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thewidowsghost · 3 years

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Sunshine - Daisy Johnson x Romanoff!Reader

Main Masterlist

imapotatao asked:

Hey! I have a Daisy Johnson x reader request. When being sent to the future, Daisy and Reader meet their grandchild. Said grandchild is brought back with deke, they have no idea that they are their grandchild until something happens to reader and they think she won't make it. Or the grandchild says something that reader always says and Daisy puts it together. (That make sense? God, I hope so. Sorry it's long.)

Daisy Johnson leans against her girlfriend, as (Y/n) Romanoff shovels pancakes into her mouth, her fiery red hair making a curtaining plate as she eats.

"You know," Phil Coulson says, eating his own food. "I think this is really the first time we've all been together in a really long time."

(Y/n) hums in agreement, swallowing another huge bite of pancake and May smiles warmly at Coulson.

(Y/n) lets out a whine as Daisy steals a bite of pancake from her, and everyone - Mack, Elena (Yo-yo), May, Coulson, Daisy, and FitzSimmons - laugh.

"Why do you always have to steal my pancakes, Sunshine?" (Y/n) asks her girlfriend, a frown on her face.

"You know you love me," Daisy replies, gazing fondly at her girlfriend. Daisy grins mischievously, taking another bite from (Y/n)'s plate.

(Y/n) blinks affectionately at Daisy. "I do," she murmurs in Daisy's ear.

"Anybody have room for some pie?" a waitress asks

(Y/n) drops her fork in excitement as the others murmur their agreement.

"Okay, so we have apple, strawberry, rhubarb, and chocolate banana cream," the waitress continues, looking amused at the excited expression on (Y/n)'s face.

There is a crackle of electricity, and the diner powers down.

There is a whir of electricity, and all the SHIELD agents sigh as lights appear outside the restaurant, resembling headlights.

"Here we go," May grumbles.

A door slams open, and some of the other customers gasp.

(Y/n) looks sadly down at her plate of pancakes before, simultaneously, the agents sit up straighter, lifting their hands into the air.

"Phillip J. Coulson," A man with a calm voice says, appearing behind said man.

"Yep, that's me," Coulson says with an eye roll, his eyes fixed on his own plate. "You got us. Nice job. And hey, congrats on the whole power-outage thing," he adds. "It was very . . . ominous."

A device powers on, and there is an actual ominous high-pitch ringing noise.

"The window closes in less than two minutes," the calm voiced man says. "Take them."

. . .

All seven agents gasp as they finally regain their breath.

Daisy sneaks her hand into (Y/n)'s, interlocking their fingers as the agents look around the dark room.

"Is everyone okay?" Coulson asks.

"Yeah, I think so," Mack replies.

Looking around the room, Simmon's eyes fall on a white rock with red lines running through it.

The Monolith melts into a white sludge, like solidified milk, and washes over the seven agents.

. . .

When (Y/n) blinks, she finds herself standing beside, not Daisy, but a woman who looked a lot like her older sister, Natasha. The same splash of freckles across her nose and cheeks, the same fiery red hair, but she had familiar chocolate brown eyes, but (Y/n) shrugs off the younger woman's - she may have been twenty or twenty one - appearance for a moment.

"You," The woman turns to address (Y/n). "We've been waiting for you to come save us."

(Y/n) tilts her head questioningly.

"You must be (Y/n)," the woman continues and (Y/n) nods.

"How do you know me?" (Y/n) asks, frowning slightly.

The young woman replies, "Virgil and I always believed the stories."

"Believed what?" (Y/n) asks. "What stories?"

"Well, this one," she answers. "T-that you would - you would come and save us."

"Save who?" (Y/n) narrows her eyes.

"Humanity," the younger redhead answers, looking grim.

. . .

Coulson, Yo-yo, Simmons, and Mack are running down a hallway, Yo-yo shooting at one of the aliens chasing after them.

There is a rumbling, and Daisy Johnson is framed in the corridor where the alien had just been - it had been exploded.

"Right?" Daisy asks shakily.

"Yes, that was right," Coulson replies, "and not the only one."

Daisy looks around at the group, noticing the two missing bodies. "Where's (Y/n)? And May?"

. . .

Coulson, Yo-yo, Simmons, and Mack stalk cautiously behind Daisy, who walks with her hand out, ready to strike.

"This has to be the coolest we've ever looked," Coulson comments.

. . .

"My friend should be here somewhere," (Y/n) comments as the two redheads walk down one of the corridors.

There is an intersection and (Y/n) crashes into a familiar, shorter figure.

"Whoa," (Y/n) says as her girlfriend scrambles to her feet, raising her hand defensively.

"Hey," Daisy says, looking relieved, wrapping (Y/n) in a tight hug.

"Hi, Sunshine," (Y/n) says so softly that no one else but Daisy could hear.

"I suppose I'll leave you here, then," the younger redhead says.

"Thanks -" (Y/n) pauses, not knowing the younger woman's name.

"Natalie," Natalie replies.

"Thank you, Natalie," (Y/n) nods.

Natalie turns and walks off, looking around cautiously, leaving (Y/n) with her friends.

"Seems like it's just a lot of work just to keep this place afloat," Coulson comments, looking at the walls.

"But it's designed for humans to survive -" Simmons says. "Atmosphere and simulated gravity - and machinery seemed to be for reclaiming water, I think."

"Yeah, it looks man-made," Coulson agrees.

"Could possibly be a colony?" Simmons wonders aloud. "Moving mankind to the stars? Maybe that's what Virgil meant by 'humanity,'" Simmons goes on.

"That's what Natalie said, too," (Y/n) says. "Said she and Virgil had been waiting for us to arrive."

"I don't know," Coulson says. "That plasma gun wasn't man-made, and I don't think they could've built this place without some outside help. It's got some serious miles on it."

"Decades it looks like," (Y/n) comments, "but that means that this program had to have been started in the eighties by Howard Stark. And that doesn't feel right. Tony would've mentioned something."

"Yo-yo found something," Mack says, appearing out of the gloom.

(Y/n), Daisy, Coulson, and Simmons follow Mack, and they find a flare still lit on the ground.

As the group walks up to the flare, it goes out, and Coulson frowns.

The group lines up in front of the door, stepping back.

(Y/n) steps forward and kicks down the door.

The agents walk into the room, catching sight of the dead men on the floor.

Daisy sighs heavily. "Nothing," she says.

"Nothing alive," Yo-yo says.

(Y/n) kneels down, studying the fresh blood on the ground.

"Hey," Coulson says, noticing the blood, as well as Melinda May's jacket.

"They didn't get to her, did they?" Yo-yo asks, looking rather concerned.

"May would've put up a fight," (Y/n) replies.

Coulson nods. "And they left the other bodies here," Coulson adds.

"'Water reclamation,'" Daisy reads off a computer screen.

"You were right, Jemma," Coulson says.

"I figured it out using magic," Simmons replies, glancing at Mack with an amused gleam in her eyes.

Mack shakes his head, not looking the least bit amused.

The console beeps and Daisy leans over the computer. "I can try and find out a layout and track May," Daisy says.

"It's in English," Simmons says. "They're tracking debris fields called 'frozen oceans'."

Daisy types on the computer, and there is a silence that is only disturbed by the clacking of a keyboard.

"They're collecting water form ice in space," Simmons says and she and Daisy look up from the computer. "This is a colony."

"Which means unless they all came through a Monolith . . . " Coulson trails off.

"Then we're close enough to Earth for people to travel here," Daisy looks back down at the computer.

"And we can get home," (Y/n) says.

"Yes, bu just as important," Simmons adds, "collecting ice means they have a spacecraft, and if they have a spacecraft, they must have a laser-based rapid-transmission system," Simmons rambles. "If we can find the ship and fly above the debris field . . ."

"We can send a message," Coulson finishes.

"We can send a message to Fitz back on Earth," Simmons goes on.

"Okay, okay, so if I can find a layout, find a ship, find May, it's a start," Daisy says. "This interface looks similar to -" the monitor beeps, and (Y/n) leans down to read the message, her hand resting on the small of Daisy's back.

"'Human access denied'?" (Y/n) reads.

"Coulson, do you recognize this language?" Daisy asks.

"No," Coulson replies, leaning forward to look at the hand print. "I don't think humans are running this place after all."

There is a thud on the door and (Y/n) moves her hand to rest on Daisy's waist.

The door bursts open and two blue aliens step into the room, through the doorway.

The aliens attack Yo-yo, and knock her to the ground and (Y/n) advances but one of the blasters smacks her in the ribs and she hits the wall, sliding down it with a gasp of pain.

Mack tries to knock down one of the aliens with a metal pipe, but the alien doesn't gall down.

The other blue alien raises a staff and a white light floods through the room, knocking everyone in the room out.

. . .

When Daisy comes to, she blinks deliriously, but she focuses herself faster when she hears yelp of pain from (Y/n).

Sitting up, Daisy blinks again, looking at Simmons who is wrapping a cloth around (Y/n)'s ribs.

"Thankfully they're not broken," Simmons says, tightening the cloth.

"Sure feels like it," (Y/n) mutters.

"Are you okay?" Daisy asks, looking worried.

"Don't worry, Sunshine," (Y/n) replies, wincing a little, but Simmons and Coulson share a look of amusement. "I'll be alright."

Daisy softens before looking at the rest of the jail. "Mack?" she asks. "Yo-yo."

One of the Kree says, "We'll leave the transgressors on the floor chief?" He pauses. "To use as he needs."

Daisy swallows thickly, glancing at (Y/n).

"He should be interested that they've removed their Metrics," the Kree continues.

Daisy stands up and stumbles over to the doors. She slams her hand against the door. "Hey," she says, her words slurring a bit. "What are you gonna do with our friends?" she questions and (Y/n) gets to her feet, her arm resting on her bruised ribs.

(Y/n) puts her other hand on Daisy's shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Whatever we want," one of the Kree says. "Experiment. They knew the rule, and they broke it."

"They're not gonna make it easy for you," Daisy says, her eyes watering.

The two Kree walk towards the door, and (Y/n) gently pulls Daisy back.

"No," the Kree replies. "They'll beg for their lives as you humans always do. I've done twenty-two rotations and I have never observed anything else."

(Y/n) swallows thickly. She takes Daisy's hand and leads her back over to the bench. "They'll be alright, Sunshine," (Y/n) murmurs. "They're strong, the two of them." Daisy turns to study (Y/n), but even though (Y/n)'s words were meant to keep Daisy from worrying, but (Y/n)'s eyes betrayed her words.

. . .

"Okay," Coulson says. "New plan."

"The Kree have been abducting humans to this outpost for years," Simmons offers.

"Running experiments?" Daisy asks, pacing the room, and (Y/n) furrows her eyebrows.

"Well, their genetic work in creating Inhumans is well-known," Simmons says. "Maybe they're doing more of the same."

(Y/n) frowns.

"Yeah, well I'm not going to wait around to find out," Daisy says, raising her hand at the door. "So . . ."

She falters as the door opens, and three figures are framed in the door.

"May," Coulson says, taking a stop forward.

The older SHIELD agent is leaning against a familiar red haired woman, and a spiky haired young man beside them.

"Buddy!" the young man says, stepping into the room. "Just go with it," he whispers. "We've been looking everywhere for you guys," he says in a normal voice. "Man. What a mess back there, huh?" he asks. "These poor suckers," the young man turns to look at the Kree. "Virgil - you know, from R&R? He was trying to scam these guys out of some tokens. This one," he turns to May, "came running to me begging for help, the poor thing. When I get my hands on that no-good louse, he's gonna have some explaining to do."

"Where is Virgil, anyway?" Natalie asks.

"He's dead," Coulson replies.

"Good," Natalie says after a moment of silence. "Good," she turns to the Kree.

"He got what he deserved then," the young man agrees, nodding to Natalie, "didn't he, for trying to drag these poor transfers up from Processing into the Wet Works," he grabs Coulson's hand, showing it to the Kree, "just to steal their Metrics."

"So, he's just Roach food then?" Natalie asks.

"Oh, yeah," Coulson replies.

"One more vacancy, right?" the man asks.

"That's what I was gonna say," Coulson agrees.

"Guys," the young man stammers.

"What did we tell you about trusting Virgil?" Natalie asks.

"She's right, we did go over this. What did we say?" the young man adds.

"Don't trust Virgil," Simmons says.

"N-not to trust him," Daisy says simultaneously, her arms crossing.

"God, you repeated it back to us," the young man says, "and we said back - it was like a pass-and-catch thing."

"Look," Natalie turns to the Kree. "We really appreciate your help with these guys, but I can take them off your hands, even slip a few tokens your way for your trouble."

There is a moment of pause and the Kree warrior nods.

"Right, let's go," the young man says, and (Y/n) lets out a soft sigh.

Daisy keeps close to (Y/n) as the two walk down the hall after Natalie and the young, spiky-haired man at her side, May and Coulson in front of (Y/n) and Daisy.

"Don't worry, Sunshine," (Y/n) murmurs, soft enough for only Daisy to hear. "I'll be alright."

Daisy's chocolate brown eyes soften, the corner of her eyes crinkling cutely. "I love you," she says softly, and (Y/n) smiles.

"I love you too, Sunshine," (Y/n) replies softly.

The group stops as the young man and Natalie look down the hall.

"What the hell happened to Virgil?" the young man beside Natalie asks. "The Roaches get him?"

"Sorry to say," Coulson replies. "Was he a friend?" Coulson asks.

"Acquaintance," the spiky-haired man replies. "He owed me a ton of tokens for this job."

"Job?" Simmons asks.

"Deke!" Natalie says, smacking the young man.

Deke looks at Natalie before her replies, "All he said was that he wanted to hide some people. That's not unheard of. So I was hired to supply the Metrics and swap them out," Deke grabs Daisy's wrist and (Y/n) narrows her eyes, "but you guys don't even have Metrics, which means you don't have the tokens to cover Virgil's end, so have fun."

(Y/n) wraps an arm around Daisy's waist, and Deke lets go of Daisy's wrist.

"Hey, wait, wait," Daisy says as Deke turns around. "We need your help. We need to find our friends," Daisy goes on

"Your friends?" Deke asks and Natalie glances warningly at him. "Your friends attacked a Kreeper. They're as good as gone. Those blues are bred to kill," Deke looks around, "so, so just - you make your peace with it."

(Y/n) pulls Daisy back a little as Deke looms over her.

"We'll take our chances," Coulson replies, and Deke looks over at him. "Listen, if you could just help us find them and then get to the spacecraft -"

"You mean the Trawler?" Natalie asks, looking surprised. "To do what?" she questions.

"The only pilot I knew was Virgil," Deke add, "and may he rest in peace," Deke shrugs, "apparently. So best of luck to all you guys, but mine's running out."

"Jeez Deke," Natalie smacks the man's arm and (Y/n)'s eyes flare with amusement.

"Well, Deke," Coulson says, "we just wanted pie, and now we don't know where we are or what's going on, and we finally found someone who does, so you're not walking away."

"I really wanted the pie," (Y/n) says wistfully.

Then the group stiffens as they hear Yo-yo screaming in pain.

May moves forward, twists a knob, and Deke rises of the ground, and sticks to the wall.

(Y/n) glances appreciatively at the older agent.

. . .

Daisy cracks through the pad, May, Natalie, Coulson, and (Y/n) standing behind her.

"All set," Daisy says.

"Good job," (Y/n) says, her eyes twinkling lovingly.

"Express train to the bottom of the Lighthouse, no stops," Daisy says, her hand coming up to brush against the inhibitor in her neck.

Natalie, May, and Coulson walk through the doors, and (Y/n) goes to take Daisy's hand, but Daisy steps back.

"Daisy?" (Y/n) asks, looking at her girlfriend questioningly.

"I'm not coming with you," Daisy says.

"Like hell!" (Y/n) says, frowning and glaring at her girlfriend.

"I know you're scared about going home," Coulson says, (Y/n) still fuming.

"No, I'm terrified," Daisy replies. "Look around. Billions of people gone. If there's a chance I'm the cause . . . I can't go."

"We can get through this together," May says.

(Y/n) looks away, a hurt expression crossing her face.

"You don't even have your powers anymore," May goes on.

"It's only a matter of time, and you know it. If there's an emergency or if one of you are in danger, I will need them, and we will find a way," Daisy argues. "If I go through that portal, you know it's the beginning of the end."

"We don't even know you did this," Coulson says, Daisy's eyes welling with tears.

"I was right in the epicenter," Daisy replies.

"I won't let you sacrifice yourself," Coulson says, "because you're scared of what's to come."

"What's to come is the end of everything," Daisy argues, her voice rising.

"If you can change the future here, you can change it back home," May says, gritting her teeth.

"But we know this solution works," Daisy says.

"I. Don't. Care!" (Y/n) shouts, clenched, her eyes filled with tears.

There's a pew noise, and Daisy drops to the ground, the dendrotoxin doing it's work.

Natalie gazes, wide eyed at the brunette lying unconscious on the floor.

(Y/n) tucks the ICER into the waistband of her pants, kneeling down to brush her fingers across Daisy's cheek.

"She's not going to forgive you," May says and (Y/n) glances up at her.

"I'm not leaving her here," (Y/n) picks Daisy up from the ground, and Daisy's head lolls to the side, resting against (Y/n)'s shoulder. "Let's go," (Y/n) says grimly.

. . .

May, Coulson, (Y/n) - who is still carrying Daisy - and Natalie walk down to meet Simmons, Fitz, Mack, Yo-yo, Flint, and Deke.

. . .

"What happened?" Simmons asks, her eyes falling on Daisy's unconscious figure in (Y/n)'s arms.

"She ICE'd her," May replies. "Daisy didn't want to come home."

"I wasn't going to leave her behind," (Y/n) says softly.

"Where's Yo-yo?" Mack asks. "She didn't find you?" he asks.

(Y/n) lies Daisy down on one of the couches on Kasias's lounge, Daisy's head resting in her lap.

"I'm sorry, Sunshine," (Y/n) murmurs. "I know you might not forgive me, but I couldn't leave you behind. Not like this." (Y/n) swallows thickly, blinking back her tears. (Y/n)'s fingers thread through Daisy's hair. "I love you too much to leave you here."

Coulson walks over to (Y/n), his eyes soft, and his voice is gentle, "It's time." He glances down at Daisy resting in (Y/n)'s lap. "Do you want me to take her?"

(Y/n) shakes her head. "No, I've got her."

(Y/n) shifts slightly, holding Daisy in her arms before she stands up.

Coulson stands beside (Y/n).

The rock turns to liquid and everyone - minus Daisy - looks around as they realize that they're in the same place.

(Y/n) lies Daisy down on a table, slips her hand into her pocket, and sets the box in Daisy's jacket pocket.

"Not like you'd want to," (Y/n) murmurs.

"Well that was a hell of a thing," Fitz says and (Y/n) smiles.

"Are you kidding?" Natalie says, looking around. "I'm from the future."

Coulson looks amused, then looks at Yo-yo, Mack, and Simmons. "I'm so glad you guys made it," Coulson says.

"Why are we still in the Lighthouse?" Yo-yo asks.

"Maybe Flint's Monolith didn't work," Mack offers.

Natalie looks around. "It took us to the same place, but in a different time."

Fitz nods at the redhead. "She's right."

"We're home?" Simmons asks.

"Yeah," Fitz says, and all the agents sigh with relief.

. . .

Coulson gives the agents some tasks, and (Y/n) has to remain in the same room as the unconscious Daisy.

(Y/n) opens one of the electrical panels but freezes when she hears a familiar voice.

"You ice'd me," Daisy's words are slurred. She shifts slightly, not noticing the velvet box in her pocket.

"I was . . ." (Y/n) pauses, a pained expression flashing across her face, ". . . kind of hoping you'd forget that part." (Y/n) stops herself before she says 'Sunshine.'

Daisy scoffs before she sits up, looking around at her surroundings. "Sorry to . . ." she falters, ". . . disappoint."

(Y/n) swallows thickly, focusing back on the problem in front of her she could actually fix.

"It looks the same, but we're - we're home, aren't we?" Daisy asks.

"I -" (Y/n)'s voice quavers, "- I couldn't leave you behind."

"Even with all of the risks that -" Daisy begins.

"I don't care," (Y/n) turns around, biting the inside of her cheek. "I need you here."

Daisy tilts her head, softening.

(Y/n) turns back around, fiddling with some of the wires.

There is a spark, and the lights flicker on.

(Y/n) sits herself on the floor, her back to her girlfriend.

Daisy softens even more, and gets to her feet.

(Y/n) jolts as she feels Daisy's arm wrap around her waist.

As Daisy leans into (Y/n)'s side, both women can feel the box (Y/n) had left in her pocket pressing against their sides.

Confused, Daisy reaches a hand in her pocket, pulls out the box.

"What's this?" Daisy asks. She opens the box and finds a pair of rings inside the box.

]Daisy's eyes widen and she stares at (Y/n).

"Marry me?" (Y/n) asks, meeting Daisy's chocolate brown eyes.

"Yes, is that even a question?" Daisy says, capturing (Y/n)'s lips in a kiss, pouring her love into the kiss.

Daisy's hand moves to the back of (Y/n)'s head, deepening the kiss.

Daisy pulls back from the kiss, to find a disheveled (Y/n) blinking back at her, her eyes wide.

(Y/n) shakes her head slightly, takes the sun ring from box and sliding it onto Daisy's ring finger, and Daisy does the same with the moon ring, sliding it onto (Y/n)'s finger.

(Y/n) leans into her new fiance's side, and Daisy smiles softly, her head resting against (Y/n)'s.

"I love you, Sunshine," (Y/n) murmurs.

"I love you, too," Daisy replies, her eyes gleaming happily.

. . .

"Plans are already in motion," Leopold tells Fitz, smoothing the front of his suit.

. . .

(Y/n) charges into the room and she finds a teary-eyed Daisy on her side, strapped to a table, and Fitz sitting in a chair beside her.

"Fitz? What are you doing?" (Y/n) asks.

There is the sound of a gun firing, and (Y/n) looks down, her hand coming up to her stomach.

(Y/n) slides down against the wall, her eyes glazing.

Daisy lets out a strangled, pained cry.

Simmons and Deke - who had somehow appeared a few days before - run into the room, Simmon's eyes falling on (Y/n), and her eyes widen in horror.

Daisy screams as Fitz cuts the inhibitor from her neck as Simmons and Natalie - who had just ran into the room - crouch beside (Y/n).

(Y/n) lets out a pained groan as Simmons presses against the wound.

"Don't worry, Sunshine," Natalie says, and (Y/n) is too dazed to realized what the redhead had said, but Daisy isn't, and her eyes widen. "You'll be okay.

Mack enters the room next, and he takes Fitz down into the holding area.

. . .

Daisy sits by (Y/n)'s side in the MedBay, holding (Y/n)'s hand.

Natalie enters the MedBay, and Daisy fixes her gaze on the redhead.

"Where did you hear the Sunshine thing?" Daisy asks, and the question startles Natalie a little.

"My mom would always talk about how adorable her mothers were," Natalie admits. "She said that one of her moms would call the other Sunshine. I always though it was the sweetest thing.

Daisy's eyes widen with disbelief. She studies Natalie's familiar features, the fiery red hair, the same splash of freckles across her nose, and chocolate brown eyes that matched her own. "(Y/n) always calls me Sunshine," Daisy whispers. "You're our -"

"Grandaughter," Natalie finishes, her eyes wide.

Word Count: 4322 words

Skye / Daisy Johnson Taglist:

@imapotato

@confusinggemini612

@marie45019

#daisy johnson x female reader #daisy johnson x romanoff reader #daisy johnson x reader #daisy johnson x fem reader #skye x female reader #skye x reader #skye x fem reader #skye x romanoff reader #skye #daisy johnson #phil coulson #melinda may #deke shaw #agents of shield #leo fitz x jemma simmons #phil coulson x melinda may

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skzsauce01 · 3 years

Text

Harmony

Synopsis: Dogged by a shameful past, you try to fit as your new identity in a new dance program at a renowned music conservatory. The school heartthrob and world-class violinist takes interest in you, which would be fine if he wasn’t also your childhood best friend.

Warning: hysterectomy, infertility, panic, mention of murder disclaimer: fertility does NOT determine your worth as a person

Word Count: 10.3k

Pairing: fem!reader x Kim Seungmin

There he is. Of course, there he is. Where else would the handsome prodigal son of the most prominent violinist go if not the best music conservatory in the country? You watch his bleached head of hair make its way across SKZ Conservatory of Music’s courtyard as fans flock him from behind.

As for you, you sit on a random bench by yourself, waiting to start your first day at the conservatory’s new and nameless dance program as Emily Regan, not Y/N L/N, and most definitely not the gifted Kim Seungmin’s long-lost childhood best friend.

You must have stared at him too long, for he catches you and smirks. Blushing, you quickly clear your throat and head to class. He couldn’t have recognized you, right? No, you definitely look nothing like you did when you were six. If so, then why is he following you? You speed up, and while he makes no attempt to do the same, he surely is still on your tail. You turn the last corner and he does the same. You enter a room and take a seat. He— oh, you have the same class. First year literature. Just your luck.

He walks by where you are seated and stops. “Hi there. What’s your name?”

You wish the ground would swallow you, but at least he didn’t call you Y/N or something like that.

“R-Regan. Emily Regan,” you mutter.

“Oh, American?”

