hand over one of the leaves and trailing a finger over one of the holes in it. You're adding it to your steadily growing plant collection. “Because of these. They look like the holes you find in Swiss cheese.”

You laugh. “Oh, that’s so cute! I love that.”

Jungkook smiles. “I knew you would.”

He’s just finished tying a ribbon around the plant’s pot when he pauses. “Oh,” he says. “If you like happy endings, can I recommend something?”

He stoops down to get something from behind the counter and you can tell when he’s found what he’s looking for by how his face lights up. You’re hyped to see what it is, what’s gotten Jungkook so excited— but then he flips the book over to hand to you and you nearly choke on your own spit.

Jamais Vu. Your most recent novel.

“I really love this author,” he says as you try to swallow down your coughs, eyes watering with the effort. Luckily he’s looking down at the book and doesn’t seem to notice. “No matter how difficult things get, or how awful things seem, the endings are always happy. Or at worst, bittersweet. They’re never completely sad? Watch out for the plot twist in the middle, though, that’s a rough one.”

“Hahahaha, alright, I will!” It was the first time you’d incorporated a murder mystery in one of your books, but damn, it had gone over really well with the critics. And Jungkook too, apparently, judging from the excited look in his eyes. “This looks, um. Interesting.”

He beams at you. “If you like it, I have the rest of their books at home. You can borrow those as well. I, uh, I've been reading them from the very beginning,” he admits, with a tiny, shy laugh. “The earlier books are skewed mainly towards romance, but the plots are always good too. If, um, you like that sort of thing.”

You feel faint. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Jungkook.”

Once you get home, you very carefully and delicately place the monstera on your desk, turning it a few times until you’re entirely happy with the position of it.

Then you lie face down on your bed.

Your breaths are fuggy against your pillow but you keep your face buried in it, even if it’s getting progressively harder to breathe. Jungkook reads your books. Jungkook reads all of your books. Jungkook is apparently an avid fan of your books— the copy of Jamais Vu he’s lent you is a hardback copy and the design on it is one you recognise as a pre-order exclusive.

Oh, shit. Is it a signed copy?

You scramble out of bed to grab the book and flip to the title page. There it is, staring up at you: your own signature. Well, Autumn Lovett’s signature, complete with a tiny scribbled leaf.

To Jungkook, you’d written. Thank you so much for all your support! you’d written. Autumn Lovett, you’d written.

You muffle a scream into your hands.

Even if Jungkook doesn’t know who Autumn really is, there’s no way he’s going to read your next book and not realise the truth. The tiger lilies. Yunhee’s dark eyes and dark hair and swift hands. Her strength and softness. Lily, magnetised by her, drawn in by her gravity.

(You haven't realised until now just how much meeting Jungkook has changed the development of your novel. Why?)

You’re at a loss for words. You honestly don’t know what to feel. Part of you feels flattered that Jungkook loves your writing so much. Another part of you feels like you’ve been lying to him the whole time you’ve been talking— pretending to be someone you’re not. Somehow. Autumn has lied to him by not being real, and you’ve lied to him by not letting him know the truth. Sure, you’ve only found out today, but.

The one person you’d talk to— the one person who’d help you muddle through your emotions on something as complex as this, as flippant and blasé as he might seem to people who don’t know him like you do— is someone you haven’t spoken to in over a month.

Your eyes slide over to your phone. After your conversation with Jimin earlier you’d genuinely been planning on messaging Seokjin tonight; nothing major or big, just a dipping of your toe back into the waters of your friendship. But you need to hear his voice. You’re not going to offload on him, of course. You’re not going to make the first conversation you have after your confession to be all about you. But you just need that familiarity right now.

He picks up after one ring.

“Hi, Y/n,” he says, and you feel like you could fold in two.

“Hi, Jin.” The sound of his voice fills you with warmth and tender affection, and you love him so, so much— but you know in an instant that it’s platonic. This cresting wave of tenderness crashing through you and making your knees want to buckle is for one of your best friends, Kim Seokjin. Your friend. “Hey. I hope you’re doing okay. Been up to anything interesting?”

You end up curled in your computer chair as you talk, your hand resting on the book that Jungkook has entrusted you with. It’s funny how talking to Seokjin comes so naturally; a month feels so long, especially after such a huge revelation from you to him, but it’s also like no time has passed at all. You think maybe you could go years without talking but the moment you came back together again, it would feel the same way.

It’s like you exist on the same level. Like there’s some sort of unbreakable, connective membrane between the two of you. It’s why you’d fallen in love with him. It’s only now that you realise that you’d mistaken that closeness for romantic love, when it isn’t really, at all. It’s just different to your other friendships; deeply and emotionally intimate, but not romantic.

“It sounds like you’ve been doing well,” Jin says. There’s the sound of sizzling in the background and you glance at the clock; he’ll be cooking dinner. He always cooks around now. “How’s the novel coming along?” Are you still in love with me? Are you writing about me?

You pause. Your flip Jungkook’s book open again, staring at his name written in your handwriting— months before you’d known who he was. Some tenuous, inexplicable connection before you’d even met.

“It’s good,” you say, truthfully. “It’s not what I’d been planning, but it’s really good.” I love you, but I’m not in love with you. I’m writing, but not about you. Not really.

“I’m glad.” Jin’s voice is so warm. “You’ll have to send me what you've got so far at some point.”

“So you can point out all the inconsistencies whenever characters are cooking or baking anything? No thanks, already fallen into that trap too many times,” you say, and Jin laughs.

“If you’re going to write a character who’s a baker, you need to do your research batter,” he says, and you laugh in return.

“Did you say batter instead of better? That’s terrible. I love it, even if I wasn’t bready for it.”

“Your puns are so crumby,” Jin replies.

“Are you trying to get a rise out of me?”

You both end up dissolving into laughter at your increasingly nonsensical and awful baking puns. The puns are weak and not even good in a bad way (as in, so bad that they’re good), but they don’t need to be. Jin takes longer to finish laughing than you. His squeaky wiper noises are a familiar sound through your phone speaker and you’re still smiling once it eventually trails off.

“I missed you,” you say suddenly. “I’m sorry. Not sorry about the confession, but— sorry it took me so long to come back around afterwards. I was just worried it would be weird.”

“I understand. It’s okay. I missed you too. You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too. Not romantically. Don’t get it twisted. I realise now that I’m way out of your league, anyway, so it’s a good thing you turned me down.”

“It was for your own good,” Jin says. “As the two most beautiful human beings alive we’d been too powerful if we were together, so it’s for the good of humanity.”

“We’re just so altruistic,” you sigh dramatically, and then you both giggle. “Can the world’s two most beautiful human beings get together for lunch? That wouldn’t cause a vortex in the space time continuum, right?”

“I think the fabric of the universe can handle it.” You hear the sound of Jin taking his pan off the stove, the clunk of metal. “Let me check when I’m free, sweetheart.”

(“You seem happy.” Jaerim’s smile is a soft, hesitant thing, but Lily’s responding smile is bright and wide.

“I am,” she says. Pinned to her breast pocket is a corsage of sweet pea, soft purple and pink and white, its gentle fragrance filling her senses. A reminder of Yunhee even when she’s not here. “I’m really, really happy. But I’m always happier when I can share things with you.”

Jaerim reaches out for her hands. His touch is familiar and warm, and Lily feels as loved as she always has— the way she loves him, too.

As a friend.)

“You know, at this point I’m pretty sure you’re bankrolling the entire shop,” Yoongi says, and you laugh.

“I can always go somewhere else if you’d like?”

“Please.” Yoongi snorts. “I’m not complaining. Besides, Jungkook would be heartbroken if his favourite customer stopped coming.”

The way Yoongi assembles bouquets is different to Jungkook. He’s no less skilled and lavishes the same amount of attention on each one, but his arrangements always seem a little wilder, freer— not in a bad way, just different. He’s surrounded by an increasing collection of carnations and dusty miller, the silver leaves curling around the immaculately white blooms; simple and elegant arrangements for a small bridal shower.

“That’s good to know,” you say, ignoring the warm flush that spreads through your chest at the idea of being Jungkook’s favourite customer. Sometimes you worry that you’re overbearing, actually, with how often you visit, even if Jungkook never seems to mind. “I do buy a lot, though, so that’s probably why I’m his favourite.”

Yoongi’s just finished tying a trail of silver and white ribbon around the collection of flowers in his hands, eyes flicking up at you as he eases it into a small vase. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to keep throwing money at this place,” he says. “You’re welcome to come whenever you like. Without needing to buy something.”

You feel weirdly chastened. “Um, okay.” You laugh lightly. “Kind of a weird business you’ve got running if you’re not telling customers to buy things, though?”

Yoongi snorts again. “You’ve spent more money in the past few months than most customers might spend in a year.” He reaches for another bunch of carnations. “I think we’re good.”

The bell tinkles above the door. You glance over your shoulder to see who it is and your face lights up when you see it’s Jungkook, clutching a small cardboard tray of coffees. He looks boyish and cute today, his hair is a little windswept from the breeze outside, and there’s a smile on his face that only grows wider when he spots you. You smile back. You’re always so happy to see him.

“Is that my coffee?” Yoongi says, without looking up from the bundle of flowers he's holding. “Bring it here.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and you stifle a laugh behind your hand. Any shyness Jungkook might have had originally seems entirely gone now, and he’s unabashed when he pretends to disrespect his hyung, even if you know there’s a lot of love there.

Jungkook puts the cardboard cup out of the way of Yoongi’s work so there’s no chance it might accidentally get knocked over. “Here’s the decaf caramel cappuccino with extra sweetener and whipped cream that you asked for, hyung.” Jungkook gives you a conspiring smile and you stifle another laugh at the expression that flits across Yoongi’s face at the word decaf.

“Die,” Yoongi says mildly, before taking a sip of his bitter and untouched black coffee. “Perfect. Now, shoo, I’m busy. Go check on the herb display, I think they could do with some fertiliser.”

You keep hold of Jungkook’s cup as he mists the herbs, a tiny spritzer in his hands that he carefully aims at the stem of each plant. Unlike Yoongi’s black coffee, Jungkook’s opted for something iced, a creamy yellow blend with shavings of chocolate on top.

“If I’d known you were here, I would have gotten you something as well,” he says. You glance up to see Jungkook’s paused in his motions, hands engulfed in bright green basil leaves. It seems like he’s noticed you peering at the drink.

“Don’t be silly, I don’t expect you to buy me coffee! I’m just trying to work out what this is. It looks really tasty.”

“It’s a banana frappe. You can try some, if you want?”

You beam. “Can I?” You take a sip before Jungkook changes his mind, pursing your lips around the straw as the coldness hits your tongue and nearly gives you brain freeze— but then you register the sweetness on your tongue, the flavour of banana and vanilla and honey, delicious. “Oh, this is so good,” you breathe. “Where did you get this? I need this in my life.” You take another cheeky sip, eyes on Jungkook’s reaction, but he seems unfazed at the fact that you’re greedily slurping up his drink before he’s even had a chance to have any.

“There’s a small café a few streets away from here,” he says. “I, um.” He looks away from you, back towards the basil, before he pulls his hands out of the leaves and starts to mist the soil of the mint plants. “I could take you there, if you’d like.”

You haven’t seen him blush for a while, but that familiar tinge of pink is starting to steal over his cheeks as he looks away from you. Something churns low in your stomach, something almost like butterflies; a shifting of their wings, ready to take flight. “Oh,” you say. “That would, um. That would be nice.”

For the first time since you’ve stepped foot into Spring Day, you leave without buying anything. Instead, you leave with a day and time, hastily typed into your phone so you don’t forget. (Not that you would. How could you forget anything about Jungkook?)

You still haven’t told Jungkook who you are. Well— who Autumn is. He’d been so excited when you’d ‘finished’ Jamais Vu and had accepted another book from him, wanting eagerly to hear your opinion on it; it’s hard to not blurt out the truth to him, but you don’t know how to broach that topic. You’re worried that it’ll change this friendship you’ve built up with him and you don’t want to lose Jungkook. Even if you haven’t known him that long, he’s already so, so important to you, and you don’t want to let go of that.

But if you’re starting to become real friends, the kind of friends who get coffee together, who spend time together outside of Jungkook’s work— he deserves to know, right? You just need to find the right time to tell him.

When the day rolls around, you’re early. You’re always early for things. You skulk around the front of Spring Day, where you’d agreed to meet; you make sure to keep just out of Yoongi's eye line, ducking out of sight when it seems like he might spot you through the front window. You’re staring at a bucket of coral-coloured blooms when you hear Jungkook calling your name and you glance up, lifting your hand in a wave.

You almost choke on a breath. You’ve never seen Jungkook out of uniform, his plethora of loose, oversized shirts under a dark apron, nondescript trousers and plain shoes.

“Hi, Y/n.” The smile on his face is bright and wide, eyes squeezing into crescents. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long?”

He’s in such a simple outfit, but it’s devastating. His hair is arranged neatly under a cap, a leather jacket over the dark, tight shirt tucked into his jeans, blue denim nipped in by a plain black belt; there’s large rips at the knees, flashes of skin visible as he walks forwards, feet steady in black boots. It’s undeniably Jungkook, but it’s so different from the version of him you’ve gotten used to over the past two months, catching you completely off guard.

“Y/n?” He repeats, concerned at your silence, and you snap to attention.

“Oh, sorry! I was just thinking about, uh,” you glance at the flowers you’d been looking at, “peonies. No, I haven’t been waiting long at all, don’t worry. You, um, look really nice today,” you add lamely, unsure what else to say.

“You do too.” Jungkook sounds like he genuinely means it, even if you’re just wearing a pretty regular outfit, similar to the sort of thing you usually wear when you visit him at work. “Peonies only flower for about a week, actually, if you wanted to get some?”

“No, no, that’s fine! Today’s not about flowers, today is about coffee,” you say. Your heart is hammering in your chest for some reason. A single butterfly lifts off in your stomach, taking flight with a flutter of its wings, flitting to and fro. “Take me to the coffee?”

He takes you to the coffee. He leads you confidently through the maze of alleyways, past more places you haven’t seen; he waits patiently whenever you ask to stop and take photos, watching as you stare in awe at an arch built out of precariously balanced tomes that leads into an old bookshop.

“It’s just so pretty around here,” you say, flapping your hand about to try and speed up the development process of a photo. “I’m sorry I’m taking so long.”

“It’s okay.” Jungkook’s voice is soft. “We’re not in a rush.”

He’s not just saying that to be nice, either. At one point, after you’ve apologised yet again, he steals your Polaroid from you and runs; you laugh at him when he refuses to give it back, taking shots of you while he dances just out of your reach, a cascade of photos that somehow turn out distinct and unblurred. Curse his photography abilities.

You slap him lightly on the arm when he eventually surrenders the camera back to you and he just chuckles. It’s a long, looping detour on your way to the café, but you’re having so much fun that you don’t mind— in fact you end up having to be the one to get you back on track, tugging Jungkook’s elbow when it seems like he’s about to take you down another alleyway and towards the river, which you know is the wrong direction for the café.

“Coffee, Jungkook.” You try to sound stern but you end up dissolving into giggles when he pouts at you. “Okay, how about a compromise? We can get coffee to go and then come back this way so you can show me that market you were talking about.”

He brightens. “Okay,” he says. “We can do that.”

You almost regret saying this when you eventually turn up at the café; it’s actually a few stories up a building, a narrow set of rickety steps that opens into a light, airy room, naked lightbulbs hanging in constellations overhead, the entire wall behind the counter a massive chalkboard that’s covered in art of different styles and designs. The wall facing out onto the road outside is glass— the perfect place to unwind and people watch.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe. “Jungkook, this is so cool.”

“I know,” he says, smug and cheeky, and he laughs when you huff out a little breath at him. “The drinks are good, too.”

He’s not lying. He opts for another banana frappe, and after much deliberation, you decide to try the iced honeycomb latte. He refuses to let you pay and hands his card over to the barista before you even get a chance to reach for your bag, which has you narrowing your eyes at him.

“I feel like you prepared that in advance,” you say.

“Not telling.” He taps the side of his nose, which is scrunched from his smile. Inside you another handful of butterflies take flight.

More and more take wing as the afternoon goes on, each time Jungkook laughs or smiles or looks at you; he leads you through the market and shows you his favourite stalls, excited each time he gets to show you something he likes and enjoys, stealing sips of your drink when you’re distracted— but you laugh in his face and do the same to him, so it’s okay.

Time flows by as easy as quicksilver, liquid and bright, and before you know it it’s turned from afternoon to evening, sky softening in deepening shades of blue and purple, the smattering of clouds a pastel palette of pink; you come to a stop by the edge of the river, Jungkook a few steps ahead of you by the time he realises you’re not walking beside him. He smiles at you as you lift your camera and take a shot of him surrounded by the sunset.

“I didn’t realise how late it was getting,” you say, and Jungkook blinks. It’s like he’s coming around to himself, like he didn’t realise either; he glances around and notices the shade of the sky before he pulls his sleeve back to look at the watch on his wrist.

“Wow, me neither.” He sounds surprised, and then he looks guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you busy for so long.”

“Oh my gosh, Jungkook, don’t apologise.” You tuck your latest photo into your pocket to look at later. “I’m having so much fun, I just didn’t notice the time go by. It’s not like you’re forcing me to be here,” you laugh. “I like spending time with you.”

The lampposts have yet to turn on and it’s hard to make out Jungkook’s features when he’s turned away from the soft light of the sunset like this. But you can hear the sincerity in his voice when he speaks. “Me too,” he says. “I’m really glad you found Spring Day.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest. Jungkook looks towards the river just as the first lights switch on, finally dark enough that the streetlights come to life; there're trailing bulbs between each lamppost that flicker on moments after, points of brightness that flood the path below them. Jungkook’s face is shaded by the brim of his cap but he takes it off and shakes his head, running his hand through his hair now that it’s freed. Another breath catches in your throat at how utterly mesmerising he is.

The sound of his voice breaks you out of your trance. “I was wondering,” he says, staring at the rippling mirror of lights on the water, the fading colours of the sky overhead cast in undulating reflections that shift from moment to moment. “You like photography, right?”

“I do,” you say. “Even if I’m not that great at it myself.”

“I have a friend who’s a photographer and some of his work’s been accepted in a local gallery.” Jungkook’s running his fingers over the hard brim of his cap, running them along its edge. “The opening night is in a few days, and, um. I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?”

He finally turns away from the river to look at you. Jungkook’s eyes are so big and dark. For once you’re the deer caught in headlights, and you don’t even know why; it’s like this simple, innocuous question has reached inside you and stolen all the air out of your lungs.

Even so, your answer is immediate. “I’d really, really love that,” you answer honestly, and Jungkook’s responding smile is so, so wide.

You forget about that final photo until you get home. It falls out of your pocket as you shrug your coat off to hang it up, and you stoop down to pick it up, fingers stuttering and going still against its white edges as you take it in.

Jungkook’s silhouetted by the evening sky behind him, in stark contrast to the gentle colours and yet just as soft. The shadows are a little blurred, and the colours are a little muted— but Jungkook’s face is clear, his eyes warm and his smile gentle as he looks at you.

No one’s ever looked at you like that before.

At last the final butterfly flaps its wings and joins the others, your stomach full of fluttering.

Your friendship with Jin has miraculously gone back to normal. If anything, it’s even better than it was before your confession— you don’t feel the need to think twice about your actions, like you’re tiptoeing around him, desperate to keep your love a secret. It’s as easy as it used to be and you’re glad.

But you still remember how much it hurt when he’d looked at you and turned you down. You’ve moved past it, sure, but it had just cemented something you’ve known your whole life: how utterly unlovable you are. How wrong you’d been at reading signs, how you’d been in over your head. How every crush you’ve ever had has come to nothing.

You’ve kept that picture of Jungkook resting against your peace lily. His lovely eyes watch as you struggle at your computer, hours of typing stilted words and phrases that you read back and furiously delete. You bury your head in your hands, frustrated.

Why can’t you write?

By the time Friday night rolls around, you’ve added a grand total of one (1) sentence to your novel. But right now you have more important things to worry about; it’s almost time for you to meet Jungkook at the gallery downtown and the maps app on your phone has been playing up. It’s not that you’re going to be late— you don’t actually live that far away— but you’re not going to be early, and you hate that.

You can see the small groups of people trickling into the gallery, the lights shining out by the entrance cutting across them as they step inside, but your eyes are immediately drawn to Jungkook. He’s been looking down at his phone but as soon as you start to approach it’s like he can sense that you’re there, eyes rising from his screen and zoning in on you immediately.

You stop in your tracks. His face lifts and splits into a wide smile and you smile helplessly back. He’d said the dress code for tonight was smart-casual, and he looks so good dressed like this. You love his turtleneck jumper.

“Hi,” he says. “Wow, you look good.”

“Hi,” you respond, breathless. You feel winded from his compliment and from the blush that’s rising on his face, even if he’s keeping his gaze locked on yours. “You do too.”

You stare at each other for what feels like eons when someone brushes past you and it snaps the two of you out of the moment, and Jungkook coughs. “Um. Should we go in?”

It’s busier inside than you thought. The gallery isn’t exactly small but the layout isn’t entirely straightforward and people keep clustering in certain areas and getting in the way, distracted by the photos on display. You have to wade through one particularly large group of people to get back to Jungkook, who’s been waiting for you on the other side; he looks concerned on your behalf, and when someone makes a move to walk between the two of you he reaches out for your hand, cutting off their path. Your hand feels so small in his, so warm in his grasp.

“I didn’t realise there’d be so many people here,” he mutters, looking around. You entwine your fingers with his and he startles, glancing at where your hands are joined, like he hadn’t noticed that he’d reached out for you.

You abruptly feel embarrassed and you’re about to let go when Jungkook squeezes your hand. You glance up and he’s looking away from you, back of his neck red, but he’s not letting go.

“I think Tae’s stuff is a bit further in,” he says. “Let’s go.”

You trail after Jungkook, who keeps his pace matched to yours. It’s a little quieter back here so it’s easy to find who you’re looking for; when you spot a man with bright blue hair he waves wildly in your direction and Jungkook brightens.

“Kookie! Hi!”

Jungkook lets go of your hand when he’s swept into a hug, and before you can introduce yourself, you’re swept into a hug, too.

“I’m Vante,” the blue-haired man says once he lets you go. “But you can call me Taehyung. Vante is my photographer name. I think it sounds cooler. Don’t you?”

“I think Taehyung is a lovely name,” you say, unphased by how full on Taehyung seems to be. “But Vante sounds really cool, too.”

Taehyung beams at you. “I like you,” he announces. “Y/n, right? Jungkook mentioned you.”

You cough into your palm, trying to act like you’re not supremely flustered right now; when you’re not looking, Jungkook hits Taehyung on the shoulder. “Yeah, that’s right,” you say, looking up. Both boys have innocent expressions on their faces. “Can I have a look at your photos?”

Taehyung is an incredibly talented photographer. You don’t need to be an expert to know that. He has a series of scenic and nature shots, some in colour, some in black and white; he enthusiastically answers your questions about each one, about the background of them and why he takes photos of what he does. Jungkook walks quietly behind you and is content to watch as the two of you talk, chest warmed by how well you’re getting on with each other.

You round a corner to another wall, and Taehyung gestures dramatically at the collection lined across it. “And these are my portrait photos,” he says. “There’s even one of Kookie up here, even if he gets embarrassed whenever I mention it.”

Sure enough, Jungkook is blushing.

“Take me to it,” you say firmly, and Taehyung laughs out loud before he does just that. It’s a black and white shot, Jungkook in profile as he looks towards the camera, endless ocean waves and sky behind him. “Jungkook, you’re such a good model,” you say, smiling softly at it.

Jungkook’s gone bright red, and you’ve honestly missed this sight, even if you’re glad that he’s not shy with you any more. “Taehyung’s just good at taking photos,” he says, voice high with embarrassment.

“I have a lot more photos of Jungkookie that aren’t on display,” Taehyung pipes up, and Jungkook looks like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him. “You’ll have to visit my studio some time so I can show them to you.”

You have Taehyung’s business card carefully stowed away in your bag as you walk home, arms swinging by your sides; you unintentionally brush your hand against Jungkook’s, but before you can say sorry he’s taken it as an invitation to hold your hand again. The apology dies on your lips as he slots his fingers between yours and you smile at him instead.

“Taehyung is so cool,” you say. “And talented, too. I love his photos.”

“I’m glad you both get on so well,” Jungkook says. “Sometimes people seem to think Taehyung is… I don’t know. He can come on a bit strong, I guess.”

“He’s great.” You frown. “I’m going to fistfight anyone who’s mean to him.”

Jungkook laughs and squeezes your hand.

He insists on walking you up to your door, keeping hold of your hand as he follows you inside your apartment building. You feel somewhat abashed at how wide his eyes go at how nice it is inside here. You’re not on the same level as, say, Stephen King or George R.R. Martin, but you make a pretty decent amount of money from your books and it shows.

Jungkook doesn’t actually know what you do. You’ve vaguely alluded to the fact that you’re a writer, but that could mean any number of things; for all he knows you could pen the agony aunt column in a magazine (you imagine that would be pretty fun, actually). You keep waiting for the right opportunity to come clean about your pseudonym but nothing’s presented itself yet.

“Do you want to come in? My friend Seokjin makes killer brownies and I’ve got a box of them still in the fridge,” you say. “He always makes way more than I can eat myself.”

Jungkook seems torn. He wants to see inside your apartment, you can tell, but he also probably doesn’t want to seem intrusive— even if you’re offering.

“I hate wasting food so you’d be doing me a real favour,” you add, and Jungkook relents.

“Alright,” he says, and you smile to yourself as you unlock your door.

You’ve been giving flowers to other people, too— Seokjin and Jimin and Namjoon and even Hoseok have been receiving the gifts of your bounty— but only the premade bouquets. The ones that Jungkook puts together are ones that you keep for yourself. It’s far less overwhelming now than it had been a while ago, only a few floral arrangements here and there, but it’s obvious from Jungkook’s expression that he recognises each bouquet.

He ends up sitting at your breakfast bar as you dig the brownies out of your fridge, and he smiles in delight as you warm up some milk. It’s getting late, and you know Jungkook doesn’t like coffee, anyway.

(You’ve learned a lot about Jungkook in the past few months.)

“Which one is Seokjin?” He asks around a mouthful of brownie. You’ve retired to your living room and Jungkook is peering at the strings of fairy lights you have on the wall, Polaroids of your friends and family clipped along its wire. “This one?”

“No, that’s Namjoon,” you say. You stand up from the couch and scooch next to Jungkook so you can point. “He’s Jimin’s boyfriend— which is this guy here. That’s Seokjin,” you point. “All my favourite people. Ah, don’t look at this one, it’s me and Jimin when we were back in school. We look like such dorks. Look at our hair.”

“You look cute,” Jungkook says, and you try not to blush. “Wait, is that me?”

Your collection of Jungkook photos has been growing exponentially over time. The one he’s looking at is a picture of himself in Spring Day, bent over a bucket of roses, fingers cupping the pink flowers as he smiles at them; he’s said he’s okay with you taking photos, but maybe he meant when he was actually aware of you taking them.

“Um, yeah,” you say. You feel weirdly embarrassed. “I can take it down if you want? Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Jungkook’s staring at the glowing light next to the photo, avoiding your eyes. “I just didn’t think I’d be on the wall with the rest of your, uh, favourite people.”

Your mouth falls open. You don’t know what to say. Normally you’d scoff at him and say duh, of course you are, but for some reason you can’t summon the courage right now. The words catch in your throat.

Luckily, Jungkook seems to notice another photo. “Oh, is that from your school prom? Wait. Are you on crutches?”

You laugh, glad for the distraction. “Oh, yeah! Jimin persuaded me to sneak out of my house a few weeks before that because I was under curfew but there was a party we were both desperate to go to. Needless to say, climbing out of my window didn’t go so well. I was on crutches for ages after that. It wasn’t so bad, honestly. People felt sorry that I couldn’t dance so they kept sitting with me and feeding me cupcakes out of pity. They were delicious,” you say with a smile. “Never did get to do that end of school dance I’d planned with Jimin, though. That’s the only thing that was bad about it.”

Jungkook’s face twists. You’re too busy looking at the photo and reminiscing to notice, but you do notice when he steps back. You turn, confused as Jungkook holds his hand out and looks at you expectantly.

“What?”

“I know it’s a bit late, and I’m not Jimin, but you can have that end of school dance.” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I promise I won’t step on your feet.”

You giggle, but you can feel a blush threatening to fight its way onto your cheeks. There’s a storm of butterflies in your stomach. “But there’s no music,” you say. “How can we dance without music?”

Jungkook shrugs. “I’ll sing for us,” he says. He steps forward, hand still proffered, and you slide your hand into his, unable to deny him.

It’s been years since Jimin’s taught you the basic waltz, and you’re a little stiff because of it, but your body seems to remember the steps as Jungkook slowly leads you. You’re staring at your feet while Jungkook hums, but once you have the rhythm down he opens his mouth and starts to sing; you look up from the floor, your eyes helplessly drawn to his.

His voice is soft and honeyed, words sweet as they hang in the air. You’re so entranced by the deep, warm brown of his eyes that it takes you longer than it should to recognise the lyrics of the song: 10,000 hours, transformed by Jungkook’s mellifluous voice.

He leads you into a turn, and when you come back together it’s a little clumsy and you giggle. Jungkook smiles at you as he continues to sing. The laughter leaves you feeling light and sparkling, like there’s a fountain bubbling inside you, and all the stiffness finally falls away from your limbs. The waltz becomes more of a swaying dance as you let your arms drop, Jungkook’s arm sliding around your waist as you step closer to him, and you end up turning in small circles in the middle of your living room as Jungkook murmurs a love song into your ear.

You suddenly realise that you’ve never been happier than you are right now: dancing in your living room in the circle of Jungkook’s arms as he sings to you, a romantic cliché that’s somehow become true for you. For you. With someone as incredible as Jungkook.

You’re never happier than when you’re with Jungkook.

Holy shit.

You’re in love with Jungkook.

The final note of the song lingers in the air as he comes to an end, the resonance of a bell that slowly fades. He smiles at you as you slowly come to a stop, still nestled in each other’s embrace as your feet finally become still.

“I’m so glad I broke my leg,” you say suddenly, and Jungkook laughs outright, face squeezing up in the way that you love so much.

You’re in love with him.

You watch as he slips his shoes back on. You feel helpless and untethered in a lot of ways, but at the same time, you’ve never felt more sure about anything. When he flashes you a smile, you can’t help but smile back— but that’s always been the case, hasn’t it?

“Hey,” you say suddenly, just after Jungkook’s finished shrugging his coat on. “I know you’ve just, um, gotten ready to go and everything, but can I quickly show you something?” Your heart is thudding in your chest.

Jungkook blinks. “Sure.”

You give him a jerky nod before turning on your heel and walking down the corridor to swing the door open to your office. Jungkook follows behind you, waiting in the doorway as you flick the light on; he makes a noise when he notices the frame hanging on your wall, the flowers of the corsage that you’d dried and pressed safe behind the glass.

You don’t respond. You’re too busy taking a moment to suck in a deep breath and steel yourself before you open your filing cabinet to pull out a stack of papers, sheaves of writing that are stapled together— the very first, unedited drafts of each of your novels, kept for posterity.

“I, um, don’t really know how to say this.” You stare at your hands as you shuffle through the booklets. “I haven’t told anyone new in a long time, so I guess I’m out of practice, but, uh.” You’re so nervous that you’re light-headed. “Autumn Lovett is actually my pen name. These are drafts of my novels if you think I’m lying,” you say, shoving the paper at Jungkook’s chest; he grabs them before they fall to the ground. “Um. So. Yeah. Taa-daa?”

You feel like you’ve run a marathon. Your heart is racing and your lungs are struggling to take in air. You can’t look at Jungkook. You’re staring at the ceiling instead, dreading his reaction.

When he makes a noise, however, your head snaps down. He’s crouched in the middle of your office with your drafts held over his face.

“Jungkook?” You say, panicked, and he makes the same noise again.

“Oh my God,” he whines, muffled behind the paper. You squat down to grip his hands and pull them away from his face, worried; when it’s finally revealed he’s bright red and he looks mortified. “I can’t believe I recommended your own books to you,” he all but wails. “And I gushed like a fanboy in front of you about them too. Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t mean to but you laugh. Jungkook tries to hide his face again but you pull the drafts out of his hands and send them scattering to the floor. “Oh, Jungkook,” you say, overflowing with affection. “You don’t have to apologise. I found it flattering, actually.”

He doesn’t seem bothered that you hadn’t told him sooner. He doesn’t care that you’ve been keeping it a secret. He’s just embarrassed. He stays embarrassed as he helps you gather up the papers, and he stays embarrassed as you return your own book that he’d let you borrow, and he stays embarrassed as he heads towards your front door for the second time that night.

“I do, um, really like your work,” he says, shy as he fiddles with your door handle. “I’m really looking forward to your next novel. I’m not just saying that to be nice because I know who you are now.” His eyes are wide as he looks up at you. “I mean it.”

Your heart feels full to the brim with fondness. “I know,” you say. “I believe you. I— you can have a read through it before it’s published, actually, as long as you promise not to leak it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen even further before he holds his hand out. “Pinky promise.”

You giggle as you hook your finger with his. “Pinky promise.”

Once Jungkook’s left you immediately sit down at your computer and write and write and write— it’s like the words just won’t stop. They come pouring out of you, and endless torrent that you don’t try to rein in. You write for so long you end up crashing at your desk, face smooshed against your keyboard as you drool in your sleep.

(“I don’t know how to dance,” Yunhee says, and Lily just smiles.

“Me neither,” she says. “We can learn together.”

They keep stepping on each other’s feet. It’s clumsy and messy and they keep dissolving into laughter between apologies to each other, but it’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee.

It’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee, with Lily: because it’s them, together.)

“I’ve finished my novel,” you announce, and all the men at the table sit up.

“Wow.” Namjoon blinks at you. “I thought you weren’t due to publish for, what, another six months?”

“What can I say? I’ve been inspired.” You smile down into your glass before taking a drink of your orange juice.

Seokjin stares at you before he leans back in his chair. He’s always been able to read you through and through, and that perceptiveness doesn’t leave him now. “Ah,” he says. “You’re in love.”

You’re in the middle of swallowing your juice and nearly choke, spluttering. Namjoon pats your back with concern while his boyfriend looks askance.

“You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.”

“I wasn’t lying,” you wheeze, finally coughing the last remnants of orange juice out of your windpipe. “Well, I guess it was kind of a half lie? I was buying them, but, uh, he made them.” You fiddle with the napkin in your lap as Seokjin coos at you.

“You fell in love with a florist,” he says. “You’re literally living in an AO3 fanfic. That’s adorable.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, and Jin just laughs when you try to kick him under the table and nearly hit Namjoon instead.

“It sounds romantic,” Namjoon agrees, apparently unphased by how close he was to getting nailed in the shins.

Jimin slaps his small hand against the table. “You haven’t answered any of my questions, snake. I know what you’re like, Y/n— get the Polaroid out of your bag. We need to judge your new beau.”

Jimin’s right. He knows exactly what you’re like, the helpless romantic that you are; the three men shuffle their heads together to peer at the photo of Jungkook, the one where he’s surrounded by the sunset.

“He’s fucking cute,” Jimin decides immediately. “I’m almost offended you haven’t introduced him to us yet. You should invite him to our house-warming party. Namjoon agrees.”

You look at Namjoon, who nods despite not being consulted. “You’re so whipped,” you mutter at him. He just shrugs. “Anyway,” you continue, raising your voice over Jimin’s and Jin’s muttered conversation as they continue to stare at your photo of Jungkook. “I’m going to hold fire on the house-warming party invitation for now, because, um, I haven’t actually said anything to him yet.”

Your eyes are cast down as you say this, affixed to the sight of your hands in your lap. You’ve still been visiting Spring Day, of course, and you’ve started to see Jungkook more and more outside of work as well; each time you meet him you fall a little bit more in love. It’s almost terrifying how easy it is to fall for him.

“Y/n.” Jimin’s voice is sober and you glance up from your lap to take in the worried look on his face. “I know it must be scary—”

“Oh gosh, Minnie, I love you, but it’s okay, you don’t need to give me a pep-talk on how I’m a 10/10 and anyone would be blessed to have me,” you interrupt. “I haven’t been putting off confessing because I think he’s going to pull a Jin and turn me down—”

“Hey,” Jin says mildly. He knows you’re joking. You got over that ages ago.

“—but I, um, emailed him my book yesterday, actually,” you finish. “What he does once he’s finished reading it is up to him.”

Jimin is right. It is scary. But Jungkook is worth the potential pain and heartache. He is. He’s always so lovely to you, always so considerate; he sings for you and dances with you and he’s even painted for you, a small canvas covered in favourite flowers, ones that won’t die. Last week when he’d dropped you off at your apartment, he’d brushed his lips across your cheek before practically sprinting away, and your heart had exploded in your chest.

You have no idea how someone as amazing as Jungkook sees something worthwhile in you, so it's hard to come to grips with, but there’s no way you’re reading this wrong. There’s no way.

The table goes quiet and then Jin leans forward and takes your hands in his. “I can’t believe you’re confessing to him with your book,” he says. “This really is an AO3 fanfic. Hashtag slow burn.”

This time, when you kick him, you don’t miss.

You spend the rest of the day with your coterie of doofuses and by the time you get home you’re ready to relax. You’ve just finished getting into your pyjamas, flopping down onto your sofa when there’s suddenly a hammering at your door. You sit up, startled at the noise. The knocking doesn’t let up as you approach the door and you’re wary, but once you look through the peephole you immediately swing it open.

“Jungkook? Are you okay?”

He’s wild-eyed and windswept and his chest is heaving as he sucks in air. You stare at him with concern as he catches his breath.

“Yoongi let me have the day off,” he says. You blink at him.

“Okay? Did you want to go out somewhere? Now? You’ll have to let me change, though, my pyjamas aren’t exactly great evening wear.”

“I’ve spent the whole day reading your book,” Jungkook says, and your heart goes still in your chest before it starts beating at double time.

“Oh,” you say. “Um. What, uh. What did you think?”

Jungkook’s face has taken on an expression that you’ve become intimately familiar with, a similar look to the one he’d been giving you that night by the river, soft and open and warm and— you can see it now, as time has gone by— full of love. He cups your face in his hands and rests his forehead against yours, dark eyes drinking you in, the smile on his lips so lovely and sweet. Just for you.

“I love you,” he says, and then he kisses you.

He keeps cradling your face in his hands, his lips moving against yours in a way that’s so tender that it makes you want to cry; you’ve never felt so wrapped up in someone’s touch like this, like you can feel exactly how precious you are to him just from the touch of his lips against yours. You know it’s a cliché to say that it feels like fireworks going off in your chest, but it does, every single one of the butterflies that have been nestled in your ribcage exploding into flames and brightness, sparkling heat that shines out of you every second Jungkook keeps kissing and kissing and kissing you.

Kissing Jungkook feels like every romantic fantasy you’ve ever written into your books is coming true all at once. You’re not unwanted, undesirable, unlovable: he wants you, he desires you, he loves you.

(He loves you.)

It feels like every flower he’s ever given you is flushing to full bloom all at once, spilling out of your chest, brightness and colour and life curling around your heart. All those years spent quietly hoping, culminating in this moment: Jeon Jungkook pressing his lips against yours, keeping you steady as you lean into him, and you feel like all that waiting and yearning and wanting was worth it if you got to meet him at the end of it all. You’ve finally got your storybook ending.

