#fic: autumn in New York

[artemiseamoon]

Autumn in New York

A Nick Vaughan x ofc mini fic

Status: complete

Read on A03*

*You will need an account to read my work

Summary: Two strangers, a wedding, and one unforgettable night.

Warnings: emotional and romantic angst, mild implied sexual content.

Preview

✨✨✨Read on A03 ✨✨✨

✨Moodboards✨

More Chris Evans

[thyknife]

A Brand New Start of It

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw/Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Rated: E

Summary:

“When you asked me out for coffee I didn’t think you’d be the one making it.”

Or, the sequel to Everything’s Waiting for You (Downtown)

[oceangirl24]

Audrey's Theme Song

This was brought up on this Reddit post and I don't believe I've ever shared this before

Autumn in New York (Billie Holiday version)

The story Audrey is introduced in, Autumn in Philadelphia, is a take on this song title.

Autumn in New York is a jazz standard by Vernon Duke that came out in 1934, forty years before she was born. Her father was deeply immersed in the music scene of Bleeker Street of the 60s, 70s, and 80s and ran a popular record store in the Village. Audrey was exposed to a lot of different styles of music as she grew up and has a fondness for jazz, Motown, Billy Joel, and other musicians of the 80s and 90s.

Audrey lost her mother when she was 13 and her father when she was 21. Other serious event happened to her during that time. Leaving the City was the best and worst thing that happened to her. Returning was the same.

Why Billie Holiday's version?

Straight from Billie Holiday.com- "The bruised optimism of Vernon Duke’s much-covered 1934 jazz standard—which allows that a New York autumn is “often mingled with pain,” but insists that “it’s good to live it” – found its perfect expression in Billie Holiday’s yearning version with pianist Oscar Peterson. Duke’s moody music and poetic lyrics (“Glittering crowds and shimmering clouds in canyons of steel”) are an invitation to fall in love." -Audrey's story in a nutshell.

Lyrics

Autumn in New York, why does it seem so inviting? Autumn in New York, it spells the thrill of first nighting. Glittering crowds and shimmering clouds in canyons of steel They’re making me feel, I’m home.

It’s autumn in New York that brings the promise of new love. Autumn in New York is often mingled with pain. Dreamers with empty hands, may sigh for exotic lands. It’s autumn in New York, it’s good to live it again.

Autumn in New York, the gleaming rooftops at sundown. Autumn in New York, it lifts you up when you’re run down. Jaded roues and gay divorcés who lunch at the Ritz Will tell you that it’s divine.

This autumn in New York transforms the slums into Mayfair. Autumn in New York, you’ll need no castle in Spain. Lovers that bless the dark on benches in Central Park Greet autumn in New York, it’s good to live it again.

[xoxochb]

hey darl! could i req a percy jackson x daughter of hades fic with tooth rotting fluff? let ur imagination run wild w it <3

— new york city ꣑ৎ‧₊˚.

warnings: none pairing: whipped! percy jackson x daughter of hades

the rain hits the ground every millisecond, once, twice, a third time, a fourth and a fifth. you suck in a deep breath, slowly letting out it. this autumn you had passed on visiting the underworld with your brother so you could go back to new york with your boyfriend. though most of your time here it had been raining which was unfortunate, but you’d grown to accept it. as of now, you sit on the apartment balcony (is that what it’s called???), bathing in the cold droplets as they fall from the dark clouds, your legs dangling over the edge

percy finds you outside and sits beside you, intertwining your hands and rubbing his thumb over your knuckles

“what’re you up to out here?” he asks softly

“just watching the rain”

he nods in response. sarcastically he responds, “exciting”

you turn to him with an unamused look that makes him laugh

“I’m not laughing. I don’t think you’re funny”

percy fakes a frown as you return your gaze to the scenery before you. and he thought you were about the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, even despite your hair and clothes being completely drenched. you looked absolutely tranquil and calm, your lips slightly parted as you take in the cold air surrounding you, your eyes beginning to heavy, slowly closing and opening again. and you were all his that was the best part, you— the sarcastic, dark eyed, admittedly hilarious (even if your humor was morbid), daughter of hades. his stomach fills with intense fluttering butterflies

“you’re staring”

he snaps out of his lovesick daze when your soft voice infiltrates his senses, a pink hue adorning his cheeks as he realizes he had indeed been staring at you

“I’m— I just think you’re really pretty”

you can’t suppress the growing smile. it was always a victory when percy was able to make you smile, it wasn’t often when you did so he had to enjoy it while it lasted (though since you’d been dating him he’d taken notice that you’d smile more often). and there he was, zoning out again. he was utterly and entirely entranced. you stand up from your spot on the balcony floor and hold your hand out for percy to take

“come, let’s go to bed”

literally whatever you would like he thinks. but he only ends up saying, “yes ma’am”

he takes your hand again before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close

“what’re you doing?” you laugh

he mutters an “I love you” and before you have the time to respond he’s pulling your lips flush with his. and it was pretty much the best rain kiss of all time

[reiding-writing]

macarons and misunderstandings [ s.r ]

Summary:

You coax Spencer into joining you in a bakery café that your friend recommended you to visit whilst on a case in NYC, and although it starts as two friends getting lunch together, it doesn’t end that way.

WARNINGS: minor swearing, wholesome miscommunication

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: fluff, just the most sickeningly sweet wholesome fluff

wc: 3.4k

masterlist!!

a/n: rest assured, i will be returning to my comfort zone of hurt/comfort for my next fic bc i cannot write wholesome stuff for the life of me 😭

“Alright, take a break everyone, we’ll pick this back up after everyone’s had the chance to eat,” Hotch’s voice rings across the NYPD conference room alongside the closing of the file he was reading from, and he tucks the manilla folder under his arm as he stands. “I want you all back here by 1:30,”

There’s a small chain of nods and ‘yes sir’s before the team is rising from the table and grabbing their belongings to vacate the police station to go and get some lunch, and you manage to catch Spencer right before he leaves. “Hey Spence-”

“Hm? Yeah?” He does a full U-turn with his body, almost walking straight into you in the process if not for his hand still holding the door open to give him a point of balance, and you have to stifle a small smile that tries to break its way onto your face.

“You got any plans for lunch or can I effectively kidnap you for an hour?”

Spencer gives you slightly furrowed expression although doesn’t seem opposed to the idea. “I’m not sure that was the best way to word that but no I haven’t,”

“Yeah probably not-“ You let out a small breath that could almost constitute as a laugh. "Anyway, apparently there’s a really good french bakery like two blocks away from here, we should go check it out before Hotch changes his mind and decides we’re confined to the station,”

“Right… yeah uh-.” Spencer laughed softly, encouraging you out of the door ahead of him before following behind you. “A bakery sounds really nice actually,”

"My friend told me about it when she was down here for fashion week, she said it has some of the best pastries she’s ever tried," You emphasise the word ‘best’ with your hands, and Spencer’s eyes followed them as he got caught up in your enthusiasm.

One of your favourite things about your oddly-developed friendship with Spencer was that you could do things like take a trip to a bakery together without a single hint of awkwardness.

Long since had the silences between you held any unfamiliar tension or apprehension when it came to getting to know each other those five years ago.

It was comfortable. Secure. And you weren’t entirely sure it was just a ‘friendship’.

“Did she happen to mention what type of pastries they have?” Spencer asked you, his eyebrows raised with genuine curiosity.

"She specifically mentioned the almond croissants, although i’m also eager to try their lemon crêpes because they sound absolutely amazing," You continue to exaggerate what you’re saying with your hands as you push open the door of the Police Station, exiting into the cool autumnal breeze of the New York City streets.

Spencer followed closely behind you, nodding along to what you were saying as he placed his hands the pockets of his tattered trench coat. Although, he wasn’t entirely listening to the words leaving your mouth, too focused on how the autumn breeze blew your hair softly and how the partially concealed rays of sun made your eyes look like they they held all of the stars in the milky way.

"Ooh, and macarons-" You turn towards Spencer as your excitement about what pastries to get overtakes any lingering thoughts of the case you’re working on, gripping onto his sleeve with your left hand.

You were excited about the pastries; He was excited about the warmth of your hand through his sleeve.

“Macarons do sound good. You know what would go really well with them?” Spencer looked at you as he spoke, smiling like you’d ripped the sun from the sky and given it to him as a present. “Hot chocolate.”

"Oh you are so right-" You give an immediate sharp nod at Spencer’s suggestion, sliding down his arm to rest on the inside of his elbow, fingers pressed gently into the slight curve created from where his hands rested inside his pockets.

To the unassuming eye, the two of you most probably looked like a couple out on a date, your arms linked and Spencer looking at you like you were the only person in existence.

Spencer was very aware that the way you touched him made it look like you were in a relationship.

And it made him feel a little giddy.

He had to force himself back to reality. He wasn’t in a relationship with you. All he was doing was going out with you as a friend to grab some pastries for lunch. That’s it.

"Okay so we have definite yeses to macarons and hot chocolate, I feel like we’ve gotta get at least one almond croissant considering how much my friend was raving about them, anything else?"

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a crêpe before. Maybe we should try one of those?”

Spencer had a sudden urge to kiss you, and he didn’t really know why. Maybe it was gentle heat of your fingers against his arm. Maybe it was the light pink flush on your cheeks from the cold breeze. Maybe it was the fact that he’d been subconsciously pining after you for years to the point where he could barely think of anything else.

"Yes. Definitely. 100%." You give the inside of his elbow a small squeeze at the prospect of introducing him to the delicacy that is french crêpes. "I cannot let you live a life without crêpes in it."

Spencer nodded along arbitrarily, not listening to a single word that you just said as he internally imagined how it would feel to have your hands in his hair and your lips on his skin.

Why wasn’t he in a relationship with you? You were just… perfect, and he was really into you.

He felt like there had to be a reason why you weren’t together, but that train of thought made Spencer fluster to the point he was afraid you’d be able to see it if he thought about it any longer.

"Aha," You make an exclamation of victory as the bakery comes into view, pushing the door open with a soft bell chime and tugging Spencer inside with you with a gentle but excited insistence.

The bakery looked amazing, although much closer to a café. It had a small quaint European feel to it despite it being on a main Street in New York City, and surprisingly, it wasn’t that busy either. It was the exact type of bakery that Spencer had hoped it would be.

You scour the chalkboard menu for a second to make sure they actually had everything you wanted before going up to order, and Spencer noticed as your hand slid downwards to the inside of his wrist so that you could lean forward to see the chalk whilst still keeping yourself anchored to him.

He was definitely blushing now, his heart taunting him as it pounded against his chest.

Spencer wanted to ask you to kiss him, or at least hold his hand, but the thought of bringing attention to the unspoken connection the two of you had may ruin it stopped him from saying anything, not wanting to risk losing what he currently had in the very minor instance of gaining something more.

"You’re alright with sharing a croissant and a crêpe right? I figure it might be too much otherwise-"

Spencer nodded with a smile. “I don’t mind sharing a croissant and a crêpe with you.”

You give him a beamed smile and a nod as you leave his side to go and order, shutting down his offer to pay before he could even suggest it.

He subconsciously ran his fingers over his wrist as he waited for you, trying to compensate from the loss of your touch and the gentle warmth that accompanied it as he watched you engage in polite small talk with the cashier.

You looked so sweet. So perfect.

"let’s sit outside yeah? it’s a nice day," You retreat back towards him with a tray balanced in your hands, two mugs of hot chocolate joined with four coloured macarons and a single croissant and crêpe, carefully distributed to balance the weight as you carry it.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Spencer nods at you softly, a wistful expression still on his face as he takes you by the elbow in order to help you carry the tray safely.

The reinstating of your previous contact brought a small flush back over his cheeks, and even through his hands were only brushing against the fabric of your shirt, it still felt oddly intimate.

The two of you walk over to a vacant table, set under a large parasol that casted the table in a comfortable shade.

Spencer took a seat across from you as you both sat down, separated by a small table in between the two of you.

Funny how a little table could do that.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Oh my god we are definitely coming back here next time we have a case down here-" You give a satisfied sigh as you wipe your fingers on a serviette, placing it inside your empty mug and pulling out your phone to check the time.

1:17.

You should get back to the station.

The thought of having to go back dampened your mood a little, and not just because it meant you now had to spend the rest of the day bent over a desk to curate a profile.

You really enjoyed spending time with Spencer like this, whether it be accompanying him to a new museum exhibit or driving him to buy his groceries so he wouldn’t have to sit behind the wheel.

It was a small highlight of your time not spent working, and you always found yourself disheartened when it was time to leave.

“We should definitely come back.” Spencer looked at you as he spoke, catching the mild change in your expression. “Are you okay?”

“Hm? Yeah- yeah i’m good,” You give him a nod and a reassuring smile as you stand from you seat with him following not long after you. “Just not exactly looking forward to going back to work,”

“Yeah I understand what you mean,” Spencer gives a small laugh, stuffing his hands back into his pockets again.

"We should do this more often you know,” You tilt your head slightly at him, the words leaving your mouth without any thought behind them. "I uh- enjoy spending time with you like this,"

“I enjoy spending time with you too,” Spencer smiled gently.

He looked at you, feeling a slight bit of courage at your confession of enjoying spending time with him one on one.

Come on Spencer, just ask them out already.

"I’m glad," You give Spencer a half-laugh, turning away from him slightly to hide the flushed nature of your cheeks from your embarrassment.

Spencer’s eyes studied you, and he felt like now might be the time. You two were still technically off work, you loved spending time together, and you’d just spent the last half an hour listening to him rant about the new book he was reading whilst the two of you drank hot chocolate and shared french pastries with each other.

You weren’t just friends. You were more than that.

At least he hoped so.

“Can I take you out… on a date?” Spencer’s voice was soft, but it carried confidence.

"A- date?" You stop walking in the middle of the street, your body re-directing any cognitive functioning to focus on computing Spencer’s question.

Spencer stopped as you did, eyes entirely trained on your expression. He couldn’t help but look at how beautiful you were right now. Your face painted with a blush and a mild look of confusion characterised through the slight furrow in your eyebrows.

“Y- yeah… do you want to go on a date with me?”

Of course it was okay if you didn’t. It wouldn’t hurt Spencer. He’d handle the rejection. Right?

"I- Yeah-" You nod quickly, a little too enthusiastically if you were to think about it logically. “Yes,”

"I’d love to go on a date with you-" You’re words are rushed and slightly muddled together as you hastily agree to his proposition, but they get the point across.

Spencer’s face lit up with a blush as you said yes.

That’s wonderful news.

A small grin spread across his face. “I’m glad…” The words slipped out without Spencer realising it, joined by a notable fluster.

He was glad.

He was absolutely thrilled about the fact you want to go on a date with him.

Spencer was so incredibly grateful that you said yes.

“Wouldn’t- I mean- We just like went out together and got food and talked and stuff- was that… a date?-“ You gesture your hand back to the bakery café the two of you had just left.

You weren’t exactly wrong, and he understood your confusion.

“I suppose it follows the motions of a date,” Spencer looked at you, overtaken by how perfectly ethereal you looked with the breeze fluttering against your shirt and a blush covering your cheeks.

“But an actual date would be much more romantic.” His words were confident, even if he was embarrassed that he was admitting to you just how much of a romantic he was underneath his façade of being uninterested in finding someone.

"So it wasn’t a date?” You raise an eyebrow slightly, fiddling with your sleeves. “Because I want to kiss you but if it wasn’t a date then I can’t because you can’t kiss someone without going on a date with them first because it breaks date etiquette-”

Spencer’s eyes widened as he listened to you ramble without taking a single breath. You wanted to kiss him?

You wanted to kiss him.

You wanted to kiss him.

Spencer was trying to keep his emotions in check as he stared at you. Your words made him tingle with excitement. “Um… you can- still kiss me if you want…?”

You shake your head with determination. “You can’t kiss someone before you’ve been on a date with them,”

Spencer looked so utterly confused.

So, you didn’t want to kiss him?

He wanted to kiss you.

“Why not? Your logic makes no sense. Why can’t kiss me?” Spencer was so utterly confused, his eyebrows knitted in a way that made you want to plant your lips between them as he tried to understand what your issue was.

"My logic makes complete sense-" You cross your arms over your chest as you gesture for the two of you to keep walking with a nod of your head.

"Everybody knows that you never kiss somebody until the end of the first date, it curses your whole future relationship otherwise,"

Spencer couldn’t help but stare at you blankly.

What he heard you say was wrong. Really wrong.

You should kiss someone whenever you want to kiss someone. Especially if they’re your crush.

But you were adamant you couldn’t kiss Spencer because of this stupid arbitrary rule.

"Well, if you’d have agreed to my judgement that our bakery stop was a date then you’d be getting a kiss," You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly, lips pressed into a straight line. "But you don’t, therefore I can’t kiss you,"

Spencer stared at you in disbelief as you spoke, before his eyes widened.

He knew what you wanted to hear, and so he gave in.

It was the only way he’d get a kiss.

“Okay okay- It was a date at the bakery I was wrong-”

He hated how desperate he sounded, but you were so beautiful, you were stunning, you were the most gorgeous person he ever met.

Spencer wanted to be with you. And you were giving him an in to finally press his lips against your perfect face.

"Are you sure?" You furrow your eyebrows at him in mock accusation, agains stopping in your tracks to stand in front of him with your eyes fixed on his face.

Spencer sighed. “I… yes. It was a date. I was just being silly…” Spencer took your hand for a moment as he spoke to you, interlacing his fingers in yours and feeling the warmth of your hands against his frigidly cold ones.

He wanted you to know that he felt a lot differently towards you compared to how he’d felt about anyone else.

You were special.

And he wanted you.

"Right you are pretty boy," You give his hand a small squeeze as you use your other to cup his face, pulling it towards you with a gentle insistence so that you could press a chaste kiss to those perfect pink lips that had just been begging you to silence them. "You were being silly,"

Spencer’s face lit up with another blush as you called him pretty boy.

Of course you thought Spencer was pretty. Not handsome or beautiful.

Pretty.

He let himself be pulled in closer as you spoke to him teasingly, telling him that he was being silly.

And then… your lips. Pressed against his with a soft pressure that he gladly returned.

That was all it took for Spencer to feel like the luckiest man on earth.

"Here’s to a successful first date," You chuckle softly as your lips part, your noses brushing as you lean back to admire the rosy tint to his cheeks and the beaming smile that accompanied it.

Spencer felt so happy. So overwhelmingly, sickeningly happy.

And so, he did a thing that he never thought he had the courage to do. He pulled you into his arms, leaning in to kiss you with so much fervour that you were relying on the strength of his hands on your waist for stability.

Spencer didn’t know when he’d get the opportunity to do this again. So he was 100% going to make the most of it.

You can’t help the smile that erupts on your face as he pulls you in again, your hands cradling his cheeks and your head tilted ever so slightly to the left as you rested your weight into his hands.

If you’d recorded this moment and told him it was a scene from a cheesy romance movie he would’ve believed you.

As the two of you reluctantly pull away due to the unfortunate human necessity of breathing, you catch a glance at the watch face on the inside of your wrist.

1:29.

“Shit- We really need to get back to the station.” Your hands fall from his face to grab one of his own, pulling him down the streets as you hurry back to the police station, mildly out of breath and still completely flustered.

“So-“ Spencer pulled a small resistance against your hands as the two of you stopped outside of the door.

“We’re going on a second date once we get home right?”

[miueo]

𐙚 my little idol ♥︎．。．:*･° chap i ✿

ᰔᩚ      ︶ྀི    new legacy .

summary : you're currently in a new girl group underneath jyp entertainment ! your group is performing well on charts, you have a stable fanbase, and many bops to listen to! you try your best to avoid dating scandals for the sake of your reputation and status but it's all ruined by a very popular group of boys.

pairings : ot8!skz ♡ femidol!reader !

warnings : no smut in this chapter ; heavy on smut, sexualization & objectification, perversion, obsession, taboo / dark concepts (for some members, not all !) , mental physical / health issues (depression, anxiety, etc.), coercion, unsolicited pictures, more to be announced.

notes : hiii !!!! i am currently in guangdong… ive been traveling so much lately, sorry for the lack of content. THIS IS JUST AN INTRO CHAPTER!

taglist : @p0eticjust1c3 @yunjinswifee @sky00ung @pinkdranks @bloominhos @mi-mi-mu @nasiaisan @kitkat1sstuff @hyunjinhoexxx @theinsanebish

selected song for fic :

in the bustling heart of seoul’s entertainment scene, amidst the glittering promise of fame and the relentless pursuit of dreams, there exists a young talent whose voice echoes with the power to stir souls. her name is song y/n, a gifted vocalist whose journey to becoming a k-pop sensation began with a passion for music that bloomed in her hometown.

from an early age, y/n’s voice enchanted audiences, drawing praise for its depth and emotional resonance. encouraged by her family’s unwavering support, she embarked on a path that led her to jyp entertainment, where her talent would be nurtured and polished to perfection. in the rigorous world of k-pop training, y/n’s dedication and natural ability set her apart, particularly her ability to convey emotion through every lyric and melody.

selected for her exceptional vocal skills, y/n found herself among the chosen few to join 4ura, a newly formed girl group at jyp entertainment. with three other members, each bringing their own strengths to the table, 4ura aimed to carve out a place in the competitive landscape of k-pop. for y/n, being part of 4ura wasn’t just about achieving stardom; it was about fulfilling a lifelong dream and sharing her music with the world.

as rehearsals filled her days and anticipation fueled her nights, song y/n stood on the brink of a future she had once only dared to imagine. with determination in her heart and the power of her voice as her guide, she was poised to make her mark as not just an idol, but as an artist whose presence on stage would resonate far beyond the lights of seoul.

❁

at the forefront stands y/n song, the group’s main vocalist hailing from the vibrant streets of new york city. blessed with a voice that effortlessly transcends genres, y/n’s journey to stardom is a testament to years of dedication and an unyielding commitment to her craft.

beside her is olivia wong, the group’s main dancer, whose electrifying moves reflect her upbringing in the bustling metropolis of hong kong. with a dance style that blends precision and grace, olivia brings a dynamic energy to 4ura’s performances, captivating audiences with every fluid motion.

adding to the group’s allure is minjeong kim, renowned as 4ura’s visual, drawing inspiration from the natural beauty of jeju island. with a magnetic presence that commands attention, minjeong’s ethereal charm and captivating gaze make her an undeniable visual powerhouse within the group.

completing this quartet of talent is autumn yang, the group’s main rapper with roots tracing back to the sun-drenched shores of california. autumn’s sharp lyricism and charismatic delivery bring a fresh perspective to 4ura’s music, adding depth and diversity to their sound.

❁

beyond their individual talents, 4ura thrives within the supportive community of jyp entertainment, fostering close relationships with labelmates nmixx, stray kids, itzy, and twice. from collaborative performances that electrify audiences to backstage camaraderie that strengthens their bonds, 4ura and their fellow jyp artists form a tight-knit family united by a shared passion for music and a drive to push boundaries.

as they prepare to debut on stages both local and global, 4ura stands poised to make an indelible mark in the world of k-pop. with their unique blend of talent, charisma, and ambition, they are ready to carve out a place among the stars, promising a future where their music will resonate far and wide, leaving an unforgettable imprint on the hearts of fans everywhere.

everything is so perfect right now. what could possibly ruin this beautiful moment?

[neighbourscat]

𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄 , nicholas alexander chavez

MY BOOGIE SHOES, JUST TO BOOGIE WITH YOU.

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . screen actor!nicholas c. X stage actress!black!fem!reader.

+ synopsis. dancing around your new york apartment with your boyfriend, nicholas chavez, after a tiring final show.

+ cw. mature language & suggestive stage dancing … but none, really (: just smiles, dancing, and good music!

+ nali’s notes; i love 70s-80s music soooo much. dreaming of a cold autumn / christmas fic in this tiny nyc apartment. all the short stories that’ll probably come from this nyc apartment, like a little tv show. the neighbours would have their own backstories & cute interactions. omg should i do that???? a nyc apartment series, kind of like friends or martin??? wordcount :: 2.1k+

+ to be played: dancing in the dark, bruce springsteen. || alternative: slow dancing in the dark, joji. + everybody wants to rule the world, tears for fears.

MY BOOGIE SHOES, JUST TO BOOGIE WITH YOU.

he moved his left foot backward in a smooth motion, sliding across the slick, slightly scoffed, pine theatre stage. two blue overhead spotlights had shone down onto him, highlighting and allowing the golden sequins along his black-costume pants to sparkle and glimmer. the sharp, metal heels of his four-taps no longer producing sound . .. . the active trumpet-players, acoustic guitarists, and drummers eased and eased their instruments into a low twinkle —

— the audience knew what time it was. another character was about to be introduced. in the orchestra pit, the conductor quickly switched her attention to the violinists and flute-players, baton up in the air and readied for the new entrance. the elder english woman gave the group a small cue, flicking her wrist in beat: 1, 2, 3, 4. and as the violins, violas and cellos came in quiet and steady . .. . the male dancer at the far end of the stage reached up and slowly removed the costume fedora from his neatly styled hair, staring over to his stage left.

your beautiful, brilliant and glittery gold mary-jane style tap shoes clicked as you gracefully entered from stage left — the gold fringes of your body-con mini dress flapped and swung every which way as you rolled your costume glove over your right hand, the music coming from the violins and flute-players transforming into something hot and seductive.

your glove snug — the trumpets have returned, this time with the trombones and horns, easy and gentle — with what looked to be absolutely effortless, your body control impeccable, you swayed toward your dance partner. and once as close as rehearsed, you slid your left foot backward; lining yourself up with your partner, you raised your arms neatly, fingers almost wiggling.

your partner snaked an arm around your waist, his opposite hand sensually caressing the under side of your arm — his fingers tightened on your ribs. you felt his plump lips brush against the soft skin of your neck, you don’t hold back a mini smile. and after a thirty-second sleek, clean sequence of sneaky smirks, lustful eyes, gyrating hips, and chasing each other’s feet with mirroring steps on beat — you and your partner stand center stage; he had just spun you out and away and reeled you back in, unable to give you up. you’re overlooking the hungry crowd, toe to toe, hips pressed into each other’s . .. .

the conductor slowly lifted her baton, the orchestra picking up their pace just a bit . .. . more dancers began to take the stage, ten men on one end and ten women on the other, all styled to absolute perfection — you ripped away from your partner, his hand lingering in the air as you hurry toward the women. you strike a pose and the women behind you follow suite, just as clean and precise. the men chuckle amongst themselves, lips moving but nothing being said. your partner took his place in front of the men, eyeing you down.

the blue spotlights went out and back in on beat; this time colored red. the percussion picking up intensity . .. . the atmosphere no longer showcasing love and attraction, but lust and obsession — the red spotlights darkened and blinked in and out powerfully, percussion played fast and with high energy, the string and horn instruments carried out in unison, background voices sounding . .. .

nicholas chavez, anxiously chewing at the skin of his fingers, watched as the other casted dancers performed with everything they had — his eyes working even harder to follow you around. he stopped chewing at his skin then, trying to focus his eyes on you; he couldn’t do the two at the same time. different variations of gold leotards and ruffled dresses and flown pantsuits, the maracas, xylophone — so much was happening at once. portraying chaos perfectly.

every time he found you, he had lost you just as quick. nicholas shifted in the cushioned chair a bit, mindful of the young woman sitting behind him — the saxophones and trumpets intensified, the gold-clad dancers continued shuffling and leaping up and down and around the large pine stage, metal heels touching down with the beats.

the entire stage was bathed in deep, sultry red light, casting long, dramatic shadows over each dancer — the red hue seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the music, bodies moved with precision and purpose, every step choreographed to build toward the crescendo of the performance. the audience watched in awe — nicholas’ eyes never leaving your amazing form — the dancers' figures sharp and striking against the glowing backdrop.

each dancer’s silhouette was satiny, their limbs cutting through the air like blades as they glided to their spots. and as the music swelled, the dancers reached their final positions, holding their forms in an intense, powerful tableau. their bodies arched and poised, chins tilted upwards with defiance, hands spread in graceful curves or clutched at their hips in dominance. the red light drenching them, casting their figures into stark, dramatic silhouettes — elegant and imposing, yet full of tension.

their shadows stretched behind them, larger-than-life, as if their presence demanded more than the stage could contain. the audience held its breath, the stillness of the final pose amplifying the raw energy. it was a picture of controlled power, desire, and neat mess.

the world beyond the stage faded, and all that was left were the figures frozen in that moment — red and black, light and shadow — a vision of drama and allure, like something out of a fevered dream. then, as the final note lingered in the air, the curtain slowly began to close up.

you were curled up on the couch, still basking in the soft afterglow of the evening. your legs draped over nicholas’ lap, the warmth from his hand gently tracing heart-shape patterns on your ankle. the exhaustion from your final show was settling in, but being home with him — no more hotels, no more cast gatherings, no more living through an intense schedule; eight shows a week — felt like the perfect ending to an overwhelming night.

nicholas shifted beneath you, the faintest grin pulling at his lips. “you know .. .” he hummed casually, “.. . i’ve been thinking.” that was never good. you respond with a low groan, rubbing your tired eyes, “no. i’m not doin’ it.”

“can i-i’ve gotta get it out first before you tell me ‘no’,” he said, nudging your arm. “i don’t want a lot or anything .. y’know, crazy. i just want your help.”

you stopped rubbing your eyes, dropping your hand down into your lap. you gave a look that said: ‘go on’ and he did, giving your ankle a loving squeeze: “i want you to teach me how to dance.” he sounded serious, but you couldn’t exactly tell. you blinked, face and gaze blank and revealing nothing. you turned back to the television, an early episode of glee rolling.

nicholas stood up then, gently moving your legs off of his lap. he reached out his hand toward you. you had performed so beautifully with your dance partner, nicholas wanted to move with you the same. “nicholas .. .” you stared at his outstretched hand, then back up at him, “sit back down. seriously.”

“come’on.” his brown eyes soft but determined. “just a little bit. five minutes, hmm?” he was hopeful, still waiting for you. “i’ll take anything. anythin’ i can get, okay? i’ll be grateful for whatever.” you shook your head as an answer and laid back into the plush cushion, arms crossing over your chest. “nic . .. . you can’t dance,” you said in a simple, matter-of-fact voice — not trying to be harsh or mean, and nicholas didn’t take it as such.

he knew he couldn’t. “well, baby, that’s why i’m asking you to teach me.” you looked to his big hand; he made a gentle grabby motion twice, urging you — and back up your eyes went. “i can’t teach rhythm.” nicholas dropped his hand with a hoarse grumble. you sighed, feeling your body protesting the idea of getting up, but the way nicholas was still looking down at you, with that mix of earnestness and affection, made you give in. with a groan, you held out your hand — nicholas smiled wide and pulled you to your feet.

“five minutes.”

“all i need,” nicholas confirmed with a silly smile, dragging you over to the other side of the couch. your shared apartment wasn’t spacious, for no apartment was this side of queens, new york. your deep-grey tabby cat, ruby; the world’s most mischievous kitty, climbed back in through the open window and landed on her feet, gracefully. after an afternoon of racing up and down the fire-escape and most of the block ( ruby, though mischievous, was a friendly animal ), she was ready to be in her bed.

her bed; nicholas’ pillow.

