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meliorist-midoriya · 4 years ago

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to you, to the world, to my love (you’re all three)

synopsis: midoriya has always had too much love to give in a world that loved to take. you’re just hoping that he has enough left for you in the end.

pairing: midoriya izuku x reader

genre: fluff with a touch of angst

warnings: some insecurity

word count: 2.5k

notes: happy valentine’s day, everyone! this is my contribution for the pocuties server collab, based off the greek types of love, of which i had the honor of receiving izuku and decided upon agape please help yourself to the box of chocolates they’re offering for valentine’s, there’s a wide selection of chocolates handmade by talented creators, so i’m sure you’ll find something to your taste! tbh i only managed to finish this fic because i was watching chan’s valentine’s vlive and i was in a super soft mood ;3;

extra: agápe - the ancient greek concept of selfless, universal love.

“Making his debut in the pro hero scene, Pro Hero Deku is blazing a trail straight out of UA—”

“—Pro Hero Deku solved an astounding 30 cases in the past month—”

“Deku’s popularity is skyrocketing, rivaling that of—”

“Hero Deku—”

“Deku—”

“Pro Hero Deku has swept the hero rankings to come out on top as Number 1!”

With a resolute ‘click’ of the remote, the reporters’ overlapping voices cut off as the TV screen faded away, your lonely reflection staring back at you from the blank screen. You, curled up on your empty couch, in your empty apartment with the clock striking what should have been dinner. The TV was only there in an attempt to drown out the crushing silence, the white noise—hellbent on filling the space his presence had left—was deafening.

That attempt failed.

Horribly.

If anything, it just made the sense of wrongness permeating the air even worse.

(That TV recap of his best moments didn’t help as much as you hoped it would.)

Being alone in this apartment felt… off. As if someone had gouged out what should’ve been there, the ghost of a presence settling a chill into your bones that ran far deeper than just plain loneliness. The foreboding grief of what could be, the fear that you’d resigned yourself to the moment you agreed to follow him on this path, the selfishness gnawing at your conscience every time you saw him run out the door to save the next person, to solve the next case.

Things like an All Might coffee mug sitting primly next to yours on the drying rack, garishly yellow “tufts” staring back at you with a cracked vengeance. (You’d apologized profusely to him that day, promising to buy him another one. He’d just smiled over his cracked cup of coffee, telling you not to worry about it for the hundredth time.)

Things like his haphazard mess of notes and scrawl spread out on the kitchen counter, the pen sitting next to the half finished page. (You’ve long since learned to leave his notes be, they’ll be tidied up once he’s done… if he’s ever truly done.)

The filled queue of movies and pile of DVDs you’d picked out together, giddy over plans to watch the next time he had a free night. (You remember pretending not to notice him trying to slip another hero documentary near the bottom of the pile, distracting you with talks of popcorn and the night that was supposed to be tonight.)

Deku. The man the world adored, clinging to his promise like a lifeline in times of need.

Midoriya Izuku. The man you loved, who promised you the world.

“It’ll be okay, I’m here.”

His soft promise echoed both in the battlefield and in your darkest hours, a close mirror to a hero of a generation past, yet it was different. It was his own. Comforting, personal, and wholly him. The public, weak and grasping for new support, latched on to the small sliver of hope his hand offered and he just kept giving, giving, giving. It never seemed to stop, and you were scared.

He was a man with a bleeding heart with all the love to give and more. To the civilians, to the villains, to anyone in need.

Now, you needed his promise more than ever. A reassurance whispered into reunions and the thousandth hospital visit, over fresh scars and searing kisses. A promise that he would come home. You didn’t want to think of all the times he came so, so close to breaking that promise, even before you two had made it, before you two had even promised yourselves to each other in your UA days.

You pulled the blanket a little tighter around you, staring down at your phone with no real intent in mind as you scrolled. The video playing one of his interview clips (bashfully reciting his “catchphrase,” how cute) cut his voice short as you scrolled past to move on to the next, wincing at the next tweet on your timeline. Him, battered and bloody, as he pulled a child from the aftermath of the battle he’d just won.

You still need to wrap that new mug you got him as a gift. You still had to listen to him bounce his ideas off of you. You still had to move that hero documentary to the top of the pile. You still—

“Hero Deku saves 30 people, no casualties,” A soft murmuring of the headline shattered the silence, and you smiled to yourself, giggling at all the replies joking of how he threw himself into the fray a little more responsibly and singing their praises.

It’ll be okay.

“Ugh, those reporters are at it again.”

At your best friend’s exasperated groan, you followed their gaze over to see— ah.

A small swarm of reporters had worked their way into the fans crowding your boyfriend, their press badges reading every tabloid magazine on this side of the city and prying questions falling off their tongue like poison. From what you could hear over their overlapping clamoring, they were trying to dig into his private life.

Again.

Deku, the darling of the masses, all sweet smiles and sincere words amidst his strength. Deku, the number one hero with the tightest lock on his private life, which came as a surprise to both everyone and no one.

It was a given, considering his position at the peak of hero society.

It was also a complete shock, considering his tendency to ramble into tangents that had his PR team withering.

Which seemed to help in times like these, now that you thought about it, laughing to yourself as you watched the reporters’ expressions darken in defeat the longer he continued to talk around their questions. Quite a long stretch from stiffly standing on the practice stage at UA all those years ago, frozen from nerves. You idly mused to this to yourself, taking a sip of your drink as you dragged your gaze back over to your best friend.

“Did you choose this cafe because it’s right along Izuku’s patrol route?” They stiffened, and you couldn’t help but laugh at their obvious intentions.

“Maybe, or it could’ve been just a coincidence.” The next teasing jab was halfway off your tongue when they cut you off before you could give into the urge, the words dying in your throat. “When was the last time you saw him anyway? I know you two live together but Todoroki told me he practically lives at the agency with how swamped they are. Are you okay?”

You purse your lips, staring down at the ice swirling around in your cup as you idly stirred it round. As if the sloshing liquid could whisper the answer you wish you knew.

“...Yeah.” They cocked a brow, and you took another sip to try and delay your time. “It’s not like either of us can help it. Izuku’s number one, so this was bound to happen.”

(The clamoring from the reporters grew ever louder. Persistent, that bunch.)

Their expectant (doubting) gaze was met with your own steady one, and you smiled. Whether it was out of consolation or resignation was anyone’s guess.

“We’re okay, I promise.”

You should really be getting to sleep.

Really, you should.

At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the past several hours, tossing and turning in your bed with nothing but winter-cold sheets and a gnawing loneliness to keep you company. You know you should be sleeping when the clock on the bedside table reads an ungodly hour and there was work to be done in the morning. You know you should be sleeping when the moon disappears from the night sky and leaves you with nothing but the city lights to dimly illuminate the dark room.

You really know you should be sleeping when you hear the front door click open, Izuku shuffling around the apartment to get ready for whatever minimal amount of sleep he’d get before he had to be up and running soon after.

Despite this, sleep still refuses to come, and you don’t bother pretending to be asleep when he slides into bed next to you. Instead, you turn over and curl into his chest, stifling the guilt that bubbles up when he jumps in surprise.

“Something keeping you up?” Oh, he sounds so tired, and part of you wishes you could just make it all go away. The weight of the world rests heavy on his shoulders, and deep down, you wonder if you’re part of that burden. You curl a little closer, as if trying to smother the thoughts that crashed upon you, spilling over the crack in the dam that only widened the more you spoke.

“Jus’ a little lonely, is all.” Your voice is too quiet, brittle, and you pray to every deity that would listen that he would drop it. That he wouldn’t take on yet another burden when he was already carrying Altas’s share of the world.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Of course, the gods are hardly ever so merciful—to them you are just another wishful mortal in the realm of the holy and damned—and Izuku’s hand rests on your cheek with a tenderness that makes you want to cry.

“...Why?”

The confusion that falls over his expression (gaunt, tired, and God, should you even be doing this right now?) is immediate, and he tilts your face up to meet his gaze with yours, like he could find the answer in city lights dancing over your face. His thumb strokes soft patterns over your cheek—as if brushing off the layers you’d built to protect your soul—and you lean into his soft touch with a sigh.

“Why what?”

The words spill from your lips unbidden, your hesitations softened by the comfort of his touch, the sudden drowsiness, and the emotion that near overwhelms you.

“Why do you still try to do everything yourself? When there’s so many people out there, ready to support you?” His breath hitches in shock, but it’s too late to go back now. You reach up to hold the hand cradling your cheek, distantly remembering a time when he was too insecure of his scarred and crooked hands to even hold your hand.

He’s come a long way, indeed.

“I love you, Izuku. I just don’t know if that can hold up against your love for the world.”

Something in his gaze softens, to your surprise. His smile is even softer.

“What would you do if you’re both?”

“Wh— Izuku—”

He continues, and you listen, raptured by his words spoken into the glow of the blue hour.

“Yes, I know that at the end of the day, peace and safety has to come first, but—” His smile widens into something bashful, a smile that never failed to send butterflies scattering through your heart. “—who says you can’t be right along with them?”

He bumped his forehead with yours, smiling emerald eyes gazing into your own with such love—dizzying and overpowering and so, so warm. With the steady thrum of your heartbeat matching his, you found yourself falling even deeper once again.

“You know me, I can never compromise when it comes to what’s important to me.”

You laugh, something watery, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, temple, cheek, with a last, smiling kiss on your lips.

“How greedy.” He laughs into your lips, pulling away to hold you closer.

“Just for you.”

There’s so many things you could’ve said, as you watched the rest of the night sky fade into the deep blues of dawn. But, you decide, the comforting silence was best left as is, only broken by one resounding comfort.

It’ll be okay.

“You know, it would’ve been nice to know that you had taken the day off before I had that whole guilt spiral last night.”

“It turned out okay though, didn’t it?” He turned back to flash you that cheeky grin of his, half-hidden by his winter coat and backed by the glow of the setting sun. You just rolled your eyes with a laugh before jogging to catch up to him, slipping you hand out of your pocket to interlace your fingers with his.

“Yeah, it did.”

The walk was silent as you two strolled down the familiar path, winding down after a whole day spent with each other. It was romantic of him, now that you thought about it, to take the whole Valentine’s Day off just for you. You hummed as you leaned onto him, giddy and content at the thought.

In love, if you were to be so bold.

(Granted, he had to wear a mask and a cap the entire time to hide from the prying eyes of the public, but you made do.)

The sight of aged, familiar scenery pulled you from your musings, and you tugged at his hand to grab his attention, pointing at the quaint bench surrounded by bare gingko trees.

“Hey, wasn’t this the park where you confessed?” At your words, he froze and glanced over at the familiar scenery, eventually burying his face into his free hand with a groan once the old memories clicked in his head.

“Oh, don’t remind me. It’s still embarrassing to look back on.”

“What? I thought you were cute!” You laughed, nudging him to follow as you led him over to the small park, brushing off the dust to sit on the bench before patting the space next to you. Izuku obliged, and you almost automatically curled into his side, as if by habit.

“Did we really walk all the way here from the station?” His disbelieving tone made you look up at him, his expression one of nostalgic awe, before casting your attention back to the aged scenery, humming in agreement as you idly picked out what’s changed and what’s stayed in the years that have passed.

“I guess we never really forget, huh?”

“I forgot the sunset looked the best from here.”

“I hope you didn’t forget all the memories we made here.” He tore his attention from the sunset to gape down at you, scandalized.

“Of course not!”

“Really?” He arched a brow at the teasing lilt to your voice and the mischievous grin playing at your lips, “So you didn’t forget accidentally firing an Air Force shot at me when we first met because you were training?”

He buried his face in his hands again with another embarrassed groan.

“I hoped you would forget that, at least!” You just laughed, hugging him closer as if to console him from your teasing. Before long, the atmosphere settled back into a quiet reminiscence, indulging in the nostalgia of memories past in this little park. The silence that was once deafening alone, now softened by the comfort of his presence at your side.

“We’ve made so many memories in this park, huh?” At your soft hum of agreement, he continued. Was his voice shaking? “It wouldn’t hurt to make more, would it?”

“What do you me—”

Your question cut itself short as you saw what he held out to you.

A little velvet box, sitting open in his hand. You dragged your suddenly watery gaze back up to Izuku, his once bashful smile now wobbly with nerves.

So familiar in this little park, yet so new.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It was just a small walk down memory lane, the street lights blinking on one by one in the wake of the fiery sunset as you two walked the familiar path together. Yet there was something buzzing anew in the air, humming through your soul as you held out your hand to the sun, admiring the way the gem on your ring finger sparkled in the fading sunset. In the other, you interlaced your fingers with his.

Yeah…

You caught Izuku’s soft gaze, smiling and in love.

We’ll be okay.

#pocuties collab #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #bnha oneshot #mha oneshot #bnha x reader #pocuties

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years ago

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Into The Unknown, Part 6

First

Marinette woke up because of a whack to the face. So that was fun.

She blinked her eyes open and was met with a scowling, squirming baby.

She sighed and considered letting the baby squirm for a little so she could get another few minutes of sleep…

Oh. Right. He cried in the morning. An unfortunate thing to forget about.

She grumbled a quiet “fuck” as Damian started screaming.

“Tim, your turn.”

Tim grumbled incoherently and attempted to disappear in the plush mattress.

She considered kicking him to wake him up but decided against it. She was feeling nice that morning.

(Also, she figured that kicking a half-awake vigilante might end badly for her.)

She shrugged Tim’s arm off and then tumbled out of bed, baby securely wrapped in her arms. She laid flat on the ground, baby raised in the air above her like a less cute version of That One Scene from The Lion King. She squinted up at the screaming child, struggling to get her brain to function, and then sighed.

“Right, let’s get you all changed, huh? Clean diaper? Pretty new clothes? Will that calm you down?”

She really didn’t know why she was talking to him, she doubted the kid really understood what she was saying, but his wailing was starting to die down a little. She hoped it was because she was using her nice voice and not because he was straining his vocal cords.

She smoothed out his hair and then pushed herself to her feet.

After she had changed the kid’s diaper, she spread all of his clothes out on the floor in a loose circle (it kind of looked like an egg, but at least an attempt was made).

She set the baby down in the middle of the egg and stepped back.

He looked up at her, confused.

She motioned to the clothes. “Go ahead. Yakhtar.”

There was a few minutes where the baby continued looking at her, clearly expecting something but she had no clue what.

Then, finally, he looked around at the clothes.

He crawled over to a yellow shirt with a cartoon bee on it that she had paired with some black and white striped leggings and slapped it a few times. He babbled angrily at her.

… did that mean he wanted it or that it was out of the running?

… she was going to assume that he wanted it.

She picked up him with one arm and the outfit with the other -- something made very difficult by the fact that Damian was now slapping his little fists against her shoulder in an attempt to be let down -- and then started the process of getting the kid into the clothes.

“You know, he probably would have been fine with anything you picked.”

She glanced up from where she was trying to shove Damian’s pudgy little baby arm into a sleeve. Tim was sitting up in bed, legs crossed criss-cross applesauce and head propped on his hand. An amused smile played at his lips.

She rolled her eyes and looked back down at Damian so she could complete her grueling task. “Probably. But I’d just keep dressing him up in red and black and, apparently, he doesn’t want that.”

“Don’t know why. Red and black are objectively the best colors.”

“Totally,” she said.

Damian babbled angrily some more and attempted to punch her arm. She tried not to show on her face just how much it had hurt.

“I guess yellow is pretty okay,” Tim said, grinning.

“Eh. Yellow is like… the fifth best color. Green is where it’s at.”

Tim made a face. “Ew. Green?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not allowed to talk about what looks good. You had a completely brown suit for ages. Terrible, isn’t that right, Dami?”

Damian clearly had no idea what was going on, he was busy trying to help Marinette pull his pants up (he was accidentally pushing them down but it was the thought that counts… she was pretty sure, at least), but he nodded decisively.

Marinette turned her head away from Tim and Damian, lips pressed together thinly to keep her laughter under control, before she turned back and finished the kid’s outfit.

“See, Tim, even the baby agrees.”

Tim scoffed. “He agrees with everything you say.”

“Because I’m always right.” She leaned forward to nuzzle her nose against Damian’s with a bright smile. “I can already tell you’re going to be the best kid. Isn’t that right?”

Damian giggled.

Tim held the baby as they checked out at 10:55. Usually, he would try to be earlier, but… baby.

Yeah. That was all he needed to say about that.

(If you want to know: Damian had finally managed to succeed in his attempts to fall from a high place, effectively scaring the shit out of both of the teens who were taking care of him. They’d checked him over for any injuries -- it was more difficult than usual, they couldn’t tell him to clench and unclench his fists to make sure they weren’t broken. When they were sure he was okay they took a few moments to hug him and assure themselves that it was fine and that babies were flexible for this exact reason… unfortunately, this ended with the kid learning that falling from high places=hugs and was now, somehow, even more determined to do it.)

Marinette turned to him with a smile.

“Do you want to get the car or do you want to get the baby’s carseat?”

Tim thought for a minute before sighing. “Would you make fun of me if I picked out a stupid-looking carseat?”

“Absolutely.”

He rolled his eyes and handed off the baby like he was a baton in a very weird relay race. “No thanks. I’ll get the car.”

She grinned. “Probably a good idea. Right, see you.”

“Get some baby formula while you’re out.”

Marinette looked down at the kid, eyes wide. “Still?” Then she shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”

He tossed the bag of diapers and stuff to her and, with that, they started off in separate directions.

He picked up a rental car from Enterprise. They offered the ability to pay a little extra to leave the car at another location. He doubted that that was in place for things like moving across the country but he wasn’t about to complain.

But, when he picked up Marinette and Damian outside the door and caught sight of the carseat she’d gotten, he absolutely would complain.

“Spiderman?” He said.

“Technically, he’s ArachnidKid, here.”

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her.

She had the decency to look a little sheepish. “He screamed every time I tried to choose anything else.”

Tim sighed and knocked his head against the top of the steering wheel a few times before turning around.

“I’ll deal with the kid while you figure out the thing.”

… or, at least, that was the intention. It turns out that baby carseats are… difficult. They’d pulled into a spot and gave Damian his stuffed cow and a phone to distract him and they’d gotten to work. There were two adults and two magical beings trying to figure it out and not a single one of them had any idea what they were doing. The instructions made absolutely no sense, they may as well have been written in Greek -- except they all knew how to speak and read Greek because of magic. But this shit? Illegible. It was like the written version of baby language. No one knows what was going on, he was beginning to think that the people trying to give them instructions didn’t even know. Tikki was puzzling over the instructions despite this, Marinette was having a breakdown, Tim wanted to be back in his world so he could punch someone, Kaalki was in the process of being eaten by Damian. It was chaos.

They were on the road. Marinette lazed in the passenger seat, feet up on the dashboard as she half-listened to the audiobook Tim had put on -- something about a kid who stole lightning or something (she didn’t see the big deal, it wasn’t like it was hard or anything). Tikki and Kaalki were using her headphones to listen to music. Damian had fallen asleep and was now peacefully sucking on one of the horns of the cow plush.

(He’d, apparently, dubbed the plush ‘Cow’. It was a fitting name, she supposed.)

Tim glanced over at her. “If we get in a crash you’re going to fly through the windshield.”

She lifted the cheap heart-shaped sunglasses she’d bought on impulse while waiting for Tim to show up out of boredom. Just so he could see how unimpressed she was.

“Maybe you should drive well so I don’t have to worry.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. She saw the speedometer drop a bit regardless.

They stopped for food pretty soon after they started on the road. Funny how quickly a day could go by, it was already noon.

They ended up at Carl's Sr., because that was what they had found first.

He bounced Damian on one knee absently. The kid wasn’t thirsty, it seemed, so they were just trying to keep him entertained while they ate. He didn’t know why they bothered, the kid was currently entertaining himself with nothing but a rubber duck.

Marinette nibbled the last of her sandwich. “I wonder if he can have fries.”

“Fy!” Said Damian, who had apparently learned that ‘he’ usually meant him.

“Well, he’s convinced me,” she said.

Tim rolled his eyes. “The book I read said that if you give him regular food he’ll realize ours is better and won’t go back to the baby stuff.”

“Good for him if he stops eating it. I got curious and tried it, it sucks.”

He shrugged a little. “He only needs to keep eating it for, I think, another year…?”

“Two whole years of that stuff? That’s evil. I’m giving him a fry.”

“Fy!” Said Damian again, this time slapping the table to punctuate the word.

Tim sighed and pulled out his phone to check that that was allowed. Apparently, despite the fact that kids can breast feed up to two years (or even longer), they can start with ‘table foods’ around a year. That made exactly zero sense to him but okay.

“... I guess that’s fine,” he said, eventually.

Marinette beamed and tore off a piece of her fry for Damian.

The baby was enlightened.

Despite the fact that they’d originally agreed to split the driving evenly, with long shifts so they could go straight to Gotham without any major setbacks, Marinette ended up doing most of it.

It turns out that Tim got car sick.

She didn’t say anything about it. He seemed embarrassed enough as it was, especially since Marinette and Damian were wholly unaffected.

It was… fine. She used the extra stops to get coffee each time. And, whenever it came time to feed or change Damian, she glared Tim into submission. It may not be entirely his fault that his stomach was protesting the car ride but it inconvenienced her so fuck him.

… she did feel a little bad, though, so she always held his hair out of his face and made sure to give him water so he was fully hydrated.

They arrived in Gotham and collapsed in the hotel bed pretty much the moment they could. They’d done hygiene stuff, of course, neither of them were eager to lay in their filth for the night after an almost day-long drive (there had been a lot of stops)… but once they had bathed and brushed their teeth? And cleaned up Damian? Straight to bed.

Tim had finished up first since his showers were quicker and he rested an arm around Damian to make sure he wouldn’t leave. He needn’t have worried, Damian was apparently just as happy as they were that they were in an actual bed again because he was in dreamland almost the second he’d touched it.

He closed his eyes and relaxed.

The bed dipped a little as Marinette crawled in and he let go of the kid so she could wrap around him per usual.

Tim hesitated here. He’d wrapped an arm around them before, sure, but that was different. That had mostly been a thing he’d done in his sleep.

After a few moments, Marinette sighed and scooted closer, tangling her legs with his.

He flushed red. “Uh?”

“It happens every night anyways, I’m resigned to my fate.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or frown.

She opened her eyes a little and smiled. “Relax. Chat Noir is super touch starved, I’m used to platonically cuddling with people.”

He relaxed a little and hesitantly rested an arm around the pair.

Marinette nuzzled her face into Damian’s hair and closed her eyes again.

He smiled at the scene and started to close his eyes… but then Kaalki caught his gaze.

He gave a small puff of laughter.

“You know, I just remembered something.”

Marinette hummed to say she was listening.

“My power is the ability to create portals.”

