#destwrites

[jaeminlore]

home | mark lee

[fluff fluff fluff. room descriptions. cozycore. cross posed on ao3]

-

There was something about your apartment that always made him sleep better. Mark never could put his finger on it.

Perhaps it’s the jade colored sheets that are always soft to the touch. Or the way your place always smelled suspiciously like vanilla, even without a candle in sight (he had found out later about things called wax warmers.) Maybe it’s the pile of books sitting on your nightstand, dog-eared in the middle of the foreword because you never could pay much attention when reading new genres.

Mark thinks about the way you decorate your walls. There are no vintage faces to leer at him. No contemporary faces either. You’ve got a calendar hung up by a magnetic board. Mark can make out his own handwriting: a note he left you not long after your five month anniversary. He marvels at the fact that you still have it there, untouched by your eraser like it’s something sacred, and not just a silly note to make you laugh.

There’s a picture of him taped to your bed frame, and it’s the sweetest idea in the world, Mark thinks, that you keep him so close to you. Along the walls you play with different textures, like embroidered quotes, hanging beads and fringe, photos he’s gifted you, and photos you’ve taken when you thought he wasn’t looking.

He thinks about the drawer in your dresser: his drawer, with his own dividers and his own deodorant, and his own clothes that smell like your laundry detergent. He thinks of the bright pink toothbrush settled beside your red one. He thinks of his shampoo sitting beside yours in the shower. Even though he doesn’t live here, you still make it home.

Thoughts like this overwhelm him when he fits his key into the lock. You gave it to him awhile back, almost too nonchalantly. Mark keeps it as safe as he can, unwilling to lose something so significant to him. Something that feels like a part of you.

And he never knows how to thank you enough. Even now, as he pushes the door open, grabs your mail on the way in and sets it on your table, he feels a little lost. The grocery bags feel almost pointless when he sets them on the counter.

He’s not a good cook — and he doesn’t pretend he is. So he got a kit prepared at the store, one you just stick in the oven and kind of hope for the best. He got wine that one of the workers told him would pair well with it, though he can’t be certain they knew what they were talking about. And for dessert, he got your favorite pastry from a bakery that’s always too far away for you to just drop in whenever you have a craving.

He wants to spoil you. He wants you to come home to something warm and good and safe.

Mark knows your schedule. He knows you like to shower as soon as you come home, because it soothes your bones and helps you prepare for the evening. So when you do come home, with the sweetest smile on your face, he ushers you into your bathroom and tells you to take your time.

When you return, soft in your sweatpants and old t-shirt, he can smell his body wash on you, like maybe you ran out of yours, or simply decided to wear his, but it fills him with pride. Like you’re a part of him. Like you want to be closer to him.

Mark is kissing you before he can stop himself. Just a soft peck on your head, and then your cheeks, and then your eyelids, chin, and nose for good measure. “You’re so lovely.”

You preen under his gaze, and Mark wonders why his opinion means anything at all to you. How he ended up with someone so gentle, he can’t begin to fathom.

You eat and sip the wine, and Mark tries not to be obvious in watching your reactions, ready to dial for pizza the moment you seem displeased. But you finish your plate and ask him where you can buy another kit just like it, because you liked the flavor he picked.

When he reveals the pastry, your squeal of excitement warrants a beam of joy to shoot through him. Making your day makes his, and watching you tear the pastry into two equal pieces to share with him makes him love you even more.

He washes the dishes, refuses to let you help. So you sit on the counter and tell him about your day. His hands are still wet with grape-scented suds when he wraps them around your waist and pulls you into him.

You’re sweet. You’re so sweet, so good. Your arms and legs wrap around him like you know he’d never do a thing to hurt you. Like you trust him to carry you.

Mark squeezes you until you begin to laugh. Then he’s carrying you to bed, dropping you on the blankets and smothering you with as many kisses as he can before you’re pushing him off, telling him to wash up so the two of you can cuddle.

Sometimes he holds you. Sometimes you hold him. Sometimes, like tonight, the two of you face each other, legs tangled and pinkies linked together. Mark nudges your nose with his. “I love you,” he says, even if it’s not even half of what he feels. Even if he could write essays expanding on and explaining why. The thing is, you know. You know, but you’re tired, and Mark knows when to rest in silence with you.

“I love you too,” your voice is soft with slumber, like you’re already falling, and Mark squeezes your pinky just a little tighter, a wordless promise between the two of you to keep this love, and home, forever.

[writingtoease]

if the wind was a person

i would kiss them.

and if the branches reached out

with their spindly fingers,

i would grasp them

and hold them close.

if raindrops were nothing but tears

i would wipe them away

with the smooth pad of my thumb.

and if the stars were a twinkling eye;

winking at me,

i would throw my head back

and laugh.

– “if the wind were a person.”

[jaeminlore]

surface pressure | mark lee

[mark tries to relieve some stress. romance. interior decorating. alt version on ao3 is also mine]

-

It’s not hard to notice that you’re stressed. Mark doesn’t need to be a superhero to notice the bags under your eyes, the tenseness of your shoulders, the way you always do things without being asked. Things that someone else should be doing.

You’ve confessed it to him before, in little fragments when you didn't think it was a huge deal like “My mom expected me to have the house cleaned by the time she got home from work, even though I had a job too.” and “I got sick of staring at my roommates’ dirty dishes so I just did them.”

Mark has always done his best to remind you that it’s not your job to save others from their own doing. But still, you insist, this fear pricking it’s way up your throat that you may be held responsible for the doing of others. And it’s not without reason: you’ve been held responsible before.

Now that the two of you finally have your own place, Mark has done his absolute best to lift the burden, but you’re so damn stubborn. By the time he returns home from his classes or his job, you already have the house clean, and his laundry washed, and for God’s sake you’ll even reorganize the kitchen if you're antsy enough.

This week has been interesting. You and Mark have been in the process of unpacking and decorating. After a Christmas bonus from your boss, you and Mark had purchased new decor for your shared space, so that the two of you could make it your own. See, even with your own money, you spend it partly on someone else.

Mark wants you to be selfish. But he knows there’s not a selfish bone inside of you, so he’s going to have to beat you at your own game.

The house is slightly cluttered with moving boxes, old decor, and the new decor you’ve just bought. Tomorrow is your first day off for the first time in a while, and you’ve casually mentioned to Mark that you’re going to spend it unpacking and cleaning the house.

Mark Lee is going to die before he lets that happen.

He waits until you’ve left for work, and then he’s turning on his favorite 90’s r&b playlist. He labels the boxes, takes his time between organizing what needs to go on shelves and what needs to be sent off for donation. He leaves the decor the two of you had bought in a tidy box on top of the coffee table, because he knows decorating is something you wouldn’t want him to do without you.

He vacuums the rugs, and refills the cat's food bowl. He cleans out the fridge and takes out the trash. There is an entire drawer of candles you’ve picked up, having liked the scents, so Mark picks up one he recalls liking and lights it, setting it on the center of the table. He straightens the placemats (he finds it adorable that you leave the table set every night, even when the two of you usually take your dinners to the couch.)

He wipes down the counter, using minimal products the way you like to. He cleans the toilet. He gathers all the trash in your shared bedroom and makes the bed. He folds the orange throw blanket you got him and sets it on the edge of the bed, so your cat can cuddle against it the way she likes.

When he’s sure you’re on your way home, he orders pizza. He turns on the television and sets your favorite show on pause. He’s so giddy and excited for you to get home, he thinks he could burst.

The house smells of garlic and vanilla when you walk in through the door. You pause in the doorway, bundled so sweetly in your scarf and jacket. You look at the lack of clutter and furrow your brows. “I thought– I thought you worked late today.”

“I took the day off.”

He rushes up to you and helps you take off your jacket, quick to hang it on the hook. Before you can take off your scarf, he grabs the frayed edges and pulls you close to him, so that your forehead presses to his.

You hum warmly. “You’re so sweet, Mark.”

Mark grins, flushed with praise. It's almost embarrassing, how much he likes pleasing you. And yet, he can't find it in himself to change. "I left the decor out so we could decorate tomorrow. I figured you’d rather spend your day off decorating than unpacking.”

Your eyes tear up. You look at the sleeves to see that he’s taken down everything you guys have decided to give away or get rid of. “Mark… You work so hard…”

“No,” Mark swiftly kisses your cheek. “You work hard. And you take on too much. I want you to start leaning on me more, okay? You’re not carrying this alone.”

You nod, shyness washing over you. When you wrap your arms around Mark’s middle, he can feel the tenseness leave your muscles. “Thank you so much.”

“Hush,” he orders. “No more thanking me. Don’t ever think you don’t deserve this, okay? I want to take care of our home. I want to take care of you.”

The two of you eat pizza, and while you watch the tv screen, Mark watches you.

The sweetness of your laugh. The way you munch on your food. Your hair and your clothes and the way you wipe your fingers on a napkin. “C’mere,” he says.

Selfish, he knows, but he interrupts your eating to draw you into his lap. Your weight atop his thighs grounds him like noticing else. He peers up at you, and he knows he’s got that look in his eyes that you always make fun of. You’ve often told him that he looks lovesick, and that’s exactly what he is. He tucks your hair back behind your ears so he can see your face. “You’re incredible. And I know you can do things by yourself, but you don’t have to, okay? Not with me.”

You nod, bowing your head to avert his gaze. “Yeah, I know.”

He holds your face, and rubs his thumb across your jaw. Your eyelids flutter closed. “I’m not fussing at you. Promise. I’m so proud of you, and I’ll be just as proud of you if you take time to rest.”

He pulls your face to his and kisses you sweetly, reveling in the softness of your mouth and the lovely, lovely sounds that escape you. He loves the way you melt against him, the way you trust him to take care of the burdens you’ve held onto for so long. He’s Mark Lee after all, he can handle it.

You tuck your face against his neck, cuddling as close to him as you can. “I love you,” you mumble sleepily.

He kisses your head, feeling accomplished. “I love you more.”

[jaeminlore]

tlc | mark lee

[mark takes care of u when ur sick. roommate au. pure fluff. alt version on ao3 is also mine]

-

So, you’re sick. It’s just a small bug, nothing you can’t handle. Sure, you can’t keep food down and you’ve got this chill you can’t shake, but you’re not dying or anything. This is the disclaimer you gave to your worrywart of a roommate, Mark, when you had asked him to bring home some plain crackers and gatorade.

You’re sitting on the couch during sundown. The house is clean, save for the plastic bag of used tissues leaning against the couch. There’s a documentary about some obscure cult in the sixties on the television, and you’re wrapped up in your most comforting blanket. It happens to be Mark’s, taken from his room. The weight of it feels like a hug, and it smells of him, like that vanilla lotion his mom ingrained into his head to use after showering.

With the volume of the television, you barely hear Mark walk through the door. When he sets a takeout bag onto the coffee table, you finally look up, “Oh hey, Mark. What’d you get?”

“I got you soup, Dork,” Mark says. He sits on the table, long legs causing his knees to brush against the edge of the couch and subsequently, your sock-covered toes. When you look at him, you realize he’s pouting. “You said it wasn’t that bad.”

“It isn’t,” you assure him, but you follow it with a cough to your elbow. You wonder what you look like to make him think it’s worse than it is. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sweating.”

“But I’m cold.”

Mark hums. His cheeks and nose are rosy from the winter air, which makes him look even more adorable than usual. “Tell you what: eat your soup before it gets cold. I’m gonna go set up the bathroom and run a bath. I’ll put some salts and oils in there that are good for congestion, and when you’re ready you can come warm up. Maybe it’ll draw the fever out.”

“I don’t have a fever,” you argue.

Mark opens the soup container and hands it to you, along with a spoon. “Whatever you say.”

You try to take your time with the soup, but it takes you a little less than ten minutes to drain the bowl. You're left with a weight in your stomach that chases away the nausea you’ve been feeling all day. You dump the bowl in the sink and head into the bathroom.

Mark had grabbed a pair of your comfiest pajamas and underwear, and set them on the sink counter along with a fluffy towel. The overhead light is off, replaced with a lavender scented candle on the rim of the bathtub. The water is practically steaming, and he’s set up one of those bath pillows so your neck won’t get tired. You’re so thankful the two of you ordered that thing one drunken night.

“Don’t undress yet,” he calls from down the hall. He comes in with his tablet and hands it to you, along with the stand he usually uses when he wants to watch videos. “You can finish your documentary on here!”

Thank God for shared accounts, because Mark sets the tablet up so that it’s right where you paused it in the living room. You watch him work, fiddling with the buttons and fitting the stand on the closed toilet so that it won’t fall into the tub. With fondness, you realize he hasn’t even shed his coat yet, his only goal to make you feel better. He’s often doing that: sacrificing his needs for yours.

And it warms you from your head to your toes. Even more so than the fever, you’re dizzy with the realization that Mark loves you, in whatever way that may be, enough to do all of this for you. You want to repay him, but it will have to wait until you get your energy back.

You do what you can, though. When he stands up, you hug him tight, loving the small sound of surprise that escapes him.

-

Mark turned down your blankets while you were in the bath. There’s a bottle of water on your bedside table and two small pill capsules. You take them, thankful he didn’t get the liquid medicine your mom used to make you drink. You end up draining the water bottle, not realizing how thirsty you were.

You’re almost ready for bed when you realize you still have his tablet, so you make your way across the hall and knock on his door. A sudden shyness overcomes you and has you averting your eyes when he opens the door, finally dressed for his own comfort. “Here’s your tablet back. Thanks for taking care of me, Mark.”

“Always.” Mark isn’t smiling like usual. He’s got this sincere look on his face, furrowed brows and straight mouth, just daring you to defy his gestures of love. “I’m always here for you. You know that.”

“Of course I do,” you assure him with your own look of surety. Some voice in the back of your head is calling it love.

He leans down to kiss your head. “Get some sleep, okay? I’ll keep my ringer on in case you need me.”

“Goodnight, Mark.”

“Goodnight, Dork.”

[jaeminlore]

Landslide | Mark Lee

summary: time makes you bolder. even children get older, and i’m getting older too.

words: 7.1k+

category: teacher!mark, single parent!reader, fem!presenting!reader, graham is the sweetest kid, mark is that teacher that lets kids pick earthworms during recess, friends to lovers, mark’s apartment is flooded so now he has to live in domestic bliss with his secret crush oh nooooo

warnings: talk of absent fathers

author note: it’s my birthday tomorrow so i wanted to give u all a present for supporting me for so long!! here’s to you <3 (cross-posted on /honklore)

Mark helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Mark advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Mark grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Mark.

Mark ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Lee forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Mark giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Mark to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Mark actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Mark did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Mark puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Mark checks his text messages.

There’s one from Taeyong: “I’ve already got Haechan on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Mark forgot that Haechan lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Mark’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Mark didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Mark has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Mark right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Mark doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Mark gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Mark is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Mark’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Mark gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Mark pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Mark! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Mark is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Lee! It’s rude to call him Mark!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Mark reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Mark.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Mark and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Mark studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Mark acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Mark clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Mark. I’ll text you.”

Mark spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

-

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Mark is his teacher.

Mark’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Mark is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Mark glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Mark.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Mark to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Lee?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Mark gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Mark.

“How have you been?”

Mark sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Mark pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Mark. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Mark bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

-

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Lee is coming over, Graham.  Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Lee? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Mark decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Lee’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are heard before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, and you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Mark’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Mark is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Mark’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Mark teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Mark mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Mark gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Mark himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Mark has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Lee cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Mark around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Mark giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”

Mark blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Mark knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

-

Mark thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Mark gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Mark quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Mark tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Lee! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Mark’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Mark gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Mark feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be. Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Mark reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Mark has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Lee?”

Mark grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Mark’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Mark feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Mark grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Mark, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Mark leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Mark thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Mark takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Mark asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Mark watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Mark, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Mark reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Mark wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

-

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Lee let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Mark trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Mark scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Mark places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Mark’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Mark says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Mark Lee would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Mark grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

-

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Mark up by jumping on his chest.

Mark sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Mark, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Mark rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Mark and Graham enter.

Mark likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Mark, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Mark rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Mark insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

-

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Mark giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Mark reminds you.

“But Mikey is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Mark’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Mark scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Mark is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Mark laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Mark blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Mark is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Mark,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Mark opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

-

Haechan comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Mark, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still high despite its blunt sarcasm. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Haechan, Mark’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Lee’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Haechan looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Haechan to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Taeyong’s, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Mikey, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re rambling and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Johnny about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Mark tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Mark didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Haechan scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Mark’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Haechan grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Mark, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Haechan in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Haechan’s voice cracks

You shoot Haechan a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Johnny’s.” Mark says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Haechan says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Mark laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Mark is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in the shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

-

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Mark is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Haechan’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Mark didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Mark was alone in a dorm with Taeyong, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Mark even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Lee?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Mark jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Mark realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Mark holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Mark says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Mark’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

-

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Mark and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Mark’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Mark scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Mark smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, copper brown under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Mark’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

-

“Mark Lee!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Mark has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Mark’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Mark laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Mark.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Mark.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Haechan told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Mark pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Mark stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

-

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Mark. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Mark again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Mark in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say.

Mark confesses, “I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Mark is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Mark bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Mark’s voice is a low rumble. Copper eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Mark.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in onyx black disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

[jaeminlore]

NCT IN AMONG US

taeil: doesn’t do his tasks but tells everyone he’s done them

johnny: tells everyone he saw mark vent even when he didn’t

yuta: kills in front of people and finesses his way out of the vote

taeyong: stays with his kid after he dies because he doesn’t want it to be lonely

kun: “who hasn’t done their tasks? can we please complete the tasks?”

doyoung: master at sabotages

ten: follows people around just to make them nervous

jaehyun: always voted out first

winwin: has three kills under his belt before the first meeting is called

jungwoo: does his tasks and then spies on people through security

lucas: vents in front of people

mark: tries to stay in pairs so he isn’t alone but always manages to pair up with the imposter

xiaojun: “if it’s not them you can vote me out next” *gets voted out*

hendery: leaves the game if he gets too many electrical tasks

renjun: has the best imposter radar but no one ever believes him

jeno: is stuck doing his admin card for a good fifteen minutes

haechan: “renjun is lying i’ve been in navigation the whole time”

jaemin: *calls an emergency meeting* “i missed you guys”

yangyang: “can u guys vote me out i want to be a ghost”

chenle: *is dead* IT’S HAECHAN IT’S HAECHAN YOU IDIOTS

jisung: “guys vote me out i have to pee”

[jaeminlore]

To Live and Let Go | Renjun

summary: if there’s something left to be learned, then my time is running. why would i waste it all, wasted on you?

words: 2.3k+

category: librarian!renjun x tutor!reader, fem!presenting!reader, adventure au, a bit meta, what’s going on idk ur guess is as good as mine, some sections are written better than others, reader is a tutor for prince jaemin, this sucks so bad i’m so sorry.

note: this was a commission for @yrb-reads who donated to a charity of their choice. thank you :) i’m terribly sorry it took so long and it's definitely not up to par the way it should be. if you want something else written to make up for it let me know. there was depression, full time job, and a death in the family i would like to blame, but i should’ve prioritized this story more for you, and for that i’m sorry. thank you so much for donating, and i hope this serves as a holiday gift for you. again, sorry about the short length

To Renjun, libraries feel like home. Especially the castle’s library, located just west of the kitchen; a hidden gem unknown to most people. Really, only known to Prince Jaemin and Renjun, if he really thought about it. Perhaps a few tutors and scholars as well.