“okay, so what’s first?” nicholas clapped his hands together, anticipating the next five minutes. “music,” you said, reaching down for your phone in between the couch cushions. “oh, how about from your show? i really love the gold one, what’s that song’s name?” he went over and picked up the musical’s playbill, flipping through the first couple of pages, “that song .. when you come out for the first time and look hot?” you almost laugh, unlocking your phone and scrolling through your music. “i’m not teachin’ you that, nic.”

“look, baby, if you’re worried about there not being enough room, let’s not worry, we can move this couch around some .. . throw the cat back outside-“ you stopped him right there, “or you can get out?” nicholas laughed at that, apologizing softly, coming up behind you. his hands found your waist and his chin dug into the skin of your shoulder, watching as your finger scrolled and scrolled. your finger touched down then, the bluetooth speaker in the corner coming to life immediately.

it started off as slow, lazy dancing in the living room to random musical theatre soundtracks . .. . the moonlight streaming through the large open windows, casting cool white rays over the hardwood floors — but quickly turned into a party.

you slid in from the hall opening, wearing oversized socks, loose basketball shorts, and a baggy football jersey; from nicholas’ side of the closet, your body rocking to the rhythm. you’re holding a wooden spoon, it’s your imaginary microphone, dramatically lip-syncing to bruce springsteen’s dancing in the dark, your expression playful and exaggerated.

nicholas was in the kitchen, a spatula in his hands and dragging his fingers along the handle as if it were an electric guitar, wearing a goofy grin. he’s wearing fuzzy socks, slipping across the floor, attempting to match your moves, his brown hair messy, his shirt half-tucked — this impromptu dance-off felt as though it had been going on for hours. nicholas moved to you, your energy completely in sync, lost in the fun of the moment.

you twirled away, laughing as you swung around the kitchen island, your socks giving you just the right amount of glide across the floor. you threw a hand up, pointing at nicholas like a pop star mid-performance, mouthing bruce springsteen’s lyrics. nicholas laughed, feigning a swoon, then slid back toward you, pulling you into a silly two-step.

and now you’re in the hallway again, where you’re at his side, arm wrapped around him, shuffling in time with the beat. you and nicholas sing together now, the music barely audible over your screaming voices, off-key but full of love.

you pushed nicholas away with a playful shove — he stumbled dramatically and recovered in seconds, lip-syncing passionately. as passionate as before. maybe even more so.

you end up in the living room, this time nicholas was spinning you around — as you twirl and spin with your boyfriend, the music grew louder. your body moved with his perfectly, not with precision or control, but with the kind of ease that comes from knowing each other so well. nicholas pulled you in close, your face just inches from his . .. . he’s grinning down at you like a kid, heart racing and thrashing cutely.

bruce springsteen faded smoothly into tears for fears — nicholas started his air guitar again and you bounced toward the kitchen, grabbing your wooden spoon again. braids flipped over one shoulder, you lifted yourself up onto the island in time for the first verse of everybody wants to rule the world. swinging your dangling feet and rocking your head side to side to the drums, you sang into the spoon.

and by the instrumental break, you and nicholas are skating through the hall, singing and dancing with reckless abandon, whirling and dipping, in your own little world. you’re breathless, your face flushed with laughter — watching nicholas overdo the solo guitar outro from where you sat on the couch’s armrest. he dropped onto his knees and rolled onto his back, his feet kicking into the air.

and as the strumming died, you collapsed back onto the couch in a heap, panting and drinking from nicholas’ cold bottle of pepsi. you and nicholas both jumped up startled hearing the grating pound of fists at the front door — ruby sprung from where she laid and ran around hysterically, you and nicholas scrambled to get up; you rushed behind the couch to quickly turn the blasting speaker down and he went to the front door. nicholas was squinting through the peephole, “fuck-it’s minnie .. .” ms. minnie from two doors down hated loud noises.

but she hated the young people scattered along the fourth floor even more.

[haodore]

snowflakes falling gently ; hyj

m.list le sserafim m.list

summary. while taking a walk in the park, you run into someone—literally.

pairing. huh yunjin x gn!reader

genre. fluff, meet-cute, romantic.

word count. 0.8k words

warnings. non-idol au, a little cliché, one use of y/n, takes place in new york, yunjin introduces herself as jennifer since this takes place in ny/they’re speaking english.

✐ wanted to write a cute winter fic before the season ended <3 anyway, no longer going to be doing coloured text on my fics (unless it’s one in the drafts) because my computer is so slow i can’t get the website up </3

Your boots made a low clicking sound every time they hit the salted, snow free pavement of the sidewalk. There were still a few fallen leaves on the grass surrounding you that hadn’t blown away during autumn, and became blanketed under the now melting snow.

You appreciated the near silence you were given. Apart from the distant cars, and the few chattering voices, this area of the park was rather silent. It was different from what you were used to, and you enjoyed it.

You had the thought in the back of your mind that this would’ve been even better if you had a warm coffee with you, but it was too late for that now. You decided you’d get one on the way back to your apartment.

As you walked, you tried to get two steps in every square of the sidewalk. You wondered if this made you look strange to others—taking unusually large steps. You chose to ignore it. It was New York, anyway. Who cares.

A woman with a small dog passed by you, and she ignored you, but the dog had a look in its eyes like it wanted to run up to you. If given the okay, you would’ve ran right up to it—it was so cute.

You adjusted your two steps per square into three steps, looking up as you realized it was beginning to snow.

You tended to get in your own head often, losing sight of what’s around you. You were eyeing a snowflake that was headed right for you, and next thing you knew you were running into someone, who gasped in shock and tumbled back a few steps.

You looked down, your cheeks burning in embarrassment. There was no way that just happened.

You tried to rush out an apology, but you laid your eyes on the most beautiful girl you think you had ever seen. Her hair was dyed a deep, cherry red, similar to the colour staining her cheeks—which you guessed were red from the biting cold. And her eyes, a gorgeous honey brown, were wide with shock.

You weren’t really one to get speechless at the sight of someone beautiful, but in this moment, you found that you were.

She spoke first, saving you both from what could’ve been a terribly awkward silence.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you alright?” She sounded just as embarrassed as you felt, but her voice was still soft and sweet and made you feel giddy inside. What was wrong with you?

“I— oh, I’m fine. I wasn’t looking where I was going either.” You laugh, a little embarrassed and you scratch the back of your neck. You find that you can hardly keep eye contact with her. Repeatedly looking from her to the ground. You probably looked ridiculous.

As your head is down, you hear her laugh, and when you look up, her nose is scrunched up and it’s adorable. She doesn’t say why she laughed, and her cheeks are still red. You begin to wonder if it’s from the cold or embarrassment.

Before you could let the silence go on for too long, you said, “I’m Y/n.” You half-wondered if she had planned on leaving and you had just made her stay longer by introducing yourself. Usually when people run into each other, they don’t start a whole conversation—they just go about their days.

“I’m Jennifer.” She smiled. Her lips were stained a soft red colour, complimenting her hair and red tights.

You pursed your lips together when you realized you had nothing else to say—you weren’t very good at small talk. You said what came to your mind first. “The weather isn’t to bad today, is it? I mean, for winter anyway. It’s starting to warm up, just a bit.” You blinked away the snowflakes that had fallen onto your eyelashes.

“Yeah, it’s not bad. A walk felt like a nice way to spend the morning.” Jennifer looked down at the snow glittering over the grass, then back up to you. “I was… just on my way to grab a coffee. You could come with me, if you want? I mean, if you weren’t busy.” She sounded nervous, choosing her words carefully.

You felt your heart warm, and you hoped you didn’t look too excited on the outside. “Sure, I was actually going to as well.” You couldn’t help the smile that was on your face.

At this, she smiled to. Her smile was as beautiful as the sun’s rays peeking through the clouds in the evening. “Great, there’s a new place I actually wanted to try, if that’s all right?” She began to walk, and you started to walk with her. You just nodded, and she began talking again. The way she spoke, so carefree and light, with the wind pulling her hair back, it all made you feel entranced. Was it too soon for you to feel this way? Was it possible that love at first sight was as real as books said it was?

It wasn’t long before you reached the café. Inside it smelled like pastries and freshly made coffee. You both quickly got your order and sat down.

As you looked out the window momentarily, you wondered if by the time flowers were blooming, your relationship would begin to bloom as well.

@ sakufilms

[cillianhead]

Hello dear!!! I hope you're having a wonderful day!

Could you please write a piece about Cillian falling for a (younger!) poet? He starts frequenting her reading sessions and that's how they meet. The rest is up to you!

Thank you 🩵

Yes!! Love this, thank you <3

Enjoy my sweet nonny!

This is heavily inspired by the song All Too Well (10-minute version) (Taylor's Version) by Taylor Swift!!

Wind In My Hair, I Was There || Cillian Murphy x Reader

warnings: Smut, angst, age gap (reader is in her mid to late twenties, Cillian is in his forties.), swearing, Cillian is sort of an asshole in this in some parts, so that is a warning, infidelity (Cillian is married), general adult content ahead!!

Minors DNI! 18+

I'd also like to clarify this isn't really based on the real Cillian!! I know he's married and very happy, this is just fiction and fantasy!! Not meant to portray Cillian as a bad person!! I'd also like to clarify that the ready doesn't really know who Cillian is... or maybe like Cillian isn't that famous in this fic universe or something because there are a few plot points that may seem questionable... that's all. Anyway... enjoy!!

The autumn you spent with Cillian Murphy would be one you would always remember, not that you really had a choice in whether or not you could forget him.

Your apartment was small and cozy at the time, with a perfect view of the falling leaves outside. It was sitting across from a small park in New York City; the trees were red and orange, and it felt like the fall was putting on a show just for you. You felt fortunate and privileged to live in such a place.

You lived right up the road from a small cafe with a library. Every Thursday, you meet with like-minded writers and read your work aloud. It helped bring you out of your shell; you felt a sense of pride when you read your poetry out loud and had people praise you for being so brave and how well you wrote. Despite the fact you have been attending these little group meetings for almost two years now and you felt pretty comfortable amongst the people who were there, you felt like you could vomit your pounding heart right up every time you stood at that podium in front of the dozen or so people that attended. But even with the lump in your throat, you'd read with a shaky voice and tears ready to spill, you would receive the same round of applause every time and a pat on the back from some of the attendees you were closer with.

It was September 14th when you first saw him, but it wasn't the first time he had seen you, summer still lingering in the air but barely grasping on as Autumn began to take the reigns. You were standing at that cedar-wood podium, reading aloud as nervously as you always did. You had yet to notice him quietly slip in; you were too busy ensuring you were on the right line.

"-And something beautiful sprouted, something that I am not... something that I never will be." You looked up after reading the last line, biting your lip nervously and stepping back from the speaking podium. There he sat, in a sweater and the most hypnotizing eyes you had ever seen. Maybe love at first sight was real, you thought briefly. People clapped, but the room remained silent and still for you as you two made eye contact; he didn't clap; he just stared at you with a look that told you he was just as taken aback by you as you were by him.

He kept attending the sessions, but he never got up and read anything and never really interacted with anyone else; in fact, you'd see him get up and leave once you had finished reading your poetry. You wondered if anyone else noticed him the way you did, or maybe he was a figment of your imagination... a ghost.

It was October 19th when you first spoke with him. You dreamt about him day and night, and you two had never even spoken before every session; you'd wonder if he'd be there, and he always was. Sitting in the same seat, at the very back, going ultimately unnoticed by almost everyone but you.

"Excuse me, sir!" You yelled out, rushing to follow the man in the plaid shirt and beanie. "You dropped this!" It was a pair of keys you had clutched in your hand, the crisp autumn air meeting the apples of your cheeks.

He turned around, only a foot or two away from you, as he looked at you up and down, taking notice of his keys in your hand. "Oh gosh, thank you, love," He took the keys gently out of your hand, his fingers lingering on yours a little too long for a stranger, fingertips brushing together. "I swear I'd lose my head if it weren't screwed on." You took notice of his Irish accent. It made you even more curious to know him better. "Erm... thank you so much."

"It's no problem..." You trailed off. You're not sure what to say now. He gave you a stiff nod and started to turn around and keep walking, but you just couldn't let him leave. "Wait!" What do you say now?

"Yeah?" He turned around, tilting his head at you, blue eyes staring at you, waiting.

"I... I'm Y/N... by the way... I always see you here... but I never see you read anything..."

"Cillian," He chuckled. "Not interested in reading anything I've written, only here to listen." Cillian's response was short but straight to the point.

"You don't stick around for very long... you always leave after... I've finished reading my writing..."

"Well... your work is the only one I come to listen to. The rest of the lots' poems just go in one ear and out the other," He said honestly. "You've got a charm about you; I've never heard anything like what you write. It's unique and intelligent, cleverly crafted written pieces... It captures my attention, unlike the rest, which all seem like people trying to mimic someone else... you write from your heart... or your head... I can't decide which, really." He notices your silence, Cillian steps a bit closer to you. "Perhaps I've said too much." He mumbles. The proximity of where he stands is close enough that you can feel his warmth, a stark contrast to how cold it was outside. "You've surely captivated me, Y/N." He said your name like it was a sacred prayer.

You felt like your heart was in your throat, looking at him dumbfounded and unsure what to say. "That's... very flattering, I don't know what to say... thank you, Cillian..." You scratch behind your ear, swaying nervously on your feet. Cars honked, and people passed by as you two stood outside the little cafe, which was now closed since the reading sessions had ended. Cillian looked around awkwardly before sucking in a deep breath and exhaling, his breath visible out in the open air due to how cold it was.

"Would you like to go out for dinner with me?" Cillian looked at you, eyes reflecting the city lights. The moment felt like something from a movie or something you'd write a poem about. It felt like something that wasn't quite possible within these depths of reality. "I understand... if not... you're a young beautiful woman... probably got someone waitin' at home for y-" "N-No, I'd love to!" You interrupted him, with your heart racing. "I'd love to go to dinner with you... I don't have anyone at home... waiting for me..."

"Well, aren't I lucky... when are you free?" He gave you a smile, the first you'd ever seen from him. It made his usually sombre face light up; he grinned, making you feel all giddy.

"I'm free any time on the weekends... and on Tuesdays, I have work off, so... I would love to... see you this weekend, maybe?"

"Wonderful, Saturday evening, you and me?"

You nodded. You exchanged numbers and went on your merry way, walking down the streets of New York City with a smile on your face that was purely gleeful. People would give you looks, but you didn't care. You were excited about something for once. You obsessed over it for the next day and a half.

October 21st marked your very first date with Cillian Murphy. At six, you waited patiently outside your apartment building in the cold air. With a red scarf wrapped around your neck your nose runny from the autumnal weather, you looked around like a lost puppy.

"Y/N," Cillian's warm voice startled you from behind you. You jumped but swiftly turned around to look at him, a bashful smile on both of your faces. "You look lovely." You felt your heart pound at the sight of him.

"Thank you. You also look lovely yourself." You replied. He leaned in and kissed your cheek before taking your hand in his and guiding you down the street. The feeling of his hand in yours made the cold weather seem like summer. Your body lit in flames at the idea he wanted you close to him. And the feeling of his lips on your cheek remained there the whole evening, burning its mark into your skin.

The night went on, and you found yourself in a charming Italian restaurant. It was nothing too fancy, but it was nice and romantic for a first date, definitely nicer than any other places other guys have taken you. It was just the two of you sitting towards the back, in a small booth, eating your plates of pasta. You talked, and you talked, and you talked. He spoke about how he was an actor; you could see his eyes light up at his passion for his work. He told you he was in New York for work and was filming a movie for something he couldn't legally disclose yet. Your chemistry was magnetic, and the conversation would weave in and out of different subjects. You talked about anything and everything, things like masculinity, The Beatles, the incident that happened on your 21st Birthday, batman, and everything else there was to discuss. You felt like you had known him forever. He said the same thing and referred to you two as twin flames. When you were about to leave, his phone began to ring.

"Fuckin' hell, what is it now?" He groaned. "Probably just a wrong number... or somethin'... hold on, love." He stepped outside, and you watched him on the phone. Cillian looked angry and frustrated, like he was arguing over the phone with someone. Your heart, which once rode the waves of love and joy, now sank beneath them into the deep dark depths of navy blue and dismay, watching him grow angrier and angrier and yell over the phone. He was seeing red.

When he waved for you to come out, you approached him cautiously. He huffed, puffed, and fidgeted his hands in his pockets, clearly restless. "Who was that? Are you okay?" "It was no one," He replied shortly and coldly. "I'm fine, let's go." You didn't say a word after that. The tension was thicker than the cold. You were afraid of saying anything to further upset him. So silence was the answer as he walked you home. You felt disappointed that this was how the night was ending. You wondered who it was and what they had said that had upset him so badly. The familiar apartment building you called home came closer and closer within sight, the disappointment weighing you down like water in your shoes. The disappointment tracing every inch of your freezing skin.

You stood in your elevator with him. He promised to walk you back to your unit at least, and he kept that promise. "Would you like to come in... Cillian?" You asked. You pulled out your house key and unlocked the door, looking at him hopefully.

"No, I'd better not." He remained cold and rigid with you. He couldn't even bring himself to give you a smile. You felt you'd never see him again; maybe he didn't like you the way you thought he did. Maybe he found you obnoxious and dumb. Perhaps the phone call was from another woman he realized was better than you. Maybe you simply needed to be better for him. "Goodnight, Y/N." He turned and walked away; you couldn't speak as tears welled in your eyes. Sorrow built up within you like some sort of horrible game of Jenga; one wrong move and you'd come crashing down and falling apart all over the place.

"Goodnight..." You whispered, but by then, he'd already stepped into the elevator, and the doors shut, taking him away from you. You cried yourself to sleep that night, both out of self-pity and disappointment.

When you awoke, it was to the sounds of soft raps on your front door. It was eight in the morning. Padding gently down the hallway, floorboards creaking, sleep still in your eyes, and your face puffy from the tears that leaked from your tear ducts the previous night, you opened the door, expecting it to be a neighbor asking you if they could borrow some sugar or something along those lines.

"Good morning," Cillian stood at your door, this time with a big apologetic smile, a complete change from last night's cold demeanour. He held a pink, yellow, and white bouquet and a small paper bag in his other hand. "I came here to apologize... for how I treated you last night." "Come in." You ushered him in.

He noted your knick-knacks, the photos on your walls, and your old, worn-out furniture. The way you decorated the place stood out to him, but the look on your face stood out to him the most. Sad, tired eyes, puffy and glazed over, you looked at him expectantly. "I'm so sorry." He whispered to you.

"What for?" You asked as you sat in your favorite olive green armchair. It was velvet and soft, and you'd spend most of your time writing, reading, or drinking your morning cup of coffee.

"For treating you like I didn't care," He sighed. He sat on the leather sofa beside you, gently placing the flowers on your glass coffee table and the paper bag smelling of freshly baked goods. "I don't want to discuss exactly who it was or what happened on that phone call... but I... I shouldn't have shut you out just because I was upset... that was... wrong of me, and I'm sorry." Your anger and sadness dissipated the way a fire dissipates when it's being smothered: immediately. His big blue eyes were the blanket that hushed that flame out, striking him as immediately forgiven.

"I understand, Cillian..." You mumbled, pulling your knees up to your chest. "Things happen... it's alright... I...." You wanted to confront him and tell him how insignificant and stupid he made you feel, but you swallowed it back and gave him a small smile. You remained the people pleaser you always have been. You spared his feelings over your own. "I understand." You repeated.

"I thought... I would make it up to you," He pushed the small paper bag over to you. "We could spend the day together... if you don't already have plans."

The paper bag contained a chocolate eclair. You had written a poem that mentioned eating a chocolate eclair while in a made-up love affair. The rhyming was cheesy, but it was one of Cillian's favorite poems of yours. It was the first one he had heard from you. Of course, you didn't realize the irony of it at the time. You just grinned and accepted it happily. You didn't know that you were engaging in a relationship with a man who was already married. So you took a bite of the eclair, letting him into your fragile heart, and entered this sad and tragic love affair.

So you spent the whole day together. You walked around New York City, holding hands and laughing your heads off. It felt romantic and intimate, and you got to know each other even deeper than you did before. You kissed under a stop sign and shared sweet nothings. The clouds rolled over, and the sky opened up. The rain watered you down like a pair of leaves in a pot plant, and you both ran through Central Park, trying to find the nearest shelter until you came across a large oak tree. It was something out of a movie, sitting together, soaking wet, staring at each other as lightning strikes in the distance. The wind was in your hair, and his lips were on yours.

You spent pretty much every day together after that. You made love in every room of your apartment, cherishing each other's bodies. Cillian would sit in that cafe, and he would clap after your readings and then reward you with a kiss when you got back down to him. You wrote poetry about him, and he would write some for you. It was a beautiful, quiet, little harmonious relationship you had going on. You found yourself falling in love. You thought he was, too, though you never said it out loud.

He even met your dad. They got along quite well. Your dad didn't seem to mind that Cillian was only a few years younger than him (and much older than you). Your dad just wanted to see you happy and safe. In fact, your dad told you he had never seen you more content. Cillian made your dad laugh, they got along like old friends. Seeing them bonding and getting along made you incredibly happy and excited.

On November 16th, at noon, you got ready to go to where he was staying, wrapping that red scarf around your neck again and stepping out into the living room where Cillian waited for you with eyes full of affection. You had packed a small bag since Cillian told you he was staying at his sister's house in upstate New York. She was away at the moment. "Most beautiful girl I've ever seen." He hummed jollily. You wrapped your arm through his and went down to the lobby.

His car had that new car smell, clearly a rental. "No matter how often I've stayed in America, I never get used to driving on the wrong side of the road." Cillian chuckled, exiting his parking spot and beginning the long drive to his sister's house.

The drive was beautiful. Driving through the city and slowly entering into suburban areas, red and brown trees lining the streets, Halloween decorations on display, and music playing through the radio, you both sang along to the words happily. The drive was surreal and peaceful. You drove down a long country road, and the tall trees created a tunnel above you. Only small slits of the grey sky could be seen through the scarlet leaves.

"We're here, Y/N," Cillian smiled at you, stepping out of the car and walking off without you. You hurriedly got out of the car with your things. "Oh, lock the car for me, the button doesn't work... please, love." He tossed you the car keys, not looking where he was throwing them, and they landed in the dirt before you. You ignored how it made you feel (stupid, insignificant, small), picking up the dirty keys and locking the car manually before rushing over to where he was unlocking the door.

The house was nice and quiet and far from the rest of civilization. It felt like home somehow. It is decorated nicely with photos of his sister and her husband, even some with Cillian when he was younger. It was getting dark by now, and you set your belongings down in the guest bedroom where Cillian was staying. You never asked when he was going back to Ireland. You didn't wanna know. You wanted to appreciate your time together instead of counting down the days.

Cillian cooked you dinner and shared a long, loving kiss to say thanks. You sat cuddled up on the couch together afterwards, your crimson scarf hanging over the stair railing as you rested your head lovingly on his shoulder. An old Western movie played in the background, but you were too busy holding each other and whispering sweet things.

"Cillian..." You whispered, pressing soft kisses along his stubbly jaw. "I'm so happy you brought me here... this feels so special." "I'm so happy to have you here, Y/N." He whispered back. Cillian pulled you into his lap. "This is special, just you and me... here... I'm going to make you my own." You wanted to tell him, 'I'm already yours, Cillian; my heart and soul are yours', but you remained silent, smiling dopily at him.

And with those charming words, you kissed him. Flashes of red played through your mind, fireworks sounding off in your head as your lips danced together. His hands cradled your head as you made out nice and slow. Both in your pyjamas now, warming each other up, hands running up and down his back. Cillian's hands wandered down your back until they rested on the tops of your hips, his thumb fiddling with the waistband of your sweatpants.

"Take them off." You hummed, raising your hips slightly off of his, and he obeyed, sliding your pants off until you were only in your panties. Cillian observed how you sat back down on his lap, the lace scrunched up, showing off the curve of your ass.

"I'm going to ravish you." He growled, eyeing you up and down. The timbre of his voice caused your thighs to tightly squeeze together. He pressed you down onto the couch, slipping his pants down until he was just in his briefs. He slipped your shirt over your tits, breasts bouncing out of their containment and straight into his mouth. He sucked happily on your nipples until you were a panting mess, begging for more. "Let me feel you, sweetheart."

"Please..." You exasperated. "Please... Cillian."

Two nimble fingers slipped under your lace underwear, straight down to where your arousal pooled. "So wet f'me, always so wet, aren't you, baby?" He groaned, fingers teasing your slit before sliding back up to rub circles on your clit.

"You know what you do to me..." You breathed out, biting your cherry red lips and closing your eyes, embracing the pleasure. "Always so wet for you, Cillian..."

The way Cillian cradled you in his strong arms as his fingers caressed you to your peak was the most intimate thing you had ever experienced. His eyes watched your face contort with pleasure, mouth open and spilling sounds of satisfaction as you came on his fingers.

"That's it, baby... doing so good," He whispered, kissing your cheek. "So beautiful."

You lolled your head to the side, panting and looking at him with a dazed grin. "Please fuck me."

Cillian laughed at your words. "Such a dirty mouth!" He teased as he tugged down his pants. "Gonna fuck you nice and slow, gonna show you how much you mean to me, love."

Then, in the dim light of the TV and the moon shining through the window, you made love like it was your last night on Earth. Hands ran up and down each other's bodies, trying to savor every final touch. Lips captured together, your bodies working as one, the love was there, glimmering in the light. No words could explain how you felt then; nothing else existed to you, just him and his hands all over your body. You and him for the rest of eternity, at least; that's how it felt in your heart.

You held each other tight in bed, clinging on for dear life. You listened to his heart slow as he slept and the way he breathed. You wondered if he dreamt about you the way you dreamt of him. Eventually, you fell asleep at midnight after watching his pretty face sleeping.

At three in the morning, you wake to an empty bed. Sitting up with a sweat, where did Cillian go? You slip out from under the covers, wincing at the room's cold air that meets your bare legs. You wore one of Cillian's button-ups, only the middle button holding it together as you slowly creep out of the room, listening to the sound of quiet music from the kitchen.

"Cillian?" You called out, cautious and slightly afraid at how dark the house is. It was a lot quieter than you were used to. You were a city girl, unfamiliar with the countryside silence.

"Y/N?" You heard, which relieved your paranoid mind.

Down the stairs, Cillian stood in the fridge's light, soft music playing through a small radio on the kitchen counter. "What're you doing up, Cillian?" You worriedly walked over to him, arms reached out as he turned to look at you, only in his sleep shorts.

"Just needed a midnight snack. I'm alright, my love," He smiled sleepily, with a sheepish look since he wasn't fully awake yet. "C'mere... dance with me."

"Oh... Cillian..." You giggled, walking over to him, letting him wrap you up in his strong arms and sway you gently. "This is nice."

"Mmmm..." Cillian hummed into the soft skin of your neck.

The refrigerator remained open, the cool-tinted light painting you both as you swayed side to side. You were half asleep, and the rocking motion didn't help your drowsiness. You felt as though this was some strange dream.

"Are you real?" You whispered.

"What do you mean?" Cillian purred back.

"I just feel like I made you up." You muttered, pulling your head back to look up at him with big, sleepy eyes.

Cillian looked back at you with the same look. Your wide-eyed gaze and his sweet blue eyes looked like something out of a romance film or something you'd see in a painting. The love you shared was unanimous... or at least you thought so. A kiss and then another kiss and then another turned into a sleepy yet heated make-out.

"Gonna take you right here," He grumbled into your mouth. "My midnight snack."

You giggled at his words as he pressed you against the kitchen island countertop. Kissing so hard it felt like your lips could bruise. He ripped off your shirt and pulled it off you like it was nothing. Cillian growled at the sight of you, hands groping at your tits and lips trailing down your neck. You whimpered, letting your head hang back as he ground his stiff cock into your clothed cunt.

"Fuck!" You whined, wrapping your legs around his hips even further. You ignored the feeling of the marble countertop digging into your lower back; the feeling of his cock was too delicious, too distracting, to really let it ruin the mood. "Cillian, please, baby, just put it in me... need you so bad."

He gave you a grunt and slipped off his shorts before pulling your panties to the side. Cillian acted like a feral dog as he pushed his cock into you and began fucking you on his sister's countertops at three in the morning. The act was sinful.

"Oh god! Yes!" You wailed. You could be as loud as you wanted to out here. No one else was around to hear, and you knew how Cillian liked to hear you scream for him. His hips pistoned in and out of you, cock fitting perfectly inside you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head. He had never been so rough with you before, but you were enjoying it.

"Best pussy I've ever had," Cillian groaned, sweat dripping from his forehead. "Fuck... so good... feels so good."

His fingernails dug into your hips, grunting into the dips of your neck and shoulders as he chased his own high. You ran your hands up and down his back, leaving scratch marks across his shoulder blades. The fridge remained open, but right now, you didn't care. All you could think about was how good he was fucking you. Drool spilled down your chin, mind blank, and legs went limp from the euphoria taking over.

"Yeah, is that it?" Cillian muttered, voice gritty and low as his hips sputtered. "You gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna cum on my cock?"

"Yes... oh fuck! Yes!" You moaned. "Gonna cum for you, Cillian..."

"Love the way my name sounds comin' from your mouth," He whispered, letting out a mouth-watering whine straight into your ear. Your pussy clenched around him tighter as Cillian, usually a quiet and stoic man, came undone and let out the most delectable pornographic-sounding moans. "Y'make it sound so dirty..."

"Please cum in me..." You whimpered. "Please... need it so bad."

"Really?" Cillian panted and looked at you incredulously. He had never had the pleasure of getting to cum in you yet. "You sure?"

"Yes!" You threw your head back, panting like a dog. "Please, Cillian! Please... give it to me." "Fuck... alright... gonna fill you up, love."

You pressed your face into the curve of his neck, mewling as you came around him and the feeling of his hot cum beginning to spill into you. "I love you." You gasped out, squeezing your eyes shut as you came around him. You meant it; you did love him. You had never loved anyone the way you had loved him. You could see yourself with him for the rest of your life, having his babies, getting married..., and dying together. He just groaned loudly as he came inside you, not saying a word to your confession. Maybe it wasn't the right time, or he would wait until he was done to say something.

"Fuckin' hell..." Cillian whispered as he slipped his softening length out of you and pulled his shorts back up. "Look at that..." He mumbled with amazement, getting down on his knees in front of your quivering and cum-filled pussy.

"Cillian, I-"

"Shhh..." He hushed before pressing a loving nip to your inner thigh, and then he unhinged his jaw and attached his watering mouth to your cunt. You forgot everything you were about to say at the feeling of his tongue licking you up and sucking on your swollen clit. You came again quickly due to how sensitive you were, and Cillian sucked up your gushing juices and his cum that still dripped out of you. Standing up, he grabbed you by the chin and kissed you, spitting the mixture into your mouth, tongues swirling together. You moaned at the salty taste and the dirty act. "Such a good girl..." Cillian hummed. "Swallow it, baby. Show me how good you can be for me."