“... god fucking damn it.”

~~~~~

@nathleigh @peachmuses @unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

#kaalki: i just wanted to see what it was like to drive in a car :(#into the unknown #maribat #timari #timinette #shutterbug #timmari #tim drake #red robin #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug

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bbugyu · 4 years ago

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daddy’s little monster + lee seokmin & yoon jeonghan

the story of your side hustle, that both pays well and had some very lovely benefits.

prelude | part one | part two | part three | epilogue

wc.5195 | SMUT, like DIRTY SMUT, threesome, sugar daddy!jeonghan and musician!seokmin, aka my worst nightmare, hard dom vs service sub vs service dom, aka my other worst nightmare, fem reader, daddy kink, marking, cream pie, please use condoms, lk cucking? happy halloween!

i was gonna say this is porn without plot but in reality idk how to not make smut way too personal. and i have not stopped thinking about my seokhan sandwicch fantasies and desperately needed to get it out, so take my shame and run with it. gif literally does not match this at all but DONT WORRY ABOUT IT

seokmin knew that jeonghan, the prolific and sought after architect whom he considered a close friend, had a less than conventional relationship with a young woman, but he had never met her. didn't know what the two did beyond appear at fancy industry dinner parties together, or the occasional sleepovers that had been offhandedly mentioned when seokmin and him get drinks and grilled meat. he believed she was real - he had been told she was real, by a mutual friend who had attended said parties - but had never seen a picture of her. never been introduced. he dropped architecture, afterall, deciding instead to get a teaching degree while jeonghan continued his artistic engineering. he had no reason to attend the parties that jeonghan paid her to accompany him to.

so when he was slightly drunk at a halloween party being held at the architect's beautiful home, he thought nothing about the pretty girl giving him attention, other than the fact that she looked incredible in her cheerleading outfit and that she was sitting far too close to him to not be flirting.

"how do you know jeonghan?" you asked, perched on the sofa next to seokmin, fingers mindlessly fiddling with the zipper on his red and blue bomber jacket.

his arm was over the back of the sofa, and you were comfortably sitting in the negative space, your feet tucked beneath your baby blue pleated skirt. "we went to college together," he said.

your eyebrow quirked. "are you also an architect? i've never seen you around."

he smiled and shook his head, wondering why a pretty girl like you was wasting your time getting to know a guy like him if you frequented industry parties. "no, i dropped the program. too much math. i'm a music teacher."

he watched your eyes light up. "what kind of music?"

"piano and guitar, mostly," he said, shifting beside you when your knees brushed over his thigh. "i do some vocal coaching, also."

you gazed at his profile as he looked anywhere but at you, eyes briefly focusing on the little black heart drawn under his eye. "you do have a lovely voice."

"thanks," he said, smiling when he turned to look at you, almost faltering when he realized you were leaning into him. "but you haven't heard me sing."

you paused, staring at his lips. "i'd like to," you breathed, and seokmin's hand dropped from the couch to find the small of your back, a shiver running up your spine when his fingers ran over the waistband of your skirt.

"y/n."

with great difficulty, you looked away from his lips to the source of your name being called, smiling lightly when you saw who had summoned you. you put a hand on seokmin's chest.

"i'll be right back, okay?" he kept watching your lips as you spoke. "promise me you won't go anywhere?"

seokmin gave you a lopsided smile, fingers brushing over your skin still. "promise."

you pulled yourself off the couch, purposefully giving him a bit of a view as you leaned over to slip your feet back into your sneakers, walking over to the man that had called your name. seokmin watched you swing your hips side to side, then cursed under his breath when jeonghan's hand snaked around your waist only a few meters in front of him, putting the pieces together in his mind.

"i see you like my friend," jeonghan muttered, handing you the drink you had asked him for. he was dressed as a man in black, which was wholly unoriginal considering he wore many suits regularly, but you figured your cheerleading costume wasn't leaving much more to the imagination than any of the dresses he usually picked out for you.

"you never told me you were friends with a musician," you teased. "afraid i wouldn't call you?"

he laughed, sneakily pulling up the hem of your skirt and watching over your shoulder as seokmin tried not to stare. "you'll always call me."

you bit at your lip, smiling. "yes, daddy."

"are you sure about him?"

you peeked over your shoulder, giggling when seokmin looked away from you and tugged at the knees of his black pleather pants. "isn't he perfect?"

"i like seokmin," jeonghan said, drawing your attention by taking off his sunglasses, hooking them in his lapel pocket. "he's one of my closest friends. i want you to be absolutely sure."

you paused, considering his tone and looking into his amber eyes. "i'm positive."

jeonghan smiled, pulling you into him for a quick kiss. "go tell him the good news, sweetheart."

you grinned, pulling away from him as he put his sunglasses back on and teasingly clicked his prop neuralizer at you. you giggled and sauntering back to the couch that seated the most adorable harley quinn you had ever seen.

"i'm back," you said, sipping at your drink as you settled back into seokmin's side. "sorry, you know how sugar daddies are. so demanding."

he choked out a laugh, still unsure despite your joking tone. "so, you and, uh, jeonghan-"

"yeah," you sighed, setting your drink down on the table beside the sofa and adjusting your posture, putting your knees on his thigh but keeping your shoes off the couch. "he likes my company, i like not paying for tuition."

"what are you studying?" seokmin asked, jumping at the opportunity to change the subject.

you smiled, tugging at his arm until he took the hint to put it back where it was before you were interrupted. "musical theory and recording arts."

he almost laughed. "you're unreal."

"i could say the same," you said, fingers fiddling with the opposite collar of his jacket. "can i ask you something? no pressure."

his eyebrows quirked upwards. "there's a little pressure."

you giggled, tugging at the collar lightly and smiling when he shifted to face you better. "genuinely, don't say yes just because i want you to, okay?" you only continued when he nodded, taking a deep breath. "so, jeonghan and i have been wanting to try something for a while, and he asked me to find someone tonight."

seokmin swallowed. "am i someone?"

you bit your lip. "yes."

his finger scratched at his cheek. "and he approves?"

your eyes flickered to where you and jeonghan had been standing, but the older was nowhere to be found. "yes."

"i-" he cleared his throat suddenly. "i just haven't- i don't know what i'm trying to say." he paused to collect himself. "i've never even considered doing anything like… that."

you giggled sweetly, and seokmin tried to not notice the way your hand ran over his chest. "i haven't done anything like this either," you assured him. "jeonghan's a little bossy, but he'll only be that way to me if you don't ask for it, i promise. and you don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with, seriously, we can stop whenever, i just-" you bit at your lip briefly. "i just really want to make you feel good."

despite you telling him to not just say yes just for your sake, he had a hard time saying no after hearing your dark tone. any idea of saying no slipped his mind completely when you kissed him, slow and deliberate, your tongue tasting like cola and whiskey against his. he even went as far as pulling you into his lap, forgetting the context of the party surrounding him, his only thoughts about the way your thighs split over his lap and how soft your skin felt when his hands ran under your skirt.

"is this a yes?" you asked breathlessly, trying not to grind down on his pleather covered thighs.

he nodded at you with blown out eyes. "i'll try anything with you."

you grinned, finger brushing over the purposefully smeared lipstick across his cheek. "you're so cute."

he smiled at you, a hand running up your side as you leaned into him again. "not all the time," he muttered, and you couldn't help but gasp lightly when he bounced his leg under you. "want me to prove it?"

you kissed him again, unable to form any words to say yes but desperately needing to. when a hand landed on the back of your neck, you moaned into his mouth and pulled away, trying to catch your breath.

seokmin's hand pulled you into him again, and you whimpered lightly against his lips. "we need to go."

his lips barely left yours when he asked "where to?" and your fingers intertwined with his as you stood, pulling him off the couch to follow you.

you spotted jeonghan in the next room, and despite not knowing for sure if he noticed you two, you spun around playfully and pulled seokmin into you again, letting him kiss you deeply with his hands exploring your bare waist before you pulled away again to continue leading him away, the lopsided grin on his face never leaving.

the noise of the party dissipated as you pulled him up a flight of stairs and down a hall, stopping a few times to kiss against banisters in areas of jeonghan's home he had never been in.

"is this-" seokmin stopped himself as you closed the bedroom door, looking around at the grand but minimally decorated room - the main focal point being the large canopy bed against the far wall.

"jeonghan's," you said, pulling seokmin into you and resuming your feverish kisses. "it's the only bedroom i'm allowed in."

he briefly wondered what other rules the two of you had, but all but forgot about them when you were pushing his jacket off his shoulders, hands running over his chest. you tried to catch your breath as seokmin's mouth worked its way down your neck, but you couldn't stop whining.

"fuck, do you work out?" you asked breathlessly as he backed you up against the door, your hands not so subtly gripping at a bicep.

he chuckled against your neck. "i tune pianos, sometimes."

you briefly thought about him moving an upright to access the strings, and how you had to recruit the help of three friends to move the one jeonghan had bought for you. "you should come to my place, i've been meaning to get mine tuned for a while."

"you can just say you want to see me again," he said, a teasing smile on his lips as he pulled you off the door.

"you're sure about this, right?" you asked between kisses. "he'll notice we're missing and come looking. i don't want you to be surprised."

seokmin considered the concept of jeonghan walking in on his friend between your thighs, laid out on his bed, and the way his length flinched in his pants assured you that it was the best idea he had heard in a while. "i'm sure, i promise."

you bit at your lip again as you grinned, letting him overtake you with kisses as the back of your legs hit the bed.

"this little skirt, i swear to god," seokmin groaned, large hands squeezing at your ass through the fabric.

you gasped, your open mouth making seokmin groan deeper as he pulled you against his tented crotch. "jeonghan picked it out."

"i can tell," he said, staring down at the supposed team name you were meant to be cheering for. "angel, huh? does he call you that?"

"sometimes," you breathed, lips nipping at his neck. "he calls me the name on your chest more, though."

seokmin chuckled, almost completely forgetting about his own costume that he had mostly only picked because the shirt was so easy to find. he brought your lips back to his, kissing you deeply before pushing you down onto the soft mattress. "i want you to get comfortable."

you nodded excitedly, kicking off your shoes and watching him unbuckle his belt as you backed yourself up against the pillows. he kneed his way onto the bed, pants unzipped and shirt discarded, but stopped his undressing to crawl towards you, hands running over your split thighs. you groaned, hips rolling towards him just at the sight of him between your legs, and he gazed up at you sweetly.

"you're soaking through your panties."

you took a heaving breath. "you're super hot."

his lips skated over your inner thigh, and you gripped at the duvet as you tried to stifle a moan. his hands went under your thighs, squeezing at your ass before hooking under your panties, and you bit your lip to keep yourself from whining as he slowly pulled them off you, your skirt falling over your waist when you lifted your hips for him.

"oh, baby, look at you," he cooed, tongue darting out between his lips as he took in the sight. "is that all for me?"

you moaned, rolling your hips off the mattress again, staring at his shoulders as he settled. "fuck, seokmin, please-"

your pleas were interrupted by your own garbled moan as he put his tongue against your inner thigh, biting down on the soft flesh. your hand found his scalp, gripping as he sucked a sweet red rose into your thigh, kissing it gently before moving to repeat the action a little closer to your core.

"oh, god, s-seokmin-" you whined, bucking your hips against him. he gently held your wily hips down as he continued until he was satisfied with the marks, hoping they would stay a while. remind you of him when he wasn't around. his breath hit your core and you keened, desperately asking for his lips, but he only barely teased his tongue over your clit before planting his lips on your other thigh, drawing a shaky moan from you as you gripped his hair.

"fuck, please," you begged, wishing you could move your hips more freely, but his strong grip on you held you in place.

when seokmin decided he was happy with the delicate roses between your legs, he looked up to you, observing the way your chest heaved and you panted, your eyes blown to all hell. your fingers tightened in his hair when he rolled out his tongue, slowly dragging it through your folds.

you moaned, your voice sounding choppy and desperate even to you as your neck stretched out in pleasure. "g-god!"

he hummed against you, his lips kissing at your clit and tongue running over you alternately. you shook as he lapped at you, and he pulled his hands out from under your ridden up skirt in order to push your thighs back, allowing him more comfortable access as you groaned, blue stained fingers leaving his hair to grip at the duvet.

"fuck, seokmin, i'm already so close-"

he hummed again, pulling away but putting two fingers over your core instead, spreading your arousal through your folds and over your clit as he licked his lips. "is my mouth that good to you?"

you arched your back as he continued running his fingers over you. "it's so good."

he lapped at you again, making you let out a high pitched whine as he slowly slipped his fingers into your sweet, tight hole. your eyes shut and you moaned, squeezing his fingers as your arousal seeped out from around them. "your pussy is so cute," he muttered, eyes darting up to your face as you panted. he slowly began to curl his lean, long, instrument trained fingers in your core, pulling more pleas from your lips. "i bet it's cuter when you cum."

"fuck, please," you begged. "please make me cum."

seokmin groaned lightly as he sucked at your clit, rolling his hips against the mattress to relieve some of the pressure he felt from your fingers digging against his scalp, your taste on his lips, your whining moans in his ears.

you noticed the sound of the door, almost processing the meaning before your pleasure interrupted your own thought. "fuck, baby, right there!"

he groaned, digging his fingers further into you to spur your squealing as he flicked his tongue against you, and you practically thrashed against him as you came undone, your thighs pushing into his shoulders as your back arched against the mattress.

you whined dully when he pulled his mouth away from you, your fingers loosening their grip in his spray dyed hair. he never pulled his fingers out of you, not even as he crawled slowly over you, continuing to gently curl into you as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into your chest.

"you started without me," jeonghan said finally, and seokmin smiled into your neck as you watched your sugar daddy pull off his tie, still whining lightly at the fingers in your cunt. "that wasn't what we agreed on."

"i- ah-" you gasped, thigh pressing against seokmin's arm when his thumb pushed against your clit. "i couldn't wait," you said, hooded eyes watching jeonghan approach.

"found yourself a cute toy, huh?" he quirked his eyebrow at the younger, noticing the way his shoulders rippled under your desperate fingers as he stood at the end of the bed. "are you gonna treat him nice, sweetheart?"

you nodded quickly, fingers finding seokmin's scalp again as you kissed him, loving the way you tasted on his lips. you gasped when he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, his hand running up your waist to hold you stay as he rut his clothed bulge into you, the feeling of cool pleather against your hot core making you moan against him.

"what do you want to do, sweetheart?" jeonghan prompted you, gently leaning against a bedpost as he adjusted himself in his pants

"i wanna ride," you said, breath fanning over seokmin's face as he blushed slightly. his red ears just made you move your hips again desperately. "fuck, seokmin, i need to ride you."

his movements stopped for a second, mind whirling with the idea of you bouncing on him. his thoughts were only interrupted by a voice.

"you heard her, seokmin."

he snapped into action, kissing you again as he shoved his slightly too tight pants down his hips, and you pushed him until he allowed you to roll him into his back. you tugged his pants down his legs, gulping at the bulge in his underwear.

"jesus, seokmin, you never said you were packing," jeonghan chuckled, observing the way you faltered when you noticed his length.

seokmin sucked in a labored breath when you ran your hands over his hips, teasing a thumb over his erection. "you never asked."

you tugged his underwear down over his hips, taking care to pull him gently out to avoid harm. you rolled your tongue out to draw a wet line up the underside of his heavy cock, enjoying the way it flinched up against you.

"he likes tits," jeonghan said, shrugging off his blazer and walking to the side of the bed to toss it onto a chair. "lose the top, angel."

you smirked up at seokmin, suddenly extremely happy that the only one that interested you at this party was someone jeonghan knew. you slinked up his body to straddle his lap, the hem of your skirt teasing the head of his cock as it peeked out from under it. you kissed him first, and his hands ran up your thighs as he bucked his hips up to meet your bare core, but you hovered just out of reach. you sat up again, pulling the cheer top over your head and tossing it to the side.

seokmin groaned, hands finding your waist and running up your sides to squeeze gently at your breasts with his thumbs. "fuck, you're gorgeous."

"and you're huge," you said, finally grinding down against his length, pulling a deep groan from his chest. you backed up to stand his cock on end, pulling it against your stomach and practically choking when you saw how tall it stood, the tip far past the waistband of your skirt.

jeonghan whistled. "how are you gonna stuff all that in your tight little pussy, sweetheart?"

saliva gathered in your mouth at the thought. "like a good girl."

seokmin groaned again, hips bucking up to fuck into your hands. "stop teasing and take it, baby."

you got on your knees, positioning yourself over the head of his thick cock, and he practically bucked up into you when he felt your wetness at his tip. you gasped, sinking slowly, eyes watering slightly at the stretch and seokmin moaned, hands on your waist in support. you looked at jeonghan briefly, and he smiled, cock in hand, watching you as you sank slowly.

"stop," seokmin said, grip tightening on your waist. he panted as he held you in place, and you had an idea as to why he stopped you as you felt him pressing against your cervix. "i don't wanna hurt you."

his gentleness was a welcomed juxtaposition from jeonghan's usual intensity. you nodded, hands on his chest, then leaned forward to kiss him, gently fucking yourself on as much of his length as you could manage, readying yourself. his grip on your waist tightened, and he let out a beautiful whine when you dipped a little further onto him.

"careful," he breathed, and you sat up. your hands ran down his chest and over his stomach, then up your own body to gently coerce his fingers out of the deathgrip on your waist. he took the hint, running his hands up your torso and running his thumbs over your hardened nipples.

you groaned, your hips inching closer to his every time you bounced on his lap. it took everything in him to not take control, your pussy squeezing and pulling him further into you, the only sound in his ears your musical moans as you started to get desperate.

"fuck, you're so big," you said dumbly, unable to think of anything else.

"you're so tight," seokmin said back. he hooked a thumb under your skirt, tugging it up to reveal how tightly your cunt hugged him. "fuck, you look so good filled up like that."

your hands found his thighs, leaning back as you rolled your hips over his. you choked out a moan, the angle nearly making you fold an instant. "d-daddy, can i cum?"

seokmin groaned and almost responded before jeonghan did. "go right ahead, angel. let him feel how good you are."

you sank down, your hips meeting seokmin's and a whining moan leaving you lips as he choked slightly. you fell forward onto his chest, giving him desperate, open mouthed kisses as you rolled your hips, your sensitive nub rubbing against his pelvis. you gasped, clutching at his hair as he pushed his hips up into yours, the coil in you snapping in you all while he muttered how good of a girl you were against your lips. his grip around you tightened as your grip around him did the same, the feeling of your tight cunt pulsating around him almost enough to get him off despite him steadying his hips as you shuddered on his chest.

"beautiful," jeonghan commented. "she looks good when you fuck her."

seokmin tried not to groan, but the involuntary movement of his hips triggered an unhidable moan from you. "never thought i'd enjoy being watched."

"i always knew you were a freak," the older said, continuing to pump himself. "you okay if i take a little control?"

seokmin finally looked over to his friend, eyes dropping to his cock as he gulped. "y-yeah."

"alright. sweetheart, time to get up. i want that skirt off."

you whined, grinding down on seokmin. he choked, and you dug your face into his neck.

"three..."

you whined again, louder this time, gripping a bicep as you took in a breath. "please, he feels so good-"

"two..."

you curled your toes in protest, and seokmin had the least control when you rolled your hips on his again, both of you letting out shaky moans. you heard your name as a warning, and you practically started crying from how badly you didn't want to remove yourself from him.

"y/n. one."

you caved finally, not wanting jeonghan to punish you in front of a guest, sitting yourself up suddenly and gasping at the feeling, seokmin's hands gripping your hips. you looked over to jeonghan, who had a smile on his face as he bit his lip gently.

"off, angel. you can have him again in a second."

you slowly pulled yourself off of seokmin's hard cock, and he had one hand keeping your skirt out of view, the other kneading reassuring circles in your thighs as you did. you both groaned when you managed to lift yourself off of him completely, and jeonghan watched your arousal drip from you onto seokmin's flushed cock.

"c'mere, sweetheart," jeonghan said, gesturing for you to come to the side of the bed where he stood.

you unzipped your skirt and let it fall to the mattress as you weakly kneed yourself over to him, thighs shaking. seokmin tucked one hand behind his head and wrapped the other around his cock, watching you intently as you came up to the eldest. he gripped your chin first, opening your mouth before him, and you rubbed your thighs together as you vocalised.

"embarrassed?" jeonghan asked, chuckling darkly when you nodded lightly. he spat in your mouth anyways. "don't let me make it to one next time."

you heard a groan behind you as you swallowed, then gasped when jeonghan's free hand found your ass, pulling you against him. he kissed you, and you had almost forgotten how his lips felt against yours, how his nimble tongue brushed against the back of your teeth in a way that made your knees wobble on the edge of the bed.

"i want him to ruin you," he muttered against your lips, grip tight on your jaw. "i want to see you fucked out on his fat cock, choking on my cum."

you nodded fervently, and felt the bed shift as seokmin sat up behind you. jeonghan smiled as he let you go, and you quickly backed up against the younger, gasping when his cock slipped between your thighs and his fingers pinched at your nipples, kneading your breasts tightly.

"fuck, she's incredible," he said, against your neck, and you couldn't help the sustained whine you let out. "i can't believe you never told me, han."

he chuckled, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. "i knew she'd like you too much. but you'll always call me, right, sweetheart?"

you whined again, watching as jeonghan gently kneed onto the bed, just to brush his lips against yours.

"answer me."

you quivered, grinding down on seokmin's cock and feeling his lips on your neck, but still focusing on the face before you. "yes, daddy."

he smiled, placing a gentle kiss on your nose before backing up again. "hands and knees. give us a minute, okay, minnie?"

the younger nodded, but groaned when you dropped forward, watching the way his cock fit snugly between your thighs. "tell me when."

you stared up at jeonghan as he put a hand on his cock, another in your hair, and slowly guided himself towards your lips. you puckered your lips to meet him, then opened your mouth and rolled out your tongue, lapping at the tip of his cock, tongue gliding under it as you desperately tried to suck him into your waiting mouth.

"oh sweetheart," he said, watching you with hooded lids. "you really want this, don't you?"

you whined, pushing back against seokmin, making his breath hitch. jeonghan finally pushed his hips forward, fucking once into your wet mouth, and you moaned on his cock as it hit the back of your throat. seokmin couldn't help but buck into your thighs, slightly desperate for friction as he watched you drip all over him. he tested his voice once, then quietly asked if he could finger you.

you moaned again, and jeonghan smiled as he fucked your mouth. "sounds like she wants it."

you let out a muffled whine when seokmin slotted two fingers into your pussy, your mouth too full to properly vocalise how good it felt. when he added another finger, you almost collapsed, and likely would have if jeonghan hadn't been holding you up by your hair.

"fuck her," he commanded, holding you on his cock and watching the way you looked up at him as you realized what that meant.

seokmin pulled his fingers out of you and placed himself at your entrance in their stead, sinking into you slowly. your eyes rolled back, drool dripping from either side of jeonghan's cock as seokmin filled you out.

"fuck," he said, gripping your hips and trying to stop himself from pushing all the way in. "fuck, you're so wet."

you let out another muffled noise, pushing back onto him as he choked. jeonghan watched the tears well up in your eyes, mouth stretched around his cock.

"angel," he paused, pulling from you slightly. "are we still green?"

you nodded, rolling your tongue around him to prove it. he smiled at you, then quietly told seokmin to fuck you full.

and he did. you whined and babbled, every thrust of seokmin's hips pushing you onto jeonghan's cock until he hit your throat. you didn't know how long it continued. you heard a honey voice you were familiar with, but you couldn't tell if the teasing words were directed towards you or the man behind you. you couldn't even register fully what was happening when you felt fingers circling your clit, and you wailed as you came, thighs quaking and throat full.

"oh, fuck, i'm gonna cum," seokmin said quickly. he gasped. "fuck, can i cum?"

jeonghan grinned, one eye closing more than the other as he huffed, feeling close to his own release. "fill her up."

seokmin jerked into you three more times before he steadied his hips and let out a deep, melodic groan, buried deep in you as his cum leaked out around his thick cock. you were still moaning, unsure if you could ever stop making noises, but quickly pulled yourself together as jeonghan came down your throat.

you choked once, but swallowed around him, and he gripped his fingers against your scalp as you did. when he finally removed himself from your mouth, you panted and collapsed onto the bed, unable to catch your breath with seokmin still hilt deep in you.

"what a perfect girl," jeonghan muttered, brushing his damp hair off his forehead, gazing down at you. "smart, funny, and an angel in bed. and you-" he said, smirking at seokmin when he finally lifted his head from your spine, even if it was only for a moment. "you surprised me. if you're down, i'd like to do this again."

he tried to catch his breath, but couldn't help the way his hips involuntarily pushed into yours, fucking his cum deeper into you. he just nodded against your spine as you moaned, feeling his cum drip down your thighs.

jeonghan tsked. "you got your hair dye all over my white sheets."

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raamyun-and-rambles · 4 years ago

Text

Musings of an Alchemist’s Lover

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairing: Albedo x Reader Summary: Maybe you had a third eye somewhere you didn't know of, a horn that's grown out of you without you noticing or a tail that flicks behind you whenever you weren't looking. Whatever it was, certainly there had to be something noticeably different about you that attracted the alchemist's attention and your curiosity allowed your mind to wander.

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Holding Albedo's attention for more than a few seconds was no easy feat.

Unless it was a topic that tickled his fancy or something of utmost urgence, Albedo would most likely only regard the unfortunate soul with a disgruntled hum, tuning out most of their words until he manages to somewhat catch onto the main gist of their spiel. He doesn't even do anything to hide his disinterest, eyes immediately finding purchase on anything else but the speaker in front of them, musing theories to himself that he'd sometimes let slip into a whisper. This certain trait of his has definitely gotten him into trouble more than a couple of times but Albedo could hardly care. Surely discovering the world's secrets is more important than helping the Knights look for Margaret's lost cat for the umpteenth now right?

Despite being Mondstadt's favorite person and with a reputation that precedes him, Albedo was surprisingly anti-social. He had little to no regards for social interaction and this is further proved when he made himself a makeshift laboratory in one of Dragonspine's cave.

It was quiet, deserted and had almost everything he needed for his studies. If he ever ran out of supplies then he'd be able to call for either Sucrose or Timaeus - or go down the mountain himself to make sure he'll stock up with more than the amount he needs so he can hole himself up for a couple of weeks on end. The scenery was an added bonus, if the amount of sketches he's made was anything to go by, it was safe to say that Albedo liked it as well. Thick snow carpeted the floor as far as the eye can go and streams glimmered under the light of the morning sun. The air was crisp and chilly, it nipped at his nose and made his cheeks burn red, but his cave offered a comforting warmth once he's sank in front of the hearth, nursing a cup of tea or hot chocolate.