No, actually— it’s just the beginning.

You’re still standing in your doorway when you part, Jungkook’s hands splayed across your jaw as you give him a smile so wide it almost hurts.

“I love you too,” you say. “If that wasn’t already obvious.”

Jungkook chuckles and you can’t help but lean into the sound, eyes slipping shut as you turn your head and rest your forehead against his jaw. “I had to reread some parts because I didn’t think I was reading it right,” he admits, and you keep smiling. “I thought there was no way it could be real.”

How could Jungkook ever have any doubts? How could Jungkook think that there was no way that you could love him? Does he not realise how amazing he is? How wildly lucky you feel that somehow— with all your flaws and blemishes and imperfections— he loves you back?

“What made you come around?”

“Yoongi-hyung took one look at the last page and threw a roll of ribbon at my head,” Jungkook says, and you laugh, and Jungkook laughs, and the two of you are laughing and laughing and laughing. You feel like you could float away, buoyant with happiness; only Jungkook’s presence is keeping your feet on the ground. “I hope you don’t mind that I let him read it.”

“It’s okay.” You tilt your head back to look at Jungkook. He’s staring at you like you’re the sun and he’s turning towards you, a fierce and beautiful tiger lily blooming in your light. “I wouldn’t mind if you sent free copies of the book to everyone in the world if it meant I’d have you at the end of it.”

Jungkook smiles at you. It’s bright and wide and his eyes are crescents as his nose scrunches and he flashes his teeth, and you love him. “Purple rose, lilac, baby’s breath,” he says, and you recognise the flowers of the corsage he’d given you, all those months ago. “Love at first sight, first love, everlasting love.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Shut up,” you breathe. He'd seen you as worth loving, even then? “Shut up. You did not— you did not confess that you had a crush on me with flowers? After we’d only met twice?”

“Maybe I did.” Jungkook’s smile turns cheeky and you love him.

“I can’t believe you. I can’t believe me. You were literally reading a book about flower language, how did I not— god. I love you,” you say helplessly, and he laughs before he kisses you again.

(“I love you.”

Yunhee freezes in place and looks up at Lily with wide eyes. Lily is terrified of being hurt again, terrified of Yunhee not returning all this endless love that she has in her heart— but Yunhee is worth that terror. She’s worth that pain. Even if she doesn’t feel the same, she needs to know how loved she is. How brilliant and lovely and wonderful she is, her Yunhee, her love.

Yunhee opens her mouth to reply, and says:

How this story ends is up to you, Jungkook. I’ll be waiting. - Y/n)

#jungkook fluff #bts fluff #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenario #bts oneshot #joy.masterlist

1K notes · View notes

whereisten · 4 years

Text

Fuchsia-Colored Sunglasses

Summary:

Your life is turned upside down when you’re transported into another reality by the enigmatic and mysterious old woman named Cyan. You find yourself an up-and-coming makeup artist whose latest client is the cocky fuchsia-haired rockstar Yuta Nakamoto. You struggle to find balance as Yuta is your most difficult client yet and you can’t seem to stop losing things in your apartment.

Meanwhile, Yuta is at the top of his game with his record-breaking band that’s about to tour and his perfect celebrity girlfriend. But he can’t shake the feeling that something is missing. When he meets you, however, he finally feels..at home.

In a reality where soulmates so rarely find each other, is it possible that the two of you will see the signs?

Pairing: Rockstar!Yuta x female reader

Genre: Soulmate AU, Fluff, comedy, a little smut, a tiny bit of angst

Word Count: 28.5K

Warnings: profanity, minor character death mention, alcohol mention

(A/N: we are so excited to finally post this for you guys!! It is for a collaborative project (A Colours AU) organized by the wonderful @neo-cult-ure . THANK YOU so much for inviting us to do this!! Please visit her tumblr for a complete list of all of the amazing works included in this project that we all worked so hard on❤️ with that being said, we hope you enjoy!! Thank you for supporting us!!)

[colours masterlist]: Click here to enjoy several amazing journeys :)

——————

It really hasn’t been your day. There was just one problem after the other being thrown at you at work. Books often went missing at the library, but today an entire section was missing romance novels and no one seemed to know where they had gone. So you spent hours collecting them from other sections in the library, placing them on your cart as you moved through each lane. It doesn’t sound like a lot of work but for a library with 16 floors, it was just enough to make your head spin. Your day was long and boring.

And now, you learned that your favorite cafe was fresh out of your usual drink, an iced caramel latte, the perfect drink for a pick me up.

fantastic.

A sigh left your lips as you turned around the corner of the bathroom and walked face first into someone.

smack!

You stumbled back and then felt something wet on your clothes. Great.

“I..I’m so sorry about that.” A lady’s voice caught you off guard as she quickly tried to clean up the situation. She reached forward and grabbed your hands. A bit weirded out by the situation, you tried to pull your hands away but she didn’t let go, pulling you in closer so she could look into your eyes and capture your full attention.

“Dear, don’t be frightened, my name is Cyan and I am so very sorry...” Her eyes had a mysterious glow about them that you couldn’t understand. She seemed...otherworldly.

“Let me make it up to you.” Cyan said. “Here, pick a colour and you’ll meet your soulmate. However, you should be aware that each colour represents a different reality, and you only have one chance to bring them back to this reality.”

“Really?” you asked, clearly suspicious of the entire situation.

“Yes, now which would you choose?” she asked as she held out the tablet for you to pick a colour. You tilted your head to the side before just agreeing.

You typically liked to lay low, keep things normal and safe for your sanity. And love? Soulmates? Those were concepts that you never really thought too hard about. If it comes, it comes but you weren’t going to go out of your way for it.

But today was unlike any other day, everything went wrong, so what if...you did things differently for once? What if you took the chance to experience something...new? You had nothing left to lose, right?

You reached forward to choose.

“Fuchsia.”

^_^

You sat at the kitchen table, your Bluetooth speaker playing your favorite song, “Breeze”. It was by the artist Mountain Man, whose identity was a mystery to the entire world. Your roommate Delilah came in to grab some orange juice from the fridge.

Delilah laughed. “I swear I dream of this song from all the times you play it.”

You replied, “This song is a religious experience. You should be so honored to dream of it.” You took a bite of your Fruity Pebbles.

Delilah joined you at the table as she searched something up on her laptop. “Today’s the bid for the Bulbasaur card I’ve had my eye on. I’m so nervous. I can’t go past eight five dollars so let’s hope my competition is just as cheap as I am.”

You rolled your eyes. “Eighty-five dollars for a trading card? Really?”

Deililah shook her head. “Sixty-five dollars for foundation, y/n? Really?”

You shut your mouth and keep eating your cereal. You and your roommate had your impulses...Well, your passions. Besides, an investment in good foundation only made sense given your profession as a makeup artist.

Delilah scrolled through her phone and frowned. “That’s weird. This looks just like your Hermosa Vida palette.”

That was impossible. You had the only one in existence. Last month, at the cosmetics brand launch for Hermosa Vida, you received a limited edition palette from two of your favorite makeup artists, Sol and Luna, who teamed up for their growing cosmetics empire. They gave you the limited edition trial of the palette before the official palette was released in stores. You were so excited to try it out but misplaced it two weeks ago. You knew you had to clean your room more often.

In fact, you’ve misplaced a lot of things recently: a pair of your favorite My Melody socks, a bracelet from your trip to Jamaica last summer, a pair of your reading glasses, and more. You knew people were bound to lose things but it seemed to happen more often to you. You didn’t think much of it as you were busy applying for your new job.

You stood behind Delilah so you could see the palette on sale for yourself. It was shaped like a clam shell and was rose gold. It even had Sol and Luna’s autographs on the bottom.

Just like yours.

You scanned the description of the product to find the username of the seller: 1026you.

“Wait, I thought I was the only one who owned this palette. It doesn’t make sense. If there was more than one of these palettes in existence, then there would be more on sale. But this one...looks exactly like mine,” you said.

“Maybe it’s a knockoff,” Delilah offered, “You know how people will fabricate anything to get extra cash.”

“The thing is...I lost my palette. It’s almost as if…”

Delilah scoffed. “You don’t think someone broke in and stole it?”

You considered it. “I don’t know, Delilah. I’ve been losing a lot of things lately...I think we should install some cameras in here. Just in case.”

Your roommate nodded. “Fine with me. It’ll make us both feel safer.”

So you and Delilah had cameras installed around the apartment. You hoped your first paycheck with your new gig would come in quickly. You contacted the seller and asked about the palette, asking where they’d bought it and how they had access to it. You asked so you could have some sort of proof that it couldn’t be the same as yours. But it looked exactly like yours. And it bothered you. Unfortunately, there was no response from the seller.

A few days after that, your Siamese cat Totoro disappeared. You weren’t too concerned as Totoro was an outdoor cat and he tended to wander. He would return soon, you thought.

^_^

Meanwhile across your hometown of Los Angeles, international rockstar Nakamoto Yuta stood in his bathroom, dumbfounded to find a portrait of a young woman looking over her shoulder.

Yuta said to himself. “Where the hell did this come from?”

His girlfriend Ashley called from the living room. “What’s that, babe?”

Yuta responded, “Nothing, Ash.” He’d rather not freak out his high-maintenance diva girlfriend.

It was strange how random objects kept popping up in his apartment. He asked Ashley about the palette but she denied it was hers. A bracelet appeared on his nightstand a few weeks ago and Ashley denied again, growing suspicious that Yuta was having someone over. But he didn’t owe any explanations to her.

Yuta always came up short with his security footage. There were glitches with the footage. The objects just...appeared from one frame to the next. This had to be some kind of joke.

Seeing a whole portrait pop up in his bathroom of all places was just part of his daily routine now. Guess I’ve got another thing I have to sell online, he thought.

Then again… He looked carefully at the painting. The woman in the painting was stunning. He wondered what her face looked like in reality. Gorgeous, he was sure of it. The woman wore an oval-shaped ruby necklace. The painting gave him both a sense of comfort and excitement. He couldn’t explain this clearly new but somehow familiar feeling. He decided to hold onto the painting for a while. He could always change his mind.

Ashley let out a blood-curdling scream. “Yuta! Get in here!” She sounded scared for her life. Could it have been the people who managed to break in and leave the painting among all of the other random objects? He ran into the living room to find Ashley standing on his plush couch.

“Is that...a cat?!” Ashley hissed as she looked down at a Siamese cat.

The cat watched her from the ground, swaying his tail back and forth. He simply watched her. When the cat saw Yuta, he walked up to him and rubbed himself against Yuta’s legs as he purred.

Yuta crouched down and pet the cat behind his ears. “Hey there, buddy. How did you get in here?”

“Yuta, you went and bought a cat when you know I’m allergic?” Ashley asked as she sneezed.

Yuta sighed. “I swear to you I have no idea how he got in here.” It was possible he ran in when Yuta opened the sliding glass door to his yard.

“Well...” Ashley sneezed as she grabbed her handbag and stormed out of the multimillion dollar mansion. “You better get rid of that thing if you ever want me to set foot into this house again!”

Ashley slammed the door and Yuta laughed as he sat down on the couch. The cat laid on his lap and pushed his head into Yuta’s hand so that he could pet him.. Yuta brushed his fingers through his fur.

“You know what, I think I’ll keep you.”

^_^

It was your first day of work with the world famous band Skylark. Sky High Entertainment reached out to you when they watched your most popular makeup tutorial. Now, you would be their makeup artist for their future engagements. Your first few weeks would be to assist the band in preparation for their first set of tour dates in Los Angeles for their Heaven on Earth World Tour. You were to meet the group and their team at the Staples Center. You weren’t too familiar with Skylar’s work because you were either fixated on the YouTube MUA community or repeatedly listening to Mountain Man’s music. You arrived early, too excited to start, and the band’s manager Baekhyun Byun told you that you were welcome to watch the group rehearse.

To say that the band was attractive was an understatement. You knew of their names and faces from the occasional Twitter posts. Plus, you had to memorize their names and faces for the job. However, seeing them in person was a whole other experience.

Drummer Johnny Suh’s muscular arms and intensity were reminiscent of Hercules as he twirled one of his drumsticks with ease. Mark Lee was the guitarist, looking like he was about to be cast for the next Spiderman with his sweet and goofy demeanor. He played a random guitar solo with his tongue out to get a reaction out of his cousin Johnny. Dong Sicheng was focused at the keyboard, looking as elegant and regal as a vampire prince. Bassist Jung Jaehyun’s every glance was more seductive than the last as he tuned his bass to perfection.

Last but not least was the frontman with the fuchsia colored mane: Yuta Nakamoto. His walk to the microphone at the center of the stage was unintentionally seductive, considering he was in a black hoodie and sweatpants like the rest of his band. He was at least six feet tall as his long strides made him walk with such grace and elegance. A man that was effortlessly gorgeous was definitely trouble. At this point, your jaw was on the ground. Every man on that stage was a god but Yuta was the frontman for a reason. He was undeniably the cutest of the group. In his all-black attire, he was the emo prince of millions of girl’s dreams: his slender face, his sharp cheekbones, his piercing brown eyes, a smile so bright it could make you go blind, his rockstar piercings which included a navel piercing and caused your thoughts to drift to places that weren’t suitable for the workplace…

From time to time, the band goofed off. Mark made a paper plane from the set list and threw it at Johnny. Jaehyun danced the latest TikTok dance while Sicheng filmed it with his phone. Yuta laughed as he borrowed the keyboard and wrote some notes down in his notebook.

When they got down to business, the boys completely transformed. They channeled angst and heartache when they began rehearsal. You recognized the song as their latest single: “Lost and Found”.

When Yuta sang, goosebumps ran down your back and your stomach twisted. Alarms were ringing in your head but they weren’t out of fear. But out of...excitement? You couldn’t describe this strange sensation.

Yuta transformed into a man who was heartbroken and confused. His voice danced into your ears and hearing it live made the lyrics more meaningful. Every word that left his plump lips lingered in the air. You couldn't get enough and felt your heart squeeze.

Yuta looked out to the audience as he always practiced how he would engage with the crowd. He earned several thumbs up from the staff, as expected. Then he turned to your section and could barely make you out as a silhouette in the darkness.

You saw that he focused on your section as he sang the second verse. Your heart skipped a beat. You’d have to listen to more of Skylark’s music from now on because they were fantastic. And maybe lurk on Yuta’s social media.

After rehearsal ended, Manager Byun introduced you to the rest of the team, including the other makeup artists. He walked you to the dressing room to introduce you to the band. For the first time in years, you were about to freak out like a fangirl.

“Boys, this is y/n. She’s our newest makeup artist. Please, I beg of you, don’t make her run for the hills.” Manager Byun laughed. You hoped he was joking.

The boys greeted you and shook your hand. Johnny was the most outgoing. “Pleasure to meet you, y/n!”

Jaehyun winked at you as he shook your hand. “Hi.”

Winwin gave you a childlike smile. “Thank you for joining us!”

Mark stuttered as he greeted you, “Uh, hi, it’s uh, really nice to meet you.” His cheeks were flushed.

You were overjoyed but knew you had to conceal your excitement. Still, you couldn’t help but hope for Yuta to greet you.

You all turned to Yuta who was busily texting away on his phone in front of his mirror.

Johnny cleared his throat. “Yuta, say hi to y/n.”

Then, you noticed he was wearing his AirPods. Johnny tapped him on the shoulder. Yuta looked up at him. “What? I was on the verge of a breakthrough, and now I won’t get it back. Thanks a lot.” Yuta rolled his eyes and looked back at his phone.

Johnny cleared his throat and you could see his smile twitch from his reflection in the mirror. “Say hi to y/n. She’s our new makeup artist,” Johnny said carefully. He sounded a lot less sweet, then.

Yuta sighed. “Fine.”

He got up from his makeup chair and walked up to you. His sour demeanor quickly shifted to bright and breezy. His megawatt smile appeared as he shook hands with you. “Hi, y/n. Pleasure to meet you.”

It was insincere and you knew it. You didn’t even bother faking a smile. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

It was the smile you’d seen all too often with celebrities and YouTubers whose egos grew faster than their subscriber count. It was the kind of smile they used to please sponsors and fans. A means to an end.

Yuta’s smile faded as quickly as it appeared. He quickly turned away and went back to his chair, put his AirPods in, and returned to his phone. You spoke too soon when you thought Yuta was your favorite member.

Mark whispered, “Don’t take it personally, y/n. Yuta is in his own little world most of the time.”

You weren’t surprised. Chances were one of these boys wasn’t what they seemed. You were disappointed it was Yuta, though.

For the most part, your first day went well. Everyone was warm and welcoming. You shared tips with the other makeup artists. But then, they dropped a bomb.

“You’re assigned to Yuta,” Manager Byun told you as you headed down the elevator. You just came back from a break.

You couldn’t control your initial facial expression.

Manager Byun laughed. “He won’t bite.”

You composed yourself. “Oh, I know…”

He understood. “He’s been working on a lot of projects. Some of which I don’t even know the full details of. So I apologize on his behalf for his rudeness.”

You shook your head. “But Manager Byun-”

He raised his hand. “Please, call me Baekhyun. Manager Byun makes me sound like I’m a father of three.”

You laughed. “Okay. Baekhyun, you don’t have to apologize for him. I get it. He’s a workaholic. I’ll gladly be his makeup artist.” It wasn’t like Yuta insulted you. He just wasn’t what you hoped he would be. Plus, you were there for a job and nothing else. So professionalism was always key.

Baekhyun put his hand on your shoulder. “Thank you, y/n. If he gives you trouble at all, the makeup team will make sure Yuta gets the wrong shade of foundation.”

You and the rest of the makeup team headed back to the dressing room where the boys were sitting in their chairs. They needed to get their makeup done for the filming of their tour diaries entry for this week. Yuta was still glued to technology. This time, he was on his laptop, and he was in the middle of producing a track, it seemed.

You gulped and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, Mr. Naka-” You began.

“Yuta’s fine,” he barked back.

“I have to do your makeup,” you said as you started off with his primer.

“Fine,” he said as he closed his eyes, “Make it quick.”

His tone was even crabbier than this morning. You told yourself to keep it together. You wouldn’t let this diva jeopardize your job. He was a challenge and you would overcome this bastard.

Because Yuta was quiet and as still as a statue, doing his makeup wasn’t a problem. You made sure you were swift but neat. You didn’t want to poke the tiger again. All that was left was his eyeliner. You gave him an elegant winged eyeliner for his left eye. You were halfway done with his right eye when he interrupted.

His voice boomed. “Seriously, what part of ‘quick’ don’t you understand?”

He startled you so much that his liner shot straight up to the middle of his forehead.

You bit back your anger and your tears. You said calmly, “I was almost done, Yuta. If you hadn’t startled me for ten more seconds, I would’ve finished.”

Yuta looked in the mirror, his venomous tone matching the anger in his face. “You clearly lack experience if you let one thing I said get to you. Well? Don’t just stand there. Fix it.”

The rest of the staff and the band stood there, stunned to silence. You swallowed your pride and redid the liner on his right eye. He said nothing when you finished. He left the dressing room first.

You turned to everyone else, feeling humiliated and fearing what everyone would say. “Why is it so quiet?”

“Because you didn’t run for the hills,” Sicheng replied, smiling at you in admiration.

“Huh?” That wasn’t the reaction you’d expected.

Rin, your fellow makeup artist who was working on Jaehyun right beside you, said, “The last makeup artist Lily only lasted a week. Yuta’s been…”

“A stuck up bitch,” Jaehyun finished.

Rin sighed, “His words. Not mine. Before Lily, there was Halle. Halle was Yuta’s makeup artist for three years before she left for another project. Even before Halle left, Yuta was in a mood. No one knows what’s bothering him. He’s not usually-”

“A diva,” Mark added.

Rin applied some setting spray on Jaehyun’s face. “Once again, not my words.”

You worried if you crossed a line by talking back at him like you had. “Was I not supposed to say anything to him when he yelled?”

Everyone laughed. Johnny said, “Are you kidding? We dare you to tell him to stop bitching if he snaps again.”

You thought about it. “I just hope he gets over whatever he’s going through.”

^_^

Days passed and the sixth day of work went just about the same. You were in your element and over the moon with all of the high-end cosmetics at your disposal. Not even your sourpuss of a client could dampen your mood.

During one of your breaks, you sat alone in one of the unoccupied meeting rooms and listened to “Breeze” on your phone as you read some of your emails.

“The breeze made your hair sway. I fell in love that autumn day,” you sang aloud.

Yuta was headed to a meeting with Cartier but at the sound of your voice singing “Breeze”, he froze in his tracks. He pressed his ear against the door of the room you were in. The cracks in your voice were endearing. He smiled to himself.

He peaked through the window and hoped you didn’t notice him. You were seated at the table. Your legs were propped against one of the other swivel chairs. You tapped your fingers against the table. You smiled as you sang. Your smile was lovely. Your eyes were so full of joy and passion as you recited the lyrics, and for the first time, he actually looked at you and took in your features. Your singing voice wasn’t as calm and soothing as your speaking voice, but he still enjoyed hearing you. For the first time in a long time, he felt..something.

Seeing you smile that way made you the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, he realized.

He couldn’t believe how much you loved his song. “Breeze” wasn’t doing as well as he hoped. The company CEO thought about scrapping his anonymous side project all together. He didn’t understand. Had he released the song with Skylark or under his own name would “Breeze” have charted better? It pissed him off. He was so proud of his composition. It was the first time he let himself be so raw and vulnerable. Because he wanted this project to be anonymous, he chose not to tell his bandmates or anyone else, really. The couple of staff members who did know were sworn to secrecy. It killed him that he couldn’t vent to anyone.

When the song ended, you said to yourself, “Oh, let’s just play this on a loop.” You played “Breeze” again and stretched your arms.

Seeing you love the song as much as he did made the dark cloud that loomed over his head fade a little. Perhaps he had been too harsh on you, he thought.

^_^

A few more days pass and you and Yuta seem to be getting closer. He’d actually put his phone down when you did his makeup, watching you as you patted his foundation in. For you, it was strange, but for Yuta he was mesmerized.

“I’m bored..let’s play 20 questions.” Yuta said as you spritzed his face with primer water one day.

“Uhhh..okay.” Your brows furrowed.

“Favorite movie, go.” Yuta asked before closing his eyes.

“Uhhh. Titanic?”

“Ew. Okay favorite group?” He smirked.

“Well..it’s not Skylark..” You huffed.

Yuta took in a sharp breath and held your wrist to stop you. “It’s NOT Skylark? Then who is it, who is worthy?” His eyes were intense, like you hurt him deeply.

“Hmmm...One Direction.” You were just messing with him, but you wanted to see his reaction.

He rolled his eyes and let go, leaning back in his chair and rolling his neck. “You can’t be serious...”

“What? They make good music! And isn't it my turn to ask questions now?”

“Shoot.” Yuta closed his eyes so you could do his eye shadow.

“Hmmm..what’s your favorite color?” You started.

“The color of your eyes...”

You froze for a moment, but then chuckled. “Yuta..seriously?”

Yuta’s eyes opened as he laughed. “I’m serious! They’re beautiful.”

You pouted. “I’m done playing this game if you’re gonna mess with me.”

“Are you going to ruin my eyeliner again because you don’t like my compliment?” He let out in a faux British accent and high pitched tone to mimic the queen. You couldn’t help but laugh and shake your head.

Yuta smiles widely when he hears your angelic laugh, your eyes crinkling and your cheeks becoming so round and full.

What was this new feeling that he had?

^_^

You’d be working with Skylark for a month now and you were enjoying your time with the team. However, it was pouring for the first time in a month in LA. While you would’ve been happy about it in any other circumstance, you were annoyed and on the verge of freaking out. Your second bus was running late to take you to the arena. You decided not to wait for the bus and make a run for it.

Your umbrella was helpful to a certain extent but you were drenched regardless. The rain continued to pour unforgivingly. When you were preparing to cross the street, a black Mercedes pulled up beside you. The passenger window came down and you recognized Yuta.

He was sitting there, looking amazing as usual. Only this time, his long, neon pink hair was thrown into a bun and he modeled a pair of heart-shaped, fuchsia colored sunglasses to match.

The way he held the wheel with one hand made your heart shudder for some reason.

“Get in!” He said.

You hesitated for a second. However, dryer clothes outweighed your pride at this moment. You hopped in, closed your umbrella, and shut the door.

Yuta grabbed your umbrella and put it in the backseat. “You’re soaked. I’m going to turn up the heat on your seat.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

Yuta drove you to work. He was surprised he could recognize you through the pouring rain. He had this inexplicable anxiety when he was at the red light before he saw you. He couldn’t explain it. He was doing okay for the most part. His last song for his first self-titled mini album was almost complete. Ashley was a pain but their respective managers were working towards a day when they could announce their breakup. His band was at the top of their game. His new cat was keeping Ashley away.

So what was this feeling that came out of nowhere?

And how did the feeling disappear just as quickly when you looked him in the eyes?

“Thanks for the ride,” you piped up.

Yuta cleared his throat, feeling shy all of a sudden. Very unlike him. “We’re both headed the same way.” That was Yuta’s attempt at sounding cool. He didn’t realize it could make him sound like a tool, you thought.

There was an awkward silence that suffocated you both. The traffic was unbearable so it looked like you would both be late for work.

Yuta blurted, “I don’t think I’ve said this before but...I’m sorry..”

You turned to him as he stared straight ahead. You were shocked that he was apologizing. You figured this man never apologized for anything, especially when he carried on with you at work like he hadn’t snapped at you on your first day. “Are you?”

He sighed as he slowed down. “Yes. I was a jerk and you were just doing your job. I really have no excuse.”

You replied, “Well, as long as you’re aware. Do you promise to keep the sass to a minimum? Or at least until after I’m done with your makeup?”

Yuta nodded. “Yes, I promise.”

You noted how down Yuta looked. Beneath the hostility and sarcasm, there was frustration and sadness. “I forgive you.”

Yuta smiled. “Thank you.”

Another awkward silence followed. And the rain poured down even harder so Yuta drove even slower. He turned up the radio and you both recognized “Breeze”.

You both sat back and listened to the song in silence. Without you realizing, Yuta snuck glances at you as you hummed and bobbed your head to the beat of the song.

“I love this song,” you blurted.

Yuta smirked. “Yeah, it’s great, isn’t it?”

“I would give anything to meet Mountain Man. His music is unlike anything I’ve ever heard. No one knows who he is. His identity is top secret,” you sulk.

Yuta beamed with pride that someone could be a fan of his mysterious persona. Without knowing his face or his true identity. It truly made him feel special.

Yuta bit back a laugh. “I know who he is, actually.” He wondered if he would regret telling you this.

You looked at him in shock. “What?”

“I can introduce him to you if you’d like but you have to promise me one thing.” Yuta was elated to see you so thrilled.

“Wait, really?!” You exclaimed as you unconsciously moved closer to him. “You’re not messing with me, are you?”

Yuta shook his head as he finally turned into the arena parking lot. “When we break for lunch, I’ll take you to him. I’ll call him over.” You gaped. “Oh, you don’t have to. He must be so busy. He doesn’t have time to meet me. I-”

Yuta felt a flash of jealousy over your consideration for someone whose face you didn’t even know (even if it was his other persona). “He won’t mind, I promise. Now promise me one thing when I introduce you.”

“What is it?” You asked cautiously.

Yuta put his car in park. “Promise me you’re free tonight. I need to go over some looks for my concept photos next week. I know it’s after work but I’ll buy dinner.”

Yuta did a full 180 on his personality. You were still recovering from the whiplash. And now he was doing you favors and confiding in you? You were on the fence but if you could meet Mountain Man, surely it would be worth it.

^_^

When it was lunch time, Yuta took you to the conference room. “Take a seat, y/n. Mountain Man just texted me. I’ll bring him in.”

You sat down in your unofficial swivel chair and fought the urge to pick at your nails. You were so nervous. To be in the presence of such talent. To be in the presence of the man who touched your heart with a three minute and fifty five second song. You had no idea what to expect.

Yuta came back quickly. With no one. He looked at you expectantly.

You got up to check if anyone was behind Yuta. “Uh, Yuta?”

“Uh huh?” He asked.

“Where’s Mountain Man?” You frowned.

He threw his arms up. “You’re looking at him.”

You got up from your chair and wrapped your arms around your chest in frustration. “Come on.”

Yuta was shocked at your reaction. “You don’t believe me?”

You shook your head. How can such a high-profile celebrity be an anonymous artist?

Yuta rolled his eyes. “Wow, you’re really making a guy work here, aren’t you?”

“I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t you just release your music with Skylark or under your real name? Why the anonymity?” You asked as you went back to your chair and collected your belongings to leave.

“Wait, don’t go,” Yuta pleaded, “I can prove it.”

He offered his notebook to you with lyrics that dated back two years.

“This is your lyric book?” You asked.

Yuta nodded as you flipped through the pages. “Songs I’ve written for Skylark. Songs I’ve written for my solo mini. And songs I’ve written for Mountain Man.”

You sat down and carefully absorbed all of the contests inside. You went to the first pages of the notebook and found the early drafts of “Breeze”, which dated back to a year ago. And right after those lyrics, there were the lyrics for Skylark’s Grammy-nominated song, “Hope and Flame”.

You looked up at him. “You…”

“Yeah,” he said as he put his hands in his pockets. “If you’re not convinced, I’ll take you to the studio and show you how I’ve used a voice modifier. Plus, you’re looking at lyrics of songs that won’t be released until next year. So if you’re willing to wait until then to see your proof, well…”

Well, he hoped those songs would be released next year. He prayed you would believe him.

You choked. “I...believe you.”

Yuta exclaimed. “Really?”

Yuta was acting very childlike today, you observed. You thought it was kind of cute. He may have dropped one of the biggest secrets in the industry but he was still your moody client.

“I can’t believe…you’re Mountain Man…”

Yuta sat down beside you. “You owe me.”

“After you introduced me to...you?” You laughed in disbelief.

He nodded. “You said you would give anything to meet me.” He was smug as he gave you a knowing look.

You scoffed. “I didn’t think you’d use it against me.”

He replied as he leaned back on the chair. “I’m not. I just thought I might impress you.”

“And why would you want to do that?” You teased.

He leaned closer and shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure. I guess I just wanted to.”

You blushed at his proximity and quickly turned away. “There you go again with the teasing.”

Yuta smiled wide. “So what do you want for dinner? Pizza or Chinese?”

^_^

You helped Yuta explore a few looks for his upcoming photoshoot before dinner that night.

You were adding some final touches to his heart-shaped lips. “Your lips are so pretty,” you said without realizing.

Yuta knew to hold still but his eyes opened at hearing you say that. You were so caught up in making up his face that you didn’t realize you were thinking out loud. Yuta chose not to bother you. He owed you that much.

“Okay, I’m done,” you said, “I gave you a more understated look. More neutral tones in your eyeshadow and highlighter. And I chose a brighter shade of pink for your lips. I get more of a romantic vibe from this look,” you said as you looked at his reflection in the makeup mirror.

Yuta looked straight at you. “I love it.” He was impressed with your careful attention to detail and how natural you made his makeup look. Out of all the makeup artists and stylists he’d worked with, you were the most attentive and cooperative. You always surpassed his vision for his look. You asked him for his opinions in case you needed to change anything. Most of the time, though, he was very satisfied with your work on the first go. You were the best makeup artist he’d worked with, he had to admit.

“You don’t want more eyeliner? What were you thinking with your piercings?” You asked.

He shook his head. “It’s perfect, y/n. Every look you showed me is perfect for the shoot. I just need you to be by my side when it starts. No one else touches this face but you.” Yuta explained with no trace of mockery in his voice.

Yuta was so open with you all of a sudden and all you did was breathe. How was that possible? And you felt a little more intimidated now that you knew that Yuta was behind your favorite artist. You remembered that first and foremost you were his makeup artist so you shoved your confused feelings aside. You would panic when you got home.

Blushing and still processing, you said, “Thank.”

“You?” He finished for you.

You blushed even harder. “Yeah.”

He laughed as you tried to compose yourself.

You removed his makeup so his skin could get a break. “What’s next?”

Yuta sighed. “We’re done, y/n. Let’s order something and I’ll drive you home. It’s late.”

You cleaned up your supplies while Yuta ordered pizza. You both liked extra Mozzarella cheese on top.

“So,” you said, “Can I ask you something?” You’ve been dying to ask him questions for hours but you’ve done so well to hold it in. You figured you’d indulge by asking at least one.

“Yeah?” Yuta sat up straight.

“Did you compose all of Mountain Man’s releases?”

He nodded.

“What instruments do you play?” You dared to ask one more question.

“Guitar, piano, drums, violin,” he said as he got up and grabbed his guitar from his case. “Thanks for reminding me. I have a melody stuck in my head, and I want to see if I can make something out of it.”

Yuta tuned his guitar and hummed to himself. He played a few chords.

“Whoa,” you said. “Just like that?”

He chuckled in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You can make something so incredible and unique in an instant?” You asked, clearly in awe.

He shook his head. “I could only get to this point because I practiced every single day in grade school.”

You heard how lonely he sounded, then. “That must have been…”

“A pain in my ass, yeah. I gave up many trips to Chuck E. Cheese just so I could master the piano,” he grumbled.

“And you never gave up on practicing?” You asked, impressed. Had it been you you would’ve given up and found the next hobby.

“My parents pushed me hard from a young age,” he started, “They wanted me to become a world classical musician. Family honor and all.”

“What changed, though? Skylark isn’t exactly classical,” you observed.

Yuta replied, “I didn’t tell my parents but I started a rock band when I was sixteen. Johnny and Jaehyun have been by my side from the very beginning. We rehearsed in Johnny’s garage until we graduated.”

You grinned, just thinking about teenage Yuta rebelling against his family’s wishes. “That’s sweet.”

He laughed. “Yeah, Johnny and Jaehyun claimed they joined to meet girls but I knew they loved music just as much as I did. Johnny’s cousin Mark and Mark’s best friend Sicheng joined us a few months later and we were a force of nature. That was our first band name, by the way.”

You bit back a laugh. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Force of Nature,” Yuta replied, deadpan. “What’s so funny, y/n?”

You laughed, almost falling over in your seat. “That is so cute. You guys thought you were being edgy.”

Yuta grabbed a throw pillow and threw it at you. “I won’t tolerate mockery from the staff.”

You gasped. “I won’t tolerate a DICKtator.” You grabbed another pillow and threw it at him.

You both laughed so hard. Yuta grabbed an eyeliner pencil you forgot to pack up.

“You know, y/n,” Yuta started as he moved closer to you. “You’re alright.” He took your hand and slipped the eyeliner into it.

“You, too, Nakamoto,” you said, “You’re still paying for the pizza, though.”

Time passed as you two talked about your childhoods, your hobbies, and all about Skylark and Mountain Man.

“Man, what I wouldn’t give to go back in time and learn the guitar,” you said as Yuta mindlessly strummed his guitar and produced heavenly melodies.

Yuta innocently offered, “I can teach you.”

You raised your eyebrows. “In exchange for?”

He laughed warmly. “Nothing. Come over here and sit down.” He patted the seat next to him on the couch so you could join him.

You sat down and he placed his acoustic guitar over you. He moved closer to you, moving his arms over you. You could feel his chest against your back. He radiated warmth and your throat almost went dry.

Yuta took your left hand. “Now...you’re going to place your fingers up here. These are called the frets. I already tuned the guitar, okay?” His voice was very close to your ear and for a moment, you held your breath.

He took your right hand and placed it on the body of the guitar. “Let’s try an A chord.” His deep voice lowered even more and you felt your face heat up.

He took your left fingers and adjusted their positions. Never letting go of your hands, he instructed you to strum the guitar.

The chord sounded more beautiful than you’d expected it to be. “Whoa.”

“Nice,” Yuta said, “Then again, I did most of the work.”

You turned your head to him and his face was mere centimeters away from yours. “You are so-”

Yuta moved even closer. “Finish your sentence, y/n. I’m dying to hear what you have to say.”

You retreated. “Irritating.”

Yuta’s phone rang. The pizza arrived and you two fought over the last slice. He was ridiculous, considering he ate four slices to your three. It was only fair you’d eat the last slice. Yuta got creative and used a plastic knife to cut the last slice in half. You accepted but you were determined to get your revenge.

Yuta drove you home. The night was calm, and the traffic was light.

“You live pretty far if you’re walking to the arena for work, y/n,” Yuta said as he pulled up in front of your building.

“I take two buses. Normally, it’s not a problem. It was complicated today because of the rain,” you said.

“Yeah, I thought we were going to get a massive flood,” he said, “It’s very unlike LA.”

You nodded as you took off your seatbelt. “Well, thanks for the ride.”

Yuta smiled and tipped his imaginary hat. “Thank you for your help tonight.” His smile was at its most radiant, then.

^_^

You wake up the next morning thankful for the weekend but a little sad that…Wait a minute.

You didn’t miss Yuta, you told yourself. The boy gave you whiplash and you were only beginning to get to know him. You had time to do some cleaning around the apartment. Maybe you could find a lot of your missing stuff so you could put that eBay account out of your mind.

It was already 2 PM and you couldn’t find the palette, your primary concern. You sighed. You looked around your spotless room and found some solace in the fact that it was clean and organized. Tidying up was its own therapy.

You called your mom and asked her about her day. You went through your jewelry box.

Your mom chattered on, excited like a schoolgirl, “Anyways y/n, Fred wanted to take me to a costume party tonight so I wanted to know...Do you think the black flapper dress would be better than the mod dress?” Fred was her serious boyfriend of three years. You had a feeling that he would propose anytime now and you were happy for them.

That good feeling quickly dissipated. “Oh, no.” Your most prized possession was missing. You knew it was missing because you always kept it in your jewelry box.

“y/n? Honey, are you okay?” Your mom asked over the line.

You couldn’t tell your mom that your grandmother’s ruby necklace was missing. “Yeah, sorry mom, it’s nothing. I got a little dramatic. Ran out of whipped cream for my sundae.” You lied.

You finished your conversation with your mom. You had no choice but to log onto eBay again. You searched 1026you and your suspicions were confirmed.

Your grandmother’s one-of-a-kind family heirloom was for sale. For one hundred dollars. It was a priceless heirloom that was worth at least ten times as much. You clenched your fists. “Son of a bitch.”

You messaged the seller again but knew he would never answer you. He’s ignored your other messages so what made you think he would respond to this one? You read through the site’s terms and conditions and there was no way to contest that the item was yours. You noticed that the item was up for bid and the bid would end in…

Ten minutes.

The current bid was at $100.

You scoffed. “Why the hell do I have to bid on an item that’s mine?”

You swallowed your pride and prayed that no one else would bid higher.

You placed a bid for $101.

Right away, someone else bid higher. $102.

This went on and on until your competition outbid you and won the necklace for $127.

“Son of a bitch!” You cursed again.

You sent 1026you ten consecutive messages telling them that they stole your necklace and begged them to respond as soon as possible. You knew it was hopeless.

^_^

You knocked on Yangyang’s door. He lived a few doors down from you and Delilah. You used to babysit him when you were in high school and college. Yangyang was a child prodigy, having graduated from MIT with a master’s in computer science at age sixteen. His parents still needed you to babysit when he was acing Physics at age ten. He always insisted he didn’t need a babysitter but you two developed a bond. It was to both of your surprise that he became your neighbor. He had a side hustle as a hacker. You hoped he could help you track down 1026you so you can give him a piece of your mind.

He opened the door. “y/n, what’s up?” He smiled wide. He still had that boyish wonder in his eyes.