He watched you gulp it down before leaning in and rewarding you with a wet and messy kiss, teeth grabbing your bottom lip before pulling away. "Cillian..." You whispered, out of breath and incredibly flustered. "That... was so good... I love-" "Let's go to sleep," He interrupted abruptly, crouching and picking up your discarded clothing. "It's real late, sweetheart."

"Oh..." You mumbled, heart breaking a little. "Okay... let's go then." You didn't get a peep of sleep that night. While Cillian snored beside you, one heavy arm draped across you and his hot breath fanning the back of your neck, you stared at the ticking clock with tears slipping down your face. Why didn't he say it back? Why didn't he at least say something? You knew he heard you. The dread built up within you that night, and daylight didn't seem to get any closer.

At 7:47 AM, you were pulled out of a state between consciousness and sleep by Cillian's phone ringing. "Fuck..." Cillian said groggily, reaching over with a heavy hand to pick up his phone. "Who is it?" You moaned out of dissatisfaction from being pulled out of your slumber.

"It's my sister..." He groaned before answering the call. "Hello?.... Yeah, it's alright... no, I don't have anything on today... you're comin' home today?... I thought you'd be home Monday..." You sat up at this, heart racing. Were you going to have to meet his sister today? You were nervous but also excited. Cillian looked over at you with a horrified look in his eye. "Yeah... alright... see you then... bye."

"...Is everything okay?" You asked cautiously.

"Yeah, I guess we're not sleepin' in..." He grunted as he got up and walked towards the en suite. "Gather yer' things, we're going back to the city." "What? Why?"

"I just don't want my sister to know I had a girl over." That was the last thing he said before shutting the bathroom door, clearly in a bad mood. Your heart sank at his words as if it wasn't already hurting. So you got up, fighting back the tears and gathered your things, shoving them back into your bag as you let out a choked sob.

Half an hour passed, Cillian was still in the shower, and you sat at the bottom of the stairs, feeling sorry for yourself. Your bag sat beside you, and the floorboards creaking behind you caught your attention. You turned and looked up at Cillian, dressed in a lovely blue turtle neck, dress pants, and a grim look on his face.

Begrudgingly, you followed him outside and into the car, then began the drive back in silence.

"You wanna grab some lunch wit' me today?" Cillian asked after about twenty minutes of silence.

"No." You said dryly.

"What? You got plans or somethin'?" Cillian asked with a chuckle. The question felt condescending and rude.

"Because what you said to me earlier really fucking hurt me." You hissed, turning to look at Cillian to see him already looking at you.

"What the fuck are you on about?" He barked back, putting his eyes back on the road and giving you that dry, condescending laugh again.

"You said you didn't want your sister to know about me.... that you didn't want your sister to know about you having a girl over."

"Yeah, and?" Cillian quipped, clearly flustered.

"Is that all I am to you?" You whimpered, trying to keep your composure, trying to seem strong. "Just a girl?" "'Course not, Y/N." He said in a hushed tone.

"Then what the fuck are we?" You raised your voice, a tear slipping down your cheek. "Why can't your sister know about me? About us?"

"B-Because..." He faltered before falling completely silent.

"Why, Cillian?" You cried. "You've met my friends... you've even met my father... for fuck's sake... why can't... why can't I meet your sister and her husband?"

He kept his silence. You could see the tears in his eyes that refused to spill. Those tears were just as stubborn as he was.

"Answer me!" You screamed, tears pouring down your exasperated face. "Say something!"

"Because I'm married!" He screeched back.

That shut you up. You leaned back and just stared at your feet. You felt like you had been winded, like all the air in the car had been sucked out, and you were choking on carbon monoxide. He was married. You sobbed as the shock set in, and Cillian pulled the car over to the side of the road, unbuckling his seatbelt. You fell into a state of despair; your chest felt incredibly heavy, and your brain played a loop of hopeless thoughts.

"Y/N," Cillian said firmly, reaching out and placing a soft hand on your shoulder, which you quickly smacked away. "Y/N... look at me..."

You looked over at him, and you could see him wince at the look on your face. He'd never seen you in so much pain. Never had he seen you look at him so coldly. "What?" You spat. "What is it, Cillian?"

"I... I'm sorry."

"Fuck you," You cried harder, covering your face with your hands and leaning on the dashboard. You cried so hard it felt like you could vomit. You felt like the salty tears were slowly dissolving you away. "Fuck you!" You sobbed.

"Y/N... I am sorry."

"If you were sorry..." You hiccuped, looking back at him with red eyes and tears endlessly slipping down your flustered face. "You never would have... you never would have done this to me... you never would have gotten involved with me!"

Cillian sighed and shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I... I stumbled into that cafe one night, and I saw you and... I heard the way you spoke... and the words you said... and I couldn't believe you were real... and things haven't been amazing in my marriage lately... and I haven't seen my wife in months..." He was rationalizing with you... with the infidelity. "I... I've never met anyone like you."

"You lied to me."

"How was I supposed to tell you I was married, Y/N?" Cillian snapped at you, looking at you with fangs barred. "What was I supposed to say to you?"

"You didn't have to say anything," You sobbed. "You shouldn't have invited me to dinner... you shouldn't have even... you shouldn't have ever shown up to those reading sessions... you just shouldn't have gotten involved with me in the first place!"

"My wife doesn't have to know."

"That... doesn't make it any better," You bawled. "You have a woman... back in Ireland fucking waiting for you, and I'm here... thinking I'm falling in love with you while you fuck me over!"

"I'm sorry..." He whispered, defeated. "I'm so sorry."

Silence.

"Do you feel anything for me?" "Of course, I feel something for you, Y/N... you're-"

"Do you love me?" You corrected. "Could you say you truly and honestly love me?" "I..." He looked away at that. You scoffed and shook your head, wiping tears off your face. "I don't... I don't know... I just..." "What the fuck was going to happen between us?" You cried. "How was this going to end? This was always going to end tragically... wasn't it? Wasn't it, Cillian?"

"I didn't... I never thought about how I was going to end things... I go back home in December... filming ends in two weeks... I was going to spend the last few weeks with you..." You scoffed again loudly. "Aww... how sweet! Spend your last few days with your mistress, who's twenty years younger than you... and then fuck off back to Ireland and go be with your loving wife and your... oh god... you have kids, don't you?" "Yes... I..." "Fuck!" You screamed. It wasn't like you to be so angry. You weren't usually this loud. But the pain was just too much, and you needed some way to get the pent-up rage within you out. "So this is it... this is going to be the last time I'll ever see you."

"It doesn't have to be that way, love," Cillian whispered, placing a hand on your arm; this time, you let it stay there. The shame of having him touch you made you sob again. "We could... spend this last month together... we could... cherish what we have while we still have it." "What we have is gone," You replied. "It's gone! It's dead! You killed it! You can't even say you love me."

"What good would that do?" He pushed you further over the edge. "I mean... I could lie and say I love you... I could feed into your fantasies that this... this could last... but it's not..."

Those words 'I could lie and say I love you' echoed over and over again in your head.

"I know that!" You yelped.

There was a pause. The silence hanging heavy in the autumn air and your teardrops falling into your lap where your hands lay curled up. Cillian's thumb rubbed circles into your arm, and you only cried harder.

"Maybe... if we had been closer in age... maybe we would have... maybe we would have been fine." Cillian broke the silence with that banger. The words ringing in your ears, you didn't reply. You didn't utter a word. Those words made you want to die. A minute or two went past. You just ignored him, ignored the way his hand lit your skin on fire, and ignored the way his eyes bore holes into the side of your skull. "Y/N?"

"Take me home." You muttered.

"Y/N..." He whispered.

"Take me the fuck home, Cillian."

And so he did. He pulled out of the parking spot, and you spent the next hour in an agonizing silence. At some point, the tears stopped falling, and the stupidity sunk in. You felt stupid and ashamed. You had told everyone about him, how happy you were, how handsome and funny... and how sweet he was. And now you sat in the car of a man you felt like you didn't know.

"We're here, Y/N."

"Goodbye, Cillian."

"Please don't do this." He begged, you looked at him, and he had tears in his eyes. "Please." You sucked in a breath, his eyes pleaded with you, and you wanted to stay so badly... you wanted to give him one last kiss and say, 'I understand,' but you knew you couldn't. You were too heartbroken. It was going to end one way or another... and it might as well end now.

"Goodbye, Cillian." You said once more before stepping out of the car and walking off into your building. Never looking back to see the broken man in the car, crying just as hard as you did, loving you just as hard as you did him.

Three months went by. There wasn't a day where you didn't think of him. Not a day passed when you yearned for his touch and to feel him hold you again. You thought about dancing with him in the refrigerator light. You thought about his hand on your thigh as you drove upstate. The memories all too real and... all too there.

And tonight, as snow fell outside, you stood at that same podium, reading the poem you wrote for him. You could barely utter the words, your heart catching in your throat as you looked around the room and spoke the words written on the page.

"Just between us, I remember it all too well." You finished, and the room clapped, but the applause didn't matter. Your heart still felt just as broken as it did the day you left him.

And as you descended from the podium, people would pat you on the back and murmur praises for how well-written your poem was and how well-spoken you were. But your eyes were focused on the hazy figure outside the cafe, the silhouette all too familiar.

And it was wearing that same red scarf you had left behind.

And you knew it was him, watching you from afar. Loving you from a distance... remembering it the same way as you did...

All too well.

-

hope you enjoyed!! Sorry this was all over the place a bit but I really wanted to write something angsty... anyway... there are lots of little easter eggs and references to the song, did you pick them all up? Okay byeee!

[agustdiv1ne]

ticket to nowhere (but your heart) (m) — cyj

pairing: choi yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: strangers to lovers au, photographer!yeonjun, artist!reader, fluff, angst, smսt

wc: 22.3k

synopsis: twelve days. twelve days is all you have on this godforsaken train to find the spark that will save your dying art career — but you never thought that you would find it in the enigmatic stranger that you can’t seem to stop running into.

warnings: mdni!! ageless + blank blogs dni!!!, mc is bad with feelings, is alluded to have anxiety, and is written as shorter than jjun (i'm sorry to my taller friends, i love you) + the same age as him (24), this takes place in various places across the u.s. (sorry in advance), mentions of food + alcohol, vvvvv brief depiction of potential self-injury when describing a painting, beomgyu + le sserafim's sakura, chaewon, and yunjin (called jennifer here just bc i felt like it) are featured, dom!jjun, sub!mc, soft sex, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), light begging, multiple orgasms, protected sex (hooray!), missionary, praise

note: part of @majestyjun's yeonjun bday event!! REPOSTED bc tumblr decided to not let this show up in the tags (edit: it's now showing up!!) </3 also my longest fic to date, so that's something

*:･playlist･:*

(cross-posted to ao3 here!)

masterlist

everything in your life is bland. gray.

the food that you eat, the people that you become acquainted with, the skyscrapers above you that grasp for the sky and fail to reach it — they have all become so monotone and somber and utterly lifeless. something within you gnaws at itself, aching with pain — though the sharpness of the feeling has been blunted by the passing of time — because you used to adore the city that you call home. you used to find unrivaled beauty in the skyscrapers that spread across manhattan, in the lush green parks scattered amongst the urban landscape that would turn warm and golden as summer metamorphosed into autumn, in the people that would walk by you with their unapologetic, unique fashion and confidence. the very things you used to love have dulled in hue, washes of the vibrancy you once appreciated and took significant inspiration from. 

throughout your apartment lay half-baked paintings and charcoal drawings and pieces with odd compositions from that one month where you went through a mixed media phase, staring at you with their paint-streaked eyes, mocking you. finish us, their fragmentary faces scream. they beg for you to provide them with souls, to be their maker, their creator — but not quite their god. you are not pretentious enough to go that far, to paint yourself as that self-important, that narcissistic. you are far from a god. if you were, you would be in a larger apartment, a penthouse worth millions of dollars in soho or maybe the upper east side. if you were a god, you would purchase the finest art supplies in the world, have your pieces be displayed in major galleries to be auctioned off for hundreds of thousands — no, millions of dollars by pretentious art collectors to be hung up in their gaudy mansions, their own slices of heaven. however, in reality, you fall exceptionally short of a higher being; in truth, you are a rather simple woman who had transplanted herself from her suffocating hometown to brooklyn as soon as you completed your undergraduate degree. a tiny little apartment in brooklyn, new york city, new york — an adumbration of purgatory, floating somewhere between heaven and hell. trapped, trapped, trapped. nowhere to go. 

sitting on your bed, the balls of your feet pressed against the cool wooden floor, you ponder if these thoughts, this density of emotions burrowing into your stomach, are a symptom of burnout. maybe even artist’s block, though in the past you’ve often remarked that the concept doesn’t exist. you had never experienced it, so in your sorely narrow-minded view, it simply couldn’t be possible, and other artists were simply blaming their laziness on this elusive concept. what a fool you were for ever thinking that. shame hangs like a heavy weight within your chest; who are you to criticize the experiences of other artists when you know how difficult a creative’s life can be? how could you be so insolent? 

a raging hypocrite, really, is what you think you must be. a blank, blurry stare scans over your space, the coolness of the floor spreading up into your toes. an easel in the corner, near one of the small windows that allows for a view of mostly red brick, a sliver of blue-brown water where the hudson and east rivers meet, and a few lower manhattan skyscrapers that tower high in the air across the watery expanse. it’s not that far from your bed, which sits on the wall opposite below a second window, the slightest bit larger than the other one. most of your apartment is taken up by supplies rather than actual decor, a jar of paintbrushes on your small, round dining table in the corner near your kitchen instead of a vase of flowers, works-in-progress on the walls rather than posters, pictures. 

you live and breathe art, and your entire apartment reflects that, but the oxygen is getting thinner and thinner.

even then, you’re not quite sure how long you have felt this way — it’s not as if you woke up one day and noticed the change. it wasn’t sudden like a car accident, slamming into you one second and leaving you to cope with the aftermath the next. quite the opposite, really, more akin to the tide slowly coming to shore, washing over more of your body with each incoming wave. soothing, flowing along with each ebb and flow, pulling you further and further away from the beach until you have nowhere else to go but down. 

weak fingers dig into the white comforter below you, curling into the fabric with a surging desperation — for what, you are unsure. comfort? someone to hold you? you haven’t felt the embrace of another, the warm sensation of lips pressed against your own, in an embarrassingly long time. the dating world had slipped from your hands long ago, shattering on the floor like a snow globe, your wants and hopes and desires to love and be loved soaking your lacerated feet and stinging as it enters your wounds. your mind trails to beomgyu, a fellow artist who you had met when you could afford a private studio in a warehouse one burrow over. he was fun, a sappy romantic, and he made you laugh to no end — but he ruined you. he moved across the country without warning and you’d never heard from him again, leaving you heartbroken and with questions you’d never get answers to. you wonder how he’s doing now, if san francisco is treating him well. his number is still in your phone. you should delete it. you need to delete it. you need to make dinner. you need to finish that commission. you need to do a lot of things.

you need to get out of here. 

fuck, you do. the desperation surging within your veins takes the new form of a beast, clawing its way up your throat. you need to leave the city and experience new places and see new things and—

finally, you wrench yourself off of your bed after hours of sitting there. snatching your laptop from the floor, you search. you search and search and search for something that will get you out of this city, albeit temporarily. several different trips to italy — too expensive, and too far away from here. an airbnb in florida — you’ve never been a fan of humidity, and you don’t think only seeing one city will be enough to sate you. come on, come on, there has to be something. 

and then you find it: twelve days on a train, across the country. stops in chicago, denver, san francisco, seattle, and even a national park for half a day before looping back through chicago and back to new york. this sounds…perfect. your eyes grow as wide as saucers at the price as you scroll down. for you, it’s expensive, so fucking expensive, but…

“you need to let go and enjoy life for once,” one of your friends told you at a party a few months ago, when you were experiencing a less incapacitating version of the burnout you currently face, when you had thought it was a mere blip in your unending motivation. of course, you hadn’t listened to jennifer and her sound (and moscato-induced) advice, opting to throw yourself further into your art and ultimately fail at creating anything worthwhile. you regret it now, because you feel stuck. terribly, utterly stuck — but this is your chance to change that. 

you need this; you can make the sacrifice to your already thinning bank account, you think. let go, enjoy life. let go, enjoy life — you repeat those four words over and over again as you type in your card information, as you click the button to book the trip, as you read over the confirmation email that outlines the steps you need to take before you leave. let go, enjoy life, and you will. you will, and you will relight that dimming, nearly extinguished fire within you while you’re at it. you’ll make damn sure of it. 

day one. 

your heart is pounding. the rapid ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump roars in your ears like thunder as people upon people walk past, shoving against both of your shoulders as you stand in front of a board full of green and yellow and red. the sounds of voices and rolling luggage echo across the high, transparent ceilings of the station which allow for a view of the sky above. early mornings and you do not agree with each other, and today is no exception; poorly-veiled dark circles sit beneath your eyes, illuminated by the soft, warm light streaming in from above. looking down at your phone and back up at the screen again, you find that your train is thankfully on time, the bright green letters helping loosen the tightness gathered in your shoulders as you roll them back once, twice. your teeth skirt your bottom lip while you nod to yourself, then scan the spacious building for the escalator that will take you down to the correct platform. 

you hate that you’re nervous. the feeling twists your stomach into knots and flushes your face, cheeks hot as you stand there and wait out the remaining minutes before you can board. it doesn’t even make sense — you should be happy to get out of town, to go places you’ve never been to before, but all you can focus on is the unease creeping up your throat and blooming sour on your tongue. perhaps this is actually excitement that you are feeling. maybe you’re reading it all wrong — jennifer was more than ecstatic when you told her of your impromptu trip, saying “this is what you need! this might be your breakthrough!” 

ever since you met the her, she was always a degree more optimistic than you. looking on the bright side of things, no matter what dire circumstances lay splayed out across the dealer’s table. what’s stopping you from being the same way? several things, but at the same time, jennifer is right: you need this. your hands jitter with an odd combination of excitement and fear — maybe it’s simply the thought of solo travel that is so intimidating. yeah, it has to be. it will pass soon enough — hopefully. you roughly shove your set of headphones onto your head, slipping them over your ears. music will have to do for now, if only to prevent thoughts from racing through your head. 

once you board, you learn that your quarters are…small, though that was expected. it reminds you of your studio apartment, almost; cramped, but lacking the scattered paint tubes and canvases and miscellaneous mediums that you have not laid a single finger upon in months now. the small, travel-size tubes of paint sitting in your backpack weigh your shoulders down, begging to be taken out and spread across the small, flat canvases that are tucked snugly beside them. you muffle their pleas by turning up the music streaming through your headphones. closing the door behind you, you softly hum to the current song in your ears, shoving your suitcase in the corner of the room. 

once the attendant checks your ticket, you decide to take a nap — who cares if it’s early? you barely got enough sleep last night in the first place, too nervous to allow your eyes to shut. collapsing onto your bed, you pull the curtains next to it shut and allow yourself to drift off into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

*:･

you awake around noon with a growling stomach. with a sigh, you rub your tired eyes and sit up, smoothing out your rumpled shirt. after a quick look on your camera to make sure none of your mascara has transferred below your eyes, you make your way to the dining car that’s not too far from your own.

it’s nice, quaint; simply decorated like the rest, with large, square windows divided by thin pieces of wood lining each side. smaller tables line the wall to your right, two seats at each, while larger, four-person tables sit to your left. you opt for a two-seater towards the middle, tunnel vision blocking out the rest of the people present. you stare out at the greenery that blurs outside the window, listening to the low rumble of the train, mindlessly thumbing the laminated menu laying on the table. while you wait for the waitress to get to your table, a light, feminine voice knocks you from your own little world.

“excuse me?” the voice asks. you flinch in response, blinking hard as you look to your left and find two women sitting at the four-seater next to you. they’re both pretty, brown-eyed with full lips curved into twin smiles. they don’t look like sisters, though — more so friends. 

“yes?” you politely say, wondering what they could want with you. the shorter-haired one’s smile grows wider once you speak. she has a rounder face than the other girl, her black bangs ending above her eyes that are currently crinkled at the corners. 

“are you waiting for anyone?” the other girl asks, the one with a long wolfcut and wide, hypnotizing eyes. definitely not sisters, you think, they look nothing alike. 

shaking your head, you softly murmur, “i’m not.”

“would you like to join us, then?” the wide-eyed one asks, a hopeful glint shining in her eyes. 

“i...i wouldn’t want to intrude,” you reply. your mouth curls into something apologetic, as if you’re the one burdening them despite them being the ones to ask you. this interaction feels weird, awkward, and a very large part of you wishes you could melt through the floor and disappear forever. 

“you wouldn’t!” straight black bob chimes in, hands clasped together on top of the table as she leans towards you. cheery, excitable. “we wouldn’t mind at all, really.”

you nod with a tiny, somewhat nervous grin as you take the seat closest to you, right next to wide-eyed wolfcut. you offer them your name, unsure what else to give them. your age? your profession? your deep-seated trauma? okay, definitely not that last one. 

“it’s nice to meet you,” straight black bob says, while the other chimes in with a soft hum of affirmation. “i’m chaewon.”

“and i’m sakura,” wolfcut adds with a dip of her chin.

hands placed snugly in your lap, you pick at your thumb nail. your back is stiff in the chair, and you hope they won’t notice. “it’s nice to meet you guys too. are you traveling together?” 

both of them giggle, glancing at each other for a moment before swiveling their eyes back to you. for a moment, you’re confused. why was that so funny? they look to be decent friends, at least from your limited interactions with them thus far.

“we actually just met a few minutes ago,” wolfcut — no, sakura claims. oh, so they’re not friends, then. “we ran into each other— like, quite literally ran into each other.”

“it was…kinda bad,” chaewon laughs before she takes a sip of water. “my ass is still sore.”

you huff a laugh at that, all air and no sound, and the conversation continues with a light-hearted air to it. as the minutes tick by, you learn that chaewon is a graduate student taking a gap semester, while sakura owns her own makeup line, a small business that is beginning to pick up speed thanks to social media. one lives in brooklyn—

“no way,” you gasp at chaewon. “where at?” 

sakura, meanwhile, resides in upper manhattan. even more information about them bombards your brain as all of you begin to eat, but you doubt you’ll remember most of it by tomorrow, even later today — it’s alright, though. the three of you have exchanged numbers (to create a group chat) and have basically promised to be travel buddies for the coming days. your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, grateful to find kind, welcoming people on this train — you’d think that jennifer would like them. the way they interact with each other is somewhat reminiscent of your and jennifer’s friendship. friends…yeah, you can see the three of you becoming good friends. 

“can we see some of your art?” chaewon asks, bob shifting like a wave around her head as she shakes it. oh, yeah. you had briefly mentioned your profession, though shame barred you from sharing your reasons that led you to this train in the first place. 

you cringe. “oh, well—”

“i’m sure it’s great!” she continues. “c’mon, pleaseee?”

with sparkling doe eyes and hands clasped tightly together, it’s difficult to say no — and you don’t, shaking your head a little as you pull up your instagram account. while you’re proud of the pieces you’ve posted on there, they aren’t your most emotional. those ones are saved in your camera roll, and that is where they will stay, only for your eyes (and a very few select others) to see. they coo and aw as they swipe through, your phone placed on the table between them. heat rushes to your cheeks as you begin to pick at the remnants of your lunch sitting on your plate. deep down, their kind comments cause an unusual sense of guilt to invade your heart. why couldn’t you produce shit like that now? what the hell is wrong with you?

with a polite smile, you thank them and move to excuse yourself before your pathetic sense of self-pity can consume you. they seem a bit surprised by your abrupt exit, but they also take it in stride, offering to text you later for dinner. slipping from your seat, you send them a wave before setting off towards the door from which you initially came. 

*:･

you don’t know what spurred you to make a stop at your room and snatch your sketchbook from your backpack before heading to the observation car, but after a whole lot of sitting and not one speck of sketching, you kind of, sort of have started to hate yourself for that decision. 

the open page in your lap is abysmally blank. no marks, no little trees or lush fields or flowers or anything that you see speeding by outside the window. your pencil has been poised against the page for the longest time, dark gray dots scattered across the page where you would press the point of the pencil to start making a mark and subsequently give up. another hour with no progress ticks by, but you still can’t make it move. move, why won’t your hand just move? 

flipping it shut, you lean back in your seat with a deep sigh. you can’t force these things, you know that much, but that won’t stop you from trying — and failing — to produce something. you’d rather not dwell on that for too long, though. those thoughts are what got you here in the first place. instead, you allow your tense muscles to relax, your eyes to lose focus and blur, blobs of green and blue passing by your vision. soft murmurs from other passengers meld together into a wall of droning noise, soft and soothing. 

that is, until the sound of someone settling into a seat a couple away from your own pops your little bubble like a sharp, pointed pin pressing into the skin of a balloon. blinking your vision back into focus, you take a quick glance to your right and—

holy shit, he’s beautiful. a sloping nose and pink, plush lips, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was a model of some sort with a face like that. his dark, slightly outgrown hair frames his side profile perfectly, sweeping back towards the back of his head where it begins to curl down the back of his neck. there’s this sort of dreamy, ethereal quality to his looks, like the universe took it’s sweet time creating him, lovingly placed tiny little stars in his sable, fox-like eyes and kissed his skin with the sun’s gentle rays, a light pink dusted across his cheeks — or, at least, the one cheek that you can see. bulky headphones sit snugly over his ears as he simply watches the landscapes pass by, one long leg crossed over the other. before you register the movement of your hands, your sketchbook is flipped back open to that very same blank page you’d given up on mere moments ago, fingers gripping your pencil once more. fluid like water is how your hand moves across the page, capturing the unique shape of his eyes, his soft yet defined jawline, the slope of his neck…

for the first time in months, you lose yourself in your work, yet you don’t even register this small breakthrough. peeking back up at the beautiful stranger every once in a while, you slowly carve out his likeness on the page in front of you, begin to add his surroundings and even a background, shading with light, circular strokes as you go, building up the deposit of graphite where it is needed most, defining the shape of his pouty lips and the strong cupid’s bow that connects his top lip to his nose, mapping out the flow and shape of locks of hair with dark, daring strokes, graphite pressing hard into the page. you even add some flyways for good measure. in your frenzied bout of drawing, you have hunched over in your chair, an old habit that is rearing its ugly head now that you don’t have a standing easel to work with. straightening your aching spine, you sit back and observe your sketch, wondering if you have missed any defining details—

and when you move to look up and take in his features again, he is staring right back at you. 

oh.

oh, fuck. 

frozen in your seat, you can’t tear your gaze away from his own, a hint of concern swirling in his irises. his eyebrows raise, eyes slightly wide as he tilts his head. the corners of his pretty lips raise, parting as if about to speak — and he does.

“are you okay?”

his deep voice snaps you out of your stupor, flinching before you quickly flip your notebook shut and sent him a tight smile paired with a nod, eyes darting around to look everywhere but him. your heart just might leap out of your chest at this rate, tear open your sternum and collide with the floor. you almost wish it would. 

he’s frowning now, a wrinkle between his eyebrows. “uh, are you sure—”

without another glance at him, you stand, clutch your notebook and pencil tight enough that it presses marks into your skin, and book it straight out of there with swift and featherlight steps. you don’t look back, far too embarrassed to even consider it, not stopping until you reach your room. the door is slammed shut behind you, but the nerves-induced ache in your chest won’t fade. pressing the cool backs of your hands against your fiery cheeks, you resist the urge to slap yourself. what the fuck is wrong with you? you should’ve just answered him and apologized for staring. he probably thinks you’re some creep now, with your weird little notebook and lack of verbal response — and the way you left. god, if a hole opened up and swallowed you whole, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“you are so fucking embarrassing,” you hiss, venemous words aimed straight at yourself, your head buried in your hands as you curl up on the bed. day one, day fucking one, and you’ve already made a fool of yourself in front of someone.

maybe you should stay in here for the rest of your trip.

day two.

“...why is it so big?”

chaewon is referring to cloud gate — or, rather, what is more popularly known as the bean — a terribly ugly, silver, oversized, bean-shaped art installation that sits in chicago’s millennium park. an art installation that you, quite frankly, despise mostly due to the artist behind the work. given that anish kapoor is an elitist prick who has shit on the art world with his wealth and hates when people call his piece the bean, you take great, overwhelming satisfaction in calling it that. 

her question — paired with her furrowed eyebrows — causes you and sakura to snicker to yourselves. you’re grateful that they texted you this morning, had forced you out of your room because you actually were going to go through with your staying-in-your-room-forever plan (for today, at least). this park is your first stop of many, but you really want to get this part over with so that you don’t have to see this gargantuan, chrome bean ever again. despite its ugliness, you can admit that the slightly warped, mirrored reflection of the city that it provides is kind of interesting to look at, and it makes for some cool pictures. 

(still, fuck anish kapoor. you refuse to give that man any credit.)

you end up taking a photo of you flipping it off from afar, sending it to jennifer with a smirk before helping the other two girls with some of their own photos. here, there’s no pressure to create, only to enjoy and experience what surrounds you, no matter how tourist-y it may be. 

sakura slings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you closer to her, arm extended out to take a selfie. your hand raises in a peace sign at the camera, smile bright and wide like the sun above. there’s not an inkling of worry in your expression — until you see him. 

the guy from yesterday, standing maybe ten feet away. he dons an unbuttoned striped shirt layered over a tank top which is tucked into baggy, dark wash jeans. a thin, black belt wraps around his waist, a small camera hanging from his neck, and his hair looks as perfect as yesterday, shiny and smooth under the unobstructed sunlight. thankfully, he hasn’t noticed you, but that doesn’t stop your smile from fading, your heart from hammering within your chest as your brain cruelly replays the events of yesterday afternoon in slow motion. you can’t face him right now. what if he comes up to you? what if he confronts you for your odd behavior in front of this crowd? these are worst case scenarios, sure, but they are potential outcomes nonetheless. as he begins to turn in your direction, you whip around, slipping from under sakura’s arm as you face the two girls. 

“you guys ready to go?” you ask, masking your worry with a tight grin. don’t ask why, don’t ask why, please don’t ask why.

“yeah, sure,” chaewon nods. “i think i’ve had enough of the bean.”

“same,” sakura laughs.

“we could grab lunch, then go to the aquarium and planetarium?” you suggest, one foot beginning to tap against the concrete as you look back and forth between them. are there eyes burning into the back of your head right now? you can’t tell, but the prickling on the back of your neck is not a promising sign. they look at each other, then back to you — a phenomenon that has rapidly become a habit for them — and agree. surging forward, your hands loop around their wrists closest to you, and begin to speed walk away. far away.

“uh, girl? this is the wrong way, we’re going deeper into the park,” sakura notes, heels digging into the concrete to slow you down. she’s right, you know she’s right, but you’re not particularly keen on turning around. 

with a sheepish grin, you say, “maybe we could take a walk through the park first?”

as if on cue, chaewon’s stomach emits an audible growl. 