Albedo was many things, that much you could tell.

A genius, an alchemical prodigy, a leader, a brother - and most surprisingly, even to yourself - your lover.

To be fairly honest you weren't entirely sure what it was that attracted the Chief Alchemist of the Knights to your side. You were hardly anyone special after all, simply just one of Lisa's many acquaintances who spends one too many hours in the library. You were of average height and build, with a face that you could only describe as forgettable. Neither you nor your parents were well-known within the walls of the city of freedom and you lived a mostly mundane routinary life as a baker until Klee had bounded into your humble store one rainy evening, soaked to the bone and sneezing from the cold. The poor thing was shivering and had asked to take shelter from the pouring rain. You didn't have the heart to turn her away and you were more than just a little familiar about the stories of Mond's most adorable but destructive spark knight. You allowed her into your home, giving her a fresh towel to pat herself dry and a cup of hot milk and freshly baked cookies. The child bounced in glee, thanking you and happily accepting the treats with a smile that could part the skies to make way for the rays of sun. You allowed her to phone her guardian after she had finished eating and you kept her company throughout the entire wait. You turned your attention away from Klee the moment the store bell rang and your (e/c) eyes had immediately met with bright turquoise irises.

"Thank you for taking care of her." Albedo said as he knelt down to assist Klee with wearing her infamous bright red coat and adjusted her mushroom hat so it sat snugly atop her head.

"It's no problem at all, she was lovely company. I'd be delighted to have her around again every once in a while." You chuckled, remembering how she had praised the treats you made for her.

"Albedo onii-chan Albedo onii-chan!" The spark knight excitedly exclaimed, tugging on his hand with each call of his name. "______ makes the best sweets! Her cookies are really good and the bread she makes are really fluffy! She let me help her mix the dough earlier and-"

"How about you tell me all about it when we get home Klee? It's late and I'm sure ______ has to close up shop soon."

Klee deflated a bit but was quick to understand, she turned to you immediately after and flashed you another bright smile.

"Thank you for today ______ nee-chan, Klee will come back to visit another time!"

You smiled at her enthusiasm and you couldn't resist the urge to pat her on the head.

"I'll be waiting for you here then."

Albedo stood up after the exchange and finally regarded you with his attention. "We'll be off then, have a lovely evening miss ______."

"And to you too sir Kreideprinz."

You watch them walk off down the cobbled street, Klee's joyous laughter and excited chatter filling the air despite the pattering of rain against your roof. They took a turn around the corner and disappeared from your view. A small smile tugs on your features and you immediately set to work with locking up the store for the night.

Klee had started coming over more often after that night, mostly dropping by before you close while she waited for Albedo to finish work. It was no surprise that Klee often talked fondly about her big brother, praising him and telling you stories you haven't heard from any of the other residents of Mond while you prepared for tomorrow's next batch of goods. Albedo seemed like a very busy man from the way Klee tells her stories but he always seemed to make time to pick her up, oftentimes buying some bread and sweets before leaving.

It surprised you a little when he admitted he enjoyed having something sweet while he worked. Albedo insisted that it was because it gave him a considerable boost of energy but a part of you thinks it could just be because he had a sweet tooth he just wasn't aware of.

Needless to say it was due to that chance encounter with Klee that had allowed you to meet the chief alchemist himself and your relationship had only continued to bloom from there.

He was - in simple terms - wonderful.

An eccentric, true, but wonderful nonetheless and you never would have guessed that you'd ever end up as his lover nor did you ever imagine you'd be holding him in your arms, sleep slowly overtaking him as you gently ran your fingers through soft platinum locks - much like the lazy morning you were both sharing right now.

Albedo had come home at almost 3 in the morning the other night, with a throbbing headache and eyes that almost refused to open from drowse. He had pulled all-nighters for several days now, refusing to leave his lab for even a moment as he fully threw himself into his work. Nothing could ever stop him when he was in such a state, filled with elation at the mere prospect of a new discovery. It was a side of him that you admired as much as you found it problematic, it was amazing how he could wholly dedicate all his time, effort and energy towards his research but it was a definitely a point of worry that he'd also forget how to take care of himself. The alchemist immediately headed to your shared bedroom, dragging his feet across the floor while he shed himself of his coat, letting out a long yawn before heaving himself onto the mattress' soft comfort. You stirred from your sleep as the bed dipped and knowing it couldn't possibly be anyone else other than Albedo, you immediately rolled to your side and wrapped your arms around his middle, nuzzling into his warmth as his arms found themselves around you to return your embrace. There was an exchange of sleepy mumbles before you both immediately fell back into sleep.

You smile a little bit at the memory, humming softly as you continue to softly card your fingers through his hair. It was more than just a little past the time you both usually woke, but you'll allow it for now. Surely the people could wait a couple hours more for their morning bread and the knights can surely make do without the Chief Alchemist for a moment longer. So long as Albedo was getting the rest he needed you figured a lazy morning in would be alright every once in a while especially after the sleepless hectic nights he had the past few days. The peaceful expression on his face immediately filled you with relief.

"Albedo?" You whispered, afraid you'd break the serenity of the morning.

The alchemist responded with a sleepy hum, lifting his head so he could look at you as his long lashes fluttered open.

A smile tugged at your lips at his sleepy visage before you gently pressed a kiss on his forehead.

"I love you."

He gives you a sleepy smile of his own, heart swelling at the affection before nuzzling back into the crook of your neck.

"I love you too."

His lips brushed against your pulse as he spoke and his breath tickled against your skin, feeling a little playful, you then decided to ask.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"But why?"

A question you've always been meaning to ask, brought about by a sudden spur of confidence.

"Because meine liebe," Albedo starts, once again pulling himself away from your warmth to hold you with his gaze - you once again think to yourself that his eyes has the most beautiful shade of green - "I love you simply because you are you."

"You're certain it's not because I have a third eye hidden away somewhere or some freaky mutation I somehow have no knowledge of?"

Albedo chuckled lightly.

"Certainly not love, and I'm sure if you do I wouldn't be the only one to take notice of it."

You hum, convinced and resumed patting his hair.

The alchemist assumed his earlier position and sank further into your embrace.

"Besides," he murmured, sleep lacing his words,

"I think you're wonderful just the way you are."

#genshin impact #genshin impact albedo #albedo #genshin impact fanfiction #reader insert #reader #albedo x reader #not beta read my bad lmao

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spacesquidlings · 3 years ago

Text

Happy Father’s Day, Gavin

Gavin had never imagined a world where he would wake up every day to unconditional love and warmth. That he would be wanted and cherished by anyone again. But then he wakes up to his wife and his daughter trying to give him all the love in the entire world.

Pairing: Gavin x MC

Warnings: None

Notes: Thank you to one of my bestest friends @jihyuncompass who lets me ramble about Gavin all day long!!!!! I loves you Anne, thank you for always being the best.

ALSO this fic features my lil fan-kid for Gavin. Her name is Aurora and she is very loved.

ALSO, final note, but I’ve decided to stop using MC in lieu of an actual name just to make the fic flow a lil better

*******************************************************************************

Gavin woke up later than usual. He’d managed to get most of the week off, and he’d grown used to sleeping in, the warm cocoon of the blankets and his wife’s arms lulling him into a deep, heavy sleep. It wasn’t until the sunlight staining the curtains was a deep gold that he would slowly begin to wake, turning onto his side to pull Rowan against his chest and cuddle her for a while until his eyes were no longer crusted with sleep, and her voice lilted through the air, welcoming him into the new day.

But today when he reached for her, his eyes still closed, he was met with nothing.

Gavin frowned, reaching further across the bed, his hands meeting nothing but air and an empty bed.

His eyes snapped open and he winced, the sunlight shining directly into his eyes. The bed was indeed empty other than him, the sheets a rumpled mess, the pillows pushed around haphazardly the way Rowan often shoved them around when she was trying to wiggle against his chest.

He rolled over, wondering if maybe she was just in the bathroom, but the door was open and the light was off.

For a moment his heart sank, a bitter feeling of loneliness seeping into his heart and spreading across his tongue as he laid in the empty bed.

Where was Rowan? Where was his wife?

But then he heard the sound of footsteps heading towards the room, and the soft cadence of Rowan’s voice as she murmured something, so low Gavin couldn’t make it out.

He didn’t know why he did it, but he pulled the blankets back up around him, shutting his eyes as the bedroom door opened, his wife making her way through the sun-warmed room.

“Okay little princess,” she said, her voice low as she slowly sank onto the bed. “You can sleep with us for a bit, okay? But don’t bother daddy too much, it’s a special day for him, and he needs his sleep.”

“Okay mommy,” came the quiet response, and it was then that he realized that Rowan had only gotten up to retrieve Aurora, their toddler.

She’d been sleeping with them nearly every morning since she’d been a newborn, sometimes sandwiched between the two of them, sometimes carefully nestled into the bed next to Rowan when he had to leave early for work.

He felt the mattress shift again, and then a small body was curling up against his chest, little hands grasping at his shirt. The blankets lifted higher, and he felt them being tucked around him and Aurora as the toddler squirmed, giggling even as Rowan hushed her.

“Time for sleep, okay?” She whispered, and Gavin felt a hand against his brow, brushing back his bangs, and his heart warmed as he pictured the expression on his wife’s face, the tenderness in her eyes, the way her mouth curled up, her cheeks stained a rosy pink as she looked at him.

Aurora huffed, but curled closer against him, so much like her mother it made his heart ache.

“Happy daddy day,” she said, her voice already sounding tired, and he couldn’t help smiling, his heart aching from all the love that poured into him like the sunlight spilling into the bedroom.

He fell back asleep with the comforting warmth of his daughter against his chest and the brush of his wife’s lips against his cheek as she whispered how much she loved him.

***

He woke a second time to kisses from his wife, the sound of Rowan’s laughter dancing through the room.

He cracked one sleepy eye open to peer at the scene before him. Of Rowan propped up on her elbow, one hand cupping his cheek while she pressed kisses to his face and his neck. Aurora was still curled against his chest, but she was grinning up at him, her small hands now balled in the sheets.

“Good morning,” Rowan said, running a hand through his hair.

He smiled at them, his two favourite people, and his heart felt full. “Good morning.”

“Do you know what today is?” Rowan asked, her eyes shining, her voice teasing as she spoke.

But before Gavin could respond, Aurora chimed in, waving her hands as she beamed up at him. “It’s daddy day!”

Rowan snorted, leaning down to kiss the top of Aurora’s head. “It’s daddy day, you’re right! And do you know what happens on daddy day?”

Aurora hummed for a minute before jabbing a chubby finger at Gavim. “We celebrate my daddy!”

“And how do you think we should do that?”

“Breakfast!” She squealed, rolling onto her back. “With breakfast!”

Gavin couldn’t stop smiling, his heart warm, his world painted in sunshine and glittering starlight, happiness brighter than any star as he basked in these two people that he adored.

“What do you think, babey?” Rowan asked, turning her bright eyes towards him. “Should we start with breakfast?”

He kissed both of Aurora’s cheeks, and then brushed his lips against Rowan’s, unable to contain his smile.

***

The day was warm, with a soft breeze that carried the sound of windchimes and birdsong. He could smell blooming flowers in the air, could hear the quiet buzz of the bees that bounced through the garden in their backyard. Stella barked at a stray squirrel, her tail wagging as she started running circles through the yard, pausing to sniff the grass or the gate before sprinting aimlessly again.

The windows were wide open, and they’d even decided to open the back door so Stella could come and go as she pleased. Normally Gavin and Rowan would have worried about Aurora wandering outside alone, although she couldn’t have gotten far with the fence and with Stella often trailing behind her as she toddled around. But still it wasn’t always ideal to have their toddler wandering around outside unsupervised.

But today Aurora was wholly focused on helping to make breakfast for Gavin. She helped to cut bananas and strawberries, and she put butter on toast, and she stirred pancake batter while Rowan held onto the bowl, doing her best to catch any spills.

And when she was done all of her cooking and she’d supervised the cooking of the pancakes with a serious expression that Rowan teased was exactly how Gavin looked when he was focused, she waddled over to where Gavin sat with a big plate balanced in her hands.

“For you!” She announced, holding the plate up while Rowan stood behind her, trying to make sure it didn’t fall from Aurora’s tiny hands.

But Gavin hadn’t even taken a bite before Aurora was crawling into his lap and taking his fork from him.

“I’m going to help you daddy,” she said, nearly knocking an entire pancake from his plate in an effort to spear one piece of banana. “It’s daddy day after all.”

He couldn’t help snorting as she pointed the fork at him.

“Eat daddy! You need your breakfast!”

Beside him, Rowan laughed. “Aurora, why don’t you let daddy eat his breakfast. You need to eat yours too.”

She pouted, still waving the fork in the air. “But I wanna help daddy!”

Gavin rested his chin on top of Aurora’s head, peering at Rowan imploringly. “I don’t mind, and it means I get to cuddle with my little princess!”

He pressed kisses to Aurora’s cheeks until she squealed with laughter, her eyes screwing closed as she wiggled in his arms.

Rowan held up her hands. “Alright alright, it’s your day after all.”

Gavin hummed, taking a bite of pancake as Aurora jabbed the fork at him again. “Maybe you’re jealous though? Because you’d like some cuddles too?”

Rowan’s brow arched, but her cheeks turned crimson as he teased her. “That’s an awfully bold claim.”

“Aurora,” Gavin said in a conspiratorial whisper. “I think mommy wants some cuddles from me too.”

Aurora giggled, covering her mouth. “Daddy, you need all the cuddles today!”

He nodded. “You make a good point, and mommy gives good cuddles.”

Aurora nodded furiously. “The best!”

Rowan smiled, poking at her food. “Well maybe after breakfast I would like some cuddles.”

Gavin grinned, wide and bright. “As you wish, sweetheart.”

***

There wasn’t really any better way for Gavin to spend his day, if he was being honest. Aurora refusing to let him go, wanting to hug him as much as she could, Rowan pressing kisses to his cheeks and wrapping her arms around his waist for quick, tight hugs whenever she passed him in the house.

They all went outside to play with Stella, throwing around a little plastic basketball until Aurora fell back in the grass and whined, saying she felt too hot. But they’d barely been inside for a minute before she was clinging to him again, saying she had to give him more hugs.

She even tried dragging his guitar out, saying she wanted to play a song. But after smacking her hands against the strings a few times, Gavin scooped her into his lap, balancing the guitar on his knees.

“Do you want to play a song with me?” He asked, and Aurora wiggled with excitement as he’d tried his best to take her through the chords of simple, beginner songs.

They snacked on cut up peaches and strawberries and watermelon, all fruits Aurora had insisted on choosing at the grocery store a few days ago, and that she’d insisted on helping to cut, shouting at Gavin when he tried to help.

“No daddy! You can’t help today!” She said, waving her hands at him, her fingers stained with strawberry juice.

Rowan nodded, taking Aurora’s hands and gently wiping the fruit juice away. “We’re taking care of you today, babey, remember?”

He’d pouted at that, wanting to help with even the smallest of things. But any brief melancholy he’d felt was quickly washed away as both Rowan and Aurora had curled up with him, and he’d felt himself enveloped in more warmth and love than he’d ever thought he would experience in his life.

They watched movies until late, past Aurora’s bedtime, plastic bowls of ramen from one of Gavin’s favourite shops spread out before them. And when the food was done and the movies were over, night draped across the sky like a glittering veil, they’d all gone out into the backyard, and Gavin had gotten to lay on the cool grass and stare up into the shining universe, at the shining silver light of the stars, with the brightest lights of his life on either side of him.

The day ended far too soon, with Aurora falling asleep in the crook of his arm as they’d made wishes on shooting stars that had streaked past so quickly they’d almost missed them.

Gavin wrapped her in his sweater, cradling her in his arms as he’d carried her back inside, Rowan’s cheek pressed against his arm as she’d peeked down at their sleeping Aurora, cooing softly and reaching out to squeeze one of Aurora’s hands.

“She loves you so much,” Rowan murmured, kissing Aurora’s cheek as they laid her in her bed, tucking the blankets around her.

“I love her,” Gavin breathed, for a moment unable to take his eyes from the little sleeping form as she rolled onto her side, curling into a little ball, the way Rowan did when she fell asleep.

She was perfect, his perfect, beautiful little daughter.

He looked up then, into Rowan’s eyes, and the love in his heart grew brighter, shining like the shooting stars in the sky. “And I love you.”

Rowan ducked her head, but he could see the flush on her cheeks, the smile playing at her lips. “I love you so much, babey.”

He took her hand and drew her from the room, closing the door softly behind them, not wanting to disturb Aurora’s sleep. And then he swept Rowan into his arms, holding her tight as she gasped, her arms encircling his neck.

“Gavin!” Her tone sounded reproachful, but she was smiling wider now, and after a moment she nestled her head against his shoulder, her eyes falling shut.

“It’s late,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “We should go to bed too.”

She hummed her agreement, letting him carry her through the house as he shut all the lights off, before carrying her back to their room.

“You know,” he said, setting her down on the bed before going in search of their pajamas. “I do think you owe me one more gift today.”

Rowan cocked her head to the side, bemusement in her gaze as she watched him. “What do you mean? Did you not like the movies and the food?”

He shook his head. “No, I loved those. But I wanted something else, something you promised me earlier.”

Rowan hummed, her brow arched as she turned to change. “And what’s that?”

“I wanted cuddles from my wife.”

Her eyes were warm when they met his again, her features softened by the moonlight that washed across their room. “I can give you all the cuddles you want.”

He crawled back into bed, back into the cocoon he’d awoken in, the blankets soft and warm. Rowan crawled in after him, smiling as she held her arms out to him.

He felt so warm he thought he would melt as he snuggled against her, his arms wrapping around her waist as he rested his head against her chest.

“I love you,” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered. “You’re my everything.”

“And you’re mine.”

He was smiling as he fell asleep, warm and loved and safe in her arms. It was a tangle of feelings that he’d once thought he would never feel, and yet here he was now, wrapped in her embrace, her heart beating a steady rhythm against his cheek, lulling him to sleep.

And although, as he fell asleep, he knew that tomorrow would not technically be a special day, that there would be no reason to be excited for it, he found himself looking forward to it all the same.

Because tomorrow meant waking up with warm sunlight staining the curtains as it spilled into the room. It meant waking up to kisses from Rowan, from Aurora trying to burrow into their blankets. It meant another day spent with the most important people in his life, the people that he loved, the ones who loved him unconditionally.

So he smiled as he fell asleep, safe in Rowan’s arms as she played with his hair, already looking forward to tomorrow.

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #gavin bai #bai qi #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #gavin x mc #gavin x reader #dadvin #I just think he would make an eXCELLENT dad okay #he'd be a real jorts and barbecue tongs type man #calls kids sport #PLEASE he would be very good and he deserves so much love #aurora bai #star kissed winds

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 3 years ago

Text

A Piece of My Soul

Fandom: The Mentalist or rather the Marcus Pike fandom

Collection/Series: N/A

Pairing: Marcus Pike x GN! Artist Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: G

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Lots of fluff, but there’s that undercurrent of angst as the reader has been hurt before and made to feel less than important so if that’s too much right now that’s okay!

Summary: Marcus has always known that you protect your art, that it is a reflection of your soul and something you guard after being hurt one too many times. He never expects you to share your sketchbooks with him, assumes he will never have the honour and he’s okay with that because he’s happy to just have you. Until, one day, you show him just how much you trust him.

Notes: For me, I always feel like when I share my art with people they’re very meh about it or they are backhanded or even mean. I’ve not had the best experiences when sharing my sketchbooks or my work with people in my life and the idea of someone being so wholly awestruck just by the trust and openness of sharing something like that gets me. So here we go back on the Marcus Pike train because if I could ever explain what I want in a husband, he’s the man.

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Marcus had known of your love of drawing from the first date. You had been a little shy when he’d asked about your hobbies and interests, when you’d quietly and cautiously told him you liked to draw. When he asked for more detail, the mediums you used, the style you preferred, it had opened you up just a little more, his interest making you preen a little. Although still cautious, gauging his reaction to your answers. It had been like seeing a part of your soul that you kept hidden from people, it had made him simultaneously proud and angry.

Proud because you trusted him, from that first moment, to take you seriously, to listen to your interests and passions and not dismiss them. Angry because at some point, at some time, it was clear someone had dismissed you, made you feel like you weren’t worth listening to, weren’t worth investing time in. It was maddening to think that anyone could make you feel like that, like anyone couldn’t see your worth.

It was baffling because he found you captivating in all your passions and quirks. The way you ranted and rambled on for minutes, sometimes even hours, about something you were passionate about, never failed to draw him to you like a moth to the proverbial flame. The way you managed to trip over anything and everything, clumsy to a fault, was as endearing as it was concerning and he found himself eager to compensate, to pre-empt you going flying because of a step or a crack in the floor. He found the small things, not just the large things enthralling and enamouring, the concept that anyone might think different was just unfathomable.

So he worked to cultivate that trust, to show you that he was interested in you and all the things that made you up. He listened when you talked, never told you he was bored or showed a shred of disinterest. He remembered things you mentioned or were interested in, brought you books on the subject or sent you a link to an article he’d seen.

Watching the way that trust bloomed, the way you opened your heart and soul up to him in little pieces was nothing short of amazing. Still, he knew your art was precious to you, a piece of your soul. Your interests, desires, thoughts, opinions, and preferences are all laid out in pages and pages of thick white paper and red pencil marks. He never pushed it, never asked to see what you were working on or to show him your art, not because he wasn’t interested but because he respected the intimacy of it. You were not some famous painter who put their work on display for the world to see and scrutinise. You were just you, just someone who used art as a form of stress relief and self-expression, someone who guarded their work like they guarded their heart.

So the little trickles of your soul that you shared with him were enough, it didn’t matter if you showed him it all or only select pieces, anything was enough to tell him you cared, that you trusted him, that you wanted his approval. Not because you needed him to give it, not because he was that fundamental or important, but because recognition from him made you smile, made you feel important. You were important whether he liked your work or not.

He still remembers the excitement you exuded, happiness blinding and bright and so brilliant, when you’d finished a new painting and bounded to show him. You’d bundled it up safe and made the drive to his house, rushing up the steps so quick, he’d heard you trip before he heard you knock.

You’d been bouncing on the balls of your feet, painting kept within a folder, nondescript, the sort you kept your certificates in. The wide grin on your face, the shine of your teeth, and crinkles at your eyes had him smiling the moment he opened the door to you, leaning a shoulder against the door frame to watch you adoringly.

“I finished it! It only took me 20 hours but I finally finished it!” You’d rushed inside, pulling him by the arm so fast he had to laugh as he nearly tripped over his own rug. You’d been so excited and so proud as you’d sat him on his couch and carefully pulled the A4 piece of watercolour paper from the folder, plain back to him.

He’d been patient, watching you with the softest of smiles as your eyes flicked back and forth between him, sat with hands clasped between his thighs, elbows on his knees, and your painting. As you grappled with the gravity of showing him a piece of your soul and not knowing how he’d respond, how he’d behave. Patience was the least he could think to give you, and it had brought the best sort of ache to his chest when you’d shyly turned the painting around to show him.

20 hours of work and you looked away, eyes focusing on a plant he had in the corner of his living room rather than on his expression or what he might think. You’d been so nervous to show him and he’d taken the time to truly look at your painting. The colours, the composition, the subject, it didn’t ultimately matter to him whether he truly liked it or not, although he did, because he’d love it anyway. He’d love it anyway because you’d chosen to share it with him, when you were oh so private and careful with your art.

“Sweetheart…” You’d been prepared for rejection, to face the fact that your boyfriend didn’t like your painting, your art, that it was something you just shouldn’t share with him in the future. “It’s amazing! 20 hours? Can I?” He’d gestured to take it, to hold it and get a better look and you’d let him, a little stunned, but overjoyed that he liked it, that he wanted to look at it.

That had been the starting point for you sharing more little bits of your soul with him. You’d bring him finished paintings to look at, occasionally the odd doodle here or there that you completed at work. Not everything, and never your sketchbooks. Those were off limits, something he’d respected because he knew they were more than just a tiny piece of who you were, but quite a large one. Pages and pages of you sat for perusal and to have that rejected would hurt more than anything. So Marcus had been grateful for what little pieces of your art you did choose to share with him.

He’d always made it a point to show how much he liked your art, to shower you in praise and to make you feel listened to, seen, important. Your art was amazing to him. He was an art history major, he loved art, hence his job, but he wasn’t an artist. He’d never had the patience to sit and develop the skill set and so he focused on the work of others, yours was quickly becoming his favourite. You had your own unique style, something he found hard to describe or explain, but that he’d know if he saw your work. He’s almost certain he’d know if someone tried to pass a fake off as your own and if anyone asked who his favourite artist was he’d probably change his answer to you.

Still, he had hoped that one day you’d share that last bit of yourself with him. He hadn’t expected to actually happen, just a hope, a little dream, something he thought about at night before falling asleep.

Certainly not something he expects on date night.

He’s cooking dinner for the two of you, your favourite main and dessert, because he hasn’t had the chance to see you in a good week due to a hectic case, when he hears the tell tell sound of keys in the front door. He’d long since given you your own, letting you come and go as you please, with the excuse that when he was away on a case it meant you could keep an eye on the place and make sure he didn’t get robbed. In truth he liked having you around, liked that you came over just because you wanted to, that you felt welcome and at home and if he wasn’t so dead set on not scaring you off, he might have already asked you to move in. But, he wanted to take his time, not rush it.

“Marcus?”

“In the kitchen, honey!” He’s wiping down the side quickly, hiding the fact he’s a messy cook, when you walk in a heavy looking tote bag over one shoulder. It peaks his interest and from the little laugh you let out you can see it on his face.

“Are you busy?”

