#artist x art is an au i never would’ve imagined

[cryoculus]

— imagine being loved by me! ⟢

pairing: xiao | alatus x reader

summary: the one where your best friend gives you ten tattoos over the next ten years. the problem? you fall deeper in love each time the ink stains your skin.

word count: 7.1k words

tags: modern au, tattoo artist!xiao, childhood friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, relationship study, non-explicit smut

warnings: emotionally stunted xiao but i fink everyone knows that already, mentions of needles, there's smut but it isn't detailed

notes: this blog's been dead for Months but i thought i'd revive it with this fic that my beloved @delvalentine commissioned me to make! i love u to DEATH, v, i hope i did your requests justice :')

header art cr: yuca7302 on twt

01.

“Ow, fuck! Can you be more careful?!”

“I am careful. You just have a shitty pain tolerance.”

“Wow, that’s not something you should say to your first willing client,” you huff, trying not to pull away as Xiao repeatedly punctures the skin of your forearm with pen ink and a not-so-sterile sewing needle. “My family could sue you if I die from a blood infection, you know.”

Xiao rolls his eyes. “Something this small won’t kill anyone. Plus, you came here on your own volition, so stop complaining.”

“Are you saying you’re just going to let me die of sepsis if everything goes to shit?”

“Pretty much.”

You didn’t know what to expect when your best friend of several years asked if you wanted a tattoo of your favorite constellation. It’s been a running joke between the both of you that the two moles on your forearm looked a lot like two-thirds of Orion’s belt, and that maybe, in another life, you would’ve been born with all three of its stars on your skin. 

You should’ve known that Xiao likes to blow your expectations out of the water—whether he intends to do so or not.

It’s sundown when he finishes embedding black pen ink beneath your slightly inflamed skin. Xiao doesn’t comment when you repeatedly complain about how much that fucking hurt, and that you’re never agreeing to do it again, but you don’t miss the way his eyes occasionally flit up to the starry sky before shifting to your new ‘tattoo’ as he walks you home.

You don’t think you’ll ever forget that night. How you admired the amateur handiwork in the soft glow of your nightlight while thinking about the boy who gave you a star fashioned with his own fingers where others would’ve given flowers instead.

But then you remember Xiao is nothing but your best friend, and it’s a little…weird to be thinking about him like that. 

Must be the sepsis fucking with my head, you muse before flicking off your nightlight, and the room is plunged into pitch black darkness. 

02. 

You’re eighteen when you realize Xiao is completely serious about this tattooing business.

It comes as a not-so-pleasant surprise to you one day when your high school’s guidance counselor approaches you while you’re hurrying over to your next class—asking if you’ve seen Xiao around these days because apparently, your best friend hasn’t been attending his classes for a better part of the semester. 

Of course, you receive the news with a scowl. While you don’t exactly see him all that much at school because of how different your schedules are, you never expected to find out he’s been playing hooky all this time. 

You don’t particularly like sticking your nose into other people’s business—especially not Xiao’s, since you know how he likes to keep to himself better than most. But for some reason, you aren’t able to resist, and end up calling him after excusing yourself from your two-hour Biology lecture. 

Once your classes are done, you head over to a nearby tattoo parlor whose address Xiao texted to you right after you squeezed his whereabouts out of him during that phone call. It’s located in one of the more run-down parts of town that your parents would’ve detested Xiao for inviting you to. But whatever prejudice you might’ve had about the denizens of this district all go up in smoke once you meet the owner herself.

“You should’a seen Xiao practicing with our machines a few months ago!” Beidou, as Xiao had sheepishly introduced earlier, barks out a laugh before slinging an arm around your best friend’s shoulders. “Said there’s someone he wanted to give permanent tatts to. I’m guessing you’re the guest of honor?”

“Beidou,” Xiao groans. “It’s not a big deal. I already practiced on her before.”

You don’t completely catch it when Beidou makes an inappropriate joke as a response to what Xiao just said—eyes trained on the fading dot on your forearm. It’s been two years since Xiao gave you your first ‘tattoo’, and even if the receding ink makes it look like one of Orion’s stars are starting to die out, it’s still there.

“Okay,” you say in the middle of their bickering, startling both Xiao and Beidou in the process. “I’ll let him ink me if he wants to.”

Xiao stares at you with brows furrowed. “You sure?”

No, you’re not sure because as much as you want to support Xiao in what seems to be a budding passion of his, you’re certain that your father is going to kill you when he sees a full-blown tattoo on any part of your body. You barely got away with the artificial mole that Xiao did for you a few years back.

“Positive.” You back your words up with an indignant huff before sifting through the pre-made designs on Beidou’s catalog. “You just have to put it somewhere not everyone can see, I guess.”

Beidou snorts out another jarring laugh when Xiao clicks his tongue to alleviate the embarrassment that’s painting his face just a touch of red. 

Earlier in the day, you intended to scold your best friend for not taking his studies seriously, but ended up going home that day with a new piece inked onto the skin of your left hip: a little spruce twig that you last remember seeing in your old hometown—years before you even met Xiao. 

There’s no particular meaning behind it, apart from a hint of sentimentality and rebelliousness. It’s your first actual tattoo, and one of your best friends gave it to you, free of charge. Even if it hurts ten times more than Xiao’s novice needle method from two years ago, you end up loving it more than you thought. One time, you stare at Xiao’s intricate handiwork in the mirror for so long that you nearly run late for your first class of the day. 

(Another thing that makes this particular piece memorable is the process itself.

Xiao is a person who’s always been startlingly precise in everything he decides to put his head into. When you learned that he wanted to become a tattoo artist, you instantly felt like there’s no other path more perfect for him than this.

Yet you couldn’t help but notice how his fingers sometimes trembled as he gave you your first piece—with you lying chest-down on Beidou’s tattoo chair in nothing but your shirt and underwear. It shouldn’t have been strange. Xiao has seen you dressed down like this dozens of times before. 

But when all’s said and done, he refused to meet your eyes, and you don’t have the slightest clue why.)

03.

You just can’t stop staring when you see Xiao’s half-sleeve for the first time.

It’s meant to be a phoenix, he said, but you can’t really see it because the patterns are too abstract to make sense of. Still, the azure ink sits nicely on top of his built bicep, and you have to tell yourself that you’re just trying to find the stupid phoenix as an excuse to keep ogling him.

Thankfully, your weird fascination lasts for only about a week until you’re back to shitting on him like you always do. 

By some miracle, Xiao manages to graduate high school despite being on probation from his excessive absences. He’s actually smart if he makes the effort to hit the books, but you’re not sure if he’s planning on going to college with how comfortable he is with being one of Beidou’s most in-demand tattoo artists. 

You ask him about his future plans at a party being thrown by the previous captain of the football team in his parents’ lavish penthouse somewhere uptown. It took a great deal to force Xiao into tagging along with you as your plus one, and you’re going to make good on his acquiescence by interrogating him about things he normally skirts around.

“I told you, I didn’t take any entrance exams,” he grumbles against the rim of his red cup. “I’m managing just fine working for Beidou, so I don’t see any reason to go to college.”

You’re about to argue that Beidou’s tattoo parlor won’t be open forever, and that he needs to think about broadening his career options until a bunch of girls with linked arms shuffle closer to where you and Xiao were lounging on the couch. You don’t talk to them a lot, but everyone in your grade knows the infamous Pyro Trio.

“Hey, Xiaooo,” Hu Tao drawls with a smirk, pushing up her sleeve to reveal the branches of a cherry blossom tattooed on the delicate skin of her arm. Behind her, Xiangling and Xinyan snicker like it’s some sort of inside joke. 

You intend to shift your gaze elsewhere. Clearly, you’re not the person these girls want to speak with. But the sight of the ink on Hu Tao’s skin makes the back of your neck prickle with misplaced irritation. Xiao must’ve been the one who did her piece, which shouldn’t be a surprise. Though he’s this year’s most notable absentee, rumors about Xiao’s handiwork haven’t gone unnoticed among the students in your (now) alma mater. 

That doesn’t mean you have to like the idea of your best friend inking other people that aren't you, though.

You decide to excuse yourself from Xiao’s company—given that Hu Tao is giving him plenty of attention already as is. Your best friend utters something you don’t quite catch as you walk away, and you don’t bother turning around to ask him to repeat himself.

(As you stuff your face with shot after shot, you force yourself to just keep dancing to the rhythm of whatever song is blaring to the speakers. You didn’t give two shits about the fact that Hu Tao keeps feeling up the stupid phoenix tattoo on Xiao’s arm. Nor did you care about the fact that your best friend—who’s normally evasive when it comes to casual contact—seems like he doesn’t mind at all.)

The night ends with Xiao begrudgingly getting behind the wheel of your car, since you’re obviously in no state to be driving anyone home. When he announces that he’ll bring you back to your apartment, you slur out a drunken protest—asking if he can take you to the tattoo parlor instead.

“What?” he asks incredulously. “Why?”

You huff, curling in on yourself on the passenger seat. “The cherry blossoms you gave Hu Tao were ugly as shit. You can do a better piece on me. Y’know, as practice.” 

Both of you know that you’re bluffing. Xiao’s pieces are one of the most intricate you’ve ever seen, even if he is a rookie tattoo artist, and that you don’t have a lot of points of reference to compare to. But instead of taking offense at your mindless jab at his work, Xiao slots the keys into the ignition with a defeated sigh.

“Fine. You mentioned wanting spider lilies a while back,” he says before propping his arm against the car seat as he backed up on the street. It’s the perfect angle to moon over his not-so-phoenix tattoo, and if you were any more intoxicated, you would’ve reached out and squeezed his arm. 

“Where do you want it?”

You know he meant to ask where you wanted him to put your prospective tattoo, but the question sends your mind straight into the gutter. Thankfully, you still have some semblance of coherence lingering in your drunk thoughts, and you answer with:

“Right hip. Opposite end of the spruce twig.”

When Xiao heaves another sigh and steps on the gas pedal, you don’t think much of it—still convinced it’s completely normal to expose such intimate parts of yourself to your best friend so he can tattoo a fucking flower just above the swell of your thigh.

04.

“You have been watching way too much anime.”

“Come on! At least I’m not having you tattoo the names of my shitty ex-boyfriends on my ass, right? Just give me my modified Tanjiro hanafuda and Fullmetal Alchemist flamel!”

“...Is this your way of coping with taking up a nursing course? Is it that stressful?”

You whine as you hold your phone closer to your ear, already picturing the look of disbelief in Xiao’s face when you asked when he’s free to give you your next tattoos. You still go to college in the same city, but it’s been weeks since you last saw him. 

“You have no idea,” you groan. “It’s like my first year, and I’m already burned out! How is that even possible?”

Your best friend grunts on the other line. “Maybe if you stopped being such a perfectionist, then maybe you’ll learn to be more content. Less stress on your part, too.”

“Ah, no can do. I never do anything that isn’t perfect,” you chuckle. “

“Yeah, I saw you score at the top of your class during your, uh… what was it again? Biochem exam?” 

For someone who doesn’t exactly give a damn about anything outside tattooing and other similar forms of artistry, you find it endearing to know Xiao actually remembers all the things you rant about in the wee hours of the morning. You don’t hate biochem, but if you have to draw another chemical configuration, you might just pop a vein. 

“Okay, let’s say I agree to tattoo those weird doodles you sent,” Xiao propositions, “do you even have any free days? You usually study on weekends, right? I don’t think you’re free to drop by the shop even if you wanted to.”

Fuck. He’s right. You still have a few major exams coming up in the next two weeks. If you wait that long until you get your silly weeaboo tattoos from Xiao, you would’ve already gotten over your momentary hyperfixation on the TV shows that were salvaging your sanity in the middle of the semester. It wouldn’t feel as thrilling to get them anymore.

“I’m free…” You trail off, eyes darting to the digital clock by your desk then to the course notes you have opened on your laptop. You haven’t studied as much as you wanted to for your upcoming anatomy test, but…

“Right now, actually. Can you pick me up?”

You can hear him frowning. “Don’t you have a car?”

“I do, but I don’t wanna drive when I have plastic wrap all over my body.” 

“You’re exaggerating. It’s not all over your—”

“Jesus, get the hint, Xiao. I miss my best friend, and I want to have a quiet evening cruise on his motorcycle before he gets me inked again!” 

Xiao falls silent, and this time, you’re having some difficulty picturing what expression he’s wearing on his face. You like to think you’ve startled your un-startle-able best friend, but that’s pushing your influence too much. 

“Okay,” he says, more agreeable than you thought he’d be. “I’ll be there in thirty. Don’t you dare fall asleep on me.”

05. 

When you introduce your first serious boyfriend in a while to Xiao, you’re a bit annoyed with how prickly he’s being. 

Sure, it’s wired into his system to be the snarky asshole everyone knows and loves, but if there’s anyone else who knows about the tragedy that is your love life better than yourself, it’s Xiao. When you finally land a decent guy to settle down with, you at least expect him to be a bit more supportive.  

“Actually, we came here ‘cause we planned on getting matching tattoos,” your boyfriend, Yin, explains with a dimpled smile. “Isn’t that right?”

You stifle a soft laugh, a bit embarrassed to agree, but too in love with your boyfriend to protest. 

A few years ago, you distinctly remember drunkenly rambling to Xiao about how stupid it is to get couple tattoos especially when relationships these days are built on flimsy foundations. 

If you break up, what then? You have a physical reminder of that person on your body for eternity? No fucking thanks!

“Sorry, we’re closed right now, as you can see,” Xiao grunts before jabbing his thumb at the sign he just turned at the door. “You can try some other time, though.”

At the time, you were pissed at Xiao for denying your little request. He always agreed to ink you during ungodly hours of the day, but now he’s playing the ‘shop’s closed’ card just because he doesn’t like your boyfriend?

But then, you end up grateful for his attitude exactly a month later. 

“Fucking cheated on me with some bitch from his Physics lecture,” you sniffle on Xiao’s ratty sofa as he makes you some tea in his kitchen. “I can’t believe I nearly tattooed our anniversary on my wrist! I would’ve had to fucking amputate it in the end.”

Xiao sighs before placing a piping hot cup of honey lemon in front of you on his coffee table—crossing his legs together. He doesn’t tell you I told you so, like others probably would if they were in his shoes. Your best friend just stares at you with withering understanding, no matter how stupid the choice that got you here in the first place turned out to be.

That’s one of the many things you loved about him. 

“You were supposed to have ‘XV’ inked together, right?” he asks. 

You huff before tossing some of the soiled tissues you used into the bin. “Yeah. We made it official on September 15th.”

“Well, if you still want the tattoo, you could just give it a different meaning.”

Scowling, you stare at Xiao as if he just grew a second head. “What the hell are you talking about?” Is he really suggesting for you to get the same tattoo that he denied you and your ex a month ago?

Xiao shrugs noncommittally before taking a sip from the tea he prepared for you. “It’s been fifteen years since we became best friends. That’s worth commemorating, at least. Unless you suddenly don’t give a shit about that, too?”

Your jaw hangs agape at the sudden reminder. October 15th. When you were four, you accidentally spilled orange juice all over Xiao’s teletubbies backpack, and when he forgave you on the spot, you crowned him as your first bestie. 

That was fifteen years ago. Holy shit.

He startles when you abruptly shoot back to your feet, earning yourself a perplexed stare from Xiao who just wants you to sit down and drink your damn tea—

“Is Beidou’s shop open?” you ask. “I want her to do our matching tatts.”

Xiao grimaces. “Our?”

You nod brusquely, tugging at his arm. “Yeah, I’m allowed to have matching tattoos with you, ‘cause you’ll never walk out of my life, right, Xiao?”

He’s always been a stubborn little shit, so you don’t really expect Xiao to relent as quickly as he does. You nearly stumble to the carpeted floor when he lets you pull him up—faces hovering so close to each other, you nearly choke on your own breath.

It doesn’t help that Xiao has definitely…put in a few inches of height. Back then, you used to tease him a lot for being taller than him, but now?

“Never,” he whispers so softly, you wouldn’t have heard it if you weren't as close to him as you are. “Now drink your stupid honey lemon tea so we can head to the shop.” 

About two and a half hours later, you’re sitting on the vacant seats in the shop’s waiting lounge—a familiar sting still sizzling beneath your ribcage from where you had your first matching piece with Xiao permanently inked. You made him swear to have his own ‘XV’ tattoo made on the same place, and he makes good on his promise when he emerges from the workroom, wearing nothing but his dark-washed jeans.

Unlike yourself, you rarely see Xiao in various states of undress. The most skin you could get out of him on most days is the lean muscle of his tattooed biceps, and sometimes those are enough to have you staring dumbly at him for several minutes.

Now, though?

You learn that he has several tattoos on his torso—spread across his skin like patchwork. It makes you wonder if he did some of them himself, or if he had Beidou work on them for him. Still, despite the plethora of new ink stains to gawk at, his weird phoenix tattoo remains as your personal favorite.

Along with the newest piece he got not five minutes earlier—the tattoo he shares with you.

“Are you happy now?” he grumbles, letting you marvel at the perfect roman numerals just below the jut of his ribs. “It’s a good thing Beidou gave it to us free of charge, you know.”

You giggle. “All of my tatts so far have been free of charge.”

“That’s only because you’re special to me,” Xiao sighs before freezing up in the next moment—like he didn’t mean to let that slip aloud.

You smirk. “Mm? What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“Fuck off.”

06. 

Much to Xiao’s disappointment, your shitty taste in men doesn’t exactly end with Yin.

About three months after getting the tattoo to commemorate your fifteen years of best friendship, you meet Kaeya. He’s an exchange student, and you know better than to form any sort of attachment to someone who isn’t going to be in the same continent as you by next year. 

But you let him in anyway. 

You allow Kaeya to get to know you in ways that not even Xiao is familiar with. The smooth-talking foreigner likes to kiss every single one of your tattoos—lamenting the fact that they’re all inked in spots hidden from view. You laugh every time he brings it up, saying your parents are going to kill you and Xiao if they saw any of the pieces your best friend did for you over the last six years. 

“That best friend of yours…” Kaeya muses once he’s done bringing you to paradise and back, smoking a cigarette that makes you wrinkle your nose with distaste. He would’ve been perfect, if only he wasn’t such a chronic chainsmoker. “He’s in love with you, isn’t he?”

You nearly fall off the bed at his bold declaration.

“W-What the fuck are you talking about?” you stammer. Xiao? In love? With you? 

Kaeya shrugs. “I dunno, sweetheart. If I was a tattoo artist, I wouldn’t let anyone freeload my craft as many times as you did—even if you are my best friend. Unless I was down fucking bad for you, of course.”

Xiao doesn’t like Kaeya, but the reasoning behind it is a bit different from why he doesn’t like your ex. He knew Yin wasn’t a good match for you. Kaeya, though? The two of you had inarguable chemistry. The only problem was he was a free spirit that didn’t like to be tied down by commitments—something you clearly struggle with. 

When you reassured Xiao that Kaeya is nothing but a way to scratch a passing itch, he merely scoffed and told you to do whatever you wanted.

Could his dismissiveness be because…he’s in love with you? 

That can’t be right. You’re the one who knows Xiao best. If he hypothetically does catch feelings for someone—much less, you—you’ll surely be the first to notice, right?

Right?

Kaeya chuckles before tracing the XV tattoo along your ribcage with a cold finger—almost like he’s teasing. You roll your eyes before crawling back on top of your midnight lover, kissing him just to shut him up. 

When you drop by Beidou's the next day, Xiao is nowhere to be found.

“Didn’t he tell you?” She gapes. “Our boy’s starting his own shop downtown! He had the soft launch and everything a week ago. I was wondering where you were.”

“Uh…” 

You’re not sure how to break the news that Xiao has been giving you the cold shoulder ever since you got together with Kaeya. But finding out that he put up his own tattoo parlor without even telling you? 

If Kaeya turns out to be right, and your best friend really was in love with you, he sure as hell wasn’t acting like it. 

Deciding to play along with whatever game he’s playing, you make an appointment to get a new piece inked under a fake name. Xiao accepts it right away and schedules you for an early evening slot. You make it a point to arrive twenty minutes late just to get a rise out of him. 

When he sees you at the entrance to his shop, you almost let yourself feel smug about the unadulterated surprise on his face. Almost. You’re still pissed off that he didn’t invite you to one of the most important milestones of his life.

He fulfills your request in silence—the French word for green inked unassumingly on the underside of your shoulder blades. Xiao doesn’t say a word about his evasiveness, nor does he address the fact that you, his literal best friend, are standing in the shop he’s kept a secret for god knows how long. 

When he still refuses to talk, you slam your payment on top of a nearby table—intent on storming out of the building even if he hasn’t wrapped your newest piece in a protective layer of plastic yet. Xiao barks that he doesn’t want your fucking money, and you end up throwing your hands in the air, asking:

“Then what the hell do you want?”

You expected him to blow up in a fitful of rage. He’s never been good at anger management, you knew this well. But instead, he crosses the distance separating the two of you and crushes your mouths together.

“You,” he whispers hoarsely, desperately against your lips. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Kaeya calls you multiple times that night—even leaves a text message asking where you are and if you’re free. You aren’t able to answer any of them though. Not when you’re busy being railed into the next life by your best friend of fifteen—going sixteen—years in the same bed that Kaeya just had his way with you a week ago. 

When Xiao’s lips graze each and every tattoo he personally inked onto your pliant body, it’s leagues different from when Kaeya does it. It’s like your best friend is leaving a trail of fire sizzling beneath your skin everywhere his mouth trails along your hypersensitive flesh. 

Even the way he makes you fall apart from a blistering orgasm is ten times more intense than every session you had with Kaeya and Yin combined.

There’s no affection nor is there adoration in Xiao’s gaze as he fucks into you—golden eyes fueled by something carnal and zealous, but you knew better than to call that love. 

When morning comes, Xiao isn’t here with you, and you don’t know which emotion to feel. 

Kaeya, at least, has the decency to leave a note whenever he has to depart early. But all that your best friend leaves you with is a sinking feeling in your stomach, and a glaring realization that you did not want to make when you’re crying all alone in your apartment at the crack of dawn.

Kaeya was wrong. Xiao isn’t in love with you.

You’re in love with Xiao, and you immediately know you’re in deep fucking shit because of it.

07.

It’s two weeks into your mission of complete radio silence when Xiao finally breaks.

You’re in the middle of a pharmacology lecture when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You knew it wasn’t Kaeya because he’d already packed his things last week and headed back to his home country. The bastard even asked you for a quick farewell fuck, but you turned him down right away and gave him a kiss goodbye instead.

When you find out it’s a text message from the same person you’ve been trying to avoid all this time, you’re all too quick to parse through its contents.

Xiao: I'm sorry. Can we talk?

That’s how you wind up standing right outside of his new tattoo parlor. 

You haven’t been able to take a good look at it the last time you were here—too frustrated with your best friend to really make sense of your surroundings. But he’s put up his new shop in a pretty good part of town. You wonder how Xiao managed to afford it all. 

Then again, he’s been working at Beidou’s shop for years. You knew he had a decent number of regulars, as well as potential clients that are highly interested in his work. 

For once, you let yourself be proud of him. Even if he didn’t put your name on the guest list for his soft launch.

Xiao looks a little sheepish when he lets you inside and flips the sign on the front door to give the two of you some privacy. You aren’t faring any better. The last time you saw him, he was balls-deep inside of you—fucking you like you’re the most despicable woman in the world.

“So there’s this…collage piece I wanted to try,” he starts, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

Of course when Xiao invites you over to talk, you shouldn’t have expected any actual talking to take place. That’s just not his style. He’d rather make up for whatever mistakes he made by inking another stupid tattoo on your body, but honestly? You’ll take whatever you can get.

When you saw his sketch of a Statue of David peppered with four-leaf clovers, you couldn’t even dream of parsing the meaning behind the piece. The only thing that makes you relent is an old memory of you and Xiao hunting for four-leaf clovers in your mother’s garden—even putting the effort to plant whatever you could find in a pot in hopes that they would grow bigger.

It takes him hours to complete the entire thing. This one is probably the most realistic piece he’s done for you, and you can’t help but watch the intense concentration on his face through the mirror on the wall as he inks it a few inches above the last tattoo he did for you. 

You’ve never really realized how…breathtaking he looks like this.

His fringe falling across his pretty gold eyes, the comfortable set of his jaw as he focuses on his work, and the soft slope of his cupid’s bow despite how harsh the words that come out of his mouth can be.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You really are in love with this guy.

When he’s finally satisfied with his work, Xiao puts down his machine before wiping a sheen of sweat off his brow. He already looks so fucking good while he’s working. How is it fair for him to look even more gorgeous right after the entire process?

“Come on, let’s wrap it up,” he says before stretching his limbs. The action makes the cropped shirt he’s wearing ride up his torso a little, and you’re teased with a glimpse of the tattoo he matches with you.

Your heart nearly leaps to your throat, and if it weren’t for the dull sting of your newest tattoo, you would’ve been entranced by the sight of him entirely.

“Sure,” you say, even if your heart is begging for you to just be honest with him. To let him know how you’ve felt all this time because frankly, you can’t keep carrying the weight of your own feelings for much longer.

But then you remember how…apathetic Xiao looked like the night he dared to tell you he wanted you. There was no love to be found in his animalistic gaze, and you fear that he’ll turn you even further away at the slightest hint of more-than-friendly affection from your end. 

You can live with this. His fleeting yet heated touches. His deep, piercing stares. 

You’ll do anything to preserve what you have with him now—even if that means sacrificing everything else you could still dream of.

08.

Sometimes, you think Xiao is making you hope on purpose.

Sure, your friendship was more or less salvaged after offering your Statue of David tattoo as a quiet apology. You’re back to teasing him for all the most minuscule things, and Xiao is back to being your voice of reason in no time.

These days, though, you don’t really have much time to hang out with him like you usually do. You’re in the last year of your nursing degree, and your shifts at the hospital on top of your regular academic workload render you much too exhausted to catch up with any of your friends. Xiao included.

But there comes a night when he visits you in your apartment when you’re busy studying for a tricky surgery exam—a bucket full of fried chicken, and a bottle of sparkling water in hand. What kind of fiend would turn away an unannounced blessing like that ? 

You munch through the midnight snack Xiao brought for you all while forcing him to do your flashcards with you. He knows the drill, anyways. Though he’s been out of school for years, Xiao is still familiar enough with your study habits to be of substantial help during these trying times.

While you’re in the middle of differentiating the different types of sutures, though, he proposes an idea.

“It’s been a while since I inked you with a sewing needle and pen ink, isn’t it?”

You narrow your eyes, taking a swig of your carbonated drink as your gaze flickers to the pseudo-Orion’s belt on your right forearm. The third star has all but faded from view over the years.

“Yeah, why are you asking?”

Xiao rummages through his knapsack for a few seconds before bringing out what seems to be a small sewing kit, and a jar labeled ‘Indian ink’. You gulp in equal parts dread and anticipation.

“I figured out how to make the tatts stay longer,” he says, a gentle smile settling over his face. “You want me to give you a new one? I can even revive good old Orion, too.”

You sigh. Who are you to turn the love of your life down anyway?

Xiao gets to work while you’re lying sideways on your bed, flinching every now and again because he decided to outline the spitting image of the flower vase sitting on top of your nightstand along the curve of your waist. 

Unlike your first experience with manual needling, your pain tolerance is much better. The only reason you’re squirming every time Xiao embeds the ink into your skin is because you’re fucking ticklish. All those years of being intimately acquainted with Beidou’s tattoo machine were all the sensory training you needed, it seems. 

When Xiao is done with this piece, he pulls you into an upright position, making you hold out your arm so he could resurrect the first tattoo he ever gave you. You roll your eyes, but let him do as he pleases anyway.

At this point, you’ll let him do anything with you.

It’s nearly three in the morning when you’re putting away the dishes and glasses you and Xiao used for the night. He’s kind enough to throw out the trash while you clean up in the kitchen, and when he meets you back in the living room to exchange farewells, you don’t really want him to go.

“You have morning classes tomorrow, right?” he murmurs as he pulls you into a firm embrace, careful not to press down too hard on your new tattoo. “Take care. Don’t burn yourself out too much. All your hard work will be for nothing if you end up keeling over before graduation.”

You can’t help it. The soft timbre of his voice coupled with the fond look in his eyes tears all your defenses asunder. As you look up to meet Xiao’s uncharacteristically doting gaze, your chest twists more and more as you keep yourself from lunging in for a kiss.

“You’re such a pessimist, it’s almost funny how caring you sound,” you chuckle. “Go on, now. Shoo. It’s late.”

Before you can push him out of the door, however, Xiao catches you by surprise when he leans down to peck your lips. You stay frozen in place even as he pulls away—smiling so prettily, you can hardly believe this guy is your perpetually pissed off best friend.

“Good night.” 

Unlike the last time he left you all alone in your apartment, you’re filled to the brim with an emotion you can’t quite name. It’s far from the emptiness that made a home in your heart when you thought you were in love with someone who didn’t love you back. But you’re not about to call it happiness either.

Whatever this strange feeling is, you let it sit in your chest for a while longer, and it lingers even when the memory of Xiao’s lips stops prickling against the skin of your own.

09.

On the day of your graduation, Xiao asks you to drop by his shop after the rites have concluded. You tell him that he’s self-centered as fuck, and that this is your day, so if he wants to use your body as a practice canvas again, he’s going to have to wait tomorrow.

You don’t tell him that you’re sulking because he didn’t even show up to congratulate you for surviving four gruesome years of nursing. But you suppose that someone who never went to college in the first place wouldn’t be the best at sympathizing with this particular milestone in your life.

He shows you his latest sketch when you make it to his shop the next morning—and you can’t contain the look of disbelief that colors your features when you realize what it is.

“A bouquet that’ll never wilt,” he chuckles, one finger expertly pointing out the flowers he’s drawn on the neat page. “Orchids and hydrangeas: your favorite. Violets: you press a bunch of these in books every summertime. Pink baby’s breath ‘cause you wouldn’t stop gushing about them at your sister’s wedding.”

You aren’t able to stifle the flattered giggle that spills from your lips. “Can’t believe you actually remember all that. What’s the lily of the valley doing there though?”

“Oh, this?” Xiao hums with one brow raised. “Your mom had lots of them in her old garden. Those are my favorite.”

“And, pray tell, why is your favorite flower going to be permanently tattooed on my body?”

Xiao doesn’t humor you with a verbal answer right away. Instead, he wheels his revolving seat closer to you so that he’s close enough to press your foreheads together. Your breath hitches when his mouth curves into a loving smile you’re starting to get used to seeing.

“Because you’re mine,” he says simply. “Now, are you going to tell me where you want me to ink your eternal bouquet or not?”

10.

You’re a complete sap when it comes to weddings. Everyone knows this.

It’s for that reason that none of your guests are surprised when you end up crying in the middle of exchanging vows with your fiancé. Xiao sighs before taking out a handkerchief from his front pocket, dabbing at the tears streaming down your face. For someone who comes on so tough to other people, you’re awfully sentimental.

“Sorry, sorry—” you sniffle, thanking every single god out there for the invention of waterproof mascara. “Okay, I’m ready now.”

The rest of the session proceeds swiftly. You get to kiss your best friend of more than two decades and call him your husband in front of some friends and family. The matrimonial rites were held in a private resort at the base of a mountain. Both you and Xiao wanted to preserve the intimacy of your wedding as much as you could. After all, you didn’t need all that flashy and grandiose wedding prep to prove to the world just how much you want to spend the rest of your life with Xiao. 

Your thoughts stay the same even as he lays you down in the king-sized bed of the cabin you had to yourselves. He sighs in between kisses as he strips you off your wedding garbs. You’re surprised he’s taking his time with you. Xiao has been eye-fucking you since you started walking down the aisle. It was so bad that even Beidou made a few off-hand remarks about the sexual tension during the reception. 

“I was thinking,” you breathe as he grinds his hips against yours, “of getting another tattoo. My last one.” 

Xiao lifts his head for a moment, one brow arched. “You’re married to a tattoo artist, and you think the tattoo you’re getting after the wedding is your last one? You’re dreaming, princess.”

“Fine. Point taken.” You roll your eyes. “But anyway, I want a dragon tattoo riiiight…here.”

Your husband watches with rapt attention as you guide his hand to the spot you’re talking about—just below the collection of your favorite flowers inked above your waist is a blank stretch of skin. Xiao’s lips twitch into a fond smile as his calloused fingers graze your flesh.

“Still against having showy tatts?” he asks before pressing a soft kiss on the spot you pointed at. 

“Mhmm. You see, my dad doesn’t care if I’m married and have my own life. If he sees that I have tattoos, he’s still going to murder me,” you chuckle. “So yeah, tatts are staying under my clothes until he grows old enough and forgets that he hates seeing ink on other people’s skin.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind then.”

When Xiao ravishes you for the first time as your husband, your chest overflows with love for him. Not everyone is lucky enough to have their best friends by their sides for as long as you did, yet you ended up tying the knot with yours. Although the entire process was more than twenty years in the making, you suppose there’s no point in rushing anything.

After all, Xiao is as permanent in your life just as much as the ink stains on your body.

“Look,” you chuckle once Xiao is done cleaning up in the bathroom and settles down right next to you on the bed, “Kaeya sent us a postcard. He says congrats on overcoming the emotional constipation.”

“Throw that thing away,” your husband grumbles, pulling you away from the pile of postcards on the nightstand. “Why are you even keeping touch with him still?”

“So I can use him as an excuse to get you jealous, and have you fuck me rough?”

“Oh, princess. If you wanted it rough…” he starts with a sigh, rolling his neck with a smirk. You gulp, wondering if you’ve bitten off more than you can chew this time around.

“All you had to do was ask.”

⟢ end notes: it's been a while since i wrote for genshin, so i hope you liked it! thank you sm for reading ^^

[neoculturetravesty]

We met in online class - Last Part

Image adapted from here.

Pairing: Renjun x Reader Genre: College AU, romance, angst, fluff Warnings: Strong language Word Count: 3.4k

Navigation: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | You are on the Last Part

A/N: And so it comes to an end, and let me tell you guys, I am not okay 😔 This is going to be a bit of a longer A/N, so please bear with me. If you’d like to get straight to the story, I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND, so feel free to click Keep Reading!

Lowkey, I had a bit of a meltdown as I typed the final words on this fic because I hadn’t realized how attached I had grown to the characters. This is the first time I wrote three different chapter openers before deciding on one, because I simply couldn’t believe it was goodbye after this.

These mofos had constantly been on my mind for the past two months and a half. I would spend most days thinking about where to take them and then bringing them to life at night, after my entire day was over. When I wasn’t writing, I’d make little notes about thoughts I had into the night about them so that I wouldn’t forget them when morning comes. 

This was my first ever (and as of right now, my only) chaptered fic. I had no idea parting with it would be as emotional as it was. When I think back to when I first received the prompt for this, I had never even imagined I could write Renjun, let alone a series. But there was something in the prompt that had gotten my wheels turning. And I am so immensely glad that it did. There were days when I thought “Oh man, what have I gotten myself into.” Some days, the story would just flow. Other days, I’d keep staring at the blinking cursor not knowing what to type. But when I did, I found my emotions so deeply connected with the characters. I was happy when they were happy. I was sad when they were sad. So, parting with them is very hard to say the least.

But through this journey, I got to experience the joy of reading all of your reviews and comments and honestly, it made it all worth it. THANK YOU to every single one of you that read this story and waited on it and laughed and cried with it. You have made my life better in more ways than you can imagine.

In this moment, I want to thank 🍙 anon, because it was their prompt that put me in this mess in the first place. And so, it is only fitting that I dedicate the final part to them 💛

“Oh, we definitely need a picture together. How about here? I think this place would fit everyone.” Kim Doyoung looks about, finding a spot best suited for the photo he wanted.

“I think right there on the platform would be better. We could get everyone in two tiers.” his assistant suggests.

“You’re a genius. Let’s gather everyone. It’s not often that so many NCTU grads and students come to Midnight Arthouse,” Doyoung nods.

“How many of us are here, anyway?” Renjun muses. The assistant looks at her iPad, checking once again.

“I think there’s 23 of you. So, let’s definitely go for the platform.” she nods.

“Okay, then.” Doyoung claps his hands together once, “Gather everyone,” he says to no one in particular and walks ahead with purpose. Renjun and the assistant’s eyes meet and they smirk. Of course this was directed to the both of them. So, they set about to work.

As it would turn out, gathering 23 people from a charity event with art and food and drinks would be a bit of a task. But somehow, they manage to gather all alumni and current students on the platform in three tiers instead of two for a somewhat chaotic picture. There must’ve been something in the water at NCTU because none of it’s students could stand still for very long. They get maybe one decent picture and several in which someone or the other was moving or pulling a face.

His friends aside, looking around at the group, Renjun realized that he recognized nearly all of them. Yangyang and Hendery and the rest of their frat were here. As were the 127s, old and new. Renjun recognized them all, except maybe two boys, who didn’t seem to know a lot of the others either. When the pictures were done and the main events were over and the crowd had started to dissipate, Renjun finally walked over to the artwork to observe it up close.

Honestly speaking, watching the work with his own two eyes left no doubt in his mind that this artist deserved to be spotlighted like this. This work was in a league of its own. Watching it makes Renjun smile; because looking at it makes him think back to a few months ago when he was sitting in Kim Doyoung’s office, thinking of himself as some sort of a big shot. But the truth is, there was no way he had that caliber then, and there is no way he has that caliber now, though he was sure as hell working on it.

“This is the piece I lost the bid on.” Renjun hears a voice and he turns around to see Zhong Chenle’s father observing the art with him. Renjun bows politely and smiles under his mask,

“I mean, this is a remarkable piece. You have good taste.” Renjun acknowledges.

“What about you? Why isn’t any of your artwork displayed here?” he asks and for a while, Renjun smiles a bit nostalgically. He could’ve been here, had he made something for the Annuale. Had he just selfishly taken that shot. Then again, there would’ve been no real guarantees. Because Kim Doyoung was pretty particular in the people he chose, whether they were recommended by his family or not. Working with him closely in the last couple of months had taught Renjun that. It had also taught him how underdeveloped his skill was in the real world context.

“I guess I still have a long way to go.” Renjun replies humbly.

“Don’t we all?” Chenle’s father nods, “Are you working here at this establishment?” 

“Um, I… I suppose I am. I am Kim Doyoung’s apprentice. He is my mentor.” Renjun nods.

“So I might see your work here soon enough, eh?” Renjun assumes the kind man is smiling under his mask because his eyes seem to be making the same shape as Chenle’s do when he smiles. So Renjun grins back.

“I mean… if I work really hard, I might get to shoot my shot in the next Midnight Arthouse Annuale.” Renjun fantasizes.

“Or maybe you’d get lucky like this young artist,” he points his chin towards the artwork.

Renjun smiles, “I would credit her luck, too if I hadn’t seen her work. But her talent is… it kinda speaks for itself.”

“Oh, no, you should definitely credit her luck. Talent isn’t enough. The stars have to align. Luck, talent, the right place, the right time. It all has to come together.” he says nodding. 

Renjun considers his words. They seem to be coming from the wisdom of experience. 

What if Renjun hadn’t received the phone call about his grandma back then? Well, then he probably would’ve made something lackluster and gotten rejected. Working with Kim Doyoung has taught him as much. It didn’t matter who had put a word in for him. At the end of the day, his work had to be outclass.