“Hey, I hope I’m not interrupting,” you started.

“Not at all, come in,” he moved to the side so you could walk into his messy apartment. Video games were scattered all over his living room floor. He was in the middle of eating a bowl of ramen.

“Yangyang, I know I’ve been relieved from my babysitting duties for a while now but...ramen is not a proper meal,” you said.

“Shut up.” Yangyang laughed. “I’ll grill some meat later. Don’t worry.”

You laughed as you sat at his kitchen table. He gave you a can of Pepsi, knowing it was your favorite. “I need a favor, actually.”

Yangyang rejoiced. “At long last, you need my help. Never thought the day would come. You never let me help you with precalculus, even though you definitely needed it.”

Ignoring his roast for once, you responded, “Well...I need your hacking expertise. I know that this is going to sound crazy but...someone has been stealing things from my apartment and selling them online.”

Yangyang’s smile faded. “What the hell? So that’s why you installed security cameras at your place.”

“I didn’t get into it because I thought I was crazy but my grandmother’s necklace is missing and it’s one of a kind. And now…” You showed him the item that was sold.

“That’s your necklace,” Yangyang replied in shock. He recognized it from having known you for so long. You wore it on rare occasions like birthday parties. You preferred not to be photographed with it because you wanted to preserve it and keep it secret from strangers and acquaintances. You never knew who you could trust.

“Can you help me track down the seller?”

“y/n, that goes against eBay’s terms and conditions,” he replied.

You sighed. “I know but-”

Yangyang chuckled mischievously. “This should be fun.”

Yangyang worked magic on his computer to track down 1026you’s location. He was in Los Angeles, to your surprise. “Can’t get you the seller’s name but will an address do?”

“It’s perfect,” you said.

^_^

Yuta woke up from a nap on the couch. Totoro was sleeping on his stomach. He chuckled as he pet him. Yuta’s phone rang, indicating a notification. He checked his phone and saw that the ruby necklace he put on sale was sold to the highest bidder at the deadline. He also saw a bunch of messages from one account claiming he stole the necklace and he’d better respond to her.

“Crazy,” Yuta said as he ignored the messages.

^_^

“What do you think I should use for today’s luxurious bath, Totoro? The ‘Cotton Candy’ bath bomb or the ‘Madly In Love’ bath bomb?” Yuta carefully picked Totoro up from his lap and placed him on the cold marble floor before standing up and stretching.

Totoro let out a loud “meow” and walked away from Yuta.

“I completely agree.”

Yuta threw his shirt off and headed to his bathroom, but he jumped once he opened the door. He had completely forgotten about the beautiful portrait that leaned against the counter. He stopped and tilted his head, really taking in the depth of color in the painting. He gazed at the stunning profile of the woman and the necklace she had on. He couldn’t understand how he had this undying urge to remember a memory he never had, to remember the moment he met this strange woman from the portrait.

He shook his head and started to run water for his bath, oblivious to the eyes that watched him through the small opening of the door.

^_^

You watched a shirtless Yuta stare at something for a few seconds. You couldn’t see what it was, but you really didn’t care, for Yuta’s abs were the real star of the show. Your mouth fell open, your heart started to race. Yuta was perfect in every way, and the twinkling piercing in his navel was the cherry on top.

But...wait.

You had to remember why you were here. Yangyang’s research found that this was the address of the person that was selling your precious necklace so you had to work fast. You already got lucky when you found a window in a first floor bedroom that was open.

You were shocked to see that it was Yuta’s house that you would have to break into, but once again, you just had to get your priceless possession.

Was Yuta messing with you? How could he do this and when could he do this? When would he have had time to sneak into your place and steal your necklace? Or was it his girlfriend?

Yuta shook his head before turning it to the side slightly. You jumped out of sight by moving to the side quickly. He interrupted your thoughts, but you had to get moving before he got out of the shower.

You looked around his enormous mansion, heading for what seemed to be his bedroom, for it was the biggest one at the top of the grand staircase.

Surely, there had to be an explanation for how your possession became his possession. Nonetheless, you were pissed that he decided to ignore your message and proceed to sell it. How could he steal something so meaningful to you then sell it? It’s not like he needed the money.

You looked on top of the California King-sized bed and then under it to see if you could just catch a glimpse of the shimmering ruby stone. But you found nothing. You then looked at his black dresser before stopping to gaze at his extensive earring collection. It was incredible.

A case full of hundreds if not thousands of earrings and jewelry stood beside the dresser. Your mouth fell open and your eyes widened. What if he stole jewelry? No-no, you shook your head at the absurd thought. This man had way too much money.

Then you heard him singing in the bathroom beside his bedroom. But his voice grew louder as he exited and entered the hallway to make his way to his room.

“Shit,” you whispered.

Your heart started to race. You're just moments from being caught so you look back to the dresser and spot it.

Your necklace.

It’s next to the small brown bag that it would have been sent in today, but you grabbed it just in the nick of time.

“BABAY!! Why DON’T YOU JUST MEET ME IN THE MIDDLEEE??” Yuta sang in the hallway and thanks to his boastful voice and the large ceilings that allowed for a beautiful echo, you heard him when he was just about to enter. You quickly dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed.

You covered your mouth to muffle your heavy breathing. He was pacing about, walking to and from his closet.

“Nah, don’t like this…” he threw a flannel onto the bed. He went into his closet and grabbed a black T-shirt, the 56th black T-shirt in his collection, to be exact.

“Nice.” Yuta continued to hum while spritzing on some cologne.

Yuta smelled amazing, like vanilla and roses, but you couldn’t help but be worried that you would be late for work if you couldn’t get out of his house right NOW.

“Hey, babe..” You heard a female voice say. It was his girlfriend. “Damn it,” you mouthed. Ashley was known for being one of the most gorgeous celebrities alive today. She had the perfect face with a dazzling smile to match, but rumor had it that she was a complete bitch behind closed doors.

You heard Yuta sigh and you could almost feel his eye roll. He was thinking of how much he hated himself for ever giving her a key to his house.

“What’s up, Ash?” He spoke to her like he was being forced to communicate with an Uber driver.

“Oh, don’t sound so excited to see me…” Ashley responded. She walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

Yuta was fixing his earrings onto his ears when she embraced him. He looked at her through the mirror in front of them and gave a look of annoyance when she tilted her head to lock eyes with him.

“So...where were you yesterday? You missed our dinner date at the Venetian...Do you know how much it cost me to lose that reservation AND call off the paps?”

“I’m sure you can afford it.” Yuta walked away from her and looked at the dresser with a puzzled expression. Something’s missing, he thought.

You watched Yuta’s footsteps as he hesitated for a moment, but then he continued on into his closet.

Your eyes grew. Did Yuta really blow off his date at the most expensive restaurant in the city to be with you? He ditched $1,000 caviar and steak just to eat $12 pizza with you?

“You really like making me beg, don’t you, Mr. Nakamoto?” Her voice lowered as she leaned against the dresser and watched Yuta put his socks on.

“Where were you, daddy?”

Yuta hesitated for a moment. He didn’t like the fact that she thought he had to report his movements to her. She acted like she had to know everything that went on in his life. She was overstepping and Yuta wasn’t about to fall for it.

So he decided to piss her off.

“I was with..the new girl.”

Ashley stood up straight and crossed her arms. You nearly yelped out under the bed and revealed yourself.

“Who’s the ‘new girl’?” Ashley asked and you could just hear the fire in her tone. Even Charizard would be jealous.

“The new makeup artist..she’s sweet, I bought us food and we talked.” Yuta smirked and walked closer to Ashley who didn’t even try to hide her jealousy. Her perfectly plucked brows furrowed.

“I taught her how to play the guitar...she’s lovely, really. We had a great time.” Yuta was definitely twisting the knife and you couldn’t tell if he spoke of you fondly just to piss her off, or if he genuinely meant it. Either way, his words filled your chest with butterflies, and a smile tugged at your lips.

“Yuta...baby, you missed our date at THE Venetian to spend it with some talentless random who probably has a failing Youtube channel?” Ashley pouted. “Let me show you what’s lovely, Mr. Nakamoto.”

Yuta was about to protest, but Ashley held his chin and tilted it down towards her before placing a kiss on his lips.

The sound echoed in the large room and made you roll your eyes. She insulted you without having met you? What a bitch, you thought. No wonder Yuta was miserable.

She then took his hand and led him to the bed, pushing his chest lightly so he’d sit on the soft surface. She dropped to her knees and ran her hands along his thighs.

Oh no...please don’t do what I think you’re about to do. You squeezed your eyes tightly and prayed that Yuta would tell her to wait until later.

Yuta huffed and puffed but indulged her, allowing her to have her way because he just couldn’t be bothered. She unbuckled his belt while looking into his low eyes.

“You’re stressed, baby, that’s why you spent time with a total stranger. But don’t forget you have me.” Ashley licked her lips before taking his pant zipper in between her teeth and dragging it down.

“I can’t wait to taste you, Mr. Nakamoto.” Ashley kissed his pelvis. She was too busy to see Yuta cringe at the name she called him. God, did it feel weird.

“Just...m-make it quick. I have to go.” Yuta licked his lips, letting his head fall back as he closed his eyes in anticipation.

Shit. You mouthed again. You were about to hear the most disturbing sounds of your life and there was nothing you could do, nowhere that you could go. Could you sneak out on the other side without them noticing? Shit shit shit shit.

Ashley sneezed before she could place her mouth on Yuta again.

Yuta looked down in annoyance.

She quickly swiped at her nose then retook her position.

She puckered her lips to lay a kiss on his growing bulge, but she sneezed again.

Several more sneezes followed and Yuta was getting frustrated. He slowly became turned off.

“Damn it, do you still have that ugly cat? I’m suffering here!” She yelled before laying out four back-to-back sneezes.

“So am I.. I gotta go, Ashley.” Yuta rolled his eyes and stood up. He brushed past her, where she still knelt on the floor, and walked towards the dresser.

“Make yourself useful and mail this-” Yuta’s sentence trailed when he didn't see the necklace. The brown envelope was there but the necklace was no longer beside it. “What the hell, I could’ve sworn...”

He looked into the brown bag then onto the floor and the rest of the dresser. Sure enough, the necklace was gone. “So it disappears just as quickly as it appeared? Shit.”

Your brows furrowed. What did he mean by “appeared?”

“Have you seen-?” Yuta was about to ask.

But suddenly, your phone started to vibrate in your back pocket. You quickly reached towards it to silence it so it would no longer make that grinding sound while shaking on the floor.

Luckily, Ashley was still sneezing so it covered up the sound..or so you thought.

“What was that?” Yuta turned and looked about the room for the source of the sound.

Ashley finally stood up and walked towards him. “I’ll just drive with you to work! We can finish what we started...” She gave him a wink before sniffling.

Yuta grimaced and grabbed his keys, brushing past her once again to head out the door.. “Whatever you say, Ash.”

Ashley practically skipped behind him. Finally, the room was empty. You swiftly dragged yourself from under the bed and stood up.

You heard them argue downstairs so you decided that you would climb out from the patio attached to Yuta’s room. Yangyang made sure to deactivate Yuta’s entire security system, including his cameras, so you could enter and leave without detection.

You took a deep breath before jumping from the porch and into the bushes below it. You tried not to scream as loudly as you wanted to. How you didn’t break your legs, you weren’t sure, but you were somehow able to leap back onto your feet and book it for the main road, sliding through the gate while Yuta and his girlfriend waited for the garage door to open so they could drive out.

By the time you got to work, you were covered in sweat, leaves, and dirt. You smelled and looked like you had been camping for at least 23 days in the Appalachian mountains, but it didn’t matter. You finally had your necklace.

“You good, y/n?” Manager Byun gave you a puzzled expression as you hurriedly took your tools out of your kit and placed them on the vanity for Yuta. You were somehow able to get there just minutes before him.

“I’m okay! Had a slightly...difficult time getting here, but I’m ready!” You gave him a smile so forced, you thought your face would be stuck like that forever.

He nodded slowly but still looked confused.

Just then, Yuta entered. His smile was bright and so beautiful. You melted like chocolate in his sunny smile when his eyes were glued to yours as he entered.

But your feelings of admiration soon dissipated when you saw his girlfriend behind him. She held up a compact mirror and was fixing her lipstick as she walked in.

I guess they did finish what they started...

Your smile fell. You didn’t know why you were sad and disappointed. It’s not like your one night with Yuta actually meant anything. He had a girlfriend, and not just any girlfriend. A celebrity girlfriend that was just listed as the person with the second most beautiful face in the world, behind Zendaya of course. Yuta was lucky, there’s no way he’d drop her for you.

You looked away as he walked over. He could feel a shift in your mood immediately. Your eyes were so big and bright when he entered and now you shifted your focus to organizing your makeup and covering a look of sadness that he could clearly see.

Yuta said ‘hi’ to everyone but stepped quickly over to you.

“Hey...y/n...it's nice to see you again.” Yuta gave you a half smile that really tugged at your heartstrings. How could he manage to make you so weak?

“Hey, Yuta.” You gave a short answer, and he could tell you were upset. You weren't nearly as cheerful as you were yesterday. Then..he noticed how disheveled you were.

His face became serious. He touched your arm and it felt like sparks dancing along your skin.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly while the other members and the manager went about their business.

You tried to avoid his magnetic gaze, but couldn't.

Your mouth opened as you looked into his eyes. “I’m-”

“Hi! Nice to meet you, are you the new makeup girl?” Ashley pushed herself in between you and Yuta and obnoxiously smiled in your face to push you further away from Yuta.

“Yes.” You pucker your lips and glance at Yuta who looked beyond annoyed.

“Well, you certainly don’t look like a makeup artist..” Ashley chuckled.

You scoffed. “What?”

“I mean, look at your nails.. Are you sure you want to touch my boyfriend's perfect face when you’ve got an entire ecosystem under your nail bed?” She grabbed your hand without warning and held it up for both you and Yuta to see the dirt that had gotten under your nails when you had jumped off of his patio and held on to the ground for support. You were running late so you didn’t get a chance to go to the restroom to clean up, but of course you would wash your hands before touching his face.

“I-” you started, but she interrupted you once again.

“That’s not very professional of you...”

“Ashley! Stop, don’t you have a photo shoot to get to?” Yuta took your hand from her and lowered it to your side, but he didn’t let it go. He stood beside you and looked onto Ashley with disappointment. Your heart became warm as he squeezed your hand to let you know that he had your back.

Ashley chuckled. “People come and go pretty fast here sweetie..let’s see how long you last.” She rolled her eyes before pushing herself in between the two of you, breaking off your linked hands in the process. How could someone so beautiful also be so ugly?

“I’m so sorry about her.” Yuta turned to you.

You nodded. “She’s right. It's very unprofessional of me to come to work like this.”

Yuta shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, y/n. Things happen..Let me show you where the shower is.”

^_^

Yuta led you to the locker room where the shower was. He handed you a tshirt and sweatpants that he had asked the manager to keep in a locker for him just in case he needed to change after sweating too much.

“Why are you dating someone so...mean?” You asked while you followed Yuta. You didn’t think twice about your question, and really, you had no right to ask him. He was just your client, not your friend.

Yuta chuckled. He turned to you and raised his eyebrows. “I smell some jealousy.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, she’s pretty or whatever, but trust me I am not jealous. I just don’t understand how you could be with someone like that..”

“I’m not a saint either, y/n..we’re perfect for each other..or at least our agencies think so.” Yuta paused. He wondered if he should let you in on yet another secret, but he didn’t notice that his eyes had trailed to your lips, adoring the way they formed a small pout.

You laughed. “You have a point, you weren’t exactly the nicest to me when I first started working for you...”

Yuta grinned when he saw your bright smile and your doe eyes as you laughed again. You were like a breath of fresh air, unlike anyone he’d ever seen. His spirit was instantly drawn to you, for you calmed him. You were just a stranger yet you felt like home.

“I’ll make it up to you...How about I teach you more about the guitar after the shoot?” He stepped closer, anxiously awaiting your approval like a boy that just asked his crush to prom.

You started to blush, his face was so close to yours, you had to look into his eyes.

You took in a sharp breath. “Are you sure your girlfriend will be okay with that? I don’t want you to stand her up again, she’ll probably stab me with an eyeliner pencil.”

“Again?” Yuta’s brows bunched together, but he still gave a teasing smile.

sHIT.

“O-oh i mean, surely you’ve stood her up at some point, right? She’s a total b-”

Yuta burst out into laughter.

You looked at him with worry on your face. “W-what did I do?”

“You’re adorable, but I just can’t take it anymore.” Yuta reached his hand out to the side of your face and gently removed a long vine that was tangled in your hair. He then removed a large, green leaf that stuck out of your disheveled do.

He calmed down. “There we go..much better. Even nature loves your beautiful face.”

Beautiful face.

Your heart began to race for the third time in one day. Too much was happening, you thought you would pass out. Did Yuta really just say that you were beautiful?

He cleared his throat when he realized that the words he was thinking actually came out while the two of you stood awkwardly in the locker room.

“Yuta?”

He smiled, just the sound of you saying his name made him weak for some reason, what was happening to him?

“What?”

“You’re staring..” you chuckled.

“I’m getting inspired.” he gazed at your eyes then your lips as he spoke in a softer tone.

“By what?” You tilted your head.

“By you.”

“Mountain Man, you really have a way with words, I bet you say that to all your groupies.” You rolled your eyes and brushed past him, walking towards the shower.

He spun around and grabbed your hand. Your breath hitched when you turned to look at him, his full lips parted and eyes begging for something.

“I...have to tell you something..”

He looked so serious for once.

“Ashley and I are in a fake relationship. It’s all a publicity stunt that our labels set up. I don’t love her...But I’m telling you because I feel like..I can really talk to you.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised, Yuta.” you gave a small smile. “I’m just your makeup artist, but if you want to talk to me, I don’t see why not. You’ve already told me two major secrets.”

Yuta laughed out at your response, a strand of his beautiful fuchsia hair falling into his forehead, making him look even more handsome than he did before.

He stepped closer.

“Wash up quickly, for me..the shoot starts soon.”

Yuta winked and walked away leaving you a blushing mess.

“Also, remember we have a guitar lesson later.”

For me.

Why did he have to say it like that? Wait, why were you even affected by that? Could your heart calm down when you were around him for more than five seconds?

^_^

You walked into the dressing room in your new comfy outfit and headed straight for your section. The sweatpants Yuta gave you didn’t have pockets, so you had to wear the necklace around your neck. You tucked it under your shirt to make sure that no one would see it on you.

“Wow, I wish I was wearing that instead of leather pants right now...” Johnny pouted when he saw you in Yuta’s Nike sweats.

“You look great! Always remember, beauty is pain,” you gave him a wink and continued to place your tools in order.

“You must be in pain all the time then, y/n.” Yuta exclaimed as he approached his seat.

Everyone in the dressing room let out ‘oooooo’s’ like primary school students.

You blushed but turned away quickly so he wouldn’t see. “Always teasing me, I swear one day you’re gonna pay.”

“Can’t wait for that day.” Yuta relaxed into the chair.

You leaned forward and started to place the concealer under his eyes with a small brush. You took your time and blended carefully, but felt your face become hot when you realized that he was staring at you intensely.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. You stepped back to laugh and shook your head.

“What’s wrong? Am I making you flustered?” Yuta smirked.

You rolled your eyes then leaned in towards his face. He suddenly sat up straighter, moving forward so that his lips would be just a few centimeters away from yours.

“Stop teasing me. We don’t have time.” You blushed once again and stepped back.

Yuta bit his lips and chuckled. “Oh, so demanding.”

You were doing his eyeliner when you tugged at the collar of the men’s shirt. It was choking you slightly because it was higher than a regular T-shirt. That’s when your necklace popped up and rested on top of the shirt instead of under it.

“Wait...where did you get that?” Yuta leaned back.

“What?” You narrowed your brow, for you didn’t understand why his demeanor became so serious.

“That necklace...”

Shit.

“Did you steal that..from me?”

Then it all clicked for Yuta. You were in his house. You eavesdropped on his and Ashley’s conversation. That’s how you knew that he stood her up the night before. And that’s why you came to work all sweaty and out of breath.

“What are you talking about?” You backed away from him, but he stood up quickly and snatched the necklace from your neck furiously. The sound of the chain breaking frightened you and you became just as furious. This bastard had no idea what he had just done.

“Yuta!”

Everyone turned to you two once your voice rose.

“What the hell are you doing? Give it back!” You demanded.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he examined the necklace, the shape and cut of the ruby stone and the unique gold chain that it hung on.

He compared the necklace to the picture he posted on his eBay account, and sure enough, it was the same necklace.

“You stole this from my house! You stole from me! I thought I could trust you! What are you, some crazy stalker?!”

“Wait, you’re user 1026you! You’re the crazy one! You stole from me so that you can sell MY jewelry online! You also stole my limited edition eyeshadow palette!” Your voices escalated and everyone else in the room became quiet.

“This crazy bitch! Why the hell would I steal from someone like you?” Yuta gave you a look of disgust and looked down on you like you were a poor dog. You really hated his guts now. He towered over you as he yelled, but you weren’t scared. You were just angry that he had the audacity to lie in front of everyone like this.

“I can’t steal something that was already mine!”

“It was never yours! It was in MY house, and I have the proof right here!” He held up his phone as Manager Byun walked over.

“What’s going on here?” The manager was both puzzled and surprised that you were in a yelling match with the member that no one dared to fight.

“This delusional girl that you decided to hire is a stalker! She broke into my house and stole my necklace.”

“YOUR necklace? You’ve really lost your mind! You stole it from me first.” You shouted back.

“Okay, okay everyone calm down. y/n.. Did you break into Yuta’s house?” the manager turned to you.

“No-I mean, yes, but only because he was going to sell it and it’s precious to me. He ignored my messages and blocked me on eBay before I could explain!”

“You broke into my client’s house?” Baekhyun gaped.

“She sure as hell did. Security!! She tricked me and got close to me just so she could steal from me and learn my secrets. How much were you gonna sell this for, huh? But the worst part is that I trusted you like a fool,” Yuta stepped forward as he spewed hateful and untrue words.

Your eyes started to water, you struggled to hold back tears. “Yuta, you know that’s not true. The necklace was never yours! It belonged to my grandmother and means so much to me.”

“Prove it.” Yuta was angry beyond words, he felt betrayed.

You struggled to think of any way to prove that it was yours. The security guards took your arms and placed them behind your back while pulling you away and out of the room.

The only thing that could prove that the necklace was yours would be the painting that your grandmother made of you when you wore the necklace. The painting that you just now realized had also gone missing.

“No! Don’t do this! I’m not a stalker.” You struggled to stay still as the guards dragged you out.

“She’s delusional! How could you hire someone like that? She put me in danger!” Yuta marched off to the bathroom so he could cool down.

“Yuta-wait. y/n...We will be pressing charges, I’m calling the police.” Manager Byun pulled out his phone.

^_^

A few hours passed and the news broke of what happened.

Crazy Stalker poses as Makeup Artist to Break into Yuta Nakamoto’s home!

BREAKING: MUGSHOT OF DELUSIONAL STALKER OF YUTA NAKAMOTO RELEASED

How did she pull off the perfect plan and is Yuta Nakamoto in danger?

You sat on the bench in your cold cell and wiped your eyes. Everything went bad so quickly. Yuta and basically the entire world thought you were a stalker and there was nothing you could do to prove your innocence. Yuta had the audacity to accuse you of stealing something that was never his to begin with.

And now, you could hear his fans chanting hurtful messages.

“She’s a crazy stalker, We will protect Yuta!”

“Yuta, we love you!”

“SHE DOESN’T DESERVE FREEDOM”

You were so confused, but the part that hurt the most was that your most prized possession was gone and probably in the air on some shipping company's airplane being delivered to some oblivious buyer.

What could you possibly do to make everything right at this point?

Yuta, on the other hand, was at home being coddled by his oh so caring girlfriend.

He laid down on his plush, velvet couch and pouted.

“It’s gonna be okay, Yuta. I swear we’ll get the best lawyers. She’ll never see another day outside!” Ashley got up from the couch and paced about.

“I knew I had a bad feeling about her.”

But Yuta disagreed. He never had a bad feeling about you. He thought you were sweet and kind, he thought everything about you was genuine especially when compared to the fakeness that surrounded him in his lifestyle. How could he have been fooled like this?

He told you two major secrets and now he’d probably have to drop the charges in exchange for your silence.

You really got to him because you seemed to be the biggest fan of Mountain Man, you seemed to appreciate his hard work, but now he didn’t think any of your praises were genuine. He couldn’t even go on social media. All the hashtags were ALWAYSHEREFORYUTA, WEWILLPROTECTYUTA, CRAZYSTALKER.

And they just reminded him of how weak he became.

“LOOK! TMZ just got her mugshot! I’m so happy they’re exposing this bitch, I hope they release her address and family information.”

Ashley smirked when she pulled up the picture of your mugshot on Yuta’s phone.

“Ashley...you need to leave...” Yuta sat up on the couch and looked at the floor. He couldn’t take anymore of Ashley’s annoying voice and he really wanted to be alone to relax and decompress after what happened.

“Oh, my poor little meow meow, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.” Ashley sat back down on the couch beside him and tried to take his jaw in her hands but he backed away.

“Not now, Ash..I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ashley scoffed and slowly got up from the couch.

“Okay...let me know if you need anything.”

Yuta breathed a sigh of relief once he heard the front door close. He could hear tons of fans outside of his front gate cheering for him when she opened the door and it made him sick. He doesn’t feel proud. Because the truth is, the necklace wasn’t his. It just “appeared.” But here he was defending his possession of it and it didn’t feel right.

Yuta bit his lips then looked down at his phone which was still open with the article that included your mugshot.

He looked away at first, but then looked back down when something caught his eye. He looked more closely at the photo.

Your eyes.

He’d seen them before. Of course he had, but this time..they were different. They reminded him of something, someone.

The color of your cheeks and the depth of your beautiful eyes, the tone of your gorgeous soft skin and the curve of your lips. He had seen it before.

It took him a moment to realize.

The painting.

You were the woman in the painting that found itself in his bathroom. You were the same woman that wore a necklace just like the one he sold.

He looked over the messages you sent him on his seller account. It was like clockwork, every time something appeared in his house and he posted it online, you would message him about it to ask that he return it.

She was telling the truth. Yuta thinks to himself. He could punch himself right now. He was so rude to you for no reason. It was your stuff that kept popping up in his house and he didn’t understand why, but he knew that you were innocent. The painting was huge so it’s not like you placed it there by yourself to mess with him.

He threw on his jean jacket and headed out the door to go to the police station.

He had to fight through the screaming fans outside of the station that were waiting for a chance to attack you, the police officers gathering around him to move him through the hectic crowd.

Once inside, he went to the front desk and immediately told the officer that he wanted to drop all charges against you.

“You’re one lucky girl...” The officer said as she opened the gate of your cell.

“What?” You looked up at her questioningly and stood up from the wooden bench that had made your butt sore.

“He’s here for you..you know, the good looking rocker dude.” She unlocks your handcuffs and walks you out of the cell.

You’re relieved but can’t seem to smile, what’s going on?

Yuta was signing paperwork as you walked up to him.

“Yuta..you asshole.”

“That’s no way to speak to the man that just got your ass out.” Yuta looked up and sighed.

You scoffed. “You’re the one that put me in there! And I’m supposed to thank you?” You pushed past him and headed for the door. You started to walk down the stairs, but you were quickly stopped by the officers that stood out front.

“What the-“ you started when you saw the enormous crowd outside of the station. They were Yuta’s fans and paparazzi. They rapidly snapped so many pictures of you, you had to close your eyes and cover your face, the flashing lights being all too much for you. All you could hear were the thunderous ‘boo’s’ of Yuta’s fans.

Yuta was used to noise and flashing bright lights so he quickly came up behind you and turned you around. He held your head and pressed it onto his chest lightly.

You started to cry when you heard the names everyone was calling you over a simple misunderstanding. How could you be a ‘normal’ person after all this? All you wanted was your necklace and now you were overwhelmed by this new and unwelcoming spotlight.

“Shhh..don’t cry, it’ll be okay..I got you.” Yuta whispered into your ear as he patted your head softly.

You relaxed into him more, enjoying the comfort of his broad chest.

“Put your arms around my neck. Just trust me, okay?” Yuta’s soft tone made you shudder even though you still hated him.

But you did as he instructed.

He then picked up your legs and held you in his arms bridal style. The fans roared even louder but Yuta ignored them. He marched down the stairs towards his car while police blocked them from the two of you. He was able to lay you down on the backseat of his Range Rover before jumping into the front seat and speeding away from the madness.

Once the two of you were somewhat safe and far from the police station and his fans, Yuta exhaled.

He turned to look at you when he got to a red light. You were huddled up with your back facing him while you laid down on the surprisingly comfortable backseat. You had stopped crying, but you were still angry.

“Listen, I’m just as frustrated as you are. But we need to talk about this. What the hell is going on?” Yuta let out.

“I don’t know, maybe we should’ve talked before you had security take me away. Then all of this shit wouldn’t have happened. Oh and frustrated?” You scoffed.

“Did you just spend over 8 hours in a cold prison cell for stealing a necklace that belonged to you in the first place?!”

“You’re the one that broke into my house! Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I tried to message you but you insisted on being a jerk to make quick cash off of someone else’s belongings.”

You pulled your phone out of your pocket.

“Have you seen this shit? Your girlfriend just had a press conference and is calling for all makeup brands and agencies to swear to never hire me! I hate you, I can’t believe you put me in jail and essentially, ended my whole career!”

Yuta sighed. “I’m sorry, y/n. I really am, don’t look at social media right now, and your career isn’t over, we’ll get this sorted out.”

“How did you find out the truth anyway?” You asked.

“I recognized you in the painting, you had the necklace on.”

“The painting? Wait, you have that too?” Your eyes widened.

“Yes, and I was stupid to not realize it was you sooner. I—was an idiot, y/n. I hope you can forgive me. As a matter of fact, you can expose me as the Mountain Man if you want, you can expose everything.” Yuta was genuinely sorry for what he put you through. The whole world knew who you were now. You were famous, but not in a good way. Yuta had millions of fans and you were pretty sure you were the second most hated person in the world on twitter right now, behind Donald Trump of course.

“Yuta...I don’t want to get even with you, I want my life back.” You closed your eyes and started to drift off into a deep sleep while he drove.

Yuta cursed himself, he felt a bond being created with you and now he ruined it. And he had to admit that he had started to admire the woman in the painting, the woman he wanted to know even though his soul felt he already knew her. And now, the beautiful woman was right next to him, and yet, so far away.

^_^

When you got back to Yuta’s place, you entered through the garage so no one could see you get out of his car.

Yuta took you to his security room where he could watch footage from all of the cameras inside and outside of his house.

He reached for your hand to guide you through the large mansion, but you didn’t take it this time.

You huffed and rolled your eyes.

“Explain to me why you keep taking my stuff.”

“I don’t take anything. It just..appears.” Yuta walked quickly to the room.

“I'm gonna prove it to you right now.”

Yuta pulls up footage from the night the painting appeared in his bathroom, but every time he fast forwards to the exact moment that the painting appears, the footage cuts out.

“Did you see that? The second that my camera cuts to black is the moment that the painting just magically appears.”

You blink rapidly. “Play it again.”

Yuta replays it and you both watch the unexplainable. Chills run down your spine as you are creeped all the way out.

“I’ll show you the night your necklace popped up in my kitchen.”

It felt like you were watching something from Paranormal Activity and although you were a big fan of horror movies, you sure didn’t like being in one.

The same thing happened. There is a second of footage that is cut out and right after, the footage plays again with the new item in frame. It didn’t make any sense.

Yuta looked at you as you stared at the screen and tried to make sense of what he saw.

You were so beautiful, your long lashes batting slowly, your pursed lips and cute nose. Why was he so drawn to you? The magnetic pull he felt towards you became even stronger now that he knew you were the woman in the painting.

“Where is it now, Yuta?”

“Where’s what?” Yuta was only thinking about your face. For a moment, he forgot what you were even doing there.

“The necklace.” Your doe eyes shifted upwards to his.

Yuta sighed and looked away to the floor. “I—was upset, so I already sent it to the buyer.”

You closed your eyes and let out a slow breath.

“Yuta...we have to get it back, you don’t..you don’t understand.”

“They won’t give it back to me, y/n. They already know that I’m the user that sold it, it’ll be even more valuable now.”

“But it’s priceless to me, Yuta!” You yelled before tears ran down your cheeks.

“y/n..” Yuta stepped forward to hug you, and you let him. His arms held you tightly. “We’ll work this out, I’ll get it back if it means that much to you.”

“My grandmother was a painter, she’s the one that created that painting for me. She was the best..” you sniffled as you rested your head on his chest again.

“She was the one that taught me about creativity, color and believing in your art.. she’s the one I looked up to when I was growing up. I spent most of my time with her when my parents would fight..which was pretty often.”

Yuta smoothed your hair as you spoke.

“But one day, she lit a candle..she forgot to blow it out before falling asleep on her couch and a fire started to spread..”

“y/n..I’m so sorry.”

“The oil paintings allowed for the fire to become huge and made it impossible for her to escape..she died before firefighters could get to her, the only thing that survived the fire was that necklace. She held onto it..for me. She said she would give it to me one day when I was old enough.” You sobbed once more.

“y/n..I promise you I will do everything I can to get it back.”

You sniffled then looked up at Yuta. “Please, Yuta.”

He nodded. “ I promise.”

Just then you felt something walk between your ankles. When you looked down, you were startled to see your cat, Totoro.

“What the hell? Why do you have my cat? I’ve been looking for him everywhere, but he’s old and just kinda does what he wants.” Totoro’s abrupt entrance makes you stop crying.

“What? YOUR cat? He’s in my house, he’s mine now.” Yuta says sternly.

God, why was he so possessive?

You looked back up at him and pushed his chest away, you suddenly remembered the kind of man Yuta was.

“He’s MY cat, you fool. You didn’t even raise him. You probably lured him in here by giving him food!” You picked Totoro up.

You still hated Yuta, however, it was like a weight had been lifted once you told him about the significance of the necklace.

You turned to leave Yuta’s place through the back entrance you entered through.

“Prove it, prove he’s yours, what’s his name?” Yuta looked hurt that you were taking Totoro away from him.

“It’s Totoro, bitch.” You rolled your eyes and continued walking straight-faced with your cat in hand.

Yuta’s eyes grew, he was left speechless.

The two of you finally got to the garage.

You turned to him.

“You owe me a ride home, and after that, I never want to see you again.”

^_^

Yuta drove you back to your apartment, apologizing multiple times. This day he apologized more times than he has ever apologized for anything in his life. It had to be some sort of record.

You were tired because this truly had been one of the longest days of your life. You wanted a warm shower and to hug Totoro to sleep.

Yuta parked his car in front of your building and turned to look at you. “y/n...”

“Thanks for the ride back,” you muttered as you and Totoro walked back to your apartment.

You looked so dejected and devoid of any emotion. This entire misunderstanding did a number on you. And it was his fault. He had to act fast if he was going to make this up to you.

Little did you know that a pair of serpentine eyes watched you from across the parking lot. Ashley laid low in a car she typically wouldn’t be caught dead in and watched her man drive that freak home. That was when she saw that you were carrying that mangy cat in your arms.

“So it was her cat?” She asked herself. She pulled out her phone as she took pictures of you leaving Yuta’s car and pictures of Yuta’s license plate.

Once you were out of sight, Yuta just idled there. For a little too long. It drove Ashley crazy. How could Yuta be so kind to this nobody? After everything you did?

You were inferior to her in every way, Ashley thought. Yuta was a fool for looking at anyone but her. She had to do something so you could be out of the picture forever.

She would be damned if Yuta left her for an unemployed, disgraced nobody. Ashley pitied you because she wasn’t finished with her reign of terror on you. Not by a long shot.

^_^

A few days have passed since your name became the most searched on all social media platforms. You prayed something juicier could distract the public so you could become insignificant again.

A news article came out that Yuta dropped the charges against you and that you were innocent. Unfortunately, the deranged and delusional members of the public (aka the Yutastans) already made up their mind about you. And today, shit hit the fan once again.

Delilah sat with you on the couch as you binge watched Riverdale. It cheered you up to roast the show with your best friend. Things almost seemed like they hadn’t changed.

Delilah checked her phone and nearly choked on her glass of water.

“What is it?” You asked. “Are you okay?”

Delilah set her glass down as she stared at her phone. “That’s our apartment complex. Fuck.”

“Delilah, what’s wrong?” You had a bad feeling.

“y/n, it’s going to be okay. We will get through this,” she began and you motioned for her to hand you her phone.

Delilah reluctantly handed it to you as you read the article on her phone.

Yuta Nakamoto’s Crazy Stalker Is Actually His Side Chick?

That was the headline and your heart plummeted. There were pictures of you holding Totoro as you got out of Yuta’s car when he brought you home.

“What the hell,” you started, “Who took these?” You demanded.

Someone knocked at your door and you shrunk into the couch. Delilah looked at you in concern and she went to answer the door. You both feared who it could be.

She checked the peephole and exhaled. “It’s Yangyang.”

She opened the door and Yangyang ran in. “y/n, are you okay? I saw-“

Shutting the door. Delilah raised her hand up to stop him. “We just saw the article.”

Yangyang cursed. “Someone leaked those photos to the paparazzi. I‘ll help you track down who did this, y/n.”

You sat there in silence. What could you say? What was the point? It was your word against the public who never believed in you. Not only do they think you stole things from Yuta but they now considered you a homewrecker.

And it was only a matter of time before your home address was leaked.

Delilah and Yangyang looked at each other in concern. Delilah deliberated. “She came home with Totoro that day. It was last Thursday. Around...4 PM?”

Yangyang nodded and sat down at the kitchen table. “It’s been a while since I’ve hacked into the complex’s security footage.”

That got a reaction out of you. “You mean you’ve done this before?”

Yangyang smiled wide, happy to see you react to that. “Someone paid me a hefty sum to catch their cheating husband in his shenanigans. I use my powers for good. You know this.”

Delilah scoffed. “You are such a little weirdo.”

He rolled his eyes at the word “little”. He typed away at his keyboard. He chuckled. “Amateurs. They changed one number in their password. Lazy.”

Yangyang navigated through the parking lot security footage. Based off of the angle of which the photo was shot, he was able to pinpoint where the culprit was hiding.

“A 2019 Lexus,” Yangyang said, “License plate ASHL3Y.”

Delilah let out a sarcastic laugh. “Golly gee, whoever could that be...”

You got up from the couch and checked the footage with Yangyang. “I believe it. She hated me even before she met me.”

“She’s the crazy stalker, if you ask me,” Yangyang said.

You sighed. “What will it take for her to leave me alone?”

Your phone rang. It was an unknown number and you chose to ignore it, knowing damn well it was probably a Yutastan who was going to cast some sort of evil spell on you.

Then, immediately you got a text.

Answer the phone. Unless you want an angry mob to break into your apartment tomorrow. -kiss emoji-

^_^

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” Ashley started. “Can I offer you a glass of lemonade? Some Brie and crackers?”

In Ashley’s penthouse suite, you sat with her in the living room. She sat across from you in a leather loveseat while you sat in a massive L-shaped leather sofa.

“What the hell do you want? You want to throw it in my face that you ruined my life and put not only my life in danger but my friends’ and family’s lives in danger, too?” You snapped.

