#idk what to call the au.. something with the word Wilted..??

[dreamii-plushii]

love it when my brain makes me think of new AU ideas for ANY hyper fixation that I have... truly outstanding... {Im still working on the Human AU don't worry!! but this one also popped into my head, and I just HAD to draw it!!}

[khioneee]

No nonono no no no. I just found Wilted 😭😭😭😭😭my heart can’t take it I think this is one of the best angst fics I’ve ever read😭😭 like it needs so much more recognition. But it can’t end like this.

Idk if you do request and if not that’s completely fine, but could you do like a part two or an au where something triggers her memories (bonus if she gets them back when she’s with her new boyfriend) and she so angry so she asked her mom then maybe she sees Simon walking or she calls him and demands he tells her the truth and that he take her home(with him) even though everyone is telling her Simon’s no good for her(including him), she wont listen and tells him the wreck wasn’t his fault and that nobody decides who she can and can’t be with that it’s her decision. And they get back together you know happy endings.

You can change some stuff if you want I just want to see Simon happy. Ok that’s all don’t forget to eat something and drink some water. Great authors have to take care of themselves too, bye👋❤️.

you got it, nonnie! been cooking this up since you sent the req, and it’s already at 3.4k words 😭. but more importantly, remember to take care of yourself too! here’s your reminder to eat and drink your 12 cups of water 🥹. hope this is close to what you were hoping for 💗 enjoy.

The days had stretched too long without him, the anticipation growing each time you glanced at the door of your flower shop. His deployment was supposed to end a week ago, and every day you found yourself waiting, feeling a quiet ache that had started to bleed into worry. Simon always visited the shop as soon as he came back, his presence slipping in like he was part of the space, a rhythm that had somehow settled into your life.

And then, finally, he arrived.

Simon stepped through the door, and the world felt like it clicked back into place. Everything seemed normal again, like he belonged there, in that space filled with soft greens and blooms. He moved among the flowers like they were as much a part of him as the silence he carried, and you thought that maybe it was just the frequency of his visits. But there was something more—a quiet sense of homecoming, of something unspoken that settled deep inside you.

“What took you so long?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light. Yet the relief that seeped through your words betrayed you, slipping out despite yourself. It was almost silly, really, to feel so much for a man you barely knew.

But here he was, standing in your shop again, and the warmth of his presence seemed to fill a space that had felt empty in ways you hadn’t known.

Simon hesitated, his gaze dipping downward for a moment before he looked back at you. “I… needed to get settled,” he murmured, voice soft. His hand reached into his bag, pulling out a small, nearly-dry purple plant, its leaves curled at the edges. He held it out with a strange kind of reverence, as if it held a secret. “Got this for you. They were all over the ground in Brazil… tried not to hurt it on the way back.”

The plant lay fragile in his hands, bruised but beautiful, and something twisted inside you. As you took it, your fingers brushed his, a moment too brief, too fleeting, and it sent a warmth up your arm.

“It’s lovely,” you whispered, your voice catching on something you couldn’t name. There was an ache there, beneath the words, an unspoken weight that hung in the way he looked at you.

He took a slow, deep breath, his gaze drifting around the shop, his eyes touching each corner as if memorizing it, as if gathering it all up in a way that felt final.

“Listen,” he began, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, every word feeling like a struggle. “I… I don’t think I’ll be back for a while.”

The words struck you, sudden and sharp, and you couldn’t help the way your chest tightened. “What do you mean?” you asked, barely managing to keep your voice steady.

“It’s not healthy… coming here again and again,” he replied, looking away as though the words were too heavy to say while meeting your gaze. “Buying flowers, visiting her grave…” He paused, swallowing, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the grief that clung to him like an old coat. “I can’t keep holding on to someone who’s already gone. If I stay… it feels like I’ll never move on with my life.”

You couldn’t fully understand—why he felt like he had to leave you behind along with the girl he’d lost. He could still visit, couldn’t he? It didn’t make sense why he had to leave you too. But you knew better than to argue with a grieving man, especially one who carried loss in a way that had become part of him.

Your fingers tightened around the plant, holding it like it could keep you steady.

“I understand,” you said softly, though your voice wavered. “But… can’t say that I won’t miss you.” You forced a faint, sad smile, but the ache in your chest felt like something breaking, something you couldn’t quite name.

Simon’s gaze softened, his eyes meeting yours with a look that felt like he was holding back a thousand things he couldn’t say.