What if he had received the phone call and then still had enough time to submit something for the Annuale? Then he still probably wouldn’t have because… well, because of you.

What if he had gone ahead, regardless of you or his grandma and just made something and submitted it? Then he still would’ve been rejected. Because the truth of the matter is, he just didn’t have the caliber that artists associated with Midnight Arthouse did.

In that sense, Renjun supposes everything was in fact happening at the right place and right time now. Doyoung was mentoring him and he was getting better by the day. The stars were aligning for him. He knew it in his heart.

“Then I would wish that it all comes together for me, too.” Renjun says.

“When it does, young man, I’ll be the first one to bid on your work.” he says and Renjun doesn’t even have the time to react when he feels a presence breeze in his direction and invade his personal space.

Renjun doesn’t even have to look up to know who it is. He can tell by the way this body fits perfectly into his side. He can tell by how naturally his own body responds and just puts his arm around it’s waist.

“Oh man, I missed all of it, didn’t I?” you lament, as you loop your arms around his neck from the side instead of a hello.

“Not all of it. The guys just left but your brother and his friends are still here. Besides, you had work.” Renjun turns his head and looks into your eyes to reassure you. “Y/N, this is Chenle’s father.”

“Oh, hello!” you say cheerfully and respectfully bow and give you greetings. “It is so nice to meet you. Chenle looks just like you!”

“Yes, I’ve been told I’m a more handsome version of him,” he smiles then turns to Renjun, “And who might this young lady be?”

“This is my girlfriend, Y/N. She goes to NCTU with us.” Renjun introduces you and you bow again. Oh, the thrill he got every time he got to introduce you as his girlfriend. Fuck, he’s pretty sure he’d never tire of it, even if it had just been a few months. The serotonin boost in his veins is strong and he gets the urge to squeeze you and hold you forever.

“Oh, that’s very nice. Come have a meal with us before we have to catch a plane back home, okay?” Chenle’s father invites the two of you. 

“Oh, I would love to!” you say in your chipper tone before your eyes start darting around “I’m going to have to excuse myself for a little bit, I just wanna say hi to my brother.” you say and you politely bow before you start moving away.

“Babe, hang on…” Renjun says, holding you back by your hand. He brings his fingers delicately to the bridge of your nose and softly pinches down the mask over it so it sits more snugly on you. “There, it’s much safer now.” Renjun nods and watches the affectionate smile your eyes give before you move away. You looked so pretty today, even if you were just coming back from a four-hour internship. You were easily the most beautiful girl in this room, though Renjun suspected that you’d be the most beautiful girl in any room you entered. 

Albeit sometimes, Renjun had to wonder if your talent or your beauty was greater. Because you had become the only junior in NCTU to land an internship at the SMK Trainee Drive. And now that you were a senior, you were somehow managing to keep your grades up alongside it. 

Renjun, on the other hand, would find himself struggling with balancing his apprenticeship with his school work. So he knew firsthand how your discipline was something else altogether. Recently though, he had experienced a rise in his grades because you had been taking him on so many study dates that your organizational skills and motivation had started to rub off on him.

Renjun walks around the studio and the party and feels like it’s been too long till you’re finally back by his side. 

“Love in the Time of Corona,” you read the title of an art piece displayed in front of you. “That was supposed to be our thing.”

Renjun laughs and has no qualms in looping his arms around your waist and finally pulling you into himself.

“I guess we should’ve realized then how un-novel the idea would become in a few months.” he comments. 

“Un-novel is not a word, Huang Renjun.” you narrow your eyes at him.

Renjun laughs. “It is now,” he says and lets out a long exhale, “I missed you today.” he complains, though he looks down at you with warmth.

“Well, you’ve got me now. And you have me for the entire weekend.” you reassure him, your palms on his chest.

“Mhmm.” Renjun smiles and he wants to lean in to kiss you. But Kim Doyoung specifically had people assigned to walk around and make sure that everyone had their masks on when inside. “Also, we already have a thing.” he reminds you and winks.

You laugh, and say “I guess we do,” then let out a happy sigh as your eyes avert from his for a moment, taking in your surroundings. “Our Couple Thing should give you some ideas on what you can make when your work is displayed here in the 2022 Annuale. I won’t be late to that, I promise. I’ll take a day off from everything else in my life.”

Renjun's heart grows warmer still, and he’s sure his eyes reflect what he feels, “How can you be so sure my work will be displayed in the 2022 Annuale?”

“I don’t know, Huang Renjun. I just have a feeling about you.” you say and Renjun can see you smile even if your lips are covered by a mask. Your eyes always smiled before your mouth did, anyway.

“Y/N L/N, I have a feeling about you, too.” he retorts. 

“And what feeling would that be?” you raise an eyebrow.

“It’s a secret.” he says, but now he sees your pout, even if he can’t see your mouth because your cheeks have puffed up over the mask. It makes him laugh.

“You’re no fun.” you protest.

“I’ll tell you once we get out of here.” Renjun offers.

“Well, I’m ready to leave.” you jut your chin up. Renjun grins and offers you his arm. You grab it with your entire body and the two of you start walking out together.

You had plans for the weekend, after all. And Renjun was determined to keep you all to himself for once, with no one else demanding your time. Not your internship, not your assignments, not any of your friends, and especially not Lee fucking Donghyuck. He was finally going to take you away where it could just be you and him and nobody else.

This moment felt way too surreal to Renjun.

The campfire had simmered down from a glorious roar to a comfortable burn, giving off just enough heat in the cool of an early winter evening. The sky was in it’s fading moments, where the pink of the light was slowly turning to violets and the violets were slowly merging into darks. 

Renjun remembered suggesting to you all that time ago that maybe you could go somewhere together. But now that he was here, he hadn’t imagined that the moment would feel as surreal as it did. 

Because now the two of you are sitting in front of your tent by the fire, entwined in one another. You’re sitting between his legs, arms around his neck, nuzzling your cheek inside his padded jacket while he supports your head on his arm and kisses you.

He’s holding you in his arms and kissing you and everything seems so perfect that for a moment, he has to pull away to watch your face and wonder if all of this was real. And though there is a gentle smile on your face, you’re not opening your eyes much. Because you know full well that Renjun’s lips would be back on yours in no time. So you play with his hair as they fall to his forehead and when he kisses you again, you press up into him so he would wrap his arms around you and hold you tighter. He does and he rubs his hands up and down your back and attempts to close his jacket around you.

“Are you cold?” he asks lovingly. You shake your head.

“No. I just want to crawl inside you.” you say, like it’s the most logical thing to be said.

“Creepy.” Renjun remarks but holds you closer still.

“You should be happy you haven’t seen my collection of your hair clippings.” you quip as you nip into the skin of his neck.

“Oh, sweet. That rivals all your used tissues I’ve kept in my shrine at home.”

“Aww, you shouldn’t have.” you coo at him and then lean up to kiss him some more and he laughs. But soon, he pushes the arm that you were using like a pillow up so your face would be closer to his and he could kiss you as deeply as he was truly craving. 

The two of you keep kissing like that till the sky is dark. It was an odd sort of trance, being so lost in one another that neither of you cared about what time it was or how long you had been sitting here, wrapped up in one another. Your phones were zipped away in your bags and you hadn’t checked them even once since you had parked your camping van and set up your tent. It was a slow, peaceful sort of bliss, just sitting by the fire and kissing and kissing with nothing else on your minds but being here like this with one another.

“Renjun?” you say, your voice sounding like it was returning from a deep thought.

“Hmm?” Renjun asks as he combs your hair away from your pretty face.

“You know, I learnt today that a cactus can live anywhere between 10 and 200 years.” you tell him, idly tracing the birthmark on the back of his hand.

Renjun leans in and presses long into your lips. “Yeah?” he replies and watches your face. It seemed hazily focused, like it was trying to catch onto a faraway thought.

“I also learnt that it can take up to 30 years for a cactus to bear flowers.” you say in an introspective, wistful tone.

Renjun looks away to hide his smile. Oh God, you were so cute. “Yeah?” he says again, but it’s getting more and more difficult to keep a serious face.

“Sometimes, a cactus doesn’t flower at all.” you say and then you turn your head to look at him like you’ve resurfaced from your thoughts and are now in the moment. Renjun’s grin grows wider. “Renjunnn…” you whine and so he has no choice but to tenderly hold your cheeks in his palms and stroke your hair.

“What?” he chuckles.

“You said you’d think you’re worthy of my forgiveness when the cactus bears flowers.” you whine again and Renjun has to plant a loving kiss to your forehead.

“Is that what I said?” he chuckles some more and then leans in to kiss the anxious realization away from your lips. 

“Renjun.” you pout and Renjun laughs and takes his beautiful, whiny, kindhearted girlfriend in his arms and hopes that his hold could chase away all the worries from her pretty, brilliant mind.

He kisses you because his heart can’t bear it any longer. How did he manage to hold a heart like yours in his hand?

Renjun feels an indescribable amount of happiness. Like he wasn’t sure that you were really here with him, in his arms, all for him to hold, with no worry or burden afflicting him. The happiness is so immense and so incredible and so heavy that for a moment, he feels it suffocating him. He wonders if he deserved this kind of happiness.

But right in the next moment, he stops himself. He knew how easy it was to relapse into those tempting, lonesome thoughts. But if there was anything that therapy was teaching him, it was that of course he deserved happiness. 

Though right now, holding you in his arms, this happiness was choking him. He felt like his heart was swelling and pressing against his lungs and his chest couldn’t bear it and he could no longer breathe. 

“Y/N…” he exhales, holding you back so he can look at your face and you could look up into his. He pauses to gather another breath. Then, he just says it. “I love you.”

And doing so does the trick. He feels his chest slowly getting lighter, because this is what it had been bursting with. Now, he’s told you. Now, it can be unburdened.

You look up at him and there is nothing but a sparkle in your eye, and tenderness in your smile. For a while, you say nothing, just looking upon his eyes like that. “Thank you.” you finally whisper back at him.

Renjun pauses for a moment. But then, he relaxes. This was okay. You didn’t have to say it back right away. Renjun was ready to give you as much time as you needed. So he presses his lips into your forehead once again till he feels you laughing against him. He pulls back in confusion and you grab at the lapel of his parka.

“Huang Renjun…” you say and he looks back at you with uncertainty, “... I love you, too.”

And Renjun can’t help it if he kisses you too hard. He can’t help it that he’s squeezing you too tight. He wouldn’t care if the night brightens back into morning and the morning fades back into night. He was going to hold you just like this for the rest of his life. 

So he lays you down and kisses you deeper, like he wanted to make up for all the time he had lost. All the time in his life when he hadn’t known you. All the time he had known you and didn’t let himself have you. He was going to make up for it all. And as he zips the tent up and shields you from the rest of the world, he wonders if he could spend all of his days just like this. Holding you and loving you and knowing that you loved him back; and if he could, today was a damn good day to start.

The fire slows to a simmer till all that’s left are embers that keep being carried away by the breeze. But the two of you remain inside, in your own world, happy that you had found one another, happy that you could finally have one another. Happy that you could hold one another and say that you loved each other and have nothing in the world hold you back, not now, not ever.

You were Y/N and Renjun, Renjun and Y/N, two names that were forever intertwined because that’s how people would call you now. You were the couple that belonged so perfectly with one another that people would wonder if you’d been together for years. And any time someone with a burning curiosity would come up to you and ask,

“So, where did you guys meet?” you would just look at one another, smile and say, “Well, we met in online class.”

~THE END

Copyright © 2021 NeoCultureTravesty. All rights reserved.

[sehunniepotwrites]

sakura kiss | n.yt

PART III OF FOR YOU IN FULL BLOOM: THE HANAHAKI COLLECTION

🌸 synopsis—the four times you noticed yuta’s love for flowers and the one time you realized it was not the flowers he was in love with

🌸 genre—  would you be so kind? universe ; hanahaki!au, university!au, flower shop!au, angst, romance, slight fluff, mutual pining, strangers to lovers!au 🌸 pairing— art student/florist!yuta x art student!reader (f) 🌸 word count— 9000+

🌸 warnings — cursing; mentions of coughing, vomiting, hospital visits, death (no one dies!!), two idiots in love

🌸 author’s note—so i finished a fic with my favorite trope in time for my birthday today (dec 11th) and i’m posting to celebrate! it all started with this tweet that said yuta used to work at a flower shop and enjoyed drawing the plants during his free time! 

this was a fun write and it takes place in the same verse as wybsk, which is linked above! you can read sakura kiss as a stand alone or after wybsk to get a better understanding of two scenes! to those you came from my mark fic, i gave yn a name (kira)!

but here she is! enjoy and be sure to tell me what you think!! i love feedback uwu

Nakamoto Yuta, you noticed, was an unusual fellow. He was your senior in the art department, a fourth-year preparing for his graduation while you were a couple of semesters behind him. Other than his small circle of friends, the foreign exchange student kept to himself, burying his handsome face in his sketchbook. You had classes together before but those were large lectures with over fifty students in the room— this was the first time you shared a small studio lab with him.

Barely interacting with him in the past, you were determined to change that no matter how intimidating Yuta was.

Were you intimidated by his extremely good looks or his unmatched talents in the fine arts? Both. Definitely both. He turned heads without fail and when he smiled, oh my god, you thought he was the sun. Yuta was pretty, beyond pretty even, with his striking face, brown eyes, and perfect body proportions. 

To add on top of his perfection, his art style was immaculate. The artist never failed to steal your breath away with a couple of strokes and a swipe of his blessed hand. Anything he touched turned to gold. Never sharing those thoughts with him in the past, you made a firm decision to tell your senior this coming semester.

Yuta sat at the easel next to you, barely two feet away from your station. His sketchbook and drawing utensils were already splayed out on the holder. He was fiddling with his phone to pass the time, his painted nails rapidly hitting his touchscreen. How did Yuta make something so mundane as checking his phone look so ethereal? The inner most thoughts in your head cursed whatever beings lived in the beyond for not endowing you with such looks. 

You gulped, gathering up the courage to talk to him. “Hey,” you greeted shyly. 

Hey? That was the best you could do?

Yuta turned towards you, gaze shifting away from his phone. “Hey,” he said back with a slight curve of the lip. 

“I don’t know if you remember me but we had a couple of classes together last semester,” you forced yourself to say with an awkward smile.

He grinned and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, almost like he was holding back a laugh. “Yeah, no, of course, I remember you.” Your name slips from his mouth, causing your awkward smile to turn into a genuine one. His tone is kind and his voice is low, sending shivers down your spine.

You tried your best to keep the conversation going, wanting to finally compliment him on his work but your professor entered the room and called for everyone’s attention. He handed out the syllabus to a student upfront and around the papers went, signifying the start of your first class. Yuta shot you an apologetic look, conveying that you could always continue the conversation later. 

The overview of the course’s syllabus was always the boring part of the first days. Your eyes glazed over, still not fully awake from rising early, and you tried to shake the sleepiness away. Stealing a glance at Yuta, you almost laughed at how his easel was angled in a way to hide that he wasn’t paying any attention. His syllabus outline was discarded off to the side and Yuta’s hands were moving rapidly, sketching out a large tree in full bloom in a page of his notebook.

It looked like flower petals raining from the branches and a person leaning against the tree trunk, hiding underneath the shade. His sketching speed and quality amazed you— how exactly did he sketch that fast and that beautifully?

You made sure your professor wasn’t looking in your direction before nudging Yuta’s side to grab his attention. He snapped out of his drawing daze and turned to you with widened eyes. A red seeped into his ears and pale cheeks, but you missed it completely, eyes zoned in on his quick draw.

“Hm?”

“That’s really good,” you whispered.

He rubbed the back of his neck at your compliment. “It’s just a quick sketch,” Yuta tried to play it off. He was never one to take compliments so well.

You leaned over to get a closer look. Noticing you almost falling off your stool, Yuta shifted his easel slightly closer to yours. “Is that a cherry blossom tree?”

He nodded, “Yeah, they’ve been on my mind a lot.”

“Do they remind you of home?” you asked. You couldn’t imagine being an exchange student in a foreign country— you would miss home too much.

“Yeah but that’s not really the reason why I’m drawing them,” he replied. His eyes shifted to a look of pain or discomfort as if he was reminded of a scarring memory. You watched him closely to make sure he was okay. He cleared his throat before letting out a couple of concealed coughs, face digging into his shoulder. 

“You alright, Nakamoto?” You were too embarrassed to call him by his first name.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just a little cough.” Yuta gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “And you can just call me Yuta, you know?”

“Right, noted,” the name felt so foreign on your tongue. 

“I have cough drops in my bag if you want some,” you offered, already reaching down to grab your backpack. He quickly dismissed you, telling you it wasn’t necessary. 

Continuing to watch him sketch, you admired the way Yuta fussed over the smallest details— the lining, the shading, etc. It was nothing more than a simple sketch but if it was gifted to you, it would be framed and hung for the world to see. 

He really was an artistic genius. 

“Cherry blossoms are my favorite flowers,” you said.

You were too absorbed in his drawing to hear him mutter, “I know.”

“You say something?” 

Yuta cleared his throat again with a pained expression. His hand held his neck for a second before shaking his head. “I said, they used to be mine too.”

Huh, you never really picked him as the flower loving type. 

—🌸—

This was the third time Nakamoto Yuta had flowers growing in his chest and he hated it. 

It was less painful the first two times around, probably because they were nothing more than fleeting crushes. He was in high school then, wholly infatuated with two different students during those years. Yuta followed them around like a lovesick puppy, all smiles and waiting on their hands and feet. He coughed a couple of petals out and it caused some uneasiness, but after being rejected harshly, Yuta pushed himself to move on. 

The pain of high school rejection could never compare to the dull ache he was feeling as he looked at you. There you were, the person he secretly admired for the past two semesters, merely two feet away at your own easel. 

You looked so in your element, eyebrows knitted and pencil in hand as you sketched away. A sight so captivating, Yuta almost forgot to breathe. Being an artist himself, he wanted to preserve that image on a canvas but he didn’t think his hand could do you justice. No pencil sketch, no painted canvas, no marble or clay sculpture could even compare to you. 

This was more than puppy love. More than infatuation. Yuta was sure of it but how was he to let you know? You barely knew each other and a confession out of nowhere wouldn’t be the best way to get acquainted. 

Perhaps another time, he thought to himself, before turning back to his sketch. 

You would’ve never guessed that Yuta Nakamoto had a thing for flowers but he did.

Then again, you didn’t really know what he had a thing for to begin with— your friendship just started to bloom. It was like a bud barely opening under the sunlight; with each interaction, there was something new you learned about the quiet yet charismatic art major. 

You knew he was a Japanese exchange student that majored in art, that was a given. You recently learned he loved cherry blossoms and that watercolor was his favorite art medium yet you still wanted to learn more. 

The first time you ran into him outside of class was in the university library. Yuta sat at one of the tables, his space surrounded by books on flowers. There were books on the language, arrangements, and gardening tips. His face was deep into his sketchbook once again, back bent over the desk but his focused eyes darted back and forth between his drawing and his page of reference. 

Yuta didn’t even notice as you hovered over him, debating on whether you should say hi. Even with your shadow casting over his body, his deep concentration never faltered. 

His page was filled with various plants and flowers, little notes in a messy scrawl right under their pictures. He was currently drawing cherry blossoms, the page he was referring to showcasing the anatomy of the famous flower.

“Cherry blossoms again, Yuta?” you broke the silence.

Your voice startled him, causing his pencil to slip from the artist’s grip. It made an accidental mark and you whispered an apology as he clicked his tongue. 

“Don’t worry about it, nothing an eraser can’t fix,” Yuta reassured you as he rid his paper of the unwanted mark. He blew the eraser bits of his page, hand sweeping his surface clean. He offered you the seat next to him and you gladly took it.

“So, why are you always sketching flowers?” you posed as your hand gestured to all the books he had on his person. 

“They’re beautiful, don���t you think?” he answered with another question. He gave you a cheeky little grin, his lips widening to show off his beautiful pearly whites.

“Well, yeah.”

“It’s a shame they die so easily,” Yuta said, fingers running over his sketches. “Beautiful but fleeting.”

“But that’s life, isn’t it?”

“I guess it is.”

You hummed at his answer. “You’re really passionate about flowers, aren’t you?” 

“Something like that. I actually work at a flower shop nearby, maybe you’ve seen it?” Yuta fiddled with the front pocket of his backpack to pull out a business card. “I like learning about the meanings to help the customers in the shop, amongst other things.”

You took the card from his grip, examining it. For You in Full Bloom was printed largely on the thin piece of cardboard. Staring at the name, you wondered why it sounded so familiar until it hit you.

“Oh, I pass by it everyday while walking to campus! I live two blocks away from the shop.” Your smile grew wider and he smiled back for a second before his face contorted into one that conveyed pain.

Yuta turned away from you to cough into his hand, his free one hastily digging into his pocket. He pulled out a handkerchief and began to cough into that. Shocked by his sudden sick fit, you quickly patted him on the back, hoping it would help him hack out whatever was lodged in his throat.

You saw him peek into the small square of fabric and wince at whatever it caught. He cleared his throat before turning back to you. “Sorry,” Yuta muttered, rubbing the front of his neck to soothe it. Placing a cough drop in his hand, he took it without complaint and popped it in his mouth. The relieved sigh he let out made you feel slightly less worried. 

“You’re still sick?” you frowned. “You should really get that checked out, you know?”

He waved you off, “It’s nothing serious, I swear. What were we talking about again?”

“Cherry blossoms?”

“Your favorite flower.”

“And yours,” you added.

He hummed, “And mine.” There was a solemn tone behind his words but before you could press on the subject, he coughed again.

“Did you know that they’re also a symbol of renewal?”

Shaking your head, you urged your classmate to continue.

“Cherry blossoms hold the bittersweet meaning of life and death but they also bring the message of new beginnings.”

—🌸—

Yuta just wished when it came to you and him, the flowers meant the start of something new but no— instead, they just reminded him of the ache in his chest. 

They reminded Yuta of how alive he was but also how he was one step closer to his grave. 

Yes, you were merely classmates but he felt like he knew you solely from all the stories that were shared by your mutual friends in the art department. Ten and Taeyong sang praises on how thoughtful you were, always helping professors clean their studios after hours. Sicheng brought up how passionate you were about your major— Yuta himself bore witness to this many times during lectures and he wanted to know more about you. 

A lot of charm filled your figure and it was enchanting, it really wasn’t that hard for him to fall. 

Yuta fell for you much like the blossoms from the cherry trees. 

And just like the blossoms, his time was fleeting but you were so completely unaware.

You left the library first, having forgotten that you had office hours with a professor. He watched you leave, eyes fixed onto your back.

Someone once said that you become miserable if you love someone too much. Yuta believed that to be true. There was a pang in his chest, heart racing against his rib cage as a stronger nausea attack hit him. 

He gasped for air as his weakened stomach turned with sickness. Something was rising, working its way up his body. Yuta quickly slapped his hand over his lips as he hurled. Instead of bile, cherry blossom petals rained out of his mouth and into his palm.

He chuckled under his breath. Was it sad that he found beauty in his suffering? 

Yuta thought himself to be crazy as he quickly shoved away the pain to begin sketching the petals in his hand.

For You in Full Bloom— what a nice name, you thought to yourself as you entered the shop with your friend Sicheng right behind you. The light ringing of the bell attached to the front entrance alerted the people at the counter of your presence. You picked up on harsh whispers before the tall male worker rushed to the back, forcing the young girl to assist you.

“Hi, welcome in!” the girl smiled brightly at you. “How can I help you today?”

Before you could reply, Sicheng stepped forward to answer, “Kira, we’re looking for Yuta— is he here?”

“Oh, Sicheng, hey! I didn’t even see you,” Kira exclaimed. “He’s, uh, not here right now.” Kira shot Sicheng a frustrated look, eyes darting to the back. Your companion sighed, done with his friend’s stupidity. You missed the quiet interaction, being too preoccupied with your surroundings. 

“We’ll catch him another time then,” you answered her.

The small and quaint store was filled to the brim with flowers and your hands ghosted against the magnificent displays in the front window. The petals felt soft and the pleasing smells overwhelmed your senses in a good way. There was beauty all around you— there was no wonder why people loved visiting flower shops.

Various watercolor pieces were framed on the wall and you examined every artwork displayed. They were simple paintings of the plants that found a temporary home in the store. Some pieces were the flowers by themselves and others were of the many arrangements offered. They were vibrant, bright, and so incredibly detailed.

“I’ll tell him you stopped by,” she paused to ask for your name. You replied with a smile before turning back to take in the art. 

“The paintings are a nice touch,” you commented, finally turning to look at her. 

“Oh those? Yuta painted them,” Kira grinned, her body straightening up with pride. “He paints a lot when the shop is slow and my mom, the owner, loves to hang them up.”

“I should’ve known.” You took a closer look and spotted Yuta’s signature at the bottom of every picture.

“He’s very talented, isn’t he?” Kira hummed. Sicheng snorted for some unknown reason and you slapped his shoulder in response. There was nothing funny about Yuta’s skills and he knew that.

“Yeah, his skill is unmatched. I admire him for that.” 

“Have you ever told him that?”

“God, no!”

“Why not?” Kira pressed. Sicheng joined in on the pressing and you moaned, an embarrassing heat creeping up your face,

“I don’t know. We talk but I find him to be a little intimidating,” you leaned against Sicheng’s shoulder and looped your arm through his. “I can’t just go up to him and fangirl over his work, can I?”

“But you want to,” he groaned. “And I’m tired of hearing you go on about it. Just tell him.” 

A whine left your lips and you pinched your friend’s arm at the comment. He yelped and Kira just watched as the bickering continued. 

“Yuta looks intimidating, yeah, but it’s just his resting bitch face, I promise. He’s just a softie,” Kira laughed and Sicheng agreed. “You should definitely tell him. He would love hearing it, especially from you.”

There was this knowing smile on both of their lips and it just seemed like they knew something you didn’t. You tugged on Sicheng’s arm as an attempt to ask him the florist meant by the last bit of her sentence and he tried to shrug you away.  You just clung on tighter to your friend with a playful smile with Kira keeping a close eye on you.

You heard a cough come from the back of the store, causing both Sicheng and Kira to look up with concern. The coughing fit grew louder and louder, leaving Kira to excuse herself for a bit. 

“If the other florist is sick, they should be at home resting,” you tutted with a frown. 

“Some people are stubborn,” Sicheng threw back with a bit of distaste. Picking up on your friend’s bitterness, you wondered why he felt so strongly about it. You waved it off when a small display of sunflowers and red roses together captured your attention. Holding it in your hands, you admired how the two vibrant colors compliment each other.

Kira swung her way around the counter, “You like that bouquet?”

“It would be really pretty to paint,” you say, still spinning it around in awe. 

“Yuta put it together himself yesterday, he’s pretty good at arrangements,” the florist beamed.

“What can’t he do?” you scoffed.

“Apparently, open his mouth and say what he needs to say,” Sicheng muttered beside you. Kira elbowed his stomach and he lurched over in pain. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing,” Kira laughed nervously. She worked her way to you and gestured towards the flowers, “It’s yours, on the house.”

You rejected the offer right away. “Oh no, I couldn’t,” is what you reply, attempting to shove the arrangement into her hands. With a kind grin, she persisted for you to take it and just asked you to buy from them the next time you visited. “I’m sure Yuta would love it if you took this one off our hands.”

With a promise, you hesitantly accepted the bouquet. Sicheng was snickering in the background and you had to hold yourself back from whacking him with the flowers. Thinking you’d taken too much of the florist’s time, you quickly said your thanks and headed out the door with a coy Sicheng trailing behind you.

—🌸—

“They’re gone,” Kira yelled towards the back of the shop. Yuta made his way back to his spot at the cash register while wiping at his mouth with his uniform sleeve. He quickly pulled out his art supplies from underneath the counter, setting everything up to resume his painting. Taking a seat on the stool, his body was slumped over his makeshift desk as he messed with his pencils. 

His coworker rolled her eyes at him as she began to work on a bouquet of blue cornflowers and daisies— good fortune and new beginnings. Her nimble hands hastily worked their magic with ease as if she’s done it a million times before. Yuta observed her, quickly sketching her hands at work. 

“You’re ridiculous, I don’t get why you had to hide.” 

“I didn’t want her to see me like this,” Yuta said, his pained eyes covered by the long bangs that drooped down over his sketchbook. 

“Like what?” Her hands went to her hips. “Sick and hopelessly in love?”

“Yeah, let’s put it that way.”

“There’s a solution to this, you know,” Kira pressed with furrowed brows. “You don’t have to keep suffering.”

This. Hanahaki is what she meant— the disease of unrequited love.

“I’m fine, Kira,” Yuta hissed with a bit more annoyance than he intended to. She flinched at the tone but still pushed on when he coughed again. He felt the discomfort of something being lodged in his throat and his body had the urge to hack it out. Suddenly, he was leaning over the counter with cherry blossom petals littering the cash register. 

Yuta practically hacked up a storm, body curling in pain. One hand was clutching his stomach while the other had a death grip on the edge of the counter. The dizziness returned and he felt lightheaded as the retching subsided. A weakness took over his athletic body and Kira rushed to assist him back onto the stool. There was a bottle of soothing eucalyptus oil sitting right on the counter and she scrambled to open it before shoving it under his nose. 

“You’re obviously not fine. You need to go to the hospital to get checked,” she said as Yuta took the small bottle from her grip. He dabbed a couple of drops onto his hands and rubbed it on his nose and throat. “Why won’t you accept any help that’s offered to you at the hospital?”

“I’ve gone through this before, Kira. Don’t worry about me.”

“Sometimes you forget I’ve gone through this, too!” she yelled. “I don’t want you to end up on your deathbed like I was at one point.” 

Yuta couldn’t argue with that. He was hired back when she was in the hospital recovering from the final stage of the dreaded disease. 

“We’re all worried about you here. Mom, Jongin, Mark? And your friends— Sicheng, Ten, and Taeyong? We all hate seeing you like this!” her voice grew louder and louder with each word, causing him to flinch at the shrill tone. Deafening noises plus nausea and headaches never meshed well with him.

“You don’t see how much it hurts seeing someone you care about suffer like this, Yuta. It hurts even more when we can’t do anything to help you go through this.”

Silence filled the room.

“Have you seen Dr. Kim lately?” Dr. Junmyeon Kim was the Hanahaki specialist that Kira recommended. He eased her back into normalcy after her scare.

“I will soon, I promise,” he said through haggard breaths. She guided him through a couple of breathing exercises and it calmed his racing heart down. 

Kira sighed. With a quieter tone, she said, “It’s a shame the world made us experience heartbreak this way, isn’t it?”

Yuta smiled sadly at her— it was a shame.

The front door of the shop opened and the bell rang. They both turned to see Kira’s boyfriend Mark walk in with a cute grin. He clumsily hopped over the counter to plant a sweet kiss on her cheek. “Well, at least you got your happy ending,” he muttered too low for his coworker to hear. 

Yuta knew there was a chance of having it too, he was just too afraid to speak. 

If one were to look at him at that moment, his features hid nothing. Nakamoto Yuta was slowly ripping at the seams with the sakura branches poking their way out of his built figure and although multiple options were given to him, he still felt so unbelievably helpless.

It was the middle of the semester when you caught Yuta wandering the halls of the main art building. A grin found its way to your lips as you saw him with his messenger bag and a tubed container slung over his shoulder. Running to catch up with him, you slipped your arm into his free one. Your classmate yelped at the sudden contact and you let out a loud giggled that echoed in the empty hallway.

You finally felt close enough to initiate contact after sharing supplies with him during one studio session. That being said, it didn’t mean you were comfortable with revealing the feelings you harbored towards him— you wanted to keep that a secret for a little bit longer. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t have classes in here today,” you asked.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Yuta sighed. You felt your heart drop at his words but you played it off with a scrunch of the nose and a teasing tone. 

“Were you expecting someone else, Nakamoto?” you nudged his stomach and he avoided it, already predicting your actions. Yuta held back another series of coughs, quick turning away from you to cough into the handkerchief always kept on hand. He looked in pain as he continued to hack into the small piece of cloth and you brought a comforting hand to rub at his back.

“Every time I see you, you’re coughing,” you frowned. “You really need to get yourself checked, it’s been months.”

“No, no, I promise you I’m fine,” he replied with the shake of the head, his dark hair moving along with him. Even when ruffled and out of sorts, he looked good. He attempted to clear his throat by downing some water. 

Your lips pursed at his words, not satisfied with his dismissive answer. “If you say so. Promise me you’ll see someone if it gets worse though.”

He agreed but you suspected it was to stop you from nagging. “To answer your question before you went all mom on me, I was here to talk to the department about my senior project.”

“Have you decided on your theme for your exhibit yet?” 

Yuta smiled wistfully, “Flowers.” 

“Should’ve known— it’s always flowers with you. It’s like you’re in love with them or something.” 

He let out a scoff at your words. When you shot him a questioning look, he dismissed the act completely. 

Time spent with Yuta always passed so quickly; one moment you were on the top floor of the building and the next, you were already at the bottom of the staircase. Ever the gentleman, he held the front door open for you and you thanked him with a smile. His brown eyes shrunk into little slits and whiskers appeared at the corners as he grinned back with a little chuckle.

How you longed to sketch that image.

A strong breeze blew through, causing a couple of leaves and fallen petals to fly around your figures. You crossed your arms around your front to keep the cold from seeping in and shut your eyes to keep debris out. Peeking at Yuta, you saw him cover his eyes with a calloused hand and he gently pushed you behind him to use his body as a makeshift shield. As soon as the breeze stopped, his grip on your arm loosened but the grip he had on your heart was still as strong as ever.

He whirled around to make sure you were alright and next thing you knew, his hand was lingering above your head. “You have something in your hair, do you want me to take it out?” 

Yuta looked down at you with cautious eyes and you just noticed how close you were. Heat radiated off his body and your cheeks as you nod in approval. One dry hand moved to delicately clutch the side of your head as the other plucked a leaf out of your hair. 

Your breath hitched as his fingers ran against your skin and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. There was a sudden pounding in your ears that matched the drumming rhythm of your heart.

“There,” he whispered as he let you go. With a smile, Yuta added, “good as new and pretty as a picture.” 

“Pretty enough to paint?” you fired back with sarcasm.

“Definitely worthy of being displayed for the world to see,” he winked.

Was he flirting? It seemed like he was. 

Maybe, Sicheng was right— Yuta could have feelings for you. But it could also just be wishful thinking.

Were you flirting? Is this how flirting works? 

“Speaking of displays,” Yuta started nervously as he walked you to your car. He slowed down his walking pace and you easily matched it, your steps moving in time with his. The main walkway on campus was devoid of people, seeing how it was later in the school day. The path from the art building to the lot you parked in was short and you wished there was some way to extend it so you could spend more time with him.

“Will you, uh, come to my show?” he asked, his hand scratching the back of his head. His hair flopped with the wind and his unsure grin made him look so incredibly endearing. “I know it’s still too early to give you a set date but I’d love to see you there.”

“What? Of course I’ll come!” you said, stopping to slap his arm. 

He winced at the contact. “Ow?”

“I would’ve gone even if you didn’t ask me,” you proceeded on the path with a smile. “I have to go and support my friends.”

There was a coughing fit coming from behind you and you whirled around to see Yuta hacking into his handkerchief again. It looked more painful than the last attack he had a few minutes ago. His breathing was shallow and he clutched his chest as the coughs continued. 

“Oh my god, Yuta!” You were pretty sure you heard him gag as you rubbed his back. “Okay, I’m taking you to the hospital. You’re clearly not alright.”

He lifted a hand to tell you to stop. “No, no. I’m fine. I just—I gotta go,” was all he said with his hoarse voice before jolting away.

Staring at his strong back as grew smaller and smaller, you almost missed the fallen piece of cloth on the ground. Keyword: almost.

“Wait, Yuta!” you shouted, bending down to pick it up. “You dropped your hanke—” As soon as you lifted the handkerchief, perfectly preserved cherry blossom petals fell out of its hold. They rained towards the ground, decorating the sidewalk with the prettiest shade of pink.

Yuta was long forgotten. You were too lost in your confusion of the flowers. 

“Cherry blossoms?” you asked yourself. “They’re not in season yet.”

—🌸—

Yuta heard you calling for him but he refused to turn around. He pushed himself to keep running despite the tight pain in his chest. Pulling out his phone, he sent quick text messages to Sicheng and Kira with his location, asking them to stop by and help him. The disorientation hit faster this time, causing him to tumble into a bench. He gripped the iron lining as he hurled and for the first time, it was so painful that it brought tears to his eyes. His mouth trembled as he let out a cry.

Yuta tasted the bit of blood that poured out of his lips. 

Wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket, Yuta ignored how the crimson stained the fabric. A butter chuckle escaped him. 

“Pink goes good with red,” he whispered to himself as another stinging pain made its way up his body. 

He felt the branches slowly poking his lungs, climbing a path up his chest. It was just as Kira described— it was piercing like a sharp arrow to the heart. The arrow pressed and pressed and pressed until he was exploding with petals, blood, sweat, and tears.  It was aimed to kill. He thought arrows to the heart were supposed to fill him with love, not a heart-wrenching pain that tempted him to rip the beating organ out of his chest.

This was all too much to bear.

The full flowers and the scratching of wood tickling his throat. 

The lack of oxygen and struggle for air.

He felt it all. He wished he didn’t. 

Yuta wished he was one of the people that found their soulmate with that ridiculous red string of fate tied to the end of his pinky. They were blessed with a lifetime of happiness while he was cursed with what felt like an eternity of agony that his weakening body could no longer withstand. 

Yuta knew you didn’t love him but he adored you anyway. 

This wasn’t a shoujo manga, Yuta knew that. This was real life. No one was going to kiss, kiss, fall in love with the blink of an eye.

Picking petals off of flowers wouldn’t solve his problem. He wished it did, though.

If only it was that easy.

The rest of the semester flew by quickly with midterms and mid-semester projects keeping you at bay. You barely saw Yuta, yet alone the rest of your friends, if not for your classes. All of you shared the same appearance: dark circles, eye bags, sunken cheeks, hunched backs, and glazed over eyes. Your group survived the weeks with a crazy amount of caffeine and not enough food.

 With the school year finally over and graduation season starting, that meant one thing for the college of fine arts at your university— exhibitions. The music and dance departments already had their concerts and showcases. Final showings of the theatre department’s newest production just wrapped up yesterday; the only thing left were the senior art exhibits.

Dressed to the nines and not at all like a struggling artist, you paced back and forth at the entrance of the student art gallery with a bouquet of irises in your hand. Sicheng, your emotional support for the day, stood as you walked the same path with annoyance. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint why you felt nervous— it wasn’t even your exhibit, it was Yuta’s. 

Ten and Taeyong wrapped up their exhibits the week prior; Yuta’s was the last one.

“Are you done freaking out? Can we go in now?” Sicheng cocked a brow at you with his phone in hand. “The others are already inside.”

Wringing your hands together, you took in a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do this.” 

Sicheng rolled his eyes before opening the doors to the gallery. Stepping inside, you were immediately welcomed by paper flowers of all sorts hanging from the ceiling and the quiet chatter of the gallery’s visitors. To the right, you saw a sign displaying the exhibit’s name: Efflorescence. A brief description of the exhibit was placed below it and you took the time to read it before stepping further in.

Snapshots of his life told through the appearance and language of flowers.