Ashley laughed. Her voice was as irritating as that of any early 2000s socialite. “Don’t be so dramatic. No one knows about your family. Your friends at the complex are safe with some of my best security guards.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said as you rolled your eyes.

“None of this would’ve happened if you knew your place and left my Yuta alone,” she said, “So, how long?” She demanded.

“What?” You asked in confusion.

“How long have you two been screwing around behind my back?” She asked.

It was your turn to bust out laughing. You almost cried. “I helped him with his shoot last Wednesday night. The closest I’ve ever gotten to Yuta was when he gave me one guitar lesson. He drove me home twice. Once from work and the second from when he picked me up from my jail cell. It was the least he could do after selling my stuff and oh...I don’t know...SENDING ME TO JAIL.“

Ashley didn’t believe you. “Right. Well, whatever happened between you two...It ends now. Or else I will keep making your life a living hell and destroy the lives of everyone around you.”

“Ashley, the last thing I want to do is see Yuta. I want to be a makeup artist and go back to the life I had before I met him.” Damn the connection you thought you two had. It would surely fade as quickly as it appeared.

Ashley began, “Which is why I have an opportunity for you.”

You frowned. “What?”

Ashley filed her nails as she spoke to you. “Timothée Chalamet’s new horror film begins production next month in Paris. There is an opening for the makeup team, y/n.”

You coughed. “What are you-“

She interrupted you, “Take the job and your name will be cleared. Your friends and family will be safe. Your dreams of becoming a successful makeup artist will come true...”

You knew she wasn’t finished so you waited for her to continue. She was so melodramatic.

“In return, you never come back to LA and leave Yuta alone forever,” Ashley said.

“I’ll have to come back to the city. You can’t ban me from visiting...That is, if I take the job,” you deliberated.

Ashley scoffed. “If?”

You sighed. “Ashley, LA is my home. It’s a big city.” You figured there had to be a way to compromise.

But you realized you were dealing with an unhinged diva.

Ashley said, “It’s a big city, sure. But as of now, every single person knows you as Yuta’s crazy stalker. It will stay that way if you don’t take this opportunity.”

You kept your mouth shut.

“I think I’m being pretty generous, all things considered,” she said as she flipped her bleached hair behind her shoulder. “You would be stupid to turn this down. Want to stay a jobless pariah? Be my guest.”

Your hands were tied. As much as you despised Ashley for making things so much worse for you, she had the answer to your problems. And since you were done with Yuta, agreeing to never see him again didn’t even feel like a big price to pay. And Timothée Chalamet was a mega Hollywood Star. Participating in his film would surely open doors for you. If Ashley kept her word to clear your name. And Paris? You’ve dreamed of going to Paris for years. Your grandmother told you incredible stories of when she studied abroad and lived there for a few years. It was a chance to be closer to her. The sightseeing and the art were enough to make you giddy.

You refused to let this girl drag your name through the mud and jeopardize your loved ones’ lives because they were associated with you. It wasn’t right. This way, everyone could win.

“Okay, you win,” you said.

“Actually, y/n, we both win,” she said as she clinked her glass of champagne at you and drank from it.

^_^

Ashley’s driver took you back to the apartment. When you unlocked the door to your place, you were shocked to see Yuta seated on the couch with Totoro on his lap.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

Yuta shrugged. “You break into my house. I figured it’s only fair I break into yours.”

You sighed as you took your shoes off as you sat beside Yuta. Naturally, Totoro left Yuta’s lap to greet you.

He nodded. “Delilah let me in. I had to check up on you.”

Yuta kept in touch with your best friend without your knowledge. You realized that now. You’d have to talk to her about that later.

“Well, that’s nice and all but you have to leave,” you said as you averted your gaze from him.

Yuta ignored you. “Where did you go? I was worried sick.”

“I’m fine. I…went to an interview,” you said. There was no way you’d tell him about your meeting with Ashley. He had the mind to intervene and you didn’t want things to escalate any further.

He stared at you in disbelief. “What? For another job? y/n, I told you that you could come back to work with us.”

You shook your head. “If I so much as go to the same supermarket as you, there will be a bounty for my head.”

He shook his head. “The charges have been dropped, y/n. What happened today was…”

“The second of many hits to my career if we don’t stop this now,” you said.

Yuta replied, “y/n-“

“Which brings me to this…Did you get my necklace back?” You asked. If he said no, then you had the ammunition to kick him out. If he somehow got your necklace back…you would have to get even meaner.

Yuta’s face fell. “No, y/n…I reached out to the buyer and they haven’t responded.” He wondered if the buyer already sold it for more or if the buyer was biding his time to ask Yuta for money. “I traced the buyer’s address but they disappeared without a trace. I am so sorry.”

You sighed. “Okay.” You got up from the sofa and headed for the door. “Then, I guess that’s all that needs to be said.” You opened it and motioned for him to leave.

Yuta got up from the couch. “y/n, please we can fix this. As crazy as this sounds, I think I’m falling-“

You stopped him. “Yuta, we can’t. You need to go. You can’t get caught in this complex again. For your safety. And if you care at all about mine.”

Yuta froze. “I will do everything I can to clear your name. Please give me time.”

You couldn’t respond to his sweet voice. You had to resist. As much as you denied it, you felt something for Yuta. From the moment you heard his song “Breeze”, you connected with him before you even met him. His hard work, his talent, his sense of humor, his admiration of your work, his way with words with you before everything went to shit, even the way Totoro gravitated towards him. There was something special about him. Given other circumstances, you would’ve considered exploring a friendship with him. But even that was out of the question. “Goodbye, Yuta.”

He slowly walked out the door and looked back at you. His captivating brown eyes trying to pull you in again but this time, they were full of hurt and longing.

You shut the door, not waiting for him to walk away.

^_^

A couple of days have passed as Yuta reached out to multiple media outlets to clear your name. He admitted that he accidentally sold your necklace. Unfortunately, he couldn’t explain exactly how he’d come into possession of your necklace. So he said the best thing he could come up with: a family friend bought it at a garage sale and thought he might like to have it. Yuta started the account 1026you to sell the items he found around his home in order to raise funds for the LA LGBT Center. Aside from his regular donations from his earnings, Yuta thought he could sell your stuff to make some extra cash for the organization. Had he known that these random items belonged to you he wouldn’t have done that. Which begged the question:

How is it that you lived all the way across town and your stuff just magically appeared in his house? And why?

It seemed like some kind of divine intervention, if anyone asked him. For you two were connected and he only wanted to grow closer to you.

Except now he couldn’t. He failed to get your necklace. You were still blacklisted no matter what he said to multiple companies. He was thankful that you were still able to get an interview like you told him. He wondered if that company hired you. He hoped you were doing well.

Rehearsals for Skylark’s LA shows were still underway. Lily was rehired and Yuta apologized to her for being so rude. The dressing room wasn’t as lighthearted as it’d been when you were around. It was a short time that you were there but he missed you so much.

With Yuta’s heartache, he used music as an outlet. He thought about the night he first taught you how to play the guitar. There was one melody that lingered in his mind every day since. Now he took his time to work the song out of his mind. It was a song that you inspired him to write and he knew it was his best work. He hoped he could play it for you soon.

Yuta missed Totoro’s presence in his home. He didn’t realize how lonely he was until he lost you and your cat. Ashley popped in every day, insisting she stay over. So he begged his sister Suzuka to let him babysit her cat Thorn. Yuta claimed it was out of his hands to babysit Thorn so Ashley stayed less frequently.

Yuta drank a cup of green tea at his kitchen island. He had the day off before his solo press conference. His management wanted him to promote his album but he would also take the opportunity to clear your name.

He pleaded with his agency to let him cut ties with Ashley but Ashley’s agency wouldn’t budge. If Yuta broke up with Ashley, then Ashley’s agency would cut ties with Sky High Entertainment.

He hoped to convince Ashley to cut ties with him today. It was almost as if she was avoiding the conversation as the minute she came in, she ran into the bathroom to take a bubble bath.

“Yuta! Can you be a doll and rub this shower gel on my back?” She asked suggestively.

Yuta knew she was trying to get him in bed so he wouldn’t be able to think straight. These days Ashley seemed more repulsive than usual. Yuta was getting tired.

“No!” Yuta yelled outside the door. “When you finish up, meet me in the living room.”

She didn’t respond right away. She lowered her voice. “Okay…”

Another hour went by and Yuta still waited in the living room. Ashley was avoiding him. He was fed up and he went to look for her. Surely, she’d be out of the bath now. She couldn’t afford to let her skin prune for that long.

He overheard her laughing in his bedroom. “I gotta tell you, Melissa. You should’ve seen the look on her face when I picked her up from that ghetto apartment complex.”

Melissa laughed over the phone. Yuta recognized those nails on a chalkboard from whenever his band had a fan meeting. Melissa Lee, his fanclub president. Yuta frowned and tiptoed as quietly as he could.

Ashley continued, “All I had to do was offer her a job in Paris. Frankly, I’m being way too nice for my own good.”

Melissa replied, “Well, at least you got her out of Yuta’s perfectly shampooed hair.”

“That I did. So when are you going to post the YutAsh tribute video to your website?” Ashley asked as she fell onto Yuta’s bed.

Paris? What the hell did Ashley do?

He remembered how you were unaccounted for that day he went to see you. She said you had an interview. It was interesting how this interview fell on the exact same day those photos of you leaving his car were leaked. Who followed you two that day?

Of course, it was Ashley. Yuta realized how stupid he’d been. She’d basically conspired against you right under his nose. And he was furious.

But he had to be strategic. There was only one way he wanted to take Ashley down. And it would be in the way that hurt most.

^_^

Yuta’s press conference was at The Grove. Hundreds of fans were lined up from the night before. The media was in a frenzy. Your members and team were also in attendance so this was the talk of the town.

The announcer called you in. “Ladies and gentleman: Yuta Nakamoto.”

Yuta, in a gray custom-made business suit, radiated elegance and lethality, which many of his fans said was his unique charm.

Yuta got up to the podium and adjusted the microphone as he spoke into it. “Hello, I’m here to announce the release date of my first solo mini album.”

The crowd roared while the cameras flashed. There was a lot of talking from the journalists in the front.

He smirked. He was ready to give them something to talk about.

“The album comes out July 15th. Ashley and I have been fake dating and I’m here to say that it’s over.”

The crowd was in an uproar. The press yelled out questions. Yuta’s team was full of mixed reactions. His bandmates cheered and laughed. Baekhyun looked panicked. The company executives looked paler than they’ve ever been.

Ashley, who couldn’t have been more obvious as she gossiped with Melissa, almost fell over in her Jimmy Choos.

Yuta laughed. “I’ll take a few questions.” He pointed to a representative from Teen Scene Weekly.

“Yuta, is your breakup with Ashley because of y/n?” They asked.

Yuta sighed. “First off, Ashley and I dated to strengthen our respective companies. We were friends. We had a good time. For a while now, I’ve wanted to cut ties with her but out of respect for my company, I held on a little longer…However, after I politely asked for a breakup, I was denied. Now tell me…do you think that’s fair? After everything Skylark has given to the company? That we get used this way? I’m fed up with it.”

Yuta knew he only had a minute at most before he was pulled off the stage. Ashley yelled out, “Yuta, please stop!”

He continued, “Which brings me to y/n. She never did anything wrong. As I have gone on record to say twenty times in the past week, she never stole from me. She lost her necklace along with other possessions. Friends and family got these possessions for me from garage sales. That’s all I know. y/n is innocent. I made a huge mistake by having her arrested. She is an excellent makeup artist. One of the best in the business. I should know because I’ve been in this industry for seven years now. So if you’ve blacklisted her, then the joke’s on you. Because she has more talent than most of your employed artists ever hope to have. Lastly, to answer your question…y/n is not the other woman. She never was. I started falling for her but I never acted on it. Until now.”

The crowd was in a frenzy. A lot of the fans were crying and it made Yuta wonder if he had any true fans at all. If they cared so much about who he dated, then they didn’t see him as anything else other than their property.

Skylark’s security guards went to pull Yuta off the stage but he walked out on his own with his hands up in surrender. The guards escorted him to his car.

Yuta got into the driver’s seat and nearly screamed at seeing Ashley in the passenger seat.

“What the fuck?” He demanded.

“I had extra copies of your car keys made,” she said like she knit him a pair of mittens.

“Get out,” Yuta said with clenched teeth.

“You ruined me, Mr. Nakamoto. How are you going to make it up to me?” She asked. Her eyeliner ran down her cheeks. Her critically acclaimed face made her look like the wicked witch from Snow White.

Yuta laughed humorlessly. “I don’t owe you anything, Ash. You ruined y/n’s life and pushed her away from me. You knew I never loved you so why? Why keep this charade up?”

“We need each other We are perfect together. With your music and your bone structure and my beauty and me being a triple threat, we would be unstoppable. We can only help each other. Why can’t you see that?” She traced her fingers over his chest.

“I’ve heard enough. Please leave before I call security,” Yuta said in a low voice.

“Security?” Ashley scoffed. “Fuck off. No one calls security on me.”

Yuta rolled his eyes, already having dialed Tom, one of the security guards. “Yeah, Yuta?” He asked.

“Come back. Ashley broke into my car,” Yuta said quickly.

Ashley grabbed his phone. “Yuta! What have you done?”

Yuta sighed. “What I should’ve done a long time ago.”

He unlocked the door as the guards came running over to pull Ashley out of the car. She put up a good fight but the guards successful got her out.

She yelled out, “Well, you’re too late! Her flight to Paris leaves in a couple of hours.”

Thankful that Ashley always had a big mouth, Yuta backed away from the scene and raced to the airport.

^_^

You were on the plane, happy to have the row to yourself. You had to find some joy somehow. It wasn’t like you were being exiled from your hometown.

Totoro stayed with your mom. Once the shoot finished, you would get him back so you can relocate from LA. It still hurt to leave everyone.

Yangyang and Delilah agreed to move in together so he could save on rent and she wouldn’t have to pay for the apartment by herself. But you had a feeling there was something they weren’t telling you. You couldn’t wait for updates from both of them.

In a matter of eleven hours, you would be at the Charles de Gaulle airport, ready to embark on a new chapter in your life. You put your earbuds in and put your music on shuffle. The first song from the shuffle was ironically “Your Type” by Carly Rae Jepsen. It was a song about unrequited love and you were tempted to skip. Instead, you chose to wallow.

As much as you suppressed it, a part of you held onto thoughts of Yuta. Losing your possessions and finding them in Yuta’s place. You were both confused. Part of you wondered if there was something paranormal about it all. Maybe paranormal wasn’t the right word. Maybe…something magical?

Even so, too much damage had been done for you two to return to the friendship you had for a such a short but sweet time. And Ashley drove an even larger wedge between you two by threatening you. As much as Yuta frustrated you with everything else, you were even more frustrated that he was still with her. If it was fake, why did he keep it up? Didn’t he want to be with someone he loved?

Well, it wasn’t your problem. He was a big boy. He should be able to handle problems like this since he talked such a big game all the time.

So irritating, you thought, but also irritatingly cute.

Unbeknownst to you, there was a commotion on the plane.

“Sir, your seat is in 5A. Come back here!” A flight attendant yelled.

“y/n!” Yuta yelled as he ran down the aisle looking for you. He wore a large beanie and sunglasses so no one could recognize him.

The passengers looked alarmed at the disguised man yelling frantically. Yuta realized screaming wouldn’t help his case so he scoped out for you.

And then he saw you.

Your face was made up but you still looked like you lost many hours of sleep the past few nights. But still, you were the most stunning creature he’d ever laid his eyes on. Your eyelashes brushed against your cheeks as you slept. Your lips slightly parted and Yuta bit his lip.

The flight attendant caught up to him. “Sir-“

Yuta raised his finger and nodded towards you.

The flight attendant calmed down. “You’re assigned to 5A. Why are you all the way back here?”

“Can I switch with whoever is supposed to sit here?” He asked.

The attendant frowned. “Why would you want to-“

“Please,” Yuta pleaded, “Sitting towards the front freaks me out.”

The attendant sighed. “Well, sir, you’re the last one on the plane so that seat appears to be available. Go ahead.”

Yuta smiled genuinely. “Thank you.”

The attendant was stunned and she had a feeling she recognized him. She shrugged it off and resumed her duties to get everyone situated on the plane.

Yuta exhaled in relief as he sat beside you. You looked so cute curled up in your chair but also very uncomfortable. He was tempted to offer you his shoulder but that would ruin the surprise.

Half an hour went by and you turned to your right to see the seat had been occupied by someone in glasses and a beanie. So much for having the row to yourself, you thought.

The stranger beside you said, “Morning, sleepyhead.”

You frowned as you opened your eyes more. “Hi…?”

But when you sat up, you saw his piercings and the curve of his lips. “Yuta?” You whisper-yelled.

He flashed his perfect set of teeth at you as he lowered his glasses. “Hey.”

You laughed in disbelief. “What are you-“

Yuta shrugged casually. “I felt like a trip to Paris.”

“Right…Who told you?” You asked. You dropped your defenses. For now.

“Surprisingly, it was Ashley. She may be a schemer but she’s never been the sharpest tool in the shed.”

You looked at him, noticing how disheveled he looked. He was soaked in sweat. He must have ran through the airport to catch this flight.

“Why are you so sweaty?” You asked.

“I ran,” Yuta said as he realized he must have looked as gross as he felt. And taking off his beanie was almost out of the question since his fuchsia hair dye made him stick out like a sore thumb.

You felt for him so you pulled some wipes from your bag and gave them to him. “That beanie looks uncomfortable so take this.” You handed him a cap instead. It was a Dodgers cap.

“Thanks,” Yuta said as he swapped the beanie for his hat and cleaned himself up.

“Well, good night again,” you said as you turned to the window and shut your eyes.

“I’m sorry, what?” He asked. He mistook your acts for kindness for wanting to talk to him.

“We’re done here, aren’t we?” You asked. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“y/n, I…You can’t move to Paris,” he started.

“I accepted the position, Yuta. I can’t go back from an obligation.” You turned away from him and stared out the window. The attendants were giving their airplane safety spiel. You know you were about to ascend. “Unless you have a schedule in Paris, then you should leave. Before you’re stuck on this flight.”

“There’s no place I’d rather be, y/n,” he said softly.

His voice sent shivers down your spine but you pushed your feelings down. You couldn’t let him get to you. “You hurt me.” You let it out. Maybe if you kept this up, he would leave you alone.

Yuta sighed. “I know and I’m so sorry.”

Upon hearing him apologize, you perked up but you chose to keep your back turned.

Yuta went on to say, “I screwed up. Getting you arrested, fired, and hated by everyone. I screwed up even more by selling your grandma’s necklace. And I hate that I couldn’t get it back. More than anything. I know what Ashley did to you. It was wrong of her. She had no right. I finally broke up with her. In front of everyone.”

You turned to him, worried about the repercussions of the break up. “By everyone, you don’t mean…”

“At my press conference…”

You put a hand to your mouth in shock. “Ashley must be furious.” What did this mean for you now? What if Ashley retracted the offer and then you were truly left without a job or a home?

Yuta chuckled. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about that witch.”

You shook your head. “If you broke up with her, then she’s on the warpath.”

Yuta replied, “She’ll find another big name to terrorize soon enough. I’m close to contract termination anyway.”

You gaped. “What?”

“At the conference, I told everyone that Ashley and I were a fake couple. I broke up with her and then…I told everyone how I felt about you. I really like you, y/n,” He turned bashful, putting his hands in pant pockets.

“Yuta, are you crazy?”

He didn’t expect that response.

“How could you jeopardize your career for me? You barely even know me. Sure, we shared pizza and…we had a moment when you taught me guitar…But that’s not enough reason to put everything on the line.”

“y/n, you don’t understand. I feel like we really know each other. I can’t explain it,” he said, “Why do you think it is that your stuff kept popping up at my place? There’s some sort of cosmic connection between us. That’s not something we can ignore.”

He thought the same way you had about the things you lost and later found. But you were scared. Ashley made you a human target and you knew you could end this stress by leaving. You didn’t want to jeopardize anyone you loved.

You didn’t even want to jeopardize Yuta. Especially since he just risked his entire career for you.

“Yuta, we can’t. Being with me will ruin your career,” you said. The plane started moving across the tarmac.

“y/n…”

Now you two were stuck on the plane. You weren’t planning to budge and you prayed that when you landed in Paris that Yuta would catch the next flight back to LA.

Hours passed. You were so exhausted that you nearly fell asleep the entire plane ride.

Apparently, so was Yuta. You woke up finding yourself leaning against his shoulder and his neck was nuzzled against the top of your head. He still smelled like roses and vanilla, even after working up a sweat to get onto the plane. He was a fool, you thought to yourself.

But you were an even bigger fool because you didn’t remove yourself from him.

The pilot announced overhead, “Ladies and gentleman, welcome to Paris. Bienvenue à Paris.”

You realized you’d been awake too long and hadn’t moved away quickly. You felt Yuta move so you pretended to have just woken up from the announcement. You quickly pulled away from him. Yuta rubbed his neck and watched you.

You left the plane with Yuta trailing behind you. You picked up your bags at baggage claim. Yuta grabbed one of your bags.

“Yuta, it’s fine. I have this,” you said as you pointed to the luggage cart.

Yuta relented and helped you put your bags on the cart.

He followed you to the arrivals section where drivers had their posters with the names of people they were picking up. You saw your name and identified yourself with the driver. The driver helped you with your luggage.

“Bye, Yuta,” you said quickly, not about to linger. You turned away when he took your hand.

“y/n, please…” He begged.

“Take care, okay?” You said as you pulled your hand away and caught up with your driver.

Heartbroken but unrelenting, Yuta was about to follow you when someone pulled his hat off.

“Oh my God, it’s Yuta! C’est Yuta. Skylark!” A girl yelled.

Yuta ran for cover, the gears shifting in his head for his next move with you.

^_^

It’s a few days later that you finally get to explore Paris. You haven’t heard a word from the fuchsia-haired boy, but you were trying to get over him anyway so you didn’t mind.

You had to realize that at the end of the day, he had his devoted army of fans and you..only had yourself. He didn’t need you, so surely he’d forget about you soon enough. You two had only known each other for a short time, regardless of it feeling like an eternity.

You breathe a sigh of relief when you get to the Eiffel Tower. It’s kinda cold, but the dreamy sunset draws in.

When you felt a sudden gust of wind, you closed your eyes and remembered Yuta’s warm chest on your back, the way his long fingers comforted and guided yours on the stiff strings of the guitar. His breath dancing along your ear while you shivered and felt goosebumps expose themselves.

The echoing bass in his voice that hit your heart..and other places too.

The sun was slowly retreating from the sky, but it was still bright..as bright as his smile, you missed it, even when he only showed it during his sarcastic, asshole moments.

His lips so full and soft, even the brush you used over them had a difficult time coloring to perfect something that didn’t need perfecting.

Ashley was one lucky girl. It was only a matter of time until she and Yuta got back together.

You looked to the ground and sighed. Why did you have to think of him? Even when one of the most beautiful pieces of art towered over you.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were missing something so great in your life now. The connection you felt with him hit you like a train and there was nothing that could compare to it. It was so strong, it could probably compete with the earth’s gravitational pull to your body.

“Yuta..I hate you, I really do.” You whispered to yourself as you clutched your long jacket around your body. You tried to convince yourself that this was true so that you’d finally be at peace. Key word: tried.

In the front of the Eiffel Tower was a board that read the rules, opening times etc.

“Le Jules Vernes Restaurant..’closed tonight for a special event..damn it.” You had planned on treating yourself to a meal at the top of the Eiffel Tower so you could take in the view as long as some fresh air. But lucky for you, it was closed for that evening.

You licked your lips and sighed.

Would you ever have things go your way?

You were about to walk away when you heard a speaker being plugged in. The feedback was obnoxiously painful and loud, and got everyone’s attention. You all turned to see the source.

A guitar riff played soon after and you heard a chorus of whispers from people on the lawn.

“Oh my God..OH MY GOD ITS YUTA NAKAMOTO FROM SKYLARK!” A girl screams as she runs past you with another girl in hand, just barely holding on.

Shit.

You squint your eyes to look at the person that a crowd begins to form around and sure enough, it is your nemesis with the pink hair. He’s smiling widely and saying ‘hi’ to everyone as his bodyguards put their arms out to stop anyone from getting too close. His guitar is in his hands and his microphone has already been set up.

“Time to go back to the hotel.”

You turn and start to brush past all the people running to see Yuta perform.

“Yuta?! What is he doing here?”

“Holy shit! Yuta is about to perform for us!”

“Yuta from Skylark? Aren’t they about to go on tour?”

You overhear some of the comments and the last thing you want is for them to realize who you are, the infamous “crazy stalker,” so you duck and push through.

You don’t feel his eyes peering the crowd and eventually locking into your body as you walk away. His smile fades and he realizes he has to act quickly.

He strums out one chord on the guitar and the girls go into a frenzy.

“This song..is for someone that just entered my life. It’s only been a few weeks, but she’s changed it for the better. She knows me more than anyone else does and I honestly don’t know how I lived without her before.”

Yuta speaks into the microphone, making the growing crowd of listeners go silent.

You slow your pace but still don’t turn around. There’s no way he could be talking about you.

“Who is he talking about? Didn’t he just break up with Ashley?” You hear a few girls whisper.

“She doesn’t know it yet, but I don’t plan on living without her anymore..she makes my head spin, she makes me forget the words to songs that I’ve sung everyday for the past 3 years, she gives me the WORST case of butterflies...she truly is a nuisance, but I need her. y/n..”

You stop in your tracks and stare at the grass below your planted feet.

“Please don’t go..” Yuta’s eyes are wide, he just needs you to turn around and look at him, to give him a second chance.

The people turn to follow his line of vision, eventually seeing your body standing alone and far away.

“Oh my god it’s her.” They whisper.

You start to walk again when you hear the whispering yet overwhelming gossip. You’re just so tired of all of the attention you’ve been getting. Yuta was trying to make some grand statement to get you back, but he didn’t realize that this was the opposite of what you wanted.

“She’s like the rain on summer days when the garden needs some nurturing...” Yuta strums his guitar and sings.

“She’s like a constellation of stars, oh she’s beautiful, and very gorgeous to me.”

You’re still walking but he continues.

“But I don’t even know her name, I only see her in a frame, yet her face is stuck in my mind..she’s the girl in the portrait, the girl with the necklace..the girl with my heart, but the girl I don’t know..I could give her the world, but it’s not like she needs it from me. She’s a work of art, she’s the only thing I see.”

You stop again, this time turning around to finally face him.

“No one knows me like you do, yes, you see the right through..and I know you won’t forgive me, I just hope you won’t forget me..because I know I’ll be thinking of you, yes you, the girl in the portrait.”

Your eyes start to tear up. The Mountain Man, the singer you so adored had written a song about you. And the melody was just as charming as his other songs. Were you that important to him that he created this song for you?

You stood there frozen as ice and stunned, with a thousand eyes on you.

“That was The Girl In the Portrait, I wrote it for y/n, because, well, it’s a funny story actually.” Yuta said as he put his guitar down and stood up. The crowd chuckled and clapped but people were still focused on you and waiting for your reaction.

This was one level above a public proposal and you didn’t know how to feel about it.

“Please..” Yuta said quietly.

You cursed silently. Your heart felt weak and you couldn’t just turn away like your conscious told you to. Your heart told you to forgive him and start over.

Yuta went all the way to Paris for you, he wrote a song for you and ditched his first tour date. He did it all for you. If that didn’t show his sincerity towards you, you weren’t sure what would.

‘I Hate You’ you mouthed before smiling.

Yuta ran towards you abruptly, making his bodyguards scurry behind him to push his fans away from him, they struggled to keep up as he dashed like Bolt towards you.

You braced yourself for impact from the 6-foot something man about to collide into you.

Yuta’s teeth showed brightly as he held out his arms and wrapped them around you. Wrinkles formed at the sides of his eyes.

He’s so filled with excitement, he lifts you three feet about the grace and bends backward.

“Yuta!” You laugh out at the sudden move, but he chuckles and brings you back down.

You breathed in his amazing scent before closing your eyes and adoring his warmth. You felt so at ease in his arms, everything faded away. The cries as well as cheers from his fans soon faded into the background. You rested your head in his chest and exhaled.

You lifted your limp arms that were once at your side and wrapped them around him while he rubbed your back. Having you in his arms tonight made it feel like Christmas Day. He never wanted it to end. Even with all the people staring and all the phones recording, he didn’t want this moment to end. He prayed that you would stay in his arms forever, for you were the only thing that made him feel comfortable and happy. You did for him what music could no longer do.

“y/n...”

“Mhmm?” you hummed, your eyes still closed while you enjoyed his embrace.

“I want to kiss you..”

Your neck nearly snapped when you looked up at him.

“What?” Your eyes widened.

“But not here..up there..will you let me?”

Yuta smirked and tilted his head towards the tower.

“Nice try, user 1026you, the restaurant is closed tonight.”

“For a special event, I know...that’s why it’ll just be me and you.” Yuta chuckled when your brows furrowed.

“Yuta..”

“I’d give you the world if you let me.” Yuta grew serious as he searched your eyes and swallowed hard. He ignored the fact that his bodyguards were having an increasingly difficult time with holding back his fans.

The two of you were surrounded by complete madness, but you felt alone..lost in each other’s eyes.

Your mouth was open slightly, you couldn’t believe that he actually booked the entire restaurant just for the two of you.

“So..You gonna let me give you a night in Paris to remember?”

You laughed and Yuta felt his chest weaken by the sight of your smile.

“You owe me big time..”

Yuta’s teeth twinkled. “We gotta run, ready?”

He took your hand and the two of you hustled to the entrance of the Eiffel Tower.

His fans ran after you two while you laughed and held onto each other tightly.

Everything happened in slow motion, the two of you moved like runaway lovers, chaos surrounded you but it didn’t matter, for you had each other. You looked over to see Yuta’s goofy smile.

The tour guide at the entrance was able to quickly let you in and close the door behind you to stop anyone else from following.

You found the elevator and got on.

Once at the top, you let go of Yuta’s hand to walk around and see the magnificent view. A million tiny lights decorated the streets of Paris. It was darker outside now, but you could still see the large crowd that surrounded the tower start to dissipate.

They looked like ants below you, slowly dispersing from the ants nest to get more food.

You were so stunned by the view, you didn’t notice that Yuta was watching you, your eyes gazing in amazement, your hair blowing softly in the wind and your bright smile that made even the moon seem bleak.

“y/n..” he called your name. There was something he wanted to see.

You turned to look at him over your shoulder.

“Yeah?”

And there it was. The pose from the portrait. You glancing over your shoulder so intensely. Your eyes large with wonder, your lips full and slightly parted, your hair shining in the moonlight. You are beautiful, Yuta can’t describe it, but he knows he is happy to be able to see an artwork come to life.

“Yuta?” You turned to him full and walked over. “What’s wrong? You’re staring again” you giggled.

“I’m happy.” Yuta smiles and looks down at you.

“Well, we’re in Paris at the Eiffel Tower! Of course you’re happy.” You chuckled and turned to look out at the city from a different angle, but Yuta took your hand in his and spun you around.

You tripped and fell onto his chest before looking up into his eyes.

“No...I’m happy because I’m with you.”

He whispered and your body felt weak. Luckily, he was holding you up so you could balance yourself.

He held you close and looked onto your lips which were just a few inches from yours. His breath slowed to match yours, you look into his lips and swallow hard.

“Y-Yuta.”

He leaned forward, placing a small kiss on your lips. Your eyes closed, his kiss made you feel like fireworks had been set off right there in your chest. It was magical even though it only lasted for a second.

Yuta was nervous, he wasn’t sure if you were ready. You held his head in your hands and looked into his eyes.

You then kissed him hard while tilting your head to the side. Yuta finally relaxes in your hands and kisses you back, opening his mouth so that he could lick your top lip.

His lips were fluffy and felt exactly like how you imagined them to feel. Silky, smooth. Even as he pressed harder, you couldn’t help but feel fragile like you’d collapse at any moment, your legs threatening to give out at any moment.

Soon, your tongues found each other and playfully danced while you struggled to keep your breathing stable.

Time slows down once again as you kiss for what feels to be days.

Yuta draws small circles and lines on your back as he pushes your body into his more. He wants more, so much more. He wants to feel you everywhere, and he can’t get enough of your touch, the way your dainty fingers play with the hair on the nape of his neck.

But you have to pull away to breathe.

“Wow..you could’ve gone on for days, couldn’t you?” You try to catch your breath as you look up at him.

Yuta smirks. “I’m a singer, it’s called breath control.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’S cALleD BrEATh coNtRoL.” You mocked him.

The two of you laughed. Yuta took your hand to guide you to a table that had been set for the two of you.

It was weird being so high above the rest of the world. But you liked it. It was just you and Yuta. Nothing else. There was no Ashley, no fans, and no drama.

Yuta rubbed his reddened lips with two fingers.

“Let’s hurry up and eat..I want to finish what you started.”

“What I started? Sir, I recall you being the one that started that kiss!”

“Nah you gave me those eyes..” Yuta was teasing you again.

You rolled your eyes and sat back in your chair.

When you finished eating, you looked into the city again and felt an internal peace. There was something so comforting about being away from the madness. Yeah, your life wasn’t what it was two months ago, but you sure as hell felt all the madness was worth it.

Getting Yuta was worth it.

You leaned forward, placing your jaw on your hands.

“What are you thinking about?

Yuta watched your eyes searching the city again. The moonlight and single candle lit on the table brought out your smooth skin even more, as well as the outline of your nose and lips. He could watch you all night.

“I like the view,” you answered softly.

“You do?” Yuta’s brows raised.

“Yes..” you nodded.

“You’re my best view..” Yuta smiled widely.

You blushed. “Ehh.. I don’t know about that line.”

“Okay how about this one?

“I wish you didn’t have a name..so I could call you mine?” Yuta leaned forward to match your pose and place his head on his hands.

“Oh no..it’s getting worse.” You held your face in your hands, feeling the heat in your cheeks rise. You’re both a little tipsy from the alcohol you had at dinner.

“Are you from Paris? Because Ei-FELL for you..” he smirked and took your hands in yours so he could see you blush.

You laughed and melted into your seat. “Oh God, Yuta make it stop.”

“Okay, okay I’ll stop..but before we leave, I have something to give you.”

You sat up straight and gave a puzzled look.

“I’m sorry again about your grandmother’s necklace. I tried..I even called up your hacker friend YangYang for help, but he couldn’t find it either..I’m so sorry. I know I can never make up for that.”

Your face straightened and you blinked slowly as the reality settled in that you would never see your grandmother’s necklace again.

“But..I did get you this..I hope her memory can still live on through this..”

Yuta reaches into his pocket and hands a small box. When you open it you find a gold necklace with a shining stone surrounded by small pearls as the pendant . The resemblance between it and your missing necklace is strikingly similar. Your mouth falls open.

“My grandmother’s necklace was the only one of its kind...how..how in the world did you find this?”

You looked closely to see that the one difference was the stone in the center.

“I searched online and went to a few antique stores and met this strange lady..what was her name again? Was it Celeste or Cerulean? Hmm..wait! It was Cyan! Yeah I showed her a picture and she found it in her store for me.”

“Yuta..that’s amazing.”

And that’s when you realized what the color of the center stone was. It’s not purple, nor red. Not pink, nor magenta..no it’s..fuchsia.

Yuta was your soulmate..that’s why your things were disappearing. The universe was pushing you to him. You were destined to meet and fall in love. How could you not realize it sooner? That’s why you felt this undeniable pull towards him.

“What’s wrong?” Yuta grows concerned when he sees your eyes start to tear up.

“Nothing..nothing..it’s perfect, Yuta.” You decided not to tell Yuta because you couldn’t really explain it. Things were finally falling into place and you just wanted to spend time with him, for you didn’t know if you’d have the chance to be with him again..in this universe..or in another one.

“Let’s go home.” Yuta kneeled down and wiped your tears with his finger.

————

Yuta helps you out of the limo once you get to your luxurious hotel. He had the driver take you to a back entrance so his fans wouldn’t see the two of you.

“Thank you.” You let go of his hand and are about to start walking but Yuta grabs your waist and throws you over his shoulder. You yelp out in surprise. Your ass is in the air as you dangle over him.

“Ahh!! Yuta!”

“Shhh we came through the back for a reason.” Yuta chuckles then gives your ass a hard smack with his hand.

“Ahh! Damn it, Yuta!”

You lay out a string of curse words as Yuta gets into the elevator. He only smiles while strangers stare and wonder what in the world is going on.

When you get to the room, Yuta flips you from his shoulder and onto the bed. You plop down and feel your body bounce back up from the plush mattress.

“I swear to-“ you start but Yuta leans down over you, attacking your lips as soon as you open them to make some snarky comment.

He liked hearing you talk back to him, but he liked kissing you even more.

You lick his bottom lip, then kiss his lips again, enjoying the way both of your lips grow wet from each other.

He was just as playful with his tongue, letting it place kitten licks on the soft surface of your lips, he kissed softly, teasingly. It was almost ticklish. You felt your chest rumble.

You closed your eyes and traced your hands up Yuta’s back, pressing him into you more.

The bitter taste of alcohol stayed on your lips and your head felt light, you both felt like you were getting drunk all over again.

Yuta presses into you more, running his hands along your sides before holding your face as he guides the passionate kiss.

You pushed your body upwards and grinded onto Yuta, feeling his member poke through his jeans. You placed a finger into his belt loop, pulling him downwards. You then wrapped your legs around his waist and crossed them over his back to bring his body closer to yours even more.

Yuta took the hint and pushed into you slowly, grinding his covered member against your covered, but increasingly wet entrance.

You moaned into his mouth when you felt him press onto your weak spot teasingly. You trembled under him, hands shaking as they clawed at his back lightly.

It felt like a bouquet of flowers were slowly opening up in Yuta’s chest. You were the most beautiful melody, the graceful echo of godly chords being played in a church organ, you were the angelic singing heard all the way from heaven. That’s what you felt like to Yuta. And he had to write about you, he had a hundred songs already in mind to write about you.

He prayed that you wouldn’t stop kissing him this time, that you wouldn’t have to pull away to breathe.

He didn’t know that you felt the same way, that he felt like a day at Disney that you didn’t want to end. He felt like a birthday surprise happening over and over and over. He was the glass of water after a long run. He made you feel euphoric just from an embrace like this. With the two of you finally being alone together, it was like the stars had collided to create something so beautiful, extraordinary and new.

But still, you were scared. Now that you found your soulmate, would he disappear? What if this was your last night in this universe? You couldn’t remember anything about your life before, but you knew that you were somewhere else before all of this.

And could something this good last? Were you really away from all of your troubles?

You were deep in your thoughts and without realizing, you kissed Yuta so hard, you accidentally bit his bottom lip.

Yuta pulled away. “Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?” He rubbed the blood from his lip, eyes growing wide.

“N-no, Yuta..I’m sorry. It’s just..” you swallowed hard then licked your lips.

“What if..this is it? What if we won’t be together after tonight?”

You played with the collar of his shirt to distract yourself.

Yuta tilted his head then placed his hands on either side of your head to hold himself up.

“y/n..I don’t plan on letting you go..ever. You make me feel..” Yuta didn’t know how to describe it either.

“Amazing.” But that wasn’t enough, it was much more than that. So much more. No word in the entire dictionary could suffice for the feeling he had.

“And if the universe allows..It won’t be the last night. It’ll just be the first of many.” He gave you a wink. “What do you say? Let’s give it a try?”

You nodded and licked your lips.