“No, it needs a good half hour before I have to check it again, why?” You watch him wipe his hands with a towel and brush at a small stain on his white t-shirt, the one that clings to his arms just right.

You're nervous, you know he can tell from the way your hands grip the bag straps tight over one shoulder to how you bite your bottom lip. He’s always been able to tell. One of the beautiful things about Marcus was the attention he gave to people, not just people he cared about, but people in general. He learnt everything he could about them, stored it away in his mind, and used it to show them how much he cared, how much he knew them, really knew them.

“I...I want to show you something.”

You grab him by the hand, the same way you always do whenever you want to share something, and begin pulling him towards his living room. It’s cosy in here at this time of night, warm light from a couple of lamps, soft blankets thrown over his couch, the ones he’d brought after realising how much you loved a good blanket. It’s a calming thing, to be in here, with him, somewhere you associate with home.

It often seems so silly to you, just how nervous you get about sharing something with Marcus, but you know it’s not. Know it’s not his fault either. Marcus has never given you any reason to doubt him, but other people have, so you push past the nerves because you do really want to show him and watch his face light up like it always does.

You sit him down in his seat, and curl up next to him, kicking your shoes off and placing the bag on the ground. He’s so warm and for a moment you just lean into his side, enjoying the warmth of his body and the way he nuzzles a kiss into your temple, nose tracing little lines gently for a moment. He brings you peace and it is that, that gives you resolve and has you reaching down for the items in the bag.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by you that Marcus places his hands at your waist, worried you might take a tumble off the couch, something you’re prone to. It warms you inside, that he cares so much, that he’s so casual with his affection and so concerned with you and your safety. Even something as simple as making sure he can catch you if you start to fall.

You come back up with a couple of books in hand, plastered with stickers over the front and a little dogeared at the corners. Marcus doesn’t remove his hands from your waist, just pulls you firmly back against his side and watches as you anxiously smooth your hands over the cover of one of them.

“I..I wanted to show you my sketchbooks, or well...the two most recent ones anyway. I...I don’t really show people them...but I want you to see them.” Your eyes are so wide and earnest when you look up at him, that he can’t help but cup your cheek in his hand and rub his thumb across the apple of it. God, he never thought...he never thought you would. Always thought you’d keep this little part of yourself private, separate, guarding it like a dragon guards a horde of gold. But, here you are, so earnest, so nervous, so open, telling him that you want to share this piece of your soul with him and he can’t stop himself from pressing his forehead against yours. Can’t stop himself from the gentle nudge of his nose with yours or the slow press of his lips against your own.

It’s a surprising reaction from Marcus, the way his nose presses into your cheek as he presses a firm but still tender kiss to your lips, the way his hand slides down to cup underneath your jaw, thumb pressing into the hollow there. It’s so surprising that it distracts you for more than a moment, to the point your eyelids take a little bit of time to flutter open after he breaks away, you leaning further into him.

“What...what was that for?”

“For trusting me.” He’s so warm and earnest, but still, he’s patient. He doesn’t grab for the books or open them himself, instead he waits for you to pull back and pick one up, settling it between the two of you.

He waits as you find the courage to open the cover and turn to the first page and every breath leaves him at what he finds there. It is a sketchbook and so it is messy, that’s the nature of it, it is practice and experimentation and you enjoying yourself, and it’s so clear, as each page turns, that this is you in book form.

Each page is either a confirmation of a fact he already knew about you or a new discovery. It tells him little things like how you prefer to draw certain subjects and the colours you lean towards when you reach for markers or coloured pencils. He’s reverent in the way his fingertips brush the paper and trace over the lines, in awe of the way your hands have worked in tune with your mind to put these things to paper and he can’t actually help the tears that start to well up in his eyes. Because you trust him so much, you’re opening the last part of your soul up to him with only a hope that he will not crush it or throw it back at you, that he will not abuse it.

“Baby, why are you crying?” You’re so concerned for him, hands pawing at his cheeks, brushing the rivulets away and cupping his jaw to make him look at you. Brown eyes watery but so happy, so in love and he hopes that you can see that, see how desperately he loves you. “Are you okay? Did...did I do something wrong?”

It hurts him so much to know you assume that you’re at fault. That his tears are bad or that they are a product of you doing something wrong, when they’re a result of just how much he loves you and just how happy he is at the trust and faith you have in him, the love you have for him, that you’ll bare your soul. It’s those moments that make him angry at the people before him. Family, friends, lovers, people who took your trust and crushed it, bent it out of shape and tossed it back malformed and damaged.

“Nooo, no, no, honey. Sweetheart, I'm crying cause I'm happy,” He covers your hands with his own, pulls you impossibly closer, “I’m happy because you trust me enough to show me this and I...I never thought I'd earn that.”

“Oh...well, I love you.”

“I love you too.” It’s said with a laugh, but not at you, the sort of laugh that’s just a bit of a huff of happiness, that comes from being overwhelmingly happy. It’s enough for him that you come to his house, that you share little bits of yourself with him and that you love him enough to do that at all.

While dinner cooks, you keep an eye on the time more than Marcus, he continues to flick through the pages. He comments, sweet little things. How something looks cool or how he likes the colours on a page. Each comment thrills you, fills you to the brim with pride and joy, to the point your cheeks ache from smiling. Perhaps to some people it seems understated, boring, the sort of date night that some would hate, but to the two of you it’s more than just date night. It’s a bonding experience, a sharing one. He feels impossibly lucky to look at your work, to have you there leaning on his shoulder, pressing kisses to his neck, impossibly lucky to have a piece of your soul right there in front of him.

It’s that moment that he knows; you’re it for him. He’s certain. You’re the person he’s going to grow old with, with your sketchbooks in a dedicated bookshelf and he’ll die saying his favourite artist is you.

------------------------------

All Works Taglist

@charradelange @belfry-bat @gabile18 @beccaboo929

Marcus Pike Taglist

@bdavishiddlesbatch

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike/reader #marcus pike #the mentalist #the mentalist reader insert #readerinsert #reader insert #gender neutral reader #artist reader

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

make up lies and say goodbyes and meet me at the door // J.P. (celebration fic)

Request: James, secret relationship, angst 13, fluff 8. The burrow? Idk u can pick. But please let it have a happy ending 🥺. I’m fragile 😂 - @leahstypewriter

Angst 13: ��All I wanted was a happy ending.”

Fluff 8: “Marry me?”

A/N: Title is from Emily Kinney - Married (I also use a lyric in this). I think I need to google the definition of ‘blurb’ because I keep writing fics and they just get longer and longer! This is my first time writing for James with anything longer than a headcanon so I’m not wholly confident on this piece - however, I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none - FLUFF, FLUFF, FLUFF.

Word count: 1.8k

Spring time at the Burrow is a sight that one cannot experience simply on their first visit. It takes a few visits to the home of the Weasley family for it to truly settle in that the home is a home. The christening of the entire Weasley brood was something to witness that once could only witness once; Molly Weasley controlling her children with an expert hand as they all lined up in the church. It was a lovely ceremony to see.

James sat by your side through it all; so close you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. All through the service, you had to restrain yourself from straddling the man in a place of worship. It wouldn’t be good for the vicar, and it wouldn’t good for the fact that you hadn’t gone public yet.

Returning to the Burrow, a marquee had been put up for party-goers. Following the rest of the guests, you find the long dark hair marking Sirius, and make a note of which table he sits down at. You make your way to the buffet table; grabbing a plate and whatever food you can. You only feel more ravenous at the sight of it; barely having time this morning to eat as with each attempt to leave the bed, James only pulled you back down.

You don’t have to see James to know that it’s him standing next to you. The charged atmosphere between the two of you is what alerts you to his presence.

A slight brush of his fingers against yours as he reaches for a plate of food. A slight brush of his fingers and it’s enough for you to crave all of his attention. He quirks his eyebrow at your obvious intake of breath; he knows what he does to you and he enjoys winding you up the best he can.

You take a seat next to Sirius; ignoring the way James sends a pointed look in your direction. Sirius immediately draws you into conversation with him and Remus, laughing over the rim of his drink. Sirius takes it upon himself to point out the members of the Weasley family stemming from the House of Black – he points towards Arthur’s mother, Cedrella and introduces her as his great-aunt somewhere along the lines of three or four times removed. You snort at Sirius’ lack of accuracy to which he points out that for the last few years, he had been living with James until he got his own place.

Shaking your head, you turn away from Sirius, careful not to catch eyes with James for the fear of not being able to control yourself once again. Your eyes dance around the marquee; happy to have been invited to such an event – an added extra by Sirius who didn’t want to face the extended and disowned side of his family alone.

Your eyes continue to travel around the marquee; taking in the decorations lovingly made by the Weasley children as well as the children themselves. The five young boys seemed to be running amok – their laughter filling the air as they race each around the tent. You can’t help but smile at the sight; each boy looking so happy.

It wasn’t something you realised you yearned for. A family. But watching Molly chase after her children with the largest smile on her face; watching Arthur lift young George onto his shoulders, you realise that you yearned for it all.

The wedding, the house, the family. Everything. You longed for it all to be with James; you felt silly for wanting this so early in your relationship, but just by being in his very presence it was hard not to want to spend an eternity with him.

All day it had been hard to find a moment for yourselves even when the party had moved from the marquee to the house; wanting nothing more than to spend a few minutes alone with James, but each time you got close, you were pulled in another direction by a child or by one of Sirius’ relatives to meet another aunt or uncle.

It was draining.

Keeping your relationship secret was a mutual decision; especially in the early months – the relationship was barely three months old; you were still in the process of getting to know one another romantically and work out how well you clicked together. The long friendship beforehand definitely helped, but keeping James to yourself was something you needed to do.

The atmosphere in the house becomes stifling the more you think about your relationship. You stand from your seat, sending a small smile in James’ direction when he looks over to you with a puzzled expression on his face. Your smile does nothing to calm the concern he feels as he watches you walk out the door, wondering what caused this change.

The evening air is warm when you step outside to catch your breath. Sitting down on one of the many benches, you take in gulps of the fresh air.

“Love?” James’ voice sounds. He takes a tentative seat next to you on the bench, carefully placing his hand between the two of you – knowing he cannot reach out to take you in his arms but wanting you to know that he would if he could.

“I’ve never seen somewhere so beautiful,” You murmur absentmindedly; eyes pouring over the horizon of the slowly setting sun.

James hums in agreement, “It is lovely here.”

You don’t reply. You aren’t entirely sure what else to say to him; instead, you keep your focus on the horizon – the sun setting, the bright and sweet smelling flowers, the beginnings of a vegetable patch. It’s a little slice of heaven, you realise.

“Do you want to talk about earlier?” James prompts. Keeping your secret from everyone was not the endgame, but the both of you simply desired some time to yourselves – to learn each other, to get used to each other, to selfishly love each other before letting other people interfere.

“All I wanted was a happy ending, James. I’m finding hard to keep us a secret when I’m so desperate for a happy ending.”

He grips your hands with such ferocity you’re worried he’ll break the bones, “Then let’s have a happy ending.”

“What do you mean?”

“Marry me?”

The breath leaves your body in one huff, “What?”

“Marry me.”

“James, I can’t believe this is happening. It’s only been a few months.”

“And? I’m certain of this and I’m certain of you. Would you marry me and always be mine?”

You bite your lip; thinking of every outcome that could fall from your marrying James. There could be no denying your feelings for the man; they were something you had felt for over a year until he asked you out to dinner. The yearning you felt earlier was back; churning in your gut as begin to think of a future with James as your husband through sickness and health, till death do you part.

You smile widely at James, “Let’s make our excuses and go.”

“Why?”

“I want to marry you James Potter, and I want to marry you now.”

James’ eyes glisten with unshed tears at your words, and he rushes off to find the lads and the Weasley’s to thank them for the offer of staying, but you both really must rush off as you have an early start at work, and he has an early morning meeting that he cannot miss.

Sirius furrows his brows at James’ words but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns to you with nothing but curiosity burning in his gaze. You smile softly at the man who had become something akin to a brother through your time with the marauders; through your time with James.

“Do you want us to set up a floo?” Molly asks kindly, bouncing a half asleep Fred on her lap.

You shake your head, “We’ll apparate back, we don’t mind. It saves on powder then.”

Molly nods; smiling at the two of you.

You say your goodbyes to the rest of the Marauders; they comment that they’ll see you tomorrow. You hold out your hand to James; he takes it and in less than a second, you’ve left the Burrow.

---------

James runs down the steps of the town hall; puffing slightly from how many there are, “It’s closed. We have to come back tomorrow for a license.”

“I get that, but why do you look so sad?”

James laughs, tugging you to him, “I really wanted to marry you tonight.”

Your thumb rubs across his cheek, “We still can, love.”

“How?”

“Well are the two of us present? We can do the official paperwork and aisle walking another day, but we can always say our vows to one another right now.”

“Right now?”

“Right now,” You confirm, “What do you think? Do you still want to marry me?”

“There’s nothing I want more.”

Underneath the now twinkling stars, vows are whispered, and make-do rings are created from some twine found in James’ pocket. Underneath the night sky, you pull him for your first kiss as husband and wife – the both of you making it difficult from the smiles on your faces.

It isn’t official – far from it. There are no witnesses; no minister. Only you, James, and the stars. But it’s perfect.

“When do we tell the lads? When do we tell our parents?”

“We’ll call them with our news in the morning, but for now…” You trail off with a sly smile.

“For now?”

“You’re all mine.”

-----

You wake up in James’ arms to the sound of crashing in your kitchen and the tell-tale swearing of Sirius Black. “James,” You groan, “Your friends are in the kitchen.”

James yawns, “I know. They woke me too.”

You sigh, opening your eyes, “Do we go down together?”

He nods, “Why not? They’re going to find out anyway.”

You stretch, “I like the sound of that.”

James smiles sleepily, “You know what I like the sound of?”

“What?”

“Kissing my wife good morning.”

You laugh; happily obliging the wish of your husband.

Yawning, you follow James downstairs where you meet Remus, Sirius and Peter clattering about in the kitchen, making a racket as they try to make some breakfast. They each call out their own greeting; their eyes not missing the way you came downstairs together.

“Where did you two rush off to last night?” Sirius asks; a smirk on his face.

“We got married,” James states clearly; leaving no room for any misunderstanding.

Remus chokes on his drink; Sirius drops his mug of tea; Peter silently moves the frying pan off the hob to save the food from burning.

“You did what?” Sirius all but yells.

James reaches for your hand, “We didn’t get married, married. But we will be doing today.”

Sirius remains speechless; eyes flitting between you, James and your joined hands, “When did you get together?”

You look at James, “Almost three months ago.”

“And you didn’t tell us then?”

You shrug, “We wanted to keep it to ourselves for a while.”

Remus nods, “ I get that, but getting married so soon? Are you sure?”

The both of you nod; only looking at each other, “We’re sure.”

Sirius claps his hands together, calling the room’s attention to him, “Then we better get ready.”

********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @msmimimerton @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @nerdyatheletic

#james potter x reader #james potter #james potter reader insert #james potter imagine #james potter oneshot #james x reader #secret relationship #secret relationship au #james potter fluff #fluff #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #cute #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #x reader #reader insert

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generallybarzy · 4 years ago

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forgot

an: anon asked for the prompts: “Do you even care anymore?” and “Where have you been?” from a prompt list, and I got all of this finished in 3 hours.

word count: 1.6k

song inspo (of many others): make it up to you, imagine dragons

Of all nights…

Of all nights, tonight was the night Mat went out. Tonight was the night he didn’t come home to you, but left you waiting on the couch in your pretty dress, fancy new heels tossed to the side, sipping wine and staring ahead at reruns of The Office- the show you always watched with Mat- before turning the TV off completely, tears in your pretty eyes, mascara smearing. Tonight was the night he broke his promise.

You liked to think you were lenient. You knew Mat liked to go out with his friends after games, especially when there was no practice the next day, to have a few drinks and have a bit of fun, and usually you were there with him. But even the nights you weren’t there with him, you let him have his fun. There was no harm in it, he never drank too much and always got an uber home and climbed into bed with you, even when he was drunk and waking you up in his tipsy stupor and giggling at how “Ugh, you’re such a cutie. God I’m so lucky to have you. Missed you baby.” and peppering kisses along you next and shoulders. But tonight was the one night you needed him to come home, the one night he promised he’d be in your arms minutes after the game, and even as it neared midnight, he was nowhere to be found.

Tonight, only two hours after the Islanders game ended, was the night of a special gala you and a handful of classmates had helped coordinate for one of your college classes, and Mat was supposed to be accompanying you. He promised. You were all dolled up for him, your dress getting wrinkled and your makeup getting smudged from hours of laying on the couch and crying. You were lucky the professor didn’t require you to be there for full credit, and all your friends understood when you told them why you couldn’t come. Your heart, which you had slowly but surely built up the confidence to open wholly to Mat after years of heartache, was broken and bleeding. Because of him.

He promised never to hurt you.

The doorknob rattled and you realized just how long you’d been lying there, waiting for him. You didn’t have the energy to sit up, to look at him. You knew a fresh wave of tears was coming, and all you would want to do was to fall into his arms, so you stayed where you were, staring at the TV.

A key turned in the lock, the door opened, and you could feel Mat’s eyes find the back of your head.. “Babe, I thought you were asleep, the door was-”

The door was locked. He never came home to a locked door- you always greeted him with a smile and a kiss and a congratulations, no matter how the game played out. You weren’t there tonight. But before he could finish, you spoke up from the couch.

“Where have you been?”

“Out with the team?” Mat seemed confused, his voice was soft and you could practically hear his happiness to be home deflating immediately. You knew he always tried to do his best, but you were trying not to be sympathetic. You wanted to be angry, but the only thing you felt was sadness. You could tell he was uncomfortable, still standing only right inside the doorway and glancing around as if he didn’t feel right in his own apartment, trying to figure out what he did wrong. “Why? Did I…..”

So he completely forgot.

You stood from your spot and turned to face him, realizing that his face had fallen into a worried pout like you expected it to. Like you could already see in your head before he walked in. When he spotted the beautiful navy blue dress he had bought for you that matched his favorite suit, his own words came back to his head.

“We’re gonna to look like the cutest couple out there.” His hazel eyes, gleaming with pride and adoration, caught yours in the mirror, smiling when they did. You were wearing a dark blue dress, sleek and long with a pretty slit up the leg, and a sparkly necklace that Mat had bought for you. He was sporting his own brand new navy blue suit and a bowtie that you insisted was adorable, and wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing the side of your neck. “All your friends are gonna be so jealous.”

“Thank you for agreeing to go with me.”

“Anytime.” And you knew he meant it. He never let you down. “You worked so hard on this, and I’m so proud of you.” His face split into a huge grin when he saw you smile bashfully in the mirror, and he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Fuck…”

“Remember yet?”

“Fuck, fuck, oh my God, I’m so sorry baby.” He took a step forward, reaching his hands out to try and pull you in, try to comfort you. When you shook your head and stepped back, he froze in his spot, lifting his hands to fist through his hair. “I- I can’t even… I’m so sorry… I-”

“I reminded you this morning. How did you forget? Do you even care anymore?”

Mat’s eyes were wide with panic. He’d never forgotten a date before, you’d give him that, but you were just so upset that it had to be tonight. “Of course I care, oh my God, baby, I care so much. I- I don’t… I guess I was so focused on the game I just…” He let out a shaky breath, balling his fists up and squeezing to try and calm himself. “I’m so sorry.”

“It went great, by the way. I asked my friends. They missed me tonight.” After a moment of silence that neither of you could find the right words to fill, you turned towards the bedroom.

“Baby?”

You said nothing to him as you closed the door to change out of your dress. You weren’t mad, you weren’t about to fight with him, and a part of you felt bad for making him feel so guilty, but you were so upset with him. You were gonna let him feel bad for a bit, and you were gonna let yourself stew in your emotions. You knew he didn’t mean it, you knew he felt bad, but knowing your plans were that easy for him to forget, that hurt. Once you were dressed comfortably and your face was wiped clear of makeup and the only sign of your previous crying session was the red around your eyes, you opened the door to the bedroom.

Mat was sitting on the couch quietly, doing nothing but staring straight ahead, lost in thought and bouncing his knee, and you assumed he was prepared to spend the night out there. As much as you were upset with him and how bad he had made you cry, you couldn’t sleep without him.

“Mat, get in here.”

His eyes snapped up and he stood before you could change your mind. You climbed into bed while he changed, and then he stood by the bed. “Can I sleep here?”

“Of course, Mat.”

He cuddled down under the covers, watching you with sad, gentle eyes, and not moving from where he lay, as if he needed your permission before doing anything else.

“I’m not angry, Mat.”

“You’re not?”

“I don’t want to fight, I’m just sad.” Mat nodded, looking away from you for a moment. The light in his eyes was dim and blurry, and his breath was uneven as you turned your body towards his. “Any other night, I wouldn’t care, you know that. But tonight… you promised to be here.”

With a soft, shaky whisper, he spoke up. “I’m sorry.” The tears streamed sideways down his face, dripped off the tip of his nose and onto the pillow, and you couldn’t help but sniffe as well. Abandoning the cold exterior you’d tried to keep up, and the coolness you tried to keep about you, you scootched over and wrapped yourself around his warm expanse of body. His face pressed into the top of your hair, breathing in your strawberry shampoo and wrapping his arms around you to try and ground himself, to silence his sobs. “I’m sorry, I- I wanted to go, I promise I did, I’m sorry, I’m- I love you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t- I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I love you, Mat. I know you didn’t mean to forget, I know you’ve been busy this season, and I get that it’s probably easy to forget stuff, You have a lot to balance.”

“That doesn’t excuse what I-”

“Maty, I don’t blame you, alright? It just hurts.” You ran your hands up his cheeks, tilting him up to look at you. “I know you love me, I know you wanted to be there, I’m not going to hold this over you, alright? I’m just a little sad right now.”

Mat took a few more deep breaths to calm himself. “Baby.” He pressed his forehead against your, eyes boring into you intimately. “I swear I’m going to be there for you no matter what. Okay? I’ll- I won’t ever let this happen again. I’ll make this right, I promise. I’ll take you out tomorrow, all day, we’ll do whatever you want. I’ll get you a chance to wear that pretty dress again. I’ll make it up to you, I’ll- you just gotta believe me, baby, I- I love,. just, tell me, please tell me we’ll be okay?”

You stroked his tear-stained face with gentle touches and leaned in to silence him, pressing a kiss against his lips, a gentle kiss, filled with tenderness and care and apology and forgiveness.

“We’re okay. We’re okay.”

#mat barzal x reader #mat barzal #reader insert #op #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction

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yeojaa · 4 years ago

Text

( TO THE MOON AND BACK. )

You use your one brain cell for love. It doesn’t always end well.

pairing. kth x (named) f!reader. jjk x (named) f!reader.

genre + rating. non-idol!au. there’s some fluff and there’s definitely some angst. general.

tags / warnings. none, except for a lot of emotion. 😐😐

wc. 4.9k

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif as per usual (i owe you my life) and @yeoldontknow for tolerating me when i came crying into our messages.

author note. this was a commission for the endlessly lovely @1088x1088. thank you so, so much for loving this series enough to support it. it was a ton of fun to write (even though this chapter did really hurt). finding my voice again was a bit of a struggle, but i hope you enjoy it! i’m sorry this was late!

chapter 12.

You can feel the difference in the air the moment you step out of the building and into the arms of your bouncing, bubbly boyfriend. There’s something about him today - an intensity that radiates out of him, refracts off his edges like an aureate coin. He’s got the biggest grin on his face - so wide and unabashed you think he doesn’t even need the umbrella he’s brought along - that the sheer power of his joy might be enough to push the rain clouds back. It stretches wide, brighter than the summer sun, and spills light into darkness, chasing away all the spiders. It warms you from your toes through to the tips of your fingers, filling your veins with lovely golden thread, dust that settles in shades of yellow.

“Did you win the lottery or something?” The question is paired with a sweet kiss to his cheek, your entire body sagging comfortably against his as he wraps his free arm tightly around your shoulders and mirrors the gesture. Your cheek tingles where his lips land. You think he might be a wizard, magicking away all the hardships of your day.

“No, even better.” The excitement is nearly bursting out of him, seeping out at the seams that hardly hold him together. How he hasn’t simply told you yet is beyond you but you know Taehyung’s a bit dramatic - loves the build up as much as the climax - so you wait patiently, linking your hand through his elbow when you move onto the sidewalk. It’s easy to fall into this routine: the one you’ve perfected over the last few months. It never feels stagnant, never anything less than a warm hug on a cold day. You find comfort in that.

The sun sits low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the street. They throw shapes across Taehyung’s face, bathing his features in darkness when you step beneath an awning and out of the downpour. His eyes never stop twinkling - like stars against the night sky, lighting up even the places where the rays can’t reach.

“We’re hosting an exhibit for local artists.” He’s trying to be careful, hold himself together. Still, you can hear the way he speaks a little too fast, too quick to be nonchalant. Bite back a laugh when the words tumble into each other, failing under their restraints. “The director asked me to curate it.”

He stops and looks at you then, hopeful and bright and so brilliant you imagine the sun’s disappeared behind the clouds and found a new home in his smile. You know how much this means to him - how long he’s worked for this, how it’s cost him his parents’ affection and long hours that he’ll never get back. It goes without saying he deserves this, this incredible opportunity.

It doesn’t do it justice, but you offer your congratulations regardless, slipping support seamlessly between syllables. Blending the words with a squeeze of his arm, a delighted little giggle that spirals into the air like a Christmas orange, tart and sweet. “That’s amazing, Tae!”

He’s a million miles over the moon, eyes waning, lost to a flood of emotion as he beams down at you.