“nevermind, then.”

turning around, you find the stranger facing your way, and for some reason, he’s already looking at you. his eyebrows raise in recognition the moment you make eye contact. all of a sudden, you wish that you could shrivel up and die. despite this, you rip your gaze from his and push forward, turning to speak to sakura so that you aren’t forced to glance in his direction. mission: avoid the stranger who now haunts your life — success!

goodbye, the bean and the guy who you embarrassed yourself in front of. hello, chicago-style pizza. 

*:･

you’re tired.

you’re tired and slightly more broke and your legs and feet ache to hell after the copious amount of walking you’ve done, but your day still isn’t over. no, despite the setting sun and rising moon, you still have one more activity on your itinerary — clubbing, by request of your newfound friends, though even they claim that they don’t often partake in the activity. similar to them, you’re more inclined to small get-togethers with wine, food from that thai place down the street from your apartment, and a good movie, but hey, this trip is all about experiencing new things. hell, maybe you’ll even enjoy it, who knows? at least, you’re going to try to, but the pain radiating in the soles of your feet and calves has worsened due to your high heels. the dress wrapped around your body is tight and flattering in all the right places, yet the hem rides up every few minutes as you walk. 

“the pessimism isn’t cute. quit it,” you hear jennifer’s voice echo inside your head, yet another phrase she’s uttered to you in the past. fine — on the bright side, you haven’t seen that good-looking stranger since the park. bam, positivity, go you.

sakura’s arm loops around yours as you reach the club that you collectively decided on earlier. her excited squeals at the prospect of alcohol (or, rather, more alcohol, since she pregramed a bit prior to leaving the station) and dancing are enough to bring on a weak headache that spreads across your temples. ibuprofen. you desperately need ibuprofen, but vodka will do just fine too — it’s the first thing you order at the bar, a straight shot with no chaser because at this point, you don’t care. let go, enjoy life, you internalize as you toss the sharp liquor down your throat, fatigue melting away as the alcohol enters your veins. 

cheers, jennifer. you still need to text her back.

one more downed shot later, and chaewon is dragging you to the dance floor. the bass pounds in your ears and vibrates the floor as the three of you sway to the upbeat songs. droplets of sweat begin to bead along your hairline, bodies packed so close together that it’s virtually impossible not to be jostled by a stray elbow or shoulder as you dance. if you were completely sober, it would be uncomfortable, but your hazy senses allow for you to overlook the sardine can that is called a club. it’s easy to lose yourself in the warm, heady air, in the way your hips bump between chaewon’s and sakura’s. inhibitions melt away — you’re free; no expectations weighing you down, nowhere to be, no one to be. only music, flashing lights, and the new, fruity drink in your hand, courtesy of sakura. 

“gonna take a breather!” you yell into chaewon’s ear, the alcohol finally catching up to you. she nods, yells words you can’t make out into sakura’s ear, and both of them begin to follow you out of the crowd. you sip at your drink as you push your way through, ducking under swinging arms and avoiding splashing drinks. the crowd thins as you grow closer to the edge of the dance floor until only scattered groups of friends remain.

“you didn’t have to come with me, y’know,” you say as soon as you reach a slightly quieter part of the club, taking a seat in an empty booth. “i can handle myself.”

“it’s better to stick together. less dangerous,” sakura refutes. some of the glitter that sits above her eyes had drafted down to her cheeks, glinting as a beam of bright light travels over the lower half of her face. “you never know what could happen in a club.”

chewing at the neon pink straw in your drink, you nod, “that’s true.” 

as chaewon and sakura fall into conversation, their words not quite reaching your ears, you silently scan the club. the darkness is cut by wild lasers and spotlights that whirl around and catch on the faces of countless strangers, their pearly, grinning teeth glinting and disappearing back into obscurity in a flash. you continue to nibble at your straw, vision hazy around the edges and an airy sensation in your limbs, as if you could float up to the ceiling. you look up at the multicolored lights, flashes of red and green and blue bombarding your vision, then back down towards the crowd.

and yet again, you find him in your sights. 

suddenly, your vision has a crystal clear clarity to it. button-down shirt wide open to reveal his toned torso, he smoothly moves to the beat with an intoxicated smirk painted on his lips, a small glass of amber liquor in his left hand. dark, outgrown hair, plush lips, those dark, dreamy eyes — that’s him. shit, that’s definitely him. 

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you murmur, head collapsing into your arms on top of the cool wooden table. sakura jumps in her seat next to you, before scrambling to place a hand on your shoulder.

“are you okay?” she squeals near your ear, tacking on a worried call of your name when you don’t respond right away. honestly? you’re kind of not okay. you’re tired of encountering him at every turn and being reminded of your humiliating escape from him yesterday. you’re tired of him spotting you and sending you odd looks as if you’re the weirdest person he’s ever crossed paths with. you’re tired, you’re tired, you’re just so tired. 

you decided to go on this trip to get away from the mundanity of your day-to-day routine, to get over your spell of artist’s block and see new things, but maybe you bit off more than you can chew if you were going to allow one random person to ruin that goal for you. a random stranger shouldn’t have this much power over you. 

raising your head, you send them a half-hearted nod. “i’m fine. sorry.”

chaewon frowns, “are you about to throw up? ‘cause you look like you are.”

“you look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” sakura chimes in.

sighing, you shake your head. “i think— i think i need to use the bathroom.”

as you move to get up, they do as well — though you decide not to protest this time. there’s no point, really. your legs wobble a bit as you walk, face dropping once you notice that he is near the men’s restroom now, waiting outside right across from where you aim to go. head down, you scurry past him, ignoring how his eyes widen and his knuckles pale as he grips his drink tighter. chaewon and sakura are hot on your heels as you slip into the quiet bathroom. with the music from outside now muffled, you realize your ears are ringing. reaching a sink, you turn on the faucet and splash some water onto your face. hunched over the sink, your fingers grip the edge of the counter. deep breaths, now. deep breaths. this is likely the quickest you have ever sobered up, and the sensation is rendering you dizzy.

behind you, your friends exchange concerned looks through the mirror. sakura jumps into action first, coming up behind you and placing her hands onto your shoulders. with a gentle squeeze, she murmurs, “let’s get you back to the station.”

day three.

today, the observation car is devoid of life — and so is your body after yesterday. can you overdose by taking too much ibuprofen? you’re pretty sure that you can. 

last night is but a blur in your memory with few spots of clarity, but you do vividly remember panicking in the dimly lit bathroom as the girls fretted over whether you were going to vomit all over the floor or not. you hadn’t slept much once you returned to your room after exchanging drunken hugs with your friends, assuring them that you were, indeed, not going to throw up. after a few hours of restless sleep, you’d completely given up on proper rest — you have never slept all that well with alcohol in your system, so you’re not sure why you thought this time would be any different. 

you take a seat far away from the one you took last time. clad in your pajama bottoms and an oversized t-shirt, you’re grateful that no one else is here to see you at your worst: slightly hungover with dark circles the size of dinner plates. your legs fold up onto the chair so that your knees sit near your chest, your arms looping around your shins, fingers laced together. a deep sigh. a long blink. though the rest of the sky remains an inky black, the horizon morphs into a deep purple, the color of eggplant, almost. perhaps a smidge lighter. 

a door opens, its hinges faintly squeaking, before subsequently clicking shut. figuring it must be someone older, you do not bother with checking who entered; most people your age aren’t up this early, especially not willingly. instead, you keep your eyes trained on the ever-changing sky, chin resting upon your knees.

footsteps near you, and you assume that they will pass, but then they don’t. rather, they stand right in front of you.

“may i sit here?”

you have heard this voice before, just two days ago. unsurprisingly, he stands a mere few feet away, clad in a black tank top and gray sweatpants, a long finger pointed towards a seat. similar to you, small dark circles sit beneath his eyes, but he somehow makes them work. once you nod, one corner of his lips twitches upward before he sits down, a singular seat separating your bodies. his gaze burns the side of your face; your arms wrap around your legs tighter, your unwavering stare pointed out the window. silence envelopes the train car, tense and suffocating. your lungs tighten, prickly thorns sprouting within the thin membranes. your bottom lip may begin to bleed if you keep chewing at it so carelessly.

he breaks it first, shatters it like glass colliding with the floor, with five words:

“i’m really hungover right now.”

your brows furrow. why is he trying to strike up a conversation with you? why do you want to answer him? 

he continues before you can formulate a response, “i saw you at that club last night — you looked a little sick. are you okay?”

“peachy,” you curtly mumble, lips pursing. of course he remembers you; you did pass by him, after all, basically sprinted into the bathroom with the grace of a bull in a china shop. he hasn’t mentioned the park, but you know damn well he remembers that too.

you can sense the frown from his tone, confusion lacing the edges like delicate lace. his question is careful, slowly intonated as if he’s scared of pissing you off. “uh, did i do something wrong?”

you shake your head, not a single glance spared in his direction thus far. he hasn’t. your attitude is a direct result of your own actions, your own rampant anxieties. a pang of guilt punches you in the gut — he does not deserve your bitchiness when he, quite frankly, has done nothing but exist in relative proximity to you. 

“you haven’t,” you reply, voice meek. your eyes trace over the short fibers of the plain carpet below your seat. “i’m just— i’m sorry.”

the low rumble of the train fills the air again, no further words spoken between the two of you. there’s no clear way to explain yourself further, but your apology is sincere; with a brief peek, you find him staring out the window.

“can i ask why you keep running away whenever you see me?” the query lacks an accusatory edge. rather, curiosity and interest cushion his voice. maybe…maybe he doesn’t find you that strange, after all.

and finally, after two days of avoiding his gaze, you swivel your head to face him. you find a tilted head, a single humorous, raised eyebrow. despite yourself, you begin to smile. “honestly?”

“i’d prefer honesty, yes,” he grins.

“i—” you hesitate for a moment, then continue, “i was embarrassed.” a grimace paints your face, dragging your brows down and twisting your lips. “after, y’know…”

“running away the first time?” he supplies.

your mouth flattens into a thin line, a hand moving up to scratch your cheek. “yeah, that.”

laughter reaches your ears, partially nasally. rolling your eyes, your mouth splits into a grin. 

“i get it. i feel like i definitely startled you, so no hard feelings.” he pauses, starry eyes widening in what you believe is realization, “i never got your name.”

easily, you supply it, cheeks flushing with heat when he offhandedly comments that it’s pretty. if he notices your sudden flustered state, he doesn’t comment on it, and despite the warmth now slithering down your neck, you feel yourself relax back into your seat, legs leaving their curled up position to cross at the ankle in front of you. then, he offers his own. yeonjun — at long last, you have put a name to his handsome face. 

out of nowhere, he asks, “have you had breakfast?” 

shaking your head, you gesture to your pajama bottoms. “not yet, i was going to grab some after i changed.”

“i don’t know, i think the plaid pants are pretty fashionable,” he chuckles. you join him. “c’mon, i saw an old guy wearing boxers and a shirt in there yesterday. i’m pretty sure it’ll be fine.”

you giggle, “that’s kinda gross, but alright. let’s go.”

peering out the window again, you find that the sun has just peeked above the horizon, a wash of orange fading into blue, melting together like watercolor. smiling to yourself, you stand and begin to follow yeonjun towards the dining car.

*:･

you and yeonjun had gone your separate ways hours ago, but not without exchanging contact information. since then, he hasn’t stopped texting you, his talent at keeping any conversation going shining in direct contrast to your, well, lack of said talent. however, you do find yourself replying to him with ease — he makes it so easy to do so, mostly due to the fairly unorthodox topics he likes to bring up. currently, you’re talking about the animals that scare you the most. why? because that’s the nature of yeonjun’s conversation skills, you suppose.

another voice message pops up in your chat, about ten seconds long — one of his more obvious quirks. most of his messages are sent in this form, not that you mind. his voice is as pretty as the rest of him. heart-fluttering. okay, stop. you just met this guy. 

(jennifer always does say that you fall too easily. maybe she’s right.)

pressing play, his voice enters your left ear via your single earbud. “no because hear me out: dolphins have fooled you into thinking they’re nice. manipulated you. they literally torture their prey— and they use puffer fishes to get high! i can’t make this shit up. my fear is justified, i swear.”

under your breath, you chuckle, an elbow leaned against the dining table. after a long nap, you had texted the girls to see if they’d like to get dinner with you. of course, they said yes, but you decided to get here a bit early to grab an open table. the car is already packed as it is.

“what’re you laughing at?” unexpectedly, sakura’s head appears over your shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of your phone. out of habit, you lock it, your reflections staring back at you through the black screen. as she sits next to you, chaewon, takes the seat across from you, elbows placed on the table and her hands supporting her chin. she sends you a knowing smile.

“is that your boyfriend?” she prods. the question causes your mouth to fall open for a moment before you snap it shut. 

“no!” you exclaim. “it’s just a friend.”

“sounds like a boyfriend,” sakura surmises, exchanging a conspiratory nod with the other girl. you release a groan, hands shielding your fiery hot face before you drag them up over your hair. 

“he’s not my boyfriend,” you shoot back. “we just met today.” two days ago, actually. if you can count that.

their mouths open in tandem, shock coloring their features. is this a big deal, or something? you aren’t even dating the guy. 

“you met a guy and didn’t tell us?” sakura grasps your arm with both hands, shaking the limb with a strength that shouldn’t be possible to come from her thin body. “you should’ve told us! we can be your wingwomen!”

“wingwomen?” you echo dumbly as you stare at her. wingwomen, as in, like, jennifer-style wingwomen? as in trying too hard to set you up with someone and ultimately embarrassing you in the end wingwomen? your love for jennifer knows no bounds, but she’s ruined the term for you long ago with her terrible luck. a shudder runs down your spine, and you grin nervously. “i don’t think that’s necessary.”

“of course it is! i’ve always wanted to do that for one of my friends, but they’re all taken already,” chaewon pouts, irresistible puppy dog eyes appearing. “c’mon, please?

“i doubt he’d want to date me, though? we’ve literally only talked once, so really, it’s okay.”

“once is enough,” sakura declares, suddenly tilting her body closer to yours. “tell us, is he cute? what’s his name?”

they’re obviously not going to let this go, and you have no power to really stop them. 

sighing, you officially give up, “yeonjun, and yes, i do.” unfortunately. 

chaewon claps her hands together, an audible smack! echoing from her palms. her smile is blinding, a supernova of pearly white teeth and pink, upturned lips. “perfect! we can work with that.” 

“i already have an idea: ask him to hang out tomorrow,” sakura says, and you send her an incredulous look, glancing at chaewon for a moment to find that she’s excitedly nodding along to the idea like an excitable puppy. her round eyes sure make her resemble one.

you shake your head. “i can’t do that, it’s too forward.”

rolling her eyes, sakura tosses her hands up in the air. “too forward my ass! how do you expect to bag him?”

“i don’t!”

chaewon chimes in, an open hand reaching towards you, “alright, give us your phone. we’ll text him for you.”

“absolutely not!”

ding!

it’s comical, how all three of you pivot your wide-eyed gazes to the phone clenched in your fingers. the flash of yeonjun’s name across the screen is enough to send your table into chaos. 

“open it!”

“what did he say—”

“calm down, oh my god!” you shriek, sending an apologetic look to the couple next to you when they look over. fingers fly over your keyboard until you’ve reached his contact. words, this time, no voice message. butterflies burst into your chest.

yeonjun: do you have anything planned for tmrw? 

after scanning over the message herself, sakura pokes at your shoulder. “tell him you don’t.” 

with a deep, heavy sigh, you do as she says.

[6:37 p.m.]: not yet, why?

“that’s too dry,” chaewon comments.

“shut up, i’m trying,” you hiss. it takes him a few minutes to respond, minutes in which you internally panic. was your text really too dry? in the meantime, you place your dinner order with a kind waiter that stops by, a hearty dish that you can drown your sorrows in the not-so-off chance that this goes terribly, terribly wrong. another ping sounds from your phone’s speakers, and time stops once you read what he sent. clocks stop ticking, you stop breathing, everything around you freezes.

yeonjun: do you wanna grab coffee in the morning then? :)

sakura sends you a sharp look. “i doubt he’d want to date me — are you seeing this right now? or do you need me to spell it out for you? this is a date, babe.”

“it’s not,” you counter weakly. you only (officially) met him today, so, “it’s really not.”

day four.

contrary to what sakura claimed, this is very much not a date — but you’re happy about it. 

he keeps a respectful distance between your bodies as you walk, you pay for your own coffee, and you pull your own chair out when you go to sit down. it’s simple, it’s friendly, it’s a bit awkward, but there’s some things you have to sacrifice when making new friends. the croissant you’ve decided on is on the drier side, a little too flaky. you nibble on it anyway in a poor attempt to ignore the silence that has fallen between you once again. this is why you try to meet people through other friends; at least in those situations, you have a buffer, someone who knows you and the other person well enough that they can find connections between you without having to dig. you hate digging — you’re the worst at it, hence the stifling quiet that permeates the air now.

the café is quaint, if a bit moody thanks to the lighting. outside the window, the denver street teems with people, and you decide to survey the passing strangers rather than look at the man sitting across from you. wisps of fluffy white clouds float high above, sometimes passing over the sun. you wish you had your supplies with you — this would make for a wonderful painting. 

click!

turning your head, you find yeonjun holding a camera, the lens pointed at…you? you hadn’t noticed it prior, so you are unsure where he got it from. it looks like the same one he had at the park. a bashful smile appears as soon as he places it on the table. “sorry, the lighting was perfect. can’t ever pass up a nice shot.” you study the camera for a moment, and he takes your lack of response as a sign to continue, “once i edit it, i can definitely send you a copy. do you wanna see it?”

a photographer. yeonjun is a photographer. you’re not sure why it’s taken you this long to realize. maybe because you’ve been avoiding him up until now? you think. shaking the thought away, you smile. “i’d love to see it.”

he presses a few buttons, a focused twist to his plush lips, before he’s sliding it over to your side of the table. he’s right: it was a nice shot, and while you don’t often enjoy how you look in photographs, he’s found an angle that highlights your best features as you gaze outside, a slight part to your lips and your eyes wide open, shining. the sheer amount of contrast between the dark café and your warm-lit face scratches an itch in your brain. you can see it now — the golden pigment wetting your brush before being placed on the canvas, being blended into an umber, almost black, but not quite. a splash of umber here, a hint of red there…

“is this your job?” you decide to ask. 

the sheepish expression returns in full force, but there’s a hint of pride in his eyes. he’s proud of his work. “yeah. i’m not, like, famous or anything, but i enjoy it. my mom said that when i was a baby, they put a stethoscope, a gavel, a camera, a microphone, and a test tube in front of me, and i chose the camera, so it was basically meant to be,” he chuckles, but, realizing that you’re staring at him, he pauses for moment. crimson paints the tips of his ears; it’s a color that you’re pretty sure sits in your travel set. “sorry, was that too much?”

“not at all,” you reply softly. “that’s a lovely story, yeonjun.” 

“thanks.” shyly, he bites down on his bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth before releasing it. a beat of quiet passes, then he’s asking, “how about you? what do you do for work?”

for some reason, the question looms over your head like a storm cloud. it’s unavoidable and dark and heavy. a bitter taste fills your mouth, different from the aftertaste of your coffee, but you try not to let your sudden drop in mood show. 

“i’m an artist, though i don’t think many people would consider me one nowadays,” you snicker, but the self-deprecating edge to your words is not lost on yeonjun. 

wrinkles form in the space between his brows. “what do you mean?” 

“i…” you trail off. you should tell him. you should rip the bandaid off and quit avoiding facing it for what it is. “i haven’t finished a piece in months. i feel stuck, almost? like nothing is resonating with me, if that makes sense. it’s the whole reason i went on this trip. it’s humiliating, not being able to draw a single thing without hating it— sorry, that’s definitely too much.” 

“no, no, you’re fine,” and he’s sincere in his reassurances. he doesn’t look at you like you’re some sort of failure for how you feel. he doesn’t spew out a hollow apology to absolve him of the weight you’ve transferred to his shoulders, nor does he seem to mind that he���s helping you burden it. his hand reaches over the table, hesitant for a moment, before his fingers curl over yours, his warm skin against yours. you stare at his hand, but you don’t move away from his touch, allowing him to give your hand a delicate squeeze. looking back up, you sit frozen under his gaze. it warms your insides, melts the icy shards solidifying in your lungs that make it hard to breathe. “none of that makes you less of an artist. it’s something every artist goes through — hell, i’ve gone through it, and it’s okay to feel that way. it’s real and it sucks to feel like you can’t accomplish anything, but there’s nothing wrong with it. eventually, it will pass on its own, but until then, it’s not a sin to lean on others for support.”

tears almost, almost prick your eyes. however, you push them down; there’s no way you’re going to cry in public, in front of him. absolutely not. he squeezes your hand one more time, his thumb brushing over yours, before pulling away. “and if no one else will listen, i will.”

“thank you,” you croak out, blinking rapidly, taking a long sip of coffee in order to buy yourself a few precious seconds to cloak your emotions. a calm veil falls over your face soon enough, and while you hate to be the one to change the subject, you feel like you should. “do you want to go on a walk? it’s too nice out to stay in here all day.”

he doesn’t question the sudden change, humming in confirmation as he scoots his chair back. “it really is nice out. do you have any other plans?”

“not really,” you say, pushing the door open. the warm breeze caresses your face. “i’m trying to be spontaneous—”

“y/n!”

sakura and chaewon appear to your left, each carrying a couple bags that look to be stuffed with clothes. you vaguely remember them mentioning going thrifting, but you didn’t know that they’d be in the same part of the city as you. chaewon comes in for a hug, whispering into your ear, “he’s cute.”

glancing up at yeonjun, sakura feigns ignorance, “who’s this?” 

thus, your friends meet the one man you’d rather keep them away from, if only to prevent their wingwomen shenanigans. you have zero clue what they have planned, but you’re sure none of it can be good. 

“we were just on our way to the botanical gardens,” chaewon sings. “if you’d like to join usss.”

wordlessly, you and yeonjun communicate, only raised eyebrows and tilted chins. somehow, you understand exactly what he’s trying to convey. do you want to? do you? i don’t mind if you don’t. alright, let’s do it.

when you do arrive at the gardens, yeonjun’s fingers find your wrist, holding you back for a moment. his free hand gestures to the camera hanging around his neck. “mind being my model for the day?”

you blink. you, his model? “oh, um. i think chae and kkura are a bit more qualified—”

“no way,” he laughs. “i’m the professional here, and i want you. no one else will do.”

i want you — god, those three, simple words send a visceral shiver down your spine. a want, a need, an overwhelming desire for…you’re not even sure, but something all-consuming blooms behind your sternum like a moonflower in the night. with a coy dip of your head, you smile to yourself, allowing the feeling to surge through your veins, consume every fiber of your being.

“alright, mr. professional. lead the way.”

*:･

it’s early in the evening when you return to the station in a giddy haze, arm looped around yeonjun’s. the photo session had been a success; by the end, you were drunk on the compliments he aimed your way, on the way he treated you like glass as he directed you into a specific pose, the fleeting sensation of his fingertips pressing into your skin burned into your memory. 

closing the door to your room, you press your back into it, squeal into your palms like you did when you were sixteen and harboring a silly little crush. because that’s all it is right now, really: a foolish crush on a man that you probably won’t see again after this trip. you can fantasize all you want, but in the end, that’s what it is. those invading negative thoughts get drowned out by the movie playing behind your eyelids — a replay of the day. you swear you can feel every touch of his skin against yours, every ray of sunshine that kissed your skin and gifted you its warmth. scurrying over to your bag, you locate your supplies. 

and you begin to paint. 

a flurry of lilacs, a blurry figure among them all, defined only by a flowing white button up and brown, wide leg trousers, black streaks of hair and nothing more. yellow daffodils and vibrant emerald sweetgrass take shape, a cerulean sky, fluffy clouds. it’s messy and you kind of hate it, but it’s something. something is on the canvas, it’s dynamic, it has character.

“okay,” you mumble, staring at the brushstrokes, going over them again and again. “okay.”

day five.

“can i draw you?” 

a spur of the moment question, borne from the golden sunset gracing his cheeks, highlighting strands of his hair. the day has passed quietly today, mostly spent in your room sketching to your heart’s content. though mostly inconsequential doodles paired with terribly cheesy words of prose that even your most romantic friends would scrunch their noses at, these exercises in creating without a specific goal in mind seem to be helping. a part of that gray fog over your world has been wafted away by an invisible hand, and everything is a bit more vibrant, closer to its true hue; while nothing about your creations are particularly special or groundbreaking, going on this trip is now beginning to prove its worth. 

yeonjun’s head tilts, and you shrug. “what? i need practice.”

“okay, as long as you promise to show me afterward,” he challenges, and you immediately shake your head. 

“i’m only going to show it to you if it turns out well,” you decide. you think back to the painting sitting in your room, still a bit wet, the paint overworked to hell. that one is staying a secret. it’s not good enough to be known by anyone else — and certainly not by him.

“then no deal.” when you give him a pleading look, he raises his hands. “i show you my pictures, you show me what’s going on in that sketchbook, it’s only fair.”

“fine,” you hiss, fishing your sketchbook from your bag. “get comfortable, and don’t even think about moving.”

“harsh.”

with a suppressed grin, you take in the planes of his face. he’s shifted to face you, intent eyes trained on you, which makes your job harder. gulping, you raise an arm, mapping out his proportions with a thumb. the process of pressing intentional marks into the page is a slow one, exacerbated by his unwavering stare. you have to look out at the mountains every once in a while to allow oxygen back into your lungs, and even then, the action proves difficult. graphite scratching paper is backed by the low murmur of other passengers in the observation car as you work, capturing the fading light that casts shadows across his face. however, your creative juices quickly run out, likely sapped by your painting escapade that extended far into the night. the shape of his eyes isn’t quite right, and no matter how much you erase and try again, there’s always a slight detail off about it. too narrow, too round, too—

the tip of the pencil snaps, the point rolling across the page and falling onto the floor. you curse under your breath. 

“is it done?” yeonjun asks, leaning forward. his hands gently take your sketchbook from your lap before you can protest, and you watch as his expression shifts from neutral to slack-jawed. 

“that’s…you’re…wow,” he starts, then never finishes. he still hasn’t torn his wide eyes away from the page, flitting around as he drinks in every miniscule detail, while you pinpoint every single thing wrong with the drawing.

“it’s bad,” you deadpan. “give it back, i need to fix it.”

he frowns. you seem to make him do that a lot. “there’s nothing to fix.”

“there’s everything to fix.”

“it’s literally a carbon copy of me,” he counters. “you’re crazy.”

“says the one who can’t see the shape of his eyes right now. the lash line isn’t straight enough at the top, the nose isn’t quite right, the hair lacks form. it’s terrible.”

for the first time since you met him, yeonjun is annoyed. eyes narrowed and dark, he locks his gaze into yours, throws away the key. you can’t move while he tosses the worn sketchbook back into your lap, a hand running through his hair, locks raising with his fingers and flopping back down into his face.

“i know what it’s like to be your own worst critic,” he says, voice soft like a lullaby, standing in direct contrast to his firm expression. “but it’s one thing to be critical of your art, and another to resent it. you’re a wonderful artist, y/n. talented isn’t enough to describe you, but negativity is going to get you nowhere. it holds you back.”

he’s right — you loathe that he is, and you more so hate how he sounds just like jennifer. your nails skirts the fraying edge of the leather cover in your laps, picking at it like you would with skin, peeling cracked flakes off to reveal a soft underbelly of lighter-colored suede. wine red versus warm tan. you feel like you’re being admonished, a child who’s misbehaved. you feel small, but at the same time, you need to hear it. you’ve been coddled enough. 

“i used to hate my stuff too, y’know. never thought it was ever that special, but that’s what made me underestimate myself. that’s what made me settle for less, that’s what made me lock my camera away in my closet for the longest time until i felt i was ‘ready’ to use it — but who was i to say i was ready? how do you know when you are? honestly, you don’t. you won’t ever know. all you can do is create and create and hope that you eventually make something that you’re proud of. until then, you keep trying, you figure out what’s working, what isn’t, and go from there. in the end, everything you create is a reflection of you, and that’s the beautiful thing about art. it bares your soul, it strips you down to the rawest parts of yourself that you may despise right now — but it’s still you. and don’t you think you deserve to give yourself some grace?”

his words strike a place deep within you, an ache beginning in the center of your chest and snaking out like the roots of a tree into your stomach and throat. you do deserve some grace, don’t you? you don’t spew venomous words towards your friends or strangers every day, yet you do it to yourself without a second thought. why? you bring yourself and your skills down any chance that you get. why? your art is merely an extension of yourself — is this how you forever want to feel whenever you are drawing? whenever you’re sculpting a piece? no, not at all. your head raises. 

“have you ever thought about becoming a public speaker?”

he lets out an incredulous scoff, but there’s still an inkling of teasing in his tone, “is that all you got from my mini speech? i thought it was amazing. life-changing, even.”

“no,” you deny with a tight-chested laugh. “but there’s not much more to add. you’ve said it all for me.”

the passing mountains are purple now, the greenery a muted magenta. in this moment, you decide the yeonjun is an enigma; untouchable, unreachable — standing too close to his bright, technicolor world would burn your muted one to the ground. if you are icarus, then he is the sun sending you plummeting down into oblivion.

but you want to touch him, you want to burn.

you want to feel alive again.

“let me draw you again,” and maybe it won’t be your best. maybe the slope of his chin will be crooked, maybe the intrinsic sparkle in his eyes won’t be quite right, but there’s a conviction present in your tone that causes him to smile.

day six.

“are you really trying to have a dick measuring contest with the seals right now?”

san francisco’s iconic pier 39 is abustle with tourists, but you and yeonjun are currently at the very back of the pier, where seals soak in the sun on little wooden docks constructed just for them. at the moment, yeonjun is trying to out-seal the seals with loud barks and hoots, mimicking their distinctive sounds. yeonjun is still making noises, people are starting to stare, and you are beginning to want to climb over the wooden fence and jump straight into the ocean. 

“yeonjun, please stop,” you plead, hands gripping the sleeve of his t-shirt, yet he doesn’t stop, honking back at the seals once they respond. you tug a bit harder. “c’mon, people are staring. the seals don’t care how loud you are, you’re not proving anything.”

“i’m proving a lot of things right now, actually,” he quips before he’s going back to making noises that are unbecoming of a human being. this feels like a cruel form of exposure therapy.

you try pulling at his sleeve again. “c’mon, yeonjun.” and again. “yeonjun!”

“okay, okay, i’ll stop,” he cackles, turning to face you. he’s close — too close to be considered platonic. his hands could come up and hold your waist right now, pull you closer into his chest. it causes you to take a step back, and it’s as if he can sense the heat radiating from your cheeks, leaning down towards you with a smirk. “you embarrassed?”

“of course i’m embarrassed,” you hiss. “how are you not?”

shaking his head, his grin grows impossibly wider. “if i buy you lunch, will you forgive me?” 

pretending to think, you look off to the side, then back to him. of course you will. “maybe.”

