#a song in english? unbelievable | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

catboyieejeno · 4 months ago

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because even then, i knew — l.sm { 1 }

You have (1) new voicemail from: seokmin <3

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:58

“Hey. I know we haven’t talked in a while but… I wanted you to know that I miss you, and I miss us. And… I’m in love with you, if that means anything to you now.”

✰ genre: non idol! seokmin x reader, stanger to lovers / kdrama au

✰ cw: female reader, petnames, cursing, seokmin is desperately down bad, slowburn, pining, so much fluff, mentions of alcohol, consuming alcohol, nsfw, mentions of cheating, angst

✰ wc: 21k

✰ tracklist: {spotify} {apple music}

✰ navigation: {one} {two}

✰ note: this story is my absolute baby. i stared writing it one day with no plot in mind, and ended up with 45k. it's supposed to feel like a kdrama as you read it (and i mean this in every sense of the word—you will see), so please listen to the tracklist as you scroll. the songs are carefully timed in order to play as you read certain parts, but if you're not sure you're listening to the right song, part two will tell you where you should be and you will resync.

please love this story, it was written with an unbelievable amount of care, detail, and intention.

≡;- ꒰ ° one ꒱

Love at first sight is undoubtedly the biggest fabrication that the media and modern culture has ever tried to push on society. It only happens in the movies, and even then, it’s barely done right. There is no such thing as happy endings, because that’s not how things are in the real world.

Make no mistake; Lee Seokmin is not a pessimist, nor is he a bitter person. He’s the kind of guy who helps old people cross the street during rush hour, or helps kids pluck their balloons out of trees so they won’t cry. He actually does like long walks on the beach, as a matter of fact, and he happens to be a casual enjoyer of rom-coms, something his other male friends would rather die than admit to.

Once upon a time, he used to be a hopeless romantic, but that rug was pulled out from under him on a few too many occasions, and while he’s still a positive, amicable guy, he had learned that sometimes, things were too good to be true.

For example: when he was 7, he fell in love.

His 20 year old babysitter, who his parents had hired to watch over him on evenings while they were at work, was absolutely perfect—he knew from the moment he met her, she would be the girl he’d marry.

She was Korean, and a freshman in college with a major in business management. Every week, she would walk hand-in-hand with him to the corner store to buy him sausage sticks and sticky tteokbokki at the food cart with the money she could spare from her part time job as a tutor, since his parents would only leave money for emergencies. In return for her generosity, he’d sit still and play while she finished her homework, and occasionally, Seokmin would even pick flowers from his mom’s garden for her. This earned him a few scoldings, but that didn’t matter to him, because she was, and would always be worth it.

Until one day, where he had promised to behave while she finished a practice test. Poor, unsuspecting, seven-almost-eight-year-old Seokmin with his cheeks stuffed full of sausage and rice cake, overheard her calling another boy (albeit a boy her age who could actually reciprocate her affection) a sweet name over the phone. He dropped everything and stomped over to her, bursting into tears and rambling on about how she broke his heart. She was fired the very same evening as a consequence of his tantrum.

When he was 14, he fell in love again. And this time, it had to be love… right?

A family of foreigners had moved in across the street, and their daughter, who was the same age as him this time around, would come over to study with him after school and on the weekends. She’d teach him English, and he’d teach her Korean. She was his first kiss and his first girlfriend—they lasted a reputable two months—until they moved back overseas. Apparently, her parents had only moved there for the summer as part of a work-related trip, and when they said goodbye and promised to write, little Grace revealed she didn’t want a committed, long-distance relationship at the ripe age of fourteen.

In retrospect… maybe she was right, but Seokmin would never forget the way his heart shattered.

The only real, long-term girlfriend he’s had was a little over two years ago. They dated for over a year, she met his parents and he met her’s, the two of them even exchanged promise rings. At the time, he would gush to his friends about how he’d never met anyone as funny and brilliant as her, and how lucky he feels to have done so.

Then, the week before his birthday, Seokmin found out she had been sleeping with her best friend for months.

Love at first sight—true love—It was a flat out lie, and he refused to fall for its charm ever again.

So why, he thinks to himself, why can’t he stop looking at you?

He noticed you for the first time last week after his car had been totaled during an impromptu road trip the day prior. Soonyoung, one of his best friends, had gotten on the subway while drinking and somehow ended up eight stops away from his apartment at an ungodly hour in his wasted state. Seokmin was the only one that answered the phone. He picked him up, but on the way back, Soonyoung tried to crawl out the window of the passenger seat and Seokmin, whilst trying to pull him back inside, had crashed into a tree.

The car was old, and he was saving up for a new one anyway. That, and the insurance gave him some chump change for the wreckage, which was more than he’d thought he’d get, so it wasn’t too bad. The biggest inconvenience he faced now was getting to and from work.

Every night, after his shift at the flower shop, Seokmin would take the bus transit home. The first night, he only saw you in passing, because he practically had to run after the bus to catch it after arriving late to the stop. He took the first seat he could find, panting and exhausted after his long shift and the blip of a marathon he just ran, and sunk down into it.

Since he had never needed to take the bus until now, he spent some time glancing out the window and studying the route, discovering the stop near his apartment was the very last one, arriving at nearly 10:00 P.M. Yours was the second to last one, only a few blocks over. That evening, he only barely caught a glimpse of the side of your face as you climbed off, crossing the street and strolling out of sight with way too many things clutched within your jacketed arms.

The following night, he made it to the bus on time, thankfully, and spotted you sitting near the back, though that didn’t mean much to him yet. He took his same seat near the front, despite the many empty spots throughout the vehicle. And just like before, at the second to last stop, you walked down the middle aisle to exit.

This time, while wrestling your books, laptop case, walkman, and coat, your headset wire had snagged on the seat in front of him. He watched as you turned around and detangled it hurriedly, your gaze barely flickering up to meet his curious one for a split second. You flashed him a ghost of a smile and then, you were gone again.

Seokmin found himself looking forward to seeing you every single night from then on.

He decided to start sitting in the back of the bus too, blaming his avid interest in you purely on the distorted conclusion that it made no sense to sit in the front! He was always the last one aboard, and the back had so many more seats for him to get comfortable.

That’s what he convinced himself of, at least for the first few days. He tried sitting in a couple different spots, though he wouldn’t dare sit too close to you—he’s not that bold. He did, however, decide after his trial and error period that his favorite seat was the far left one on the last row. Your seat was forever unchanging, on the second to last row and all the way to the right.

This way, he could watch over your shoulder as you typed away on your computer. You seemed to be writing something personal, because night after night, you’d create paragraph after paragraph, working tirelessly to craft whatever it was that you were working on so extensively. He figured it couldn’t be just any assignment or work-related exposition. This meant something to you, and that only spiked his curiosity more. The only pause in your routine of clicking away at keys was skipping a song or two on your walkman or glancing out the window for inspiration.

He’s never sat close enough to actually read the words on your screen, but then again, that might be overstepping a bit. The urge does frequently bug him, though, especially when he notices how immersed you become the moment you lift the screen of your laptop and open your document. Every night, he watches you do the same thing, and every night, he fights the urge to strain his neck and catch a glimpse of a single word on your screen.

He contains himself, though, on the principle that eavesdropping is wrong, and he intends to never do you wrong.

On the sixth night he spends in his new seat, he notices about twenty minutes in when your fingers stop clicking away. At first, he considers the possibility that you may be thinking or planning your next sentence. But, as the bus nears your stop, you don’t move to start picking up your things. It immediately alerts him, and he sits up straighter as he realizes, you’ve fallen asleep.

He’s never given something so simple so much thought in such a short time. He can feel the bus slowing down, and he can hear the brakes screeching and wheezing. Would he feel worse for disturbing your rest and making an inevitably awkward first impression, or letting you continue to sleep and possibly (definitely) miss your stop?

Certainly the latter.

Without a second thought, Seokmin hurriedly slides out of his aisle and climbs down the two steps of the back row to reach you at your seat, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder and giving it a light shake. You don’t budge, even when he calls out to you.

“Excuse me, Miss. Miss?”

As the bus comes to a full stop and the engine’s roar becomes suppressed, he can hear the music playing through the headset that sits still over your ears. With a grimace, he softly slips them off, and the action is enough to stir you awake. You blink in confusion as you adjust to the brightness of the lights inside the bus, and your eyes land on his widened ones.

“Sorry for waking you, but,” he gestures outside, “this is your stop.”

You look around to confirm, and upon seeing the familiar intersection and corner store, you realize what he’s saying is true.

A few things go through your head: First of all, the stranger in front of you has the kindest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. Secondly, his nose is absolutely huge, and for some reason, he knows your stop, which makes you wonder where else he’s capable of poking it. So naturally, you ignore the sweet charm behind his eyes and shrug off his arm, grabbing your things quickly and booking it for the door that the bus driver has to reopen when he sees you approaching.

You climb off and consider taking a different route, but if he knows your stop, he likely knows which way you walk every single night. You curse at yourself for even falling asleep in the first place, then drag your feet along towards your apartment after accommodating your headphones back over your ears, your walkman clutched in hand, its music swirling in your ears once more.

Because of this, you miss the way Seokmin shouts after you for leaving your phone behind, and the way the bus driver then shouts at him for holding him up.

“I’ve got a wife to get home to, kid. Get back on the bus or I’m leaving you here.”

He looks between the device in his hand, you, and back at the burly bus driver who raises a threatening brow his way.

In defeat, he gets back on board and walks down until he’s reached his seat, but not before stopping at yours, or rather stumbling there with how aggressively the driver steps on the gas and sends him flying. He does a quick once over your seat to make sure you haven’t left or dropped anything else, but your phone is the only thing you forgot in your rush.

The drive to his street is rather short, and when he does some calculations on the maps app, he discovers it’s at most a half-hour walk from his place to yours. That revelation makes him regretful, because as he dismounts the bus, crosses the street, and climbs the flight of stairs to his apartment, he realizes he could’ve run after you and given you your phone and just walked home after. It would’ve allowed him to explain that he’s not a creep, and that he only knows your stop because you’re the only other person on the bus at that hour.

He thinks about his encounter with you the whole way to his apartment, and even at home while he takes his shower and brushes his teeth. And still, when he plugs your dead phone in, so that he can give it to you fully charged the next day. As it comes to life, half a dozen messages come in with a series of ‘dings’ from a contact you have saved as just a heart. He can’t read what the messages say because of the privacy settings you have in place, so he just silences it as more messages come in. He would have tried to let them know your phone isn’t with you, but the person with the heart alias never tries to call, and so there’s nothing Seokmin can do about it but hope tomorrow comes quickly.

That thought brings him back to you, and as he lies down, he finds himself tossing and turning in bed, unable to fall asleep because he’s mulling over the way you shrugged him off. It’s only the long day at work, where he spent eight hours on his feet watering ficuses and making arrangements with daisies and lilies, that manages to silence his brain and lull his eyelids to a close so he can get some rest.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

His shift at the floral shop had gone by painfully slow today. The hours that usually pass relatively quickly with the friendly faces of Korean grandmas that stop by after going to the market, have dragged on for an eternity.

He reminds himself that he’s going to see you tonight and that thought gets him through the day. He’ll at last be able to redeem himself of the interaction that’s been haunting him for the last twelve hours. He even dreamt about you, specifically about the conversation going a completely different way than it did.

“Sorry for waking you, but this is your stop.”

“Oh, my god,” you said. “Thank you. I didn’t even realize I drifted off.”

“No worries,” Seokmin would flash you a smile and help you with your things, since he had noticed your tendency to travel with more than you could carry. “Here.”

“Thanks again, uh…”

“Seokmin.”

“Seokmin,” you’d repeat, and even in his dream, he had reeled over the way his name rolled off your tongue.

In an extra effort to mend things over with you, Seokmin dips into his weekly paycheck at the end of his shift to buy you a tote bag from the shop. That way, you’d have a place to pack your laptop when you weren’t typing up stories, and your coat that you insisted on draping over your arm? It could go in there, too!

Why you chose to listen to music on a walkman in today’s modern age, he has no idea—but now you’d have a place to store it so you won’t leave it behind like you had your phone.

The tote bag he picks out for you is the nicest, most sizable one in stock. It’s the first time he’s bought anything from the floral shop, so the measly ten percent employee discount he got was rather underwhelming. Still, it would be worth it. He’d hand you your phone, explain himself to clear up the previous night's confusion, and offer you the tote bag as a gift.

When he climbs on the bus later that evening, you’re sitting in the same spot as always, except this time, you’re expecting him. Your eyes flash up at him then fall back to your laptop. Subsequently, you slump further down in your seat, and Seokmin quickly realizes you’re trying to avoid him.

Now—he had talked himself through the plan of approaching you all day, it’s all he thought about during the less busy hours of his shift to pass the time. He had walked through the process once, twice, and then again in hopes of nailing down every detail, but he didn’t once account for your very obvious disinterest.

It offsets his mood entirely, which was confident and sociable just moments ago, and he trails down the aisle, past your seat, and to his own instead with discouragement.

The moment he sits, it’s as if someone winded up his leg: it starts restlessly bouncing, and his mind mirrors the action, his inner monologue providing no relief for his grief.

If he was any other rational person, he would’ve taken your coldness with a grain of salt; he’d hand you your phone, say “you left this.” and go on about his day—no, his life, as if this moment, as if meeting you, was nothing more than an insignificant scene in the story of his life. He wouldn’t spend every hour overthinking your first impression of him, or feeling disappointed that it wasn’t what he wanted it to be. And he certainly wouldn’t be here, talking himself up to the task of walking over to you once more.

Even his own forgiving conscience is embarrassed when he readies himself to stand, chanting “Ok. 3…2…” and then sits back down in defeat.

This goes on for the better part of an hour, until Seokmin remembers you’d be getting off soon. This realization materializes as the last person besides the two of you gets off, and the familiar buildings that are just a few blocks away from your stop come into view. At the same time, a new string of messages come in from the same individual who was writing to you last night, and Seokmin decides it’s about time that he returns your phone to you—for real this time.

With a nod to himself, he pushes off the chair with his legs and forces them to move him over to you, where he stands for a few seconds, waiting for you to notice him. In one hand, he’s holding out your phone, and under his other arm is the folded tote bag he’s planning to give you. He can’t get his tongue to comply, making his feet work was hard enough, so hovers over you a little longer until you practically feel his eyes on you and look up.

“Hi–”

You slide your headphones off one ear, and he clears his throat.

“Hi.” He repeats, “My name is Seokmin. I’m the guy who woke you up last night.”

“I know.” You cast your eyes down to your phone and he leans it closer to you.

“You left your phone here.”

Your lips purse contemplatively as you take it, mumbling out a quick “thanks,” and unlocking it to inspect your pile of notifications. Seokmin only clears his throat again.

“I also wanted to apologize for yesterday. I didn’t mean to come off as a weirdo, It’s just–”

You seem to lose focus of what he’s saying as you read through the messages on your phone, a deep frown molding over your features. The fact that you’re not listening at all trips him up, especially when he’s trying so hard to recite the mental script he prepared for this very moment.

“Uh, I just… The only reason I know your stop is because it’s only you and me on the bus this late. So, you know–”

As he points this out, you perk your head up and look around, as if to check for yourself that this is, in fact, true. It doesn’t ease your apprehension about him, but his kind eyes look so desperate in their plea for your understanding that, for a fleeting instant, you manage to hone in on his explanation and dismiss your suspicions about his nosy tendencies.

“Naturally, I just noticed, and I didn’t want you to miss your stop.”

When you nod once and say “ok,” he almost wishes you hadn’t said anything at all. That’s it? That’s all you have to say to ease his discomfort?

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he didn’t almost forget, he just wanted to sound nonchalant, “I got you this since you’re always–”

“Well, Seokmin…” It’s even better than in his dream, hearing you say his name, “You should know better than me by now that,” you point outside and the bus reaches a halt, “this is my stop.”

Hurry up, Seokmin. “I got you this bag for your things.”

You take it from his outstretched hands with the smallest mutter of gratitude, but don’t bother to inspect it or put it to use. You simply pile it atop of your laptop and coat with pursed lips, not sparing it a second glance. He’s almost confused about why you’re still staring him down expectantly after that, until it becomes clear to him that he’s blocking the aisle and in turn, your exit.

Somewhat awkwardly, Seokmin moves aside, and you waste no time in passing right by him and heading for the door with all your trinkets stacked up in your arms.

Dejection is an appropriate word to describe how Seokmin feels right about now. So is frustration.

Even after you leave, cross in front of the bus, and make your way home, Seokmin stands in the same spot, dumbfounded. He stays like this for a few seconds, even when the bus moves and messes with his balance. It’s not until his annoyance really settles in, nestling in his bones and making his face glow red, that he manages to stomp back over to his spot and plop down.

You are easily the most irritating person he has ever met; ill-mannered, ungrateful, rude, and downright selfish. Seokmin stopped going to therapy months after he recovered from his ex, but he finds himself regressing in the ‘self-recognition’ area at this moment. Although he can consciously acknowledge that his anger stems from your interaction not going as he wanted it to, he still decides to dump the blame on you and call you all these names in his head. Why he so desperately wants to be liked by you, he doesn’t know. Why he’s irrationally spiraling in the absence of your approval, he also doesn’t know.

What he does know is that the next twenty-four hours are going to be just as bad as the last, and he’s going to be kicking himself until he sees you again and gives you a piece of his mind.

Tonight, he rolls around in bed longer than usual, until the clock strikes two and he can’t keep his eyes open any longer.

The next day, when Seokmin boards the bus, you’re nowhere to be seen. You’re not at your seat, nor anywhere else for that matter, which he decides is for the best, because he’s able to swallow down his explosive complaints for another day instead of possibly causing a scene on the bus.

Ha! You’re lucky you didn’t get on tonight, he thinks, I'll spare you from my lecture for another evening.

Except the following night, you aren’t there either.

As it turns out, you aren’t on the bus for the next six days straight.

And instead of recovering from his emotions like a normal person, Seokmin is only spurred on, tormented and pursued by his thoughts of you. They've shifted, because now he can only help but wonder what you’re up to. He’s back to square one, wondering if he weirded you out so much that you resorted to finding another means of transportation with the sole intention of avoiding him.

Then, he reproaches himself, his rationale telling him that surely, there must be another reason for your absence—one that isn’t at all related to him. He ponders this as he piles a few stems of lilies and eucalyptus on one another, wrapping them and tying them closed.

“Seokmin-ah. What’s the matter?”

He turns quickly to face Ms. Boo, the owner of the flower shop and the grandmother of his best friend. On more than a few occasions, she had acted as a grandmother to him, too—bringing him lunches and pestering him about eating enough, or nagging him for not dressing properly in cold weather.

“Nothing!”

“Look what you’re doing to my flowers.” She narrows her eyes, extending a wrinkled finger out in his direction.

Seokmin glances down to find that his knuckles have gone white against the stem of the baby’s breath he's been unconsciously shaking like a rattle. The delicate white flowers have been pulverized, reduced to white fuzz on the arrangement he was attempting to make and the surrounding surface of the work station.

“Ah, shi-“ She gives him a glare, “Sorry.” He quickly rephrases, “I’ll clean this up.”

As Ms. Boo straightens out some gardenias in a vase, she asks him again, “What’s wrong?”

He takes a deep breath, reaching for the dustpan under the counter. “It’s just… Someone I met on the bus.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Very.” He nods, then sighs. “I just wish the conversation we had went differently, that’s all.”

“Well,” She seems to be mustering up her years of wisdom, eyebrows raising as she fixes her apron, “You’re a handsome boy, Seokmin-ah. And you’ve got good sense. God knows you’ve got more than Seungkwan,” she grumbles the last part, and it makes Seokmin’s lips curl up a bit. “Your car isn’t fixed yet, right?”

He shakes his head, “No.”

“So, then get back on the bus tonight and talk to her.” She insists with the assurance only an 85 year old grandmother could have.

“I would, but…”

“And stop moping. You’re making the flowers sad. They feel these kinds of things.” She nods, feeling the petal of the lily between her fingertips. Suddenly, she snaps her fingers, “Finish this arrangement and get back to work.”

He finishes brushing the white fuzz of the carnation into the dustpan and discarding it before tackling the bouquet he was previously working on with a tad more care. He finishes after deciding the pale flowers need a touch of color, so he adds a few pink roses and places it in a bucket near the front window of the store on display.

He takes a moment to glance outside at the busy street, watching the people that pass by. Couples stroll hand in hand, and more often than not, the girls will stop their partner to point out the flowers. This was a common occurrence, and if Seokmin was lucky, the displays would draw in a few more customers than usual.

Not today, though. As he does a once over every arrangement he’s chosen to display on the window, he realizes they all lack something besides effort. He can’t put his finger on exactly what they’re missing, but Ms. Boo was right— the plants do feel emotions—and these weren’t particularly joyous creations.

As he sprays the leaves with a little mist bottle he carries around in his apron, he watches through the window each person that passes by in an effort to pass the time. It isn’t like there’s much to do during the less busy hours, and there’s only so many arrangements he can make when they’re all coming out dull and lifeless to match his gloom.

So, Seokmin opts for people watching, until a specific individual catches him by surprise.

At first, he thinks he’s seeing things.

Not only have you stopped outside the shop to gaze and gawk at the flowers while wearing a soft, admiring look, but soon enough, the bell above the door has chimed, meaning you’ve actually come inside.

He would greet you, as he’s supposed to do when a customer enters the shop, but he… can’t—at least not from where he is now, ducking behind the sales counter.

Before you could have spotted him, his fight or flight reflexes, or in this case just flight, had kicked in. He could’ve easily ran behind the curtain to the room where some of the flowers are stored, but then he would’ve ran into Ms. Boo, who would have questioned his reasons for leaving the counter unattended.

Then, he realizes that Seungkwan wouldn’t be coming in until later, and their other part-timer Eunchae didn’t work today because she had an exam at school.

The service bell at the counter rings once and he grimaces, full of hopeful thinking that you’d just go away if no one appeared. Instead you ring it again, and he ducks lower, until some shuffling behind him and the voice of his best friend’s grandmother gives him away.

“Seokmin-ah, there’s someone at the counter!”

There’s a pause, and though he can’t see how your ears perk up at the sound of the familiar name, he knows he’s absolutely busted because even if you didn’t correlate that ‘Seokmin’ was also the same guy who woke you up on the bus, he’d be forced to show himself before long. Ms. Boo continues to ramble, much to his dismay.

“Are you still sulking over the pretty girl from the bus?” Yeah, that’ll do it. “Ah, Seokmin-ah… I don’t pay you to sulk.”

At this, Seokmin covers his face with his palm.

He has no way of knowing that as he’s willing and pleading with the ground to swallow him whole and spare him from the incoming embarrassment, Ms. Boo’s comment had brought a little smile to your face. You’re peering around the shop for him when you see someone start to peek out from the other side of the counter.

First, his fingers. They land on the marble surface, and less than a second later, his dark mop of hair follows, appearing past the slope. Then, his kind eyes, big nose, and his teeth, clenched together tightly in reluctance as he takes in your amused gaze.

You cross your arms over your chest and Seokmin scoffs, shooting up suddenly.

“This is unbelievable!” His laugh is loud and theatrical, though a touch ironic, given the whole ‘hiding-from-you-behind-the-counter’ situation just seconds prior. He doesn’t let his obvious preposterousness stop his rampage, though. In very Seokmin fashion, he commits to the bit, puffing up his chest a little. “You call me a stalker and now you go and stalk me to my place of employment!”

“I never called you a stalker.” You say simply, and his face falters only slightly. “Nor did I stalk you.” Seokmin rolls his eyes as you continue. “Also, who even says ‘place of employment?’”

As if straight out of a bad middle school play, which Seokmin had plenty of practice at back in his day, he regains his confidence at his turn to speak his line, scoffing again at your nonchalant attitude. Why were you so unbothered about the way you treated him? He ignores your question, and readies his next comeback.

“Yeah? Well, then how did you know where I work, huh?”

When you wordlessly turn to show off the tote bag slung over your shoulder, a few things occur.