“And uh..how far do you want to go because I..” Yuta looked down at your linked bodies.

You blushed when you realized what he was looking at. It was the outline of his member sticking out in his jeans and aiming towards the apex of your legs.

You thought about the chances of this being your first and last night together, and knew you wanted to experience it with Yuta. If just kissing him made you euphoric, how would making love feel?

You nodded. “I want you to make love to me Yuta, love me like it’s the last time.” You rubbed his flexed biceps and he grew weak. The combination of your gentle touch and doe eyes while those sweet words left your mouth made him feel like he’d lost all feeling in his legs.

“It won’t be the last time, but it will probably be the best time since we’re in the city of romance. Don’t expect too much from me when we do this again, okay?”

You nodded, giggling as you held his belt again. He glanced down at your hands as they fiddled around.

He chuckled then looked back up at you. “Is your name Paris, because I think my Eiffel Tower belongs in you?”

“Yuta!! I swear to G-“ you started again, but he quickly placed his mouth on yours, taking the air as it left and circling your top lip with the tip of his tongue.

You both ran out of patience, taking each other’s lips in between your teeth. You shimmy out of your jacket and Yuta tosses it to the side. You tug the hem of his black t-shirt and help him take it off over his head, his hair becoming rustled in the process but it gives him a cute, messy look. You can’t help but laugh.

Yuta smirks and rubs his hands up and down your thighs while gazing into your eyes, pressing into the soft squishy skin to massage them.

You bite your swollen lips, knowing that he’s watching your chest rise up and down under him.

“I could stare at you all night.” He whispers.

“I know..but I want you to make love to me first.” You say as you start to unbutton your blouse.

Yuta watches your fingers play with the buttons, allowing for several inches of your skin to be revealed each time. He licks his lips but waits for you to finish and reveal yourself to him, gripping the crook of your knees while he waits.

“Yuta..” you breathlessly call out his name before biting your lips. Your voice makes him dizzy, he wants to hear you say his name over and over again like a broken record, because you just sound so..heavenly. No song could compare.

He leans forward, placing his hands on yours and gripping the bow separated fabric. And it’s like he’s opening his curtains to see a bright, sunny day after a scary thunderstorm.

He opens it slowly, staring at the small space between your breasts that he wants to decorate so badly.

You stare at his neck and then his abs, all the places you want to kiss passionately while listening to his low groans.

Yuta takes the sleeves of the shirt down your arms, his fingertips lightly touching your skin but still leaving an intense rush flowing through your veins.

You lock eyes as he tosses it to the side with the jacket.

He lowers his head to your chest and breathes over it, leaving a steamy breath over your nipple. You shiver under him and let out a moan.

“Yuta..” You arch your back, desperate to feel him on you. Having him inches away from your skin just isn’t enough, especially when he’s shirtless and daunts his stunning body over yours.

But Yuta doesn’t respond. He licks your nipple and looks up to see you tremble once again. He can feel the response from your body under him even though he’s not touching you.

“Please..” you put your hand onto his back and rub it softly to push him along.

He kisses in between your breasts, then sucks hard, biting the skin to leave a mark.

You cry out his name again, this time, your fingers going through his thick hair as he moves on to suck your nipple.

He presses his tongue firmly and flat against it, then pleases a sloppy kiss onto it.

He massages your other breast while his mouth continues to work on the first, sucking hard so he can hear you say his name once again. He circles around the areola with the tip of his tongue at a pace so slow, you start to go insane. He then flicks the tender tip with his tongue as you throw your head back and moan.

You push your body upwards but Yuta pulls away. As expected, he teases you, wanting to draw this moment out for as long as possible.

“Yuta..please touch me.”

He looks into your large eyes as you beg, but then he looks down to your breasts and isn’t satisfied so he pays attention to the other breast, switching between gentle and firm sucking. Your moaning gets louder and louder, and you’re happy that Yuta paid for the suite that takes up one floor.

His large hand cups your breast, his fingers pressing into the skin and pumping it slowly.

His plush lips kiss everywhere, lighting fires of feeling across your sensitive skin.

Yuta then starts to grind down into you. Your opening is still covered by the rough fabric of your jeans, but aching nonetheless. The sudden contact made you jolt upwards. You’re so wet and needy, you’re sure you’re soaking through your jeans at this point.

Yuta quickly drags your jeans down your legs, you start to kick them off and let it fall to the floor.

“You’re so wet, baby.” Yuta stares at your soaked panties and smiles.

He retakes his position, placing his hands on either side of your head again, and sucking on your nipple.

This time he sucks harder, humming as he grinds down into you to hear you whimper loudly. The vibrations allow for a tingling sensation to echo through your skin, you feel lightheaded, your jaw locking, and your vision fading.

“Yuta!”

You say before releasing. Your grip on his hair tightens as he continues to suck on your skin while you cum. You moan loudly and breathe heavily..you slowly start to come back to Earth.

“Oh, you’re loud..but I like that.” Yuta gives you a wink then runs his fingers over your underwear.

“I didn’t even touch you and you came.” He says smoothly.

You jerk at the feel of his fingers parting your folds to collect your essence.

“You cocky bastard.” You say breathlessly.

Yuta only smirks as he walks around the bed and to a wall beside it.

“I forgot to show you this..” he presses a button and looks up at the ceiling.

You kneel on the bed and move to the center of it.

The white covering separates from the center, opening up to reveal a window.

Your eyes widen and your mouth falls open when you see the beautiful night sky, dazzled by twinkling stars. And even though it is late at night, you can still see traces of sapphire blue and small, faint lines of indigo.

There’s nothing like it. You can see why Van Gogh painted Starry Night.

“So we’re gonna fuck in front of the stars?” You ask bluntly, gaining a loud chuckle from Yuta.

“I promised to give you the best night you’ve ever had so..yes.” His eyes squinted when he laughs again.

“Yuta..this is..”

“Amazing? Legendary? Extraordinary? Yeah I know” he put his hands on his hips as he watched you gaze.

You roll your eyes and turn to him. “Come here..”

You head over to the edge of the bed and get on your knees. Yuta walks over to you, watching your hands unhook his belt and tug his jeans down.

You lean back and fall into the center of the bed while waiting for him to kick off his jeans and get on the bed.

Yuta nearly trips and falls as he struggles to take his jeans off while watching you. You start to take your panties down your legs but Yuta stops you.

“No! I wanna unwrap the present.”

“Ugh, you’re so weird.” You hold your face in your hands again.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” Yuta grabs your ankle and squeezes hard.

“Oh!” You yelp out at the pain and look down at him, watching as he crawls over your slowly on the plush bed.

He takes the waistband of your panty in between his fingers and slowly drags it down while looking into your eyes. Your heart starts to race again. He’s so close to your wet and needy entrance, but you feel the sharp, icy slap of cold air once you’re exposed.

“Beautiful..” Yuta adores your naked body below him.

He traces his fingers on the surface surrounding your folds, just pressing shy of them to make you writhe.

“Yuta..please.”

He rubs two fingers along your folds painfully slow, using the side of his long fingers to part them.

Yuta retreats his fingers and puts them into his mouth.

“So good.” He breathlessly lets out. He teases your entrance again, his spit and your essence now mixing as he presses nearly perfect circles into your core.

You can feel the knot in your stomach start to build again. Your mouth falls open as you moan.

You arch your back and hold onto the sheets with a grip so tight, you felt your knuckles become white. You look up at the stars and think to yourself how beautiful it is out there. You feel your spirit start to ascend while Yuta plays with your clit.

Your legs start to shake and threaten to close completely as you grow more and more sensitive to his touch.

Yuta uses his other hand to pump then align himself with your opening.

His length glistens with pre cum, the tip red and veins pumping fiery blood through it.

He’s more than ready now and you can’t wait to take him.

“Open up for me.”

You don’t hesitate to spread your legs further apart so your hips align with his.

He leans down and holds himself over you with both hands, looking into your eyes before kissing you enthusiastically, tugging your lip between his teeth so you can call out his name again.

He pushes into you slowly while you kiss.

Yuta drinks in your moan and groans when he feels your silky walls surround him.

He lets go of your lips and buries himself into the crook of your neck. He breathes deeply, pushing into you again.

“So tight, fuck.” He whispers.

You take a deep breath and look at the stars above you to stop yourself from coming already.

He starts to thrust into you again, but you let out a quiet whimper.

“Shit..I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Yuta. K-keep going.”

You rub his back to push him along.

He begins to rub your clit, your mouth falling open into a silent cry.

He pushes all of himself into you then pulls out, groaning once again when he buries himself back inside.

He grinds against your silky walls while holding you close and rubbing small circles into you.

Your heated bodies comfort each other as they are finally connected, working towards the same goal.

Yuta smells like a combination of amber and musk, but feels like a soft blanket during winter, his muscular arms holding your body still while also hugging you in the most passionate embrace you’ve ever experienced during sex.

His heart beat matches yours, his breath attaches itself to your neck. His throaty moans begin to get louder and louder.

Your fingers run through his hair while you whimper.

You’re so close.

Yuta moves faster, harder, pushing into you so hard, the bed starts to move.

He lifts himself from your chest and looks down at you. Your saddened by the coldness you feel between your bodies now but Yuta is so beautiful. His magenta hair now wavy, some strands sticking to his forehead, leftover eyeliner smudging and bringing out the depth of his eyes.

He grabs your ankles, completely enclosing his fists around them before placing them into his shoulders.

He grinds into your entire body at a different angle now, the pressure on your g-spot increasing significantly. “That’s feels good, Yuta..oh my G-“

You start to clench around him, making him groan and push into you harder.

“y/n..” he whispers while looking into your eyes. “You’re beautiful..in every way.”

His surprisingly sweet words make you smile.

You gaze at the stars, but your vision starts to blur. You can’t think of anything but Yuta, the feeling is so amazing, you can’t describe it. To be filled up by him, to be completely enraptured by him, there is nothing like it. The knocking of the headboard against the hotel wall and the sounds of skin on skin brings you to the edge.

You grip the sheets tightly as your eyes close.

They roll into the back of your head and your back arches. The euphoric feeling takes over and you swear your spirit leaves your body for an entire minute.

Yuta fucks you through your high but pulls out and releases onto your belly soon after, experiencing the same overwhelming feeling in his spirit too.

He collapses onto the bed beside you and looks up at the stars, taking your hand into his and squeezing it gently.

You look over at each other and laugh, it’s as if you were both thinking the same thing. How did you climax so hard?

Several minutes pass and you’re about to get up to get a towel but Yuta holds your hand.

“I’ll get it, just relax, baby.”

He comes back with a wet washcloth and gently cleans you up.

“I love you..” he says quietly.

“Yuta..it’s a bit early for that.”

He nods while cleaning up the strings on your belly. “I know..but I can’t shake this feeling. I think you’re the one..I think you’re my..soulmate.”

You’re stunned to hear Yuta speaking like this. If he realized you were soulmates, what would happen now?

“I mean, I don’t know if you believe in that kind of thing, but..”

“I agree, Yuta..I think you’re my soulmate, which is why I’m scared to lose you..good things never last.” You say quietly and avoid his eyes.

“Don’t say that, we’ll be okay..I know we’ll be okay. Just trust me, okay?”

Yuta crawled over you and gave your forehead a light peck.

You made love again then cuddled all night, but when morning came..so did reality.

————

You jump up at your desk, startled by a harsh gust of wind against your back.

What just happened? Where are you? Where is he?

You look around you and see towering wooden shelves filled with books.

How did you end up here?

“y/n? You okay?” You hear a young voice call to you.

You turn to see Charlotte, the 13-year old volunteer at the library.

The Library

Shit. You’re back.

You hold your head in your hands and wail.

Charlotte rushes over to you, hugging you tightly while shushing you.

“Y/n! Y/n! Be quiet! We’re in a library, you can’t be loud like this!”

You sniffle. “I know! But it was so good! I was so happy there!”

“What? Are you talking about your dream?”

That’s all it was..a sweet dream, an imaginative universe you only had a quick taste of...nothing was real now. How on Earth would you find him? You were back to reality.

Totoro walked across the desk and meowed.

You looked at him and pouted.

You knew who you were..a boring librarian that owned a cat named Totoro..but who was Yuta in this universe?

How would you find him?

“y/n?” Charlotte called out to you. “Do you want to go home?”

Several weeks passed and you slowly started to assimilate back into your old life. You googled his name but found nothing, he was nowhere to be found.

You just had to accept that it was a dream, a dream followed by the nightmare of reality.

You hoped that you would find your soulmate again, but you knew the chance was little to none. So you did what you did before. Work, eat, spend time with your best friend and roommate Delilah, sleep, then wake up to do it all over again.

Love didn’t have a place in your life, could you even come to accept a loved other than Yuta? Damn him for giving you a night in Paris to remember.

———

“The true crime section is in row 13.” You pointed to a large sign hanging from above reading “TRUE CRIME NOVELS.” You wondered how anyone could miss it, then again old people were usually the ones that needed the most help when they came to your library.

You turned back around to your returned-book cart that you were taking books from to stack the shelves with. But you noticed that it was now empty.

You were 75% sure that you didn’t put away ALL of the books before turning to help the senior citizen, yet all of them were gone.

All..except for one that had fallen to the floor. It was open when you picked it up. When you looked at the page that it was open to, you realized that it was a book of poems.

The poem it was opened to read:

She’s like the rain on summer days when the garden needs some nurturing...

She’s like a constellation of stars, oh she’s beautiful, and very gorgeous to me.

But I don’t even know her name, I only see her in a frame, yet her face is stuck in my mind

You squint your eyes, where have you seen this before?

she’s the girl in the portrait

the girl with the necklace

the girl with my heart

but the girl I don’t know

I could give her the world, but it’s not like she needs it from me

She’s a work of art, she’s the only thing I see

The girl with the necklace..

That’s it! It’s Yuta’s song! He wrote this, he’s out there somewhere. Perfect! Now you could track down the author and find him-

But wait.

You looked down to see the author’s name.

The One in the Middle

“Shit. It’s just like him to not put his real name on his work.”

You opened your laptop and immediately went to google.

“Who is the author named ‘The One in the Middle’?” You said as you typed.

Nothing. Nobody knew who he was. Many asked about his other poems, but there were no answers, only fan groups that praised the mysterious writer. ‘No one knows who he is but that adds to his ‘sexiness’ that’s what their Facebook post stated.

And none of his works were posted or published electronically, so you couldn’t ask someone to track his IP address like you did the first time.

You sigh and hold your head in your hands. “Damn it Yuta, why do you make things so difficult?”

It was comforting to know he’s out there somewhere, but you couldn’t help but lose hope. Was the universe messing with you?

———

A few weeks pass again and Delilah decides to drag you to the opening of a new art gallery downtown. Normally, she’d take her boyfriend with her, but he had basketball practice tonight.

“Thank you for coming with me, y/n! You know my professor, always making us look at other works for “inspiration” I mean, why can’t I just look at works online?” Delilah spoke as you two walked around. She was a musical theatre student, but had to visit an art gallery at least once a week to pass her art appreciation class.

She didn’t see the point in it, but you always had a connection to art that you couldn’t explain. No one in your family was a visual artist. Unlike in your “dream,” your grandmother wasn’t a painter and passed away before you could even meet her.

Nonetheless, color and technique was something you grew to appreciate.

There were about 50 people in the gallery, all high class looking. You felt underdressed in your black turtleneck, black jeans and jean jacket. That’s one thing that you did miss, wearing color all the time like you did in your dream. Now, you were back to wearing black. It was like a metaphor for how you felt. Your colorful and intense world has turned to black.

The only thing that stood out from your outfit was your necklace.

“I’m going to the restroom, I'll be right back!” Delilah skips away.

You nod then walk around a wall in the middle of the room. When you turn the corner, you see..yourself.

It’s the painting from your dream..the one of you slightly turned around. Your necklace is still in it too except..

You step closer and see that it’s different. The stone isn’t ruby anymore, no..

“It’s fuchsia..” you whisper. You glance down to see that the author’s name is The One with Many Friends.

“It’s funny because I was thinking it was more magenta, but you’re right..it really is fuchsia. You’ve got good eyes.”

You slowly turn when you recognize the voice.

Time starts to slow down. You can’t believe your eyes. It feels as though the world has stopped moving and it’s just the two of you once again after so much time.

It was Yuta.

Yuta smiles brightly when you look up at him, he recognizes you right away as you make the same pose you have in the painting.

“Yuta..” the name barely leaves your lips.

“It’s you..y/n.” He walks towards you, pace increasing with each step before taking you in his arms as all of his memories flood his brain. He had seen your face every night in his dreams but he couldn’t remember who you were. He painted you in an effort to figure out who you were, but it didn’t help.

Now finally, he got his answer.

Everything that was missing found its rightful place.

“I read your poem, but you used a pseudonym..again! I thought I would never find you.” You cry into his shoulder while holding onto him tightly.

Yuta smiles and caresses your hair.

“I told you...just trust me, we’ll be okay.”

2K notes · View notes

some-kindofgnome · 4 years

Text

Kinktober #29: Fade In: Katsuki Bakugou

On a late-night movie date, you and Bakugou have the theatre to yourselves. You take advantage.

Characters: Katsuki Bakugou / f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!), aged-up characters, overworked pro hero Bakugou, movie theatre (public) sex, lots of dirty talk, Bakugou’s sailor mouth

Notes: Today’s prompt was “Dirty Talk.” The premise is inspired by real-life events that are FAR more innocent than I’m making them sound. 😂 I’m enjoying writing all of these little Bakugou bits! Let me know if you want to see more of our grumpy boi after Kinktober.

Kinktober Masterlist

The city is buzzing with life, even at 10pm on a Tuesday.

You drag Bakugou out of the train station, practically hauling him up the stairs and dashing across the street in the last few seconds of a walk light. A few months ago, you’d have been amazed that he’s even holding your hand in public, but these days he’s quite happy to- even if he pouts the whole time.

It’s a warmer night for the season, so you’ve got on something cute- with a playful little skirt swishing around your bare thighs. You figure there’s no better night to push your comfort zone than one you plan to spend sitting in a dark theatre.

Comfort zone or not, you feel cute. Especially given how many glances you’ve caught Bakugou stealing at your legs.

You’re meeting this late on a weeknight because it’s the only chance that Bakugou actually has to see you. He’s been busting ass night and day at the agency lately, and he’s been pulling weekends for months. You’ve got work in the morning, but you’re so thrilled to actually go out with him you don’t mind.

It’s not like your job is particularly exciting these days, anyway.

You file into the theatre, snag a popcorn to share, and take your seats. You’re the first ones in the theatre, which doesn’t surprise you- this movie’s been out for a while, and it’s not exactly a primetime showing.

Besides, you’re early.

You catch up a little, taking handfuls of buttery popcorn. Bakugou does not like taking on the role of sidekick, but he’s way ahead of the rest of his classmates even landing a job like that at twenty-one. Still, everyone knows that sidekicks are some of the most overworked heroes in the game.

It’s not until the theatre goes dark and the previews start that you realize. Nobody else is coming.

Holy shit.

“Are we seriously the only ones in this theatre right now?” You turn to Bakugou in nervous disbelief. He gives an absent little shrug, reaching for more popcorn.

“I’ll still kick your ass if you start texting halfway through.” He shoots you a wicked smirk, stroking an indulgent palm affectionately over your thigh. You’ve still got goosebumps from the chill outside, but fresh ones race across your skin when he touches you.

It’s been a while. For both of you.

“Be honest.” His voice is gruff in your ear, cutting deeper than the noisy previews that flash across the giant screen. “You wore that skirt for me, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t wear it for anyone,” you chide. You rest your palm on top of his. His fingers curl against your thigh- and yours curl around his.

“So fuckin’ cute,” he growls. He nips at the lobe of your ear and you suppress a gasp. “Looked so naughty, stickin’ out the bottom of your jacket. Like you were walkin’ around the city with nothin’ on.”

“Stop,” you chide, heat rushing to your face. “We’re-“

“What? In public?”

Whatever witty retort you had planned dies in your throat. You’re the only ones in here. It’s dark. The doors are shut. The music is loud.

You’re not sure how long it’s actually been since they needed someone up there in the projection booth, but you’re pretty certain it’s empty.

Bakugou slips an arm around your shoulders and tugs you in close. He nuzzles the spot where your ear meets your jaw, then tilts his chin up and nibbles at the same place.

It’s getting harder to say no to him. Not that you were ever trying very hard to begin with.

You relax into his affections as the previews end and the movie itself rolls. The opening credits begin with a burst of music as you turn your head and surrender yourself to a searing kiss. Bakugou twines his fingers into your hair and tugs gently, tilting your head back for access to the bare column of your throat.

“D’you have… any idea… how long… I’ve been thinking about this,” he gasps into your skin. You try not to whimper. It doesn’t work.

Bakugou’s rough palm slides up the tender skin of your inner thigh. You part your legs just a little, encouraging him. His fingertips brush beneath the hem of your skirt. You’re already damp and heated, ready for him after what feels like a lifetime apart.

You’ve seen each other plenty over the past couple of weeks, but it was always in passing. You’d drop by the agency at lunch (and embarrass the shit out of him in the process), he’d come home to you exhausted on weeknights and pass out seconds after falling into bed. He’s so fucking overworked these days it’s a wonder he’s got any libido left at all.

You’re going to take what you can get.

“Fuck,” he snarls as his mouth trails back to your ear. “You’re wet for me already, sweetness? I knew you were into this kinda shit. So dirty, sweetheart, so fuckin’ naughty.”

“Katsuki,” you plead. He’s running his mouth especially hard tonight. It’s doing more for you than you’d care to admit.

“That’s it, baby,” he continues. “I know it makes you sloppy when I talk to you like this. C’mere, sweetness, lemme take care of you.”

He slips his arm down to your waist and drags you over the armrest into his lap. You don’t fight him, letting your thighs spread across his jeans. Immediately, he anchors one powerful arm around your waist to hold you in place, sliding his other hand between your thighs and pushing your underwear to the side.

“God,” he gasps against your shoulder as he sinks two fingers into your tight heat. “I’ve missed your pussy. I’ve missed fuckin’ you so goddamn much.” He draws his fingers back and pushes them in again, settling into a slow rhythm. You’re right there with him, rolling your hips smoothly into his touch.

He’s hard already, stiff and excited down one leg of his jeans. You felt it the second he tugged you onto his thighs, and you’re not shy about rubbing yourself against it.

“That’s it, baby,” he growls. “You want it? You want my cock, right here in the fuckin’ theatre? You do, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you find yourself whining. You never used to be adventurous. Not before Katsuki came along. But he makes you wild.

He lets go of you and you lean forward a little, letting him scoot backwards to fumble with his fly. He unzips, pulling his thick cock out and hiking your skirt up. You feel it, heated and already dripping with precum, against your ass.

With one hand braced on your hip, he lifts you. You tug your underwear out of the way and hold it there. As you sink down on him, he lets his head fall back against the seat with a feral groan.

“God damn, sweetness. Fuck, you’re as fuckin’ tight as ever. So goddamn wet for me. That’s it, ride my fat fucking cock. Shit, you really know how to milk it outta me, don’t you?”

You start to rock your hips atop his, keeping the movements subtle. As you let go of your panties, your skirt flops back down around your thighs, concealing your union. Bakugou keeps one hand braced on your hip while the other roams, tugging your shirt out of the top of your skirt and slipping his palm over your chest.

“Not… gonna last long,” he warns tightly behind you.

“Me neither,” you pant. It’s been too long for both of you.

Bakugou loses patience and lifts you by the hips, planting his feet on the sticky theatre floor and rutting up into you with a sloppy slap slap slap. He pants hard into your shoulder, sucking and biting at your tender skin and growling more filth into your ear.

“That’s better. God, I really needed to fuck you, baby. Look at you. You’re gonna cum so fast on just my cock. You’ve been holdin’ out on me this whole time, huh?”

He’s right. You’re tipping your head back against his shoulder and riding out the waves of pleasure he pumps into you. He knows your body well- he can feel the way your thighs begin to tense and shake as you get ready to cum.

“Fuck, Katsuki… b-baby, I…” Your voice dies in your throat as your peak hits you, tight and silent. You dig your fingers into the fabric armrests on either side of your hips and grip him tight, descending into shivers atop him.

“Jesus Christ, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight.” Bakugou’s voice is beginning to break, too, but he keeps it down hard and growls softly from the depths of his chest. “Wet little pussy drippin’ out all over me. God, you’re such a mess. Fuck, I can’t wait to fill you up. Gonna put so much cum in your belly, sweetness. Gonna make you so messy for me. Getting so fuckin’ close, baby, oh, shit, oh g-gah…”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence either. He cums hard beneath you, intense and sudden and fast. The wet burst of him inside you is harder than you anticipated but you let him fill you. You let him fuck out the pleasure and you let him collapse, spent, into the plush chair behind him.

His jeans are a mess. Your underwear is, too. Slowly, you work your way off of him and he tucks himself back into his pants. You settle into the pleasant weight of each other. To your immense surprise, nobody finds you. Nobody discovers what you’ve done. You leave the theatre without incident and later, when he takes you home, he fucks you twice more.

The next morning, your coworker slinks eagerly up to you in the break room as you’re grabbing your first cup of bitter office-brew. You didn’t get much rest last night.

“So?” She nudges you, grinning wickedly. “What’d you think?”

“Of what?” You eye her sleepily.

She rolls her eyes. “Duh. The movie. How was it?”

“Oh.” Your brain freezes up. You panic. Think of something to say. Quick. “It was… great. Such a cute ending.”

Quite an answer, considering it was a horror movie she’d recommended yesterday.

#bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo #my hero academia #kinktober #jbbkinktober2020 #bakugo #mha bakugo katsuki #mha fanfiction #mha fanfic #boku no hero academia #bnha fanfic #gnomewrites

475 notes · View notes

andypantsx3 · 4 years

Text

conspire | 2 | first date

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 13,307 words / 5 chapters

summary: Shouto Todoroki had definitely only asked you out in order to ward off his horde of interested suitors. So why does he keep actually taking you out on suspiciously realistic dates?

tags: romance, reader-insert, fake dating, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

The next morning, your classmates wouldn’t shut up about it.

The rumor of your rendezvous with Shouto had spread like wildfire through the school, and you were assaulted by a wave of questions the second you turned up to modern lit. “Is it true?”, “Is he your boyfriend?”, “How do you know him?”, “Is he a good kisser?”, all blended into a cacophony of sound that nearly bowled you over as you stepped through the door.

You felt your face grow hot under their scrutiny and quickly stuffed yourself into your desk. “Yes, we’re dating. No, I won’t answer other questions about it.”

“Come on,” Miko--the girl in the desk closest to you--begged. “You’re dating Shouto Todoroki, the cutest boy in school, and you won’t even tell us how you know him?”

You wracked your brain for something close to the truth. “We, um, got along really well on that support item project last month. It’s nothing special.”

Miko’s mouth opened to fire off another question, but Mr. Cementoss cut her off with his arrival, launching immediately into his lesson plan. You sent up a silent thank you to whichever patron saint of fake dating had been listening.

The rest of the school day passed much the same way, and you wondered several times if the price of your senior project was perhaps too high.

You’d known that Shouto was something of a celebrity due to his parentage, supreme good looks, and incredible power--even outside the walls of UA--but you hadn’t really thought through how that would affect the people who stood closest to him. Knowing what celebrity looked like and actually experiencing it for yourself were two very different things, you found. You’d never been subjected to attention like this before and you weren’t sure that you liked it.

By the time Saturday rolled around, you’d started to wonder if you shouldn’t just call this whole thing off.

The sight of him that morning, however, immediately robbed you of your resolve.

He’d asked you to meet in front of your dorm mid-morning, and he showed up looking unfairly handsome in well-fitted jeans, a grey scarf, and a dark jacket with a high collar that framed his sharp jaw. He looked good, way too good for this early in the morning. You felt a shiver go through you, and not just because of the cold.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he greeted you, the corner of his mouth curling. He gestured with something in his hands and you found your eyes drawn to two takeout coffee cups from the cafe just outside the school gates.

Okay, he was a literal angel and forgiven for everything you had been through this week.

“I didn’t know how you liked yours, so I got all the extras,” he said, handing a cup over to you and turning out a pocket to unveil a mound of sugar packets and tiny creamer containers.

You smiled, feeling warm. “Thanks, Shouto. Pretty sure every support engineer has bypassed the need for modifications at this point and just mainlines straight from the coffee pot. Black is perfect.”

He grinned down at you. “Too many late nights?”

You groaned at the tidal wave of memories. “Support items should just build themselves.”

He laughed and gestured you to follow him, leading you out of school grounds and to the nearby train station.

“Where are we going?” you wondered as he ushered you onto the train. He herded you into a corner and stationed himself in front of you, one arm extended to hold the bar over your head. You wondered if it was something like a natural instinct at this point for hero students to assume a protective position, as Shouto’s choice had the effect of shielding you from the rest of the train car.

“I...asked around about you,” he admitted, looking a little embarrassed. “I’ve been told that your interest in quirks and support items doesn’t just end at the classroom door.”

You flushed. You were kind of a nerd, he had your number.

“I’m taking you somewhere I think you might like,” he said. He took a sip of his own coffee, varicolored eyes glinting down at you over the rim of his cup.

You nursed your own coffee as the train rolled into the city, resisting the urge to close your eyes and lean into him. It was something you might do with an actual boyfriend, and as cute as it was that he was taking you out on a real life fake date, you didn’t think he would appreciate you putting the moves on him.

He led you out of the train at the city center and down a few blocks, finally pulling you into a building with a very modern glass facade. You recognized it at once.

“The Support Museum!” you chirped happily, your interest picking up. They had an interactive exhibit going on right now that you and some classmates had talked about coming to see. Your fingers suddenly itched with the need to test out some of the items.

Shouto looked at you from the corner of his eye, a flash of curious blue. “This is okay?”

“Hell yeah,” you intoned, picking up the pace to get in front of him. “If you’re cool with being bored to death for the next six hours while I have a great time, then this is perfect.”

He gave you a dry look. “I care about support items.”

You scoffed. “You have like, one.”

A slow smirk overtook his features. “Maybe you could convince me to add more.”

Something hot flashed through you and you gave yourself a hard pinch through the fabric of your jeans. His tone seemed laced with insinuation, but you knew better than to buy into it. It was just hard when he was looking at you the way he was.

Damn him for having a face like that.

“Careful,” you said, trying to reroute your brain, “you’re signing yourself up for a whole lot of wild rambling and weird tangents.”

That soft smile pulled at the edge of his mouth again. “I’m used to it. Midoriya, my best friend, is a lot like that.”

You’d been in the room with Izuku Midoriya before and didn’t doubt it. The boy could certainly give you a run for your money. If he wasn’t equipped with the wildest quirk you’d ever seen, he would have made one hell of a support engineer -- you were probably lucky you didn’t have to compete for grades with a mind like that.

“Treat me like white noise,” you said as he shouldered past you to pay for tickets.

You let out a noise of protest when you noticed what he was doing, but he pressed you back from the ticket counter with a strong arm you couldn’t get around. It seemed only too easy for him to hold you off and pay for tickets at the same time, and it was slightly offensive. Maybe you needed to put in more time in the support course gym.

“I asked you out,” he said by way of explanation after you complained all the way through coat check, only shutting up when you were distracted by the sight of him in a soft tee shirt and blue button up. “I should pay.”

You made a dismissive noise. “It’s not the nineteen thirties anymore, dude. I can pay for my own stuff.”

He turned to you with a wry look. “Are we fighting about money already? Not something I’d thought we’d get to at this stage, to be honest.”

You laughed. “Our first fight as a couple.”

He pinned you with an interested look, something in his gaze growing hot. “Should we kiss and make up?”

Your face instantly went up in flames, like he’d lit you up with his quirk. Jesus Christ, he was a teaser? You’d thought he was just the quiet and thoughtful type -- who knew that he hid an ironic sense of humor underneath all that? This was going to be bad for your health.

“Cute,” you quipped for something to say, marching in front of him quickly so he couldn’t see your face. “Uh, where to first?”

He let you lead the way around the museum, and in minutes you’d pretty much calmed down from the heat of the moment, distracted by the halls filled with the forefront of quirk theory and the corresponding support equipment.

As someone who’d been born without a quirk of their own, the concept had always been fascinating to you, leading you into the support track at UA in your efforts to study quirks and their applications. It was incredible how genetics determined which people had none, and whose ranged from benign improvements like seeing slightly better through fog to more deadly power that roiled just beneath the surface of one’s skin like Shouto.

The deviations in power manifestation stretched the genetics of each human further from one another than they had ever gone before -- sometimes by a full 0.1-0.2% of their DNA structure -- and it was crazy cool. While your speciality was more applied science, you couldn’t deny the biology of it was equally as interesting.

At the rate it was going, people like you could share more genetic similarity with a banana at some point than someone like Shouto. Well, after a couple more millennia of evolution.

Shouto chuckled and you realized with some alarm that you had been babbling all of that out loud.

“Should I be concerned that our children might come out as bananas?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You gave him a sour look. “You know that’s not how it works.”

He flashed you a cheeky grin and followed you easily as you led the way through the other exhibits.

He listened attentively as you oohed and ahhed over the different displays, asking very pointed follow up questions like he was actually interested in what you had to say. You fell into a very involved discussion about most of the displays, and you realized with some surprise that plenty of time had passed without you realizing it, and that you were having an incredibly good time.

Shouto paid for lunch at the museum cafe as well, affecting hearing loss over the sounds of your protests, and kept up the easy conversation all the way through the meal.

After lunch, you two queued up for the interactive exhibit that you’d initially wanted to see, eventually being let into the exhibit hall in a small group. You immediately lit up like a kid on Christmas.

The hall was studded with actual support items that had been developed for the top twenty heros, ranging from real costume pieces that had been retired to replicas of items currently in use, supplied by the same companies as had built them. The items were free for testing with the caveat that the user had to be careful.

You spent a fair amount of time over pieces of Edgeshot’s costume that had been made from strands of his own hair, allowing it to fold and reshape with the changes to his body, and more time over Ryukyu’s size-changing suit that mechanically adapted to her dragon form.

Shouto stopped over a flame-resistant gauntlet from his father’s previous costume.

“Think you can melt it?” you asked with interest. You wondered how fast they’d eject you from the museum if he succeeded.

Shouto shook his head. “My flames are hot but I doubt it.”

You perked up. “How hot?”

“I haven’t actually measured,” he admitted and you groaned.

“Your super cool quirk is totally wasted on you,” you said. “You have to let me do tests.”

His mouth twitched again. “What kind of tests?”

“Anything you’ll let me,” you said. “Temperature gauges, cryogenic structure analysis, body scans when you use both energy sources. I have my theories as to how your quirk is actually scientifically possible but I need more data.”

“Body scans, huh?” he asked.

Of course he’d seized on that one. God, he was such a boy.

“Yes. We’ll get you all strapped up in wires and those little sticky nodules. It’ll be super sexy, trust me.”

He chuckled, and set a hand to one of his father’s boots that was also on display. “Fine, but later. Want to test this out now?”

You leaned in, nodding, and he let a flame grow in his hand, pressing it to the fabric of the boot. The cloth activated instantly, channeling the flame across the surface of the boot in the customary style of Endeavor’s flaming costume.

“Fuck, that’s so cool,” you breathed, leaning over to read the description of how it worked. “You need something just as obnoxiously showy on your costume. You’re letting your own dad upstage you.”

He laughed again and let the flame die down.

You wandered companionably through the rest of the exhibit, thrilled when it ended in an arcade-like simulation of Wash’s quirk that let you rig up and shoot water around at various targets. Shouto immediately targeted you instead.

“You're supposed to be a hero,” you whined, whipping around to aim your water cannon at him in revenge. “How could you target a civilian like this?”

His hero training had clearly paid off, as he was too skilled at dodging to get caught up in any of your attacks. Your time was called without you able to catch him once, but you left the exhibit with your own shirt sticking wetly to your body. You tried not to wince, thinking of the wintry weather that would no doubt invade the confines of your jacket once you made it outside.

Shouto immediately pulled you to the side of the coat check, however, his eyes trailing down your shirt where it clung to you. You tried not to feel self conscious.

“Let me,” he said quietly, placing a hand against your shoulder. Searing warmth washed over your skin under his hand and you tried not to arch up into the pleasant heat. You stood incredibly still, hardly daring to breathe as he passed his hand lightly over your shirt, taking care not to touch you anywhere too scandalous, though some traitorous part of your mind almost wished he would. This close, you could catch the scent of some light cologne, minty and fresh, and the smell of it made your head spin.

It took just under a minute for him to fully dry out your shirt, each second passing like a small eternity.

You were able to gather your wits just enough to laugh about his bright future in steam cleaning as you tucked back into your coat, then followed him to the train back to campus.

It was nearly dark by the time he walked you back to your dorm, the sun dipping low to kiss the horizon, sunset orange fading into the deep blue of an evening sky. You realized that you’d spent all day with him and had hardly noted the time passing -- he was a very, very good date. Some girl in the months after graduation was going to find herself very lucky with him.

The dorm was quiet as you approached, which was unusual for a Saturday evening, and you realized with a growing sense of horror that your classmates must be waiting quietly, watching for your arrival from inside to see what he’d do. Shouto must have realized the same thing almost the same time that you did, as he stepped into your space at the doorway, catching the sleeve of your coat to pull you close to him.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, face dipping close to yours. His features were somehow even more symmetrical up close and it was overwhelming to look at. “I quite liked today, so I thought…”

Your heartbeat kicked up in your chest and the tips of your ears went hot as you panicked, tangling your own fingers in his dark jacket like a lifeline. “Y-yeah,” you answered. “This is g-great.”

He smirked, leaning in even closer to you. You held carefully still as you had in front of the coat check, all the nerves in your body straining with anticipation. Then a hot mouth pressed softly to yours, and every neuron in your brain misfired.

The next thing you registered, your arms were around his neck and he was pressing you gently up against the door, his tongue in your mouth and his large hands on your waist. You arched up into his touch, desperate to get closer, twining your fingers in his soft hair.

He gave a low groan and pressed you harder into the door, a hand coming up to cup your face as he did something absolutely criminal with his tongue. So much for his career as a hero.

A muffled shout came from within your dorm and you jerked apart, panting. Your face flamed in embarrassment.

“Wow,” you said dumbly, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Wow indeed,” he teased, stepping back from you.

You shook yourself as he did. Right, fake dating. The kiss had been hot but it was only for show--and the show had been successfully executed. You had to resist the urge to drag him back for another.

“I’ll text you?” you squeaked out and he agreed, looking weirdly satisfied as he bid you good night.

You watched him for a long moment as he trudged back down the path to campus, heart beating a frantic staccato in your chest.

Shouto Todoroki was the most dangerous boy alive and it finally dawned on you just what you had agreed to for the next few months. You were so absolutely fucked.

#bnha #bnha x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #fanfic #todoroki x reader #boku no hero academia #todoroki shouto

441 notes · View notes

blackbat05 · 3 years

Text

You don’t like me when I’m angry (part 2)

Shangqi x Reader

A/N: Part 2 of <You don’t like me when I’m angry> Characters that I came up with are fictional and are not related to real people! I hope the flow is good as well! Did get some ideas from this webtoon, <Unholy Blood> that I was reading and I thought, hey why not right? Again, please enjoy! Hope it did not disappoint🙇🏽‍♀️

Genre: PG 13

Warnings: Maybe just watch out for a bit of detailed descriptions of injuries and the fighting. I tried to insert some themes like coping methods because honestly a superhero life isn’t all unicorns and rainbows - especially when most of them have morals.