Ten and Taeyong, your seniors and close friends, were waiting for you off to the side. 

“Sorry for the wait, you guys.”

Sicheng grumbled, “Took her long enough to calm down.”

Ten laughed, “Were you nervous for him? You weren’t like this for our final exhibits.”

“Oh, leave her alone,” Taeyong hushed the other two. Wrapping an arm around you, he pulled you close, “She’s nervous because this is her crush we’re talking about.”

“For heaven’s sake, say that any louder and he’ll hear you!” you screeched. The boys chuckled at your embarrassed state as you went ahead of them, ready to walk your way through the large room. From the corner of your eye, you saw Yuta smiling by the exit, surrounded by people singing praises about his work.

You weren’t in a rush— you wanted to take the time to appreciate every piece before talking to him about why he chose to display each work. Talking to the object of your affection could wait.

The first few paintings were of his childhood and the flowers that accompanied each scene all had similar meanings— innocence, purity, etc. You noticed that most of his paintings were done with watercolor, which made complete sense. 

It seemed like he was always prepared to paint something, brush and paint always at the ready. The genius basically carried his foldable watercolor palette and pad everywhere he went, not wanting to miss an opportunity to paint a beautiful picture if he were to pass by one. That was another thing you admire about him— Nakamoto Yuta saw beauty in everything.

Deeper into the gallery, you found more familiar scenes and faces. There was a landscape of the fine arts department, with daffodil petals scattered across the canvas and it was titled New Beginnings. You passed various portraits of your friends, their beauty rivaling that of their birth flowers that shared the same space. Marveling at how realistic his paintings looked, you made a note in your brain to relay that thought to the artist later. He captured the essence of each person perfectly in a painting, breathing life into it, and you honestly couldn’t understand how one could do that. 

Spotting Kira’s familiar face admiring a painting up ahead, you quickened your pace to catch up to her. Feeling the light tap you placed on her shoulder, she turned around with a surprised look that turned into a genuine smile upon seeing your face. She released her hold on her companion, a cute boy with doe eyes and bright smile, before giving you a hug. 

“You’re here!” she squealed. Taking notice of the flowers in your hand, she winked, “Irises, huh? Nice touch.” 

“I stopped by your shop beforehand looking for you and an older guy wrapped them up for me,” you smiled sheepishly. “Should’ve known you would be here and not working.”

“My brother, Jongin,” Kira said. “And of course, I wouldn't miss Yuta’s exhibit for the world. He’s done a lot for me and my family.” She shared a fond look with the boy next to her and he squeezed her hand in return.

“This is my boyfriend, Mark, by the way,” Kira gestured to the boy next to her. 

“Yo, nice to meet you, dude,” Mark extended his arm out towards you and you gladly took in your hands to give it a shake. You laughed at his casual greeting; it was charming. 

“Back at you, dude,” you giggled back. 

Turning to take a peek at the picture they were admiring, you couldn’t help but break out into a wide grin. It was the two of them with the flower shop as their background. Yuta had painted Kira seated on top on the counter, eyes closed with glee and hands clutching a small bouquet of blue flowers. Mark, on the other hand, leaned towards her with fingers gripping the table top and looking at her with a loving smile. 

You could feel the love pouring out of it and it warmed your lonely heart. “Wow,” you whispered.

Kira leaned her head on Mark’s shoulder and he placed a tiny kiss to her temple. “I’m buying it from him once this is all over,” she said.

Knowing each flower played a part in Yuta’s paintings, you tried to distinguish what flowers she clutched in her hand. “They’re cornflowers,” Mark answered the question that lingered in your head.

“Why cornflowers?”

“Oh those things put us through a lot— a little pain sprinkled in with their beauty,” Kira smiled, leaving Mark to chuckle lovingly at her comment. It felt like a secret between the two of them and you were invading in their space. “They were what got us together in the first place.”

Her  sentence made you cock a brow. How could flowers be painful? That was awfully cryptic, even a little unsettling but it sounded a little familiar to you; it was on the tip of your tongue. 

“Yeah, they’re pretty special,” the boy grinned, gaze still glued to the person wrapped under his arm. “Cornflowers are my favorite.”

“They’re starting to become one of mine, too,” she returned the look. 

Mark’s bright brown eyes were shining with the love you wish someone had for you. It was a sweet sight, to see such a young couple in love. A part of you was jealous that they found a love like that so early in their lives while you pined after an artist that was so infatuated with flowers and their meanings. 

Wanting to leave them in their moment, you excused yourself with a smile. There were only four paintings left to see.

The first was a design you recognized. It was a more detailed painting of the sketch you had seen Yuta draw on the first day of the semester. A girl was seated on the grass, leaning her back on a trunk of a cherry blossom tree. Her hands were outstretched to the sky, trying to catch the falling petals in her hand. Stealing a glance at the title, Yuta titled the piece, Wishful Thinking. 

Moving to the next piece, it was a close up of Yuta’s hands. His palms were pressed together, cupping cherry blossoms in his hand. Petals and full flowers were scattered around the canvas, filling out all the empty spaces. The bright pink stood out against the color of his skin. You admired the amount of detail this piece had— the wrinkles on his skin, the gradient found on the petals. It held your interest, leaving you to wonder what this piece titled Inside meant to him. 

Yuta’s self-portrait was showstopping. He borrowed the flower shop’s name, calling this piece For You in Full Bloom. The painting brilliantly depicted him in all white, his eyes closed with pain and hands clutching at his throat. The blossoms were spilling out of his mouth, the petals tainted with a blood red. You could feel the sadness and the suffering emitting from the picture and it pained you to see such a vulnerable depiction of him. 

Putting two and two together, you figured it out. 

Hanahaki. You had read about the disease before, one of the artists you admired had it. They created art as a way to tell their story. It was their escape from the suffering, a way to ease their pain, and the one course of action they took to be remembered after their death.

The only piece of information you lacked was who made him tolerate such pain.

Skipping the last painting of the exhibit, you made your way through the crowd to find Yuta. He stood at the end with a polite smile, thanking everyone who attended his exhibit. Onlookers were showering him with compliments, leaving you to wait until the small crowd cleared out.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” you breathed out with a concerned look. You couldn’t even spit out the name of the disease.

His smile widened into a genuine one, eyes gone soft at the sight of you. “You made it.”

Spotting the irises in your hand, he gestured towards the bouquet. “Are those for me?”

Still in shock that the person you were in love with was suffering all this time, you handed them to him without a word.

“Irises mean ‘congratulations,’ nice choice,” he laughed, trying to steer the topic away from his illness.

“Who?” you asked. “Who is it?”

Cocking his head, he answered you with another question. “You didn’t see the last one, did you?”

Shaking your head negatively, Yuta took you by the hand and the feeling made fireworks explode in your chest. Your heart was beating rapidly as he led you a few steps away. Nodding his head towards the last frame, he whispered, “Take a look.” 

You felt his hand break out into a sweat and you wondered why this last one made him so nervous. Glancing at the title, you read the words Love Me Now. 

Taking a deep breath, you mentally prepared yourself to see the person who had a hold on Yuta’s heart. Unlike him, you thought yourself strong enough to take the heartbreak— after all, you weren’t the one with flowers blooming inside you. Shifting your eyes over, you gasped as soon as you spotted whose face was framed on the wall. 

Staring back at you was the most beautiful painting of yourself. It was a you that you had never seen before. He painted you in flourishing pastels to match the happy look on your face. He captured your smile lines, the curve of your eyes, and the scrunch of your nose in such detail; it amazed you beyond belief. 

There was movement in your hair, the strands swaying in the wind along with the petals behind you. Your hands held a branch of your favorite flowers, half of them covering part of your face.

Captivated by seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes, you couldn’t tear your gaze away.

“Your smile makes flowers grow in my chest,” Yuta’s voice came from your side. You turned to see him wear a strained smile. Yuta’s huge eyes that were usually filled with kindness were taken over by something else— pain. 

There was pain in his words and you hear the ache in his voice. His tone is hoarse, like his throat is unbelievably dry or irritated. 

“I— I don’t know what to say.” 

Everything was extremely overwhelming. 

He shook his head to tell you that it was okay; he just needed to get the words off his chest. “It’s so beautiful and enchanting and it makes my heart clench and flowers take over my lungs.”

“Cherry blossoms,” you found yourself saying. You couldn’t believe this was happening. There were words you wanted to say but you were struggling to find them.

“Sakura,” he repeated in his native language.

“My favorite flowers.”

“Your favorite flowers.” 

“You were never in love with flowers,” you stated, still in a state of shock. 

Yuta released this low, almost bitter sounding chuckle that comes from deep within his chest. “Never.”

“Then, you’re in love with—”

“You.”

“—me.”

Just like the artist you admired, Yuta painted his way through his pain of loving you. 

Nakamoto Yuta felt like he had been in love with you for the longest time. He had loved you before he could even muster the guts to let you know it, to invite you to this exhibit that displayed art dedicated to you.

He really hoped that you would show so he could take the chance to confess. Sure, you had promised but sometimes, people never intended to keep them. If he didn’t get it off his chest, he would never be able to breathe and Yuta desperately wanted to.

Yuta wanted to fill his lungs with breaths of fresh air and just breathe you in. That was all he longed for. 

“Oh,” was all you could breathe out.

“It’s okay that you don’t feel the same,” Yuta tried to comfort you, getting the wrong idea from your lack of words. “I just needed to let you know.”

The sharpening ache that became so familiar to him was building up in his chest again, preparing him for the worst. Yuta swallowed thickly, already feeling the petals working their way to his mouth. His airways began restricting, his breaths growing more haggard by the second. He had so many things to say and he was determined to let it out before the petals escaped. The words spilled out his mouth, his lips running like a motor, “I used to be afraid of being in love and being happy with a person that I loved because it hurts.”

“Yuta—”

He stopped you with a lifted palm. 

“Happiness never lasted with me, the flowers always ripped it away,” he explained, his trembling eyes focusing on your portrait and not the real person beside him. 

“But then I met you and felt things I have never experienced before. So, I pushed my way through the pain just to be with you because I felt like I reached for the stars and touched the sky when we were together.”

His words brought tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe someone would sit through the pain just to spend time with you nor thought you were worth it but here Yuta was, proving you wrong.

“There were times I wanted to beg you to love me, just so the hurting and the bleeding—just everything— could stop but I was too much of a coward and it led me to this.”

Here he was, pouring his heart out to you with his images and words, and you couldn’t let out a single noise. You forced yourself to move forward, to slip your hand into his. The sensation of your fingers intertwining with his brought Yuta out of his daze to look at you.

“Yuta,” you said with trembling lips. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault,” he replied with a sullen tone. You squeezed his palm and he gave you a light one in return. “If I don’t get this off my chest now, I’ll never be able to breathe and I really want to.”

“There’s no reason for you to lose your breath over me.” A sniffle escaped you and Yuta turned to see you crying. He bent down to wipe your tears away, his finger swiping against your skin ever so gently. 

“Why are you crying?” 

“Because you suffered because of me and you didn’t have to,” you shot back with a whimper.

“You couldn’t have known, it’s okay,” he tried to reassure you.

“No, no,” you interrupted him to his confusion. “It’s not that.”

Your voice was so soft under your quivers, he could barely hear you over the loud chattering of the other guests in the room. Yuta guided you just outside his exhibit to a bench and dried your eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. 

“What’s wrong?”

Yuta’s question made you laugh through your tears and at all the time wasted. He had been in pain for so long because he was yearning for you just as you were for him. The mutual yet silent pining took you down this route and it could have been avoided if you had just stopped being a coward and spoken up like Sicheng pushed you to.

“There’s nothing wrong,” you said with the dismissing wave. You willed yourself to look him in the eyes and bring a hand to his cheek. “It’s just that I think I’ve been in love with you as long as you have been in love with me.”

Your confession caused him to freeze in his seat. His brown eyes were blown out wide and mouth dropping in shock. Giggling as more tears fell, you quickly slide the hand cupping his cheek down to his jaw to shut his mouth closed. Running a thumb against his lips, you felt his pulse quickening at your touch. 

“You’re in love with me?” he asked, voice as gentle as the breeze. There was uncertainty and disbelief behind it. Yuta wanted to hear you say it again.

—🌸—

“I’ve been in love with you for a while now.” Your earnest words were music to his ears. 

He felt this comforting rush take over this body and it sent tingles down his spine, traveling all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. Your confession worked like magic, spelling him with this high that made him soar to the skies. 

Yuta thought you were a witch, entrancing him with a love charm so strong that it brought instant relief to his pain. His heart was trying to fight its way out of his chest and the ache of his airways dulled. The muscle was pounding so loudly against his ribcage, he could hear it in his ears, and he swore you could hear it too. 

His lips upturned into the biggest grin, he felt like his cheeks were about to burst. 

Was this how a requited love felt? If it was, he never wanted to go without it again. 

Yuta rushed to pull you in his arms and sighed when you nuzzled your head into his neck. He shivered when he felt them whisper the three words he longed to hear into his skin. His body shook with laughter as he placed a lingering kiss at the crown of your head, reveling at the feeling of you encased in his hold. 

You tried to fight your way out of his grip but he only tightened his arms, not wanting to let you go. The action left you giggling into his neck, causing him to squirm until his hold loosened. Your hands trailed their way from his waist up to cup his face and suddenly, his eyes were locked onto yours. Just as you were getting lost in the deep sea of brown, his gaze flickered to your lips before looking back at you. His lips quirked up as you did the same. 

He felt your breath hitch as he leaned in to slot his lips against yours and the overwhelming rush returned. It seemed like his heart was racing against time, beating erratically as you kissed him so tenderly. Your lips were so soft and they tasted like the vanilla flavoring of your color, leaving him to chase after you every time you pulled away for a breath. 

Yuta fought the strain in his airways as he pursued your lips again and again, loving the way you felt and tasted. He picked up the smell of your cherry blossom shampoo and laughed into the kiss. The feeling of having you was so addicting— your love was his drug and he was forever hooked on you. He would devote himself to nothing else but you.

The sensation of Yuta kissing you and smiling against your lips sent you into overdrive. There were butterflies in your stomach, fireworks going off in your head, tingles down your spine and you loved it all. 

In the past, you only noticed Nakamoto Yuta’s undying love and admiration for flowers but this was the first time you finally noticed his love for you and it was nothing short of wonderful. 

It was the start of something new. 

🌸 author’s note— that’s it! it came out a bit more angst than i intended, definitely lacked the fluff i was expecting but i’m still satisfied with the ending uwu  i loved writing my little markie and kira in the fic, i’ve missed them! but yes!! that’s the end of my little bday present to myself! i hope y’all loved it! please leave some feedback; i would love to hear what you thought of it!! i think i literally fell in love with yuta while writing this.

🌸 taglist— @danishmiilk​ @hyunjins--laugh​ @littleflowercrown13​ @orange-nimon-cross​ @radiorenjun​ @ncteaxhoe​ @chancrispy​

[raleighcarrera]

falling

platinum | raleigh carrera x mc (cadence dorian)

a little while ago i posted about the idea of a soulmate au where the first words raleigh & cadence say to each other are tattooed on them their whole lives, and this... is that. (for @platinumweekend ❤️)

tags: @choicesarehard ; @empressazura; @emomoustache ; @natesewell ; @zigtheeortega ; @pixeljazzy ; @brycemaloliver ; @grigori-girl ; @dulceghernandez ; @bitchloveskcbaseball ; @withbeautyandrage 

~10.5k words | T

i.

the words appear in looping script on his thirteenth birthday, right on time. they curve along the inside of his bicep, innocently punctuated. what’s your name?

“you got lucky,” one of his older cousins tells him, later, when everyone in his family comes by for cake and to ooh and aah over his new tattoo, “you’ll be able to hide that with a shirt or a jacket easily.”

but raleigh sleeps shirtless every night for the next two years, even when it’s cold, so that the words are the last thing he sees with his head pillowed on his arm before he falls asleep, dreaming of the nameless, faceless person who will one day say them, wondering what their voice might sound like when they do.

ii.

she has a more difficult go of it.

being a thirteen year old girl would be miserable enough without the added pressure of the words that practically feel broadcast across her forehead, most of the time. everyone at school teases her constantly and ruthlessly: say something funny, cadence. go on. tell us a joke!

so it’s difficult not to resent the two words scrawled lazily across her collarbone and the person attached to them, especially in the mornings before school when she’s angrily rearranging her neckline and jewelry in the mirror while the bus idles outside.

very funny. she isn’t, really. she’s plenty of things -- determined and passionate and sensitive, definitely, but... no one’s ever found her particularly funny, before.

and no one seems to understand just how much the expectation of having to be funny, one day, is weighing on her, not even her parents, when she finally works up the courage to squeak out, “but how am i supposed to know what i should say?”

her mom laughs indulgently, like she’s already said something funny. her stomach sinks further.

“oh, sweetheart,” she tells her, “don’t worry, it won’t matter. you just will.”

iii.

people ask him about it. a lot.

it gets difficult to keep it a secret as things change around him, but raleigh’s careful to avoid slip-ups and paparazzi photos and he doesn’t say a word about it in interviews, even when he’s asked directly. he’s never seen without short sleeves on, at the very least, and he doesn’t even tell blair and cameron about it.

he sort of wishes he had, though, because as his life turns upside down and he adapts to a new country with a new set of rules and an industry that makes his head spin most of the time it starts to feel more and more confusing, those three words -- what’s your name?

everywhere he goes, thousands of girls blocking the street scream it at him. so how is it possible that whoever’s waiting to meet him doesn’t already know it?

and what does that mean for how the rest of his life is going to turn out? 

what if all of this -- the fame and the money and the notoriety -- is fleeting, and he’s only a few short years from being completely washed up and irrelevant? what if the day he’s meant to meet his person is so far away that he’ll be completely out of the spotlight, by then, with sunset skatepark playing reunion tours and him having spent most of his life alone?

it’s a lot of pressure, for someone who’s already working their way through such a serious adjustment, and most of the time it’s dizzying, thinking about the fact that there’s someone out there who’s supposed to be perfect for him, when everyone he meets seems determined to forget every word they know other than yes, so they can suck up to him as much as possible.

his teenage years fly by in a whirlwind of mistakes and regrets. there’s things he would’ve never dreamed would come his way, like world tours and more money than he can count and so many girls who know everything about him before they even sit down to dinner, but there’s more than that, too.

there’s all the ways the industry weakens his trust until it’s gone, all the people who try to use him for what he can do for them, all the times he stumbles until he finally learns to distance himself by cultivating a persona, by leaning into all the expectations of raleigh carrera and creating something so outlandish it doesn’t hurt as much when disaster follows him around because it’s supposed to.

he watches everything that surrounds him turn fake and plastic and puts his energy only into his music, coasting on the rest. the days are less exciting than when he first joined the band at fifteen; he’s a solo artist, now, and most of the time, he’s just trying to get through.

but chaos continues to follow him and eventually his notoriety is inescapable. his first solo album is self-titled and he somehow manages to get a trademark on the word raleigh, as if the name is now more his than anything that ever belonged to the state of north carolina, and part of him sort of expects the words stamped on his arm to change, once he hits one-hundred million followers on his social channels.

they never do, though, and when he’s alone, and the veneer he’s built up for everyone else fades away, he can’t help but to be fascinated by this person who just wants an answer to the question no one else would ever dare ask him.

iv.

college isn’t exactly the fresh start she was hoping it’d be.

she was a loser in high school and things don’t get much better for her even now that she’s with ‘her people’ at a performing arts university she can barely afford, even with two part-time jobs. 

shane is across the country at a proper state school with parties and a social life and lots of friends who aren’t her, and she’s failing her improv class, proving that she isn’t actually very funny at all. 

boys continue to not notice her and patrons in bars continue to turn away from her one-woman performance, her old acoustic guitar the only constant in a life that feels utterly, unbelievably pointless, most of the time.

it’s like she’s drifting through the days, putting her time in at college in the hopes that it’ll fortify her for what’s next -- her big break, the discovery that’ll get her out of that shitty small town she’s been trying to escape her entire life. she writes hundreds of songs about how lost she feels and hates every single one, dreaming of a time when things might be different and she doesn’t have to second-guess every single one of her decisions.

she doesn’t have much of a love life and tries not to think about that, either.

the person on the other side of those two words stuck on her collarbone is probably looking for someone self-confident, who knows who they are and is comfortable with that. they’re probably expecting to meet someone who has their life together, who, at the very least, has a plan.

they’re probably not expecting a talentless nobody screwup like her, someone who tries as hard as she can yet never seems to make anything work.

things don’t turn around after graduation, either. sure, she manages to find an apartment in a building that’s nice enough and uses the last of her savings on the deposit and trying to furnish it, but it’s only a few weeks of trying and failing to secure a regular paying gig performing before she’s back at smoothie star again, begging for her old job back.

and there’s nothing that makes her feel more like a failure than working the same shifts she had in high school. 

as she hums along to the radio on a random tuesday afternoon when the store is dead and there’s nothing to blend, she wonders what mr.-or-mrs. very funny would think if they walked in and saw her here -- twenty-three years old and flat broke, with a dead-end job and a one-bedroom apartment all she has to show for her very expensive and very useless bachelor’s degree.

that, and a notebook full of half-finished songs about relationships she could only ever dream about and an escape from the miserable small town she lives in that feels farther away with every day that passes.

she can’t imagine they’d be very impressed.

v.

raleigh’s life gets monotonous very quickly. the music takes a backseat to the scandals and for a while there’s a predictable pattern of cause trouble, clean up image, rinse and repeat.

there are girls in between the cycles to help him pass the time. some he likes well enough and some he despises, but for the most part his management gives their recommendations and he agrees and makes awkward conversation for an hour or two over brunch until it’s time to go trash something again.

things get particularly bad after one minor cruise ship hijacking incident. 

but in his defense, no one ever told him that breaking into the harbor and joy riding was a first-degree felony, worsened by the fact that he’d just so happened to crash the boat into the pier while he was trying to dock it. 

at least he’d been sober.

though a monumental fuck up like this felt sort of inevitable; everyone who knew him probably figured it was only a matter of time before he went too far. how could he not when he was always chasing the next high?

still, the image rehab tour that follows is far from what he’d call enjoyable. he has to cut off all his hair and play nice at industry parties and waste time standing around being seen at charity events he winds up just cutting checks for instead of helping out at.

on top of the miserable community service comes the pr bullshit his team so loves -- dozens of tv appearances back-to-back where he’s herded around all day like cattle, in and out of green rooms with crappy coffee and bad catering.

he has no idea that showing up to be a judge on one in a million is going to change his life. hungover and running late, he barely even makes it to the taping of the semi-finals, slinking inside the concert hall in middle-of-nowhere, usa with a headache and some choice words for whoever thought this was the best way to clean up his image.

fortunately, raleigh manages to make his way inside virtually unnoticed. his phone is buzzing angrily in his pocket -- undoubtedly his manager trying to encourage him to hair and makeup or some other absurdity -- but he ignores it in favor of ducking back behind the line near the auditorium doors, only barely catching the last few words of some catty confrontation between two contestants as he goes.

as one of the girls stomps away, he sees the other’s shoulders slump from behind. “guess i’m not making any friends,” she mutters.

it’s clearly said to no one -- not even to herself, really -- yet for some reason, he can’t stop himself from responding. “where i come from, that’s a good thing.”

the girl’s shoulders straighten, but she still doesn’t turn around. “i’m not trying to succeed at the cost of others.”

raleigh smirks, leaning back against the wall beside his guitar case. “you do realize you’re at a competition show, right?”

“of course, but...” her hair ruffles with what sounds like a huff. she’s still not facing him, staring off at where the other girl she’d been talking to had run away. “that doesn’t mean i’m not rooting for everyone here to share their music with the world.”

“what a sweet sentiment,” raleigh drawls sarcastically, almost feeling a little bad for her and her naivety. this poor girl is going to be eaten alive. “it won’t last.”

her body tenses, her shoulders tightening again. he can almost see smoke start to pour from her ears before she spins suddenly on her heel to face him. 

whatever sharp retort had been on the tip of her tongue gets swallowed with a blink as soon as their eyes meet. something like electricity crackles in the space between them, strengthening the invisible pull he’d felt when he first stopped behind her. instead, she only asks, “what’s your name?”

vi.

the man in front of her snorts. “very funny.”

a smile tugs at her lips. “very funny, that’s a weird name.” this is unlike her -- the quick comeback, the flirting. usually being face-to-face with a guy as good looking as the one talking to her now made her want to wither away and die, but something about the stranger standing before her sets her instantly at ease. “so, are you gonna tell me, or not?”

now it’s his turn to blink at her. a hand lifts to rub at his jaw. “huh. you really don’t know who i am, do you?”

cadence’s eyes narrow as she assess him. there is something vaguely familiar about that crooked grin, she’s sure of it. 

at the very least, it’s an excuse to stare at him, and she does, moving her eyes slowly over the tattoos poking out over his jacket collar, the line of stubble on his sharp jaw, the glint of mischief in his eyes.

her helpless gaping is interrupted by a sudden shrill scream. “oh. my. god! is that raleigh carrera?!”

everything clicks at once. as a wild group of girls corner him, she realizes where she’s seen that smile before -- on just about every tabloid cover known to man, plastered all over convenience stores and the internet with headlines about his latest bender. in fact, she’s pretty sure he was just in the news for something similar -- crashing a yacht or something else ridiculous like that, something that only someone as rich as raleigh carrera could have accomplished. 

then she realizes what he’d said to her, as soon as she’d turned to look him in the eyes. very funny. 

her heart stops. all she can do is stare wide-eyed at him as he dispels the girls clamoring for a selfie, snapping back to the present when he waves one large hand in front of her face. 

“sorry -- what?”

“i said, what’s your name? it only seems fair, now that you know mine, and all.”

“cadence,” she answers numbly, “i’m -- um, i’m used to your hair being longer.”

“cadence,” raleigh repeats, smiling at her, “so you do know who i am.”

“what do the magazines call you again? r&b’s time bomb? puerto rico’s hottest export? you’re kind of notorious.” she blinks at him, then admits, “i’ve heard your songs.”

“seen the tabloid covers too, eh?” the expression on his face suggests he’s almost proud of them.

this is surreal.

“didn’t you crash a yacht or something?” she asks, brain whirring into overdrive as she tries to process what’s happening. he doesn’t seem to have realized it yet, which gives her a moment to gather her thoughts, something that feels impossible when she can’t push the way he’d scoffed very funny out of her mind. 

“or something. insurance paid out a couple million in property damage, but...” raleigh trails off, brow suddenly furrowing. he stares at her silently for a beat too long, then slowly turns a dull red. “hey, what’d you say earlier, again?”

cadence wets her dry lips, trying not to panic. stay calm, she silently coaches herself. raleigh carrera is not your long-awaited soulmate and you are not doing this in line to audition for one in a million. “i said -- what’s your name? and then you said...”

oh god, this is happening. her teeth dig into her bottom lip as she fidgets with the neckline of her top, tugging it to the side so raleigh can see the two words on her collarbone. 

“very funny,” he mutters, “oh, jesus fucking christ. you can’t be serious.”

“me?” she demands, “you’re the one who --”

“next up,” calls a voice suddenly, cutting sharply through their argument, “contestant #9,276.”

her blood runs cold as she realizes that’s the number she’s wearing pinned to her shirt. she can feel herself start to sweat; how the fuck is she supposed to perform like this? she wants to throw up. why did this have to happen to her now? this was her shot -- her one fucking chance --

“hey, easy.” there’s suddenly two strong hands on either side of her shoulders, and she startles as raleigh stares at her from up close, closer than he was just a moment ago. “relax, okay? you’re gonna be fine. you’ve got this.”

“but --” she starts, then realizes her mind is racing too quickly to even articulate what she wants to say. she settles for shaking her head, eyes wide and panicked. “i can’t just -- oh my god, i’m going to throw up.”

“here,” raleigh directs, “take my guitar. prince gave it to me as a birthday present.”

prince?! she mouths hysterically to herself, as he flips the latch on his case open and pulls out the instrument. “how is this supposed to help me?”

“just trust me,” he says, giving her a gentle nudge towards the auditorium, “now go.”

she does, stumbling forward with the most expensive piece of equipment she’s ever held in her hands in her life alongside her, drawing in a deep breath as she makes her way onto the stage.

she can do this.

everything else will have to come after.

vii.

the thing is -- she’s talented. exceptionally so. 

he can tell she’s a little nervous, but maybe that’s just because he’s used to looking out for that sort of thing; he could probably recognize it more easily than the average person would. it probably has nothing to do with who they are, how he notices the nuances in her body language...

her belt is impressive. her voice is stunning, clear and uniquely melodic. his guitar looks spectacular in her hands, and cadence plays it like she’s been practicing on it her entire life. 

he tries his best to look nonchalant, feet kicked up onto the seat in front of him, but when she locks eyes with him from the stage he knows he hasn’t succeeded. raleigh’s breath catches, and he stares back at her, transfixed by the way her dainty hands cradle the neck of the guitar and strum the strings, how her lips purse around the long, emotional high note at the end of the song’s chorus.

she’s really very pretty. 

he’d probably be lying to himself if he said it doesn’t make him a little bit jealous and uncomfortable, watching how she and avery fawn over each other when she’s finished. he’s probably a much better suited match for her, clean cut and pristine as he is. 

he wonders if she’s disappointed that it’s him -- that it’s now, when she’s clearly on the cusp of something great all on her own.

it’s a lot to think about, and so he dips out of the auditorium before she finishes up, rushing outside with his heart pounding. it’s not until he’s halfway through the crumpled pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket that raleigh starts to relax even an iota, and of course that’s when the stage door he’d left propped swings open wide and cadence’s sneakers hit the asphalt beside his boots.

“uh, you can’t just leave me with this thing,” she says, apropos of nothing, and as he stares at her he realizes she’s talking about his guitar, which she’s holding in one hand like it’s a dead fish. “this costs more than everything in my apartment combined, i’m sure.”

he shakes his head at her, laughing as his fingers flick ash from the cigarette he’s holding. “no way -- you should keep it. you two looked perfect together.”

she hesitates, looking down at the instrument again. he can see in her eyes that she’s torn; it’s obvious she knows the right thing to do is to refuse a generous gift from a stranger, but she wants to keep it, and already his mind is racing as he considers what else he could give her that would excite her like that -- a private flight, a tour of his penthouse, a million dollars. 

“are you sure?” cadence asks, without looking at him, and the hesitancy in her voice makes him realize how unsure she really is. she’s the one who’s wondering if he’s disappointed in her.

he licks his suddenly dry lips and drops what’s left of his cigarette to the ground, finding he doesn’t actually need the rest of it, anymore. “positive.”

viii.

they don’t actually get to spend a lot of time together, while she’s filming. she has to focus and it seems like she’s always busy, somehow -- not that she sees raleigh very often in the first place.

the days are spent rehearsing with avery and cramming in as much mentoring as possible, and when she can pull herself away from fiona’s lessons on image to get home at a reasonable hour she collapses into bed pretty much immediately, out like a light from the whirlwind of the day and hardly even aware enough to dream.

but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about him. she does, especially on the rare occasions she manages to catch a glimpse of raleigh walking around in the studio, or on one memorable evening she stays late in the auditorium to bang on the piano keys of the beautiful, enviable baby grand on set and startles to find him leaning in the doorway, watching her play.

it’s all a blur and wildly difficult to process; just when she thinks she has a grip on things she remembers the private moments she’s had with raleigh and her emotions tumble to pieces again as she lets the weight of the implications of what’s going on between them crush her completely.

one moment sticks out on her as being particularly worrisome, insofar as how it bodes for the rest of her life. 

it feels like something significant from the moment raleigh offers to help her warm up; they’ve hardly had a moment alone together in days and she still has absolutely no idea how she’s supposed to talk to him or what she should say, but for some reason the conversation flows easily and she hardly has to think about the (no doubt incredibly stupid-sounding) words coming out of her mouth.

“you’re going to kill it,” raleigh says finally, once they’ve worked through all the exercises in his arsenal, “you really don’t need my help.”

never in her wildest dreams did she ever imagine someone like him would say something like that to her. “you think?”

“i know it,” he answers confidently, shrugging his shoulders like it’s that simple. “and you should, too.”

there’s a moment of silence where they just stand there staring at each other, ignoring the restless murmuring of the crowd outside that’s waiting for him to slip into his seat at the judge’s table. she’s effortlessly lost in raleigh’s eyes, so fixated on the intensity of his gaze that she doesn’t realize he’s leaning in closer until it’s too late.

“insurance policy,” he mutters, before he kisses her, hands cupping her face gently. 

for a split second, she stands frozen, shocked totally still. then, her brain reboots enough to propel her into motion, and cadence gets with the program enough to wind her arms around raleigh’s waist and pull him closer and kiss him back, until her heart’s lurched up into the throat she’d just been warming up, pounding relentlessly.

they make out until the roar of the crowd is deafening -- until it’s impossible not to acknowledge it any longer. 

of course raleigh’s a life-ruiningly good kisser. why wouldn’t he be? why should any of this be easy?

it’s only a few simple touches, but raleigh’s mouth leaves her dizzy and lightheaded when she’s supposed to be concentrating on performing, and, independently of the way she’s blinking at him in stupid shock, cadence already knows she’ll never be able to kiss anyone else ever again without thinking about him.

“i have to get out there,” she gasps between desperate presses of their lips against each other, grasping ineffectively at his clothes while his fingers tug her hair out of shape.

“be late,” he suggests, “it always works for me.” 

but she’s not him. she’s not like him -- they have nothing in common. they come from different worlds; they’re two completely opposite people.

and yet every minute with raleigh is like coming up for air after being underwater for years, like the knots of guilt and shame and awkward embarrassment she’s carried around for her entire life without understanding why she has them are slowly starting to undo themselves, unlaced by his careful fingers.

they make it out there. eventually.

before she knows it, confetti’s raining down from the ceiling and falling all over her, and she locks eyes with raleigh from across the room to find his lips pulled into a genuinely affectionate grin -- lips that she’d just kissed for the first time a fucking hour ago and, seriously, what is her life now -- his eyes bright and excited. 

things just keep getting weirder and weirder, but the way they’re beaming at each other like idiots in a room full of thousands, broadcast on national television, too, makes her think things might be pretty great, too.

ix.

it sort of takes them a long time to getting around to talking about it -- the soulmate thing.

it’s not that he doesn’t try. he does, but she’s got a lot going on, these days: a big move and a new record deal and days filled with songwriting and nights out being seen. he’s still on his image cleanup tour, while she’s at it, so his fake smile stays fixed on his face throughout another boring week of restaurant openings and charity events and talkshow appearances before he finally gets the chance to spend some time with her again.

they text here and there, but nothing pans out until the stars align and they manage to slip out of the back door of a nightclub unnoticed together after a night of dancing too close for the comfort of her publicist while avery and the others cause a commotion at the front entrance to distract the press.

she goes back to his penthouse with him. he can’t remember the last time he brought a girl back to his apartment just to talk, and especially not one who spent the better part of the evening in a sparkly minidress grinding against him. 

but here they are.

“so -- how’s the city treating you?” raleigh asks, pouring them both a drink he doesn’t want from the bar cart in the corner of the room for something to do with his hands.

cadence shrugs from where she’s perched on the edge of his sofa, tugging at the hem of her dress. “good, i guess. it’s honestly all kind of overwhelming.”

“yeah,” he nods, passing her one of the glasses in his hands and taking a seat on the ottoman in front of her, close enough to see her face in perfect clarity but still maintaining a distance that he hopes is respectful. “i know what you mean. when i first came here after joining sunset skatepark everything felt so... huge.”

“totally,” cadence answers quickly, nodding in a way that’s almost aggressive. “i mean, there’s so much pressure to deliver an album right away, but i want it to be perfect, and the studio is so different from, like, writing songs in my room at home, and i... i guess i feel kind of homesick, but -- not for my hometown. i hated that place.” there’s hesitancy in her gaze when she asks, “do you know what i mean?”

“yeah,” raleigh says again stupidly, because the truth is -- he knows exactly what she means. cadence has just articulated something he could never quite put into words better than he’d even thought the sentiments to himself. “it’s like... nostalgia for something you don’t even want.”

“exactly,” she breathes emphatically, and then they’re kissing again, and she’s in his lap on the ottoman and he definitely brought her here to talk, for sure, but is it really so terrible if they get a little sidetracked on the way to their destination?

well -- they wind up making out for hours. so, there’s that.

it’s not part of the plan but it’s a hell of a side quest, memorizing the shape and feel of her with his hands while her lips pull every last bit of breath from his lungs, until he’s lightheaded and dizzy in a way no other girl has ever made him, before. it’s to the point where when he finally finds it within himself to push her away, he’s uncharacteristically nervous -- something that’s never happened to him before, not even on the night he lost his virginity.

“i really did ask you over to talk,” he says, voice hoarse.

cadence licks her lips and then beams at him, eyes sparkling. “i know.” she shuffles delicately back onto the couch, lingering in his lap for only a moment before pulling away entirely. he stuffs his hands under his thighs to stop himself from reaching out for her again. “sorry i haven’t been around more.”

“you don’t have to apologize.” raleigh shakes his head. “i should be apologizing to you, i feel like... i should be the one who’s around, to help you with all of this. or at least -- i want to be. i don’t know if i’ll be any good at it.” 

he blinks, surprised by his own honesty. he hadn’t meant to say all of that, but the words came up before he was cognizant of them and now they’re out there, and there’s no taking them back -- especially with the way she’s looking at him, all soft and sweet and happy.

“well, you don’t have to be good at it,” cadence murmurs, reaching out for his wrists and tugging his hands free so she can interlock their fingers effortlessly. they fit together like puzzle pieces. “you just have to be you.”

x.

her budding relationship with one of the biggest names in r&b doesn’t have much time to bud at all before it’s rudely plucked from the plant and stepped on.

she finds herself blinking at fiona in confusion as the words take some time to process. “you want me to do what?”

xi.

raleigh balks at his manager, shaking his head emphatically. “no,” he spits out, “absolutely not.”

xii.

“cadence, it’s not a big deal,” fiona tells her, very nearly rolling her eyes. “everyone does it. you go on a few dates, play up the relationship for some photos, social media eats it up -- boom, you’re a star.”

“i don’t know,” she answers hesitantly, mind drifting back to the photographers that have already been following her around, screaming about avery when she ducks into the car with him. things with raleigh are... new, and complicated, and do they really need to add public scrutiny into the mix as well? “i just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“it’s a great idea,” fiona sighs, shaking her head. “all our focus groups agree. the label thinks it’s best, what with your single taking so long to put out.” she opens her mouth to protest -- it’s not like she’s dragging her feet on purpose -- but barely has a second to get a word out before fiona continues, “besides, raleigh does this all the time.”

her teeth bite at her bottom lip uncertainly. “he does?”

“of course. chantal clearwater? she was a pictagram model when they met, and now she’s opening shows at paris fashion week. it’s just business.”

it’s not, though. it could never be just anything, for reasons no one else knows about except the two of them, for reasons she’ll never tell. “well... what did raleigh say about it?”

xiii.

“i said no, frank.” he’s annoyed, now, and his manager knows it, raleigh’s arms folded across his chest and his eyes set into a glare. “n. o. no.”