“Can’t say I won’t miss you either,” he murmured, his voice raw, as if he were trying to contain everything he felt. “You’ve been… well, you’ve been more than you know.”

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with things unsaid, memories neither of you would speak of. You felt the weight of it all—the quiet understanding, the way you were both holding on to something that seemed to slip further away with every breath.

You took a shaky breath, struggling to find the words to ease the ache blooming in your chest. “I hope you find peace, Simon,” you whispered, voice barely steady. “Real, honest peace. The kind that lets you finally be happy.”

A flicker of something passed over his face—gratitude, maybe, or just understanding, but it was enough to send another pang through you.

“Thank you,” he said, voice rough but sincere, like the words themselves held a weight he couldn’t release. “I’ll try.”

He turned to leave, his steps slow, each one feeling like it carried more than just distance. He paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder one last time, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it.

“Take care of yourself for me, yeah?” he said quietly, almost a plea.

You nodded, feeling a sting in your chest, like you were letting go of something you never even knew you had. “You too, Simon.”

And then, without another word, he walked out of the shop, his presence lingering in the silence he left behind. In your hands, the purple plant sat like a quiet promise, a reminder of something both lost and found.

A goodbye that felt like an ending and a beginning all at once.

You were watching your boyfriend move around the kitchen, chatting with your mom as they prepared dinner together, their voices blending with the warmth of home. Yet, despite the comfort of the scene, something kept pulling your gaze back to the small vase on the counter.

Inside, the purple flower Simon had given you was wilting. Its petals, once vibrant, were curling at the edges, their color fading—a quiet reminder that something beautiful had started to slip away. You couldn’t ignore the faint pang that stirred within you each time you looked at it.

Your mother noticed and smiled, gently suggesting, “Why don’t you press it into one of your journals? You’ve got that lovely collection of pressed flowers. It’d be a shame to let this one go to waste.”

Her words caught you off guard. A collection of pressed flowers? You tried to recall the last time you’d pressed a flower, but nothing came to mind. The idea felt foreign, yet strangely familiar, like an old habit you’d somehow forgotten.

Driven by curiosity, you excused yourself from the kitchen and headed to your room. There, on a dusty shelf, you found a stack of journals that looked well-worn, as though they’d been opened and closed countless times. You selected one at random, and as you opened it, a few pages slipped loose, drifting to the floor.

Kneeling down, you picked up the scattered pages, pausing as your fingers brushed over a pressed daisy, faded but delicately preserved. Beneath it, there was a note written in neat, careful handwriting. You held it closer, heart pounding as you read the words:

Every time I see a flower, I can’t help but think of you. You’re everywhere, even when I’m miles away.

The signature was unmistakable: Simon.

You stood frozen for a moment, rereading the words that felt intimate yet unfamiliar. Simon’s handwriting… words from him, words that seemed to speak to you in ways that went beyond the surface. You couldn’t quite place the feeling, but it was as though he were reaching out to you from a memory you hadn’t realized you’d lost.

Compelled to understand more, you flipped through the pages of the journal, finding more pressed flowers scattered among the entries. Each flower seemed to carry its own message, its own secret memory, and tucked between them were letters—some in Simon’s handwriting, some in your own.

Another note slipped out, this one written by you, the ink familiar and clear:

Home is not the same without you. Every corner feels empty, every morning too quiet. Please, come home safely, Simon. This place isn’t home without you in it.

You felt an ache spread through your chest as you read the words. These weren’t just casual messages—they were parts of a shared story, a connection you hadn’t known existed. Every letter spoke of moments between the two of you, woven together like threads in a tapestry you’d somehow forgotten.

Heart pounding, you reached for another journal, one that looked older and more worn. As you flipped through, more letters and flowers revealed themselves, each one adding to a picture that was slowly coming into focus. Memories of travels, quiet conversations, promises made under moonlit skies—all preserved, pressed between petals and pages.

And then, nestled near the back of one of the journals, you found the last note, written in your handwriting, simple yet filled with a love that resonated through every word:

I love you forever, Simon. And to answer your question… yes, I’ll marry you.

The words seemed to leap off the page, a promise sealed between petals and time, hidden but unforgotten. You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes as the weight of the letters settled over you, filling the gaps with emotions you hadn’t known you were missing.

This wasn’t just a collection of flowers—it was a history, a story of love, of quiet moments and shared dreams. Simon hadn’t just been a visitor to your shop. He had been a part of your life, woven into it in ways you were only beginning to understand.