But these factors don’t make it home. Instead, it is the wooden walls of thick cedar trunks, built long before the castle walls were put up; when the builders didn’t have the heart to tear such a piece of architecture down. It’s the way it smells like a forest at all times, and how the inside walls are chipped and falling onto the bare floor. It is the large shelves, made just decades ago, crammed up against each other and overflowing with the royal family’s books. Each piece of literature is practically an heirloom, save the small shelf in the corner where the prince hides his new romance novels he gets delivered straight from the village of Rubin.

The library feels like a bridge between the kingdom and the village. Inside these four walls, wooden and chipped, Rubin feels like one entity, undivided by classes or rank.

It also happens to be the one place Renjun is allowed to hang his paintings.

Ever since he was younger, it has been Renjun’s dream to be a portrait artist. To be able to place his thumbprint in Rubin’s history by painting the royal family or a few important nobles, is all he has ever wanted. But the King and Queen prefer a man of nobility to do the work, so Renjun was shot down. Since he sold everything he had to come and shoot for his dream, the royal family had offered him a pity job.

Correction: Prince Jaemin had begged his parents not to turn Renjun away empty-handed and convinced them to let him earn his pay here in the castle.

Prince Jaemin does a lot for Renjun. He had introduced him to his friend and closest servant, Donghyuck, who has a sharp tongue but no real malice to back up anything he ever said. Renjun had moved in with him, and used his side of the house as his painting room. Donghyuck barely even complains about the scent of oil paint anymore.

Prince Jaemin also got him his current job as a bookbinder. Which, in itself, is a very lonely and tedious job. Perfect for a boy like Renjun who only wants to work with no outside distractions. Aside from his friends in the castle, that is. Or the prince’s tutor, who comes in for study material.

Most importantly, Prince Jaemin lets Renjun hang up his portraits in the library. He had said that they deserved to be hung up, even if it couldn’t be hung up in the royal hall. Renjun had nearly burst into tears in front of the hyperactive prince.

They had met during a touchy time in the prince’s life. He had just returned to the castle after a trip to the village. There, he was hiding from potential assassins, but for some reason, the prince seemed more upset about coming back.

It was in the quiet of that library that Jaemin let Renjun, a complete stranger at the time, in on the secret that he was in love with a girl from the village. For the young artist, it wasn’t hard to imagine. Prince Jaemin was known for his free spirit and hyperactive personality. There was no way he could become attached to a noble raised under discipline.

Of course the prince was raised under the highest of discipline, but he somehow found a way to rebel against it all and stay true to himself, even if it meant hiding the portraits he liked the best in a forgotten library, or befriending the healer and servant of the castle instead of the lords.

He was wonderful, and Renjun couldn’t wait for him to be king.

The library was home because Prince Jaemin made it home. He had crafted a place between the castle and the village — a place of seclusion — just for Renjun and his thoughts.

-

“I just want them to listen to me,” Jaemin moans, dropping his chin onto his open romance book. “I’ve been asking them for almost a year and a half to let me go back to the village, but they refuse to listen to me.”

Renjun hums non-committedly. “Chin up, please. I’m not finished.”

Jaemin glares at Renjun through his eyelashes but obliges, a pout still evident on his face. He returns to his casual pose of leaning his cheek against his fist and turning the pages of his book. “Anyway, I really want to go back to the village.”

“I know,” Renjun sighs and dips the tip of his paintbrush into the copper-colored paint he had mixed. “Right now, you have to obey them. You may be the prince but obviously they’re the king and queen.”

“I’m about to be nineteen,” Jaemin mumbles angrily.

“And when your coronation arrives, you’ll have more freedom to do things like visit the village.”

“Her grandmother died, you know,” Jaemin says, morose. “I could’ve been there for the funeral, at least.”

Renjun grabs a slimmer paintbrush and begins to note the details of Jaemin’s face. “I know, Your Highness. But if she’s anything like you’ve told me, then I’m sure she understands.”

Jaemin bites his lip and looks at the book sadly. “I just miss her.”

“It’s your duty to stay here. I’m sure she realizes that.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes, albeit sadly, and goes back to posing.

“Your Highness! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Renjun’s brush shakes slightly as his mind registers the new voice. It is Jaemin’s tutor. You, a servant the same age as the prince, seem to be the only one he will actually listen to. Perhaps because you entertain his many ideas. Perhaps because Renjun had begged him to keep you around.

Because you not only entertained Jaemin’s ideas, you also praised Renjun’s art. You are a no-nonsense tutor, but as a friend, you have had neverending praise and encouragement to the two boys.

Renjun longs to be around you as much as Jaemin is. In fact, you are the only real reason Renjun finds himself being jealous of the prince. He often wonders how Jaemin could even think about a villager he only knew for a week, when you are right there beside him, every day.

Just the blossom of your smile could make Renjun’s mind freeze in all it’s concerns. Suddenly, the portrait in front of him means little to nothing, and all he could really think about was how many different shades of pink and brown he’d have to mix before he matched the color of your lips. “Hello, Y/n.”

“Good day,” you greet, bowing slightly. “What are you painting today?”

Renjun almost forgets to breathe when you walk toward him and lean your head over his shoulder to inspect his art. He can smell the amber musk on your collarbones and feel your soft hair tickle his cheek. “J-Jaemin.”

“You always paint him,” you murmur, almost in boredom. “Say, do you do favors?”

“Come again?”

“Like, if I paid you, would you draw a portrait of me? I think my mother would really like it— she’s always asking me to get a portrait done.”

Renjun feels his tongue rest heavy in his mouth. Before he can speak, Jaemin grabs your arm. “He can do it! Now let’s get to my lessons!”

And that was that on that.

-

The stream trickles loudly, leaping down and over the rock formations and falling into the pool with grace. This is where Renjun comes to find inspiration. It’s also where he comes to practice his art.

It’d be nice to do it into the library, but Renjun knows that he would abandon all his actual duties — the ones that he gets paid to do.

He eyes his oil paints, color coordinated from lightest to darkest shade. He dips his brush in pure white, to lay a foundation coat atop his canvas.

Truth be told, he could paint you from memory. But if he told you that, he’d have to admit to his crush on you, and that’s far too embarrassing. No, thank you.

Renjun takes off his sandals and plants his feet on the soft grass. The blades tickle his toes, so he tries to relax his muscles. He has the canvas stretched out on his knees, which is a bit unconventional, but it works. He looks up at the afternoon sun; his straw hat scrapes the trunk of the tree he’s leaning against.

“Sorry I’m late. Jaemin needed help with Latin...” You wander in and trail off, looking at the pool in wonder. “This is beautiful.”

You’re dressed in silver shades — Renjun wonders if you intentionally made yourself look extra beautiful, or if that’s you, in the reflection of the water. He clears his mind and his throat. “I figured It’d be a nice background for a portrait.”

“How do you want me posed?” Your lips are upturned, soft, and Renjun starts a mental list on how to keep you smiling.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Renjun hurries. “We’ll be here for an hour or so each session until it’s finished.”

You sit in the grass, atop your knees, and smooth out any wrinkles in your garments. “My Mother is going to be so thrilled, Renjun. Thank you so much for doing this.”

His tongue feels heavy at the compliment, so he settles for a simple nod. The foundation coat is still drying, so Renjun pulls his sketchbook and a pencil out of his bag. “Do you mind if I start with a few sketches?”

“Of course not,” you say. Your eyes clip to his, bright and clear, and Renjun thinks this is going to be a lot harder than he initially thought.

(The next session, Renjun is so focused on getting the outline of your back right that he doesn’t even notice you moving towards him.

“You’ve got paint on your brow,” you say.

Renjun reflexively wipes at his face, feeling himself blush at your observation. “Is it gone?”

You grin — looking straight at him — and reach up. Gently, you use the pad of your thumb to scrub off the paint. “Now it is.”

Renjun thinks he’d rather melt into the floor than finish the rest of this session.)

-

Renjun threads the spine of his latest project: scribe records from the recent knighting tournament and ceremony. Even as he pulls the last thread tight, his finger raw and screaming, he’s thankful that he wasn’t the one editing these records.

Jaemin hasn’t been to the library in awhile. His current betrothement has him in a frenzied mindset, and Renjun is sure he has more important things to do than hang out with his friends.

Still, he misses the company.

He sets the glue along the spine and aligns the pages with the leather backing. He’s so busy focusing on making sure the lines are straight that he doesn’t notice someone walk into the library. “Hello, Renjun.”

Renjun jumps, and the spine of the book misaligns. He leaves it on his table, and when he turns around, you’re there smiling at him. “Hey, Y/n. I didn’t know you tutored Jaemin today.”

”I don’t,” you admit. A bashful look overtakes your face and you focus on one of the books in Renjun’s return pile. “I wanted to thank you for the portrait. My mother loved it.”

“I’m glad!” Renjun says, brightening up. He notices that you still look rather distant. “Is something wrong?”

”it’s just...” you bite your lip. “Do, um, do I really look like that?”

Renjun wants to ask what you mean. But he sort of knows. “Your portrait? Is it not to your likeness?”

You furrow your brows. “I just... You made me look very beautiful.”

“You are very beautiful,” Renjun replies, voice low and steady. “Surely, you know that.”

Embarrassment paints your face and you shrug. “I dunno...”

“I know,” Renjun says, surety building in his voice. “Whether you believe it or not, it’s a fact that you are very beautiful. I hope my painting portrayed even an inch of your beauty.”

You look aghast at his words, mouth open in shock. “Are you… Are you serious?”

Renjun stares at the way your lips look, pursed in confusion. “Why on earth would I lie to you?”

“I don’t mean to insult your integrity,” you say, eyes wide. “It’s just that no one has ever been so upfront with me.”

This is it, Renjun thinks. This is my chance to confess. He takes a deep breath, steps closer to you. Toe to toe, so that your chest is brushing against his. And the outside air lessens it’s chill, so that Renjun is sure he’s sweating, nervous and hot and wanting.

His luck hasn’t run out yet. “Can I be upfront again?”

Your breath hitches, leaving Renjun’s own words isolated, suspended in the air between you. “Yes,” you finally say, honeyed lips nearly brushing his own.

“I’m in love with you,” Renjun allows himself to say. “And I want to kiss you. Selfishly.”

“Then do so.”

Your lips are honeyed; candied peonies against his own cruel briars and thorns. Renjun wonders if he’s good enough for you. If book binding and tutoring go hand in hand. If he’ll be stuck forever in the royal library, giving you books to read to the prince. He wonders if this is the life of a peasant, always one step behind the nobles.

Two people in service to a prince can never truly serve each other.

But Renjun doesn’t hold on to that thought. Instead, he surges forward, holds your body like it’s falling, kissing your mouth and your chin and your neck and your skin and—

“Hey,” you cup his face in his hands. “This isn’t the last time you’ll have me. There’s no need to be urgent.”

So he slows down. Gentle touches and warm gazes. Tastes you as much as touches you. All lips and no teeth. Memorized the palm of your hand against his jaw.

You’ll still be here, you said so.

Renjun decides to let go.

[jaeminlore]

does medieval fantasy wizard!ten attract your attention... are you compelled by the idea.... because i would like to request it <3

OKAY i am thinking respectfully

of wizard ten my beloved

we’re going with the assumption that a wizard is a mage who goes on magical quests and uses spells to combat as well as just for daily tasks

lives in a HUGE cobblestone tower with overgrown ivy and wisteria. it’s got three levels and he uses a spiral staircase to get up and down

basically the bottom level is a cozy living room, overflowing with spell books and weirdly enchanted objects like a broom that sweeps constantly or a clock that floats around

the second story is his bedroom/library, with even MORE spell books and a cauldron, for when he feels particularly inventive

and the third story is a watchtower with a open ceiling, so he can study the stars

okay to his looks..... just. leather pants and a loose cotton shirt with various potion stains on it. he’s got talismans painted on his skin, usually on his chest and arms, to protect him from evil

wears a HUGE green cardigan/robe over that, with large pockets that he shoves his spellbooks and quills and journals into. he also wears a purple scarf, and a HUGE pointy brown hat to keep the sun out of his eyes. his round glasses always slip off his nose and he sometimes uses a spell to keep them in place

magic is a part of him,,, leaves a trail of magical dust everywhere he goes. like lil golden particles float around him and settle in the places he touches

smells strongly of spice and ink

always trying to invent new spells, which is why he can often be seen with charred sleeves and singed eyebrows

goes into town a lot just because he wants to visit his friends and see where he can help

sometimes he performs too many spells and has to recharge before he can make the journey home

just... ten curled up under the shade of hanging wisteria...... sleeping with his scarf covering his eyes......

he makes lil talismans out of things he finds in the woods, like grass and moss and acorns and beetle shells. they’re a lil creepy and he makes it worse bc he likes to leave them on his friend’s doorsteps without warning

plays the pipeflute

tells scary stories to his friends and uses his magic for special effects

similarly, reads fairytales to the village children and uses his magic to conjure pretty pictures for them to feel immersed

has no time for romance but all the time in the world for flirting

a genuine genius like he’s a hot mess but he’s successfully created 10+ spells and is always working on more

goes on quests for village people all the time

like his mailbox is full bc he’s the only one who knows what such and such herb looks like and he’s good at negotiating with dragons

has a pet cat who follows him around

it’s not a familiar it’s just clingy

one time ten tried to give it wings and he accidentally made it bald so he refuses to make spells for pets anymore

anyways this is the cutest picture in my head i hope it makes sense

look up @/redbeanporridge’s art on insta that’s the kind of vibe i’m getting here

[jaeminlore]

I’ll Be Home For Christmas | Jaehyun

summary: you can count on me

words: 2.2k+

category: jaehyun x gender neutral reader unless i slipped up, in which pls tell me so i can fix it, coworker au, fake dating au, fluff, jaehyun wears sweaters, pillow fights, mistletoe (but not in the way you’d expect), jaehyun sees reader holding a baby and short circuits, this is the softest thing i’ve ever written and i’m proud of it

warning(s): christmas is explicitly mentioned as opposed to any other holiday, this is based off of a more southern/american style christmas that i’m used to, some drinking but no one gets drunk

When your co-worker, Jaehyun, approaches you a day before winter break, you think little of it. The two of you are the only teachers in the school less than forty years old, so you often hang out together.

You figure he'll wish you a gentle happy holidays in that soft voice of his, and be on his way.

Instead, he looks nervous, wringing his beanie through his fingers. "Heading out?"

"Yeah," you sigh. "Two full weeks of no pay, and all of my family has planned a Christmas in the Bahamas without me."

Jaehyun whistles lowly. "That sounds a bit..."

"Sad?" you stuff your books into your box. "Yeah, but it's whatever. I'll find something to do."

"You could come home with me," Jaehyun says. "I mean, my family thought I was bringing a significant other anyway, so it kind of works out."

"Huh?" You glance up at the fellow teacher in his stupid teddy bear cardigan. It makes him look soft and cozy. "What works out?"

"I need you to pretend to be dating me during break."

"Why?" you ask. The only reason you aren't more surprised is the fact that Jaehyun is always using weird anecdotes to get out of things, and you assume this is nothing different.

"Like I said, my parents think I'm bring home a significant other."

"Why don't you just tell them you don't have one?" you ask.

Jaehyun pokes at the miniature globe on your desk. "If I told them that, they'd try to hook me up with one of their picks. Listen, when I lied to them, I didn't think they'd insist I bring my significant other to family functions."

"That's kind of what happens when you're dating someone," you say. "Anyways, so what? I pretend to be dating you, and in return I get free food and board for the holidays?"

"My mom will buy you a present," Jaehyun adds on.

You hand Jaehyun your box of things you have to take home during break. "Here. Carry this to my car, and you have a deal."

(It's only on the way to his parent's house when you realize that you might have to buy all of his family presents, too. When you voice these concerns to Jaehyun, he reaches over the console and pats your knee. "Not to worry. I just put our names on everything.")

-

Jaehyun's mother's hugs are a lot like Jaehyun's. She squeezes you tightly, as if she's a boa constrictor and you are merely the innocent prey.

Jaehyun doesn't save you either, he just giggles at your disheveled  appearance and fixes your hair. "Mom likes hugs."

"Oh, so do you," Mrs. Jung swats at Jaehyun's arm. "Anyways, tell me about the two of you."

"Oh!" You clear your throat and move closer to Jaehyun. You actually have no idea what he's told them about you, and you also didn't make up a cover story, so you're a bit out of luck.

Luckily, Jaehyun lies like a politician. He wraps his arm around your waist and laughs. It's fake, you know, but his mom seems to believe it. "We're at the same school, mom. I've told you about Y/n before."

"Oh! The third grade teacher?" Mrs. Jung finally makes the connection. She turns to you. "He used to gush about you all the time. I never realized you're the one he asked out."

Jaehyun's grip on you tightens just briefly, so you figure Mrs. Jung has said just a bit too much. Still, you have to play into the facade, so you lean into him. "I gushed about him a fair bit, too. And then one night I asked him out, and he said yes."

"Oh, you asked him out?" Mrs. Jung's eyes sparkle with interest. She has the same adorable dimples as her son.

"Only because he was too cowardly to do anything about his massive crush on me."

Jaehyun snorts. "Yeah, right. We both know I'm braver than you."

You turn to face him, eyes narrowed as he steels you with his cocky gaze. "Oh yeah?" You say, eyes drifting down to his lips, curled into an attractive smirk. "Prove it."

You see the moment Jaehyun short circuits. You see it as clear as day, the way he loosens his grip and opens his mouth, but no words come out.

His mom snickers. "I think Y/n is braver, Jaehyun."

Jaehyun can only sulk as he shows you to his room.

-

Mrs. Jung told you to take a nap to recover from the traveling, since the actually holiday festivities don't begin until everyone arrives tomorrow. Since you and Jaehyun are early, you get the privilege of extra sleep.

Jaehyun eyes his full-sized bed from his college days. His room is now a guest room, since he hasn't lived at home in years. But it's still got traces of him in it, like the baseball trophies from college (you try not to think of Jaehyun in a baseball uniform), or his high school diploma framed over the bathroom door.

You pull back the green-striped sheets. "I am not going to disobey your mom. I'm going to sleep."

"Ditto," Jaehyun says. He heads over to the window and drops the drapes so that the room is coated in darkness despite the afternoon sun still outside. "I'll take the floor."

"Why?" You ask, and you're already burrowed under his covers in your lounge-wear.

Jaehyun's eyes drop to your thin tank top before he looks away. His ears are a suspicious shade of pink. "I mean... wouldn't it be weird to share a bed?"

"Are you going to pull a move on me while I'm trying to sleep?" Your blunt question sends Jaehyun into a fit of coughing, which causes you to laugh out loud.

He glares at you and shuffles over to the other side of his bed. "I hate you."

"You can't hate me; you're my boyfriend," you mock.

Jaehyun tackles you then, covering your body with his own as you giggle in shock. "You're so annoying. I should've taken someone else."

"Right," you fight back, grabbing his arms and pushing him up until he's just straddling your waist, holding onto your hands. "Who would you ask? Meredith, the secretary?"

"Her red hair is pretty sexy," Jaehyun says as if HES thought about it before."

"She's like, fifty," you laugh.

"Or Taeyong from high school math," Jaehyun says. "He's cute."