The color of Seokmin’s cheeks become very red, very fast. His ears quickly glow a similar shade to match. He completely deflates—letting up on his accusations and dropping the theatrics. There’s a reason he’s a florist and not an actor.

Then, he realizes what you’re showing off—the tote bag! You’re wearing the bag he got you! You’re actually using it! He can see the wire of your headset poking out of the top, and the square mold of your laptop filling the material!

At the same time, however, his eyes land on the only design or pattern it has. Sewn in black, the bag boldly displays the name of Ms. Boo’s flower shop. At this, Seokmin smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck.

“I figured I’d find you here.” You mumble, taking a look around, “it’s a pretty place.”

“Yeah.” He nods, but he’s still eyeing you suspiciously, waiting for you to announce the reason for your visit.

“I came to…” your fingers reach over the counter to brush off the fuzz of the baby’s breath that remained on his dark green apron, and Seokmin tucks his chin to his chest, exposing all of his chins as his eyes shift between your hand and eyes that are both set on his torso.

”There.” You sigh, “I came to apologize. I was going through a… Well, anyway, I wasn’t exactly nice to you, so…”

“Yeah, that’s an understatement,” Seokmin grumbles.

“Sorry. And thank you.”

“For?”

You swing the bag around again, “It came in handy.”

”Oh,” He knew it would, “I’m glad.”

“Seokmin-ah… There’s someone at the—Oh, hello.” Shuffling over with a wad of eucalyptuses in her arms, Ms. Boo smiles warmly at you, as she does with all customers who stop by the shop.

”Ms. Boo, this is…“

”Y/N.”

“Y/N.” Both of them echo your name, though Seokmin does it under his breath, in a quiet affirmation to himself. He decides instantly that it’s perfect, and that it suits you perfectly. He doesn’t intend for it to be a Tony and Maria situation, but the way it sounds, rolling off his tongue, is seamless and simply, right.

”It’s lovely to meet you,” Ms. Boo adds.

“Likewise. Excuse me, I wanted to know if I borrow Seokmin real quick? I owe him a coffee.”

Seokmin hisses apprehensively, reinstating his act momentarily as he begins rolling up his sleeve to search for the time on his watch. “Yeah, well, my break isn’t for another—“

”Take him, please. But only give him back when he’s in a better mood.” She gives him a light-hearted glare as she scurries away, calling out, “every plant he’s walked past today has wilted.”

“I plan to do just that. Thank you.”

He makes it look like he’s in some kind of distress when he unties his apron and lifts the neckloop over his head, but really, he can’t wait to cut work for a coffee with you. There’s a little cafe nearby, and he’s almost sure that’s where you’ll be taking him. He also can’t wait to recommend his favorite drink to you, though part of him worries you might not enjoy it and consequently bruise his ego a little—given the fading but still ever-present grudge he’s holding against you.

Seokmin can’t help but prolong the act of clocking out: changing shoes, grabbing his wallet and phone from his cubby, folding his apron (instead of hanging it up in whatever state it’s in, as he usually does), while you shift your weight between your heels and gawk at him in wait. He does all this in an effort to extend the minutes he has with you. His break is fifteen minutes, but those fifteen minutes can’t go by if the clock technically hasn't started counting.

You stand by patiently, following him around with your eyes as he tidies up a single flower out of place or wipes his hands down on a rag. When he’s finally ready, and can’t be bothered to pretend that lacing his sneakers actually takes longer than two minutes, he joins you on the other side of the counter and follows you to the door.

Feeling a little nervous, he clears his throat. “You don’t have to do this, you know. We can just go our separate ways.”

“I do. This way, I can properly convey my apology and gratitude. You know: two birds, one stone.”

“Those are two separate things… It’s only right that you would owe me two coffees then.” The way he grumbles under his breath unveils some of his bitterness, though you can tell by the half-hearted side-eye he gives you as he fights back a grin, that he’s really only messing with you.

So you laugh, and Seokmin feels his heart do a somersault in his chest. With a shake of your head, you turn to him, defeated. “Alright. You can get a coffee and a muffin.”

Suddenly overwhelmed with the need to see your smile again, he brings his hand up to rub his chin, “Hmm, I don’t know. I don’t really like muffins.”

“Well, then I’ll just have to stop by tomorrow, too.”

At this, Seokmin smiles from ear to ear, tilting his head away towards the street so that you don’t catch the way he lights up at the prospect of possibly seeing you again.

As the two of you cross the street, you notice a bus stop a little up the way, nodding towards it so he can look. “Is that where you catch the bus?” He nods. “Funny, my stop is only two blocks down the street we came from.”

Seokmin reaches for the door of the cafe, holding it open for you to walk through. To his delight, you seem to be fascinated by the space—meaning it’s likely you haven’t been here before. He watches as you study the rustic lights on the ceiling, the shiny wooden tables, and the botany at the window.

“These look like the ones from your shop.”

“That’s because they are.” He stands beside you. “The owner of the cafe loves the classics. So do I. So, in exchange for a floral arrangement or two, he lets me borrow a book.” He watches your gaze leave him to face the singular bookshelf he had gestured to, a tall collection of literary classics neatly sorted by author. Your eyes almost bulge out of your head as you take it in, mouth agape as you slowly step toward the shelves.

Not yet grasping the extent of your fascination, and with the line to order clearing out, Seokmin remembers he’s on a schedule. “Do you wanna order?”

“I…” You shake your head, fingertips ghosting over the spine of the books without grazing them, because you know better than to touch an antique collection. It doesn’t stop you from admiring them, mumbling out a response to the boy next to you without giving it much thought. “I usually get… You know what, just order whatever for me.”

You dig for your wallet in the tote bag, handing your card to him without tearing your eyes away from the sight before you. Seokmin only laughs and takes it without the slightest intention to use it. He orders you the drink he thinks you might like the best, as someone with a taste for the traditional things--like classic literature and walkmans--and orders himself a more sugary poison to nurture his sweet tooth.

When he pays, he doesn’t use your card, but he wraps the receipt around it anyway so you won’t holster any suspicion that he did exactly what he did. He only checks over his shoulder to make sure you’re still distracted, and you are, ogling the books as if you had never seen anything as marvelous as the contents of this bookshelf before.

He feels something fluttering in his chest, and he knows very well what caused it, but he pays it no mind—opting instead for leaning into the cashier who he’s frequently talked to during his coffee breaks with his caffeine crazy friend, Boo Seungkwan.

“Hey, Josh. Do you know if Mr. Kim is in today?” Kim Jongdae, the owner of the cafe, had a soft spot for the flower shop boys ever since they helped make him a beautiful bouquet for his wife’s birthday. Then, for their anniversary and every celebration thereafter.

Joshua shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he starts on the drinks. “He’s out for the day. It’s the little one’s birthday.”

“Shame. I wanted to borrow a book.”

“I mean… You know you can just grab any off the shelf.” He mumbles, hissing as he nearly burns his finger with the steaming espresso maker, “Which one do you want?”

“Whichever one she does.” He turns to you,“That’s why I wanted to ask. It’s not for me, but for her.”

“Ah.” Joshua looks between the two of you, without missing the gentle smile on Seokmin’s face as he watches you. He only manages to look away when the older boy at the counter sets both drinks down and clears his throat. “Here.”

“Right.”

“And about that book,” he gestures to you, “I’ll ask Mr. Kim when I see him tomorrow.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” With both drinks and your card wrapped in his receipt all clutched in his hands, he makes his way over to you quietly, as if any abruptness would disturb your studying of each and every title. But you hear him coming—that, or you smell the fresh coffee nearing you—so you spin around on your heels quickly, whisper-shouting as if he wasn’t right beside you now.

“This is incredible. I’m usually at the library until I get on the bus but–thank you,” You take the drink and instantly bring it to your lips for a sip, “Even the library doesn’t have this good of a–ah, hot!”

“Be careful!” Seokmin fights the urge to beckon his hand closer to you, but his shoulders still jolt up in concern that you may have burned yourself.

“–good of a collection–wow, this is really good.” Your shift in focus makes him hold back a snort.

“You like it?”

“Yes, thank you. Should we sit?” He follows you to a table by the window, where the two of you can glance out at the bustling street as you chat.

“Ms. Boo is nice.” You comment, as you notice one of the displays from the shop sitting at the sill.

“She is. She nags, but it’s only because she cares. I wouldn’t change anything about her.”

You wear a warm smile on your lips as you take another sip, savoring the rich taste of your coffee. “I really like my drink. What did you get for yourself?”

Seokmin’s fingers move lazily to push the cup towards you. “Do you wanna try it?”

You hesitate, your gaze flicking between his inviting smile and the drink. After a moment’s pause, you reach for one of the wrapped paper straws sitting near the sugar and salt. You peel it open, pop it into the cup, and take a sip. You seem to like it at first, but then, the overwhelming sweetness hits, a syrupy storm that floods your taste buds, and you immediately regret your decision.

Your face scrunches up in disbelief as you try not to choke on the sugary onslaught, your throat resisting the thick sweetness. “Oh god,” you gasp, your eyes wide.

Seokmin’s laughter bubbles up effortlessly, and he rolls his eyes, clearly entertained by your reaction. You slide the drink back across the table to him, still reeling from the shock of it. “That’s—how can you even drink that?” you manage between soft chuckles.

“Really? It’s not that bad,” he says with a teasing grin, unbothered by the fact that you’re clearly struggling. “I’d say your drink needs an acquired taste.”

“Mine? I’m drinking coffee.” You set your cup down, now fully convinced that whatever he’s drinking is a bizarre concoction. “I don’t know what you’re drinking.”

Seokmin shrugs, his grin only widening. “Agree to disagree.” His cheeks aching from the persistent smile that seems to be permanently affixed to his face now.

You laugh in disbelief before taking a few large gulps of your own coffee, feeling its familiar warmth wash over you and effectively wiping away the remnants of Seokmin’s sugary disaster from your palate.

“So,” you begin, eyes narrowing slightly as you shift your focus to him, “how long have you been working there?”

“For a year now.” He leans back slightly in his chair, clearly more relaxed than before.

“Do you like it?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

He pauses, as if considering his words carefully before answering. “It’s… I mean, yes.”

You raise an eyebrow, “I spotted some hesitation there.”

He sighs, a quiet exhale of air as he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not like I wanna be there forever.” His tone shifts, like he’s trying to brush off the weight of the subject, but it lingers.

Glancing down at your cup, you swirl it around absentmindedly to cool the contents. You try to lighten the mood, teasing him, “Not taking over Ms. Boo’s position in the future?”

Seokmin smiles, clearly amused by the suggestion. “I’ll leave that to her grandson. He works there, too.” He shrugs, a nonchalant gesture, but there's a quiet finality in his words.

Feeling the need to dig a little deeper, you sit up straight, eyes bright with curiosity. “Okay, so what is it that you wanna do?”

Seokmin’s smile falters just a fraction, and for a brief moment, the easy-going confidence he always wears slips. His fingers fiddle with the edge of his cup, and he looks off into the distance, his expression turning distant. “It’s nothing,” he mutters, his tone dropping low.

You pause, sensing something behind the simplicity of his words, but you don’t press further. “It isn’t nothing.” You shake your head, “It’s what you wanna do with your life. I wouldn’t call that nothing.”

After a brief pause that consists of looking between your eyes and playing with the syllables stuck thickly in his mouth, Seokmin mumbles a single word. “Music.”

“Music?” You echo him, then stay silent so he can elaborate. You can tell he feels some degree of discouragement, obvious in the way his shoulders slump down. His hands start fidgeting and he looks out the window again as he seems to recall some memory.

“But it’s nothing serious right now. I mess around with my guitar and write stuff every once in a while, but… I haven’t really played since—“

“I would love to hear,” you cut him off, leaning forward, “If you ever feel like showing someone, I would love to listen to you play.”

There’s a sudden bitterness in his throat (that definitely isn’t his coffee) as he recalls a slightly stirring memory. It’s not as distant as he would like it to be, despite his attempt to store it in the ‘do-not-open’ file of his mind, but it doesn’t stop him from nodding along and agreeing to your offer with some apprehension, because truthfully, you had no part in carving that scar.

Simply put: you were not her.

“I haven’t played in a while,” he rephrases, “but when I pick it up again, you’ll be the first person I show.”

It doesn’t take long before you start telling him about your studies, now that you had succeeded in interrogating him with a few of your burning questions, and it becomes apparent to Seokmin very quickly how easy conversation flows with you. Each word you utter is warm, welcoming, almost familiar, as if he had known you for longer than he did–and he suddenly feels very guilty for having misjudged you.

It’s not like you know of the way he bad-mouthed you in his sensitive mind, so there really is no need to compensate for it. Even then, he feels he owes you something—like he should make it up to you for thinking such things about a person of your nature.

He learns that you’re a student who’s majoring in English literature, with the aspiration to be a writer. The two of you agreed that he’d show you his music, and you’d show him what you’re working on—the last of which delighted him, seeing as he’d spent weeks trying to guess what your fingers typed away on your computer each night on the bus. You hate sugary drinks, that much you made clear, and you had a strong distaste for the smell of holiday candles.

Every word you’d spill left him on the edge of his seat, wanting to know more about you. If it wasn’t for the fact that he needed to go back to work, he’d have sat with you for the whole afternoon listening to you talk.

But instead, you join him on his walk back to the flower shop, unknowingly having fulfilled your promise to bring him back in a better mood.

“Ms. Boo?”

“Seokmin-ah? You’re back right on time. There’s a customer who needs a graduation arrangement for their son.” Seokmin can tell she’s in the backroom, wrestling the hose to fill the watering can from the strain in her voice.

“I’ll get my apron on!” He calls, then spins around to face you, “Thank you for today. I liked my coffee, even if you didn’t think it was great.”

“Good to know. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow? Won’t I catch you on the bus tonight?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he hopes you didn’t catch the disappointment behind them.

“Tonight’s the last night of my study group, and those usually run late.” So that’s why you hadn’t been taking the bus lately, “So, tomorrow it is. Unless you don’t want that second coffee…”

“I do.” He insists, and your lips curl up as you reach for the doorknob.

“Alright, then.”

The instant the door shuts behind you, he starts counting down the hours until he can see you again.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Seokmin’s shift could not have gone any slower. Unlike any day before, the hours could not seem to pass, despite how badly he willed them to. Aside from Seungkwan’s occasional side-eyed-glares and complaints of his uncharacteristically fast work pace today, Seokmin has managed to complete his tasks for the day and more: he prepared two graduation orders placed last minute and a walk-in customer who was uncertain of what ‘I’m sorry’ bouquet to get his girlfriend, all while trying to appease potential buyers who entered the shop, drawn in by the six new bouquet’s he’d made this very same morning and displayed at the window.

All that, and it’s only fifteen past eleven in the morning.

“What has you in such a rush? I’m like four orders behind you. Usually, it’s the other way around.” The last part is but a grumble under his breath.

Unable to explain, because he isn’t exactly sure of the answer either, Seokmin brushes Seungkwan's suspicious raised brow off and mentions something that would pique his interest instead, in hopes of changing the topic.

“You know Soonyoung said Chan blew him off for a date? They were supposed to go out drinking and then—”

“And then Minji called him and he bailed, I know. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“And then—”

“Slow down!” Seungkwan all but yanks the scissors from his best friend’s hands, which is, needless to say, not the safest thing to do, and puts them at his own station. “You’ve been hogging them for the last hour.” he hisses, “If my grandma comes in and sees that I’m this far behind, she’ll make me skip my break.”

“I just need time to pass by quickly. I figure if I keep myself busy, it just might.”

“Time doesn’t work like that, idiot.”

“Actually, it does. Idiot.” He sneers back, and Seungkwan could not look more offended if he tried—eyes wide, lips puckered to shape a word he doesn’t quite get to say. He swings back his arm, but before Seokmin could get smacked by the handful of tulips in his grip, Ms. Boo comes bustling through, humming a mindless tune as she clutches a pen and a few envelopes in her arms.

“Boys, I've got your pay for this week and the next. I have an appointment with Dr. Hong next Friday, so I won’t be here. I expect you’ll take care of the shop while I’m—these arrangements are lovely. Who made them?”

The boys look between each other, and Seokmin huffs out before answering. “We both did, Ms. Boo.”

“Good work. Lovely…” She starts mumbling to herself again as she shifts her attention from the flowers at the windowsill to the bills in her hands, counting them and separating them into two even piles.

At Seokmin’s reply (call it an unspoken truce), Seungkwan visibly relaxes, releasing the flowers before he could ruin them and scurrying over to his grandma. “Have you been taking your medicine? You know he’ll scold you otherwise.”

“I’m too old to be scolded,” She replies stubbornly, and their conversation fades momentarily as the door chimes again.

“Welcome to Botanical–oh.” Seokmin’s scripted introduction is cut short as he notices that it’s you who has entered the shop, wearing a small smile.

“Hi.” You greet him, “and hello, Ms. Boo.”

“Hello.” She chirps, “Y/N, was it?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Hey,” Seokmin’s wide smile, which nourished the moment he laid eyes on you, suddenly falters as he realizes the time. “Shit, are you here for-”

“Language.”

“Sorry,” he bows his head apologetically at Ms. Boo, then grabs your arm to drag you a little further from the pair, “I can’t take my break right now.” He tells you, regretfully. Your smile falls a little.

“Really? I was looking forward to our coffee time. Plus, I desperately need some caffeine. I’ve been reading this boring manuscript since seven.” You scowl, gesturing to the stack of papers overflowing from your bag.

That pout, the one on your lips: it needs to be fixed as soon as possible. Seokmin holds a single finger up as he scours his brain for a plan, “Wait here a second. Let me see what I can do.” With that, he turns around and speedwalks over to Seungkwan, who hands him his half of the money.

“Here.”

“Thanks.” Seokmin takes the bills, not quite meeting Seungkwan’s eyes as he pockets them. “Hey, listen…” His voice drops, just low enough that it almost feels like a secret. “I need to take my break now.”

Seungkwan blinks in confusion, his brow furrowing. “What?!”

“Shh!” Seokmin urges, his face a mix of impatience and pleading. He tugs at his sleeve, leaning closer so only Seungkwan can hear. “Please.”

“No way,” Seungkwan protests, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest. “I take the morning breaks, you take the afternoon. That’s how this works.”

Seokmin’s expression hardens just a fraction, the edge of desperation creeping in as he stands a little taller. “Seungkwan, I’m begging you to switch with me just this once.”

Seungkwan stares at him, weighing his options. His arms remain crossed, a stubborn defiance settling into his posture. “No way.”

With no other option, Seokmin huffs and crosses his arms firmly over his chest.

“Fine,” Seokmin finally says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “I’ll just go tell your grandma how many customers I’ve helped today and that all the displays were my doing and—”

“Okay, okay!” Seungkwan interrupts, throwing his hands up in surrender. “God, dude, you really suck. Don’t make this a habit, yeah?”

Spoiler alert: he would.

Seokmin’s face lights up with a grin. “Thank you!” he exclaims, not even giving Seungkwan a chance to protest before his apron is untied with a swift yank. It’s tossed into Seungkwan’s arms, and Seokmin is already dashing toward the back, his shoes clacking against the floor with each hurried step.

He doesn't wait for the usual stream of complaints to catch up to him, knowing full well that they’re coming. Quickly, Seokmin kicks off his non-slip shoes in one fluid motion, leaving them in a pile as he slides into his own sneakers.

Less than a minute later, he joins you by the door.

“Coffee time?” His tone is playful, and you mirror it as you nod once.

“Coffee time.”

The cafe has a few students scattered around with their laptops when you enter. There’s also a few others, people who Seokmin knows work in the stores and buildings nearby. They stop by occasionally for their lunch and coffee breaks, but even then, the cafe is emptier than it is most days at this time. Mr. Kim is alongside Joshua, tending to something on the register, when the two of you approach them.

“Morning,”

“Good morning, Seokmin.” Kim Jongdae offers the boy a warm smile.

There’s a bit of small talk exchanged between them—Mr. Kim asks about Ms. Boo and Seungkwan, Seokmin asks about his son’s birthday—until Seokmin goes to introduce you, but turns around to find you near the bookshelf once more. This seems to remind Mr. Kim of something he discussed earlier with Joshua.

“My answer is yes, by the way.” He starts, “Joshua asked me this morning. He said you, or rather, she wanted to borrow a book. Go ahead. It’s the least I can do to repay you boys for the hard work you do to make this place look nice.” Mr. Kim gives him a firm nod, patting Joshua on the back after briefly explaining a new menu item on the screen. He walks off, and Seokmin calls out to him.

“Thank you, really!” He turns to Joshua, “and thank you, too. I’ll get the same two drinks as yesterday. ”

“You got it.”

He pays quickly and turns around, pausing for a few moments to admire you before taking two long strides over. When he’s beside you, he lowers his head so it’s by your shoulder and speaks quietly, so as to not disturb you. “Which one piques your interest?”

“Which ones,” you correct, marveling up at him before looking back to the shelves. “There’s so many. I wouldn’t know which one to grab first if I could.” Your index finger comes up after a pause, “Maybe this one.”

“Go on, then.”

“I wish.” you sigh, and he can no longer withhold his smile.

“I’m serious. Grab it. I asked the owner for permission.”

Your head cranes slowly over to him, eyes so wide he swears he could have seen his reflection in them.

“Are you serious?” Your voice is soft, unsure, surprised, grateful. You’re almost not sure whether to believe him or not, but when his gentle brown eyes look between you and the book, and he gives you a little encouraging nudge on your shoulder as a go ahead, you finally move to reach out slowly and pick it off of the shelf, cradling it in your hands as if it was a precious thing.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” His voice is calm but sincere, and there’s a small, almost thoughtful smile tugging at his lips as he watches you. The shelf you’d been looking at earlier, once so absorbing, now feels distant as your attention shifts entirely to him.

You blink, unsure how to respond, and for the first time in a while, you find yourself lost for words. “Gosh, I-I don’t… I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” He mutters with a crooked smile.

“Thank you.” You repeat the words, quieter this time.

“Anytime.” He shrugs. For a moment, the two of you are caught in a quiet, comfortable pause.

It’s only Joshua calling Seokmin’s name from across the room that snaps the two of you back to reality. You blink and suddenly remember—you’re the one who owes him a coffee, not the other way around.

“Wait, you ordered already?”

“I kinda had to.” Seokmin shrugs sheepishly, his eyes flicking over to the counter before returning to you. “Honestly, I’m more scared of going over my break time while Seungkwan is there than when it’s just Ms. Boo.”

“That’s your friend, right? Seungkwan?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

“Yep,” Seokmin replies. “The one with the dyed blonde hair who always looks like he’s about to complain about something.”

“That’s Ms. Boo’s grandson, then.” You piece it together with a grin, and Seokmin hands you your drink. You take it but find your thoughts drifting again.

“What’s wrong?” Seokmin asks, noticing your distracted gaze.

“I still owe you,” you admit softly, looking down at the drink in your hands. “For the bag and the book.”

Seokmin bumps your shoulder lightly, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I guess you’ll just have to keep stopping by.”

“I guess I will,”

To his delight, the rest of Seokmin’s shift was effortless and quick. There was the occasional bickering with Seungkwan, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. And, for some reason, he didn’t seem to mind it as much today. Because, waiting for him at the bus stop when he arrived later that very same evening, was you, eager to tell him all about the book you had started reading.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Seokmin had never been a fan of routines. His personality was spontaneous, and so the things he did on a day-to-day basis were too. Up until now, the only constants in his life were the flower shop and his friends, who provided their own random spontaneity in the form of unpredictable weekend plans or an ever-changing work environment that depended solely on which side of the bed Seungkwan woke up on that morning.

Seokmin gets bored easily, an issue he resolves with movie marathons or long walks or hangouts—just about anything will suffice, if it means his mind is occupied and distracted the majority of the time.

Lately, though, a new element has been introduced to his daily life. A routine.

A routine where, during every shift, you stop by after your time studying at the library and pick him up for ‘coffee time’ during his breaks (much to Seungkwan’s disappointment, coffee time was usually during the first half of the day). Then, you’d stay at the coffee shop reading the book—because despite Seokmin insisting that it was okay for you to take home, you’d always refuse—until his shift was over. He’d find you at the bus stop, waiting for him, and the two of you would chatter on until you were dropped off at your stop.