‘When all this is over, I’m going to kill you!’ I scream over the bullets that were flying over our heads as we ducked behind the walls for cover.

‘Why me? It was Katy’s idea!’ Shangqi retorts back, clearly feeling the injustice from the death stare. ‘Ok fine! Kill me all you want after this but we have a big furry problem on hand?’ He takes another shot at the group of henchmen with the rings he had inherited from his father. I slowly loose my vision, as the iris in my eyes turned orange.

Shangqi sees you transforming into your alter ego and if you weren’t feeling murderous towards the mob boss, it was probably the most beautiful thing he saw. Skin ablaze, he wonders if that was the reason for your high tolerance in general. Meanwhile, more henchmen poured into the tiny hallway like cockroaches. Clearly he and Katy did not think about this in their plan - just how many of them were they?

‘I’ll cover you! Get to Gor before he kills the ambassdor’s family!’ He takes a deep breath, focusing all his energy on the rings to give the strongest blast he could. That was the signal. Breaking out into a sprint, I flew across the bodies that were stacked against each other before coming to a stop at the staircase where Katy was with the ambassador’s wife and child who were both inconsolable

‘Gor’s got the older kid!’ Katy yelled over the siren from outside. Shit. The police were here. ‘Get them out and help Shangqi, I’ll meet you guys as soon as I can!’ Heck with property damage, a kid’s life was at stake. Charging up as much energy as I could, I broke through the wooden celling, arriving at the rooftop in record time to see Gor dragging the poor kid by the collar.

‘Stop where you are RIGHT NOW!’ I threw a fireball at his shoulder as a warning. The werewolf stops, turning around menacingly to face me. ‘Let the kid go, they have nothing to do with this.’

Minus the kid’s sobbing, the atmosphere was deadly quiet. I didn’t dare to move from my spot least it triggered him. ‘Look, whatever you want, I’m pretty sure the ambassador has it,’ I tried a last ditch attempt reasoning with him, voice strangled in fear. ‘So please, I can stay with you until he gets here. Let the kid go.’ Why I was reasoning with a bloodthirsty werewolf, I had no idea myself.

‘You Avengers…’ Blood was dripping from his fangs. ‘Always so noble. But you see, do you really think that money was all I wanted?’ He pushes the kid over the ledge, cutting their right arm in the process.

‘NO!’ I ran towards the edge, thinking of the worst. I think of Katy’s words back in the sanctum. More like the Avengers causing an international incident. Instead I see Shangqi carrying the confused kid who was covered in foam - from one of Katy’s trick arrows. The ‘chains’ are no longer holding me back. Gor laughs behind me. Now he’s really done it.

‘I don’t know why you think this is funny,’ both my fists turned into fire. ‘But that’s ok. I’ll wipe that smirk of your face myself.’

The werewolf crazed look tells me that Gor is long gone together with the concept of reality. ‘You should have seen them... ha! The screaming men, women and children... their young blood doesn’t fail to disappoint...’

My fist came into contact with his jaw, breaking a few bones along the way. The large figure flies back and slams into the entrance of the staircase. Not giving him a chance to react, my arm replicates a sword on fire. ‘You... you killed children... innocent lives and FOR WHAT!’ I felt my body temperature going past the normal range, heart about to beat out of my chest. ‘I’m going to make you feel what they felt.’

Plunging the sword into his chest, the werewolf thrashed around violently, howling in pain. Screams echoing around me, it only made me dig the sword in deeper. ‘You won’t die, you’ll just experience what you did to them but ten times worse. I told you. You won’t like me when I’m angry G-’

‘(Y/N)!’

I wanted to stop but this odd thrill told me to continue. Shangqi places a hand on what used to be my forearm, bringing me back to my senses. ‘He killed children.’ My voice came out in nothing more of a whisper. ‘HE KILLED CHILDREN FOR SPORT!’ My rage about to hit the roof.

‘I know and I’ll probably roast him alive if I could too,’ he makes an attempt to soothe my anger. ‘But we’re done here. Please don’t do anything you’ll regret. Please.’ My vision slowly returns to normal as I look into his brown ones, removing the sword from the half conscious Gor. I signaled for Shangqi to give me a few more seconds as I bent down to Gor’s eye level.

‘Remember my face. Remember my name. Because you won’t like me when I’m angry.’

I allowed myself to be led away by Shangqi as the cops started to storm the building. ‘Remind me to never get on your bad side. Like ever.’ He gives me a small smile.

We made our way down to meet Katy at the back alley. ‘I can never get angry at you Shangqi in case if you haven’t noticed yet.’ I put my hood up, walking into the open. ‘Katy on the other hand...’

‘THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH BOTH OF YOU?’ She jabs her finger into my arm. ‘I have to take care of one reckless idiot already I don’t need another one.’ As if forgetting that she was mad at me a few seconds earlier, she launches herself into me, giving me a bear hug. ‘Please don’t do that again,’ she mutters into my shoulder as I patted her head, looking at Shangqi quizzically. Just go along with it, he mouths.

On queue, the golden portal opens with Wong waiting on the other side. He takes a moment to register our disheveled appearances, including the bloodstains on my face.

‘Please just ask the spider kid to do it next time,’ Katy dumps her gear unceremoniously onto the sofa. ‘Nearly tore my ligament trying to fight Gor’s right hand man.’ Again, Wong doesn’t say anything, staring at me as I focused on my hands.

He’s going to tell me I shouldn’t have lost my cool. The gravity of the situation finally had set in. Great, I won’t be able to go on missions with Shangqi and Katy next time. Maybe I should tell- Shangqi’s hands quietly wraps around mine, somehow knowing the chaos that was happening in my brain.

‘Right,’ Wong coughs, breaking the silence. ‘Go home, get some rest, see you back here tomorrow morning.’ The two were about to retort back, but quickly clamped their mouths shut when they saw Wong’s expression. It wasn’t open for negotiation. He creates two separate portals, one for Katy and Shangqi each.

‘(Y/n), a word please.’ Shangqi grips my hand, as if asking if I wanted him to stay. ‘It’s ok, go back and get some rest. I won’t be long.’ He hesitates for a moment, before going back home. ‘Call me.’ And the portal closes.

‘I saw what happened today.’ My eyes widened in surprise. Crap, there was no escaping this one. I bowed my head in shame, ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lose my cool. It was completely unprofessional of me but please don’t take me off missions with Katy and Shangqi.’

‘Take you off?’ Wong starts to chuckle to my bewilderment. ‘No (y/n), no one is taking you off anything. Maybe you should have kept your anger in check, but no one under your circumstances could have kept their cool. Just take a look at Strange.’ I unknowingly let out a snort.

‘What I do want to tell you is that if you have anything… even if you don’t wish to tell me, you have Shangqi and Katy. Good communication is essential for good teamwork.’

Wong was right. Whatever demons that I had inside of me, I projected them onto Shangqi. Given my abilities, it’s downright dangerous. Who knows what would have happened if he didn’t manage to defuse the situation as quickly as he did. I could have killed him and maybe everyone around the vicinity too.

Wong starts to create a portal back to home. ‘I shall not hold you back any longer (y/n), get some rest and good luck.’ I stepped into the portal, taking a deep breath to prepare myself for what I’m about to do next.

‘(Y/n)! Are you alright?’ Shangqi gets up from his bed while Katy snaps out of her trance. ‘What did Wong ask you? Don’t tell me he chewed you out for what you did back there?’ The questions came in a flurry. I look at their anxious faces, confident that my decision was the right choice.

‘No he didn’t, it’s all good. But maybe I just want to tell you guys something that I’ve been waiting to tell for a while.’

No doubt, it was going to be a long night. But rather than running away from today’s situation, I knew that I had to face it head on. And if it was of any comfort, one thing that I was sure about -

Is that I would never be alone.

A/N: Hoho~ part 2 is done! I have no idea what is that ending but it was the first thing that came to my mind so…😅 I think the whole premise of this two part story is essentially a reminder not to keep things to myself and know that there are loved ones who are supporting and cheering me on. And I don’t know… I think it’s something we could all use in this day and age! Again, thanks for reading both parts and please like and comment if you wish!🥰 More content and possibly different characters will be coming your way soon!

#xu shangqi #shangqi imagine #shangqi x reader #shang chi

27 notes · View notes

penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories · 4 years

Text

No Matter How Many Skies Have Fallen

A/N: I really have nothing to say for myself at this point.

Sequel chapter to this fic here, if you’d like to catch up.

Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv for being my incredible beta and to @maybege for letting me rant to you and giving me so many wonderful ideas when I hit my walls. Also to the Obi-Wan fandom in general: Y’all are some of the kindest, most supportive people I’ve ever encountered on this hell site. Thank you for your support and your content!

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force Sensitive! Fem! Reader (no Y/N)

Word Count: 11.9K (I lost all control)

Warnings: SMUT!!! Soft Dom! Obi rights, Also, Sub! Obi vibes, Foodplay (but not how you’d think), Inappropriate use of the Force, Voice Kink, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Hands Appreciation Society, As Usual: Too Many Feelings For Porn, Emotional Competence Kink, Trust Kink, TW: Pregnancy, TW: A character draws blood on themself unknowingly

Title from one of my favorite quotes:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

What infinite irreverence the galaxy has for Obi-Wan Kenobi.

As if his master and only semblance of a parent wasn’t taken from him when he needed him most.

As if a boy who needed a father wasn’t entrusted to Obi-Wan quickly following, far too young and full of his own loss.

As if he wasn’t thrust onto the pedestal of parenthood when he really only wanted to be a brother.

As if that isn’t what they became anyway, and as if that wasn’t the exact cloud that hung over the atmosphere of your lives ever since you’d arrived on Tatooine.

As if the being whose life signature resided in your abdomen didn’t throw a punch into each of those blooming bruises by its very existence.

Which is why, you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you couldn’t tell him yet.

Normally, it’d be no small feat to keep something of this scale from him. But these days, he’s so focused on having his shields up around you, keeping you from both being hurt by or helping with his torments.

You have to take great care to control your body language, because even when he’s shut off from you in the Force, his keen perceptiveness will pick up on something being off anyway.

The art of a convincing lie is having layers. If he senses your feelings and decides to dig, then only give up one layer, and he’ll stop looking.

In this case, it’s your worry over him. It is true you’re trying to shield him from feeling that, not wanting him to carry the burden of it on top of having to work through his own pain.

But it’s not everything you’re trying to hide from him. So you let a small projection of your fear over his well-being escape, like you’re losing control of your feelings. It’s enough to convince him, and something critical inside you dies at the victory every time.

He deserves your honesty, and you’ve never given him anything less until now.

You hate how well your strategic deceit takes root. Because only part is due to your talent as a liar. The rest comes from how much he trusts you.

You’re not stupid, though. You know it’s only a matter of time before the biological changes in your body betray you.

Obi-Wan said he needed time, and you’re going to give him as long as you possibly can before dropping this anvil on him, hoping the further he gets from it all, the better off he’ll be.

You could kick yourself for not being more careful. You hadn’t missed any dose of your herbal Ho’Din contraceptive. It was one of the few things you shoved in your bag with the mere minutes you had to leave Coruscant for good. It was from a reliable medicinal shop, and there’s no good reason it should have failed in any way.

But here you were anyway.

Of course, there are options that free you from the obligation of carrying the child to term. All are expensive, and Tatooine is sorely lacking in any trustworthy medical facilities. The alternative methods could put your own life in danger as well.

Even if it wasn’t, you’d feel so strange making that kind of decision without Obi-Wan. Not that he wouldn’t support whatever decision you needed to make for yourself if you did, but going behind his back is something you’re not sure his trust could recover from.

And really, far too much has been decided for him in his life.

The worst reason why you can’t bring yourself to move towards any solution that ends the pregnancy now, the reason you abhor, is because somewhere within you, despite the awfulness of the time and place, you want this baby.

You couldn’t give a definitive explanation for yourself, but you did. Undoubtedly

Obi-Wan doesn’t press when you ask to cease your combat training for a time, asking to start learning the new offerings of the Jedi texts instead.

He’s concerned when you tell him, but if he’s suspicious as for your reasoning, he doesn’t show it outwardly, at least.

The way he doesn’t even ask about why, though: It makes you wonder if he had a reason all of his own why he’d rather not fight, even in imitation.

The Jedi writings given to Obi-Wan by Master Yoda are often more cryptic and mystifying than logically applicable without deciphering, which you are at first annoyed by, but then strangely thankful for, as Obi-Wan verbally processes his understandings of it, knowing what he does of the Jedi way, and you adding your thoughts from the stance of fresh eyes.

The conversations distract wonderfully, and you savor any way you still get to connect with him.

You don’t push for the ways he doesn’t allow you to connect with him anymore. The way he won’t let you in his mind. Because now, you too have a reason to not let him in yours.

*******

When it’s time to go into town for supplies again, you make up some feeble excuse which you know Obi-Wan sees through as a lie, and this time, he does pry, eyes soft and concerned. He knows you love going to the markets. You simply explain that you’re tired, which is true enough to satisfy him, leaving you behind with a kiss on your forehead before you watch him saddle up your eopie and ride off.

You sigh, sagging against the closed door once he’s disappeared into the horizon. You do love the markets. They’re the most colorful thing the planet has to offer, textiles and rugs and shiny, hanging things.

But the spices. Fragrant and potent, usually so appetizing and intoxicating, you know would turn your stomach alone. And that doesn’t even account for the strange meats being cooked at different vendors, and Maker help you if anyone was selling raw meat of any sort today. You’ve done your best to keep your nausea at bay, at times even tapping into the Force for centering when the world felt like it was rocking. But you know the market would be too much, too many variables.

It’s not a fast journey, even on the eopie, and you don’t expect Obi-Wan to be back for hours. Which is why when you hear a knock on your door, the tool in your hand clatters to the floor, as does the remnants of your project.

You quickly grab one of the long staffs you and Obi-Wan had only begun to use in your defense training, trying to recall the lessons as adrenaline begins to rush through your veins. Tatooine isn’t known for its pleasant company, and if anyone was going to try to rob your home, now would be as good a time as any.

The knock sounds again, and you shout from the inside, “What do you want?!”

“A peace treaty in the form of baked goods,” comes the feminine voice, one you recognize.

Opening the door, you lower the weapon in your hand as Beru Lars blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were…” You step aside, gesturing for her to come in.

She waves a hand, dismissive. “I understand.”

You lead her over to the small living area as you fix two glasses of water from the kitchen.

When you set them down on the table, Beru speaks. “I apologize for the intrusion, if there was another way of contacting you before coming here…”

“It’s absolutely fine, I’m glad to have you.” You smile in what you hope is an assuring way. “Although, I’m surprised at it just being you. Where’s Owen?”

Her eyes flick to the stone floor. “He um… doesn’t exactly know I’m here. He’s out on a business deal today.”

You feel your eyebrows go up at that, waiting for her to continue. But instead, she changes the subject. “Where’s Ben?”

“In town. We needed some things from the market.”

Awkwardness settles in as a conversation topic evades you.

She breaks the beat of quiet. “Here, I brought these for you.”

You take the basket in her hands from her, peeling back the thick woven cloth to reveal a simple form of bread. It looks so appetizing your stomach clenches, and you instantly realize you haven’t had anything since breakfast.

But then the smell hits you, hard and powerful, and stars, it’s just bread, there’s nothing that should do that about bread, but you’re on your feet in a minute, forsaking the basket on the ground as you bolt to the fresher, barely making it in time to the sonic sink before you start heaving.

In a moment, you feel soft hands at the nape of your neck, gently holding back the fabric of your shirt and blowing cool air as you continue to wretch.

By the time everything has settled again, you’ve dealt with the aftertaste in your mouth, and splashed on your face with a precious cup of cool water, hot shame rises in your cheeks at how this must seem to Beru.

You wipe at your face with a rag, half muffling your words when you address her. “I’m so sorry, I’m sure they’re absolutely delicious, It really has nothing to do…”

“How far along are you?”

Your spine straightens instantly, and you let the cloth drop to the floor.

“I… what?”

Now she’s the one to flush. “My apologies, it’s just that it’s known for being a very gentle bread, it’s one my mother used to feed me when my stomach ached. If that smell turned you... I just assumed, and I shouldn’t have.”

Your lips purse as you consider your options. It’d be easy to say nothing, or just to nod.

“Two months,” you hear your own voice answer despite yourself. You’ve never been one for easy anyway.

A surge of emotion wells up in you at even being able to speak it aloud, aloud to another human, and next thing you know, to your absolute horror, you’re crying into your hands as your shoulders crumple in on themselves.

Why now, of all times? In front of Beru Lars? Whom you know accepted Luke with her husband without question because they couldn’t biologically have any children of their own?

“I’m… so… sorry,” You manage to choke out through the sobs, disgusted at your own lack of control.

At some point Beru must join you on the floor, patting her hand soothingly on your back. “Shhh, it’ll be alright. You’ll see. It’s not so bad having a young one around, you and Ben have so much to look forw…”

“He doesn’t know.”

Her hand pausing briefly on your back is the only indication she gives of shock.

“Would he not be happy?”

You take a steadying breath in, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t know,” you whisper, small and almost frightened to let the room hear you say it.

It falls silent again, but it echoes around in your brain, bouncing against your thoughts until you feel the onset of a headache.

After you’re to a numb enough state to enjoy yourself, you and Beru make tea and bring it back to the living area.

She lifts her glass to yours, clinking them. “To secrets kept from men and the mischievous company they bring.”

Your head now throbs with pain, but you smile anyway. “Thank you,” you say to her, and you mean it so very much.

********

The next time Obi-Wan goes into town, you’re feeling well enough to go with him.

You’re not visiting the food portion of the market, after all, so you’re not as much of a risk to set your stomach off. He’s taken to fixing small machinery for trading with the Jawas recently, the extra income helping with the projects around the house.

There’s a trap door that you found within the first day of being there. The staircase carved out of the bedrock beneath the hut leads to a small room that has now served as additional storage and a place for Obi-Wan to work. It’s also quite cool during the day, so if you can stand the smell of the various meats hung to dry, you’ll sit down there with some sort of project, or even reading material if you come upon it.

So today, he’s looking for a few specific tools that will streamline his working.

It doesn’t take long to find a promising stall among the maze of shopkeepers, selling everything from trinkets to weaponry of questionable legality. Obi-Wan finds what he needs easily enough, and it looks like the trip is going to be as efficient as it is successful as you walk through alleyways with him.

At some point, he takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, projecting an assuring strand of affection toward you. It’s such a small gesture, but you’ll never tire of the feeling of his hand clasped in yours.

You’re almost back to where the eopie, Rooh, as he named her, is stabled when Obi-Wan abruptly slows his pace, dropping into a stall. An alarm goes off in your head when you watch him pick up a frivolous trinket on a table that you know he has no interest in.

You open your mouth to inquire at his actions, but it answers itself once you see him glance out of his peripheral vision to where the holonews plays in the stall adjacent.

Battle footage on what you recognized to be Kashyyk at the presence of the many Wookies plays with the Emperor addressing the viewers in a very two-dimensional, sugar-coated, thinly-concealed threat to any other world that would try to resist occupation.

There’s wreckage and uncensored violence, and you turn your head away.

“May it be known that Lord Vader is quite capable and willing to help those into compliance that require assistance... “

The item in his hands crushes, ceramic tile cracking into his hands, breaking the skin and drawing out drips of red.

But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even seem to register the glass he’s pushing into his own hand. His eyes are wide and he makes a wounded noise from the back of his throat, eyes peeled to the holonews now, not even trying to feign disinterest.

His signature sparks, giving a flash and then a severe cry of anguish, and it hits you then. Pieces of information coming together as you feel Obi-Wan tear apart at seams.

Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark Side, and Obi-Wan thought him dead. There’s a new Sith Lord now; the correlation and timing can’t be coincidence.

The Toydarian male behind the stall shouts something about paying for it in full, and you quickly hand over the credits with a glare.

You start to pull Obi-Wan’s other hand off the table, but you quickly realize your mistake in that.

The moment it isn’t holding his weight anymore, his knees start to give, and you’ve only a second to react, jamming your body under his arm to keep him upright. His momentum nearly pulls you forward, but you plant your feet and remember at the last second to call on the Force to assist you.

He seems to come to himself enough to walk somewhat as you steer him to the nearest alley away from the vendors.

He braces a hand on the stone wall, but even it isn’t enough as he drops to his knees. He doesn’t even seem to have the will to stand.

Crouching beside him, you place one of your hands on his chest.

“I…. I…” The tremor in his usually so crisp wording and steady voice crushes your chest, making it hard to breathe. “I failed him. I failed him.”

“Obi-Wan,” you start, trying to grasp at anything, everything to comfort him, not even thinking of how you can’t call him that here, even if there’s no one in sight.

If he registers your call, he doesn’t let on, continuing in his whispers to the wall. “He was burning. Burning, but I couldn’t do it. It would have been mercy to kill him, it was my mandate to do it, but I could not...” his voice gives out on the last word, and his shoulders fall forward in a shuddering inhale that transforms into a cut-short sob on its exhale.

“And now…” as the words pour from him, his shields fall, and so do the floodgates on his emotions, and it takes all the training you know to not be washed away in the torrential current of his grief. Does he even know he’s doing it, or has the insurmountable weight of his burden finally overridden his innate control over them?

“I’ve sentenced him to a fate worse than death.” He’s only barely choked out the end of his thought before his shoulders start to shake in earnest and he crumples in on himself as he begins to weep for his brother.

Giving no heed to the odd angle, you throw your arms around him. Trying to get your arms around his body is exactly the embodiment of the feeling of the moment, this anguish you don’t even begin to be enough to cover.

What could you say? What could you do? What would even begin to…

When you press your fingers to his temple, it’s light, a show of how unforced this is, how much he can say no if he needs. Because this isn’t for you. No, it’d be so much easier to not know the exact depth of his pain and rip your chest open with that knowledge. But you’re offering it, meaning it absolutely, desperate for him to take the hand offered to him. “Please let me in. Don’t do this alone. Let me…”

Then he’s pulling you in, not just letting you come in yourself, clinging to you like a person drowning. You remember to steady, to try to keep your own head above the water as wave after surging, overpowering wave of soul-crippling agony like you’ve never felt it engulf you in their surge.

You can’t hold out against it no matter how hard you try, so you refocus from centering yourself to pulling his signature into yours as you wrap your arms tighter around his torso.

And you begin to weep with him.

*********

The suns are drifting low by the time both of you have any intelligible thought, far too late to start the journey back to the hut.

At the inn, as Obi-Wan falls into the beginnings of a restless sleep, a thought emerges, clear and crisp in its awful truth.

You cannot tell him for a long while still.

*******

It’s different now. Because when he wakes in the night, he doesn’t give you falsehoods you see right through. He lets you into the terror and distortional dreams that all reside over one theme.

There’s silence in the first days after. Just silent tears and still embraces and the way time seems to freeze when grief is at its worst.

But then he starts talking. It comes in little pieces, then in larger ones.

The loudest thing his signature screams is guilt.

You tell him how it isn’t his fault, how Anakin is responsible for his own choices, but he just gives you a new reason every time as to why it is his fault, how he could have stopped it.

Because even in what he considers his worst failure, his verbiage is indicative of how it’s not his own image and pride hurting that he’s even considered. All of his thoughts, all of them, are on what Anakin needed that he didn’t give.

At first, it’s just impressions from his mind, unsorted, blurry thoughts and feelings, but it eventually begins to become words.

“After his mother died… I know that he blamed me. How couldn’t he? He told me of his dreams, dreams he knew were foresights, but I dismissed them, multiple times, at that. And the council… advised me against comforting him, but he… I… I did anyway.” His shoulders are forward, body sagging with unsureness that doesn’t fit him right in the slightest. “But it was far too late. I know there was something pivotal about the death of his mother, and I am...” he hesitates, seemingly not because he doesn’t know what to speak, but because he does. “Terrified. Terrified it’s all because I didn’t validate him sooner. If I had not...” His voice breaks off, as he shuts his eyes.

Fear is not something admired by the Jedi, you know. When he speaks of his own emotions, he speaks them like he’s confessing them.

And as he confesses and confesses, you comfort where you can, cry with him when you cannot.

*****

The swells of sorrow ebb and flow in their intense bursts and receding stillness, and despite the moments of not being able to breathe under the weight of it, there are miniscule, almost violating, hysterical intervals where smiles and life spring to the surface, gasping for air.

Or in this case, the inexplicable desire to dance.

You don’t even really know when you start, simply going about cleaning clothing in the sonic washer, and the next, some ridiculous, repetitive tune sweeps you to move your hips and feet, uncoordinated and graceless. The tune itself played from a datachip, scrapped with some pieces Obi-Wan was repurposing to make repairs. You’re not even familiar with the type of music, and it’s hardly the type of music you’d normally choose, but you find that today, it’s an improvement on the quiet that falls upon the house as Obi-Wan works outdoors.

The song swings into a bridge, and you slide across the stone floor, imitating something you saw in a music holo years ago, as you do, your foot catches on the rug you recently added, sending you fumbling for your footing. You eventually catch it before you fall, but as you look up, you decide to lower yourself to the ground anyway at the sight of Obi-Wan, leaning up against the door frame, watching you with an amused expression, the fingers of one hand tracing between his lips and chin.

You sit splayed as tactless and gangly as you danced and let out a short, startled laugh.

“Please, don’t stop on my account. I was quite enjoying myself.”

Maker, could you just hide under the rug you tripped over? “Please tell me you haven’t been standing there long.”

He pushes off his lean on the wall, crossing the room to you. “I won’t tell you lies, my love.”

Shame twists in your gut at his words, chasing the laughter in your throat away. But Obi-Wan extends a hand down, and you take it, letting him draw you to your feet.

He kisses the back of your hand before taking it in his, extending the clasp out to the side of your bodies as his other hand rests hot on the small of your waist.

“But I will join you, if you don’t mind a style change.”

“I don’t know how to dance like this,” you say, factually.

“Then allow me to teach you.” When you look in his eyes, they’re lined with the etches of heartache still, but there’s something else too, brimming to the surface.

“What, to this music?” You give your last, unconvincing protest.

He simply drops his forehead to yours, and the small sounds of the room fade to white as a sweet, moving melody replaces it. It’s not perfectly clear, and it takes a moment to realize that it’s because it’s coming from Obi-Wan’s memory.

The music has a distant, foggy quality, and it has potential to be eerie, but instead, it just lifts you into an ethereal feeling.

He steps, and your feet follow, not as graceful, but he makes it easy for you, the steps hinted out in his thoughts before taking them in actuality.

When you start to feel confident enough in the movements, you look up at him. “Does this mean I can teach you my dances next?”

He laughs, laughs, unabashed and with no emotion harbored under it, and some torn piece of your heart mends at the sound.

“Certainly not.”

You laugh too, even at the thought of him trying. The laugher rolls into a smooth quiet, and you let yourself bask in the feel of his body against yours, the press of his hand on your back as you rest your cheek against him.

Obi-Wan cradles you to him, forsaking the pattern of the dance as he encompasses you in his arms, lowering his lips to your cheek, then your mouth in a blazing kiss.

He takes your hand in his, lifting it above your head. Then you’re guided into a spin, and the room spins double with it as you abandon all endeavors of trying to get the dance correct. Your hand drops protectively to your belly before you can even think better of it, and by the time you know you’re not going to throw up, it’s too late. You already feel Obi-Wan’s unmistakable concern right before he asks, “What’s wrong?” extending an arm out toward you.

His complexion is ashen with worry, and when you don’t respond, you feel him start to reach out to your mind; a spike of panic zaps down your spine, and you’re suddenly not sure you’re not going to throw up after all.

Your shields crash down, not enough time for subtlety, and he retracts both his hand and inquiring tendril of energy as hurt and confusion shape his features.

You can’t do this. You can’t keep up this facade or cover this moment with a lie you know he’ll see through. But you can’t tell him either. After all the weight he’s carrying, the weight of the being that grows in you should be yours alone. You can’t thrust that upon him.

But it’s a delusion that you can keep this from him forever. You’re going to hurt him one way or another, and the weight of your silence and lies multiply every day you insulate him from the truth.

You take in a shuddering breath as dread settles into your bones. You know what you have to do.

Even as you slowly lower your shields, opening your signature, your mind screams at you in opposite directions, ripping you in half, and your hand shoots out to the nearest wall to stabilize yourself. How could you be so sadistic to tell him this? How could you not tell him? After all the trust you have in each other?

But he doesn’t take the invitation. “I will not touch your mind if you are still unsure you want me to,” he says softly but resolutely as he approaches you, but stays an unthreatening distance away, as if approaching a frightened animal.

No, no, no. You won’t have him being the one to sturdy you through this. You need to be strong, be ready, don’t force him to coddle you through the blast to his own chest.

So you dial down your own emotions and switch your absorption to amplifying the still tiny, barely recognizable life you’ve been carefully censoring ever since you heard it yourself.

You want to close your eyes, blockade the pain of both how it impacts him and how it will impact you, but that’s not how you two do things.

Summoning every iota of bravery and resolve running in your veins, you force yourself to look up at him as you watch understanding coat him.

His eyes go wide, and his hands clench and flex at his sides in an erratic, nervous pattern.

You can’t keep your signature open to his mind’s reaction, you just can’t. He’s seen enough, and you can put your shields up again. His face is enough to confront all on its own.

Obi-Wan steps toward you, slowly, dazed in a completely uncharacteristic way. With the way he seems to ever be prepared for the blows life throws at him, you hate how you have to be the harbinger for the second one that’s knocked him off his feet.

When he stops in front of you, he places his hands on either of your shoulders and looks into your eyes, searching for confirmation, and you nod, trying to not let fear seep into your expression.

One of his hands covers his mouth as he takes it in.

And then he’s sinking in front of you, off of his feet indeed, and onto his knees. You want to follow, ready to hold him through the heartache sure to follow, at the second child he didn’t ask for while he still grieves the loss of the first.

But his hands instead take purchase on your stomach, tightening the fabric of your tunic around the barely-visible bump before bunching it up and lifting, just enough so he can tilt his forehead against the skin there.

You can feel him reaching out, not taking him long at all to find what he’s searching for, and curiosity beats self-preservation at the last moment, prompting you to open your mind again, just for you to be able to catch elation coursing through Obi-Wan.

You don’t even bother trying to stifle your confusion as he looks up at you with glassy eyes.

Sinking to your knees to meet him, you take his face in your hands, trying to make sense of it all as he takes your hand in his. “I never... “ when his voice comes out unsteady, he clears his throat and tries again. “I never thought I’d have... That we could… didn’t occur to me that now...stars above, how long have you known?”

You don’t recall when you start crying, but tears are falling freely down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I’m so sorry. I… I would never want to keep something like this from you, Obi-Wan, but I couldn’t tell you, not with everything, not with all you already have…and i’m so sorry.”

“Oh, heavens, no. You should not have to do this alone. Please don’t keep things from me, even if you think it to be for my sake. We can…”

You fix him with a pointed, unamused stare. He exhales as he must notice his hypocrisy.

“Your point is well-put and taken, but the sentiment still stands. We’ll not keep secrets from each other anymore. Do we have an accord?”

Despite it all, you smile at his overly-formal phrasing, something you’d normally have a quip about if it weren’t for the concern still nagging at you.

“Are you not angry then? Or disappointed?” you watch him carefully, praying to any deity listening that he doesn’t concoct some half truth to placate you. His first instinct is always to protect, but you’d never want it at expense of his authenticity.

Bafflement marks his brow at first, then he takes your face in his hands. “Darling, no.” He says your name, gathering every bit of your attention. “I dreamt of you. During the war, when I was away. I did not sleep well, even then, but when I did, I’d sometimes dream of you, holding a child that I knew to be ours. When I woke, I would remember it so vividly, so painfully, because I never thought that was an attainable future for us.”

But that doesn’t need to matter if you… do you want this child?” His eyes are so full of hope, and it was the last thing you expected, but here he is laying it down on the altar of your preference, and maker, are you glad those two things aren’t opposing each other.

Because his hope and yours are one in the same, and once he knows it too, at your whispering, choked, “yes,” he’s clutching you in his arms.

And for the second time in a month, you’re both huddled on the ground in tears. The first, bowing under the mass of catastrophe. Now, at the glowing relief of the sprouting of a dream sown in tears, too tender before to even say aloud.

But now? You’re saying it, back and forth, from him to you as your walls fall, permitting him into your mind as he welcomes you into his, and finally you take true comfort once again in the home you’ve built in each other.

*******

The night after, you lie side by side, hand in hand, on a blanket splayed not far from the hut. The suns have sunken, but the pinks and oranges of their palette still paint the sky where it hasn’t yet turned to midnight cobalt. The light of the lantern gives off a similar hue, dousing everything in your reach in soft, warm hues.

It has taken Obi-Wan some convincing, being so out in the open with everything he had to worry about wasn’t his first choice, but you compromised for a small alcove in the rock formations which surrounded you on two sides. More easily defensible. Not that he needed it, but if he was cautious before, it was borderline unbearable now. With the added danger of the Empire knowing without doubt that he lived. With more than ever to lose.

So, he was in charge of safety, you were in charge of snacks. And if they so happened to be almost entirely comprised of those melons you couldn’t quite get enough of lately? That was no one’s business except yours. You brought a few things you knew Obi-Wan liked too, of course.

What little remains of the miscellaneous spread you push to the edge of the blanket so you can both lie down.

“I dare say it’s almost pleasant out tonight.”

You turn your head to him, a snort ready at him discussing the weather of all things, but it instead forms a cloud in your throat at the sight of him.

His eyes are closed, hair rustling in the slight evening breeze, a tranquil ease over his profile.

The small patches of grey in the part of his beard next to his ears catch the first glints of moonlight in a way the rest of his hair doesn’t, giving them away.

The mellisonant lowness of his voice brings you back to yourself, cheeks heating.

“I can feel you staring, little one.” He opens his eyes, leisurely rolling to his side. “Some say it’s quite impolite.” Slanting over you, he lifts a brow, daring your response.

“And is that a problem?” You look up at him through your eyelashes, feigning innocence.

Obi-Wan’s gaze follows back up to the stars, as he plays right along, pretending to have to think on it. “I suppose it depends.”

“On?”

“On whether or not you allow me to return the impropriety,” he responds with a coy smile, moving back to you, so close now you can feel his exhales on your cheek.

Warmth blooms through you as you answer back, “You can always look, Obi-Wan.” You lift yourself to close the short distance between your face and his, pressing your lips together, which he deepens right away. Using the hand not supporting half his body off of you still, he fans out his fingers across your belly, towing the line between caressing gently and clutching protectively.

You pull your lips back from his as an uninvited slither of insecurity slips into your chest.

He senses it, of course, so you speak before he even needs to ask. “Are you really, truly, certain this is what you want? Now? I don’t want you to just say so because…and we could wait, we have...”

“I am,” he says, adamantly, before you even have a chance to finish. His eyes flash to the side. “I…” He rolls back onto his back, looking straight up as he talks seemingly half to you, half to himself. “There is not much I know for certain these days. Some days… I scarcely can remember who I am anymore.”

He turns his eyes back to you, unwavering. “There are seldom few things I haven’t questioned of late, and my love for you isn’t one of them. And from the moment I’ve known, from the very first instant you let me feel the life within you, my love for them hasn’t been one either.”

Your thoughts split into two, one wanting to lean into it, to take him for his word that’s always true, and the other cautioning you, telling you to keep distant and watch for the surface level honesty he gives that hides the brutal one he safeguards you from.

But you’re not hiding anymore, feelings unconcealed in your energy and on your face, so he leans back into you, grasping your arm in his hand, squaring your shoulders to him. You cringe at yourself when you know he’s heard the impression of you questioning. It’s redundant, but self-doubt always is. “Know, please know, my darling.” Taking your hand in his, he brings it up to his temple with an insistence that you have no desire to counter.

And it’s there. Right there and sparking in its clarity, right at the threshold of his mind as you enter it. How much he means his words, no holds barred, no cleverly crafted glazes to an unly underbelly of reality. His reality was this, how severely he craves starting a family with you. How much he already loves the being within you, how he looks forward to the day he gets to hold them in his arms.

The fear is there too, quiet, but not kept from you. The fear of failing as a father, unsure of assuming any role that resembled a mentor again, all-too-familiar with the ghost that will float over him in every lesson he teaches.

What shocks you there is his faith in you. In how much he’s already learned from you about the impact of open affection, in how you don’t let your feelings lead you, but you let them breathe, not suffocate them. It’s part of how he even can acknowledge his fears to himself and to you without berating himself under the too-simple phrase “fear leads to the dark side.” There’s truth in it, but also inaccuracy.

Because he’s afraid, and yet, there is so much light in the acknowledging of it to himself, and in that very act, it loses much of any power it could have had over him. Oh, how deeply he wishes he could have articulated that understanding to Anakin.

The pain is fresh, but so is his anticipation for the future, swirling together in a potent drink, and his throat bobs with the effort to swallow them down simultaneously.

He knows you’ll help ground him through it, he trusts you, even in his uncertainty in himself.

It breaks your heart but also warms it: the knowledge that he lets you into that place where he keeps the questions of himself, the place only you and the man who’s caused most of this doubt have been permitted.

With a thankful short farewell, you part from his mind as you know exactly what you want to do.

The remains of your snacks still rest on the edge of the blanket, including the shells of the deep purple-pigmented melons. The one draw-back to their delightful taste was how badly they stained your fingers. You had to break them into tiny pieces, plopping them into your mouth without allowing them to touch your lips unless you wanted your mouth to stain too.

But right now? The staining quality was just what you needed.

Although first you needed a blank canvas.

“May I take your tunics off?” you ask, sitting up.

Despite a short twitch of confusion and then interest, Obi-Wan follows, raising himself up into a kneel, slightly lifting his arms in compliance.

The paleness of his skin catches all the light of the lantern, highlighting your view as you slowly slide the fabric up and off, gliding your hands up the line of hair dipping below his navel as it becomes more exposed. It grants you a quiet, steep intake of breath from him and you suddenly give halt momentarily, distracted by the alluring appetite you’ve created.

No, you won’t give in. Not yet. He needs to know this.

You take one of the broken pieces of melon rind in your hand, where little tart bits of the fruit still cling, dribbling pigment, but before your finger makes contact with the taut skin of his chest, you pull back at the realization you might have bitten off more than you can chew.

How do you even begin to describe him? Obi-Wan is so many things at once, so many attributes, and every descriptor that comes to mind falls blatantly short of him.

Then you recall Obi-Wan going through the motions of Alchaka, watching his body fight to maintain the poses at times. Being such a personal practice, you felt honored that he let you see him go through the exercises, and even more honored that he opened up to you about the purpose behind it later. It was an exercise of both physicality and Force use, and the goal was absolute exhaustion. That was the destination. Trying, knowing from the start that he’ll fall short in the end, but doing it all the same. Because there’s so, so much to be said for the trying.

So you do. You bring the messy fingertip to his clavicle, smearing the first word you know to absolutely be true of him, as if starting the premise with a whisper of I know you’re even more than the sum all of these singular praises.

The word “complex” appears in your penmanship on his skin as you drag it to life. You look up to his eyes, and his curiosity is clear there, but also so is the tenderness that is elemental to any time he looks at you. And just like that, you have your next word.

Kind.

And at the way he flushes so lovely for you at that?

Beautiful.

You feel his protest before you see it, the objection in his signature, and you know you’re going to have to switch methods.