“and i hear you, but is it really the end of the world? she’s exactly what we’re going for, and i know you already get along --”

“which is exactly why i don’t want to do this. so pick someone else. anyone else.” he’s not going to let his label turn her into one of the girls he has to be seen with for fake photos and mutually beneficial positive press. 

for so many years, he’s watched people fake feelings and use each other -- willingly participated in the using himself, too, more times than he can count. he never cared about any of it before.

but being with cadence doesn’t feel fake, and he doesn’t ever want it to. and he knows that if he agrees to this, everything he enjoys about spending time with her will disappear in favor of the ugly, plastic decay that’s eaten away at so many of his personal and professional relationships before. organic, genuine time with her will become strolls near celebrity hotspots, angling just right to help the cameras get the perfect shot. he’ll show up to support her at shows because her publicist called him, and their time together will become some manufactured narrative meant to push their labels’ agenda, until six months down the line they don’t even recognize themselves or what might’ve been if they’d done things a different way.

“look, there isn’t anyone else. her team’s already agreed to it, and i’ve got brunch set up for sunday. all you have to do is play nice for two fucking months, raleigh. is that so impossible for you?”

yes. already he feels a deep-seated desire to go somewhere and break something, to tear through the flower beds in central park with his motorcycle and wink at the cameras when they catch up to him.

instead, he storms out of the office he’s in, and into the sunlight, tugging the hood on his jacket up and melting into the crowd on the corner so he can be as anonymous as possible when he picks up his phone and calls cadence.

“hey raleigh,” she chirps as soon as she picks up, sounding far too cheerful for someone who’s likely had an equally as miserable early morning meeting on a friday. “guessing you heard the news?”

“can’t i just call you to say hi?” he grumbles, ducking his head as he strolls through the intersection with the mob of people crowded along fifth ave, turning down the next side street so he’s alone again, with no one following, just like that. 

“well, you can,” she teases, and some of the anger he’s carrying around with him fades, dissipating into nothing and evaporating like smoke. “but you’re not.”

“no, i’m not,” he agrees with a sigh, shaking his head. “you sound surprisingly cool with it, though.”

“should i not be?” cadence laughs, but he can detect a thread of nervousness in her tone. “i already want to hang out with you. we have the same friends and work in the same industry. we’re... probably going to go on dates anyway, so... how hard can this be?”

god. she has absolutely no idea. part of him thinks it’d be cruel to burst her bubble, but he should warn her, shouldn’t he? 

she sounds so optimistic about it, though. it’s hard to feel anything but hopeful when her voice turns up like that at the end. in the back of his mind, there’s a voice that’s not his suggesting maybe this time, things will be different. 

surely he knows better than to think something as ridiculous as that, though, right? 

“well, i guess it’ll be interesting, at least,” he muses, slowing his steps by the entrance to the subway. 

he’s going to lose his signal just as soon as he heads underground, and he’s not quite ready for that, yet.

xiv.

time with raleigh flies by. 

it doesn’t feel like they’re fake-dating -- they do everything she hopes he’d want to do with her anyway, like go out to eat at fancy restaurants and take walks through the park and bounce melodies for songs off of each other, facetiming late at night from their apartments or on the days he visits her and micah in the studio. 

he’s by her side for the release of her first single, and her first music video, and through it all, raleigh plays the role of the doting partner perfectly, holding her purse on the red carpet and feeding her paella at a strategically-placed outdoor table and fetching her coffee order when she’s too busy to stop writing for even just five minutes.

in the blink of an eye, it’s time to put out her album -- just like that. 

raleigh’s perfectly charming through that process, too. he shows up on time, says all the right things, and keeps a drink in her hand all evening long, so that when she’s finally done making the rounds and can enjoy herself after the entertainment and the networking and the schmoozing she’s giggly and touchy, doing her best to steal him away from the crowd.

“what were your other relationships like?” she asks, half expecting him to brush her off, though he’s always indulged her before. they’ve never really gotten this personal. “fake or... otherwise.”

“they’ve all been fake,” he shrugs, “and i can say with confidence that you’re the best one i’ve ever had.”

“really?” cadence smiles, chin propped up on her hand as she leans over the bar. “be honest. what did you really think, when you realized it was me?”

“what?” he asks, pushing the empty rocks glass in his hands around on the bar top, “you mean this thing?” he gestures at his arm, covered in expensive, custom tom ford, and the tattoo laying innocently beneath it.

“uh huh,” she confirms, “‘cause i was totally like oh shit.”

raleigh laughs, loud and wild, the sound swallowed up by the noise of the party around them. no one nearby is paying them even an ounce of attention, and it’s fun, to be anonymous at her own party, invisible to everyone in the room except for him. “i can imagine. i wouldn’t want to be stuck with me either.”

cadence shakes her head -- that’s not what she’d meant. but before she can protest, he rolls his glass between his palms and thoughtfully continues, “i guess i was a little surprised. it felt like i’d been waiting forever to meet you, so part of me was like, fuck, we’re doing this now? and i never thought it’d be someone so...”

“boring?” she suggests, eyebrows arching when raleigh’s expression immediately twists into one of disagreement, his nose scrunching up with distaste.

“no,” he huffs, “so... good, i guess.” she stares at him as he reaches for one of the waiting tequila shots on the bar, pulling it away from the line he’d set up for the crowd he’d been with before she’d tugged him to the side to talk, leaving the drinks untouched. raleigh knocks the shot back -- no salt, no lime. he’s had twice as many drinks as she has, and she’s definitely feeling them -- she has no idea how he’s even still upright, no worse for wear other than a few slurred words here and there. “but you just are. it’s like every song i’ve ever written was about you, and i just didn’t know it yet.”

the noise of the party fades in favor of the pounding of her heart, loud like a kick drum in her ears. she bites her lip and stares at him, watching as raleigh shakes his head at himself, dazed. “you okay?” she asks quietly, leaning in a little across the bar. 

raleigh’s quiet for so long she has to wonder whether or not he actually heard her. just as she clears her throat and opens her mouth to repeat herself even louder, he nods, reaching across the bar and squeezing her hand before dragging her back over to the line of tequila shots waiting for them to enjoy.

the night is a blur after that, and there’s patches of the evening that are fuzzy in her memory the next morning, but she knows she’ll never forget the gentle kiss goodnight raleigh gives her when he helps her stumble into the car back to her apartment at dawn.

xv. 

things go really well, until they don’t. 

they have a blissful six months together with more fun than he’s ever had with anyone. slowly, he learns every single thing about cadence and returns her openness with honesty of his own -- honesty that feels strange and unfamiliar but weirdly thrilling, in a way, made easier every time one of his stories pulls a laugh or smile from her. 

it seems unnatural, having a honeymoon period that goes on for so long. in the entire time they’re dating, he doesn’t destroy a single thing -- doesn’t even want to, which is the weirdest part of it all. 

there are some moments that catch him completely off guard. more than a few times, he hardly even recognizes himself, she turns him into such a different person. 

he doesn’t hate it, though -- just the opposite, in fact. raleigh realizes he’s really starting to like the carefree, far from jaded person he is when he’s with her, though it only hits him for real when he’s watching her storm away from him on liberty island, eyes fixed on the angry sway of her hips.

he stews on it on the long ride back to his penthouse; the game had, admittedly, been starting to wear on him. but he’d gone along with it because it was supposed to benefit her -- he’d agreed to the stupid public breakup and following the rules and not seeing cadence in public for the foreseeable future because it was what she wanted, and -- frankly, it felt like a stupid fucking decision.

not that it lasts long. he starts texting her just as soon as he’s done washing electralite out of his hair and doesn’t make it more than twenty minutes when they first see each other again at the moda gala before he’s sneaking off with her, ducking under the velvet rope that demarcates the planetarium as ‘off limits’ with her hand tucked neatly in his.

“maybe this is better,” cadence muses between sips of her drink, her eyes on one of the stupid glass exhibits he couldn’t possibly care less about. “now we can just be together -- no pressure. our relationship is ours again.”

their relationship. is that what this is? they’ve spent a lot of time talking about who they are and what they like and don’t like, kissing and touching and holding hands. throughout it all, he’s done his best not to buy into the ‘soulmate’ bullshit too heavily, but over the last few months it’s been hard to deny that there’s a reason he was meant to meet her, that she’s been changing him from the inside out.

“what’s on your mind?” she asks, turning towards him with an open look of genuine curiosity on her face, like she really wants to know. 

“it’s nothing,” raleigh answers at first, reflexively, like he has so many times before. no one has ever really wanted to know. but cadence’s eyebrows arch, and she waits, patiently silent, and then the words tumble out of him. “it’s just that -- my whole life, i’ve watched other people use each other. so many people are just interested in the concept of celebrity status. so i played the game. never trusting anyone.” 

he shrugs. a hand lifts to rub his jaw, and he looks back to meet her gaze just in time to see the little smile playing at her lips, like she already knows what he’s about to say. “but it’s different, with you. you make me not want to be that person anymore. when i’m with you, it’s the only time i feel anything real.”

“raleigh,” she murmurs, her expression flickering before her face does something that cracks his chest wide open. her eyes go all shiny and sparkly and her cheeks crease with a grin, and the way she laughs is so ridiculously joyful the hand he has stuffed in his pocket curls into a fist to stop him from doing something stupid. “i feel the same way. i just... this whole thing, i know it doesn’t always -- work out, but... with you i really want it to. i’ve never felt this way before about anyone, and i think...” 

there’s a pause as her lips purse thoughtfully, and then she says the words that make it impossible for him to do anything but close the distance between them and kiss her over and over again: “i think even without this tattoo it’d be you, anytime, anywhere.”

xvi.

being raleigh carrera’s (real, confirmed, 100%-authentic) girlfriend feels almost too good to be true.

raleigh is... everything she never knew she wanted in a boyfriend, wrapped up into one tall, dark and handsome package, with a loud, goofy laugh and a deep, sexy voice that sends a shiver down her spine whenever his mouth so much as lingers near her ear for too long. 

it turns out that, despite their differing status in the industry and her initial assumptions that they came from two completely different worlds, they’re actually on the same page about pretty much everything. she finds that the pressure of the word she’d held in such high regard for so long -- soulmate -- disappears entirely where he’s concerned because being with raleigh is just fun. 

there’s motorcycle rides and boat trips and hours up late talking about everything and nothing; facetime calls with his mom and shopping trips where the stores are kept open late for them so they can shop alone, in an empty boutique, like every teen movie she’d ever watched growing up.

there’s late nights in the studio and either of their apartments where they both noodle around on their guitars and improvise half-hearted duets, content to just work in the same orbit as each other for as long as possible.

raleigh’s texting one night on the couch in her living room when she plucks out the melody to who i’ll be on her old acoustic, sitting on the floor in front of the tv.

he looks up before the first verse is over. “what’s that one? it sounds good.”

“oh -- just a song i wrote in college,” cadence hums, already downplaying it as she lifts her shoulder in a shrug. “i got stuck, never finished it. ellis made me sell the progress for some other writer to finish.”

he frowns, pushing up onto his elbow. his phone is tossed carelessly somewhere among the couch cushions. “why?”

“because i was taking too long with the odyssey,” she sighs. “it was kind of my only option. it’s weird, though -- thinking about someone singing something that was so personal to me.”

“play me what you had so far,” he says, and so she does, hesitating for only a second before strumming the chords, singing the lines she had slowly. 

when she’s done, she looks up to find that raleigh’s slid to the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees as he leans in as close as he can get with the coffee table in his way. “okay -- that was beautiful. you should finish it.”

she shakes her head, setting her guitar down. “i can’t. they already sold it. and even if i wanted to... i don’t know how it ends.”

raleigh’s legs spread in invitation and she stands to walk around to the couch, slipping into his lap and leaning back against his chest. his hands are tender as he rubs them across her shoulders, sliding up her back before one lifts to brush a lock of hair back behind her ear, his pointer finger pushing her glasses up her nose affectionately. “maybe one day you can write something else with the same theme,” he suggests, and she tries her best to smile even though it feels like a dream lost, somehow -- a ridiculous thought, given that she pretty much has everything she ever wanted, but the way she feels all the same.

“maybe,” she sighs, the kiss he drops to her forehead a bandaid on a wound that’s been doing its best to heal for what feels like her entire life.

xvii.

he’s never brought a date to the vinyls before. 

there’s been plenty of after parties he’s stumbled out of with a girl on his arm, sure, but cadence is the first person to sit by his side during the ceremony, and he’s surprised by how much he likes having her next to him.

then again, he’s self aware enough to realize he’d like being pretty much anywhere, with her.

still -- the awards are a lot less boring with her around to kiss and stroke his hair and make snide commentary about the rest of the attendees with, and when she squeezes his hand goodbye to rush backstage and get ready for her performance he misses her instantly.

what happens next makes him endlessly regretful of the fact that he’s not backstage with her.

he rushes around just as soon as he can, pushing his way through security and frantically scrambling technical assistants to find her exactly where he thought he might, between ellis knight and fiona, looking lost with her head in her hands.

she seems equal parts broken and pissed in a way that tugs at his heartstrings and makes him a little bit proud. raleigh shoves through the crowd to get to her and slips an arm around her waist. he’s only caught the tail end of the conversation they’re all having, but he knows enough to know that “you can’t bench her. that’s bull.”

ultimately, though, it doesn’t matter how much they stomp their feet. she’s under contract, their hands are tied, and he walks away seething at the unfairness of it all, this shitty industry that’s turned on her when all she ever wanted to do was make music.

she cries in the car back to her apartment to pack her things. there’s no way he’s letting her go home to iowa or idaho or indiana without him, and he barks at his team over the phone until they agree to move his appearances around so he can make that happen, his free hand clasped tightly in hers until he physically has to let her go so she can unlock her front door with trembling fingers.

cadence tosses clothes haphazardly onto the bed and he silently and precisely moves to folds each piece for her, until she gives up and sinks down onto the edge of the mattress, defeated. 

wide eyes filled with tears lock onto his, and he watches her bottom lip wobble before she says, “you really don’t have to do this. come with me, i mean. i know i messed up, and -- you have so much else going on. i don’t expect you to --”

“i’m coming,” he states firmly, setting the sweatpants in his hand down and stepping closer to her, sitting beside cadence on her bed. “what happened tonight was fucked up, cadence -- it shouldn’t have happened at all. i’m not going to let you go through this alone.”

“but --”

“but nothing,” he says, and before the words have even left his mouth she’s falling into his arms with a soft sound of gratitude, mashing her face into his chest as she sniffles.

“thank you,” cadence mumbles, sounding so unsure of herself it makes him wonder if she’s ever had anyone show up for her when it mattered most before, or if that’s yet another thing they unfortunately have in common. 

xviii.

raleigh tries his best to cheer her up, but it’s still hard, feeling like she’s let the entire world down. her fans. herself.

there’s something embarrassing about showing raleigh her apartment back home and the person she was before she met him -- all the places she felt most uncertain and where she experienced some her worst self-doubt, the room that still has the smoothie star apron hung up in the closet.

but there’s also something exciting, about being totally off the grid with him. no one knows they’re here and there’s no paparazzi waiting to snap photos of them -- especially given the fact that they don’t leave her building for the first three days she spends moping around while raleigh orders all the takeout he can get his hands on.

it sort of reminds her of when they first met, and there was nothing to do but learn about each other, though now there’s a familiarity to him she relies on, a unique raleigh-ness that feels more like home than this shitty apartment ever did.

still, she struggles, and the weight of the world doesn’t let up until zadie shows up with her fanmail and avery does his best to make her smile with a beach trip and some fancy new toys and a day in the sun with a drink in her hand.

eventually it’s just her and raleigh again, out by the fire after everyone else has gone to bed. her stomach is full of s’mores and her cheeks hurt from smiling for the first time in weeks, and it’s a shock when she realizes she feels content, even after everything that’s happened -- almost as though things will all work out for the better no matter what happens next.

“oh my god,” she gasps suddenly, cutting off what raleigh had been saying as her eyes light up and she hastens to stand. “i’ve gotta -- i need to -- oh my god.”

just like that, she knows how her song ends.

recording it is a process, but raleigh calls in some favors and gets them studio time and agrees to be featured on the song even though she knows he’s still working through a sound change that he feels unsure about.

but it means a lot to her, having him crammed in the booth at her side, singing into the same mic. they sound almost unbelievably good together, too, raleigh’s harmonies on the words that finally resolve that lost feeling she’s been harboring her entire life making something deep within her wriggle up happily, wagging its proverbial tail.

the fact that raleigh remains by her side throughout the entire fight with her label, the long nights of despair agonizing over what her next move is going to be and even the moment where they decide to break into indio, of all places, means more to her than she can ever say. she feels markedly less nervous about the entire thing every time she turns her head to the side and sees him, right there next to her -- right where he’s been this entire time -- smiling encouragingly and squeezing her hand hard in his.

though it’s not until they’re up at the top of the ferris wheel that she realizes how precious what she has really is. it’s not until he looks her dead in the eye and says, with that same soft earnestness he’s awarded her since they first met at the one in a million auditions that feel quite literally like a hundred years ago, “cadence, everything you want is on the other side of fear. and i want you to have everything you want,” that she truly understands that’s what between them is special and rare.

not because of any tattoos, or any preconceived destiny. not because of who they are and their status and the fact that people take pictures of them when they’re out in public together.

but because of this -- all these real moments of genuine connection they’ve been fortunate enough to share since fate threw them into each other’s paths.

“raleigh, i love you.” the words are said easily, not a moment’s hesitation behind them. 

just before she crosses over in the cart to kiss him until they’re both breathless, raleigh gifts her the brightest smile he has and says, “i love you, too.”

xix.

the night is a blur from the moment he first takes the stage with his old bandmates to when he finally finds himself alone with cadence in a rundown old motel a few miles out from the festival in the desert.

he can’t recall ever being so happy, so of course he doesn’t remember every agonizing detail of the evening, though he does know he doesn’t feel the need to have a single beer with cadence around, twirling barefoot in the grass and giggling when she leads him up to the room they’ve borrowed.

afterwards, when they’re sitting on the roof together in the blanket they dragged off the bed, he reflects on the wild year they’ve had with her in his arms, fingertips tracing the delicate very funny scrawled across cadence’s collarbone.

he feels... free. completely liberated. like there’s absolutely nothing and no one that can get to him, now, like he’s untouchable, like he doesn’t care about a single thing that happens after today and how perfect things have been. 

“i think i’m actually freer than i’ve ever been,” he muses, where his lips are pressed into her hair, “i can take my sound in any direction i want.”

“i’m so happy for you, raleigh,” cadence returns genuinely, tilting her head back so he can see her upside-down smile. 

his arms tighten around her. “i’m so excited for what you’re gonna be doing, too. i’m excited for us.”

“yeah,” she sighs, “who knows what’s next, right? now that ellis let me out of my deal...”

he can hear the thread of worry undercutting the words. he shakes his head, hands rubbing up and down her arms. “you can worry about that tomorrow. for tonight, just enjoy the comeback. what you did out there was amazing.”

“what we did,” she corrects, and he blinks up the stars as he realizes she’s right -- they’re a we now. he’s part of a we again, after being on his own for so long.

the phrases bounce around in his head, unfamiliar and foreign. me and my girlfriend, he thinks to himself, cadence and i. we’re going to be late. we’ll be away that weekend. we just started watching that show. we, we, we. 

“what we did was amazing,” raleigh amends, the words slow to come out but feeling right all the same. “whatever we do next will be amazing.”

“absolutely,” cadence confirms, with conviction, like it’s something she believes wholeheartedly.

and though he has no idea what to expect or what it might be, a large part of him is inclined to agree with her -- she’s been right about everything else so far.

xx.

one year later, she’s finishing a set in berlin, the last stop on a sprawling european tour that had taken she, avery, micah and raleigh across the continent for dozens of performances to sold-out crowds of thousands screaming her lyrics back to her. 

if her contract with overknight had been a dream come true, signing to wilshere records is heaven incarnate. cadence’s trip through the u.k. with her new label is proof enough, and the chance to meet new fans with new stories to share that she could connect with is one she’s taken to with enthusiasm, the experience made all the sweeter by the fact that her favorite people get to be by her side throughout it all.

berlin’s crowd is one of the best, and she fully expects to end the tour on a high note, head banging to the last few notes of ‘knockout’ before raleigh’s planned entrance for the last song of the night, so they can sing the duet that’s closed out every show they’ve had on the tour together. 

when he struts out with his guitar, waving and grinning at the crowd, she can’t stop herself from smiling stupidly at him, just like she does every time she sees him join her on stage, every time she realizes that this is their life, that this is something they do every night, now.

though her grin falters when raleigh pauses in front of his microphone and asks, “berlin, do you mind if i talk a little bit before i start the song? no? cool, because i’ve got an important question to ask.”

her eyes widen. cadence’s mouth drops open and doesn’t close throughout the entire speech raleigh gives her, even though thousands of people in the crowd are filming every moment of her gaping like an idiot, snapping close-ups of her shocked face.

the arena practically vibrates with screams when he drops to his knee, popping the box in his hand open so she can see the giant diamond ring nestled inside of it. 

“so?” raleigh asks, and cadence can just barely hear him in her in-ears with the way her heart is beating frantically up into her throat, as wild as the crowd’s raging around them and then some. “whaddya say, babe? will you marry me?”

as if the answer could ever be anything but yes. she nods, laughing as she launches herself into his arm for a kiss that’s too grand to be given on stage, though that’s hardly going to stop her -- not tonight, at least. tonight, she’s okay with the whole world watching their every move, just one more time.

“oh, i don’t know if it’s going to fit,” raleigh jokes as the ring slides easily onto her left hand, amping up the theatrics for the fans still watching them avidly, even up in the cheap seats.

cadence rolls her eyes playfully at him. “very funny,” she praises, and the grin he offers her in return is so loving -- so knowing, with the secret that only the two of them share and every weird piece of their history included in it -- that it takes everything she has to shove him away so they can perform instead of dragging him down to the floor to kiss him over and over again.

clumsily, she flubs a few notes of love who i’ll be on her guitar. from across the stage, between the bridge and the chorus, raleigh jeers, “someone hasn’t learned to play with the extra weight on their left hand, yet, i see,” and when she flips him off while belting out the last lines of the verse, his raucous laughter is all the harmony the final few bars of the song needs. 

[dropsofletters]

how to lose someone in seven steps? | xiaojun

— summary: fencing his way through life, dejun knows too much about the sport but not enough about love. his sweet tongue conquers the romanticism of this century and puts it to shame—in love with everyone and everything. though, maybe that’s one thing to take to her advantage when trying to break his heart. making him fall for her shouldn’t be that difficult.

— title: how to lose someone in seven steps? — pairing: xiao dejun x reader — genre: fencer!au ; bet!au ; strangers to friends to lovers!au ; love experiment!au — type: angst ; fluff ; romance ; humor ; drama — word count: 10,584 — playlist: just friends – keshi ; i’m low on gas and you need a jacket – pierce the veil ; that xx – g dragon ; wi ing wi ing – hyuk oh ; lightweight – demi lovato ; better man – 5 seconds of summer ; love u – monsta x ; lucky strike – troye sivan — note: you should read the prologue before reading this route.

One day with a headache is usual; it comes with the stress of the heat of summer, the rambling of people around oneself, and with the overall activities of a busy schedule. The second day, she really starts pondering if the medicine she is taking for her headache is even doing any good—she reads the contents of the box filled with medicine, thinking of the doses, pondering on why it has worked on other occasions but it just doesn’t work now.

The third day she wakes up with a headache, she truly thinks she’s going to snap at the world. How dare they wake her up to the thumping inside her head? Words mingling together in thoughts that she can’t even comprehend.

But the reason of her headache goes past her room—it’s not the bright colors of her rented apartment that take her off guard, neither is it the scent of vanilla that she sprays on her bathroom every night and somehow makes its way into the bedroom, it’s because someone is calling her incessantly before the alarm even goes off. The perks of being an unemployed singer, however, fall on the fact that she doesn’t really have a schedule to start with.

Pushing her tiger blanket off her body, her fingertips reach for her phone. Out of the many contacts, this one surprises her the most—Shishi is the type of woman to write a text with shortened greetings, a simplistic reply and then, she’s off to her own world of anime shows and cosplaying. Much to her delight (or to her lack of understanding, thereof), Shishi is calling at six in the motherfucking morning.

If it’s Shishi, it must be an emergency.

She flops back onto her bed, pulling the covers up her face when she replies, phone to ear, “Good morning, Shishi, what are you doing up?”

“I haven’t slept.” Shishi is quick to reply, her soft voice coming in short spurts, and by the sip she hears soon after, Shishi’s companion for this morning is coffee. “I, uh, I was playing videogames, you know, and I was just thinking about what you said about breaking my ex’s heart four days ago.”

Oh, maybe that’s why she has had a headache the past three days. Alcohol had been her form of speech at that moment, when her hand grabbed Shishi’s phone with a picture of her and her ex-boyfriend, something Xiao…all she can remember now is that he is the supposed ‘Fencer Asshole’.

“Ah, Shishi…I think it was just a joke.” The feeling of her covers softening the stress on her cheeks has her closing her eyes. Just a few more hours of sleep before she has to worry about the world outside her cheap apartment. “I was drunk, Shishi. I…I don’t want to date any of my friends’ exes, no matter how attractive they are or how much they hurt them—”

Shishi lets out a groan that comes from the depths of her frustration. “But—you don’t get it. You’ve never been heartbroken. It’s…it’s the worst thing in the world.”

Opening her eyes, she stares at the harsh yellow walls of her bedroom. “Reason as to why you shouldn’t want to cause that upon someone else. It doesn’t make you a better person—”

For a moment, silence fills the air, and she thinks the call must’ve come to an end, just when she is about to slip her phone off her ear to cut the call, Shishi speaks again. “He played games with me,” She says, voice softer than what she gets to hear when she’s playing videogames. Shishi somehow lives believing that the stories she sees in manga and anime will become her reality. They never do. “Spent three months of my life last year kissing me, making me feel unique, having me going to every single one of his events only to say we were just friends after. I can’t deal with that.”

“And I’m so sorry, Shishi, but that just happens—”

“Please, you promised!” For a second, she thinks back to the time Shishi was truly heartbroken by Xiao Dejun. Locked in her room without being able to get out, weeping so silently that no one noticed—no one but her group of friends, arriving with her favorite meals, tickets to her favorite shows, and none of them got them out. Only on her own had she been able to break through the ties that held her to Dejun. “I was miserable for months. Sometimes, when I really think about it, I still feel like I can hear his voice. Please, I just need him to get a taste of his own medicine.”

The day she dies, she wants to believe she was a good person—she helped her friends, was there for her family, and did what she thought was good. At this moment in time, she doesn’t know if it’s a good thing—heartbreak is overrated yet huge on its own, but it’s what her friend wants. Revenge tastes sweet, and she hasn’t had anything to eat yet.

“Okay, I will.” She sighs deeply, her vocal cords hurting by the words she just said. “But I need some background on this dude. All I remember is your snotty voice when you were crying for him.”

Almost like the shows she watches, Shishi squeals in delight, slurping some more of her drink before speaking up. “Xiao Dejun, born in Dongguan, a famous fencer that went to the Olympics when he was sixteen. Ah, he doesn’t really enjoy coffee, he prefers tea. Loves dogs, has one, too. Sucker for musicals, has the prettiest eyes…” When she recites him that way, she wonders how in fucking hell Shishi got her heart broken by someone who loves musicals. To be quite honest, if someone asks you to watch CATS on a first date and your heart ends up in shambles, that’s on you. “But he always flirted with one of his trainers.”

“What was her na—?”

“Chenhao.”

“Oh…right.”

“Chenhao. She’s like the anime enemy of my love story,” Somehow, she wonders if Shishi sees the world the same way she does. Either way, she closes her eyes tightly, hoping for the headache to go away. “Tall, has short hair, I think she had a rose tattoo on her shoulder but it’s rarely seen. Hot as all fuck.”

“She sounds super hot.” She replies, only to earn a scoff from Shishi. “Baby, I’m just being honest. You’re hot in your own way, too, but if you were never something official—”

“Ah, ah, don’t go there!” Shishi conquers. “I just need you to be the Chenhao in this situation. Crush his heart. Make him regret it.”

You know, with the lack of gigs coming directly to her—an artist in the rising that doesn’t get past a thousand plays on Soundcloud, this sounds like a good distraction. A fencer, perhaps, is one of the things she would’ve never imagined herself ever dating or looking for, but it is what she gets. The kind of person she has to capture to have Shishi feeling good about herself again.

“What I do for you, Shishi. What I do for you…”

“And I love you for it!”

###

The world rotates in ways we don’t understand—one day, we’re saying we won’t do one thing and some months later, we’re living exactly what we never wanted to go through. It’s the cycle of life; reason as to why fashion gets old and renews itself perfectly, or why the songs we used to listen to years ago can’t seem to get out of our hearts, doesn’t matter if we still know the lyrics or not. With that in mind, entering the local fencing tournament with a ticket in between her fingers and an unpolished denim jacket across her shoulders isn’t something she would have imagined herself doing a week ago. Alas, life works in marvelous ways.

Most of the people by the bleachers are parents, clear in the way they dress, in their cheers and pamphlets that read children’s names. Her heart warms at the whooping from some people, wondering where that side of her life had gone to. You see, life hasn’t been so innocent to her the past few months—lack of employment, songs that speak about her turmoil of thoughts, blending into the hatred she feels for her decisions. A singer on tables in local bars, but never quite making it through. Never quite making an impression.

Instead, she sits down, watching the group of children in fencing uniforms, white and perfectly polished, holding the sabre with expertise, perhaps learning from someone much more knowledgeable. Not a lot of adults are on the center of the tournament, but she catches sight of someone kneeling to fix the sleeves of a kid’s uniform, taking off his mask to showcase his messed-up brown hair and his twinkling, smiling eyes. Her throat dries in recognition, though, he looks much more different from what Shishi had described.

Xiao Dejun is a fallen star at that moment—in his eyes, a universe. His fingers quickly work on the elongated fabric of that kid’s uniform, speaking to him with certainty, grinning in a way that would make anyone comfortable. When he gets back on his feet, taut and slim body in full display under that white uniform (still, leaving something to the imagination), he takes his sabre in between his hands, speaking with certainty.

The sabre glides across the air like a dance, a samba of sorts that romanticizes such unrecognized art. Her vision is filled only with him—with the way he hits his sabre with the kid’s, pulling his mask on his face with quick motions before pushing himself forward. When the kid manages to pinch his stomach, bending the sabre in the process, he can’t help but cheer loudly—heard over the chatter of people, followed by a high five from the kid, perhaps on ten years old at most.

Oh, youth tournament. When Shishi had spoken about a tournament, she thought Dejun would be the one competing, but as he makes his way towards the bleachers, right at the bottom of it, she can’t help but hit herself mentally.

Youth.

He’s not going to participate.

He’s training children in this competition.

No one is seated by his side, so her legs slide away from her seat to move closer to him before anyone could take the space beside him. Her converses hit the bleachers with certainty, excusing herself between the masses of parents to plop herself down next to Xiao Dejun. From up close, with his mask off, she can see a thin layer of seat falling on his forehead and on the perfectly styled bridge of his nose. His thick eyebrows frown together when he is concentrated, a memory of the kind of man he is. Too given to his job, perhaps, too given to this sport.

Competitive.

Meant for winning.

But she’s going to win over him.

“I’m guessing you know a lot about this.” She starts, leaning back and placing her backpack over her legs. Dejun finally looks away from the masses of children preparing themselves for the first portion of the tournament, giving a smile that transforms into a cackle. Anyone is a sucker for humor, you see.

“Well, ah, yes, of course.” Dejun points at his uniform, before crossing his arms over his chest. “I am guessing you don’t know much.”

“There’s always time for learning.” She extends her hand then, introducing herself with certainty as he looks into his eyes. They turn into half-moons at that moment, smiling with delight as he shakes her hand in a greeting. Oddly charming.

“Xiao Dejun. I’m a trainer for the local team.” He introduces himself and, oh, of course he sounds like he has his life together. It wouldn’t surprise her if someone like him had spent the entirety of his youth simply giving himself to his sport. “If you don’t know a thing about fencing, I’m surprised you’re even here.”

“A friend told me the tournament was going to be entertaining…” Her voice trails at that moment, remembering that she shouldn’t say much about Shishi. “And I happened to have free time.”

Naturally, a blush appears across his honey skin. Strawberry meeting the dulcet honey-tea. “What do you do?”

“I’m a singer.” Though, it’s rare for her to ever say that these days. “…Or, I try to be. You see, it’s harder than you think to find someone to listen to your music when you don’t have an artist name.”

“I think your name is nice for an artist.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Dejun conquers, nodding in a way that has her chuckling. Okay, so not only oddly charming—entirely so. “I would listen to your albums.”

She scoffs at his words. “Liar.”

“Ah, not a liar—” But he doesn’t deny it. Sweet-tooth meeting a dulcet mouth, embarking her in a trip for falling. It’s not a wonder that Shishi had been caught in his trap. “But if you want to learn something else apart from singing, I give classes every once in a while. You just have to sign up and all that.”

Looking at Dejun as he bends his knees and pushes the sabre forward, his face hidden behind a mask, somehow doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. If anything, it’s a way to get closer. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Dejun stands up at that moment, running his hands over his thighs to clean them on the white fabric. “I have to leave now, though. I hope you enjoy the tournament.”

Her eyes rake over his figure, a big beam on her features. “Oh, I’ll make sure to do just that.”

If the parents are going crazy on the bleachers, Dejun is the equilibrium—the middle ground that gives everyone strength. Each kid seems to have him as an energizer, looking for his approval even though he’s not the oldest of the trainers. Dejun’s throat must hurt from how much he is cheering for them, clapping widely, taking the sport as an art, and it’s at this moment that she does see Xiao Dejun in a different light, somewhat an angel in between the bunch of shit he did to Shishi.

Yet, unlike hers, his world doesn’t stop. In hopes of talking to him after the tournament is over, she’s surprised to see the groups of parents clouding him with cameras and phones to take pictures of him with their children.

He doesn’t have time for her.

The heat of the summer afternoon pleads for her to take off her jacket, slipping it off and hanging it from her arm as she tries to call a cab. The holes of her graphic t-shirt (all out of style, of course) don’t do much to keep her fresh as she calls the usual number for her ride, only to remain waiting. None of the parents have gotten out to the tournament just yet, leaving her in solitude in the small street, only accompanied by the people in the Chinese restaurant in front of her, who are too occupied in working with their clients.

Though, something takes her off guard—the motorcycle that had passed by just mere minutes ago has passed by again, this time slower, checking out her spot in the sidewalk. She lowers the phone to look at the man with the dark glasses and horrendous, patchy hair. Something about him feels off, but before she could further intensify her discomfort, he rushes off in his motorcycle. But, he’s not too far away, she can still hear the roaring of the engine—

The door opens at that moment, welcoming the sight of Dejun in more comfortable clothing—his brown hair more brushed at this moment, sporting a white t-shirt and dark joggers, pressing his phone up to his ear. “Excuse me, I called a cab for you.” He tells her, grabbing her elbow and pulling her back the slightest. “Ah, I saw you leave on your own…but the neighborhood has been experiencing some robberies from a man in a motorcycle and I doubt you knew. Maybe, wait inside until the cab arrives, okay?”

When Dejun closes the glassed door in front of her, making sure to lock it, she spares one glance his way. He’s much too close, though he doesn’t notice it, his chest touching her shoulder by the time she says: “T—Thank you, I had no idea.”

“Today’s learning day for you, then.” Dejun plays around, giving her one of her infamous smiles, though, his eyes are the most impressive. Somehow, she can’t look away from them. “Ah…I still have to attend the parents. Are you okay with staying here alone?”

She’d rather stay a few minutes more with him, hear that deep tone in his voice that lingers with a smile most of the time. “It’s okay. Go with your fanbase.”

“It’s not a fanbase.” Dejun defends with an eye-roll, before walking backwards. “I hope to see you in my fencing classes one day.”

She shrugs her shoulders, knowing exactly how to keep him at the edge of his seat. “I’ll have to see. Maybe, maybe not.”

Someone calls Dejun’s name at that moment and the sunshine in his eyes stops looking at her, leaving her in darkness.

###

From: Elena Wang.

I still think this is the worst idea you’ve had to date.

Or that we, as a group, have collectively decided upon.

Literally.

Her shoes patter against the sidewalk, moving over to the same place in which the tournament had taken place in two weeks ago. Out of all the texts she expected to get at four in the afternoon on a Monday, Elena talking about how bad it is that they had bet to break someone’s heart wasn’t it. Her manager, however, should be texting her about the demos she had sent out over a month ago…and yet, she receives no response about that.

The air is turning fresher this time of the year, enough to move her flannel as she walks with lack of precision, turning her gaze to the group-chat she shares with her friends.

From: Shishi.

It’s not a bad idea at all.

I was heartbroken because of Dejun.

From: Elena Wang.

And what if she falls in love with Dejun?

He’s handsome.

And she hasn’t gotten laid in well over a year.

I’m sure she could see an average guy from afar and she would be interested.

From: Yifei.

Did Elena just call you a hoe absentmindedly?

Free pussy for everyone including Dejun.

To: Group-Chat.

I won’t fall for Dejun.

Come on.

I’m fine.

From: Yifei.

How did that song go?

I hypnotize you with this pussy…

Now you feel like you can fly.

Fly.

From: Shishi.

She won’t sleep with him.

It’s off the charts.

To: Group-Chat.

Right.

Off the charts.

From: Shishi.

Is that sarcasm in the form of a text?

Opening the door to the fencing area, she hears the swoosh of air that follows when it closes. The warmth is nicely welcomed, though the groups of people gathering by the middle make her nervous. Some around their age, some definitely younger—perhaps teens, if she’s exact—and all more interested in fencing than she is. One person stands out, however, in the middle as he gives instructions out as well as smiles. Those that she can’t get over and done with.

Dejun is quite a fit for the person she would’ve imagined would break her dating drought, but Shishi would absolutely kill her if she decided to get overly intimate with him. Well, that’s what her texts indicate when she checks her phone one last time before putting her bag down on the bleachers.

From: Shishi.

Right?

You won’t sleep with him.

It’s forbidden.

Even I didn’t sleep with him.

From: Yifei.

Let her get some!

God bless the day Jhené Aiko decided to say:

That dick make my soul smile.

That dick make me so proud.

From: Shishi.

She.

Can’t.

See.

His.

Dick.

To: Group-Chat.

Girls, what kind of woman do you take me for?

I’m not that easy to sleep with.

Besides, if Shishi says it’s off the charts, it’s off the charts.

From: Yifei.

No pussy fairy, then?

To: Group-Chat.

The pussy fairy died last year. Now, I can’t even kiss someone.

Or I could, if you just let me do my own damn thing and talk to Dejun.

With that, she locks her phone and puts it inside one of the pockets of her bag.

Dejun awakens a sunset inside of her when he smiles at her, perhaps, thrown to the world and she takes it in between her fingertips as hers. Though, someone else starts talking to her, short dark hair masking enigmatic features on their wake. The rose tattoo on her shoulder is barely covered by the sleeves of her uniform, walking over to her with another fencing outfit.

“You should get changed,” The seductive tone of her voice lingers with the scent of cigarettes, and it is at this moment that she meets Shishi’s biggest enemy: Chenhao. “I don’t know if this is your size or anything, but it’s the best I could find. The class has already started and you don’t want to miss Dejun’s first class.”