In a way, he had become dependent on this routine—something he thought could never happen. It was admittedly his favorite part of the day, catching up with you, hearing what you had to say or what thoughts you had cultured after your time reading the book. And when you finished that one a few weeks in, he made sure to take some new potted plants and flowers over to Mr. Kim in exchange for another.

And for some time, that’s the way things were. He had contemplated asking to do something with you outside of the usual bus or coffee shop pattern, but everytime he intended to ask, he’d cower and procrastinate. Next time, he’d tell himself.

Early on a Sunday morning, Seungkwan came into the shop rambling about how his Grandma was at his older sister’s house and wouldn’t be coming by. It’s not like the two of them couldn’t handle the shop alone—they had done it countless times before—but her presence was primarily longed for when it came to getting the two of them back on track. Especially on Sundays, where the task at hand was to clean, fertilize, and redecorate wilted displays. For obvious reasons, this was something neither of them enjoyed doing.

At the moment, it’s just him in the store. Seungkwan was taking his morning break that he insisted was non-negotiable today and Seokmin only agreed so easily because Sundays are the only days he doesn’t see you.

The doorbell jingles softly as you step into the flower shop, and Seokmin glances up from behind the counter looking for a customer or Seungkwan, his hands momentarily pausing in their careful arrangement of flowers. A surprised look crosses his face as you poke your head in.

“Hey,” he says, his voice lifting with a bit of surprise, but the smile that quickly forms softens his expression. “I didn’t think you’d stop by today.”

“Actually, I only came by to see Ms. Boo,” you tease, and Seokmin hisses through his teeth.

“I regret to inform you, she’s not in today.”

You grin, stepping further into the shop, the familiar floral scent filling the air around you. “I’m kidding. I was nearby and I thought I’d keep you company for a bit.”

“It’s not usually this quiet around here,” he says, his hands brushing against the flowers almost absently as he talks. “It’s kind of nice when it’s just me, but I guess I don’t mind the company.” He rolls his eyes, but it’s easy to see right through him when he’s so clearly beaming that you're here.

Your presence, standing so casually by the counter, feels like something he didn’t know he was waiting for. He’s used to the steady hum of the shop, the quiet buzz of the day, the mildly irritating sounds of Seungkwan, but with you here... it’s different. He can’t quite pinpoint why, but there’s a feeling in his chest that settles somewhere between contentment and something else he’s been trying to ignore for a while now.

Before he can dwell too much on it, the door jingles again, and Seungkwan strides in, looking as effortless as ever. His eyes dart between you and Seokmin, already catching the shift in the air.

“Why, hello,” Seungkwan says, grinning widely as he crosses the shop and leans against the counter. “I was wondering when we’d be properly introduced.”

“You must be Seungkwan,” you say, arching an eyebrow at Seokmin, who rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.

“And you must be Y/N. It seems like I took my break right on time.” Seungkwan continues, throwing an exaggerated glance at Seokmin. “He can’t shut up about you.”

Seokmin groans as he shifts uncomfortably behind the counter. “Seungkwan, please. You don’t have to make it sound so weird.”

You smile at the light teasing, the way Seungkwan’s attention naturally shifts to Seokmin with that familiar comfort only best friends seem to have. It’s clear they’ve known each other for a while. Seokmin, though, is less than amused by Seungkwan. His cheeks glow pink as he glares.

“Well, you are weird,” Seungkwan mutters.

“Alright, Seungkwan,” Seokmin says with a sigh.

“Okay, I’m off to the back to unload fertilizer.” He announces and you give him a polite wave as he turns to you, “It was nice to meet you.”

As Seungkwan heads out the back door, Seokmin lets out a quiet breath, shaking his head. The shop feels quieter, now that it's just you and him. It’s strange, but Seokmin finds himself oddly aware of the space between you two.

He glances over at you again, trying not to seem too obvious, but there’s something about the way you’re standing there—easy, comfortable, but somehow still pulling at him in a way he can’t ignore. His fingers hesitate over the vase in front of him, caught in the motion of arranging flowers but not quite focused on the task.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “I guess you get to work in peace for now, huh?”

“Yeah, it seems that way.” Seokmin huffs. He takes a step toward you, to reach for something behind you. His hand brushes over a batch of roses, then pausing as if he’s suddenly unsure of the next move, painfully aware of how close he’s gotten. He clears his throat, the casual tone of his voice not quite matching the thoughts swirling in his mind. “So, um... you like flowers?”

You tilt your head, a teasing smile on your lips. “Is that a serious question?”

“I-” Seokmin laughs softly, his fingers running over the petals of the flowers before grabbing them and attempting to focus on his station.

You lean a little closer, your voice light but playful. “Well, I like you, don’t I?” The way you say those words with a teasing tone makes Seokmin nearly choke, “So I kind of have to like flowers. Otherwise, how am I meant to hang around you?” You gesture at the shop.

Seokmin’s breath catches, and for a moment, he feels like he’s losing the thread of the conversation.

"I didn’t expect to find you working today. I didn’t even know the shop opened on Sundays," you say casually, glancing up at him. “I’m sure the flowers appreciate the extra attention.”

"I’m pretty good with the flowers, but I think they’d appreciate the company more if you came by more often."

You arch an eyebrow, “Oh? You think they’d enjoy my company more than yours?”

“I know Seungkwan would.” You laugh at this, and Seokmin revels in the sound, joining you.

After a pause, he shifts his attention back to the flowers, showing you the final product. “What do you think?”

“They’re pretty.”

“I think so, too.” He decides, not necessarily talking about the flowers, “Even though I was a little distracted.”

"Distractions can be good, though,"

"Well, you’re a pretty good distraction," he tries for the words to sound casual, but his tone betrays him. He also said it much quicker than he intended to, and he’s grateful for the chance to turn around while grabbing another pot because it offers him a means to hide his reddening cheeks.

You let the words hang in the air for a beat longer than usual, enjoying the teasing, the way it feels easy between you two. "Good to know," you reply, smirking.

Before Seokmin can respond, the door swings open and Seungkwan walks in again, wiping his hands on his apron and immediately launching into his usual dramatic self.

"I swear, I’ll never get used to that fertilizer smell," he complains, tossing his apron on a hook. He looks over at you and Seokmin, "Glad to know you two haven’t burned the place down."

You grin, "Not yet, but we’re working on it."

Seungkwan scoffs half-heartedly, glancing between you. "Nice to see him finally making some friends outside of the plants."

As Seungkwan heads toward the back, he gives you both a knowing look. “Don’t let him get too distracted, alright?” he calls over his shoulder with a grin.

“I’ll try my best.” You give Seokmin a wink and he shakes his head, showing you an idea for another potential bouquet.

The last hour passes seamlessly fast, now that you’re here. Before Seokmin knows it, you, him, and Seungkwan are locking up the store and parting ways from the blonde as the two of you walk side by side to the bus stop.

As he sits beside you on the bus later that night, looking over your shoulder at your collection of tapes for your walkman, he wrestles with the invitation that sits in the forefront of his mind. Spending time with you at the shop was great, but it somehow still feels like it follows your usual pattern. That, and Seungkwan’s presence, albeit lively and entertaining, keeps him from being able to spend as much time as he’d like with you—without the time constriction of a fifteen minute break or a forty minute bus ride. But like always, he decides to ask a different question in place of the one he really wants to.

“How come you use a walkman? I always meant to ask you.”

“I like the way the music sounds on it. I don’t know. It was my dad’s.” You smile warmly, “He used to let me borrow it when I was younger and I just kind of… inherited it.”

“It’s cool. Makes you look all mysterious. Like you’re from a different time.”

“You think?” He nods fervently, but your shoulders still sink in doubt as you fumble with the multicolored tapes. “Everything sounds nicer on it. When you listen to music on it, it’s like a mini time-machine. Or, it might just be me, I don’t know.”

“I’m sure it’s not just you. Here, let me try. Pick one for me.”

The corners of your mouth twitch upwards for a second as you ponder which song to play. Delicately, your fingers brush over each tape, hovering in thought like they had with the books on Mr. Kim’s shelf, until you finally land on one.

“It’s my favorite.” You tell him shyly, “I think you’ll like it.”

Carefully, you pull the cassette out of its case and click it into the audio player with a low snap. Seokmin watches as your hands slip the headset off from around your neck, watching as you shift in your seat and place them gently over his head. He tries not to think about how close your face is to his but… how can he not? You’ve leaned in to ensure that both spongy cushions are perfectly sat over his ears, and now you’re only a few inches away—close enough that he can catch the faint scent of your shampoo. It lingers, soft and floral, wrapping around him like the embrace of something he hadn’t realized he’d miss until you finally sat back, asking “ready?”

You press down on the play button and look up at him, eyes full of expectation.

There’s that familiar, comforting crackle of the cassette winding into motion, a sound that makes Seokmin feel as if he’s in an old-timey dream. And then, the music starts: your song—your favorite song—something you had chosen specifically for him to hear. Every note feels warm, intimate, melodic. For some reason, it temporarily diminishes his burning curiosity about you, but not because he finds himself any less intrigued, but because it finally feels like he’s taken a real peek inside your mind.

As someone who loves music, Seokmin is a firm believer that a person’s favorite song says a lot about them. The more it plays, the more he realizes that this song, in every sense of the word, is an extension of you.

As the melody flows, you watch him, eyes studying his reaction with that same teasing smile. You lean closer again, and he subconsciously holds his breath as you whisper, “Do you hear it?” He nods.

There’s a warmth in it, a rawness that makes it feel like more than just music. This was something deeply yours, a piece of your world that you were letting him in on, if only for a few minutes.

He listens with his eyes closed, letting himself drift along the rhythm, feeling the weight of each tone and key change and lyric the artist sings, full of intention. When he finally opens his eyes, he finds you still looking at him with a kind of question in your gaze, a quiet hope. The song fades out, but Seokmin keeps the headphones on for a second longer, letting the last notes dissolve into silence. He looks up again, meeting your gaze.

For a moment, he’s not sure what to say. Anything he could say feels too small, too plain for what he wants you to understand. So he starts with the only words that come out easily, his voice low and sincere. “I… I think I get it.” He pauses, then adds, “And this song… it feels like you.”

Your eyebrows lift slightly, a playful gleam in your eyes. “What do you mean?” you ask, though there’s a softness in your tone, like you’re hoping he’ll really answer.

He glances down at the walkman, watching your thumb tracing along the edge as he gathers his thoughts. “I don’t know. It’s just… this song is so warm. It’s like the way you laugh, the way you make everything feel a little bit lighter.” He feels his cheeks warm but keeps going, his words coming out before he can second-guess them. “It’s like a piece of you, and I can feel it, even with my eyes closed.”

You go still, your expression shifting, the playful smile that played on your lips softening into something more serious. Neither of you say anything for a moment.

The bus begins to slow, and you both glance out the window, realizing this is your stop. You reach up, fingers brushing his ear as you gently pull the headphones from him, careful not to disturb the sense of closeness still hanging in the air. You slide the walkman back into your bag, a little slower than necessary, as if that might make the night last, if just for a few seconds longer.

“This is me,” you say softly, feeling the finality in the words as the bus comes to a gentle stop and the doors sigh open. You start to stand but pause, glancing down at him one last time. There’s something unreadable in his gaze, as if he’s searching for the right thing to say, something more than just “goodbye.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you ask, your voice soft, almost hopeful.

He nods, his smile widening just a little. “Yeah,” he says, gentle but certain. “Tomorrow.” You’re about to turn around when he adds, “but not here. I want to go somewhere else with you. I mean, if you want to, that is.” He finds his breath catching again, “The flower shop closes early on the weekends. I was thinking... Maybe we could go to the beach?”

With a grin playing on your lips, you nod, “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Giving him one last glance, you turn and step off the bus, feeling the warmth of his gaze linger behind as you walk down the street. As the bus pulls away, you catch his face framed in the window, waving until you’re out of sight. And though the music has stopped, the tune of this moment plays on, promising something to carry with you both until tomorrow.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The sky stretches out in a hazy blue as Seokmin walks toward the beach, his guitar case slung over his shoulder. His fingers tap a nervous rhythm against its side as he looks around, hoping to spot you before you see him.

He barely slept the night before, having spent the better part of the morning hours contemplating and talking to himself with his guitar on his lap. It hadn’t been touched in nearly a year and a half, so he had to spend some time wiping it down, re-tuning it, and even fixing a string that had managed to come loose in the process.

He said he’d play for you, but then again, he hadn’t played for someone in a while and naturally, that made him extremely nervous, though that feeling didn’t even fully capture what he felt when he remembered he’d be playing for you. What would you think? Did you actually mean it when you said you wanted to hear him play? Or was that some automated response to boost his spirits? Would you even remember? It was weeks ago, on the first day at the coffee shop. Needless to say, he mulled over it endlessly.

Seokmin sighs, trying to calm himself down. By now, he had to slip off his shoes that were sinking in the cool sand, so he chooses to focus on the sensation of it against his skin instead of overthinking any longer.

He finally spots you standing by the water, arms wrapped around yourself as a light breeze blows through your hair. When you turn and see him, your face brightens, and that smile of yours—bright and open—fills him with warmth instantly. “Is that—” you begin, your eyes widening as you notice the guitar.

“Thought it was time,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal despite his heart thundering as he sets the guitar down and dusts off a spot in the sand beside you. You sit next to him eagerly, your excitement spilling out in the way you lean closer, eyes sweeping between him and the guitar case, as if you’re finally being let in on a long-held secret. And, in a way, you are.

He stretches his legs out, digging his heels into the cool sand. He watches you rummage through the tote bag beside you, and a curious smile tugs at his lips.

“You came prepared,” he chuckles, watching as you pull out a couple of neatly wrapped sandwiches and a small container of fruit.

“Of course I did,” you say with a smile, offering him a sandwich and holding out the fruit container. “I figured we’d get hungry eventually.” You shrug, glancing out toward the waves. “Besides, I thought it would be nice to have a little picnic.”

Seokmin accepts the sandwich with a grin, unwrapping it and taking a bite. He’s pleasantly surprised by the fresh crunch of lettuce and the perfect balance of flavors. “Did you make these?” he asks between bites, raising an eyebrow.

You nod, a bit of pride flashing in your eyes. “I did. You think I’d risk buying store-bought for a beach day?”

“Touché,” he laughs, grabbing a few grapes from the fruit container you’ve placed between you. “Honestly, this is already ten times better than what I packed.” He gestures vaguely to a plastic bottle and an uninspired granola bar that now seem almost laughable compared to your carefully prepared spread.

The sun has settled lower in the sky, casting the beach in a soft, golden haze. Seokmin leans back, resting his hands behind him as he glances over at you, a lazy grin playing at the corners of his mouth. The two of you have polished off the sandwiches, and now the empty wrappers lie folded beside the fruit container. He pops one last grape into his mouth, savoring the refreshing sweetness as he watches you tuck the food away with a little, satisfied sigh.

“So, did I earn any points for bringing the snacks?” you tease, dusting a few crumbs from your hands before looking over at him expectantly.

Seokmin laughs, squinting a little in the sunlight as he tilts his head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm… I’ll give you extra points for the sandwiches. But for the fruit,” he says, grabbing a couple of the last grapes with a mischievous smile, “I think you’ll need to try a little harder.”

“Oh, please,” you scoff, leaning back beside him. “You’re just mad you didn’t think to bring anything.”

“Maybe,” he admits, laughing as he looks out at the waves. “But next time, I’ll bring something better.”

“Alright, big shot,” you say with a smirk, crossing your arms. “What’s on the menu then? A charcuterie board?”

“Definitely,” he says, nodding with exaggerated seriousness. “Maybe even some tiny, fancy desserts, the ones that look way too pretty to eat.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to impress someone.” You raise an eyebrow, letting the words hang in the air just long enough that Seokmin can’t miss the playful edge in your tone. Not like he could have missed it anyway, with the way he hangs on your every word.

He laughs again, but there’s a slight flush to his cheeks. “Hey, I’m just saying I know how to put together a memorable picnic,” he says, attempting a casual shrug. “But, you know, only if you’re there to witness it.”

You grin, unable to help the smile that breaks through at his subtle, almost shy attempt at flirting. “I’d hate to miss such an extravagant spread,” you reply, matching his casual tone with your own. “Guess you’ll have to invite me.”

Seokmin pretends to think it over, tapping his chin. “Hmm, alright, you’re in. But no backing out,” he says, his smile widening. “I’m holding you to this.”

There’s an ease between you, a lightness in the conversation that feels effortless, and for a while, the two of you just sit there, chatting about nothing and everything. He asks you about your favorite places to visit and listens as you share stories about the other hobbies you have. In return, you ask how he met Seungkwan, and he tells you about him and Soonyoung, recounting each memory he has made with them with an enthusiasm that makes you feel like you were right there with him.

Then, as the conversation dips, he glances down at the guitar case beside him. He reaches for it almost absentmindedly, brushing his fingers along the edge of the case, but there’s a faint look of hesitation in his eyes that you don’t miss.

“You don’t have to, even if you brought it all the way out here. It’s up to you.”

Seokmin lets out a small laugh, scratching the back of his neck as he glances away. He’s more grateful for your patience than you could ever know.

“Yeah… I haven’t really played in a while,” he admits, his voice dropping slightly. “It’s been over two years, actually. I brought it… Well, because I think it’s about time I get back into the habit.” He trails off, watching the waves again, his mind flickering to a different time, a different place, one he’s not sure he’s ready to revisit.

There’s a quiet understanding in your eyes as you nod. You don’t press him, don’t ask for more details. Instead, you just let the silence stretch out between you, the sound of the ocean filling the space where words might have gone. It’s almost as if you’re giving him permission to take his time, to decide for himself if this is something he wants to do.

After a moment, he takes a breath, exhaling slowly. “I used to play a lot, actually,” he says, almost to himself. “Just… haven’t felt like it in a while.”

The air feels thick with unspoken things, but Seokmin pushes past it, fingers brushing the guitar case almost impulsively. The weight of the past lingers for a second, but with a quick glance at you, he lets go of the hesitation clinging to him. This is different, he reminds himself. This isn’t for anyone else, no memories he needs to cling to. Just the open beach, the sun dipping low, and you, waiting beside him with a patient, easy smile.

He pulls the guitar from its case, its weight grounding him, though it feels different today than it had last night. It’s less scary, now that he’s with you.

He glances over at you, a grin tugging at his lips. “Ready?” he asks. You nod, your eyes wide, leaning just close enough for him to catch the faint, floral hint of you drifting in the salt-laced air.

Seokmin strums the first couple of notes, letting the music rise and blend with the gentle crash of the waves. His fingers move on instinct, but his mind is all on you, capturing every little reaction—the way your eyes soften, the way your shoulders relax, reassuring him that his music is something you’ve been waiting to hear. He’s suddenly very relieved.

“I wrote this a few years back. It’s… Well, yeah. I think the lyrics speak for themselves.”

It takes a few seconds and one or two badly played chords for him to regain a little bit of the confidence he had lost some time ago. But his fingers find their place quickly enough, and he parts his lips to sing.

As Seokmin's voice fills the space between you, soft and hesitant at first, he notices the subtle shift in your expression. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, brows lifting in quiet surprise as if you hadn’t really expected him to sing so well. There’s a moment of stillness, only filled with his voice, warm and unpolished, floating in the air.

Your gaze flickers to and from him, watching the way his lips move to form each syllable, and then back to the water, where the waves blur in a streak of light. You can’t help but notice the way his face softens when he sings, his features loosening as he melts into the words.

You look back at him, your lips parting in surprise. There’s a shy kind of amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth, like you're unsure if it’s okay to smile just yet, but the quiet joy you feel is evident in the warmth that floods your chest. You tilt your head slightly, caught between admiration and a soft, disbelieving smile.

I should’ve told you I’m in love with you

Then I wouldn’t have been regretting right now

The longer you listen, the more the words he’s written seem bound to him, something like an itch he couldn’t reach. You find your lips curving upward again, but there’s a sad sentiment behind your smile this time, eyes full with a kind of quiet affection. Something tugs at your heart just then, causing your brows to furrow slightly. Maybe it’s from the lyrics he wrote, or maybe it’s the simple, unguarded way he sings, you’re not entirely sure.

When he looks up, your gaze meets his, soft and steady. You don’t speak when he finishes. Instead, you reach over, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers as light as the spring breeze.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and in that moment, Seokmin realizes he doesn’t need to say anything at all.

You sit back, letting the sound of the water fill the space between you, the silence stretching just long enough for Seokmin to look out at the horizon, his fingers still idly plucking at the strings of his guitar. His expression has changed slightly, distant, like he's somewhere else for a moment, lost in thought.

You turn toward him, studying his profile. “Why don’t you play anymore?” you ask softly, not wanting to break the calm vulnerability of the moment, but still unable to ignore the quiet curiosity rising inside you. “I mean, you’re really good. Why keep it to yourself?”

He freezes for a second, his mindless strumming halting abruptly. He exhales, the sound almost like a sigh.

“I used to,” he begins to explain. His voice is quiet, almost like he’s talking to himself. “Back when I had someone to play for. It didn’t work out.” He swallows thickly. “She… She had been hooking up with her best friend practically since we got together.”

You wait, letting him speak, but his lips press together for a moment, unsure if he should say more. His gaze turns toward the ocean, but there’s a shift in his eyes, which are normally so kind and full of spirit—something like a hard edge, as if a memory he had thought of has sharpened into something more painful. “I played for her all the time.”

You can’t hide the surprise that flashes in your eyes, and Seokmin glances at you. He doesn’t want pity. He’s not asking for it.

“I stopped playing after that,” he continues, “It just... didn’t feel the same anymore. It was something I gave to someone who didn’t deserve it.” He shrugs, as if the words are too heavy for him to carry all at once.

You can feel the hurt in the air, hanging around him like a shadow. You want to reach out, but you don’t know how to offer comfort without crossing a line, so you just sit still beside him, close enough that he can feel your presence but far enough to give him space.

And at the time, you didn’t know it, but for him, it was enough.

After a long pause, you finally say, “I’m sorry. That’s... that’s a lot.”

He nods, and the tightness in his jaw softens slightly. “Yeah,” he says, his voice a little steadier. “But... maybe it’s okay.” Seokmin’s eyes flicker to you, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Today felt right, you know. Playing for someone who’s actually listening.”

And in the quiet that follows, he feels something shift between you, the weight of unspoken things starting to lift.

“Seokmin,” you say, your voice gentle, as if careful not to disrupt the quiet peace he’s settled into. He can tell you’re about to say something, maybe offer some comforting words about his story, but he’s already lost in thought.

It hits him, then, so suddenly it almost makes him laugh at himself. The way the late afternoon light catches in your hair, the soft curve of your smile, the way you’re watching him with that steady, thoughtful gaze. It’s all so striking that it feels like something he’s never noticed before, and yet it feels so familiar at the same time.

He decides then, that this is the prettiest you’ve ever looked.

Suddenly convinced you might be able to read his mind, he clears his throat, feeling a warmth creeping up his neck as he looks back down at the guitar, trying to hide the smile that’s fighting its way to his face. He wants to say it—wants to tell you that you look beautiful, that sitting here with you feels like some kind of dream he didn’t know he was allowed to have. But the words don’t come out; they sit, caught in his throat, trapped by the sudden nervousness that’s settled over him.

Instead, he finds himself brushing a hand over the guitar strings again, as if that small action might keep him grounded. “Thanks… for listening,” he manages, hoping it’ll distract from the fact that he can feel his cheeks warming.

You smile, nodding gently, still looking at him in that quiet, understanding way, and it only makes him want to blurt it out more. But for now, he lets the moment stretch, watching as you lean back in the sand, your gaze shifting back to the waves. The sun is sinking lower, and everything is bathed in that soft, warm light that makes the world feel as if it’s been suspended in time. And Seokmin realizes, right then and there, that this is one of those good memories he’ll hold on to; one he doesn’t intend to forget any time soon.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

It starts with a simple conversation over coffee, the two of you tucked into a cozy corner booth at the cafe, each with a steaming cup in hand as usual. It has become the norm, seeing you like this, nearly every morning and evening. Seokmin stirs a bit more sugar into his drink despite the crazed look you give him, then glances up at you with a warm, toothy smile as you tell him about your latest read. He leans in, listening intently, nodding as if every word you say is the most fascinating thing he’s heard all week.