“I did all the research and she was happy with it and—” A twinkling laugh breaks up the excitement, steeping it heavily in the sound as he exhales a big breath that seems to steal a little bit more of his coherence. “I just—it’s huge. It’s next month but the director’s given me the go-ahead. Me!”

You decide you’d really like to bottle this moment forever, to keep it on a shelf in your thoughts. You think it’d be the best cure for a bad day, better than any chocolate, more comforting than an afternoon nap.

“Of course you, Tae.” You’re matching his smile, cradling his jaw in the small of your palms. Thumbs brush over the seam of his bottom lip, the freckle that dots the edge of his nose. “I’m so, so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this.” You know the words aren’t possibly enough but you gift them anyway because it’s still nice to hear. Everyone deserves that recognition, kindness to hold you up like ribbons, to keep your head held high.

“Thank you, jagi.” He sighs a soft sound, all rounded edges and a deep, abiding satisfaction that fills every inch of his expression. It’s still there when he begins walking again, guiding you back to his favourite place with you at his side. You fit exactly as you should, tucked under his arm, the tips of his fingers brushing over the teddy bear fabric of your coat.

“Have you told the others yet?”

“No, I’m going to tell them at dinner.” The pride that colours his tone is shades of yellow - marigolds sprouting between vowels, sunflowers encapsulating consonants. “I want Jungkookie to show his work in it.”

He must not feel the way you stiffen at his side, how the blood runs cold in your veins and sticks you to the spot like an icicle. You play it off well enough, tripping over your own two feet and righting yourself as if it were all just a matter of misplaced steps.

(In truth, you could’ve sworn your heart had plummeted through your feet, all the way to the molten core. You can feel it burning to a crisp, setting every nerve aflame at the mere thought.)

“I don’t want him to feel like… it’s a handout though.”

“He won’t,” you reassure around the strange, familiarly silhouetted lump in your throat. You are intimately familiar with Jungkook’s work - what spreads over canvas in lovely lilac shapes, stark ink bringing relief to watercolour. You know who inspires the evening skylines, the immaculate and yet effortless scenes he brings to life with strokes of pen, paint, charcoal. (Or, rather, you knew. Things could be different now.) Who graces - had graced - the rolls of film, painted in sepia tones until brought to life by a careful hand.

(You have a feeling they aren’t - that they’re just as they’ve always been. Too much the same to be safe. It’d be impossible to miss, even with blinders on. You and Jungkook would always be complicated.)

“He’s worked really hard.” Taehyung’s more or less speaking to himself, carrying a one-sided conversation as you duck back beneath sheets of rain, droplets rolling off the umbrella he carries and splashing all over your toes. Suddenly, the torrential downpour feels fitting, as if the skies have opened up to soothe the burn beneath your skin. “It’d be nice if he just caught a break, you know? Something to give him more confidence.”

He, as well as you, knows just how much of himself the youngest puts into his work. How every canvas, every roll of film, represents a corner of his heart. Offers a glimpse into his thoughts.

You, possibly more than anyone. But Taehyung doesn’t know that and it certainly isn’t your place to say, so you simply nod along, humming in agreement as you wander the quiet Seoul street. (It’ll be busy soon, once you pass from the residential area into the bustle of nighttime and exploration. Not even the rain can keep people away, everyone far too eager to catch up amidst a crowd of smoke and drinking games. You’re used to it though - used to being dragged out by the ragtag group for their impromptu yet regular weekly dinner dates.)

“I’m sure he’ll say yes.” It’s all you can offer as your boyfriend rambles on, lost in his own world

“Really?”

The amount of hope - strung up on fairy lights, dim and yet somehow so full - rings crystal clear in Jungkook’s voice, tearing your thoughts from the piece of pork belly you’re carefully grilling. You do your best not to jerk your head up, already all too aware of the topic. You remind yourself it’s not your place and you flip the slab, gaze trained on the fat that renders out and slides over the metal grill.

It’s hard to do but you weather the storm, quietly observant as the excitement level at the table turns to eleven. With a group of four it’d be boisterous; with a table of nine, it’s a cacophony of sound, rising above the din of the bustling restaurant. It kicks above the chorus of cheers and clattering utensils, as if this moment means so much more. (It does.)

“You think I’d joke about something like this?” Taehyung’s doing his best to play it cool, to convey something suave and reassured, but there’s the tell-tale wobble of his words, the way his knee bounces beside yours, nervous energy thrumming through his frame like a livewire. It practically pours from his fingertips, shooting out past his teeth as his mouth shapes into that familiar boxy grin that belies his delight.

Not that Jungkook’s any better.

On your other side, his hand’s tensing and relaxing over the tabletop, lips pulling and pursing around thoughts he hasn’t fully formulated. He’d always been someone who had to be moving - tapping his toes, shaking his leg, simply shimmying in his seat - but this is something else. It’s as if he’s on the precipice of a realisation, of diving headfirst into his lifelong dream.

(Which, you suppose he is. He’s wanted this forever, just like Taehyung. The break he so wholly deserved. It warms your heart even as it stills it, stutters it uncomfortably in the small of your chest.)

“I’m just—” Speechless seems to be the appropriate word, because Jungkook simply trails off, wonder in his eyes, his expression that of a child on Christmas. “Thanks, hyung.” It’s a rare occurrence, usually offered with that sly bunny smile of his, but it’s dressed in gratitude now, year’s worth of tenderness occupying the spaces between each syllable.

“Don’t thank me.” It comes, dismissive and yet still just as soft. Rounded by an awareness that exists only within this group, a tenderness that blooms and blooms and never withers. “Just make me look good.”

A teasing comment echoes from across the table - that’s impossible from someone who looks and sounds suspiciously like Kim Seokjin - and your group dissolves into a puddle of laughter, the chorus of amusement dissolving above your heads.

This is too good an opportunity, not the time for your selfish concern. You swallow your worry with a dab of ssam and a crunch of lettuce.

You miss the look Jungkook shoots you.

He has two weeks.

Two weeks to select five pieces he thinks will showcase the best parts of himself, the depth of his dedication, the quality of his passion. Two weeks to go through his extensive portfolio, to rummage through harddrives and pick through his canvases. Two weeks to determine what home means to him.

It’s certainly not the hardest thing in the world - Jungkook imagines it starts with the words Jeon and ends with a certain group of six idiots - but it still leaves him stumped, sitting at his desk for three long hours as he pours through folders, thankful he’d had the wherewithal to name things properly. (None of the Aug17uuuuuuughfuck.raw files of his college days.)

It lightens his load, keeps him from upending his entire setup and throwing it out the window in frustration. Not that he doesn’t still want to. He very much does.

But perhaps it isn’t the hundreds of images that’s the issue. Maybe it’s just one - the same one he’s been staring at for the better part of the evening, unable to move on even when he wants to, tapping over his mouse yet never actuating enough to pull him onto the next slide.

It sits front and centre on his screen and he can’t look away; drinks his fill of it like a man drowning at sea; savours it like a king at his final feast. A photo developed with an accidental light leak and how fitting that is, as if all the sunshine has been captured in the single click, trapped behind the shutter for him and him only.

You’ve always been that to him, though. Crystalline and beautiful, with light catching off your edges, refracting from every angle to spell something like I love you; with fireflies at the tips of your fingers, guiding him home in the dark; with the summer sun strung between your teeth, filling him with warmth.

Could he use this? Would it be too much?

More importantly, how would you react? Had your story ended, chapters of friendship folded between flat pages and tucked within a shelf to accumulate dust? To sit among the tomes long forgotten, never reached for, barely worthy of a second read?

Was this meant to disappear, just like you had? What did that mean for him - for his future? Were you meant to take all the possibilities with you, tucking them alongside your cotton candy laughter, the sly turn of your smile? Were they lost to the tangle of your hair, braided into a knot he’d never been able to unravel?

Jungkook hates feeling like this - all the uncertainty swallowing him whole and spitting him out; leaving him black and blue and bruised all over; dressing him in shades of grey that only seem to fade with each pass through the wringer.

A part of him wonders whether he should just ask. Surely you’d answer the phone, sound so pretty carried over the airwaves he’d probably forget himself.

Could he find the words? Would you laugh in his face?

He stares at the photo and wishes it held all the answers, that the light would offer something more than beauty, more than memories that feel more like nightmares.

Half your face glares back at him, a silhouette of the girl he’d been helplessly in love with. Rays balance across your cheekbone and cut through him like a knife. When he blinks, you’re still there but his heart’s all the worse for it, riddled with nicks and tears.

He’ll choose another, he decides.

Finally, he finds the strength, skips to the next preview - and regrets it almost as much as the first.

(This was his fault, of course. Jungkook had spent so long living in a world with you, saddled at your side, two pieces inexplicably interwoven. Of course there’d be thread still, a red string of fate coiled all the way around his heart, hanging uselessly at his side, snipped by hands that weren’t his own, now gone to tatters.)

It wouldn’t matter so much if it were someone else, if the bits of you weren’t so stark, holding his attention like a star in the sky, endlessly bright and unrelenting. Maybe if he could pretend it was someone else, his hands wouldn’t shake, a tremor in his chest from the way his heart bounces about, demands to be let out, to lay alongside yours.

As it stands, it is you - brought to life by his hands, overlaid in watercolour and black and a blanket of regret. The shapes are impossible to miss: the curve of your hip, rounded and warm, peeking beneath a wash of colour; the river of your hair, the wayward strands that curl across your cheek and tickle the stack of silver that lines your ear; the peek of your tattoo, embossed across your ribs, hidden beneath thin layers of paint.

The longer he looks, the worse it feels. A white pith of a lemon, bitter on his tongue, stinging all the cuts he’s never taken the time to seal up. That cry out now, echo the same sadness he’s felt for the last year.

Was there anything you hadn’t touched? Something that didn’t carry you in its hands?

He imagines there has to be.

And yet, as he goes along, clicks through image after image, he’s only left with reminders. Figments of you with blood-stained teeth and scarred flesh, sharks that patrol his thoughts and bite chunks when he ventures too close. He hadn’t meant to dive this deep - lost somewhere amongst the shipwreck of your friendship, a once beautiful thing now rotten and rusted, devoured by darkness. The empty hulls aren’t where he wants to be, caught on broken anchors and torn flags, sinking deeper and deeper.

He doesn’t know how to get out.

It’s absolutely perfect, because of course it is. Taehyung has put every waking hour into this, coordinating with vendors and artists and hardly sleeping a wink. The walls are painted, artistry strung up for all to see, picturesque beneath an array of lights. There’s not a thing out of place, each piece given their due, framed neatly with thoughtful text painstakingly written by your boyfriend.

There are dozens of people in attendance - the turnout the gallery had hoped for and yet still has Taehyung giddy, eyes wide like a child’s, wonderment written into every lovely facet of his expression.

You’re delighted for him, completely over the moon with how happy he is, pride rolling off him in waves that you’d gladly sink beneath. You whisper words of affection - pride, support - purring them into the warmth of his palms when he sandwiches your face between them and laughs so loudly you swear there’s no other sound in the world.

“Can you believe it?” This boy before you isn’t the Taehyung you know, carefully composed. He’s a comet through the night sky, illuminating, fluorescent, lit from the inside out. Glowing so bright it hurts your eyes, makes you blink once, then twice, then another time just to capture the moment against the backs of your eyelids. (You wish you had your camera with you - something to allow you to remember this moment forever, process it and store it in your pocket for rainy days.)

Your laughter comes in tandem, overjoyed for your love, for all he’s worked for and all he’s now achieved. It spills forth in bell chimes, silver in your ears, and you catch his hands in your own, fingers caught together. “Of course I can.” The distance between you becomes nothing, barely a breath passing as you press your lips to his, offering as much affection as you can in the tiny gesture. “I knew you could do it.”

“Really?” He doesn’t doubt you. Doesn’t even really doubt himself. But he asks anyways and you don’t mind giving, folding your support into another kiss, another squeeze of his hand.

“You can do anything, Kim Taehyung.”

He animates, a coin-operated boy whose sole currency is your words of affirmation. Springs to life with adoration in his step, a giddy smile that eats up everything else and wanes his eyes into crescents. Peaks like the sun above the clouds, endlessly bright - a supernova. “I love you.”

“I know,” you answer with your heart in your hands - in his - when they drop to his sides, fingers still intertwined.

He stares at you expectantly, unabashedly, waiting for the words he wants to hear. (A man with the world at his feet, whose heart still flutters for you.) “And?”

“And?” You parrot, cheeks round, a well of teasing growing in the dimple of your left cheek. It spills forth when his mouth pouts, turns this way and that before settling into an expression that’s utterly undeniable, the perfect blend of endearing and infuriating. When you relent, it’s with further laughter, a nudge of your hip against his as he pulls you close, cementing you to his side. “I love you too.”

You’d been prepared for the people (the professionals, the journalists, all the friends and family, anyone who was anyone gathered to attend) and the chaos (your friends - all of them running amok while simultaneously on their best behaviour, biting back laughter, echoing words of encouragement).

What you hadn’t been prepared for?

This.

Standing before a painted portrait of yourself, blown up ten feet and hung in the centre of the gallery for all to see. Full-lipped and grinning, with hands hiding half your face, dark hair piled atop your head and a bandana knotted below your ear. A picture that you can hear - your laughter sounding off the page, reminiscent of that night so many months ago, standing at the edge of the water, the ocean calling you out to sea. The sky streaked in colours you could never hope to replicate, hues that blend and bleed and build into something glorious, beautiful, ephemeral. An arm that reaches for whoever has taken the photo, light reflecting off the sheen of silver, of gold, of the gems on your nails.

You recognise it in a heartbeat - one that feels like it goes too long, as if it’s skipped not one, not two, but three beats - that thunders loudly in your ears the moment everything snaps into place.

(And oh, how it does. A hundred memories that shudder into a single image and tell the story of an entire summer.

Afternoons at Jagalchi, amid the smell of fish and flesh, eating to the point of gluttony. On the shores with sunshine at your fingertips and a hand in yours, endless possibilities stretching as far as the eye could see. Staring up into the sky night after night, admiring the stars packed against the dark and yet always drawn back to the brightest one at your side, a heavenly body hidden within the silhouette of your closest friend.

Your head on his shoulder during the train ride there and back, the quiet offered by his presence, the comfort found in his form. All the little pieces of himself that had somehow found their way to you: your pinkies intertwined, his dark hair spilling over yours, his breath that came low and slow, condensing between you and turning your cheeks ruddy.

What had felt like a lifetime away - seven hundred galaxies apart, never to be found again, engulfed by a black hole of your own creation.

What now feels like it’s right at your feet, so close you might touch it. That echoes in your chest, a spectre living within your bones come back to haunt you.)

“Pretty, huh?” Hums the voice at your side, filled with too much pride - for himself and his friend, for all they’ve accomplished. Taehyung has no idea, blissfully unaware, heartbreakingly handsome as he studies the image alongside you, lets his stare rove across the contours of the woman’s cheekbones, the shape of her mouth, pulled wide in a smile that might as well carry the world in it.

There’s something familiar about the girl in the painting, something that calls to him, draws him in and keeps him anchored. He wonders what it is, makes a note to ask once Jungkook arrives.

Your answer comes belated, disconnected and strange, a voice too far away to be picked up clearly. (You don’t mean it to - try to swallow down the emotion that crests and crests like a terrifying wave above your head.) “Very.”

“Kook mentioned a girl a few years ago, so I think it’s her.” How he speaks is thoughtful, as if he isn’t sure how much to say. Doesn’t want to overstep even as he offers these tiny bits of information - things he thinks you have no idea about, that’s the same thing that lives within your bones, settled like bedrock that cannot be eroded. (Guilt gnaws at you, turns its teeth cruel and unrelenting and licks the salt from your wounds like the back of a spoon. You swallow it down, listen quietly, quietly, quietly and try to slow the discomfort growing like weeds, the blooming of tiger lilies in the small of your chest.)

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung’s conversational, adoring, indulgent. He hooks his arm around your shoulders and holds you close, unaware of the turmoil that turns your insides to ash. He holds you like you’re precious - a sunbeam caught in his hands, just for him.

If only he knew.

“Do you want to see the rest?” There’s an eagerness that spills forth, tacks his words to one another and turns them into a single breath. He inhales all the bad and dresses you in nothing but good, pins stars into your hair when he fixes you with that smile and pulls you along, further into the gallery with a hop in his step.

You should say no; you can’t find the words.

So you follow him to his next destination - to another version of you. Another photo, grainy and overexposed, intimate in its detail. A faceless blur, made alive by light, artificial and too white, casting long shadows where there should be none. It’s easier to imagine this is someone else - a girl worthy of this love, of all the emotion captured within the single image. (Someone who could carry the weight of Jungkook’s affection without dropping it, whose hands would be a suitable home for the heart he’s now offered up, laid out ripe for the picking. Sugar sweet and saccharine, held aloft by a branch that threatens to give away.)

The truth is in the details, though, and you see them for all they are. The dainty thread that loops your wrist - mirrored within the frame before you. It sits evident in the freckles on your arms, the wayward beauty marks sprinkled upon your skin, constellations that should have names - do have names, whispered by the boy at your side.

“He’s really got a good eye, right?” There’s that pride again, full-bodied, like a parent with macaroni art stuck to the fridge. It’s sticky and honeyed, bright with affection, lemon tart and yellow - sunshine streaming past like the warmest day in July. It further cements the relationship he has - that they all have - one built upon years of friendship, of togetherness you cannot begin to fathom.

The guilt rears its head again, roars like an angry beast. You bite it back, catch its tail between your teeth and nod along, unfocus your eyes as best you can. The longer you look, the more it grows, spiny and angry and demanding of attention.

“He really does.”

Taehyung’s satisfied with that, too caught up in his own delight to notice the stillness, the quiet. It’s a silence he overlooks, sweeps past without a backwards glance. “There’s one more I want to show you.” The joy is unbridled, eating up every part of him, and your heart thumps feebly in your chest, kicked around by two pairs of feet. “I saw it and it made me think of you.”

You’re surprised this time - because it isn’t you. It’s not the shape of your shoulders or the turn of your wrist. It’s not a half-hidden smile, the dozens of tell-tale signs that would give you away. It’s something far worse, that sticks to your lungs and makes it hard to breathe, wet paper towels plastered over your airways like papier-mâché.

It pains you when you step forward to drink in the colours, the texture that lays everything in nostalgia. An image you recognise because you have the same one in your home, hung upon your wall, taken by your own hand.

Jungkook in an infinity room, bathed in a million little lights.

Except this is a painting, painstakingly recreated, with shadows deepened and white ink spread throughout. One of your most precious memories laid in gouache.

“I swear I’ve seen it before.” It’s a throwaway thought, more for himself than for you, but it breaks you apart, crumbles the foundation you’ve been carefully laying. It kicks your knees right out from beneath you and you swear you’d fall if not for the comfort of his side, the way he holds you up and inspects you curiously. “Are you okay?”

He looks at you with nothing but tenderness in his eyes; you unwind beneath his stare, sinew and bone unfurling, realigning, forming into someone worthy of his love. You tell yourself nothing else matters, that all the what ifs pale in comparison to this - how he looks at you as if you’d hung the stars in the sky; as if you’re more than just a girl who has his heart; as if you hold all the answers to the universe.

“Fine,” you answer, even as you aren’t, as the ground beneath your feet threatens to give way and send you to an early grave. Even as you cannot tear your eyes from the painting, terrified and awestruck, too many emotions turning your senses to nonsense.

You wonder if Taehyung can hear the tremble of your breath, feel it all the way through into the centre of his own chest. You wonder what he reads into it, whether he worries for you. You wonder if he can love a monster like you, who has kept these secrets under lock and key, tucked away into a far corner riddled with cobwebs and spiders and a fine layer of dust.

You wonder and wonder and then you have your answer when he speaks again, something in his voice that steals your attention, pins it directly behind the light in his eyes.

“Don’t you have this in your house?”

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @codeinebelle

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sunflowersteves · 4 years ago

Text

Bloody & Bruised || Drinking Games

mob!bucky barnes x boxer!reader

𝒄𝒉. 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: You, Shuri, Gamora, and Wanda all head to a new bar in town. You see a secret area that’s restricted, and of course, Wanda wants to see what’s behind it. The breath you hold ultimately leaves you as you stare at those cerulean blue eyes again.

author’s note: soo i’m liking this series wayyy better than before and I think it just flows better. I really like it and i hope you all do too!

warnings: drinking, violence, blood, a little angst, smut, fingering, [18+ only!!]

chapter one // series m.list // m.list

You sighed, your hips joined Shuri's as you sat in one of the booths at the bar she asked you to come to the other day. You took small sips out of the stirring straw of your tequila sunrise. The sweet taste of syrup and tequila rushed down your throat, a nice burn following after. You’ve already had one before this, so you were getting quite buzzed.

It was nice feeling a bit dizzy as yesterday you were a ball of nerves from figuring out that the guy on the subway was a famous mobster. Shuri was luckily able to calm you down and promised to help you relax. You felt relaxed, considering you haven’t thought about him the whole time you were here.

You laughed as you watched a drunk Gamora try to get Shuri’s brother, T’challa, to go dance with her. Her words slurred together, but T’challa agreed as he was then dragged to the dance floor. There were bodies all around them, dancing next to them as they disappeared into the crowd.

You turn to Shuri to tell her something, but neither Wanda nor Shuri were paying any attention to you. You follow their line of sight to see them staring at a bunch of people walking into an area that looks restricted.

All three of you could see a bouncer in front of a doorway near the bar, letting people in and out of the secret area. Wanda’s eyes sparkled slightly, and you internally groaned. Whatever was behind that door, you wanted no part of it. You had a match tomorrow, and you didn’t want to get tangled in whatever the fuck.

Both Shuri and Wanda quickly turned to you with gleaming, begging eyes. You outwardly groaned at the sound of their pleas and begs. Wanda grabbed your arm and, you rolled your eyes.

“Please, please, please-”

“Alright, alright. We can try to get in, but if we-” Shuri and Wanda drowned out your sentence with cheers of victory. You chuckled beside them while they shoved you towards the doorway. The tall bouncer looked at the two of you with a raised eyebrow.

“Names?”

“Wanda. Wanda Maximoff.” She stares hard at the bouncer as he narrows his eyes and tightens his folded arms across his chest. His lips were in a thin line, clearly unimpressed by Wanda’s reaction. She leaned a little closer with sneering eyes.

“You don’t know who I am, do you? Heard of Pietro Maximoff? One of the wealthiest men in the city? Well, that’s my brother.” She looked at her nails as if she was bored with the conversation. “I wonder what he would think about his little sister being turned down?”

You and Shuri could only look at her wide-eyed at the scene in front of you. You never knew that Wanda had it in her to manipulate somebody like that with her money, it was kind of impressive considering she could never hurt a fly. You also didn’t even know her brother was some kind of wealthy businessman.

The bouncer stutters over his words and quickly moves aside, letting the two of you inside. You all cheer in victory and laugh together at the situation. “Damn, Wanda, that was harsh.” She just brushes it off with laughter as you continue down the hallway.

“Yeah, I bullshitted all of that. My brother works at that pizza place near my apartment.”

Your eyes look around the place, and it was not what you were expecting. You thought that it would just be a bunch of rich people snorting coke on a brunch of tables. You thought you were going to be bored as Wanda and Shuri bounced around to other tables talking to people.

You were quite surprised to see a bunch of people surrounding a boxing ring, with two shirtless men fighting each other. Shuri smirked next to you, but you missed it, completely enamored by what was before you. Wanda dragged the two of you towards the front of the crowd. In the middle, the group formed a circle while two men had wrapped bands around their fists while they punched and dodged each other.

Pounding sounds of cheering escalate as one of the men punch the other one in the face, his body going limp and hitting the hard floor. However, not everyone cheers as some have to cough up some of their money because they lost the bet.

The referee walks up to the winner as he yells in excellence and pride, then walked around high fiving those who had bet on him. The ref quickly grabs the boxer’s fist and yanks it in the air, the crowd still cheering as loud as they can for the winner. They start to die down, the referee trying to calm down the mob of people so he can speak.

“Who wants to challenge the winner?”

The referee scans the crowd, looking for any sign of an opponent willing to fight the winner. For a short amount of time, there was silence. Considering that this boxer was notorious for winning all of his rounds, nobody wanted to challenge him.

You didn’t know whether you were just dumb, or it was the liquid courage that was coursing through your body as you blurted out that you wanted to join in on the fight.

“I do.”

Your voice chimes through the silence of the ring; widened eyes glanced your way. The referee slightly hesitates before making a motion that beckons you forward and into the ring. However, not everyone has happy to see a woman challenging the winner.

“I’m not fighting a measly woman.”

Anger had coursed through your body, lying still on your stomach. All you did was roll your eyes at the boxer, a smirk coming forward across your face.

“You think I’m inferior, and yet you won’t fight me? It sounds like you’re more afraid that I’ll challenge your authority and obscene masculinity.”

Shuri and Wanda were backing you up with cheering while the crowd around the ring slowly started to join them. “The crowd wants her to fight, Jeff.” The man snarled at you as the referee gave you some bands. You took off the jacket that sat on your shoulders, which Wanda took immediately.

The referee paused, making sure that you were good to go before the match started. You were now facing your opponent, a smirk teasing your face. This was a terrible shitty idea, but you couldn’t help but feel giddy at the adrenaline that was bouncing around in your body. It felt good to fight other than those with rules and guidelines.

“Who are you fighting for?”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “For?”

The referee points with his finger behind you, and you whip around. A gasp leaves your lips at the man sitting in what looked almost like a throne. There he was, James Barnes, the asshole that you met on the subway. He had three women surrounding him with flirtatious touches. He almost looked like a king.

Next to him, you recognized slightly as the henchmen in the subway. One was a man with blue eyes and blonde hair, and the other was a woman with fiery red hair. You assumed they were his most trusted partners.

Your eyes narrow slightly at the man, and you turn around, facing your opponent again. You never saw the Mob Bosses eyes dancing around you with a humorous gleam.

“I’m fighting for myself.”

The referee shrugged at you before locking eyes with James, making sure that it was okay you weren’t fighting for the mafia. You infer that he gives a nod towards the ref as he nods back before turning towards you, telling everyone that the fight was about to start.

You were given a mouthguard that you placed in your mouth. Your eyes flutter close, and you take a deep breath, letting your senses calm itself as you prepare to fight. The ref starts to count down from ten, looking at the two of you as the crowd starts betting on the guy in front of you.