Chenhao quirks one of her thin eyebrows when she doesn’t take the uniform firsthand, but after some pondering, she takes it in between her hands. Damn, she’s actually as hot as Shishi described, if not more. Is it possible that she is the one dating Dejun? “I understand.” She says, already slipping into the uniform while talking to Chenhao. “You have high regards of him.”

“I do.” Chenhao complies, nodding at her words.

“Why?”

“He’s a nice fencer.” She starts, looking down at a folder in between her hands before clicking on her pen. “What is your name again?”

After saying it, her hands come behind her back to zip herself up. “…Is he a nice guy apart from a good fencer?”

“Too much of a nice guy.” Chenhao says. “You don’t know how many women we have had to talk to because he was just too nice to them. Some think he’s just flirty, I just think he doesn’t realize that not all people are going to want to be his friend.”

“I mean, he’s an adult, he probably notices—”

“He doesn’t.” Chenhao conquers, already pushing her towards the group of people. “But I can notice that you’re also one of those women that come here to get Dejun’s attention, but I’ll just turn my blind eye on it.”

“I’m not—”

“Hey, long time no see!”

When Dejun speaks and she smiles gleefully, all her excuses fall down as pure and futile lies.

“Dejun!” It’s ridiculous how her knees seem to give in, words filled with roses as she expects his mere attention to fall on her. Those two orbs—penetrating, piercing, become one with her. “I’m sorry I’m late. I was talking to my manager.”

Looking for a sabre, he places it in between her hands, his fingers coming in contact with hers with the softest touch. They’re calloused, if anything, come to learn most athletes don’t have the softest hands. “How did that go?”

“Well, horrible, you see.” She replies, well aware of the fact that— “My manager did not actually talk, but ignore my calls altogether. Texted me saying he hasn’t gotten any news.”

Dejun hisses at that, placing one hand on top of her shoulder as he leads her to the group of people. “Mhm, fencing can always help letting the steam off.”

“You know how to sell your business really well, you know?”

“…I’ve come to learn a thing or two.” Dejun, who grabs his sabre with more of a stronger grasp, though somewhat elegant in his approach, leans one leg forward. “I need you to take positions.” And she does, for something about the way he loves fencing just shows through. The love that knows no lies, no bleeding memories of a past that awes someone not to trust—he loves the sport so carelessly that he’d die for it. Would give his life out just for one moment with the sabre. “Always take into consideration, though, that fencing is about balance, elegance—it’s not about fighting, it’s about portraying art with your body.” Putting the sabre down, he clears his throat. “I’m Xiao Dejun, your instructor for today, and I will start going over the basic things about fencing. What it is, a part of its history, and then, we can move onto the actual sport on itself.”

When she was a student, there was always this one kid that prepared a little too magnificently, and while most people rotted in envy and rolled their eyes at said person’s presentation, she always found them to be…enchanting. To love something—not someone—enough for it to drive you to limits of yourself only to deliver something greater than what you have been taught shows strength. Perseverance is attractive at that moment when Dejun takes his time to instruct everyone how to properly stand when fencing, when putting on his mask and gliding the sabre as if it was part of his body.

But, she’s not that good at it.

At first, she doesn’t notice it—how to notice it when she’s working with people equally as bad as her? But when Dejun stands in front of her, sabre in hand, ready to take over the world, her breath gets caught in her throat, hard to swallow when he comes forward and forward, practically cornering her before the sabre bends onto her stomach.

“Don’t panic,” Dejun indicates. “That’s the first step. If you panic, you don’t act—and if you don’t act, you’re going to lose.”

She takes off her mask, then, a sigh ripping from the depths of her throat when she says: “Not everyone is born with talent like you, Dejun.”

Dejun chuckles at that, taking off his mask as well when he gives an answer. “I wasn’t born with talent for fencing. I just happened to make a mistake when I tried to get in the soccer team. Ended up signing myself up for fencing classes.”

Well, that’s surprising. “No way!”

“I did.” Dejun conquers. “You can’t imagine just how confused I was when I was given a sabre instead of a ball. But I made do.”

“Things happen for a reason.”

“They do.” Though, his eyes glide over her face, looking down at her lips momentarily before sweet laughter creeps up on him. Mhm, maybe he does think that destiny put her there.

Destiny is called Shishi Hong.

And it’s Dejun’s…ex…friend…

Ex friend with benefits?

Ex…friend that he liked?

Ex something.

“What are you doing on Friday?” She asks, lips coming together to wet themselves, and Dejun chuckles.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Dinner sounds nice.”

“Then, dinner it is.” Though, his sweetener ways come back when he quirks an eyebrow. “Did you just come here to ask me out on a date?”

If only he knew that she came here to shatter his heart. Instead to tell him just that, she smiles. “Maybe, maybe not. What’s the fun in telling you?”

Dejun puts his mask down, waving the sabre around her and making her stay on guard. “I have to get the answers out of you?”

“Not with a sabre.” She replies, a squeal on her voice when the sabre bends by her abdomen—again. Expected, honestly.

“How?”

A giggle rips from her throat then, shaking her head at his antics. “You’ll have to figure it out on our date, Dejun.”

“Damn it.” Dejun feigns anger, a pout on his lips when he adds: “Gotta give me your number after this, you know?”

“Oh, definitely.”

Though, she can feel a pair of piercing eyes on hers, different from Dejun’s—they freeze her in place when she realizes Chenhao is looking at her, somehow inspecting her situation. Perhaps, she knows her real intentions, those she has with the man that is being called over again, leaving with an apology as he helps another group of people.

Is she really doing this? Breaking someone’s heart just because of her friend?

###

Leonardo DiCaprio in The Great Gatsby would be proud of her look right now.

The night has never looked better, but with a satin dress clinging to her curves—coming directly from Elena’s wardrobe—and a striped long coat over it, she feels enigmatic. Little does Dejun know when he picks her up in his car, neither too expensive not too new, that she’s laid out to be a seductress. Not to sleep with him, Shishi would have her head if that was the case, but to bathe in confidence and let him seek for more.

Jay, Bingbing’s husband, hides most of his tattoos underneath the burlesque suit he has to wear. Red, fitted to his body, with a bowtie that conceals the lines of tattoos that scatter from his chest. His curly black hair is moved away from his face thanks to a lot of gel, making the strands glisten under the harsh lights of the casino-themed restaurant. It’s a beautiful place, not to be misunderstood, with spacious tables that represent those of poker in Las Vegas, plates themed in ways that would be misunderstood by the public had not they placed food on top of them. People dress up to the nines, and Dejun, sadly, didn’t seem to get the memo.

Shit, she had forgotten to tell him to just dress elegantly.

Though, her eyes can’t help but go over to him—the simplicity of such a man with a gray sweater half-tucked inside a pair of black jeans, who takes her breath away when he pushes his brown hair away from his face with his hand and asks for a table for two. These days, men like him are hard to find. Neruda poems made person, with an ode to love.

“I didn’t know you were bringing a date today.” Jay says from his spot, tapping his finger against the screen to showcase the width of available tables. Not that many, but the one near the window calls out for her name, so she points at it.

“Well, it’s not usual for me to bring a date whatsoever.” She replies, somehow widening her eyes at Jay. She only hopes Bingbing had not told him about their little bet—

“Touché.” Jay jots something down on the notebook before clearing his throat. “Please, let me take your coats while you’re inside. You can come directly to me to grab them once you plan to leave.”

Something about Dejun makes her heart swirl. It shouldn’t, but it does. When a summer day arrives and she has her precious iced tea, the ice always stays at the bottom, and she looks for them, moves them, lets them be the circle of her life for one second or two, maybe a few minutes. It’s nothing interesting, but it’s necessary. Just like him when he lifts his lips in one of those smiles that make his eyes look even more beautiful, placing both hands on top of her shoulders.

“May I?” And really, Shishi would kill her if she read her thoughts. For one, his rosy lips look inviting, eyes asking her if she’d rather imagine him as a sinning angel or a pure devil. Off the charts, she tells herself, shaking her head in the process before recomposing herself.

“Of course,” Though, she almost forgets that she’s dressed to kill—better dressed than she has ever been on any date. Whatever. It’s not like she’s actually seducing him with a back-less dress, but when the fabric of her coat glides across her shoulders, down her arms, she spares one look at him. “I’ll be cold, though.”

“I’ll keep you warm.” He says, though he laughs loudly at his own antics, rubbing his hands against her arms. Resided deep in her heart, it hits her like a train-wreck—she loves the jittery feeling of being there with him. When her cheeks can’t stop blaring heat and her lips are constantly being moistened simply because she wants to talk to him. Is this, perhaps, her way of betraying Shishi?

Her heels click against the tiles as she walks behind Jay, Dejun right by her side, eager to maintain the conversation going. “I didn’t take you as a flirt.”

Dejun’s eyes welcome the light perfectly. Maybe, solar energy was created because of him. Inspired on him. “Some people say I am,” He drags her seat for her to take, making sure not to flash the entirety of the restaurant when sitting down. She crosses one leg over the other as she hears him speak, the man moving over to the seat across from her. “But I actually think I’m just too nice. I don’t mean to flirt.”

Her fingertips trail over the menu, looking at the prices and silently praying for them to gain a coupon or something. The things she does to go out with Dejun.

Wait, wait, wait.

Hold that thought.

It’s the things she does for Shishi, not for Dejun.

Oh, my fucking God—

“I happen to be the least flirty person I know.” She says, going back and forth on their conversation, only to hear Dejun scoff.

“You are flirty.”

If only he knew her group of friends, he wouldn’t say such thing. “I’m not!” Oh wait, he does know someone in her group of things—

Shishi.

When is the last time she replied to one of her texts?

Had she been too busy talking to Dejun to actually embark in a conversation with her friend?

“I know someone you flirt with that is very aware of your flirting.” Dejun replies, thanking the waitress that comes with a glass of water before lifting the menu up in the air. “I’m feeling lobster, what about you?”

She laughs at his antics. Dejun, though not the most well-paid person, happened to embark in a lot of expensive tastes when he was travelling around the world for fencing competitions. At the time, his sponsors would pay everything—but now, the blows go directly to his bank account. “You feel like losing all your money in just one meal?”

“My grandma used to say to eat as if it was the last time you were doing so.” Dejun instructs, the nostalgia in his voice lingering in depths that she doesn’t want to think about. “And I happen to like lobster a lot.”

“I’m having carbonara.” She says, looking over to the waitress when she gives her the menu back.

The woman places the menu against her hip, jotting it out the slightest. “Anything else?”

“I have to drive so cola for me.” Dejun initiates, pointing at her with his chin. “What do you want?”

If she’s wrecking the night, she better do it like a star. “Wine for me. Red.”

“Alright. I’ll have your meals out in a minute.” The waitress says, bowing deeply before moving over to the kitchen. She loses sight of her when she leans her weight back against the leather of the seat she has taken up on.

“So…”

“So…”

“When are you singing something for me?” Dejun asks, placing his elbows over the table and looking at her directly in the eye. Though she’s on the verge of bankruptcy, she still lifts her shoulders in a shrug.

“When you give me some inspiration, Dejun.”

“Me?” He asks in between a chuckle, using his thumb to point at himself.

“Do I know other Dejun?” She asks, biting on her nail softly as she leans forward as well, capturing his lips in one of her tracing gazes. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Why does she want to kiss him?

That wasn’t part of the deal—

But…to break his heart…she kind of has to have something with him.

Or is she just being selfish?

“You better not.”

Dejun is a feather that happened to fall in the ocean, and she’s the sailor that came across such thing, grasped it in her hands and now can’t get the fabric away from her fingertips. It clings to her in ways that she isn’t used to, but doesn’t hate at all. His words, the way he laughs, how he embarks in conversation without ever judging her—they meet in their differences, grow in their jokes, build something from the ground up respecting each other. It feels like talking to him goes by too quickly, the food disappearing even though she’s not that hungry. It’s that feeling of fitting with someone that she had heard about but had never lived through, and she absolutely hates it.

…To hide that she actually loves it.

A movie plays inside her head—not with the picture of kids and a house, but with the feeling of needing him to hold her. Everything he says connects him like a puzzle. Xiao Dejun started fencing when he was a child by accident, then it became the light of his eyes. His favorite person is his dad. He doesn’t prefer either tea or coffee, but if he has to choose, he loves tea. He wants to face all his fears even once in his life. He’s easily breakable. Though, he keeps it hidden, a secret that remains in between the two.

She keeps drinking and lets loose a little bit as well. Her dream of being a singer that started when she was twelve years old, watching one of those R&B singers on TV and then, needing to do something of the like. She learned how to play guitar and she does it averagely well, but nothing out of the ordinary. She’s careful—she doesn’t want to live regretting the things she has done, and when he asks if she’s ever regretted anything in her life, she shakes her head.

Never.

But now, she thinks she’s going to regret something—

Breaking his heart.

When the wine meets her head with a thump, she’s already out of the casino, dangling from Dejun’s shoulder as he holds her waist closely. His hand is warm, nice enough to leave her no choice but to daydream of that same hand roaming the entirety of her body. Perhaps, she has lit herself up in fire by drinking while he didn’t, but who cares about that?

No words come up to her mouth when Dejun leans her against the car to be able to open the passenger door, but she takes this time to inspect him. His messy hair, thick eyebrows, deep eyes—those lips, two sins asking for a taste. She needs a taste. Instead, she lets her hands wander, hovering over his waist before tugging at it, bringing him closer to look directly into his eyes.

He chuckles, playing with the strands of her hair to push them away from her face. “What’s up?”

“I want to do something…” She trails her voice, biting down on her bottom lip as she lets her utmost desire speak. She’s careful, of course, love is not what she wants—but somehow, she wants to relish on the feeling of him, having him underneath her to press kisses on his neck, make his world shake in the way that would settle her as a confident woman. It’s a promise to herself: sex. “Only if you want, though.”

Dejun must have caught up on what she said, his smile falling as he widens his eyes. “Something like w—what?”

“Like doing me.” She replies, heat catching up with her face, making Dejun chuckle as he shakes his head.

“I won’t do that. You’re drunk, first.” He instructs. “And secondly, I don’t have sex with people on the first date. Sorry.”

She tries to push herself away at that moment, embarrassment making a home out of her, but her back comes in contact with the door of the car. “O—Oh, shit, sorry, forget I even said that. I’m so stupid—”

Dejun shakes his head rapidly. “N—Not that I don’t want you! I just…I have a weird view of love, I guess. And sex, altogether.” Dejun takes the spot beside her, looking up at the sign that reads the name of the restaurant. “God, you’re so hot. I…I don’t know how I am capable to deny you, but I am doing it.”

Something ignites in her heart, nodding at what he says. “It’s okay.” She whispers. “What’s that view you have of love and sex?”

“That sex has erased love. Now love is the taboo.”

She chuckles at what he says, humming along. “You’re right.”

“I’m a romanticist, I guess.” Dejun instructs. “I’ve…I’ve grown with the idea of just…just having that foundation of feeling something before I get in the sheets with someone. Not that I don’t think it’s stupid sometimes—”

“It isn’t.” She cuts him short, opening the passenger’s door in the process. “Sex is overrated.”

“It is.”

“And I’m sorry for asking.”

“No, no—!” What he doesn’t know, however, is that she shouldn’t have even thought about it. Shishi comes up to her brain right at that moment. “Maybe, uh, maybe we can talk about our expectations on the subject on the second date?”

Before she could get inside the car, she quirks an eyebrow. “Second date?”

“Only if you want to…”

With a big smile on her face, she says: “Why wouldn’t I want to? It’s you we’re talking about, Dejun.”

###

Mondays have become the designated fencing day for the past month. Not that she has gotten any better—but it’s an excuse to see Dejun.

Just as she’s walking through the neighborhood, phone in hand (and she can hear Dejun cursing at her for doing this), she reads through the group-chat. Lately, she hasn’t been checking up much with her friends. Her manager has had her auditioning for a bunch of shows in hopes of getting in, to no avail, and along with that, she has tried to balance out her romantic life to spend more time with Dejun. Since…breaking his heart…could be easier if she gets to know him better.

Or it’s just one big excuse to get to know him.

From: Bingbing.

[Picture Attached]

Jay just sent me this because he had forgotten he had taken this picture.

Here we have Xiao Dejun using his pretty eyes on our designated heartbreaker.

The picture showcases her date from nearly three weeks ago. Dejun is seated across from her, cheek held up by his palm as he looks directly at her. Her lips are parted, speaking about something with wide hand movements, and she can’t help but laugh. His eyes settle on her with a twinkle she likes.

From: Shishi.

Hold up.

Why did you dress up hot?

Were you trying to get inside his pants?

Well…uh, how does one tell one of her best friends that she tried to when drunk, but that he gently denied because he just wasn’t ready?

To: Group-Chat.

Oh my God, Shishi, no.

From: Shishi.

Why did you dress up hot, then?

To: Group-Chat.

Because it’s a date…

If you were going to be all jealous over Dejun, why did you ask me to break his heart?

From: Shishi.

He looks very fucking happy right there.

Why did you offer to break Dejun’s heart?

Did you just think he was handsome and that you wanted to fuck him?

To: Group-Chat.

Calm down, Shishi.

You’re talking to me as if I’m some whore.

From: Shishi.

You have more of a body count than I do.

To: Group-Chat.

How do you even know that?

Stop making up bullshit.

Her ears blare up with heat at that, pushing her phone into the depths of her pocket before lifting her gaze. Shishi has some fucking nerve to talk to her that way. As if it wasn’t one of her grand ideas, even though she denied, to have her meeting up with Dejun. Whatever.

The air bites at her skin, going through her white t-shirt as she nears the fencing place. Instead, she’s welcomed by the sight of two people already outside. Not one of the students, but two of the instructors instead. Chenhao is leaning against the wall, cigarette in between her fingertips as Dejun talks closely to her. Chenhao is a bit taller than Dejun, one leg crossed over the other as he smirks down at her. His eyes inspect her features, taking the cigarette from her hand before stepping on it. Chenhao doesn’t seem phased, instead crossing her arms over her chest as if challenging.

Something creeps up inside her when Dejun talks to her softly, like a flower in the middle of a garden that he wants to see grow.

“Dejun! Chenhao!” She calls out at that moment, moving over to them to see Chenhao lifting her gaze and Dejun smiling as if he had not been caught strangely close to Chenhao. The woman in question breathes out her name before grinning.

“You still come to class; I see.” Chenhao spares one look at Dejun before shrugging. “Let’s see how much this lasts.” Before she could further question her sentence, Chenhao opens the door of the salon before entering, leaving a trail of smoke behind her.

“…What the hell does that mean?” She asks in a mere whisper, watching Dejun who shakes his head.

“I have no idea.” He replies, but she can call bullshit on that.

“I think you have a good idea of what she means.” She says, looking at the cigarette that lays lifelessly on the gray concrete. “What is it? Are Chenhao and you a thing or…?”

Dejun chuckles at her words, blowing a raspberry at the end. “Oh no,” He denies quickly. “She used to train with me for the Olympics, but she has been fucking it all up with her addiction to cigarettes. I need her to get back in the game.”

For a moment, she thinks about all the times she had helped her friends—and how they had helped her, too. Maybe, that is why she is here with him on the first place. “That’s good, but it’s her life. The only person that can change her is herself.”

Dejun stares off into the street, that restaurant in front of them one that they had never visited. The city fits him just as well as nature. Something about him is just universal. “Yeah, but I’ll try to change her until she goes back to the person she used to be. I believe in her.”

Now, she realizes that her heart is beating too rapidly—both in jealousy and in happiness, somehow. “So, that’s why a bunch of women fall in love for you, huh?”

“What?”

“That dreamy look…those eyes…” She whispers, a rasp in her tone. “That’s the tactic.”

“I have flirty eyes, I guess.” He answers, running his hand over her arm before catching her fingers with hers. “But, as of now, I only use them on one person.”

“And that would be…?”

“You.”

###

Once you see someone’s apartment, it’s over. That’s either for a hook-up, you’re on the friendzone, or simply because they’re comfortable enough with you to show you the place in which they are their truest selves.

Dejun’s place is different from hers. Where do they meet? They’re both a bit disorganized. Dejun scatters uniforms across his living room, the white walls contrasting what she normally sees him in—that bone colored fencing uniform that she has managed to learn how to love. By the right, a small kitchen remains almost spotless, if she doesn’t count the random snacks she sees around. She thinks she just saw crackers next to noodles, and if he’s having them together, she may sue him.

“Don’t tell me you eat crackers with noodles.”

Dejun closes the door behind him, putting down the packages of chips they had just bought for their movie night. “Noodles with crackers, with saltines, with chips. I once had them with chocolate cookies…but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Ew, Dejun!” She complains, swatting his arm softly as she takes a seat on the couch, pushing the uniform he had draped on the arm’s rest to the side, folding it carefully in the process. “I don’t know what’s more of a disaster, this living room or your stomach.”

“My mom didn’t raise a guy who is scared of eating.” Dejun implies, already opening a bag of extra spicy chips before lending it over to her. “You know what the fun thing about this snack is?”

“What?” Her voice lingers with happiness, something that always comes when being around Dejun.

“That we don’t know which ones are spicy and which ones are, well, not spicy.” He plops himself down to her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder that she can’t help but take. Why is it that the air feels far more favorable when by his side? “And I’m betting you’re going to end up biting all the spicy ones.”

“Ha!” She replies, already looking for the remote to search for a movie. Something comedy, perhaps, she’s feeling like watching something of the like of dark comedy—maybe Horrible Bosses? “I’m betting I’m not. I’ve got wits, baby.”

“And looks, too.” She hears him say, soon after pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “I’ll eat the spicy ones for you.”

“You’ll like them. That’s not fair.”

“And?”

“…Asshole.” She replies, well aware of the nickname Shishi always calls him—fencer asshole.

That couldn’t be more far from the truth.

It’s the comfort of being half on his body, laying her head on his chest and feeling his heart thump to the beat of a trap song, as if the bass is boosted and he goes from slow to quick. His lips wrap on big smiles, laughing like a maniac at the portions she loves the most, fingers raking over her hair, going through the portions that he knows she likes the most. She could fall asleep like this, with one of his hands resting on her hip, rubbing soothing circles over her jeans. This is not the type of imagery she’d show to her friends.

But who cares about her friends right at this moment?

What can she do when she says she’s cold, and Dejun drapes his jacket on top of the two of them, taking the arms to bring her closer by tightening them around his waist? The fabric tugs at the two of them uncomfortably, and she can’t stop laughing as they are face to face, looking into his precious eyes that create a rich brown mirror for her to look at herself into. It’s at this moment that she knows she wants Xiao Dejun, not only as a heartbreak, but as someone else—she wants to be able to be like this for as long as this romance is supposed to last.

She doesn’t want to break his heart.

“I thought you weren’t a flirt.” She tells him, her breath ghosting on top of his face, and his eyes trail down to look at her moving lips. It’s the kind of memory that will forever live in her brain—when she feels the most lightweight.

“I get by.” Dejun replies, leaning forward to peck her lips softly, delicately, as if he has all the time of the world, licking his lips before leaning forward again, reputing her in an adventure that she shouldn’t have taken place in, but she does. Her fingers thread through his locks, moving her body up until her legs rest in between his, chest pressed to his, body molding to his as if they were meant to be united. The sound that fills the air connects their lips in rhythmic motions, ones that she can’t get out of her head, breathing heavily against his lips.

Shishi said not to kiss him, not to let his hands roam as he touches her waist, her hips, her thighs, becomes one with the knowledge of what she likes and what she doesn’t. Shishi said not do this, to break his heart.

But at this very moment, it would be easier for Dejun to break her heart instead.

###  

Though her manager, Hao, had been clear about her mini appearance at a café, she doesn’t feel less nervous. For once, she can say that cafés are the worst thing to ever be created—vintage, nostalgic, filled with teenagers who want to have as many Americanos as possible and adults that think the beige walls and white tables are their aesthetic. Croissants, coffee and cream, someone with tea that she can’t quite recognize, and a guitar that weights heavily on her lap.

The seat she is on is uncomfortable, trying to tune her guitar before she starts singing. Her manager sits along with Bingbing and Shishi, both having brought themselves here even when it clashed with their work hours—they needed to bring support, but all they did was stare at her as her hands shook. It’s been a while since she has truly sung in front of people, full sets, and live above all.

She needs to gain some confidence, but she doesn’t. The guitar strums uncomfortably and she hears someone coughing when she leans into the microphone. She closes her eyes tightly, trying to remember the love songs she has written for the past two months. Memories of Dejun, of the sand in between her fingers, the songs they have shared together, of the smell of cigarettes that never comes from him but from Chenhao instead. Things she dreams about with him, for him, all drowning her away from the nervousness that keeps her on surface.

And she lets go.

“Welcome, I’m going to be singing for the next two hours—” She says, instructing her name into the microphone before sending a smile towards her manager. “You can ask for some songs later on, if I know it, I will sing it. Whatever it is…I’m here for you.”

She thinks she has it together—this is only part of her dream. Someday, she will get discovered, she tries to convince herself, but the moment her song starts in a major tune, E, then C, she loses it all. Her fingers continue playing, but when she parts her lips, the note comes out flat, as if her vibratos hadn’t been practiced…or if she didn’t know how to hold her tone at all.

The song goes on for another two minutes, far from what she wanted but somehow, not bad for those listening. Only when she hears the door of the café opening, she opens her eyes, welcoming the stance of the man that enters the café. Cladded in a striped shirt and light jeans, Dejun crosses his arms over his chest to wave his hand softly, smiling at her before leaning against the wall next to the entrance door.

And with all those creamy colors and the smile on his face—the smile of his eyes that she has never managed to understand, she finally gets to sing again.

It’s weird how he brings all these emotions up on her, how he has become such a comfortable feeling for her, far enough for her to concentrate only on him for the first hour, only stopping to take a drink of her tea and warm up her vocal cords. It’s at that moment that she sees two people nearing her, and she expects one of them to be Dejun, but when she feels a pair of skinny arms wrap around her, the smell of bleach coming from someone’s hair, she knows it’s Shishi.

Her beloved Shishi.

And her beloved Dejun.

What a shame she can’t have both.

Jewels shine in his eyes when she pulls away, recognition overtaking him when Shishi says: “Oh fuck, I’m so proud of you!” And the excitement of her voice is welcomed by a shy smile from her, capturing Dejun’s glance as he lifts his eyebrows, mouthing a ‘we’ll talk later’ to her.

“Shishi—”

“We have to go work right now,” Bingbing says, fixing the bag on her shoulder. “But you’re killing it, babe. For real.”

“Thanks…”

Though, she can’t say much as they slip away from the café, Dejun taking careful steps forward, as if pondering to get near her, not even cutting the situation short when he reaches her, frowning deeply when he asks: “You know Shishi? You’re friends with her?”

“Ah…” She rubs the back of her neck, taking another sip from her Styrofoam cup. She could say the truth—or a distorted version of it, but instead, she opts to look him straight in the eyes. She doesn’t want to miss any of them. Shishi once said he was egotistical, that he played with a bunch of women all at once; games that she would never understand, but she’d rather play this game than not play it at all. “I—I know Bingbing, I don’t exactly—I don’t consider myself close to Shishi.”

“We…uh, she had a crush on me for the longest time and was a bit obsessive about it.”

Now, she knows. Now, she finally sees that they were just friends…and maybe, she misunderstood everything. “I had no idea.”

“You sure?”

With the straightest face, she fixes the strap of her guitar, strumming a chord before nodding. “Of course, baby, why would I lie to you?”

But she does it straight to his face, singing all those songs that mean the truth but knowing one thing—

She has to lose one. Either Shishi or Dejun.

###

Dejun shakes her autumn does to its leaves, softly, making her fall more and more for him in the days they meet and finally, in the first night they shared. It takes Dejun almost three months for him to feel fully comfortable—for the romantic in him to clad him away from the clothing that covers him, for his breaths to mingle with hers as they become one, hands placed on top of her head, lips wanting nothing more than to connect with hers. It is as though every sound that leaves him is music for her, and maybe, they’re the inspiration for the album she will once have.

When she goes to sleep, she goes with a visual in mind—Dejun, laying on her bed, with one hand behind his head, the other resting on his bare chest, the taut muscles from his days and nights of training leaving nothing to the imagination. Her lips connect to the mole on his forehead, speaking softly against his skin about the beauty of him. She doesn’t think she will ever forget it.

But the night clashes into sleep, awakening her only when she hears the loud rustle of the sheets, accompanied by the harsh sound of someone mumbling to themselves. Cuss after cuss after cuss. When she opens her eyes, groggily at first, she realizes that half of the covers have draped away from her, leaving her bare to the world, but the man in front of her doesn’t care, holding her phone in her hand as he puts on his pair of jeans.

She doesn’t know why her heart skips a beat—she doesn’t talk to other men romantically, but somehow, she knows there are secrets on that phone that she doesn’t want Dejun to see. How in the world did he manage to figure out her password?

“What are you doing with my phone?” She asks, barely audible as she pulls the covers farther up her chest, covering herself up as Dejun finally looks at her. “Dejun, why were you looking through my phone?”

“I saw your password the first time we met, accidentally. I figured it was the same.” Though, he throws the phone on the bed, close enough for her to grab and unlock it. What he was looking at hits her like a train—he was reading through her group-chat, months and months worth of information displayed in front of her eyes. “And I wasn’t going to do it, but Shishi kept calling you this morning and I answered, yeah, sorry, I answered your fucking phone but Shishi was even more surprised to hear I was staying the night at your place.”

Fuck. Shishi must be fucking devastated. “Dejun—”

“So, Shishi said—” He puts his shirt on before sighing. “Shishi fucking said that she didn’t know we were still seeing each other, considering that you told her that you had broken things with me…and for someone who said she wasn’t that close to Shishi, that sounded awfully like friendship.”

“Dejun…” Her voice breaks, even worse than when she’s nervous and she’s about to sing. “It’s not what you think—”

“No, it wasn’t what I thought. I thought that you actually liked me, that I was finally having a good thing for once—”

“But I do like you!”

Dejun, out of anger, grabs one of the cushions they had dropped on the floor last night and tosses it to the wall behind her, thumping loudly until it falls, making her lamp almost fall for the floor had she not grabbed it. “Stop fucking lying! Shishi said that you were supposed to break my heart. She didn’t know how, and supposedly, you told her you had done it already, so I looked through your phone and much to my surprise, all I see are details about our dates, about how in love you have me—”

All an act, she thought it was. She wanted to keep both her friendship, her pride and her relationship with Dejun. It backfired, heavily, enough to take her breath away. “Dejun, baby, I’m so sorry. Just—When I started doing this, I thought you were an asshole. Shishi said you broke her heart to pieces and I wanted to do it for my friend—”

“Then, why didn’t you fucking tell me?” Dejun asks, shaking his head after, pinching the bridge of his nose in the process. “No. How fucking immature do you have to be make a bet like that? Love isn’t a fucking game.”

“W—Well, I was told it was for you.”

“I’m just nice to people, sorry. I never played with Shishi. That’s called being selective—talking to people and seeing if they’re your fit or not. I’m not obligated to shit.” His voice is venom when she looks through the masses of messages, how she aspired to make everyone believe she didn’t like him, but—

“Dejun, I’m so into you. Please, please, just believe me in this one.” Tears stream down her face at that moment, standing up with her blanket tightened across her body. “Dejun, I’m so sorry.”

“Congratulations.” Dejun whispers, opening the door to her room and having her follow closely. She almost trips a bunch of times, the blankets becoming one with her feet as she moves. “You broke someone’s heart. You were fucking right. It was that easy.”

“Dejun!”

When the entrance door closes right at her face, her fist comes in contact with the surface. In reality, she had to lose someone…

What a shame it was the person she loved.

To: Group-Chat.

I broke someone’s heart.

Mine.

[mae-gi-writes]

Let it Be Me (Part One)| Kevin Moon Imagine

soulmate au! x badboy! Kevin.

 In which soulmates find each other on their graduation day and Kevin gets the growing suspicion that his is just as artistically inclined as he is. Let the competition begin. 

Thank you @aniyawoos​ for giving me such inspiration, and for always listening to me rant about how perfect Mr.Moon is. 

Genre: fluff, lil angst, soulmates 

Part one | Part Two (Coming soon)

----

Kevin was pissed. 

He glared at his canvas, now caked with bold dark lines that mimicked a caricature of an unfamiliar face that he'd never set eyes upon. The girl's deep set eyes were furrowed into a frown, eyebrows perpetually pinched together in constant permanent thought, lips pursed as though silent protests were lingering along her tongue. But while Kevin would've normally been proud of mastering such a face in such little time, this did not negate the fact that this was definitely not his work. 

Because the fact was that Kevin did not draw caricatures. He did not use dark tones. And he did not recall having seen such a girl, for he was sure that it would've sparked a memory if their meeting had been so significant. 

"Why is this so dark?"

Kevin let out a snort as footsteps walked up beside him. He caught a glimpse of caramel coloured hair, a flash of too-white teeth. 

"That's not your style," Jacob remarked as he leaned in close to inspect its details, "where are your watercolours? And your sceneries?" 

Kevin's grip tightened impulsively onto his paintbrush. His jaw clenched in silence. 

A fresh canvas, wasted just like that. His hand was still throbbing with a familiar tingle that had spread through him the moment his brush had touched the tip of the blank page, and the entire process was like a dream that he had stumbled through only to wake up disoriented and dizzy.

"I don't know," the raven-haired man muttered as his fingers combed through his locks.

"Not bad though," Jacob remarked with a whistle, "not bad at all. Who is she?"

Kevin's shoulders lifted in a half-shrug, though annoyance spiked through him at his friend's curiosity. Today was not one of those days where he could tolerate human beings, especially when nothing seemed to go right.

"Where are you going?" Jacob called out when he stood up abruptly from his seat, chair squeaking in protest as he made a grab for his rucksack and strode out of the room, mind still reeling from the confusion which had come with that sudden artistic turn of events.  

Maybe it was his just off day, he concluded mentally, as he tried to ignore the soft tingling sensation thrumming through his fingers, as though a ghost of a presence was still present.

The second time it happened, he was in the middle of reproducing one of Monet's famous water lilies when his hand tingled with that familiar warmth, electricity dancing up and down his arm and numbing it so that his limb took a life of its own. He watched, horrified, as his beautiful lily pond turned into another stranger's face, flowers transforming into dark orbs staring back at him, the water trail twisting into a bold nose, a vine curling to form a cupid's bow mouth. 

What in the actual fuck. His mouth moved soundlessly over the muttered words, hands fisting in his lap with the sudden urge to throw his artwork --could he even call it his?-- against the wall. 

“Maybe it’s a sign,” Jacob said once Kevin complained about his artwork getting ruined by bold strokes. This was the fifth time this week and the latter’s growing collection of portraits was both alarming and fascinating at the same time. While Jacob understood the artist’s growing frustration with the manhandling of his artistic talent, there was nothing to be said about how beautiful they all turned out to be, even though they weren’t originally part of Kevin’s vision. 

“A sign of what?” Kevin picked at his fries, mood still sour from the thought of his now empty wallet that was now scraped dry, his savings all flushed down the drain from having spent it all on the last pieces of canvas that were now deemed useless unless he painted them over with white and started again. 

But that would take ages and a lot of layers, and a lot of paint. Kevin wasn’t sure whether he was ready for that. Not that he had a choice, considering that these works would count for his final portfolio. 

He couldn’t help but let out another exasperating sigh at the thought. 

“There are theories circulating,” his other friend, Chanhee, piped up from behind his roast beef sandwich, earrings catching the light of the lunchroom as he spoke, “that a few weeks before your graduation, you might get a few hints about who your soulmate might be.” 

Kevin allowed the information to sink in, “why haven’t I heard of that before?” 

“Maybe because you spend all your time holed up in the studio,” Chanhee sasses him, “and when you’re not in the studio, you’re doing that.”

Kevin’s eyes find the joint in his hand when Chanhee gestures towards it, before he puts it to his lips and takes another puff just to insult his friend, “it keeps my creative juices flowing.” 

“You don’t need that to be creative, Kevin.”

“Stick to your account books, Chanhee.” 

“Alright time out," Jacob interrupts before the pair can get into yet another brawl, "Kev, Chanhee's right. You can't keep depending on that to keep going." 

The raven-haired man shrugged but kept quiet nevertheless. He knew, deep down, that Jacob was right. But once he started, he found it was hard to stop. It gave him everything he needed; the relaxation, the creativity, everything. Ever since his life had turned upside down, ever since the school had turned its back on him for apparently dealing with heroin when he'd been completely innocent, Kevin had suffered with the aftermath of rumours and the countless amounts of gossiping about his whereabouts. Jacob and Chanhee had stuck with him, but they were the only ones that had. The rest of his so-called friends now deemed him too weird to talk to, as though a foreign body had invaded Kevin's body with a bright red alarm sign to indicate that he was off bounds completely.

It was one of the reasons why he spent most of his time in the art room in the first place. He wasn't going to entertain their stupidly, made - up stories about who he was and what he did.

If there was one thing that Kevin hated the most, it was tattletales. And there seemed to be lots of them around here.

After that, he decided he wouldn't be bothered by the fact that his artworks were not technically his, and instead just used them to his advantage. If Chanhee was right and it really was his soulmate, then all the more reason to do so. If they were using his hands then he was allowed to use their artsy prowess. 

All was fair in love and art.

It was on the last day of his final submission, as the art prodigy was finishing his final touch-ups of his now so-called portrait series of weirdly strange people, that he got the sudden urge to just stitch. His fingers shook with desire even though he clamped his hands into fists and gritted his teeth, forcing his limbs to continue working. Pins and needles shot up and down his arms like alarm bells, tearing at his muscles and nagging at Kevin’s subconscious. The more he tried to ignore it, the more the sensation pricked, until it actually hurt.

He dropped his paintbrush and gave in to the sensation. His body reacted on its own, dashed over to one of the unused sewing machines and grabbed a piece of cloth. Five minutes later, he was busy stitching his life away on the machine, the only sounds perforating the air being the loud drumming of the needles piercing through cloth.

Twenty minutes later, barely two minutes before he was to drop his artwork to his teacher’s office, Kevin leaned back in his seat and stared, wide-eyed, at the donut plushie he’d just made. 

What astounded him the most was that he didn’t --for the love of god-- know how to sew. He never took any sewing classes and had never really been interested in the field anyway. 

So how in the world had his hands worked on their own? He gazed down at his hands with growing horror and apprehension twisting his stomach into tiny knots. Why? Why why why? 

“Kevin? What are you still doing here?” 

The said young man’s head whipped up at the sound of his classmate’s voice, only to see the ginger-haired girl blinking at him with confusion etched across her features. 

“Are you--stitching?” her frown deepened. 

Kevin rose without as much as a wince when the metal of his chair scraped against the cement floor before dashing over to gather his paintings. He jostled out of the classroom, ignoring his classmate’s questions while lumbering down the hall as quickly as his artwork would allow him towards the teacher’s department. 

He wished he didn’t have to meet his soulmate. 

------

“Can I tell you something?” 

Kevin looked up from underneath his beanie at Jacob, who sat on the other side nursing a cup of tea. The hot chocolate in his hand was steaming, its delicious scent already wrapping around him like a warm hug, giving him that sense of comfort he craved so much.