When you pause, taking a sip of your drink, he takes a chance to jump in, “You know, I’ve been meaning to go to the art museum downtown. It’s supposed to have this new exhibit.” He hesitates, looking down at his cup for a moment, then back at you with a shy, hopeful glint in his eyes. “If… you’d want to check it out with me?”

You perk up at the suggestion, grinning. “I’d love that! Museums are kind of my weakness.”

Relieved, he chuckles, “Then we’re in good company,” he says, the words coming out a little softer than he intends. He clears his throat, trying to play it cool, but his heart beats a little faster as you chuckle.

“Alright, Mr. Museum,” you say, teasing. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Great,” he replies, glancing out the window at the overcast sky. “How about today, then?”

With a nod, you grab your things, sliding out of the booth as Seokmin hurriedly follows, waving goodbye to Joshua. As you both step out onto the sidewalk, he can’t help the familiar rush of excitement at the thought of spending the rest of the day with you. The two of you stroll side by side down the bustling street, exchanging small talk and the occasional smile, his heart lifting with every step closer to the city.

The walk to the museum is a mixture of laughter, subtle glances, and playful nudges that neither of you can seem to resist. The air is crisp, a light breeze tugging at your sleeves as the two of you meander down the busy street, dodging the occasional cyclist or dog walker. Every few steps, one of you makes a half-serious comment—maybe about the art you’re about to see, maybe about the bizarre mannequin display in a shop window you pass—and it doesn’t take long before both of you dissolve into laughter, your steps momentarily slowed as you lean into each other, trying to catch your breath.

Seokmin, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, finds himself glancing your way more often than he’d like to admit, watching as you tuck your hair behind your ear or lift your face to the sky for a second, enjoying the clouds. He doesn’t know why he feels like a kid right now, heart skipping with each shared smile and laugh, but he can’t seem to shake it. The closeness of walking side by side with you makes him almost giddy.

At one point, you nudge him with your elbow, a light-hearted challenge in your eyes as you try to keep a straight face. “So,” you say, feigning seriousness, “ready to become cultured?”

He rolls his eyes, laughing as he nudges you right back. “Please.”

Seokmin steps into the museum lobby with you by his side, wandering across the high ceilings and polished floors. There’s almost a sacred quietness to the place, the kind that makes every sound seem amplified, even the shuffle of your footsteps.

You hand him a ticket that you get from the booth, brushing his hand lightly, and he tries to hide his smile, hoping you don’t notice the faint flush that blooms in his cheeks. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous; he always is around you, but he never knows why. Somehow today, he’s more nervous than other days. Maybe it’s the atmosphere, or maybe it’s just you—standing there beside him, glancing around with the same sort of wide-eyed curiosity that makes him want to see everything through your eyes.

The two of you wander through the galleries, pausing in front of each painting and sculpture, taking your time. Every so often, you glance at him to see his reaction to something particularly strange or fascinating, and catch him already looking back, smiling at your expressions just as much as he is admiring the art.

“Do you think they meant to paint it like this?” you ask, leaning closer to a particularly loud modern piece that’s all bright, chaotic lines. Your voice is soft, as though you’re afraid of disturbing the tranquility.

Seokmin leans closer, squinting as if trying to unravel some secret meaning, though he hasn’t a clue what he’s looking at. “Maybe they were just… feeling inspired,” he replies, lips quirking with a grin he can’t suppress.

“Or maybe they dropped their paintbrush,” you add, matching his grin.

The sound of your laughter echoes slightly in the otherwise silent gallery, and for a moment, he’s aware of how close you’re standing. The space feels smaller, and though there are other visitors around, it feels for a moment like the museum is yours alone. You move on to the next painting, your eyes bright with curiosity, and he follows, longing to shorten the distance once more.

He notices a stray piece of hair that’s slipped from behind your ear, and without thinking, he lifts a hand to tuck it back. But at the last second, he hesitates, his fingers barely brushing your shoulder as he pulls his hand back, a shy red spreading over his complexion. You don’t seem to notice, lost in thought as you step closer to the next painting, tilting your head to take it all in.

At one point, you point out a painting of a starry sky, something dreamlike. “Imagine being under a sky like that,” you murmur, almost to yourself, your gaze soft and wondrous as you look at the canvas.

More and more often throughout the visit to the museum, Seokmin finds himself staring at you instead of the exhibits. On this specific one, he can’t seem to look away from your face, your expression so captivated, as if you’re somewhere far away.

“Maybe one day we can find a place like that,” he says softly, almost not meaning to say it aloud. When you turn to look at him, a bit surprised, he clears his throat, pretending to be suddenly very interested in reading the placard beside the artwork.

Seokmin finds himself feeling almost weightless, caught up in the dizzying whirlwind of his own thoughts for a minute. There’s something about you—something he can’t quite put a name to—that makes him feel like he’s constantly walking on a tightrope, and with each step, he’s leaning a little further in, a step closer to letting go of the balance he’s tried for so long to keep.

You whisper an eager “come on,” and grab his sleeve to drag him further into the maze of galleries.

As you wander into a room filled with ancient statues, he catches you examining one with a particularly serious expression. “Thinking of getting one of these for your place?” he teases.

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Only if you help me carry it,” you reply, and he finds himself grinning again.

Soon, you reach a new room, filled with work from the Renaissance, each painting rich with detail and vibrant colors that have held their vibrancy for centuries. You lean in slightly, admiring the delicate brushstrokes, and Seokmin watches you, his gaze drifting from the artwork to the fascinated look in your eyes—possibly for the hundredth time today.

“I feel like I’m supposed to be having some deep, life-changing revelation right now,” he whispers by your ear, half-joking.

“Who says art has to be that serious? Sometimes, it’s just… pretty.”

You’re just pretty.

As you move through the quiet museum halls together, Seokmin catches himself watching you again, realizing just how pretty you look in the warm glow of the exhibit lights. It’s not the first time he's felt this way; he remembers the flutter in his chest when you’d gone to the beach, and the way his thoughts had lingered a little too long on the curve of your smile. He watches as you lean a bit closer to a painting, eyes narrowing in focus, oblivious to his gaze. There’s a calmness to you here, the way you examine each piece as if it holds a secret, and he finds himself drawn to the little things: the way your fingers rest on your chin in thought, the faint lift of your brows when something catches your eye, and the gentle concentration in your expression.

He watches you for longer this time, taking advantage of the fact that you’ve busied yourself reading a plaque, and noticing things he hadn’t paid attention to before right now: today, your smiles linger a little longer, your laughter rings out just a bit brighter, and he finds himself captivated by these subtleties, like he's uncovering new pieces of you with each glance. When you look at him, eyes crinkling in a way he hadn’t dared imagine was just for him, his heart stirs, and he can’t shake the thought: Have you always been this lovely, or am I just starting to see it now?

His mind drifts, painting scenes of possibilities—fleeting, half-formed images of laughter, of late nights talking, of small moments shared just between the two of you. Each image feels almost real, so vivid he can practically reach out and touch it.

There’s a spark in his chest, a sensation that’s both exhilarating and terrifying. Part of him wants to pull back, to reel himself in, a quiet warning in the back of his mind whispering not to get carried away like he had before. But he can’t help it; there’s something magnetic about this, about you, something that pulls him closer despite himself.

He steals another glance at you, his heart racing as he does. You’re just looking at the art around you, as though this is any other day, but for him, it feels monumental. His thoughts get lost again, imagining what it might be like to hold your hand right now, to simply be beside you without any of this hesitation.

And then, you look at him and laugh, catching him staring, and his ears go red, a little embarrassed but somehow happy to be caught.

By the time you reach the last hall of artwork, the sun has started to set outside, casting a warm glow through the large windows. Seokmin watches as the light catches in your eyes, making them shine in a way that leaves him a little breathless. There’s a comfortable silence between you as you look around.

As you both step outside into the cool evening air, he catches your eye, intentionally this time, his smile small but genuine. “Thanks for coming here with me,” he says, his voice soft, almost shy.

“Anytime,” you reply, and the word feels like a promise.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The night starts with laughter and neon lights as Seokmin leads you through the bustling street to the karaoke room, his two friends, Seungkwan and Soonyoung, trailing just behind and rambling on about something indiscernible. The place is lively, bursting with music from rooms down the hall, each one echoing snippets of songs and off-key shouts.

Seokmin can’t help but beam when he sees how easily you fall into conversation with his friends, joining in their jokes and even taking a dig at Seungkwan when he hypes himself up as the “true vocal talent” of the group. Having heard Seokmin sing just a few weeks back, you couldn’t help but feel defensive on his behalf.

Once everyone’s settled, drinks start flowing freely. The first few songs are cautious, each of you easing into the familiar, buzzing rhythm of karaoke night. But as the night goes on, any sense of shyness melts away in the glow of pulsing lights and laughter.

Seokmin watches with undeniable fondness as you and Seungkwan bicker over song selections, and he tries not to grin too widely when he catches you belting out the lyrics with Soonyoung during a duet.

At some point, he notices how naturally you fit with his friends—the way you make Seungkwan laugh with a remark about his questionable song choices, or how you nod along enthusiastically as Soonyoung gives a dramatic toast, proclaiming you as “one of them now.” For Seokmin, it’s everything he hadn’t realized he wanted: his closest friends getting along with you.

As the night hums along, Seokmin picks up the microphone, sending you a lopsided, slightly tipsy smile that makes your heart flutter before selecting a song. His choice surprises you—it’s one of those classic ballads that’s probably too high for anyone but the original singer to sing. The melody starts slow, and his voice flows soft and easy, but with a control that reminds you just how talented he really is. You practically feel your admiration soar, and as you watch him, his hazy, glossed over eyes settle on you.

Every so often, he adds a bit of exaggerated flair, trying to coax a laugh out of you, playfully stretching out the notes or adding dramatic hand gestures to match the lyrics. It’s impossible not to smile, and you feel yourself relax as his antics draw you in. The song suddenly feels a little less serious, a little more fun, as he throws in a wink here, a knowing grin there.

As he finishes, you clap, unable to hide your smile. "You know," you say, a little breathless, "it’s honestly unfair that you’re this good."

He laughs, cheeks pink from both the praise and the drinks. “What can I say? Talent just comes naturally,” he jokes, a little bolder, that playful gleam returning to his eyes. Then he looks at you, his expression softening. “How about we do one together?”

“Oh no,” you protest with a laugh, shaking your head, “I can’t follow that.”

“Come on,” he coaxes, handing you a microphone and grabbing you by your hand to pull you to your feet, “I’ll sing the verses, you can handle the chorus. It'll be easy.”

With a mix of reluctance and excitement, both of which mix together with the alcohol in your system, you take the mic, scrolling through songs until you settle on something you both know—The music starts, and the two of you exchange a grin before starting.

At first, you both sing a little awkwardly, tipsy laughter interrupting every other line as you stumble over the lyrics and try not to trip over each other’s parts. But as the song goes on, you find a rhythm, and every so often, Seokmin leans into the mic to harmonize with you, his voice blending with yours. By the end, you’re both laughing, the microphones forgotten as you clutch your sides and stumble around, out of breath and giddy.

Seokmin looks at you, eyes bright, face flushed, smile so wide that you could count his teeth if you wanted to. He reaches out, touching your hand ever so lightly, his fingers warm and steady. “You did amazing,” he says, voice soft, his smile a little shy despite everything.

“Likewise,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you that’s more than just the drinks. And as you both sit there, you realize that there’s other people in the room.

Before you even have time to catch your breath, Soonyoung jumps up, grabbing the microphone. “Move over!” he declares with a grin, completely ignoring the indignant look Seungkwan shoots at him as he stands up to join him. “It’s duet time for real now.”

Seungkwan, rolling his eyes, snatches the other mic and leans in with a smirk. “Prepare yourselves. You two are about to be outshined.” He cues up a song with exaggerated flair, and the upbeat tune starts, loud and impossible to take seriously as they start belting the opening lines completely off-time.

“They’re usually better than this,” Seokmin tells you, “especially Seungkwan. I think it’s the alcohol.”

You laugh as you watch the pair start to coordinate with each other, finally managing to sing to the beat of the song.

“It’s good!” You argue, “Are you all just super talented?”

Seungkwan’s voice suddenly cuts through, loudly. “Hey! I can’t hear myself over you two!” He shoots you both a look, his mock glare breaking into a grin as Soonyoung pulls him back to belt out the chorus.

Seokmin shakes his head, laughing as he leans in closer to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “I warned you about them, didn’t I?” he says, his voice soft, he’s close enough that you feel his breath beside you, gaze lingering as he speaks. He’s a little past the point of tipsy, cheeks and nose slightly flushed, but somehow the hazy glow of the karaoke lights makes him look even softer, easier to smile at.

You giggle, feeling a little light-headed yourself, but whether it’s from the drinks or the warmth radiating between the two of you, you’re not entirely sure. Your eyes subconsciously bat at him as they trace his features, tugging at his heartstrings as Soonyoung and Seungkwan sing with wild abandon in the background.

Seokmin’s arm rests casually on the back of the booth behind you. “You know,” he murmurs, leaning just a bit closer, “I’m glad you’re here.”

The words are simple, but somehow they send a warmth spreading through you, making the whole room seem to slow down. “Me too,” you say, a little shy but meeting his gaze, feeling that same unspoken something settle around you.

Then, somewhere between another toast and Soonyoung’s next drink, things start to get a little fuzzy for him. Soonyoung has, predictably, taken things a bit too far, eyes glazed as he sways to the music, occasionally belting out lyrics that don’t match the song on screen. Seungkwan sighs knowingly, standing and giving Seokmin a helpless shrug. “I’m taking him home before he tries to start chugging Soju.” He nods at you, adding with a smirk, “Good luck with this one.” And then, with a wave, they’re gone, leaving the two of you in the dimly lit room, half-empty drinks scattered on the table.

Alone with you now, Seokmin’s pulse races, the soft glow of tipsiness making him feel both bold and nervous. The room feels quieter, somehow more intimate, with just the two of you here. He reaches for the remote, scrolling through song choices, trying to keep his eyes on the screen and not on the way you’re leaning back on the couch, your gaze drifting over to him with a glint he can’t quite decipher.

“Do you want to pick the last one?” he asks, his voice a little more shy than he intended.

You smile, shrugging casually, but he doesn’t miss the hint of a blush on your cheeks. “Only if you promise not to laugh if I butcher it.”

He grins, feeling his own face warm. “I make no promises,” he teases. But there’s something in his gaze—a hint of anticipation that he can’t quite hide, even if he tries.

As you start singing, he watches, captivated by the way you let loose, tipsy confidence making you bolder. The words are a little off-key, your voice rising and falling with the tempo, but to him, it’s perfect. When you’re finished, he can’t help but clap, cheering as if he’s at a concert.

“You sounded amazing,” he says, his voice softer than the playful bravado he’d intended. He feels a little too exposed under your gaze, a little too aware of just how close you’re sitting.

“Thank you, thank you,” you reply with an exaggerated bow, but your eyes linger on his a little longer than they should, and the tension between you feels thick, heavy with possibility.

He clears his throat, laughing nervously. “You’re going to put me out of a job with that voice.” But his words sound almost sincere.

There’s a lull in the conversation, a quiet beat where neither of you says anything, just looking at each other, the warmth of the drinks and the moment settling over both of you. You move a little closer, your knee brushing against his, and Seokmin swears he feels his heart stutter.

“Seokmin,” you say, voice barely a whisper, eyes bright with that boldness that only alcohol can provide.

“Yeah?” His voice comes out breathier than he intended, and he has to resist the urge to reach for your hand.

You smile, almost shyly, but there’s a warmth in your gaze that reassures him. “Thanks for inviting me tonight. I had… a really great time.”

“Me too,” he murmurs, his eyes meeting yours. His hand, almost on instinct, drifts a little closer to yours, his fingers brushing against your knuckles.

As you step out of the karaoke bar, the cool night air feels refreshing, and Seokmin falls into an easy rhythm beside you. The streets are quiet, the lights soft and glowing, casting a warm hue on everything around you. He insists on walking you home, and you can see a bit of that familiar determination in his expression—a mix of sweetness and subtle nerves, the kind that makes him even harder not to smile at.

The two of you talk softly as you walk, laughter spilling into the night as you recount moments from earlier, but the conversation drifts into a quiet calm. Seokmin feels a little tipsy, though he knows it’s not solely the drinks making him feel this way. It’s the warmth in your laugh, the way your gaze lights up when you look at him. Everything feels a little brighter, softer, like the world’s colors are blurring into a hazy glow.

Eventually, you pause, looking over at the buildings below the hill you’ve climbed, and above them, the faint sparkle of stars cutting through the city’s glow. Seokmin stops beside you, following your gaze, but when he looks back down, it’s not the skyline he’s mesmerized by. It’s you, standing there with that quiet, contemplative look in your eyes.

At that moment, he’s overwhelmed. Something about this night, this moment, feels like a dream—one he’s afraid might slip away if he blinks too long. He wants to say something, to tell you how lovely you look standing there, bathed in city lights. He can feel his heart pounding. He’s been trying to find the right words for some time now, something that could capture the feeling building up in his chest when he’s with you. He’s not sure if it’s the night, the laughter still echoing in his mind, or just the way you’re looking up at the sky. Before he can overthink himself out of it, he takes a breath and speaks, his voice just a little unsteady. “You know… you look beautiful right now.”

It’s the first time he’s said something so openly to you, and he can feel his cheeks heat up the second the words are out. You turn to him, a bit taken aback, your eyes wide with surprise before a smile slowly spreads across your face, soft and a little shy.

The moment stretches between you, and for once, he doesn’t feel the need to fill it with laughter or play it off. He’s content just looking at you, watching that glow in your eyes as his words settle in.

A soft laugh escapes you, and you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, looking down for a second before glancing back up at him. “I was going to say the same about you.”

He can’t help but laugh, his own nervousness melting away a little. You both stand there, caught in the gentle pull between you, feeling a little bolder, a little lighter.

When you start walking again, his hand brushes against yours, and this time he doesn’t pull away, letting his fingers linger close enough that if you reached out, they’d intertwine. It’s a simple gesture, but it says everything he’s been holding back, and as you walk together through the quiet streets, he knows something has shifted.

The stone path thuds beneath your footsteps, clumsy and unsteady as you both navigate the uneven terrain, sharing quiet laughter over your shared lack of coordination. Seokmin, glancing down, suddenly stops.

"Look!" he says, his finger pointing at a small penny on the ground, glinting faintly in the light. “What’s this doing all the way out here? Take it. For good luck.”

You shake your head, amused, and explain, “It’s only good luck if it’s face up when you find it.”

“Ah.” Seokmin considers this, then immediately drops into a crouch, carefully flipping the coin over so Lincoln’s head is proudly facing the sky. He straightens up with a grin as if he’s just accomplished something important.

“What’d you do that for?” you ask, your tone laced with affection.

“Now someone else can have good luck,” he replies.

You feel something warm tug at you in response, watching him as he stands there, content with his small gesture of kindness. Suddenly, you see very clearly the kind of person Lee Seokmin is. It’s so like him—turning even the smallest, most mundane thing into something significant. As he begins walking ahead, you linger just a moment, looking back at the coin on the ground, then up at him.

You don’t move to follow him. Seokmin halts, slightly startled, his gaze questioning as he glances at you. But before he can ask why, you step closer, closing the space between you. You’re both quiet, caught in a bubble of giddy anticipation, his eyes searching yours, wide with surprise. And then, without a word, you reach up, resting a hand lightly on his chest, and lean in.

The moment your lips meet his, it’s like everything else falls away, replaced by a feeling that’s as soft as it is electric. He lets out a small, breathless laugh amidst his shock, hands stuck to his sides as your mouth presses to his.

When you pull back, you find him grinning, a little dazed, his eyes bright with surprise. Then he closes the space again, meeting your lips in another kiss, quick but more eager, like he’s savoring the feeling.

And then another. His hand drifts to your waist, drawing you in just a little closer each time your lips meet, each kiss growing a little bolder, a little sweeter, until the space between you disappears entirely. By the fourth kiss, his fingers have settled at the small of your back, warm and sure, and this time he lingers, letting the kiss deepen. It’s slow, unhurried, something unknown flooding through him as he feels your hand slide up to cup his cheek, tilting his face toward you so you can taste his mouth with ease.

You both feel a little unsteady, leaning into each other for balance, your hands anchoring each other as the world spins quietly around you. His heart races, thrumming against yours, and there’s a shy smile on his face when he finally pulls away, keeping his forehead close to yours, his eyes searching yours, dazed and happy and overcome with affection.

“I… I wasn’t expecting that,” he says, his voice a little unsteady but full of quiet excitement.

“I wasn’t planning it,” you admit, your cheeks flushed, but you don’t pull away, savoring the closeness.

For a moment, you both just stand there, eyes locked, breaths mingling in the cool night air, as if tethered to each other by an invisible string. Then, without thinking, you lean back in, your lips finding his once more. This time, there's no hesitation, no pause, just a shared need to be close—as close as possible. His hands tighten at your waist, pulling you in with a touch that’s both careful and desperate, as though he’s afraid you might slip away.

He lets out a quiet laugh against your lips, a sound that’s soft and breathless. It makes you laugh too, and you pull back for a moment, catching your breath, only to find his lips chasing after yours again. There’s something almost frantic in the way you keep returning to each other, like you’re both overwhelmed by the discovery of this closeness, unable to let it end just yet.

His hand moves gently to the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he deepens the kiss, and you can feel the tenderness in his touch, in the way he’s holding onto you.

His voice is barely a whisper, warm and a little breathless. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” His words, shy and sincere, only pull you closer. Hand in hand, you start walking, the quiet night around you filled only by the soft sounds of your steps. He keeps his grip loose, fingers intertwined with yours, thumb brushing along the side of your hand as if he can’t bear to let go ever again. You walk in silence, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering touches, both of you stealing glances, unable to stop smiling.

Every so often, he pauses, as if some thread is tugging him back to you. He leans in to press a brief kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw, reeling over the way your eyes flutter closed from the feeling, and before you know it, his lips are back on yours. You laugh against his mouth, feeling both light-headed and grounded in a way that’s wholly new and otherworldly. He pulls back with a grin, his eyes crinkling, looking both bashful and thrilled, like he can’t believe this is real. You’re unreal, you have to be. A fabrication of his imagination, so delicate, so perfect, so you.

As you continue walking, his arm slips around your shoulders, drawing you closer to his side. You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace, and the quiet contentment that settles over you feels as natural as breathing. When he stumbles slightly, you catch him, and he grins sheepishly, pulling you close again in a half-hug that turns into yet another kiss.

“I might never get home at this point,” You say breathlessly.

“Would that be so bad?” Each word is mumbled into your mouth as his fingers weave into your hair, holding the back of your neck and letting his tongue shyly lick your bottom lip.

The hum that you let out, either as a response to his rhetorical question or his tongue now moving against yours, makes his head spin. Your nails, raking down his chest over the material of his shirt, your hips pressing to his—it’s all too much and at the same time, not enough.

The closer you get to your doorstep, the slower your steps become, as if prolonging the walk will somehow stretch this night just a little further. Every so often, Seokmin pulls you close, and you laugh as he wraps an arm around your waist, leaning in to kiss you again, each one deeper and more unhurried than the last.

Neither of you speak, as if words would break the fragile spell cast over the night. Instead, you stand there, wrapped up in each other, exchanging soft, dizzying kisses that grow lazier, more lingering.

There’s a pause, a beat of hesitation, as he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes warm and soft, and he murmurs, “I should probably let you go.” But even as he says it, his hand remains on your cheek as if he’s not quite ready to leave.

“Probably,” you whisper, lips barely brushing his, but neither of you moves. It takes a moment, maybe two, before he reluctantly lets out a quiet laugh and pulls away, his hand slipping from your cheek to squeeze your hand, holding onto you just a moment longer. He gives you one last look, filled with a warmth and tenderness that leaves you breathless.