As you sat there surrounded by journals and petals, the wilted flower on the counter took on a new meaning. It was a reminder of something fragile yet enduring, something that had managed to survive through time, waiting patiently for you to remember.

And in that quiet moment, surrounded by pieces of a love you hadn’t known you’d lost, you felt the weight of that history settle into your heart, filling it with both sorrow and a newfound understanding of the promise you’d once made—one that now, despite everything, felt as real as ever.

You sat there, surrounded by scattered journals, pressed flowers, and letters that hinted at a life you hadn’t remembered until now. The words on the pages blurred as tears slipped down your cheeks, the weight of each revelation pressing heavily on your heart. This wasn’t just a collection of flowers and notes—this was a love story, preserved between petals and pages, hidden from you until this moment.

Just then, your mother appeared in the doorway. She took in the scene—pages strewn across the floor, tears streaming down your face, and the shattered look in your eyes. Concern deepened in her gaze as she slowly walked over to you.

“Sweetheart?” she asked, her voice soft but edged with worry. “What’s going on? Why are you crying?”

You looked up at her, voice breaking as you clutched the journal close to your chest. “You kept everything from me.”

You clutched the letters tightly in your hands as you made your way to the field. You didn’t know how you knew he’d be here, but somehow it felt right, like an unspoken understanding guiding your steps. The sky was a muted gray, casting a somber light over the tall grass swaying gently in the breeze.

And there he was—Simon. Standing alone, hands in his pockets, his gaze distant as he looked out over the field. The moment he heard your footsteps, he turned, his eyes meeting yours. His gaze dropped to the letters in your hands, and as realization dawned on his face, his expression softened, then crumbled, and for a second, he looked as vulnerable as the words he’d written so long ago.

“Were you ever planning to tell me?” you asked, your voice shaking as you tried to hold back tears. You took a step closer, feeling the weight of each word pressing down on you. “Or were you just going to let me go on without ever knowing?”

Simon’s face fell, and he took a deep breath, his gaze shifting down, unable to meet your eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt you… didn’t want to put you through that again. Everyone thought… it would be easier for you to heal without knowing.”

You shook your head, the letters trembling in your grip. “But I loved you, Simon. I deserved to know that much. I deserved to know what we had.”

The words hung between you, heavy and raw, each one carrying the weight of what had been kept from you. You watched as he took a step closer, his own eyes glistening, his hands clenching at his sides as if he were fighting to keep control.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “The last thing I wanted was to bring you more pain.”

“Pain?” you repeated, voice rising. “Do you know what it feels like to find letters and memories that don’t feel like mine, but are? To feel like a stranger in my own life?”

Simon’s shoulders slumped, his gaze filled with guilt. “I’m so sorry… I never wanted this for you.” He looked down, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought… maybe I could just leave you with a clean slate, let you have a life without the weight of what we went through.”

“But it was my life too, Simon,” you replied, voice soft but resolute. “I had a right to know the love we shared, the promises we made… and you took that from me.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating, as you stood facing each other in the empty field, the letters a fragile testament to what once was.

Finally, Simon looked up, meeting your gaze, his own eyes filled with unshed tears.

“I loved you more than anything,” he said, his voice rough, each word like a confession. “And I still do. That’s why it was so damn hard to watch you live without knowing… but it felt selfish to want you back, to bring you all the hurt that we went through.”

Your throat tightened as you looked down at the letters, the words that held pieces of a love you’d somehow forgotten, promises you hadn’t known you’d made.

“But maybe that’s not your choice to make,” you whispered. “Maybe… maybe I needed to remember, even if it hurt.”

Simon’s face softened, his eyes filling with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before, glistening with unshed tears as he took a shaky breath.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, his voice barely holding together, each word heavy with remorse.

“You owe it to me, Simon,” you said, your voice steady despite the ache. “I have a right to know who I was—to know who we were. And if it hurts, then that’s mine to bear.”

He looked away, jaw tightening, struggling against the emotions that threatened to break through. “I just… I thought maybe if you had a fresh start, it would be easier. You could move on without… without the memories.”

“But they aren’t just memories, Simon,” you replied, your voice soft but firm. “They’re pieces of me, of us. And you had no right to decide I didn’t need them.” You held up the letters, trembling in your hands, a tangible reminder of the love you’d both lost. “These aren’t just words on a page—they’re moments, promises we shared, a life we built together. You can’t erase that, no matter how much you try.”