Prom had gone and passed without much that was memorable enough for Kevin to be deemed as important. As per Chanhee’s predictions, people started discovering their soulmates in the strangest ways possible, though the group of boys guessed it had something to do with what you were good at and what your soulmate’s passion was. For instance, a girl had found herself going for a midnight swim, only for her reflection to be of a young man living just a few weeks ago from hers. Another boy had the sudden urge to take a ballerina class and was entranced by a picture of his soulmate hanging on the wall of the ballet studio.

As of yet, none of the trio had caught any glimpse of their other halves, and Kevin hoped it stayed that way. After all the incidents that had occured in art class and the countless whims that had taken over his body like he’d been possessed, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to know who held the other part of his heart. 

What if she was a psycho? He asked himself as he gazed at his drink, what if she was completely not like him and they’d made a mistake from the very beginning? 

“What is it?” Kevin prompted his friend. Jacob’s eyes were downcast, the muscles in his jaw clenching as though haunted by his own thoughts. 

“Jacob?” Kevin’s fingers toyed with his unlit cigarette. He’d been craving it for the past thirty minutes and now that Chanhee was gone, he was free to do as he pleased. He fished for his lighter and started flicking a flame over the cigarette butt. 

“I found her.” 

Kevin almost did a double-take. He dropped his cigarette, “what?” 

Jacob nibbled on his lower lip, “I found her, I found my soulmate.” 

There were many things Kevin wished to say. He decided to keep quiet.

Jacob continued, encouraged by his silence, “I was cooking, the usual. You know I love cooking. So I was making this dish of grilled vegetables and grabbed my knife to cut them all. And then I--And then, I--she--she appeared. In the knife--in it’s reflection, I mean.” 

Still, Kevin stayed quiet. 

“She’s--She’s not bad looking,” there was the tiniest of smiles, barely visible, on his friend’s face and though Kevin wasn’t an expert on reading emotions, it was pretty obvious that Jacob was already smitten for that girl in particular. 

“How do you know you like her?” he asked so abruptly that Jacob blinks in shock.

“Well--I don’t know I--I just do. I think?” the latter scratches the back of his head, “I don’t know, Kev. There’s just--something about her. I can’t really explain. You’ve gotta see for yourself.” 

“Hm” was all that Kevin managed to sputter out as he picked up his cigarette, lit it, and took a long drag. 

“Chanhee won’t like that,” remarked his friend.

“Chanhee’s not here to tell me what to do.” 

“Did you even try to stop?” there was a tinge of desperation in Jacob’s voice, “we’re not in school anymore. You don’t need that to cope, you know.” 

The raven-haired man exhaled in response, smoke billowing out of his perfectly cupped lips.

He wasn't into his soulmate. Had no interest whatsoever in knowing who laid behind the magic taking over his fingers every time he found himself in the art room. It hadn't occurred since his last deadline and for that, he was glad, because while it clearly hadn't been his style of drawing, his professors had been so touched with emotional depth that they gave him a distinction with passing colours. 

Needless to say, Kevin hadn't set yet another foot in the studio.

He really didn't feel like knowing who had messed up his entire style for the sake of her own artistic endeavours.

The summer went by and grades were up. People shouted with excitement at the prospect of last minute freedom before college would take it away this coming September. Kevin had enrolled in Mathieu's School of Art and Design as a Printmaking major -- his dream was to work in textile and fashion-- while Jacob had decided to take up an apprenticeship with the local Culinary School in town. It wasn't the best, but it would do for his first few steps into the culinary world.

As for Chanhee, who was going down the safe route, he was registered to complete his ACCA certification for chartered accountants.

"Keep in touch guys, yeah?" Chanhee had tearfully stated on their last day of summer, where the trio had taken to drink at their local pub. 

Kevin clinked his beer with his, his spirits quite high at the prospect of starting a new life, turning over a new leaf, "worried you might not make friends?" 

Jacob shot Kevin a look, then said, "relax Chanhee. You'll be fine. You'll probably be the only one making friends." 

"Shut up guys, you're not helping," Chanhee sniffed.

It was a somewhat bizarre sensation to be walking to school without Jacob and Chanhee at his side. Kevin's bag felt a little heavier upon his shoulders, his traveling a little longer than usual albeit the fact that his college was barely two minutes away from his high school, just across the street. Kevin's nervousness racked up the back of his throat, practically choking him as he made his way to his first class: illustration design.

Comprising only ten chairs, the class was round, its walls painted a sheer white and the spotlights illuminating the room casting long dark shadows across each head already seated. Kevin quickly hurried over to the back where he took his place.

The girl beside him shifted slightly, but he preferred not to acknowledge her existence. Instead, he slid his sketchbook from his bag and started doodling on the corner of the page, next to where he wrote the date. 

It was only when the teacher walked in and the girl's pen suddenly dropped to the floor, and Kevin swooped in like muscle reflex and gave it back, that his eyes caught her face-- he stared.

And stared. 

And stared.

She stared back, unblinking. Unflinching. 

"Who--Who are you?" Kevin breathed, all air knocked out of his chest in surprise.

Her hand darted out, whipping the pen out of his hold and turning back to the professor without a backward glance. Astounded, Kevin hadn’t realized his mouth was still hanging open until he felt the warm trickle of saliva dribble down his chin.

He snapped his jaw shut and quickly turned back to focus on the class at hand, all while trying to ignore the weird buzzing that seemed to take over his entire nervous system. His body was heated, as if lit by a wildfire that raged through his insides and swept along his bloodstream so that he was left in a constant state of exhilaration, senses too alert and fingers prickling with the innate desire to just touch, touch her, no matter what. 

Stop it, he told himself off. His mind raged back like an aggressive, untamed horse. 

It took him so much of his energy not to do something stupid that he only came to attention when the sound of scraped back chairs reached his ears. Whipping his head up at the flow of people leaving the studio, he realized a little too late that the said girl in question was already halfway to the door. 

He scrambled up so quickly he banged his shin. Cursing, he ignored its protesting throb as he raced towards her figure, “excuse me--” 

Either the girl didn’t hear him through the throng of introductions being conversed by a group of students by the entrance, or she didn’t want to. Kevin pushed his way past students milling about the corridors, excusing himself as he went, before he finally caught up to her at the library door entrance. 

“Wait--” he called, practically choking on his own breath. Jesus, he should really work out more. Pressing his hand over his side upon feeling the familiar cramp pinch in, he tried not to collapse in front of the girl, who was now gazing at him in a mixture of fear and confusion.

“Is there something you want?” she asked tightly.

“Well--I--Didn’t you--” Kevin racked his brain and wondered, for a brief moment, whether this soulmate thing was one sided, “didn’t you feel it?” 

“Feel what?” Her eyes were growing more and more alarmed.

“You’re my soulmate,” the words left Kevin in a rush, “didn’t you feel the pull?” 

Her mouth shaped itself into a silent ‘o’. Her eyes glanced at the floor for a few beats of silence. When she looked up at his face, her jaw was set and her eyebrows furrowed, “so?” 

“So?” he gaped at her, “so?” 

“Look, I don’t know how they treat people with soulmates in your country,” she shifted uneasily from one foot to another, “but in mine, they’re definitely not something to be proud of.” 

He blinked, “you’re not from here.” 

“No.” 

“Where are you from?” 

“Look, if you’re talking to me just because of that soulmate bullshit--”

“Can’t you feel it?” Kevin cut her off, hating the fact that his voice sounded so desperate and needy, “can’t you feel the bond?” 

God Kevin. You sound like a wimp, his mind screamed at him. Get a hold of yourself.

“No,” she looked at him dead in the eye, “I don’t.” 

And leaving him to deal with the aftermath of the shock, the girl turned and walked away, her soft footsteps echoing down the hallway like the beats to an ending song.

--- 

STAY TUNED FOR PART TWO! :) Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist <3

[fabricated-misslieness]

Bokuto Kōtarō x gender neutral reader

¡Happy Birthday Bokuto!

Part 3 of Lost Phone.

I purposely lined this up for his birthday, by the way, so, sorry for the long wait.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 (you are here)

Soulmate AU where soulmates share fingerprints.

Requested: No

Word Count: 1,157

(Art by haru_supo on twitter)

Sunshine shined through the open shades of the cafe windows.

The light was seeping in was orange but the sunset sky outside was made up of varying shades of red, orange and magenta. 

Whichever artist that got to paint the sky today was really talented.

They cleaned the tables, sneaking glances out the window every now and then.

They couldn’t help but feel deja vu, despite them sharing a closing shift every week.

Maybe it was because today was special.

Cleaning was always bothersome, but today, they weren’t sluggish.

They oozed with excitement.

Today was the day they’d be meeting their soulmate… er, possible soulmate.

Even if they’d unlocked his phone with Touch ID there was still the possibility that it was just some fluke, the universe messing with you. But, they’d unlocked the phone several times.

This should be him, their soulmate, right?

All the pictures they’d seen on his social media… they brought heat to their chest and across their cheeks.

They couldn’t get him out of their head. Sometimes they’d suddenly zone out and think about him, which was troublesome for the job but… how could they stop thinking about him?

He looked cute and happy-go-lucky, like a huge golden retriever. He looked… perfect.

So this was what their parents meant when they said, “You’ll think they’re perfect, you’ll know they’re the person you want to live with for the rest of your life.”

They’d been so caught up in their thoughts that they’d zoned out again.

They continued cleaning, making sure they were actually working while thinking. They’d be meeting up in thirty minutes, in this very cafe.

It all felt unreal.

In all the soulmate stories they’d heard they’d met by accident or coincidence, they didn’t arrange their meeting, how could they even do that?

Would that fact deter the two of them? Would it not feel as magical?

What if they’d catered to his booth that day?

Before they knew it, they’d finished cleaning the tables, the counters, the machines, they hadn’t nothing to do now but wait.

The wait was unbearable, they couldn’t use their phone, check social media or watch a video, they’d be too distracted. All they could do was zone out again, think about him.

The bell at the entrance rang, they snapped their head up to look at it.

There stood a boy with black hair and gunmetal blue eyes, this wasn’t him, this was his friend, the one they’d texted.

Their heart broke in a million pieces.

Could he not come? Were there complications?

“I’m Akaashi, you’re (l/n), right?”

They nodded stiffly, making up excuses in their head as to why their soulmate wasn’t here just yet. Maybe he’d gotten lost, but then why was his friend here instead of trying to find him? Akaashi was early, they’d scheduled the meeting for 6:00, not 5:50.

“Sorry, I’ve lost Bokuto-san. As much credit as I don’t give him, he knows general directions. He’ll be here, I assure you, but he might be a little late.”

They nodded again. They barely paid attention to that sentence, but it was assuring to know that he’d actually come.

“You think he’s your soulmate?” Akaashi sat down on the stool next to them, startling them out of their thoughts.

“I don’t know.” They muttered, just barely audible enough for Akaashi to hear.

“He says you’re pretty, y’know? He doesn’t just say that about any stranger.”

Warmth spread across their cheeks, making Akaashi let out a small laugh. What would’ve happened if they hadn’t given them their social media? Would they not have trusted them?

“I can see he likes you. Call it love at first sight, sure, but I think it’s soulmate love.” Was he trying to reassure them or was he plain teasing them?

“Akaashi!” His voice wasn’t like they’d imagined, but nevertheless it was like an angel’s. 

“There you…” His golden eyes landed on them and stayed looking at them. He looked to be in awe, no doubt they looked the same. “are.”

“(y/n).”

“Kōtarō.”

Bokuto stood at the doorway, leaving it wide open. The sunset outside contrasted with his form like a cool guy with an explosion behind him, but it made it seem all the more magical.

Arranging a meeting really hadn’t changed anything.

(y/n) stood up from their seat, holding out their arms. Bokuto gladly ran over, engulfing them in a bear hug.

(y/n) finally felt complete, all the doubts from before washed away.

They pulled back just enough to look at each other. “So.. we’re soulmates?” Bokuto spoke up.

Hugging, standing close, faces inches apart, the soulmate love finally washed over the two of them. 

The soulmate love is what their parents described as ��a wave of bliss and warmth.’ They said the warmth was everywhere, but (y/n) never understood how you could be covered in warmth.

They finally did understand now. They felt it everywhere, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like snuggling up to a blanket on a cold day.

They were really, truly, soulmates.

“Yeah, it seems like it.” Why were they so awkward?

(y/n) started laughing, which made Bokuto tilt his head in confusion. “Why are we so awkward?”

Bokuto started laughing along, once he understood. He’s a simpleton, it takes him a small bit to process big words like ‘awkward’.

“Maybe it’s because you haven’t kissed yet.” Akaashi spoke up. He had been ignored, but that was fine. These were soulmates reuniting, of course they’d forget all about the world around them. He was there to be their anchor to reality.

The pair blushed and looked away from each other. The thought of it was nice, it brought a smile to both their faces, but Akaashi was right there.

“Oh, don’t mind me.”

Akaashi saying that didn’t exactly help, but now that they knew he was fine with this, they leaned in.

As their lips touched, it felt like fireworks exploded. The warmth increased, but it was even cozier. It was like they’d finally found something to live for. Like life was complete.

This is what soulmates were, this was love.

When they pulled apart, (y/n) pulled Bokuto into the booth.

“This is yours.” They handed him the phone, which Bokuto gratefully took.

“Thanks. I can live without a phone but I was starting to get a little disorientated. I have tons of reminders on my phone.” So that’s what Akaashi meant by ‘as much credit as I don’t give him’, he probably put all those remainders on his phone.

Bokuto turned it on, grinning at the lock screen. ‘The way of the ace.’

“Care to do the honors?”

(y/n) perked up and tilted their head as they processed his words. “Oh.” He meant to unlock the phone for him, with their fingerprints.

This phone was the thing that brought them together, with its customized case and cracked screen. This small piece of technology brought two soulmates together.

“Sure.”

[mochikeiji]

Sketch the Moment // Yamaguchi x Reader

Genre: Very Fluffy, small angst

Pairing: Yamaguchi Tadashi x you

Artist AU

"What's wrong, (Y/n)?" Yamaguchi stops eating his yogurt, "I'm having an art block.." muttering as you shaded yet another work of disappointment, "H-hey, stop! Let me see." He sat closer to your side at the gym, gently grabbing your sketchpad out of your hands, eyes scanning the shaded, but readable drawing. "A-are you kidding me? This turned out awesome!" he praises, bewildered at your blessed hands and mind. "(Y/n), this is really amazing, I'm telling you. Keep going." still in awestruck at your other random doodles scattered on the pages, you on the other hand was bright red at his unexpected out burst, even the boys stopped for a second the moment they heard Yamaguchi yell out.

"Yamaguchi seems lively again." Sugawara chuckles as he watches the two of you chat together, "We should bring her to our games sometimes. Who knows, maybe he'll give a nice serve." Tanaka teases before throwing the ball into the air, and spiking it down. Ukai seems to agree on the idea of having you around, Yamaguchi's aura changes from being a nervous dork to a ball of sunshine.

"T-thank you, Yamaguchi.." You looked down at your hands to prevent yourself from going redder than a tomato. Yamaguchi didn't seem to hear you, and just continued to flip around the pages. He had been wanting to see your works for a very long time, but he was just shy you'd get upset if he says he wanted badly to admire your works. "Hey I've seen this one!" he points at a male costumed in a frog, "You posted this on your blog, right?" You looked at him in shock, "You, you know about that?" You fiddled with your fingers shyly, "Of course I do! I always follow any of your accounts that consist your works." he confesses, unaware of how flustered and giddy he was making you feel.

Just thinking about his reaction to your crappy works makes you over think, "Oh God, some of the lightings weren't even good.", "Some of the colors don't match the combinations of the entire drawing." oh crap, "SOME OF THEM WERE SEXUAL." You panicked silently, as Yamaguchi seems to stop flipping pages when he stumbled upon one drawing. A drawing of him. His breath hitched, fingers tracing the well colored and drawn art. It was a drawing of him in a sunflower field, smiling. Wait, didn't he took you there one time when you were looking for inspiration? Gulping down the multiple feelings, cheeks forming a soft blush, he slowly flips onto another page, this time it was a chibi version of him in a frog costume with an umbrella, hearts surrounding it. He places his hand over his mouth as one thought came into his mind about you: "so cute"

Calming his pounding heart, his fingers flipped onto more pages. Drawings of him with flower crowns, an oversize hoodie and more. There were drawings of him! No wonder why you didn't want him to see. His lips were in a goofy position, be wasn't able to express himself because if he ever did, he felt like puking or exploding of happiness. No one really thought of him as cool yet here you were, having multiple drawings of him as if he was the reason why you became motivated. He wasn't wrong at that part. "Yamaguchi." Tsukishima calls him, jolting he quickly shuts the sketchbook, surprising you as well, "Y-yeah!" he yelled, body stiff as a board. Tsukishima raises a brow, before understanding the situation and hides a small smirk, "Give us a nice serve, will you?" he held back a chuckle at his tomato looking friend before heading back to his position. Yamaguchi sighs, but quickly began sweating when he felt your eyes on him, "U-uh sorry (Y/n)! I'll walk you home, okay? H-here." quickly pushing the book on your chest, and running off to the other side of the court so you wouldn't catch his exploding face. You wondered if he seemed upset by some of your works since he didn't say anything, and stayed quiet, not knowing it was the complete opposite of that. Instead you sat there all sad, and clouded with thoughts.

Practice seemed to run by fast when you're deep in thought. Tsukishima notices how you weren't watching Yamaguchi anymore, it was an obvious routine you'd do when he was at practice, and usually while doing so you'd be down scribbling like a mad man as if you wanted to capture every moment. "Hey." He calls out to the freckled male, "Yeah, Tsukki?" placing the ball on the basket, "I'm heading out first, go take (Y/n) out will you? I think you broke her a bit." Yamaguchi felt a rush of panic in his chest when Tsukishima gestures your sad features, "Just buy her ice cream. Dork always cheers up." he pats his shoulder before grabbing his things. Yamaguchi's mind began to pounder on what on earth had he done to upset such a precious bean like you? He felt like torturing himself if he ever knew you cried because of him. Oh no, he can't even bear that thought. Quickly finishing up in cleaning the gym, he finally grabs all of his belongings, and rushes towards you, "H-hey, (Y/n)." You raised your head at his direction, he almost stutters out his words, "Um, let's go get some ice cream. My treat!" he offers, you were going to tell him that you'd rather be at home, but since it's almost like a night out with your all time crush, why the heck not?

Walking to Ukai's store was awkward and silent, when the two of you arrived, he asked if you could wait out, and he'd go in and buy, "Wait, I should be paying too." You said, feeling guilty, but mostly avoiding the soft butterflies in your stomach fluttering, "N-no! Really, please." placing his hand on yours, "Let me treat you." As if cupid had struck your heart, you felt a sharp beat in your heart seeing him smile softly before heading inside. Looking over your hand, the one he had held, you bit back a smile. "Ah, I wish I can remember this!" heart rapidly beating, "i want to draw this moment!"

"Shouldn't you be at home by now?" Yamaguchi laughs nervously before paying for the ice creams he had picked out, "Sorry coach, I promised to treat (Y/n)." he hands in the money, "Hmm, sure know how to treat a lady, don't you?" Ukai smirks as Yamaguchi's cheeks darkened, "Wouldn't mind having her around as long as you play like earlier." it was true. If you hadn't been mopping, you'd see the difference in Yamaguchi's play. His pinch serves were getting better, and he wasn't even stopping until he was told. He played like he was another version of Hinata, scary to imagine if he can muster up his dead eyes. "T-thank you!" he bows before running out, leaving Ukai in a chuckling matter at his dorky state.

"H-here." he offers, "I still remember your favorite. Luckily it was available." grabbing the delicious treat from his hands and opening the wrapper, your eyes twinkled brightly, almost drooling at the treat. Yamaguchi just stared fondly, grasping how undeniably adorable you are at this moment. Throwing both your wrappers at the bin, the both of you strolled the night streets slowly, savoring both the flavor of the ice cream and secretly the moment that was just the two of you. Yamaguchi felt the need to ask you why you look so down a while ago, he wasn't the type of guy to leave someone down the dumps. Guy can't even leave Tsukki if he calls himself lame. Mustering up the courage to face you, he speaks out your name, "(Y/n)." your eyes glanced at him, mouth sucking and licking on the ice cream. "I have a question." looking down at his shoes, "Tsukki noticed you were upset a while ago after I left you." You pulled away from your treat, and listened, "I wanted to say—" forgetting his own ice cream, he bows in front of you unexpectedly, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry if I upset you, but please don't be sad!" he raises his head, "I-i can't handle it when you're sad."

You stared at him with wide eyes. Damn, anyone would be lucky to have a guy who won't let you go home crying or upset. "I-its not you, Yamaguchi." patting his shoulder to make him stand straight, finishing the last bit of your treat. "I just thought you were upset of what you saw in my sketchbook." You scratched the back of your head, feeling his eyes watch every moment you do, "You ran away with your face red, I figured, you must've hated something you saw in there." finally confessing the trouble that has had you locked up in your head, you sigh, "I'm really sorry if you think it's you, Yamaguchi. It's just me, really! I over think a lot when I draw something." Yamaguchi never felt more embarrassed in his life. He was caught red faced, but with an entire different reason, "Um actually, (Y/n)." he began, "I ran away because..... I saw your drawings of me. " he admits, now it was your turn to become a bright red tomato. "AH! I'M SORRY, YAMAGUCHI!" You bowed, "You must think it's creepy." chuckling nervously and disappointed. "N-no! No! In fact, it's the other way around." looking at him in confusion, "I actually thought it was cute, coming from you."

Noticing his blush scatter on his face as the moon light adds the effect, your hands twitched to just grab your sketch book and immediately draw. "You know me, I run away if I feel embarrassed." He laughs softly, "But it will never mean I'm upset with you or anything, (Y/n)." feeling bold, he grabs a hold of both of your hands with his. Taking a deep breath before saying the words that would've made your entire world crumble down in cloud nine, "I like you! I really do." he grips your hands, "A-and your works! Everything, I really, really admire them. The one with the froggy me was too adorable with the hearts! A-and the one with the sunflower, its like I remember the moment over and over again. I-in which I would never ever forget!" he rambles, you unable to speak out the words you wanted to say.

"It really hurts me, on how much you get to hate yourself and your own masterpieces when all I see is absolute beauty in all of them." You felt as if you were punched in the gut when he said that. No one warned you he can pull heartstrings! "If I'm somewhat your motivation in arts, you're my motivation in playing." looking at you as if you were the most precious person he has found in the planet, "I don't mind if you keep drawing about me if I get to see and admire them for you." His voice going in a softer tone, the softest that you feel yourself melting, "and if you take my compliments too." wrapping your arms around his neck, no ounce of shyness left in both of you. "I don't mind anything as long as you can admire your works like I admire you, (Y/n)." slowly closing both of your eyes, leaning in for a sweet, soft kiss. Both stomach's filled with a million fluttering butterflies, tickling them. His hands just holding yours in a loving matter.

Pulling away, you sigh, his lips were softer than you expected. "Does that mean?" he questions, you smile at him, "I do." You confirm. Who knew he'd be the first to confess. He smiles, teeth showing, "I'm glad." You stared once more, awestruck as you memorized every inch and detail of his face. He looks back, and teases, "Take a picture it'll last long." Laughing at you, before smiling goofily and giving the back if your hand a small kiss, "But draw this moment, I promise, it's worth forever."

[im-a-lonelyheart]

Fitzsimmons Family Headcanons in case canon fails me

And before they destroy them. Buckle up.

(I wrote this in less than an hour and english is not my first language, sooo sorry for any mistakes)

Edit: I re-posted it because it wasn’t showing up in the tags. sorry.

Enjoy! (Gift credit: X)

They finally decide to retire to their cottage.

Daisy and May lived with them for a while but at different times. Daisy around the time their first kid was born and May when the youngest was a kid already.

May and Daisy totally live together in the USA.

Fitzsimmons started a biomedical company, they make prostetics and medical supplies. They fund small researchers and become relatively known in the medical field (under aliases of course). They run their company from their home as much as they can.

Deke got bored of his company, so he eventually fused it with FS’s, he has enough money to travel around the world and be whatever he wants. Once was a TV chef, and he got bored and became a travel blogger, then launched a clothing line so it goes…

Tried to convince the team to turn their story into a broadway musical. They all said no. He brings it up everytime they are all together (you never know)

Fitzsimmons have three kids, they were all planned ;) of course

Daisy teases Fitz about how the three of them look like Jemma. “You are adopted”. the son is the only one who kinda looks like him. Fitz doesn’ t mind.

After the kids go their own ways they leave together again.

Have their own quinjet in case of emergencies, they say. Let’s be honest after years of flying with SHIELD, commercial flights lost their charm.

Look retired Fitzsimmons would be that kind of couple who travels the world together (properly this time), they say the quinjet is to visit their friends and Family around the world but would randomly send pictures of them in front of a famous landmark.

Mackenzie Skye Fitzsimmons (Daisy calls her Kye) (Born around 2021) (Quarantine baby) or (Timetravel baby)

They never asked Deke about their daughter’s name in the original timeline, but once they told him, judging by his reaction they knew it was this. (but in the lighthouse timeline her nickname was Kenzie)

Fitz was really adamant on this name, Jemma thought it was cute and a great way to honor their best friends, but years later he told the kid:

“you were named after two of the bravest persons I’ve ever met”.

Jemma just stared into the space as it dawned on her that her husband was really an idiot.

He winked at her and she forgave him. Eventually.

When she was a toddler Fitzsimmons moved back to the city and left their cottage, they wanted their daughter to have the best education and also didn’t want to wake her up early because the closest school was still an hour away.

Around that time Daisy found Bobbi, they met up, and Bobbi introduced her to her baby son Owen. 

“oh my god. I need to call Fitzsimmons” 

“what” 

“shhhh. wait, it’s connecting... Hey guys! Look who is here! Bobbi and her baby Owen Shaw” 

Fitz spits his tea all over his phone. Bobbi doesn’t know what’s going on, and they eventually explain it to her, well, after Daisy stops laughing and Fitz stops coughing.

Bobbi and Hunter had changed names and moved to England. After learning that Fitzsimmons live nearby, they make plans to see each other as much as they can. Look this is my headcanon AU so Fitzsimmons offer them positions in their company, Bobbi in the lab and Hunter in a made up security position that doesn’t fit his nametag. 

Some weekends Fitz and Hunter take the babies to the park together, while Jemma and Bobbi work or hang out together. One day kye and Owen were playing and Owen proudly declared he was going to be an astronaut. Fitz was like “you and your son are the bane of my existence”.

The kids become best friends. Duh 

BUT this is Bobbi and Hunter we are talking about, they’re nomads so they eventually move out around Europe and America, when the kid started high school they agreed to stay in one place.

Anyways,

Amazing kid, took a while for her parents to figure out the whole parenting thing but she was so great, as long as things went her way.

Fitz can’t say no to her. A dog? We’ll manage. Ice cream for breakfast? c’mon you know how convincing she can be. 

She is a really calm kid, well behaved. Responsible older sister, mom friend, but messy af. “look mom, I have a system and I know where everything is”.

Nicest kid you’ll ever meet, but if you mess with her siblings be careful, you never know if you will find trash in your backpack.

She is an MD. Eventually, her parents moved back to the countryside but she stayed in the city with her sister to finish her education.

Makes friends everywhere she goes.

She and Owen started dating in their teens but were on and off several times, they even briefly dated other people because one of them would get scared of things becoming too serious (even more when they learned that Uncle Deke was genetically their son). 

In their late twenties they decided to get married as a compromise to stay together and work things out, after all, some things are inevitable.

They had two kids: Daniel Shaw (Deke, but They wanted him to be his own person so they changed the name), Gabrielle Shaw (Born as Oliver Shaw)

Owen worked for a while for SWORD. Eventually decide to move to Germany to work as researchers.

Margaret Abigail Fitzsimmons (Maggie) (Born 2025)

The odd one. Grew up to be a successful artist. Really independent as a child, could play hours by herself or caually chill around her parents or her brother’s crib.

Despite being the only one in her family who isn’t into science, she loves doing experiments all the time, in the name of aesthetic. One time turned the dog blue. There’s a fire extinguisher in the living room just because of her. Banned from her parents’ lab “Pretty colors can go boom”. Aparently.

After being constantly told she is diferent from the rest of her family, she feels happy when someone tells her she looks like her mom. She scoffs but she doesn’t really mind.

Acts though but is a softie, vegan, activist, animal lover. Loves to tease everyone, prankster, makes fun of her mom but it’s the first person she thinks of when something troubles her. Late night calls are not unheard of.

Can’t commit to a single hobby. Photography, cooking, volunteer work... name something, and she has probably already tried it.

Really close to Deke, sometimes travels with him. They are kindred spirits. Feel like only them understand the need to explore and try new things.

She grew up to resent shield. Look she loves what her parents and their friends did, but hates how it affected them. Forgive and forget? in this economy?? 

Lives in Paris by herself but somehow always manages to get everyone to come to her art exhibits. You won’t be able to stop her once she sets her mind to something. Stubborn as her dad.

Doesn’t want kids, maybe one day if she feels ready she will adopt but she is happy as an aunt.

Matthew Phillip Fitzsimmons (Matthew) (Born 2030)

Ray of sunshine, Momma’s boy. He loves it when his parents take him to their lab. Ever since he could walk he is always following his sisters around, if they are up to something he is the first one to know. They love to tease him, but he has enough blackmail material to get them to shut up. He would never use it tho.

Computer genius. He has his own video game company. Launched his first video game at 16. Fitz is mildly offended he sees the Framework code as “old stuff”.

He is a sweetheart, adores his parents and calls them every single day. He met his wife in college and has been happy ever since. It was fast and passionate, they got married within a year and a few years later they had a baby. 

Truly an example of living fast. 

Melissa Fitzsimmons (his daughter) a sweetheart, may is her godmother. (The babies’ baby’s baby, i cry). The cousins are thick as thieves. 

May loves the kid, “age is making you softer”, Daisy tells her and laughs, May’s glare while holding a baby is too much for her.

Emma Johnson (born 2029) (the honorary fourth kid)

Daisy’s daughter. Jemma cried when she told her the baby’s name. She wanted May and Jemma in the delivering room with her. 

I can see Daisy being a badass single mother but I also see her finding love, I haven’t made up my mind but I think she will be loved either way.

Only child, so loves to hang out with the FS kids.

She and Matthew are best friends since they were little, even having video calls when they couldn’t see each other in person.

Fitz and Daisy had a bet on whether they would get together, but it was called off when it became apparent Emma wasn’t interested in men altogether. She was the first woman in his wedding.

The “Quake” legacy was too much for her so she decided to focus in something different. Currently works as an architect and on her spare time works as a freelance illustrator.

All I can imagine is a scene where the are all together in a field (probably the same one where they buried Coulson and Loop!Fitz) May, Fitzsimmons and Daisy. They try to meet up there at least once a year to chat and reminisce about old times, sometimes with Deke, Mack and Elena (and their twin boys) or just them. 

Their kids are playing while their parents watch, but May’s watching them, with their backs to her they almost look like the kids she met in the bus all those years ago. Coulson would’ve been so proud, this is the future we were fighting for all along, she thinks.

“You did good”.

Daisy turns around with a soft smile on her face and says “yes, we did.”

The end

[yoon-kooks]

Witch Hazel- Pt.6

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: FanficWriter!Jungkook, Idol!Reader, College!AU, Angst, Fluff

Summary: There are two students in your art class with a secret: you and the quiet Jeon Jungkook. You’re a problematic idol singer, infamous for your ice cold reputation and perpetual resting bitch face; he’s the artist and author behind the viral comic series based on a certain ice queen idol. After a blowup of destructive rumors, lost motivation and inevitable solitude, you stumble upon Jungkook’s comic and find a new and unexpected light.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: none

Parts: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // ?

A/N: i’ve had mixed feelings about the tumblr fic community as of late :/ but heres something to read🥺

-

Holding the boy’s pinky in your own, you stare once more at his drawing of you with your guitar and flower crown—a superhero to those whom you shared your music with.

No. Your music hasn’t saved anyone. You’ve never been a hero to anyone. If anything, you’re the one who needs to be saved. You’d always thought you could grow strong enough to save yourself if you just closed yourself off from the world and did everything on your own. But in the end, that only seemed to hurt you more.

You should’ve known. It’s okay to ask for help, to reach out, to let him in.

“A few years ago, I had a thought. It wasn’t a very smart thought, but I decided I wanted to share part of myself with the world. I thought about the different ways I could go about that, but the way that made the most sense for me was music,” you say, finally letting go of Jungkook’s pinky and making yourself awfully comfortable on a bed that doesn’t belong to you. “So I auditioned for Polar Entertainment. Not to be an idol, but to be a songwriter.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything, but he nods as if it’s not a shock to him, as if he saw it as “a Y/N thing to do.” At the same time, his gentle eyes wait for you to continue, curious to know what’ll happen next.

“Do you remember the song you heard me singing the other day in the music room?”

Jungkook cracks a smirk and starts singing your song word for word in a surprisingly in-tune whisper. Oh, he remembers it alright, and he’ll apparently never let you live it down. He doesn’t stop until you throw one of the balled-up blankets at his face.

“That was the first time I picked up my guitar and sang that song since being rejected at the audition.”

“I can imagine how scarring that would be. Rejection,” he shudders at the word, though you’re sure he knows little about the feeling with art skills as professional as his. “They really didn’t like you though?”

“They liked certain parts of me.” Your vocals, your beauty, your body. “But not the ones that mattered.” Your music, your creativity, your personality. You.

“That’s their loss,” Jungkook says in the midst of a yawn, practically inaudible. But you heard him.

“Maybe they had a point,” you say, looking up at the ceiling. “Because when I look back to that time, it was quite foolish of me to believe my music would reach anyone when it came from a place of desperation, not my heart. The song was a plea for help, not one that would save others.”

“What made you suddenly sing it again after all this time?”

You grab hold of the boy’s hand and form yet another pinky promise. “Promise you won’t laugh at me for my reason.”

“I can’t promise you that,” he says with the straightest face. He’s ready to burst out laughing again and you know it.

“Then I won’t tell you.” With a hmph, you bury yourself under the fluffiest blanket. You wonder how he would’ve reacted if you told him it was that dang jk.seagull and his fanfic that gave you the courage to sing again, to go back to your roots, to follow your love of creating music. It’d obviously sound ridiculous to admit it out loud, but the joy you feel from reading Witch Hazel is what reminds you of the very thing you want to provide others with—happiness.

And that’s perhaps all the encouragement you needed to start sharing your music again.

“I won’t tell you what it was exactly that made me do it, but I’ll tell you why,” you peek your head back out of the blankets to see the boy still waiting patiently for an answer. “I wanted to move on… from the failure I faced that day. That way, I can finally become that superhero you speak of.”

You place the drawing of your superhero self onto the nightstand so that it doesn’t get crinkled up on the bed. No, she’s not a superhero yet. But she will be someday.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“You better not tell anyone,” you remind him. “This isn’t something I share with other people. Ever.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” he assures you, with not only his words but also his warmth.

“Good.” You smile whilst closing your eyes. You meant to tell him that he could confide in you too, but the warmth pulls you into a deep slumber before you could do so.

-

It’s been a minute since you’ve awoken in someone else’s bed, though this is the first time you aren’t all wrapped up in their embrace. Rather, half the boy’s body is hanging off the side of the bed for dear life while you’re right smack in the middle, all bundled up in one of the blankets.

If you wanted to, you could push him over the edge with the tiniest tap of your foot—that’s how close he is to falling. But as tempting as it would be to get even with the boy who teases you to no end, you opt to quietly check your phone without disturbing him.

To your surprise, you have two new notifications: a text from Seokjin earlier this morning and a late-night update from jk.seagull posted sometime after you had passed out. You’ve always been the type to take care of work obligations before indulging in guilty pleasures, so you open Seokjin’s text first.

6:04AM jinnie “so jimin’s manager reached out to me”

6:05AM jinnie “and you want to collab with jimin?”

7:12AM Y/N “oh yeah i asked him to have his manager contact you”

7:13AM Y/N “but i guess i forgot to tell you LOL”

It’s not that you forgot. You were just hesitant to tell your manager about it yourself. Because if possible, you’d like to minimize your own company’s involvement in this top-secret scheme of yours.

7:15AM jinnie “are you up to something?”

7:15AM Y/N “mayhaps”

7:16AM Y/N “but dont tell boss lady pls”

7:17AM jinnie “shes going to find out one way or another”

7:19AM Y/N “thats true 🤔 ”

7:20AM Y/N “well tbh knowing her, she’d probably approve of the collab anyway since it should clear up those dating rumors while (hopefully) appealing to jimin’s fanbase”

7:21AM Y/N “just dont tell her the logistics of the collab”

7:21AM jinnie “what are you scheming lmao”

7:22AM Y/N “youll see”

7:22AM jinnie “ 😒 dont get me or yourself in trouble Y/N”

7:23AM Y/N “i wont! i promise! 🥺 ”

7:24AM jinnie “okay fine”

7:25AM jinnie “ill arrange a meeting with jimin and his manager to discuss everything formally”

As you move on to the more exciting notification on your phone, you see that the sleeping Jungkook has slipped several inches closer to falling flat on his face. Maybe you’ll save him from his impending doom. Maybe you won’t. But that’ll have to wait until after you see what jk.seagull had to say on his blog.

“do you ever think back to that one time in math camp when a little girl screamed in your face that she hated math and wanted to become a musician instead? apparently she somehow confused ‘musician’ with ‘mathematician’ LMAO”

You aren’t sure what provoked the silly seagull guy to share such a random thought, but you do get a good laugh out of it. After all, you can totally relate as someone who went to math camp one summer despite knowing in your heart what you truly wanted to do-

Wait.

“Jungkook,” you say in a half-hushed, half-urgent tone, though calling his name wouldn’t be what actually wakes him from his slumber. “I think I know who the seagull guy is.”

Thud. You swear on your life you didn’t lay a finger on the boy when he fell, despite all the devilish thoughts you had about it earlier. He fell on his own. You’re innocent. Therefore, you have a right to laugh.

“Are you okay?” you snicker, peering down from the bed at the dazed boy. He might have been the biggest klutz for rolling off the bed and stumbling around to find his glasses, but holy shit. His wild bedhead and scattered blankets across the floor make it seem as though the two of you had a lot more than just an innocent heart-to-heart in his bed last night.

“I’m fine,” he stretches his arms and combs the bedhead out. Yes, he is fine. “But, uhh, what’s this about that seagull guy?”

“I think I know him.” You expect Jungkook to be as excited as you are, but he just seems kind of puzzled—perhaps from his lack of sleep.

“…and how did you come to that conclusion…?” he asks. Or maybe he doesn’t believe you.

“You didn’t see the post! Look at the post.” You join the boy down on the floor and make yourself at home there with your phone and some of the fallen blankets. He leans over your shoulder to read the infamous post you won’t shut up about.

“Math camp?” Jungkook continues to squint at the cryptic message before chuckling. “Also, did that girl seriously confuse musician with mathematician?”

“Stop laughing! That dumbass was me.” Now you wish you had kicked his ass off the bed.

He stops laughing, not because you told him to but because he’s mildly shook. “What?”

You take a deep breath in because you know you’re setting yourself up to be clowned for the rest of your fucking life. “When I was like ten, I told my parents that I wanted to be a mathematician, thinking that word meant musician. So they signed me up for camp that summer.”