“I’ll see you soon?” he asks softly, already a few steps down the hall, as though he’s hoping for just one more promise to look forward to.

“Soon,” you reply, his gaze lingering on you as he walks away. You watch him go, the warmth of his kisses still lingering, the last few moments of the night settling over you as you turn to head inside, feeling light, tipsy, and wonderfully, utterly alive.

[click here to continue]

255 notes · View notes

carnalcrows · 15 days ago

Text

YANDERE ROCKSTAR

☆ name: Choi Minjae (최민재 | 崔敏宰) → "Quick-Witted and Capable Peak"

☆ ethnicity : Korean

☆ age : 19

☆ gender : Male

☆ mbti : ENFP

☆ his story : [click below to proceed]

From the moment he picked up a guitar at age ten, music became his escape. His talent was undeniable, and by the time he was seventeen, he had joined one of Korea’s rising rock bands as their lead guitarist. Fame came fast, but so did pressure. His father, once a promising musician himself, had abandoned music after a tragic accident—one that nearly took the life of his younger brother. When he was fourteen, a reckless drunk driver crashed into their family’s car. He survived with minor injuries, but his younger brother was left severely injured and in a coma for months. The guilt of not being able to protect him has haunted him ever since.

Now, at 19, he is balancing college and international fame, all while carrying the weight of his past. Though he appears cool and distant at first, those who break through his icy exterior find a fiercely loyal friend with a heart of gold. His PTSD manifests in subtle ways—flinching at sudden loud noises, avoiding car rides whenever possible, and gripping his guitar like a lifeline during anxiety episodes. But he never talks about it. He refuses to be seen as weak.

☆ appearance:

Dyed blonde hair, usually messy from long nights of rehearsals

Deep-set dark brown eyes that seem unreadable until he smiles—then they light up

6'1", lean but toned from constant performances

Always wears glasses or contacts (his vision is terrible)

A silver ring on his right hand, a gift from his younger brother

Black nail polish on his right hand, a personal quirk that started as a joke but stuck

☆ personality:

Has the ultimate resting bitch face—people assume he’s cold, but he’s just lost in thought

The definition of a golden retriever after you get past his initial standoffishness

Protective of his bandmates and fiercely loyal to those he loves

Hates conflict but will throw hands if someone messes with his younger brother

Struggles with expressing emotions—he prefers to let his guitar do the talking

Hides his pain behind sarcastic jokes and witty comebacks

Loves small, meaningful gestures over big dramatic ones

☆ with a lover:

The type to pretend he’s chill but is actually a hopeless romantic

Writes songs about his feelings but will never admit who they’re about

If he likes someone, he teases them mercilessly but will also drop everything if they need him

Physical affection makes him shy at first, but once he’s comfortable? Good luck getting him to let go

Protective but not possessive—he trusts fully but will glare at anyone he deems suspicious

Remembers the little things—favorite drinks, random stories, the exact way they laugh

☆ strengths:

Unbelievably talented guitarist—he can make a song sound like it’s speaking

Creative and quick-witted, always coming up with ideas for the band

Surprisingly responsible despite his chaotic tendencies

Amazing at comforting others, even if he can’t do the same for himself

Can learn a song by ear ridiculously fast

☆ weaknesses:

Terrible at asking for help—bottles up everything until he crashes

PTSD triggers he refuses to acknowledge (sudden crashes, flashing lights, sirens)

Reckless when it comes to pushing himself—he will practice for hours without eating

Has a bad habit of shutting people out when he’s overwhelmed

Avoids car rides, sometimes even taking absurdly long routes just to avoid them

☆ relationships:

Younger Brother: His world. He’d drop everything for him without hesitation.

Bandmates: His second family. He acts like he’s the responsible one, but they all know he’s a mess.

Fans: Loves them but gets flustered when they compliment him too much.

Professors: They either love him for his talent or hate him for always being late.

Love Interest: Good luck breaking through his walls, but once you do? He’s all in.

☆ extra:

Fluent in Korean, English, and basic Japanese for interviews

Loves bubble tea but refuses to admit it’s his comfort drink as it’ll make him look basic

Collects guitar picks from every country he visits

Low-key terrified of dogs despite acting like a golden retriever himself

Secretly has a soft spot for romantic movies but pretends they’re “for research”

144 notes · View notes

liveyun · 2 months ago

Text

die with a smile | jjk

pairing. Jeon jungkook x fem/gn reader

genre. neighbours au, fluff, slice of life, light humor, slow-burn

rating. pg

warnings. late-night karaoke, mild annoyance, OC being conflicted and awkward, unspoken feelings, lots of staring at Jungkook (because who wouldn’t), implied military enlistment, OC lowkey simping (let’s be honest), “english isn’t my first language,” + not proofread, yearning . . .

wc. 1.7k +

🎧 die with a smile | bruno mars and lady gaga

The third night of incessant singing is where you finally draw the line.

You sit at your tiny kitchen table, surrounded by papers, half-drunk cups of tea, and the beginnings of a tension headache.

From the apartment next door, his voice—smooth, clear, and . . . warm — reaches you in a wave of melodies. He’s been singing for nearly two hours now, moving seamlessly from upbeat pop songs to heart-wrenching OSTs — with such ease and precision, you nearly feel both envy and frustration at how good he is and how he’s giving you his free performance at 3 AM.

You would’ve been impressed if you weren’t one sleepless night away from filing a formal complaint.

Your walls are thin. Your apartment is small. Every belt, falsetto, and perfectly sustained note crashes into your eardrums. You’ve stuffed pillows over your ears, slammed doors, and even loudly coughed against your shared wall, hoping he’d get the hint — but the man next door seems tireless . . . like a karaoke marathon champion who’s going to audition for the next survival show over some drinks at a restaurant.

Tonight’s song finishes with a flourish, and you hear a muffled sound of giggles — his own, perhaps — through the walls.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath, aggressively thumbing through your phone. Your irritation fuels you as you type up a complaint email for the building management, every sentence laced with righteous annoyance. You don’t think you’d care if they have any errors. You pause for a moment, fingers hovering over the send button.

“Maybe it’s just one of those guys. Moved in a month ago, right?” The voice of the kind old lady with her cute cat from the next block pops into your head. Earlier that day in the park, she’d casually informed you that your mysterious, musically obsessed neighbor was on a brief four-day vacation. “Poor boy — been serving his time in the army and just came to rest a little. He sings, you know. A real singer.”

You’d blinked at her words. “Wha. . . singer? Like… famous?”

The lady had shrugged. “Famous or not, his voice is beautiful.”

You remember standing frozen on the sidewalk, feeling guilt bubble in your chest.

That’s why you don’t send the complaint.

The clock reads 3:49 AM when the familiar, too-loud melody begins once again.

This time, you snap.

Throwing on your cardigan, you march to your front door and storm into the dimly lit hallway. Standing outside his apartment, your fist hovers above the door, second-guessing yourself for a beat. But then you hear him laughing — a soft, boyish laugh — and irritation wins out. You knock twice, firm and loud.

The door opens.

You’re unprepared for the man on the other side.

He’s wearing a black beanie, tugged low over his forehead, and an oversized black T-shirt that falls to his elbows. Tattoos trail like brushstrokes down his arm, stark and beautiful against his skin. His large eyes blink at you in surprise, framed by lashes so unfairly long they could sweep the floor. The corners of his lips lift into an easy, almost mischievous smile, deep dimples appearing like magic.

You falter.

This isn’t fair. Someone who sings like that should not also look like this. He looks. . . cute. Boyish. Innocent. But so undeniably attractive that you have to clear your throat because now you’re hyper aware that this man is nearly towering over you.

“Uh…” Your frustration stutters as you search for words. “Hi. I, uh—I live next door. And it’s 4 AM.”

“Yeah?” His voice, now spoken rather than sung, is just as soft and warm as you imagined. He tilts his head, curiosity dancing in his expression, his eyes wide like boba. “Something wrong?”

You blink at him, feeling ridiculous now that you’re standing here. “It’s just…your singing. It’s, um, loud.”

“Oh!” His eyes widen, and he steps back as though caught red-handed. “I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry.”

The immediate sincerity in his voice makes you feel like you’ve kicked a puppy.

“It’s fine,” you add quickly, backpedaling. “It’s just…the walls here are thin, and I’m not. . . uh, I’m not really used to it.”

His smile returns, shy. “I get it. I’ve been singing too much, huh? I just…” He scratches the back of his neck, sheepish now. “I haven’t had time to unwind in a while. Didn’t mean to bother you.”

His honesty throws you off balance. You glance past him into his apartment, catching a glimpse of his karaoke setup—a small mic stand surrounded by crumpled lyric sheets and snack wrappers. And a big. . . calculator. . . .? The space is much bigger than yours but still homely, lit warmly in contrast to the sterile hallway.

“You…you’re really good, though,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

He looks surprised for a moment, before the edges of his smile soften. You don’t even know this guy, but his smile seems genuine. Sincere. “Thanks. . . That means a lot.”

Silence stretches between you. You’re suddenly acutely aware of how he’s gazing at you — like he’s studying you just as much as you’re studying him.

“You know,” he says at last, teasing but gentle, “I could sing quieter if you have any requests.”

You snort involuntarily, the tension breaking. “I think I’d rather you not sing at all.”

He laughs at that—a full, bright laugh that tugs at something in your chest. “Fair enough.”

. . . ♡ 🐰 ♡ . . .

To your surprise, he sticks to his word.

That night, his singing drops to a near whisper. You can still hear it faintly through the walls — although, the song is more of a soft rock, but his voice is soothing. Sweet. Strangely, it doesn’t bother you anymore.

If anything, you find yourself listening a little too intently, sleep now long forgotten as you find yourself smiling so widely that your cheeks hurt.

I, I just woke up from a dream

Where you and I had to say goodbye

And I don't know what it all means

But since I survived, I realized

The next morning, as you head out for coffee, you bump into him again in the hallway.

This time, he’s wearing the same beanie and a plain hoodie, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He grins when he sees you, lifting a hand in greeting, but his grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh,” you say, stopping in your tracks. “You’re leaving?”

And there it is—that faint smile, shy yet playful, tugging at the corner of his lips. Except this time, he’s fidgeting with it, thumb grazing the skin as though he’s used to something being there. A piercing, maybe. Did he have one before? You hadn’t asked but for some reason, the gesture makes him look a little younger, a little more uncertain.

“Yeah,” he says softly, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Heading back.”

His voice carries none of the energy that used to spill through the thin walls, none of the stubborn joy that once kept you awake at night.

And somehow, it bothers you more than the loud singing ever did.

You shift awkwardly, trying to think of something to say—anything that doesn’t sound as silly as it feels in your head. “That’s… soon. I mean, it’s only been a few days.”

He chuckles lightly, the sound soft and self-deprecating. “Time flies, huh?” His thumb is at his lip again, a nervous habit that seems almost out of place on someone like him. “Guess I didn’t get to bother you enough before I left.”

“I didn’t hate it,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. Your voice falters, quieter now. “The . . . singing, I mean.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, his dark eyes catching yours in a way that makes your breath hitch. You try to read them, but you can barely even look at them — thanks to his beanie pulled low.

“Well,” he says after a pause, his voice low and warm, “I’m glad to hear that.”

He nods — and turns slightly, as if to leave, and your chest tightens. You open your mouth — hesitate — and then, before you can think twice, the word slips out.

Wherever you go, that's where I’ll follow

Nobody's promised tomorrow

“Wait.”

He stops immediately, turning back almost instantly with a flicker of hope in his gaze, like he’d been waiting for you to say it. His eyes seem to sparkle, a boyish anticipation lighting his features, and you feel your stomach twist.

Your hands feel clammy as you extend one awkwardly. “Uhh, I— I never introduced myself. I’m ____.”

He stares at your outstretched hand for a moment before breaking into the kind of grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes. The kind of grin that could make you forget the world for a moment.

“Jungkook,” he says simply, taking your hand in his. His grip is warm, firm, and entirely too brief, but it leaves a strange warmth spreading through you. His hands are slightly rough - but they feel pleasant. “Hi again.”

You nod, feeling a little silly but unable to pull your gaze from his. For a second, your chest tightens with an inexplicable urge to step closer, to wrap your arms around him. . .

Wait. Where did that come from?

So I’ma love you every night like it's the last night

Like it's the last night

But before you can really think of what you’re thinking — he lets go of your hand, stepping back with another small smile.

“Well, I should go,” he says, voice soft but final. His grin lingers, playful but tinged with something else, something quieter. “Take care, ____.”

He turns, and then he’s really gone. Leaving you standing in the hallway with your hand still half-raised, the warmth of his touch lingering like a ghost against your skin, the muscle near your left eye twitching and a weird feeling wrapping around your chest.

When you finally retreat to your apartment, the silence feels impossibly loud.

You sink onto your couch, hugging a pillow to your chest, and wonder if his hand had felt as warm as yours had—or if it’s just your imagination playing tricks on you.

If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you

If the party was over and our time on Earth was through

I’d wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile

If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you

#jungkook fluff #bts x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts fluff #bts fanfic #jungkook romance #bts romance #bts x you #bts au #bts fics #jungkook x you #jungkook imagine #bts imagines #jungkook scenarios #bts #btswritersclub #illuminated ocean.net

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amymbona · 6 months ago

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Challengers - the band

Among equally famous Arctic Monkeys or Gorillaz, fans have got nuts over the quickly rising indie band formed in 2006. Challengers consists of three uniquely charismatic members, each one equally as genuine, and yet they all fit together like pieces of puzzle, creating a what fans appreciate as the trio of the decade.

Fitting into the genre of pure english indie, the trio doesn't fear to bounce into the world of rock or deliver a heart-touching ballad, so versatile that it appears unbelievable to many. The critics deem Challengers as an immortal piece of music that will continue to live on and be appreciated decades into the future. Even the thirsty fans seem to agree.

Tashi Duncan

The frontman - in this case the front lady - carries the aesthetic part, providing a gentle caress with each of her smiles, known widely by her fair amount of dark toned lipsticks and pairs of leather pants. As the main vocalist, her voice is heard in most of the songs, and she is essentially the voice of the band.

The gorgeous grace with which she carries herself can hardly he matched, and by many, Tashi is often refered to as the bitch, which takes away from the beauty of her soul. Contrary to a popular belief, Tashi Duncan is a gentle human - a fact supported by all the fans that have met her - as she never misses an opportunity to hug a fan or sign a paper.

A sex symbol, often compared to Amy Winehouse or Fiona Apple, she's often reduced fo a pretty face - much to her fans' disappointment. The talent she possesses is nothing short of a gift, given to her by gods above, and certain female singers have expressed both their jealousy towards and support to the star.

Art Donaldson

Known as the people's sweetheart, the most one could spot of Art Donaldson is the messy mop of his curls peeking from behind the drum set. With often admired set of muscles - which many female fans attempt to grasp once the drummer ventures in public - it's no issue for him to be pounding into the drums and cymbals all night.

His steady beats offer a stable background to all of the band's songs, resembling the rhythm of our heartbeats. But the man who's been named as the best drummer of the current music wave is much more than that.

It's no secret that Art Donaldson does most of the songwriting, providing his fans an insight to his soul, which doesn't resemble the harshness of his clothing style at all. Upon further observation, it's clear that most of the lyrics are centered around love, affection, eroticism and gut-wrenching feelings. This gentle compassion, paired with a cute smile, makes Art the most wholesome face of the genre of indie.

Patrick Zweig

This man is not famous just for his pretty face, though it is the feature he is the most recognized for. With the electric guitar constantly glued to his hands and the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old, Patrick Zweig jumps from one side of the stage to another. Some might say he is a bad influence, supported by the handful amount of evidence of nicotine and alcohol induced behaviour.

Known for his unrealistically swiftly executed guitar riffs, Patrick is the one to transform the ideas into music, as the band itself has mentioned. Most of the early hits were made purely under his supervision, which helped set the initial direction the band would evolve in. Perhaps he is the one we should thank for having Challengers become real.

It was particularly Patrick who stole the hearts of many young ladies, successfully earning himself the title of the womanizer. Multiple women were spotted leaving the Zweig residence over the last few months, wearing evidently less clothing that they entered the luxurious villa in. As the most extroverted and publically followed member, Patrick Zweig might as well be the loudest element of the three-man band.

#challengers #challengers movie #challengers headcanons #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig headcanon #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson headcanon #tashi duncan #tashi duncan x reader #tashi duncan headcanon #josh o'connor #mike faist #zendaya #band!au #indie band

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nandolonso · 6 months ago

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UNDISCLOSED DESIRES (Fernando Alonso x Reader)

TITLE: Undisclosed Desires – aka who is the biggest fan of whom? (Fernando Alonso x Reader)

I got inspired after Baku. P6 BABY, LET’S GOOOOOOOOOO!

FYI: English is not my main language nor is Spanish. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Word count: 4K

Warnings: self-doubt, self-image issues, kind of shy reader, reassuring and slightly dominant Nando (who worships the shit out of you), happiness, positive social media presence, Spanish, dirty talking and fingering, smuttish – I hope you enjoy it. 😉

Recommended song: Undisclosed Desires by Muse

Explanation: Y/N – your name, Y/H/C – your hair color

Also, this GIF is chef's kiss, his gaze is so intense. GOSH!!! 🔥 I hope you'll like it. Let me know what you think! ❤️‍🔥

It was race day in Baku.

You were sitting in the paddock waiting for Fernando Alonso to show up. Your boyfriend. It was hard to comprehend that he was your man, your partner. It was an unbelievable title – but it was true, he really was yours.

However, the last period has been challenging for both of you. On the one hand, Alonso has spent several periods away from you, as Aston Martin has struggled to get a good position in recent months. Of course, Fernando took his job very seriously, so he helped the engineers where he could. They did a lot of test laps, planning, thinking.

As for you: you were an average person. You were not a reporter or a supermodel. You were completely different from Alonso's previous partners. You were ordinary – in the best possible way. But it was a very difficult situation for you. You often questioned yourself: were you good enough? Were you good enough not only for yourself but for him? Where did you belong in this world? Especially seeing the other WAGs, and how pretty and thin they were… And you could go on. So, all that time you spent apart didn't help your already fragile mental state.

It was tough for you not to project your self-doubt onto him. And you hated yourself for it. Because there was nothing you wanted more than to be there to support him in every race. To be there for him, always. But a lot of times your state of mind, the media presence, and all the hustle and bustle didn't help you at all. That's why you stayed mostly in the background, as you didn't want Fernando to worry any more than he had been worrying lately.

Fortunately, Aston Martin recently managed to sign Adrian Newey to the team, and you could almost see the "life" returning to Fernando's eyes. The love of your life was shining as he entered the paddock: his stance was firm and confident, that mischievous smile at the corner of his mouth was back, and his gaze was sparkling with fire which you hadn't seen for a long time now.

You couldn't help thinking how good he looked. How he deserves to be world champion again. Your world champion. The thought made your chest tighten. You loved him so much it almost hurt. You wanted him to be happy and succeed so much – it was sometimes physically impossible to bear.

You have never felt this way about anyone, and you didn't want to lose him. You had been together for almost a year now, but you noticed your feelings for him growing every day. So, you thought this weekend was the perfect time to surprise him and actually show that. To be there for him not just mentally, but physically.

You pulled yourself together: you wore a custom Kimoa x Aston Martin shirt that fit your body perfectly. While you didn't have a supermodel figure, you were definitely gorgeous. You had a lot of heads turning in the paddock.

Your Y/H/C hair glistened in the sunshine, your fingernails painted the typical "Aston Martin green". You counterbalanced the shirt with a black skort that showed off your body perfectly but wasn't too much. To top off everything, you were wearing a sneaker to keep it casual. But the way you wore Fernando's name on your body – front and back, sparkled in his colors, and carried his brand proudly, you were anything but "casual".

As soon as Fernando entered the garage, he noticed you. But he had to look twice just to make sure you were really there because he was not used to seeing you around. Although he made no secret of you, he was very aware of how much you tried to avoid the public. He could understand that you were suffering with your own demons, and he knew exactly how harsh the media could be on F1 drivers and their loved ones.

But at that moment, he didn't care about anything or anyone. Just you. And all he felt was pride. You were a perfect fit. His perfect fit. And the fact that you were wearing Aston Martin colors, and his brand made his heart beat faster. Suddenly he didn't know what he was feeling.

The way he looked at you took your breath away for a moment. You felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room (even though it was half in the open air). The fire that flared up in Fernando's eyes was so intense, that you feared he would burn everyone alive. But mostly you.

Your feet rooted to the ground; you gulped as he strode confidently towards you.

"Mi vida," Fernando began, and leaving you no time to think, he pulled you close to him, pressing a passionate kiss to your lips.

In that moment you forgot that other people were standing around you. There were probably a few photos taken of you, but you didn't care. At that moment, it was just the two of you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you to deepen the kiss.

Not only his eyes were fiery, but so was the passion he kissed with. There was almost no space left between the two of you as he pulled you shut to him, his hand holding your waist tightly.

Your tongues brushed against each other to have a taste. You almost moaned out loud at the sensation, and you knew you had to stop now, or you wouldn't be able to contain yourself. This man brought out emotions that you never had before. With him... Well, you were always horny, so to speak.

Your cheeks heated up at the thought of him taking you there and then, so you broke the kiss. You tilted your forehead to his.

"Nando," you said breathlessly. "People are watching."

"I don’t care, mi amor," he replied, his Spanish accent getting heavier, which tends to come out when he's very passionate or angry. You hoped it was the former. "Estoy tan contenta de verte," he murmured into your lips in Spanish. It meant he was very happy to see you. You have spent the last year trying to learn as much of the language as possible, which he of course appreciated. You were of a different nationality as well and English was your common language.

You learned a lot from him in bed. He was quite vocal – to say the least. Calling you pet names and talking through it… Enough, you thought to yourself, snapping out of your trans.

Fernando laughed at your expression and how easy it was to make you riled up just with a simple sentence. It was as if he could see inside your head. It was easy for him to read you. And he enjoyed teasing the hell out of you.

He pulled you closer to him for a hug and pressed a short kiss to your forehead.

"I'm really glad that you're here," he said once again, this time in English, squeezing you gently to mark his words. "And you look beautiful too," You hugged him around the waist, burying your face in his chest and taking in his intoxicating scent. The smell that always kept you going: something leathery and woody. It was very masculine, but somehow still comforting and reassuring. Thanks to Boss. They were doing God's work with this man.

"Here to support the best," you muttered into his shirt. You pulled away from him for a moment to look him in the eye. "I'm your biggest fan, I hope you know that." He loved the way you were looking up at him: the way you were glowing with love and desire. How your lips were swelled up after the kiss, how you stood there in the garage, proud to belong to him.

Alonso was like you. He hasn't felt that way about anyone for a very long time. And although he did everything he could for you, somehow it was very difficult for him to talk about his feelings. And not because he was ashamed of them or because he wasn't sure of himself – he was too sure of what he felt. And it frightened him. He was afraid to open up and might lose you. He was old enough to know what he wanted, and he didn't want to start over again with anyone else. All he wanted was you. In the end, somehow, he was still afraid. You had been together for about a year, but he was afraid to say those particular three words, even though he kept calling you "my love" and its synonyms in Spanish.

And at the moment as he looked at you… He was sure. He was sure he wanted you for the rest of his life and that you weren't his biggest fan, but more like vice versa. And he wanted to prove it to you.

He pulled you into his embrace once more.

"I know, mi amor," he mumbled into your hair and pressed another kiss to the top of your head. "I'll put myself out there, just for you," he added with a gentle chuckle. You squeezed him and then let him go, knowing how much he had to do before the race. You took a few steps back just to take him in, now there was even more determination in his eyes than before. Fernando was almost vibrating with excitement, knowing you were there to cheer and support him. And there was something in his eyes as well that made the butterflies in your stomach revive.

"I…" you wanted to say something, but how his eyes softened with tenderness made you speechless. He slowly reached for your hands, his fingertips gently caressing the soft skin of your palm.