You knew that no one was going to bet on you, none of these sexist jerks would be able to see how incredible you are unless you beat the shit out of this dude. To them, you have to prove yourself.

“Fight!” The referee breaks out of the ring, and your eyes snap open, watching the muscular man in front of you. He takes the first swing, which you were able to block easily. The crowd around you had gasped, definitely not expecting you to prevent that like it was nothing.

Your opponent narrowed his eyes and proceeded to swing another punch. Again, you dodged it with ease, and the boxer in front of you didn’t miss the sly smirk on your face. While he was distracted at thinking about his next move, you swung a right hook that connected straight to his jaw.

His body took the blow, and he almost fell backward, there was a bit of purple bruising already forming onto his now injured jaw. The crowd erupted in cheers and yelled at the amount of force you were giving. All Shuri and Wanda did was smirk, knowing that the man had offered defeat when you said you were going to fight.

The ref holds up his hand, and you stop for a second while he checks on the guy; he nods that he’s okay, and the referee jumps back into the crowd. The boxer groans in annoyance and narrows his eyes at your figure. He couldn’t even get a swing in and punch you in the face, which was something that never had happened before.

This time, he went for an uppercut just as he thought you were caught off guard by the crowd cheering again. However, he was clearly wrong. This time though, you completely stopped his movements. You had quickly grabbed his fist, his punch wholly deflated.

In fast movements, you quickly swing with your other arm and hit him square in the face, blood seeping out from his nose and onto your jaw, which you knew would be sore tomorrow. He stumbles slightly before looking completely stunned. His eyes were rapidly moving from side to side as his vision became blurry. He sunk to his knees, the crowd was now silent in shock.

Immediately, he was fully slumped to the ground now, eyes fully closed. The ref ran over to him, counting down from ten as he watched for any movement. He got down to one and was astounded as he looked at you, your face and body completely untouched.

Two punches, that’s all you gave for this man to be knocked cold onto the ground. You definitely weren’t fighting to just fuck around in the ring. The crowd had practically exploded, never before had they seen somebody K.O. someone in a matter of minutes.

Shuri and Wanda, on the other hand, were extremely pleased with the rich men giving them all their money. They were delighted to have them cough up their riches. You turn around to see the mob boss stare at you with a look that you couldn’t quite decipher.

However, his demeanor quickly changed into that of a cocky one as a smirk came plastered onto his lips.

“C’mon, doll, you’ve earned an award.”

Your chest was heaving up and down from the fight. You let your eyes trail from the top of his head down to his shoes.

“I’m good, oh so dangerous mob boss.”

A chorus of laughter left the red-headed woman at your remark while James just sneered. You were about to leave when his guards stepped a bit closer to you.

“Not even going to stay for a drink?”

A sigh escaped past your lips, knowing you didn’t exactly have a choice with his guards. You could take these two; however, you figured this whole place was riddled with them so it was probably a wiser choice to just roll with the flow.

You watched as the got out of the throne-like chair and fostered you to follow. Behind his chair was a red velvet curtain, which you assumed led to a private bar. His two friends, including the other guards, stayed still while you followed James into the private area.

It was quite dark and it was undoubtedly empty, not even a bartender was at the bar. It looked to be quite an old bar, lots of the finishing touches looked like they were from the twenties. He sat onto one of the barstools, swirling what looked like whiskey.

“So, Bronx girl, where’d you learn to fight like that?”

Your eyebrows shot up as his question; you definitely didn’t expect him to remember you. He grabbed an empty glass and slid it over to you, pouring you a glass of whiskey. His eyes flicker over towards yours, and he chuckles at your expression.

“You left quite an impression, doll. I’ve never been turned down before.”

A sly smirk appears onto his face when you roll your eyes. You take a sip of the whiskey and hiss a bit at the burn but then let the oaky flavor fill your taste buds.

“My dad. He was one of the biggest boxers in Morris Heights. He taught my sister and me how to box at a younger age. He always said he’d get in trouble one day, and he needed to know we’d take care of ourselves.”

His lips curled into a smile as he took a large gulp os his whiskey, his eyes never left yours.

“Bucky.”

You turn towards him a bit with confused eyes before taking another sip of your whiskey, now giving you numbness where your knuckles are bruised and bloody.

“That’s my name, my nickname anyway.”

You nod, turning towards him with a light smile. For the big bad and misogynistic guy that you met on the subway, this was someone you could potentially be friends with. Yeah, he’s a mob boss, but he doesn’t seem to see you as an object.

“Y/n.”

You don’t really know when the night progressed, but it very much did. Currently, your lips were locked with a certain mob boss and boy were his lips sweet. All night he would talk to you about old memories with his friends and he would even speak to you about his mother. You got to know who Bucky was, not some mob boss that rules over the city.

He definitely didn’t treat you like you were some object, so you were just hoping all his riches and fame were a ruse. He had treated you like a gentleman all night, and as you got a closer look at him, he was definitely more handsome than you remember.

His lips were engulfing yours, his hot wet mouth swallowing you whole. His velvet tongue made its way into your mouth, leaving trembling kisses. He tasted like whiskey and faded mint, which made your knees slightly weak. Your hands moved down to his chest, prompting a sweet groan to erupt from his throat.

Your back was pressed up against the bar wall, touching some of the bottles behind you. Your legs were tightly wrapped around his torso as your kisses became hungrier.

The whiskey bottle was long empty by now, the two of you had drank one whole. His hands were touching all over your body, from your legs to your stomach to your arms and your back.

You were both sloppy, tongues peaking out to wet each other’s mouths.

You whimpered when he squeezed your hips, his slick tongue flicking against yours. A chuckle had lifted off his mouth at the sounds you were making from his touches. Your head was spinning, and your heart wouldn’t stop pounding in your ears. His hands moved down to the waistband of your jeans, and he hurriedly yet gently unbuttoned them.

With your permission, which you gladly gave, his hand slowly reached down to stripe your slick folds. His middle finger circled around your entrance, which elicited a gasp from you.

“You’re so wet, doll. All we’ve done is kissin’, huh?”

All you could do was groan as he slid a finger inside, your walls slightly clenching at the feeling. Your hands were now pressed in a tight hold on his shoulders as he took his thumb and started to circle your clit. The sensitive bud felt good against his rough finger, your nails dug against his shoulder, which leads a dent in his tailored suit.

He wickedly smirks at the way you almost scream when he adds another finger, his throbbing cock was pressed up against your thigh.

“You feel so good against my fingers, babydoll. Your moans are like a song.”

You whimper as his fingers curl slightly, hitting the rough patch that was your g-spot. Your arousal was spilling out of you and onto his fingers, your clit was now very swollen and tender to the touch. He pressed fast, hot kisses against your mouth and cheeks, his tongue wetting every surface.

You sucked in a breath as his fingers started to go in and out faster than ever, trying to chase that sweet release. You were almost there, that coil inside of your stomach, and the nerves that circled your cunt was about to pop.

“Bucky, please, I-”

“That’s it doll. I’ve got you. Cum around my fingers.”

A few pumps of his thick fingers into your heat, and you screamed his name, not caring who heard at the moment. Your lower body shook with pleasure as his fingers were riding out your high, which he then gave you much praise.

His fingers were completely covered with your arousal. He never lost eye contact with you as he pulled his hand out from your pants and licked his fingers like they were lollipops.

His lips locked with yours as his hand lifted up to caress your cheek, and you tasted the sweetness of yourself. You grew dizzier, so you pushed your arms up to his chest, breaking your lips from his. You both sat there regaining strength, the sounds only heard was the club and you both panting.

“My place?”

You quickly nodded, not giving a fuck at the moment.

“Drax, get the car. Now.”

next chapter

Bloody and Bruised: @xoasalxo @raven-rust @widowbite-legit

Permanent Taglist: @captainchrisstan @angstysebfan @teenagereadersciencenerd

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hansolmates · 5 years ago

Text

vernon; blossomed (m)

feat. tattoo artist!vern x flower shop fem!reader based on nonnie’s big brain

genre/warnings: flangst, lang, wild generalizations of how tattooing works, gratuitous love for side characters, mild drinking, phineas and ferb references, mild foreplay

word count: 12k

Vernon called you his Rose.

Not exactly his Rose, because you were definitely not anyone’s property and he wanted to give you nothing but your full autonomy, but it’s because he’s never had the chance to ask for your real name.

But when he first spotted you in the little lavender and honey colored flower shop across the street, you were tending to the rose bushes at the front entrance. You were cutting roses and you didn’t look utterly graceful, in fact you stabbed yourself more than once with the thorns. He couldn’t help but laugh when you laughed when your co-worker had to hand you a new bandage every minute.

He decided then that he liked you, even if it’s not wholly sexual or romantic, he liked you.

Or maybe he just liked the idea of you, the way you’d lounge around in the canopy swing with your boots tucked under the seat, fluffy yellow socks wiggling out in the sun. Sometimes you’d read a book, sometimes for well over an hour. He liked how you soaked up the heat and created your own little world, happily unproductive.

It was only a seven meter walk from the flower shop to the tattoo parlor, but the view from his front window required zero walking distance and a sure-fire lack of ever bumping into you.

“Vernie’s got a crush on the Flower Girl,” Yoongi sing-songed, chugging along a box full of random-ass materials that Vernon was supposed to clean in the morning.

Vernon scowled, and swatted away the older one’s hand when it dived in front of his face.

Yoongi whistled like he was an old-time animation, singing the day away. “Vernie’s stalking his crush.”

“I’m not stalking,” Vernon snapped, swiveling around in his rolling chair. “that involves shit like literally following her around, photography, I dunno, being a weirdo?”

“You definitely qualify for one of those.” Yoongi replied tartly, and he fought the urge to grin when Vernon finally turned back to the window, only to narrowly miss your form. The swing was now unoccupied, the only thing remnant were your working boots lined up against the entrance. “It’s been what, two weeks? Just ask her out already.”

“You think I would’ve done that by now if there wasn’t a reason why?“

Soooo you were dating someone. Some super tall, super handsome guy would stroll up to the flower shop every morning, coffee in hand. Before you’d take your proffered coffee, he’d pucker his lips for a good-morning kiss in repayment. Vernon looked back to Yoongi, who was staring right back at him and confirming his suspicions that yes he was being a fucking weirdo for paying attention to things like that.

Yoongi pressed his lips together, puffing his cheeks out in slight irritation. “So you’re stalking a taken girl,” he whistled lowly, “should I regret hiring you?”

“Not funny.”

“As repayment for effectively creeping me out,” The older one slipped his hand into his electric yellow windbreaker to twirl Vernon a ring of keys. “You’re closin’ up for tonight.”

The brunette’s jaw dropped to his lap, and he got up from his spot by the window. “What? What happened to Minghao?”

“Sick,” Yoongi shrugged.

Closing up meant that Vernon had to stay until 12AM, at the very least. The area was off a college town and that meant a lot of young lucrative artists would stop by pretty late, hence the closing time. Usually Yoongi and Minghao were the night owls, but tonight Minghao was supposed to fly solo because Yoongi landed a last-minute recording gig. “C’mon, can I at least close early?” Vernon whined, “it’s summer. No one’s here.”

“What, ya gotta date or something?” Yoongi smirked, swinging the entrance open. Halfway out the door, he added loftily, “don’t forget to water Patricia. It’s been two weeks.”

The door slammed and Vernon was left alone. He spared a glance at the window, only to see that your boots were now gone from the patio and only one light was on in the shop. Vernon turned to his company for the night, their jade succulent, aptly named Patricia Planty.

With Patricia Planty watered and a stomach full of Wendy’s nuggets in his body, Vernon busied himself up for a grueling five hours. Thankfully he brought in his laptop, as if he were expecting Yoongi to pull a fast one on him tonight. He drew some random things on his tablet: rockets, stars, the occasional squirrel, and roses. When he was tired of drawing, he’d blast the speakers off the joint and mess around with some of his music programming. When he was tired of doing both, he’d vegetate on the couch and read Reddit articles.

It was past eleven when the first customer of the night stumbled in. Vernon fought the urge to groan, putting down the pen of his tablet on a particularly intricate constellation.

“We’re closed!” He yelled through the office door. A white lie, but who would know?

“Google said you were open until 12!” A voice yelled back, sounding slightly strained.

Crap. Vernon lowered the volume and pushed away the swivel chair, swinging the office door open. With a rough clear of his throat and hoping not to look like too much of a jerk, he faced his customer, “Welcome to Nu ABO—”

It was you. Cheeks ruddied, and your eyes glassed with a fresh glaze of tears. Your lower lip worried into a wobbly frown. Vernon’s Reebok’s glued to the concrete of the parlor, effectively stopping him in his tracks. The smell of mulch and a mixture of flowers penetrated his nostrils, but it did nothing to distract the utter hurt etched on your face.

“Um, hey,” his voice was gentle, yet unsure. “What are you doing here?”

You just looked at him, incredulous. Vernon could have sworn he saw your left eyebrow twitch. Of course, you’ve never met him in your entire life, yet Vernon felt like he knew you since the beginning of your summer work. “Gettin’ a tattoo.” You replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, rubbing away a stray tear.

He didn’t want to say it, but Vernon sighed and reasoned, “But it’s just that, ya kinda look—”

You brushed past him, going straight into the artist room and plopping on the worn leather chair meant for customers. It was still high up because Vernon was cleaning the underside of the metal, so you had to do a little hop to get on. “I don’t care what kind of design. I looked up your Yelp online and everything looked pretty good.” And you then proceeded to unbutton the top of your blouse.

“Holy shit,” he bounded over to you, grappling his fingers between your shirt before you could undo the rest of it. His breath was probably hot and heavy, compared to yours which was fresh from the cool summer air. Your faces were so close, closer than he ever fathomed. He didn’t think you two would meet this early in the year, as he was emotionally preparing to visit your flower shop at the end of the month, making up some spiel on how he needed to purchase real roses to replicate a commission. Not now. Now was a spontaneous episode, where he was trying to refasten your shirt and ignore the petal pink lace of your bra baiting his eyes.

When he sensed that you would in fact, stop taking your shirt off, he backed up. “It’s just that, after eleven we don’t really apply tattoos. We just take consultations.” He tried to sound defeated, rubbing the back of his neck. Again, another lie. But Vernon wasn’t about to ink you on the spot, especially when you looked like this.

“Is it because I’m upset?” You cried, “because I assure you, I’m in the right mind!”

He winced, lolling his head back and forth. “That’s debatable.”

You frowned, “C’mon, I have money. Just do me this one solid.”

“What? No, you don’t even know what you want!” Vernon was exasperated. Not that he imagined the first time meeting you would be a walk in the park, but at the same time he wasn’t expecting to argue with you.

"Don’t you want to be part of my spontaneous young life? Give me a tattoo that I’ll think about with my children 30 years from now?” He would laugh if you didn’t look like you were crying a river ten minutes ago. “As long as it’s not a tramp stamp, because I don’t think I can pull that off—"

"Did you break up with your boyfriend or something?” Vernon blurted out before he could regret it.

Your face morphed into something Vernon couldn’t understand. Pain, for sure. But a sort of relief knowing that you didn’t have to hide it. “Damn,” you give him a tired smile, “does the whole town know or something?"

You cried again. This time, Vernon reacted quicker. Pulling out a Wendy’s napkin from his flannel pocket, he proffered it to you. He was thankful you didn’t question whether it was clean or not (it was!) and you proceeded to cover your snot and tears all over it.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

You sniffled and blew a particularly large chunk of snot before you shook your head.

"Do you… want fries?” He gestured to the small table in the room, which had some leftover fries from his combo. “I can heat ‘em up in the microwave."

Due to the fact that you ran out of tissue room, you rubbed your face with the entirety of your sleeve. You peeked out mid-rub, and replied with a soft, "hell yeah I do."

His heart twitched. Even betwixt your teary expression, you were so freakin’ cute. He shuffled back to the office, nuking the leftovers in the microwave until they were piping hot. Vernon waited a bit for them to get cool, and fiddled with the music so a soft R&B playlist bounced off the walls. He couldn’t believe you were here. Scratch that, he could, because you were bound to run into him one day due to pure proximity.

But he didn’t imagine you’d be plopped in his artist room at 11:32, bleary eyed and shoving potatoes in your mouth.

Vernon busied himself with his phone, and typed a hasty you wouldn’t believe what just happened… to the employee group chat.

[June 11, 11:33PM]

Bo$$ man: dont tell me u put aluminum in the microwave AGAIN

Hao hao: the chinese mafia came for me, didnt they? good thing I called out

Jeonghan is a prick: use your resources! sharp items are everywhere :) emergency money is under Patricia’s table

Bernie: tf is wrong w all of you

Bernie: SHES HEREEEEEE

"M'sorry,” you mumbled with a mouthful of fries, breaking Vernon from his mid-text crisis. He felt his phone buzzing like hell as he shoved it in his pocket, but ignored it for the sake of you. Your previous high of emotions has long worn off, and now you were looking a little embarrassed as you fixed your gaze on the empty container of fries. Your face is blotchy and red, and you’re especially puffy due to the salt you just consumed. “I should go home."

He didn’t want to be intrusive, but the look on your face showed it was clear that you didn’t want to go home just yet. Drumming his fingers against the metal table, he casually suggested, "Why don’t I do your back?"

You looked at him like he was crazy. "You still wanna tattoo me? After I cried like an idiot and ate your fries?"

"You’re not an idiot for being upset. And I offered you my fries.” He pulled out an ink canister, and a thin needle. “This is temporary ink we use to practice, or for customers who wanna test out the look. Lasts one to two weeks. And y'know, it’s a nice distraction."

You looked skeptical, unsure of his kindness. "Why my back?"

He shrugged, "It’s the biggest canvas. And if you don’t like it, you don’t have to look at it."

Still, you’re not convinced. There was something strange about him, something almost too sweet. While your schema may be marred by television and movies, the man in front of you didn’t seem like he quite fit into this little shack. He’s full of color, in his eyes and in his stature, his words clean and pure as he tries to soothe your aching heart. And as much as you tried not to check him out, you spotted no tattoos on any viewable part of his body.

"And it’s kind of cathartic, really.” He watched your lips quirk up in a smile at the word usage. Not only sweet, but probably smart. Your first smile all night. Cheeks effortlessly heated, he continued, “you kinda just let go into the feeling. And it’s always fun to not know what’s been drawn until the very end."

You’re curious. There’s excitement in your vision as he gestured to the available cot, inviting you. "Alright. Ink me up."

Vernon grinned, and started preparing the workspace. Handing you a medical gown, he quickly shuffled away to prepare the ink and needles. He didn’t really work with the clients as deeply as this, he was really just a glorified secretary that took care of the consultation. While he washed his hands, he heard the faint rustle of fabric, definitely your shirt and bra. He turned up the temperature of the water, acutely aware of how hot his hands were getting.

"Um,” your voice is muffled from being pressed up against the cot, your face presumably propped with pillows. “So are you Yoongi?"

"Nah, I’m Vernon.” He wheeled over a cart full of supplies, the metal clanging against the concrete. “’M usually the guy who wipes the sweat off his brow."

You hummed your own name in response, resting your cheek in the plushness of the cotton pillow. There’s a number of sounds paired with the R&B in the background. The smack of Vernon putting on gloves, the click of the needles and the slickness of the balm Vernon has applied on your back. His touch was warm, as his palm crescents across your back to soothe the balm into your skin. He then wiped it down with a paper towel until your skin was smooth and dry.

"Any ideas yet?” He asked, and from the corner of your eye you see him switch out a needle for a new ink pen.

“Maybe, stars?” Your voice is muffled against the cushions, as you’re hugging them close to your body. “And maybe something inspired by Spiderman? I liked that new one with Miles, he’s a cool one."

You could hear the smile in his voice, "I liked that one, too."

You stuff your own smile in your pillow, how embarrassing could it be that this stranger can make you feel better so fast? Mingyu would be groveling if he saw you now, topless, letting a man ink you up in however way he wished. "Will it hurt?"

He chuckled at that, "Nah. The ink will sit on top and sink in, I barely have to apply any pressure. Just relax."

Under the discretion of Vernon, who offered you fries and liked Spiderman, you relaxed. The first stroke of the needle and you were a goner. You closed your eyes and let him do his thing, You couldn’t tell what exactly was going on through his mind as he was painting your back, but you could tell his art was rather cacophonous: stiff pokes here and there, smooth strokes, and wide breaths of ink staining your back. The ink melted into your skin, bonding to your cells under Vernon’s careful control.

It was almost 1AM when he finished. He tapped your back, urging you up. Tired, and slightly dazed, you sat up. You realized a little too late that you’re only wearing a thin hospital gown, the straps having fallen midway through the process. The air was cool against your skin.

Vernon totally would’ve gotten a complete view of your sideboob if he wasn’t blushing like a maniac and looking away, and you respected that. His arm is punched out, fisting your button down. You hastily snatched it away, and turned around in order to look decent.

“The ink won’t show up fully for another six hours, so until then let me know how you like it.”

“Thank you so much,” you smiled gratefully as you do the last button of your blouse, and pulled out your phone. “Do you accept Venmo or Cashapp?”

“Oh, yeah.” He accepted the proffered device, and put in the necessary charges.

Once he gave back your phone, you added a sizable tip to the price he typed up. “The time really flew by,” you noted the time on the corner of your phone, 1:07. “It was really, an experience like you said.”

He shrugged, and threw you an easy smile. “I try.”

"Can I get a real tattoo from you someday? Y'know, when I’m ready?"

"Ah, no. I’m not really under the apprenticeship.” He looked bashful when he said it, as if he were caught doing something wrong. “I just work here for the part time money. I do art on the side, though.”

You had the urge to ask what he doesn’t do on the side, but it was late and you were probably holding up the poor guy for your trivial questions. “Regardless, I’m still thankful it was you that did this for me.”

In three strides, he opened the small door for you. “My pleasure. Have a good night. Or, morning. Or if you’re one of those people who don’t consider it morning unless it’s light out, then good night?”

“Good night,” you giggled, “get home safely.”

“You too.”

The screen door slammed shut behind you, along with the main door. Your car is parked in the grass patching of the flower shop. You jogged over, and the summer air made you shiver, your back still raw and warm under Vernon’s touch.

You couldn’t wait until the flower shop closed.

If Wonwoo noticed that you moved the porch swing relative to the placement of Nu ABO, he hasn’t brought it up. You weren’t spying on Vernon, no. But your skin was starting to itch with curiosity and in your haste to leave last night, you didn’t even ask what he designed on your back.

“Are you stalking the tattoo guy?”

Despite the voice being petal soft, you flinched. Assistant Manager Joshua Hong with a bouquet of boat lilies, was accusing you of stalking. His Converse tapped rhythmically against the wood paneling, looking down at you like a guilty child.

“What?” you floundered, waving around the florist magazine in your hands. “Josh, I’m studying! And the sun was in my face so I moved the swing.”

“You’re studying,” Joshua flickered his eyes to the run down shack across the road. “The tattoo guy?”

“I already said I wasn’t!”

“Then you’re telling me you spent all last night doing that,” he reached over to tug at your starched work collar, “all by yourself?”

Your hand flew to your neck, as if you were trying to hide Vernon’s hard work. “I just wanna see what he did, all right? And I’m trying to be very patient until closing because if Wonwoo sees me going there,” you jerked a head none-too-gracefully at the direction of the parlor, “he’s gonna tell you-know-who.”

Joshua frowned, because he already knew. After all, he stayed in the back room with you all last night, wiping away your tears. “Well, whoever did it is truly an artist,” he said genuinely, “it’s beautiful.”

Joshua finally left you alone, and you suddenly felt emptier than before. Sure, the breakup with Mingyu was conventionally bad, but why were you so conflicted with your feelings? You didn’t want Mingyu to know you were hanging out with other guys, but you wanted to let go of him. Maybe you were trying too hard too fast.

But Vernon made everything so, so easy.

No, you are not letting him be a rebound. The inner conflict in your head was giving you a massive headache, you couldn’t tell if the vibes you were feeling last night were because of the recent breakup or just an authentic spark.

The storm door shuttered boldly, and you jumped. Wonwoo stepped out, and gave you a weird look. “You alright?”

“Me? Yeah, fine.” You gripped the collar of your shirt and pretended to fasten the buttons.

He was unconvinced, either that or the pinched look he was sporting was an indicator of a bad day. “Listen, I know things are gonna be weird because my best friend is your, y’know,” he trailed off, painfully trudging through this conversation as easily as trudging through quicksand. “He’s gonna stop by a couple more times during the week, doing me a few errands. So if you wanna take the week off, recalibrate before the the month ends, just let me know. ”

“Won, please,” you wanted this to end, “we don’t have to talk about this, alright?”

He awkwardly twirled around his car keys. “Alright.” As simple as that, he threw himself in his sedan and drove off, dirt brushing the pavement.

You glared at the dust cloud until his car was far from your sights, the mustard color blinding your vision. “Honestly,” you said to yourself, finally hopping off your swing into the direction of the shack, “he thinks I’m five and never experienced heartbreak.”

“Welcome to Nu ABO!” this voice was different, and you slowed your steps. It doesn’t quite have the husk that Vernon’s voice held, but definitely matched the energy. The boy stepped out, and his eyes sparkled in recognition. “Flower Girll,” he said to himself, and you suddenly felt like you got caught, “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

"We haven’t,” you replied warily at the pet name, “where’s Vernon?"

"Oh, he’s around.” The guy waved noncommittally to the air in the room, crouching his head to look down at you. He stuffed his hands in his black overalls, which covered a painfully bright rainbow tye-dye tee. “Curious to see Vern’s ink though. He’s only ever done small stuff.”

“I thought he wasn’t an apprentice.”

He flicked his wrist around to show you a beautiful line of Chinese calligraphy. "Keep the secret between us, ‘kay?” He winked.

“Minghao, leave her alone.” Vernon stepped out of the small bathroom hidden in the artist room, a white towel behind his neck. You took in his disheveled appearance. His face was red from washing his face, and he wore the same clothes from yesterday. “Hey.” He said.

“Hi,” you replied, “did you sleep here last night?"

"Uh, yeah.” Vernon rubbed at his neck again, and stuffed the towel in his backpack. “I usually do the morning and afternoon shifts, I covered for this guy last night,” he jabbed his fist in Minghao’s shoulder, “but still had to do my day shift.”

“So,” Minghao rocked back and forth in his boots, “why are you here?”

You suddenly felt self-conscious, and gripped your phone between your two palms. A little part of you was disappointed that Vernon was not alone, but another part of you was relieved. It helped slow down the pace of your feelings (feelings?) that was heading in a direction you were not anticipating. “I wanted to say thank you again for last night.” You coughed, and Minghao grinned wider at your explanation. “And I was wondering if you could take a picture of my back? I haven’t had a chance to look at it.”

He beamed, and you could tell he was happy that you wanted to document his work. “Oh, of course! I completely forgot last night.”

Vernon moved to grab your phone, but Minghao swiped a hand in front of him. “Can I take your photo?” He asked you, although the look in his eyes said that you didn’t have much of a choice.

Your cheeks burned at the sudden intrusion. “Huh?”

“I mean, have you seen this guy’s Insta?” Minghao scoffed, albeit playfully as Vernon mirrored your flush.

“What are you talking about?” Vernon exclaimed, thoroughly insulted, “my profile is tastefully abstract.”

“It looks like it was tastefully done by a three year old.” Minghao pulled out his iPhone, and adjusted the filters. “I’m doing you a favor here, Flower Girl.”