“Did you ever stop to think that mathematician has the word math in it and not mu-”

You interrupt the boy’s unwelcomed commentary with an air-punch to his guts before continuing on as if nothing happened. “I was so excited until I got there. It was absolutely mortifying to learn that it was a math camp, not a music camp.”

“I like this story,” he nods with his arms guarding himself in anticipation of another air-jab as you square up.

“Still, I tried to make the best out of the situation since I was actually kind of good at math,” you say. “The camp director even told me I’d make a great math professor one day.”

“I can’t imagine you as a math professor.” He settles down with all the chuckling.

“I couldn’t either, so I ran off to an empty room where I thought I could escape without anyone finding me,” you soften your tone. “But somehow a crying, wandering boy found me.”

“Was it the seagull?”

“Maybe. All I remember was hearing music playing from somewhere outside. I sang along as a way to comfort and distract myself from the whole math situation, but it seemed to cheer up the boy as well.”

“Your voice does have that effect, you know.”

“He told me the same thing.” You can’t help but smile a little at the compliment. “But in that moment, it felt like my dream had a purpose beyond fueling my own desires. And I needed to share it with someone. Anyone.”

“So you shared it with the boy?”

You nod. “I told him my dream was to be a mathematician, but he knew what I meant.”

“Did he at least clown you first?”

“He did. He laughed right in my face, and at first I thought he was a jerk for making fun of my dream. But after he kindly taught me the difference between musician and mathematician, I announced my actual dream to him and him alone.”

“And how’d he respond?”

“He said it was cool beans.”

“He said cool beans?”

“Those were his exact words, yes.”

“And that was it?”

“That’s all I can remember.”

“So you don’t even remember his name or anything?”

“We never introduced ourselves,” you shake your head. “I don’t remember his face either because it was covered by a hood and long hair.”

“That’s too bad,” Jungkook sighs. “I bet it really was that seagull guy after all.”

“I have a feeling it was him, too.”

It would be nice and awfully romantic if you had somehow crossed paths long ago with the very seagull who continues to inspire your craft with his own. But even if that isn’t the case, you’re content with having that memory and entrusting it with another boy who has done nothing but lift you up.

You lean yourself gently against the Jungkook’s shoulder as you slip your phone back into your pocket, debating on your next course of action. The two of you should be getting ready for class, but that doesn’t sound very appealing. There are other things you’d much rather be doing, like maybe thanking the boy for lending his ear. But for some reason, it’s still difficult for you to say those two simple words of gratitude.

Perhaps it’s difficult because there’s a lot more you’d say than just “thanks man.”

“Can we just cut class and get coffee instead?” Yes, you’ll thank him for his service by treating him to coffee. Unless…? What if this is just your subtle way of asking the boy out on a date? What if he says no because you’ve already spent way too much time with him in the past 24 hours? What if he hates coffee? What if he-

“We should probably go to class to turn in our project, yeah?” Jungkook brings up a good point. But the thing is, you don’t really have your priorities straight at the moment and your mind has only two things consuming it: coffee and boy. “But we can get coffee after class.”

“Ooh, good, because there’s this one coffee shop I want you to try!” You chirp up despite your nonexistent dose of morning caffeine. “It’ll be my treat as thanks for… letting me hog your bed.”

“Oh right... that,” Jungkook hops to his feet and starts tidying up said bed. You help by picking up and folding all of the blankets. “I nearly froze and fell to my death because of that, you know.”

“I saw,” you bite your lip, trying to mask any naughty thoughts that come to mind. Because next time, if there is in fact a next time, you won’t let the boy freeze.

-

By the time art class ends, the weight of the dreaded group project has been lifted and your craving for coffee begins to settle in once more. And apparently, the hunger and excitement is radiating off you because someone has the audacity to make a comment about it.

“Why does your face look like that?” Taehyung teases, but you’re mildly offended.

“Because I’m getting coffee from my favorite café. That’s why,” you hiss but there’s still a hidden glow about you and your excitement. “Coffee is to me as girls are to you, Taehyung.”

“Ooh, speaking of girls, do any cute girls work there?” He strokes his wise man beard. “Maybe I’ll tag along.”

“I don’t fucking know.” And even if you did know, you wouldn’t say yes.

“How boring,” he yawns while nudging the boy next to him. “Hey Jungkook, wanna go on a double date with me? I met a pair of gamer girls, but I don’t know all the nerdy gaming stuff that you know. And think about it, this could be the first time you get laid since-”

“Actually, Jungkook’s getting coffee with me,” you interrupt. And if you had been brave enough to look up at the boy as you spoke, you would have seen the healthy pink radiance on his cheeks.

“Oh, so the two of you are dating all of a sudden?” Taehyung nods, as if he had hit the mark.

Neither you or Jungkook give an immediate answer, probably due to the unspoken yet very apparent shift in dynamics between the two of you as of late. Yes, you’ve developed certain feelings for the boy, but no, you aren’t technically “dating.” You just hope he’s on the same page as you.

“It’s just coffee,” you want to say, but it comes out of Jungkook’s mouth instead. And even though you would’ve said the same exact thing, it hits a little different hearing it from him.

At the same time, coffee is coffee and Jungkook is Jungkook. You need to remind yourself that your craving for coffee with the boy will be satisfied, regardless of whether it’s a date or not. After all, “dating” is not an option for an idol who should only be focusing on her music and fans.

“Which drink would you recommend?” Jungkook asks as you lead him in the direction of the café.

“If you like coffee, all of the drinks are good in my humble opinion,” you say, though you realize you should probably give the boy a few specific suggestions to make his decision a little easier. “You can get a standard mocha or latte if you want something simple. Or, their signature hazelnut coffee is really really good. Or if you want something iced, you should try the cold brew because it’s literally the most refreshing dose of caffeine ever. Oh! But if you’re into something more plant-based, I suggest the maple oat-”

“You’re not narrowing down my options if you recommend the entire menu, Y/N,” the boy chuckles at your coffee enthusiast behavior.

“Well, here’s my thought process: if we go at least once a week after class, you can eventually try every drink on the menu by the end of the school year. Not including all the different types of milk options though.”

“I don’t know if I should be impressed or terrified that you even bothered to do that calculation.” His eyes are bigger and brighter than the sun. “But that must mean you really like coffee then, huh?”

“Of course! Is that even a question?” The snobby coffee enthusiast jumped out real quick. But even beyond the coffee, you did the calculation to see how long your little coffee not-dates with the boy could last before you have to return to your idol obligations. “You like coffee too, right?”

“Not really,” he sighs. Your jaw drops. Who the does he think he is? “Are there any tea options? Or like a banana milk or something?”

“You can’t just walk into a coffee shop and not order coffee.” Is this guy for real? No, he’s just fucking with you. Probably. “I better start reevaluating who I hang out with,” you say with a sarcastic hmph.

“I’m kidding, kind of.” He doesn’t do a very good job of reassuring you of that. “I like… coffee.”

“That hesitant pause doesn’t sit well with me, Jeon.” You raise an eyebrow at the suspicious boy. It feels nice to tease him for once. “Why are you grabbing coffee with me if you don’t love it?”

“I just curious about this coffee place,” he nudges you, “since someone seems to really enjoy it.”

So it’s because of you…

“Good to know I’ve successfully peer pressured you into consuming caffeine,” you hum, playing it off as if his words weren’t absorbed right into your heart. It was never about coffee.

It’s about you and him.

The thought of that makes your heart scream a little, so you hide your flustered face behind your phone as the two of you approach the coffee shop. You have an unread text from your manager.

2:35PM jinnie “good news”

2:36PM jinnie “i set up a meeting with jimin and his manager in an hour”

You stop in your tracks. That’s not good news. Well actually, it is good for your top secret collab. But the timing of it all is anything but good.

“Are you searching up the menu online? Oh wait, you already have the entire menu memorized from A to Z.” He thinks he’s funny. Now is not the time, Jeon. His teasing smile doesn’t disappear until the distress is written all over your face.

How do you cancel a not-a-date date without a proper explanation? How can you do that to a boy who has only ever done you right? The thing is, you don’t have to hurt him.

You can cancel the meeting, you can bail out on the collab, you can disappear from the idol world altogether if you choose to do so. And if you didn’t want to go that far, you could instead tell the boy of your deepest and darkest secret, of your idol identity, and he would surely understand your reasons for having to leave so suddenly for work.

You could do any of those things, but you decide not to. You won’t allow yourself to make such a rash decision, even if it’s the right one. So you decide to keep the meeting, you decide to keep your idol self hidden in the shadows, and you decide to abandon the boy.

[armanijoons]

— RENDEZVOUS; 2

pairing: namjoon x reader 

overall genre: celebrity!au, fluff, smut, some angst 

words: 1.2k 

chapters: I II

SUMMARY — namjoon kim, better known by his stage name rm (or his english name nathan), is a rapper on the verge of making it big. after being on forbes’ 30 under 30, his fame is rising exponentially. unfortunately, with fame comes crazy fans who’d do anything if it meant being able to breathe the same air as you. fortunately, however, y/n is a designer who’s next collection is in dire need of pr to avoid another 2k19 situation. luckily for both of them, they’re just what each of them needs.

or, “fuck all that fame shit; cause this be our rendezvous” - rendezvous; junny

To say you were stressed would be the understatement of the century. With the release of your newest collection coming up, you were up to your nose in paperwork and proposals for advertisement.

You loved your job. Being a fashion designer was everything you could have ever wanted, but you wouldn’t mind if you never had to attend another PR meeting again.

Yet here you were, in the congested New York City traffic, with undoubtedly the worst migraine you’ve ever had the displeasure of experiencing. And it certainly didn’t help that you were currently being briefed by the head of your PR team in the seat next to you.

“Are you even listening to me?” He huffed, ruffling his hair as he tried to gauge whether or not you were even paying attention to the oh-so-important things he had to say.

“Tae, please, spare me and just tell me what the hell I’m doing here.”

Taehyung scoffed before deciding to give into you, more so sparing himself from a sore throat before lunch.

“You would’ve heard me earlier--” He began, holding his hand up as you began to open your mouth to respond, cutting you off and offering a warning as well. “You’re meeting with Namjoon Kim’s PR team for a possible collaboration. I’m guessing most likely, you’ll be dressing him for his promotions and he’ll allow you to use some of his music during your fashion show.”

“I’m sorry, who?”

“Namjoon Kim,” Taehyung stated, not sparing you a glance as he typed into his phone, responding to a text before looking up and pointing out their destination on the left.

You were vaguely aware of a musician with the surname ‘Kim’ that had been all over the radio and evidently, the trending pages of every single social media account you owned.

Your pondering carried you from the car, up the elevators, and through the doors of the conference room, spotting several members of both your PR team and ‘Namjoon’s’ as well. 

However, as you glanced around the room, you couldn’t help but notice a particularly stressed looking man in a sleek, navy blue suit. You watched as he repeatedly continuously bounced his leg and kept checking his watch.

“I’m sorry he’s late, I thought I could trust him to wake up on his own today. But obviously, he’s either dead or just decided to speed up my death.” His voice was humorous but you could tell he wasn’t too happy with his client.

He turned his gaze your way, reaching over the table to shake your hand, “I’m Seokjin Kim--” The door slammed open, revealing a well-dressed, quite tall young man in a pair of rimmed glasses standing at the door. His eyes widened once he realized he was the last person to make it there.

You watched him curse under his breath as he walked around the table, muttering ‘I’m so sorry I’m late.’, avoiding his manager’s piercing stare.

“Now that everyone is here...”

Now you’ve never been the hysterical type. You rolled with the punches and did pretty well under pressure (according to your own standards, it must be noted). However, nothing could prepare for the proposal your PR teams had placed on the table.

Nonetheless, you gritted your teeth and agreed, even clutching the pen in a sweaty hand as you signed the contract.

And it was set. You’d “date” this rapper you didn’t know much about for 3 months, enough time for people to get excited about it, obsess to the point of invasion of privacy, then gradually forget about it even for you two to “amicably split on good terms”. 

It definitely didn’t help your shock induced hysteria that they wanted the two of you to make an appearance in public that afternoon either. And maybe it was your shock that shielded you from completely losing your shit in front of all the important, nice people in the conference room.

You were about five seconds into the realization that you’d be dating this guy you’d have no idea about. At least Shawn and Camila knew each other before they had their publicity stunt.

Somehow, you were able to freak out just enough to get back to your apartment, get dressed, meet Namjoon downstairs, and mentally prepare yourself for the most awkward “date” you’ve ever been on.

And so here you were, sitting in the back of an UBER with Namjoon. A full seat of space in between the two of you as you both tried to think of something to say. You were sure even the UBER driver could feel your awkwardness. 

“So, you’re releasing an album?” You asked, trying your best to avoid his eyes.

“Yeah, next month, around the same time as your collection.”

Then, back to silence.

You were thinking simply giving up before he spoke up again, “Sorry about all this, I can’t imagine how uncomfortable you are right now. I’ve never really been on a serious date so I’m kind of at a loss at what to do.”

And that got you.

Suddenly, you kind of cared about making an effort to converse with him understanding how uncomfortable he must’ve been. After all, who would want this to be their first real date? 

“No don’t be sorry. If anything, I should try to make this as authentic as possible, I guess.”

He turned to you, finally making eye contact with you for the first time since the conference. “You don’t have to--”

“No you’re fine, there’s this museum I’ve been wanting to go to for a long time- If you’re into that sort of thing, I mean.”

You could see his eyes light up at the idea before clearing his throat and agreeing to it.

“Here it is,” You remarked, getting excited once you spotted the museum building.

The two of you were heading down a sidewalk, speeding up as you started to run to the door spotting someone holding it open for you. 

You smiled back at Namjoon, holding the door, ushering him in and entering the building.

“It’s a pop-up museum the university puts on once a year to fund their Arts programs. I’ve always wanted to go but never had the time since I moved to the city.” You explained in a hushed down, walking down the hallway, Namjoon trailing carefully behind you.

“This one’s pretty cool,” He hummed as he stopped by your side, seeing you gaze up at a painting of a woman in a field of flowers. 

You nodded before launching into a geeky observation of the color palette and the positioning of certain elements and how they tie into the artist’s view of what the perception of femininity is in Western society. You turned to face him after you spiel, catching the way he smiled softly, his deep dimples placed perfectly in his full cheeks.

“You’re nerdier than I thought you’d be.” He remarked, chuckling as your mouth fell open in disbelief.

“I had a headache this morning,” You defended yourself as you moved to the next painting, the rapper trailing behind you. “Besides, this is sort of my happy place, away from all the bullshit paperwork I’ve been procrastinating on.”

“I get that,” He mused, nodding as he observed the painting in front of the two of you.

The two of you observed the various pieces of artwork scattered around the room in peace. Making small comments about things you found interesting every now and then before moving to the next one. That is until a giggle caught you attention before the shuffling of feet reminded you of the true mission at hand.

“I think we’ve been spotted.” Namjoon stated, watching the small group (presumably teenage fans of his) try to avoid eye contact with the two of you.

“Okay, Gossip Girl,” You chuckled, looking up at him before turning your attention back to the landscape piece you were previously intrigued by.

“Knowing Jin, once the picture starts trending, he’ll text me so we can get out of here before any shit goes down.”

You hummed gently.

The peace lasted maybe another 10 minutes before Namjoon received said text from his manager, Seokjin. “It’s trending,” He mumbled, seemingly asking you if you were ready to leave.

“Let’s head out then.” You responded, looking back at him, seeing him already drifting towards the exit of the museum, focused on his phone. ‘He’s probably talking to his manager’. You mused.

He paused, waiting for you to catch up before continuing, his pace a bit slower now that the two of you were close to the building’s exit and therefore, running the possibility of being seen by fans of his.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Namjoon said, his attention lifted from his phone onto you before turning back to his phone, leaving you to follow him at his side.

And before you knew it, you were sitting in the back of the car Taehyung had sent for you. You tried to piece together the last 5 minutes, confused yet pleased in a weird sort of way.

You knew the spotting of the two of you had been buzz enough to place the two of you on the trending charts. However, something had been off with his demeanor. He seemed distant after receiving that text. Like he had mentally checked out of the present as he shuffled from the museum to your car and to the restaurant down the street where you had vaguely heard of another meeting.

It bothered you in a way that you couldn’t quite understand. It wasn’t like you were disappointed necessarily, just surprised at the switch up. Here you were putting in an effort to make conversation and act like a good fake-girlfriend, yet he had completely written you off the moment you were allowed to drop the act.

If there was anything you were sure of, it was that this particular rendezvous had left you more hysterical than the meeting that morning. And that headache you had been suffering from that morning? It was back. And with a nasty vengeance this time.

[just-existing1]

14 Days of College AUs!

Pairing: Art Student! Renjun x Art Student! Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: You and Renjun fight over a painting that you both create together.

Word Count: ~ 1700 words

You let out a strained exhale as you glared at the other hand that had a hold on your canvas. You could feel your annoyance steadily flowing through your body, your grip tightening as you look at the owner of the hand.

“Why are you doing?” You ask, trying not to sound like you’re about to blow up on him.

“It’s mine too. We both painted it, I want it just as much as you do,” He retorts, pulling the painting toward him roughly.

“You said you didn’t want it at the beginning of the project so why would you want it now? Is it just because I decided to take it home?” You snap, your eyes burning with anger, “How can you change your mind like that at the last second? That’s rude and I said I wanted it first.”

You yank the canvas away from him and he immediately puts his hand on the door of the classroom so that you can’t walk out with the artwork.

“You don’t get to just decide that it belongs to you. I spent hours working on that painting too, we both have just as much right to it and you’re not walking out of here with my hard work.”

“Renjun! You literally said that you could imagine having this painting in your room when we started this project because you were sure that somehow, though you didn’t know how, I was going to mess it up. Now, only because I decided to take it home, do you want to put it up in your family’s house.”

“I don’t think you should get all of the credit and if you take with you everyone will say you did a good job and you won’t tell anyone that I did half of the work!” Renjun challenges back and then leans all his body weight on the door.

You step back and look around the art room trying to search for an alternative solution. Your gaze flickers around the room until it lands on your answer. Putting the painting underneath your arm in order to keep him away from it you grab a scalpel before laying the painting on a table. You flip the canvas over and grab a tool to begin removing the staples.

“What are you doing?” Renjun queries as he leans over your shoulder. You try to nudge him away as he finally realizes what you’re going to do. He snatches the painting away and scurries to the other side of the room.

“What do you think you’re doing!?” He wails and he places the painting behind him, securely tucking it out of your site and away from your torture methods.

“I’m going to split it down the middle since we both did a fifty-fifty painting. You get the left side, since you painted and I get the right, since I painted that one. It’s even and then there can be no argument between us. It’s the perfect alternate solution to our problem,” Your voice is calm now, Renjun can’t tell if you’re angry still or not and to be honest, it was probably scarier than when you were noticeably angry.

“If you do that then the painting is ruined, Y/N. That makes you sound like an idiot. An alternative solution would be for us to give the painting to the Art Department, who wanted it anyway. Slicing it in half doesn’t help anyone in the long run, because we can’t extend the canvas without looking stupid and even so if we were able to reconnect it, we’ll both lose various part of the artwork and if you slice it. It’ll become frayed anyway,” Renjun definitely has a point. If you tore the artwork in half, you’d both have problems trying to reattach it to the base. You groan and put the scalpel away before leaning your elbows on the table, resting your chin on the back on your hands. He was right though, at least if you guys gave the painting away it would be safe in the art department gallery where you guys could both go see it and even your friends and family could see it.

“So… you want to donate it then?” You mumble as you scan his face for any indication that once you agreed to donate it that he would walk out with it and you’d never see it again. He nodded eagerly, a smile gracing his features and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. How could the most obnoxious person you know get your heart racing faster than it ever had before?

“It helps the charity exhibit and the professor was really sad when you backed out of giving it to her anyway,” Renjun says, sitting the painting on the table and replacing the staples you pulled out. Your eyes follow his every move and you remember watching him paint. His hands always seemed so gentle when he was working with an art piece.

“Is that why you wanted the painting? To donate it?” You ask, your voice is light as you put your hands out to hold a corner of the canvas in place as he staples it. He hesitates for a moment before giving you an affirming huff.

“You could have just said you wanted to donate it…”

“Would you have believed me? You don’t even like me.”

‘You’re so wrong…’ The thought comes suddenly, and in a panic, you jerk away from him then grab your bag. dashing out of the door. How could you let your mind wander so far to get that the point where those thoughts were popping unprompted? You didn’t know, but you did know one thing for sure. You were going to that charity exhibit and making sure he didn’t keep the painting for himself.

.

You walk into the gallery, following the flow of the crowd to see that every seemed to stop at the same spot. Maneuvering through the group of people you freeze when you see what they’re staring at. It’s your painting. Well the shared painting you and Renjun did together. He had actually donated it. For the last three weeks you hadn’t spoken to him and you didn’t think would have kept his word since he seemed to want it for himself at first. You didn’t move as you listened to comments following in from around you.

“You can’t even tell that two artists worked on it. I wonder who painted first because the second person would’ve had to be very talented to be able to match their art styles.”

“Maybe it’s like art soulmates?”

“Maybe they’ve worked together before and that’s why they work so well together.”

You felt a hand on your shoulder and turned to Renjun, smiling before letting your eyes go back to the painting. You scanned it, the yellows shining brightly against the greens and browns to show off a beautiful landscape.

“The best part is that is says that they only used four colors. Brown, white, yellow, and blue. How would they even be able to that?”

“Do you want to walk around the rest of the exhibit with me?” Renjun asks before taking your arm and leading you away.

“That was incredible, I didn’t think you were actually going to donate it,” You admit sheepishly, watching him smirk but not look at you.

“I thought about keeping it… but I didn’t fight you so I could have it. I fought you so it could raise money to help give children art supplies so that they can follow their dreams, just like how we’re both pursing art careers.”

“I never thought that you be so soft underneath your whole “I’m the best so don’t even sit with me” bravado.”

“I wasn’t soft. Until I watched a girl paint a canvas of a red panda playing with bubbles and from then on, I became a marshmallow.”

A giggle erupted from you and you slipped your arm through his. You think back to your first painting in class. The topic had been to create an idea that makes you smile. Other people worked tirelessly to produce portraits, landscapes, or even to produce an entirely original world that lived inside their heads. But you, you had painted a red panda playing with rainbow bubbles.

“What made you like that painting?” You push your fingers through your hair and let your eyes graze the artworks around you.

“It was simple, but it had so many small details. It was just like you. That’s how I knew that I wanted to get to know you better, but then you and I fought so much over the semester that we ended up not being friends.”

“So… you’re saying that you like me? Also, I was just thinking about how cool it is that we have shared custody of a painting. It’s totally stupid but it made me smile.” You blush, suddenly engrossed in your shoes and remembering just how much you liked them. You heard Renjun’s chuckle and he rolled his.

“Yeah I guess I do… that’s a cute thought. Aside from it being shared parenting of a painting that neither of us will ever lay our hands on again.”

You smile and look up at him, watching the lights catch his eyes. They illuminated the brown and turned it into a warm pool of honey. That night you kept your arm looped through Renjun’s and didn’t let go until he has walked you back to your dorm room. You were sure that the two of you were soulmates just like the person at the gallery had said. It would also be a great story to tell people when you were older. The story of how the two of you had ended up together because of a painting that you had created together.

[gamerwoo]

Zitao: Payback

anonymous asked: idk if you write for ot12 exo but if you do could you maybe write a soulmate au for tao? if not, for lay? thank you~!

Characters: Zitao x reader (featuring exo)

Genre/warnings: soulmate au, non idol au, definitely a lot of crack but it makes up for that in lots of fluff too

Word count: 3,295

Summary: When your soulmate draws on their skin, it appears on yours as well. That tends to annoy Zitao because your friends draw the most embarrassing things on your arms, so he finally tries to get back at you.

“What the actual fuck is this?” Yixing exclaimed, grabbing Tao’s arm and pulling it closer for him to look at. 

Lo and behold was exactly what he thought was written in black ink down the younger boy’s forearm. 

Chanyeol leaned over and took a look as well, laughing loudly at what he saw. “Why did you write ‘EAT MY ASS’ on your arm?”

Surprised, Tao yanked his arm away and looked at it. With a scoff, he rolled his eyes and tugged his sleeve down to cover it. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, and he was sure it wasn’t the last.

“It’s my stupid soulmate again.” he groaned, holding his arm protectively to his chest. “I’m pretty sure they’re out to get me.”

“Are they...okay?” Yixing chuckled.

“They only ever draw and write inappropriate things on their skin.” he huffed, rolling his sleeve back up to see if maybe you’d washed the words off of your arm. Unfortunately, the ink was still thick and black on his flesh. “It’s obnoxious.”

Although you were able to draw whatever you wanted on your skin for your soulmate to see, there were a few rules. You couldn’t give away your number or address, as that would mess with fate. Nobody ever dared mess with fate.

However, at this point, Tao was sure he would’ve rathered you just made an exact replica of your face on his chest or something because this was getting ridiculous. He couldn’t even count the amount of times he had woken up with boobs drawn on his forehead, and now there was this, too.

The drawings started out sweet. They were cute flowers, patterns, and minimalist portraits of people he didn’t recognize. Actually, Zitao thought you were a fantastic artist. But then the lewd pictures and writing began to get sprinkled in among the art until it completely took over. He couldn’t even remember the last time you’d drawn something beautiful for him.

“What do you draw for them?” Yixing wondered, leaning back against the wall as the two boys waited for the subway. 

Tao looked up, seeming surprised by the question. “Huh?”

“Don’t you draw on yourself for them too?”

“...Not really.”

Chanyeol chuckled, gesturing to the arm that Zitao seemed to be trying to hide behind his back. “So you let your soulmate embarrass you, and you don’t do anything about it?”

“Are you implying I get revenge on them?” Tao laughed awkwardly.

“Yes.” Chanyeol nodded at the same time Yixing made a face and said, “No!”

The two boys exchanged looks before Yixing spoke up, looking at Tao. “Don’t start a fight with your soulmate. What happens when you meet them? It’ll just be awkward.”

“Or it’ll be hilarious.” Chanyeol contradicted with a wide, toothy grin. “Can you imagine the things you can draw and write to get back at them?”

The announcer said the subway would be arriving, so the three boys stepped away from the wall and up to the yellow line by the track. Yixing and Chanyeol kept bickering back and forth about what Tao should do about his soulmate, but he drowned them out. If you could draw the things you did to embarrass him, why couldn’t he do it to you?

Quietly, he slipped a pen out of his bag and pressed it to his skin.

You stared down at the words your roommates had scrawled across your forearm while you were asleep. It wasn’t the first time they’d done this, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. Ever since you’d gotten your first drawing from your soulmate--actually, it was the answers to a test he was taking--your two roommates had been relentlessly messing with your soulmate. 

You were able to keep it a secret for a little while. In fact, you’d make cute little doodles all over your body specifically for him to find. You never really got anything back but you figured maybe he wasn’t super artistic. He never wrote anything that made it seem like he didn’t like your drawings, so you kept them going.

It didn’t take long for your roommates to notice all of the ink over your body. They easily caught on to why you were drawing on your skin so much, and soon, they were joining in. However, instead of cute and thoughtful drawings, they would draw and write inappropriate things that would not only embarrass you, but your soulmate. 

“___!” Sehun’s whining voice cut through your annoyance at the new addition to the doodles on your body. “Where are you?”

Instead of replying, you sighed and got out of bed, trudging to your bedroom door and throwing it open. At the end of the hall, you saw Sehun walking by before he stopped and backed up, throwing a grin your way.

“Morning!” he greeted you, a little too cheerily.

You glared at him, holding your arm up for him to see. “Which one of you fuckers did this?”

“Baekhyun.” he immediately replied.

“Was not!” you heard the older boy shout from the kitchen as if he was just waiting to be thrown under the bus. “Kris did it last night!”

“I didn’t even go out last night.” you pointed out as you saw your second roommate walk over to the hall, balancing a bowl of cereal in one hand.

He shrugged. “We invited some friends over.”

“And you just happened to let Kris into my bedroom?”

Your two roommates exchanged glances at each other before slowly replying, “...Yes.”

That didn’t sound very convincing. You knew it was one of them who had written on you but you didn’t know who. They weren’t dumb enough to write in their normal handwriting so it was difficult to figure out who had done it.

“I don’t want either of you-”

“Wait, what’s that?” Sehun cut you off, one of his hands reaching toward your neck. He brushed your hair off your shoulder to get a better look. Then he burst into a fit of laughter. “Hyung! When did you do this, it’s hilarious!”

Baekhyun’s eyebrows furrowed as he stepped closer to you to see what Sehun was talking about. “Dude, I didn’t draw anything else on her.”

You practically said “aha” out loud, pointing at the older boy. “So it was you!”

“That’s the least of your worries, ___-ah.” he chuckled, gesturing to the bathroom. “I think you might want to check the mirror.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you paused before pushing passed your two roommates to the bathroom, flicking the light on and looking in the mirror. You moved your hair and titled your head to see what exactly they were talking about.

‘TITTY SPRINKLES’. That’s what was written on your neck. Fucking ‘TITTY SPRINKLES’.

You groaned and turned to the open doorway to see your two idiot roommates laughing at you as they high-fived each other. Apparently they were really pleased with themselves for getting a reaction out of your soulmate, but you were less than happy. This more than likely meant he was sick of you embarrassing him and now wanted to get back at you. You’d probably pissed him off. Well, your roommates did, anyway.

The second reason you weren’t happy was because you had work in an hour. Normally, hiding this wouldn’t be a problem because of your hair, but you had to have your hair up for work. That meant ‘TITTY SPRINKLES’ would be on display for every coworker and customer to see.

“It’s not funny!” you whined, stomping one foot like a child. “I have work and I need this off of me! I’m gonna get fired!”

“Hey, take that up with your soulmate, ___.” Sehun grinned with a shrug before walking away.

“Let us know how that goes, though.” Baekhyun giggled before following behind the younger boy.

You let out a huff, not knowing what to do. How could you get your soulmate to get rid of this?

And then you remember the obvious.

You went back to your room and grabbed a pen out of your backpack. Then you opened your palm and faced it toward you, scribbling out a sentence on your skin and staring at your hand until something new happened.

‘Please erase that’.

It took a few moments, but a new message appeared on your skin.

‘Lmao no’.

‘I have work’.

‘You started it’.

You quickly realized you were running out of room on your hand, so you moved to the forearm opposite the one that still had the lewd message Baekhyun had written on it.

‘It wasn’t me! It was my roommates’.

‘This isn’t even the first time you’ve written something like this’.

‘You’re really going to make me go to work like this, aren’t you?’

‘Suffer :)’.

While you were very annoyed, you couldn’t blame your soulmate for finally breaking. Your roommates had been pulling this dumb joke for months now, and you were honestly surprised that they’d managed to stay quiet for this long.

Despite that, you were still a little annoyed with your soulmate anyway. But you had to get ready for work, so you went to the bathroom to scrub off the writing from your part before putting on your uniform and praying you’d still have a job by the end of the day.

Other than the little notes you had sent him earlier that day, you were quiet all day, which sort of worried Tao. Did he really go too far by not getting rid of the words he’d asked Chanyeol to help him write on his neck? Did you get fired and were too upset with him?

Feeling--only slightly--guilty, he grabbed the pen that was sitting beside him to do his homework and began writing on his arm that used to say ‘EAT MY ASS’.

‘How was work?’

He left it alone for a while, hoping you’d reply if you weren’t too angry with him. Instead, he did his homework while he tried to keep his brain away from thoughts of you and focused on the class he was taking. It was difficult, though. You were his soulmate and he didn’t really want to upset you; he just wanted to get back at you. 

He saw the purple ink appear on his arm, and he immediately stopped what he was doing to read it.

‘Shut up’

Yup, you were mad. But come on, were you really allowed to embarrass him but he couldn’t do it to you? He’d had to go to class on numerous occasions with his sweatshirt sleeves pulled down over his hands, and sweatpants to cover the entirety of his legs even if it was hot outside. 

‘You didn’t get fired, did you?’

‘I got written up, thanks to you :)’

Well...at leas you weren’t fired. But Tao couldn’t deny he felt kind of guilty, and definitely really bad for you.Maybe he should’ve just erased it liked you’d asked, or just listened to Yixing when he told him to leave the situation alone. 

Instead of replying, Zitao simply drew a heart on his wrist, hoping maybe it could be some sort of peace offering. It was uneven but it was the gesture that counted, right?

He frowned when you didn’t reply right away, but he couldn’t blame you for being kind of upset over this. He didn’t know anything about your life, and maybe this job was all you had. 

But if you weren’t going to stop these embarrassing drawings and writings, then neither would he. He would just have limits now, even if your “roommates” didn’t.

The first thing you saw when you woke up was the heart on your wrist. You didn’t notice it when you went to sleep. Had your soulmate left it there for you? Was he trying to show he was sorry?

It wasn’t like you could stay mad at him anyway. He was your soulmate and you were destined to be with him. You’d have to make up with him at some point. Besides, Sehun and Baekhyun were the reason he had written what he did on your neck anyway.

After you’d finally gotten the energy to sit up, you reached for the pen on your nightstand and drew two more hearts, a smaller one below the original heart, and an even smaller one under that one. You liked the way it looked, and you figured it was your way of making up.

Satisfied, you got out of bed and went to the bathroom to start your morning routine before classes. Thankfully, your soulmate’s writing was no longer on your neck, leaving your body free of any ink except for your half of the conversation on your arm, and the three hearts on your wrist. You washed off the conversation last night but made sure to keep the hearts untouched.

A week had gone by without any incidents. Your roommates knew how angry you were after getting written up, so you yelled at and lectured them about never writing or drawing anything on your body again. So far, they had kept their word, so every drawing that had appeared on your skin was either from you or from your soulmate.

You’d gone back to drawing your usual doodles from before Sehun and Baekhyun had decided to step in and mess with your soulmate. Your soulmate seemed to be drawing things back a lot more than he had in the past, which made you happy. It was usually simple things like little hearts, stars, or random patterns that seemed like he did mindlessly when he was bored in class. But every night, he drew a little heart somewhere on your skin which became some variant of Where’s Waldo where you tried to find the heart on your body in the morning. One time, though, he had drawn it right on your cleavage, and you hadn’t seen it until you had taken your bra off for your morning shower.

In return, you drew a dick smack dab in the middle of his chest.

Other than that, the lewd drawings and words hadn’t been appearing anymore. It was all harmless doodles that you hoped made him smile, because his made you smile.

You were also starting your new semester, which meant new classes, so you were stress-doodling more often lately. Making mindless drawings on your arms, hands, and thighs helped you keep your mind off of things so you wouldn’t put yourself into a panic.

The first day of your new class, though, you had seen the most beautiful man across the room. He had dark skin and black hair, and while he didn’t even look in your direction--actually, he kept his head bowed as he scribbled in his notebook the whole time--you couldn’t help but be in awe of him.

The first thing your brain thought of was your soulmate. Of course, you knew you’d always love them more than anyone else--even if you hadn’t met them yet--but it didn’t mean you couldn’t look at someone else and think they were aesthetically beautiful, right? You did it all the time; it was the artist in you.

So, mindlessly, you began to sketch his face on your forearm. It wasn’t the first time you’d drawn some random person’s face on your skin for your soulmate to see. You’d drawn minimalistic sketches of plenty of people you’d seen either on the street, in class, or those who had come into your place of employment. Your soulmate never showed any sign of being jealous or disapproving of it, either.

The boy suddenly looked up and began searching the classroom for something, his eyes scanning every student’s face as his brows furrowed over his eyes. His brown eyes scanned passed you as his head moved around, until he seemed to give up and look back down at his notebook and forget about whatever he was searching for.

Zitao couldn’t get you out of his head. When he saw his own face appear on his arm, he knew you were nearby but he couldn’t tell which student you were. Nobody was holding a pen or writing on themselves, and he couldn’t see if any of them had an exact copy of the sketch on his arm. But god, he was so close to you and it made his heart flutter.

“I can’t believe you couldn’t find her.” Kris chuckled, gently nudging Tao. “At least you have a whole semester, right?”

“Maybe if you never wrote something stupid on her neck...” Yixing grumbled, still disappointed in Tao’s decision to listen to Chanyeol.

“To be fair, she drew a dick on me earlier this week,” Zitao reminded the older boys, a slight smirk playing on his face, “which was totally unprovoked no matter what anyone tells you.”

“Chanyeol already told us you drew a heart on her tits, dude.” Kris laughed. “Nice try, though.”

Kris walked up to the door of a bakery he insisted the three of them get breakfast at, holding the door open for his friends. Neither of the other two boys had ever been there, but they regretted never going once the smell of freshly baked pastries hit their noses. It smelled like heaven.

“Their danishes are the best.” Kris promised as he walked up to the counter, smiling warmly when he saw you were working. “Hey, ___.”

“Good morning, Kris.” you grinned, only noticing him before you finally saw movement behind him. Yixing and Tao walked up beside him and you froze, recognizing the beautiful face structure of the boy you had class with. You quickly tried to brush your surprise off as your heart beat quickly in your chest. “What can I get you?”

“Three cheese and strawberry danishes, and three coffees, please.” he said as he got his wallet out of his pack pocket.

“Make mine espresso.” the familiar face spoke up before his eyes wandered over your forearm. You forgot to wash off the sketch of his face in your rush to get ready this morning and your face turned tomato red. The boy looked back into your eyes, a smirk on his face. “I’ll show you mind if you show me yours.”

He rolled up his sleeve and rested his arm on the counter, showing off an exact replica of the drawing on your forearm. Your breathing hitched in your throat, realizing what this meant. The beautiful boy from your class was your soulmate, and now he was right here in front of you.

“Holy shit!” Kris exclaimed with a laugh. “Never in a million years did I think two of my friends would end up as soulmates.”

“I’m Zitao.” he grinned, opening his hand up for you to shake.

Shyly, you took his hand. “___.”

He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it softly. “Great to finally meet you. And can I say you have great taste in drawing references.”

You just laughed and rolled your eyes. “Yeah, the dick I drew on your chest was referenced straight from one of my roommates.”

“Sehun?” Kris guessed.

Tao’s eyes widened slightly, dropping your hand from his lips but still keeping it in his hand. “Wait, it really was your roommates?”

“Yeah.” you and Kris both replied.

“After I got written up, they stopped messing with me.” you explained, slowly pulling your hand back to work on their orders.

“I’m...I’m really sorry.” Tao said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought it was an excuse.”

“Don’t worry about it.” you chuckled, getting to work on their coffees before you grabbed their food with paper.

“___, how much do I owe you?” Kris asked in regards to their order.

You glanced at your soulmate before waiving away Kris’s question. “It’s on the house.”

[salaciouxx]

Allure Art

Title: Cold War

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff

Inspiration: @swietek93 said “Imagine Steve brushing a paintbrush on Natasha’s body...” and then, we went down a slippery slope of body-paint smut. Thanks for fangirling with me over this and your support. It means the world to me!

Warning: Mature content; 18+. Non-virgin Steve. First time I write an actual fic for this ship, so I apologise for anything I fuck up.

Word Count: 5,179 can’t believe i wrote this out of that one sentence

A/N: There is a slight possibility that I will write another “body-paint” Stevenat smut, but it’ll be AU. So, if you like this, lemme know!