You nod, still avoiding his eye.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Emily. I’m Kim Seungmin.”

He extends a hand out to shake, and you take it hesitantly. You aren’t sure you are on first name basis yet, but Kim Seungmin does what Kim Seungmin wants, you suppose.

“Hello, Kim.”

He smiles and takes the seat next to you and you wish you could disappear. But you can’t, so you excuse yourself to use the washroom. You thought you could get another spot when you returned, only to find him reserving your spot next to him for you.

The whole class, you do your best to focus on the professor, but he makes it difficult for you. He makes no effort to hide that he’s stealing glances at you, and fear creeps up your spine. What if he connects the dots and realizes you are your father’s daughter? He’d hate you, that’s for sure. After all you’ve done to him, it’s only natural.

You shake your head and he looks at you curiously. No, the one who did all that isn’t you, but Y/N L/N. You’re Emily Regan now. You just have to make sure you keep it that way.

Still, you’re glad to be able to see him again.

You know you should not be doing this, and there is no reason for you to potentially embarrass yourself even more, but you cannot help yourself. His pieces of work are right there, and his door was propped open so that you could see the music inside. So, you let yourself in.

Being the son of a major benefactor of the school, Seungmin has his own studio on campus. Instruments of all sorts line the wall and his Stradivarius violin lays on the table beside the draft of his latest composition. No one will steal it anyway; it’s chipped and insured.

It does, however, mean that Seungmin probably just stepped out for a bit, so you’ll have to be quick. You look at his piece and hum the notes to yourself.

A small smile forms on your lips as you read the sheet. It’s a duet, and he’s only written the second violin part for now.

This whole thing feels familiar. Reading music with him, cheek to cheek, is something you did often. In fact, that’s exactly what you were doing that day you got that call to rush home only to find where you once lived was turned into a slaughterhouse. Your fingers curl around your cardigan as you recall that day. It was Albinoni’s Adagio. You shake your head and refocus on the notes before you, humming a little louder to drown out your thoughts. You need to finish before—

“You have perfect pitch.”

—Seungmin returns.

You shoot up straight and turn slowly around. Seungmin leans against the door with his arms crossed.

“You have perfect pitch,” he repeats, walking over to his piano. He takes the sheet and plays it on the keyboard. “You weren’t even a microtone off.”

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t—”

He holds up a hand to silence you. “You’re a dance major, right? Do you play anything?”

You shake your head and lie. “Not really.”

“That’s a shame. Well, it’s never too late to start.” He picks up his violin and hands it to you. “Do you want to hear how the piece actually sounds?”

Your eyes widen at the familiar instrument and you visibly flinch backwards to which he raises a brow.

“Emily? Something wrong?”

“No, er, I, uh…” What should you say? “I’m alright. Thank you, and sorry for intruding. I need to use the washroom now.”

“Hold up,” he calls, effectively making you freeze in your step. “You don’t think you can just walk in here and leave unscathed, do you?”

“W-what do you mean?” you laugh nervously.

“You’ve got to pay the admissions fee,” he replies. “If you don’t play the violin, then here.” He hands you his music. “Compose the first violin.”

“What? I don’t even play!”

“You can try, or I can call security. You might even get suspended,” he smirks.

You open and close your mouth soundlessly. If you fail here as Emily Regan the dance major, then what will become of you? You have no choice but to concede and take the paper from his hands.

“Great. It’s only thirty-two bars, so bring it by tomorrow!”

“But I—!”

He takes out his phone and begins dialing the number for security while reading out each digit.

“Fine! I’ll do it!” you relent.

He grins victoriously. “Great!”

You frown at your new project. “But if I may ask, why the first violin? Don’t people usually compose both at once or the melody part first?”

“I like playing second best,” he answers casually.

This you remember from your childhood days, but that was long, long ago, and only because you always wanted to play first. His skills have improved tremendously since then. Anyone who calls Kim Seungmin a second violinist these days would surely be mocked. “Second? But you’re a renowned soloist!”

“I just haven’t found the person I want to follow yet.”

There’s a pain in his voice that makes you bite your own lip. Even if that person is still here, how can he, the prodigal son from the greatest violinist in the nation, stand next to, let alone play with again, the child of a pariah?

“I better get started on this,” you excuse yourself. You can’t bear to see the scars you left on him any longer.

Seungmin finds you the next day with your face on your desk.

“Rough night?” he chuckles.

You pop your head off the table and swipe your hand over your mouth to rid it of any drool. At this point, you should give up ever looking good in front of the school’s heartthrob.

“Here,” you cough, sliding over your work. “I’m forgiven with this, right?”

He hums approvingly and pulls up a keyboard on his phone. After playing it once, he shakes his head and pulls out another score and places it in front of you.

“This won’t do. Try again.”

Your eyes widen. “But—!”

“You didn’t put yourself into this piece did you?”

How can he say that after you spent all night researching and writing drafts, trying to make something that wouldn’t disappoint the great Kim Seungmin? You open your mouth, however, no objection comes out. Something in you knows he’s right.

“Take your time with this next one. Just bring it to my studio when you’re ready, okay?”

You give a small nod and look at the paper on your desk with dread.

“But you did work hard on this,” he continues, “so here. A reward.” He slides a cup of coffee to you. “Tell me what you like and I’ll get that next time.”

“Thank you, but you don’t have to,” you say, a little surprised by the gesture. “This time or the next.”

“Oh, come on. A little boost is nice after a rough night, isn’t it? How many hours did you even sleep?”

Good question. You’re curious yourself. You went to bed at four and were awakened at seven by your bladder, so one, two, “Three.”

He looks at you weirdly.

“What?” you defend. “I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

“You’re not from America, are you?”

That came out of the left field. “What?”

“Americans count like this.” He raises his index finger then his middle and then his ring, counting a number with each digit. “But you went like this.” He holds up five fingers and progressively puts one down, starting from his thumb.

“I must have gotten used to it here already,” you laugh sheepishly. “Oh look, the professor!”

You feel his stare, but thankfully, he does not say anything else after the instructor greets the class.

The next attempt takes you eight days. You wouldn’t mind a little longer to work out the finer details, but seeing him in class pressures you to just turn it in.

You hold your breath as he scans over your new attempt. Your nervousness does not last long though as he does not even bother playing it and instead drops it right into the bin. He takes out yet another copy and slams it on the table in front of you.

“I really am trying my be—”

“That’s not what I’m looking for,” he cuts sternly. “Remember what I said. I want you in this piece. Not your best— you.”

“I—”

“No. Look here. Look at me. Focus.”

You gulp and do as told. His lips are pursed and his eyes intense.

“What do you feel?” His question sounds more like a statement.

“Happy?” you try.

He scowls.

“Sad?”

“No, you don’t,” he says. “Look at me. What do you feel?”

You rack your head for emotional words. What answer could he possibly be looking for? “Attraction?”

Seungmin breaks his seriousness and laughs loudly. “Attraction?”

“I mean, you have all those fans and the looks, wealth, and talent,” you try to explain, “so I thought you were looking for that.”

He pokes your forehead. “This isn’t about me or what I’m looking for. It hasn’t been since I gave you this piece. Think about it honestly. What does Emily Regan feel?”

Emily Regan? “Frustrated.”

Another shake of his head. “Deeper. Think. What do you feel?”

You bite your lip and flick your eyes to meet his. What do you feel? What do you feel, posing as a dancer here at SKZ Conservatory in front of Kim Seungmin?

“... shame.”

He smiles bittersweetly and hands you a pen. “Write,” he whispers gently.

You stare at the empty bars, pen quivering slightly above the page. Finally, you draw a small oval in a line.

You write and write, humming the notes to yourself and not realizing how time has passed. When you finally finish, the sun has already gone down. You look up and see Seungmin with his elbows resting on the table across from you and his hands clasped, not having moved a centimeter for the past few hours.

When you finally put down the pen, he turns the sheet towards himself. He stares at it for a good ten minutes before standing up with it and pulling out his Stradivarius. From his phone, he first records him playing his own composition and then plays yours over it.

The whole thing could not have been more than five minutes, but to you, it feels like an eternity.

At last he finishes the piece with an up bow and brings his arm in a circle to his side. He stares at your work for a few more silent moments before saying, “Have you published music before?”

That certainly is not the comment you were expecting. “No?”

“It’s… familiar. I don’t mean the piece, but the style, it’s…”

“Well, do I pass?” you cut in before he can think too much of it.

He sets down his instrument. “It’s a little bland, but I'll take it. Good work, Emily.”

“I’ll be taking my leave then. Goodbye, Kim.”

“Wait—” He calls after you, but you are already out the door.

You speed walk until you are in the safety of a nearby washroom. You rest your back against the stall door and let out a sigh. Does he remember the amateur pieces you made almost two decades ago? Did you accidentally just expose yourself? No, prodigy or not, there is no way he can connect you to Y/N L/N just from thirty-two bars of music. At any rate, it’s best to lay low from him for now, you decide.

Laying low does not really work when you are one of the few members of the conservatory’s budding dance ensemble though. Seungmin is hosting a charity concert and requested dancers for his show. You manage to finish your numbers for the night without complications and are now waiting in the wings for the curtains as Seungmin begins his final piece.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to enjoy his music until something about the tune strikes you. Your eyelids flutter open as a familiar melody fills the auditorium. It’s your piece! Sure, he wrote it into a solo, but the resemblance is unmistakable.

When he finishes, he bows and makes a speech. Your classmate nudges you to snap you out of your surprise and urges you onstage for the curtain call. The whole time, you stare at Seungmin, unsure of what to make of the situation.

At the end of his speech, he gestures for the dancers to come forward. He meets your eyes with his usual smirk and grabs your hand for the bow.

When all is done, you want to find an explanation for that last piece, but your bladder demands to be released right at that moment. You’ve been finding yourself needing to go more and more or the area starts to hurt, so you quickly relieve yourself and speed out. To your luck, it seems Seungmin took his time packing up his violin; you see his silhouette just across the field from the performance hall.

“Wait,” you call out, running after him. He doesn’t hear you until you are closer. “Wait!”

Seungmin turns around as you stop in front of him, resting your hands on your knees to catch your breath.

“Emily?”

He takes a look at your state. You’re still in your costume from having rushed out, and your sheer asymmetrical skirt is doing nothing for you against the night wind.

He shakes off his coat and wraps it around you. “Are you here because of that last bit?”

You nod and stare at him, hoping your gaze draws an explanation out of him.

“It’s a good piece. I felt the need to share it.” He fixes the collar around your neck. “I know I should have asked first. I’ll buy you food sometime to make up for it, yeah?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter that you played it; I just want to know why you did it.”

“I told you already. I like it,” he shrugs.

“You like Paganini. You like Strasate. Anything from them or even something you wrote would have made a better finish. Why this?”

“It’s a charity concert for the needy. Your piece had fitting emotions.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Is there really nothing else?

“Hold on.” He narrows his eyes back at you. “How do you know so much about composers?”

“I— It’s— This is a music conservatory! I’ve just seen their names around in murals and such!”

“Makes sense,” he nods.

“Good. Well then, have a good evening, Kim,” you bid, relieved, and begin to turn around.

“Do you want me to walk you back to the dorm? It’s quite late,” he offers.

You turn around but do not stop walking away. “I still need to change. Thank you though!”

It is only when you’re in the green room do you realize you still have his coat.

“Kim,” you call out, shuffling your feet quickly after him.

A wide grin spreads over his face as he turns around and sees your form. There’s a tuba on his shoulder. “Emily! Looking for me?”

You nod and thrust forward the bag in your hand. “Your coat. I came to return it.”

Seungmin dramatically wraps his hands around the instrument. “Oh no! My hands are full right now! Could you bring it to my studio in fifteen minutes?”

Your grip on the bag tightens in frustration, but he leans towards you, tuba looming overhead, and blinks thrice.

“Please? I’ll make it worth your effort.”

You fumble backwards, flustered, and drop your hand and the bag to your side. “Fine,” you relent. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes,” he promises. As you walk out of the music hall, you hear a tuba playing fanfare.

Fifteen minutes later, you knock at his door which opens before you even finish your first knock. Seungmin greets you and gestures inside where a plate of mochi sits on his table with two cups of tea.

“Care to join me?” he invites.

You again hand him the bag and keep your feet planted where they are. “I think I’ll have to pass, but thank you.”

“Aw, don’t you like sweets?” He reaches for the plate and circles it around your face.

Still, you shake your head. “Again, thank you, but based on the last few times I was in here, I would rather not be.”

“I promise not to make you compose again. Just come in before the tea gets cold!”

“Why do you want me to anyway?”

“Huh?” His eyes widen at the question.

“I mean, other people have perfect pitch, yet you only sit with me to work through a composition. You sit next to me and buy me coffee and now you’re inviting me to tea. Why are you so interested in me?”

He tilts his head to the side. “‘Cause I like you, obviously.”

That sets off your alarms. Quickly, you dart your eyes around, looking to see if any of his fan girls are around to hear that and murder you. You then push him into the room and slam the door behind you.

“Excuse me, what?” you exclaim.

He sits by the food, crossing his legs. “I. Like. You.” he repeats slowly.

“B-b-b-but that’s impossible,” you sputter. “Curious? Maybe. But attracted to? No.”

He chuckles. “Why not? I mean, it did start out as curiosity, but the more I poked around, the more intrigued I became. You’re a woman full of mysteries, Emily. I like that.”

You put your hands in front of you and slowly back up. “No, no. No. No. There’s nothing to me at all. We don’t know each other very well. Of course a stranger is going to have a lot of unknowns. Once you get to know me, you’ll find that you’ve wasted your time and energy.” You like your acquaintanceship right now. Even being ignored by him is totally fine, but if he ever finds out who you are, he’ll hate you and spit on the person you’ve tried so hard to become.

“Oh really?” He stands and advances to you, making you shrink. “Then let’s put your theory to the test, shall we?”

“What do you mean?” you gulp.

“You answer my questions and I’ll see if I still like you then.”

“Q-questions?”

“Yeah. We can go slowly if you’d like. Maybe one a day? How does that sound?”

When you don’t respond, he begins. “Why do you seem so afraid of touching a violin?”

“I— uh…”

“Why did you lie about your home country? Why did you feel ‘shame’? Why did you sneak into my studio to look at my work yet claim to have no interest in music?”

With every question, he takes one step in your direction, finally backing you up against the wall.

“And” —he lowers and softens his voice— “how does it feel to kiss you?”

“I’ll— I’ll—” You squirm in your shoes, head down and fists balled. The silence is deafening between your stutters, but he makes no effort to fill it, waiting patiently for your response. “I’ll answer the last one,” you finally squeak.

“Alright then.”

You hear one of his hands pressing on the wall behind you and feel the other coming up to your jaw. He leans closer and closer and you squeeze your eyes tighter and tighter. You’re shaking so much, you can’t tell if you’re even still standing anymore.

His breath fans your lips as he suddenly chuckles and straightens up. He leaves a quick peck on your forehead and steps back.

“You don’t have to do things you don’t want to, Emily.” He has a soft smile which you stare at with surprise at the turn of events. “Doesn’t mean I’ll stop annoying the daylights out of you though,” he adds cheekily.

He slides the mochi back into the box they came in and hands them to you. “Go back to your dorm. Maybe we’ll continue our interrogation next time. Oh, and there’s a closer toilet if you turn right since you seem to go all the time.”

You stand there, mochi in hand, with your jaw opening and closing without any audible sound. He laughs again and turns you around towards the door.

“Go, before I poke you with my bow.”

Mention of a violin snaps your soul back into your body. “Okay, okay. Goodbye, Kim.”

“Thanks for returning the coat,” he calls after you as you disappear into the washroom on the left.

“Remember to choose a partner for this project. Let me know if you can’t get one by next week,” your literature professor concludes and whisks out the door.

You feel the entire room turn towards your direction no thanks to the one and only Kim Seungmin sitting next to you. He himself turns toward you with a plotting grin.

“Emily.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, pain rippling through your belly as you do so. There is no point resisting, and you don’t feel up to it today anyway.

“Are you free tonight? I’ll pick you up after your practice and we can get a head start.”

That night, you already know who has just arrived when the girls come squealing into the locker room. You couldn’t care less though. You try to rub away the pain that’s nagging at your belly and fumble around for some pain killers. You allow yourself five minutes after tossing back the pills, but begrudgingly drag your feet outside so as to not keep Seungmin waiting.

He greets you with an electrolyte drink which you take and thank him for as discreetly as possible without catching the attention of his fans. He thankfully seems to take the hint and follows you outside, only fully approaching you when the last of the girls retreats back into the changing room.

“Ready for our project?”

“You’re awfully excited for homework,” you comment.

“It’s not just any homework.” He bumps you with his shoulder. At that moment, another wave of pain grips your stomach, causing you to stop in your step and bend over.

“Did I nudge too hard?” he gasps. “I’m sorry!”

You shake your hand. “Just… premenstrual cramps. It’s a little hard to manage these days,” you squeeze out.

He walks you to a nearby bench and kneels in front of you. He opens your drink for you and wipes sweat from your forehead.

“Are you okay? Do you want to go home and rest for today?” he asks worriedly.

“I’ll be fine in a bit; I just need the medicine to kick in. Sorry for delaying us.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He takes your hand and massages the pressure point between your thumb and index finger. “Is there anything you need?”

You assure him that you’re fine and can continue with the scheduled homework session which you know he cut short with one excuse or another. You two do the bare minimum on the assignment before he “realized” he scheduled an appointment to restring his violin. After Seungmin walks you to your dorm, you quickly put on a liner and head to bed.

That night, you learn that a liner was a mistake. You wake up as you often do by a call from the bathroom. Groggily, you swing your legs off your bed and are startled by a loud ‘squish.’ Too distracted by the gnawing in your pelvis, you think nothing of it, until you open your door and the hallway lights pour into your room, illuminating your blood-covered feet. With a gasp, you quickly turn around and see the trail of red behind you. You quickly reach for your heaviest pad only to be gripped with the worst shock of pain you’ve had yet. You fall to your knees then ultimately to the floor.

Waking up on the floor makes you forget where you are, and realizing that you are laying in a pool of blood and urine does not help. It takes a moment for you to recover from the shock the state of your room gave you, but when you do, you decide to get yourself cleaned up first then deal with the room later.

Twenty minutes later, you again face the disaster that is your dorm. Thankfully, you do not have literature today, so no one— and by no one you mean Seungmin— will notice if you take a day off to take care of it.

You begin pulling off your bedsheets to wash when you hear a knock at your door. You panic and look around. It doesn’t take a genius to know your room is in no condition for a guest right now.

“Emily?”

And of course it has to be Kim Seungmin. You freeze in your spot, not knowing what to do.

“Did she leave?” you hear him ask himself. This is good. You hope he leaves.

“I guess so,” he mutters.

You hear some plastic shuffling outside and then his retreating footsteps. You breathe a sigh of relief which you immediately regret because of the pain that comes with breathing too heavily. Your periods have never hurt this much, you note with worry.

You return to your sheets until your phone vibrates with a notification.

Kim Seungmin- Lit [10:59 AM]: Hope you’re feeling better. I left some soup and food at your door since it seems like you aren’t home.

Kim Seungmin- Lit [10:59 AM]: Call me if you need something. Or if you need a ride to the hospital.

Hospital? You rub your abdomen, wondering if the pain warrants a visit. You take some more painkillers and eat the food before finishing cleaning your room. As you leave the washing machine running downstairs, you sit at your table after another washroom stop for a quick nap. You nestle your head in your arms and close your eyes…

… and open them a few hours later, feeling like you’d rather be dead. You can barely breathe and your room spins around you. You don’t even remember to grab your keys as you stumble out the door. Hospital, hospital. No, the hospital’s too far. The conservatory’s health center will have to suffice for now, and it’s only two buildings away.

You must look really unwell, for as soon as you step into the facility, there are already three staff members rushing to your side. You aren’t sure what happens next. It looks like your arrival caused quite the commotion, but all you can hear is Mozart’s Requiem playing somewhere. The world is closing in on you, and you feel your legs give out.

“Seungminnie…”

You wake up to the humming of machines in a hospital room. You realize they transferred you when you see an old lady sleeping in the bed beside yours.

Thankfully, you feel much better now, though you suspect it has something to do with IV connected to your wrist.

Seeing that you are awake, a nurse comes in to check your vitals.

“Are you feeling alright, Miss Regan?” she asks.

You nod and thank her as she replaces your IV bag.

“The doctor wants to see you in a bit for your consultation, but I need a bit of information from you first. We couldn’t find any family members attached to your name, so you’ll have to fill out some forms for yourself, alright sweetie?”

After making sure you are able to, she hands you a clipboard which you complete steadily until one section. “Emergency contact,” it reads.

Seeing your hesitation, the nurse chimes in. “It can be anyone. A friend, teacher, anyone you can trust just in case, you know?”

You smile politely. "May I leave it blank?"

The nurse looks stunned. "I suppose, but what if something happens?"

"You can call a lawyer."

She looks doubtful but stays quiet save for the few instructions she gives to reach your doctor’s office. As you walk there, you think about what just happened. Emergency contact? You'd just moved here for school. Your mother passed during childbirth, and your father— Emily Regan doesn’t have a father. There's no one you could have put down, you tell yourself. No one. Not even a certain overzealous violinist.

You knock twice on the door you were told.

“Miss Emily Regan?” the doctor greets as you walk in.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Nice to meet you. My name is Doctor Lee. How are you feeling right now?"

"A lot better."

"Glad to hear it. Please take a seat. Tell me, have you experienced frequent urination lately?"

You walk out of the pharmacy with a paper bag in your hands. Your heart drums in your ears but for a completely different reason this time. What will this mean for you? You’ll need to be resting for two months after the procedure, and as a dance major, this means you can’t attend class. Never mind its impact on your school year, what will this mean for your entire life? Your father has already tarnished the name Y/N L/N. You’ve tried so hard and lied so much just to make Emily Regan real. What have you made her into now? Dirty. Fiendish. Despicable. Even if you escaped being the daughter of the most hated artist who shamed his whole nation, you’ll never escape who you really are. And now this? Your hand unconsciously rises to your belly, rubbing it. It’s only further proof of what a defect you are.

It is around four by the time you arrive back at the dorms. Thankfully, the hospital phoned your resident assistant who has your keys for you. You’re still distracted by your thoughts as you approach the building and nearly miss the man pacing up and down the front door.

Seungmin has his shoulders hunched and hands clasped together as he blows on them to keep warm, his grey cardigan not doing much against the evening chill.

“Kim?” you call out, not believing your eyes. You are, after all, on a lot of drugs.

He immediately runs towards you when he recognizes you. You stand where you are and wait for him to come, now believe that he truly is here. Was he out here waiting for you? Your hand curls around your belly. He shouldn’t be wasting his efforts like this on someone like you. Never mind the faults of Y/N, even as Emily, you no longer deserve the love of someone like Kim Seungmin. You’d never wish for your childhood best friend to be with someone as flawed as you.

“What are you doing here?” you inquire as he stops in front of you, raising his hands as if wanting to hold you but is afraid you’d break under his touch.

“You didn’t pick up the phone…” he whispers. “You weren’t home and you didn’t pick up the phone…”

“I… had something going on.” You tuck away your prescription in your coat. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t—”

“Kim.”

“—the phone—”

“Kim Seungmin!”

His eyes look up to meet yours and you see the daze being snapped out of them.

“Huh?”

You exhale sharply and repeat. “What are you doing here?”

“Your dorm doesn’t allow guys past twelve,” he replies matter of factly.

Your brows knit together. “You were out here for four hours?”

He nods. “Where were you? You were sick yesterday, and now you’re off the map until four in the morning.”

You shouldn’t have snapped. You know what he means by his words, but you aren’t exactly having the best day, and Seungmin isn’t supposed to be here. You aren’t who he actually likes. You aren’t the six year old Y/N nor are you an ideal bachelorette. No, you are some imposter and you hate it. You hate it, so you state flatly, “Why does it matter to you where I was? If you’re worried about the literature project, then I’m sorry. I promise to finish it on time, but it was you who ended the homework session early yesterday, and as far as I’m concerned, we don’t have anything scheduled for today. Thank you for the meal earlier, but if stuff like that’s going to make you feel entitled to knowing about my every whereabouts, then please stop doing it.”

“That’s not what I—”

You close your eyes and let your head roll back. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s been a long day, so please just leave me alone for a bit.”

You walk past him, expecting the conversation to be left at that. You hear him hesitating, which you also expect, but you are not ready for the:

“No.”

Seungmin runs in front of you and spreads his limbs out, blocking your path. “You’re suffering. I don’t know from what, or if it’s even really period cramps, but you are. I’m not letting you do it alone.” He sucks in his cheeks as he tries to find his next words. You half expect him to take you to his studio and sit you down with a drink until you give him at least a hint of what’s happening, but he surprises you with, “I’m not saying you have to share it with me, but you need to have someone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t,” he objects. “And trust me. I’ve seen a man try and it cost him his life and his daughter.”

The familiar story makes you freeze. Despite yourself, you ask, “Who?”

“My father’s best friend. The late violinist, L/N.”

“T-the one who turned out to be a murderer?” Why are you saying this? Just leave him and go!

Seungmin approaches you now that you’ve stopped. His presence makes your eyes water. “He only got involved with the wrong people and ruined his name because he tried to deal with the grief of losing his wife on his own. He even hid it from his own best friend, and that’s how everything tumbled out of control.”