Simon’s gaze returned to you, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and longing that mirrored your own. “You’re right,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I owe you that, and more. I was wrong to keep it from you. I was wrong to think I could just let you go and pretend it would be better that way.”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of everything that had been kept from you since the accident, the loss of something you never even knew was yours.

“My life… it hasn’t felt right since the accident,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like I’ve been living in a place that doesn’t quite fit, like I’m walking through someone else’s memories.”

Simon’s expression softened, his gaze filled with an ache that mirrored your own. He didn’t say anything, waiting, giving you space to continue.

“When you came to say goodbye, it hurt in a way I couldn’t understand,” you continued, your voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know why I felt so empty watching you leave. But the only thing that’s made sense… the only thing that felt real was when you walked into the flower shop. Every time you came by, it was like… like a part of me recognized you, even if I didn’t know why.”

He reached out, his fingers gently brushing against yours, grounding you as he spoke. “I should have known. I thought I could walk away, let you find your own peace, but it’s clear now… I’ve just been trying to hide from something we both needed.”

You held his gaze, pain, regret, and quiet understanding filling the silence between you.

And then, your eyes drifted downward, noticing something glinting at his chest. Hanging alongside his dog tags was a delicate silver band—a ring, familiar in shape and weight. It took you a moment to realize what it was, but when you did, it felt like the ground slipped out from under you.

It was your engagement ring.

The ring you’d once said yes to. An evidence of a love you couldn’t remember but somehow felt deep in your bones.

A fresh wave of emotion surged through you, your gaze lifting to meet Simon’s. He noticed your stare, his fingers reaching up to touch the ring as if it were a talisman, his face softened with both pain and something that looked like hope.

“Simon…” you whispered, words catching in your throat. “I don’t know if what I feel right now is love. I don’t know if I can call it that… yet.” You took a deep, steadying breath. “But I feel like it could be someday. Like there’s something here that could grow into that.”

His eyes glistened with something close to relief, and he nodded, his lips pressing into a faint, bittersweet smile. “That’s more than I ever thought I’d hear from you again,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You held his gaze, a strange peace settling over you as you spoke. “I know I loved you once. And maybe… maybe I’ll love you again. In this life, and whatever comes after.”

A quiet, vulnerable smile touched his lips as he reached up, his fingers brushing over the ring, the same band that held so much history, so much unspoken promise.

“I was waiting for you to come back,” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly. “Waiting for you to remember.”

You felt your chest tighten, the weight of his words settling deep within you. Stepping closer, you gently placed your hand over his, your thumb brushing against the ring he’d held onto all this time.

“I’m here now,” you whispered, meeting his gaze.

The pain, the longing, and the love that had waited in silence between you found its voice in that moment. You didn’t need memories to know that this was where you belonged, and for the first time in a long time, the pieces of your life began to feel whole.

As you sat there with him, surrounded by the stillness of the field, you noticed a lone dandelion growing nearby, its delicate seeds waiting to be carried away by the breeze. You reached over, plucking it gently, and held it out to him with a soft smile.

“Make a wish,” you whispered, your voice barely breaking the quiet around you.

He looked at the dandelion, then back at you, a tender smile crossing his face as he shook his head. “I already got my wish,” he murmured, his eyes filled with a warmth and sincerity that made your heart ache in the best way.

In that moment, words felt unnecessary.

You leaned into him, feeling the quiet reassurance of his presence, knowing that whatever lay ahead, you would face it together.

[starseungs]

a dream and a dance. hjs.

han jisung x gn!reader — dreaming was a lot harder as an adult than it was back when you were but a small kid. but maybe—just maybe, you could indulge in this dream come true for once.

genre/s — fluff, pinch of angst, post-grad au(?) • 2.0k words

warning/s — alcohol, setting is in a nightclub, life is hard (idk how to explain this)

note — inspired by han's new skz-record: 1,2,3,4,5 ! also i know nothing about nightclubs but this was the theme that came to mind so im just basing off vibes 😭

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

Dream while you’re still young—while you still can.

Growing up, that line had always been an integral part of your life. You still remember the first time you heard it; the soft hushes of your beloved grandmother as she handed you a bowl of freshly cut fruit on a particularly hot day. The six-year-old you once were was staring at the person behind the television, starry-eyed, as you studied the figure’s actions with intent. You could faintly recall a question being asked in that hushed living room, something along the lines of whether or not you found what they were doing interesting. It was a hazy memory for detailed descriptions, but you could imagine your younger self positively replying with an excited squeal, one fit for a child of that age, which would’ve been followed by the line that you’d have kept in your heart for the rest of your life.