"Honestly? Yeah." You let go of his hands and glance up at the ceiling. "If Taeyong had asked me, this entire day would've gone so differently."

"Oh, shut up," Jaehyun grabs his pillow and gently shoves you with it. "You can't even look him in the eyes."

"Neither can you!" You protest, voice muffled beneath his pillow.

"It's not my fault he's cute!"

"It's not my fault either!"

Jaehyun lifts the pillow and raises his eyebrows at you, causing you to laugh.

"Are we arguing over Taeyong from high school math?"

"Who doesn't even know we exist?" Jaehyun answers. "Yes, I do believe we are."

"You're heavy," you grunt. You attempt to push Jaehyun off of you, but in seeing your discomfort, it only spurs him to place his full dead weight on top of you.

"Goodnight," he says, voice right beside your ear.

You know he's teasing you, because the two of you are pretty close and it's not weird. Still, you can't help but like the feeling of him being so close to you, even if it isn't as intimate as you'd like.

You sigh; give up. "Goodnight, Jaehyun."

-

Jaehyun's family is wild. His uncle (from England, apparently) brings stories about his weekly bar crawls. He also brings Christmas crackers, and you and Jaehyun steal a few extra when no one is looking, if just to get a few extra goodies.

And so explains the paper crown atop Jaehyun's head, nestled within his chocolate curls.

He looks adorable as always, but more radiantly so, and you wonder if it's his family that brings this out in him, or the mulled wine.

I want to kiss him, you think, and it's not the thought that scares you. He's an attractive man, and it's been bound to cross your every now and again.

What scares you is the thought that comes after. I could fall in love with him.

And you really aren't sure if it's the wine in your own belly, or the disorienting sound of Mrs. Jung's staticky radio, playing a distorted version of Santa Claus is Coming to Town.

However, Jaehyun has been holding your hand the entire day, absentminded rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. It shouldn't make your heart beat faster because it's all a show, but you find yourself playing into the facade, if just to make it last a little longer.

Jaehyun and you are sharing an armchair while the children beg the adults to let them open their gifts already. You've got your head on Jaehyun's chest, and he's covering you with a gaudy reindeer-themed blanket.

It's then when the door opens, and a woman and man walk in, the man holding a baby in his arms.

"Jina!" Jaehyun shouts. "Henry! Erin!" Then he whispers to you. "That's my sister and her husband. And their little baby," he says softly.

Erin is around one or two years old, and she seems in good spirits despite the bow tightly clipped to what little hair she has.

You get up so Jaehyun can hug his sister, and when she sees you, she gives you a hug as well. "You're the Y/n Jaehyun has told me so much about."

Jaehyun's ears go red again, and he ignores Jina's statement in lue of showing her to the presents around the tree. "Thank God you're finally here. I think the kids were going to riot if they couldn't open any presents yet."

Jaehyun settles back down with you, and you remind yourself to ask him why his family seem to already know about you.

But then the kids open whoopee cushions from Uncle Jaehyun, and all is forgotten as they begin to force everyone to sit on top of them.

-

Jaehyun truly thinks he's going to go insane. In retrospect, perhaps asking the person he's had a year-long crush on to be his fake date wasn't the best idea, but it was his only option.

And now he likes you even more, as you make an effort to get to know his family.

You don't have to, but you're wearing the sweater his mom bought for you, and you've got a stupid paper crown on your head that perfectly matches his.

And when Jaehyun rounds the counter to make some hit chocolate for the two of you, he watches you approach his brother-in-law and ask to hold baby Erin.

And now Jaehyun is truly going crazy, because you've got a baby on your hip and you're dancing to the staticky radio, singing in goofy voices with Jaehyun's younger cousins.

And he knows, knows he's in love with you.

He hopes to God this isn't a one time thing.

-

Your head feels a bit fuzzy when everyone is sent off to bed.

Jaehyun grabs your hand and pulls you into his room. "Come on. Anyone who survives a day with my family deserves a prize."

You're not sure where he had hidden it, but Jaehyun grabs a small wrapped box and hands it to you. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," you say, a bit distracted as you open it.

Inside, it's a small charm bracelet. The charm? Mistletoe.

You snort, and pull the bracelet over your wrist. "How subtle, Jaehyun."

Jaehyun's ears are red again. "Actually, I was just teaching my kids about mistletoe. The druids believed it had healing properties, and could bring the holder good luck—"

You wrap your arms around Jaehyun's shoulders and lift your hand above his head. You kiss Jaehyun before he's finished talking.

He gasps against your lips in such an innocent way that you have to wonder if he actually didn't mean to give it to you as incentive. Before you can worry, however, he's got his hands bunched in the sweater his mother bought you, and he's pulling you flush against his body.

His lips are soft and warm, and they taste like cinnamon. Every touch he gives you sends a lick of fire across your skin, and it's only when Jaehyun puts his hands beneath your sweater that you realize just how cold his hands are.

You shiver against him. He nips at your lips, smiling at your offended gasp. He moves away, places one kiss atop your forehead, and then presses his forehead to yours. "I didn't give you the mistletoe so you would kiss me, but I'm glad you did."

"Me too," you say, warmth flooding your chest again. "Now, how about you explain to me why your family keeps saying you've talked about me before."

"Actually," Jaehyun moves away from you. "I'm pretty tired, so we should just get to bed."

You tackle him again, laughing with mirth when he catches you and hugs you close to him. "I've liked you for awhile, okay?" he says.

"Now was that so hard to say?" you tease, just before receiving another pillow to your face.

[jaeminlore]

hi um here are 10 poems i wrote this year that i’m actually proud of.

this year writing has been a huge struggle for me (i’m sure people have noticed) and i have been struggling a lot with getting scenarios out. i have a lot of unfinished ones i’d like to publish but who knows.

anyways, i hope everyone has an amazing new year. i hope 2021 is gentle to you. please remember to be kind to your friends and your enemies. remember that you are so loved, and you matter just as much as the stars in the sky. love you!!! be safe!!!

[jaeminlore]

The Sun Shines in the Knight | Mark Lee

playlist

summary: golden, as i open my eyes. hold it, focus, hoping; take me back to the light. — golden, harry styles. / mark doesn't want to fall in love, but he doesn't want to be forgotten, either.

words: 4.05k+

category: knight!mark x gardener!reader, gender neutral reader, mark is on the ace/aro spectrum but idk how to label it, mark is in love with the sun.

warning(s): injuries, anxiety

a/n: this is lowkey inspired by me and my friend but its also taken a mind of it's own

The sun is the last think Mark sees on the battlefield. Just as his back hits the damp grass and his ears ring in the anticipation of a long nap (read: a concussion) he sees the sun pulse in his vision, brighter and brighter until he succumbs to his injury.

The sun is, coincidentally, the first thing he sees when he wakes up in the healer's room. There's a bandage around his bare torso to cover a particularly nasty blade wound, and a thin scab across his jaw. The only window in the room, high and arched, serves as a direct viewing of the sun in all of her glory. The rays warm his skin, and for a moment, he thinks about going back to sleep.

His head pounds when he closes his eyes, though, and he figures it'd be better to get up and force his blood to do some circulating.

The healer — Jaemin — isn't in the room, and so Mark decides he isn't under any important watch that would force him to stay cooped up all day.

He sits up, the anticipated curl of his spine sends an immediate zip of pain through his ribs, and Mark groans aloud, having forgot what a broken rib feels like. 

But the sun moves to his shoulders, and the feeling is euphoric, so he braves the pain in favor of visiting the garden. There has to be a hidden patch of grass somewhere, sun kissed and waiting to be slept upon.

Mark briefly pauses in his journey to take a detour into the kitchen, where he fills up a wooden cup with cool water directly from the pump. He drinks three full glasses before he decides he's properly hydrated, then he slowly makes his way to the back garden, side-stepping the noble children who run around the roses while their mothers attend afternoon tea.

The royal garden has many sections: a garden for the kitchen, where vegetables are grown, a flower garden for the royal florist, color coded for easy arrangements. There's an herbal garden just for Jaemin and his peers, for balms and potions alike. There's a fruit orchard too, but it's past the garden wall, closer to the abundance of the lake and the clear water it produces.

The garden wall itself is somewhat of a maze. While the outer is a high stone gate, made to keep intruders out, the following layers are made of thick shrubbery that are often clipped into different shapes. Then there are hedges, planted to be somewhat of a maze for privacy. It's often in the maze that nobles walk with their suitors, or where strategists discuss their, well, strategies.

Mark dives into the maze and searches for whatever empty landing he can find. After sidestepping a few appalled nobles (apparently a beaten-up knight dressed in nothing but bandages and cotton is not what one wants to see during tea time, but Mark doesn't exactly know where his shirt is, so) he finds a patch of clovers. The weeds are plentiful, and a bright emerald green that makes Mark feel happy for no reason. The sun shines down on the overgrown patch, and Mark realizes that the patch is already occupied by a small rabbit. It's a grey cottontail, one he's seen a few times in the garden. He's sure it belongs to one of the gardeners, or is at least comfortable enough with them to hang out so much. Mark knows rabbits don't particularly like people.

The rabbit in question is munching on a clover, it's little pink nose twitching as it does so. 

Mark decides that he'll risk it, so he approaches the patch anyways, and lies down on his back, letting the sun blanket him. 

(He can hear the rabbit's clicking as he falls asleep.)

-

"Oh, hi." It's your voice that wakes Mark up from his dreamless slumber. He's surprised to find that it's already sundown when he wakes, and his body is still just as weak as it was when he fell asleep. Maybe moreso now (what is Jaemin always chiding him for? Heat exhaustion?) At least he drank enough water to stay hydrated throughout everything.

It takes him a few moments to get reoriented with his surroundings. And finally, he remembers your presence; curves his neck to see where you've gone off to.

You're still there, in a shirt that's far too big for you. The collar nearly hangs off of your shoulder, showcasing your soil-stained collarbones. You're not paying attention to him anymore, not that Mark really expected you to.

You pick up the rabbit instead, chiding it in quiet an exasperated voice as you warn him about being in the sun for too long. (Maybe you and Jaemin would get along.)

"'M sorry," Mark mumbles out, stumbling over his dry mouth and his slow-to-rouse brain. He finally sits up, his ribs still screaming in protest, and he looks at you.

You gaze back at him, the grey rabbit snuggled close to your chest. You're not smiling. You look uncomfortable, if anything, and Mark hesitates to keep talking to you. 

But you speak first. "Why are you apologizing? You have every right to sleep outside."

The tone in your voice makes Mark feel warm inside. It's hardly judgmental, bordering between disconcertment and daring. There's hesitance in your words. Your voice wavers as you assure him he can hang out as long as he needs to, and Mark wonders if you're making up these rules for him, or for you.

"I should head back to Jaemin and get my bandages changed," he says matter-of-factly, like you care or asked.

"Okay." You blink at him, and although the sun is setting, Mark can still he it's reflection in your eyes. He wonders if you know that the sun is attracted to you.

(He thinks it'd be weird to ask. No one else thinks about the sun as much as him, so it might sound less like a compliment and more like a creepy overstep. Mark never wants to overstep.)

-

Getting back into training is harder than Mark thought it should be. Sure, it's been months, and his wounds have healed completely, but he still has visions of the battlefield, still gets anxious at the sound of a blade, and lately he's been longing for something more peaceful.

He's not trying to be selfish. Really, he loves knighthood. He loves protecting his kingdom and helping the innocent. It's all he ever wanted to do since he was young. And sure, he's gotten older and more solemn, but it doesn't change the fact that he's halfway there. He's still a young knight, just years past being a squire, and he still has so much to prove and so much to learn.

He absorbs information like a sponge. He practices his moves until daybreak, often slumping into his bed without so much as a bath or a meal to heal his aching bones. He does everything he can to please his captain and fellow teammates. The thought of their disappointment shatters him already. Anxiety floods his veins at the mere thought of them disapproving of his actions.

That's precisely why he doesn't tell anyone he's slowly breaking on the inside. It's nothing he can't handle. Nothing he hasn't been through before. Only this time it's not well hidden in the privacy of his bunk. This time it's starkly noticeable in the way he flinches at every swing of the blade, every clang of a shield against a suit, every shrill call to order from his captain.

He falls again, the sun both his enemy and closest friend as he's chided once again about the dangers of dehydration. 

His mouth is too dry to tell his captain that it isn't dehydration at all. It's anxiety, and the fear that this feeling is going to be his forever. He kind of wants to go to sleep and never wake up, but even that thought brings on shame.

He closes his eyes, feels the sun burn against his eyelids, and wills it to burn him up, if just to let him feel something.

-

You're in the clover patch again. Not again, because Mark hasn't seen you since the first time and it's been months, but again, because he sees you now, and the days blur so easily in his mind nowadays that he really feels like he just saw you yesterday.

You have a basket in your hand, and you're gathering bunches of clover with precise care, ignoring his presence. Mark figures you just don't hear him, but he sees your gaze flit to him and he realizes you're avoiding acknowledgment on purpose.

Mark supposed this is where he leaves. 

Only he doesn't, because he's drowsy beneath the afternoon sun, and this is the only place he can go where he won't be chided for his rash decisions.

(The sunburn on his chest is actually healing nicely, thank you very much.)

"What do you use so many clovers for?" He asks, eyes hesitant when they meet yours.

You look shocked that he's speaking to you. Not in an appalled way, but more like you expected him to ignore you altogether.

Mark doesn't want to ignore you; never really has. 

"Jaemin asked me to." So you already know Jaemin. "For cough syrup."

"Ah." Mark doesn't know what to say. He doesn't want you to think he's done talking to you, but he's horribly awkward at things like this. Talking. Friendship. Whatever is going on here.

"You fainted today," you say. "Maybe you shouldn't be out in the sun so much."

"Oh, it wasn't because of the sun," Mark amends. He sits down, away from the clover patch so he won't disrupt your progress. "I get anxious when I fight now. That's all."

"You were anxious enough to pass out?" You ask him, and then your voice gets lower as you seem to answer yourself, "Well yeah, I guess increased blood flow would make you pass out. That was stupid to ask."

"Not stupid," Mark says. He doesn't know what else to say though.

It's a weird in-between place of wanting to talk to you and having nothing to say. He decides maybe he should just dive into the deep end. "Ever since the last battle... it's been hard for me to keep up. I'm afraid of swords now, which shouldn't happen, but I guess something in my brain got triggered when I was wounded, and now swords connect with pain. They've always been connected with pain though, so it shouldn't be new. It's just new to me."

You hum. It's enough for Mark to know you listened. He thinks maybe you're good at listening, even if your only reply is a solemn hum. Then, "You can't help it if you have trauma in your life. It's expected since you're a knight, but don't push it down so much that you fall ill."

"Yeah." He says. "I won't."

(He doesn't. And sometimes he does. It really depends on the days, but he's trying, and somehow he thinks that's all you meant for him to do.)

-

Mark is always around so many people. He thinks about it on his birthday, when Jaemin takes him and all of his fellow knights to the nearby inn for drinks. Mark feels the numb sting of a person who has many companions but no one to confide in. He takes it in stride; always has, but it burns down his throat along with the whiskey.

He watches Johnny flirt with the innkeeper, and when the tall man comes back with keys to the nicest room, he gives them to Mark. A "Happy Birthday, man." on the top of his tongue.

Everyone howls, their minds going to dirty places, and Mark has to quiet them down by saying he doesn't want to have sex tonight. Or any night for that matter. Everything in his chest burns from the laughter he receives in turn, along with the assurance that he'll get intimate when the right person comes along.

He visits you the next morning and recounts the tale. 

"Some people don't want sex," you say. There's a surety in your voice that makes Mark wish you were with him last night, if only to defend him. He doesn't want to be selfish, though — doesn't want you to think he's only using you for his own benefit — so he leaves with his thoughts and the sun on his back.

-

Your schedules don't really coincide. Mark never sees you; not in the audience at jousts, or in the kitchen during meal time. He knows the both of you are in completely different sectors of the castle — your presence is really only mandatory in the garden, while Mark's is mandatory everywhere the king is.

But sometimes Mark thinks about you during jousting tournaments, when he gets a high score but no one praises him for it. It's just expected of him, and yet he wishes there was someone to praise him for his hard work. It's not easy doing what he does, especially when he has so much anxiety doing it.

He wants to find you. He wants to breathe in your presence— wants to ask you if you think about him too, in the spaces between obligation and freedom. In the moments where you can be whoever you wish.

He wonders if you picture him.

The sunburn on his shoulders makes his skin itch more than usual, and Mark thinks about taking a swim in the lake to clear his mind. 

He stands on the dock, mind foggy with the what-ifs and the how-tos and the imagine-if-Y/n-ever-thought-about-yous. He hesitates to take off his shirt, because left in only his cotton shorts he feels vulnerable. The scars that mark up his chest make him feel weak, like he's never been enough, and he'll never be enough so long as his skin doesn't clear. 

He doesn't feel like a man. Never really has. In his mind he is still a child playing pretend, and life is catching up to him, all too quickly and all too harshly for him to prepare for whats to come.

The sun reflects on the surface of the lake. Shadows of minnows and frogs pass beneath him, and Mark finally loses his shirt.

He dives in, feeling the slimy seaweed wrap around his ankles almost immediately. And yeah, it's uncomfortable, but it beats his leather boots and the sweat that builds up after a full day of practice.

A small frog hops onto his shoulder, frightening him, but it dives back into the water just as quickly, so Mark focuses on calming his breathing.

"Mark Lee," you call out. 

Mark slips on the seaweed and falls back into the water. He closes his eyes tightly and lets himself break the surface. He feels his cheeks flood with heat, and he wonders if the sun can penetrate the water.

"Hi," he says softly. Water drips off of his eyelashes. Drops land on his cupid's bow and stay there as he stares at you.

Maybe you could feel him thinking about you. Maybe he sent some kind of cosmic energy out into the world, and you sensed it.

Maybe fate just works in mysterious ways.

Mark doesn't know what to say. He watches you sit on the dock and take off your shoes. You dip your toes into the water and smile at him. It's a bigger smile than he normally receives, and Mark feels like maybe you're opening up to him. He feels really good, and he isn't sure if it's the sunny daze or your warm gaze.

Maybe it's both.

Mark decides that he wants to hold you. Maybe it's too romantic a thought; maybe it's not romantic enough, but it sears his eyelids, and when he closes his eyes he can feel his hands splayed at your waist.

Yes, it's too romantic of a thought.

The sun is glaring now, taunting him. It's as if he doesn't know that he's failing in every way, staring at you without saying anything. He wants to reach out and ask you for advice on anything. Everything. He wants to get you talking; thinking about him, even just for a few minutes, but it's hard when he can't find his voice.

His shoulders itch again. He takes it as a sign. "Do you know any- uh- plants to help with sunburn?"

You smile even brighter somehow, and the sun is behind you now, mocking him as it rings a halo over your head. The light romanticizes you in a way Mark doesn't think he can. He doesn't think he's capable of it, but he longs for you.

He longs for you harmlessly, and his heart aches at the thought of you out of his life. Despite your monthly appearances, they mean more to Mark than he realizes most of the time. And he wants to tell you that he'd like to see you more often. Monthly greetings could turn into weekly meetings. He could see you more— bask in your presence; your light. He wants to drown in the way your chest rises and falls as you breathe. He wants to fall apart at the sound of your laughter.