“And his daughter?” Stop it! Y/N— no, Emily, stop it!

“No one knows, though she could be dead. My father immediately sent out searches for her, but nothing ever came up.” His voice softens almost to the point of inaudible as he talks about her. “Father hasn’t played a duet since, and neither have I.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you say.

“Don’t be. You didn’t even know about it, so what could you have done?” he laughs dryly.

The irony makes your toes curl.

“Just don’t make me watch another person go down the same path, okay?” he pleas gently.

Again, you should have done something else. You should just say, “Okay, I’ll reach out if I need it” and leave it at that. Instead, you turn to him and ask, “Can you play me ‘Méditation’?”

You watch his eyes widen at the ‘coincidence’ of your request, especially after that story.

“‘Méditation?’” he asks.

“Yes. Massenet’s.”

He visibly takes a step back and you know why. After all, you’ve made this exact request a million times whenever you were left to sleepover at your father’s best friend’s house.

You wake up on the couch of his studio. Seungmin lays sprawled out on the floor next to you, violin on his chest and bow dangling from his thumb. You use the blanket he put over you to lift the ten million dollar instrument onto a table before he can roll over and crush it. You cradle the Strad, lifting it over its owner to the table on the other side.

“You know who composed ‘Méditation’ but you can’t touch a violin?”

The voice startles you, and you jerk backwards, stumbling back onto the couch. Once you’ve regained your balance, you glare at the man who’s still laying on the ground, moving only his eyes to look at you.

You sigh and pull the blanket over your head. “Don’t pry my secrets or I’ll have to keep avoiding you,” you warn.

“Oh!” he hums.

You pull the blanket back down and see him sitting up now with an arm propped on his knee. “What?”

“You finally admitted to hiding things,” he tells you.

“Everyone hides things.”

“But not everyone sucks at denying it.”

“Hey!”

He points at your jacket. “Your pill bottles are literally rattling with every move you make, Miss I’m-totally-fine.”

You wrap your jacket tighter around yourself. “They’re— they’re—”

“Pill bottles,” he insists. He folds his hands on the couch and rests his head on them. “Your inept lying is adorable.”

You groan and toss the blanket over his head. He tries to pull it off, but you clamp your hand over his to stop him.

“I don’t want to tell you this, but you did house me for a night, so you deserve to know at least this much, I guess.” Your serious tone stops his resistance attempts. “I’m scheduled for surgery in a little over a week. I’ll be in a hotel for two weeks after the procedure with a nurse since I don’t have someone to care for me during the bed rest period. It’s a relatively safe procedure, so don’t worry.”

Seungmin flips your hand over and grabs it. The blanket slips off his head and you are left looking at his glassy eyes.

“I…” He takes a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing. “I won’t ask you where you’re staying if you don’t want to tell. Just promise you’ll text after the surgery. Let me know that you’re still alive at least.”

You nod. “You’ll see me working on our Powerpoint for the project at least.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he tells you.

“I won’t be able to dance for a month and a half after this. My general education classes are all I’m going to be doing,” you assure him.

“If it gets too hard—”

“I know. Thank you, Kim.”

You roll your suitcase off the bus. You aren’t sure if it is extra windy today or if it’s just your nerves, but you shiver as you stare at the hospital before you. You take a deep breath and take a step forward only to find your feet glued to the sidewalk.

Just then, you hear a ping through your earphones. You pull out your phone and see a message.

Kim Seungmin- Lit [7:41 AM]: [get_well_soon.mp3]

You click into it and a piano and violin playing a familiar intermezzo fills your ears. You then look down at your feet and successfully lift one up and place it in front of the other until you are in front of the reception.

“Hello. I have an appointment under Emily Regan, and I'd also like to update my emergency contact information.”

After two weeks, you’re at last pushing open the door to your own dorm room.

You aren’t sure if it’s the morphine or the darkness of the room, but stepping inside after two weeks and seeing your curtains sway lightly in the evening air makes you feel emptier than you’ve ever felt before. Suddenly, your emotions overwhelm you all at once and you succumb to the floor. Your throat tightens and you wrap your arms around your abdomen, tucking your knees to your chest. You think you are crying, but you can’t be sure. The walls are closing in. You feel yourself being shackled by chains and no matter how hard you scream, no one hears you. Your voice bounces in your head like a ricocheting bullet and water is seeping in from somewhere, filling your nose and mouth, depriving you of air. All the while, your heartbeat echoes in your head.

Ba dum.

… dum.

With a strangled gasp, you manage to break one hand free for a split moment, and you immediately look for the remote that has called a nurse for the past two weeks. Of course, you are no longer at the hospital, so the only thing you grab is your phone.

“Seungminnie… Seungminnie, Seungminnie.”

You fumble with the device, but the chains are tightening around you again. Fog clouds in and you can’t see your phone anymore. You don’t even hear it hit the floor as it slips from your hand.

Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba dum.

Suddenly, you’re six again. Before you is the empty hallway of Violinist Kim’s mansion. Your plastic princess heels thunder with every step as you run down the hall.

Ba dum. “Seungminie?”

There’s no one there. Every turn you make just leads to another empty hall. The ground begins to morph, twisting and turning under your tiny feet.

Ba dum. Ba dum.

The giant bow on your dress unravels and cinches around your ankle, and you trip and scrape your chin.

“Seungmin!”

“Emily!”

The ribbons shrivel. The chains clatter to the ground. The water drains. You gasp haggredly for air as your hands fly up to his shoulders for support. Beside you, your phone sits on the floor, his name illuminating from the screen.

“Emily, what’s wrong?” he asks, lowering his own device from his ear.

Your hands climb up to his face, cupping it. Your eyes are still glazed over. Blood drips from your lips from having been gnawed on too much.

“You’re… you’re not Seungmin.” You put your hands all over his face, feeling its features. “Or are you? No…”

“Emily—”

“Who’s Emily? You’re not Seungmin.”

“Stop biting yourself.”

“Seungmin’s not blond. Seungmin’s not—”

“Emily!”

“WHO’S EMILY?”

He freezes and looks at you. You’re drooped over at this point, defeated and tired. He then puts one hand behind you and pulls you into his arms.

“I am Seungmin,” he says gently. The vibration of his chest as he speaks lulls you. “I am Seungmin,” he repeats. “I’m right here. You’ve found me. I’m right here.”

Shakily, one of your hands reaches up and grabs his shirt while the other circles around to your lower belly.

“... Seungminnie…”

You’re in the furthest corner of the bed, staring at him. He’s just standing there, staring at you, juice in one hand and your keys in the other.

“So,” he begins. “What do you remember?”

“Nothing,” you answer truthfully. Your eyes shift to your desk where some medicine including a bottle of Kadian and a pack of birth control sit carelessly. “But I don’t suppose I had to say much for you to figure things out.” He’s going to leave you all alone now. Why is he even still here? He should realize how unsuitable you are for someone like him. There’s undeniable evidence in front of him now.

He clutches at his chest and scrunches up his face as a glaze passes over his eyes. He takes a moment before taking out one of the pills. He hands it to you with the juice, obviously having read the administration instructions.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “That and the frequent urinations. How much did they take out?”

You look away and your hand subconsciously reaches down. So he is still holding onto hope for some miracle. That’s why he hasn’t left yet. “Enough.” Now go, Seungmin.

He sits beside you, fiddling with the blankets between his fingers.

You break the silence first. “Don’t feel inclined to stay.”

“Huh?” he questions, looking up.

“I’m” —you motion downstairs— “you know. You’re here because you like me, right? Well, I can’t exactly produce an ideal family anymore. You should probably look for someone who can help you continue your and your father’s legacy.”

He looks more confused than you’ve ever seen him. “What?”

“I’m saying you should walk away now. I won’t hold it against you, so you don’t have to live with any guilt. I never considered our relationship possible anyway.”

Confusion shifts to anger. “You— You think I— I—” He struggles with his words after having been presented a scenario he’s never even considered. He exhales long and hard. “No. Just” —he grabs at an imaginary stress ball— “no. I’m not leaving, and you can’t make me. I don’t like you just because of your fertility. How could you think that? I don’t want a child. I want you. Do you understand? You! I couldn’t even sleep or drink for the past two weeks you were hospitalized, and the only time I could eat was whenever you sent a text or when I saw your little cursor on the Powerpoint. You think a surgery like that can weigh out whatever I felt that drove me to do this?”

“Still, I’m—”

“Worthy, beautiful, and loveable,” he insists.

Those words are foreign to you. They’ve been long before you went to the hospital. How can he believe such things about you? Would he say the same things about Y/N?

Seungmin sighs when you don’t respond and drags you closer. You don’t resist which he takes as a good sign. “So you don’t have to hide things from me anymore, okay? I’ll be here for you.”

You try to bite your lip only to find ointment there, so you play with a loose thread on your blanket instead.

“I… I’m already hiding a lot of things from you that I’m afraid to confess,” you admit. “Will that still be okay?”

You feel him nod. “Take your time. I’ll wait until you’re comfortable.”

You close your eyes and bask in his warmth. Will he really be okay if he knew he has in his arms the daughter of a drug addict murderer? Will he really be okay knowing you’re his “best friend” who left him without a trace for all these years?

You hope so.

You want to believe so.

“It’s out! It’s out! It’s out!” you exclaim.

“It’s just one grade. Relax,” Seungmin chuckles. Still, he stops playing the piano and swings his legs over to look at your phone.

“Not all of us have an established violin career to fall back on,” you remind him while logging into your account. You cover your eyes and hold the phone away from you as the page loads. “I can’t look.”

Seungmin takes the device. “I think you should.”

“Why? Is it good or bad?”

“We got a hundred.”

“We did?” You uncover your eyes. “We did! We did!”

In your excitement, you give him a quick hug. He puts your phone on the table and drags you onto the piano bench. “You’re not doing anything right now, right?” He puts a simple piece in front of you. “Try this.”

“Kim, I don’t play.”

“It’s simple. Look.” He squeezes in behind you and puts your hand on the keyboard. “That’s middle C.”

He presses on the key and you scoff. You lift your left hand up as well and humor him. You’re definitely a bit choppy, but you make your way through the piece slowly and surely. Seungmin wraps his arms around your belly and rests his head on your shoulder with his eyes closed, swaying slightly to the music. When you get to the end, you lift up your hands and rest them on your lap.

“You’re just cuddling, aren’t you?”

He opens his eyes and looks at you. “Are you uncomfortable?”

Your eyes shift to the music. “No, I like it.”

You feel his heartbeat accelerating at your words. “So uh, you’ve played piano before, haven’t you?”

“Uhm. I played a few different things.”

“Violin?”

“That was my focus.”

He’s not surprised. “Were you good?”

“I was better than you,” you tease.

“Oh, really?” He jumps up and puts his violin under his chin in a challenging stance.

You put your hands defensively out with a laugh. “That was like years ago!”

He wiggles his eyebrow and starts performing up-bow ricochet and left hand pizzicato.

You roll your eyes humorously. “We get it, Mr. World-class-musician.”

He laughs too and sits back down beside you. “Speaking of which, I’m playing with the JYP Philharmonic next weekend. You’ll come, right?”

You nod. “If I can manage to walk there.”

“I need to get there early, but I’ll have my driver take you.” He smiles widely. “You have to come, you have to. I have someone I want you to meet.”

“Who?”

He holds a finger to his lip cheekily. “Now it’s my turn to have a little secret.”

You fix the ribbon around your neck and smooth out your skirt as your driver comes around to open your door. You thank him and make your way into the building where Seungmin asked you to meet him. You hear him before you see him.

“Oh, she’s wonderful. She really is.”

There’s another lower voice that mumbles a reply you can’t make out.

“Kim?” you call, approaching his waiting room.

Seungmin’s grin widens as he turns around and sees you. You, on the other hand, drop the chocolate and banana you brought for him when you see the other man in the room.

Seungmin gestures to you and looks at his companion. “Dad, this is Emily Regan, the girl I’ve been talking to you about. Emily, my father.”

Violinist Kim looks as shocked as you. “Emily… Regan?” His eyes narrow.

Seungmin furrows his brows. “What’s wrong, Dad?”

He doesn’t say anything and extends a hand out to you. “Nice to meet you, Emily Regan.”

You shake his hand uncertainly, unable to look at his unblinking eyes.

“Emily? Dad?” Seungmin looks between the two of you.

The older gentleman turns to his son. “See me for a moment.”

After Seungmin sits you on a couch, the two step out into the garden as per his request. You watch as Violinist Kim says something that makes Seungmin run a hand through his hair then stab them into his pockets as he slouches backwards. He replies with something that his father quickly rebuttals. What can they possibly be discussing? It’s clear Violinist Kim does not approve of you. Does he realize who you are? Or is Emily Regan the one he disapproves of? As a parent, it’s not uncommon to want grandchildren after all.

Suddenly, someone else bursts into the room. “Mr. Kim Seungmin, the conductor is looking for you!”

The stage worker is surprised to see only you in the room, and you inform him where the performers are. He thanks you and lets himself outside to deliver the message.

You stand as Seungmin and his father walk back in. Your friend pauses in his steps to talk to you.

“I’m sorry about that,” he apologizes. “This isn’t how I thought my dad would react to this. I’ll talk to you after.” He then spots your hand which has again found its way to your abdomen and frowns. “I swear that’s not something we talked about nor is it even something worth getting upset over, okay?”

You give him an assuring smile. “Break a leg.”

You watch as he hurries to catch up to the stage worker who is giving a briefing as they walk. You don’t bother to ask what is wrong. You can already tell from the cold eyes of Violinist Kim what is wrong. All you can do is wonder how much he told his son.

The concert goes well. You can tell that whatever happened with his father took a toll on Seungmin’s mentality, but his concerto was still dynamic and captivating. A few rows in front of you, you spot Violinist Kim still nodding along to the music and supporting his son.

After forty minutes, the house lights come back on and it is time for intermission. Seungmin is done with his concerto, so you go back backstage to see if you can catch him. You don’t have to go that far though. On your way, you hear a tree go, “Psst, Emily!”

You look and see him waving you over. He’s still calling you Emily, so that’s good, you note.

“Why are we out here?” you inquire.

He takes you a little further into the woods until he finds a boulder for you to sit on. He hoists you up so you’re comfortable.

“I thought I should clear things up before my dad talks to you,” he explains. “I’ve seen enough K-dramas to know what kind of headache misunderstandings cause.”

You nod, prompting him to go on. He does.

“You remember when I told you about Violinist L/N?”

This sends your heart racing. Has he found out?

“Well his daughter used to be my best friend. The thing is, my dad thinks you look a lot like her, and he thinks I’m only with you because of it.”

Oh, it’s just that. Thank goodness.

He grabs your hands, his eyes serious. “I just want you to know that no matter what he tells you, that’s not it. I like you for you, Emily, and nothing more and nothing less.”

You’re still convincing yourself that he isn’t aware of your past identity, and you must be making a face that he registers as doubt for he slides a hand up to your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Please believe me.”

You snap out of it. Of course you believe him, and it wouldn’t change much if he were in love with Y/N L/N anyway. However, you don’t miss the opportunity to ask, “What would you do if she is not dead? What would you do if she came back?”

“I’d celebrate her return. I’d grab lunch with her and introduce the two of you, but that’ll be the extent of it.”

“What if she’s been doing well all these years, and you were the only one left hurting and alone, wondering where she is? Could you forgive her? Could you accept someone like that, not to mention a child of a murderer, with open arms?”

Seungmin retreats his hand and frowns at you. “Why are you saying things like that? She’s my best friend!”

You grab his hand before it can go far. This time it’s your turn to stare him in the eye. “I’m not accusing her. I’m just asking if you, Kim Seungmin, would be able to forgive her in this scenario, and I’m not going to say that you’re right or wrong if you do or don’t either.”

“Then why do you ask?” His frown shifts to a perplexed one.

You let your hand drop to your side. “I… I’m in a similar situation. I don’t know if my friend will accept me if I try to reconnect.”

“Do it.” He has on a smirk now as he walks closer. “If it’s you, I’m sure she’d love to reconnect.”

You pout at his unsatisfactory response. “You’re just biased.”

Your pursed lips only makes him stare at them. “I sure am,” he mumbles.

He again brings his hand up to your neck, index finger resting behind your ears. You can’t tell if he’s avoiding your question or just distracted, but who cares? You’re distracted now too. The woods are setting the perfect mood, and the orchestra is playing something romantic inside. Your eyelids begin to close. He looks at you one more time, his own eyes drooping.

“Is this okay…” he whispers raspily. “... Emily?”

Your eyes fly open and you shove him away a little harder than you intended to. This isn’t you. The person he wants to kiss isn’t you, and you can’t steal that away from him, even if you desperately want it yourself. You can’t have this. You can’t have him. It isn’t yours and it isn’t right.

He falls down and looks up at you, bewildered.

“I’m— I’m sorry!” you blammer. “I, uh, I have to go.”

You jump off the boulder and walk faster than you know you should post-op.

“Emily.” You hear his feet crunching leaves right behind you. “Emily. Stop. Emily. Emily. Emily.”

Why does he keep saying that name?

You don’t turn back and you don’t slow down.

You hear him curse and speed up, which scares you, but before you can react, he sweeps you off of your feet and carries you in his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Something you won’t on your own,” he replies vaguely. He storms to his green room and kicks the door open. He sets you down in the middle of it and pulls out his violin. “Play,” he commands you.

You shrink back at the sight of the instrument. It’s a glorious instrument carved from a choice tree and shaped over a careful flame by masterful hands, capable of drawing out the soul of its player. You know touching it will draw out what you’ve been working so hard on suppressing. You aren’t Y/N, daughter of Violinist L/N. You have no business with a violin. “I can’t. You know this, Kim.”

“You can’t play or you can’t admit the truth? Play, Emily.”

Wait, what?

He holds the Stradivarius in front of you. His tone is firm and his eyes are fierce, but he doesn’t hold the violin any closer than thirty centimeters away. He needs you to make this last leap.

“What do you know?” you demand.

“Play.”

“Tell me, what did your father really tell you?” you screech.

“Play.”

You begin shaking. The f holes are taunting you. You hear the screams of your father’s victims. You hear the TV reporters all cursing his name. They’re all inside there. They’re all inside, waiting for you to release them with your playing and eat you alive. “Kim, please.”

“Play.”

“No, I— I—”

“Play.”

He already knows. You’re sure he already knows, yet somehow, this still feels like a chasm far too wide for you to cross. Can you accept this violin? Can your past? Y/N is the child of a drug-addicted murderer. She’s a six year old whose own father bathed her in blood and blacklisted her existence. Can you accept Y/N L/N?

You look up at the deep brown eyes before you. You know he can.

“Seungmin…” you choke.

He lowers his voice and softens his gaze. “Play,” he tells you.

And so you do. You timorously reach for the instrument and perform Albinoni’s Adagio, the very last piece he’s heard you play.

Tears roll down your face as your fingers fly across the board like you’ve played the piece all your life. You’re scared, you’re scared, you’re so, so scared. You didn’t even realize how hard you’ve been working to repress this part of you, and now that you’re facing it head-on, you don’t know what to make of it, but for once, it’s okay. Even if you fall. Even if you break apart, you finally have someone who will pick up the pieces.

You play, and play, and play until you don’t know what to play any more, yet still you played. You don’t know how long it’s been, but you play until you can no longer lift up the scroll. You let the violin slip to your side and the bow clatter to the ground. A pair of arms wrap around you to stop you from collapsing. You close your eyes as one final tear makes its way down your face.

Seungmin presses your head into his shoulder. “I forgive you, Y/N, because I love you.”

You look onto the expecting crowd. Your heart’s beating quickly and the violin in your hands feels heavier than usual. Seungmin steps up next to you with his instrument. He adjusts your white skirt, his new golden band glistening under the lights as he does so.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

You smile at the familiar question. “Ready,” you reply.

He smiles back and lifts his Stradivarius under his chin. You do the same and he begins to play three one-eighth C’s followed half one. You feel his music envelop you. You close your eyes, place the tip of your bow on your E-string and let “Wedding March” flow from your soul.

A sense of peace overcomes you. After learning about your father, starting your life over, and losing your fertility, peace seems almost foreign to you, yet you’ve done it. Amidst all the chaos, you’ve finally found your harmony.

~ ad.gold

Read it from Seungmin’s perspective here.

#kim seungmin #seungmin #stray kids #skz #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #seungmin fluff #seungmin angst #stray kids fic #seungmin fic #violin #childhood friends #stray kids imagine #seungmin imagine #20210615

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raeandwhatnot · 3 years

Text

Lucky Charm – Luke Patterson

Summary: Luke is reminiscing about his relationship with you in the past.

Warnings: it’s a bit sad and angst… but also fluff

Words: 4.3k

A/N: (Y/D/J)= your dream job. This is 3rd person unlike my other imagines where I do it in 1st person. Might make a part two to this if y’all want it! I will be getting to y’alls requests ASAP! I’m so excited to write them! Also, italicized is flashback!

It’s been 25 years since Luke, Alex, and Reggie have died. The first thing that Luke thought of when he died wasn’t just his family, he thought of (Y/N). He thought of how he just left her. They were supposed to be together forever, but that forever was cut short from tainted hot dogs out of a car. The boys have been in the band with Julie for a while now, but Luke couldn’t help but think something was missing while he performed. (Y/N) was that missing puzzle piece. He always called her his lucky charm because he would always perform his best when she was in the crowd.

“Are you going to come to the dance tonight, (Y/N/N)?” Alex asks as the Sunset Curve group walks with the girl to their shared class.

“Hmmm,” (Y/N) hums. “I’m not sure. I have a lot of homework I need to catch up on.”

Luke groans and rolls his eyes at the girl’s excuse. “Oh come on, (Y/N)!” he exclaims, walking in front of her, making him walk backwards. “You have got to live a little every once in a while! All you do is worry about school work. You need to come to the dance. The best band is going to play at the dance!”

(Y/N) tilts her head, “Oh yeah? What band?”

“Sunset Curve, duh!” Reggie says. (Y/N) giggled as she already knew the answer to her question.

“Please?” Bobby pouts. “It’s going to be a lot of fun!”

The group stops outside of the classroom door and she looks at the boys. They all had pleading looks on their faces.

“(Y/N), please!” Luke begs, grabbing her shoulders. “I need my lucky charm tonight. I promise tonight will be worth it!”

(Y/N) looks down at the charm bracelet the boys got her for her 17th birthday. The boys collectively got a charm for her bracelet that meant something to them. Luke got her a clover as she is his lucky charm. She looks back up at the green eyes staring at her waiting for her to answer.

“Fine,” (Y/N) sighed. “I will go to the dance, but you have to promise me that you guys will dance with me!” Luke smiles and pulls her into a quick hug. The rest boys cheered and high fived one another.

Luke wished he could go back to that night. It was a few months before they started dating. He and (Y/N) slow danced together which made him realize that he that had feelings for the girl in the first place. He realized why she was his lucky charm, why his heart would always skip a beat when she laughed, why his palms would get sweaty when she held his hand, why he would always want to be around her because she made him feel safe. He couldn’t stop thinking about her even in the afterlife. He would wonder where she is. Did she get married and have a family? Did she follow her dreams to become a(n) (Y/D/J)? Did she live her life to the fullest? Did she-

Luke’s thoughts were interrupted by a voice calling out to him, “Hey, Luke!” His eyes tore away from his journal he zoned out on. He saw Alex and Reggie standing in front of him.

“Hm?” Luke hummed, sitting up from leaning against the piano.

Alex took a step closer and asks, “Are you okay?”

Luke tosses his journal on the couch and takes off the acoustic guitar that was wrapped around his chest. “Yeah! Just thinking about a new song!” Luke said. Alex tucks his hands into his jacket’s pockets as he doesn’t believe that Luke is okay. He has been spacing out a lot recently.

“Cool! What is it about?” Reggie questions.

“Uh, I’m not sure yet,” Luke answers. “I was just brainstorming. Trying to think of a meaning to it.” Alex turns his attention to the journal. Luke had doodled clovers around the edges of the paper. Alex taps Reggie with his shoulder and tilts his head at the journal. Reggie analyzes the book, realizing what Luke has been thinking about.

“You making another song about (Y/N)?” Reggie wonders, still looking at the song book.

Luke glances at what Reggie was looking. “I don’t know. She’s just been on my mind recently,” he sighs and looks at the floor. Alex and Reggie nod in agreement as they too have been thinking about their friend.

Alex takes another step towards Luke, “Do you want to talk about it?” Luke kept his eyes glued to the ground. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk about her. He didn’t know if it would make him feel better, or if he would just burst into tears.

His thoughts were interrupted once more as Julie skips into the room. “Ready to rehearse, guys?” Julie smiles.

Luke puts on a happy face, “Hell, yeah! Let’s rock out!”

Alex and Reggie look at one another, concerned for their best friend who seems to be hurting. The group walks to their respective spots in the studio.

“What song should we start with?” Luke asks as he plugs his electric guitar into the amp.

Julie flipped her song book. “Should we warm up with Finally Free? We haven’t done that song in a while,” Julie suggest.

Luke look at the boys who were nodding their heads in agreement. “Sounds good to us!” he answers for the group.