“i’ll take that as a yes,” he laughs as he falls into step next to you. the air is much cooler here than at your other stops, a gray blanket of fog rolling in on the horizon that cuts into the clear blue sky. he sends you a hopeful look as he asks, “y’feeling clam chowder?”

with a tiny shrug, you confess that you’ve never had it before. with a dramatic hand placed against his chest, he gasps, “you live in the northeast, and you’ve never tried it? that has to be some sort of crime.”

chowder hut is his restaurant of choice, a circular, well, hut that sits by its lonesome across from the infamous pier. it’s a place he used to go when he lived in san jose and took day trips here with his cousins, he claims. the restaurant holds a lot of fond memories for him, this whole city does. you wonder what those memories entail.

“i got you a small one in case you don’t like it,” yeonjun says as soon as he returns with your food. a tray is placed in front of you: a round sourdough loaf carved into to create a bowl, filled with cream-colored, steaming-hot chowder thick with chunks of potatoes, pieces of bacon, and, of course, clams. digging a spoon in, you take your first bite — clean, briny, slightly sweet, bursting across your taste buds like tiny little firecrackers. your eyes widen at the taste, buzzing in delight against the spoon poised to your lips. he grins. “it’s good, right?” 

you hum in agreement, swallowing another spoonful. you’re crazy for never having tried this before. twenty-four years of living, and you had no idea what you were missing out on. you’ve missed out on a long of things, it seems, but you’re beginning to catch up on them with the help of yeonjun — as well as sakura and chaewon, of course. you could never forget about them.

“you’re forever going to be connected to clam chowder in my mind now, i hope you know that,” you say, tearing into the walls of the bread bowl. the remnants of the salty chowder have soaked into the bowl, mixing perfectly with the tanginess of the bread. yeah, you wouldn’t forget this in a million years; it’s too delicious to forget. 

“you do that too?” he asks. you send him a questioning glance. “like, connect people to food.”

“yeah, i guess i do,” you ponder. “my mom reminds me of this one dish she always made me as a kid. my best friend reminds me of wine, since that’s what we drank when we first met. it’s also her favorite. and now you…remind me of clam chowder.”

he chuckles, “great, i’ll always be the clam chowder guy to you.”

you giggle back. “it’s not a bad title to hold. you could be, i don’t know, the terrible clam chowder guy.”

“fair enough. i’ll take it,” he declares before he shoves the last piece of his bread bowl into his mouth. his cheeks puff out, similar to a chipmunk, and you resist the urge to chuckle at the image in your head. “now that i think about it, i don’t do it with just people — a lot of my fondest memories are connected to food, too. something human about it, y’know? food is its own form of love. or, at least, i think it is.”

“no, i completely agree. there’s something special about sharing food with others — it’s kinda intimate, i guess? especially if you’re cooking for someone, those are some of the most vivid memories for me.” 

nodding along with you, he’s leaning forward, elbows resting against the table. the corners of his lips quirk up. “you get it. the intimacy of it, i mean. my mom has always said that food is the best way to a person’s heart — food brings people together. it’s amazing.”

“yeah,” you beam. “it really is.”

for a moment, conversation ceases, the two of you smiling at each other, leaning forward over the table. your mouth opens to speak, but a loud caw draws your attention away from his hypnotizing eyes. you watch a seagull swoop in to harass a man that sits two tables over, his glasses skewed on his face as he tries to keep the bird from stealing his food. arms wave everywhere while the seagull screeches at him, flapping its wings on top of the man’s head. after a brief second of shock, the sight has you nearly doubling over with laughter, unflattering shrieks sounding from your throat. it takes a minute for your giggles to subside. while you wipe a tear from your lash line, you look back at him — and freeze.

he’s staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky, chin supported by his palm. his mouth curves into something serene and fond, hooded eyes scanning your face as you stare back. you’re no longer smiling, mouth parted as you wait for him to say something, anything. he doesn’t, so you move to break the intense air brewing between you.

“is…is something wrong?” with a flinch, his eyes blink rapidly for a second, coming back into focus. he sits up straighter, leaning into the back of his chair.

“i just— nevermind. sorry, spaced out there for a second,” his chin dips towards his chest before rising again, the tips of his ears flushing cherry. he looks nervous, almost. “um, if you’re up for it later, we could grab dinner at this korean restaurant i used to go to? it reminds me a lot of my parents. i think you’d like it.” 

while you’d rather ask where his head is at right now, what he was going to say before he stopped himself so abruptly, you say, “i’d love that.”

*:･

he was right, you do like it. 

the restaurant is cozy, a little hole-in-the-wall in the heart of the city where less tourists roam. the food is delicious, flavorful meats and fluffy rice and various veggie side dishes that you can’t stop eating. as he snaps some photos of the place, he tells you the decor reminds him of restaurants in seoul, of the mom-and-pop shops he’d frequent there. that at some point or other, some of the owners would start recognizing him when he came in and gave him extra food free of charge. 

“so you lived there for a while? in korea?” you ask as you watch him some meat for the two of you to share. the action is second nature to him, each piece staying on the grill for the same amount of time, flipped only once. you bring a piece to your mouth — it’s perfectly cooked.

“i was born there, in a town near seoul,” he says through a mouthful of rice. “moved around a bit, but i lived in seoul for most of it ‘til i was eighteen. then i moved to new york for college, but dropped out after two semesters to pursue photography. it’s been six years since i moved to the states.”

“you said you lived in san jose for a while earlier.” you tilt your head at him. “when was that?”

“ah,” he starts. “i studied abroad when i was in elementary school and stayed with some family there— do you want some more meat? i can order more.”

your meat supply has dwindled down to two pieces. there’s still room in your stomach, so you nod. “sure.”

he calls over the sole server on shift, speaking to him rapidly in his native tongue. the server glances over at you for a brief second before focusing back on yeonjun. out of their entire conversation, you recognize one word: friend. it’s a term that jennifer taught you a while ago, one that has stuck with you because she now likes to jokingly call you that every now and then. an inside joke between the two of you.

when the server leaves, yeonjun is left a flustered mess. your eyebrows raise. “why’s your face so red? what’d he say?”

“nothing! it’s just from the kimchi! it’s really spicy here,” he quickly claims before he’s gulping down half a glass of water. you, quite frankly, don’t buy it for a second, but choose not to pry. 

day seven.

of course, at least one thing has to go wrong on a trip like this. mechanical problems with the train has rendered everyone stuck in the golden city until tomorrow morning, at which another train will take over the rest of the trip. the station is across the bay, so amtrak has given every passenger a voucher to pay for a night’s stay at various hotels across the city — customer’s choice, no less. to be safe, you choose the one closest to the bar chaewon and sakura want to check out tonight. once you told yeonjun where you decided to stay, he used his voucher there as well. he wants to stay near you, he says, to make it easy to find each other.

today, the girls join you and yeonjun at pier 39. they partake in bread bowls, they watch yeonjun embarrass himself at the seal docks, they send you knowing looks when he pays for your food. when yeonjun finds a street performer with a dance mat and wastes no time in starting a battle against the guy, they tell you that he’s trying to impress you.

“he’s not,” you whisper to them. “that’s just how he is. i promise.”

night begins to fall, and they suggest going to a bar for dinner, more for the drinks and not the food. you accept, and in turn, so does yeonjun — though you immediately regret not thinking the decision through more. the bar is dangerous. not in an external hazard sense, but in more of a you’re scared of getting drunk and vomiting your blossoming feelings onto his shoes type of sense. you keep your drinking to a minimum, still on your first drink an hour in. next to you, however, yeonjun is starting to collapse in on himself, hunched over the counter of the bar as his third drink kicks in. a giggle bubbles up from your throat. you never pegged him to be a lightweight. 

“let’s get you some water,” you gently suggest, a comforting hand on his shoulder. waving the bartender over, you ask for a glass, helping him sit up and take a sip. his chin falls onto your shoulder this time, eyes hazy as he looks up at you with a dopey smile. 

“you’re really pretty, did y‘know that?” he slurs, leaning further into you as an arm wraps around your waist. his barstool screeches across the floor, shifting closer to yours. you freeze as shock fills your veins, nerve endings beneath his touch on fire. he pokes your warm cheek. “s’pretty.”

you blink. hard. “yeonjun, you’re drunk—”

“no ‘m not. ’m perfectly— ‘m perfectly fine,” the words stumble out of his pouty lips drenched in fatigue, his tone whiny and petulant, as he turns in his seat to wrap his other arm around your waist, forehead now sagging against your shoulder. your body stiffens up, tense muscles frozen in place as he continues his delirious ramblings. 

“i need to go to the bathroom!” you all of sudden exclaim, attempting to pry his arms off of you. he only squeezes you tighter, whining how you can’t leave here alone. you sigh, patting his hair, “you could wait outside?”

he accepts the offer, but doesn’t remove his arm from your waist as both of you stand. despite his almost six foot tall frame, you are forced to support him as he stumbles along towards the bathrooms and pray that you don’t twist an ankle in the process. when you reach the women’s bathroom, he still doesn’t let go. 

“nooo, don’t leave meeee,” he whines, pulling you back into his chest while your hand grips the door handle. calling his name, you slip your hands beneath his and grab them to pull them off of you.

“i’ll be right back, i promise,” you say once you situate him against the wall, his shoulder hunched and his head hanging down towards his chest. you give him a worried pat on his head before disappearing into the bathroom. in reality, you do not have to go. instead, you stand in front of the mirror, taking in your blown out eyes, feeling a scorching heat encase your face and spread down towards your chest. he’s drunk, you remind yourself. he doesn’t know what he’s saying. 

you wash your hands once. twice. three times, allowing the cool water to run over your heated skin. you splash some on the back of your neck. calm down. calm the fuck down. 

you are, indeed, not able to calm the fuck down before a flurry of knocks reverbates against the door. yeonjun’s voice follows soon after, asking if he can come in, if you’re okay. “why have you been gone for so longggg? i miss you!”

“no! don’t come in!” you yell, glad that all of the stalls are vacant. making your way back over to the exit, you wrench open the door and find him standing there, fist raised in the air as if he was going to knock again. 

he blinks once. then, an impossibly wide grin splits his face. “you’re back!”

stepping forward, you allow the door to swing shut behind you. arms wrap around you once again, but this time, you stumble backwards into the wall. when you look up, his face is just above yours. 

oh.

oh, fuck. 

this feels like a repeat of day one all over again, you trapped under his gaze, but this lacks the distance of that day. the unfamiliarity with each other. his hands haven’t left your waist, fingers pressing into your flesh over your thin dress, while the wall presses into your back. you have nowhere to go, but maybe you’re more drunk than you initially thought, because his lips look very inviting right now. you watch his eyes trail down to your parted lips, then back to your eyes, tongue darting out to swipe over his bottom lip. his eyelids hood his dark, hazy pupils. the muscles in his neck contract, his adam’s apple bobbing as he leans closer, an electric attraction between your lips. you tilt your head, eye fluttering shut, moving closer, closer…

“y/n! there you are!” 

yeonjun jumps away from you as chaewon rushes up to you. her hands find your shoulders as she cries, “kkura twisted her ankle really bad! can you help me?”

you turn your head towards yeonjun, then back to chaewon, whose wide, rounded eyes plead you to come with her. “okay,” you say softly. “let’s go.”

yeonjun follows close behind, and all you can think of is what would have happened if chaewon didn’t show up. sakura’s ankle ends up being fine, and getting her back to her hotel room isn’t too difficult given the close proximity of the hotel. 

*:･

four days. four days you have known yeonjun, but it feels like it’s been years since you met each other. that fact strikes fear into your heart, remembering that the last time that this fast burn of feelings in your heart occurred, you ended up a brokenhearted mess for months. if yeonjun is the sun, his overwhelming heat melting you down into a puddle, then beomgyu was a black hole, all-consuming and ripping pieces of you away when he abruptly up and left. you’re unsure if you can go through that again, but at the same time, yeonjun doesn’t give off the impression of a drifter who wouldn’t tell you he’s leaving until after the fact. he’s a constant, a steady fortress. reliable, enduring. 

“good night,” yeonjun murmurs, both of you standing in front of your door. 

“good night,” you parrot back, rocking back on your heels, but you don’t really want him to go. knowing that isn’t realistic, you settle for opening your arms up towards him. for the first time, he hugs you good night, his lithe arms wrapping around your waist while he presses a drunken kiss into the crown of your head, and a feeling of being home washes over you. 

day eight.

he sits closer to you now. no longer is there a gap that separates your bodies, a full chair between the two of you. now, he sits right next to you, thigh brushing against your own. his hand sometimes finds your knee, never too high on your leg, never uncomfortable. just…there, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin. neither of you mention what transpired between you last night, his affectionate words, the mere centimeters that separated your lips before chaewon interrupted. nevertheless, an unspoken barrier between you has broken, its bricks torn down by the hands of intoxication — due to alcohol, but also because of each other.

the almost-kiss replays in your mind in a constant loop; the woody citrus of his cologne is still strong in your nose, the warmth radiating from his flushed cheeks a phantom against your skin. you want to talk about it. you want to rip open the memory like a pomegranate for the two of you to share, but you don’t. you don’t know what you would do if you ruined…whatever this is that you and him have going on. he’s become a sort of constant in your life that you don’t think you can live without. you like him; you can admit it now. what you feel is not just a mere attraction anymore, an artistic appreciation for his unique features. he brings out a brighter part of you, a part that has been buried deep into your soul over the years, beneath layers of grime and dirt and negative experiences that you won’t let go of. the gray film over your eyes has been wiped clean by him, him and his beautiful heart he so easily bares to others. his heart that is so full of love — love for being alive, love for others — you wonder if any of that love could ever be for you one day.

he watches you sketch, you let him snap photos of you doing so. you share a small bag of chips, greasy fingers brushing against each other during those times in which you both reach in tandem. for hours, you sit together in a silence that is no longer awkward, but soft and tender. shoulder against shoulder, skin against skin. words aren’t required, your actions speaking for themselves. you bask in it all.

day nine.

the space needle isn’t that impressive.

you’re sure it’s a much better experience when you’re at the top, but yeonjun shares a fear of heights with you, so there’s no way in hell either of you are going up there. instead, you stand beneath it, amongst an ever-moving sea of seattleites and tourists, and wait for chaewon and sakura to come back down from the tall building. 

at the beginning of this trip, you’d allow for a few feet of space between your bodies, but slowly, it’s diminished to a scant few inches. you don’t really register this gradual change, as natural as it was. every once in a while, his pinky brushes against yours. neither you nor yeonjun move to do anything about it, either by pulling away or linking them together — a state of limbo that is befitting for a pair of strangers falling for each other. to make the dive into the unknown or to stay on the surface where it’s safe, that is the question.

“how much longer do you think they’ll be?” you ask, staring up at the pointed top of the tower. the sky is gray today, a bit chilly, but it’s an expected sight in washington during this time of year. “i’m getting hungry.”

yeonjun huffs a laugh, lightly elbowing your bicep. “maybe we could grab something real quick. i saw this taco truck nearby—”

“y/n? is that you?”

you’d recognize that deep timbre anywhere. the man that dropped your heart on the floor and vanished from the earth before he could watch the aftermath, the man that you never wished to see ever again.

turning around, you find beomgyu.

your phone slips from your hand, clattering against the concrete — but you can’t bring yourself to check if the screen has shattered. instead, yeonjun grabs it for you, rising with it as he anxiously asks if you’re okay. you don’t answer, too busy staring at the man now standing before you. he’s changed; his shorter hair has grown out past his ears, dyed a warm brown, though his black roots are apparent; soft pastel pullovers and light jeans have been swapped out for black slacks and a dark brown leather jacket, clothing choices more mature than when you last saw him. why is he here? you thought he lived in san francisco — you would’ve been less shocked to run into him there, but in seattle? 

“i moved here a few months ago.” shit, did you say that out loud? “i could ask you the same thing.”

“i’m on a trip,” you quickly answer, no further explanation leaving your mouth. 

he nods nonchalantly. you think you see his eyes flit to yeonjun for a second. “cool, cool.” 

“yeah.” why won’t he walk away already? your feet are glued to the cement, jaw tense as you try not to cry. the memory of him texting you that he had left the city and things between you won’t work out come rushing back. why now? how can he show his face to you after all he’s done?

he nods again. “are you here for long?”

“just— just for today.”

“well, i’d love to catch up with you before you leave. i’ve missed you a lot. maybe we could grab dinner tonight?” his smile is soft, hopeful — manipulative, in a way.

“i’m actually pretty busy today,” you begin, but of course, you have no idea how to tell him no. “but maybe if i’m free later.”

“great!” he exclaims, hands now in his trouser pockets. he looks over at yeonjun again, the upward curve of his lips flattening. “i need to get going, but i’ll text you later. you still have my number, right?”

“i think so.”

“cool.” his smile grows excited. “see you later, then.” beomgyu turns to walk away with a confidence in his strut that he didn't have when he lived in new york. when he was dating you. how shameless can he be? soon enough, he disappears into the crowd. blinking, you wonder if that really just happened, turning back toward yeonjun. his jaw is set, eyes still staring at the point where beomgyu vanished. the gray clouds feel suffocating now. the cool air constricts your lungs. you want the cement to open up and swallow you when his hardened eyes turn to you.

“who was that?” yeonjun asks, tone casual, but there’s a…jealous? edge to his question. you’re looking into things too much — there’s no way he’s jealous right now. 

“...my ex,” and it hurts you to admit it. his eyes darken as he utters a soft “oh.” you sigh, “yeah.”

he won’t look at you anymore. why won’t he? you didn’t do anything wrong. you had no control over beomgyu showing up. he purses his lips. “are you gonna meet up with him?”

your head shakes on its own, words escaping before you can think about them. “i don’t know, yeonjun.” 

“okay.” biting his lip, he turns so that he faces the space needle again, stepping away from you. you feel like strangers again, an ocean of distance between you bodies. “yeah, okay.”

*:･

you don’t meet up with beomgyu.

meanwhile, yeonjun is nowhere to be found. after the beomgyu incident, the two of you waited in tense silence for your other friends to return. he then made up some lame excuse to leave, and didn’t turn back when you called his name. you haven’t seen him for the rest of the day, even when you return to the train. he won’t respond to your texts. eventually, you stop sending them; he obviously needs space for whatever reason, so you will give him it. 

the terrible, painful thought of ruining everything you had with him sits in the forefront of your mind, taunting you. the girls try to distract you, showing you silly tiktoks and youtube videos and the like, but you simply offer them a half-hearted huff each time. once you explain what transpired while they were gone, however, their tune changes a bit. 

“y/n, i’m going to be very honest, and i need you not to take it personally,” sakura replies. though your head lays on top of your folded arms, you signal that you are listening with a bob of your head. she continues, “your response wasn’t the best. it probably confused him, and now he doesn’t know if you’re still hung up on this guy or not. if one of his exes came up to him while with you, and he told you he didn’t know if he was going to meet up with them later or not, how would you feel?”

“shitty,” you mumble into your forearm. 

“exactly. so give him space for now, and when he reaches out, explain and apologize. you owe him that much.” sakura sounds just like jennifer — they’d definitely get along. 

“i know. i will.”

the waiter comes around with water, and you order a strong cocktail to go along with your dinner.

day ten.

“has he texted you back yet?” sakura asks for the thousandth time today.

when you shoot her a defeated glare, she gets her answer. no, of course he hasn’t. he hasn’t responded to you since he left. “you said to give him space.”

“yeah, but i didn’t know he’d fall off the face of the earth,” she shoots back. sighing, you tip your head back against the wall next to her bed. a lake passes outside, surrounded by tall grass and trees. small hills rise behind the blue expanse, but you don’t feel the same urge to grab your sketchbook and translate the view onto the page anymore. it’s funny, how easily one person can affect your mood, turn everything upside down with the mere lack of his presence in your life. 

“he just needs time.” chaewon opens a can of soda with a pop! and takes a sip. “maybe it affected him more than we realize.”

“‘cause that makes me feel sooo much better.” sarcasm drips from your voice. “i’m such a fucking idiot.”

there’s a half-day stop in glacier national park tomorrow. will you see him, or is he going to avoid you for the rest of this trip? will you ever see him again? the emotions that swirl within you are reminiscent of how you felt before you met him. that grayness. that sinking sensation festering in your chest that claws it’s way down into your stomach and shreds it apart. you said that you wanted to burn, you wanted it to hurt, but this feels all too fast. too much.

sakura makes a noise in disagreement. “no, it shows that he cares about you. you just have to make sure you clear things up with him, and tell him that you like—”

“if you’re going to tell me that i need to confess my feelings to him, i really don’t think i can do that.”

“why?” chaewon prods. “what’s stopping you? he obviously likes you too.”

beomgyu. beomgyu is the fucking reason why. you can’t bare your heart to someone again, lest you get hurt all over again. after all that has happened, if yeonjun doesn’t reciprocate, it will confirm your worst fears — that you aren’t built to receive love, no matter how hard you try to mold yourself into a person that is deserving. dread churns in your stomach, rises into your throat like bile, acidic and fervid, as thoughts of worst case scenarios where you pour your heart only to hear “sorry, i don’t feel the same way.” you can’t do it. you can’t allow yourself to spiral again. however, you don’t divulge your reasons for holding back, remaining silent as you trace the patterns on the ceiling. 

after a deep, shuddering sigh, you give them a three word explanation: “i don’t know.”

day eleven.

stepping off of the train into fresh air sharpens your dulled senses. the national park is beautiful, for lack of better words; thickets of trees spreading out in all directions as far as the see. the sun is rising over the mountains that stretch high above your head — you’re starting to enjoy this view more than the lifeless skyscrapers that await you back home. the train station looks more like a little lodge than an actual station, but you appreciate its quaint character. reddish-brown wood makes up the majority of the small-scale building. it looks like a place where people would spend the night in, with a warm, cozy fireplace in the wintertime, and wide open windows in the summer to allow the refreshing breeze to waft in.

meandering down the path behind the station into a field of tall grass littered with bunches of tiny, white flowers, you begin to reflect on everything that has happened on this trip. originally, you went on this stupid trip with the goal to find inspiration, and last night you had a very important realization: yeonjun is that something — you started drawing again because of him, you started looking on the bright side of things because of him, and most important of all, you fell for him. you didn’t just fall for him in the way an artist falls for their muse, no. you fell for him as a person. getting to know him has been one of the best parts of your trip, but now all of that has gone down the drain because yeonjun hasn’t responded to you in over twenty-four hours and you have not a clue what to do to try to make things right. if he doesn’t wish to speak to you, then that’s that. it’s over. whatever momentum this fleeting relationship had has been effectively pummeled into the dust that would blow away with even the gentlest of breezes. 

you wish you could appreciate this view more. your paints sit in your backpack back in your room, out of sight so that you don’t have to think about them, nor hear their pleas to be used. although you now know why you lack the drive to paint and draw and generally create once again, no clear-cut solution to your problem comes to mind. instead, you wander through the grass towards a large, squatty boulder, climb on top of it, and plop down. your knees curl up towards your chest while your arms wrap around them, fingers tracing random patterns against your shins. fatigue solidifies in your bones, but the tranquility of the early morning the quiet tucks a blanket of peace over your body, swaddling the edges around you, cocooning you in.

you sit there, taking in the sounds and sights of nature, for hours. the chirping of birds sings a melody over the whisper of trees in the breeze. a deer leaps across the open field, disappearing into the trees, her fawn following close behind. bighorn sheep graze in the distance, their circular horns reminding you of cornucopias. 

the rustle of trees and grass obscure the sound of approaching footsteps from your ears. it’s not until yeonjun begins to climb onto the boulder that you notice him. you hug your legs tighter to your body as he sits next to you, but not too close. an invisible wall separates you. he does not look remotely near your direction, his focus far out in the trees. staring at him, you wonder what to say. i’m sorry? i have feelings for you?

“i never met up with him.”

he still doesn’t spare you a glance. assuming he wants you to continue, you do. “i don’t know why i said what i said, but it was shitty of me to put you in that position, and i wanted to say that i’m sorry. i was just shocked, i guess. to see him. he ruined my perception of a lot of things, jjun.” jjun. that’s a new one. you are quite unsure where it came from, it slipped out before you could think. no matter, he’s looking at you now, and it’s your turn to look out towards the horizon. “trust, commitment, love…”

his gaze burns into your temple. you take a deep breath, fingers clenching the fabric of your jeans. “they’ve all been ruined for me. it’s hard for me to trust anyone after what he did. i’m terrified that the people i grow close to will wake up one day and leave me without a word. i’m scared that i’ll never get the closure i deserve when they do. worst of all, i’ve stopped believing that love is in the cards for me, like there has to be something wrong with me for him to have left me like that—”

“don’t. don’t you dare say that about yourself.” whipping your head around, you finally meet eyes for the first time in nearly two days. they aren't soft like they usually are when they look at you, but hardened, guarded. “there’s nothing wrong with you. you have every right to be hurt, and he’s honestly a piece of shit for doing that to you, but it’s unfair to assume that everyone that comes after him will be just like him.”

“i know, and i’m sorry. i know you’re not like him.” he doesn’t respond, and you begin to chew at the inside of your cheek. you watch an ant crawl its way across the rock beneath you. the small insect disappears over the edge. 

silence. you begin to count the seconds. one, two, three, four—

“i’m sorry for not texting you back. i just needed time to think about things. a lot of things,” he starts. “i felt weird, for some reason. didn’t know how to talk to you about it.”

you offer him a tight-lipped smile. “no, i understand. i forgive you.”

important words remain unspoken, but both of you refuse to address them. instead, his hand finds yours, he links your fingers with his, and both of you peacefully watch the sheep graze across the field.

day twelve.

not everything is fixed yet. 

despite being on speaking terms again, strain pulls your relationship taut. the unspoken words from yesterday hang heavy in the air, but you can’t bring yourself to give them a voice. you want to. your voice won’t work every time you try.

sitting next to yeonjun on his bed, you scroll through various forms of social media, bookmarking work that you find particularly interesting in between catching up on your friends’ posts. jennifer has been thoroughly caught up on what’s been going on after a long overdue apology for not responding to her texts. she understood, of course she did. she’s known you long enough to know how you can shut down whenever you’re feeling overwhelmed. 

“i’m proud of you for telling him. i know it’s hard for you to share, honey,” she cooed to you over the phone last night. “but you need to tell him how you feel before it’s too late.”

you know that. you know damn well that once you get off this train, it may all fall apart, a budding romance distinguished by reality. there’s no security, no safety net for you to fall into if you take the leap, and while he showed you an inkling of how he felt yesterday, who’s to say he’ll feel that way tomorrow? the next day? are you willing to tear your heart open for him to consume if there’s still a chance of him throwing it away when all is said and done? 

you don’t know the answer to that question. honestly, you don’t know the answer to a lot of those questions, stuck in this state of self-imposed purgatory. to rise or fall, what is the best choice? you don’t fucking know.

“is that yours?” he asks from over your shoulder, at a ceramic piece in your feed made by one of jennifer’s acquaintances. his breath snakes warmly over the expanse of your neck due to his proximity, his head so close you could turn and just kiss him— 

stop it. 

“oh, no. um.” you shift away from him slightly. distance. some distance feels more comfortable right now. “i don’t sculpt. i just paint, and draw.”

he makes an ahhh of understanding, leaning back onto his palms, the mattress sinking down with his weight. he’s staring at you like he expects something from you. what shall you give him? when you don’t say anything further, he does. 

“can i see some of yours, then?” it’s an innocent enough request. rather than simply press on your account, your fingers move on their own until you reach your gallery. why? are you really about to bare your soul to him? you guess so, because he’s gently taking your phone from your fingers after gaining quiet permission from you. 

he asks you questions as he pulls up certain pieces. the thought process behind each one, what made you do this, place that color there, how you came up with the composition, what the meaning of it all is. you try your best to explain each one. sometimes, your choices were the product of spontaneity. you thought yellow would look nice at that spot, so you put some there. her nose is crooked because it gives the piece more character. the color of the drapes in the background are blue for no particular reason other than the fact that your reference photo had blue drapes. you continue in a cycle of question, answer, question, answer, and some of your answers are more emotional than others. you remember where you were, both physically and mentally, when making all of these. you remember the ones you made when you were having a bad day, the ones where you felt like you were on the top of the world. 

then, he pulls up one that you wish he didn’t. it was buried so deep into your gallery that you have no idea how he found it — your most dreaded hyperrealism piece: a woman lays on her back, hair fading into the foreboding, void-like background. her face is twisted up into an abject sadness, a deep-seated pain that even now, you have no idea how you captured so vividly. her veiny left hand is splayed next to her head, thin crimson threads tied to each finger so tight that she has begun to bleed. the strings fall limp beside her, severed from their counterparts that meander off of the canvas. more red threads loop their way around her neck, pulled taut as if to choke her — and to her throat, she holds a pair of sharp-pointed scissors, hand gripping the metal tight enough to pale her knuckles. 

it’s dark. it’s terribly dark and you wish he never saw it. why did he have to see it? why did he have to choose that one? the world tilts on its axis as he stares down at the picture of your most soul-baring work, though you think it would be worse if he saw the actual painting in person.

“what’s the story behind this one?” he asks quietly. your lungs expel all air, and you’re left gaping for more. breathe, come on, you have to breathe. your inhale is shaky, shuddered. breathe. say something.

“that one…” your voice trails off into something quiet. scared. “i made it when i was in a really— really dark place mentally, um. i made it mostly because—”

he’s looking at you now, concern shining in his irises, but you push on. 

“because i stopped believing in fate.”

while you could say more, you stop yourself there. you hate digging — digging into your deepest fears and emotions that you keep locked behind a wall so that you never have to feel them. a pandora’s box sits in the center of your heart, wrapped with chains to keep them imprisoned. somehow, though, you think yeonjun knows what you really want to say: you meeting each other wasn’t fate to you, but a gross series of coincidences, and when he asks if you think so, you simply nod.

“but out of everyone on this train, i met you. i got to know you — shouldn’t that mean something? can’t that be considered fate?” he presses. something akin to desperation laces his words, an urgency you’ve never heard from him. 

it sure feels like fate, doesn’t it? after all of those times that you ran into him, how he found you in the observation car when it was just you in there, how your feelings have unfolded like taking apart a paper crane in the short nine days you have known each other — it feels like it should be fate, you want to admit that all of it does seem like the universe’s divine intervention. maybe you running away was really just you trying to deny your fate to meet yeonjun while on this train. maybe him finding you was fate, an apology from whatever is above for what they put you through a year and a half ago.

“i think—” you hesitate. “i think so. it’s hard for it not to when i feel like i’ve known you my entire life.”

and you sit there and he’s smiling at you like you just created the earth with your bare hands. chicago passes outside the window. the sun shines high in the sky over the high rises, glints across glass panes and into his room. all you have is one more day on this train, and most of it will be spent sleeping tonight. he’ll wait for you tomorrow, right? would he wait for you forever?