He wants to love you, and he knows he isn't quite capable of love. Not in the way his mother expects him to be. Not in the way his friends expect him to be. Certainly not in the way he expects of himself. And yet, some selfish part of him hopes it will be enough for you. He hopes more than anything that one day you might accept what little love he can offer amongst the busyness of his life. Amongst the closed doors of his heart.

"Aloe vera," you say. "There's some one the healer's room, even though Jaemin is out for the week."

Mark finds a piece of himself feelings rather jealous at the fact that you seem to always know Jaemin's schedule. Why can't you know his?

"Okay," he says. "I'll ask him for some when he returns."

"I have a key." You stand up. "Come on, I'll find you some."

Mark stumbles his way out of the water, slipping twice on seaweed and three times over his words. "You really don't have to." He buttons his shirt over his scars, ears burning red because he can sense you looking at him. Studying him like you're hoping to find something amiss.

Mark follows you to the healer's room. When you order him to sit down, he obeys.

"Here," you hand him a jar of clear goop. "Rub this on your burns until they go away. And if you need any more, come find me."

Come find me.

Your words still ring in his head that night, as he applies more aloe to his body. He wants to come find you tomorrow, and he wants you to stay with him the entire day. He wants to hear about what goes around in your head and in your heart.

He wants to break the wall between the two of you and reach out; touch your soul and find that his is the same.

Mark stays awake until the sun comes up.

-

Beneath the lemon tree, you lay half-asleep. You stroke your rabbit's head and hum a tune, something you heard a long time ago. Maybe in a lullaby or an old shanty.

The sun is far too hot for you, which is why you've found a place in the shade.

You can hear the sounds of swords clanking against each other. Despite your reluctance, you think of Mark, and you wonder if he's doing alright. With his anxiety, and the way he's prone to accidents, you tend to worry about him a lot.

As much as he might think he's hiding it, Mark is a perfectionist just as much as he's a worrier. The two are more than likely related, but they double up in your brain as reasons to reach out to the boy every so often.

You aren't even sure Mark likes you. Like, as in, just enjoying your presence. Mark always seems a little too nervous; a little too eager to leave when he's around you.

You're sure it's you: the only common denominator in every situation.

Mark has a lot on his plate; he's got so much to deal with and so much he puts on himself.

You want to help, but you aren't sure where your place is in Mark's life. You could just be a passing soul; not an actual friend. You don't know, and you don't know the protocol for asking.

You told him to come find you if he ran out of aloe, but does that mean he isn't allowed to find you otherwise? You've only given him an option, and yet it doesn't feel like enough. It feels like maybe he won't visit you at all.

The sound of practice ceases, though your mind doesn't know if it's because practice is over or if it's because you're nearly asleep.

You wake up, and Mark is sitting a little ways off, clicking his tongue at the rabbit. He doesn't notice you've waken up.

"Hi," you say. "You found me."

Mark looks up, mouth open in a shocked expression. His neck is still red from the sun; and it creeps down onto the skin of his bare collarbones. "I didn't- I didn't see you there. Your shirt is the same color as the grass."

"Huh?" In your sleepy daze, you look down at your sleeve and notice that is does match the ground. Maybe Mark really didn't notice you. Maybe this is all fate. "Oh. Sorry then."

"No!" Mark crosses his legs. "No! Uh, I wanted to find you. I just thought you wanted me to wait until I was finished with the aloe."

"That was just an excuse," you say sheepishly. 

Mark is in his uniform (sans the jerkin). Leather pants and a violet shirt, untied at the chest. His skin is still colored, but it seems a bit more pink than the bright red it was yesterday. "It's been working then?"

Mark looks down at his chest and clothed shoulders and nods. "Yeah, uh— It's been working. So, uh, what are you doing here?"

"I'm just taking a nap away from the sun," you say. You roll onto your back and look up, eyes locked at the giant star that shines through the lemon tree leaves. 

"Why would you want to be away from the sun?" Mark narrows his eyes, shoulders hunched over as he reaches for the rabbit. 

"Her name is Garnet," you say. "And the sun is harmful. It can hurt your skin and your eyes. It's better to stay cool."

Mark picks up Garnet and snuggles her into his chest. "I don't think I could ever stay away from the sun. I love the warmth."

"Seems so," you murmur. Mark seems to exude warmth. Seems to radiate the sun itself, like Apollo personally kissed his shoulders; his cheeks; his lips, and Mark shines more golden than the sun at times. Especially when he smile, he seems to personify the sunbeams. "You should stay here with me."

"In the shade?"

"Lay beneath the sun," you reach your hand out.

Mark looks surprised, his golden eyes shining with a sort of gleam that rivals the lake surface. He lays down beside you in the sun and takes your hand in his. "Okay."

You smile, heart full at the action, and even though Mark seems sleepy, you will yourself to stay awake and immortalize each moment in your memory. 

And when his breathing slows; when you think he's finally asleep, he turns on his side and faces you. "Is this... Is this enough for you?"

Something unsaid slips between his words, like finality. Like, this may be all you'll ever get, and he wants to know if it's enough.

You smile at him. You can the sun in the reflection of his eyes; feel the soft grass beneath your skin; the warmth of Mark's hand in yours. 

"This is more than enough."

[jaeminlore]

bard!taeil ^_^

commissioned by @warmau luv u thank you for giving me free reign i’m sorry i used it all on world building

words: 5k+

a/n: sorry this is a bit late ! also for any mistakes !

okay first thought when given free reign of a story is PRINCE or ROYAL bc that is where my mind is for every story i love a good castle moment

i just think they’re neat ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

but yknow i was thinking about bards and also my skyrim game and how annoying yet precious the bards are in the inn. and if that is not taeil i will eat my own foot,,,,, like omg i forgot his name i think it’s mikael?? he’s at the inn in riften!!! i beat him up to preserve the honor of some lady and now we’re best friends ^_^ anyways he’s lovable and it makes me think of taeil

i miss taeil i read a post about how precious he is and it made me feel some type of way ,,,,, my favorite taeil era was cherry bomb bc the CHOKER and the EYELINER and he just felt like the embodiment of that tiktok sparkly filter

okay now that that’s over

this story is set in a lone kingdom called intima,,,, intima is a word meaning the heart of something and it’s where the word intimacy comes from and it makes me feel warm and happy so i assume it will make the people of intima happy too !!!!! it’s an island centered around the sun — and YOU my dear reader are the eldest princess, the first before six younger siblings !!!

as the oldest, the throne is in your future, and you are set to be the reigning queen WHICH you are quite excited about this isn’t one of those aus where you hate your kingdom and your job and serving,, you LOVE your people and your culture and you genuinely can’t wait to become queen

i’m going to set the world!!!! bc world-building gives me endorphins >.>

intima is a HEAVILY floral-filled island. the clivia (or bush lily) is the capitol flower, often associated with patriotism or pride for intima as an island!!! it’s the flower people pin to their chest during coronations or royal festivals!! and the yellow/orange/coral shades are often what you and your siblings wear to represent yourselves and your island.

intima is a land of equality!!! bc i said so!! and also because the culture is purely built on gratitude and kindness ,,,,, i like to think the spirituality or “religion” in the culture is the worship of the sun and the warmth it brings,,,, a sort of serving the thing that shines a path for the hopeless!!!! there are hundreds of poems and legends and songs about the sun and who she once was and why she blesses intima with her harvests and all kinds of other things and i do have the time to get into it but i know all of you do not

intima also believes that art is hard work!!! and it’s one of the most respected jobs there are!!! like a busker or a street painter are often praised and it’s expected of islanders to tip them and stay to praise them a bit!!! and usually they’ll sell their art (if that’s what they made) afterwards!!!! and poets will read for the children and adults alike and they’ll sell their services to like,,, people who struggle to put their words down on paper and it’s all very helpful and lovely

farmers and fishermen are well respected as well!!!! ofc they bring the food in and the vendors at the marketplace sell them while the artists keep entertainment going. it’s a lovely system and often as the seasons change people will shift their jobs so a vendor will decide to create for a season or a fisherman may decide he wants to sell wares,,, it’s a system so that people can enjoy where they are as well as express they’re creativity properly

and the wealth is distributed equally so that no one goes hungry!!! everyone helps each other out to find a job that fits them!!! and not many people take advantage of the system because it’s quite shameful to refuse helping your fellow neighbor

so yes!!! kindness and helping each other out is not only expected but it is often an indicator of how respected you are as a member of society

ungrateful people get the shame cone >:(

the island is HUGE and set in a sort of jagged star shape, with villages and markets surrounding the castle itself!!! and there’s a moat surrounding the castle made from the streams that trail in from the sea ,,,, and the harbors are quite beautiful if you stand atop the castle walls you can see the ships come and go and it is just *chef’s kiss* immaculate

and the moat is so beautiful i can just imagine the ferns!! like palm brush ferns and tiger lilies and birds of paradise just lining either side of the moat,,, so pretty :( and the moat isn’t to keep people out!!! it’s actually a natural pool for the villagers when it gets too hot :)!! but otherwise the drawbridge is always down so people can come and go throughout the courtyards

similarly, the castle walls run down the island as main roads, leading to the actual castle where the main courtyard sits.

you and your siblings are very personal with your subjects, and it’s not uncommon for the princes and princesses to walk hand in hand with those of a lower class than them,,,, esp bc there isn’t really a class system in place. since wealth is evenly distributed,,,, it’s evenly distributed to the royals as well, and everyone lives comfortably. the only added expense are gifts!!! so if there’s a birthday or something more wealth might be offered to the recipients by default

the courtyards!!! are so beautiful!!! there are four in total but the one i want to focus on is the coronation courtyard!!! this is the courtyard where the coronations and celebrations are held!!!

but when there aren’t any coronations, it’s where people hang out to have picnics or sell their wares or tell stories!!!

and this is where we see taeil!!!!

every day our hero brings his life and ~sings~ a different story to whoever happens to be walking by. he’s actually hugely popular with many of intima’s people,,,, mostly because his voice is like HONEY and his smile reminds everyone of home

he has like,,,,, kind big brother who only comes home for thanksgiving but each time is more memory-filled than the last energy ,,,,, anyways

you don’t actually notice him at first!!! because usually he isn’t in the coronation courtyard.

also you’re too busy planning your OWN coronation

#queenshit and all you know the vibes

it actually isn’t until yuta points out that there is a “very tiny man singing about how beautiful you are” in the courtyard that you’re actually like,,,, okay,,,,,, interesting..?

and at first you’re like shut up yuta i’m trying to work on seating placements you know ten from iacto can’t sit beside donghyuck from stella or they’ll start a prank war during MY coronation

also there are a lot of people who write songs about you and your siblings that’s just how the vibes are !!!!!

you and your siblings are known for your beauty and kindness, so many creatives often use y’all as muses

so you just brush it off

and go back to your planning

which actually consists of you begging your advisors to make little goodie bags for everyone on the entire island (they WILL eventually agree because who doesn’t want a small bee charm necklace or some cleansing crystals)

but i digress

it’s not until you visit the courtyard to finalize the seating arrangements that you actually see the man your brother was talking about

at first you don’t even realize it’s the same person

sure, this man is short, but he is nothing like the unattractie picture you painted in your mind. not that short men are unattractive, but most men who hit on you are often uhhhh creepy and old bc intima is a beautiful place but men are still a disease

this man is, dare you say it, handsome.

like prettily handsome

his hair is a warm chestnut that falls over his eyebrows in loose curls. strands curl and bend around his ears and his eyes are lined with what seems like kohl

his lips are pursed, and he’s too far away for you to hear him, but he seems to be singing

you tear your eyes away from his coral-colored jerkin and try to focus on the seating arrangements

in the end, you leave the work to your advisors, choosing to break away and listen to the lonesome bard

and just IMAGINE for a moment taeil singing like real people do by hozier

just taeil singing any hozier song i cannot get over the thought of it >_>

those are the vibes for this story

taeil a sexy irish bog man

not really but i’ll bookmark the idea for later !!!!

okay so imagine him singing real people do or sunshine and it’s so gentle and warm coming from his mouth that you’re entranced at the very start of it,,,, you’ve heard tales of sirens luring sailors into the sea,,, and they’ve always sounded quite far fetched but now that you’re hearing taeil’s voice you’re like,,,,,, maybe it’s possible

you sidle up to another listener and ask for his name

“taeil moon”

it’s a befitting name. you run it over your tongue for a good while until it feels familiar,,, and when the song is finally over, you clap and shout a few praises, thinking your voice would get caught in the crowd

but taeil catches your gaze, and he strums a sour note on his lute. it’s a swift apology and an even swifter exit as he leaves the courtyard.

you watch him go, unsure as to why he seemed so uncomfortable knowing you were there. “is he alright?” you ask the same listener who told you taeil’s name. they answer, “he’s never left a set before. perhaps you frightened him, princess.”

you DID frighten him. moving into taeil’s point of view, the man has been declaring his infatuation with you for months now and you’ve never come to listen. he suddenly feels naked and vulnerable,,, the one person he chose to write songs about is the future queen and he could very well be executed for such unauthorized poetry

(as if executing is something intima didn’t outlaw ages ago)

so taeil is just a tiny bit dramatic, and he clings to the honest hope that you came to his show late and didn’t hear his declaration. his “all my love songs of now and forever after are for the princess y/n” that he starts every set with. he feels like a fool, so he finds himself hiding in the royal gardens, far behind the brush and hedges, where a lone forgotten fountain rusts. still water bubbles out of the spout, but there isn’t enough for the fountain to actually flow, so it just makes an incredibly awkward gurgling sound as taeil strums his lute and tries to collect his thoughts

taeil doesn’t just like you because you’re the princess. it goes so much deeper than that; he has one faint memory of his graduation out of bards college (it’s a thing in skyrim so it’s a thing in my au) and it consists of you meeting with all of the graduates and giving them each a bush lily from your own personal garden,,,,,,, you also wrote everyone a handwritten letter addressing them by name !!!!!!!!!

and it’s not much to go by at all, and taeil would feel incredibly foolish even bringing up the memory, or the fact that he keeps the card in his memeriy box,,,,, because it’s obvious that you don’t remember him from it, but he can still remember the color of your eyes up close, and he knows what it feels like to be on the receiving end of your smile,, and just the memory of your fingers grazing his when you handed him the flower and card makes his cheeks warm with childlike fondness

he’s a fool, he knows. he’s also a coward, because he ran at the very sight of you

“you ran off before i could tell you how lovely your voice is.”

taeil falls into the rusting fountain as soon as you round the hedge. he has no idea how you managed to find him, but he can’t really think much about it because he’s soon coughing and shivering from the cold and dirty water he’s just fallen into. he mourns his lute,,,,,, just floating in the shallow water ,,,,,, it’s not dead it’s just wet :/

“oh dear i’m so sorry!” you grab his hand and help him out of the fountain, wincing at the way his clothes cling to his body. (Wait. wait. taeil’s lil baby tummy.... through the sheer shirt,,,,,,, like after he takes off his jerkin to dry it out :(((( omg he’s so cute) “i just wanted to compliment you.”

“thank you, princess,” taeil manages to get out. he paints a smile on his face even though he feels like he’s never been put in a more awkward situation. “it means a lot, honestly.” he decides to avoid the topic of having a crush on you, because he thinks he has experienced plenty of embarrassing moments today, thank you very much. so he changes the topic completely. “good luck, uh, on your coronation. i’m looking forward to it.”

you lower yourself into a mock curtsy. “why thank you. save me a dance during the after party, won’t you?”

taeil nods, not trusting himself to speak, and you bid him goodbye

y’all know taeil’s face where he’s just cheesin. like :D

that’s his face for the rest of the day. and every day up until the coronation !!!!!!

and you visit him!!!! when you can !!!!!!!!

taeil has a very easygoing personality i feel like after the initial awkwardness he’d actually be the one to initiate a friendship!!! like sometimes he leaves you letters by the old fountain !!!!!! :((((

and taeil’s letters are very friendly but every once in awhile he’ll slip in song lyrics that make your heart flutter!!!! just imagine your favorite love song or folk song written out by taeil to you because he learned it and it made him think of you :(( i’m crying and i know you’re crying

one day you have a picnic!!!!!!!!! and it’s just the two of you and taeil thinks he should be nervous but he genuinely does enjoy your company,,,,, and he kinda sort of slowly starts to think of you less as a muse and more as a friend,,,,,, or even maybe a potential ,,,,,,,,, l o v e r oooohhhhhhhh,,,, omg it’s so cute tho he lays out a blanket in front of the fountain and the two of you eat sandwiches and apple juice and :(( eventually the sun makes you both a lil tired so you fall asleep side by side

and you get kind of flustered when you wake up beside taeil like oh 😳 okay 😳 now 😳

the two of you hang around each other in secret. not because it’s against the law or it would be publicized or anything like that,,,, intima is a very casual island and no one would bother the two of you too much,,,,,,,,, but taeil feels like a little secret you aren’t sure you want to share ,,, also your brothers and sisters would tease you relentlessly for giving your time to someone KNOWN for singing love songs about you

your friendship w taeil feels a bit like a bird feather on a windy day,,,,,,, like one hesitant breath could blow him away,,,,,,,, but taeil is so FUNNY and warm and gentle and COMFORTABLE that you slowly start to feel yourself fall for him.

taeil is a story-telling bard in the way that the songs he sings often tell stories of his life or the life of someone famous, installed in their hearts from the moment they were all in elementary school. like imagine him singing a tale about the greek gods or norse mythology or perhaps he goes and bit more fairytale and songs of thumbalina or sleeping beauty

he’s an amazing storyteller, so much so that when the two of you hang out, he often recites some form of verse to you, especially if it’s a legend you love dearly (SIRENS) ,,,,,, but the one thing that kind of irritates you is that he has yet to sing you one of his legendary songs that are “supposedly” for you

you’re not trying to be prideful, but this is the lovely singer everyone has told you about, and you still haven’t heard any of his original songs. or at least, his original songs dedicated to you. you’re very curious to see what you look like in taeil’s eyes, even though it might make you feel horribly vulnerable.

and taeil is like :) obviously :) i’m not going to sing love songs :) about my crush :) to my crush :)

but it’s whatever.

what i want to talk about is the coronation babey !!!!!!!!!!!

it’s very public,,, in the middle of the courtyard,,, and all the market stalls are up selling their wares to the large crowd!!!!! and kids are playing in the moat !!!!! sort of a summer festival and you’re the main event lol. like some people will gather and watch the coronation and some people will be off dancing on the other side of the courtyard but everyone is celebrating the same thing!!

and this is a high fantasy setting so there aren’t any modern things like microphones or speakers aside from a copper horn or smth ,,, but it’s all very fun and festive!!!!

merchants are selling banners of orange and gold,,, yellow roses and tiger lilies,,,,,,, flower crowns and faux scepters for the little kids!!!!!! and there’s lively music for people to dance and celebrate to,,,,,, and can you guess who is in charge of the music !!!!?! TAEIL

he’s got an entire band leading the courtyard and it’s all traditional songs for the most part of taeil is able to slip in a few love songs now and again. and ofc everyone loves them bc they know taeil and OBV it’s hard to hate taeil

but :( you aren’t really focusing on the music since it’s such a big day for you but if you were you’d know that taeil is singing his original songs :((( all the love songs about you,,,,,,,,,,

and i SWEAR i can imagine taeil singing hozier-esque songs..... omg or like mystery of love ,,,,, imagine him singing mystery of love on one side of the courtyard while you’re getting crowned queen on the other side

that image is something that can be so personal to me ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

:(((( and you’re dressed in a tan and peach maiden dress,,,, cloaked in golden silk with day lilies tucked in your hair,,,,,,,,, omg or BRAIDED into your hair,,,,,, you just look like a sun goddess okay golden by harry styles are the vibes ALRIGHT babes,,,, and there’s a speech to be made and someone made cake for the masses,,, so you get a bit caught up it everything

taeil isn’t really in the crowd for the coronation as i already stated before ,,,,, but he can kind of hear everything that’s happening and it makes him just smile to himself as he messes with his lute :((( omg if you guys haven’t heard you are gold by the national parks THATS the song taeil sings as the celebrations are dying down

and all the street lanterns are lit and people are quieting down and eating or chatting or rounding up their kids for bedtime !! omg little kids racing past and giggling, their flower crowns askew as they shout about becoming a queen one day :( that’s so cute esp to imagine taeil watching them fondling and waving at them as they pass

and there are fireflies all around!!!! lighting the pathway!!! it’s just so cute and soft and lovely think tangled at last i see the light scene OKAY except it’s not on water it’s a festival and it’s beautiful every seems to be glowing in the light

this au is partially inspired by tangled,,, or the kingdom of corona (lol) so

anyways back to you are gold

the chorus is as so: “you are gold / you are all i see / you are aurum scarce and meant for kings / and i will wait if it’s time you need / what i see in you i hope you find in me.”

and can’t you just SEE taeil singing that absentmindedly not really knowing that you’re making your way to him and then he just looks up during the final chords and he just,,,,,,, fumbles the music and his voice cracks a little (but how COULDNT it bc you’re so beautiful and angelic and taeil could easily picture the stars against your skin and in the shade of your eyes)

“h-hi,” he stutters. “you look. nice.” :D

i think taeil is pretty confident with his feelings but i also feel like he can be quite clumsy with them as well. if that makes sense. but on the other hand confessing to the now-queen of your island is a bit much and taeil isn’t really ready to be rejected on a regal level.