"Can I take some photos of you guys?" suddenly one of the team members of Aston Martin popped between the two of you. He was clearly making some content for the team's social media channel and even though you were nervous, you somehow felt put together and wanted to support Fernando all the way. "You look so good together," he added with a soft smile. You tried to find lies in his eyes, but he seemed sincere. Maybe it's time to really believe that you're GOOD and that you looked great together. Fernando Alonso wasn't with you for nothing.

Fernando looked at you and waited for your approval. You nodded slightly and Alonso immediately pulled you to him by the waist.

"The best girl on the grid," Alonso said loudly and proudly, pushing a soft kiss to your temple. You couldn't help but smile at his affection and you pulled him closer to you as well, while the social media guy snapped a few pics.

After that, he showed you all the pictures. As Fernando looked at you in the photos, all his emotions were clear: his eyes radiated with love and respect. And you were definitely glowing next to him. The guy went on to show you some of the photos, eventually stopped when he had taken the two of you kissing. You indeed looked very good together.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself," he mumbled to himself. Fernando tensed for a moment next to you, waiting for any protest. But you didn't. You really did look good together and wanted nothing more than to show the two of you to the world.

"It’s okay," you started. "The pictures are really great," you reassured the guy and Fernando next to you loosened up. He pressed another kiss to your temple then took a few steps back.

"I'm sorry, mi amor, but I have to go now," he said. "Enjoy the race," Fernando added with a wink. That damn wink. And that damn smirk. Gosh, that will be the end of you. Pendejo.

You turned back towards the social media guy, and at that moment you realized that because of his interference, you didn't say out loud what you wanted to a few moments ago. You wanted to declare your love to Fernando for the very first time, out loud, but now you missed your chance…

"Can I take a few more of you, especially the shirt and nails?" he asked shyly, snapping you out of your thoughts. "You seem like a truly great soul who supports and respects Alonso, and I want to show that to the world," you were almost touched by his words. You were definitely genuine with Fernando and didn't want to use him for anything. You were just there because you were his greatest fan. And that was the best thing for you.

You nodded softly and you guys managed to make a full-on photoshoot in the end. You were surprised at how liberated you felt at the end, and you even chuckled and did some "model-poses."

"You're a natural," he chuckled but you soon stopped as the race began.

The race was very exciting. Full of overtaking and adrenaline. At the end of the race, Alonso managed to score P6, which is a very big word from Aston Martin these days. You couldn't help but be excited all the way through, expressing emotion and knowing you were going to be all over social media, but you didn't care. Because Fernando Alonso won. In your eyes that P6 was P1.

After the race, you ran up to him and hugged him. He still had his mask on, but you pressed a kiss to the plexiglass. Of course, the cameras were clicking around you, but you didn't care. Because you were incredibly happy, and you were glad for Alonso. And at that moment, that was all that mattered. If it didn't bother him that you were in every picture (and it probably didn't, because he'd asked you to come with him to the paddock countless times), why would it have bothered you?

In that moment you realized that even though you never said those three words, it was clear how you felt about each other. Alonso lifted you up as he celebrated.

"Yes, baby," he said then laughed. You loved it when he was so excited. And you couldn't wait to see what the new season would bring him under Newey's aegis.

A few hours after the race, you were sitting in your hotel room looking at your phone.

Social media, especially Aston Martin's official Instagram page, was full of you and Fernando. You couldn't stop smiling as you saw the hashtag #couplegoals and the many, many supportive comments from fans. What were you afraid of in the first place?

Sure, there will always be some people who don't like certain things, but the majority of commenters were supportive. At least, most of them. You locked your phone and looked out the window. You were thinking about everything that happened that day and you couldn't help but admire the wonderful view of the old town of Baku. You tried to take in every little detail, but your mind kept wandering back to how truly happy you looked at those pictures. And how you guys looked good together.

You let a soft sight as you snapped back to reality. You were waiting for Alonso and he was always on time. You were more the late type, but now you're well ahead of schedule. You wanted everything to be perfect. Not just for the night but for you as well. After the race, you took a thorough bath, did the typical "girly routine", used lotion, did your hair, your make-up... You wore his favorite perfume that made you both sweet and seductive – just to make sure he loses his mind. Then you put on an Aston Martin green evening dress that perfectly accentuated your figure and hid what you were less than happy with. That's how you were waiting for him as the two of you arranged to have dinner tonight to celebrate his placing. Just the two of you. You took your eyes off the city and slowly stood up and went to the full-length mirror in the corner of your bedroom to examine yourself.

You've smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles on your dress, but you've looked quite nice – even you were satisfied, which is a big thing. You nodded to yourself, just when you heard a knock on your door.

Slowly you walked over and opened it. There stood Alonso, in all his glory. He was wearing a black shirt and a black suit. For some reason, the color combination looked very good on his skin. His stubble was short and thick, the hair was all set. You were instantly struck by the typical "Alonso scent", the leathery, woody, Boss-y fragrance. Gosh, he looked delightful. Your mouth almost watered at the sight.

But as he looked at you, he was the one taken aback. You looked like an angel in that green dress. And he was ready to be your demon in that black attire of his, to lead you into the dark mysteries of the night as his eyes locked with yours. You were like the perfect match for him: black and white, Ying and Yang to each other.

"Y/N," he basically growled, as he stepped closer to you, his accent heavy. He tried crossing the distance between the two of you. The emotions of the whole day were stirring inside him. As he stepped closer, you stepped back. He looked at you as if he were the hunter and you were his prey.

His eyes burned with a fire you'd probably never seen from him before. You were almost afraid that as soon as he got close to you, it would burn. And you weren't sure you didn't want to burn all the way.

As you stepped back, he stepped forward one more step, closing the door behind him.

The back-and-forth game continued until you got to the bed. As soon as your knee hit the thing, a truly devilish smile spread across Fernando's face. His eyes almost darkened, with only one thing in his mind: you. Oh, he wanted to explore every inch of you like he'd never done before.

Suddenly you didn’t know why, maybe because of the intensity of his gaze, you felt very shy. You felt almost naked even though you were fully dressed up. You were almost certain that he saw right through you and he could see your flaws and mistakes. At least, that's how you were with yourself. Because when it always came to "that", it was very hard to switch off and let go.

"Mi amor," he started. "Look at me!" he ordered, and you obeyed. Not that you could argue with that: he stepped closer to you to lift your chin, so you had to look him in the eye. He could read you like an open book. He knew your past, your traumas, your hurts. "I know you've suffered, but I don't want you to hide."

That sentence meant more to you than you knew. The knowledge that he saw you, like really saw you, that you didn't have to hide yourself from him, and that he accepted you as you are, said more than anything. You tried not to get emotional, but you couldn't help it as a single tear rolled out of your eye. Fernando slowly wiped it away with his finger.

His gaze became a touch gentler, his hand slid down your face, down your arm, all the way to your fingers. There he intertwined his with yours and slowly guided you to the mirror.

"What are you doing?" you asked quietly.

"Trust me," he said confidently, as you stood in front of the mirror. The mirror was tilted a little so you could see both of your figures quite well. "You are the one," he whispered softly to your ear from behind.

You shivered a little, then let go and leaned against his chest. You closed your eyes for a moment, enjoying the way Fernando stroked your arm again, from the bottom all the way up to your neck.

"What do you mean?" you asked softly, leaning your head back to his shoulder.

"As I said, mi amor," the words rolled out of his tongue. "You're the one for me." You opened your eyes and again met that burning look in the mirror as he held your gaze. "I love you, Y/N, just the way you are," he admitted. "Completely and utterly."

The air caught in your throat at the confession. You looked at him with eyes full of emotion, then turned in his arms so that you were face to face with him.

You tried to analyze every little movement of his. Was it true? All the alarm bells went off in your head, but you wanted to believe it. And he seemed sincere. You deserve to be happy too, so it's time to give yourself to it.

"I love you so much, it almost hurts," you confessed as well. Fernando grabbed the fabric of your dress, it was really hard for him to contain himself. His lips hovered just a few inches above yours.

His chest tightened at the sound of your words, and he could barely restrain himself from taking you at that moment. But he wanted to make sure you felt worshipped and loved – just how you deserved it.

He brushed his lips against yours, looking at your reaction. Your breath hitched in your throat, and he loved the sight of it. He wanted you to see it as well. He wanted you to see how he makes you react. And how he makes you feel good.

He firmly but gently started to turn your hips between his hands. He encouraged you to turn back, so his chest could face your back and you could see yourself in the mirror once again.

"I'm only going to say this once, mi amor," he began, running his hand down your arm again. His voice was firm and dominant. You just loved it when he was like that with you. You knew deep down he was devoted and wanted only good things for you. "Keep your eyes on me," he said in the mirror. "I know it's hard," he added. "But can you do it for me, princess?"

You swallowed hard and nodded.

"Así amor," he murmured into your neck.

He placed a slow kiss on the back of your neck, then moved his hand lower, now on your hip. There he firmly grabbed the dress and almost ripped it off you so that now you were standing in front of the mirror in just your underwear. As he saw the black lace piece, another growl erupted from his throat.

"Mierda," he cussed at the sight of you. You would have preferred to hide. You didn't want to tear yourself away from his gaze, but you didn't want to look at yourself either.

Just like he could read your mind he said: "You're beautiful," sliding his hand from your waist to your stomach, so that he could slowly slip his hand inside your panties. "What did I say, mi amor?" he asked in a dominant voice, suddenly stopping in his movements.

You knew exactly what he meant: you swallowed hard. Once again.

"To look at you," you answered, searching for his eyes again. As your gazes interlaced, he began to move his hands once again.

"Así es," he whispered softly into your neck, then left a hot trail of kisses behind. At the same time, he started to move his fingers skillfully, reaching for the perfect spot: where he could feel your aching desire for him. The need started to pool between your legs larger and larger.

You wanted to close your eyes and lean back to him, to lose fully to the sensation but you knew him just well enough that if you would do that he would stop. He kept eye contact while his fingers were deep inside you. The demon in black, your demon who wanted nothing but to make his angel come undone at his touch and mercy.

"Nando," you whispered, as you looked at the two of you in the mirror.

"Sí, mi amor?" he asked, looking into your eyes while he kept his steady rhythm, collecting your wetness on his fingers, now pressing the end of his palm to your core. You bite down at your lower lips at the sensation, letting out a soft moan. "Use your words, princess," he smirked, knowing how hard it was to concentrate right now. He loved seeing you like this, and you loved the effect you had on him, as you could feel his hardness pressing against your behind. His intense gaze, his body, his touch, and his words almost sent you over the edge. Almost.

Then he suddenly stopped. You let out a frustrated breath and you get a chuckle in return.

"I…" you gasped and then shut up.

"Sí, mi amor?" he asked once again, tilting his head to the side as he was looking at you in the mirror. You desperately craved some friction, you even tried to rub together your thighs, but nothing helped.

"I…" you started once again, and he looked at you with encouraging eyes. "I want to…" your cheeks heated up at your words and you didn't even know why. "I want to cum." you finally managed to blurt out.

He let out a chuckle, grabbing your hips with one of his hands and he slid back his other under your panties.

"Was it so hard, princessa?" he asked, and he started using his fingers again. This time more passionately and faster. With one hand you grabbed Fernando's forearm while still trying to keep your eyes on him. "That’s it," he told you as he tried to help you finally push over the line. He knew how much you loved him when he talked you through it. "I want you to see how beautiful you are when you come undone for me," he whispered into your ear and that's what it took. You shook in his arms as you finally reached the highest highs, fireworks playing before your eyes and at this point, you couldn't help but close your eyes. Your feelings for him, his voice, his touch – it was just too much. You suddenly stumbled, but he was there to catch you. And he always will be.

"That's it, mi amor," he whispered, holding you close to him, while he pressed soft kisses to your neck as he guided you through your high.

For a few moments, you stayed in silence. Then he spoke: "I'm your biggest fan, I hope you know that," he repeated your words from earlier. Your chest tightened at his confession, and you turned in his embrace, now facing him. A soft and loving smile played on your lips as you pulled yourself closer to him.

“But you’re the one who won, we should celebrate you,” you said mischievously. You started to push him back towards the bed where he sat down, so you could straddle him. Fernando groaned as he felt you move against him. His whole body was becoming hard.

“Oh, we will celebrate, mi vida,” he chuckled darkly. “All. Night. Long.” he said and kissed you with so much passion that it consumed the two of you. Each one was like a promise, a seal, a mark for your happiness and a long, prosperous future together.

#fernando alonso #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso x y/n #fernando alonso oneshit #fernando alonso fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso fic #fernando alonso imagine

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mylifestylearedilfs · 9 months ago

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⇢ ˗ˏˋ joost klein x friend (with benefits)!reader ࿐ྂ

ੈ✩‧₊˚ LUNCH : not smut ; a bit of angst (but not really) ; fluff ; imagine ; all is fictional ; english is not my first language

part two

, , ,

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ YOU WERE FRIENDS with joost for few good years, you two met at the set of his song ‘ome robert’, since then you became inseparable. you never thought that this acquaintance would last for that long and you also never had in plans to care that much for this crazy little dutch guy. sometimes other people was saying that you two were clones, who shared the same sense of humour and even the same clothes from time to time. long story short you were acting like an old sweet couple.

you have always founded each other attractive, at first it caused some awkwardness, even if you both tried to ignored by typical for you jokes. but after one party, when you both were a bit of drunk, but still capable of thinking rationally, you finally decided to do something with that sexual tension that was between you. that was the moment when he proposed you to start kind of friends with benefits type of relationship.

, , ,

right now we are in the present times, when joost was chosen to represent the netherlands. you were extremely proud of him, you knew the whole story, about how he watched eurovision because of his parents. that’s why you also wanted to make this whole event special and memorable for him, and with help of apson and martijn by your side it was super easy to achieve.

you always thought that the whole contest wasn’t that exciting, because people who worked as their social media management wasn’t that creative. that’s why all of you wanted to make it a bit more interesting, because let’s be honest, all the contestants were great people and they had such a potential to advertise eurovision with their personalities not only with their songs.

it was you who recorded all iconic joost’s clips, sometimes you even were taking part in some videos, as a ‘interviewer’ for example. it was a lot of fun for not only you, but everyone; by other contestants and of course by viewers. people quickly became interested in your persona, because you have never been active on social media, that’s why when you finally started getting more attention online, joost’s fans were simply curious who you were and what kind of relationship you had with dutch man.

it was a moment when you started to ask yourself, who you really were to joost. of course you were aware that you both cared for each other, but officially it was in friendly way. on the other hand let’s be honest, in privacy you didn’t acted like friends more like a lovers. but the truth was that you were tired of being just friends (with benefits but still friends). you wanted to be officially couple and the fact, that his career was developing in unbelievable fast way, wasn’t helping.

you understood that having casual relationship was convenient for him, because he didn’t have to worry about how busy he sometimes was. but you started to feel that sex that you shared, wasn’t that sweet and special, it was kind of opposite you felt that he only treated it like a stress reducer, which hurt your feelings. you weren’t selfish though, that’s why you kept it all for yourself, because right now it was about joost and eurovision, there wasn’t room for unwanted drama.

but maybe someday he will find out that you didn’t want to be just friends anymore.

, , ,

⇢ ˗ˏˋ thank you for attention! do you guys want a part two?

#stand with joost #joost klein x you #joost klein x reader #joost klein #joost klein imagine #eurovision 2024 #eurovision imagines #imagine #slight angst #i love joost

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stormblessed95 · 7 months ago

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Watching Are You Sure?! EP 2

A reminder of how I do these reaction posts as I watch things. I just write my reactions and thoughts down literally as a happen. Think more of a bullet point format. I'll include links when I can to videos, thanks to the people who twt who upload clips. And at the end, I'll do a better wrap up of all my opinions. I hope everyone enjoyed the show so far!!

July 15th now! Day 2 here we come! Over an hour of Jikookery!!

Starts off with JK on his motorcycle and Jimin riding witht the crew and admiring how cute JK is, while they are on the phone the entire time. Adorable. "He likes being cool." Lmao

I love how the staff indulge them too, like with Jimins "prank" of spraying washer fluid at JK 😂

Jimin lagging super far behind everyone in the hike at first saying it's because he thinks is nice to go slow now that he is older.... But also honey, are you sure (lol) that's not just your upset tummy talking? 😅😂

JK asking Jimin for a cover of Seven. I know they were mostly joking.... But um, Jimin.... Where is our cover?!?! Please!!

Jimin showing off his beautiful smooth legs 😂😂

Jimin being bit by mosquitoes constantly and JK deciding to take a turn into vampirism and vore 😂🤣 as well as calling Jimins thighs the best entree? 😏🫣 Lol OKAY

You just gave me butterflies holding onto my back like that?? Lmfao has he said that EVERYTIME he drags Jimin around holding onto the back of his shirt?? 🤣😂🥰😍 Butterflies like love, JK?

Turns out, he said making my heart flutter. I think that makes it worse. And the informal/formal flirty tones. Yup. Definitely worse 😅😍🫣😂 and it absolutely usually has romantic connotations. Both in English and in Korean

Someone get Jimin a dang bottle of bug spray!! The heck!

The way they both felt so free and peaceful on the ocean that they fell asleep for a nap together. Jimin sleeping for much longer since he wasn't feeling good though too. Also brief mention for the way JKs hands kept straying over to rub on Jimins smooth legs and kept getting cut in the video lol

JK telling Jimin he looked so pretty when he first got to NY and now our poor baby is so tired and sick

JK preforming Seven for Jimin. Lol let's NOT talk about how he sings the "I kiss your waist and ease your mind" line while staring into Jimins eyes. Or how he turns back to look at Jimin while singing "you wrap around me and you give me life" before playfully swatting him too. Just for Jimin to end things there by playfully wrestling back 😂

Jikooks Titanic 😂😂🥰🥰😍😍

JK exploring and touching all over Jimin's body looking for mosquito bites.... Lmfao ALRIGHT. "You are obviously looking for bite marks" why is this so flirty? Why are they doing this with all their staff right in front of them STARING AT THEM with the cameras too 😂🤣😂 I guess at some point you get so used to it, you start tuning them out. And Jikook are, for the most part, 10+ years used to it. And all that play wrestling comes to an end when Jimin's upset stomach and toilet issues come back to remind him that they exist 🤣🤣 (see first picture at the top of post lmfao)

Thinking of things to name the show and among the many suggestions JK makes, "come out" is one. That would've been an interesting title lol

JK sharing a whole bag of food with the staff on the other boat. He is such a sweetie

Jiminie somehow ending up with JKs hat between cuts while eating

The way they spent almost all day on this boat man. And we got a montage of them just smiling at each other through the day 🥺🥺🥺

JK looking up their song stats and the way they both got so excited for how well their songs were doing on the charts 🥰🥰🥰 I'm so proud of them both!

And I love hearing JK talk about his goals with Golden. Same with Jimin about Face/Muse. I'm so so proud of them, it's unbelievable

The way everyone shops so different is why some people won't grocery shop with others 🤣🤣 the cuts between Jimin sighing frustratingly "Jungkook ah" and JK going "cheese cheese" had me CACKLING lmfao 😂😂 and it's all really because of what JK wanted to cook FOR Jimin for dinner 🥺

The parking lot dance break was adorable 😂🤣 their giggles are my favorite thing

The way that Jimin keeps taking cute little pictures of JK at their destinations. That's his baby

They rented a house with 4 entire bedrooms. Lmfao for what reason?! Jikook technically got separate rooms here.

Why do they take such MASSIVE bites when they eat? Lmfao is this engrained behavior from spending their formative years living with 6 other teenage/young adult boys? 🤣😂

"I'm just honored to have your food" JIMIN 😭😭😭

JK being very insistent about hearing Who. Lmao not Like Crazy or any of his songs that are out. But his new song. It's giving how sulky he was when he didn't hear Face songs first. Making sure he wouldn't get left out again! I loved this though! I really genuinely love listening to them talk music and singing techniques though. Loling though at the way JK told Jimin he should growl more in his vocals. Think his YouTube algorithm showed him any fan made comps about said Jimin vocal growls that always caused ARMY to lose their minds 🤣🤣

"should I sleep next to Jungkook tonight? Will he hit me again?" 🤣🤣🤣🤣 And JK already being in the room lol

Toothbrushing acrobatics. You know, the norm lmao followed by the huge cut too lmao what happened

The way they filmed JK tossing and turning in his bed for a bit and then absolutely zero filming in Jimins room after bedtime.... And in the morning, JK had to turn the camera outside Jimins room back on.... I'm not saying that JK didn't spend the entire night in his own bed and instead slept in Jimins... But I'm not, not saying that either 😂

(we are now in July 16th!)

JK joking about leaving Jimin behind since he is sleeping in so much, just to immediately go climb into bed with him. This is the most domestic type of morning waking up intimacy and cuddles. Because TF Jikook. Lol all that. And it was clearly a lot because of the amount of cuts in that short period of footage.... Where they were laying next to each other just sharing space, cuddling, being a little silly. And then randomly going like "oh we need to remember to get a sponge today." Lol domestic 101.

No because really, let's talk about that cuddle? TF Jungkook. First we got him coming up to crawl into Jimins bed where he like palms his bare thigh, straightens his leg out so he can rest against his bare (shaved/waxed) thigh. And he makes that growling/groaning sound he ALWAYS does when presented with a sexy Jimin or often when he touches Jimin's bare skin. Like CMON dude.

Followed by Jimin then being silly and pretending to go elbow JKs nose. Lol and JK clearly went to retaliate by simply wrapping him up in a hug to start spooning, but Jimin ready to defend himself so he kept blocking JK with his arm. Lmfao only to be quickly overpowered. Spanked, ass caressed, and then JK snuggles into him and basically disappears behind Jimins back he is snuggling so hard. And then spanked again when JK got up 😂 so much ass appreciation in this clip

Not to mention apparently it's being suspected that JKs mic was already in Jimins room and he just picked it up and pretended to unhook it from his shirt before climbing into Jimins bed... Who knows

Round 2 of Jikook walking around the house this time with Jimin hanging off the back of JKs shirt. This is really just the natural state for them huh. Lol

Riding to Walmart on the motorcycle together is the cutest and most amazing thing. JK reminding Jimin to be careful because the motorcycle is really hot underneath. 🥰

When JK accidentally steps on Jimins heel walking into the store... The way that Jimin pinches his neck in retaliation was crazzzyyy lol

Them meeting the ARMY in the store to buy the pizza is the cutest freaking thing. The whole interaction. And when JK goes in his sponge adventure, she got a hug and autograph from Jimin 🥺🥺🥰🥰 and how complimentary and excited they were about meeting her too!

Jimin being like those damn dongsaengs after losing JK in the store for the second time 😂😂😂

JKs water curse has to be one of the funniest unexpected recurring themes of these episodes lol "I don't think there has been a day where I didn't get wet." Lol poor Kookie

Jimin with his sleeve rolled up and that backwards hat transported me STRAIGHT back to 2014 😳😂

Rainy day fight pt 2 with the umbrella in a parking lot, followed by JK step it up dance in the rain edition 😂🤣

JK ordering for the table again 💜

Someone count the amount of times that Jimin fondly watched JK and said that he looks cute or cool, because it's been a lot lol

Jimin waiting patiently while his TikToker boyfriend bestie takes crazy cinematic videos of their food before ending on a close up of Jimins face 🤣😂 Beautiful honestly lol

They ended their trip with comments about being so happy and having such a good time. 🥰💜

And JK saying they should do at LEAST 12 seasons and travel together until they are like 50 😂🤣😂

Wrap up thoughts:

I am both not surprised by anything and yet also fully taken aback by their little morning routine in bed there that one day 😂 I've pretty much said all I can say on that though above.

Jikook both clearly have the exact same sense of humor, sarcastic and dry at times, stupid giggly at others. Again, nothing new information wise but something I'll always enjoy seeing. Boy do they bicker in the cutest freaking ways lol

That hyung/dongsaeng relationship, yeah that doesn't fucking exist for them at all. Lol yeah sure, they use the words.... Sometimes. But that is not their dynamic. Again, we been knew. But the constant consistency from them is always nice. Lol

There is zero filter and zero boundaries and yes, we knew that too. And while yes we technically should have known that all of BTS, having lived on top of each other for so many years, have absolutely seen each other at their absolute lowest. It's another thing to witness the zero filter about toileting troubles 😂 and how zero issue it was too. No embarrassment, no judgement, just taking care of him and jokes and having fun anyway.