“you know, i tell most people that my name is daniel.”

tilting your head, you echo, “daniel?” 

he hums as he scoots a bit closer, planting his feet on the floor next to yours and leaning forward. his knees support his elbows as he stares down at the floor. “it’s my english name. i used it when i was in college, i use it for my work, but for some reason, when i met you, my actual name, my given name, came out instead. call me silly, but i think my heart knew you’d become someone special to me. i wanted you to use my actual name — the one my parents call me. the one my closest friends call me.”

“oh.” why does your chest feel so tight right now? 

he sucks his lips behind his teeth for a moment. “yeah.”

sitting there, you wonder how you should respond to that. words expelled like an exhale of air, colliding with each other in front of your eyes, unable to be unscrambled by your mind. this time, it’s you who reaches over, closing the distance between you with a hand over his. his palm flips open to meet your own, your fingers linking together like matching puzzle pieces. you take a deep breath, and squeeze. 

“thank you,” you whisper. thank you for being here. thank you for helping me find myself again.

day twelve (point five). 

“i’m gonna miss you guys so much!” 

chaewon is basically on the verge of tears at this point, constantly blubbering how she is going to miss hanging out with you every day as she pulls you and sakura in for a hug over and over again. sakura laughs as she pulls away for the thousandth time this afternoon. “girl, it’s gonna be okay. we’re gonna meet up for coffee soon, right?”

she looks towards you, and you give an enthusiastic nod. “right. i’ll invite my friend too. she said she’d love to meet you guys.” 

chaewon’s pout doesn’t vanish, but she looks a little less emotional after all of your reassurances. blinking back the remnants of her tears, she nods with a watery “okay.”

you bring her in for one more hug while sakura asks, “have you seen him yet?” 

“no, i haven’t heard from him since last night.” your teeth worry your bottom lip, peeling a piece of raised skin off. the sensation stings. 

her lips purse sympathetically, a hand being placed on your shoulder. “i doubt he’d leave without saying something to you, don’t worry. he has to be around here somewhere.”

“yeah, you’re probably right.” as chaewon pulls away, you check your phone again. no texts or calls yet. doubt ricochets around in your brain, but you know yeonjun; he wouldn’t do that to you. 

“i’d love to wait with you, but my manufacturer is pissed i didn’t call them back yesterday, so i should get going,” sakura admits with an apologetic smile. her fingers squeeze your shoulder one time before her arm drops back to her side. 

“i should go too,” chaewon sadly adds, kicked puppy eyes in full effect. “my cat is waiting for me. my friend said she was a little demon the whole time i was gone.”

“it’s okay,” you laugh, shooing them away jokingly. “you guys can go. i’ll be fine.” 

with a last group hug, they grab their suitcases and head towards the hallway that connects the train station to the subway lines. sakura twirls around, walking backwards as she calls, “keep us updated! we need to know everything,”

“of course!” you yell back, grin widening. chaewon turns back too to wave, and you wave back. eventually, the crowd swallows them up, and you are left alone to wait. a few minutes pass, and you realize that this sea of people will likely make it impossible for either of you to find each other. his contact is pulled up on your phone, your thumb hovering the call button. you look around one more time—

and he’s standing right there, mere feet in front of you, in all of his glory, long hair still flopping into his face, eyes still dreamy and all-consuming. you stand there for a moment, simply staring at each other with stupid, goofy grins overtaking your faces. long legs carry him over to you, and before you know it, you’re wrapped up in his arms and pulled into his strong chest. you bury your head into the side of his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne.

“thank god,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. “i thought you might have left already.”

pulling back, you fix him with an incredulous stare. “what in the world made you think that? i was waiting for you.”

his ears tint an opaque red, the raised apples of his cheeks flushed a similar hue. he’s bewitching, and despite knowing that since the very first day — the day that you drew him for the first time — there’s so much more to him than looks to you now. he’s beautiful in both body and soul, in heart and head. one hand removes itself from your middle to cup your jaw, steadying your gaze with yours. your heart pounds, knees weak like a newborn doe’s as he stares deep into your eyes. blinding are the emotions swirling in his dark irises, but it doesn’t burn anymore. it’s more like the caress of the sun in the springtime, bright yet gentle in its own right. 

“this feels long overdue for me to say,” he begins, eyes closing as if to steel himself. when he opens them again, resolve has been added to the mix. “but i have feelings for you. i’ve never fallen for someone so quickly. i’ve never met someone like you, and i just— i knew, from the very day that i saw you, that we’d have something to do with each other. and then we kept running into each other, and i just thought wow, this has to be—”

“yeonjun,” you call, interrupting his ramblings. he pauses, eyes wide and anticipatory, as your hand moves up to cover his on your jaw. you can’t help the tremble in your lips as you speak. “i feel the same way.”

his lips purse, hiding a smile, before he surges forward and embraces you for a second time. the pure, unadulterated joy that the action brings you is like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and you’re almost…sad, when he pulls away.

“can i take you out on a date?”

the question throws you off kilter, and you have to catch yourself before you fall face first into his chest. “like, right now? with our suitcases and everything?”

“i’ve done much worse,” he chuckles, ruffling his hair, only for the locks to fall back down into his eyes. “but i meant later today, maybe? around six? i have to go take care of some things i neglected before i left.” 

“that sounds wonderful,” you gush. despite your best efforts in keeping your excitement to a minimum, you bounce up onto your toes for second, heels sinking back onto the floor. you swear he mumbles a quiet “cute” under his breath before he’s slipping his hand into yours.

“perfect,” he beams, before he playfully continues. “shall we be off to the subway then, my lady?”

giggling, you fall into step next to him, your arm swinging with his between you. “we shall.”

*:･

he’s right on time to pick you up, dressed casually but not too casually. a cool beige, short-sleeved button-up is tucked into a pair of straight-legged black jeans that stop at his waist. the chunky converse on his feet cause him to be a bit taller than usual. evidently, he is distracted by his phone, head ducked down as he waits for you to show up.

“yeonjun!” you call out, causing his head to snap up. once he does, you find that he’s somewhat styled his hair back — most of it has been swooped back towards his ears. a few strands fall into his face, but his forehead is fully exposed, and he looks…amazing. sometimes, you wish you were a poet instead, because then you’d have the words describe what you were feeling, what you were seeing. his jaw drops at the sight of you, dolled up in a jean skirt and frilly tank top over a thin long sleeve, your makeup soft and flattering to your features. 

“hi,” he breathes, and you repeat the greeting back to him. “you look…wow.”

“thanks,” you, biting your glossy lip. as his focus flits down to where your teeth dig into the soft flesh, you shyly smile, releasing it. a shock runs through you, new and carnal and it warms your stomach when he bites down on his own lip for a split second. “um, i know we didn’t really talk about where we were going to go, but there’s a thai place down the street from here, if you wanna go there? it’s my favorite.”

“of course,” he accepts, offering his arm to you. you loop your own through, standing close to him with your fingers pressing into the crook of his elbow. “lead the way.”

now that neither of you feel the need to skirt around your feelings, silence no longer lingers between pauses in conversation — both of you are able to pick it back up with ease. you meant it when you said that you feel like you’ve known him your whole life, and it reflects in the way you banter with him without worry or care. it’s…nice, freeing, not having to think too hard about what you’re about to say. natural. everything with him feels so natural. 

when both of you are sated, in both terms of food and conversation, he offers to walk you back to your apartment. the sun is beginning to set, and the sky has faded into a wash of rosy pink. the hue reflects the giddy feeling churning in your chest, rendering you light-headed and dizzy and fuck you just want to kiss him—

and he does. standing in front of your apartment building, he swoops down and captures your lips with his. slow, unhurried, his lips taste sweet like thai tea and are as soft as clouds. no one leads the other, no one moves to deepen the kiss. no, instead, you and yeonjun savor the taste of each other, the syrupy, vertiginous feeling of your first kiss together. when he pulls away, his lips have a slightly swollen quality to them, though you’re sure own look the same. you don’t want him to leave yet. you want more, you want something carnal and irrepressible that, by the way he’s looking at you, he wants too. playing with the locks of hair at the nape of his neck, you pant against his lips. “come inside with me, please?”

soft eyes darken, and he takes your breath away once more with another kiss, hands squeezing your waist. once he separates your lips from his, he rests his forehead against yours. nerves flutter in your stomach. “okay.” 

you find it terribly difficult to keep your hands off of him as you unlock your door, as it shuts behind you. for a minute, you stand there, waiting for something, anything to happen — then he’s crowding you in against your door and his lips are on your again. although there remains an air of softness, urgency fills the gaps where your lips don’t quite meet as they meld together, his tongue slipping into your mouth to curl with your own. your shoulder blades press into the cool wood of your door, the warmth of his body against your front a dizzying contrast to your scattered mind — but you want more. you want him.

when he slips a knee between your legs and knocks them apart, you let him. when he presses that knee into your core, encourages you to grind against it, you let him, you listen. whining into his mouth, you tug at his shirt, at his belt loops, his hair — anything you can get your hands on, you’re pulling at it, grinding down harder as his jeans rub your soaked panties against your aching pearl. a cry rips itself from your throat, mouth leaving as your head is thrown back against the door. “y-yeonjun—”

“patience, love. i’m gonna make you feel good,” he mumbles as he ravages your neck, nipping and sucking at the soft skin. his hands have snuck beneath your shirt and smooth over your stomach up to the cups of your bra, squeezing the flesh over the fabric. as you raise you arms, he helps you pull your top off, the article thrown onto the floor without ceremony or care. his hands loop behind your back, fiddling with your bra clasp. “can i?”

“please,” you keen, and he wastes no time in doing so, expert fingers sliding the straps down your arms until your bra, too, lays on the floor. lips find your right nipple, enveloping the pebbled flesh in a warm wetness that causes your back to arch into him. one hand pulls you into him, while the other tweaks your other tit. his teeth graze it, and the stinging edge of painful pleasure causes you to shiver. he hums, vibrations causing you to moan his name louder, plead for him to do more. leaving your breast, his mouth kisses and laps at the skin of your stomach. down, down, down, until he drops to his knees in front of you, swiftly unzipping your skirt and pulling it off of you. lips find your thighs, biting down lightly, and you squeak, hand finding his hair and pulling. he looks up at your through his lashes, absolutely depraved and almost drooling for more. you gulp, legs almost giving out under you as you smooth your hand over his hair, pushing the strands that have fallen into his face back. “can we— can we move to the bed?”

immediately, he stands, pulling you behind him before he’s placing you onto the edge of your bed with great care. before he can fall to his knees again, you curl your shaking fingers into his shirt. “take this off? i wanna see you.”

with a huff of a chuckle, he does as you ask, revealing a toned stomach, broad shoulders, muscled arms. your tongue darts across your lips as you drink him in, causing him to smirk. “like what you see, pretty?”

“y-yes,” you stutter out, quiet and wanting and full of lecherous need. your thighs attempt to squeeze together in order to provide some relief to your pulsating core, but his legs stop them from fully closing. his fingers find your jaw, squeezing the flesh. your cheeks heat up. 

“so fucking cute.” the praise sends a white hot streak through your stomach and into your center. your face is on absolute fire now, vision growing hazy around the edges as you watch him sink down between your thighs, your panties quickly discarded to reveal your center to his eyes. two fingers trace your folds before dipping beneath them to find your entrance. his eyes widen at what he finds, fingers coming back up coated in your wetness, glinting against his fingertips and knuckles in the light streaming in through your windows. “you’re so wet, baby. this all for me? a little kissing got you this needy?”

“mhm— oh,” you gasp when he brings the fingers to his mouth, sucking on them lewdly as he refuses to tear his gaze from yours. he moans at your taste, hot tongue swiping up the remnants that accidentally smeared onto the corner of his lips once he removes his fingers. his smirk returns, hands sliding under your ass to pull you closer to the edge of the bed, closer to his mouth. you sit up on your elbows to watch him kiss his way up your inner thigh, hands holding you open for him. there’s nowhere for you to hide, as he traces your folds with his tongue, dipping into your entrance and swiping up to your clit. crying out, your fingers find his hair in an ironclad grip. he groans against your pearl, your hips bucking up into his face before his arms snake around each thigh and hold you still. he alternates between circling the bud with his tongue and sucking it between his plush lips, spit pooling at the corners of his mouth as he loses himself in your taste. meanwhile, you’re already so close to the edge, you can feel your walls begin to clench around nothing, your hips jumping up as far as he allows. as he dips down to your entrance, his nose bumps against your clit, but his tongue is back in no time to continue its assault on your poor little clit. “jjun, ‘m gonna, please, ‘m gonna—”

“cum,” he mumbles against you. “cum f’me, pretty girl.”

with his permission, your head falls onto your sheets, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your vision spots white. cries pour from your lips like honey for him to drink, but you never quite come down fully. rather, he keeps circling his tongue against your clit through your high, and as your orgasm subsides, another one already begins to build. tears prick your eyes as you plead, “jjun, no, can’t, i can’t, nonono— i can’t!”

“yes, you can,” he murmurs, removing his arm from your right thigh. his lips don’t leave your clit as you feel two fingers slip into your soaked entrance, smoothly thrusting in and out and curling up into your upper wall until he finds that soft spot inside you that has your voice shattering into shards of moans and staccato wails. he groans against you as he feels your walls clench, the pace of his fingers unforgiving as he coaxes another mind-shattering orgasm from your body. your fingers flutter around his walls, watery hiccups torn from your throat. this time, he slows down, helps you ride out your high, before he removes his fingers, licking his lips of your essence as he does. climbing onto the bed, he hovers over you, taking in your spit-slick lips and tear-lined eyes. he wipes the tears away with gentle motions, cooing when you whine. he sits there until you come back to him, lucidity shining in your eyes as you blink them open. smiling, you pull him in for a languid kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue before he pulls away. 

when he caresses your cheek with his thumb, asking you if you’re okay, you lean into his touch, “mhm, want you to fuck me.”

“i can do that,” he laughs, causing you to reciprocate. standing, he slips his jeans and boxers down his thighs until he’s left in nothing, hardened cock veiny and flushed an angry red. you think it’s an average length, on the thicker side, the girth causing your mouth to water. as he runs his hands up your thighs, he asks, “d’you have any condoms, love?”

while you’d rather him fuck you raw, you know it’s safer this way. you point towards your nightstand. “there.”

as he fetches one, you scoot into the middle of the bed, watching him roll it on before he returns between your thighs, pumping his cock once, twice, lining it up with your entrance. his free hand grips your waist, watching as you move your hips to try to slide him into you. smirking, he presses his hips forward, cockhead dipping past your entrance. both of you moan at the sensation. slowly, he works his cock into you, little rolls of his hips until he’s seated fully within you, hips flush against your pelvis. 

“move,” you whine. “please move.” and that’s all it takes for him to swiftly pull out and slide back in again. as he thrusts into you again and again, his movements grow rougher, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot each time. moaning, you reach up towards him, forcing him to lean over you so you can kiss him again, swallowing each other’s sounds. he’s just as loud as you, praises falling naturally between his breathy moans. 

“feel s’good, baby. so fuckin’ tight and wet f’me. so unreal. d’you feel good, too?” he coos against the shell of your ear, warm breath curling against your necks. your walls clench around him at his desperate sounds.

“s-so good, jjunie,” you hum, feeling your third high of the night approaching. the knot in your stomach grows tighter as his thrusts grow sloppy, chasing his high as much as you are. a thumb moves down to rub your sensitive clit, quick little circles against the bud until your limbs are locking up, quaking as you finally cum around him. a few seconds later, his high hits him as well, his hips quivering as he spills into the rubber with a loud groan. 

slowly, he pulls out, ridding himself of the condom and soon returning to the bed to plop down next to you. arms pull you in close as you both pant and grin tiredly at each other, basking in the quiet that permeates the air, and he stares at you, dulcet eyes boring into yours. 

“what’re you thinking about?” you decide to ask, poking the center of his sweat-beaded forehead. taking a moment to respond, he pulls you even closer so that your noses almost touch. 

“it’s just— there’s this concept in korean — inyeon,” the timbre of his voice raises slightly as he switches to his native tongue, and lowers again when he switches back to english. “that, um, it means…”

his cheeks are growing the slightest bit pink, a shade that reflects the cotton candy clouds that float past your windows. squeezing his hand, you silently urge him to continue, soft gaze finding his own. a gentle kiss pressed to his cheek, his jaw, naked skin pressed against naked skin. together, whole, one.

he starts again, “there’s no direct translation, but it basically is fate. strings of fate. i truly believe the universe has connected us in some way, whether it be through some invisible red string or another force. and i know, i know what you said about fate, but i can’t stop thinking about how we found each other. there’s something beautiful about starting off as strangers and getting here. i don’t know, i’m just rambling at this point,” he chuckles, burying his nose into the pillow under his head. “i’ve just never felt this way about someone before. i’m sorry.”

with a gentle hand, you cup the side of his face, forcing him to look back at you. “don’t be sorry, that’s beautiful, and i think—” you sigh, blinking back tears that threaten to fall. “i think you’ve changed my mind about fate. i’ve also never felt this way about someone before. i feel like you know me on some level that no one else does. you just. you just get it, and i—” 

you don’t think this is quite love yet, but you believe what you’re feeling within your chest, tingling all over your body, is as close as you’ve ever gotten to it. he smiles, whispers a small, soft, “i know,” and lips find lips once more. hands find hands, and you feel alive. you feel like everything that you see is now in vivid technicolor, no longer masked by a veil of gray.

and when you wake up tomorrow, you think that you’re going to start a new painting.

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[artemiseamoon]

Preview: Autumn in New York

A Nick Vaughan x ofc mini fic

Status: complete

Fic info & Moodboards

Summary: Two strangers, a wedding, and one unforgettable night.

Warnings: angsts, mild implied sexual content.

An: who wrote a sappy fic during hiatus??? Me. I did. Not back yet, wips likely resuming in February, but here is some fluffiness all inspired by a movie I was just gonna watch as background noise 😂 (is this bringing my Chris E crush back??? Dammit!)

Read on A03 only, you will need an account to read my works.

Myrlande

Myrlande chewed the inside of her cheek as more people filed in, the wedding would start in 20 minutes.

Each time she glanced back and didn’t see Andrew, relief washed over her. But there were still about 15 empty seats, and Brian would kill him if he didn’t show.

Myrlande was close to the bride, Grace, they'd known each other since grade school. Grace met Brian 6 years ago, and he’s been around ever since. Friends came along with the package, in Grace’s case, she came with Myrlande and Ani. Brian, the groom, came with four of his own childhood friends, one of them being Andrew.

“Honey, you’re making me nervous.” Ani placed one hand over Myrlands. “Breathe,” she whispered.

Myrlande blew out a breath. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only because I know you so well, plus, you’re looking at the door, a lot.”

Myrlande laughed to release some tension, “I haven't seen him since that night I fucked up.” …

.

Noon, in midtown Manhattan, Nick POV

As the crowd spilled off the train, Nick stayed seated.

Everyone around him was in a rush, except him. He said yes to this, but from the moment he got the invite months back, it only filled him with dread. She would be there.

The tall brunette captured his attention and heart in one night and he was smitten, all in, from the start. He’d never seen her before sophomore year of college, she just appeared, out of nowhere, like she was there just for him.

And once it was over, she was gone, like she had never been there; well, if it wasn’t for his broken heart and all the memories that haunted him like ghosts, even 6 years later.

I should be over it by now, he even told himself in the mirror sometimes, but no matter how many times he said it, it never worked…

Read on A03

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A03: artemiseamoon

Back from hiatus in Feb!!!! Wips will resume then!

[nickssidewitch]

Is It Destiny?

Destiny, an upcoming YouTuber, meets Matt Sturniolo in a café in New York City. They part ways after their brief encounter there, but keep up with each other online. What will happen when they meet up in person again for the first time in months?

Warnings: Fluff, Meet-Cute, Smut (SoftDom!Matt x Sub!OC), First Orgasm, dry-humping/grinding, Oral (Male-Receiving) w/ deepthroating

(And yes, the Layla in this fic is the same Layla of my previous fic, “Chris’s Dilemma” as this is technically a chapter 2 of a series I plan on writing!! 🥰)

***

New York’s colder than what Destiny remembered of it. The gray, fuzzy sky blew a sharp, chilly breeze that pricked the skin of her face every time it brushed against her.

She was there from Florida– a big difference in climate to New York– for a Creator Summit that YouTube was hosting, one that she had attended for a few years now. It proved to be a great networking event for her and many other creators. She’d already met so many good friends and coworkers there, so she decided she should give this year a go.

Among those she had met was her best friend Layla, who has been a close companion of hers since the very first time she went to the Creator Summit.

Layla at the time was a creator on the rise, gaining popularity with her makeup tutorials, travel vlogs, and fashion hauls, while Destiny was simply a consumer of Layla and other creators’ content, deliberating on whether or not she should join the industry as well. While walking through the streets of Miami, where her first Creator’s Summit was held, she stumbled upon Layla vlogging her own experience for her channel. And after the two shared their greetings, they’d become inseparable since.

The second Summit that Destiny attended was where she met two other friends, Dawn and Malia. Dawn was a full-time musician and part-time YouTuber, and she was set to perform for both days of the Summit, which was why Destiny was there a week earlier. Malia, a sports journalist who was the wife of one of the biggest soccer players in the world, occasionally made her own Youtube videos as well. They all would hang out together from then on, forming their own little group that not only they loved, but the fans loved as well.

As she walked down the bustling pavements of the loud and proud city, she came across a little coffee shop. It was genuinely little: not more than 20 chairs, two at each table, and some content patrons enjoying their drinks as they sat at each one. Some were on their computers, a couple of what looked like college or highschool students were probably having small conversations about the latest school gossip, and a cute elderly couple sat with what Des believed to be their granddaughter. It was such a small and intimate community in this café, and Des was happy to join them, even if only for about 15 minutes, to escape the chilly autumn winds and the rush hour of the city.

She walked up to the line and waited her turn, looking up at the menu options to figure out what drink best suited her mood for now. The problem, however, was that Destiny was quite an indecisive person. Whenever she was presented with options of anything, she never had any idea to come up with a final answer, and would usually depend on someone else’s response. A curse, indeed.

Almost as if they could sense this exhausting personality trait of Des’s, a voice spoke up beside her. “I personally like the cinnamon cappuccino,” it suggested.

Destiny looked over at where the voice was coming from; it was a young man, seemingly around the same age as her, with short brunette hair, striking blue eyes that laid under hooded eyelids. His thin lips were a cute shade of baby pink that arched in a warm smile at her. She looked down at his hands— his attractive, veiny hands adorned with the prettiest rings and tattoos— and noticed him holding a small cup of what she would assume was the cappuccino he suggested to her.

“Oh, th- thank you,” was all that Des could manage to reply with. Her brain was still processing what was happening. That man is too pretty to be interacting with me, she thought to herself. She truly didn’t believe it.

“No problem!” He said with the same warm and pretty smile on his lips. His voice was subtle in his suggestion– not overenthusiastic or pushy– yet it was so charming and approachable. He took a sip of his beverage and licked his lips before speaking again. “It seemed like it was your first time here, so I just wanted to help you out somehow.”

“Oh, well, thank you for that,” Des chuckled and continued, “It is my first time here actually. I lived in New York for a little bit, but relocated to Florida with my family. Last time I was here was around 10 years ago, and this café wasn’t here at the time.” She walked up one spot in the line as it was nearing her time to place her order, but the man walked up with her, almost as if he came to the café with her. Usually Des would have an issue with this— some random man walking up to her out of nowhere and starting a random conversation— but something about this man made her feel comfortable. He intrigued her, not just appearance-wise, but something about his aura. So, she didn’t mind his actions at all.

“Oh, Florida? The weather must be a huge shock for you, then,” The man laughed to himself. “Why come to New York in the winter? The aesthetics? Or you wanted to do some free cryotherapy?”

Des laughed and made another step closer to the café employee. “Nah, I’m here for…” She paused as she thought about how to word this– she didn't want to seem like another one of those pompous influencer girls. As the lightbulb lit up in her head, she smiled and continued with her answer, “For a work event.”

“A work event, huh?” The man inquired. Des noticed a smile creep up on his lips and she swore she could hear a small chuckle escape. Did he catch onto her vagueness? “I don’t wanna seem like a creep, but does it have to do with YouTube stuff?”

Shit. He got me.

Des responded, “Um, yeah. It’s YouTube stuff. A little summit for creators”.

“Oh, I’m aware of the event,” he reassured her with a slyness to his voice, almost like he was familiar with the event (he was, obviously). “I’m Matt,” the boy introduced himself, extending his hand for Des to shake it. The warm and welcoming smile never left his lips. “I noticed I didn’t really introduce myself. My bad.”

Des shook Matt’s hand, but the moment their hands touched, it felt like her knees started to wobble. His hand… wow. The skin was so soft and warm. She could finally feel the veins that she noticed when she first looked at them. The rings adorned on his fingers were cold to the touch, causing her to wince internally. Her mind started to wander into places it probably shouldn’t wander the first time you meet someone— things of a rather erotic nature— but she quickly caught herself and managed to utter, “My name’s Destiny, but people call me Des for short.”

He repeated her name to himself, “Destiny?”, and a smile appeared on his lips. “I love that name. It suits you. Really pretty.”

Des’s cheeks grew warm and a tinted darker brown as her brain processed Matt calling both her and her name pretty. Did he know he was a pretty boy? She should tell him? Should she? Would that be weird? Who cares? Maybe he would be flattered. Or maybe he wouldn’t? Maybe he-

“So, you mentioned you were here for the Creator Summit?” He asked, interrupting her thoughts. Des nodded, and Matt chuckled to himself before continuing. “I’ve been there with my brothers, since we’re creators. It’s a good event. Lots of nice people there. You can meet creators old and new. It’s a great way to network.”

“Yeah, it’s not my first time going there actually,” a smile began to beam on her face as she thought of her first two times there, and memories of her, Layla, Dawn, and Malia meeting popped up in her mind. “I met some of my closest friends there a couple of years ago.”

“Aw, that’s really sweet,” Matt took a sip of his own hot cocoa before continuing, “Maybe you’ll make more friends this year.”

There was a beat of silence between the two of them as they both took their respective times deliberating on what to say next. And then Matt offered something that Des would have never believed.

“Maybe we can be friends?” He asked, before his brain caught up with what he was saying, causing him to clear his throat and follow with a nervous chuckle. He clarified, “Not just ‘creator friends’, but maybe something more?”

Des’s heart didn’t skip beats this time; she could have sworn it fully stopped beating for 5 seconds. She noticed a blush appear on Matt’s face before she averted her eyes from him.

Matt noticed her look away for a bit, and he made his eyes travel to find hers again, wanting to decipher if she was weirded out by the question or if she was just thinking about it. He did word it kind of weirdly, but maybe she didn’t take it that way.

Her next words confirmed the latter. “Sure. We can be friends,” she finally answered with a smile on her face, and Matt was relieved.

The more Matt studied her face, the more he noticed how cute of a nervous wreck she was. The way her cheeks seemed to grow more of a rosy undertone, the slight tremble of her hand as she held her coffee cup, the way she would never give him direct eye contact unless he manually brought his eyes to hers. He could understand it though; meeting new people is always difficult.

“Cool!” He said, and with that, it was time for Des to order her drink. “One medium cup of your cinnamon cappuccino, please,” Matt could hear her order, and he was warmed by her actually taking up his suggestion.

Des finally finished with her order and stood by the side of the counter as she waited for her drink. “So, ‘friends’,” She uttered to herself and looked towards Matt, who heard what she said and nodded in agreement.

“Yep, friends,” he returned. “And since we’re friends, maybe we can keep in touch?” Matt caught his words and realized how weird he must have sounded. So, he followed it up by saying, “I mean, you don’t have to give me your number or anything. E-mail is fine. Or something else; I don’t know,” all followed by a nervous laugh and trembling hands.

Des chuckled for a bit before she silenced herself, not wanting to seem like she was laughing at him or his obvious nervousness (she knew she probably came across as obviously nervous in his eyes). “Well, I never heard of friends exchanging emails; that’s more of an associate or coworker thing.” She heard Matt start to laugh, which gave her an okay to release the chuckles she kept to herself aloud alongside him. It was cute to see him flustered, but she appreciated him not wanting to seem too forward.

“Oh yeah, true. I just didn’t want to seem like I was pressuring you to give me your number or contacts or anything. I know how that could feel,” Matt reassured her, but he could tell by her body language that she seemed comfortable at the moment. Her smile was soft and warm, not forcing any teeth to fake her happiness. She wasn’t a loud talker, similar to him, and their auras just seemed to mesh so well together.

“I’ll give you my number and my Instagram,” she said as she pulled her phone out from her backpack.

Des took a sip of her cappuccino. The smooth and decadent flavor of the drink mixed with the presence of Matt as this moment soothed her in the midst of the New York pandemonium.

“So, where’re you going after this?” Matt asked her curiously.

Destiny took another sip of her drink. “I’m going back to my hotel,” she answered. “I heard it’s gonna rain later, and I know New York gets dark and kinda hectic when it rains.”

Matt laughed, “Yeah, it’s kinda like Massachusetts, where I’m from.” He drank his coffee and continued, “Everyone’s just in a rush to escape the weather.” Another minute of silence passed before he spoke up again. “Do you want me to walk you back to your hotel? I’m not busy right now, and I know the streets can kinda get confusing with the crowds and everything.”

Des blushed and stammered as her brain processed his question. “Um, well, I mean I don’t know- I don’t want to put you in the middle of all of that, too.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m kind of used to it by now, trust me,” he insisted, and he was indeed used to it, his mind flashing images of the crowds of fans that would follow him and his brothers in big cities like this. “I can help you carry your bag.” He directed his eyes to her backpack sitting on the chair next to hers.

Des blushed. “Oh, well, thanks so much, Matt,” she said with a genuine smile. She didn’t expect him to be so… chivalrous. It was attractive, but just not she was used to when it came to men.

The two got up from their seats, Matt lifting up the bag and her carrying her coffee, and left the small shop. He held the door open for her, as he knew a gentleman should.

Matt adjusted the strap of Destiny’s backpack as the weight tensed on his shoulder. He really didn’t mind carrying it for her though; she was worth the hassle. Des walked in front of him, leading the way as he happily followed. As he continued to walk behind her, he could smell sweet fragrances passing him by; the scents of the oils in her hair mixed with her perfume blended well together.

They both finally stopped and looked up at the marquee of the building which read “The Maximilian”. “Well, this is my hotel,” Des said.

Matt smiled and handed her the backpack. Their hands brushed against each other’s, causing Matt’s heart to skip a beat and Des’s breath to hitch. They weren’t expecting that brief touch, but it seemed as if it was fate’s doing, as if the divine had used invisible magnets in the pair’s hands that attracted them to each other.

Des let out a small chuckle as she regained her composure. “It was nice meeting you, Matt!” She said with a smile, and the man could have sworn his knees were nearly jelly as he heard her goodbye.

Matt smiled back. “You, too. I’ll text you, trust me,” he added the last part with the utmost sincerity. He hoped that she trusted him with that.