“thank you,” you say. AND!!! you can feel your cheeks get hot because taeil is quite handsome and you DEFINITELY heard the last few lyrics of the song and it ignited feelings inside of you that you weren’t sure you’ve felt much of before.

you kind of just want to take his hand and go spend some ~ alone time ~ with him ^_^

“you know,” you sit down beside him and wrap your cloak around yourself. “everyone has been telling me that you’re quite famous for dedicating your love songs to me. how come i haven’t heard such declarations?”

taeil’s ears turn red and he smiles down at the lute in his lap. “isn’t it a bit disrespectful to make you listen to all the songs i write for you?”

“i want to hear them!! genuinely!!”

can you just IMAGINE taeil holding eye contact and singing sunshine by hozier >:( or like ANY song by ray montangue for today we’re pretending taeil wrote all of these

hold you in my arms by ray montangue YOO :((

just taeil strumming and singing sort of under his breath because he doesn’t really want anyone else to share this lil moment with you. and he’s so sweet like i imagine after he sings he doesn’t expect any praise and he certainly doesn’t expect you to confess your love or anything like that

bc taeil is a respectful future king

LIKE JUST IMAGINE kind of grabbing his face and just giving him a lil kiss,,,,, a lil smooch,,,,, if you will

taeil is probably rlly pretty just after being kissed like his eyelashes would flutter so prettily and it would be so soft like he’d just press his forehead against yours and then omg a FOREHEAD KISS like a really gentle one

you would be so important to taeil like i think he would just be so gentle with you in every way

the relationship is a slower one,,,,,, you have queenly duties and he’s still working as a busker,,,,, getting ready to help the merchants in the winter,,,,,,,

but the two of you make time. it’s similar to before, you just set up picnics, or sometimes you watch him sing, and he’ll write you love songs and send them to you through a letter,, stamping with purple wax,,,

and taeil is always so sweet :( i think he’s more of a casual lover in the sense that he doesn’t need pda or loud declarations in order to make you feel loved flashback to him dedicating every love song to you in the middle of the square but he’d be the type to just hold your hand around the courtyard,, or he’d just send you soft smiles from the other side of the marketplace

he’s the time to buy you a basket of your favorite fruits and deliver them personally to your door

everyone in the castle just lets taeil into the chambers section at this point

the two of you will swim in the moat and play hopscotch with the village children or go shopping together or take naps beneath the afternoon sun and with taeil by your side it’s all so fond and precious and some times you’ll go days or weeks without seeing him just because of schedules but it’s never awkward when the two of you get back together

and it’s actually not until some of your very own villagers are coming up to you like hey,,,,, why haven’t you made taeil your partner yet?? he’s so precious and sweet and he would look lovely in a crown 👀👀

and uhhh who are you to argue with that lmao

so you buy taeil a ring

a pearl !!!! encased in silver <3333 i like to think that the tales he sang to you about sirens often slides to a pearl of some sorts,, so you make sure it’s the rock you place on the ring

and you take him back to that rusty old creaky old ugly old fountain :)

and you just,,,,,, ask him to marry you ,,,,,,,,,,

ofc taeil says yes, a bit frozen because the two of you have talked about marriage but only briefly,,, and he wasn’t sure you’d ever take that step so he didn’t want to pressure you

taeil ofc has always been ready,,, his soul is more open than yours if that makes sense !!! which isn’t a bad thing but he has definitely been ready for a lifetime with you for a long time now

and it’s a long-ish engagement i feel like

not that it really matters but it’s more of a betrothement !!!! so the two of you are technically already married even before the ceremony if that makes sense??? like everyone alludes to taeil as the consort and the two of you live together and receive gifts of betrothement and !!! it’s quite sweet and it’s the way they do things in intima

also you guys aren’t in a big hurry for another ceremony esp bc yuta’s coronation is coming up and you don’t want to take any of his spotlight

king!yuta hold up

but yeah taeil is a wonderful consort !! doesn’t do much yet politically bc he isn’t especially versed in politics but he’s learning!!! he’s really good at keeping a good energy in the room even if two ambassadors are fighting taeil will just be vibing like :-D and it often calms tensions

he’s just a GREAT person and a helpful ruler even tho he really doesn’t even have to be,,,, he’s just a consort,,,, but he still takes the effort to learn genuine laws and help guide the people

the people are obviously obsessed with him,,, they wouldn’t ask for another consort because he’s so kind with all of them

still sings in the courtyard as his job ,,, and the people love it just as much ^_^ esp because now all the songs are openly for you and about you and it makes people more fond of you as well

taeil creates y/n propaganda pass it on

but he works in the castle too,, and he’s a fast learner especially when it comes to settling arguements within the village or even within the court,,,, he also sets up festivals !! he’s wonderful at it !! genuinely !! taeil as an interior designer i can just see it man him designing flower arrangements and the setlist and just !! being a wonderful host

and tbh you’re very thankful because it’s nice to rule with siblings but it’s even nicer to rule with a soulmate

and taeil feels just like that — a soulmate, a missing piece of the puzzle,,,,,

and if intima is the sun , if you who rules it is the sun, then taeil is the moon,, and it’s quite obvious that the two of you were made for each other

perhaps in the future the two of you will have kids or adopt

or you guys get a puppy!!! i can see you w a puppy and taeil with a kitten and the two lil pets just follow you guys around omg

the two of you fix up the old fountain so it isn’t rusty or squeaky anymore

you guys find rocks out on the shore and create a new bed at the bottom of the fountain

and guess what!!!! you guys write little wishes on the rocks and invite everyone else to do the same with the idea that once the fountain is filled with wishes, you’ll hold a festival where you put the wishes back into the sea to be completed

omg how cute would that be like a yearly thing where the fountain would be filled with rocks and everyone gets a handful to take down to the beach and throw into the sea

it’s where lovers write their names and people confess to their crushes and anniversaries and birthdays are celebrated and it’s where artists write pictures and poets write verses and people write prayers to the sun

and it’s where you and taeil announce your first pregnancy >.<

and it’s really soft

the place between the sea and the sun is where your love lies

where your family lives

omg taeil singing lullabies to his baby :( HES be such a sweet dad

i feel like taeil already has a family just by his vibes yknow

but say it’s a daughter he’d teach her how to play the lute and he’d buy her her own

he’d let her express herself in any way and identify however she’d want and love whoever she wanted

he’d be an AMAZING father and husband and king

ANYWAYS to conclude

this was fun to write and i hope it made sense i know it’s all over the place but in conclusion taeil is sexy and deserves to be loved

[jaeminlore]

Season’s Greetings | Mark

series timeline | playlist

summary: you’re the only constant in mark’s life, and he wants to keep it that way / as the seasons change, our love will not

words: 1.9k+

category: prince!mark, fashion advisor!reader, read seasons first to feel more emotions >:)

Sometime in the middle of the night, the fire went out, leaving nothing but stray embers atop the hearth. 

The morning chill of winter is biting, so you do your best to snuggle into the covers and absorb as much warmth as you can. Your blankets do little to fight off the chill that rushes through your veins, but you’re too cold to leave them. A shiver rakes down your spine, causing you to audibly whine in discomfort. You should get up and stoke the fire. Then you can fall back to sleep. It’s your day off anyway. You have all the time in the world to snuggle into the covers.

The door to your bedroom opens, and you hear the voice of your favorite person. “Love,” Mark says, voice slightly stern. “Are you trying to freeze yourself to death?”

“No,” you grumble, hugging yourself to try and preserve some warmth. “But it’s too cold to get out of bed.”

“It’s too cold to stay in bed without a fire going,” he scolds you, no real bite to his voice.

You slowly pry your eyes open and watch him kneel in front of the fire and start to stoke it. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

Mark scoffs fondly, shaking his head. “Only when I do things for you.”

“Is it my fault that the only times I feel particularly affectionate happen to fall on the exact times that you’re doing things for me?”

Small flames appear in the fireplace, and you let out a genuine whoop of joy. “Thank you, Mark.”

Mark makes his way over to you and sits on the bed, reaching down to brush your hair off of your neck. He’s wearing a blue sweater as opposed to his usual shirtless sleepwear. The cold must be getting to him to. “You’re welcome,” he says, eyes traveling across your face. “Can I stay here for a bit? I miss you.”

The way he says the words so openly, as if he isn’t right in front of you, makes your heart warm up even quicker than the fireplace does. “I’ve missed you, too. But I’m glad Donghyuck has been found. It’s been far too long.”

You reach up; brush your knuckles across Mark’s cheek. He leans into your touch and lets out a sad sigh. “It’s been a nightmare waiting for news. You should’ve seen him, Y/n. He’s taller and tanner and he looks worn. Like he’s been through things. And when I hugged him, he just burst into tears. And then I burst into tears, and the entire throne room was a flood hazard.”

“I know,” you say, chest squeezing at the painful thought of what could’ve happened to the Eastern Prince while he was away. “I think it’s going to be a bit emotional while things get back to normal.”

“You know it’ll never be the same, though. Not for Donghyuck.”

“No,” you agree. “But he’ll be okay.” The reassurance eases Mark into dropping his shoulders. “He needs space and a lot of time.”

Mark huffs. He’s frustrated and upset, which is completely understandable, but you wish he wouldn’t put so much on his own shoulders. He doesn’t have to carry the weight all by himself. Donghyuck is safe now, and Mark should be able to rest easy. Instead, he just seems more stressed.

“Come here.” You tug on his sleeve until he complies and sinks down onto your mattress. He lets you warm your arms around him. You press your nose into the crook of his neck and press a few chaste kisses against his chilly skin. “You’re doing your best.”

“What if it’s not good enough?” Mark asks. “What if I–“

“What if you’ve been the best friend to Donghyuck with the circumstance given? Mark, please let yourself rest. You can’t fix every problem by yourself. Donghyuck is safe tonight, okay?“ 

“Yeah.”

You smile at the relief in his voice, thankful to feel his shoulders release some of the tension they’ve been holding. “Yeah,” you agree, kissing his skin again. This time, behind his ear, and it causes a small sigh to escape his lips. “Rest now, okay? I’ll be here until you wake up.”

Mark finally allows himself the option of sinking himself into your hold. He falls asleep in less than ten minutes, and you fall shortly after, thankful that he’s receiving a time of respite.

-

You toss the last miniature sweater onto the pedestal and sigh. “Okay. Winter break starts now.”

“Aw,” Mark coos, picking up a small dress. “This is so tiny.”

“That’s because a baby will be wearing it, genius.”

Mark sticks his tongue out at you before folding the dress. He begins to fold all the clothes. “I’ll get these sent out to Yukhei tomorrow. The children at the orphanage are going to love these.”

“I know,” you whisper excitedly. “Ugh, I miss those two. I hope we can visit them soon.”

“I’m sure they’ll come visit after all of the holidays,” Mark comforts.

You slouch down, ignoring the way your fellow tailors giggle at you. “I want them to have a baby.”

Mark laughs. He leans forward and rubs your chin with the pad of his thumb. “I want us to have a baby.”

“Shut up,” you tell him. Your neck feels hot at Mark’s blunt confession, and you avoid the tailors, who are certainly eavesdropping by now. “We aren’t even married, Mark. Don’t you think that’s a bit scandalous?”

Mark opens his mouth, and you’re pretty sure you know what he’s going to say. He’s going to say that it isn’t like the two of you aren’t already “scandalous”. But the tailors don’t need to know that, and you certainly don’t care to have your personal life spread around the castle. 

You clamp your hand over his mouth. “You’re far too impulsive.”

“I’m careful,” Mark says. “I’ve been giving us a lot of thought lately and while I love you–“

“Mark, are you breaking up with me?”

“No!” Mark sighs in exasperation. Then, addressing the tailors, “Could you please leave us alone for a moment?”

When the door is shut, Mark grabs your hands. “I want a future for us, Y/n. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and I don’t know where this relationship is going right now. I want to know that we’re getting somewhere. That there’s a future.”

“Mark,” you cup the prince’s face, and you can feel his cheeks warm up beneath your touch. “There has always been a future. Just because we aren’t married and I’m not pregnant doesn’t mean it won’t happen, okay? We have a future, love, don’t worry.”

Mark sighs. He closes his eyes, and you like the way his entire face seems to relax. “Okay.”

-

Though the North Kingdom is always freezing, it’s only during wintertime that the lakes completely freeze over, and the people are able to go ice skating.

You’re a pro at it: always have been. Mark, however, is much like a fawn, struggling to keep upright on the ice.

You don’t mind, since it’s a chance to hold his hand.

Guiding Mark around the ice is easy. He trusts you completely (even when you skate backwards), and follows you down to the more risky part of the lake, where you like to skate.

“I can’t believe my wife is making me do this,” he says, wobbling on the ice.

“Wife?” You catch his slip up with a raised eyebrow. “Watch it, stud.”

Mark flounders, struggling with the decision to let go of your hands in embarrassment or stay and confess his sins. “I didn’t mean to.”

You pull him towards you. 

Mark grabs at your waist to regain his balance. “You’re teasing me.”

“I am,” you say. “Mark, you’ve been saying a lot of weird things lately.”

Mark’s ears are pink. “Yeah... I don’t know why that is... It must be the change in the weather.”

You lean forward and kiss him, smiling at the way he seems to melt into your hold. After your first night with him, it hasn’t taken long to figure out that Mark just wants attention and reassurance. Luckily, you’ve been practicing reassuring Mark since you were young, and giving him attention has never been too hard.

Mark’s fingers clench at the waist of your dress. “I really love you, that’s all,” he confesses.

“I love you more,” you whisper. 

-

“Catch me if you can!” You run away from Mark, yanking up the skirts of your dress as the two of you run through the snow.

It fell last night in sheets, freezing over the castle. While the staff was given the day off, and chose to stay warm indoors — where Mark’s father prepared a warm feast — the two of you leave it in favor of a good old fashioned snowball fight.

Mark has a snowball in his hand, but he won’t toss it. You know this because Mark worries a lot about hurting you, and he prefers to get close enough to just kind of... mush... the snowball into your back.

You love him dearly.

You run into the field, alerting a few wild caribou. “You can’t catch me- Oh!”

You trip over a root, hidden beneath a blanket of snow. You fall into the snow and turn onto your back, giggling at the way the snow seeps beneath your dress.

Mark catches up finally. He kneels beside you and mushes the snowball into your hair, laughing when you shiver in protest.

“Truce!” You shout, grabbing at Mark’s lapels and pulling him down with you.

Mark raises his hands. “Okay. Truce.”

The two of you stay in the snow. When you sit up, Mark leans in and kisses your forehead. “You know I love you, right?”

“You certainly won’t let me forget it,” you tease.

Mark rolls his eyes. “Listen... I know I’ve been talking about our futures lately. And I- I have a question for you.”

Your eyes twinkle. You know exactly what Mark is going to do. Partly because he’s not very secretive, and partly because you saw the box on his nightstand early this week.

Again, Mark has never been very subtle.

Mark pulls a black velvet box out of his pocket. He opens it, hands shaking, to reveal two rings. They’re silver bands with northern runes engraved into them. 

You can see the words he’s had engraved. “As the seasons change, our love will not.”

“Y/n, I want to marry you,” Mark says.

You hold you hand out, sniffing to hold back the tears. “Mark, just put the ring on my finger before I burst into tears!”

Mark giggles nervously; joyously. “Okay.”

He takes one of the rings and slips it onto your finger. Then he hands you the other one. “Can you-“

You grab the remaining ring and slip it onto his finger. “I would love to marry you, Mark.”

“Great,” Mark says, eyes bright. “Good, great. Wonderful. I’m so excited.”

You grab his shoulders and pull him close. You kiss him once, twice, a third time before he’s smiling so much that you can’t. “Stop smiling so I kiss you,” you say.

“I can’t,” Mark giggles. He cups your face and presses his forehead against yours. “I’m too happy.”

The snow chills your bones. “We should go inside,” you murmur. “It’s too cold out here.”

“I’m warm as long as I’m with you,” Mark says, then he grimaces at himself. “Was that too cheesy?”

You stand up and hold your hand out for him to take. “Just a little bit.”

[jaeminlore]

The World is Ending and I'm With You

SPINOFF | PLAYLIST (pls listen while you read)

summary: and i won't sleep through this. i survive on the breath you are finished with. words: 6.1k+ category: angst, fluff, suggestive, mark won't stop talking about how he used to be a cub scout warning(s): death, religion mention, death mention, implied sex ohoho i'm getting bold, littering (not from mark bc he's a good boy), unedited a/n: john mayer song that's kind of an easter egg, and a poem at the end by someone called s.b.,,, also you don't have to read the spinoff to read this one :) but it does take place in the same universe/timeline.

You never were one for smoking. Your mother always told you it would increase risk of cancer, and in turn, death. But now the world is ending, and your mom hasn't been home in a few days. So, you smoke.

The convenience store you work at doesn't have many packs left. Your manager has some stupid rule about rationing stock now that delivery truck drivers are quitting at a rapid rate. They don't want to be stuck on the freeway when the meteor hits. Which makes sense to you, but it's all your bitter manager seems to complain about.

You take a pack out from behind the clear screen and extract a stick. You're in the middle of lighting it with a lighter that most certainly isn't yours when a wide-eyed boy appears in front of the counter. He dumps a basket full of snacks onto the register, followed by a plethora of hygienic products.