Julie starts off the song with her intro, and the rest of the band joined in. As they were performing, Luke messed up here and there, but not enough to notice. At least Julie didn’t notice as she was rocking out with the boys. When they finished Finally Free, they decided to do a new song Julie had started writing. They hadn’t settled on a title just yet which was okay because it was still in the works. They started to practice the first verse going into the chorus, but Luke wasn’t 100% focused. He kept playing the wrong chords.

Because he messed up, he let out a load, frustrated groan. The rest of the band halted their actions to look at Luke. “Woah, you good?” Julie asks concerned.

Luke shakes his vigorously to try to get his mind straight, “Yeah! I’m just not used to the pattern yet. Let’s try again.”

Julie looks at Alex and Reggie. They both shrug their shoulders, and they start the song again. However, this time Luke could barely get past the intro without messing up. He tried to continue, but he couldn’t do it.

“Damn it!” Luke shouts, dropping his guitar to hover over his chest as he roughly runs his hands through his hair.

Julie stands up from his keyboard. “Luke?” she softly says. Luke could feel the tears welling up in his eyes.

“I-uh,” Luke stutters as he takes off his guitar. “I need s-some air.” Luke suddenly then poofs out without another word.

Julie looks at the empty space where Luke was standing. She couldn’t figure out why Luke wasn’t in the right head space. He was always focused on the band, or at least he always seems to be. Julie takes her eyes from the dead space to Alex and Reggie who had sad looks on their faces. Reggie takes his bass off and sets it next to Luke’s guitar.

Julie steps off to the side of her keyboard. “What’s up with him?” she asks Alex and Reggie. They glance at each other before Alex steps away from his drums to standing next to Reggie.

“We’ve been thinking about an old friend from back in the 90’s,” Alex confesses.

Julie shrugs her shoulder, “Who? Bobby?”

Reggie shakes his head. “Gosh, no. I wouldn’t want to spend my spare time thinking about that song stealing dummy,” Reggie says in disgust.

“She wasn’t part of Sunset Curve. At least she didn’t perform with us. Her name was (Y/N),” Alex states, ignoring what Reggie said about Bobby.

“(Y/N)? How come I’ve never heard you guys talk about her?” Julie wonders. Both Alex and Reggie shrug their shoulders, unsure why they never talk about one of their best friends. “Well, who was she then?”

A slight smile grew on Alex and Reggie as they thought of (Y/N). Alex started to reminisce the memories of his old friend, “She was one of the most important people in our lives. She helped us with our struggles, helped us study, came to almost all of our gigs, helped us get gigs… she was just the glue of Sunset Curve. We wouldn’t hardly function as a band if it wasn’t for her. She was even the one who got us the gig at the Orpheum…”

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, and Sunset Curve was writing a new song for their new demo. They wanted to make new songs as they always perform the same songs at every gig. “Hey boys,” Luke calls out. Bobby was playing random notes on his guitar, Alex was trying balance his drumstick on his index finger, and Reggie was catching dust. They all turned to Luke who had written some stuff in his song book. “How does this sound? When all the days felt black and white those were the best shades of my life!” Luke sings.

“Dang, Luke!” Bobby exclaimed. “That’s really good! How did you come up with that?”

“I don’t know. It just came to me!” Luke smirks. “I’m also half way done with the song!”

“It’s been, what, 30 minutes and you’re already half way done?!” Alex says. Luke nods his head as he writes down more in his journal. Next thing they know, they hear clicking heels coming from the driveway. They all look up to see (Y/N) with a huge smile on her face.

“Uh, oh. Here comes trouble,” Luke teases. “What’s got you all smiley, babes?”

(Y/N) stops at the entry way of the studio. “Well, I have some pretty big news to tell you boys!” she says, shifting her weight from the balls of her feet to her feels.

“What? You got the best SAT’s scores of the school?” Bobby asks.

“You’re graduating a semester early?” then asks Alex.

“No! You got us a puppy?!” Reggie asks excitedly. The boys looked at Reggie as if he asked the most absurd question ever.

(Y/N) giggled, “As much as I would love to give you a puppy, Reggie, you are incorrect. All of you are incorrect. I just did the best thing that is ever going to happen to Sunset Curve!”

Luke raised an eyebrow, curious at what his girlfriend could have done. “What did you do?” The group slowly walks towards (Y/N). Her smile thinned out as she took a pause for dramatic effect. However, the boys were anticipatingly waiting for her to say something. “WHAT?!” they outburst.

(Y/N) chuckled at the band, and she took out a piece of paper from her back pocket. She cleared her throat dramatically before readings out loud, “Dear Miss (Y/L/N). Thank you for sending us Sunset Curve’s demo and sharing their amazing talent. We would like to offer them the chance of a lifetime. On July 22nd, we would like to invite Sunset Curve to perform here at the…” (Y/N) looks up at the guys who got even closer to her and each other.

“Perform where?!” Reggie shouts.

(Y/N) smiles even wider than ever before she throws her arms in the air and shouts, “TO PERFORM AT THE ORPHEUM BABY!” All four boy’s eyes widened and screamed out happy cheers. Luke tackles (Y/N) in the biggest hug. She wraps her legs around his waist as he ran to the drive way to spin her around.

“This is amazing!” Luke exclaimed, putting his girlfriend down. “You really are our lucky charm!” (Y/N) blushes at the compliment. Luke then presses his lips to hers to give her a sweet kiss. She smiles in the kiss as she is the happiest she has ever been.

“Hey, Patterson. Let us give (Y/N/N) some lovin’!” Bobby tugged on Luke’s shoulders which makes the couple pull away from each other. Alex, Bobby, and Reggie then take their chance to hug (Y/N). Luke joined in by hugging her from behind. They boys thanked the girl over and over again as they were in their group hug.

“Guys!” (Y/N)’s voice muffled from the inside of the hug. “One of you guys need to put on deodorant. Plus, I can’t breathe in here!” They all laughed at her and pulled away from the hug, but Luke kept his arms wrapped around the girl from behind.

“What would we do without you?” Alex smiles.

(Y/N) let out a playful sigh, “I don’t know. Never be able to play anywhere?” She giggled at her own joke. Luke sneaks in a kiss on the cheek. “Alright boys, you need to start rehearsing now that you have this mega-important life changing gig! I will order some pizza and soda so we can celebrate even more tonight!”

“You’re the best (Y/N)!” Bobby says before walking back into the studio with Alex and Reggie.

“You really are the best,” Luke whispers in (Y/N) ear. She turns around and gives him a peck on the lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too”

Julie felt her heart drop at the thought of Luke hurting even more for leaving behind two of the most important women in is life. Luke is not that open about his past life. Julie couldn’t imagine the pain he has been going through. Alex and Reggie had tears welling up in their eyes as they finished telling the story of how they booked the Orpheum gig. Her mind wandered to a song that she saw when she was flipping through Luke’s song book when Luke wanted to show her Sunset Curve songs. She remembered walking to the studio to hear Luke singing a song she never heard before, but she recognized some of the lyrics from his song book. “She sounds amazing. Do you guys have an old photo of her at all?” Julie questions.

Reggie looks at Alex, knowing he has a picture. “Yeah, I do actually. However, Luke doesn’t know, so please don’t tell him we have this,” Alex says, walking over to his fanny pack that was near his drums.

Julie tilts her head to the side in confusion, “Why doesn’t he know about you having a picture of her?”

Alex grabs his fanny pack and unzips it. “Luke’s been pretty happy recently, but I know that thinking about (Y/N) makes him a little sad. I would hate to show him a picture that brings back all these happy memories to make him sad that they didn’t get to have more of a life together,” Alex explains. Julie slowly nods her head.

Alex reaches in his back and grabs the polaroid picture. He walks back to Julie and hands her the photo. She slightly smiles at the picture. It was of (Y/N) and Luke. (Y/N) had a big smile on her face as Luke was giving her a kiss on the cheek. You could see the pure happiness radiating from the photograph. “Wow, she’s really pretty. Luke was a lucky guy!” Julie compliments. “You know, I’m sure Luke would love to have this picture. I think it’s time you guys should give it to him.”

Julie hands the picture back to Alex. Reggie started to play with his fingers nervously. Alex analyzes the picture in his hand and puts it in his back pocket. “We should probably go look for him,” Alex says quietly. Reggie nods his head and stands closer to Alex. Julie gives the boys a slight smile before they poofed out of the studio.

*****

Luke was sitting at the beach, the water hitting his feet when it came to shore. He watched the sunset which was helping him calm down. Him and (Y/N) liked to come to the beach and watch the sunrise, the sunset, and star gaze all the time! This was their spot when they wanted to get away from everyone and have a bit of privacy with just them two. They would invite the band sometimes to have bonfires and eat s’mores after a gig. Luke watched the lifers around him playing in the water and having fun at the beach. He wished he could join the teenagers jamming in a big circle across the beach.

Suddenly, he hears a poof behind him. He turns around to see Alex and Reggie. “Well, you guys found me,” Luke quietly says, turning back to face the sunset. In his peripheral vision, he saw his friends sit on both sides of him, Alex on his right and Reggie on his left.

“I figured you would be here. You are kind of predicable sometimes,” Alex says. Luke nods his head slightly, agreeing with Alex. “What’s up, Luke?”

Luke lets out a heavy sigh. He takes a handful of sun and lets it fall in-between his fingers. “I just..” he starts. “I just wish I could see her again. I wish I could hold her. I want to know how she’s doing. I wish I knew where she was, so I could see her one last time…”

Reggie patted Luke’s back to try to comfort him, “It’s okay, buddy. I know we all wish we could see her again.”

Luke shakes his head, angry tears forming in his eyes. “Sometimes I wish we didn’t die when we did. There was so much we wanted to do as a band, and there was so much I wanted to do with (Y/N),” Luke exclaims.

Luke shifts his weight to the left to reach in his front pocket. What he takes out of his pocket shocks Alex and Reggie. Luke is holding their best friends charm bracelet. “Wait, you’ve had this this whole time?” Alex asks. Luke nods his head, a tear finally falling on his cheek. Luke turns the bracelet to have the clover charm facing him.

“I found it at my parent’s house. When I first went there to visit them, I went to look at my room to see if anything changed. I found it on my bed with some of my flannels she stole. I don’t know why she would give it back. Maybe because looking at it gave her so much pain. I can’t imagine the pain she went through,” Luke explains.

Alex glances at Reggie who had tears brewing in his eyes as well. He suddenly became anxious as he wasn’t sure how Luke was about to react with what Alex was about to give him. He nervously fidgets before he speaks, “I actually have something to show you.”

Luke turns his gaze to Alex. Alex opens his fanny pack to reach for the photograph. Luke looks at his friend’s hand to see the polaroid picture. He hesitantly grabs the photo. He lets out a sad chuckle. It was the picture of (Y/N) and Luke. “Where did you find this?” Luke asks.

“I found it when I found our stuff upstairs in the loft. I’m sorry I didn’t give this to you earlier,” Alex apologizes.

Luke shakes his head to dismiss Alex’s apology. He studies the picture of the two of them. He remembered this day vividly. It was him and (Y/N)’s first date. He had taken her to a drive-in movie and ice cream. The picture was taken right before the movie had started. (Y/N) had always taken polaroid pictures for the memories. She had given this to Luke because she wanted him to remember that day, but how could he forget? He would never forget her or the memories they shared.

(Y/N) and Luke were setting up the back of his truck before the movie. Luke was spreading out the blanket and pillows while (Y/N) was grabbing the snacks from the front. Once they finished, they jumped in the trunk and started to get comfortable. “Are you excided?” Luke asks (Y/N).

She pulls the blanket to her lap, “Yes! I’ve always wanted to go to a drive-in movie!” Luke smiles at her excitedness.

“I know!” Luke says. (Y/N) slightly smiles and looks down at her lap, blushing. “Which snack would you like to eat first, m’lady?” he asks in a dramatic British accent.

(Y/N) giggles. “Hmmm, why sir pass me the sour gummy worms!” she replies too in a silly British accent.

Luke chuckles, grabs the snack, and hands it to her. She opens the bag and takes out a blue and red gummy worm. She eats the blue side first and looks at Luke who was watching her the whole time. She could feel her cheeks getting warmer. She flicks her wrist to give the red side of the gummy worm to Luke. He looks at the gummy worm before grabbing it and taking a bite. “This is crazy, you know?” (Y/N) admits.

Luke sits up a bit and furrows his brows. “How?” he questions.

She shrugs. “I don’t know,” she mumbles. “Sitting here.. on a date.. with one of my best friends who I’ve had a crush on for forever. I never thought it would actually happen.”

She kept her gaze on her lap, playing with a gummy worm. Luke cocks his head to the side to try to get her to look at him. However, she continues to look down. He takes his hand and pushes her chin gently to face her towards him. She looks into his green eyes. “Well, you better believe it because I wouldn’t want to be on a date with anyone else,” he says. He tilts her head down and gives her a kiss on the forehead.

(Y/N) then remembered that she had her camera in her bag. “Wait!” she exclaims. Luke moves to the side a bit as she reaches for her bag that is behind them. She unzips her bag to grab her polaroid camera. “I want to take a picture!”

“How come you always bring that where ever you go?” Luke wonders.

She fidgets the camera in her hands. “I want to create memories. I want to remember my adventures and experiences. I want to remember it all, so I take pictures,” she says, checking to see if she has enough film.

Luke smiles, “That’s amazing!”

(Y/N) scoots closer to Luke and angles the camera up to get them both in frame. They smile, getting ready to take the picture. He then had an idea for a great picture. Right as she pushes the button, he kisses her cheek. (Y/N) smiles even wider and lets out a slight giggle. The film shoots out and she grabs the photo. She looks at Luke who was smiling like a kid in a candy store. You could see the love and adore in his eyes. Luke flicks his eyes to her lips for a second, but it was enough for her to notice. He leans in, but she stops him. “I thought you weren’t supposed to kiss until after the date. Or even on the first date at all?” (Y/N) jokes.

“We can be different,” Luke smirks before giving her a kiss. As his lips touch her, she takes in a large breath and leans forward in the kiss. He takes his hand and places it on her cheek to deepen the kiss. Butterflies were flying around in their stomachs. (Y/N) pulls away slowly.

Luke opens his eyes to see her cheeks were bright red. “The movies about to start,” (Y/N) says. He chuckles and pecks her lips one more time. They shift around to where they were laying down, resting on the pillows behind them. (Y/N)’s head rested on Luke’s shoulder. She grabs the bag of sour gummy worms and takes a handful out. “Gummy worms?” she asks Luke.

Luke looks down to see her handing him some gummy worms. “Don’t mind if I do,” he says and takes the candy out of her hand to place it on his chest. As the movie starts, Luke smiles to himself. He’s on one of many dates him and (Y/N) will be on, and he couldn’t wait.

Luke didn’t notice that he was full on sobbing when he was reminiscing on the past. He suddenly felt a hand rubbing his back, trying to comfort him. He looks to see Reggie comforting him. Luke pats Reggie on the back to thank him. “It’s okay to be sad, Luke,” Alex says. Luke looks at Alex and nods. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

Luke thins his lip in a sad smile. Luke puts the photo and the bracelet back in his front pocket. He wipes his wet face and sniffs the snot that his slightly falling out of his nose. “Let’s get back to the studio. Even though we don’t sleep, I need a nap,” Luke says, getting up and wiping the sand off of his pants.

Luke looks around the beach once more to see the lifers having fun. Alex and Reggie follow Luke’s actions and stand up as well. Luke walks towards the teenagers still playing their guitars and singing around the fire. He watches them smile and laugh with one another. Alex places his hand on Luke’s shoulder to signal that they should leave.

Before they poofed back to the studio, Luke noticed someone in the distance. He saw someone watching the group of teenagers like he was. He noticed the (Y/H/C) girl wiping away a tear from her eye. Then, their eyes connected. He recognized those (Y/E/C) eyes. He squints and walks closer to get a better look. He halted as he got a little closer. His heart beat quickened at the sight of her.

“(Y/N)?” he whispered before the girl poofed away. Luke’s breath started to quicken as he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Luke?” Reggie called out. Luke turned around. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I just saw (Y/N)!”

#luke patterson #luke patterson imagine #luke patterson x reader #jatp luke #japt #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms imagine

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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

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

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

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

“It’s time to get up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why had she ever expected anything different?)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s cheesy and cliché and you know it.

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

“Haha, yeah,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you like one?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yoongi? Is that your boss?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lily smiles. “I would love that.”)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s so beautiful,” you say.

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

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

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

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

Yoongi squints at you. “Boutonniere discount?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s incredible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook pauses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook blinks. “Guy Fieri said that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook smiles. “I knew you would.”

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

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

Jamais Vu. Your most recent novel.

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

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

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

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

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

Then you lie face down on your bed.

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

Oh, shit. Is it a signed copy?

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

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

You muffle a scream into your hands.

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

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

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

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

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

He picks up after one ring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your puns are so crumby,” Jin replies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As a friend.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why can’t you write?

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says. “Wow, you look good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kookie! Hi!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sure enough, Jungkook is blushing.

“Take me to it,” you say firmly, and Taehyung laughs out loud before he does just that. It’s a black and white shot, Jungkook in profile as he looks towards the camera, endless ocean waves and sky behind him. “Jungkook, you’re such a good model,” you say, smiling softly at it.

Jungkook’s gone bright red, and you’ve honestly missed this sight, even if you’re glad that he’s not shy with you any more. “Taehyung’s just good at taking photos,” he says, voice high with embarrassment.

“I have a lot more photos of Jungkookie that aren’t on display,” Taehyung pipes up, and Jungkook looks like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him. “You’ll have to visit my studio some time so I can show them to you.”

You have Taehyung’s business card carefully stowed away in your bag as you walk home, arms swinging by your sides; you unintentionally brush your hand against Jungkook’s, but before you can say sorry he’s taken it as an invitation to hold your hand again. The apology dies on your lips as he slots his fingers between yours and you smile at him instead.

“Taehyung is so cool,” you say. “And talented, too. I love his photos.”

“I’m glad you both get on so well,” Jungkook says. “Sometimes people seem to think Taehyung is… I don’t know. He can come on a bit strong, I guess.”

“He’s great.” You frown. “I’m going to fistfight anyone who’s mean to him.”

Jungkook laughs and squeezes your hand.

He insists on walking you up to your door, keeping hold of your hand as he follows you inside your apartment building. You feel somewhat abashed at how wide his eyes go at how nice it is inside here. You’re not on the same level as, say, Stephen King or George R.R. Martin, but you make a pretty decent amount of money from your books and it shows.

Jungkook doesn’t actually know what you do. You’ve vaguely alluded to the fact that you’re a writer, but that could mean any number of things; for all he knows you could pen the agony aunt column in a magazine (you imagine that would be pretty fun, actually). You keep waiting for the right opportunity to come clean about your pseudonym but nothing’s presented itself yet.

“Do you want to come in? My friend Seokjin makes killer brownies and I’ve got a box of them still in the fridge,” you say. “He always makes way more than I can eat myself.”

Jungkook seems torn. He wants to see inside your apartment, you can tell, but he also probably doesn’t want to seem intrusive— even if you’re offering.

“I hate wasting food so you’d be doing me a real favour,” you add, and Jungkook relents.

“Alright,” he says, and you smile to yourself as you unlock your door.

You’ve been giving flowers to other people, too— Seokjin and Jimin and Namjoon and even Hoseok have been receiving the gifts of your bounty— but only the premade bouquets. The ones that Jungkook puts together are ones that you keep for yourself. It’s far less overwhelming now than it had been a while ago, only a few floral arrangements here and there, but it’s obvious from Jungkook’s expression that he recognises each bouquet.

He ends up sitting at your breakfast bar as you dig the brownies out of your fridge, and he smiles in delight as you warm up some milk. It’s getting late, and you know Jungkook doesn’t like coffee, anyway.

(You’ve learned a lot about Jungkook in the past few months.)

“Which one is Seokjin?” He asks around a mouthful of brownie. You’ve retired to your living room and Jungkook is peering at the strings of fairy lights you have on the wall, Polaroids of your friends and family clipped along its wire. “This one?”

“No, that’s Namjoon,” you say. You stand up from the couch and scooch next to Jungkook so you can point. “He’s Jimin’s boyfriend— which is this guy here. That’s Seokjin,” you point. “All my favourite people. Ah, don’t look at this one, it’s me and Jimin when we were back in school. We look like such dorks. Look at our hair.”

“You look cute,” Jungkook says, and you try not to blush. “Wait, is that me?”

Your collection of Jungkook photos has been growing exponentially over time. The one he’s looking at is a picture of himself in Spring Day, bent over a bucket of roses, fingers cupping the pink flowers as he smiles at them; he’s said he’s okay with you taking photos, but maybe he meant when he was actually aware of you taking them.

“Um, yeah,” you say. You feel weirdly embarrassed. “I can take it down if you want? Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Jungkook’s staring at the glowing light next to the photo, avoiding your eyes. “I just didn’t think I’d be on the wall with the rest of your, uh, favourite people.”

Your mouth falls open. You don’t know what to say. Normally you’d scoff at him and say duh, of course you are, but for some reason you can’t summon the courage right now. The words catch in your throat.

Luckily, Jungkook seems to notice another photo. “Oh, is that from your school prom? Wait. Are you on crutches?”

You laugh, glad for the distraction. “Oh, yeah! Jimin persuaded me to sneak out of my house a few weeks before that because I was under curfew but there was a party we were both desperate to go to. Needless to say, climbing out of my window didn’t go so well. I was on crutches for ages after that. It wasn’t so bad, honestly. People felt sorry that I couldn’t dance so they kept sitting with me and feeding me cupcakes out of pity. They were delicious,” you say with a smile. “Never did get to do that end of school dance I’d planned with Jimin, though. That’s the only thing that was bad about it.”

Jungkook’s face twists. You’re too busy looking at the photo and reminiscing to notice, but you do notice when he steps back. You turn, confused as Jungkook holds his hand out and looks at you expectantly.

“What?”

“I know it’s a bit late, and I’m not Jimin, but you can have that end of school dance.” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I promise I won’t step on your feet.”

You giggle, but you can feel a blush threatening to fight its way onto your cheeks. There’s a storm of butterflies in your stomach. “But there’s no music,” you say. “How can we dance without music?”

Jungkook shrugs. “I’ll sing for us,” he says. He steps forward, hand still proffered, and you slide your hand into his, unable to deny him.

It’s been years since Jimin’s taught you the basic waltz, and you’re a little stiff because of it, but your body seems to remember the steps as Jungkook slowly leads you. You’re staring at your feet while Jungkook hums, but once you have the rhythm down he opens his mouth and starts to sing; you look up from the floor, your eyes helplessly drawn to his.

His voice is soft and honeyed, words sweet as they hang in the air. You’re so entranced by the deep, warm brown of his eyes that it takes you longer than it should to recognise the lyrics of the song: 10,000 hours, transformed by Jungkook’s mellifluous voice.

He leads you into a turn, and when you come back together it’s a little clumsy and you giggle. Jungkook smiles at you as he continues to sing. The laughter leaves you feeling light and sparkling, like there’s a fountain bubbling inside you, and all the stiffness finally falls away from your limbs. The waltz becomes more of a swaying dance as you let your arms drop, Jungkook’s arm sliding around your waist as you step closer to him, and you end up turning in small circles in the middle of your living room as Jungkook murmurs a love song into your ear.

You suddenly realise that you’ve never been happier than you are right now: dancing in your living room in the circle of Jungkook’s arms as he sings to you, a romantic cliché that’s somehow become true for you. For you. With someone as incredible as Jungkook.

You’re never happier than when you’re with Jungkook.

Holy shit.

You’re in love with Jungkook.

The final note of the song lingers in the air as he comes to an end, the resonance of a bell that slowly fades. He smiles at you as you slowly come to a stop, still nestled in each other’s embrace as your feet finally become still.

“I’m so glad I broke my leg,” you say suddenly, and Jungkook laughs outright, face squeezing up in the way that you love so much.

You’re in love with him.

You watch as he slips his shoes back on. You feel helpless and untethered in a lot of ways, but at the same time, you’ve never felt more sure about anything. When he flashes you a smile, you can’t help but smile back— but that’s always been the case, hasn’t it?

“Hey,” you say suddenly, just after Jungkook’s finished shrugging his coat on. “I know you’ve just, um, gotten ready to go and everything, but can I quickly show you something?” Your heart is thudding in your chest.

Jungkook blinks. “Sure.”

You give him a jerky nod before turning on your heel and walking down the corridor to swing the door open to your office. Jungkook follows behind you, waiting in the doorway as you flick the light on; he makes a noise when he notices the frame hanging on your wall, the flowers of the corsage that you’d dried and pressed safe behind the glass.

You don’t respond. You’re too busy taking a moment to suck in a deep breath and steel yourself before you open your filing cabinet to pull out a stack of papers, sheaves of writing that are stapled together— the very first, unedited drafts of each of your novels, kept for posterity.

“I, um, don’t really know how to say this.” You stare at your hands as you shuffle through the booklets. “I haven’t told anyone new in a long time, so I guess I’m out of practice, but, uh.” You’re so nervous that you’re light-headed. “Autumn Lovett is actually my pen name. These are drafts of my novels if you think I’m lying,” you say, shoving the paper at Jungkook’s chest; he grabs them before they fall to the ground. “Um. So. Yeah. Taa-daa?”

You feel like you’ve run a marathon. Your heart is racing and your lungs are struggling to take in air. You can’t look at Jungkook. You’re staring at the ceiling instead, dreading his reaction.