Jikook are the definition of matching each other's freak. 100% lmfao

They LOVE taking care of each other. The cooking, the babying, the constant wanting to do something for the other, the musical praise and discussions.

I liked this episode even better than the first! This is my new favorite show, thanks Jikook!!

#jikook #kookmin #minkook #jungji #jikook in 2023 #jikook are you sure #jikook travel show #jikook loving each other #Jikook cuddles

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beesgobzzzing · 1 month ago

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From https://www.sverigesradio.se/avsnitt/hooja-kaarija-om-tanken-pa-att-tavla-i-eurovision

Translation / Transcript under the cut. This interview was really nice, I highly suggest you give it a listen even if you don't speak Swedish!

Hooja and Käärijä about the thought of competing in Eurovision

Interviewer (Carolina): What an exciting collaboration! Hooja together with Käärijä. [In English] I didn't see this one coming, I can tell you that. And I will start in Swedish, with you, Hooja. [In Swedish] How in the world did this end up happening?

Hooja: We're not as different as you could think. We've been saying that both of us are crazy, we definitely saw that in the studio when we met, because we had so unbelievably much fun when writing this song. So we… we really fit well together, both personalities and musically. Writing this song was a LOT of fun.

Carolina: Yeah, because… I mean… but HOW did you meet from the start so that this ended up happening?

Mårdis: At first we had been tittle-tattling in our camp about how it would be fun, because we see a lot of similarities in each other despite also being so dissimilar. And then they apparently had also been talking in THEIR camp as well, so it sort of came up in a roundabout way AGAIN that "he wants to make something with you". So we decided that we'll go down and do this, and we met up, and we had fun, and there was no pressure, no idea was bad, we were there for two days and just laughed. And that's what happens when you have fun, too, you make music from that, and that's how we got San Francisco Boy, our lovely child that we have together. [In English, to K] San Francisco Boy is our child that we have together.

Käärijä: Yes!

Carolina: A love child.

Käärijä: YES!! (Laughter)

Carolina: So, Käärijä, I must ask you, have you seen them without their masks?

Käärijä: Maybe I see more than only face…

Carolina: In the sauna..?

Käärijä: Maybe… (Even more laughter and something unintelligible about a mask)

Carolina: But it's so nice to see, because they just said, in Swedish, that when they were in the studio, they laughed so much. Was it the same for you?

Käärijä: Yes, yes. And, uh, I remember, first time, because you start to make like, the beats, and you played that song in Finland, to me, and I'm "uh, ok, this is… this is very funny and crazy and I feel good" when the boys played the song. And uh, then we start to try and do something and we get the song San Francisco Boy. And, uh… very, very good times and we get a lot of fun.

Carolina: [In Swedish] And the funny part is, San Francisco Boy, is in Swedish and English, but I'm thinking this - We have northern Sweden, we have Finland, and we end up with San Francisco Boy. (Laughter) Is there any hidden meaning with this?

Hooja: Why not? [In English] Why not? (Laughter) [In Swedish] We don't like doing the most obvious thing.

Carolina: No, no.

Hooja: No.

Carolina: But there is no hidden meaning in the song?

Hooja: No, I don't really think there is. What do you think? (To K and Mårdis)

Mårdis: If there's a message in the song, this is what we said when we started with the song - Disco Boy, San Francisco Boy, whatever you want to be, if you want to be Orange Boy or Finland Boy then you're allowed to be that. That was a thing that we really agree upon, that… It sounds cliche, you know, "you can be who you want to be", but we really think that. For real. And it's important to us. And that we could put that into a funny song, that just sort of happened, and it's nice.

Carolina: And now you're here at Melodifestivalen, and get a taste of… wait, get a feeling of what it's like being here. Have you considered Hooja in Melodifestivalen?

Hooja: Well… Never say never, we've gotten the question a few times and we've said no then, but you never know what the future holds! You don't want to say too much, you need to.. you need to watch your words.

Carolina: [In English] Käärijä help me here, I'm trying persuade them to do the Swedish Melodifestivalen.

Käärijä: I think the boys have to make öööh, to use what they want to do. Maybe… Maybe some day. For me, why I tried to go to Eurovision in 2023, we made the song Cha Cha Cha, and it's like the first demo, and I'm thinking, "okay, this is more than just only song, we can do something bigger" and one way how we can do something bigger, um, we can go to Eurovision, and uh, I watching a lot of Eurovision when I was young.

Mårdis: And if we want to go to Eurovision one day, we are very happy to have a Eurovision veteran with us, who can guide us through life.

Käärijä: Yes, I can be your manager. (Laughter)

Carolina: That is a brilliant idea! [In Swedish] We have this on tape now. [In English] We have it on record here.

Käärijä: Yes, yes!

Carolina: Now we come..

Käärijä: We have a plan, boys! Yes, let's go to studio. (Laughter)

Carolina: I will call the EBU immediately and say "Hi, I've got three guys who will SHAKE the Eurovision around". (Laughter) But I must also ask you, Käärijä, coming second after Loreen but winning the public vote… Are you still mad? Are people in Finland still mad at Sweden? [Bees note: The interviewer's tone of voice here is very genuine and almost… apologetic?]

Käärijä: I think that people in Finland, they are mad, but not really… I'm not. Of course I remember time after final where they give the points and I saw that Loreen get more points than me, I going to cry on toilet, but… (giggles) but yes, I'm ok and Loreen is amazing artist and person, human, I love Loreen. And after final, Loreen sent me the message to "Käärijä, if you need something…"

Hooja, breaking in: Except the price… (Laughter)

Käärijä: If you need money or something… (Laughter)

Mårdis: If you want to look at the price… (Laughter)

Käärijä: But yeah, good person and I… I'm not care any more, I'm ok (giggling)

Carolina: To wrap it up then, a final question I'm very curious about, will you proceed doing this (stumbles over words) [In Swedish] I'll just do it in Swedish - will the collaboration continue? [In English] Will you continue this collaboration?

Hooja: You never know! No but, uh, you do never know.

Mårdis: I think the thing with us, we only do things that are fun for us, it's the only thing we care about, that's what music is for us. If it's fun, we're going to do it, and we've had a lot of fun with this too, so I'm ending it just like Hooja, you never know! (Laughter)

Carolina: [In English] Ok, two diplomatic answers, that they had fun, Käärijä, the Finnish vote - this sounds like a dating show! - do you want to continue dating these boys?

Käärijä: You don't know yet! But I think, boys, you can't run away anymore, when you do work with Käärijä you stay with Käärijä. (Laughter) Oh yes, yes, yes (Laughter) But uh, yeah, I hope we do other songs and more songs, and uh, let's see!

Hooja: Yeah!

Carolina: Thank you very much! [In Swedish] Thank you so much, I'm crossing my fingers we get more from your collab in the future! (Collective "woo-hoo!")

#käärijä #jere pöyhönen #hooja #dj mårdhund #mårdis #san francisco boy #melodifestivalen

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satellite-evans · 21 days ago

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closure

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x ex!reader

Summary: you don't need Carlos' closure.

Word count: 2k+

Warnings: angst, based on the Taylor Swift song

A/N:

This my third fic for the folkmore series, and it is with none other than Carlos Sainz! This is my first time writing for him so I was quite nervous, please tell me what you think!

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

It arrives in your inbox at 2:17 AM, the timestamp almost mocking the stillness of the night. The world outside is quiet, the kind of silence that fills your room with its weight, pressing against your ribs as if the very air knows what’s coming.

The email subject line is simple.

Just wanted you to know.

For a moment, you just stare at it. The words are innocuous, almost casual, but your heart knows better. You’ve seen that phrase before—at least in the way it echoed in your mind, in the way you tried to convince yourself you’d be fine without any more explanations.

And for some reason, you already know what it’s about. You don’t need to open it to feel the heavy, familiar knot tightening in your stomach. The ache in your chest that had dulled over time, the one you had worked so hard to ignore, throbs with renewed intensity, as if it’s alive and remembering the shape of old wounds. It’s as though your body recognizes him before your mind even does, and it reacts accordingly—a reflex you can’t outrun.

Your hands tremble slightly, the familiar sensation of fear and longing mixing in your veins, but you can't bring yourself to look away. The old ache becomes a weight in your throat, too, and for a moment, you're almost paralyzed by the gravity of it. You know this isn’t just a message. This is a door opening, an invitation to face something you buried deep. But you click on it anyway, drawn in by something you can’t explain, a part of you still hoping that maybe—just maybe—this will be the thing that makes it all make sense.

I just wanted you to know I hope you're doing well. I know things ended messy between us, and I hate that. I really do. I never wanted to hurt you, and I know that I did.

I’m sorry for how I left. For not saying enough. For saying too much. For everything in between.

I hope you’re happy. I really do.

- Carlos.

The words stare back at you, flat on the screen, sterile and detached. They sit there like a sentence of finality, as if they’re not even meant for you, but for someone who doesn’t carry the weight of your history with him. It’s just an email—another digital scrap of text sent into the void of the night. But after everything, after all that’s passed, this is what he gives you? Does he think that you’re just a situation that needs to be handled? A string of hollow words with no breath behind them, no warmth, nothing that even remotely resembles the person you once knew. No, not even that. The person you thought you knew.

It was almost ironic how the shape of his name still spelled out pain. Every letter, every syllable, carried a weight that dug deep, as if each time you thought of him, the wound reopened. It was strange, how someone you once loved could still manage to hurt you, even in their absence. Everything about him—his words, his actions, even his silence—had caused so much damage that it was honestly a little concerning.

You hated him. No, despised him. The anger simmered under your skin like a constant burn, always just beneath the surface, ready to erupt. The audacity he had, the way he thought he could just walk away, leaving destruction in his wake—it was almost unbelievable. He was wrong in so many ways the day he broke up with you. The way it all went down, how he acted like it was the easiest thing in the world, how he twisted every word you’d said into something it wasn’t—it was wrong, all of it. And by the looks of it, he probably knew by now. He had to. The way time had passed, the way people talked, the way you’d changed—he had to know the damage he’d done.

Your mind replays the last time you saw him. You can still picture it so vividly—the way he had stood in the doorway of your apartment, arms crossed over his chest like a shield, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t read. He looked smaller somehow, the exhaustion wearing him down, hanging off of him like a second skin, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet he couldn't find it in himself to care about you anymore. The lines in his face were deeper, like time had been more unforgiving to him than you ever realized. The way his jaw clenched so tightly when you had begged him to just talk to you, that desperate plea falling from your lips like a prayer, but he wouldn’t listen. His silence had cut deeper than anything he could have said. The way he hadn’t looked back when he walked away. Not once. Not a single glance. Like you didn’t exist. That was when you realized he had put a distance between you two ages ago that you were finally seeing—a sea you were too tired to cross.

The door had clicked shut behind him with a finality that shattered you into pieces you weren’t sure you could ever put back together. That sound—the click of the lock—wasn’t just the end of a visit, but the end of everything. The end of any future you thought you’d have together. You didn’t just lose him in that moment. You lost the life you’d built around him. And you’ve been trying to rebuild ever since.

And now, months later, this. This email. A quiet, late-night message, sterile in its simplicity, like he was trying to offer a neat little bow to wrap up the wreckage he left behind. But there’s no ribbon to tie, no neatness to this. What he gave you wasn’t closure—it was a reminder that, for all his talk of wanting to make amends, he’s still incapable of meeting you where you need him.

You slam your laptop shut, too quickly, too harshly, as if the words might physically reach out and strangle you if you don’t. For a moment, your fingers linger on the lid, shaking, the intensity of your pulse drowning out the quiet hum of the city outside. The night has become suffocating, and you can’t tell if it’s because of the email, or because you’re finally confronting what you’ve been trying to ignore for so long. The pain hasn’t gone anywhere, and neither has the ache. It sits with you like an old friend, one you can’t seem to shake.

It’s almost laughable, really. You can’t help but chuckle bitterly to yourself as you stare at the screen. He thinks he’s giving you closure. That this carefully constructed email, this rehearsed apology, is supposed to fix something, to heal the rift that’s been eating away at you for months. That it will somehow mend the fractures in your heart as if it’s something that can be neatly patched up with a few well-chosen words. But the truth is, it doesn’t even come close. No, this isn’t closure. This isn’t even an attempt at healing—it’s just an afterthought, a last-ditch effort to clear his conscience without ever truly facing the damage he caused. And it’s almost insulting.

Closure isn’t an email at 2 AM, casually dropped into your life as though he’s just checking off a box. It isn’t a collection of words stripped of warmth, void of real feeling, written at a distance, with no regard for the time, or the place, or the person it’s supposed to reach. Closure would have been a conversation. A real one. A face-to-face moment where he would have stayed, where he would have stayed long enough to listen, to hear you, and not just walk away the moment it got hard. That would have been closure. But he didn’t stay. He left you behind with nothing but the echoes of your unanswered questions.

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you struggle to steady yourself. You take a deep breath, but it shudders on the way in, uneven and sharp. It feels like your lungs are betraying you, like they can’t hold the air in anymore, and you’re left gasping in the void between anger and heartache. Your throat is thick with unshed tears, but you refuse to let them fall. Not again. Not for him. You’ve cried enough tears for him already, enough for a lifetime. You promised yourself you wouldn’t do this anymore, that you wouldn’t let him be the reason you hurt.

You want to reply. You want to scream, to let him know how deeply he’s failed you, how his absence is still an open wound, festering in the corners of your mind. You want to tell him that, even now, you still wake up in the middle of the night, expecting to hear his voice, expecting to feel the weight of his arm around your waist. You still reach for him in the dark, your fingers grasping at air, and you realize too late that he’s not there. You want to tell him that every time you see red—Ferrari red, that damn red, the color of his car, of everything he used to be to you—you feel like you might break all over again, like all the pieces you’ve tried to pick up and put together have shattered into even smaller bits.

But he's not Ferrari red anymore. He's Williams blue now. You’d probably be a new wrinkle in his life, a person who wouldn’t fit. Heck, you didn’t even fit when he was in Ferrari. You could answer him back, tell him you forgave him, that you both could be friends again. Maybe that would iron everything out nicely.

But you won’t. You won’t give him that satisfaction. You won’t give him the power to pull you back into this mess, into this space where you lose yourself every time you think about him. He doesn’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to let him keep doing this to you.

The frustration, the hurt, the unanswered questions—they all feel like they're swirling in a storm that won't quiet. You crawl into bed, pulling the blankets around yourself as if they could offer the protection your mind and heart desperately crave.

You are fine. Everything is fine. You had your beers, your occasional crying sessions, your candles. You were doing so much better without him. You had to.

It cut deep, knowing him, all the way to the bone. The breakup had been necessary. It had to be. You were healing, getting better, moving on. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

But the ache in your chest and the rapid, shallow breaths you couldn't control told a different story. It was one you knew the ending to but didn’t want to face. His email was oh so unnecessary, cruel even. He had broken up with you months ago, and yet here he was again, trying to reach back into your life. He shouldn’t have contacted you. He should’ve left you alone.

And you definitely should’ve stayed in bed.

Hatred and regret twisted inside of you, each trying to take the lead, but you were too exhausted to figure out which was winning. Still, you knew you had to respond.

Your gaze lingered on the laptop screen for what felt like hours, your mind scrambling for the right words, something that could strike him, something that would hurt, something that would linger with him forever the way he had lingered in your life. But nothing came.

Instead, what you found was something deeper—something far more painful.

Acceptance.

Acceptance was the true winner in the battle between your emotions. It was the thing you’d been running from, the thing you’d fought so hard to avoid. You had accepted it.

It was over.

So, with a steady hand, you typed the final words you’d ever send him and blocked his email so he could never contact you again.

"I don’t need your closure."

55 notes · View notes

amethystarachnid · 2 months ago

Note

30. Holiday Movie Night with the Avengers (or X-Men) – The Avengers decide to have a Christmas movie marathon for the whole family. Your character is skeptical about the cheesy movies, but what happens when they get caught up in the holiday spirit?

My character is Tony Stark, please, and I'm a female reader ❤️ I was thinking that maybe they are best friends, and seeing how happy the reader is watching those movies, he'll realize he has feelings for her and in the next day he'll invite her to a date inspired in some movie scene and tell her he loves her and ask her to be his girlfriend and she'll say yes because she loves him too, and please, lots of kisses 🤭 ohh, and they can turn "watching movies" into their cute little tradition too 😊

Thank you 😊

MOVIE NIGHT & KISSES

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.7k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The living room of the Avengers compound looks like a Christmas card threw up all over it. Tony’s doing, obviously. You step inside, arms loaded with snacks—because you don’t trust Tony not to have stocked up exclusively on the weird gourmet stuff no one likes—and immediately trip over a tiny reindeer statue.

“Why?” you ask the air. Tony’s voice floats down the hallway before his actual appearance.

“Why what? Be more specific, or I’ll assume you’re asking why I’m fabulous.”

You roll your eyes and dump your cargo of chips, popcorn, and candy on the coffee table. “Why is there a deer the size of a toddler lying in wait for my ankles? It’s assault.”

Tony finally enters, grinning like he’s just pulled off a massive heist instead of, you know, redecorating. “You mean Blitzen? He’s festive. And you should really watch where you’re walking. Consider it a training exercise.”

“Blitzen,” you deadpan, already fishing around for scissors to open the snack bags. “You named the little menace Blitzen.”

“Of course, I did. What do you take me for, a savage? Anyway, what’s that—Pringles? Ugh, so pedestrian. Don’t worry, I’ve got foie gras chips in the kitchen.”

“Tony, no,” you say, cutting him off. “No one’s eating foie gras anything during movie night.”

“Fine. Keep your proletariat palate,” he huffs, but there’s no bite to it as he snags a bag of M&Ms and flops onto the couch like it’s claimed him.

The others start trickling in soon after, voices overlapping in that chaotic yet strangely comfortable way you’ve come to expect from these gatherings. Natasha is the first to spot the reindeer and gives you a knowing look.

“You trip over that thing yet?” she asks.

“Blitzen almost ended me,” you confirm, earning a snort.

“Is Tony naming inanimate objects again?” Steve asks, clearly trying and failing to hide a smile as he surveys the chaos.

“Not just naming them,” you say, gesturing at the garlands, twinkling lights, and a giant Santa hat perched on one corner of the TV. “He’s created an entire ecosystem.”

Thor, arriving last but with the biggest entrance, spots the reindeer and scoops it up like it’s an actual living thing. “What a curious creature!” he declares, cradling it as though it might respond. “May I keep it?”

“Absolutely not,” Tony says, looking horrified. “Blitzen is part of the ambiance.”

You try not to laugh, but it bubbles out anyway, and Tony shoots you a mock glare. “This is the respect I get from my so-called best friend? Unbelievable.”

“Your ‘best friend’ just saved movie night from foie gras chips, so I think I’ve earned the right to laugh,” you retort, throwing yourself onto the couch next to him.

The movie selection process devolves into chaos, as usual. Clint tries to sneak in a Christmas horror movie, Natasha threatens to walk out if it’s not something at least tolerable, and Steve insists on something “classic,” which somehow leads to a passionate argument over whether Die Hard qualifies as a Christmas movie.

Through it all, Tony leans closer to you, voice low. “If this debate goes on for another five minutes, I say we hijack the remote and put on Iron Man 3. Christmas and a superhero. Win-win.”

You snort, nudging him with your shoulder. “Tempting, but I don’t think your ego could survive the fallout.”

“Oh, please,” he replies, tossing an arm over the back of the couch—dangerously close to your shoulders, but you don’t mind. “My ego’s indestructible.”

Eventually, the group settles on a compromise: Home Alone, mostly because Thor declares he’s never seen it and everyone agrees watching his reactions will be worth it.

As the opening credits roll, Tony leans closer. “This is cozy,” he says, a bit quieter than usual. His fingers graze yours on the couch, almost hesitant.

It’s a small moment, but it feels like the beginning of something. You glance at him, catching his slight smirk and the way his eyes flick toward the screen—but not before they linger on you just a second too long.

“Yeah,” you reply, smiling despite yourself. “It is.”

Kevin McCallister’s family is in full-on holiday chaos, and Thor is already narrating everything happening on screen like it’s the most thrilling battle sequence he’s ever witnessed.

“This small one is quite cunning,” Thor declares as Kevin rigs up a rudimentary alarm system using toy cars and string. “His enemies shall rue the day they underestimated him!”

“Thor, buddy,” Clint says between mouthfuls of popcorn, “we’re ten minutes in. The burglars haven’t even shown up yet.”

“Then they are fools!” Thor retorts, clutching the reindeer statue—Blitzen—to his chest like a comfort object. “He will outwit them with his warrior’s guile.”

Tony leans closer to you, and you can feel the warmth of him even before he murmurs, “You ever feel like we’re babysitting a very excitable golden retriever?”

You laugh, low and quiet. “A golden retriever with lightning powers. No pressure.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest where his arm is still casually draped over the back of the couch. You don’t even notice when his fingers start to toy idly with the fabric of your sleeve.

The movie continues, and Thor’s commentary only grows more dramatic. When Kevin sets up his elaborate booby traps, Thor sits up straighter, his eyes gleaming with admiration.

“A master tactician!” he declares, and when Kevin’s paint can swings down the stairs to clobber one of the burglars, Thor actually roars with laughter. “A fine blow! Truly, this child deserves to sit at the table of warriors!”

Natasha leans toward you, whispering just loud enough for you and Tony to hear. “We should tell Thor that Kevin’s real superpower is abandonment issues.”

Tony snorts into his drink, and you elbow him lightly. “Be nice,” you say, even though you’re stifling your own laughter.

The movie progresses, and somewhere between Kevin faking a party with mannequins and setting Harry’s head on fire, you start to shift closer to Tony without even realizing it. It’s not a conscious thing—you just naturally lean toward the warmth of him, especially when his arm slides from the back of the couch to drape over your shoulders.

You think it’s just Tony being Tony—he’s always been a tactile kind of guy, quick with a casual touch or a teasing nudge—but you don’t notice the way he freezes for half a second before relaxing again, his fingers brushing lightly against your upper arm.

The truth is, Tony’s barely paying attention to the movie anymore. He’s too busy fighting the sudden, overwhelming realization that he’s completely, undeniably in love with you. It hits him somewhere between Thor’s boisterous laughter and the way your hair catches the soft glow of the Christmas lights strung across the room.

He’s Tony Stark. He’s built suits that fly, survived impossible odds, and traded snark with gods—but the idea of telling you how he feels? That terrifies him.

So, instead, he lets himself have this moment. He lets himself enjoy the way you’re snuggled against his side, your head resting lightly against his shoulder, your laughter bright and unguarded as you watch the movie.

You, of course, are blissfully unaware of the internal crisis unfolding next to you. You’re too busy giggling at Thor’s indignant outrage when one of the burglars steps on a nail.

“That would never pierce true Asgardian steel!” Thor exclaims, pounding the arm of the couch for emphasis. “These mortal feet are most fragile.”

“It’s a movie, big guy,” Clint says, tossing a popcorn kernel in Thor’s direction. “You’re supposed to suspend disbelief.”

Thor catches the kernel mid-air with surprising grace and pops it into his mouth. “A strange custom,” he mutters, but he settles back down, still cradling Blitzen.

As the movie nears its climax, you shift slightly, tucking your legs up onto the couch. Without thinking, you rest your head more firmly against Tony’s shoulder, and his arm tightens around you just a fraction.

“This is nice,” you murmur, half to yourself.

“Yeah,” Tony replies, his voice softer than you’re used to hearing. “It is.”

He doesn’t look at the screen. He doesn’t need to. The way you fit against him, the way your laughter feels like the warmest part of the room—that’s all he cares about. But he’s Tony Stark, so he masks it with a quip. “Although I’m starting to feel personally attacked by how much Kevin loves duct tape.”