"You worried we'll run out?" You try to joke. Really, this is a small town, and your store is the biggest one in town (which isn't saying much at all.) It's completely possible.

The boy shrugs. "I'm gonna hit the road before everything goes down. I don't want to be here if a riot starts. Also, I want to find my soulmate."

"Don't we all?" You say, blowing smoke out of your mouth.

The boy coughs and gives you a short glare. "Something to look forward to, at least."

You throw the still-lit cigarette across the store. Part of you hopes it will catch on something and burn the store to the ground. But it goes out on the cold linoleum floor. You look at the boy again. "I'll give you all of this for free if you let me come with you."

(Mark isn't sure why he chooses a road trip in the first place. It's not like his beat up old van can outrun the end of the world. Maybe deep down, he hopes it can.

He also isn't sure why he's let you tag along, save for the fact that he really needs to stock up on food, just in case. And he's also lonely. Maybe talking to someone will calm his restless soul.)

-

Mark has a giant van. There's a mattress in the back, complete with a blanket and pillow. He tosses his groceries in the back and clumsily shoves the key in the ignition. "Are you sure about this? I'm going across the country."

You light another cigarette. Five packs stolen from your store sit in his glove compartment. "We have what? A week left? I have nowhere better to be."

He takes this answer and begins to drive. The radio is staticky, but you can make out the preacher's message of salvation in the last days. You wonder if it gives the boy comfort. It gives you anxiety, so you take a long drag and focus on the weird way the cigarette smoke warms your mouth. "I'm Y/n, by the way."

"I'm Mark." He turns down the radio. "I'm pretty sure my soulmate is in California, based on my tattoo."

"Okay," you say, because you really don't care. You haven't believed in soulmates since your parents got divorced. You throw the cigarette out of the window and try not to think about the way your moon tattoo burns against your collarbones. "Does your tattoo say California or something?"

"No, it's just a sun."

You want to call him dumb. Or stupid. Or an idiot. "California isn't the only place on earth with a sun, you know. And apart from that, it's a huge state. How are you gonna find your soulmate in a week?"

Mark takes an anxious sip of his gas station slushee. "I know it's stupid, okay? But I feel drawn there, so it's my only shot."

You lower the sun visor and grab the pair of aviators that are hooked onto it. "Well I feel drawn to the sea, so let's go to the beach first."

(Mark wants to tell you that he knows he won't find his soulmate. His soulmate is probably dead with the rest of the world that got caught in the atmosphere change. His soulmate is probably farther than California, but for some reason the state is stuck in his mind.

He remembers his aunt's beach house. Solar generators for electricity and water. A familiar place to stay in the end. But for now, he wants to take his chances on the road. He doesn't want to be dormant, and he knows you don't either.)

-

Mark hits Oregon at three in the morning. He nods off once and veers into the side of the highway before you finally convince him to pull over for the night.

He parks at a truck stop and the two of you take showers, using what products you and Mark bought (stole). You use more than you need. Shampoo gets in your eyes.

Your eyes are still burning when you meet up with Mark at the van. He's already asleep, an open bag of chips beside him. He must've been too tired to even eat.

The back of the van is covered in those battery-powered clip-on fans from the mall kiosks. Mark told you earlier that he had bought them on sale. You had asked earlier why he hadn't just stolen them.

He told you he believes in heaven, and doesn't want to hurt his chances of getting there. You told him you don't think good works matter anymore.

You eat the chips and fall asleep beside him, ignoring him as he mumbles random phrases in his sleep.

(Mark lays down on the mattress. The van is hot, even with the windows cracked, even with the cheap fans, so Mark feels his skin beginning to get sticky with sweat. He doesn't want to eat. He doesn't want to sleep. He doesn't want to breathe in this foggy air and think about the inevitable.

He wishes you would just come out of the shower and join him. He waits for what seems like ages, until he's too worn out to keep his eyes open. He falls into a restless sleep, not noticing the way the mattress dips when you join him.)

-

"My dad was a mafia boss," you say, spitting a sunflower seed shell onto the dashboard. The Clash is playing from Mark's radio, and the station wavers in and out as you drive across state lines.

"Really?" You've found that Mark's eyes grow obnoxiously big when he's surprised about something. His mouth forms a little 'o' shape and his voice grows softer. It's adorable, so you make it your mission to surprise him as much as you can. That, and road trips are pretty boring when the world is ending.

"No."

"Come on!" Mark pouts. You can see it in your peripheral vision. "Stop lying to me. I bet your dad doesn't even have a cool job."

"Guess then," you taunt. "By the way, we passed the California-Oregon state line like, five minutes ago."

Mark gasps and rolls down the window, looking back towards the passing highway, as if the sign is going to still be there. "I can't believe I missed it! This could be it. This is where we find our soulmates."

You spit out another shell. "I'm hoping my soulmate's name is Long Beach because that's where I'm going."

"Let's stay together," Mark says. He's biting his thumbnail, eyes towards the empty road in front of him. "I don't know how many more of us will be left."

You want to correct him and say that there are plenty of people left, and yet you know that a lot of people took the pill. Or got sick. Or killed in a raid. Funny, a meteor is scheduled to hit the earth and people decide to leave early. Or they lose their humanity entirely, and take people out with them. Truthfully, there aren't many people left at all.

"Okay," you say. Your eyes stay on his face a little longer than necessary. You take note of his wide, innocent eyes and wonder if he even understands what's happening. Or maybe he just looks like that. But really, all it does is make you want to protect him from the inevitable.

Maybe there's a secret spaceship you can hide him in, and he can start a new, albeit solitary, life on the moon.

You'd never make it to Area 51 in time. That's where they keep the spaceships, right?

(Mark doesn't know how to tell you that he doesn't even care about this stupid soulmate thing. He just doesn't want to be alone. He doesn't want to say that, because it means he has to vocally admit that he is alone. Truly. Not by choice.

He was out of town when his family got the flu. The atmosphere got too much. Whatever sickness killed and left as soon as it came, took them too. And he had to go. He had to get out, as far away from the east coast as he could. So he decided on the west coast. And then he decided on you.)

-

"Let's get our tan on!" You joke. The clouds are heavy and dark above the water. It looks like the sky and the water are becoming one, however slowly or quickly. You grab Mark's elbow and pull him towards the sea.

The waves roar against the silence of the land. There's a family down the ways, barely noticeable under the pier. You watch a seagull fly down towards the family and steal something. The little girl shrieks, but you don't know if it's in excitement or fear.

The beach is distractedly empty. No people — save those already mentioned — are anywhere to be seen. There's debris everywhere: old umbrellas, coolers, and towels are half-buried in the sand.

The tide is coming in higher (something the news channel probably warned about) and for some reason, it makes the world feel incredibly small.

Mark has already got his legs in the water. It's lapping at his clothed jeans, but he doesn't seem to mind. His back is turned to you. He's facing the horizon, still and silent.

You hate to ruin this for him, but as the mood grows more dismal, you want to lighten it.

You sneak up behind Mark and jump on his back. Your weight catches him off guard, and the two of you plummet into the cloudy water. Mark yelps when the water hits his torso. You fall in after him and grip his shoulders. Closing your eyes tight, you hold you breath and lift your face above the surface. "Feel refreshed?"

Mark coughs. He rubs his eyes, wincing when the salt reaches beneath his lids. "Why would you do that?"

"It's fun," you say.

Mark begins swimming into the deep water. He looks a bit like a lost child, doggy paddling in the vast sea. He grins, and his lips are a bit lopsided. You notice his cheeks grow hollow when he smiles. "You scared me, Y/n."

The sentence ends timidly, like he isn't sure if he's allowed to say your name out loud. But you like it. It's hesitant and soft; loud because it's the only word spoken for miles; quiet because it's Mark. You wonder briefly how to get him to say your name again.

The two of you swim until you can't touch the sandy floor below you anymore. Mark holds his own, but you struggle a bit. "They were right about the tide getting stronger."

"Here," Mark swims over to you and wraps his arm around your waist. "Stay close to me."

Something akin to reticence settles against the wall of your skull like the numb reminder that this is all very weird. Mark is a stranger, and you're cross-country with only him. It bothers you that your mind is already growing attached; your heart already growing attracted. This is the last thing you need to happen during your last days on this literal godforsaken earth.

You swim back to the shore first and lie on the sand. It clings to your wet skin. The tide laps at your feet. The sun is going down, and the air feels overwhelmingly muggy. You close your eyes.

(Mark thinks about the waves. He thinks about the frequency of your voice when he splashes you. He thinks of how your smile seems even prettier at this time of day. He thinks about the way you pulled back when he asked you to stay. While he knows this isn't exactly the time to fall for someone, he can't help but feel like he's starting to.

He watches you fall asleep in the sand. Your cheeks are red. Your eyelashes flutter against the tops of your cheeks. Your lips are chapped. Mark finds that he wouldn't mind kissing you. Or just simply being by your side.

For a few solitary moments, he doesn't even think about the end. Just the now.)

-

It feels like you blinked, but when you reopen your eyes you find that time has certainly gone by. Mark is sitting a ways away, stoking a makeshift fire.

"I was a Cub Scout," he says.

"I need a smoke." You go back to the van and pull out a pack and a lighter. Your brain feels fuzzy from having fallen asleep on the beach, and your back itches from the sand that has scratched its way down your shirt. To distract yourself, you lean against the van and take a drag; look up towards the sky.

It's a dark reddish black, some ominous code that the world is definitely coming to an end. Clouds swirl hazily against each other and you can see that a storm seems to be forming over the ocean. Months ago this would've been beautiful. An instagram-worthy shot, a coffee pot topic, and nothing more.

Right now it sends a chill down your spine.

You drop the cigarette and head back to where Mark is sitting. He has some kind of pot out over the fire, and what looks like a can of soup inside. The can itself is tucked neatly in the little box Mark has beside him. You wonder why he cares so much about a planet that's already dead. "Thanks. For, uh dinner."

"Yeah," Mark clears his throat and shifts in the sand. "That's what friends are for."

"We're friends now?" You raise your brow at Mark while he hands you a bowl of soup along with a spoon.

"I sure hope so," Mark quips. "I don't make soup for just anybody."

You laugh at that. Your heart stirs in excitement. Your stomach growls, so you ignore the heaviness in your chest and take a bite of your soup.

That night you fall asleep with a belly full of food and sand down your shorts. It's half-ideal, half-hell, but Mark gives you a hug before the two of you tuck in, so it's okay.

(Mark wants to say that he wishes the two of you were friends a lot sooner, but that would be weird. He's only known you for like, three days. Maybe he's delirious.

But he gives you a hug before you fall asleep anyway. He hopes you can't hear how fast his heart is beating. It's stupid anyway, he thinks.)

-

Four days left. Give or take. You aren't completely sure to be honest, and that brings on an entire onslaught of horror that you've never really felt before. There's something so terrifying about this whole thing. It's like you've knocked on Death's door, and you have no idea when he's actually going to open it.

Mark hides it well. He drives the two of you down to Hollywood Boulevard.

It's trashed. What was once the walk of fame is now defaced with graffiti, food, trash, and what looks like human feces. You throw up in the fake bushes and Mark pats your back while you do.

"Guess I won't get my picture with Kermit the Frog then," you joke.

Mark's eyes suddenly widen. He grabs his backpack straps. "There's a Kermit the Frog star?"

"Yeah," you laugh at Mark's expression. "My aunt was obsessed with The Muppets. She had a laminated picture of the star in her sewing room."

Mark bites his lip and averts his eyes. "I have a Polaroid. Not much film, but we might could get a few pictures."

The stars have to be cleared first. Mark comes up with the idea to sneak into one of the restaurants nearby and using their cleaning supplies. And since you have all day and nothing to lose, you agree.

The thing about a large and empty place like Hollywood Boulevard, is that every shadow feels like a threat. Memories of dystopian movies come flooding through your memories when Mark hands you a giant broom. You wonder if some evil man with a god complex is going to come and kidnap you both.

But the only people the two of you ever see is a man in a small shop that looks like it contains weed.

You and Mark sweep away as much debris as you can, while avoiding anything that came out of a human body. The graffiti covers a lot of the stars, but after a few hours of walking and sweeping, the two of you find it.

"Kermit," Mark breathes a side of relief before laughing out loud. His laugh is stark against the silence.

You join him anyway. "I can't believe we found Kermit! My aunt would be so jealous right now."

"Your aunt sounds weird," Mark says, no real bite to his remark.

"She is," you confirm. "She's up in Maine somewhere. At least, you know, last I heard."

Mark senses the change in tone and drops his backpack to the ground. He pulls out a baby pink Polaroid camera. He points it at you. "Say cheese, Y/n."

There's your name on his tongue again. That sound itself has you beaming as you lean against the brooms long handle and cock your head to the side. The camera clicks.

Mark takes out the picture and shakes it before he looks at it. "Cute," he says casually, then he tucks it in his shirt pocket.

"I want to see it," you say. You hope that if you don't acknowledge the warmth in your cheeks, Mark won't either.

"Too bad." He sticks his tongue out at you. And before you can retort, he squats down beside the star. "Okay, let's get a picture of this bad boy."

You squat down too. You match Mark's peace sign and smile in the direction of the lens. The camera clicks.

Nothing comes out. "Shit," Mark mumbles to himself. "I guess I had a lot less film than I thought."

You're about to apologize, feeling like maybe you should've put up a bigger fight when he offered to take your picture.

Mark seems to read your mind. That, or he's just too nice for his own good. He pats his shirt pocket and gives you a generous smile. "Worth it, though."

The sky is getting progressively darker as the two of you walk around, occasionally pointing at places you would've liked to go, had the circumstances been different.

You both eat from snacks you find in a convenience store. You take the rest and leave it in the truck. "What should we do now?" Mark asks.

The light from the store across the street flickers. You look at the neon leaf and then back to Mark. "Have you ever gotten high?"

(Mark has gotten high before, and he tells you so. What he doesn't tell you is that the picture in his pocket is getting heavier as the seconds pass. What he doesn't tell you is that this picture may be the only evidence left of you in a few days. Maybe it will disappear with the rest of them. Mark briefly wonders if a fireproof box would work against the end of the world, and whatever that entails.

He wants to tell you that he would immortalize you in a million different pictures if he could. He would show the dying world a million different ways to breathe again.

Instead, he only nods his head. "Yeah, but it's always fun to do again.")

-

You're positive it's the fact that you've taken one too many hits of whatever joint that weed guy rolled up for you. 'Said it was his best; he was saving it for something special. Since the world is going to hell, he shared it with you.

And now you're in the bed of Mark's van, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the way Mark's lips wrap around the joint. He has a really pretty mouth, you realize, and you want to say it out loud but something heavier takes hold of your chest and you bury it down with all of your other fears and revelations.

Mark coughs. Puffs of smoke blow out into the hot van, and he winces at the smell. "Didn't the guy say this was the special stuff? Why does it still stink?"

You take the joint from him and package it up, hoping to save it for another day (or maybe you just don't want to get so high that you can't focus on Mark's face.)

Mark scrunches his nose and leans back against the cool window of the van. "We should sleep outside tonight. It's too hot in here."

"Under the stars?" you ask. You feel your heartbeat pick up, but it falls just as quickly, and you settle back into the blankets. "Don't wanna move."

"I'll move you," Mark says, a mere whisper against your right side.

You watch him open the trunk. He hops out. "Come on, Y/n. Take my hand."

His hand is warm and calloused and rough and you want to ask him if he can actually play that guitar in the back of his van or if it's just for show. Mark lets you sit on the concrete of the pier. It's warm beneath your skin. Mark parked the van right against the pier, so the two of you could sleep right next to the edge.

While you hang your legs off of the edge, Mark drags the mattress out and pushes it right up to the railing. "Didn't peg you for a stoner."

You grab the blanket he throws at you and lie down on the mattress. "I'm not," you say, no bark to your words. "You're just better at it than me."

"At smoking?" Mark laughs. "I only took one hit. You took, like, four."

"So?" You pout and refuse to return his stare. Instead you try to focus on the stars, and the way their alignments seem off. You wonder if it's the end of the world, or if it's just the weed. "I wish we had more time."

The candor in your voice causes Mark to finally settle down. He lays down. His shoulder brushes against yours, and when his fingers twitch, his knuckles touch yours. It stirs up a gentle longing in your heart. What might be. What never was. You turn to face Mark. "We haven't found your soulmate, yet."

Mark lets out a shaky breath. Something between a gasp and a sigh. He blinks, looks at you like he's indulging, and blinks again. "I don't know if I want to."

(He knows he doesn't want to. Hasn't for a long time now. But your innocent worry has him thinking. Has him wondering how much a soulmate is worth in the end.

He thinks of how you let your guard down when you're high. He thinks of the jolt of electricity that zips down his arm when your fingers touch his. He thinks of your face, so close to his and yet he's so, so afraid of leaning in. Or letting go. Or scaring you away.

Mark doesn't have to find his soulmate. There's no time, and no lead. He thinks that he'd be disappointed anyway.

At the end of all things, he thinks he'd just rather be with you.)

-

"Where'd you even learn how to siphon gas?" you cough. The air is growing thinner. An estimate of three or four days left, and the air is beginning to fall against the atmosphere like a weighted blanket. Ash and dust rise from the ground, and you keep a bandanna around your nose most of the time.

Mark spits gasoline out of his mouth and shoves the nozzle into his van. "Cub Scouts, remember?"

"Who knew Cub Scouts would prepare you for the end of the world." You kick the van's back tire.

Mark lifts his own red bandanna around his mouth. His jeans are scuffed up from the dirt and grime of the gas station, but the fact that he keeps his shirt tucked in and fastened with a belt is more endearing than it needs to be.

"Too bad I never earned my saving-the-world badge, right?" Mark chuckles. A sad silence follows.

You slip into the passenger seat beside Mark and place your hand over his as soon as it's placed on the gear shift. "What did you want to be? Before the news?"

Mark opens his mouth. Then closes it, laughs to himself and shakes his head. "It's stupid."

"It can't be stupid," you say. "Nothing you like is stupid."

Mark's neck flushes red. "I, uh, want to be a rapper."

"Still?" you whisper.

"Is that pathetic? To pretend the world isn't ending?" Mark lets himself glance at you for a solemn moment.

"I don't think so," you say. "If I've learned anything from you at all, Mark Lee, it's that you're full of hope. That's not pathetic at all."

Mark flips his hand over so that your fingers intertwine with his. "Thanks. You, uh... You've taught me a lot of things too."

"Like what?" You lift your feet onto the dash and squeeze Mark's hand.

"I don't want to say right now."

"Okay." You pull his hand into your lap and run your fingertips over his calloused palms. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you this, but do you play guitar?"

"Yeah," Mark turns down a neighborhood of beach houses. "Remind me to play for you sometime."

(Mark likes the way you touch him first. He likes that you let him hold your hand. He likes that you pull his hand into your lap. He feels so much peace that for a brief moment, he thinks that if the world were to end right now, off-schedule, he'd be okay with it. He doesn't know how to tell you that you're teaching him to be okay with the end. He doesn't know how to tell you that he finds forever in these small moments with you.)

-

Mark takes you to his aunt's empty beach house and the two of you move your stuff in. He finds the solar generator, and the two of you take showers for what seems like the first time in awhile. You don't feel like wearing anything, welcoming the generated AC. But, out of respect for Mark, you adorn undergarments and a large t-shirt stolen from his "clean" suitcase. (He has a "clean" suitcase and a "dirty" suitcase, which is another thing you really admire about Mark.)