When he makes a noise, however, your head snaps down. He’s crouched in the middle of your office with your drafts held over his face.

“Jungkook?” You say, panicked, and he makes the same noise again.

“Oh my God,” he whines, muffled behind the paper. You squat down to grip his hands and pull them away from his face, worried; when it’s finally revealed he’s bright red and he looks mortified. “I can’t believe I recommended your own books to you,” he all but wails. “And I gushed like a fanboy in front of you about them too. Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t mean to but you laugh. Jungkook tries to hide his face again but you pull the drafts out of his hands and send them scattering to the floor. “Oh, Jungkook,” you say, overflowing with affection. “You don’t have to apologise. I found it flattering, actually.”

He doesn’t seem bothered that you hadn’t told him sooner. He doesn’t care that you’ve been keeping it a secret. He’s just embarrassed. He stays embarrassed as he helps you gather up the papers, and he stays embarrassed as you return your own book that he’d let you borrow, and he stays embarrassed as he heads towards your front door for the second time that night.

“I do, um, really like your work,” he says, shy as he fiddles with your door handle. “I’m really looking forward to your next novel. I’m not just saying that to be nice because I know who you are now.” His eyes are wide as he looks up at you. “I mean it.”

Your heart feels full to the brim with fondness. “I know,” you say. “I believe you. I— you can have a read through it before it’s published, actually, as long as you promise not to leak it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen even further before he holds his hand out. “Pinky promise.”

You giggle as you hook your finger with his. “Pinky promise.”

Once Jungkook’s left you immediately sit down at your computer and write and write and write— it’s like the words just won’t stop. They come pouring out of you, and endless torrent that you don’t try to rein in. You write for so long you end up crashing at your desk, face smooshed against your keyboard as you drool in your sleep.

(“I don’t know how to dance,” Yunhee says, and Lily just smiles.

“Me neither,” she says. “We can learn together.”

They keep stepping on each other’s feet. It’s clumsy and messy and they keep dissolving into laughter between apologies to each other, but it’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee.

It’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee, with Lily: because it’s them, together.)

“I’ve finished my novel,” you announce, and all the men at the table sit up.

“Wow.” Namjoon blinks at you. “I thought you weren’t due to publish for, what, another six months?”

“What can I say? I’ve been inspired.” You smile down into your glass before taking a drink of your orange juice.

Seokjin stares at you before he leans back in his chair. He’s always been able to read you through and through, and that perceptiveness doesn’t leave him now. “Ah,” he says. “You’re in love.”

You’re in the middle of swallowing your juice and nearly choke, spluttering. Namjoon pats your back with concern while his boyfriend looks askance.

“You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.”

“I wasn’t lying,” you wheeze, finally coughing the last remnants of orange juice out of your windpipe. “Well, I guess it was kind of a half lie? I was buying them, but, uh, he made them.” You fiddle with the napkin in your lap as Seokjin coos at you.

“You fell in love with a florist,” he says. “You’re literally living in an AO3 fanfic. That’s adorable.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, and Jin just laughs when you try to kick him under the table and nearly hit Namjoon instead.

“It sounds romantic,” Namjoon agrees, apparently unphased by how close he was to getting nailed in the shins.

Jimin slaps his small hand against the table. “You haven’t answered any of my questions, snake. I know what you’re like, Y/n— get the Polaroid out of your bag. We need to judge your new beau.”

Jimin’s right. He knows exactly what you’re like, the helpless romantic that you are; the three men shuffle their heads together to peer at the photo of Jungkook, the one where he’s surrounded by the sunset.

“He’s fucking cute,” Jimin decides immediately. “I’m almost offended you haven’t introduced him to us yet. You should invite him to our house-warming party. Namjoon agrees.”

You look at Namjoon, who nods despite not being consulted. “You’re so whipped,” you mutter at him. He just shrugs. “Anyway,” you continue, raising your voice over Jimin’s and Jin’s muttered conversation as they continue to stare at your photo of Jungkook. “I’m going to hold fire on the house-warming party invitation for now, because, um, I haven’t actually said anything to him yet.”

Your eyes are cast down as you say this, affixed to the sight of your hands in your lap. You’ve still been visiting Spring Day, of course, and you’ve started to see Jungkook more and more outside of work as well; each time you meet him you fall a little bit more in love. It’s almost terrifying how easy it is to fall for him.

“Y/n.” Jimin’s voice is sober and you glance up from your lap to take in the worried look on his face. “I know it must be scary—”

“Oh gosh, Minnie, I love you, but it’s okay, you don’t need to give me a pep-talk on how I’m a 10/10 and anyone would be blessed to have me,” you interrupt. “I haven’t been putting off confessing because I think he’s going to pull a Jin and turn me down—”

“Hey,” Jin says mildly. He knows you’re joking. You got over that ages ago.

“—but I, um, emailed him my book yesterday, actually,” you finish. “What he does once he’s finished reading it is up to him.”

Jimin is right. It is scary. But Jungkook is worth the potential pain and heartache. He is. He’s always so lovely to you, always so considerate; he sings for you and dances with you and he’s even painted for you, a small canvas covered in favourite flowers, ones that won’t die. Last week when he’d dropped you off at your apartment, he’d brushed his lips across your cheek before practically sprinting away, and your heart had exploded in your chest.

You have no idea how someone as amazing as Jungkook sees something worthwhile in you, so it's hard to come to grips with, but there’s no way you’re reading this wrong. There’s no way.

The table goes quiet and then Jin leans forward and takes your hands in his. “I can’t believe you’re confessing to him with your book,” he says. “This really is an AO3 fanfic. Hashtag slow burn.”

This time, when you kick him, you don’t miss.

You spend the rest of the day with your coterie of doofuses and by the time you get home you’re ready to relax. You’ve just finished getting into your pyjamas, flopping down onto your sofa when there’s suddenly a hammering at your door. You sit up, startled at the noise. The knocking doesn’t let up as you approach the door and you’re wary, but once you look through the peephole you immediately swing it open.

“Jungkook? Are you okay?”

He’s wild-eyed and windswept and his chest is heaving as he sucks in air. You stare at him with concern as he catches his breath.

“Yoongi let me have the day off,” he says. You blink at him.

“Okay? Did you want to go out somewhere? Now? You’ll have to let me change, though, my pyjamas aren’t exactly great evening wear.”

“I’ve spent the whole day reading your book,” Jungkook says, and your heart goes still in your chest before it starts beating at double time.

“Oh,” you say. “Um. What, uh. What did you think?”

Jungkook’s face has taken on an expression that you’ve become intimately familiar with, a similar look to the one he’d been giving you that night by the river, soft and open and warm and— you can see it now, as time has gone by— full of love. He cups your face in his hands and rests his forehead against yours, dark eyes drinking you in, the smile on his lips so lovely and sweet. Just for you.

“I love you,” he says, and then he kisses you.

He keeps cradling your face in his hands, his lips moving against yours in a way that’s so tender that it makes you want to cry; you’ve never felt so wrapped up in someone’s touch like this, like you can feel exactly how precious you are to him just from the touch of his lips against yours. You know it’s a cliché to say that it feels like fireworks going off in your chest, but it does, every single one of the butterflies that have been nestled in your ribcage exploding into flames and brightness, sparkling heat that shines out of you every second Jungkook keeps kissing and kissing and kissing you.

Kissing Jungkook feels like every romantic fantasy you’ve ever written into your books is coming true all at once. You’re not unwanted, undesirable, unlovable: he wants you, he desires you, he loves you.

(He loves you.)

It feels like every flower he’s ever given you is flushing to full bloom all at once, spilling out of your chest, brightness and colour and life curling around your heart. All those years spent quietly hoping, culminating in this moment: Jeon Jungkook pressing his lips against yours, keeping you steady as you lean into him, and you feel like all that waiting and yearning and wanting was worth it if you got to meet him at the end of it all. You’ve finally got your storybook ending.

No, actually— it’s just the beginning.

You’re still standing in your doorway when you part, Jungkook’s hands splayed across your jaw as you give him a smile so wide it almost hurts.

“I love you too,” you say. “If that wasn’t already obvious.”

Jungkook chuckles and you can’t help but lean into the sound, eyes slipping shut as you turn your head and rest your forehead against his jaw. “I had to reread some parts because I didn’t think I was reading it right,” he admits, and you keep smiling. “I thought there was no way it could be real.”

How could Jungkook ever have any doubts? How could Jungkook think that there was no way that you could love him? Does he not realise how amazing he is? How wildly lucky you feel that somehow— with all your flaws and blemishes and imperfections— he loves you back?

“What made you come around?”

“Yoongi-hyung took one look at the last page and threw a roll of ribbon at my head,” Jungkook says, and you laugh, and Jungkook laughs, and the two of you are laughing and laughing and laughing. You feel like you could float away, buoyant with happiness; only Jungkook’s presence is keeping your feet on the ground. “I hope you don’t mind that I let him read it.”

“It’s okay.” You tilt your head back to look at Jungkook. He’s staring at you like you’re the sun and he’s turning towards you, a fierce and beautiful tiger lily blooming in your light. “I wouldn’t mind if you sent free copies of the book to everyone in the world if it meant I’d have you at the end of it.”

Jungkook smiles at you. It’s bright and wide and his eyes are crescents as his nose scrunches and he flashes his teeth, and you love him. “Purple rose, lilac, baby’s breath,” he says, and you recognise the flowers of the corsage he’d given you, all those months ago. “Love at first sight, first love, everlasting love.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Shut up,” you breathe. He'd seen you as worth loving, even then? “Shut up. You did not— you did not confess that you had a crush on me with flowers? After we’d only met twice?”

“Maybe I did.” Jungkook’s smile turns cheeky and you love him.

“I can’t believe you. I can’t believe me. You were literally reading a book about flower language, how did I not— god. I love you,” you say helplessly, and he laughs before he kisses you again.

(“I love you.”

Yunhee freezes in place and looks up at Lily with wide eyes. Lily is terrified of being hurt again, terrified of Yunhee not returning all this endless love that she has in her heart— but Yunhee is worth that terror. She’s worth that pain. Even if she doesn’t feel the same, she needs to know how loved she is. How brilliant and lovely and wonderful she is, her Yunhee, her love.

Yunhee opens her mouth to reply, and says:

How this story ends is up to you, Jungkook. I’ll be waiting. - Y/n)

#jungkook fluff #bts fluff #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenario #bts oneshot #joy.masterlist

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dynyamight · 3 years

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Ok, something just popped into my head.

MHA band au, with Deku as lead singer, Bakugo on the electric guitar, Mina on drums, and Tsu playing an electric keyboard, performing 'You Give Love a Bad Name' by Bon Jovi

ooooo, an interesting band group, anon!! i love it

Chugging down his water bottle, Midoriya smiles against the lid, allowing himself to catch his breath and bathe in his confidence.

Their gig back at the local bar is approaching, but the entire band has been practicing every chance they could get. And, instead of his usual nerves, flooding him with doubt, Midoriya was feeling absolutely ready for their performance.

Bon Jovi. Not a common artist to cover. But, his songs are a collective favorite among the group, leaving every member happy and satisfied.

And, it’s evident in the energy that flowed in between them, during practice. Midoriya had sung possibly his best tonight, as he had been completely absorbed by the music his band members helped to create. So effortlessly. Filled with contagious energy.

The cool water calms his rapid heart, thrumming in his chest excitedly. The gig starts up on Saturday, but he wants to already perform in front of the crowd. Now.

Unfortunately, a hard smack on his back causes him to spit it all out.

Some of the water had gone down the wrong pipe. Coughing, Midoriya squeezes his eyes, slamming a hard fist to his chest. The bottle in his hands, gone.

“You never fail to blow me away!” Ashido giggles aloud, behind him, “Who ever would have thought your voice could ever go that high! Surely, not me! And, I hear you sing every day.”

“M-Mina, be careful.” Tsuyu croaks weakly. When Midoriya opens his eyes, albeit watery, he sees Tsuyu approaching him. She puts her hands on his shoulders. “Are you okay, Izu-chan?”

Midoriya isn't. This throat is itching for another cough. But, instead, he smiles. “Y-Yeah, I’m good.” He admits.

Well, he tries to admit. Not even a second after, Midoriya has to pull away, coughing into his elbow. His throat was burning, aching to be cleared.

He feels a water bottle shoved into his hand. “Drink.”

Without thinking, Midoriya brings the bottle to his lips, graciously uncapped. He drinks it, washing and alleviating the bothersome sensation away. He allows his vision to cloud, instead focusing on the relief.

“Bakugou to the rescue!” Ashido cheers. “Hurray, Hurray!”

“Shut it. You could’ve ruined his vocals.”

“Aww, but at least you were here to fix that!”

“That’s not the fucking point!”

Bringing down the bottle, Midoriya lifts his gaze over to his bandmates. While Ashido remained beside him, twisting her drumsticks around playfully, both Tsuyu and Bakugou stood in front of her, deadpanned.

“See!” Ashido gestures towards Midoriya, arms spread out. Her drumsticks shake around him. “He’s alive! Totally, and completely ready for Saturday night.”

“Izu-chan needs to rest his voice.” Tsuyu states, bringing her hands up to the jingling drumsticks. She pushes them away from Midoriya. “Something like a coughing fit could have an effect on his voice, with the gig being so close.”

“And, if we get shitted on, it’s your fucking fault!” Bakugou spats, visibly tightening his grip on his guitar. Some of the strings play, echoing from the speakers.

“You two need to chill out.” Ashido laughs, brushing off the concern. She pokes Midoriya on the side, with a stick “He’s still going to make the whole crowd go wild, right?”

Midoriya nods, softly offering her a feeble smile. “Well, I hope so.”

“Oh, I know so.” Ashido confirms outright. She starts walking back to her drumset, picking up her sling bag, off the ground. “Hey, Bakugou. I have my night shift at the gas station tonight. Can I leave my drums-?”

“You already know I’m going to say yes.” Bakugou interrupts, his gaze on readjusting his shoulder strap. “So, why bother asking? It’s annoying.”

“I ask, because it’s courtesy.” Ashido giggles, carrying her bag. She waves them off. “C’mon Tsuyu! Let’s go!”

As she skips out, slipping out under the slightly ajared garage door, Tsuyu hurries back to her keyboard. Clicking some buttons off, she lifts her head up to Bakugou. “Can I-?”

“Just go.” Bakugou waves her off. “It ain’t like I steal shit from you extras.”

Nodding, Tsuyu grabs onto her own bag. “Tomorrow, same time?”

Midoriya nods. “If you guys can, of course.”

“Of course, we can.” Tsuyu smiles, a twinkle in her eyes. “Just say the word, and we’ll find a way.”

Before Midoriya could say any more, a loud honk screams outside, jolting shock to everyone. The honk persists, beeping a few more times, before it quiets finally.

Bakugou growls. “She’s going to have my neighborhood hate me.”

As Tsuyu runs out, ducking under the garage door, Midoriya turns to face Bakugou. He can already feel himself grinning. “I thought you said they already hate you.”

Scoffing, Bakugou walks away, heading over and crouching down to switch off the speaker boxes. It’s audible, by the white noise suddenly cutting out. “Yeah, and they are going to hate me more, after her shit. Hell, might get my parents fucking evicted.”

Midoriya shrugs, putting his hands in his pockets. “We could always just find a new place. You and I-”

“If you’re gonna suggest us living together, one more time,” Bakugou starts, back facing Midoriya, “I’m going to slam this guitar in your dumb face.”

Immediately, Midoriya pouts. “Why not? Auntie wants you out of the house, and I want you. It’s an easy trade off.”

There’s a silence between them after that, with only the sounds of clicking and shuffling on Bakugou’s end.

But, thankfully, Bakugou speaks. “..Because, then, we won’t focus on our music.” He mutters, still tinkering with the speakers. He places his guitar on top of the biggest one.

Though, Midoriya has a feeling that he’s just trying to avoid making eye contact. Instead, he walks over to Bakugou, crouching down to his level. “Why wouldn’t we?”

Looking up, Bakugou meets Midoriya’s gaze, stern and firm. Nevertheless, Midoriya watches as those pupils dilate, and the stubborn glare waver.

He inches close, noses brushing. Midoriya leans, hoping to reach.

Bakugou clicks his tongue, shoving him off balance. As Midoriya struggles to stay on his feet, arms flailing, Bakugou stands up. “That’s why we ain’t moving together. Get your head out of the dumb clouds, and focus on the record label.”

Defeated, Midoriya allows himself to fall on the ground, concrete cool against his elbows and jeans. “Just one kiss, Kacchan. That’s all I’m asking here.”

“Yeah, one kiss, and you’ll become fucking obsessed.” Bakugou mocks, “And, right now, the only thing you need to be obsessed about is the band.” He walks over to the wall, clicking on a button.

Automatically, the garage door opens wider, lifting completely. Midoriya watches as the neighborhood becomes more visible, with the street lamps lighting up the dark night.

“You should head out.”

Sighing, Midoriya picks himself up. He brushes off the dust on the back of his jeans, before trudging to the corner of the garage, where he had thrown his backpack earlier. The vibrant yellow, now dusted a bit. But, he doesn’t mind. Midoriya simply slings it over his shoulders.

“Hey, Kacchan.” He offers, right as he’s about to go under the garage door.

Rolling his eyes, Bakugou crosses his arms and stares back, glaring. “What, Deku.”

Midoriya directs a pointer finger at him. “You give love a bad name.”

Blinking for a moment, Bakugou then proceeds to shake his head, groaning. However, Midoriya catches at the upturned lips of a hidden smile.

“You are so annoying." Bakugou mutters, "Is that why we’re fucking playing that song? Because, your dumbass wants to sing about me, of all people?”

“Just admit that you like me already.” Midoriya beckons. He internally cringes at how it almost sounds like he’s begging.

He expects a non answer, or even an insult. But, instead Bakugou shrugs. “What would you even do, if I said yes.”

Midoriya feels his smile grow. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe, I promise us a good Saturday gig, and we go on a date together?”

Bakugou shakes his head, shooing him away with a hand. “Sure, whatever. I like you. There. Go away already, before I let this door crush you.”

When Midoriya makes it to his car, parked right outside the Bakugou’s residence, he can’t help but drum his hands happily on the steering wheel. He hopes Saturday night will come faster.

#star responds #what a lovely idea anon !!!#i really like the potential dynamic between the four !!#you have drummer!mina. spunky and a daredevil of sorts. she loves hitting her drums LOUD and CLEAR #keyboard!tsuyu likes order. probably the one to dispel arugements and rearrange music sheets and patterns for the band #guitar!bakugou has the deterimination and focus of the group. super loyal to their dreams making it big #& singer!midoriya who just wants to be happy and make other happy. he doesn't care about money and simply wants to perform #also hope you like the bkdk in there !!#bakudeku #bkdk #bnha au #anon #FICLET

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yikesharringrove · 3 years

Text

Show Pony

Chapter 2: Legends Never Die

Read on Ao3

Billy was watching porn when Steve texted.

He’s never clicked out of a video so fucking fast in his life.

The message just read hey, this is steve :) which like, of course, the fucker uses little emoticons. Of course , he types out little smiley faces. It’s so dumb. It’s so cute.

And Billy just stared at it. One hand still on his dick, the other hovering over the keyboard.

What the fuck does he reply?

Obviously, Steve knows it’s Billy. Like. Duh.

So he just tapped out a little Hey.

Steve texted back almost immediately.

you have a good day? Billy found himself grinning maniacally, so he rolled over to hold his pillow close to his chest, burying his chin into it. He didn’t wanna deal with the fact that this stupid adorable cowboy was making him smile and flush. Stupid.

Yeah, it was nice. Way too hot, but nice.

lol try wearing jeans in that heat. sweatin through my damn saddle. Billy laughed into his pillow.

Jesus, you’re such a fuckin hick. Billy bit his tongue when he pressed send.

And Steve just sent back >:(. And God. He’s so cute. Billy. Hates him.

And then Billy’s phone buzzed twice, another brand new text from Steve.

One that made Billy’s heart fucking stop.

i have the day off tomorrow. no tiedown on the schedule. you should come by and we could hang

Which sounded like. A date. It sounded like a fucking date. And Billy wanted to ask. If Steve’s invitation was for a goddamn date.

But like, he can’t just ask. Can he? Is that weird? Okay, maybe he’ll just-

Should I bring Max?

Right? Like if Steve says to bring his little sister, then there’s no way it’s a date. Because, who would want their date to bring their little sister? People who are just hanging out as friends, that’s who.

was hoping it'd just be you and me

And hoo boy. Hoo boy. That’s. That’s a fucking. That’s a date.

Then yeah. Just you and me.

And Steve sent him another little :) because the fucker loves his emoticon smiley faces. They’re not even, like, actual emojis. Steve doesn’t take the time to use fucking apostrophes, but he does type out little faces.

And maybe Billy’s spending too much time thinking about the smiley little shits.

But, like. It’s just. It’s Steve. And it’s a cute fucking thing that Steve does.

Billy’s pretty much obsessed with him by now.

And maybe Billy should ask for, like, a time to meet. But he was halfway through a video and his cock’s still hard and kinda starting to ache, pressed against the mattress where it was. He rolled over, slid his hand back into his shorts, and wrapped his fingers around the base of himself.

So it’s easy just to, slide it up. Run his fingers along his length. Pretend his rough hand is Steve’s rough hand. Pretend the tight vice grip is Steve’s mouth. Hot and slick around him.

He could picture Steve, on his knees in the dirt, those tight fucking jeans beginning to stain at the knees, those big pretty eyes looking at him so reverently, so softly.

And he came all over his hand, pictured those pink pretty lips covered with cum. Imagined scooping it on his fingers, pressing them into Steve’s mouth, making him lick them clean.

It wasn’t even the most depraved fantasy Billy’s ever had. But it was for sure in his top five best orgasms. No doubt about it.

He wiped his hand on the sheets, turning onto his side, staring at the short little conversation with Steve.

Thinking about their fucking date tomorrow.

Max was on his ass the second he woke up.

She cornered him as he was coming out of the bathroom, making him startle and nearly smack her.

“The fuck you doing out here, Shitbrid?”

“What are we doing today?”

“ We aren’t doing shit all. I will be heading out. Soon.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, jutting her jaw in a way he absolutely knows she learned from him.

“Are you going to the rodeo?” she hissed through her teeth at him. “Are you going to see-”

“That’s none ‘a your fuckin’ business.” He pushed past her, lumbering down the hall, almost making it into his bedroom before she slipped inside with him, slapping his elbow and kicking the door closed.

“Are you going on a date ?”

Billy glared at her. He clenched his jaw, speaking through gritted teeth.

“Pretty sure we agreed not to fucking talk about this shit here.”

She pursed her lips, shifting her jaw.

“Just nod or shake your head.”

Billy kept his head very still.

She kicked him once in the shin before stomping out of his room, nearly slamming the door, catching it at the last minute, and closing it quietly.

Neil didn’t approve of doors slamming in his house.

It was rule number. Three probably. First rule was don’t be a smartass. Second rule was don’t be Billy. That was kind of an unspoken rule. But it was there.

And Billy was faced with his newest dilemma.

What does he wear?

Because it’s gonna be another hot fucking day, and his typical date outfits have more, more.

He’s got one clean pair of cut-offs left. Okay. Yes. And he puts on a printed button-up shirt. Leaves it almost all the way unbuttoned, because, like, of course, he does. He’s got a good body. He wants Steve to see it.

He’ll be mostly cool, and he looks better than he did last time he saw Steve.

Black Converse complete the look, and he maybe spends more time than he usually would putting his hair into a ponytail, using one of Max’s bright scrunchies.

She’ll get pissed if she notices it but. Whatever. He steals them from her all the fucking time.

He hasn’t looked at his phone all morning, figured he could head over to the rodeo, and whenever Steve texted, he’d play it cool and act like he wasn’t already there.

But, cowboy hick Steve was obviously an early riser. As the most recent text Billy has is from that cowboy hick Steve. At six. In the morning.

you wanna meet up around ten?

It was currently just past nine.

Does Billy head up there now and wander around the grounds for a bit?

Yes. Yes, he does. Because frankly, he looks gay as fuck in this outfit and he should probably dip before his dad sees.

He sends Steve a thumbs up and the three dots show up almost immediately, showing Steve typing.

you got a car right? can you pick me up outside of the parking lot? i gotta get outta here

And Fuck. Billy knows that feeling.

No problem. You wanna get breakfast? I know a good diner if you’re into that kinda thing.

hell yeah im into that :)

Ah, yes. There was that little happy face just in time to give Billy lots of nice heart palpitations.

Great. That’s what he needs. To get sappy and gross over Steve’s emoticons. Again.

He slipped out of his house without interference, taking a lap around the block just to kill time before setting off to the fairgrounds.

He was trying to make his car look presentable, shoving the few gum wrappers Max left by the gear shift into his pocket, brushing off any stray cigarette ash with one of the baby wipes in the glove box.

And by the time he reached the fairgrounds, he saw Steve skulking along the front of the parking lot, hopping over cracks in the sidewalk like the cutest little bunny.

It was the most adorable thing in the fucking world.

Billy pulled up next to him, blaring the horn and watching Steve startle at the sound.