As one would, you’ve cycled through your fair share of these so-called dreams in the duration of your early lifetime. There was a time in third grade where you made up your mind to become a science teacher—the thought quickly being replaced just a mere two years later when you found a sudden interest in becoming a chef. Sixth grade you talked big for their age, claiming that they would open their own restaurant after graduating culinary school, despite not knowing a single thing about cooking other than all the hours spent bingeing MasterChef. You would always get a laugh out of the memory, knowing that it, too, was but a short-lived dream of a young mind still easily impressed by the world around them.

The pattern of switching life aspirations continued past elementary, and throughout your hectic high school years. With the constant new experiences you faced day to day, it was inevitable that eventually you would start seeing everything in a different light. It was part of the maturing process, you’d come to realize a few years later—getting hit by the epiphany that you no longer went through your 24-hour cycle the same way you did back when you were ten. It was a bittersweet revelation, one that ended with you looking up old shows you used to watch and playing episodes until the sunrise before forcing yourself out of bed to get ready for class. 

That wasn’t the first time you pulled an all-nighter, but it was the first one that made you feel calm throughout the day despite severely lacking sleep. 

College came around, and now you had to face yet another hurdle in your journey: admitting that you had absolutely no idea what you were doing anymore. You were attending university—check. You were in a program you personally chose—check. You had a decent social life—check; or maybe half a point, since you didn’t exactly have much time to hang out with any of them, instead opting for promises of catching up that were slowly building in number but barely decreasing. Before you knew it, the degree life was slowly eating all of the dreams that were left inside of you, leaving you with a semi-paved path completely devoid of color. What was once a garden littered with numerous flowers of the rainbow now had wilted into dehydrated brownish hues, layed lifelessly beside the narrow road.

Perhaps your grandmother was right. Dreaming was a lot harder as an adult than it was back when you were but a small kid.

Still, you pushed through, just to see the end. There was no use turning back when you had already crawled your way up this high. All that was left for you if you did was a fall so hard that you doubt you’d even be able to recover. The image alone made you shiver, prompting you to lift the glass of liquor towards your mouth, letting the sip travel down your throat and feeling the faux warmth it provided. Your eyes shifted to the clock propped up against the bar counter’s wall, watching the hands tick at a uniform pace. It was weird knowing that time always stayed steady. These days, it seemed all over the place—sometimes slowing, sometimes speeding. At this particular moment, it was like a flowing stream. 

What kind of pace it was, you weren’t too sure. 

What you did know, though, was that the numbers on the clock were barely visible; bright neon LED lights being the only thing illuminating the dark room they called a nightclub. The speakers were blasting some upbeat pop song, entertaining the crowd trying to lose themselves on the dance floor. You could only watch from your bar stool as a girl trips over thin air, obviously a little too inebriated, before getting caught by her friend, who was now fussing over her drunken state. 

Burning liquid passed your tongue as you took another sip of your drink. Unlike that girl, you went to this place alone and on your own accord. In your mind, you contemplated why you chose to be here instead of a peaceful bar that didn’t involve a DJ and a dancefloor—but this works too. Maybe a part of you wanted to experience the thrill one last time before adult life completely takes a toll on you, so who were you to deprive yourself of the wish? Your university days had already ended just a few hours ago, with you stepping on stage to get your diploma. It wasn’t a crime to let yourself have fun after all the sacrifices you made for the sake of your damned future. 

And so you continued to watch—getting lost in the sea of bright lights and the crashing waves of your thoughts, before a familiar voice snapped you out of the trance you put yourself in.

“What are you doing here, looking all miserable like that?”

You blinked owlishly at the face that entered your line of sight. A face that was very recognizable to you, despite the undoubtedly long time you’ve gone without seeing it.

“Han Jisung?”

“The one and only,” Jisung grins. 

“Wow,” you breathed out, completely taken aback at the situation. “I haven’t seen you since our first year of uni! How have you been?”