When you come out of the shower, towel around your neck, Mark is sitting on the corner of the bed. His own towel has been thrown over the window-side wicker chair, covering a starfish pillow.

What startles you is the fact that he isn't wearing a shirt; only a pair of black sweatpants. A pair of glasses you've never seen before are perched atop his nose. They slip down every time he looks towards the neck of his guitar. He strums out a sour chord and scrunches his nose. "Ah," he shakes his head at the instrument. "She needs a good tuning."

You're drying your hands with your towel, eyes hazy and focused on the way Mark's bare shoulders tense every time he strums a particularly bad chord.

Mark Lee is really pretty. His black hair is still damp, and a few droplets fall onto his cheeks. "Here," you rush out, not wanting another distraction in his favor. "Let me dry your hair. You'll get a cold."

Mark sets the guitar aside and you stand between his legs. "What song should I play for you?" He closes one eye and peers up at you with a close-lipped smile.

You hum. Toss the towel over his face so he won't notice how warm your face is getting. You dry his hair off with a few massages. "What's the one that makes you most happy?"

"I dunno," Mark says. "I like Come Back To Bed."

"Then sing that one to me." You toss the towel to the floor. For a moment, you wonder what it would feel like to run your hand through his hair. After all, you did just dry his hair, which is kind of an intimate thing already. But maybe touching it would be crossing the line. Maybe reaching out to tuck that stray hair back behind his ear would reveal too much. Unravel what you've been trying not to show.

But the world is ending, so it's time to have courage. You swallow your fear and reach out. When you run your fingers through his soft hair, Mark sighs in content. "That feels nice."

"Y-Yeah?" you say, because anything else would come out as a squeak.

Mark's eyes are closed. He leans into your touch and when your hand trails down the side of his face, behind his ear, he places a kiss against your inner wrist. "Yeah," he says, breath hot on your skin. "I'm... I'm glad I went into that convenience store a few days ago."

"Me too." You sense the mood drifting, so you sit beside Mark and pat his guitar. "Now play me something."

Mark nods, a big dazed. He picks up his guitar and begins to sing to you, and you think his voice sounds like the hope of a new dawn.

(Mark wants to bottle up the color of your blushing cheeks and paint the sky. He wants to hold you close to him and kiss you breathless. He wants to say so much more than he does.)

-

Mark makes eggs. You make waffles. They're both a little burnt, but they're made with love, so it's fine. You eat as much as you can, tired of all the convenience store food. "Thank God for your aunt's well-stocked, solar-powered beach house."

Mark giggles. "You know, she was gonna sell it later this year. She wanted to move to the mountains."

"I'm glad she didn't," you say. "This isn't a bad place for... you know."

Mark blinks. Solemnity drowns his face. "She rented a cabin in the mountains. Didn't want to die in the city she was born in. This was the best place I could think of for the end."

"Do you think it will hurt?" You don't want to ask, because it's such a dismal concern. However, you wonder if you're the only one worried about your last moments.

Mark shakes his head. "I think it will be very quick. Like a sneeze."

(Mark wants to say that he's terrified of a slow death. Or dying before you. Of having to watch you die, or leave you alone in this world. He wants to say that he's scared to death and every step feels like a closer one to the grave.

He thinks of telling you, but what difference would it make?)

-

That night after your shower, you find Mark in the kitchen, washing the dishes. "You don't have to do those, you know."

You wrap your arms around Mark's waist, and as soon as you make contact, he shudders. His body slumps against the sink and he hiccups a sob. "I'm scared, Y/n."

"Mark..." you turn him around as gently as you can and pull him into your embrace. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."

"Times almost up," he chokes. "We don't know if it will happen tonight or tomorrow– and I don't want to leave you."

He lifts his head from your shoulder and presses his forehead against yours. It feels a bit like the way a cat might ask for a scratch. But it feels more like Mark wanting to be as close to you as he can. From here, you can see his wide eyes magnified from tears. He sniffs.

You bump your nose against his and shift your hands up to his shoulders. "Mark, I think I love you. I know it's too soon, but we don't really have much time anyways, so I thought I should tell you. I know now isn't a good time, and I'm probably being extremely selfish for saying it while you're crying–"

"You're not," Mark blurts just before he kisses you.

He holds your face in his hands and pulls you against him. His lips are soft and smooth against your chapped ones and you like the way his breathing gets heavier when you reach up and twirl your fingers through his hair. "I love you too."

His hands shift to your waist. He backs you up until you hit the counter's edge. "Jump," he mumbles against your mouth.

You jump onto the counter and wrap your legs around Mark's middle, pulling him flush against you as you go to kiss him again.

He kisses bites your bottom lip and when you gasp at the pain, he leans back to smirk at you. The look on his face makes you want to either slap him or melt into his touch. You choose the latter, leaning back as his lips begin to trail down your jaw. "I don't ever want to let you go."

"Then don't," you say.

(Mark thinks having sex and making love are two different things. He thinks your pink shorts look really pretty against the color of your skin. He thinks of the sounds you make, and the softness of your stomach. He thinks of purple marks on your thighs and the way you say his name like it's worth something. Like it means something. He thinks of looking into your eyes and telling you that he loves you. He thinks of kissing your lips and your neck and your chest and your hips. He thinks of you trembling against him. He thinks of cleaning you up and pulling his hoodie over your tired form. He thinks of kissing your forehead and falling asleep to the sound of your heart.

He thinks of the stain glass picture his aunt has in her kitchen right above the sink. A poem about the sun and the moon. A picture of the two kissing. The words ring like an anthem in his head. He thinks maybe soulmates always find each other in the end.)

-

It happens in the night. You get up to get a drink of water. Your legs are sore but your heart feels warm.

You take small sips in front of the sink and look out of the window. The clouds are dark and red again, but you're distracted by a little hanging picture suctioned to the pane. It's a stain glass picture, painted gaudy blue and gold. You can see the vivid picture of the sun and the moon, fitting against each other like missing puzzle pieces. There's a poem painted in messy scrawl, but you make out the words easily enough.

Tell me what is more beautiful;

The sky seems to get closer.

How the moon lets the sun shine throughout the day.

The air seems to get warmer.

Or the way the sun lets the moon glimmer at night.

The sky darkens, and you close your eyes. You think of Mark alone in the bed and hope he won't wake. You hope he won't know that he has to go alone. You want to run to him, but you know this is nothing but a second on earth, and you're all out of time.

(Mark wakes up when his skin feels like it's scalding. He sits up and notices that you aren't beside him. You're gone, and he knows it's the end, and he knows he'll never see you again, and the thought claws it's way down his throat and breaks his heart from the inside out. And he's all out of time.)

[jaeminlore]

If The Moon Tells You Something | Taeyong

summary: if the moon tells you something, believe it.

words: 4.1k+

category: jack frost au, rise of the guardians references and easter eggs, taeyong is a cutie, also inspired by my ocs raven, bc i love him

Fairy lights are strung across your headboard. They keep slipping off of the left corner, though, because your window is wide open. Winter hasn't been kind to your university's campus at all. Snow has been pelting the ground since the early morning.

Wind howls through the open window, rattling the pane and sending your thin, white curtains to billow out.

"This is ridiculous," you mutter. You head toward the pane and struggle to push it down, wondering why your house has to be so old; so finicky in extreme weather. Soon, your upper body is shivering from you leaning outside to brush away some of the heavy snow that had accumulated around the pane.

You can see the edge of your roof from your uncomfortable stretching. Snow falls onto your face as if it had been kicked off, so you wonder if there's an owl or a squirrel trying to make a small home for the night.

Instead, a boy peaks over. He smiles.

You shriek and back into your room, scraping your back on the wooden pane. "Ow," you bemoan quietly.

Hesitantly, you peak back out and are startled once again to see that the boy has — assumedly — jumped down to the awning just under your window. "Hello!" He greets, as if he is nothing but a casual passerby on the streets.

His dark locks are covered in white frost, and his lips are a blueish-purple. His eyelashes seem to be completely covered with icy snow. When he blinks at you, some of the melted ice trails from his eyelashes down his pale cheeks.

To you, he looks ethereal. Almost too beautiful to be human. It unnerves you, even more than him showing up unannounced in the middle of the night. "What— Who are you?"

He smiles, teeth sparkling. The air turns white when he talks. "I'm Taeyong."

You furrow your brows. "Are you trying to be Jack Frost or something? Because I'm pretty sure he doesn't scare people just before they're going to sleep!"

Taeyong is sitting cross-legged beneath your window. His elbows are perched on the sill and his chin is rested upon his palms. "Jack Frost is just a pseudonym. Like John Doe. I've been out all night doing icicle runs."

"What are icicle runs?"

"It's where I run across everyone's roof and leave icicles in my wake. It's a vital part of winter, you know." He says it so seriously, and his brown eyes glint with nothing but sincerity.

"So the legends are real?" you manage to breathe out, teeth beginning to chatter.

He laughs, and it sounds to be the warmest thing about him. "Am I going to start nipping at your nose? Maybe." He reaches out and pokes your nose.

You scrunch up your face as the chilliness spreads throughout your body. "Why don't you go bother someone else?"

Taeyong pauses. He looks almost sad. "Not many people can see me, you know? Usually just children. Really smart children who believe in myths adults struggle so hard to understand. Maybe the belief has never outgrown you."

You blink. "Maybe not."

"So I'm bothering you for now." The corners of his eyes crinkle.

You think of your assignment. An art piece on something you strongly believe in. Something abstract and realistic at the same time. Something that makes people think. Something that makes people believe what you do.

Usually, you'd be up to your chest in anxiety over such a large project, especially with it being due over winter break. However, you're snowed in this winter break, with no flights going in or out for a few days. You and your family decided it would be smart to refund the tickets and try for spring break instead.

The thought of spending the holidays alone, without your family, breaks your heart.

All this to say that you're nearly done with your project, since there's nothing better to do besides wallow around in your dorm or snoop through your absent roommates secret candy stash.

You're a bit at odds right now, wondering if the boy in front of you is real, or merely a fatigue-induced mirage crafted up from your extensive research on mythical legends and other things the majority of people tend to believe — at least to an extent.

"I'm real," the boy says. He drops into your dorm, and as soon as his bare feet hit the linoleum, a thin sheet of ice ripples across your floor, breaking apart like lightening bolts. It almost looks as if your floor is now a frozen lake, cracking to reveal the cold depths beneath. "At least, to you."

"So you're just a figment of my imagination?" You rubs your eyes. Once, twice. Then you blink. "You're still here."

"I'm not a figment of anything," he laughs. His eyes crinkle at the sides and there's a certain purity that seems to escape him in that moment. "I'm a guardian. I'm real. But only people who believe can see me."

"I didn't know I believed that much," you mumble to yourself.

A chill creeps down your spine, making you jolt in shock. You spin around, and Taeyong is just behind you, his pointer finger pressed between your shoulder blades.

"This is crazy," he whispers, more to himself than to you. "Not many people believe in Jack Frost, you know. Especially not adults."

"I'm barely an adult," you compensate. "I'm a college student. It's not like I have no wonder left in me."

Taeyong cocks his head to the side. Then he grins. His lip draw upwards into a wide, joyful expression. His eyebrows knit together, and you notice very briefly, that his eyes shine a certain hue of blue in the light. "Wonder. What a wonderful thing, huh?"

"I suppose."

Taeyong leaps back outside, and that's when you notice he isn't standing on anything. He's flying; floating in mid air with no foothold or handle anywhere.

You rush to the window and lean out, eyelids squinted as you try to catch a glimpse of him before the wind takes him away.

For a moment, you notice that he now has a staff in his hand. A long, hooked staff that resembles a gnarled tree branch of some sort. He holds it up, points it at the sky, and then he's gone.

And in his place, snowflakes fall.

-

"Do you believe in Jack Frost?" You ask your professor the next day. You're sitting with the old man outside on one of the many picnic tables around the campus. He's enjoying his own peaceful lunch break.

You, however, have nothing to do, and this is his last day of work until after winter break is over. You're beginning to think last night was just a strange dream, and you need someone to back you up. Therefore, your art professor.

He's one of those jolly old men who look like a mix between a mad scientist and Santa Claus. Professor Joyce, for instance, has a short white beard and bushy eyebrows that just nearly cover his friendly brown eyes. Currently, he is wearing khaki shorts and hiking boots, leaving his calves exposed to the harsh incoming winter. He's munching on carrot sticks, pondering your question with a ruddy smile. "Why? Has someone nipped at your nose?"

"Not exactly," you say, struggling to laugh at the joke that has him in mild stitches. "It's just... he's in Christmas songs, and he has like, ten movies named after him. I just wonder where the legend came from, and if it's real."

"I suppose all legends are real as long as there is belief. Who is to say that what exists in your head is not just as real as what is right in front of you? The entire system of belief begins with faith; the ability to believe what isn't seen."

"Yes, but say you did see something. Something most people don't believe in. How do you know that it wasn't a dream?"

"What did you see?" Professor Joyce narrows his eyes at you.

"Nothing," you speak quickly. "Nothing. I'm sure of it."

You wish him happy holidays, and let the man finish his lunch in peace. On your walk back to the dorm, you realize just how empty the campus is once students begin to return home. Only a few classes are left before break officially begins tomorrow, and only a few people are staying over break.

You wish you had followed your roommates lead and took your flight a week early. Lots of students had done that, after reading the weather reports and deciding it was smarter to simply miss a few classes rather than miss their entire winter break.

But no, you were dumb enough to think the storm would simply cease rather than get worse. Now you're stuck on campus looking like a fool, while only a few others mill around, matching your dismal mood.

You walk up the steps to your dorm building. The steps are coated in a thin sheen of ice, and the moment your sneaker sole steps on the last step, you slip and fall backwards. You close your eyes and brace for the impact of steps against your back, when you fall into someone's arms instead. Someone's very thin, cold arms.

"Woah there, better watch your step."

You jolt, jump out of the boy's arms and turn around. "Taeyong?" Hesitantly, you reach out and touch his hoodie-clad chest, surprised to feel solid muscle beneath it. You had half-expected your hand to fall right through.

"Questioning your beliefs again?" His voice is quiet; there's small smile on his face that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm real, y'know."

You ignore him and continue to head towards your dorm. However, instead of taking the hint, Taeyong walks alongside you, steps spritely. Once you reach your door and stop, taking out your keycard, he stops too, and leans against his staff, simply watching you. "How interesting," he murmurs.

You avoid his gaze and push into your room. "What?"

"You don't want to believe in me, yet you do. That's not usually how it works."

"I don't believe in Jack Frost," you say. You notice the way the light dims behind his kind eyes, and for a moment you wish you could take it back. "But you're here. You're in front of me, and I can't say you aren't real, because it's obvious you are."

Taeyong raises his eyebrows. "I suppose. But I'm only visible to you because you believed beforehand. So you're lying to me."

"I'm not," you say. "I don't believe in fairytales."

"Hmm," Taeyong hums. He skips towards your desk and finds your laptop, open to your last researching topic before you went to take a walk. "The Legend of Jack Frost. You believe in me."

His sing-song voice irritates you only mildly. "I don't," you insist. "I'm studying you. It's for... its for an art project."

"An art project," Taeyong settles his arms across his chest. "So I'm your muse then."

"No," you say.

"Of a sorts."

"Of a sorts," you grit out. "But I was just looking you up after last night. I wasn't planning on you returning."

"And why not?" Taeyong pouts, leaning against his staff again. "You're the only one who believes in me for, like, miles. I want to hang out with you."

"Well, I have work to do, so if you're staying, stay quietly."

"I will!" Taeyong leaps onto your roommates bed and crosses his legs. Frost trails across the mattress and up the headboard. It creeps up the wall and covers the poster of your roommate's celebrity crush. "I promise."

"Okay." You resolve that even if he is just a figment of your imagination, you should still work on your project. You pull up your design page and begin brainstorming. There are many things you believe in, but none strong enough to convince others to believe as well. Nothing comes to mind, so you sit in front of your laptop screen, chewing on the end of your stylus.

You shiver.

"Sorry," Taeyong finally speaks up. "That's the unfortunate side of being my friend: it's always cold."

You grab your blanket off of your bed and wrap it around your shoulders, eyeing the small man as he sits still, just as you asked. He looks preoccupied, touching each polaroid on your roommate's wall and turning it to frost. You wonder briefly how much lasting damage that will have on the picture. But, then again, if he isn't real, then the pictures are fine. "Who said we were friends?"

"Aren't we?" Taeyong smiles lazily. "You believe in me, and I'm starting to believe in you. That's what friends do."

"You're "starting" to believe in me?" You make air quotes. "Why wouldn't you believe in me? I'm a human. I'm real."

"I'm real," Taeyong says simply. "I'm immortal, but I'm real."

"You're not in my history book," you say.

"You're not in mine," Taeyong sticks his tongue out childishly. "But I'm in that book."

He points to the shelf on your wall. There's a book there, one given to you by your great aunt, a long time ago. It's a book passed down through generations, with legends from different cultures. Saint Nicholas, the Easter Bunny, the Sandman, The Boogeyman, The Tooth Fairy, and of course, Jack Frost. Other myths like yetis and leprechauns and the fae... anything children tend to believe in.

Anything you believe in. Or, used to believe in. Things that seem so childish when spoken aloud. Because you can't go out for drinks and discuss fairy circles. You can't leave cookies out for Santa when your roommate will laugh at you for it. You can't hide a tooth under your pillow out of fear that one morning it might still be there.

"That's from when I was a child," you say. "It's more for nostalgia than anything else."

Taeyong hums and drifts over to it, leaving a chill in his wake. He grasps the book and opens it up, He begins to leaf through it. "Usually, one who doesn't believe doesn't write notes on the things they don't believe in."

You feel your neck heat up as Taeyong trails his finger down your notes. "Why, just last year, you stuck your wisdom teeth beneath your pillow. Why would you do that if you don't believe?"

"I–" You take time to answer. "I'm not supposed to–"

"Not supposed to believe? Not supposed to have fun?" Taeyong looks concerned, closing the book and leaning in close. His face is just in front of yours, and his breath is cold against your cheeks. "Why not?"

You shrug and look away. "I don't know. It's different when you become an adult. People look at you weird if you believe in stuff like that."

"What about angels and demons and ghosts and gods?" Taeyong says, "Don't adults believe in them?"

"Those are different." You sit at your desk and put your head in your hands. "Those aren't just debate topics. They bring hope of an afterlife; of something more meaningful than life itself."

"And we don't?" Taeyong sits on your desk and closes your laptop. He leans onto his palm and circles the rim of your mug. "We don't bring hope?"

"Not to adults. Not when you start thinking about what life really means."

"What about to you?" Taeyong asks. His eyes are blown out, brown in color, but that familiar icy blue returns, creeping into his irises. He finally blinks, and frost drifts down his cheeks. "Do we bring hope to you?"

You suck in a breath and stare at him. "Yes. You do."

-

Taeyong doesn't return for two days, and you truly start to think he's found someone else who believes much more than you. You imagine that your heart, or soul, or wherever the belief is stored, is rather dim compared to the schoolchildren across town.

You stay on your bed, tossing a stress ball into the air and catching it, over and over again. The wind howls outside, rattling your window into opening, but you're too sad to close it. Christmas Eve is only a week away, and all flights in and out are still cancelled. The snow isn't letting up either, so you don't even want to risk walking out of your dorm.