He was wearing cut-off denim shorts like Billy’s, and a goddamn crop top. It had the silhouette of a horse on its hind legs, its mane flowing in the wind behind it, and Harrington American Rodeo brandished across his chest. It was cut just at his waistline, where his body nipped in right above his hips.

Steve smiled his pretty smile at Billy, just about skipping around the front of the car to slide into the passenger seat.

And Billy tried not to think about how fucking good Steve looked in the passenger seat of his car, those long fucking legs all on display, his thighs, thick and pale, covered in dark hair.

“Hi,” Steve was leaning with one elbow on the center console, putting himself in Billy’s space, and Billy was thankful for his dark aviator sunglasses, as his eyes went wide and probably panicked with Steve moving in so close.

Because if Steve was leaning in to kiss him, that kinda feels like a lot. And Billy’s not a prude, not by any means but he's, he’s got lines, and rules, and-

Steve just knocked his head into Billy’s shoulder, leaning back to buckle his seatbelt, like headbutting Billy’s shoulder was casual and normal.

And fuck.

Billy’s in so deep for this guy he barely fucking knows.

All he could do was push the car forward, and will away the flush on his cheeks. And pretend like he hadn’t jerked off to the person sitting next to him less than twelve hours ago.

“So. Billy. Tell me about yourself.” Steve shifted in his seat, turning to look right at Billy. “All I know is that you’ve got a kid sister, a cool car, and that you’re really hot.”

Billy smirked, turning to look at Steve over his glasses, found Steve biting his bottom lip demurely.

“Well, there’s not much else to know .”

“Oh, come on. Where are you from? How old are you? Shit, probably shoulda asked that sooner. Please, tell me you’re not fifteen or something.”

“I’m literally driving, right now. And relax, Pretty Boy. I’m eighteen next month.”

“Okay. Okay, good. I’m eighteen, by the way. Just so you know, that I’m not fifteen.” Billy shook his head, rolling his eyes with a smile. “But I still want answers to the other questions.”

“Well, I’m from here. Born and raised in San Diego. Uh, I graduated high school in May. And I work at the diner I’m about to take you to, which might be the lamest shit in the world, but they have good pancakes.”

“I like pancakes.” Steve was fiddling with some of the knobs in the car, turning the air conditioner up and down. Billy was just resisting slapping his hand away.

And then he reached for the volume knob on the radio, turning up the Ratt Billy had playing, and audibly scoffed.

“God, I should’ve known you liked this .”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“Just, you know. Sex charged drug-fueled hair metal.”

“Oh my God. What in the fuck ?” He gave Steve as incredulous a look as he could muster. “Are you a housewife from the fifties?”

Steve gave one of his excellent bright laughs at Billy, and Billy’s gut got a little bit gay and a little bit fluttery.

“Alright, Stevie. I’ll bite. What kinda music are you into? And if you say country I’m blowing my fuckin’ brains out.”

“Well, unfortunate then because, yeah. Fuckin’ country, man. Although, I prefer folk.”

“See, you call my music sex-charged and drug-fueled, at least I’m not listening to posers rant about their tractors.”

“Oh, no. I hate that shit as much as you do. I mean like, Johnny Cash. Willie Nelson, you know? Emmylou Harris, Marty Robbins, Miss Dolly. The good stuff. There’s like, a few modern artists that are doing the same kinda thing that I like. It’s all just stories and good music.”

“That’s all my music is. Stories set to music. And, you say my shit is drug-fueled, you do know that Willie Nelson is famous for being a stoner? And that Johnny Cash publicly dealt with addiction and all that?”

“Well, yeah, but they’ve got class.”

“Okay, Cowboy. I’ll let you die on that fuckin’ hill while I party it up on mine to some eighties metal.”

And Steve reached out to shove Billy lightly, laughing while he did it.

“Agree to fucking disagree then. Just take me to pancakes and don’t try to reason with me about shitty music.”

“Then change the subject. Tell me other things about you besides your terrible music taste.”

Steve leaned back in his seat, blowing out a puff of air.

“Uh, I mean. Jeez. I don’t do much besides the rodeo, you know? Just movin’ all over the country.”

“That must be. Exhausting.”

Steve reached out to brush his fingers against the dashboard mindlessly.

“It’s not so bad. I try to make friends in the towns, you know? Makes it kinda fun.”

“Where were you born?”

“Indiana. Really small town. My mom and I stayed there for three years while my father traveled around. I’ve been on the road since.”

“Holy shit. Since you were three? Did you, like, go to school?”

“No. Uh, I actually have a tutor that’s on the road with us, and I’m. You know. Supposed to get my high school diploma soon. I’m behind schedule since,” he waved his hand flippantly. He was staring at his lap, playing with the frayed hem of his shorts. And Billy was grasping for another subject as Steve’s cheeks went red. Because obviously school, had struck a nerve.

“What kinda horse is June?”

“She’s an American quarter horse. That’s the usual type for most rodeo events. They’re good ranch horses because they’re a little more compact. I’ve been with June for five years now, and she’s a beast. I’ve got two others with me, on rotation so that none of them get too tired doing the shows over and over. June, Patsy, and Loretta. They’re all quarter horses, and each one is only about fourteen and a half hands tall. I like my horses a bit smaller for tie-down.”

“I understood, honestly, like, nothing of what you just said.”

Steve tossed his head back, laughing loudly over the radio at Billy’s confusion.

He laughed a lot.

Billy liked it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll teach you rodeo slang. You’ll be a natural,” Steve said, reaching out to where Billy’s right hand was resting on the gearshift, wrapping his finger’s around Billy’s wrist.

“What about their names?”

“All ladies of country. Loretta Lynn, Patsy Cline, and June Carter. Carter-Cash, I guess. She married Johnny but had a career in her own right.”

“Jesus, you’re a fuckin’ hick.”

“You’ve said that before. Just because I’m in the rodeo-”

“No, it’s because you’re in the rodeo, and listen to country music, and wear fucking cowboy boots -”

“They are literally made for riding horses, okay? That’s why they were invented .”

Billy rolled his eyes again, but he was smiling brightly as he pulled into the diner parking lot.

It wasn’t too busy for a Sunday morning. Billy bets it’ll pick up in an hour or so for the brunch crowd.

He began working at the diner three years ago, bussing tables and washing dishes, getting paid under the table because technically, he was too young to work. He was a server now, usually taking the evening dinner shifts to miss that time when his dad was home from work.

The bell jingled above their heads as Billy held the door open for Steve, and Billy stuck his tongue out at the kitchen staff, leaning over the counter to swipe a few menus from the stack.

He led Steve to a booth in the back corner, waving at Lorraine, the older woman who was working their section, gesturing to the booth for Steve to take a seat.

“Wow. You’ve totally got this place on lock.”

Billy grinned at him, leaning against the wall to stretch his legs up on the booth next to him.

“I’ve worked here a few years. Kinda done all the staff positions. It’s a nice place.”

“Well, then what do you recommend?” Steve carefully opened the laminated menu, his big eyes flicking over the pictures on the side of every dish.

“Pancakes are good, so are the waffles though, if you’re into that. I like the full breakfast. Eggs, bacon or sausage, hash browns, pancakes, or toast. Kinda the best of everything.”

Steve snapped his menu shut, smiling softly at Billy.

“I’m trusting you with my breakfast here. It better be good .”

Lorraine approached their table, already pouring Billy a cup of coffee and sliding it to him along the table.

“You really love us that much you find your way in here on your day off?”

“Only you, Lorraine. Everybody else can fuck off for all I care.”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes at Billy.

“You want the usual cook-up?”

“Yes, please.”

She took his unopened menu, turning and smiling brightly at Steve.

“What can I get for you, Darling.”

Steve’s eyes were wide when he looked up at her, his cheeks starting to flush.

“Uh, just, the same as Billy, please.”

“You want a coffee?”

“No, Ma’am. Just a water for me please.” He handed his menu back, giving her a bright smile, his cheeks a soft rosy red.

Lorraine winked at Billy, nodding her head once in Steve’s general direction. Billy waved her off before she could say something embarrassing.

“Sorry, I get kinda weird sometimes.” Steve had pulled a napkin out of the dispenser on their table and was looking down at it, tearing off little chunks and rolling them into balls.

“That’s okay. Lorraine gets it. Plus, you were polite, and that’s all that matters. I wouldn’t be caught dead with you if you were an ass to servers.”

“Oh, God. My dad is such an ass when it comes to, really any staff. Like, servers, or, frankly, most of the people that work for him. Don’t even get me started on the animal carers. I mean, that’s probably the most important job at the whole rodeo, and he’s been trying to dock pay left, right, and fucking center.” Steve rolled his big eyes, huffing like Max.

“Wait, so your dad is like, the head of the whole operation?”

“My name is Steve Harrington,” and Steve pointed at his shirt, the name Harrington emblazoned over the horse.

“Oh damn. I thought that name was familiar when I saw the shirt. Figured I had just seen the rodeo name or something.”

“Nope. That’s me. A whole Harrington. My great-grandpa started the rodeo. He was, like, an actual ranch hand. Started one in the town we’re from. My grandpa was the one who got the idea to take it on the road. My dad came up through it like I did. He was in steer roping. And basically, his end goal is that I start running the whole show in a few years. Take over for him.”

“And, you don’t want to?”

“Nah. I don’t really have a brain for business. Don’t have a brain for much other than riding and tie-down, honestly. Don’t know the first thing about how to run a traveling rodeo.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

Steve smiled at him, but his eyes seemed sad, and his smile was tight.

“You got plans for next year? College or anything?”

“Nah. I think college is, on the horizon, but I’m taking a gap year. Saving up to move out and pay for school and everything. Probably gonna go to community college to save some money. And then maybe grad school?”

“That’s smart, you know? Finding ways to save up. My dad is debating pushing college on me. Like, if I do run the business, there’s some shit I should know going into it, right? But I think he also sees that I’m way too dumb for college, and, like, I don’t need a degree to get hired. I’ll just,” Steve made an upwards sweeping gesture with his right hand. A gesture that Billy understood to vaguely mean nepotism.

“What would you rather do? If not run the thing.”

“I like tie-down, and I could feasibly do it for a long time. I could branch into other events, too, like steer roping and all that. Same idea as calf roping but a different animal. Literally. It’s a steer. But I’d be content just doing the events until I croak. I have absolutely no desire to rise through the ranks, or whatever.” Steve rolled his eyes, balling up the little napkin wads he had made into another napkin from the dispenser. Billy appreciated it. He’s had to clean up crap like that from this very floor. “I just love being around the rodeo. The animals and all the people. I don’t really wanna be anywhere else.”

“At least you have something you love. Like, you’d be happy to do that for the rest of your life, and not in an I’ve got nothing better to do way, but in an, I’m passionate about this way. A lot of people don’t really. Get that.” Billy included.

It’s not that he doesn’t have passions, it’s just that they’re not necessarily sustainable to him.

He knows he’s dangling by a thread with his father. Knows after his eighteenth birthday, he should be ready to be kicked out or asked to pay rent at any time. He needs a career that’ll get him some fucking money if he wants to get out and cut off his dad entirely. He can’t be forced to go crawling back to him because he wanted to self-publish his gay ass poetry that never took off or drum in a rock band that went nowhere.

To name a few.

“Yeah, I mean. Sometimes I think that I probably would’ve never set foot in a rodeo if I wasn’t literally born into one, so I kinda wonder who I’d be if this wasn’t everything I knew, but I still really love doing it, and it’s something that I’m actually good at, which speaks volumes.”

They were interrupted by Lorraine returning, placing two identical plates in front of them, a glass of water for Steve, and pulling hot sauce and ketchup out of her apron pocket.

“You two let me know if you need anything else.”

Steve beamed at her, thanking her softly and Billy’s heart fluttered like a stupid idiot.

They tucked in, Steve shoving food into his mouth until his cheeks were bulging, chewing aggressively. It made Billy laugh and nearly spew coffee all over the table.

“I figured you’d have better manners, being the heir to a rodeo dynasty or whatever.”

Steve pulled a face, showing Billy the chewed-up food in his mouth.

“How’s that for manners?”

It was actually fucking funny watching him try to swallow everything stuffed in his mouth.

“It’s borderline painful watching you eat.”

Billy laughed as Steve flicked a piece of scrambled egg at him. It landed on his shoulder. Billy slurped it right off his shirt.

“See! Now, who's the one with no table manners?”

“Still you, Sugar. Still you.”

Breakfast was, like, actually fun.

Not that Billy was expecting it to be shitty, but he wasn’t expecting it to be as carefree, as easy, as it was. He and Steve just, kinda, clicked.

Steve was easy to talk to. He was easy to listen to, easy to laugh with, and even easier to look at.

He’s kinda, everything Billy has ever wanted in a person.

He slid his hand into Billy’s as they were leaving the diner, smiling shyly at Billy when he looked over at him.

And Billy stopped in his tracks, right there in broad daylight, tugging Steve by his hand closer to Billy’s body, sliding his hands up his arms, feeling over Steve’s shoulders, and down his back to settle on his hips. Steve wrapped both arms around Billy’s shoulders, leaning closer to him, almost pressing his whole body against Billy’s.

And it was easy. Kissing Steve was just as easy as talking to him, as laughing with him, as looking at him. It was simple and nice and made Billy feel something he really didn’t want to put too much thought into.

Something that was decidedly not easy.

They pulled away from one another, both their lips red and slick.

Billy opened the passenger door, and Steve folded himself into the seat with a ridiculous amount of grace.

And as Billy drove them aimlessly through the city, he tried not to think of the expiration date on this whole thing, on the dates listed on the back of Steve’s t-shirt.

They’ve got a little under a month together.

And Billy was determined to make that the best goddamn month of both of their natural lives.

#yikes writes #show pony #rodeo au #lemons #i got hit with a fat wall of Sad and decided to post ch 2 to see if i get a lil serotonin from the response #we will SEE #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

Text

What I Want Most - Five

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean’s life has been all work and no play lately. When Gabe, his friend, coerced him into tagging along to a club, he couldn’t say no as Gabe has been pestering him for a while now. What Dean didn’t expect was that he’d meet his match in that club in the form of a stunning woman with underlying daddy issues.

Warnings: Daddy kink (by now, this is a given), rivalry in the office, office sex, semi-public sex, blow job

Word Count: 1924

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

In the morning, Dean’s in their office, touching up his own presentation for tomorrow. He steals a glance at the clock, it’s almost 8.40 AM. It’s almost time for her presentation and Y/N’s still not here.

He wonders if he went too far.

Well, she still has about ten minutes before she has to be in the meeting room to set everything up. And if she’s not going to be here, he’ll make sure to waltz in there and bring up a sorry excuse to steal some time. He’s not a monster after all, it was just supposed to be a little prank.

Last night, after she fell asleep, Dean manipulated her alarm, setting the alarm later than she wanted to get up. Like, not too late that she’d miss the meeting, but late enough so that she won’t have a lot of time to get herself ready.

He set his own alarm and placed his phone under the pillow so he would wake up as soon as it started to vibrate. He did get up. Sneaked his way out of her apartment and left her there, still sound asleep.

Dean’s typing away at the email, it’s 8.47 AM now.

Three minutes until he has to save her ass.

That cute little sweet ass, though.

A minute later, the door opens and she’s looking at him. Her hair’s put together but there’s no trace of makeup. She also wears glasses, god and he didn’t even know this about her but fuck, she looks super cute with her glasses. These, paired with her being angry, is really what his librarian dreams are made of.

Maybe he could ask her to role play it once.

But yeah, maybe he could ask when she’s not mad at him anymore.

He ignores her, stares meticulously into his screen.

Walking in, she drops her laptop bag and pulls out her laptop wordlessly.

Dean risks a glance up, sees her staring at him. Her eyes are narrow.

He smirks, “You look worse for wear. Had a rough night, sweetheart?”

“Fuck you,” She mumbles and proceeds to walk to the door.

“Well,” Dean starts, but stops because she turns around and sends him a glare.

“I hate you so much right now,”

The door closes with a bang.

Oh well, this went super great. He doesn’t know if he should be scared that she’s so fucking mad at him or prank her some more because she’s so cute when she’s mad.

Oh my god, Y/N absolutely hates Dean fucking Winchester.

He made her late but he at least set the alarm early enough for her to be able to make it. But still... that doesn’t mean that he deserves a fucking medal, though.

The presentation went well, so at least she has that, but she’s still mad at him so if he wants to get his dick wet, he can find someone else. She’s so fucking done.

Back in the office, she is glad that Dean was out at another meeting, so at least she has a breather.

Dean showed up thirty minutes later with a cup of coffee for her and she doesn’t know but she has a very hard time trusting it. So she looks at the coffee and up at him.

“What?” He asks because she still hasn’t said a word, “You think I want to poison you or something?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” She shrugs and returns to her screen and types something on her keyboard.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N!” He growls and squats down next to her, “I’m sorry, okay? I thought a little competition is healthy. A little prank here and there. I wouldn’t do anything that would jeopardize your career in any way,”

“I almost missed my meeting,” She said drily, trying not to look at him.

“Yeah! There you have it. Almost!”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but it doesn’t make it sound any better,”

“My god,” Dean threads his hand through his hair, “You know what? I’m done apologizing,” He walks over to his own desk and sits down, “They are singing your praises. I was in the elevator with one of the execs who was at your presentation. So, even though I made you late, I didn’t make you miss it,”

“It still doesn’t make it right, Dean,”

“Whatever,” He snorts and she can tell that he’s moping. He probably feels guilty.

Maybe she’s being too harsh. He played a prank, she played a prank, and he was right, it didn’t do a lot of damage but still…

It was about two hours of silent treatment later that she got up to walk over to the folder cabinet in search of a folder she needed, but she couldn’t find it. The space where it should be is empty.

Turning around, she sees that Dean’s using it. He’s probably working on the same thing as she is, which is due in the afternoon.

Y/N sighs and goes back to her desk, deciding to work on something else until he’s finished, but after thirty minutes have passed, he’s still hogging it.

“Jesus, are you done with the folder? It can’t be so hard to find the two numbers in there that you need, can it?”

He rolls his chair to the side to be able to look past his screen at her, “You need something, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, that damn folder! You’ve been hogging it for way too long,”

Dean cocks an eyebrow, “You want it?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I want your pussy but that’s not something I get tonight, do I?” He chuckles, “Sometimes we don’t get what we want, baby,” Getting up from behind his desk, Dean picks up the folder and walks over to her, “You can be glad I have a conference call with England now,” He sets the folder on her desk and walks back, nodding at her as he places his headphones over his head.

He’s probably trying to make peace and ugh, it’s almost impossible for her to stay mad. Damn him and his look and the way he talks and walks.

While Dean dials himself into the conference call, she quickly picks out the numbers she needs and returns the file back to his desk. He’s still listening in to the call but tilts his head up to smile at her. His teeth are showing white, the crinkles around his eyes are deep and god, he looks so cute with all the freckles on his face.

Returning to her seat, she listens in as Dean speaks. He’s really good at what he’s doing, and to be honest, she doesn’t even know if she’d have a chance against him. It’s a little disheartening thinking about it.

Y/N has to remind herself that it’s not really his fault. It wasn’t him who decided that he has to fight for a position that’s rightfully his. And he’s been helping a lot. At least, he did with the presentation she was having today. So, when it comes to him as a person, and when she puts the office rivalry aside, he is a good guy and she should definitely cut him some slack.

After finishing her report, she sees that the conference call should last another ten minutes. With a grin, she lowers herself under her desk and crawls over to where Dean’s sitting. Dean’s legs are spread and he drums on the floor with his shoe. He doesn’t know that she’s down here, but he will soon.

Placing her hands on his thighs, she can hear him mutter something and can feel his body go stiff.

“Yeah, I’m listening,” Dean mumbles.

With a chuckle, she skids her nails along his thighs, until she reaches his belt buckle and quickly undoes it, trying not to let it clink too loudly. Her fingers work on his button next, pulling the zipper down after.

Her hand goes inside his pants, takes out his dick that’s still soft but it twitches in her fist and it slowly starts to grow at her touch. Dean shudders when she breathes warm air against it.

“Jesus,” He whispers, “No, I’m sorry, just stubbed my toes,” He says above.

She has to chuckle at that and then she sticks her tongue out, licks a broad stripe from the base to his tip. Dean doesn’t make a sound, but his legs are slightly trembling. He’s probably trying to keep himself together.

Sucking in the tip of his cock, she lets it out with an audible popping sound. The taste of him is strong in her mouth. She absolutely loves how he tastes, it makes her mouth water some more.

The more precum is leaking out of him, the stronger his scent is and it fills her nose, clouds her mind. It’s fucking intoxicating.

Y/N takes him in her mouth again, bobs her head up and down and tries her best not to make too much of a sound. Dean’s saying something, but she doesn’t listen. She’s so into it that her mind tunes out all the other sounds and senses. All she feels and tastes is Dean.

With one hand she jerks him off where her mouth can’t reach in this position. With her other hand, she cradles his balls in her palms, giving them some attention and there might have been another moan.

Humming around his girth, she gobbles him down, sucks a bit harsher at the tip before she swirls her tongue around the underside of it before she takes him in again. It seems like Dean is close because his balls are jumping in her palm and he tries to fuck up into her mouth.

“Alright, thank you for your time, bye,” He finishes the call and she can hear how strained it sounds.

“Fuck,” Is the next thing she hears before she feels a hand on the back of her head, holding her down on his cock while he pushes his hips up to meet her mouth. He thrusts a couple of times and then she hears the familiar growl, feels the warmth of the cum flooding her throat and mouth.

She swallows it all down, licks at his tip and sucks at it again, making sure she catches every last drop. She cleans his shaft too, swirls her tongue around. When she finishes, she smacks her lips and Dean rolls his chair back, looks down at her.

He reaches out, his thumb caressing her cheek, before they brush over her lips, and she bites at it, making him chuckle, “Baby,” Dean’s still trying to catch his breath, “Fuck, was that to tell me you’re not mad at me anymore?”

Y/N nods.

Pulling her up by her arm, he places her into his lap and kisses her soft and gentle, “I’m glad. I could also fucking eat you up right now, but we know that’s not possible,”

“Well, you don’t know if you don’t try, right?” She grins.

“Don’t fucking tempt me. Otherwise, neither one of us will have a job by the end of the week,” He kisses her cheek before he nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck. She feels him breathing in the scent of her skin, “I’m sorry about this morning, okay? It was just a silly prank,”

“I know,”

“Does that mean daddy can take you home tonight? Reward you for the good girl you are?”

She grins with a nod of her head.

Six

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

#what i want most #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

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karasimpno · 4 years

Text

I’m trying this again because the tags are being weird but this is for the lovely and patient anon who requested #43 w/ Oikawa!!

Omg I’m so angry this got deleted and I had to start over 😭I’m so sorry it took SO long - I tried to make it a little longer to make up for it, I hope you like it!!!

“What happens if I do this?” - Oikawa x Reader 1.9k words | warnings: established relationship, fluff, a liiiiittle nsfw

You were coming up on the end of the semester and already cramming for finals. You were determined to do better than last semester and had committed yourself to cracking down on notes and outlines at your desk every night for the last two weeks.You felt kind of bad for Oikawa, though. He had graduated last year and, ever the dutiful boyfriend, always came over to see you after he got off work. Sometimes he surprised you with onigiri or something pretty that made him think of you. Sometimes you would get to eat dinner together before you reluctantly returned to your studies. He would just wait patiently on the couch, watching tv or scrolling through his phone, hoping you could eventually join him or that he’d at least get to snuggle you to sleep.

This past week though, the gifts had become more frequent. It coincided with your growing stress but you weren’t sure if that was the reason for the influx in attentions or if he was just missing you. He had bought dinner the last three nights in a row and had even made you blush when he slipped a pretty new pair of underwear into your palm after you’d finished studying one night. You were too tired to do much more than kiss him before falling asleep in his arms, though. You sighed half-awake apologies and he pulled you closer, understanding.

Tonight though, your eyes were straining on your textbook and you felt yourself almost going crazy when he waltzed through the front door, twirling his spare key around his index finger. “Babe!” he called out.

“Bedroom!” you replied, not looking up from your reading.

“I know,” he teased, the slightest edge in his voice. You glanced over your shoulder at him, standing in your doorway, hair windswept and looking devilishly handsome as ever. A grin instantly spread across your face, the mere energy of his presence infectious. You sighed and swiveled your chair around. He had your favorite takeout in his hand and you felt yourself melt a little.

“Tooru...” you sighed. He closed the distance between the two of you, setting the bag on your desk and taking both your hands in his. The corner of his mouth was pulled up in a flirtatious smirk. You took a deep breath in, relaxing and soaking up the presence of your biggest source of happiness. “And how are you today my love?” he asked, releasing one of your hands and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You caught his hand as it skirted around your cheek and held it there, leaning into his touch. “Better now,” you hated to admit, feeling a little sappy and knowing he would make fun of you for it.

“Is that all it takes? Your big strong man coming home to save you from your studies? Well then I guess I didn’t need to pick up this-” he teased, picking the bag back up from your desk and turning on his heel with a glint in his eye. “No - Tooru - wait!” you called after him as he rounded the doorway. “Dinnertime!” he sang, and you got up and trailed him to the small kitchen, the smell of cooked food making your stomach growl.

He had set the bag on the countertop and was cleaning off the table. You reached into the bag and pulled out the plasticware and a paper box. In an instant, Oikawa was by your side, slapping your wrist. “Put that back! We’re having a proper meal tonight!” he reprimanded, pulling plates out of the cabinet. You huffed and put your hands on your hips.