“I know you will,” Des said as her mouth just went with the flow of the moment, flirting with the man without even consulting with her brain first. Matt chuckled and began to wave goodbye as she walked into the hotel.

Des rushed to her room and quickly shut the door as she jumped onto her bed. She was like a giddy, giggly nerdy kid who just got the cool, popular boy’s attention at school, flailing her legs around excitedly and screaming into her pillow. Was she excited about talking to a cute boy? Yes. Was she also fighting for her life and having a lowkey panic attack because she spoke to a cute boy? Also yes. Was the screaming and kicking her feet up a mixture of the two emotions? Absolutely. And what happened a few minutes later set her off even more.

Ding! An unsaved number texted her, and the text read, “Hey, it’s me, Matt! It was nice to talk to you today! Enjoy that coffee. Hopefully we can talk again soon!” followed by a smiley face.

“Fuck me,” Des uttered to herself in disbelief of what she had gotten herself into.

***

Throughout the next 5 months, Matt and Des had been talking to each other on and off, sometimes about their growing Youtube careers, other times about casual things like their hobbies and their families. They would mainly text each other, but as they got more comfortable with each other, texts turned to Discord calls while playing Fortnite or silly little Roblox horror games, and silly littles games became late-night Facetime calls while doing their nighttime routines or while snuggled up in their beds. There were some nights where one would catch the other fallen asleep during the call. You know, the stuff friends do.

Matt would usually talk to her at night, but throughout the day he would find himself sending her little memes or even photos of things that reminded him of her. His brothers didn’t really know all the details. In fact, they virtually didn’t know anything other than the fact that they’d notice Matt sneaking texts underneath the table whenever they would eat together, that he’d get distracted on his phone when they filmed car videos, or that Matt was a bit more enthusiastic about waking up in the morning, sometimes even waking up earlier than the two of them, which was uncommon for him. It was weird, but at least they could acknowledge he seemed more up in spirits.

Destiny’s friends would ask her about the guy she was talking to, but she wouldn’t make it a big deal. “We’re not even dating,” she would say as an excuse, which was reasonable, of course. She didn’t feel it was appropriate to introduce them to someone she wasn’t even sure she would be romantically involved with. She didn’t want to get her hopes up to the point where a rejection would physically and mentally destroy her. She would, however, give them little details about him such as how he was a YouTuber, or that he had siblings, or how they met at the Creator’s Summit in New York. They would have little investigations (especially Layla) about who the mystery man could be. But up to this point, they still haven’t figured him out, which was great for Des.

Des and Matt’s friendship was working very well, even with the physical distances between them; Destiny living in Florida and Matt constantly traveling between California and Massachusetts. But that’s the thing: their relationship was long distance, and long-distance relationships can only go so far before the proximity becomes a problem. Des decided to bring it up one night during one of their FaceTime calls, stuttering her way through her part of the conversation as she tried to find the best wording for her suggestion to reunite with him in person. She was going to LA anyway to stay with her friends for a half-vlog-half-vacation trip, so she thought it would be nice to meet up with him, even just for a day or two.

Matt laid in bed as he received the information, seemingly calm if one looked at him from a distance, but his heart was actually pounding out of his chest. A heap of questions began to rush through his brain. She wanted to meet up with me? Oh my god, what does that mean? As friends or like… Oh gosh.

He simply nodded his head and gave her a promising smile. “Of course. I think it’s about time we hung out in real life again. We said we’d be more than just content or online friends, right?” His cheeks heated up as he heard Des’s cute little giggle from across the screen.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she replied. “So, I’ll text you all the details of my flight and my schedule and everything.”

“Okay, sure,” he said. As his anxiety grew, there were more thoughts. Fuck, is she coming to my house? Do I have to go to where she’s staying?

“It’s 2 AM already? Damn, I’m gonna go to sleep. I’m supposed to go to the nail salon with Dawn tomorrow.”

“Aw, okay. It was nice talking to you. Goodnight! Love y-” Matt quickly bit his lip as he heard the last two words about to slip from his mouth. Hopefully, she didn’t hear me.

“What’d you say?” Des asked. Thank God she had a genuine look of confusion on her face, and Matt mentally wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“I was saying ‘Goodnight and sweet dreams’”, he answered as he played off his Freudian slip. “The phone must’ve glitched.”

Des smiled. “Oh okay! Goodnight to you, too, Matt.” And the call ended.

And even more thoughts rolled in. Oh my God, what if I embarrass myself around her like I almost did? Does she even really wanna see me, or is she just saying that to be nice? What clothes do I wea-

“Matt!” A voice said, and a knock coming from his door snapped Matt back to reality. He realized it was Nick.

“Yeah?” he called back out.

“Is my charger in your room?” Nick opened Matt’s door a bit to speak to him more directly. “I texted you about it, but you didn’t answer, so I had to make this long ass, unnecessary trip all the way from my room to yours to ask you.”

Matt brushed off the shade and jolted to look around his bedroom and grabbed Nick’s charger as he noticed it on his nightstand. “Yeah, I got it. Hold on,” he said as he got up and walked over to his bedroom door, handing Nick the charger through the crack he had open.

“Thanks,” Nick expressed, before he saw the look on Matt’s face. “Are you good? You look pale… paler than usual,” he continued. He was joking with him, but there was a genuine concern there.

Matt raised his eyebrow at his brother. He knew why Nick would say that, but he had to deflect somehow. “I’m good! Don’t worry about it.” He feigned a smile.

“Well, that makes me worry.” Nick refuted.

“Well, I said don’t worry about it,” Matt snapped back, before sighing as he realized he was getting tense. “Trust me, I’m fine, Nick.”

“Okay…” Nick said with a hint of hesitation. “Well, goodnight. And keep your notifications on, please? I hate walking back and forth.”

Matt nodded and watched Nick walk off before shutting his door. A wave of relief caused him to sigh before walking towards his closet and taking a look inside. He analyzed each shirt and pants on the hangers and racks, leaving him with just one thought.

I guess I gotta prepare from now…

***

The door to Des’s place swung open and she looked around, taking in the view of the interior of the house she was staying in for the week. She was finally in LA for her little vacation trip with her friends, and thank God she was able to rent her own place for the time being.

As she finished getting herself settled in (and by finished I mean putting her luggage to the side until she remembers to unpack later), she decided to let everyone know of her arrival, including Matt. She laid onto her bed and texted him “I’m in LA right now! Just arrived this morning” with a little heart face emoji as the cherry on top. She placed her phone on her nightstand and connected it to her charger as she went into the bathroom for a quick shower to wash herself off.

***

Matt looked at his phone as it sat on the stand attached to the Desboard of his car, the ding interrupting his focus as he continued to drive home. He had just finished having a meeting about a book he was working on, one that discussed anxiety and mental health from both a personal and professional perspective. He had been working on this book as a secret kept from his fans for about ten months now, constantly holding meetings with co-writers and editors, as well as doing interviews with therapists of all kinds.

Matt tapped onto his phone and it revealed a message from Destiny which read “I’m in LA right now! Just arrived this morning” with a smiley heart face emoji. His heart jumped as he started to think about what his life will be like this week with her finally being in close proximity to him. They made a promise that they would hang out for some time while she was here for the rest of the month, he just had to figure out when and where exactly.

Luckily, he had some days where he wouldn’t be having book meetings. But, he had to figure out how to designate time away from Nick and Chris. He really didn’t want to, but he felt that he had to. He and Des weren’t technically dating, technically not even real-life friends outside of the half-hour they spent in that coffee shop in New York. Bringing her up out of nowhere to his brothers would make them confused, but hiding her from them also felt like a crime. He couldn’t risk it though.

As Matt arrived home, he quickly texted Des his itinerary for the week and called her, a smile never leaving his face as he began to suggest things that the two of them could do together. He told her about a cute crêperia where they had “the best crêpes he has ever had”, and about a little botanical garden that he recently went to with his brothers and his friend Madi. In the back of his mind, he could get her a special flower there? He chuckled as he thought of the millions of ways to express his gratitude for her coming all the way to LA wanting to spend time with him in the midst of her busy schedule. But… were they dates? Honestly…

He wasn’t even sure yet. Here came the self-doubt.

***

Today was their first day meeting in-person since their time at the café in New York.

Matt waited outside of a brunch place he had suggested for the two of them to eat. He kept his eyes peeled for Destiny; he didn’t want to miss a second with her.

After a few minutes of aimlessly scrolling through his phone to pass the time, he finally heard a familiar cute voice from his right side. “Hey!!” Matt turned and looked at Des holding her hand out for a shake. Almost as if his body reacted involuntarily, his arms wrapped around her body for a hug.

Des was startled at first, but his touch and the warmth of his body instantly calmed her. The two shared a tight embrace before Matt pulled away to look at her, all of her. “How’ve you been?”

She noticed his eyes on her, almost like he was examining her, which would make sense since their first time seeing their whole bodies in person after a while. “I’ve been well!” she answered with a smile, the same smile that almost made Matt want to fall to his knees back at the coffee shop where they first met.

“Yeah?” Matt asked rhetorically. But, the way he said it… something about it made Des’s heart jump. And not only her heart had that reaction; Des shifted her position a bit as she felt the bundle of nerves between her legs pulse. Her brain did its best to shove those nasty thoughts in a vault and lock it as she nodded her head and asked back, “How’ve you been?”

Matt answered, “I’m good. But, even better now that you’re here.” He smiled, causing Des to let out a small titter, not knowing how to really respond to that. The Generation Z jumped out and came to her rescue, following the small nervous chuckle with a “same”.

Matt chuckled back and said, “Well, we should head inside. I hope you’re hungry, ‘cause you’re gonna want to eat everything off this place’s menu.” Matt’s face lit up as he saw Des laugh at his joke. This girl really knew how to make his heart flutter without even trying. And with that, he placed his hand on her upper back, swung the door open, and escorted her into the building. He swore he could feel her breath hitch as he touched her.

***

Their little date went well. They spoke to each other with the same energy as they would usually do over the phone. It was face-to-face now though, which added an extra layer of intimacy amongst them. They started to notice things about each other, especially in their body language, that they had never noticed before, since those months on FaceTime they pretty much always saw each other from the chest up with the usual “fit checks” being the only full-body exceptions.

Every moment Des would glance up at him, he would already have his eyes on her, then would quickly look away as he realized she caught him. She noticed that he never looked at his phone other than to check a phone call from his brother Chris, giving her the green flag that he actually paid full attention to her. She saw how he would bite his lip every time she shifted herself in her seat, and how he would stroke his hand through his hair whenever she complimented him, a sort of nervous tick. It was cute.

Matt was just as observant. He would watch the way she ate her food from the moment she picked it up with a fork, to the way she would chew, to the way she would swallow and wipe her mouth in case anything was on her lips. He noticed her fidget in her seat, especially when she was being complimented or praised. She would even shift sometimes when he would crack a little teasing joke at her. It was cute.

How the fuck would they both get through the rest of the week if they kept studying each other like this?

***

To answer the question, it went pretty well despite Des and Matt being in their heads about it. They checked off every box they had planned in their joint itinerary, with Matt showing her in some of his favorite places in LA, and Des happily following along, happy to learn more about the area, Matt himself, and their personal dynamics together.

The final stop for this week was Matt’s office where he’d met up with book editors and publishers before. He had a meeting earlier that day and everyone had left, so he knew he could take her here. It would be perfect: no distractions, no people walking in to disturb the flow, he could show her around and give her the inside scoop about his project, and he didn’t have to worry about being around her with fans or anyone watching their every move. And the added bonus of him still wearing his semi-professional office clothes. Just perfect.

He walked her around the office, showing her concept boards and first drafts, and told her about his book. As he spoke, he noticed the way her face would light up. Did she like the book that much? Or did she like the fact that he liked making it?

They finally finished the tour, and now they’re sitting on the gray couch in the room together, wondering what to do next.

“It’s been nice to spend this week hanging out with you,” Matt said, the satisfaction in his tone aligning with the words he spoke. “I just really love your energy.”

Des’s heart skipped a beat as she registered his words. Love my energy? she asked herself. “We only met in person for at most 30 minutes in that café,” she said with a laugh, and then continued, “And now we’ve only spent a week sneaking around together. What’s there to love?”

Matt’s body shifted, spreading his legs in a more relaxed stance as he felt himself get a bit tense. She was right, he could admit to himself. It’s only been a week of talking to someone face to face for the second time ever and he’s making such a bold claim. But, he meant what he said, and explained, “I mean, you’re just such a sweetheart for one. You actually sit and listen when I speak, compared to other influencers I’ve met. With a lot of them, you can just see them thinking about how to turn a conversation we’re having into content for their next TikTok or YouTube video.” He paused as he noticed her doe-like eyes looking right at him, taking in every word, before continuing, “You can see it in their eyes: just ideas and thoughts flooding their brains, blurring their vision. But with you, when I look at your eyes, they’re so big and bright and clear. It’s like you’re listening not only with your ears, but with your eyes, too. They’re so… so beautiful.”

Des’s heart stopped. Literally stopped. Beautiful?...

BEAUTIFUL?

She quickly mentally slapped herself to get back to reality after that word stopped her in her tracks. “Oh, um, thank you, Matt.” She smiled anxiously, and she noticed Matt glance down at her lips.

Matt’s legs spread a bit more as he could feel something coming on (more like something turning on…). He watched as Des bit her lip and shifted herself on her side of the couch. She was having the same reaction as him.

“Des, I’m serious,” he added onto his previous statements. “You’re beautiful. Not just looks-wise. Your personality… I just-” he bit his lip, his brain stopping him from continuing.

It was like his brain and his heart were fighting for dominance. Would it be logical for him to express his deeper feelings to her now? Or does he say “fuck logic– I’m just gonna tell her I love her”?

But there was a third opponent in this internal battle– and it wasn’t even internal. Matt kept his legs spread, trying his best to make his dick comfortable. He wasn’t getting a boner on purpose (he swears!), but Destiny was just too gorgeous. Her aura and her presence around him just made him get flustered, and ultimately, sexually frustrated.

He was just a man. Insert shrug here.

Matt patted the spot on the couch next to him and gestured over at Des for her to come beside him, and Des obliged, scooting up next to him until their thighs met.

At this point, they were looking into each other’s eyes, as if some force made them physically bound to stare at each other. Matt continued his confession telling Des, “I just wanna let you know, I really like you. I know we said we would be more than creator friends– which we are!” He paused to think about his next words. He absolutely did not want to fuck up this moment because of his anxious, misspeaking tongue. He sighed to relieve himself a bit and spoke again, “I know we’re friends and we’ve only been friends for some months now, and we’ve only hung out in person for a week and a day in total, but I feel something with you. It’s not just platonic.” He stopped himself from saying anything more for the moment because he really wanted to study her reaction. He knew that actions spoke louder than words, and that was very true in his and Des’s circumstances since they were both not the most outspoken people. The best way for him to really gauge Des’s thoughts was just by watching her.

He could see Des’s eyes wide and trance-like. They were staring into his own, but not actually looking at him at the moment. She was listening to him— the same way he told her that she truly listened to him with her eyes. And she was processing everything. Well, he did just admit his wholehearted more than platonic feelings for her, so it would make sense. He continued his admission, adding “I think I’m in love with you. I’m falling for you pretty hard. And it’s confusing since it’s so sudden, but I really wanna… try things out with you.”

Des bit her lip and shifted in her seat. Another nervous snicker, followed by an “Um..” made the somewhat hopeful look on Matt’s face start to dissolve. Did she not like what he said? Was she weirded out by him? Fuck… what if the feelings weren’t mutual? Or worse- what if she didn’t want to be his friend anymore?

“Matt?” Des’s voice interrupted the man’s thoughts. His eyebrows rose as his eyes jumped between her lips and her eyes, in some way to decipher what she was going to say next.

Des herself was also trying to decipher what she would say next. She wanted to immediately jump in Matt’s lap and kiss him. She wanted to just say “yes, yes, yes!” with pure excitement. She wanted to even satisfy him with her body, sealing the deal of any sort of romantic and sexual relationship. She wished she was just that type of spontaneous girl who could just love and accept him– all of him– with open arms.

But, she wasn’t. And she was well aware of it. All of her thoughts and feelings began to flood her brain, her mouth didn’t even know what words to form next. So, her eyes decided to take the reins.

Tears formed at the corner of her eyes, which juxtaposed the smile on her face. Were they tears of joy? She wished they were simply that: tears of joy. But, they weren’t. They were a mix of different feelings: a culmination of anxiety, fear, embarrassment, and joy that overwhelmed her. And her body just decided to release them all in the form of crying.

Matt saw her begin to sob, watched as her chest heaved in excess, how the tears just ran down her face without any force or strain, how little whimpers escaped her throat, and it absolutely devastated him. Des wasn’t just crying, she was having a nervous breakdown, a panic attack, a reaction his body was familiar with. He instantly coiled his arms around her, rubbing on her back to bring her back to some sort of tranquility. He let go of her after a few seconds, not wanting to make her feel claustrophobic, and placed his forehead against hers. It was like his body didn’t want to fully let go of her– it wanted to stay close and help her feel better. So, he began to start breathing, 4 seconds of an inhale, 4 seconds to hold his breath, 4 seconds of an exhale, and 4 seconds to hold once again, repeating the process intentionally to let Des follow at some point.

Des picked up on his breathing technique as her arms around him felt his respiration through his back. She began to follow his process, and after some time, it calmed her down. Matt and Destiny’s eyes met again as she looked up at him, and that’s when she wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. It was her way of showing gratitude without a “thank you”, for words were not needed in that moment. All they needed was serenity. All they needed was each other; they were each other’s serenity.

As the moment continued and their comfort levels increased, Matt noticed Des getting closer to him, like she was trying to get on top of him. He helped her with this motion, getting her on top of his lap, and held her. His body cradled hers, not wanting to let go. If he could hold her like this forever, he would. Her aura, what he imagined was a light, fairy pink, blended with his sky blue to create the most beautiful shade of lavender. It looked like the way the sky would have a purple hue whenever the sun went down. A sunset— that’s what they were. She was the sun; shining more brightly than any other star in the universe. His world seemed to revolve around her. He was the Moon— one would only notice him if they looked up at the sky, and even then they probably wouldn’t see him at his full potential. Those mere, almost fleeting moments where the Sun and Moon would meet in the sky— their first meeting at the café in New York, the phone calls and texts they shared, and this whole full week of them being together in-person— created these beautiful colors of red, orange, and purple. And that’s what this blooming relationship between Matt and Des was: the purple hue of the sunset, where the Sun and Moon would enjoy each other’s company before they bid adieu to one another. The Sun’s light would still bask on him in the night, and on some days one could point out the glow that the Sun left on him even on their busiest days.

Des clung to Matt like a koala, with her legs wrapped around his waist, and her arms around his neck. The two enjoyed each other’s warmth for a few more moments, truly engraving this moment in their bodies and minds. Des took it upon herself to make the next big move, to hammer a nail in their relationship.

Her lips pressed against his suddenly. Whether it was out of passion, comfort, or anything else, she didn’t quite know. But something about Matt helping her out of that state of vulnerability allowed her to break open her seal and release the spontaneity that she didn’t even know she had within herself.

Matt didn’t hesitate to reciprocate, following the movements of her lips with his own. She tasted the way he expected her to taste– like the mocha-flavored lip gloss she applied onto her lips after every meal they shared. It was divine and matched with her sweet, decadent composure. He knew at that moment that he wanted more of her, right here, right now.

Matt released his mouth from hers before any further actions– before a tongue slipped in, before a nip at a lip, before a whimper or moan could be emitted. He needed some sort of rite of passage, so he gazed into her eyes to ask his next question. Or rather, suggest something to her. “Des, I wanna do more with you… I wanna make you feel good.”

Destiny smiled softly at his disclosure, and nodded her head slowly. “O-Okay,” she stuttered. She knew what he meant, of course. He wanted to shift this to a more passionate atmosphere. She wanted it too, she couldn’t lie, and her desire rose as Matt leaned in to kiss her forehead.

The man’s arms massaged her shoulders a bit before starting to slowly inch down the sides of her body. His hands stopped above her hips, and he looked into her eyes again for a subtle consent to touch her there. Des nodded and smiled before looking down to figure out what he would do next.

His hands finally placed themselves on her pelvis and began to massage her. He wanted her to feel comfortable with this new boundary being crossed, and by the way she started to lean into his body and place her head in the crook of his neck, he could tell that she was.

That’s when he began to guide her hips to rock back and forth on top of him. The instant relief flowed through his body, causing Matt to sigh. He could hear a small whimper come from Destiny’s mouth as she, too, began to feel him against her.

He continued to guide her, keeping the pace slow, yet pressed her into his lap more to increase the friction. Matt swore he could feel Des’s mound through her pants, which motivated him to please her. Grunts and moans were all Matt could let out at the moment; the dirty talk would have to come later once he was out of his trance.

Des’s head was fully in between Matt’s neck and shoulder. She kept her arms around his neck to stabilize her upper body, while her lower half was being fully controlled by him. She began to spill moans from her mouth as he pressed her into him more, and the best part was that she didn’t feel the need to conceal them. She loved this feeling, not only because he was pleasing himself and her, but because he felt comfortable enough in the relationship to want to try something like this. They were on the same page, and this was just the cherry on top.

Matt’s grip onto Des’s hips suddenly loosened, and the grinding stopped. He was getting close, but he didn’t want to just use her body like a toy (at least not so early in their sexual relationship). He wanted to really feel her. He wanted her to use him for her own pleasure. “You wanna ride me, pretty girl?”

Gulp. Des removed her head from the crook of his neck and looked at him. She swallowed a lump in her throat before nodding her head, trying to fix herself onto Matt’s lap in a way she thought would help her perform to the best of her abilities. The thing is, her abilities… weren’t quite able. It’s not like she hadn’t ridden something before– if the pillow adjacent to hers on her bed counted as something. But, an actual human man? Not a part of her resumé. She finally sat herself down, but hesitated with commencing her next moves.

“Have you ever done this before?” Matt asked curiously, although by the lack of movement she gave from her end and the awkward position she sat in on his lap, he could already tell the answer.

Confirming his suspicions, Des shook her head and lowered it. Was she ashamed?

Matt placed his fingers on her jaw and brought her head back up to face him, making sure her eyes were aligned with his. His lips curved to form a smile, one that was hopefully reassuring for her. “It’s alright, Des. It’s normal. It’s okay. If you ever wanna stop, just pinch me or bite me or just say no. I’ll be fine,” he paused to kiss her forehead, “We will be fine. Okay, pretty girl?”

A blush appeared on Des’s cheeks, and she nodded, giving him a kiss back onto his cheek. Matt then helped to adjust the girl on his lap, making sure both him and her were comfortable with their positions. He grasped her hips and then her ass, but made sure to keep eye contact with her, studying the microexpressions on her face in case she ever gave a sign of discomfort. Then, Des began to rock her hips back and forth, mimicking Matt’s earlier guidance. The pleasure between her legs came back again as she felt him through his pants, rubbing against her sweet spot.

Matt bit his lip and threw his head back as the pleasure he felt shot up his spine. His Destiny, his gorgeous girl, was on his lap, riding him through his pants.

He groaned as Destiny continued her movements, the urge of throwing his head back again quickly diminishing as he began to plant kisses against her ear and the back of it. He could hear her little sweet whimpers of ecstasy in his own ear, and it drove him to lift his own hips up to collide with her rotating hips. His groin met with hers with such force that the vibrations of impact flowed through the two of their bodies, causing their soft pants and whimpers to grow into louder moans. If dry-humping caused them to have these sorts of reactions, one could only imagine what penetration would make them feel like.

Matt knew that the sounds of friction against their clothing mixed with their moans wasn’t enough to complete the symphony. He needed to add one more piece. So, his lips began to twitch as his brain transferred sweet-nothings to whisper to the girl on his lap. “There you go, baby… That feels good?” He murmured, the softness of his voice contrasting with some undertone of a rasp that sent shockwaves through Des’s ear all the way to her pussy. The pulse at her clit quickened and the wet spot in her panties quickly flooded the entire area. She nodded and threw her head back, making Matt lean over and grab her to keep her from falling backward. This new position created a delicious angle for Matt to begin thrusting his hips with more intention, almost to the point where he looked like he was actually fucking her. “I know, baby, you’re feeling good. Good girl…”, he stated while he stared into her eyes, furrowing his eyebrows as his own stomach started to churn with pleasure.

Des’s moans started to become more sporadic the closer she got to her orgasm. Matt took the opportunity to reach one of his hands down to her mound and begin rubbing at it, his finger doing its best to find where he believed her clit to be. He felt something, similar to the feeling of the tip of a nose, and knew that he hit the jackpot, so he began to rub at that spot the best he could through her pants.

The feeling of the moment finally caught up to Des and she felt herself begin to unravel. Her body began to shake as she orgasmed, almost making her fall out of Matt’s grasp.

Matt pulled her body close, wrapping his arms around her waist with a grip tight enough to contain her trembling, but soft enough to give her some sort of comfort. He softly cooed at her, whispering small shushes and giving her small pecks of his lips by the temple of her head. “It’s okay, honey,” he whispered into her ear. “You’re okay. I’m right here. It’s just me, okay?”

Des brought her head between his neck and his shoulder as her body shook with the intensity of her orgasm. It was embarrassing for her. She knew it shouldn’t have been. Matt probably wouldn’t care if that’s how her body reacted to pleasure. But what if he did?

Almost as if he had heard her worries through telepathy, he uttered, “No, no, no it’s okay to shake. Shaking’s normal.”

“I’ve never done that before,” Des admitted, causing Matt to cock his head. She clarified, “I’ve never cum before… especially not with someone else.”

Matt kissed her temple and began to rub her back. He didn’t have a problem with her admission at all. “You feel good though, right?” She nodded, and he continued. “That’s all that matters,” he stated with a sincere and heartwarming smile.

Her warm chestnut eyes looked into his icy blues, the contrast between them being highlighted by the bright sparks of ecstasy that they now both shared post-orgasm. Des was normally intimidated by eye contact, but with Matt she felt… comfortable. Safe. Trust.

And that trust is what gave her the confidence to make this request.

“Matt… if you’re still up for it,” she paused to swallow the lump of saliva that nearly stopped her from getting her words out then continued, “Can I suck you off?”

Matt was indeed up for it. He didn’t have an orgasm from their grinding session, which he was initially thankful for because he didn’t ruin his pants. But with Des’s request, he was now double-thankful for not cumming. He could now enjoy a blowjob from his favorite person without the fear of him (or his dick) being overstimulated or overwhelmed.

“It’s okay, you can do whatever you want. Whatever feels comfortable. I wouldn’t ever force you to do anything,” He replied. In his own mind he added, I could force my dick down your throat… with consent though-

His thoughts were stopped as he watched Des get on her knees between his legs, looking up at him with those doe-eyes. Those same fucking doe-eyes that got him hard in the first place were now looking up at him, yearning for his dick.

“Fuck,” He mumbled, and he pulled his pants down to help her get started. Her soft, warm hands pulled down his boxers, causing his erection to spring out in its precum-coated, red-tipped glory. It was desperate for some relief, something more than just a couple rubs through fabric— it needed a warm and wet cavern to dump its release inside of.

The way her eyes looked at his dick could have cum right then. But he held his composure, and pet her head as he watched one of her hands wrap around his shaft. Matt chuckled as he noticed her trying to jerk him off. “You have to lube it up; I don’t have any foreskin, sweetheart,” he said with a laugh.

Des laughed as well as she realized her mistake. “Oh, right,” she told him. Noticing the pre-cum began to slide from his tip, she used some to wipe onto him, and Matt winced at the contact. He bit his lip as he watched her stroke his cock, and when her eyes met his, he, again, did his best not to cum all over her face.

Des finally knew it was time to do what she yearned for. So, she bent her head down and released some saliva onto his tip, then used her hand to coat it all around his dick. When she was ready, she wrapped her lips around him, and began to suck.

“Ah, shit..,” Matt groaned. He leaned his head into the back of the couch, truly living in this moment– the moment that his girl Destiny was finally making direct contact with his dick. It was purely heaven.

Des brought her head up and down his length, doing her best to get as much surface area as she could. When she got comfortable and noticed Matt’s face of bliss, she brought herself as far down his dick as she could and began to suck from there.

Matt’s hand grabbed the back of her head, however he didn’t tug on her hair; he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable or in any sort of pain. He wanted his girl to truly enjoy herself— He knew he was. “Your lips… oh, shit,” was all that he could even conjure out of his own lips.

Des chuckled, causing vibrations to move through his cock all the way up his spine, making his brain receive all the pleasure from those feelings. The girl continued to do her best to suck him deeply, not quite deepthroating, but still getting deep enough to feel him at the back of her throat. It was surprisingly pleasurable for her, and the proof was in her panties as her clit throbbed the way it did when she rode him.

“Fuck, you feel so good, Destiny,” he moaned out, jutting his hips. He tried his best not to overpower her— he really did.

But, she just felt too damn good.

“Des, I want to go deeper, are you okay with that, sweetheart?”

He heard (and felt) an “Uh-huh” come from her mouth, and he immediately took action.

His hips bucked in her mouth with haste, the tip hitting the back of her throat which caused her to make the most disgustingly beautiful noises. “Good girl,” he stated through grunts, “good fucking girl. You’re taking me so well, baby.” He stopped speaking to listen to her noises. They were cute gags with little gaps in between each stroke of his cock, both from the impact of his dick’s rhythm inside of her, but also from her trying to keep herself alive with short and quick breaths through her nose. He had heard those sounds in porn before, yes. But with Des? That was something else. She wasn’t just some personal pornstar for him, she was like his doll. And although this was their first time together, he loved to play with her, and he anticipated the many more times he could play with her again, the many more possibilities of getting nastier with her, the many more times be could be romantic and soft with her, the many more times he could just simply be with her.

“Fuck, Destiny, I’m so close,” he moaned out, and his feet planted themselves on the ground as he did his best to restrain himself from cumming too early while still thrusting into her mouth.

Des didn’t respond simply because her throat was occupied with being thrusted into. Her hands held onto his thighs as his thrusts got faster, and she knew he was getting closer to an orgasm.

And finally, with a couple more thrusts and some praises, he finally released, closing his eyes and groaning proudly. But, he noticed that she might not be comfortable with him ejaculating inside of her mouth, so he pulled out to minimize the chances. He looked down at her and noticed that some did end up in her mouth, while the rest landed on her cheeks and nose.

But, Des didn’t care about any of that. She fully accepted it all, and leaned her mouth back onto his dick to suck the residue from his tip. This stunned Matt, but he didn’t question it since she looked too damn good doing it. Des smiled and licked her lips as she finished. “You taste nice,” she complimented him.

Matt laughed and petted her head and brought his hand down to hold her jaw and caress her cheek. “Oh yeah? I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Des cocked her head to the side as she questioned what he meant mentally. Matt noticed and continued, “For when I taste you!” He grinned as he continued, “I know you’re probably gonna taste better than me.”

Des smiled and blushed. He wanted to taste me? She asked herself.