You sigh and close your eyes. "I can't believe I'm saying this," you whisper into the empty room. "But Jack Frost, if you're near, could you come visit me?"

The wind whistles louder, and your window slams shut.

You jolt up, eyeing the window. "What the–"

"You called?" Taeyong is the in your doorway, leaning on his staff. He has a sort of shit-eating grin on his face. "I knew it wouldn't take long before you missed me."

You avoid his eyes and pick at the hem of your sweater sleeves. "I'm just... lonely here. That's all. I don't miss you, per se."

"I think you missed me." Taeyong says. His eyes shine with mirth and just as the room gets colder, you feel warmth flood your veins.

You don't deny it. "Come distract me from my project. I'm too upset to do anything productive."

You fall back down onto your bed, scooting sideways until your shoulder is pressing against the wall.

Taeyong lays down beside you. He conjures up a snowball, and begins to throw it up in the air, in the same speed that you throw your stress ball. "Distract you, huh?"

"Yeah. Anything."

"Hmm, should I tell you about me? How I came to be?"

"Yes, please," you set the stress ball down and turn on your side. You focus on Taeyong's side profile: his sharp jawline and the boyish slope of his nose. His eyelashes are still covered in frost, in an ethereal way that makes you think of snowflakes against a windowpane.

"My name is Jack Frost. How do I know that? The moon told me so. But that was all he ever told me. And that was a long, long time ago..."

-

Taeyong leaves after his story, but he comes around every so often after that, if just to tell you hello and ask about your project. You're still stumped, but it's easier to feel creative when he's around, so you mostly doodle sketches of him.

He continues his story every night, adding on as he remembers. You illustrate his stories, drawing rough sketches of the way he describes the elves and the easter bunny.

With each night your wonder grows, and you end up begging him to stay, if just to finish the story sooner.

Taeyong finally does finish it, the day before Christmas Eve, and you've hung onto every word. "So Pitch was defeated?"

"Yeah," Taeyong says. "I mean, as long as there is fear, he'll exist. But as long as there is belief, so will we."

He smiles at you, and you wonder if he's always been this handsome.

-

Christmas Eve is spent FaceTiming your family, and leaving them hints about what you've bought them. You even watch a movie with them through the screen, and you feel a lot better than you did before. They reassure you that Christmas in Springtime is most definitely a thing, and not something they made up on the spot.

You feel a bit better about spending Christmas alone.

Well, not alone. Realistically, all the other students who got snowed in will more than likely gather in the cafeteria tomorrow for cold pizza and a small gift exchange with the professors that also stayed over.

But you'll feel alone. No one you know is snowed in, and you've still got your project to complete.

You know exactly what you want to believe in now, even if your professor or peers might laugh at you.

With the radio playing a low hum of holiday music, you begin to sketch a rough outline of your project onto your tablet screen.

Your window rattles again.

You smile to yourself. "Come in, Taeyong."

You feel him before you see him by the cold frost that creeps across the windowpane and over to your feet, uncovered by your blanket. You shiver, and Taeyong finally makes himself known.

He stands beside your chair, watching you work. "It's me," His voice brightens. He leans down until his chest brushes against your shoulder.

Warmth spreads through your body just as quickly as the cold chill his skin brings. His chilly breath brushes against the shell of your ear, and you do your best not to let it distract you as you show him your project. "Yeah."

"Why?" Taeyong's voice has a sudden softness to it you haven't heard before.

"Because..." You trail off, wondering if its appropriate to tell an immortal guardian that you have a crush on him. It most certainly is, but Taeyong's eyes are a beautiful mix of brown and blue, and his eyelashes are a pretty cream color, mesmerizing as they fall against his opaque skin. "Because you're what I believe in most."

With Taeyong so close, you can hear his breath catch in his throat. "You admitted it," he whispers. "Like, properly."

"No sense telling myself any different," you conclude.

Taeyong doesn't answer; doesn't move, so you turn your head to check his reaction.

You heart lurches in your chest when you realize hes already looking at you. Your nose bumps against his. A chill spreads across your face, opposing Taeyong's cheeks, now rosy with a sort of frost bitten warmth one receives after coming into the house after a long day of playing in the snow.

You focus on his eyes. The reflection of the fairy lights behind the two of you flicker in his eyes, along with an emotion you can't name.

It disappears just as quickly, and it's replaced by a sort of serene glow. His gaze drifts down your face, landing on your lips. You bite your bottom lip nervously, and he watches action.

His hand, on your shoulder suddenly, like he's just decided he needs to steady himself. "I've never felt this warm before," he whispers.

"Does it hurt?" your lips brush against his, and there’s a jolt down your spine from how cold his lips are.

"Not really," he says, eyes closing. "It's nice. It makes me feel close to you. I want to be close to you."

His voice gets softer as he continues; the vulnerability fills your heart with affection.

"Taeyong," you hum, "you can kiss me."

Something like an expression of thanks escapes Taeyong's lips in the form of a sigh. He kisses you, lips cold and chapped against your smooth ones.

His hand stays on your shoulder, but it drifts slowly towards your neck. His nimble fingers play against the seam of your collar, and every time he accidentally grazes you skin, he pushes closer. Closer, until his chest is flushed against yours and your desk chair rolls back, breaking the two of you apart in a fit of laughter.

"Taeyong." You stand up and rest your palm against his chest. "Come here."

Taeyong nods, eyes on you the entire time while you turn him and push him towards the bed. He sits on the end almost obediently and looks up at you, eyes starry and wide.

You move your body between his spread legs and cup his face. You let the pad of your thumb brush across his jaw, cold and smooth. "You're really pretty," you say.

Taeyong blinks up at you. His lips, pale and purple, curl up into a smile. His eyebrows furrow, like he's unsure. "Really?"

You want to tell him that he's a snowflake personified. He's the sunlight on a patch of snow and the way a child lights up when a snowball in thrown. He's the cheer of a snow day and the cold nip at your shoulders when you open the front door.

You can't say it, not right now, so you bend down and kiss him again, allowing your mouth to melt against his.

His cold fingers grip the bottom of your shirt. He tugs you down: closer, closer, closer until the two of you are lying down, legs tangled together.

Taeyong stops to lean his forehead against yours, breath chalky in the warm air of the dorm. "I think I can hold off the snow long enough for you to fly over."

"What?" you sit up. "Taeyong, really? You'd do that?"

Taeyong nods, still lying down. He's smiling up at you, like you're something magnificent in a light he's never seen before. In reality you are just you, and there's a painting of him in the background, more beautiful then he's ever perceived himself to be. "As long as you promise to come back, where I — and a few extra weeks of winter — will be waiting."

[jaeminlore]

Sugarplum | Yuta

summary: sugar, spice, and a man named yuta

words: 2.5k+

category: baker!yuta, baker!reader, rivals au, yuta thinks calling the reader “sugarplum”  is the only way to flirt, reader just wants to keep their business afloat

The smell of gingerbread wafts through the kitchen of your bakery. You can hear the customers in the front, chatting idly as they eat their cupcakes. 

“Y/n!” One of your employees, Jungwoo, runs into the bakery. “It happened.”

“What did?” You ask, pushing your hair out of your face.

“That new bakery across the street? It’s opening early,” Jungwoo says, angrily tying his apron around his thin waist. “We’ve got competition.���

You curse. “It wasn’t supposed to open until February. After the holiday rush. Now we’re going to get only half of our usual income.”

Jungwoo pouts. He begins piping icing onto the cupcakes that have just finished cooling. “You don’t know that for sure. This new bakery could be a total flop.”

“It already has more followers than us on Instagram,” you say. “I don’t know what the owner has been doing to get so much traffic, but I know there’s gonna be a line down that street.”

You groan, slipping into your chair. “We’re gonna be bankrupt before the year is over.”

“Don’t give up yet.” Jungwoo slips a tray towards the front, where Jaemin is manning the register. 

“It’s hard when we’re so far in debt,” you say. “My only hope was this holiday rush getting us through until our tax returns. And even then it was a reach.”

Jungwoo rolls out some fondant. “Y/n... have you considered-“

“Selling the bakery?” You groan. “Yeah. But my grandfather left it to me. There’s heritage here, and I don’t want someone who isn’t part of the family running a family business.”

“But you’re stressed,” Jungwoo says. “Even if you just co-owned with a new person, it would be better than this.”

“No one is going to invest in a falling business.” You grab some cutters and begin to press shapes into the fondant. The shapes of Santa and little elves seem to mock you. “You should probably start applying to other bakeries.”

Jungwoo sighs at your overdramatic words. “Fine.”

-

Yuta puts out some macarons, flavored with cherry and plum extract. The cream cheese frosting in the middle is his secret recipe. “I think we’re ready, Sicheng.”

His best friend peaks through the closed shutters. “There’s already a line.”

“Chenle!” Yuta calls for the younger boy who hid somewhere in the back to play mobile Fortnite. “Go flip out open sign, please. Sicheng, lift the shutters. I’ll man the counter and sales while the two of you keep up the tables..?” he suggests.

“Got it!” Chenle skips to the door and flips the sign. He turns the lock and yanks the door open. “Come in!” he announces.

“Welcome to the Nutcracker Bakery!” Yuta announces to the very first customer: a young girl with purple-colored braids. “What can I get for you?”

She orders some red velvet cake. The next customer orders apple cider cupcakes. Basil tarts, raspberry scones, hazelnut biscottis, and toffee cookies are all sold out first.

Yuta keeps up with the influx of customers as quickly as he can. Sometimes there’s even a break, where Yuta can check on Sicheng and Chenle, who have been keeping the dishes clean and the coffee warm. Closing time is three in the afternoon, mostly because Yuta doesn’t have enough resource for full-time hours. It’s two fifty-five when you walk in, wearing a plain apron. There’s a smudge of frosting across your cheek, and reading the name embroidered across the front of your apron, Yuta gathers that you’re from the bakery across the street.

He feels bad that he’s opened his bakery straight across from yours. Really. But it was the only lot he could afford, and it was the only one that would be visible to the main street of the town. Besides, he’s visited your bakery and checked out your goods. His bakery is nothing like yours. He has more sophisticated palettes of flavor, while your bakery focuses on cakes and cupcakes for parties and occasions.

“Hey, Neighbor,” he smiles, cocking his head to the side. “What can I get you?”

You narrow your eyes at him and cross your arms over your chest. “Every small business on this street is supposed to visit new shops and show support. Even if they’re a bakery that rivals my own.”

“Well,” Yuta leans over the counter and wipes the blue frosting off of your cheek, “You’re the first to come, so I suppose that says something about integrity.”

“Or the busyness of the season,” you deadpan, but there’s color on your cheeks.

Yuta looks over your shoulder and notices that your bakery looks nearly abandoned. There’s a worker sweeping the front sidewalk, and another wiping down windows. He hums. “Or that.”

“Anyway,” you hand him a five dollar bill. “Can I get a sugarplum macaron?”

“For this?” Yuta holds up the bill, “you can have two, Sugarplum.”

He winks at you, then he grabs two macarons with a pair of tongs and sets them in a little brown paper bag. 

“My name is Y/n,” you say, accepting the bag. “Thanks. Try not to take all my customers, okay?”

“I can’t promise anything,” Yuta teases.

He sees something like worry flash in your eyes just before you switch to a smile. “Right. Goodbye, then.”

“Happy Holidays!” He calls to your retreating form.

“They seem nice,” Sicheng says from his spot in one of the booths.

“I thought you were asleep,” Yuta replies without denying.

-

“Hey, Sugarplum,” Yuta greets your frantic figure, weaving through customers. 

You press your palms onto the counter. “Do you have a bag of flour we could use? I have to knead this dough A-S-A-P before it gets stiff.”

Yuta wants to tell you that you look rather cute when your flustered. But instead, he opens the swinging door in the counter, “Head in the back and ask Chenle. He’s our official flour dealer.”

Yuta likes the way you roll your eyes when he winks at you. 

You’re all professional, weaving into his kitchen and exiting with a glass measuring full of white powder. “Thanks, Yuta. Bye.”

“Bye, Sugarplum.”

-

“I don’t think he remembers my name,” you say to Ten, your best friend and a regular customer. He sits at the counter, eating a cupcake. He’s been spying on the competition for you, and so far he’s told you with all the candor in the world that you’re going to go bankrupt if Yuta keeps making macarons. 

“Nah, he does.” Ten’s lips are blue from the airbrush icing. 

“How do you know?” 

“I asked him,” Ten shrugs. He studies the fondant ornament atop his cupcake. 

“You what?” You whip your dish towel at Ten’s chest, ignoring the weird look you get from Jungwoo. 

“I asked him what he thought about the bakery,” Ten says casually. He’s got a sprinkle on his lip, and it bothers you when he doesn’t wipe it off. 

“Wipe your mouth,” you say. “And why would you ask him about us?”

“I thought you could use some help,” Ten says with a shrug. He wipes his sleeve across his mouth.

“I don’t need help,” you grit out. “And I don’t need my competition thinking I do.”

“He thinks your marketing technique is wrong.” Ten says, ignoring you. “You’re advertising as a proper bakery, but you only sell cupcakes and cakes. Which is fine, except you also sell coffee. It confuses people who come in to get a breakfast bagel or whatever.”

You deflate. Not because Yuta’s advice was mean, but because it’s true.

No one on this street wants four-tiered cakes in the morning. And sure, cupcakes sell great around the holidays, but daily traffic has always been pretty low.

“I’m good at cakes, Ten.” You say. “I’m good at icing and piping and making figurines out of fondant; I’m not– I’m not good at pastries.”

“You don’t have to be. I don’t think that’s what Yuta was saying,” Ten says. “I think he’s saying that the way you advertise your shop makes people think you are.“

You hum. Across the street, Yuta is outside handing out samples of his new meringue. “Alright, so I’ll switch up the way I advertise.”

-

Yuta comes in later that week. It’s two weeks until Christmas, and you’re working on cake orders in the back when Jungwoo lets him.

“Hey, Sugarplum!” He sits on your desk and hands you a Tupperware bowl. “I brought you a new recipe I’m trying out.”

They’re more macaroons, but these are chocolate and orange flavored. Your skepticism flies out of the door at the first bite, and you think Yuta has some of the best senses for flavor palettes. “This is so good.”

Yuta grins. “Thanks. By the way, one of my customers asked me if I did macaron cakes. You know, where the decoration is a bunch of macarons?”

“I’m familiar,” you say. “But you don’t make cakes, do you?”

“No, so I told them to come over here. I thought maybe you could bake the cake, and I could make the macarons. We’ll split the cost, and the collaboration will look good on our websites. We can share costumers.” Yuta says it so naturally, as if the two of you aren’t simply business neighbors. Though maybe you’re more, considering how many times the two of you visit each other.

“That sounds interesting...” you say.

“And I hope I’m not crossing a line here,” Yuta says lowly, “but I know you’re struggling. If we sold these, you’d get sixty percent, since you’re making the actual cake. And I have more customers, so those two factors combined should help you out, right?”

You peak at your order for the pop-up Santa village down the street. “Should we talk about this over milk and cookies?”

Yuta helps you deliver the cupcakes to whoever manages the village, and then the two of you are free to walk around and admire how the Christmas lights have lit up an entire forest pathway. 

“Here, Sugarplum,” Yuta takes off his scarf and wraps it around your neck. Then, with a slight tug, he pulls you closer to him. “Warmer?” 

“Just a bit,” you squeak, trying to ignore his cheeky smile.

“You know, I really admire your shop.” Yuta swings his hand beside yours, close enough for your pinkies to brush against each other every now and again.

You try to ignore the fuzzy feeling his words and touch give you. “Thank you. I can’t deny that yours is amazing. It’s added a bit of culture to our boring street, I think.”

Yuta laughs. It’s the first time you’ve heard it, and the sound feels a bit like a warm hug. “I’m flattered,” he says, bumping his shoulder against yours. 

-

With a week before Christmas, hours and Yuta’s collaboration has done extremely well. It’s well enough that the two of you are discussing keeping it as a permanent menu item.

Since you’ve changed your marketing strategy, and collaborated with Yuta, your sales have increased. It’s amazing, and you owe it all to your new friend.

You really like Yuta. He’s kind, and has always tried his best to help you improve. He takes instruction well, especially when you teach him how different customers on the street tend to act.

He’s handsome. With his copper-colored hair always in some sort of updo (braids are your favorite), you can clearly see his face. His eyes are always open and bright, on the edge of laughter and merriment. And you have to forgive yourself for staring so much at his lips. Truly, they’re good lips, all pink and plush.

You kind of want to kiss Yuta.

And when you tell Ten, he pretends to be surprised. “Oh. Wow. You mean the man you’ve been hanging out with every day and sharing recipes with means more to you than just a friend? Shocking.”

You take Ten’s cupcake away until he apologizes.

-

“What’s up, Sugarplum?” Yuta leans over the counter, watching your every move. He’s just closed up for the evening, and you’re here again like clockwork, coming to show him around town or simply walk him home.

“The phrase is ‘What’s up, Buttercup?’” you correct him. 

Yuta is sure you’re just messing with him by the way your eyes light up. There’s another streak of frosting on your chin, and Yuta quickly swipes at it. “Yeah, but you’re my Sugarplum, so I changed it.”

You’re flustered; he can tell. These moments make him happy; when he can pretend he has the same affect on you that you do on him. “Am I a fairy then?” you ask, accepting the sugarplum macaron Yuta kept back for you.

The two of you lock up the shop and walk out towards Yuta’s apartment building. “I still think I should be the one walking you home.”

“Yeah, but I know the streets better than you. Plus, I don’t get off until 9.” You wrap your arm around his as casually as ever and Yuta wishes he could hold your hand.

Maybe he can. “Can I hold your hand?”

You slot your fingers between his, and Yuta tries to stifle the warmth that spread across his chest.

-

It’s Christmas Eve, and you’re closing shop early so that you don’t miss the Home Alone marathon you’re roommate is starting soon.

Yuta waits for you outside your door. “Hey, Sugarplum.”

“Are you ever going to call me by my real name?” You ask, slipping your hand into his. 

“Only if you insist on it,” Yuta says. “By the way, are you sure your roommate is cool with me crashing your marathon?”

You brush his worries away and pull him closer to you. “You’re fine. I’m pretty sure she’s used to you coming around by now.”

Yuta likes the way the streetlights flow across your face. It’s a different type of beautiful, he thinks. This is all natural, the place between reality and dreams. This is where Yuta gets to see you in this moment, and he is the only one.

He has never felt more thankful.

“Why’d you stop?” You pout. “Is there something on my face?”

“No, no,” Yuta assures you. “It’s just— You look really beautiful right now.”

“Oh.”

“I also kind of want to kiss you.”

“Oh.”

Yuta leans in first. He cups your face and rubs his thumb alongside your cheek. “I’ve been wanting to do this for ages.”

“What’s stopping y—?” You don’t get the question out, because Yuta kisses you then.

And Yuta has always been the teasing type. Yet now, he’s tactical; careful in his movements as he slowly moves his lips against yours. He pressed up against you, one arm now around your waist, keeping you from falling back.

You would fall back, because Yuta is leaning in, and kissing you so sweetly that it makes your head feel dizzy. You move back to take a breath. “Yuta, I really like you.”

“I would hope so,” Yuta grins against your lips, pulling you against him once more, “because otherwise this would be a bit awkward. Don’t you think, Sugarplum?”