“Does that mean you’ll be cooking then?” you smirked, receiving a glare from him. “No,” he retorted, mumbling about his cooking skills as he properly set the table, proceeding to snatch the bag away from you. You folded your arms across your chest and watched him serve up dinner for you, trying to keep the glowing feeling in your heart from cracking your teasing exterior. He even brushed past you to steal a candle from your room, lighting it between the two place settings.

“What’s all this for?” you asked, slightly bewildered, but beaming at this romantic gesture.

“It’s Thursday,” he said simply, standing across from you with an adorable smile on his face. You grinned, slightly shaking your head at him. You stepped towards him and wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your chest close to his. “And you’ve been working so hard....” his voice lowered, gently tracing a thumb over your cheekbone and looking down at you. Your heart felt so full as his eyes gazed into yours. “I love you so much,” you said, and pressed your lips against his. It was a sweet kiss, the both of you melting into the other’s touch. “Thank you for dinner,” you whispered with a content smile.

“Not to mention it’s hot to have such a smart partner!” he said, pulling away and giving you a hard smack on the ass, eliciting a surprised yelp from you. He chuckled and sat down, the two of you beginning to catch up about your long day.

By the time he had cleared the plates – he had even bought dessert – you were bending down to plant a kiss to his cheek, begrudgingly needing to get back to your studies. He caught your hand as you moved away, holding it fast and keeping you from retreating to your room. He wasn’t looking at you, just holding you in place. “Babe...” he started, and there was something different in his voice, something ragged. He interlaced his fingers with yours and you instinctively wrapped your other hand around your clasped hands. He pushed his chair back and moved in close to you, his nose hovering above yours. He used his index finger to pull your chin up. “I miss you,” he breathed. You felt yourself inhale and loll your head to the side with guilt, knowing exactly how he felt and what he meant. This week he’d been pulling out all the stops on his other love languages – acts of service, gifts, even words of affirmation when you got frustrated with your work. But quality time and physical touch, your two shared most important ones, had sadly slipped away this week.

“I know...” you whispered. “I just...really need to do well this semester.”

“I know” he pressed, the guilt and need intermixing in his voice. “But you’ve been working so hard. It’s almost the weekend. Take the night off with me,” he was practically begging, though his pride would never let him admit it. You sighed and pressed a kiss to your enjoined hands.

“Just let me get through a few more practice sets,” you bargained. “An hour or two, tops.”

“One hour,” he insisted, sighing. He reluctantly let your hand go as you winked at him. He smacked your ass again as you turned to go, making you jump and shoot him a wicked glare. He just chuckled and offered up his signature smirk again. You couldn’t help your grin as you turned back, his attentions fueling the first half of returning to your work. By the time an hour had passed, however, you had become overwhelmed by your studies and your brow furrowed at your computer screen again. Before you had even noticed the time, an hour and a half had passed.

Your nose buried in a textbook, you began to hear a soft humming coming from behind you. You groaned, checking the time. “I’m sorry babe... I just can’t seem to finish this,” you said. Tilting your head back in his direction without taking your eyes off your work.

“Mmm well that’s too bad...” he crooned, suddenly behind you, his hands melting down your shoulders. You sighed, your fingers sliding off the keyboard as you leaned back into his touch.

“Why’s that?” you asked him, your head tilting, exposing more of your neck. “Because...” he whispered, taking advantage of your exposed skin with his thumbs, working presses down your neck. His lips were suddenly by your ear as he began massaging your shoulders. “I had such fun things I wanted to do to you tonight,” he spoke. You groaned again, letting your head fall against his temple. “Well if I let you do everything you wanted to do to me, Oikawa, I would surely fail my classes,” you said, pointedly, but still feeling yourself melting into his touch. Your heart rate had picked up slightly and your face was growing hotter.

“Well,” he said, “what happens if I do this?” he exhaled, teeth grazing over the shell of your ear as his tongue darted out between them. Simultaneously, his hands began wandering over more of your body, the flats of his palms firmly making their way down your chest, your nipples hardening at even the briefest of touches.

“Mm, Tooru...” you moaned, weak at his touch already. You ran your fingers over his forearms, your skin prickling with heat, and something inside of you snapped. Tired of your studies, absolutely spent from days hunched over your books, away from his touch, working yourself silly, you decided you’d had enough. You pushed his hands off of you and spun the chair around, throwing your arms around his neck and eagerly beginning to suck a tender spot below the corner of his jaw. He let out a surprised little laugh and wrapped his arms around your lower back. You pulled away for a moment. “Then I guess we’ll just have to see,�� you whispered, your eyelids half-closed, answering his question. You squeezed his shoulders and jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist and crushing your lips into his, as the two of you had done many times before. He caught you with a low gasp and traced a hand up your thigh, turning you toward the bed. You could feel him grinning against your lips, and you pulled back for a moment, resting your forehead against his.

He crawled onto the bed with you still wrapped around his torso, letting you softly drop onto the mattress below him. You could practically feel his body vibrating as he began pressing kisses from your mouth, down your neck, down your clothed chest, to your stomach, where he lifted the fabric of your shirt and planted a sweet kiss ever so lovingly to your exposed skin. Looking down at him, you ran a hand through his beautiful hair, thinking of all the times he’d pulled your pants down with his teeth. It made you smile, growing a little more aroused at the thought. Nothing had ever quite done it for you the way this man’s love for you did.

“I guess tonight was a good night to try out that new pair of underwear you got me,” you said with a smile, your chest heaving at the sight of the corners of his lips turning upwards at your tone. “I love you so much, Tooru,” you sighed, your hand still toying with his hair, thinking about what a wonderful boyfriend you had. “Thank you....thank you for everything this week, for the dinners, the gifts, your patience....thank you –” he swallowed the rest of your sentence with his lips. Pulling back to hover with a smile above your lips. “I love you too, baby,” he grinned.

You found yourself continuing to say thank you many times that night.

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quiverwingquack · 4 years

Text

Disaster Ever After

Amidst the aftermath of Steelbeak stealing the Solego plans, Drake grapples with his feelings for Launchpad and trying to express his worry that LP just isn't safe driving so much on such little sleep.

This fic is based on a comic by @duckrights!!!

AO3 link in reblogs.

-----

“Some bruiser with a steel beak. Didn’t catch his name. Stole the Solego circuit plans.”

Darkwing frowns, peering at his compact mirror. He stuck band-aids over what he could, but the side of his mask is scuffed up and he’s got a swollen eye. He looks… well, he looks like shit. He’s not gonna be getting any of his already infrequent acting gigs looking like this. The hero work’s gonna have to be enough to provide for Gosalyn and himself for a whi—oh, no. Gos.

As soon as he’s finished relaying his message to Scrooge he dials LP, crossing his fingers in a hope that they’re not driving. Launchpad isn’t always the sharpest crayon in the box, and while his blunders might be cute sometimes, DW is constantly terrified of him getting in a wreck.

Especially if that wreck involves one, his newfound crime-fighting team—family, LP would correct him if he were here—and two, his motorcycle. He relies pretty heavily on the Ratcatcher for patrol, not to mention any errands he might need to make while trying to make a newly-orphaned teenager feel at home in a bridge tower.

Man, everything in his life is weird right now.

Launchpad doesn’t pick up the first time DW dials him, simply ringing for a long minute before playing LP’s recorded message. Instead of waiting for the tone, he just tries again, his free hand shaking too much to hold the mirror. It comes clattering down onto the keyboard, though it isn’t heavy enough to press any of the buttons.

“They’re fine,” WANDA reassures, in her own monotone way. “If anything had happened, they would’ve called you by now.”

“Yeah, unless it was so bad they couldn’t!” Darkwing retorts, pulling his mask off while the phone rings, answerless again. His heart is racing and he’s not sure if it’ll ever stop.

WANDA chirps, which Drake’s come to know as the robot version of clicking her tongue. “They went out to grab dinner, and they’ll be back with it in just a few minutes. You worry too much.”

“Someone broke into my secret hideout. I haven’t even told Fenton where we are right now and he calls me at least every few nights to talk about hero stuff! And the only thing they took were the plans to the circuit that Gos’s grandpa built, so of course I’m worried! She could be in danger right now or worse!” Drake yells, and his voice echoes around the empty room. It’s haunting how shrill it is when he gets… emotional, especially after all the work he put into training it to be deeper.

He feels sick to the pit of his stomach and his heart is still going far too fast.

He tries Launchpad’s phone one more time. This time, after an agonizingly long moment of silence, the line crackles to life.

“Hey, Da—Drake!” Gosalyn’s bright voice answers. “Launchpad had to take a call from his boss or whoever, so he missed yours, and now he’s driving, so I took the phone from him. What’s up?”

“Oh, I—” Drake releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I had a bit of a… well, let’s say a fight with a criminal.”

“Aw, man. We missed the whole thing?”

“Heh, yeah. Sorry, kid.”

“Don’t call me kid,” she retorts, and then a rustling sound comes through the phone. “Just for that I’m stealing some of your fries.”

“A penalty I’m willing to pay,” he smiles, grateful she can’t see him shaking even though now it’s in relief rather than tension. “Are you guys almost back?”

“Yeah.” It’s obvious her mouth is full. “We’re like, maybe five minutes at most.”

“Okay. I’ll tell you guys the rest when you get back, then?”

“Sounds good. See you soon!”

In the half-second before she hangs up, Launchpad’s muffled yell comes through. “See you soon, Drake!”

He hangs up with a growing smile and burning cheek feathers. Ugh. Launchpad is so… he’s so unapologetically Launchpad it hurts sometimes. Drake runs a hand through his hair, sighing, and leans back in his chair.

WANDA, thankfully, doesn’t comment on the obvious redness of his cheeks, and his teammates get back moments later, so his frantic wait comes to an end. They park the Ratcatcher, Gos jumps out of the sidecar, and Launchpad… Launchpad has a face dark as a thundercloud, and Drake’s suit is irreparably ripped up. It takes only one look for them both to realize just how much is wrong.

“Gosalyn, why don’t you take the food over to the TV and we can watch something together? I’m gonna go take care of something real quick first.” LP herds her off without looking away from Drake. She doesn’t seem to notice, entirely engrossed in her phone and the cup of soda she’s sipping.

With Gos occupied—and safe—Drake can finally head upstairs, where he’d set the first aid kit out on the bathroom counter. He sits down, pulling one leg up to his chest, and lets out a breath. His chest fills with air for what feels like the first time in a year, and the tension in his shoulders begins to melt away.

Launchpad joins him after a brief moment, closing the door behind him. He holds out a small white bundle, cold to the touch. An ice pack.

“Heh, I figured you might want to put that on your eye.”

“Is it that bad?” Drake grins lopsidedly, taking the pack and willing his hand not to visibly quiver. “It doesn’t hurt much anymore.”

“I think you’ll be okay. You do heal pretty fast.”

Launchpad reaches for the disinfectant and begins cleaning up a scrape on one of Drake’s legs. It stings, but he tries to focus elsewhere.

“That guy… he was huge, LP. Bigger than you are.”

“Yeah?” Launchpad reaches for the gauze, not looking up. “Doesn’t sound like fun.”

“It wasn’t. White suit, like a gangster or something. Talked like he wanted to seem smart but really probably thought the Earth is flat. Big steel beak he kept snapping at me.”

“He sounds familiar,” LP confesses. “Might’ve met him on an adventure before.”

“Maybe you did. He doesn’t seem like the kinda guy to learn his lesson after a fight.”

“Neither are you,” Launchpad teases gently, reaching for Drake’s hand. He holds it out, feeling a smile blossom across his cheeks. He’s still a bit rattled, still thinking about how wrong things might have gone if Gosalyn were here, but….

Launchpad’s so close. His eyes, darkened with concern, are focused on cleaning up and bandaging Drake’s scrapes and scratches. Drake wants nothing more than to pull him close and hold him and reassure him they’ll survive, somehow. In another life, maybe he would.

But he’s terrified of messing up what they’ve got.

Besides, there’s more important things to worry about right now. He swallows the nervousness and breathes deeply to fight the growing redness in his cheeks, again, and returns to the many things more important than his dumb feelings.

“He took the Solego plans.”

That draws LP’s attention away from Drake’s wounds. “What?”

“He took the plans. That was the only thing he wanted. I—I don’t know how I’m gonna tell Gosalyn. I think if she were here he might’ve tried to take her too. That’s why I didn’t want to say anything to her.”

“Oh, Drake….”

“It was FOWL, wasn’t it? The guys that hired Bulba to figure the circuit out? I mean, who else would want them?”

“Yeah,” Launchpad replies, now reaching for Drake’s beak to clean the wounds there. “That’s what Mr. McDee called about. They’re trying to get all of these mystery treasures together.”

“That can’t be g—shh.” Drake hisses as the disinfectant touches the scratches on his beak. It shatters his focus, though the pain soon vanishes. But now he can’t think about anything but the lack of space between them. LP’s kneeling, reaching out to tend to Drake very, very gently. The bathroom isn’t big, but Launchpad’s broad shoulders and chest are, and because of it, the air is full of something electric.

Drake does his best to look away, doing all he can to avoid getting sweaty palms and butterflies in his stomach. Launchpad’s pulling away the hastily-applied band-aids, gingerly cleaning the scratches underneath. The tenderness of it is newborn, his worry obvious in his actions. It’s almost frightening to Drake how gentle he’s being.

LP’s patched him up before. After the invasion he all but saved Drake’s life by taking care of him. But now that they’re… working together, now that they're partners and they’re building this “adventure family” with something unspoken in-between them, it feels... stronger.

Drake is usually so loud, so dramatic, so much, but with LP, he never feels like he has to be. He can just sit here, and it feels like he’s enough at last. LP reaches for his hand, gently pulling the ice pack away from Drake’s face, and as he assesses the damage, their eyes meet.

There’s almost no distance between them, and in this one breathless glance Drake realizes there’s speckles of soft gray and gold in the deep blue of Launchpad’s eyes. They look like the sky just before dusk, dark but still so beautifully brilliant, and Drake suddenly understands why Launchpad likes to fly so much. He would never want to leave the air if he could be surrounded by something just like this.

Launchpad smiles briefly as their eyes meet, and Drake feels warm from the inside out. LP reaches for Drake’s cheek feathers, running his fingers through them to neaten where they were ruffled in the fight. His heart is going to burn him up from the inside, he thinks, tilting his head ever-so-slightly into the touch.

“I think you’ll be okay by morning,” Launchpad murmurs absently. “As long as you take it easy when I’m not here to keep you—”

“You guys are taking forever! If you don’t hurry up, I’m gonna eat your food too!”

Gosalyn’s yell echoes as it travels upstairs and into the tiny bathroom, and both of them startle like deer at the sudden sound. Right, they’re supposed to be taking care of their charge. Launchpad looks away quickly, and gets up to leave with a smile, and Drake can’t tell whether it’s about the two of them or their girl.

“Just a second, Gosaroonie!”

The tension melts away easily, but Drake still feels shaky when he gets to his feet, and it’s not because of his injuries.

Gos yells back about Launchpad’s nickname choice, and Drake doesn’t pay attention to their conversation. He just packs up the rest of the first aid stuff, taking note of what needs replacing, and tries to breathe until his spinning head stops. He puts on a new mask, too, again trying to conceal what he can. Then, he heads for the living room, trying to forget his feelings in favor of sitting down beside Gos on the couch.

“Man, you really got beat up, huh?” She takes a bite of her burger, gesturing to his ripped costume and all the bandages. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” he says, as sarcastically as he can. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. Or curse.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re not in charge of me.”

He gives her a gentle push to the shoulder, reaching for his food. She shoves him back with a playful laugh, then settles into the corner of the couch like it’s been her spot all along. He rolls his eyes, but smiles all the same.

Launchpad leans over the back of the couch, holding up a Darkwing tape. “It’s still pretty early, maybe we could watch a few episodes before I’ve got to go?”

“Again?” Gos asks with a raised eyebrow. Drake rolls his eyes at her and looks up at LP, smile unfading.

“That sounds great.”

LP starts the tape where they left off, in the middle of the season, then takes a seat on Drake’s other side. The two of them sing along to the theme and quote scenes just like they always do, and burst out into giggles like girls at a sleepover. LP puts his arm over the back of the couch, and Drake finds himself fitting into the space at Launchpad’s side like a perfect puzzle piece.

Gosalyn huffs about it, making her usual show of disinterest, but Drake catches her more than once looking at the TV with full focus. He doesn’t know how he’s going to tell her her grandpa’s plans were stolen, or that she might be in danger. It’s a problem for another day, he decides, tenderly touching the scrapes on his beak. Today’s been a long one.

It’s time for bed sooner than Drake would like, the room painted in the navy blue of midnight. The tape ends, and Launchpad rewinds it and cleans up the trash from dinner. Drake grabs a blanket, and wraps it around Gos’s shoulders.

“I’m not tired yet,” she murmurs, blinking up at him with obvious sleepiness. Trying to say something with actions instead of words.

“I know.” He sits down beside her. “Do you want me to sing to you again?”

Drake isn’t the best caretaker. She had to teach him her lullaby in the first place, the night after the Ramrod was destroyed. Still, when she responds with a tiny, tiny nod, he forgets about his bruises and band-aids in favor of singing until she starts to drift off.

He holds her until she’s leaning against his chest, breathing slowly and softly. Holds her til he’s sure she’s resting, and watches over her for a moment after he lies her down. He doesn’t know how he’s going to explain the whole FOWL fiasco, or how he’s going to keep her safe in the coming days. But he’s going to do his best.

Once she’s resting, Drake gets up quietly, heading to the nearby windows, where Launchpad is standing. He’s on the phone to someone, chatting quietly about mysteries and adventure, and Drake is reminded of the day’s events yet again.

“—glad you guys are okay,” LP is saying. “We’re all fine, and other than the plans being taken everything here is fine.”

Drake looks out over the city. Things are being rebuilt all around now that Bulba’s behind bars, and the sky’s clear. It’s beautiful, and it really does feel like home. But maybe that’s just because… well.

“Get some rest, okay?” Launchpad asks whoever he’s talking to. One of his Duckberg family, surely.

Drake isn’t jealous, not really. He knows both he and Gosalyn have their places in LP’s heart, same as all the others, and he doesn’t want to ask for more than he has.

Besides, he looks more tired than Drake is, and he didn’t get beat up today. And he has a long drive to get home before he can rest. Poor Launchpad’s been hardly sleeping since taking on nightly trips to St. Canard and Drake knows today’s worries will only worsen that.

Oh, if only he wasn’t so stupid. He could fix all of this if he were to just get over himself and—

“Drake, you okay?”

“Huh?”

Launchpad’s looking him over with that same heavy concern from earlier, having hung up the phone while Drake was fighting with himself.

“Y—yeah, I’m good.” Drake flicks his hand dismissively. “So, uh… everything okay?”

“Oh! Yeah. Uncle McDee just wanted to check on me, you know?” He grins a little, sticking his phone into his pocket. “I think he feels bad about the whole thing with Gos.”

“What makes you say that?”

Launchpad shrugs, turning to look out the window. Drake does the same, and it’s quiet for a long minute.

“I think we’re all just a little scared,” he murmurs, nearly inaudibly. “I’m scared when I leave that you’ll be in a fight and I won’t be here to watch your back, he’s scared he can’t keep me safe if I’m all the way out here, you’re scared you can’t keep Gos safe. But I think it’s going to be okay.”

“I… I wish I could say I think so too.”

It’s all Drake can manage. This is such a bad time to be wanting him to stay. Part of him wants to pull his feathers out, and at the same time another part wants to just fall into those big, strong arms and never ever let Launchpad go. He doesn’t know which is stronger.

“Drake?”

Launchpad’s looking at him again, with that soft frown and furrowed brow. With all the worries in the world on his shoulders.

“Gah! Don’t give me that look, I know that look.” He turns away from the window, putting a hand to his face. His head is starting to spin. “LP, I’m fine. Honest.”

It’s as if his feelings are tied to the ceiling with rope, hanging there and swinging in a breeze full of all that’s going on. And right now, that rope feels like it’s frayed to the point of snapping. But he can’t say—Launchpad’s already got so much happening—he’s still waiting for a response, though—and what if he decides to leave before Drake says anything at all—

Drake turns around, pointing to Launchpad with a shaky hand.

“But if I was worried about you—I… I would tell you how stressful it is that the person I’m in love with makes three-hour drives here and back every day on no sleep.”

Launchpad’s eyes grow wide, and he stops still. Drake’s lungs seemingly forget they need air in them, and the entire Tower is deathly silent.

“...in love with?” Launchpad’s voice is soft and sweet as sugar. His expression shifts, just a bit, but his voice doesn’t lose that gentle edge. “DW, you like me?”

...Oh.

His heartbeat rushes in his ears, ba-thump, ba-thump, and he feels like he’s just caught on fire. He’s sure his cheek feathers are the color of a setting sun right about now.

“Um,” he closes his eyes and puts his hand to his face again. “I… er… can I just walk you to your car now, and forget this happened?”

Launchpad’s huge, warm hands slipping under his arms startles him to alertness. He looks down as he’s picked up, and he feels every bit like a volcano about to explode. He’s shaking and sweating and… and… and the end of his beak is touching Launchpad’s.

“Drake.”

His voice is firm, not inviting argument, and Drake leans back just a little. This is intimidating and terrifying and he kind of likes it, just a little. His heart is going a million miles an hour.

“You’re telling me….”

Drake is entirely in the air now, held up in Launchpad’s gentle hands. He feels like the whole world might stop spinning.

“—that I could’ve been dating you this whole time?” Launchpad’s suddenly yelling, as if he too has begun to free-fall emotionally. As if there’s nothing to hold either of them back anymore. “I could’ve been Darkwing Duck’s boyfriend. This entire time.”

“Uh… yeah….” Drake practically melts, looking away for a second. His face is warm and he knows if he was on his own two feet he would’ve fallen to the floor right now.

“Well, in that case, maybe I could stay a bit longer.” Launchpad looks away just as Drake looks back at him. His expression is so relaxed, like he’s finally not worried anymore. And Drake doesn’t feel worried either.

He reaches a hand to Launchpad’s face, slowly turning it so they face each other once again. So he can see the sparkle in those blue eyes, finally free of fear because they’re here and that’s all that matters.

“Y’know… ‘Darkwing Duck’s boyfriend’ has a nice ring to it.”

And all of a sudden Launchpad’s kissing him.

When Drake dreamt of this moment, he expected to be scared the whole way down. Like a big auction or beating the biggest baddie in town. But he’s not afraid, not even a little. He just feels appreciated and safe, and like nothing else matters but the fact they’ve finally closed the distance between each other.

He takes Launchpad’s hat off with one hand, and pulls him closer with the other. His fingers tangle in LP’s red hair, smooth as silk, and Drake commits the sweet warmth of it to memory. The way they fit together, as if by design, the beat of their hearts syncing to a steady rhythm. This is his new favorite feeling, being loved.

Gos stirs from her place on the couch, and he knows as soon as she finds out they’re dating she’s going to make fun of them. Right now, he doesn’t quite care. Launchpad’s going to actually rest, and stay with them, and Drake won’t have to be afraid of losing him nearly as often. And maybe because of that, things will be okay.

And if they aren’t, well, he’s ready to get dangerous, so long as Launchpad will be beside him.

#ducktales #darkwing duck #drakepad #drake mallard #launchpad mcquack #gosalyn mallard #mutual pining #fluff #love confession #fanfic #this is immediately post impossibin also so you guys get bonus tension while patching up wounds scene :)#mine!#jay’s fics

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softyoongiionly · 5 years

Text

Press Start 🎮

A night in with your boyfriend Jungkook includes all kinds of things: anime, witty banter, snacks from 7-Eleven and, you know, sex.

This moodboard was made by my incredibly talented best friend @me-trash-tbh and, I love her so much

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: established relationship, domestic! Jungkook, smut, fluff

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: Guys, I love Jungkook. Like, I’m so sorry but, this is just pure fluff and filth. Love you. Also this is unedited for now, it’s 2am plz save meeee (update: it’s edited now woohoo)

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (stay safe ladz), explicit language.

“They’re staggered so, we should push now...”

You hear your boyfriend mutter from the other side of the room, body bent towards his computer screen.

He’s been at this for hours now, fingers furiously working his keyboard, throwing suggestions/commands at his friends through an expensive headset.

“Yah, we’re almost there...just stay focused...”

Another encouragement is grumbled through his pouted lips as his hands make another commotion against his laptop.

A fond smirk caresses your mouth and, you shake your head, positively endeared by his dedication to his game.

You don’t want to interrupt him, you know playing video games for hours on end, shot gunning ramen like tic tacs is a luxury for him and, he deserves that. You’d be lying though, if you said that your side of the bed was aching for him a little bit. The bed you shared with Jungkook is massive, far too big for one person and, spacious enough for both of you to starfish across the surface comfortably.

And now, with only your laptop to keep you company, you’re feeling a lil lonely.

But, you won’t let him know that.

One, because you want to give him his space to do what he enjoys.

And

Two, because you know its only a matter of time before your competitive, enthusiastic boyfriend turns into the shy, needy, cuddly man that he always becomes during bed time.

And morning time and after sex and, well...

Most times.

But, he isn’t consistent.