You laugh, swatting at his chest lightly. “If the suit fits…”

“I’ll have you know duct tape is a versatile and invaluable tool,” he says, grinning down at you. “It’s like me—underappreciated but indispensable.”

Natasha, who’s apparently been paying more attention to you two than the movie, leans over again. “You two gonna make it through the night without bickering like an old married couple, or should we set up counseling now?”

Tony doesn’t miss a beat. “I’d make an excellent husband, for the record.”

You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks warm inexplicably. “Good to know, Tony. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He smirks, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his expression, something almost vulnerable, before he masks it with his usual bravado.

By the time the movie ends and Kevin’s family finally comes home, Thor is on his feet, applauding like he’s just witnessed the greatest cinematic masterpiece of all time.

“A truly glorious tale!” he declares. “The boy is a hero of the highest caliber. I must share this story with the warriors of Asgard.”

Steve claps Thor on the back, clearly trying not to laugh. “I’m sure they’ll love it, big guy.”

The group starts to disperse after that, everyone gathering up their plates and drinks and muttering goodnights. Tony’s still sitting with you on the couch, his arm loose around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You staying?” he asks casually, but there’s a note of something more in his voice.

“Yeah,” you reply, smiling up at him. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

He grins, and for a moment, you think there’s something different in his eyes—something softer, warmer—but then he’s back to his usual self, teasing you about stealing the good spot on the couch.

Neither of you moves, though. The others leave, the credits roll, and the room quiets, but you and Tony stay there, comfortably tangled together under the glow of the Christmas lights.

You sit at the small kitchen table in your apartment, cradling a mug of coffee and scrolling through your phone. The morning sunlight streams through the window, catching on the tiny particles of dust floating lazily in the air. It’s quiet, peaceful, a welcome contrast to the loud, boisterous chaos of movie night at the compound. You’re mid-sip when your phone buzzes with a message, and you glance down to see the sender: “Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️.”

Tony. Of course.

You smirk to yourself—he hates that nickname, which makes it all the more satisfying that it’s what you’ve saved him as. Opening the message, you find it’s short and to the point.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Hey, you free tonight?

Your eyebrows raise. Not a “good morning” or even a “hope you survived Blitzen.” Classic Tony, straight to the point. You type back quickly.

You: What’s it to you, Stark?

The response comes almost immediately.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Just answer the question, smartass.

You laugh into your coffee, shaking your head. It’s too early for this.

You: Yeah, I’m free. Why?

This time, there’s a slight pause before his next message comes through.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Good. I’m picking you up at 7. Wear something nice.

You nearly choke on your coffee.

You: Excuse me? What is this?

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: It’s called dinner. People eat it.

You: Are you bribing me with food?

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: No, I’m taking you to a restaurant.

You: Is this a date, Stark?

You’re joking—mostly—but the reply that pops up a moment later makes you freeze.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Yeah.

You blink at the screen, half expecting the words to rearrange themselves into something less earth-shattering. They don’t.

You: Seriously?

Three dots appear, disappear, and then reappear. Somewhere across town, you know Tony is staring at his phone with the same level of panic you’re feeling.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Yeah. Seriously.

Your heart stumbles into a gallop, and you stare at the phone, the words it’s a date looping in your mind like a broken record. You’re equal parts thrilled and terrified, your stomach doing flips like it’s auditioning for the circus. You’ve always known Tony flirts with anything that moves, but this… this feels different.

You: Okay. I’ll be ready.

You don’t know how you manage to type it without your hands shaking. On the other side of the city, Tony is probably sweating bullets, wondering if he’s just ruined everything. But as you set your phone down and glance at the clock, the only thing you can think is, Oh, God. I have nothing to wear.

By the time you’ve finished your breakfast, you’re mentally cataloging your closet and deciding nothing in it will do. You know Tony well enough to know that when he says “wear something nice,” he doesn’t mean a cute sweater and jeans. No, he’ll have picked some ridiculously fancy place where the appetizers cost more than your electric bill.

The afternoon turns into a whirlwind of trying on every remotely elegant outfit you own. The black dress? Too basic. The navy one? No, that’s what you wore to Natasha’s birthday last year. The red one? It’s a showstopper, sure, but is it too much?

You eventually settle on a dress you haven’t worn in ages—a deep emerald green number that fits like it was tailored just for you. Pairing it with heels and some understated jewelry, you give yourself one last critical look in the mirror.

“Not bad,” you mutter to your reflection, though the butterflies in your stomach are anything but calm.

By the time 7 o’clock rolls around, you’re pacing your apartment, trying not to overthink every detail. You’ve spent the entire day replaying Tony’s text messages, dissecting every word, and now you’re a bundle of nerves.

The buzz of your phone breaks the silence, and you check it to see another message from Tin Can Man.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: I’m downstairs.

Grabbing your coat and bag, you take a deep breath, steeling yourself. When you step outside, there he is, leaning casually against a sleek black car that looks like it costs more than your apartment building. He’s dressed impeccably, of course—dark suit, crisp shirt, no tie, but the top button undone just enough to scream effortless charm.

“You clean up well,” you say, trying to sound more composed than you feel.

Tony’s gaze sweeps over you, and for a moment, he doesn’t reply. His usual smirk softens into something you can’t quite place, something that makes your heart skip a beat.

“You look… wow,” he says finally, and it’s so un-Tony-like that you can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Stark.”

He grins, holding the car door open for you with a flourish. “Your chariot awaits, milady.”

As you slide into the car, you wonder if Tony’s as nervous as you are. If he is, he hides it well. But when he gets behind the wheel, you notice his grip on the steering wheel is just a little tighter than usual.

Neither of you says much during the drive, but the air is charged with something unspoken. When you arrive at the restaurant—a place so fancy it doesn’t even have a sign—you turn to Tony, arching an eyebrow.

“Subtle,” you tease, gesturing at the valet waiting to park the car.

Tony shrugs, smirking. “What can I say? I have a reputation to uphold.”

Inside, the restaurant is even more extravagant than you expected. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and the soft hum of a piano drifts through the air. You’re suddenly very aware of how out of your element you feel, but Tony, ever the smooth talker, leads you to a table like he owns the place.

The evening unfolds in a blur of good food, light banter, and moments where you catch Tony looking at you with an expression that makes your cheeks warm. By the time dessert arrives, you’re no longer nervous—you’re just happy.

And maybe falling for your best friend wasn’t such a crazy idea after all.

The restaurant is a swirl of elegance and opulence. You sit at a cozy, candlelit table near a window that offers a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The warm glow of the chandeliers dances off the pristine silverware, and the soft murmur of conversations fills the air like a melody. Across from you, Tony looks uncharacteristically calm—at least on the surface.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Stark,” you say, gesturing to the impeccably arranged plate in front of you. It’s some kind of artistically deconstructed dish that looks almost too pretty to eat. Almost.

“Outdoing myself is my specialty,” he replies with a wink, swirling the wine in his glass. But there’s something in his eyes, a flicker of nervousness he’s trying hard to hide.

The conversation flows easily as the courses arrive one by one. You talk about everything and nothing—the latest Avengers antics, your recent binge of terrible reality TV, and Tony’s latest tech project, which involves an overly ambitious plan to automate coffee-making robots.

“And how’s that working out?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs, grinning. “Let’s just say I’ve destroyed two espresso machines and one microwave. But progress is progress.”

You laugh, the sound filling the small bubble the two of you have created. There’s a moment of quiet, the kind that feels comfortable and loaded at the same time. Tony’s gaze lingers on you, and you suddenly feel warm, the candlelight only adding to the effect.

“What?” you ask, your voice softer now.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, looking away for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “Just… you look happy. I like it.”

You blink, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his tone. Tony Stark doesn’t do sentimental—not usually. But tonight, there’s something different about him, something almost vulnerable.

When dessert is served—a rich chocolate creation that looks like it belongs in a museum—Tony leans back in his chair, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“So,” he says, “you’re enjoying yourself?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t,” you reply, taking a bite of the dessert. “This is probably the fanciest dinner I’ve ever had.”

His smirk widens. “Good. Because the date hasn’t even started yet.”

You freeze mid-bite, narrowing your eyes at him. “What do you mean, hasn’t started? Tony, we’re literally on a date right now.”

He stands, tossing a few bills onto the table to cover the check—because of course he doesn’t wait for the server. Extending a hand to you, he says, “Trust me, sweetheart. This was just the warm-up.”

Curiosity and excitement war in your chest as you let him lead you out of the restaurant and back to the car. Once you’re settled in, he glances at you, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.

“Just… keep an open mind, okay?” he says, his voice quieter now.

“Tony Stark, what are you up to?”

“You’ll see,” he replies, his usual confidence tinged with something you can’t quite place.

The car ride is a blur, and when he finally pulls up to your next destination, your jaw drops.

The scene before you looks like something straight out of a movie—your favorite movie, to be exact. It’s an outdoor setting, lit by dozens of string lights and lanterns. A small, charming gazebo sits in the center, surrounded by fairy lights that twinkle like stars. There’s a vintage record player set up, softly playing the theme from the movie you’ve watched more times than you can count.

“Tony…” you whisper, stepping out of the car. “How did you—”

He shrugs, but there’s a hint of nervousness in his posture. “You mentioned it once. Something about how you thought this was the perfect date, so… I figured I’d give it a shot.”

You turn to him, your heart swelling so much it feels like it might burst. “You did this for me?”

“Yeah, well, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “I just wanted it to be… special.”

“Tony,” you breathe, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face. “It’s perfect.”

He visibly relaxes at your words, his shoulders dropping a fraction. Taking your hand, he leads you toward the gazebo, where a small table is set with two glasses of champagne.

The two of you sit, the city’s bustle far away, the moment feeling almost surreal. You’re about to tease him about being a closet romantic when he stands suddenly, pacing a few steps before turning to face you.

“Okay,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. “I had this whole speech planned, but it’s probably terrible, and I’m gonna screw it up, but—”

“Tony,” you interrupt, standing and moving closer to him. “What’s going on?”

He takes a deep breath, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he says, his words rushing out in a way that makes your heart ache for him. “And I know I’m not exactly the easiest guy to deal with, and I probably don’t deserve you, but… I love you.”

Your breath catches.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice steadier now. “And I want to know if you’ll—if you’ll be my girlfriend.”

For a moment, you just stare at him, the world spinning and standing still all at once. He looks so uncharacteristically vulnerable, his usual bravado stripped away, and it’s the most honest, beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Yes,” you say finally, your voice soft but sure.

His eyes widen. “Yes?”

“Yes, Tony,” you repeat, stepping closer and cupping his face in your hands. “I love you too.”

Relief floods his features, and then he’s pulling you into his arms, holding you like he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go.

“You have no idea how much I wanted to hear that,” he murmurs against your hair.

You laugh, the sound full of joy. “You should’ve said something sooner, you idiot.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his grin finally returning. “Yeah, well, you know me. Always gotta make a scene.”

And as he leans down to kiss you, the world fades away, leaving only the warmth of his lips against yours, the twinkling lights around you, and the overwhelming feeling that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

The night sky stretches above you in all its vast, glittering glory, each star twinkling like tiny diamonds. The air is crisp but not too cold, the kind of chill that makes snuggling up feel like the best idea ever. You and Tony are still in the gazebo, but now you’re lying on a soft blanket, tucked close together, the twinkling lights overhead mixing with the stars.

Tony’s arm is wrapped around you, pulling you into his side like he doesn’t want to let go. His fingers trace light patterns along your arm, the sensation sending little shivers up your spine, though it’s not cold. It’s just him—his touch, his presence, everything about him.

You’re trying to focus on the sky, trying to keep your thoughts from wandering into how impossibly perfect this feels. The night is still, save for the soft rustling of the leaves in the trees around you, and the soft strains of the music drifting from the record player. The atmosphere feels like something out of a dream. This is a dream, right? Or maybe the best kind of reality.

“You know,” Tony says, his voice warm and full of that familiar teasing tone, “I had a whole speech planned for tonight. Thought I’d sound all suave, you know? But the second I saw you… I kinda forgot it all.”

You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow, your lips twitching into a smile. “You were going to give a speech?”

“Of course. I was gonna be all, ‘From the moment I met you, I knew you were destined to be mine,’ or something equally charming,” he replies, pretending to sound dramatic and smooth. He exaggerates the ‘destined’ part, earning a small laugh from you.

“And why didn’t you?”

Tony shrugs, giving you an exaggerated, almost childlike look. “Well, I got distracted by how ridiculously beautiful you look tonight. Didn’t really need the speech after all.”

You snort, glancing over at him. “Oh, so now you’ve forgotten how to flirt.”

“I never forget,” he says, sounding more like a proud peacock than anything else. He shifts so he’s leaning over you just a little more, his eyes gleaming mischievously. “I just use actions to back up my words, princess.”

“Oh, really?” You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the teasing tone in your voice, but your heart is already doing little somersaults in your chest.

Before you can finish your thought, Tony leans in, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose. It’s quick, playful, but there’s something in it—something that sends warmth spreading through you from your cheeks all the way down to your toes. You giggle, brushing your nose.

“That’s how you back up your words? With nose kisses?”

“Nope.” His lips hover just above your skin, and he presses a lingering kiss to your cheek. “I like to keep you on your toes.”

You grin, feeling giddy. “Well, you’re doing a good job of that, Stark.”

You tilt your head back, letting your hair spill out behind you like a waterfall, and your lips brush against his cheek in return. His breath hitches just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting it. He turns his face toward you, and suddenly his lips are on yours, soft and warm and impossibly sweet. It’s a kiss that lingers, slow and tender, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still.

He pulls back just a fraction, his forehead resting against yours. You stay like that for a moment, eyes closed, savoring the feeling of him being so close. There’s no rush, no need for words—just the soft rhythm of breathing, the beating of two hearts that finally seem in sync.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Tony murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You grin, tilting your head to look up at him. “What? Because I’m capable of giving you a kiss on the cheek?”

“Oh, that’s not what I’m talking about, sweetheart,” Tony says, his voice suddenly softer, more vulnerable. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, and when he speaks again, there’s a tenderness in his voice that makes your chest tighten. “I’m talking about how you make me feel. How lucky I am to have you here. With me.”

You blink, heart flipping. “Tony…”

“Yeah,” he says, laughing under his breath. “I know I’m Tony Stark, but I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s got me totally wrapped around your finger.” He gives you a playful wink, but there’s something more genuine behind it.

“Look at you being all sentimental,” you tease, trying to hide the growing warmth in your chest.

He narrows his eyes playfully. “I’m sentimental for you, sweetheart. Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you reply with a soft laugh. “I think I could get used to it.”

You lean up to kiss him again, a little slower this time, but just as sweet. His hands slip around your waist, pulling you closer, as if he can’t get close enough. You’re pressed so tightly together that there’s no space left, no room for any doubts or anything that isn’t him. His lips move against yours, warm and eager, but he pulls back after a moment, his nose brushing against your cheek as he lets out a deep sigh.

“You know,” Tony says, his voice low and just a little breathless, “I’ve kissed a lot of people in my time, but none of them made me feel like this.”

You smile softly, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I’m glad I’m the exception.”

“Oh, believe me,” he mutters, leaning in for another kiss, “you’re definitely the exception.”

This kiss is different—deeper, more hungry, like he can’t quite get enough. His hands move from your waist, sliding up your back to cradle your head, pulling you even closer. You respond eagerly, feeling the heat between you growing, but Tony pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes soft and full of something you can’t quite name.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice surprisingly serious.

You nod quickly. “Yeah, I’m just… overwhelmed.”

“Good overwhelmed?” He grins, his trademark cocky smirk returning.

“Very good overwhelmed,” you reply, laughing softly. “But you have a habit of kissing me senseless, Stark. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

He chuckles, his lips hovering near yours. “Sorry, can’t help it. You just make me so… damn happy. And I haven’t even told you how amazing you look tonight. Like, I’m seriously getting distracted just looking at you.”

You blush at the compliment, but Tony doesn’t give you much time to respond before he leans down and kisses you again, this time slower, gentler, with a lingering tenderness that makes your heart race in a different way. His lips are soft and warm, and when he pulls back, you’re both breathless, eyes fluttering open to meet each other.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” you say, your voice teasing, but there’s a hint of something deeper in it now.

Tony grins, clearly pleased with himself. “I’m pretty sure you just made my night. I’m never letting you go, you know.”

You laugh, poking him lightly in the chest. “Not that I’m complaining, but I think I might be the one who’s going to keep you.”

Tony presses another kiss to your lips, this one playful, with a promise of more to come. He can’t stop himself now. He wants you—he wants you in a way that feels almost primal, like he’s not willing to let go of you, ever. You feel the same.

“Good,” he whispers against your lips. “Because you’re stuck with me now.”

As the night continues, you both stay there, tangled together on the blanket, lost in the sweetness of the moment, kissing, laughing, and just enjoying the quiet joy of being with each other. There’s no rush, no expectation—just the two of you, finally figuring out that this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t need anything else. Just Tony. And maybe a few more kisses.

The Avengers Tower’s common room is buzzing with excitement as movie night rolls around again, but this time, there’s a palpable change in the air. It's been a few weeks since you and Tony officially became a couple, and everyone can feel the shift. The usual dynamic is the same—loud chatter, snacks being passed around, and the occasional argument over what movie to watch—but there's something different now, something that makes every glance between you and Tony feel a little more charged. And you know exactly what it is.

As you walk into the room, hand in hand with Tony, the team falls silent for a brief moment before an uproar of teasing starts. Steve looks up from his phone and winks. Natasha smirks. Thor chuckles, and Clint just shakes his head with an exaggerated sigh. You and Tony sit down on the couch, the atmosphere now a mix of curiosity and playful mockery.

"So," Steve begins with that too-innocent expression on his face, "what are we watching tonight? Another Christmas classic?"

"Well, it is still December," Tony replies, his hand slipping to the back of your chair. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he adds in a low, teasing voice, "But we can make it even more special, you know. I was thinking of a Christmas movie marathon… just the two of us."

You glance over at him, surprised at the suggestion. It’s not like Tony to offer a quiet, cozy evening without any extra flair, but for some reason, the idea of spending the night with him like that, away from everyone else, feels… comforting. You smile, leaning toward him and resting your head on his shoulder. "I like that idea," you murmur, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

The team watches you both, exchanging amused looks, and it only takes a second for Clint to speak up.

"Guys, seriously? Are we watching a Christmas movie or just watching you two get all… lovey-dovey for two hours?" He throws his hands up in exasperation. "It's like all you do now."

"Hey," Tony says, lifting an eyebrow as he shoots Clint a look. "We are on a date."

"Yeah, a date with a group of people who are very interested in your every move." Natasha’s voice is dry, but there's a playful sparkle in her eyes.

"Ugh, gross," Clint mutters, pretending to gag, but the smirk on his face betrays the fact that he's more entertained than anything else.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face at their teasing. Tony, meanwhile, seems to thrive on the attention, leaning back a little too dramatically and pulling you closer to his side.

“I’m just a lucky guy,” Tony says with that smug smile of his, squeezing your shoulder. "Do you all see what I have to deal with? She’s perfect."

"Sure, Stark, you’re the lucky one," Clint mutters, dramatically pulling out a bag of chips from the table and shoving a handful into his mouth.

“You know,” Thor says from the armchair where he’s lounging, “when a mortal finds true love, it should be celebrated. It is a noble thing, indeed!” He raises his mug of beer as if toasting you both. "May you two share many winters together in joy."

"Aw, thanks, Thor." You smile at the god of thunder, and Tony gives you a mock bow.

"Let’s just try to survive the night without any more of that emotional stuff, okay?" Steve says, giving you a wink. "We’re here to watch a movie, not get too intense."

You lean into Tony with a smile, enjoying the teasing atmosphere. But, of course, Tony has to make it worse—or better, depending on how you look at it.

“Hey, don’t act like we’re not entertaining you guys. Who else is going to give you this much material to work with, huh?” He shrugs and adjusts his arm around you, pulling you closer, his hand resting casually on your thigh. “Besides, we love a little public display of affection.”

“Oh, we know,” Clint says with a mock groan, covering his eyes dramatically. "We’ve seen enough PDA to last a lifetime."

"Yeah, but have you seen this?" Tony asks, his eyes glinting mischievously as he pulls you closer. Without warning, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and then another on the top of your head.

The room falls into an exaggerated silence as everyone stares.

“Really, Tony?” Steve raises an eyebrow, a look of disbelief on his face.

“Come on, Cap. It’s just a kiss,” you reply, though your voice is full of suppressed laughter.

“Yeah, a thousand kisses,” Clint quips from across the room, rolling his eyes. “At least they’re not making out in front of us—that would be too much.”

“Oh, don’t tempt us, Clint,” Tony smirks, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek, his lips hovering just above yours for a beat. It’s sweet and intimate, but just teasing enough to make everyone squirm.

“Okay, okay,” Natasha finally says, throwing her hands up. “We get it. You’re in love. Just pick a movie already, or we’re going to have to find some other way to get the room’s attention.”

You both laugh, and Tony gives her a playful wink before leaning back into the couch, pulling you with him. You settle against him, your head resting on his chest, the warmth of his body comforting. It’s nice like this—cozy, familiar, and surrounded by people who you know are teasing just because they’re happy for you.

"So," Tony says, looking around the room and clearing his throat. "We decided on a Christmas movie marathon, but only if everyone can behave. If we end up with more sarcastic commentary and eye-rolls, we might have to take it to the bedroom and really make it a private affair.”

“Ugh, no, no,” Clint says, holding his hands up in mock horror. "We’ll behave. Promise."

Tony grins, clearly enjoying every second of this, before pressing the play button on the remote. The opening credits of Love Actually start to roll, and everyone immediately starts making playful comments. You can’t help but chuckle as Tony holds you a little tighter, clearly amused by the bickering happening around you.

As the movie continues, you get wrapped up in the warmth of the scene, the silly moments, and the subtle sweetness of the holiday cheer. You settle deeper into Tony’s side, your head resting against his shoulder, his arm draped comfortably over your waist. His fingers gently stroke your arm as the two of you share quiet conversations during the more emotional parts of the movie. Every so often, he presses soft kisses to the top of your head, as if reminding you—and everyone else—that you belong to each other.

The teasing continues from the others, but there’s an undeniable affection in it all. They’re all happy for you both, even if it’s a little strange for them to see Tony—Tony Stark, the self-proclaimed playboy billionaire—acting like a lovesick puppy in front of the entire team.

“Man, you really went all out,” Clint says after a particularly emotional scene, turning to Tony with a raised eyebrow. “You even went for Love Actually. What’s next? A romantic comedy marathon?”

“Anything for my girl,” Tony responds easily, and the way he says it, so casually but so full of affection, makes your heart swell.

“I can’t wait to see you two try to top this next year,” Natasha says, her tone playful, though there’s a softness to it as well.

“I don’t even want to know,” Steve chimes in, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I’m guessing this is only the beginning, huh?”

“Hey, if I’m going all in, I’m going all in,” Tony replies, glancing down at you with that loving look that makes your heart skip. “I’m in this for the long haul.”

You smile up at him, and his expression softens just enough for you to feel the weight of his words. There’s no doubting how much he means it. And for a moment, the world outside of this room seems to disappear as you’re surrounded by the people who feel like family—your family.

The movie goes on, the mood light and easy, and Tony’s kisses come more frequently, not because he has to, but because he simply can’t seem to stop himself. And you don’t mind one bit.

By the time the movie ends, the Avengers are sprawled around the room in varying degrees of comfort. Tony gives you one last lingering kiss before pulling away just enough to look at you with a grin.

“I think we’ve officially made movie night our tradition now,” he says with a satisfied nod.

“Definitely,” you agree, your fingers gently tracing the fabric of his shirt. “Just us… and the team watching us get all cheesy.”

“Hey, it’s our tradition,” Tony replies with a wink. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With a contented sigh, you rest your head on his shoulder again, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, the softness of his kisses lingering on your lips, and the comforting certainty that, despite the teasing, you and Tony are exactly where you’re meant to be.

And as the Avengers disperse, still chuckling under their breaths, you know you’ve found a tradition that will be cherished for years to come—just you, Tony, and an endless amount of Christmas movies.

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