Yes, he wanted to taste her! And not only taste her– he wanted to touch her, tease her, make her cum around him, choke, gag, bite, kiss, spit, swallow, everything. He wanted to do every single damn thing to her.

But, that would have to be for next time.

[clintbartoncelebrationbash]

That's A Wrap!

The 2024 Clint Barton Celebration Bang has officially come to a close!

We have collectively created 10 fics, 10 pieces of artwork, and 2 podfics, all celebrating the greatest archer in the world!! There's something for everyone - whether you're a long time Clint Barton fan or just starting out; whether you like friendships, relationships, or fully-focused character studies; whether you like shorter snapshots or longer epics. Check out the full list below and send these amazing creators some love!

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Anchor Points

Fic by @widowsresolve | Art by @betrayedbycinnamon 37,935 Words, 1/1 Chapters, Teen Clint Barton & Barney Barton, Clint Barton/Laura Barton, Clint Barton &/ Natasha Romanov

Summary: For one glorious, gravity-defying moment, Clint felt like he was flying as he jumped from the swing.

It made him feel like he could do anything. It made him feel fearless and untouchable.

He needed more of that in his life.

--

The journey of Clint's life from a boy wishing for a better life in Waverly, Iowa to the man who becomes an Avenger and the relationships that helped to make him who he is.

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(hands) touching hands

Fic by @safelycapricious | Art by @auripigmentum 2,384 Words, 1/1 Chapters, Teen and Up Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov

Summary: “And what name was on your wrist?” Coulson asks.

“Uh, none?” Clint says, scratching at his eyebrow.

“You have a burn scar,” Coulson says, carefully, like he’s talking to a bomber off of a ledge, “where your soulmate name was.”

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The Healing Properties of Air Vents and Hot Chocolate

Fic by @sishal01 | Podfic by @flowerparrish 4,002 Words, 1/1 Chapters, Teen Clint Barton &/ Bucky Barnes

Summary: Clint gets de aged and little Clint is who finally pulls Bucky out of the asset

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Once in a Lifetime

Fic by @betrayedbycinnamon | Art by @carcrash429 12,088 Words, 1/1 Chapters, Teen Clint Barton/Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton & Laura Barton

Summary: Nobody knows exactly which Clint triggered the inter-dimensional dominoes, but it doesn't really matter in the end, because this one just needs to focus on his new reality. He discovers some things about himself along the way.

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the road not taken looks real good now

Fic by @sup3rbloom | Art by @rufferto9 5,660 Words, 1/1 Chapters, Teen and Up Clint Barton/Bucky Barnes

Summary: Clint is going on a road trip after the events of End Game. He needs some time to clear his head before getting back into the thick of it. While on the road, Clint runs into someone unexpected, and finds himself taking care of none other than Bucky Barnes himself, which eventually leads to Clint falling in love a little along the way.

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some of us are just born with tragedy

Fic by @graffiti-bi | Art by @auripigmentum 14,424 Words, 4/4 Chapters, Not Rated

Summary: After the events of Freefall, Clint and Lucky flee to Waverly. No one's going to look for him in a town he hasn't thought of setting foot in for the better part of two decades. Plus when it's safe to head back to New York he can just sell the farm and be done with the place for good. There's nothing left for him or Barney there anyways. Right?

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Summer Seasons

Fic by @teeelsie-posts | Art by @nolanfa | Art by @carcrash429 23,285 Words, 5/? Chapters, Explicit Clint Barton/Dick Grayson

Summary: The autumn that Clint is 12 years old, for the first time that he can remember, something really good happens.

The autumn that Clint is 12 years old, he meets Dick Grayson.

OR A Clint Barton POV companion piece to Winter Quarters.

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Support You All The Way

Fic and Podfic by @42donotpanic | Link to Art @wyxan 10,012 Words, 6/6 Chapters, Explicit Clint Barton/Matt Murdock

Summary: Matt notices his Partner changes over time.

OR:

5 times Natalie struggled with gender and 1 time Clint realised who he really was

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That's So Fletch

Fic by @artaxlivs | Art by @rufferto9 10,115 Words, 1/1 Chapters, Explicit Clint Barton/Bucky Barnes

Summary: Stop trying to make fletch a thing.

(I will not, nor will I stop shamelessly plugging 80s and 90s cult classics.)

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wrap your roots all around my bones

Fic by @carcrash429 | Art by @noxnthea 30,212 Words, 1/1 Chapters, Teen Clint Barton & Steve Rogers

Summary: “What exactly do you think it is we’ve found?”

“Pieces of yourself that you thought were lost.”

-

Clint and Steve thought they knew each other pretty well after six months of working and living together. Turns out, they each have a lot of ghosts buried in their past, waiting to be uncovered.

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[ieatangstforbreakfast]

“Love you a little too much.”

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ Earth 42! Miles Morales x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, eventual angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ so I kinda switched it up and in this fanfic, reader is the one giving mixed signals.

Chapter 2: The Secrets You Keep

Warning ೃ⁀➷ Profane language, underaged smoking, mixed signals, horrible Spanish, mommy issues.

FIC MASTERLIST

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Silvery pavements, busy streets, neon lights, and brick-cold air.

New York never truly rests, as they say. A concrete jungle where dreams were once made of. All of what was once so promising about the Yorker dream was plucked out individually with each passing year; money, careers, romance, and peace. Even now, you try to find the beauty of what was once the New York your mother adored, yet what only stared back was this desolate, tragic dystopia. A city that's fallen to ruin.

As the traffic unknots, Miles gently nudges you to the inner part of the sidewalk— subtly shielding you away from the vehicles.

Gentlemen, your mother used to always say. You'll find them not in the fineness of their clothes, but in the way they treat their women.

You can almost picture her, sitting right in front of you with that sickly sweet grin on her face, pearls hanging from her neck and mascara running down her cheeks. Buried beneath her wedding band was a dying cigarette, to which she pulls to slip in between her lips— taking consecutive sips.

There was almost never a time your mother was a mess.

Almost.

Staring at your mother was like staring into a wretched mirror. You were everything she could've been, and she was all you might become.

There was nothing more frightening than looking into your future and finding nothing promising.

"Hey, that's new." And Miles, yet again, pulls you out of your murky thoughts.

"What is?" You pique, the sight of the city dragged back into your sights. Miles points at the ivy-covered building in front of you. It gleamed in warm colors inside, a sight utterly fitting of the autumn season. Its wide, Palladian windows were embellished with orange curtains and striped green dormers. Atop the roof sat a sign, the name of the establishment written in bold, vermilion cursive. You were lulled by the smell of s'mores, hot chocolate, and pie— all the sweet things that reminded you of your precious childhood memories. It had you standing there, reminiscing over the times that were long gone.

"I think it's a café and a book store. Two in one, pretty neat." Miles mentions, looking over to the sight of you. The store's lights seeped out the windows, its golden hues gleaming over your face, highlighting your lashes. You were too lost in thought to even notice his staring.

"How pretty." You airily whispered.

"Yeah." Miles replies, sights still glued onto you.

His gaze soon lowers, noticing your trembling hands fiddling with the hem of your hoodie— a habit the both of you shared. Hesitantly, he lifts his finger, urging to intertwine it with yours.

"Do you think I can apply as a part-timer there?"

He shoves his hands down his pocket instead.

“You wanna apply?”

“Yeah. I wanna save up for summer.”

He raised a brow. “That’s still next year, though?”

“I’m planning on going on a road trip.” You began, a clear view of your plans surfacing in your mind. “I’m getting my driver’s license next year too, so I really want to make the most of it.”

“Driver’s license?”

“Yeah, I’m sixteen.”

“Damn,” Miles shook his head in amusement. “Y’know, I tend to forget you’re older than me.” He then places his hand next to your temple, aligning it with his shoulder. “And it doesn’t help that you’re… This short.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And of course, Miles indeed didn’t shut the fuck up.

"… Y’know, I bet you'd walk out on your first day with an arson charge."

The two of you meet gazes once more. Miles looked at you with a dead stare, as if he was serious. "What? You're the one talking shit about wanting to go to jail."

"Yeah, I'm boutta fulfill that part of my checklist after I'm done strangling you."

He raised his brows, subtly amused. "Kinky."

You try to slap his arm, but he manages to dodge your hit. He stares deep into your oh-so-fiery glare, cheeks bursting from laughter.

"Look at'chu, you fight like a munchkin from the wizard of Oz."

Pulling your sleeves up, you ready yourself to brawl. "Yeah? Talk your shit, Tin Woodman."

“Oh, I will talk my shit, lollipop gild.”

Amidst your squabble, you and Miles push and pull against one other, lightly shoving each other off like little kids. Your fingers dig into the cloth of his jacket, gripping against his chest with fingers like steel. Though your little plan of shaking him by the collar is spoiled when an itch suddenly burns your nose. You turn around and sneeze, pulling away from his grasps.

".. God, I hate the cold."

He feigns a grimace, taking a step back. "Eww, germs."

"Shut up, you—“

"Stay away, you bubonic plague virus haver."

As you try to search for a comeback, you feel the same itch burn your nostrils— inevitably putting your words on hold. Miles watches as you placed your icy hands over your mouth, sneezing a couple more times. You could almost feel the cold climb up your arms like a ladder, leaving you a shivering mess. Some sort of heat begins to poke in the back of your neck, as though you were flustered like a little girl with a crush. You pull your sleeves down, stabbing your nails into your palm. Miles takes this moment to go behind you, his hands reaching out to unzip your bag. He probes inside in search of your scarf, the long silk pouring out with the grip of his fingers, like [f/c] bleeding into his palm.

As you sniff, the boy turns to you, gently wrapping the cloth over your neck. You look up, beholding the sight of a serious Miles who was too preoccupied with tying the scarf, mumbling about what's the point of bringing the damn thing if you weren't even gonna use it.

“M’not even gonna get a bless you?” You tease.

“You got me: the biggest blessing of your life. What more do you need?”

You hum. “Lots of sleep and an essential oil bath bomb.”

“The fuck’s an essential oil bath bomb?”

“What I need.”

As he finished, he slowly smoothes out the creases with both palms, looking up to meet your stare.

"… What'chu looking at?"

With an airy laugh, you reply. "Just.. You."

His hands pause, yet they stay on your scarf.

"... Idiot." Miles mumbles, grip tightening. "Stop lookin’ at me like that."

"Like what?"

Like you'd follow me to the end of the earth.

"Like a dumbass." He casually answers, flicking his nails over your forehead. "Now get moving, I’ve gotta get you home.”

Miles look over to the café once more, a hand over your shoulder. Slowly, it slips off and trails down your arm before falling to his side. Instinctually, his finger lifts to reach out for your own, though it drops when he hears a buzz in your pockets.

Despite the amount of times it rang, you simply ignored the damn thing. Eventually you did reach out for it, but without even glancing once at the texts, you set it all on 「☾ Do Not Disturb.」

It was only then, as each street passed, that Miles began noticing how the both of you were slowly exiting Brooklyn's poorest areas and started entering what seemed to be the finer parts of the borough. From skeletal buildings and desolate apartments, colorful brownstones appeared before his eyes— showered in leaves of scarlet and orange. It was the sort of Brooklyn you'd find in the movies, the dreamy sort of Brooklyn it used to be three years ago.

An immediate fresh breath of nostalgia.

There was that tiniest hope that lingered deep inside of him, believing that Brooklyn’s still savable.

Eventually, the both of you spot the local Gristedes down the road, the building growing larger with each step. Miles opted to slow his steps down, just to walk longer with you and yet, you paced hurriedly. He follows the sight of your silhouette prancing around, admiring you from afar. When you can no longer sense him, you turn around and halt your walk, waiting for him to keep up. Miles hurriedly jogs to meet you, humming a sweet tune when a sort of blurry vision clouds his mind.

A piercing pain shoots through his temple, making him wince. For a moment, his vision blurs and spots of red taint his eyes. Suddenly, you appear before him in the midst of a fire— glaring at him with such hatred. Your silhouette appears as a dark burgundy, taking center in a world set ablaze.

You call out his name in the feverish illusion.

"Miles."

He winces, taking a step back.

"Miles!"

Suddenly, he's pulled back into reality with your voice.

There you stood, eyes so riddled with worry.

"... What..?"

"Are you okay?" You walk back to him, placing a hand over his forehead. "Are you sick? What happened?"

He gasps for air, but only once. Seeing you now, looking so worried about him, it was enough confirmation that what he saw was all just a dream.

But what in the hell what was that?

As your hand presses against his cheek, Miles cups over it with his own, following the lead of your voice to find peace. "Sorry," He finally spoke, voice too much of a whisper for you to process. "It’s like I hallucinated or sum.”

You click your tongue. "You just had one hit of vape, man, the fuck you on?”

He mumbles an incoherent explanation, to which you grumble. “Do you need medicine? Maybe I can—“ You frantically turn your head in search of a place. “Maybe we can go somewhere and get you some medicine.”

“I’m fine, ma, don’t get all riled up.”

“You’re hot.”

“I know.”

“Not in that way!”

“Ouch.”

“I’m just– I’m worried about you, Miles.”

“Oh, are you now?” He teased, placing a hand over yours.

Miles gently places your hand down, eventually taking your other and burying them both in his palms. Your hands were much smaller and softer compared to his. Like velvet to leather, a paw to a claw.

He gently squeezed, an urge to hold them forever ringing in his mind. Miles looked up to see you and the way your eyes traveled from his hands, to his chest, up to his chin, and then straight into his gaze.

“Do continue worryin’ about me.” He whispers. “I’m feelin’ very special right now.”

You scrunched your brow, looking up with the softest gaze you ever endowed.

“Oh, is that right?”

“Mhm.”

It was enough to steal the air from his lungs. Of all the things, Miles didn't fear for this to all be a dream, he feared that this would all just be a game to you. Dreams would mean that this wasn't you, but a trickery of his mind— his anxiety. He'd be able to keep you once he wakes up. But since this was real, he'd have to suffer through the pain of either losing you or hating you, none of which were choices he liked.

He found you most confusing at times like these.

Most of the time, you were an open book. Your mouth was unfiltered, whether it be in conveying your emotions or saying the most out of pocket things, but at the same time, you often kept to yourself. He hardly heard anything about your family, your friends, or your life— aside from a few side stories you'd recall in the midst of reminiscing— other than that, you kept a lot of secrets.

And he didn't want to invade your privacy, or overstep your boundaries. He figured you'd tell him someday: the things that would bother you, or the memories that'd make you zone out for a few seconds.

He was too afraid of you finding out who he was. Too afraid of losing you, or hating you.

But moments like these were a detriment to his rationality.

In that icy weather, all that made Miles shiver was you.

“Miles.” You called out his name again. “... I think.. I have to go.”

Unconsciously, he mutters. “Already?”

“We’ll see each other again tomorrow.” You couldn’t help but comfort of him. “I promise.”

Let’s meet in our little place. I won’t call it my home, because home is wherever you go.

He swallows the lump that had formed at his throat, hesitantly releasing your hands. “Okay.” He sighs. “Okay, get home safely.” He detangles your fingers, savoring the warmth of your skin. You pivot your heel to leave, pulling your hood over your head. Miles simply watches as you walk and turn one last time.

“Bring your sketchbook next time, alright?”

He nods. “I will.”

“Buh-bye.” You wave one final time. Miles raised his hand to bid you adieu.

If only you knew.

As you disappear down the block, Miles clutches the notebook carefully hidden in his inner pocket.

It was at that moment, Miles couldn’t help but ponder.

How could I show you my sketchbook when all it’s filled of is you?

Uh, uh, catch me ridin’ like a bitch

Got the six forty-five, catch me ridin’ with my bitch

Uh, long hair, Lana, that’s my bitch

Uh, You can tell by the swagger and the lips, uh

The radio eases down with the volume upon the flick of a finger.

“How was she?”

Snapped from the voice of his uncle, Miles’ head perks up. An icy water bottle flies past Aaron’s hand, tossing it over to Miles as it landed straight into his palms. “Did’ya finally tell her?” He adds, to which the boy slumps deep into his seat and grumbles.

Drenched in sweat and small bruises, Miles took his well-deserved break atop his uncle’s couch— chest rising and falling with each heave, wifebeater all soaked. He squints at the ceiling while lazily popping the cap off the bottle. “I don’t even have to tell her, man. She knows— I know she knows, but I dunno if- if she likes me too or if she’s jus playin’ w’me.” Miles manages to rant in between heavy breaths, mind and body completely exhausted from training. Aaron sits by his side, dragging a towel over his neck.

“Yikes. What makes you think that?”

The cold water smoothly flushes down his throat, easing his fatigue. “She flirts with me more than I flirt with her— damn, I can’t even get a single line in.”

“.. You like a chick that’s got more game than you?” Aaron reiterates, amused by what he’s hearing. He laughs at Miles’ frustrated face, shaking his head. “You sure you’re my nephew, man?”

“Oh, I’ve got game.” The boy defends himself. “I held her hands and everythin’. She’s prolly hella into me too.”

“Or, she just plays the game better than you do.”

“Nah—“ Miles denies, but it makes him think. “Nah, she’s into me. I’m sure of it, but I think she’s kind of like… Denying it or I dunno.”

He recalls the way you scrunched your brows, and looked up at him as though he was all you could ever want to look at. It’s got him zoning out, nibbling on the brim of his bottle like a nervous little pup. Aaron simply shrugs. “I’m just sayin’, Miles, it’s not like y’all are in the Titanic. I don’t see why she wouldn’t go for ya.”

“I mean,” He scavenges for the right words to say. “I mean, what if she’s like.. Not ready or sum?”

“… How old is she?”

“Sixteen.”

Aaron’s head spun in a quick flash. “Sixteen!? Aren’t you fifteen? Damn, now I don’t blame her. You’re a whole kid in her eyes, my man.”

“A ki— a kid!?” He scoffed. “I’d have to squat down just to reach her height— why the hell would she see me as a kid?”

While taking a sip off his bottle, Aaron lifts a finger cautiously. “That,” He spoke in between sips. “That’s the reason why she sees you as a kid.” Miles furrows his brows, completely anonymous to the reason. “You’re too defensive. You should be more suave, my man. Be a gentleman.“ He pulls up a couple moves. “Jazz her like this. The ladies love dancing.”

“You telling me I gotta dance with her or sum?” Chewing on his cheek, he grumbles. “Now, how the hell do I do that?”

Aaron hums.

“You know all about the shoulder touch?”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Dark halls, hushed voices in a box.

“I’m not having this conversation with you again.”

The chair’s legs screech against the marble as he stands up.

"She's turning sixteen next year, hardly even eighteen, if this gets out— not only would it be harmful for our family reputation, she'll be permanently eradicated from receiving opportunities in the future."

A dead gaze hung in the darkness, eyeing the figure that stood before him stubbornly.

"Your sister is incredibly capable, and she's doing a lot to support our means for the sake of the family."

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"Which is more than what I can say for you, Antonne."

Antonne stood before his father, chin held high and gaze, unyielding. The old man tapped his pen against the mahogany, each tick filling in the spaces between the clock's ticking. Within the spaces, and with each passing second, Antonne stood in the thick tension that filled the office like a soldier keeping his head above water.

The old man’s pen points at him accusingly. "Be happy for her, as she's cleaning up after your mistakes. Who would you be without your sister?”

The boy tenses.

“Do you think you’ll be able to save yourself?”

Antonne stood by the hall, eyes daunt and staring a thousand yards deep into an invisible void. For a while, he shortly allowed his mind to go completely blank. Well, it wasn't entirely blank, it was full— but everything was all blurred together that it was better to think that he was thinking about nothing.

A restless mind paired along with an unfortunately still beating heart.

His head’s piqued when a familiar sound of footsteps begin to permeate amidst the hall. The steady sound of heels thumping against the carpet, like a careful warning to those who stood in her way.

“Antonne,” Her voice calls out. “What are you doing out here?”

Your presence emerges from the shadows like a ghost who’d waited for too long. He steps in front your father’s office door, as if to block your entrance. Parting his lips, he calls for your name.

“… Your job. Are you sure you want to partake in such a thing?”

You raise a brow, understandably befuddled by his sudden disruption.

“I’m going to be honest with you.” He begins. “Our family is not the best. Our money doesn’t come mainly from sanctioned ways although we parade it as though it were. I can forgive all that, but what I can’t forgive is ruining all your potential.”

“I don’t understand. Where is all this coming from?” Your gaze narrows harshly. Though you try to appear genuinely ignorant of what he’s saying, the knowledge of it was enough to make your blood boil. Antonne sighed a deep sigh, a million words pouring into his mind like waves crashing.

“I am simply worried about you,” He claims. “You’ve been handling these affairs since you were thirteen. And it’s unfair for you to handle such things when you’re only fifteen—“

“I’m sixteen.”

“… When you’re only sixteen.”

You scoff. “Do you even have any idea of what I’m doing?”

“.. The job you’re doing, was my job three years ago.” Antonne’s words made you grit your teeth. “I know all about what you do, and I may have failed in what I did— I’m not as smart or as cunning as you— but I’ll never forget how that job ruined me.”

You snicker. “You talk like that, but you want the job to yourself.”

Your brother stiffens, but his face remains ever-so stoic.

“It’s better for you to give the job to me.”

“This is what it’s all about?” Your voice lividly lowers into a hush as you take a step towards him. “You abandoned all your responsibilities, made me carry the hotel for three years, and now that the work’s lighter, you want to take it away from me?”

With each step you take, Antonne soon finds his back pressed against the door, swallowing the lump that had formed at his throat. With one final attempt to get you to listen, he finally pulls.

“Does he know?”

Gesturing over to the fineness of your clothes, the shine of your pearls, Antonne then hissed.

“That boy you meet in Brooklyn. Does he know who you are?”

Visibly startled upon the mention of Miles, your frustration crumbles into caution. Your head turns away, lids twitching. “I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about.” Was your attempt of a lie. Antonne straightened his lips, determined to rekindle his confident stature.

“… How naïve of you.” Antonne seethed. “Do you think father’s going to let this go once he finds out?”

You scoff. “Is that a threat?”

“A warning.” He corrects of you. “Have you forgotten who you are? You’re our family’s only daughter— you’re the face of our family in high society. Not only that, but you’re engaged.”

“I’m sixteen. Fuck you mean ‘engaged’? That engagement’s hardly been processed as a legitimate promise. You and I both know it’s for the sake of shutting up the Fisks, anyway.”

“It’s scandalous.” Antonne spewed with venom on his tongue. “You’re not a kid. You’re two years away from being an adult.” He thrusts an accusing finger into your shoulder blade. “And everyone’s eyes are on you— if people were to ever find out about your little escapade, you’d be ruined.”

“Then cover it up.” You ruthlessly shoot back. “That’s all our family ever does anyway.”

As you try to maneuver past him, Antonne then interjected.

“Then what about that boy? What would he think?”

And that’s enough to make you freeze.

“Would he be able to handle you? You… Don’t forget that he could’ve known someone who was a victim.”

You could almost imagine Miles’ face contorting into disgust upon the unveiling of the truth. An inevitable scene. You’d been trying to run away from the scene like a dog with your tail caught between your legs. Your teeth dig a little too deep into your lips, blood seeping in the corners of your frown. Though you try to keep your composure, the mention of Miles was enough to send you trembling.

“No matter how much you hide it, he’ll learn about your identity sooner or later.”

“He won’t.” Your reply came out haggardly. “He won’t find out.”

“And what makes you so sure?”

Your jaw clenches, eyes bloodshot from exhaustion. You think about throwing something at him, or pulling on his hair— yet you ease your nerves like any other dignified girl.

As if on cue, your father opens the door, exchanging glances between you and your brother, reeking of fresh tobacco and dust.

“What the hell are you two doing, bickering in front of my door?”

His voice is harsh and demeaning, like winter at its worst peak. A voice that haunted you all throughout your younger years, now it was just nothing but another normality to you and your dull days.

“It’s nothing, dad.” You reassure, casting a side-eye at Antonne. “Nothing at all.”

Only then, you pulled the manila folder up to exit the situation. “In regards to the landscaping for the hotel, I have the submissions. I figured we should discuss about it.”

“Right,” He snaps his fingers. “Shall we?”

You leave Antonne in the darkness, shutting the door with a slam.

“God… She’s going to be the death of all of us.”

[littlefic]

Can u do Steve Rogers were he’s changing the little reader after an accident :)

ACCIDENT

hi!! thank you for the request i am sorry it has been so long in the making :(

i hope its ok but i decided to add nappies ( diapers ) into this fic :)

New york had been hit with a weather warning for the past week and this was the first day that the skys were clear and bright ,so you and your daddy decided to go for a long walk through the park before bed time ( steve was hoping to where you out before bed haha )

Autumn was your favourite season all the beautiful leaves and colours never failed to memorise you.

Your were so happy walking down the path slightly infront of your daddy admiring the view when you started to feel the need to go. You tried to ignore it as daddy had told you plenty of times to go pee pee before leaving but you insisted you did not need to go.

But the pressure all got to much and you suddenly stopped walking causing steve to bumb into you.

" opph baby, what wrong?" Steve asked rubbing your shoulders while looking down at you.

" i-i--i" you stuttered out tears starting to brim your eyes

"hey , shu shu shush" steve cooed as the tears started running down your cheeks. Leaning down steve lifted you up onto his hip and started gently swaying you side to side trying to quieten your crys, when he felt warmness spread onto his hip causing your cries to hault then increase alot

“Dada I so sowy” you cried slowly slipping into a younger headspace

" Sweetie why did you not tell daddy you need to go pee pee?" steve asked while he cradled the back of your head as you sobbed into his chest. You pulled back from steves chest and looked down,

" Didn't want you to be mad" you sniffled through your tears

" oh honey daddy wouldn't of been mad but this is certainely a lesson to be learnt that when daddy tells you to go pee pee you do" steve stated while looking into your eyes. Spinning around steve started the short walk back to your apartment while trying to console your crys and assure you that accidents happen and that is ok.

Pushing open the front door to the apartment, steve placed you on the floor of the enrty way allowing him to take his own shoes and jacket off before bending down and taking of your shoes and coat. Steve hung up the coats and placed the shoes on the rack before leaning back down to put you back on his hip to make his way to the bathroom. As yous reached the bathroom steve placed you on the toliet before turing to the bathtub snd started running the water.

" you all good little one?" steve asked with a sympathetic smile as he bent down to you level and rubbed his hands gently on your knees.

"mmhh" you mumbled throught your hands causing steve to frown. He hated seeing his baby sad but he needed to get you bathed and changed before a rash started.

"right lets get you in the bath" steve hummed as he started to pull of you socks " arms up tootsie " You raised you arms allowing steve to pull your top over your head leaving you in you in your leggings and panties. steve started shimming of the wet garments before sitting them in the sink to be chucked in the washing machine later.

As the warm water surrounded your body you left out a hum of content making steve smile. Squeezing out shampoo into his hand steve started to lather up the shampoo before massaging it into your scalp " right lay nack baby" steve said while guiding you backwards allowing the water to rinse out the shampoo suds. " right conditioner" steve said leaning over to grab the bottle and started applying it to your ends before repeating the rinsing process

" daddy we done yet" you moaned

" nearly sweetie just need to wash you baby" steve said as he started to wash your body with a soapy wash cloth. " all done! lets go" steve smiled gently lifting you out the bath and rapping your little body in a bath towel which was supper soft for your sensitive skin. Walking from the bathroom to the bedroom he layed you down on the bed and start to dry you off with the towel.

"what do you want to wear sweetie?" steve queried as he reached over to the dresser

" umh i know no daddy" you babbled cutely

" how about one of daddys sleep t-shirts?" steve asked opening the bottom drawer

" mmmh wes pwease"

steve smiled at your little lisp as you slipped into a smaller headspace

" ok lets get you pampered and then we will go watch some Tv, how about that?"

" uhuh" you smiled

Standing up steve wandered over to the changing table and grabed the necessary supplies for a nappy change before coming back over to you on the bed.

"your not cold baby?" steve worried when he realised he left the towel un wrapped

" no i fwine dada"

Steve nodded in response as he grabbed both your ankles in one hand and lifted your legs up so he could slip the nappy under your bum. Laying your legs back down Steve put some baby powder on you before starting to gently tape the nappy around your little tummy.

" ok clothes time" steve cooed rubbing your belly

"arms up sweetie"

Raising your arms allowed steve to slip his t-shirt over your head till it reached your nappy.

" ok Tv time yes!" steve told you excitedly

" YAhhh!!" your cheered

" come on my cutie" Steve said lifting you into his arms all while supporting your head against his chest. As steve lifted you the t-shirt slipped pasted your nappy until it landed at your knees allowing you to feel nice and small in his t-shirt.

Walking into the the hall steve started skipping causing you to giggle uncontrolably as you bounced up and down causing steve to grin widely. Reaching the living room Steve haulted his skipping before jumping on the couch with a bounce. Laying you in the crook of the corner couch surrounded by pillows to keep you secure Steve grabbed the Tv remote and turned on [ your favourite cartoon] to keep you ochupied while he grabbed the snacks.

" going to get snacks sweetie ok, i will be back in a minute ok" steve said while kissing your forhead

Steve walked into the kitchen and grabbed a can of fizzy juice for himself before filling up your sippy cup with apple juice as milk would make you to sleepy and nap time was to far away for you to fall asleep right now unless he wanted you to be a grumpy bunny later on tonight.

Opening the snack cuboard Steve grabbed some crisps and some chocolate along with some bowls to put them in, grabbing all the snacks and juice Steve walked back into the living room and placed them down onto the coffee table.

" ok little one what movie?" steve asked lying down next to you and tucking you into his side

" [ your favourite movie!!!]" you shouted

" ok sweetie" steve laughed turning of the lights and pressing play.

[irondadfics]

Hey!

I was wondering if you could rec a long post no way home fic similar to blue memento by Bergen or To be better by autumn dragon. I’ve tried finding more on ao3 but most of them are one shots.

here’s some for you! Enjoy

O Brother, Where Art Thou? by theskeptileptic

8 year-old Morgan is struggling after the death of her mom. Her dad is working non-stop and her extended family of emotionally constipated superheroes are just as uncomfortable with her grief as their own. To top it off, she can't stop dreaming about a brother she's never had and all the trouble he might be in. When she convinces Tony to take her with him on a work trip to Caltech, she meets a student who looks a lot like the boy in her dreams. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem very interested in her. Good thing her dad always knows what to do.

Peter Parker's Tapeworm by Ginevra_Benci

Everyone forgets that Peter Parker is Spider-Man. Everyone includes Peter Parker.   (Summary updated to reassure you that the tapeworm is a metaphor 😊)

Long Story Short (It Was A Bad Time) Or AIs Don't Forget by peacockgirl

Turns out magic doesn't affect AIs. Karen is Peter's only link to his old life, and helps him hold on when he gets low. Meanwhile, in Upstate New York, Tony struggles with the inexplicable certainty that he's lost a kid. Until Peter gets hurt, and Karen tells FRIDAY ... Set in that wonderful AU world where Tony survives Endgame, and our boy (eventually) gets all the hugs he needs and deserves.