You looked warily at Vernon, who slumped in defeat, “If you’re going for that e-girl vibe, I guess Hao’s a better photographer.”

“Better than your pictures coming out blurry.” Minghao shot back, holding the camera to your face. “There’s no light in here,” Minghao glared at the singular window in their tiny studio, the sill decorated with a single jade succulent. “Got any ideas?"

Vernon shrugged, "You said I have the taste of a three year old, so."

With Wonwoo gone for the day, you realized that you did have an idea of where you could take a tasteful picture. The thrill excited and terrified you. You only wanted a simple picture to see what it looked like, but Minghao looked as equally as excited to see your ink. Maybe it was the fact that the art was fleeting or that Vernon was really that talented, but it encouraged you to offer the setting up.

"I think our greenhouse has plenty of light,” you gestured out the studio’s only window, which was in perfect view of the flower shop. “We should be closing up soon, so it’s free."

Minghao nodded approvingly, "We can try."

And with a hasty "be back @ 4:20!” sign taped on the front door to Nu ABO, the three of them walked across the street to the greenhouse.

You went in first, nearly bumping into Joshua who was bent over, pot in hand.

“Hey Josh,” you grabbed the keys from the front desk, “borrowing the greenhouse."

"Hey Josh,” Minghao and Vernon mimicked, who found it amusing that you just brushed by without an introduction.

You rolled your eyes, hearing them exchange pleasantries and bro fists. The plexiglass doors to the greenhouse unlocked with a turn of your key, the smell of heat and grassy rain hitting your nostrils. Joshua placed the pot somewhere, following suit as the boys were right behind you.

“Awesome,” Minghao exhaled, stepping further into the greenhouse. It was a small one, but comfortable enough for a couple patrons to browse around. “I’m gonna move around some plants if that’s okay, I gotta vision.”

Joshua looked a little frazzled watching Minghao talk to himself and start moving the settings around (“The hydrangeas don’t go there, are you crazy?”) and started helping Minghao move the pots and placements around. You and Vernon hung around the entrance, giggling to yourselves.

You tried to bump his shoulder, which didn’t even reach his. “So, what’s your Insta handle?”

He quirked his brows at that, “Why, so you can judge my aesthetic too?”

“No,” you replied, faking your shock. “I would never insult your taste!”

With a roll of his eyes he said, “Speaking of taste, since your shift is over and my shift is over,” Vernon rocked back and forth on his feet. “Wanna grab a bite?”

Something’s fluttering in your stomach, and you stomp it down. It’s an innocent invite, yes. Unfortunately it was not-so-innocent in your twisted mind knowing that you are still fresh from a breakup, yet your backed is marked with Vernon’s work. “You must be tired though,” you tried to reason, “you should get some rest, I don’t wanna bother you.”

“Not a bother,” he said immediately, “besides, I wanna ask you something.”

That got you curious. Before you had a chance to ask, Minghao was ushering you over, telling you to stand in front of a bundle of orchids. They’ve bloomed a Canary yellow, encasing you in a golden ring of flowers overlooking the terrace. The new friend has gestured for you to undo your shirt and he turned away in respect. It’s different with an audience and an expectation. You made haste to undo the buttons of your blouse, then your bra, throwing it aside. You felt the warm, moist air kiss your back, and you heard a low whistle coming from Minghao.

“Beautiful,” Minghao exhaled, “Vern, you’ve outdone yourself."

Beautiful. Vernon made you beautiful.

Your body was simmering, and you could do nothing as you let Minghao photograph you. You focused your eyes on a puddle dripping from a faucet in front of you, counting the seconds between each droplet.

“And, done.”

You shoved on your clothes, and felt extra awkward as you fumbled to reach for the straps of your bra. You nearly slipped on the puddle as you walked back to the boys, who were busy over Minghao’s shoulder.

“Super awesome,” Minghao handed you the phone brightly, “so much texture and feeling.”

The screen showed a halo of foliage that surrounded your bare back, blush orchids kissing the frame with color. Your work shirt bundled under your hips, and fell under your elbows to reveal a city sky. You were breathless, zooming in to capture every detail of the ink. A navy sky, blanketing buildings across your back in a diagonal, splaying from the bottom right to the top left. On the bottom, skyscrapers reaching for the stars.

If you zoomed in enough, you could tell that the stars were shaped like roses.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve said thank you in the past two days,” you started, causing Vernon to grin widely. “But thank you, I’ve never felt so beautiful.”

Vernon scoffed, “I didn’t do anything, I’ve only enhanced your beauty. That’s our shtick.”

You handed Minghao back your phone and thanked him. He then rushed off, saying he had to stay at the parlor since Yoongi was coming soon. Immediately, Joshua began putting back the plants in their rightful places. You and Vernon followed suit, starting with the smaller ones.

“So,” Vernon picked up a tray of succulents, “are we still on for dinner?”

Wide-eyed Joshua crept in-between the foliage, laughably appearing under a series of hanging plants like a madman. “Dinner?” he asked, looking between you two.

“Yeah man,” Vernon reached to pull Joshua away from the plants, “wanna come?”

Simultaneously disappointed and relieved, you let out a subconscious exhale. Joshua was coming, which meant that there would be no possibility for feeling weird (or catching feels), being awkward or fighting any oncoming feelings with Vernon.

"On Thursdays there’s this really good half-off sushi deal by my place. We can take out and eat at my apartment?” Joshua’s kindness was palpable at the offering of his home, and the both of you smiled gratefully.

Not more than two hours later, the three of you are bundled away in Joshua’s two-room, empty boxes of carryout stacked high. The television was playing reruns of Full House, the only source of light in the dim space.

“Are you gonna go home soon?” Vernon asked, and turned his head to the corner of the room. Joshua is cuddled up in the single couch, tucked in a wearable blanket with the armholes.

You shrugged, “I dunno. Usually I crash here for sushi nights,” you patted the couch lovingly, “This is my second bed.”

Vernon chuckled, tucking his feet under his thighs. It made him look impossibly small in comparison to how tall and lanky he actually was.

“So, what did you want to ask me?”

Vernon looked between his legs, as if he were trying to piece his words together. “Long story short, I got waitlisted at my top graduate school option,” he then pulled up his phone, revealing the picture of your back that was taken that afternoon, “but I was thinking that if I made a portfolio of this kind of art, it would really tip my application over the edge. Originally I was thinking of just sending my usual art, but it just popped in my head today while we were doing it.” He looked up through his eyelashes, wisps of copper looking expectantly at you. “If you’re comfortable with it, would you be my canvas?”

“Live art,” you surmised, “honestly, I’m honored that you would want me to be a part of something so big. You think I’m that good?”

No, you weren’t doubting Vernon’s art one bit. The fact that your back would be out on display for a bunch of strangers was unnerving, to say the least.

“Are you kidding?” Vernon zoomed out of the image, revealing the curve of your back and the generation of life reflected in the greenhouse. “This is wicked. You’re stunning. We’d make a great team!”

You felt your body heat at the statement. His presence was almost too refreshing, and you wanted to return the favor of helping you out last night.

“Lucky for you,” you shot a quick text to Wonwoo, “I’ve planned to take this week off.”

Over the course of the week Vernon wanted to do an artistic timeline of sorts, adding and retouching the already existing ink on your back until the canvas was full. It felt fulfilling, letting yourself become a vessel of success for someone. The following day, Vernon shot you a text revealing his portfolio, and said how excited he was to see you.

You met in the shack after his shift, and Vernon let you into the office and locked the door. You can hear the rap being played in the artist room where Minghao and Yoongi were working with a client.

The artist was muttering to himself as he invited you to sit at the couch. Something about whether he wanted to start from the “top-down” or “bottom-up.” Instead of contributing to his madness, you turned away from him and started shedding your shirt. Today was a plain cotton shirt, and you shucked it off and balled it in your arms.

No less than five seconds was Vernon’s hands on your back, and despite the warmth radiating from his fingertips, you couldn’t help but shiver. Vernon had explained that while he did a large portion of your back the first time, there was still room for growth and he wanted your back filled by the end of the week.

“Do you mind if I,” his hand hovered over your bra.

You shook your head, and with his thumb and forefinger he flicked off both your bra straps with ease. Your hands flooded themselves in the fabric of your t-shirt, which silently accepted your death grip.

“Sorry, do you feel weird?” He definitely sensed your lack of vocality, and put one strap back in case.

“I’m fine,” your voice is light, what else could you say?

“Whatever you say,” he hummed, and resumed his work.

You opt to take in the sounds. Minghao laughed about something in the other room, coupled with the zing of the needle. The music pulled to a stop and boomeranged back into a smoother arrangement.

“I think we’ll start from the bottom-up and build from there,” he then placed his hands around your waist, poking at the dive between your waist and your bottom.

There’s an unmistakable heat that pooled within you, which caused you to wring your shirt harder. It was going to be a long week.

By Wednesday, he was in your apartment, working on the sides of your waist. The day after every session, Vernon would take a picture of yesterday’s work and show it to you. A gummy grin would always take over his face, either proud of himself or happy that you loved the new addition.

Despite the fact that the only thing covering your body was a thin gown medical taken from the shop, every pore of your body felt unbelievably hot. You really shouldn’t be mixing alcohol on a Wednesday night, but Vernon was excited that he was halfway done with the project and it was time to be “poppin’ bottles.”

You felt a little drowsy as a result of that, but nothing terrible. Like he said, the feeling was cathartic.

“Aren’t you drunk too?” you murmured into your navy blue whale plush, “what if you accidentally stab me?”

Vernon laughed, and it shook the couch. You couldn’t see his face as he sat on the floor, getting in the crevices of your skin. He poked at your skin a little harder than usual, as if he were testing the possibility. “That’d still take a lot of strength.”

“You’d be surprised,” you sighed, “those little sticks florists use to keep the babies upright? Flat as a thumb and I still manage to impale tomatoes with them.” He doesn’t respond to that, and you’re left drowning in your own answer. You wondered if he truly thought you were a crazy tomato-killer, or was concentrated on detailing a particular patch of skin. “Can I tell you a secret?” you blurted, “honestly, I think flowers are beautiful, but I really hate working at the florist. The only reason I’m doing it is because Joshua really needed the help and he knew I wasn’t going to do shit until my city job starts in September.”

“Huh,” Vernon stopped, resting the heel of his hand on your back. “That’s funny. Explains all the cursing when you’re cutting roses outside.”

“You’ve watched me outside?” you grinned into your cushion, “creepy much?”

“Do you wanna know a secret?” Vernon blurted, evading your question with one of his own, “I’ve had the biggest crush on you since you came by in May.”

You tensed, and if Vernon noticed, he didn’t react. He kept on doing his business, marking your back with baby’s breath. It had to be the alcohol talking. If he drank at all, you couldn’t even tell because you couldn’t get up and he was strikingly coherent. All this time, and you didn’t even notice?

“You don’t have to answer,” he said, as if he knew you were strung speechless. “I just, wanted to say it. We’re cool.”

And you agreed, pretending to fall asleep.

Friday was around the corner before you knew it, and Vernon wanted to photograph the final piece where it all started. The greenhouse was devoid of human life at the crack of dawn, unless you counted Joshua who was asleep on the counter because he was the only one with a key that knew of your recent escapades with Vernon.

Vernon was just as tired as you are, but he was adamant about having the photo taken at dawn, as the first picture was taken in the late day. There was some contrived symbolism attached to it that you didn’t really understand, but you trusted his vision. Besides, your panda eyes wouldn’t be revealed in the photo, so you could master the art of sleeping upright while he took photos.

“Alright,” Vernon set up his camera. He was dressed in a university zip up and matching sweatpants, like he just rolled out of bed. “Everything’s set up, whenever you’re ready.”

Likewise with you, and you pulled off your hoodie, not bothering with a bra. Despite the fact that the room was temperature controlled, the cold morning air still managed to worm its way to your bare top. You quickly rubbed down your gooseflesh with your palms.

You two engaged in a comfortable silence as you tested out your poses and he adjusted his frame. After a couple of practice shots, the air seemed calmer.

“Cold?” Vernon asked casually.

“Anything that isn’t under the sheets of my bed is cold as hell,” you muttered, trailing your fingers delicately across your waist.

“That’s a nice pose,” Vernon said to himself, “we’re almost done. Then you can go to bed for the rest of your day. Unless you’re down for breakfast?"

You two still haven’t spoken about his little confession the other day, but in all honesty there was no reason to bring it up. Your lives were going in different directions, and you knew Vernon deserved more than a halfhearted summer fling.

"I think I’m down for bed and breakfast,” you replied wryly.

“Smart girl,” Vernon chuckled, “can you change your pose for me? Like, pretend that you’re stretching.”

You didn’t understand what he meant by that, so you ended up flexing your arms in different directions.

“No, we’re not doing yoga.” He let his camera swing around his neck as he rushed over to you. The sun was a soft white, the antithesis of golden hour as you two rushed to make the magic happen. He grabbed your arms from behind, twisting the left wris in an unusual angle.

"Ah, Vernon!” You jerked around to face him, now fully awake. “I’m not a Barbie doll, you can’t just move me like that."

Vernon doesn’t respond. He let go of you as soon as you screamed, eyes blown wide and pupils a thick black. His stare is frozen to yours, and his hand is in mid-air, a centimeter away from your bare breasts.

"Oh,” you said, “did I whack you with my boob when I turned?"

"Yeah, you boobed me.” Vernon looked afraid to stare anywhere but your face. “I’m so sorry."

"It’s okay,” you bit the inside of your lip, “I don’t mind if you touch me there."

Now, Vernon looked terrified.

It’s been a long week. A long, surreal week. You wanted to tell Vernon about your conflicted feelings, you wanted to ask about his little crush, and what on earth did he find appealing about you. You wanted to tell him how much you trusted him with your body, and how you wanted him to do more to you than just ink.

It’s then, the gaping boy shook himself together. His hands encircled your neck, haloing at the finishing piece of his work, an echelon moon. Vernon’s fingers trailed to cup your face, and you felt your whole body warm in anticipation. Patient, you waited for his carmine eyes to flutter shut, and you smiled, finally closing yours—

"The fuck is this?"

In an instant, the air was sucked out of you like a blackhole, and Vernon immediately shielded you, throwing his jacket across you like a towel.

"Mingyu,” you said shakily, clutching the cotton coat tighter around your form.

It’s then that a no-longer bleary-eyed Joshua stumbled into the greenhouse, seconds too late.

Mingyu threw down the sack of fertilizer he hauled on his back, black dirt smattering the floor. “Its been barely a week and you’re fucking someone in the greenhouse, of all places?” Mingyu was angry, plain and simple. “I thought we agreed on a break."

"You agreed on a break,” your thighs were numb from leaning on them, but Vernon’s hand on your back encouraged you to get on your feet. “I agreed that two years was too long to wait."

"And who are you?” Mingyu squinted his eyes at Vernon.

“He’s none of your business,” you stepped in front of him, tugging his hoodie closer around your frame.

Mingyu’s face fell in realization, and he looked between you two with forlornness that made your stomach churn. “C’mon baby,” your nails embedded themselves in your palm at the jab, “can we go outside and talk about this?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” your voice was paper thin, but loud enough for Mingyu to hear across the room, “I’d prefer you leave us alone, and do not talk to me ever again.”

It took all your composure to turn around, and you glared a hole into Vernon’s chest. You felt your body bleed goosebumps around your arms and legs, not out of weather, but out of anxiety. You hugged yourself to shut the prickly feeling down. You heard Joshua do the only helpful thing this morning and it’s his soft utterances that finally pulled Mingyu out of the greenhouse. ,

What’s left is the drip of the hose, and the two of you, unmoved.

Thankful for the silence, you looked up at your companion, who was speechless. Vernon’s lower lip was puckered out slightly, face contorted as if to say I’m sorry, that kinda sucked. The tell-tale signs of emotional overload began to prick at your eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” you wiped your face. Since when did you start crying? “I’m so sorry that I let all of this happen, and I let myself let this happen, and I’m such a mess and I’ve been trying to hide it all this time, but I’m selfish and I just wanted to see what would turn out of it.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Vernon tried to lighten up the mood, and offered you an easy smile and reached for a hug.

“I’m sorry because I don’t know if I like you or not!” you outburst, and pushed him out of arm’s reach. “I feel so fucking guilty I just got out of a relationship and I can’t tell if I like you or I like your attention, honestly. And it isn’t fair because you’re just so sweet and kind and easy to love. Either way at the end of the summer I’m moving into the city for my full-time job. And I, I, I don’t know!”

Vernon forced his way into your space, barely a foot apart. He didn’t touch you, but his warmth still emanated from the jacket you were wearing. He didn’t seem upset, then again you were probably upset enough for the both of you.

“Hey, I offered to do your back because I knew you needed a distraction,” Vernon said softly, “no strings attached, ever. You do you, right? Focus on yourself.”

You wished he was mean about this. It would’ve made it easier. “What if this is the last time we talk? What if I want to ignore you for the rest of the summer?” you murmured, already knowing you. should enjoy these final moments.

“We’ll live,” he shrugged, and finally broke the space between you. His lips planted themselves between your forehead, melting away the lines that marred your brows apart, “and we’ll heal.”

The city was daring. The city was unforgiving.

You tugged your scarf closer around your neck, which constricted your airflow but also prevented any possible windchill from slicing your neck. In your other hand you were hauling a week’s worth of work in a luggage that had once packed your things in August and sent you to this very career path.

As much as you loved your new life, you wished things would be a little more boundless. The box of your workspace, the box of the elevator, and the box of your goshiwon apartment were starting to feel particularly stifling this weekend.

It was Friday (or FriYay, as your co-workers dubbed) and that meant a weekend vegging out with a comfort meal and a new movie. There was a Burger King and a Gongcha under your apartment complex, both calling your name.

Boba and burgers, the perfect way to end a week.

You munched on your fries as you scanned the Gongcha menu, craving something sweet to contrast with your salty meal.

It is then a low, sultry whisper sauntered in your direction (in a Gongcha, with children) and you almost choked on your fry. “I would know that back anywhere,” the offender drawled.

What a strange pick-up line. The paper bag crinkled in your grip, and you turn around to see a familiar perky face in a scarlet Adidas tracksuit. Of all the places, he was here.

“Hey, Flower Girl.” Minghao greeted, wiggling his fingers in a wave. He was on a tall stool, long legs splayed out and a cup of oolong milk tea hung lazily in his grip. His cup was at least 50% ice, and he was shaking the cup like a rattle every ten seconds.

“Normally, people would start with a simple hello,” you replied wryly, ushering him over to wait with you in line.

“Normally,” Minghao shrugged, and slipped an arm around your shoulders as if you were long lost friends, “how have you been doing? Planting gardens for the spring?”

“Please,” you scoffed. To Joshua and Wonwoo’s chagrin, you’ve forgotten a lot since the summer. “I can’t even make a corsage anymore, my brain’s on overload. What about you?”

It looked like he was waiting for you to ask that. You barely got your order in before he started spitting out his story. “Didn’t you hear?” Obviously you didn’t, and he didn’t give you a chance to answer. “Two letters. RM.” Again, nothing. “The RM? The hottest rapper in Korea? Anyway, he was one of our clients in August—he got a sick design of a koala and an alpaca, cooler than you think—and gave us a massive tip on his Instagram story. We were famous overnight! We were getting crazy clients left and right—fuckin’ Sana wanted a little heart on her sternum, hottest thing.”

“So you were able to relocate the parlor to the city?”

“The big push was when Yoongi dropped RM his demo,” he shook his cup furiously, ice clanging, as if he never got tired of this story. “Like, I didn’t even know they were texting! I’ve been running the parlor mostly, I’ve always wanted to live in the city, but RM funded a lot of it and is helping Yoongi make his mix.”

In the back of your head, the question of an aspiring grad student was niggling in your brain, but you pushed it down. “So, if Yoongi’s working on his demo and you’re supposed to be running the parlor, why aren’t you there now?” you asked.

He stared at you as if it were the most obvious choice. “Because I’m here, drinking boba with you.” Minghao then grabbed your finished drink from the employee’s hand, ushering you out the door. “And now you’re going to follow me, because my break was over fifteen minutes ago.”

“What?”

“I have your boba,” he’s already out the door, waving your precious beverage like a fish to its line. “Hurry up, now I’m sixteen minutes late!”

You groaned, lugging your suitcase full of work and now cold french fries back into the freezing weather. The wheels of your suitcase are cracking in exhaustion, mirroring yours. You just wanted your damn milk tea, hot fries, and a Netflix catch-up. What was the point of following Minghao to Nu ABO, when there was no reason to be there other than …

“Oof!” your face slammed into Minghao’s back. The light was red. “Did Vernon move here too?”

“Duh, who else would be covering for me?”

“You’re trying to set me up!” You cried in betrayal, jabbing him in chest with your finger. “Y'know what, I’m just going to get another boba. You keep that.”

You two glared at each other. Minghao looked relentless, ignoring whoever was bumping into him on the streets. His eyes suddenly glinted to your rolling luggage, and he snatched it from your grip, running into the streets.

“Can’t replace your work, right?” He laughed, forcing you to chase him down the block.

You felt sweat start to develop on your back, contrasting with the icy weather. Your work blazer and pinstripe loafers were not suited for vigorous activity. Minghao has an unfair advantage, being tall and athletic, and you had just finished half a bag of Burger King. Damn him.

Minghao stopped in front of a sunken in building, with stairs leading downwards to a neon-lit parlor with the name glittering in electric periwinkle font. Flustered, you gasp at the cold air, finally able to stop. Despite having lost your breath ten meters ago, you managed to tell Minghao you’re proud that they have a real parlor.

Your heart was beating in your ears, and you can’t tell whether it was because you haven’t worked out in months, or because Vernon was behind that door.

Minghao dumped your luggage behind the reception area, and went straight into the artist room. This new parlor was much bigger, so when Minghao disappeared into a hallway he was out of your sight. You wait around, letting yourself sink into the familiar hip hop playlist. There are pictures littering the walls, all covered with a clean black frame. You see Yoongi and the supposed RM, sporting his koala and alpaca ink (which actually did look sick) and some photos of Minghao’s work, all of his designs being simultaneously colorful and graceful.

It’s then in the epicenter of this wall is a long black frame that cut across the horizon, seven images of a woman with flowers and stars inking her back.

Your back.

“Beautiful, right? I’m sure it takes you back.” Minghao was over your shoulder, flicking his fingers between the photos. “Lots of customers have requested these designs. He never makes them the same way, though.”

Instead of answering, you followed Minghao down the hallway and into the artist room. Vernon had just finished with a client. Poking in head first, you saw him ticking off protocol off a printed list, speaking concisely. The client was listening intently, and you see he has an arm sleeve with peonies. It’s then he noticed Minghao intruding once more, and frowned.

“Dude, you got milk tea without me?” Vernon said, affronted.

“Ya didn’t ask.” Minghao vigorously shook the ice in your tea like a baby rattle.

“You didn’t mention it, therefore I couldn’t have asked.”

“You’re so smart, Hannie,” he beamed at him like a proud parent complimenting his son, “that’s why he’s going to grad school.”

You let yourself in fully, and you felt shy as Vernon’s lips parted slightly upon realizing who his second guest was.

“Hey,” Vernon exhaled, and gave you a small smile. He looked happy, content. As handsome as ever, he ran a gloved hand through his hair, soft curls bouncing as he shifted around the parting. “This is uh, a surprise.” his eyes flickered to Minghao, who held his arms out in a passive shrug. “A good one to end the week.”

“Hi,” you bit your lip, feeling shy, “so, you decided to get certified and you’re going to grad school? I missed out on a lot.”

“That’s okay, we got time.” Vernon assured, “besides the fact that I got a project due tomorrow morning that I’ve barely started, and then I have a field trip I gotta go to on Sunday—”

Before it could drag on any longer, Minghao hacked out a very loud, and very fake cough. You broke out of the rêve, and muttered a “gimmie that” before snatching your precious bubble tea out of Minghao’s hand.

Vernon mirrored the cough, more out of embarrassment than annoyance. “Lemme finish up with this client, yeah?” And he jerked his head back to the patient, going on about safety.

Minghao led you out of the room, whispering a “you’re welcome” in your ear that taunted you for the rest of the night.

Vernon finished at 5, just like he did back in the little shack at university square. He came out in a 2XL neon green hoodie, leading the client out the door and telling him to “take it easy”. As soon as the client’s gone, he comes over to you. You’re still staring at your pictures, as if you couldn’t believe that you were on display, looking like a tasteful nude model.

“Hi again,” he said, dusting the imaginary dirt off his pants.

“Hi,” you replied, feeling tingly at the sound of his voice. Did you really miss him that much?

"Um, is it cool if I hug you?"

It certainly has been awhile. You nodded, unsure if you could form a coherent response because you could tell Vernon was blushing and he was being too damn adorable for you to handle.

Upon permission, he brightened. The warmth of his cotton hoodie enveloped you like the way hot chocolate feels after a cold day. You breathed in his scent, realizing how much you missed the scent of fresh laundry, especially on him.

"How are you?” He asked casually.

“Uh, m'okay.” You answered softly, “a little cold nowadays."

He hugged you tighter in response. With one more squeeze he let himself go, but kept you at an arm’s length. "Wanna get dinner?"

You looked at him funny, "didn’t you say you had a project due tomorrow morning that you haven’t started?"

Without missing a beat he altered, "Wanna get takeout? I’ll do work and eat while,” his eyes darted to your luggage, “you do work?"

While you wanted to say that it was Friday (FriYay!) and you weren’t planning to open Pandora’s Box until Sunday night, you obliged and followed him to his place.

On the way over, Vernon got his well-needed milk tea (and your second round) with two matching cartons of jajangmyeon. You trailed behind him rather than next to him, due to the fact that he was also lugging a Joshua-sized canvas on his back. In fear of being knocked out or ruining his work, you settled for walking a meter apart.

Vernon lived on the second floor of his complex. You imagined a sizable one-room similar to your goshiwon, but you’re in awe when you see a fully furnished living room and kitchen. You smiled at the singular jade plant decorating the windowsill, one you remembered as Patricia Planty one session months ago. The hardwood was so shiny you could see your reflection in them. Kicking off your shoes, you stumbled over the kitchen countertop, reveling at the onyx granite.

"I’ve never seen this much granite in my entire life!” You cried, spreading your hands over the cool rock. It was so well polished, you could see your reflection. He was certainly living the high life this year.

Vernon shook his head, setting the take out down and pulling out the containers. “It’s RM’s old place. I rent it out with the guys."

"God, this is ten times better than my place! Your kitchen is bigger than my apartment!"

He flicked your bowl of jajangmyeon over to your side of the countertop, the sauce and noodles premixed for you. "Eat up, babe.” He stuffed a radish in his mouth, now working to mix his own noodles, “we got a lotta catchin’ up to do."

Whether it was your hunger or the casual use of the word "babe”, you abandoned the granite for now and did as told.

An hour later, you’re flipping through their mounted TV, taking full advantage of their Disney+ subscription as Vernon is laying on the floor.

“I thought you were working,” you chastised, letting yourself sink further into their couch. It was like resting on a big, fluffy marshmallow. You never wanted to leave.

Vernon is splayed out like a starfish, papers and watercolors spread around him. His large body stood out against the white linoleum floor, his neon green hoodie reflecting on the shiny surface. “I am.” he replied blandly, “I’m waiting for lightning to hit me with a burst of inspiration."

"Grad school’s biting you in the butt?"

"Big time."