Just then, a droplet from where you’ve written the last word on his pectoral falls, down, down, threatening toward the hem of his trousers, but you’re fast, dropping your mouth down and catching it all on your tongue before it can stain the bleached beige of his remaining clothing.

When his stubborn revolt at the affirmation quiets in his mind in exchange for a flash of searing lust, you know exactly how you’re going to continue.

Because Obi-Wan Kenobi, general, warrior, negotiator, Jedi Master, legend, has rarely ever been affirmed as such, and he squirms under the thick blanket of his humility and deprivation anytime someone endeavors.

So you need his mind to be preoccupied enough, guards down low enough, so he can even hear the message get through.

When you place your hands over his waistband, locking eyes in inquiry, stopping when he hesitates, scanning the area around you, vigilant as always. Overly so now.

“We’re alone. And wouldn’t you be able to sense it if we weren’t?”

He looks down at you as he answers. “If I stay mindful enough to do so, yes.”

Good, he’ll be even less prone to fight you if he has some of his mind sensing outward.

You look back up at him with the facial equivalent of asking “well?” to which Obi-Wan sighs in response. “Very well then.”

With your familiarity with ridding him of clothing, it only takes moments before you can finally taste him where you want to, where he’s already hard and swollen for you.

You know you won’t be able to take him as much as you want, a recently-developed overactive gag reflex preventing you. But it just so happens to be convenient tonight, as the resulting taunt should have him right where you want him.

A gentle kiss, right to the head of his cock is all the warning you give him before taking the whole tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him, pulling a choked hum deep from his throat.

Oh, oh, Maker, have you done a grand miscalculation, because you forgot an entire factor in this equation: the way you have been borderline hysterical in hunger for him.

You’ve kept so much from him, and part of how you’ve even managed is starting to convince yourself of less than fact. Facts like how many times you’ve had to change underthings recently, physical evidence of desire unwilling to comply to your head’s demands. Facts like how you’ve literally had to bite your finger to keep the feelings at bay.

You’d expected changes in your body even before your belly grew, but this was one you hadn’t anticipated. In some ways, it wasn’t that different than usual. You never knew you could want someone with the breadth that you want Obi-Wan.

But this? Of late? It feels like it’s been amplified tenfold.

You’re not keeping any cards close to your chest anymore, but you do have to ignore your own body’s screaming cries as you complete this.

He needs to know.

Nerves still serenading his brain with feedback, you re-wet your finger with the purple juice and write the next words across his abdomen.

Wise.

Perceptive.

He’s caught on to your scheme by now, cued by the all-too appropriate addition of the last word, and he lets you know it, an impression projected, speechless but still unobstructed. He’s still powerless against it. Or rather, letting himself be powerless. Trusting you with the control he has left, trusting you in his vulnerable places. The places where he’s weak.

Strong.

The word spread over his right upper arm, where he’s obviously just that. But may the tint of the word bleed through his skin, may it run through his veins, because that’s how deep and deeper still that his strength runs. It’s in the way he doesn’t flaunt it. It’s in the way he chooses to wield it.

Gentle.

He closes his eyes, flinching at the onslaught of acclamation, and you dip your head down again, wrapping your lips around his cock, letting him slide to where you can take him comfortably, just starting to build a pace as his hips squirm in harmony with his suddenly erratic breaths. Oh, how you’d love to let him deeper, allow his cock past your lips beyond the teasing amount you can take now, but the little writhes his body gives in protest are enough to almost make you okay with how your mouth won’t agree with your ambitions. He says your name, groaned out in bliss as he cups a hand on your cheek.

His barriers are down, so it’s easy to hear when his deprecating thoughts quiet again, and you switch back to coloring him again.

You know the moment you look up at him that it’s a mistake, because he’s flushed, so torn, suspended in the limbo of your give and withdrawal, mouth ever so slightly open, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

You’re only human, so before you draw anything else, you bring your lips to his, which is yet another mistake, because among the many things Obi-Wan is, he is a deep kisser, and as his tongue delves into your mouth, your will power takes a devastating blow.

You pull back, reeling at the reminder of how easily he can take back control, knowing you have to complete this before you let him.

Stars, how you want to let him.

For now, you need that control back, so you take him into your mouth again, filthily wet and not nearly long enough as you quickly pull back, watching in satisfaction as he heaves forward at the loss, correcting himself quickly back into straight posture.

With a smirk, you drag your slippery, pigmented finger across his lower stomach.

Disciplined.

There’s so many more words, so much more he needs to know, and if you covered every inch of his skin in the smallest writing it still wouldn’t be sufficient of all that he is.

Or you could whisper it all through the Force, embed it all in his mind.

But because you’ve been there, know his mind inside and out, you know every time he sees his own skin, all he sees is the red of blood on his hands. The blood of his brother.

And that’s exactly why you’re going to stain it in your own colors. Take back territory and push back the front lines that the army of guilt has taken over on him.

Your Jedi, ever-adorned in unassuming beige, now drips in the color of royalty.

Charming.

Humble.

Confident.

Steadfast.

You’re only left with enough space for one more word, and you want some sort of conclusion to it all, something to summarize the expanse of the man kneeling in front of you.

Nothing can.

But maybe, just maybe, one word encapsulates what he is to you.

Treasure.

This time you do chant it across his thoughts, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you.

Cerulean blue blinks open, slowly, almost painfully and nearly overflowing with emotion.

Thank you, is all he says, unable or unwilling to say it out loud, much too heartfelt and newly-budded for that.

You know his pain has older roots than those tended to in this moment, but you vow to yourself that you’ll never stop trying.

Lowering your mouth around him once again, you don’t tease him anymore, at least not intentionally, even though you still can’t take more than half of him.

“Look at you, you’re…” he hisses in a breath as you swipe your tongue against that vein on the underside of him. “Stunning. You’re doing so well, little one.”

The taste of him compels you as much as his words, seizes you in spice-like addiction, and how interesting it’s going to be explaining that taste craving to him, among your sudden adoration for those damn melons.

“Darling, I’m…”

You feel it in his energy before he says it, already pulling off, replacing your mouth with your hand, dropping your lips down even lower, mouthing at his balls, and the feedback is instant. An outpouring crest of his pleasure blasting outward as he lets out a depraved moan, netting his hands into your hair.

Your hand is wet and so is where he’s spilled on his still flexing and releasing stomach, clear white maring the lettering halfway through “disciplined.” You’d clean it with your tongue if you weren’t sure how your overly sensitive taste buds would react now.

It’s not the first time you’ve had sex since you’ve known you were pregnant, but it’s the first time since he’s known, and it’s the first time you’re not hiding the symptoms. Before, you carefully shied away from anything that might give you away, and between the preoccupation of everything on his own mind he was trying to keep from you and his respect for your boundaries, he never pressed. He had questions in his eyes, but you knew how to carefully reveal partial vulnerabilities to keep him off your trail.

Your chest flares at the memory.

We’re not hiding now.

It’s your chant, your reminder, your comfort. How nothing of this caliber will be kept between you again.

His eyes confirm it, sincere and exact as they fight to break through their dazed slipping.

Never again. His voice in your head is home, so consoling it can and has put you to sleep before.

Right now, it wakes you up in a different light, dowsing you in heat as Obi-Wan takes your hand in his, wiping it on a piece of his discarded clothing before wiping the spend off himself.

Then he’s taking your face in both his hands tilting you up before kissing you soundly.

I love you, he says across the wire that ties your minds, the wire that keeps growing stronger every day. So, so very much.

You say it back, a fact as simple as breathing. You love him.

You want him, borderline need him the way you need your next inhale, you don’t say, but he must hear it anyway, because that cocky little smirk that’s been gone far too long is back.

“Shall we do something about that?”

You’re about to just lift your shift dress up and off in response, but he halts you, grasping your wrists.

“Allow me.”

He pulls you into another sultry kiss, completely neglecting the task of ridding you of clothing.

Or so you think.

There’s buttons all the way down the dress, and you’ve never used them, always wondering at their purpose if it can so easily lift over your head.

At first, you don’t even know he’s doing it until you start to feel the coolness of the night air on your nipples. Opening your eyes, you pull back from him to watch as seemingly in thin air, your buttons undo themselves.

“You needn’t seduce me further. You already know how much I need you,” you gasp, breathless from the kiss.

Obi-Wan just gives a small smile as he drops a hand, dragging it down your side, then down your thigh. “Hm. So impatient. All this from just pleasuring me?”

Maker, he knows! He knows that you are. You always have been, and it’s not as if you weren’t projecting your feelings too.

When he reaches a hand between your thighs, parting them and making a single, tempting stroke through them, his fingers come back glistening.

“I should think you could feel that I am.” You let the tide of your frustration spill over into your connection to his mind.

You know he had to hear you, but he gives no indication that he did.

“Mm. Desire needn’t always be indicatory of impatience,” he punctuates his statement with a hand at the base of your skull, tipping your head back to expose your neck. “I need you to be patient, little one. Let me savor you.” And with that, his mouth makes contact with your neck at the same time his other hand plays with one of your exposed nipples.

You whimper at the attention, quietly pleading with him for more. Among the still slight changes to your body, this has been the most notable one. How sensitive your breasts have become to even the scrape of the fabric of your clothing.

And with the rough pads of his fingers working only one, leaving the other to pang in want...

“Obi-Wan,” it’s a prayer, a request. He doesn’t need his hands to cause sensation, and you’d beg him right now if he asked.

He lets up on your neck, only barely, lips moving against the now throbbing skin. “Answer me first.”

Clearing your throat, you give the most cogent response you can muster. “Depends on if you’re definition of savor is synonymous with torture.”

He locks eyes with you then, gently grasping a breast in each of his hands, dragging his thumbs over the nipples as you moan out your assent.

His chuckle is far too self-satisfied to be becoming of a Jedi, but you’re already too far gone to call him on it.

“Is that what you want, little one? For me to torture you so?”

An affirmative whimper is all the response you can give, and Obi-Wan reacts quickly, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your eyes up to his again.

“Then you will be patient for me. Because I’m always happy to stop, and we can begin again when you decide to adhere.”

Your brain short circuits on the spot, and all energy is redirected much, much lower. His voice, stars above, his voice when it takes a commanding tone.

It’s intimate, it’s personal, and yet this game is almost inappropriately playful for how sincere the moment is.

But such was being loved by Obi-Wan. Full of dissimilar feelings that shouldn’t fit, but moved together in liquid consistency. Like metaphors that didn’t rhyme but still somehow gave their own life-giving rhythm, not dissimilar to the sound of his heartbeat when you lay your head against his chest at night.

Making quick work of the remaining buttons of your shift and underwear, he beckons you to join him as he lies back down, large, warm hands guiding you to turn around so you’re facing away from him.

You know that the purple stickiness of the fruit will smear from his body to yours like this, but you can’t at all bring yourself to care.

You gasp a sigh of relief as one of his hands finds your breast, brushing a knuckle over the too-sensitive nipple.

“Please.” Your whispered beg sounds pathetic, even to your own ears. But as you arch against him in a frenzied attempt at skin contact, Obi-Wan juts his hips forward, grunting into the exposed column of your neck, and stars, yeah, maybe he didn’t find that so pathetic after all.

“What do you want, darling?” His voice doesn’t divulge any desperation, and for only the hundredth time do you envy his immaculate self-control.

“You know, don’t pretend you don’t.” Leaving any doubt to the wind, you push your chest against his barely-touching hand.

“Specificity can be a virtue; that I also know.”

You change techniques, driving your hips back softly into where he’s hard and insistent against your ass, hoping it compels him.

Then you simply… can’t anymore. You’re frozen, unable to move your lower half at all.

Tangling your desires into a knot and tucking it away, you find the mindfulness to reply. “Yeah, so is mercy.”

“Indeed it is. I shall concede when you do.”

You won’t win a battle of the wills with him. You’re not sure anyone could.

So you bring his hand over to your nipple. “Touch me here.”

You feel his smile without even seeing it as he starts tweaking the bud. “Like this?”

It’s so much sensation, all concentrated on such responsive flesh, that you want to beg for him to switch to touching you between your legs.

You haven’t even finished the thought when you feel his unmistakable metaphysical brush against your thigh.

Extending a tendril of your own energy, you invite him in, and he takes it eagerly, ever as eager if not more to be entwined with your mind as with your body.

He hears it all, the besottment, the arousal, the neediness. The panic that he might drag this out longer, that you’ll have to go a single minute longer without...

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” He sends soothing waves through your connection, and he swaps the positioning of his hand with the curl of power. He turns his hand so that the back of it runs through where you’re aching for him, gathering up your slick on the backs of his knuckles. You have to contort your neck to see what follows when he takes the hand back behind you, and your mouth goes dry when he sucks the knuckles in between his lips.

You want to hear, you want to know what he’s…

He’s welcoming you in, navigating you to the brink of his mental barriers, letting you take that final plunge into the unsuppressed fullness of your bond to each other.

Now it’s your turn to hear it: how his carefully constructed unaffected persona is not at all a match for his naked, wanton need for you.

And under that, the foundation on which that desire is built, not the product of it, is his love, his unyielding, unashamed, iridescent love for you.

It’s all you can do but to pour it back, affirming and soothing and calling his love into action with your own.

You both don’t want anything else except the most complete of entanglement, and that’s exactly what he moves to do, situating your bodies, hiking your top leg in the crook of his arm as you feel the initial breach of his body into yours, and all breath leaves your lungs in an exhilarating evacuation.

His audible gasp is an echo of his emotions, how he thinks he’s prepared for this onslaught of feeling, but how you take him off guard, how his equilibrium threatens to teeter every time.

The web of his consciousness enveloping you, it’s easy to pick out a single thought blaring within him: How much he adores the way you fit together. Your back against his chest, how your breast fits in his hand, how the snug joining of where his cock presses into your body sends you into trembles, how comforting your very presence is to his soul when he lets you in like this.

Tears, without warning, seep out of your eyes as he starts to move against you, slow and deep. You close your eyes, willing the powerful emotion away, but glimmers of light flash out behind our closed lids the moment you do, and how the kriff does he stay composed?

Anchor. Anchor against me.

He stills, letting you have a break from the barrage of pleasure blinding you as you search him out, looking for the cords of his intellect that seemingly both steam downward and beam upward, grounding him.

You find it, and you clasp on tightly.

But the moment he starts moving again, you lose sight of it all over again.

Your heightened hormones make your flesh so susceptible, and the tears start to fall again. Obi-Wan rolls your nipple in between his thumb and index, and he’s so good, and you’re so full, and you can hear his pleasure as your own, adding, doubling everything…

Scorching, electrifying heat speeds through your veins, hitting hard and fast, leaving you astounded and even more sensitive than before.

Obi-Wan’s signature spikes as your climax resounds through him, and you can feel the vibration of the wanton noises he’s making right where his beard scratches against your neck.

But he doesn’t allow it to overtake him, letting it run through him without resistance, making himself pliable but unmovable, keeping himself back from the edge.

You still have much to learn.

Because that control? Gives him the ability to not even stop, not even hesitate once, even at both yours and his own ecstasy flowing through him.

When he starts striking his hips hard into yours, the weight of him inside you dragging exactly in the right place, you start to cry in earnest. Obi-Wan stops for a millisecond, concern radiating off of him, even when he can hear how much you want this so clearly, has access to every little passing thought.

“Don’t stop, I’m fine, I pro…” He does just as asked while moving his hand down to your belly again, a soothing touch to his rough thrusts. Your eyes are blurred with wetness, overwhelmed with him.

He’s listening to it all, applying every micro-feeling of feedback into action against your desperate, post-orgasmic skin, hand switching back and forth from your nipples to loosely clutching your neck, Force energy focused on applying pressure to your clit.

“You’re doing so well, so good for me,” comes the wisp of his sultry tone, lips pressed against your ear.

Since you aren’t even thinking about changing position, you know it’s his own preference that has him withdrawing, guiding you onto your back.

There’s no inhibition this way, not the way there is when you’re on your side, no separation from your bodies being flush when he pushes into you again. You have to anchor in him, both mentally and with your fingernails clawing at his shoulder blades as your body starts into tremors.

He’s keeping the weight of his chest off of you, even though your belly is still barely swollen into distinguishable roundedness, and as much as you miss the contact, you can look into his eyes like this, can see the unfiltered attachment and all the weight of all the emotion he wills his body to not cave under.

But then the tremoring transforms into series of contractions throughout your body, centering through your slick core, and you thrash your head to the side catching a glimpse of Obi-Wan’s fingers clenching into white knuckles, grasping into the exposed sand from the blanket being bunched up.

He projects his thoughts across the tether to you, how thoroughly impacted by the very fact you’re carrying his child, how affected he is by every little thing about you, honored that he’s allowed to touch you like this.

You roll your hips back up into his, and that’s what it takes. His stuttering body is the lightning, and the searing, molten pleasure across your connection is the thunderous repercussion.

It completely overthrows you, and your body bows against him as his high instantly cues yours again.

You can feel him throb inside you at the very moment you do, his turn to experience the secondary sensory white-out of your mate’s climax through the Force, his shuddering shout meeting your breathy whines in the close distance between your mouths.

And he does kiss you then, soundly but with the haze of afterglow slowing it.

“Have you any idea how bewitching you are to me?” He breathes it out, and despite all the ways you’d normally scoff at such words, his eyes tell the story, and you listen to it’s truth.

His eyes hold that constant infiltrating study of you, the one that could be unnerving if his mind, still tethered to yours didn’t hold such amor, heart bleed such fondness that settles in the creases around his eyes.

How interesting it is watching someone as knowledgeable as him having such an inquisitive outlook on life, and being so frequently the object of those investigations.

Did the galaxy know her debt to him? Did she know the sum owed to inflicting the worst of life’s pains on someone who refused to let it build anything except an even gentler man of himself? When does she plan on repaying him? What does she offer in exchange for her cruelty of the hand she’s dealt Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Then the whisper comes, soft but crisp, from somewhere in the threads of existence around you, “Can’t you see? It’s you, child.”

You could argue it. You could scream how it’s not enough, how you’re not enough, how he deserves so much more from some dark insecure place inside you. Or how love shouldn’t be treated as currency in exchange for pain, how the galaxy could still have your fists if that was how it tallied.

But the finality of it settles in your soul, more impressionistic than in solid wording: there is no easy conclusion that ties the suffering of life into purpose, no experience that erases or mends its pain. But love. Love makes the complicated endeavor of trying to find purpose in the madness worthwhile.

Obi-Wan’s hum of agreement resounds in your ears and through to your head. His Force signature feels so familiar, so at home within yours and yours within his, that you’d briefly forgotten he could still hear you.

With all the strength still left in quaking limbs, you wrap your arms around him, and he melts into it.

The compassion of his soul hardly matches his war-ravaged skin, his guilt-ridden memories. Every good thing here came to be with a war waged, refined and not burnt away in fire at his sheer tenacity.

It’s a growing thing, blooming in the desert. The beliefs in both of you. Your love for each other. Your own trust in the Force.

Healing is no short journey, but her two sojourners here are determined.

And if that tender hope can blossom here?

Then maybe, just maybe: Tatooine is exactly the place for a baby after all.

*********

In the valley beyond the hut, a boy jets quickly away in some mechanical contraption he recently motorized, a girl in a similar vehicularized compilation of junk not far behind.

On the cliff’s edge stands Obi-Wan, eyes scanning the landscape intermittently for any sign of threat between longer affectionate looks at the children before him.

He turns, feeling your approach in his keen awareness as you set a hand on his shoulder from behind. His temples are now even thicker with sun-bleached silver, and his eyes wield the lines of laughter around them.

And you? You’re as roped in by his gravitational pull as you’ve always been.

He puts a hand over yours, clasping it to bring you in front of him, where he can still watch the children and encase you in his arms at the same time.

“Slow down, Luke! You’re going too fast!” comes the distressed cry of your daughter, Ahlina, drawing your attention away from admiring Obi-Wan and back to the valley. Her vowels curl in the same way her father’s does, but her more casual phrasing was certainly thanks to you. Luke shouts back at her, “Come on, keep up!” while he races on ahead.

Obi-Wan smiles, seemingly amused at a secret joke.

“They are much too young for this nonsense still,” he speaks, muffled slightly as he hides his lips in your hair.

“Probably,” you reply with an airy laugh.

Not long after, the engine on Luke’s small contraption gives out, jutting him off and tumbling forward into the sand.

“I told you!” Ahlina yells, her own machine coming to a halt not far away from Luke.

When they make it back up the cliff, Obi-Wan couches and opens his arms, and they both come running with smiles. They’re still young enough to be unshy about affection, and Obi-Wan knows to soak it up, closing his eyes in relishment.

Luke is the first to wiggle down, waving before running over to hug your leg, which you happily return, brushing some of the blonde mop of hair from his forehead. You adored the nights that the Lars let him sleep over.

Although the nights that Ahlina slept over at theirs certainly had their allure too.

“Can we have a snack, Daddy?” Ahlina asks, still happy to be hoisted up on one of his arms.

“Hm. Perhaps I can make some of those ahrisa sweet breads again?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Can Mommy make them?”

“Why not mine?”

“Because you always burn them.”

He bops a finger lightly on her nose with a smile. “Cheeky.”

She goes to bop him on his nose in return, but he catches the finger, holding it.

“Give it back!” she screeches through a giggle.

“No, no. I think I’ll keep it now.”

The suns are dipping low as you retreat into the hut, the two children running ahead, racing to gather the ingredients to help you bake the bread. Luke especially was an enthusiastic sous-chef.

You step to follow them, but Obi-Wan grasps your hand. You turn back to him, and he barely gives you a second before he joins his mouth to yours. Sliding a hand into the auburn beard, you open your mouth to him, letting his familiar taste permeate your senses.

He reluctantly breaks after a long moment, and you take his hand in yours. When you turn back to the horizon, the suns are dipping, blanketing the landscape in the most celestial light of the day.

The planet’s eyes aren’t harsh in the way you used to see them. They’re still intense, and frequently unforgiving.

Perhaps they never changed. Maybe only you did.

But as they sink now, you give a silent, partial farewell, knowing they’ll greet you again in the morning.

Because if Dark’s patience is infinite?

So is the promise of the return of the Light.

Tagging upon request: @million-dollar-legs

#obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi wan smut #obi-wan smut #obi-wan #obi-wan x oc

565 notes · View notes

mymelodyheart · 4 years

Text

Miles Between Us Chapter 11 ~Suspicious Minds~

Picture Edit by melodyheart

Previously in The Art of Non-Communication ...

A familiar bright red Fiat slowed down next to them just as Jamie was about to get into the car, and Ian, their brother-in-law, poked his head out of the window. "Hey, lads, guess who I just saw back in town?"

The brothers looked at each other and shrugged.

When Ian stalled, Willie blew out an impatient breath.

"Out with it!" Willie grumbled. "I've been away from work for far too long already."

Ian grinned. "Yer pal Christie."

Jamie waved a hand in the air in dismissal and turned to open the car door, not particularly interested in hearing the latest coming and going in Broch Mordha. "I'm pretty sure the lassies will be thrilled he's back."

"Aye, ye're probably right, but I dinnae think ye'd be too pleased to hear if one particular lass is enjoying his company."

Jamie whipped around. "What do ye mean?" He sounded like someone just launched a flying rugby pass onto his stomach.

"Saw Claire and Tom through the window of Slater's Arms. Probably sitting down for late lunch."

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

Claire hurriedly made her way to Slater's Arms to meet Tom Christie. They'd arranged earlier to meet at the pub after he'd dropped her off at the village centre to do her errands, so she was surprised to see him waiting outside. After exchanging a hurried cursory hello, he allowed him to guide her through the half-filled bar, his hand ever so lightly touching her elbow. They were greeted by a string of boisterous sallies from the locals, to which Tom good-humouredly responded with a couple of wisecracks of his own . It was becoming pretty clear they were in his local haunt and was well-liked by its patrons. But she also suspected there could be whispers going around, wondering what she was doing with him. Despite those thoughts, she kept her head up, and a smile plastered to her face.

After navigating through the narrow maze of tables and chairs, they opted for an empty space by the window, away from the bar where a heated football discussion was just about to begin. They simultaneously slid into their seats, sitting opposite each other, his lopsided grin and lax manner putting her immediately at ease. He was seemingly oblivious to the curious stares around them, but Claire paid no heed to the attention they were garnering and pushed her earlier encounter with Jenny away from her mind. This was a professional meeting, a welcome distraction even though it was proving an impossibility not to picture Jamie across from her. Suddenly missing Jamie, she allowed her thoughts to momentarily drift and wondered what he was up to.

"Hey."

Claire snapped out of her reverie. "Huh?"

"I asked if ye're hungry."

"Oh! Well, I'm not sure," she murmured, squinting at the specials scrawled on the blackboard hanging behind the bar. "Sort of, I guess."

"Sort of?" he laughed. "What kind of answer is that?" He passed her a menu. "Here. Ye ought to try their haggis tweeds. They have the best in this area."

She snorted, taking the menu card and skimming through it. "Really? I've never met a Scot who liked haggis, and yet every one of you lot I've met recommends it to non-locals."

"Aaahh," he leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. "To be honest, I dinnae like haggis myself when cooked the traditional way. But the haggis tweeds are different ...more palatable. They're rolled into balls, breaded and deep-fried. I'm quite sure ye'll like them."

"Hmmm ..." When she glanced up from the menu, she met his thoughtful gaze. Though smiling, he had an odd expression on his face. "Wot?" She smoothed her hair, thinking it must be all over the place. She dreaded what her hair looked like after being caught in the rain earlier on. She wished now she'd tied it back before leaving the cottage. "Anything wrong?"

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "Just noticing ye dinnae look as upbeat as ye sounded on the phone the first time we talked. I was expecting ye to be more excited about selling me the idea of publishing my travel book. Ye kinda look as if something is bothering ye. Is anything the matter?"

She let out an exhale and placed the menu down. "I'm sorry. I've just had a rough day."

"Boyfriend problem?" he asked slowly.

She arched an eyebrow at him. Friendly as Tom was, Claire wasn't prepared to share any details of her personal life. "I just have a lot of things going on, and then you threw me out of the loop," she explained, not wanting to lie but not wanting to over-share either. "I was caught off-guard when you phoned earlier, and I wasn't expecting your call until, at least, sometime next week."

"Ye could've told me to meet at a later date. I wouldnae have minded."

"No! Today is fine," she assured him quickly. "I'm probably slowly weaning from the fast pace of hectic schedules in London, that at the first sign of change, I stumble a bit."

He grinned. "Weel, whatever is bothering ye, I dinnae like you looking so downcast. Maybe we can do something about it right now and tell ye a bit of good news. To cheer ye up."

"I like good news ..." she remarked, perking up, guessing he probably had a new picture or post on his blog he wanted to show.

"That's much better," he said when he caught a hint of a smile forming on her face. "As I was saying, I have a bit of good news. I've been giving your proposition a lot of thought ..." he shifted on his seat and took a deep breath. "I've decided I want to go ahead and publish my travel blog in print."

She blinked and swallowed before finding her voice. "But you haven't seen the projected sale and all the ..."

He waved a hand. "I'm quite sure after that impressive pitch over the phone, yer projected whatever and other wotnots ye wish to go over with me will be just as equally convincing. The idea is sold, and I'm on board."

"Just like that?"

He nodded his head, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Aye. Now that I've met ye in person, I'm pretty confident ye'll make sure I'll get a fair deal for my book. I'm a good judge of character, and I trust ye'll do what's right."

"Of course."

"So it's settled."

"Well, that's ...that's fabulous," she breathed, her mind rushing in all sorts of direction.

"This calls for a celebration, don't ye think?" he smiled, waving at the waitress.

Before Claire could reply, her purse vibrated. She pointed an index finger at Tom. "Hold that thought." She opened her bag and grabbed her phone. It was her boss, John Grey.

"Oh, hi, John! I'm in the middle of ..."

"Claire, I'm sorry to dump this on you," John said rapidly in a panicky tone. "Mary Hawkins just phoned and said she expects you to pick her up at Inverness Airport."

"Wot?!? But how? Why?" She glanced at Tom and noticed a light frown lining his brows. "She hasn't been answering any of my emails. What the hell is she doing in Inverness?" She knew it wasn't professional to be discussing another author over the phone with a potential client in front of her. But it couldn't be helped. At the moment, she was far too agitated to care. Mary Hawkins, the publishing's star author, had been elusive ever since she disappeared to France, and she'd been the reason Claire had decided to take a break in Scotland only to be given another job in the form of Tom Christie. "Please don't tell me you sent her here. I have enough on my plate as it is." She gave Tom an apologetic look, to which he just shrugged and smiled in understanding.

A frustrated sigh came from John. "I swear to God, this isn't my doing. She arrived yesterday here in London, and when she demanded to start work right away on her book, I assigned another editor. But she wouldn't have it. She insisted on working with you. So I told her you're in Inverness doing another project. And then she called a few minutes ago, demanding you pick her up at the airport. I swear I didn't know she was planning on flying to Inverness."

Oh, God! "John!" she whined. "I can't just drop everything and pick her up. I'm an editor, not a chauffeur! I'm in the middle of talks with Mr Christie."

"I'm terribly sorry for this mess, Claire but, isn't there anything you can do? Your boyfriend, perhaps? You know how Hawkins is a big deal for the company."

She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. Claire felt she was being put in a position she didn't want to be in. On top of it all, her uncle would be arriving in two days, and there was the added worry she had with Jamie and potentially Jenny. The day was definitely getting worse by the second, but Claire reminded herself she was John's only hope, and he was a friend and had always been good to her. When she finally had the strength to open her eyes again, Tom mouthed something she couldn't quite catch.

Wot do you mean? She mouthed back, shaking her head.

"Claire, are you still there?"

"Yes!" she snapped, tamping down the urge to curse. "I'm here!"

"Well?"

She let out a frustrated breath. There was no way out of it. "Fine, John! But you owe me big time! I'll see what I can do." Damn it!

"You're a star!" John said, relief lacing his voice. "I knew I could rely on you. I'll text Hawkins to let her know you're on your way, and then I'll text you her private number. I don't think you'll have that. It's one of the reasons you couldn't get in touch with her. Anyway, let me know later how you get on."

Before she could answer, the line went dead. What the bloody hell just happened?

Claire dropped her head into her hands and groaned. She wanted to bawl, throw stuff and pull her hair out in frustration.

"Problems?"

She raised her head and looked at Tom. "I'm sorry you had to witness that. I have to cancel our meeting. I need to somehow get to Inverness and pick up this author I'm working with." Without going into too many details, Claire quickly explained her predicament, almost forgetting to breathe. By the time she finished, she was gasping for air and wondering if Tom understood what the hell she was on about. "As you can see, I probably have to organise her accommodation as well. So I really must get going." She stood up and grabbed her bag. "Raincheck?"

He got on his feet as well. "Look, I'm not doing anything for the rest of the day. How about I drive you to Inverness. I can even help you set her up."

"Tom, you don't have to."

"Hey, I'm about to get a book deal from your boss. Let me at least prove to ye what a perfect travel guide I am as I've portrayed on my blog."

Claire stopped to collect herself. On second thoughts, she did need Tom's help, and she couldn't well impose on Willie to drive her to Inverness when he'd been taking time off to check up on her ever since Jamie left. Maybe she could kill two birds with one stone and talk him through his own book's publishing process on their way to the airport. It was a brilliant idea, and hopefully, by the end of today, John would be able to draw up a contract for Tom. With a resigned smile, Claire appreciatively accepted the offer. "Alright then, but we do need to get going now."

"Absolutely. We'll go through the back door." When Claire looked at him curiously, he grinned. "I've parked the car in the staffs' parking lot. I'm good friends with the owner, so I get the privilege to walk through the kitchen and use the backdoor," he explained. Then he leaned closer to her ear and spoke in a low voice. "And if the chef is in a good mood, he might allow us to taste today's menu."

Claire laughed out loud, attracting attention from the pub's clientele. She ignored the curious stares. It was good to laugh again after the last couple of days of feeling down, and she owed it to herself to steer negativity and worries from her thoughts. "We'll stop by the cottage to get some clothes. Knowing my client, she'll probably want to stay in a posh hotel in Inverness and want to start working right away. She doesn't do bed and breakfast or small places. So I doubt she'll want to come to Broch Mordha."

Tom nodded with a smile as he took her hand and lead the way.

Heading to the back of the pub, Claire made a few mental notes on what she needed to take with her. She also reminded herself to message Willie about taking care of Rollo and Adso while she's away, hoping he would think nothing of it when he hears from the village gossip of her meeting with Tom.

...........

Jamie caught Willie's livid expression before the car started, and they were driving down the small country lane. He knew his brother was miffed with Ian, who'd sped ahead of them after revealing Claire's whereabouts with Christie. Though common sense told him he had nothing to be worried about, it had been still a punch in the gut to hear Claire was out with another man.

"Can ye speed up a bit?" Jamie muttered, shifting restlessly on his seat.

"We're not in a bloody motorway, and there are speed limits for a reason," Willie growled, his fingers flexing on the steering wheel. "And it will do ye a lot of good to use this time to calm down before we reach Claire. It's obvious ye're not thinking clearly."

Jamie almost wished he'd taken a ride with Ian instead. They couldn't see their brother-in-law's red Fiat anymore as it disappeared at a bend further ahead. But he knew Willie was right. He wasn't thinking clearly. It's just that, why it had to be Thomas Christie of all people Claire had chosen to go out with. He had nothing against the bloke, but he was a renowned player. What if Claire had grown tired of his condition and fell for Christie's charms? It wouldn't be a difficult feat as the bloke oozed charms by the bucketload. Hadn't he lost a girlfriend in the past because of Christie? Or was it because of his condition? He couldn't be sure anymore. Either way, knowing Claire was with Christie at this very moment was burning a hole in his stomach. "So ye're an expert on my thoughts now, are ye?" Jamie grunted, unable to think of a better excuse for his behaviour.

"I dinnae need to be an expert to know what ye're thinking ... it's written all o'er yer face," Willie retorted. "If ye'd called her up in the first place, then ye would've had a fair idea why she's meeting Christie, and ye wouldnae be in this stinking shite thinking the worse. The lass has been worried sick about ye, and she's put up with yer silence more than what could be expected of her. So do both yerselves a favour and calm the fuck down, aye?"

Jamie knocked back the claustrophobic sensation and forced himself to breathe. This had always been his trouble with his PTSD. He always had these intense emotions that always grew out of proportion to a point it would suffocate him, especially negatives ones like a feeling of lacking or guilt. Wasn't that what Geneva had said? There was a lot of misplaced guilt involved? And no matter what he did to get better, it was a bloody never-ending cycle that always brought him back to square one. But despite the shortcomings, he knew it would kill him if he didn't give himself a fighting chance with Claire. He might as well die trying. She was, after all, either going to be his reason for living or the reason he died. It was all right there, shining in front of him like a floodlight.

With a sigh, he tried to relax. Jamie knew justifying his earlier behaviour was a bad idea in both their current edgy states, but nothing would stop him from seeing Claire right now. It was like a need that required satisfying, and he couldn't wait to finally see her. He focused on the road ahead of them and listened to the radio to take his mind of negative thoughts.

It's a dreich Thursday afternoon, and here's another trip down memory lane with Mac's Classics here at MFR, with the biggest hits and the biggest throwbacks. Next up is a song sure to make ye forget the dreary days ahead – Let's get rickrolling with Never Gonna Give You Up.

"Turn it up," Jamie said suddenly, surprising his brother.

"What?" Willie glanced at him like he'd grown a pair of horns.

"I said, turn the bloody volume up!"

"Ye're joking, right? Rick fucking Astley? Nae chance pal!"

"Just do it," Jamie huffed, not caring what his brother thought of his song choice. When Claire had told him it had made her smile listening to it in the cafe the other day, he'd listened to it as well on his mother's antique record player. It was a bloody awful song, but for some strange reason, it had made him smile too.

Scowling and cursing under his breath, Willie eventually complied, and they listened to Rick Astley's song for the rest of the way. When they reached the village centre, Willie illegally parked outside Slater's Arms, carefully avoiding bumping into the menacing bollards. They were just about to get out of the car when Ian appeared from the pub, shaking his head.

Willie stuck his head out of the window. "What's the matter?"

"They're gone," Ian replied, shrugging, perplexity evident in his expression. "Spoke to Angus, and he said they didn't even order anything. They just got up and left."

Jamie got out of the car. "Did he say where they went?"

Ian narrowed his gaze at him. "I didnae ask."

Jamie ran a hand in front of his face and got back in the car. His brother had to work. There was only one thing left he could do, and it was to go back to the cottage, and if Claire wasn't there, he'd give her a call. He turned to Willie, letting out a sigh of resignation. "Just drop me off at the cottage. I've taken too much of yer time already."

"Ye sure?" Willie asked quietly. "I can drop ye off at Lallybroch. Yer car is there. Ye'll most probably need it soon, especially with more bad weather to come."

Jamie shook his head. He was certain Claire would be at home, and if not, surely later. He wasn't planning on going anywhere anytime soon but had every intention of making up for lost time with her. "It's time to go home," Jamie sighed, waving goodbye to Ian. "No more running away,"

Willie smiled, starting the car. "Good choice!"

It was a short drive to his cottage, and by the time they pulled up outside his house, the sun started to peek out for a splinter of a moment, his driveway though occupied by an unfamiliar vehicle. As soon as he saw a man's profile sat on the driver's seat, he immediately knew it was Christie. As if anticipating his next move and before he could yank off his seatbelt, Willie slapped a hand across his chest.

"What?" Jamie wheezed.

"Claire's in the cottage. Talk to her first and find out what's going on before ye jump to any conclusions."

Jamie breathed through a laugh, but he could hear it was edged with doubt. "What if I've fucked this up?"

"Ye havenae. And it's up to ye to keep that way. Now go to her. Ye'll find out soon enough there's a perfect explanation for Christie hanging about."

Words were fighting to leave his tongue, but he clamped his lips together and held them back. Vocalising the feelings raging inside his chest would only allow his emotions to run away with him. He reigned them in and took a deep breath. Whether it's a consequence of PTSD or not, he couldn't expect Claire to understand every time. So instead, Jamie gave Willie a reassuring nod and hoped his brother was right.

He got out of the car and walked straight to the cottage, refusing to acknowledge Christie. He knew he was being rude and could feel his brother's eyes boring into his back as well as Christie's. He didn't care because right at this moment, his primary focus was Claire.

As soon as he opened the door and saw Claire hooking a bag onto her shoulder, he bounded across the room, dropping his face into her neck and breathing for the first time in days. "Sassenach," he whispered. "I'm so sorry for leaving ye. I wasnae thinking. Please forgive me."

Claire dropped her bag on the floor, wrapping both arms around his neck. "Jamie, you're here," she breathed into his ear. "Are you alright? God, I've been so worried about you."

"I'm alright now that I'm here and ye're here," he rasped, lifting his head for a moment and eyeing the bags on the floor. "Why are yer bags packed?"

She followed his gaze. "I ...ah ... it's work, and I have to ..."

"Ye're going back to London?"

"No!"

That's all he needed to hear. Unable to wait any longer for an explanation, he pulled her into his arms as urgency pumped in his veins. He badly needed to absorb as much as he could of her, breathing her in, in huge gulps of air. His mouth travelled over her neck, into her hair, across her lips, whispering for forgiveness, his hands restless as he touched her everywhere.

"Hey, look at me ... there's nothing to forgive," she murmured, drawing away. She placed her hands on both sides of his face and searched his eyes. "I understand what you've been going through, and I know you're fighting your hardest. It's going to be alright."