Certain days, he comes home feeling on top of the world and, other days he comes home with the world on his shoulders. During the former, he pesters you, pushes your buttons, tries to steal your food all while continuously stealing kisses whenever he can. When the latter hits, he slumps into your arms, eager for affection, he picks at his dinner, he mumbles his worries into your neck and, lets his anxieties melt away under your touch.

Lately, he’s been coming home somewhere in between but, the last two days have been better given that he’s on break for a week.

“Watch out...watch out!”

You giggle to yourself and shake your head at his enthusiasm, finding it outrageously charming.

You can see the side of his face, peeking out through his hoodie, his mouth suddenly turned up into a grin as he presses a button on the side of his headset.

“Don’t laugh at me, this is serious...” He shoots a playful glance towards you, eyes narrowed in mock offense, “You’re going to be sleeping next to a champion tonight...” He presses the button again, his friends likely trying get his attention, "sorry sorry, I’m here...I reloaded...”

“I’m not laughing at you Widowmaker.”

Your response causes him to snicker and, shake his head, his cheek creasing with the size of his grin. He presses the button another time, “I’m not playing her this time thank you very much but, if you’re jealous babe, we can talk about it...”

You know he’s just trying to press your buttons, it’s one of his favorite pass times but, unfortunately you’re not easily annoyed and, you miss him too much to be bothered by his antics.

These days, everything he does is endearing...

His headset is turned back on but, his attention isn’t fully focused anymore.

It’s late, after 2am and, while he enjoys playing games into the early hours of the morning, he’s missing you a little bit but, of course, he won’t admit it just yet.

“I’m just jealous you play with her more than you play with me.” You quip, smirking and, you can see his expression shift to match your own whilst he shakes his head.

Before he can formulate a response, you make an executive decision to visit the 7-Eleven downstairs. The two of you had eaten dinner but, given the fact that you’re still awake, you’re starting to grow a bit peckish. Pushing your laptop aside, you scan the floor for the pair of leggings you had discarded earlier, wanting only to be in your boyfriend’s sweatshirt and your underwear; Jungkook’s favorite look.

He’s still a little flushed from your comment but, as far you’re concerned his attention is fully back to the game. However, as soon as you turn around to pull your leggings on, Jungkook steals a glance or two your way. Half of him is curious as to where you’re headed whilst the other half is admiring the way your body looks illuminated by the lights streaming in from the city skyline.

Fuck, if he isn’t in love.

But, there is a ranked match to attend to so, he’s gotta snap out of it.

With your pants on and your cell phone secured in your pocket, you scan the room for your wallet before remembering you left it on the counter.

Jungkook presses the side of his headset again, eyes widened in curiosity, “Where are you going?”

You lean down as you pass him, pressing a kiss to his head before responding, “7-Eleven do you want anything?”

With a boyish grin, he catches your wrist, tugging you back in his direction, “You know what I want baby...”

Ok, you know he’s joking with you when he deepens his voice and, lets his accent slip into his sentence but, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t go straight between your thighs.

“Banana Milk?” You giggle, stumbling back towards him until your hips are level with his shoulders.

He nods, smiling as he keeps your wrist secure in his grip, his lip tucked between his teeth, brown eyes still trained on the screen, “Ramen too, extra spicy...”

“You’re going to make yourself sick...”

He chuckles, shrugging as he places an absentminded kiss against your hand, “Will you still love me even if I throw up on you?”

“Absolutely not.”

This tickles him and, his chuckling gets a little higher in pitch as he finally releases your hand, fingers heading back to his keyboard, “Fair enough...can I get two of them then? I’ve been trying to get out of this for awhile now but, I didn’t want to hurt your feelings...”

With a scoff, you laugh in disbelief, nudging your snickering boyfriend, “I’m not getting you anything now! Tell your little friends to bring you food!”

Jungkook smirks, pausing the match before grabbing your wrist again, eyes creasing with laughter, “Yahhhh come back!” He widens his eyes, his pretty lips pouted up towards you as he tugs you closer, “PLeaaaassseee?”

Your faces is formed around a faux expression of displeasure but, his pouting is slowly breaking your resolve, “You’re so annoying...”

He snickers again, his features alight with boyish mischief before he leans up towards you slightly, “I’ll behave once I have my snacks.”

This makes you giggle, cause he’s so ridiculous sometimes but, fuck if he wasn’t the most adorable person on the planet, “I don’t believe you.”

He sneaks a few kisses against your lips, melting your previous fake expression, “That’s fair. I am now aware of my actions and, how they affect you and, I promise to do better in the future...”

You roll your eyes, still bent slightly to reach his mouth before, nudging him away, still giggling, “Get back to your game before your friends disown you. I’ll be back.”

“Wait...one more...” He insists, brows furrowed in determination as he pulls you back down for a deeper kiss, “I love you.”

His kiss makes something swirl deep in your gut and, you cope with that by, pushing him away playfully, “Love you too Widowmaker...”

“Extra spicy!” He reminds loudly while laughing before, returning to his game.

“Stupid...” You mutter to yourself but, you aren’t able to help the giggle that bubbles over your lips at your boyfriend’s antics.

The trip to 7-Eleven lasts all of 25 minutes and, the next thing you know, you’re back at your front door, punching in the passcode.

*030220*

The door chimes the little song that welcomes you home every day and, you’re grateful that you have a free hand to open the door since you know Jungkook is likely still preoccupied.

“Honey I’m home!”

You call teasingly and, you hear him chuckle through the slightly ajar door in your bedroom.

“Give me a second, my side chick is still getting dressed!”

Biting your lip, you resist the urge to giggle at his statement, approaching the door with the bag of snacks hanging in crook of your arm, “Wow you didn’t last very long did you? I figured I would have caught you two in the act this time...”

As you swing the door all the way open, you’re met with one of your favorite sights in the world: Jungkook, cuddled up under the covers.

His hood is drawn up over the back of his head, the sleeves of his sweatshirt are covering most of the length of his fingers as they encase his phone whilst the screen illuminates his mischievous grin.

“I was wound up from winning my match so, it was a quickie this time...”

You giggle before plopping the bag on the bed, jerking your head towards it, “Here’s your stupid milk and your stupid soup. I’m glad I can provide you with your post-sex snacks...”

He smirks, ignoring your teasing and, pressing send on his final contribution to his group chat before, setting his phone aside, “What did you get?”

“Matcha Kit-Kats and, Hot Cheetos.” You answer immediately, pulling said contents from the bag and, making your way over to your side of the bed. “A balanced meal...”

Jungkook chuckles, keeping his eyes on you as you set your food on your nightstand, “My trainer is going to kill me when I go in next week but, it’ll be worth...hello beautiful...” He beams and, if this was earlier in your relationship, you might think he’s referring to you but, you’d be wrong.

He’s talking about his noodles.

“Did you boil the water yet?” You giggle and, he immediately shakes his head, leaning over to kiss your cheek before, grasping at both containers of Ramen before hoisting himself from the bed.

“No, I’ll be right back,” He vows, stopping at the door to turn towards you, “If you’re not too tired, can we watch Death Note?”

Popping open your bag of Cheetos, you nod, eyes scanning the bed for the remote, “Yeah I can probably last through an episode or two...”

With a pleased grin, his eyebrows wag playfully in your direction, “Each episode is like thirty minutes babe, you'd never last that long.”

You pretend to be put off by his immaturity, throwing a pillow in his direction, which he dodges effortlessly, laughing, “Hurry up and make your food...”

Happily, he obliges, bounding off into the kitchen, pleased at his double entendre.

Not ten minutes later, your boyfriend is back in bed with one cup of steaming ramen in his hand and, the other waiting patiently on the night stand. The steam raises up from the cup wafting in Jungkook’s face as he pulls apart a pair of disposable chopsticks. At your request, he’s turned all lights off except for the blue lights he has set up on his desk for “gaming ambience” as he had so eloquently described it.

"Ready?” You murmur to him, your thumb hovering over the play button as he shoves his first bite of noodles in his mouth.

He furrows his brows, chopsticks between his lips, “No?” His words are muffled over the noodles but, he looks rather offended, “Compe hewe...”

Cuddling is something Jungkook needs in his life, you know, along with oxygen and apparently spicy ramen. There isn't a night with Jungkook that goes by without the two of you wrapped up in one another.

In more ways than one...

Remedying the situation, you scoot over to his side of the bed and tuck your body against his, pecking his cheek despite the fact that he’s smacking his lips around the noodles, “Better?”

Jungkook grins, mouth closed, pleased beyond belief, “Mhm...prwess p..ay.”

“Chew...” You urge him, pressing a kiss over his lips.

He makes a dramatic motion of his mouth, chewing loudly and tucking his face into your neck. Despite the essence of spicy ramen broth now on your lips, you still relish the scent of your boyfriend's cologne.

“We already saw this part, cause this guy dies on the train and, then he’s like L-LIGHT YagAMIIII...” Jungkook groans beside you, shoving another bite of noodles in his mouth.

A breathless laugh comes puffing past your lips while your thumb presses the skip button on the remote, “What was that? What did he say?”

He snickers before, swallowing, “L-IGHt Y-aGAmi...” He mutters out in a dramatic voice, pretending to loose his breath.

Jungkook loves making you laugh and, he feels his cheeks start to burn from how much you’re making him smile.

“How do you not have your own drama already?” Your words are spoken through a series of giggles, pressing play at the appropriate point in the episode.

“Bang PD is a coward, he doesn’t understand my genius...”

With yet another bout of laughter sent his way, the two of you finally settle and, turn your attention to the show.

“I don’t understand why L doesn’t just tell Chief Yagami...like sir I am sorry to break it to you but, your son is a little psychopath who kills people for sport.” Jungkook inquires beside you as he finishes off his second cup of ramen.

“BEcaauusee....” You emphasize with a raise of your hand, gesturing towards the screen, “he needs evidence, he can’t just accuse him of murder without any proof.”

“Why nooot? He’s obviously guilty, look at his smile!” He blazes, eyes widening comically “He looks like a super villain, he wears nothing but, trench coats and he’s handsome...too handsome.”

Your hand that lays flat against Jungkook’s stomach, pinches him lightly, “Do you have a crush on Light Yagami babe?”

He practically giggles, body squirming underneath your touch, “NO I just think he’s...” He trails off as a smirk catches the end of his mouth, chocolate eyes darting back and forth, “he’s...”

With that, you pounce on him, forcing more giggling from his gut as you scramble on top of him.

“Are you serious??? First I have to compete with Widowmaker, the GODDESS of Overwatch and, now you’re telling me I have to compete with the LIGHT YAGAMI??? Owner of the DeathNote??? King of Sass and APPARENTLY TRENCH COATS????”

Jungkook’s high pitched laughter is out to play due to your sudden outburst, his head thrown back against the pillow as he accommodates you atop his waist.

“No no no no babe, you know that isn’t true!” He insists hoarsely, his fingers reaching up to lace with yours. He pulls you down so your hands are braced on either side of his head, “...it’s only Widowmaker.”

With eyes widening like saucers, you make another obnoxious sound and attempt to jerk your hands out of your boyfriends grip, “Oh so you finally admit it then???? DO YOU LIKE HER MORE???? IS IT THE BLUE SKIN??? IM SORRY I DIDN’T UNDERGO COVERT TRAINING THAT ALTERED MY PHYSIOLOGY IN ORDER FOR MY SKIN TO TURN BLUE JUNGKOOK!”

“AH-” He chokes out through his hysterical laughter, his teeth gritting as he tries to hold on to you,“My stomach hurts...oh my god...”

Jungkook’s face is scrunched up with the evidence of the giggle fit you’ve sent him into and, although you’re trying to mess with him, you can’t help but notice how adorable he looks.

You can’t help but notice how much you love him.

“Your stomach is hurting now??? Is it because of your burning desire??? Are you thinking of her???”

“Maybe-” He chuckles still, a determined look blooming across his face as the grip on your wrist tightens.

He knows you’re going to react so, before you get the chance to, he’s pinning you against the mattress.

“I am...heartbroken...” You lament, slightly breathless, attempting to stifle your laughter.

Jungkook chuckles again, “Yeah? Well that doesn’t sound very fun.”

This time, you pout despite the bit of laughter that makes it through your lips. The tendrils of Jungkook’s hair are long enough to hang from his head and brush against your cheeks, a sensation which causes your nose to wrinkle.

“How did you know that?”

His question takes you off guard a bit and, your eyes narrow in his direction, “Know what?”

Jungkook’s teeth are out to nibble on the edge of his lip, eyes sparkling with something you can’t recognize, “How did you know about Widowmaker’s skin?”

“You told me.” Your answer is immediate and, matter of fact but, it melts Jungkook’s heart, “you told me about all the characters.”

Then, he smiles.

The kind of smile that leaves you feeling really fucking special for having witnessed it.

You still aren't sure what brings on such a response but, you’d never miss a chance to see your boyfriend smile.

“What? Why are you smiling? Is it Widowmaker again? Is she using her Infra-Sight? Tell her to fuck off, she can have you tomorrow...” You giggle, slightly nervous under his gaze.

Jungkook can’t contain himself anymore, with his hands still pressing into your wrists, he leans down to press his lips firmly against yours.

Your boyfriends' mouth is warm and, although there are remnants of ramen on his breath, you’re eager to accept his kiss none the less.

The smile he sends into your lips only makes it easier to forget the fake argument you were vigorously pursuing just a moment ago.

He’s fully at it too, pecking at your lips, giggling in between them as his nose nudges against yours.

“I...” He chuckles, nudging your nose again, his breath a little uneven, “I fucking love you.”

You can’t help but, return his chuckle, bewildered by his sudden burst of affection, “Wh..why? What did I do?”

Placing another kiss against your mouth, Jungkook just smiles, the grip on your hands loosening a bit, “You actually listened...to me-” He kisses you again, nuzzling his nose against yours, “when I was talking about Overwatch characters and, you’re just I don’t know- you're just cool...ok?”

He’s flustered at the task of actually having to explain himself so, rather than let you respond, he goes straight back to your lips, allowing more of his weight to settle into your body.

The kiss gradually grows deeper, sending waves of arousal to the pit of your stomach. Jungkook’s lips are so soft as they tuck into yours. His movements are unrushed when his tongue slowly slides into your mouth but, the rest of his body is growing increasingly antsy.

Making out with you never fails to turn him on. He genuinely doesn’t understand how he survived the first few months of your relationship because, the two of you took things really slow and, whilst he still stands by that decision, he’s thankful that he gets to experience all of you now.

“Jagiiiii....” He’s cooing playfully against your lips, dark eyes heavy with lust.

Your eyes are heavy too but, they catch your boyfriend’s playful grin before he nuzzles into your neck, sucking against it a few times, eliciting a laugh from your lips, “What do you want?”

As he kisses up the column of your throat, he snickers boyishly, pressing his hips to yours, “I’m hard...”

His response earns him a harsh nibble against his earlobe, given that it's your only means of retaliation since your hands are still beneath his, “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Jungkook snickers again, leaning back, puffing away past his lips to move his hair from his face, “Can I be honest?”

With amusement evident on your face, you nod.

“I want-” He smirks, his cheeks growing hot at the nature of his response, “I want your mouth.”

There is an attempt to hide your surprise but, the raising of your brows gives you away, an action that causes Jungkook to groan and hide out against you, “Yahhhh don’t look at me like that...”

The fondness you have for the man currently whining into your neck explodes and, you peck at his cheeks, giggling as he nuzzles against your skin.

“Lay down.” You murmur in his ear, your tone lowering slightly.

Although he wants to fight you in an effort to keep his pride, he’s not going to refuse you. He wants this too bad.

With a shit eating grin, he kisses your cheek and rolls off of you, a breath puffing past his swollen lips as his back hits the bed.

His eagerness makes you shake your head but, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t salivating at the thought of having him in your mouth.

Jungkook is always responsive during sex but, there is something about the way he acts when he’s in your mouth. It’s like he feels it for the first time every time, like he can’t believe how good it feels...

A searing kiss is touched against his mouth as your fingers tuck underneath his hoodie. Slowly, you pull it upwards, revealing the toned expanse of his stomach. He’s already hard but, that doesn’t stop you from leaning down and kissing against the taut muscles.

“You’re driving me crazy...” He chuckles, voice laced with arousal, his forearm coming up to shield his eyes because, no matter how many times you’ve done this, he still gets shy.

“Good.”

The word is whispered against his belly button before you continue nibbling and kissing against his skin. Shaky breaths are coming from underneath Jungkook’s forearm but, that doesn’t urge you to speed things up.

You know that despite his complaints, he loves to be teased.

He loves anything you do to him.

Finally, you’ve decided he’s had enough teasing and, you hitch your fingers into the band of his sweatpants and, pull them off his legs.

Jungkook’s breathing increases slightly as he tries to anticipate what you’re going to do next but, he keeps his forearm securely over his eyes, his teeth securing themselves against his bottom lip.

You genuinely didn’t realize how hard he’s become until his pants are off but, now you can clearly see how much kissing you really affects him. His length is swollen, bobbing slightly in your direction, pink tip imbued with precum, begging to be cleaned up.

You settle between his calves before gently moving your nails up the length of his legs, swirling around his kneecaps as you spread his thighs for you. His dick twitches towards you, jolting up from his lower stomach, attempting to get closer to your movements.

Your lips come in to play now, taking turns between both of his tender thighs kissing and, sucking lightly at the muscles when they tremble for you. Finally, you end your teasing and, kitten lick over his sensitive tip before encasing it within your mouth, sucking gently.

Jungkook’s breath hitches above you, his upper body lurching towards your mouth. He’s trying his best to keep quiet but, as you brace your hands on his hips, and begin a slow rhythm up the length of his dick, he can’t help himself.

“Th-that feels so good.” He whispers and, it’s then his forearm falls away from his eyes because, as coy as Jungkook likes to play, he likes to watch.

And through his heavy gaze, he does, his swollen lips parted in awe.

“I bet it does.” You smirk, licking up his balls before drawing one of them into your mouth.

As your tongue caresses the sensitive flesh, your hand works a steady rhythm against his aching dick. Squeezing at the tip, you illicit a low groan from the back of his Jungkook’s throat, his toes curling against the sheets.

“Do you_” His inquiry is cut off as you lick back up his length, using your hand and your lips to work him closer to the edge, “Do you like doing this for me?”

He’s so fucking endearing sometimes you could burst.

“Do I like sucking your dick?” You clarify, speaking against the tip of his dick, your tongue tracing the curves of his frenulum.

He can’t respond just yet, his mouth is occupied by a different sound but, as soon as he gets his wits about him,his watery eyes open to gaze longingly at you.

“Yeah, does it turn you on?” He breathes, sweat beginning to collect around the curves of his face, causing his long hair to stick against his skin, “It makes me so crazy, to watch you do this for me. To know that you want me in your mouth...”

You take your time answering his question, sucking down the length of him as you let your fingers brush against his twitching balls, “I’d suck your dick every day if you’d let me...”

“Oh my god.” He groans, not expecting such a detailed answer. And at this point, his oversized hoodie is getting too much for him. He hastily pulls it over his head, doing it so quickly that he doesn’t interrupt the motions of on his dick. “I think I'd get addicted if I let you do it more, it’s too good, it feels so good...”

His beautiful face is smoothed out with pleasure, mouth unable to close unless it’s secure by his teeth, his eyes either blown wide with amazement or screwed shut with toe-curling euphoria. He looks so beautiful, his nipples erect on his chest, his stomach trembling underneath your touch and, you don’t notice but, before you know it, you’re whimpering around his dick.

“What’s wrong baby? What happened?” He whispers hastily, his hands leaving the sheets to brush your hair from your face.

You don’t want to interrupt what Jungkook would consider to be the best head he’s ever received but, the aching in your core is getting really difficult to ignore and, feeling Jungkook’s dick in your mouth is making you a little delirious.

“I’m really...” You begin, pressing your thighs together, “this always makes me so wet, I kind of want to-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence as Jungkook already knows what you’re getting at and, the fact that sucking his dick makes you wet is enough to make him loose his shit. He sits up and pulls your mouth from his length, securing your lips into a sloppy kiss.

“You kind of want to fuck?” He whispers, trailing his lips to your ear, nibbling against the shell of it, “Is that what you were getting at? Does my girl want to fuck me?”

Jungkook is normally the shy type in the bedroom but, there are certain times, times like these when he gets riled up enough to display his more vulgar side show.

“Want to ride you...” You mumble into his mouth, pouting a little bit as he snickers, his hands sliding down your body to pull you in by the hips.

“You’re so fucking cute.” The compliment is uttered into your mouth as he situates the two of you in a position to grant your request. “How could I refuse you hm?”

You smirk playfully, biting your lip and, taking in a moment to admire the dichotomy of your boyfriend’s expression. He knows his words affect you and, the smirk on his mouth shows that but, his eyes are glossy and they hold something so much more, to the point you feel like there is something he wants to say.

But, he doesn’t, instead he just strokes himself a few times whilst you hover over his length.

Soft lips places kisses all over your face as you sink down on him, the two of you leaning into each other for support.

The things is, you’ve had sex with Jungkook hundreds of times.

And while yes, you know it feels good and, you know you’re going to cum your brains out, you never get used to the way he makes you feel.

Like you’re the only person in the world.

Like you’re everything he could ever dream of.

“I can feel how tight you’re getting around me jagiya, are you close? Are you gonna cum for me?” His voice is higher in pitch and, growing desperate as the two of you near your orgasms. He angles his hips a certain way before, increasing his pace and, the sensation of his dick hitting your g-spot at the perfect angle, blows your eyes wide open.

With his thumbs placed on either of your cheeks, he smirks, “Oh was that it hm? Was that the spot?”

A frantic nod is all you can give him before your orgasm seemingly hits you like a freight train.

"Jungkook...oh-fu...fuck...i love you.”

He isn’t far behind you, cumming hard enough to fuck with his vision and, holding you through the entirety of both of your releases.

“I love you too, I love you so much...”

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

“Are they seriously just going to expect me to believe that he just FORGOT EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED????”

Jungkook's outburst is enough to send you into yet another giggle fit.

The amount of ‘giggling’ you do around this man is honestly excessive.

“Listen, sometimes you have to give your Death Note back to your God of Death in order to further your diabolical plans, it’s totally normal babe, you’re overreacting.”

After the mind numbing sex, you and Jungkook finished off the rest of the (your) snacks and, decided to at least get through one episode of Death Note. He’d been a little handsier than before but, that was normal Jungkook behavior; the man is always needy post orgasm.

Not that you minded...

The one thing you did mind was the occasional dazed look in his eyes, you kept catching him staring at you, or smiling fondly in your direction. You felt like something was up and, it was bothering you that you couldn’t figure it out.

As the episode ends, the two of you get ready for bed, which mainly entails you finding your hoodie somewhere on the floor and calling it a night.

“Jagiiii can you please turn on the lights back on? I can’t sleep without them anymore, the vibezz are off...” He pleads from behind you and, you snort at his choice of words before padding over towards his desk.

Normally, you wouldn’t notice the contents of Jungkook’s desk mainly because, he likes to keep it tidy, claiming that a messy desk would ruin his gaming abilities. However, this time something stands out-

A small black wooden box, containing the words ‘Press Start’ sits on top of Jungkook’s glowing gamer key board. Intrigued, you pick it up before casually looking over your shoulder, “Hey babe whats-”

You cut yourself off because, Jungkook isn’t on the bed anymore...

He’s in front of you.

On one knee.

“I never...uh..” He clears his throat, his eyes glassy with tears, his face alight with adoration, “I have never believed I could fall in love with someone as hard as I’ve fallen for you. You make me laugh harder than anyone I’ve ever known, you make me smile, you make me feel like I’m the best man alive, like...like what I do ma-matters...”

“Oh my god...” You whisper, your own eyes filling with tears, clutching the box within your hand

“Through you, I have learned to love...not only you but, myself. If you’ll have me, I promise to spend the rest of my life, thanking you for what you’ve done for me and, loving you harder than anyone has ever loved another.” He’s so competitive oh my god you love him so much, “Uh...can I?” He gestures to the box, laughing through his tears

Your eyes widen, practically shoving it into his hands, “Oh shit, I’m sorry...here...here.”

The two of you laugh together, as you always do before Jungkook takes your hand in his, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles, “Y/N Y/L/N? Will you marry me?”

“YES OH MY GOD YES!”

Through the screeches and happy, almost inhuman noises, Jungkook slides the ring on your finger before, wrapping you up in his arms.

“I love you so much, oh my god how long have you been planning that?”

He chuckles, kissing along the side of your face, “I’ve had the ring for a while but, I was waiting for the perfect moment but tonight, I realized that this is how I want to spend my life with you. Because it doesn’t matter where we are, all that matters is that I get to be with you. So, when you went pee earlier I stuck the ring on my desk and, turned the lights off...”

“You ass! I had no idea!” You giggle, kissing his lips before he can answer.

“Uh yeah...” He smirks, walking you back towards the bed. “That’s kind of the point babe...”

With a roll of your eyes, you tug him onto the bed with you, securing yourselves under the covers.

You don’t clapback because, the blue light illuminating Jungkook’s face catches your attention and, suddenly you realize that you’re going to get to spend the rest of your life with this man.

Because he wants you too.

Forever.

One last kiss is placed to his lips before, the two of you begin drifting off to sleep, “I love you.”

He smiles, pulling you close to him, “I love you too.”

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