Another bout of silence hit the two of you, and it was surprisingly nice. You finally started to notice that Vernon is picking up some art utensils and is doodling something. (He still is on the floor and hasn’t sat up properly, but progress is progress.)

It felt oddly domestic, but you didn’t mind. There was no need to ask about the past, Kim Mingyu, or any other silly drama you two entrapped yourselves into last summer. What mattered now was the warmth of each other’s presence on this chilly night.

Your eyes are heavy and fighting against the long day, and before you know it, you’re asleep just as Rapunzel escapes Gothel’s tower.

You haven’t awoken to the morning sun in a long, long time. While the notion sounded awfully depressing (because it was), you really didn’t have much of a choice because the goshiwon was closet sized, and closets had no windows. But today, the sun blasted you, forcing you up. This was accompanied by the the tell-tale sounds of breakfast, which was weird because you only ever ate cold food in your room, because there was zero ventilation. The scent of dark roast muddled your senses, forcing you awake. You twitched at the sudden stench, and snapped your back straight. Were your walls always this pristine white?

"Didn’t know you were this early in the game, Flower Girl."

You never went home. While Vernon was long gone and probably off presenting some haphazard art, Minghao and Yoongi (for the first time, in the flesh!) were watching you from their marbled island, while you rubbed the crusties out of your eyes. "Usually, encroaching on a significant other’s apartment is reserved for the 5th or 6th date.” Minghao teased, waving his Nutella toast in your face.

“Oh, shut up,” you glared at Yoongi, who was slowly chewing on his own toast. There’s was black spark in his eyes, like he’s relishing on whatever has unfolded. “And you, you. I know this is the first time we’ve met and you haven’t said a word. But shut up too. Your thoughts are awfully loud.”

You’re embarrassed, and you pull up your hands to mediate your fired cheeks. Instead of your palms, you feel worn cotton dabbing at your face. You wiggled your fingers under the neon green hoodie. Vernon put on his clothes for you to wear. You were in a very uncompromising position, and his roommates were reveling every second of it.

Yoongi shrugged, throwing you a flippant grin. “Whatever you say, Flower Girl.”

Contact emerged in the form of texts and images. You wondered how Vernon managed to keep things casual in light of how sudden your meeting was, but you relished in the way things fell naturally.

[February 19, 2:10PM]

Vern: Is this still your number

Vern: If so, here’s what i submitted for my project

Vern: IMG.934

Vern: if not, pls enjoy this picture of a pink platypus. the medium was watercolor nd if you’re curious, i got the idea from sunsets and phineas and ferb. Enjoy your day

You: hey look, there’s perry

Vern: nice

Vern: wait, this doesn’t confirm if ur u or a stranger

Vern: are u just a perry enthusiast

Vern: evidence pls

[February 19th, 6:08PM]

You: IMG.48

[February 20th, 12:22AM]

Vern: ooh

Vern: look cute in my hoodie

You’ve toggled with the idea of just cutting straight through the bush and asking him out the next time you see him in person. A little part of you liked the chase, however. That feeling where you’re tugging between friendship and something more, and you can’t help but feel like you’re fifteen everytime his name popped up in your messages. You self-dubbed it the-honeymoon-to-the-honeymoon phase.

[February 27, 5:34PM]

Vern: what are you up to

You: it’s hour 32. I’ve been under the covers and have survived solely on celery and honey-butter chips. currently binging all netflix comedies. debating on whether to send for help otherwise i may never get up

Vern: that’s the spirit

By the time two weeks passed, you felt confident enough to ride off the mutually weird text messages and constant contact to meet with him. By then, you’re knees deep in the honeymoon-to-the-honeymoon phase. You’re languidly floating in that river, hoping you’re not rushing it by agitating the waters.

[March 8th, 10:10PM]

You: hey

You: you up?

Vern: nah. mastered the art of sleep textin

You: just wanted to ask if you could help me pick out a tatt that would fit me

You: if you were available. I’ve heard from the mullet-monster that you’re a hot commodity drowning in appts and deadlines

Vern: wait forreal?

Vern: i can pencil u in. tomorrow night @11?

You: so soon? What happened to being busy

Vern: not for u. Already have an idea in mind

By the time you arrived Saturday night, Minghao was slapping your back across the door, gabbing on about a “major banger” they were missing uptown. He looked the part, the only person you knew that could fill out an all-studded denim fit. Like a disco ball at a rodeo. He barely said good-bye before he hopped in a Lyft, cheering for freedom.

You poked your head into the artist room, and saw Vernon playing on his phone. His fist dug into his cheek, carob pupils glazed over. You almost felt bad for wanting his attention this late.

“You usually do the day shift,” you commented quietly, holding up a bag with two milk teas in hand.

Vernon looked up, illuminating in a half-smile. “Y’know me, always covering. Just for the hour though, this shouldn’t take long since we’re just looking at ideas.”

He slapped a hand on the client chair. This one was much better than the cot they had in their shack. This one was pure leather and gleamed high quality. You placed your drinks on the countertop and eagerly bounced onto the seat. “Comfy,” you murmured, and wriggled your sneaker-clad feet.

“Good,” there’s a sharp snap from the plastic seal and Vernon is sipping into his milk tea seconds after you put it down. He’s chewing on a particularly large gulp, gnawing on pearls like no one’s business. With his rolling chair, he slid over to you, seamlessly reaching for your wrist.

If he noticed that you’re wearing a particular neon item, he doesn’t comment. He turned on the overhead lamp, letting a soft white light bathe your form. When he finally spoke, he chanted your name in a sing-song, tapping your wrist in beat. It’s as if he were envisioning the color blooming on your skin.

You let him do his thing, and he pulled out his phone, scrolling through his gallery. You see pictures of his friends, some of his family, and digital art. He scrolled slower at the myriad of images: a colorful orca, lavender constellations, and budding roses.

You were seeing a lot of flowers nowadays, with the burgeoning of spring and the recent ending of Valentine’s. It’s only now that you notice how apparent the theme is throughout the parlor, particularly in Vernon’s affinity.

“Why don’t you call me it?” you asked softly, peering over his form to see him mulled over a picture of periwinkle lupines.

“Huh,” he’s distracted, and has now swiped back to the colorful orca image.

“Flower Girl,” you uttered, “they call me that, but you don’t.”

Vernon clicked his phone down, the lupines flicked away. He peered at you through his lashes, the white overhead making his eyes appreciably bright. “Before I knew your name,” he started slow, making faces to himself as if he were debating on whether to tell you, “I’d call you Rose. You were always by the rose bush planted outside the shop.”

“Avoiding work,” you crinkled your nose, however relished in the endearment, “being named after a rose is too big a compliment.”

He snorted, “That’s what they said. Hence, Flower Girl was born,” he’s easy about it, but now he’s put his phone down and is rubbing circles in your wrist. You wonder if he felt how clammy your palms were getting from the minute intimacy.

“You know what flower I’d compare to you?” you asked, “freesias.”

“And what do those mean?”

“Thoughtfulness,” the pad of his thumb still lingered on your skin, his grip painfully apparent. “And renewal.”

“Why renewal?”

“Because,” you swallowed, “you make me feel renewed. And this time I’m sure it’s because it’s you.”

Vernon looked like he wanted to smile, trying so very hard not to embarass you whilst you poured your heart out with delicacy. His coral lips were tucked in a thin line, teeth biting at his lower lip. Drop by drop, he was going to accept that dew with as much care as possible. “Only me,” he inquired, pressing into your pulse.

Your mouth was sand dry. “Uh-huh.” You exhaled a breath long clutched in your throat, hot air fanning into Vernon’s face. He paid no mind, and (to no avail) was still trying to hold in his smile. “You’re dimples are showing,” you whined, poking the little dip in his cheeks with your free hand. “Use your words.”

“Like?” he elongated, playing dumb. You supposed you earned his brand of torture, after all, seven months is a long time to make up for.

“Like how we want the same thing?” you tried.

“How do you know I want what you want?” he feigned, furrowing his thick brows. Acting could’ve been another career possibility for him, portrayed by the way his eyes were blown with confusion, his mouth parted like a kitten.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Forget words!” you broke, nearly shaking from the nerves.

It’s then that Vernon finally gave you a concrete response. His grip on your wrist was near painful as he eagerly tugged you closer, kissing you. There’s enthusiasm in every action from the way he pulled you closer, large hands melding to cup your cheeks. A little part of you is both breathless and invigorated at the energy stinging the room, and you can barely keep up until Vernon spilled kisses down your neck.

He threw up the armrest holding him back, tucking his knee between your legs as he lapped you up, kissing you fully. The chair was much too small for the both of you, his large body pressing you further into the cushions.

He sat up a bit, bumping his head on the lamp. He paid no mind. “By the way, I like you, too.” Vernon puttered cheekily, rubbing his scalp. Just as swiftly, he latches onto your neck and sucks at a sensitive spot. You can feel his teeth showing from the smile in his kisses. His thumbs rubbed lazily over your jaw, enjoying the feel of your soft skin under his rough palms.

“Really,” you exhaled, relaxing against the headrest as Vernon’s wandering hands traveled lower. “Had no idea.”

“But I’m happy,” Vernon is fumbly and sweet, mumbling in the crook of your neck while his fingers toyed with the waistband of your sweatpants, “happy you’ve healed, and happy for us.”

He’s excited, almost too excited. The space between you two was warm, the lamp beating under your skin, awakening something between you two that was left behind that summer. It’s as if winter left him dormant, and you were the fresh flower waiting to be bloomed under his touch.

“Are you always,” you gasped, two fingers already worming their way inside your panties, “talkative at this part?”

“Not if you wanna talk,” and the ever-zealous Vernon Chwe gets to work, sticking out his tongue in surprise when he finds that you’re already drenched. “Shit, you’re so beautiful,” he holds onto that word dearly, and pressed his forehead against yours, “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to hold you like this,” he reached for your delicious bud, and you felt your senses flower into pleasure.

He makes a noise, low in his throat as he watched you melt against the seat. “I like you like this,” he said thickly, his voice matching the slick sounds emitting from yourself. “Comfy, relaxed. You always looked so stuffy in those work suits,” you feel wholly undeserving of this worship, as he licked a long strip from your collarbone to your neck, “would love to help you chill out a lil’ more.”

A whine bubbled from the back of your throat, your eyes rolling shamelessly as you feel the pads of his fingers working circles between your folds. “Ah, I’ve—I’ve fantasized about this,” you confessed, “every time you’d ink my back. At one point we just stopped covering myself with those stupidly thin gowns. All you had to do was turn around.” Vernon blinked rapidly, mental pictures ticked like film in his pupils. His hands stuttered across your slick, inserting two fingers between your folds as you continued. His pace was slow, yet purposeful as he made sure you felt him with every thrust. Rings adorned his fingers, and the cool sensation surprised you. You shivered in pleasure. “Mm, I’ve imagined us kinda like this in that little shack, hard against the cot overlooking the shop,”

“Dirty,” he said, as if recalling the weather.

“And ah—wondering what kind of tattoos you have,” and in your haze you reached for him, your hand gripping firm at his gunmetal belt buckle. You tucked your fingers between the button of his light wash jeans, palming the telltale signs of something hard, “please? You’ve done too much for me, lemme return the favor.”

“Not now,” he pressed his forehead to yours, “you can guess my ink on our way home.”

“Wha?“ You’re dazed, feeling warm with affection and drowned in the moment. You feel his fingers, slowly pumping out of its rhythm and resting on your thigh. You groaned at the premature end, his shiny digits resting on your fleece sweats.

“They’ll kill me, this is new leather,” Vernon said, “and now we can afford security cameras, which are so small even I can’t find them.”

“Unbelievable,” you laughed. You’re not frustrated, only endeared.

“Besides, I’d rather have our first time somewhere private. Undisturbed,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, "somewhere where there’s lots of granite."

You melted, pulling at his collar to pepper kisses on his nose. The mention of coming home to his pretty kitchen was icing on the cake. "You know how much I love your granite."

(After your granite fantasy was fulfilled, you spent the rest of the weekend huddled in Vernon’s room. You’re living off take out and mutually satisfied with the unhealthy means. When you’re not eating or watching movies, the two of you are drafting your first piece.

Freesias and pink roses.)

(His tattoo was also very cute.)

#vernon #vernon fic #seventeen fic #seventeen smut #vernon smut #vernon fluff #seventeen fluff #vernon fanfic #hansol vernon chwe #seventeen scenarios #kpop #kpop fic #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #blossomed

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writing-fool · 4 years ago

Text

mlqc | special kind of sadness

I’ve been having strange dreams lately. Maybe it’s because of the quarantine, or maybe because of my messed up sleep schedule. I don’t actually have severe nightmares, but somehow an idea for Victor + nightmares came up. It was going to be very short, so I included other types of comforting scenarios. Ahh...besides that, you might have noticed my url is writing-fool, right? It’s actually based off of a Korean song called Swimming Fool. But I think it fits with MLQC too, what with Lucien calling us ‘his little fool’ sometimes~ What a happy coincidence...

Love,

Warning(s): TW! Lucien’s scenario includes a panic attack.

Victor

You’re all about showing the world that you’re a grown woman with big girl pants on. You’re especially keen on proving to Victor that you can handle yourself, thank you very much. Even though he’s supposed to be your soft, loving boyfriend, he seems to grow stricter the longer you’re together.

“Really? You’re not capable of being a producer if you can’t even get these reports done.” Ouch. Your life doesn’t seem to be getting easier anytime soon.

So...you chalk it up as a grave, grave moment of weakness when you instinctively call his number at three in the morning, after waking up in a cold sweat. By the second ring, you regret your rash decision. What if he’s asleep? What if he thinks I’m some kind of weak child?

By the third, he answers.

“What. Why are you still awake?” His voice sounds as strict as ever. ‘Why are you still awake?’ is a question you would’ve asked if you were in a clearer mindset. Alas, this situation allows little clarity.

You decide against hanging up. I’m bothering him already, might as well apologise. “I-I must’ve misdialled. Sorry to bother you,” you mumble. You hate how your hoarse voice and ragged breaths betray the sobs that have barely subsided.

“...I’m coming over,” is all Victor says before abruptly hanging up.

It’s a twenty minute drive from his luxurious penthouse to your apartment, but you know he’ll make it in fifteen. Running to the bathroom, you try to fix your appearance to make you look more like a successful producer, and less like a woman gone mad. But while your hair can be combed down and your tears can be wiped away, nothing works against your bloodshot eyes, shaking hands and pale complexion.

The doorbell rings, and you’re in full panic mode. You really don’t want him to see you like this. But without him, you’re probably not sleeping tonight. Also, he’s here already. Wiping your sweaty palms on your pyjama pants one last time, you open the front door.

Even when he has his sleeves rolled up, shirt partly unbuttoned and hair mussed from running his hands through it, Victor is handsome. But today, you can’t bare to look at him. Your apartment floor suddenly seems incredibly interesting.

A small gesture encourages his entrance. The door is barely closed again, and he’s already got his arms wrapped around you, your face pressed against his chest. The warmth of his hug and his rapidly beating heart open the floodgates again, and while your boyfriend strokes your hair, you sob your fears out on his black dress shirt.

Later, when you’re both huddled in your queen-sized bed, he asks you why you didn’t tell him about the nightmare right away. “I thought you’d think I’m pathetic or something. You’re always so strict.” You look up at him, mouth formed into a small pout.

For a moment, he’s dumbfounded. Maybe he never considered the idea? Victor hesitates, before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry,” he sighs, “I’ll be more considerate from now on.”

And as Victor rubs your shoulder, legs intertwined with yours, you doze off under the cloudy night sky. But not before hearing his sweet whispers. “Lean on me more, next time. I’ll always be by your side.”

Lucien (TW: panic attack, minor mentions of death)

Disclaimer: I know this could be taken wrongly. I have no intention to romanticise mental illness. It isn’t something that makes you broken, nor is it a ‘fun’ or ‘special’ thing. The story is partially taken from my experience, so I know how this feels. I wrote this as a way to bring awareness in a light manner, and to show that sometimes, panic attacks can be alleviated with someone around. I hope it brings comfort to those who wish they had someone in moments like these.

Listening to Lucien’s lectures tends to transport you back to the time when you were still a university student. Ah, it is a nostalgic feeling. A part of you misses being in school; going out with friends, listening to the teachers drone on about various subjects, eating in the school’s cafeteria.

But if there’s one thing you don’t miss, it’s the immeasurable amounts of stress. So why is that the thing I’m reliving right now?

As a young adult, you struggled with anxiety and spontaneous panic attacks, rendering you vulnerable to a work overload. You’d think it’d gotten better, especially since you have to deal with a lot of projects as a head producer nowadays. However, it seems as though old habits do die hard...This week has been particularly taxing—emotionally, what with your father’s death anniversary, and mentally; an important and popular show just got compromised by one of the actors’ companies. All that, and the prospect of an even tighter schedule during Christmas season has sent you into a full-blown panic attack.

Your initial plan was to just...ride this one out. That’s what you always did as a child. In an hour or two, your hands will stop cramping, your tears will stop falling, your breathing will return to normal, right? But it seems fate, and Lucien, disagree. I forgot I gave him the key to my apartment.

Lucien senses something is wrong when you don’t come out to greet him by the door.

“My love? Are you alright?” he yells out. Hearing little besides your irregular breathing, he kicks his shoes off, speeding towards the living area. You’re sat on the white sofa, knees to your chest, shoulders heaving and thick tears streaming down your face.

Lucien’s brows furrow in deep concern as he kneels down by your form. Even though he’s right in front of you, your eyes do not meet his. You’ve gone too deep in your own shell to even be able to acknowledge his presence. A tentative hand removes one of yours from its tight grasp on your other arm, and Lucien lets out a sigh of relief as he feels your hand clutch his. He takes it as a sign to lift you fully into his arms, and takes a seat on the sofa.

“Breathe. In,” he mimicks a deep inhale, “and out.” Lucien blows out, repeating the motion a couple more times. He rubs your back and your hands, constantly alternating between helping you breathe and gently uttering soothing phrases.

“Easy, I’m here with you. Do you feel my heartbeat?” When your hands have finally relaxed out of their cramped up form, he presses one of them against his chest. The slow, rhythmic thumping grounds you. Lucien. A stiff nod from you makes a soft, wry smile appear on his face. “Good girl. You’re getting there, my dear. Just stay with me, here. You’re doing great.”

You don’t know how much longer you stay like that. All you know is that he stays with you through the entire attack. Hours later, you two are having a steaming cup of tea at the dinner table.

“I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t want you to worry,” you mutter sheepishly.

“Don’t be ashamed of yourself,” Lucien’s violet eyes bore deep into yours, “Besides, how could I not worry when someone so dear is having a hard time?”

You shrug, a defeated look on your face. Your fingers fidget with the wood of the dinner table, until Lucien swiftly takes your hand in his again.

He sighs. “Take tomorrow off. I’ll take care of you.” Even though his tone is soft, Lucien leaves no space for argument. You know you should agree. There’s no way you could function properly if you were to go to work tomorrow.

“...Thank you.”

Lucien brings your hand to his lips, leaving feather-light kisses on your knuckles. “No thanks needed. You can be greedier with me.”

Gavin

There’s perhaps no person in the world who enjoys rejection. Sure, there may be those who bounce back quickly, those who see rejection as a new opportunity. But rejection, failure in itself, doesn’t evoke positive feelings.

As the producer of Miracle Finder, you’ve gotten used to rejection; it was hard to get the show back on track during the first year or so. Maybe you were arrogant, thinking it’d get better, or less painful, the more often you got rejected.

Things did get better, and last week you were even offered a deal with Loveland TV for a second weekly show. The company had seen the success Miracle Finder had, and had offered you the chance to come up with something wholly original. Something...you. That night, a mere week ago, you took the girls out for dinner and drinks. You were on cloud nine that day. In hindsight, maybe it was karma. Maybe I jinxed it. Cheered too soon, and all that.

This morning, you got a devastating e-mail that stated, in polite (but somehow still rude) terms, that your new show would not be broadcasted. The relaxed mood at the office rapidly turned somber once you mentioned the unfortunate decision. Your employees decided to give you some space afterwards. Not being able to stand the sadness, and feeling somewhat bad for them, you sent everyone, yes, including Anna, home early.

By three p.m., you’re the only one left at the office. You sit at your desk, head in your hands. I know it isn’t the end of the world...but right now, it almost feels like it is. With a deep sigh, you push yourself up, heading to the small kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. Maybe you’ll have a biscuit too. Anything to cheer yourself up.

Your mind automatically goes to Gavin, and without thinking it over too much, you dial his number. After a couple of rings, your call goes to voicemail. Stupid. He’s probably working. I’ll just leave a message.

“Hey babe, it’s me. I-uh, the thing I mentioned last week? The new show deal with Loveland TV? Yeah, that’s not happening,” your voice cracks halfway through the last sentence as you try to push down the disappointment that bleeds through, “I’m staying late today. Need some time to-to process things. I’ll be fine. Love you, hope you’re safe.”

Time passes agonisingly slowly, so slowly you might as well think Victor’s behind it, while you dive into a mountain of work. It distracts you from today’s events. but the lingering sadness is still present in the back of your mind.

Around eight, you start cleaning up your desk, shutting down your computer and gathering the papers. A knock on the window catches your attention as you’re about to head out. You turn around, noticing a tall figure on the balcony outside. Gavin! You hastily run back, opening the sliding door for Gavin to enter.

“Hi,” That’s the most awkward thing you could say. “I didn’t know you would come. Did you hear my message? You really didn’t have to...” you trail off when Gavin wordlessly opens his arms to you. His golden eyes look anywhere but you, and a slight blush is visible in the dark room, only illuminated by the bright lights outside.

You gingerly step into his arms at first, clutching the back of his signature denim jacket tighter as time goes on. A couple of stray tears that you’re not able to hold back create wet splotches on his shirt. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, your voice muffled by the soft fabric.

“No biggie. Are you feeling alright?” he asks you. A non-committal shrug is all you respond with. “I know it was a big project for you.”

“Yeah, I don’t really know what to do now.”

Gavin bends down a little, kissing the crown of your head. “You move on, and you don’t give up.”

You fall into comfortable silence. Gavin’s thumb rubs up and down your waist, soothing you. “...Have you ever been rejected?” you suddenly ask him.

Gavin chuckles. “Sure I have. I got rejected by my very first love.”

You raise your head to look up at him. Gavin sees his own reflection in your large, teary eyes, and smiles. “And what happened then?” you ask, your voice lightly tinged with jealousy. Who was his first love?

“Well, she’s in my arms now, isn’t she?” Even though he’s embarrassed to say the words, Gavin forces himself to look at you. At those eyes that shine with love for the world, for him.

Bonus:

“Come on, I’ll take you home.” you pull out of the embrace to get your coat by the coat hanger, opening the door to head out again, like a normal person.

“How? You didn’t come here by bike, did you?”

Gavin’s already facing the window again, but he turns back with a smirk, holding his hand out to you. “I never said we were going by bike.”

“Gavin, no, babe, no, no, nonononononono—Aah!!” Your protests are cut short as Gavin swoops you into his arms bridal style and flies off. The wind rushes past your ears, almost making you miss Gavin’s gleeful laugh. “Gavin! I didn’t lock the doors!”

Kiro

On many occasions, you’re envious of Kiro’s Evol. But even without his Evol, Kiro is so bubbly and kind, you can’t help but like him. You sincerely wish you had that ability. And I know I’m supposed to make my own wishes come true, but I can only do so much to make people like me. I’m not going to bend over backwards and become a pushover just to be liked.

Still, it hurts when people are purposely mean to you. Especially during high school reunions. You were by no means a popular kid growing up...but you didn’t think that some people would still be stuck in a high school mentality. You held your own during the reunion, ignoring the backhanded compliments and blatantly condescending insults in favour of catching up with your old friends. Yet, all you can think of on the drive home are the negative comments.

“Oh, you still can’t drink alcohol? Seems like ‘someone’ hasn’t grown up yet!”

“You’re the producer of Miracle Finder? I hate that show, it’s so unrealistic.”

“Isn’t that a kids’ show?”

“My, you look adorable! My daughter also likes to wear those types of clothes, you know, to go play at the park.”

I can’t believe I missed game night with Kiro for this. With a terrible mood, you shuffle into the house. Kiro’s on the sofa playing A Chinese Ghost Story, a bag of chips on the coffee table in front of him. He turns to greet you with a smile, but it quickly falls after seeing your somber expression.

“Welcome home Miss Ch—eh? What’s wrong?” Kiro takes his headphones off to stand up in front of you. His hands instinctively move to your waist to pull you close.

“How was the gathering?” he asks carefully. His eyes are big, just like a puppy’s. Had you felt better, you would’ve commented on his cute appearance.

It’s as if that question flips a switch. “It was horrible!” you sniffle.

“Wha—Miss Chips!” Kiro grows panicked at your sniffles and sobs, and roughly pulls you to his chest. You retaliate by hugging him tightly, crying all your frustrations out on his shoulder.

Somehow, you move into a cuddling position on the living room sofa. You straddle his slender legs and his arms are wrapped around your torso, rubbing comforting circles on your back. Pulling away from his embrace, you start ranting about the terrible evening.

“...and I don’t even know why I’m this upset! It’s so frustrating. I’ve worked so hard to become who I am today, and the moment someone says something to me, I just break down. Maybe I am a child,” you look up at Kiro, eyes wide and brimming with tears, “Kiro, am I a child to you?”

Kiro chuckles. “Well, Miss Chips...sometimes you can be childish,” you jut your lip out in a pout, “b-but I’m childish too! And there’s nothing wrong with that. Some people want to grow up too fast, so they drink alcohol and dress up in dark colours and stiff fabrics to feel properly imprisoned in the ‘harsh adult world’. But most of us could be happier if we just...let our inner child out.”

He cups your cheek. “Never be ashamed of being childish, Miss Chips. It doesn’t make you a child,” a mischievous grin appears on Kiro’s youthful face, “Besides, I wouldn’t do this if I thought of you as a child!”

With the hand on your cheek, Kiro draws your face closer to his. Your lips meet in a swift kiss that takes you by surprise. He swallows the startled gasp that escapes your mouth, retaliating by slowly swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. You can feel him smile into the kiss as you lean into it, closing your eyes. Your tears are long forgotten as you tangle your hands in Kiro’s blond locks. Slowly, you part your lips, allowing Kiro’s tongue to slip into your mouth. The teasing flicks of his tongue make you go weak, and he chuckles when your grip on his hair loosens.

Kiro notices you’re growing light-headed, so he gives you time to regain your breath while he peppers little kisses on the corners of your mouth and on your swollen lips. You kissing demon.

His satisfied hum is disrupted by a vicious punch to the chest. “Ah! Miss Chips, why would you hit me?” It’s Kiro’s time to pout now.

“Who told you to do that?! You’re so sly, it’s unfair!” you scold him, cheeks flushed a bright red.

“Yes, yes,” he pets your head, “but it helped, right? You’re not upset anymore, right?”

Your face scrunches up. “I guess not...I’m still mad at you for surprising me like that,” Kiro giggles, “But thanks.” His smile is contagious, and soon you’re both in a giggling fit.

When the giggles have subsided, Kiro pushes you back into his chest. As he snuggles into your shoulder, he whispers in your ear. “Don’t worry. Every time you feel sad, I’ll be there to cheer you up.”

I’m not saying dark clothes are bad! I have a black wardrobe myself...but we all need to remember that we don’t need to be so hard on ourselves sometimes.

For some reason I’ve never properly depicted kissing like that in my writing. Ehhh, forgive me if it’s bad. Little note...do you guys know what Chinese drama ‘A Chinese Ghost Story’ is featured in?

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