As always, @lesqui thank you for your support and encouraging me to ruin my life with this. Lol, jk I love you , Kiwi!

~*~

It could have been the way he woke her up.

A brush in hand and a wistful glaze in his eyes. He moved the bristles along the naked plane of her shoulder, connecting the freckles on her back at first and then pressing gentle kisses to the invisible artwork.

It could have been the look in his eyes when she finally woke up and turned her head to look at him. The corner of her lips curved in a half-smile and he was left breathless.

The contrast of her bright red hair against the white pillows was almost too much for him. She was the epitome of a goddess and all she had done was smile at him.

The sunlight brightened her hair, giving it honeyed highlights and bronzed colours that he desperately wanted to capture on paper in case his eidetic memory ever failed him. He probably wouldn’t get the right shade of colours, nothing could come slightly close to how beautiful she was, but he would attempt for the sake of trying.

It could have been the way she knew exactly what he was thinking. Years of being partners had given her a rather insightful glimpse into Steve Rogers’ mind and it was one of her favourite places to lose herself within.

His eyes were so expressive, even when he didn’t mean to be. Even when he tried to hide his emotions with techniques she tried to teach him, he was an opened book to her.

It filled her with pride and a bit of...smugness.

He had wanted to paint her many times and she posed for him whenever he asked. Even caught him sketching her on napkins or the little envelopes laying around.

But this? This was different.

Steve Rogers wanted more than to capture her beauty on paper, and she could tell. She wasn’t a master interrogator for nothing!

It maybe was the way his eyes worshipped her body and silently begged her to use her body as a canvas.

She wasn’t opposed to the idea; the foreplay would be amazing and just seeing the contented smile on his face afterwards would be enough of a reward.

But something told her that Steve wouldn’t ask. Not yet. He needed to build up the courage to tell his girlfriend how badly he wanted to colour the lines of her body and use different shades to adorn her skin.

Who would have thought that Captain America would be the one to have an art kink?

It was definitely the way he kissed her after she mentioned edible body paint.

“A fucking art kit,” Natasha scoffed under her breath, slightly smiling as she grabbed the box from the floor and held it tightly to her chest.

As much as she would have loved the look of horror on Tony’s face when he realised just what kind of art they were about to do, she knew Steve would’ve enjoyed the privacy. So, she got the art kit sent to one of her safe houses and prepped everything for the evening.

Her original plan for their day was to cook dinner together, but the kit arrived a day earlier than expected and she was way too excited to stick to their plan.

After she sent him a quick text to immediately meet her at the safe-house, she sorted through the box and double-checked the materials.

Two pairs of comfy white slippers, a cotton canvas, the three colours she chose, a sponge and a protective plastic covering with instructions on “how to have the perfect night.”

It was a little cheesy, but she would be lying if she didn’t admit that she was excited. She had checked the reviews, making sure that her purchase wouldn’t be in vain, but everyone seemed extremely satisfied.

The reviews warned her that the paint was very cold and to warm them in hot water before using them and that the paint dried in about five minutes. Apparently the clean up led to more sexual aspects of the activity.

Steve arrived shortly after she finished setting up the protective plastic cover and poured herself a glass of wine. He rushed through the door, almost barrelling through it and looked for Natasha with frantic eyes.

“Are you alright?” He cupped her cheeks, his eyes searching for any sign that she was hurt. She was wearing a black silk robe and was standing barefoot, a sight worth drooling over, but he would allow himself the licentious thoughts once he was sure of her wellbeing.

She frowned, pouting her lips slightly in confusion as they parted. “What? Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

He sighed, his broad frame immediately relaxing. “You told me to get here as fast as I could, but then you weren’t answering my calls and I thought something happened.” His thumb brushed against the corner of her lip affectionately. He was staring at her as if he were afraid that she would disappear, and he would need to engrain every detail of her into his memory.

“Oh,” she smiled cheekily, “I was so busy with your surprise that I didn’t pay attention. I’m sorry. It wasn’t an emergency text and you know that if that had been the case, I would have been more-”

His lips pressed against hers desperately, he needed to make sure that she was real, that she was still there, and he wasn’t just picturing her to make himself feel better. It was a mixture of teeth and tongue; a passionate lock of lips that said just how much he loved her.

Once his frenzied emotions calmed, he pressed his forehead against hers and breathed in deeply.

“Steve…” she smiled, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the affection, “I’m sorry.” She pecked his lips before pulling back and smiling at him with his favourite smile. His smile. The smile that she reserved just for him and that he was lucky to witness.

He pulled her back in, holding her in a tight, warm embrace until he convinced himself that she wasn’t a mirage. Her lips tasted sweet, like the wine she was drinking, and she tasted like Natasha. The flavour that had him addicted to kissing her and worshipping her body like a devoted servant.

“I’m okay,” she assured him, pressing the palm of her hand against his face and caressed the smooth skin.

Steve nodded, turning his head slightly to kiss her hand and murmured, “I know.”

Natasha smiled, his smile and her eyes twinkled like emerald gemstones as she took his hand and led him down the corridor into the empty room. The mattress they had slept on many times was propped up against the wall and in the centre of the room was a white cotton sheet, two pairs of slippers and a bowl of water with three tubes of paint.

Steve raised an eyebrow, quietly analysing the objects as he tried to figure out what she was doing. Well, what the surprise was.

“I know how much you like painting,” the corners of her lips morphed into a smirk as she pictured his reaction to what they were about to do, “and I thought this would be a fun way for you to use my body as a canvas.”

“Pardon?” He cleared his throat, the rim of his ears turning a slight shade of pink, “Your body as a canvas? I don’t…I don’t understand.”

Natasha grinned, sexy and knowingly. “Steve, darling, I know you more than I know myself. I see the way you look at me when you paint. It’s endearing, really and kind of sexy that you consider my body such a…”

“Work of art?” He offered, his breathing slightly hitching as he began to realise just what was happening. Christ, she was perfect. She really did know him better than he knew himself. She knew his secrets, his sadness, his fantasies; she knew him.

That earned him a chiming laugh and she nodded. “Yes, a ‘work of art.’ So, I thought that this would be a nice way to spend our evening.” For added effect, she placed her wine glass on the makeshift table near the door and slowly slid the ties of the robe, off.

Underneath was the masterpiece that he would never achieve to capture on paper. The beauty that artists so desperately tried to paint but would never be able to. Any copy of Natasha Romanoff paled in comparison to the woman standing in front of him.

He stood in place, entranced by her femininity and the curves and lines of her body. “Have I told you,” His voice rasped, full of desire and lust, “that you are the smartest woman I’ve ever met?”

She tilted her head to the side, her red curls brushing against her slender collarbone and he clenched his fists at his sides, itching to run them through her silken hair. “That’s a little biased, but I like hearing it.”

“The smartest,” he gulped, “the most beautiful.” His eyes raked over her body, the blue in them darkening as his mind filled with the memory of her sounds, taste and kisses. Goodness, he was obsessed.

Natasha smiled again, his smile and leaned down to grab her wine glass. Steve watched with attentive eyes as her lips curved over the rim of the glass and she took a slow, rather seductive sip. Her eyes were filled with all the promises of their evening, they were dark and inviting, awakening every cell in his body.

She stepped toward him, draping an arm over his shoulder, while the other held her wine, and glanced up at him through dark eyelashes. She stood on her tiptoes, trying to reach his face and brushed her rosy lips against his. “I want you to paint me like one of your French girls, soldier.”

He understood that reference!

A small laugh rumbled in the back of this throat and his eyes stared intensely into hers. “The only woman,” he corrected, lifting his hand to trace the curve of her face, “I want to paint is Russian.”

Steve cupped her face, pulling her closer and breathed out softly as their lips moulded against each other passionately. His four front teeth grazed her bottom lip and he tugged at it lightly, earning a soft moan. He smiled, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressed her against his body, loving the warmth emanating from her soft skin.

Suddenly, holding the wine glass was a chore. She wanted to throw it and wrap her arms around him, run her fingers through his silk hair, but the wine was expensive, and she would regret it once the heat of the moment passed.

“Steve,” she breathed, pressing herself closer, letting her desires take over, “gotta put the glass down.”

He nodded, forcing himself to stop and admired her as she quickly placed the glass on the makeshift table and practically sprinted into his arms. Her lips pressed against his immediately, stopping the laugh that rumbled through his chest as he welcomed her eagerness.

Natasha relaxed in his arms, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist and caressed her hands against his body as much as she could. She ran her fingers through his hair, stroked his cheeks, squeezed his shoulders and scraped her nails against his back.

“Jesus, Nat…” He whispered hoarsely as she began a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down his jaw. She sucked with a bit of pressure against the hollow of his neck, receiving a satisfied groan and he tilted his head back, granting her the access she wanted.

She nibbled on the spot underneath his ear, the skin was sensitive, full of nerves that loved the feel of her smooth tongue. He grunted, squeezing her ass in response to the satisfaction she was gifting him.

Steve held her tightly, but careful not to hurt her. It wasn’t fair that she was the only one that was naked, but by god did her mouth on his skin felt wonderful.

“Put me down,” she breathed out, slightly panting as the passion turned her into a frenzied mess. He obliged, gently placing her in front of him and she gulped, staring at him with dark eyes. “Take your clothes off.” Her voice was low and hoarse, completely sexy.

He flashed her a cheeky grin as he reached for the hem of his shirt. “Yes, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes, gnawing on her bottom lip as she watched him anxiously, wishing that he would just rip his shirt off. They had done that before and it was probably more pornographic than anything she had ever experienced before.

Maybe it was the strength he exerted or just the fact that he was in need of her body just as much as she needed his. Either way, it was hotter than sin.

He quickly kicked his jeans off and she licked her lips hungrily. He smiled, boyish and charming as he began to slide his boxers off and she held back a groan.

Steve Rogers was not a virgin. He was not a prude; he was a tease and he was damn good at it.

“Steve!”

He laughed, kicking his boxers to the side and reached for her. She danced into his arms, the movement graceful and sensual. His lips welcomed hers enthusiastically and she moaned into his mouth as his hands began to explore the curves he loved so much.

His fingers brushed over the bullet wound scar and she shivered, biting his bottom lip before he swiped his tongue over hers. It became a dance of tongues and lips; a tango of kisses and unspoken I love you’s.  

Steve slid his hand over the curvature of her ass, squeezing it tightly, probably leaving a red mark behind, before he slid his hand further down to lift her thigh. She sighed in bliss as he lifted her off the ground and gracefully managed to kneel them unto the floor.

A lazy smile framed her full lips and he crawled over her body, kissing her gently, almost reverently. His hands cupped her hips, caressing them gently as he kneeled over her, kissing and licking his favourite freckles and moles.

When his lips brushed over her scars, she hissed in a breath, arching her body off the cold floor and silently begging him to get her out of her misery.

He might have been a captain, but he followed her orders without question. Steve trailed a line of teasing kisses down her body, down her stomach, skipping over her centre, down her thighs and calves and stopping at her ankles.

She gave out a soft giggle – although Natasha didn’t giggle, it was the sexiest little laugh she could possibly give him. But his lips were soft, and her skin was sensitive and ticklish.

Natasha closed her eyes, relaxing against the floor as she tried to focus her attention on the torturous but pleasurable foreplay and Steve smirked when she moaned as his inquisitive fingers found a weak spot between her thighs. He didn’t touch where she needed him to touch, but he teased around, loving the winces and lip-biting she did.

He crawled back up, resting the side of his cheek against her thigh before slowly spreading them apart. Her eyes snapped open and she glanced up at him with need and please-fuck-me-already eyes.

Finally – right before she was ready to beg – he pressed a gentle kiss to her inner thigh. She gulped, raising her hips in hopes that he stopped teasing and went straight for her centre. He did just that.

There was no warning, no preparation for his hot tongue spreading her lower lips apart. He had been so gentle when he kissed down her body, working her up to exasperation, but when he finally licked at the spot, she was a goner.

Her eyes rolled back, and her heels rolled up and down against the floor as he held her thighs down, devouring her like a starving man. His lips were ruthless – gentle, yes, but ruthless because they kissed and licked everywhere but her clit.

He glanced up at her, smiling at her when her eyes snapped open. He stopped, and she needed to desperately climax. An almost primal look overcame his features as he raised her hips and brought her lower body up to him. Her legs dangled over his shoulders as he burrowed his face between her legs.

His tongue was a gift from the gods, there was no other logical explanation that made sense. He knew where to tease, where to suck and what to avoid in order to bring her to the brink of wanton desire.

Natasha whimpered, clenching her fists tightly when the first orgasm hit. It was quick, like lightning striking her body and warming her. She squirmed and cried out, arching her back as he continued kissing her pussy through the orgasm.

As the ecstasy died out, she smiled up at him content and satisfied. She expected him to lay her down again and kiss her before finally fucking her against the floor. Not because he was satisfied with getting one orgasm from her, but because they had other plans in mind.

But it seemed that her plans didn’t quite match with his plans.

He smirked, watching as she pushed back her red locks and breathed in heavily before sliding his tongue down her slit slowly. It was a languid lick, the type that made her toes curls and her heart threaten to burst in her chest.

Steve held her hips, squeezing gently before continuing his gentle veneration. He had attacked her pussy at first, passionate and quick as he tried to get her to orgasm. But this time he was taking his time, he knew she was sensitive and overstimulation wasn’t that pleasurable.

He pressed a soft peck against her clit, making her laugh lazily and quietly before he began to lap at her wetness. That time her orgasm built up, cascading like a wave crashing into sharp rocks; it left a buzzing sensation afterwards, like the seafoam that adorned the metaphor.

“Steve,” she almost cried, “the paint is going to get cold.”

He nodded, slowly lowering her legs and she sighed. Her cheeks were flushed, a pretty rosy colour overtaking her features. It was a beautiful contrast to her skin; the red hair and the green eyes were definitely going to be his undoing. Her lips, her tongue, her laugh, her everything was going to undo him.

She pulled him down, entwining her fingers into his hair and she sighed against his mouth. God, she loved him. “We have about five minutes. The paint dries fast, so you better make this quickie really good.”

“What?” He sounded a bit indignant, “I am not-”

Natasha laughed, sitting up to kiss him quiet. “You act like you haven’t fucked me in a shorter amount of time.”

He scowled, the memory flashing in his mind quickly. He hadn’t meant to fuck her against the wall of that dingy alleyway! She just knew which buttons to push and how to play him like a marionettist.

“A quickie doesn’t mean you have performance issues, Rogers,” she teased, rolling on her back to force herself up. Every time he gave her an orgasm, she felt a little wobbly afterwards. She just hoped that the Avengers never had to assemble after he made her cum. She was sure she wouldn’t be able to slip into the catsuit.

“That’s not my problem,” he smiled, a bit amused, “I just want to worship you.”

She rolled her eyes, reaching into the bowl to take the paint. The water was a little cooler now and she hoped that they hadn’t spent too much time fooling around. “You do that enough. Now I want you to fuck me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He let out a little growl as she smirked and pointed at the cotton canvas for him to lay on.

She squeezed the white paint on his chest first, grinning widely as he watched her intently. He loved her so much he could never get enough of her smile. Her sweet smile turned wicked as she lowered the tube down his body to squeeze it over his navel and the short patch of fuzzy hair above his dick.

Natasha sat over him, letting out a melodious laugh when his dick jumped at her touch. “Hey there, little soldier.” Steve scowled. “Okay, he’s anything but little. How about ginormous-”

“Natasha!”

She threw her head back, laughing and he quickly sat up, reaching for the blue paint next to them. In a swift movement, she found herself trapped under him. Her laughter caught in her throat as he squeezed the paint over her breasts and down her stomach.

He stopped to spread the paint over her body, squeezing her pink nipple as he coloured it blue and licked and kissed the other without any paint. She moaned, arching her back so that his palm was pressed firmer against her breast and bit her bottom lip as he nibbled the skin between his four front teeth.

Steve pulled back to admire his handiwork and she smirked, eyes glued to his chest and how delicious it looked with white paint dripping down. He pressed his palm on her breast, leaving behind the handprint and she grinned.

“Mhm,” she hummed in approval at the little territorial mark.

He chuckled, low and throaty, and pressed his painted hand against her cheek. She let out a soft laugh at the slightly sticky sensation and pulled him down on her closer with her legs. With a triumphant grin, she managed to flip them over, so that he was on his back again and she squeezed the rest of the white paint on him.

Strands of her red hair were sticking to her cheek with the paint and even though she looked messy, she was even more beautiful. The blue seemed to contrast breathtakingly against her skin. But his admiration of her could just be extreme since he was madly in love with her.

Once she finished the white tube, she grabbed the red and squeezed it over him in a zig-zag motion. He laid his hands against her hips, just watching as she concentrated on the artwork with a small smile on his lips. She made him inexplicably happy.

The tube made a flatulence-like noise and she let out an immature laugh. Steve joined in, loving how harmonious and different it was. Everyone was so used to the quiet Natasha, the Natasha that stayed in the shadows waiting for the moment to strike.

But this? This was his Natasha.

The Natasha that laughed at his silly jokes and teased him endlessly about his age. The Natasha that absolutely adored being cuddled and kissed and reserved her special smiles for him.

Soon the three colours were spread on the canvas as laughter turned into moans and kisses served as a form of communication between the two lovers. Handprints covered the corners as ecstasy filled their bodies.

The kisses that began as playful and teasing banter turned into frantic passion. Their orgasm was dancing right above their fingertips, just above their reach as they rolled around the red, white and blue canvas.

When she read about the product, she expected to be fucked on the floor. Steve had other ideas, though and she wasn’t about to let him get his way. He was trailing his red-covered finger over her breast softly, not exactly with the sexual intent she expected.

“You know,” she drawled, tilting her head back to look at him, “I bought this thinking that you were going to fuck me on it.”

He chuckled, propping himself on his elbow to scoot closer to her. “You’re bossy.” He kissed her though, sparking the passion between them again in a second.

His fingers skimmed down, reaching between her thighs and he began to rub her gently, eliciting out moans and grunts from her. She bit her bottom lip, arching her back off the canvas and held his shoulders as he slid a finger in gently.

Her body welcomed it eagerly, expanding and appreciating the newfound pressure. A gasp escaped her lips as he added another finger and then another and she found herself bucking her hips against his hand wildly. She was right there!

Steve admired the way her breasts trembled and shook with every movement and he found himself entranced by her body yet again. Her lips parted, her cheeks became hollow as she moaned low and her eyes fluttered shut.

“Oh my god!”

He slid his fingers out, rubbing the wetness against her clit to continue the stimulation, but she quickly shook her head and gasped out, “Fuck me.” Natasha reached down grabbing his hard dick and rubbed it affectionately before guiding him to her entrance.

Steve groaned, almost a mixture of a moan and a growl as her heat embraced him. It was like a warm welcome home after being outside in the freezing temperatures of winter. Natasha hissed a breath underneath him as her body accommodated to the needed intrusion.

He slowly adjusted his posture, pulling out and she bit her bottom lip, glancing up at him with pleading green eyes.  He leaned over her, holding most of his weight with his forearm and began to thrust slowly.

Blindly he searched for her mouth, wanting to kiss her and feel her plump lips against his. She groaned and hissed, shifting her hips as she tried to intensify the pleasure for them both. He pulled back just as she tried to kiss him, making her teeth graze against his jaw and he moaned in surprise at the sensation it sent through him.

Natasha smiled, continuing her ministrations down his neck and kissing any spot of his skin that she could reach in the position they were in.

“Christ, Nat…” He groaned, hoarse and deep, full of lust and satisfaction at the amalgamation of love and desire. “I love you.”

She shivered, reaching up to hold onto him tighter. Her nails left long, red marks down his back, making the paint she had playfully smeared on his back, accumulate under fingernails. The sensation, although slightly painful, was a good feeling. “Me too.”

He loved watching her unwind and lose herself in their passion.

Natasha nodded frantically, making her painted hair move all over the paint on their canvas as she licked the small bead of sweat on her upper lip. “God, Steve, me too!”

Her arms tightened around him as she desperately sought to make the almost non-existent space between them even smaller. She didn’t want to know where her body began and where his ended; she wanted to become one with him in mind, body and soul.

Steve pressed his forehead against the bow of her shoulder, right by her collarbone and panted against her skin with every thrust and shift of his hips. She was hot and wet and so familiar. She was home and he would never be able to get enough of her.

“I’m close,” he panted lowly, right by her ear. His warm breath tickled the hypersensitive skin under her earlobe and she shivered under him, biting her lip and moaning when he hit that spot.

His fingers reached down, trying to make her reach her climax with him, and he rubbed her centre gently, but with enough pressure to earn encouraging moans.

The way his name left her mouth was perfection in itself. It was a plead, a prayer, an appreciation for having him in her life.

She thought that their relationship would ruin him, but she quickly found that it was her that would end in ruin – and she had never been more prepared to meet her destruction with opened arms.

Her orgasm was quick and glorious. She shivered and made inhuman noises to express just how good he made her feel. Steve grunted, jerking unsteadily as he felt his orgasm ricocheting through him.

The aftershocks came shortly after. He stumbled forward, pressing his full weight on her and she smiled, closing her eyes as the serenity and blissfulness satiated her.

Slowly she raised her hands to caress the muscles on his back. Even Michelangelo would never be able to sculpt someone like Steve Rogers. Her fingers threaded through his hair and he sighed in happiness.

A few minutes later, Steve stood up and looked down at her with mirthful eyes. She was covered in his handprints and mixed paint. Her face was flushed, and her hair was sticking to the paint on her cheeks. Right underneath her bottom lip was a smudge of paint and she smiled up at him like the vixen she was.

“See something you like, Rogers?”

He smiled, lending her a hand to help her up and gently captured her lips in a soft kiss. “This is by far the best painting I’ve ever done.”

She laughed, loud and happy, and it made his smile widen into a grin. He loved seeing her happy. “Come on, get in those slippers and let’s wash this off.”

He happily obliged, following her into the shower like a trained pup. The reason why they were in the shower had been messy, but the shower turned into another mess all in itself. It was full of wondering hands and coquettish laughter. The paint had dried on their skin, making the cleaning process a little hard, but it definitely made the time spent inside the bath unforgettable.

Natasha walked out just as Steve finished rolling the plastic covering into a ball to wash out later. He was wearing a pair of loose-fitted grey sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips and she leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom to admire the way his muscles contracted and adjusted to his movements.

She wolf-whistled, making him turn back to look at her with a boyish beam. “So, Mr. Big Artiste-” another reference that he understood, “-what do you think of our artwork?”

Steve smiled down at their creation and wrapped his arm around her waist. He pulled her in to kiss her temple gently and murmured, “I think it’s a masterpiece.”

Natasha nodded, wrapping her hand around his waist as she leaned into his embrace and looked down at the messy kaleidoscope of colours. “I think we should name it God Bless America!”

He snorted, blushing at the sexual undertones she managed to add to the phrase. Only Natasha Romanoff could make that sound dirty.

“Get it?” She grinned cheekily, “Because-”

“I get it, Nat,” he interrupted, giving her a pointed look but the corners of his lips were rising in a happy smile.

Her green eyes brightened, and she turned to him. “No! I know what we should call it!”

“What?”

“Cold War.”

He frowned. “Why?”

She smiled deviously, standing on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his as she whispered, “Because that’s when America fucked the shit out of Russia.”

His boisterous laughter was the only response she received.

[evakfanficsrecs]

EVAK FANFICS RECS / PART 4

ONESHOTS:

I’ll take you as you are by Behindthecities Summary: Even can’t sleep so Isak draw’s him a bath.

One More Second by kosekardemomme Summary: Isak invites the boys over to hang out with Even, for the first time with just them, just after Christmas. “Evak” can’t keep their hands off each other, though.

isak x even | dance so good by BloonStuff Summary: When Isak happens upon Even out of bed in the first time in a few days, he decides to make the most of the moment. 

MORE UNDER THE CUT

Steal Your Heart by alijan ★ Summary: An AU story of how Isak and Even met through Isak’s friends. Or, more specifically, a AU story of how Even chases after Isak and he lets himself be caught.

Strange Encounters by midnightsurge Summary: Standing at his sink is what looks to be an angel; with soft blond hair glowing under the bathroom lights and eyes as blue as the sky, Isak wonders if he actually fell back asleep and is still dreaming. “Hi,” the angel smiles at him, laughter lines crinkling his face. “Sorry about that, I thought everyone was still sleeping.” “Um,” Isak repeats intelligently. “You’re…” he trails off, not sure what his question should actually be. Pretty? Gorgeous? A stranger? A stranger standing in his bathroom very early in the morning and shouldn’t Isak maybe be reaching for his phone right about now? “Even,” the blond stranger now named Even greets him with a grin, moving forward to shake his hand. Or, Isak and Even are students at the University of Oslo. They meet under strange circumstances and it’s all Eskild’s fault.

The Hot Muffin Thief by Bellakitse ★ Summary: There is a magical muffin at the café where Isak’s buddy Jonas works. It’s Isak’s lifeline, he has it every day and then one day some hot art hipster steals his muffin.

carry my love to you by retts Summary: Even grasped the top of the duvet and dragged it over his shoulders, snuggling into the pillow. His eyes were closed as he let out a soft sigh. Isak brushed back the fringe falling across his forehead, ran his fingers through the hair behind his ear. He wanted to erase the bruises under Even’s eyes, kiss away the inexplicable sadness lingering on the corners of his mouth. If only it were that easy. Set directly after ep 9, Fredag.

flickered in my mind for only you by DarkBeauty_890 Summary: soulmates!au; But even the lonely nights hearing his mom cry for his dad couldn’t stop Isak from tracing the words (looped, like maybe his soul mate was an artist or a writer) etched permanently onto his skin. He sat huddled under the covers for hours, flashlight illuminating the darkened space, allowing Isak to wonder who they would be. His soulmate.

where you can be reborn by tomlinsoln Summary: Even makes Isak feel like himself, and Isak doesn’t care about the rest.

True or False by iriswests ★ Summary: childhood best friends!au; Seven moments between Isak and Even (+1 with Sonja), ranging from the ages of four and six to the ages of seventeen and nineteen, respectively.

Afternoon Kisses by DickAnderton ★ Summary: What could have happened during the cuddle scene if Isak and Even had been ready for more.

And If In That Moment by allyasavedtheday ★ Summary: Isak rolls his eyes and reaches for his beer again. Even’s teasing always feels different to his friends teasing him. Even’s teasing feels a lot like flirting. “Anyway back to Emma.” Fuck. “Why isn’t she your type?” Isak considers his options, considers a single conceivable reason why a straight seventeen-year-old boy wouldn’t like a girl like Emma. He can’t fucking think of a reason and it makes him panic but he’s also just- tired. So fucking tired of having to constantly lie about why he feels the way he does. So he settles on as close to the truth as he can get. “She just- I guess it’s never felt right.” *Or, what would’ve happened if Isak and Even had had the Halloween pregame alone like they had originally planned.

your eyes hold oceans by prettyboylou Summary: isak is everything even can think about. in every little corner of his brain, every single thought is isak and while that is partly crazy, even does not mind at all.

won’t you be my livewire by itjustkindahappened ★ Summary: It’s 1:54 in the afternoon on a gloomy Tuesday when an angel enters Even’s classroom. (alternatively, “i’ve been tryin to grab your attention in class for over half an hour by poking you and throwing things onto your desk and you’re refusing to acknowledge me and gdi all i wanted to do was tell you that you look cute and now it’s gone too far and i can’t go back”)

Now, Panic and Freak Out by dropdeadfox Summary: The thing is, Isak Valtersen is absolutely not gay. Like, really, really, really not gay. Okay, he may or may not feel butterflies in his stomach whenever he sees a certain third year across the school yard. A handsome and certainly very male third year. And he may or may not wish that said third year will sit beside him at the cafeteria, holding his hand under the table or pushing his hair back with those adorably long fingers, because he is certainly, absolutely, 100% sure that he is Not Gay.

And then our time will come. Over and over again. by UniversalParadox_13 Summary: “In my opinion, all the Isaks and Evens don’t gyrate in their universes under the same terms. While some Isaks and Evens have already met, others are in the process of doing so right now or are still waiting for it to happen, for them to meet.” “But, they do eventually meet?” He knew what it meant, when Even squeezed his hand a bit tighter. “Always.” Isak believed it with every fibre of his body and soul. “They always meet.” (Parallel Universes AU or 5 times Isak and Even meet each other by coincidence and know it is meant to be.)

Who Wants That Perfect Love Story Anyway? by mccolfer Summary: Six times someone from the girl group was maybe a little too involved in Isak and Even’s relationship and one time someone had no idea what was going on.

CHAPTERED:

The Nanny by allisonbucky Summary: Or, Even is a hot stressed dad of two little girls, and Isak becomes his nanny. Rom Com shenanigans ensue.

My Heart is Strong by photographer_of_thoughts ✓ Summary: His bipolar disorder made him want everything to be a great tragedy, a Baz Luhrmann film; because how else did things have meaning? His brain told him that time and time again. He’d lost track of how many people he’d let go because he wanted to “lose them forever” and subsequently keep them forever; tucked away into the memory palace in his brain… But he didn’t want that anymore. As soon as he’d kissed Isak he knew he wanted to be better this time. Or, Isak and Even meet in a therapist’s waiting room.

Shut your whore mouth, Even. This is not the Fault in Our Stars by Masterless ★ ✓ Summary: Even can remember the flare of pain in his chest and his head, the tightness in his throat, and the taste of pennies on his tongue. He remembers Sonja’s hands grasping his arm tightly as he leaned against the wall of lockers in the school hallway. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers. Black dots swam in front of his eyes, the world tilted, and everything went dark. Just Sonja’s frightened voice rang out in that darkness, repeating his name, calling for help. Then, there was nothing.

The Comments Below by DickAnderton ★ ✓ Summary: youtubers!au; Isak is a notoriously lazy gamer living with lgbt icon Eskild. When they invite youtube sensation Even Bech Naesheim over for a collaboration, #Evak is born. But it is not only their viewers who are falling in love.

That’s Not My Name by cuteandtwisted ★ ✓ Summary: one-night stand!au; “Isak.” Even smiled, then licked his lips. “Wanna go back to my place?” - aka: Isak is an exchange student in new york city where he meets a very forward and bewitching Even. 

juste la fin du monde by loglady95  Summary: Sana blackmailed Isak into hosting a party at his place and gave his number to a stranger.

You say good morning when it’s midnight by Aceteroid ✓ Summary: It sucks, when your best friend is on a student exchange at the other end of the world for three months. It sucks even more, when you fall in love with the step-brother of his exchange student.

Masters of Communication by rumpelsnorcack ✓ Summary: Even was such a goddam dork, Isak thought fondly. But he was his dork, and Isak couldn’t imagine anyone better to have a scary adult conversation with. Or, a 5+1 in which Isak and Even find it hard to communicate, but then manage to do it really well.

44 Days by NovemberRose ✓ Summary: How Even and Isak spent 42 days apart and a weekend in the mountains brings them back together.

How In My Silence I Adored You by dahlstrom ★ ✓ Summary: In a parallel universe, the rest of the boy squad actually shows up at the first kosegruppa meeting and Isak stays for the love games. Thus, his first interaction with Even is quite different (no paper towels were harmed in this scenario). Also heavily hints at Vilde/Eva.

all of me, you take now by xxLeviBech Summary: Strings of oneshots featuring two boys that are obsessed with each other.

cold hands by salmonpanties Summary: monday 11.40: Isak lifted his gaze, and he saw an angel in front of him. Blond hair, blue eyes, fair skin, a stunning smile; quite the description of an angel - except, he was in the cafeteria of Nissen Gymnasium, sitting with his friends, eating buns. - Isak knew he liked boys a little bit more than he probably should, but it’s nothing he flaunts. Just because he’s not that interested in girls it doesn’t mean that he’s a homo, right? But then he meets Even, who’s beautiful, mysterious and exciting. And maybe Even is just the boy Isak has been waiting for? But it doesn’t mean that he’s a homo.

(★ - personal favorites | ✓ - completed fics)

[im-a-lonelyheart]

Fitzsimmons Family Headcanons in case canon fails me

And before they destroy them. Buckle up.

(I wrote this in less than an hour and english is not my first language, sooo sorry for any mistakes)

Enjoy! (Gift credit: X)

They finally decide to retire to their cottage.

Daisy and May lived with them for a while but a different times. Daisy around the time their first kid was born and May when the youngest was a kid already.

May and Daisy eventually live together in the USA.

Fitzsimmons started a biomedical company, they make prostetics and medical supplies. They fund small researchers and become relatively known in the medical field (under aliases of course). They run their company from their home as much as they can.

Deke got bored of his company, so he eventually fused it with FS’s, he has enough money to travel the world and be whatever he wants. Once was a TV chef, and he got bored and became a travel blogger, then launched a clothing line so it goes…

Fitzsimmons have three kids, they were all planned ;) of course

Daisy teases Fitz about how the three of them look like Jemma. “You are adopted”. the son is the only one who kinda looks like him. 

After the kids go their own ways they leave together again.

Look retired Fitzsimmons would be that kind of couple who travels the world together (properly this time), they say the quinjet is to visit their friends and Family around the world but would randomly send pictures of them in front of a famous landmark.

Mackenzie Skye Fitzsimmons (Daisy calls her Kye) (Born around 2021) (Quarantine baby) or (Timetravel baby)

They never asked Deke about their daughter’s name in the original timeline, but once they told him, they knew it was this. (but in the lighthouse timeline her nickname was Kenzie)

Fitz was really adamant on this name, Jemma thought it was cute and a great way to honor their best friends, but years later he told the kid:

“you were named after two of the bravest persons I’ve ever met”.

Jemma just stared into the space as it dawned in her that her husband was really an idiot.

He winked at her and she forgave him. Eventually.

When she was a toddler Fitzsimmons moved back to the city and left their cottage, they wanted their daughter to have the best education and also didn’t want to wake her up early because the closest school was still an hour away.

Daisy found Bobbi, they met up, and Bobbi introduced her to her baby son Owen. 

“oh my god. I need to call Fitzsimmons” 

“what” 

“shhhh. Hey guys! Look who is here! Bobbi and her baby Owen Shaw” 

Fitz spits his tea all over his phone. Bobbi doesn’t know what is going on, and they eventually explain it to her, after Daisy stops laughing and Fitz stops coughing.

Bobbi and Hunter had changed names and moved to England. After learning that Fitzsimmons live nearby, they make plans to see each other as much as they can. Look this is my headcanon AU so Fitzsimmons offer them positions in their company, Bobbi in the lab and Hunter in a made up security position that doesn’t fit his nametag. 

Some weekends Fitz and Hunter take the babies to the park together, while Jemma and Bobbi worked or hung out together. One day kye and Owen were playing and Owen proudly declared he was going to be an astronaut. Fitz was like “you and your son are the bane of my existence”.

The kids become best friends. Duh 

BUT this is Bobbi and Hunter we are talking about, they’re nomads so they eventually move out around Europe and America, when the kid started high school they agreed to stay in one place.

Anyways,

Amazing kid, took a while for her parents to figure out the whole parenting thing but she was so great, as long as things went her way.

Fitz can’t say no to her. A dog? We’ll manage. Ice cream for breakfast? c’mon you know how convincing she can be. 

She is a really calm kid, well behaved. Responsible older sister, mom friend, but messy af. “look mom, I have a system and I know where everything is”.

Nicest kid you’ll ever meet, but if you mess with her siblings be careful, you never know if you will find trash in your backpack.

She is an MD. Eventually, her parents moved back to the countryside but she stayed in the city with her sister to finish her education.

Makes friends everywhere she goes.

She and Owen started dating in their teens but were on and off several times, they even briefly dated other people because one of them would get scared of things becoming too serious (even more when they learned that Uncle Deke was genetically their son). 

In their late twenties they decided to get married as a compromise to stay together and work things out, after all, some things are inevitable.

They had two kids: Daniel Shaw (Deke, but They wanted him to be his own person so they changed the name), Gabrielle Shaw (Born as Oliver Shaw)

Owen worked for a while for SWORD. Eventually decide to move to Germany to work as researchers.

Margaret Abigail Fitzsimmons (Maggie) (Born 2025)

The odd one. Grew up to be a successful artist. Really independent as a child, could play hours by herself or caually chill around her parents or her brother’s crib.

Despite being the only one in her family who isn’t into science, she loves doing experiments all the time, in the name of aesthetic. One time turned the dog blue. There’s a fire extinguisher in the living room just because of her. Banned from her parents’ lab “Pretty colors can go boom”. Aparently.

After being constantly told she is diferent from the rest of her family, she feels happy when someone tells her she looks like her mom. She scoffs but she doesn’t really mind.

Acts though but is a softie, vegan, activist, animal lover. Loves to tease everyone, prankster, makes fun of her mom but it’s the first person she thinks of when something troubles her. Late night calls are not unheard of.

Really close to Deke, sometimes travels with him. They are kindred spirits. Feel like only them understand the need to explore and try new things.

She grew up to resent shield. Look she loves what her parents and their friends did, but hates how it affected them. Forgive and forget? in this economy??

Lives in Paris but somehow always manages to get everyone to come to her art exhibits. Does everything she sets her mind into.

Doesn’t want kids, maybe one day if she feels ready she will adopt but she is happy as an aunt.

Matthew Phillip Fitzsimmons (Matthew) (Born 2030)

Ray of sunshine, Momma’s boy. His favorite thing is when his parents take him to their lab. Ever since he could walk he is always following his sisters around, if they are up to something he is the first one to know. They love to tease him, but he has enough blackmail material to get them to shut up. He would never use it tho.

Computer genius. He has his own video game company. Launched his first video game at 16. Fitz is mildly offended he sees the Framework code as “old stuff”.

He is a sweetheart, adores his parents and calls them every single day. He met his wife in college and has been happy ever since. It was fast and passionate, they got married within a year and a few years later they had a baby. 

Truly an example of living fast. 

Melissa Fitzsimmons (his daughter) a sweetheart, may is her godmother. (The babies' baby’s baby, i cry). The cousins are thick as thieves. 

May loves the kid, “age is making you softer”, Daisy tells her and laughs, May’s glare while holding a baby is too much.

Emma Johnson (born 2029)

Daisy’s daughter. Jemma cried when she told her the baby’s name. She wanted May and Jemma in the delivering room with her. 

I can see Daisy being a badass single mother but I also see her finding love, I haven’t made up my mind but I think she will be loved either way.

Only child, so loves to hang out with the FS kids.

She and Matthew are best friends since they were little, even having video calls when they couldn’t see each other in person.

Fitz and Daisy had a bet on whether they would get together, but it was called off when it became apparent Emma wasn’t interested in men altogether. She was the first woman in his wedding.

The “Quake” legacy was too much for her so she decided to focus in something different. Currently works as an architect and on her spare time works as a freelance illustrator.

All I can imagine is a scene where the are all together in a field, May, Fitzsimmons and Daisy (probably the same one where they buried Coulson and Loop!Fitz) They try to meet up there at least once a year to chat and reminisce about old times, sometimes with Deke, Mack and Elena (and their twin boys) or just them. 

Their kids are playing while their parents watch, but May’s watching them, with their backs to her they almost look like the kids she met in the bus all those years ago. Coulson would’ve been so proud, this is the future we were fighting for all along, she thinks.

“You did good”.

Daisy turns around with a soft smile on her face and says “yes, we did.”

The end