"I've missed ye." He turned his face to kiss her palm before placing her hand on his chest. "I-I thought ye're better off without me. I thought I could walk away from ye, and it would be enough knowing ye're safe from me. But nothing was right. I was sick to the soul, knowing I've left ye. I wanted ye to be with a better man than me, but now ... I'm gonnae be selfish and beg ye to let me be that man by yer side."

"Jamie, where's this coming from?" she queried. "I was worried and afraid for you, but I haven't changed my mind about us." She sighed. "Your brother told me yesterday, you were seeing a therapist this morning. Did you go today?"

Jamie swallowed and nodded, unable to still his hands, touching her everywhere, needing to assure himself he was really holding her.

"Is this why you're talking like this? Has the therapy dug up a lot of unwanted issues? Because if it has, it's perfectly normal."

"No!" He let out a frustrated breath. He'd been so unpredictable with the symptoms of his PTSD coming and going, she wasn't taking him seriously when he needed her to hear him out. "No, please listen and look me in the eye. I panicked when I saw the bruises on yer arms, and without thinking, I left. I did what I did because I didnae think I could ever be the man for ye ...a bloody disappointment, constantly causing ye grief. But I understand now why my condition is out of control at the moment ... it's because I have suppressed emotions that need to come out. It's been coming out more because all this while, ye've been the key to my healing. So I'm handing everything inside me over to ye because I trust ye, and ye're the only one who can make sense of me. I cannae promise smooth sailing, Sassenach, but there is one thing I know ye can depend on and will always be constant despite my condition. And that's my love for ye. I can guarantee ye with certainty ye can rely on that. This isnae a result of my therapy talking, alright? I willnae let ye go for anything. I can work around my condition with ye by my side, and I'll work twice as hard to get better."

"Jamie, I love you too, and I have no doubt that ..."

"Then why are your bags packed?" he questioned accusingly. "And why is Christie outside waiting for ye?"

With a sharp intake of breath, Claire quickly explained everything from the call she received from her boss to Christie's involvement and an impatient Mary Hawkins waiting for her at the airport.

He could tell she was itching to go by the way she tried to subtly glance at her watch, but he was feeling too selfish. "How about I drive ye to Inverness?" he cajoled, his hand stroking her hair. "Willie is still outside. We'll get my car in Lallybroch, and I'll drive ye." He suddenly felt like a bastard keeping her from doing her work.

"Jamie, no!" she said gently but firmly. He knew she was restraining herself from rushing off, wanting to make sure he was alright first. "I can't be fretting about you being in a city when I have work to do. There's a possibility I'll be back tonight, but if Mary wants to work straight away on her book, then I have to stay in Inverness for a couple of nights, tops. Besides, I need to explain to Tom about his book's publication and make sure he hasn't changed his mind. Until we've drawn up a contract, nothing is certain." Her hands smoothed the hard muscles on his chest. "Besides, I need you to be here when my uncle comes. He'll be hiring a car, so he won't require picking up."

"What? Ye're uncle is coming here?" he almost shouted.

"No. I mean, uncle Lamb won't be staying here in the cottage even though you told him he could. I've already booked him a place in the village centre ...close to the amenities."

He let out a sigh of relief. He didn't think he was ready to bond with Harry's look-alike ...yet. If anything, he dreaded it, afraid of other suppressed memories dying to come out and choke him with guilt.

"Jamie, I really ought to go. I promise I'll call later and explain everything."

With a groan, he pulled Claire in once more in his arms and kissed her thoroughly, and she responded with a whimper that told him she was enjoying the kiss. He hadn't even had a second to savour getting her back before the prospect of letting her go again struck him like a baseball bat between the shoulder blades. But he wanted to give her something to remember while she's away and what she'll be missing if she didn't hurry up with her work. He slipped his hand under her cardigan, caressing her nipple with the calloused pad of his thumb and pressing his burgeoning erection against her belly.

"I love ye ...always remember that." His mouth coasted along the lines of her jaw, his hands squeezing her waist. "I ken ye've been patient and understanding with me, but just try to be extra tolerant with me for now. Can ye do that?"

She nodded, her face red from beard burn. "Alright, but I do need to go, Jamie." Her eyes flashed. "And you have nothing to worry about. So please rest up tonight because you'll need a hell of a lot of energy when my uncle comes."

It's the way she looked at him, pleading for understanding that became his undoing as if she's reading his thoughts, and despite everything he'd done, she couldn't find fault with a single one. He needed to be a better man and control his emotions and needs. Her work was important to her, and she was important to him. "Fine, I'll walk ye to the car." He stooped down to get her bags and followed her outside.

They stopped beside Christie's car, and Jamie watched the other man climbed out, both men grunting a greeting at each other.

"Am I still driving ye to Inverness, Claire?" Christie asked, avoiding Jamie's eyes.

Claire nodded. "Yes, please, if that's still alright with you. I'm so sorry I took so long."

"It's nae bother, and of course, I'll drive ye to Inverness," Christie smiled warmly.

A long silence stretched as the three of them just stood there. Christie rocked on his heels, and Jamie held on to Claire's bags like it was his lifeline.

Caught up in the awkwardness of the moment, Claire bit her bottom lip. "Well, I guess that's settled then. We best get going before Mary does something like bite some poor soul's head at the airport." Claire's attempt to sound cheerful lessened the tension in the air but not the one on Jamie's shoulders. She turned to him and tried to take her bags off his hands, but he couldn't seem to let go. "Jamie ...my bags," she whispered, her hand running up and down his forearm as if to tell him everything was going to be alright.

But instead of giving Claire's bags back to her, he begrudgingly handed them to Christie while launching if looks could kill look over her head. They had a few seconds of stare off until Claire's hands on his face forced him to look at her.

"Jamie, kiss me, goodbye?"

He didn't hesitate at her request and sucked on her bottom lip as she made a sobbing noise. That wee noise she made jolted something free inside of him, and he, too, wanted to cry. He couldn't remember wanting to openly cry before. Not like this. He couldn't control it, and it dragged him down, stealing oxygen from his lungs, but Claire's touches soothed him.

"I don't want to go," she murmured against his mouth. "Not one bit. But I'm doing this for us, remember that. The sooner I'm done with work, the more time we can spend time together."

He allowed himself to wade into the shallow waters of comfort Claire was starting to represent. He'd lived with this reality for too long that he wasn't enough. Or probably worse, he was too much. For years, these memories of loss and guilt and shame had been subdued. Now they're coming out with guns blazing, and he felt totally defenceless. But with her arms around him, he felt cocooned in her bubble of protection. So he clung to her like a drunk with his last shot of whisky, the desperation inside him going into overdrive, and he was practically mauling her lips with no care whose watching, drawing her onto tiptoes so he could get all of her from every angle.

"Jamie," she whispered shakily, gently pulling away. "My phone is going off every second. Mary is probably wondering why I haven't called her."

Breathe, lad, it's going to be alright. Don't lose yer cool, or ye'll drive her away. He let go and opened the car door for her, not taking any notice of the man waiting patiently at the driver's seat. "I'm sorry," Jamie mumbled.

"It's alright." She smiled in understanding, squeezing his hand. "I'll be back before you know it."

He held on to Claire's eyes, the only tangible thing he could grasp, giving him a renewed determination to manage the condition that had ruled him all his life. At that moment, the world suddenly made sense, and he was veering into a place he didn't recognise ...a place of calm, where the voices in his head had lost their dominion over his thoughts.

He watched as Christie's Land Rover drove away and was surprised when a hand landed on his shoulder. Jamie turned around to discover Willie stood there, a smile etched on his face. Jamie had forgotten about his brother, too caught up with Claire's departure and the intense emotions he'd nearly let out of control.

"Ye did well, bràthair. I'm so proud of ye."

Jamie dropped his head forward and let out an exhale, feeling a lot lighter in days. He knew he'd only scratched the surface of their relationship, but Claire was giving him all the time in the world to get back on his feet, and he was determined not to disappoint her. Though it had been a struggle not to let his emotions take control, it was at least a start. He glanced up at his brother and smiled.

"Ye alright there, Jamie lad?" Willie playfully slapped him on the back for good measure.

"Aye, I think so." This time Jamie meant it and believed his own words. He threw an arm around Willie's shoulder, squeezed it briefly before stepping back. "And thank ye for sticking around. I owe ye one."

"Aye ye do," Willie grinned. "How about repaying me like right now and coming to work. It should keep yer mind busy and help me catch up with a long list of jobs."

Jamie didn't need prodding. His mouth curved into a smile, and he nodded his head. "After seeing Christie, I think I'm in the mood for uprooting trees."

They shared a wicked glance and then laughed out loud.

Dear Readers,

Thank you all for your patience with this story and the feedback from the previous chapter.

Mental health stories are, I personally think, the hardest to put across because it involves a lot of emotions and psychological battle that are difficult to put into words. But I was determined to write this account even though it has its challenges, so I hope I've done it justice.

Part of the reason for pushing to write such a story that delves into the mind of a tortured soul is to raise mental health awareness because there are many things that people still don't understand about this illness. In saying that, some of you were disappointed by Jamie's behaviour, and I wanted that to happen to make a point.

In real life, it's so much easier to categorise and point out someone's shortcoming instead of trying to understand the psyche of a person's behaviour. From my perspective, each of us has undoubtedly suffered a form of mental illness at least once, but not everyone has the emotional and psychological strength and maturity to cope or overcome it. Nor do they have access to help. In Jamie' case, he's got a strong network of family, and he got Claire to help him get through it.

So the moral of the story is, spread kindness because you never know what really is going on in someone's mind.

For now, take care of yourselves. Until the next update ... X

#melodyheart #wonderwall #milesbetweenus #ClaireBeauchamp/JamieFraser #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #outlanderfanfic

78 notes · View notes

pars-ley · 4 years

Text

Red thread of fate

Pairing: Vampire Seokjin x Female human reader

Rating: 18+ (NSFW)

Genre: Angst / Fluff / Smut / Fantasy au / Soulmates au / Vampire au /

Warnings: Mentions of blood / mentions of staking / oral f.recieving / foreplay with candle wax / bondage / blindfold / dead body / minor character death / self inflicted wound (not fatal and not a suicide attempt)

Summary: The red thread of fate leads you to your soulmate, when it's someone completely unexpected and completely against your upbringing, how will your family history impact on this match and will going against them come back to bite you.

Word count: 6668 (666 👀)

A/N: This is for my BTS writers group secret santa project for @crystaljins I messed up and it ended up being not so secret but I really hope you enjoy this! It’s a bit out of my comfort zone and even though it was stressful, I’ve enjoyed that challenge. Thank you for being so understanding too.

Beta read by @aroseforyoongi thank you for being a life saver! Thank you to @papillonsgf for your helpful advice, who else would I go to about old fashioned language use, you’re the queen. Last but not least @wheresmymoniat for her ENDLESS help and support! I will never be able to thank you enough.

Running along the beach at night with nothing but the moonlight illuminating your way, may be eerie to some but to you, something about the darkness brought you peace. It soothed your mind and silenced your thoughts.

You've been following this feeling for years, letting your feet lead you to the pulling sensation and yet never seeming to get anywhere closer to where it wants you to be.

You've ran across this beach almost every night for the past year, against the ingrained advice of your family, warning you about the demonic creatures that prey on the innocent, concealed under the blanket of night.

So far, the only thing you've come across, night after night, are the echoing sounds of despair, calling along the cool night breeze.

The noise frightened you at first but now, you grow curious about it. Where is it coming from? Who or what is it coming from? And why? What could fill someone with that must much distress, that they call out into nothing? Maybe, it's a cry for help. Who knows but you were determined to find out.

A shadow in the distance catches your eye, a silhouette, someone standing on the wet sand, the low tide pooling around their feet as they stare up at the full moon.

You slow your jogging to a walk, as to not alarm them, the sea lapping against the shore is the only sound you can hear tonight.

As you near, the person turns to you, a man with striking features and broad shoulders. He watches you bewildered as you close the distance between you. Your feet moving on their own, your body being pulled more forcefully than ever before.

Until you're here, in front of him. The one they all whisper about. Kim Seokjin. The town's resident vampire.

The many rumours of him insist he's lived here for more than 200 years, pacing the cliff edge each night, never changing and never aging. Most people laugh it off as nothing but myth but you knew different, you knew the rumours were true. And here you are faced with the man, the mystery, the legend himself. The legend who has slain every vampire hunter he’s come in contact with, another fact you were privy to know.

"It's nice to meet you Seokjin." You say confidently.

He smiles warily, an obvious glint of sadness in his eyes. "I see my reputation precedes me?"

"It does. But it's hard not to recognise the only vampire in town."

He laughs darkly. "Is that what they say?"

You watch him carefully, wondering what could be tormenting him so, a shroud of darkness covering him or keeping him hidden. "It is, but don't worry, I'm very good at keeping secrets."

"If you believe that, are you not afraid?" He turns to face you with a questioning brow and a menacing grin.

You shake your head. "No."

"And why not?" he asks, his face dropping back into a sorrowful mask as he returns his attention back to the inky sea before you.

You turn too, facing the view of the reflected moonlight shimmering across the water and shrug. "Something is telling me I shouldn't be, call me crazy but I can feel that you won't hurt me."

Glancing over, you see him staring down at your hand, wide eyed and open mouthed.

"What?" You ask, examining it suspiciously.

His mouth snaps shut, eyes darting back to yours as his face conceals all emotion.

"What are you doing out this late? Did no one tell you of the creatures of the night?" He teases a slight smirk curving his plump lips., so smooth, there’s not a single wrinkle creasing the skin.

You laugh. If only he knew, your family probably knew more than he did about the creatures in question. "I come along this beach every night."

He frowns. "Alone and in the dark...why?"

Will he think you're crazy if you tell him? No crazier than him being a vampire i suppose. "I'm searching for something."

He turns towards you, his body angled completely in your direction, capturing his full attention. "And what is that?"

You shrug, cheeks flushing but hoping the moonlight isn't enough to reveal your embarrassment. "I'm not sure."

He huffs a laugh out of his nose, the sounds of the air leaving his nostrils strong enough to be heard over the rolling tide. "You are a curious creature."

You raise an eyebrow at him, giving him a quizzical look and he laughs, a light now sparkling in his dark, guarded eyes.

"Touché. Would you care to walk with me?" He asks, stepping out of the surf and back onto the dry sand.

You nod, following the footprints he's already left behind as he heads off in front.

"You seem to know so much about me and I know nothing of you, apart from the fact you like moonlit walks on the beach every night." He looks sideways at you, waiting for you to elaborate.

"Ok, for every question you ask me, I get to ask you one in return."

His mouth stretches into a smile. "Fine but I start."

"Deal; but you have to be honest. No lying."

With a smirk he stops, gently taking your hand in his and bringing your fingers slowly up to his mouth, his eyes staring into you the entire time. "You have my word." He places a chaste kiss on the back of your hand and it's enough to make your heart hammer wildly in your chest. You wonder, embarrassingly, if he can hear it.

"Ok, what is your name?" He starts.

You tell him, leaving out your family name as it may raise more questions than necessary. A confrontation you're not quite read for.

"How long have you lived here?" You ask.

"Here on this earth, or here in this town?"

You smirk at his smart-ass response. "In this town?"

"Roughly, about two hundred and thirty years." He looks over at you, watching your expression carefully for reaction, all you can do is nod, keeping your face impassive. "What were you searching for on the beach?"

You grimace, knowing that question was coming but dreading it just the same. "I truly don't know...it sounds crazy…"

Shrugging, he says, "Try me."

Sighing you give in. "For years, as soon as I turned eighteen, things changed, something was pulling me, leading me. It led me to different countries around the world until eventually...back here. I feel like something's calling me but I have no idea what…" You watch him as he stares at the sand he steps on, a focused frown between his brows. When you get no response, you move on.

"Ok, how long have you lived on this earth?"

"Three hundred and seventy nine years."

He says it so matter-of-factly you mouth 'wow'.

"What countries did this feeling take you to?" He asks quickly, before you even have a chance to begin to process his last answer.

"Erm, France first, then Italy, Peru and lastly Finland. What do you eat?...or drink?"

He gives you a dark look and a mischievous grin stretches his mouth revealing his perfect white teeth. Are they sharp? "What do you think?"

"Don't answer a question with a question." You roll your eyes at him and he laughs, a low chuckle that feels like it vibrates your soul, warming you up from the inside.

"As you wish...I drink blood. Does that make you nervous?"

An involuntary swallow makes its way down your throat and your cheeks flush. "A little." You admit sheepishly. "Do you only drink from humans?"

"No, sometimes animals. Do you want children in the future?"

You choke on air at the strange turn in questioning, always feeling uncomfortable when kids are mentioned, always ready for the judgement your answer brings. "No, I'm not keen on them and they don't like me."

He laughs, the high pitched screech ringing out around you, bouncing off the cliff faces as you walk and you realise you’re smiling up at him in response.

"Do you kill the people you drink from?"

He reels at your abruptness but amusement sparkles in his eyes. "No, they go home unharmed and usually, do not remember a thing. Do you have a significant other?"

"No.” you ignore the tug of loneliness you feel at the reminder but try not to pause too long. “Is that one of your...gifts, you make people forget?"

He nods. "Of sorts. Have you ever been in love before?"

You feel hot under your shirt, the material suddenly too clingy and uncomfortable and the questions getting too personal but you can’t stop answering as you need to know more about him and you can’t explain why. "...no. Have you seen much of the world?"

"I have been to many places in my lifetime and seen many things, yes. Do you believe in love?"

You stumble slightly and his hand instantly wraps around your arm, steadying you with a firm and yet gentle grip. "Um, yes I do. Where's been your favourite places to visit?"

"I'm sensing you like to travel, hence the line of questioning. Well, most recently, I've been to France, Italy, Peru and Finland." He watches you from the corners of his eye and you frown, curious as to why, when his answer registers.

Your feet stop moving, they can't-won't move. You stare at his broad back before he slows and turns to you.

"When did you go there?" You ask into the heavy silence, no longer hearing the waves lap against the shore.

He looks out to sea, away from you. "I think you know the answer."

You did, but you had to hear him say it, you needed to hear the words. Your frozen form unmoving with wide, seeking eyes, your mind frantic as you try to make sense of this.

He sighs. "I left here three years ago and returned last year."

Your mind explodes with questions. How is this possible? And what does it mean?

"Let me ask this then, where is that feeling of yours pulling you now?" He asks, closing the distance between you and gently cupping your face. You find yourself leaning into it, his touch seeming to comfort your wild thoughts, if only for a moment before you remember he’s a stranger to you. You hear his question bounce around in your mind, realising alarmingly that you're not being pulled anywhere. You feel completely in control of yourself for the first time in a long time, completely at ease and at peace.

Your body feels lighter, your mind free of wondering.

Him. It couldn’t be...could it? If it is him...why?

He must see the question behind your eyes, he strokes his thumb across your wrinkled brow, smoothing the skin and forcing your muscles to relax.

"Tell me, have you ever heard of the red thread of fate?"

What do you do when you find your soulmate? The person, or vampire in your case, who is bound to you forever…

What could you do? No use fighting fate, you'll only end up being proven wrong.

You'd listened intently, when Seokjin had explained all about the red thread and told you many true stories of soulmates with both happy and tragic ends, until the sky was light and the sun was almost up and he had to retire back to his extraordinary house on the cliffs.

He had told you that vampires have sight for the thread, only attached to themselves and no one else but that they lack the ability to be able to follow it, unsure as to why, he insists it’s another way for vampires to be tortured.

You have a lot of information to process and want time alone to do so.

You lock yourself in your apartment the morning after meeting him. The one your soul is bound to. The one who will have your heart completely. Even as you think it, it feels odd. What are you having such a hard time with? If vampires are real, why not soulmates?

For days you keep yourself trapped inside, unable to keep your pacing legs still, as you incessantly wear a beaten pathway through the pile of your plush carpet.

The storm swirling in your mind, turning your thoughts into a twister of frenzied energy, you grapple with yourself in a constant battle to keep yourself grounded whilst also listening to your heart over your head.

This goes against everything you've been raised to believe. Vampires are predatory monsters, who crave on the pure and innocent to torture and outlive their perverted desires.

What would your parents say if they knew? You could envision a few choice words, at the very least but do you even care what their response would be? Definitely not. And yet, here you are, staring absentmindedly out of your window the view of the beach haunting you, possessing your mind with his face, his laugh, his voice. Your head feels torn, split in two, a crack right down the middle of your skull seeping out sanity as you cradle your head in your hands, a feeble attempt to keep it together.

Your clammy palms and racing heart cannot be calmed no matter what you try in the few torturous days you've spent inside. Something's not right, you feel it in your bones. That usual pulling feeling returns with vengeance, fighting the force on your vital organ makes you sick to your stomach.

You expected to welcome it with open arms, as you'd grown accustomed to it like an old friend, comforted by it sometimes but as you sit, wrapped in a blanket on your sofa, you feel frantic. A sheen of sweat dampens your brow, restless fidgeting of your feet and legs, an uncomfortable pit in your stomach, heavy as a rock. You can't resist any longer. You have to get out. You have to go to him. You swallow a harsh lump in the back of your throat, the need to scream rising with bile and you grab your coat, your legs leading you, running along the wobbly paths, taking you onto the beach and along the sea edge, back to the same place you stood a few nights ago.

When you see him standing in the distance once again, nothing but the moonlight on him, your legs gain power and charge you towards him. He is your only destination right now, the only end you seek, the only holy grail you desire.

His head snaps up to you as he begins to close the distance too. He's in front of you before you can blink, wrapping his arms tightly around your middle, clinging to your back in sheer desperation as you fling your arms around his neck and do the same. His relieved breath sounds in your ear As you feel all your stress and pain ease away, washing away with the tide that bleeds into your shoes and tickles your feet.

An overwhelming comfort encases you, emotion swelling in your chest and spilling from your eyes.

Trying to stay away from him had been a mistake, you realise, as you allow yourself to be drawn in and swallowed by him. No more resisting.

"The last few days have been unbearable." He whispers.

And with his words, you know, everything you feel, he feels too.

You unwind yourself from him, pulling back to witness his beauty and fathom his expression. His brows knit together tightly as his eyes mirror yours, searching for answers in the depths of glassy pools.

"I was terrified, after years of waiting for you that you would…" he trails off, mouth open but no words escaping.

"I would what?" You reply, stroking his tortured face, trying to ease some of his anguish.

"Cut the thread." He whispers pained, eyes looking away from yours and locked to the ground.

"How could you cut something you can't see?"

He sighs and presses his forehead to yours. "If you were sure in your mind that you wanted nothing to do with me and refused me, the thread would be severed."

You place your palms against his cheeks and bring his face up, forcing him to meet your eyes.

"These few days have been torture for me too. I thought I needed time to think things through and understand but now I see as clear as day, I need you, Seokjin. I need you like I need air."

The relieved smile that spreads across his face contradicts the desperation in his eyes as you find your lips against his, locked in a ravenous dance of love and lust. He pulls you against him, your body moulding to his perfectly, like two puzzle pieces designed to fit.

When he pulls away, you're dizzy and breathless, and yet, still craving more.

"Your lips make me wonder what the rest of you tastes like." He whispers against your mouth. Your throat contracts as you picture his teeth sinking into you, blood trickling down your neck as you're helpless to stop it and panic seizes your heart in a vice grip.

He sees the alarm in your eyes and laughs. "I was not referring to your blood, my love."

His seductive tone has your core pulsing with heavy need, an ache forming and residing there as your mouths meet again, entranced in a ravenous flutter of his pillowy lips against yours.

You want him. You need him. And he is yours for eternity, you can have him.

Night after night in his old, gothic mansion, exploring each others minds, souls and bodies, you are weightless with adoration and besotted by the way his mind works. His old fashioned language mesmerising as you listen each evening to his riveting stories and tales.

You laugh together under a blanket of firelight and warmth with soft, gentle touches across bare skin and fierce kisses trailing a heat you've never felt. And when the sun comes up and the curtains are drawn to keep the daylight at bay, the exploration continues, physically this time, your bodies forming together as one. Touches become hungry and desperate the further you delve into the never ending pit of pleasure. He worships every inch of you, hardly letting you catch your breath before his cool skin is against yours, enveloping you entirely in a euphoric haze you don't ever want to escape from.

"Do you trust me?" He says quietly, breath fanning out over your face.

You nod.

"I need words, darling." He strokes a thumb across your bottom lip and tugs it from between your teeth.

"Yes." You reply, louder than you expect.

"Alright, alright, we are not in the military, calm down."

You can hear the smirk in his voice as you slap him playfully on what you assume is his chest.

He adjusts the black blindfold that covers your eyes, moving it down slightly to completely conceal your vision.

"Are you comfortable?" He asks in your ear as he checks your rope bondaged arms, tight enough to pinch but not enough discomfort for you to refuse them.

"Yes." You arch your back, pushing your crotch forward, impatient and begging to be touched, the action causing your wrists to pull tight on the rope binding you to the ceiling.

His mouth is on your thigh instantly and it makes you gasp as he leaves light, wet kisses in a teasing trail straight to your core.

"If you want me to stop at any point, you will tell me, yes?" He whispers against your clothed sex, the hot air of his breath making you buck your hips towards him, hoping to find some friction but to no avail.

"So eager." He tuts at you, you might not be able to see but you can imagine the triumphant look on his face.

He hooks a finger inside your underwear, pulling them aside before his mouth is on you.

Your moan fills the room, bouncing off the cold, stone walls of his old house.

The way he offers up pleasure like a man possessed, his lurid moans only making your need for him grow tenfold. As you writhe before him, desperate for release but also for it not to be over so soon, he holds you firmly at your sides.

The wet sounds his mouth makes fill the otherwise silent room. His name falls from your lips repeatedly, and when you feel the sweet build up begin he slips a finger gently inside you. You gasp, surprised as he beckons your orgasm with his perfectly crooked finger, each movement coaxing it further to the edge. As his tongue moves faster than possible, the sensation breath-taking, you hang off of the woven ropes, your suspended arms making your breaths harder and your head giddy.

"Let go, my love." He whispers against you and at his words you obey, unravelling around him, pleasure pulsating through you with every pound of your heart, just for him. Every arch of your back, every curl of your toes, for him.

You feel his teeth graze your inner thigh, knowing the temptation he feels to sink them into you and taste but his refusal to do it overpowers every time.

He crawls up your body and places his face against your chest, as your hammering heart calms back to its regular beat.

"Does listening to my heart not make you thirsty?" You wonder, wishing you could see his face.

"A little but the more I listen, the more familiar I'll be with it."

"And that means there's less risk of you biting me?"

He makes a disgusted noise in his throat. "There is no risk of that anyway, I am not an infant vampire, I can control myself, especially with you." He pauses and you hear him sigh. "No, it just means that I will be more attuned to the sound of your heart. So if I lose you in a crowded place, say, I can use it to find you."

Call it naivety, or simply your rebellion against your parents and your refusal to listen to their advice or warnings, but you're still shocked that vampire senses are that impressive.

Your thoughts shatter as his wandering hands and mouth snap you back into the present, deep, hungry need rising fast from the sated pit inside you, once again. He removes your blindfold, pulling the tie with one hand, whilst the other still roams your body. He pulls away, only to remove his shirt and reveal his impressive, broad frame. His bare skin, glowing in the flicker of candle light as he fetches a burning wick and brings it over to your still bound frame.

“Have you ever felt the heat of candle wax?” He asks, his voice smooth as silk and turning your insides to jelly. You shake your head, entranced by the way he’s watching you, like you hold all the answers to life’s questions, like you are his own personal sun chasing away the darkness he stresses is residing in his hell bound soul.

“Would you like to?”

You nod. Words seeming to have escaped and rendering you incapable.

He brings the candle close to your breasts, his eyes meet yours, you see the heat blazing and baring towards you, sweeping you up as it goes and carrying you to breathless want.

He tilts the wick and as the pooled wax tips over the edge and lands on the skin on the swell of your breasts you gasp. The burn sharp and sudden but as it cools and turns hard the pleasure makes you throb for more. He obliges, hot wax searing and hardening in some of your most sensitive areas and when you think you can’t cope with not having him inside you, he obliges that too.

Always the gentleman, he clasps your hand in his on your annual evening walk, his thumb tracing loving circles on your skin. His eyes wandering to your face, not interested in the picturesque views around you.

"Tell me what you're thinking?" He asks quietly, his voice slicing through the silence like a sharpened blade.

Him. You're always thinking about him. When you're about to be forthcoming with that, you feel him stop moving, eyes far away and scouring the trees that surround you in this woodland. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end in a piercing stance as you too can feel the eyes on you, unsure of their purpose or whereabouts.

“Let us go home. Quickly.” He announces, pulling you close to him as you turn and back track the way you came, searching frantically for the opening where the moonlight can illuminate your path and any predators who may be lurking.

Who would dare prey on a vampire, that is faster and stronger than average? You knew but you were desperately hoping you were wrong.

Your feet struggle to keep up with his pace, him almost lifting you off the ground. His eyes tense and his jaw set as he remains solely focused on your route to safety. Before long you see the opening of the trees parting and just as you pass through them and take off down the hill back to his home, you glance behind you.

A shadowy figure emerges from the trees, still cloaked in darkness from the overhang of the leafy branches and your heart leaps into your throat at the sight, knowing you were being watched and followed. You can’t take your eyes off the unmoving silhouette as you know his stare follows you down the hill, burning holes into the both of you. When you find yourself wondering who could be interested in the both of you, the figure turns and walks back into the woods. Your body goes cold, blood turning to ice in your veins as your heart stills before hammering wildly against your ribs...as you watch the figure limping back into darkness. The same limp your father is plagued by.

Jin’s eyes are on your face before glancing quickly at the place your gaze is frozen to, hoping...praying that you imagined that.

You can’t bring yourself to meet his worried stare the whole way home, as he cradles you into his chest, surrounding you with his warmth, it is not enough to thaw the ice inside you or calm the frantic beat of your heart. And as his comforting arm wraps tightly around you, pinning you to him, you cling to it desperately as if you'll be able to keep him safe just by the action. If you hold him tight enough you won't lose him. If only that were true. You know more than anyone, the determination of your father, if he wants him dead, he will stop at nothing to get what he wants.

You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling like barbed wire as it travels down slow and sharp. Images of your perfect Jin, wide-eyed, cold and expressionless as he lay on the floor in front of you, your father towering over him, smiling, that same sickly smile that makes your stomach churn.

You must protect Jin at all costs. You can't let anyone else, human or creature, die at the hands of your family.

Jin's library is something else. Sitting in his ornate armchair, running your hands along the smooth metal arm rests, your fingers following the intricate designs that are carved, you relax into the feather cushions.

While he was out hunting, you came to do some exploring, knowing you had a couple of hours while he was out. After pleading with him to be careful, keep his wits about him and expect the unexpected you had eventually stopped clinging onto him and let him leave the safety of your embrace. He'd showered you with kisses and whispered sweet nothings until it soothed you. You decide best to stay busy while he's gone, as to not drive yourself insane.

He had mentioned before of books written about true life accounts of vampires and other creatures and you couldn't help but wonder if your family would get a mention in their historical tales.

How wrong you were.

You gently finger the delicate, worn pages, turning through the chapter dedicated to your heritage. All thirty four pages of your family history. Paintings of each member, personal information to use against them and even a mention of when you were born.

The pages quiver in your trembling fingertips as you stare at your parents names and their sketched faces, posed as if for a wanted poster.

You read the printed words about their escapades. Having learnt about each one yourself, been subject to their bragging sitting behind your desk while they tried to teach you their hate for all things mystical, hearing words like abomination, unnatural, wrong, despicable; all to describe anything different from themselves. You'd never had it in you, the ability to hate anything that much, that you could harm it. And after years of abuse when they realised your mind was nothing like theirs, when they realised you wouldn't carry on their traditions of hunting and murdering they locked you up and tried to teach you that way. Only for it to backfire, your disdain for them growing to an immeasurable amount causing them to disown you. Since then, at the age of 18, you'd gotten as far away from them as you could. Now knowing you followed your heart around the world and back, chasing him.

"My love, what's wrong?" Jin's voice sounds into your chaotic thoughts, slicing through them and freezing them in their tracks.

You look down at your still shaking hands and feel the wet trails drift down your cheeks, warm pent up emotion leaking out and dripping onto your shirt.

He’s at your side, brushing the tears off your face, his face following your eyes to see what has you so alarmed.

“Why are you reading about this?” he takes your hands gently from the pages and pulls you to him, enveloping you in his arms and kissing your hair. “Don’t worry, those stories are from years ago, most vampire hunters have given up and returned to hiding in their shadows.”

The soothing strokes of his hand up and down your back calm you somewhat, but you shouldn’t be calmed, you need to be honest with him. The truth will come out, it’s better that it comes from you.

You gently push away and steel yourself, bracing yourself for every possible reaction, he watches you bewildered.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He stretches a hand out and you know if you take it you’ll crumble, losing your courage to explain who you truly are.

“I have something to tell you.” you sigh looking at the floor, ashamed of the words you’re about to say. “I’ve not been entirely honest.”

He steps forward, hooking a finger under your chin and tilting your face up to meet his confused gaze. “You can tell me anything, dearest, you know that.”

You swallow the lump that forms in your throat and try to ignore your heart pounding in your ears, making it hard for you to focus on anything else but the incessant thrumming.

“Jin, I—” The sound of glass shattering in the distance cuts you off from your confession. Both your heads snap up towards the doorway, you take a tentative step forward but his arm comes out in front, halting your feet firmly where they are.

“No, I’ll go, it’s probably just the wind knocking over a vase, we wouldn’t want you to cut yourself now, would we?” he offers you a weak smile and exits the room, leaving nothing but a breath of a breeze in his wake.

Of course, if you’re bleeding he might find that too difficult to resist and he’s expressed time after time how much he detests the idea of drinking your blood.

Your eyes drift back towards the book. The image in front of you, your fathers wrath twisting his face into that ugly mask you know so well, only it’s not a mask at all. His true self reveals in the moments of his most despicable actions. He towers over a woman, a female vampire, the terror in her eyes as she’s staked through the heart.

You turn the page quickly, unable to look at it any longer. Your heart aches for her, for all those killed in your family’s name. Now you’re met with your family tree, pictures of members you know and some you don’t, all inked in these pages. Some names had gaping holes, almost as if they’ve been burnt from the book, the edges dark and withered. You lean in and touch, feeling the way the page has stiffened along the uneven brim.

The sound of a scream cuts into the silence, echoing up the halls to you, your head snaps up before feeling uncomfortable heat on your fingers, you glance down and see the page on fire. You snatch your hand away and watch as your fathers face disintegrates before your eyes, the paper peeling off into ashes and floating in the air around you. The fire fizzles out, leaving a hole identical to the others on the page. You frown wondering why the entire book didn’t go up in flames and why these faces have been burnt from the book. As your mind whirls you hear a grunt in the distance, realising you’ve been side tracked you rush out and run along the corridor and along the stairs, eye scanning your surroundings until you find him.

He leans into the table in the dining hall, hunched over. You rush to his side only to be stopped in your tracks by the dead body that stares back at you. The same twisted angry face, even in death; your father. Older and fatter as you last saw him and somehow still managing to look at you with such disgust even with his cold lifeless eyes. But as you stand here, staring at his demise, the part of you that you thought would grieve when you knew this moment had come greets you with silence. She is as still as you are. The only thing you feel is relief, to never see him or be frightened of him again. You tear your eyes away, part of you still apprehensive that he won’t rise up and attack, that it won’t be the end. But it is.

You touch Jin lightly on the shoulder. “What happened?” you ask to his back.

He turns slowly, supporting himself with the polished wooden surface of the expensive antique. That’s when you see it. The stake, protruding from his side, red darkening the white shirt into an alarming pattern.

Your heart sinks, falls to the pits of despair as hope leaves you, floating away out of your grasp. This can’t be it. You’ve only just found him, you can’t lose him now, not when you’re finally free of your past.

“No. No, no, no. You can’t leave me.” you help him as he sinks to the floor, cradling his face in your hands, desperation seeking his eyes for a positive solution.

“I’m afraid I have to, my love.” His mouth twists in pain as he speaks as his hands rip the stake out of his side. He pushes against it, trying to stem the blood seeping out.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, this is my fault. I should have told you who I was.” you say as tears run freely down your face, anguish twisting your heart into a suffocating and painful embrace.

He gives you a strained smile. “Dearest, I already knew.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. “How?”

“I can read you so well, you’re always so guarded about your family, all it took...was a flick through a few books...for me to figure it out.” He shifts, trying to ease the pain and you place your palms over his wound, your pathetic attempt at stopping the inevitable. “What I can’t understand...is why you wouldn’t tell me? There’s nothing you could do...that could stop me loving you, especially not something so little as...your family name.” he speaks in between breaths, his words filling your heart to the brim with devotion.

“Please, don’t leave me.” You beg, knowing it’s in fate's hands now.

“I don’t want to, my love.” he lifts a trembling hand to your face, cupping it as you touch your forehead to his.

If only you were not so extraordinarily ordinary, if only you had some power of your own, you could save him, instead of sitting here helpless. If only you had something that could save him. You look down once again at his wound, a blanket of hopelessness weighing you down, the dark red trickling down into a pool on his varnished floor, growing in size by the minute.

Blood. BLOOD! You have blood. It might not heal him completely but it’s bound to help!

You stand, looking wildly for anything that could help you slice your skin.

“Darling, what are you doing? Come back to me?” he says weakly.

You spot the letter opener on the table on the far side of the room, the sharp metal glinting in the light. You race over, grabbing it and returning to him.

“What are you doing with that?” He asks, eyes full of terror. “You have to live, I will find you again in our next life, but you have to live out this one otherwise your soul will—”

You put a finger to his lips silencing him. “If you drink my blood, will it heal you?”

He looks at the blade poised above your wrist and back at your face. “I cannot, I will not drink from you.”

Your frantic mind screams inside, torment making you impatient and wild, heartbreak making you willing to try anything. “Seokjin, I swear, if you do not try to survive, I will bring you soul back from the pit of hell myself.”

He lets out a weak laugh. “As you wish, but promise me, if I can not stop drinking, you have to do whatever is necessary to survive?”

You nod as you slice across your wrist, watching the blood seep out of the opening, you hear his sharp intake of breath as you hold your arm to his mouth. His lips quickly encase you and he sucks, he takes your blood until he’s on his knees cradling your arm, devouring you like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. His own personal banquet.

“Jin, enough now, you have to stop.” you say, sounding surprisingly weak.

He doesn’t respond, just carries on swallowing the life from you.

“Jin, enough.” you tap him weakly.

At your touch he pries himself off of you. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, are you ok?” His panicked eyes search yours.

You nod. “That was a close one.”

He grimaces and slides an arm under your legs and the other around your back and lifts you, carrying you away from your fathers dead body, away from the blood, away from all of it.

Relief swarms you, heart fit to burst as you watch his handsome face, the colour returned, the life and mischief that sparkle in his eyes and bury your face into his neck, planting small kisses against his skin. “Thank you.” He says to you. “You saved me.”

You smile. He’s ok, he’s with you, you’re both safe. “How could I not? You would have done the same.”

“I would rather die with you, than live an eternity without you.”

You smile against his throat, his words flutter your insides. “Well, there’s only one way to make sure we spend eternity together.”

He looks down at you, searching your eyes. You’re not sure what he finds but whatever it is leads him to respond. “That’s a conversation for another night.”

154 notes · View notes