You and Jisung used to be in the same major before he dropped out right before the start of your second year to pursue music. It would be an absolute lie if you said you didn’t miss him, especially since he was the first friend you ever made in university. You could still recall the moment he approached you in a class like it was yesterday—the Jisung of four years ago scrambling to take a seat after barely just beating the professor entering through the front door. The image of the freshly turned nineteen-year-old panting desperately evoked your concern, causing you to stare at him a little longer than necessary. But it wouldn’t be Jisung if he wasn’t observant, so he returned the stare without an ounce of shame and followed with a question if you had any spare water he could drink.

Luckily, your water bottle had just been filled a few minutes before class started, and thus a beautiful friendship was born.

Jisung took his hands out of his pockets before taking a seat at the empty bar stool to your right. “Life’s been great! Two semesters were enough for me to realize that the academic life just wasn’t for me,” he chuckles. “Oh, and congrats on graduating, by the way!”

You couldn’t help the small smile that found its way to your face at his greeting. “You knew?”

“Ah,” Jisung exclaims, leaning forward to rest his arms on the long table in front while still making eye contact to cement his presence in the conversation. “I attended the ceremony earlier, actually. You know—for Hyunjin and Seungmin. I also watched you stand on stage. That’s why I’m genuinely surprised to see you here like this.”

He looks around for a bit before returning to face you. “Where are your friends?”

You shrugged carelessly, not too bothered with the implication. “Not a clue,” you say with a light chuckle. “Probably out celebrating with their families—or maybe even with each other. Either way, I didn’t get an invite, but I already expected that.”

Jisung simply nods at your reply, and his lack of a reaction amused you more than it should. “And you? Out with Thing 1 and Thing 2?”

“Damn, they still call Seungmin and Hyunjin that? My legacy stood strong, huh?” Jisung barked out a hearty laugh before gesturing somewhere to the side of the club. “But yeah, our group’s over there in one of the sofa cubicles. You can join us if you want; it’s your day too, after all. We should be celebrating!”

You waved his offer away politely. “It’s fine, Jisung. I’m sure they wouldn’t want me crashing in. We’re not even close enough to do that.”

Jisung paused to think for a moment, his hand rising up to support his chin. Your eyes guiltily wander a bit higher, stopping at his rosy lips for a brief second before quickly going back to glare at your glass of liquor. 

Admittedly, you once had a crush on the man beside you. Han Jisung was one of the more attractive individuals on campus back then, along with the rest of his friend group. The lingering gazes of people weren’t foreign to you, as you had your fair share of experiences with them when you used to hang out with him. Jisung was simply someone who caught others’ attention, whether it was intentional or not. Of course, you weren’t exempt from that notion. The only difference was that he was a good friend you didn't want to risk losing and that you weren’t interested in dating at that moment. Romance was another dream of yours you couldn’t reach, no matter how much you yearned for it. And so you buried your feelings in a grave, eventually getting forgotten once he left your life.

You could only hope that a zombie apocalypse doesn’t start soon.

“Hm, alright,” he eventually chimes. “I’ll leave you be, soon. But, on one condition.” It was your turn to ponder over his words. 

“And what’s your condition, Han?”

Jisung attempts to hide the way he fidgets with his fingers, which you painfully caught on to too fast for your liking. He took a few more seconds to collect himself before sitting up straight and turning towards you to shyly say, “Dance with me?”

Your eyes widened into saucers, not believing what you had just heard. It was in an attempt to calm your racing heart that you accidentally froze into silence, your brain already deciding to keep 911 on standby in case you stopped breathing altogether. You internally cursed yourself for feeling a faint hope spark back in your heart, wishing for the romance you never let yourself indulge in. This wasn’t the time, nor was it the place, that you thought was appropriate to rekindle your teenage wishes. 

Unfortunately, your lack of a response made Jisung inhale audibly, seemingly preparing himself to bolt away in embarrassment—if only you hadn’t noticed his actions too, the year of friendship coming back to you to recognize his habit. You quickly willed yourself to spit out any words you could.

"Well, that’s sudden,” you shakily voiced out, but decided to lighten the awkward situation with a cough. “What, think I’m hot now after gaining a few more years?”

Jisung exhaled in relief. “Not exactly,” he rubs the back of his neck, “you were already hot from the beginning.” You roll your eyes at his answer.

“Haha. You think you’re so hilarious, Jisung.”

“That, I do,” he smirks, regaining his confidence. Jisung lifts a hand towards you, opening his palm in an offering gesture. “So, what about that dance?”

You scoffed good-naturedly before taking his hand, pulling him up his seat to drag the two of you towards the center of the establishment that was still as chaotic as you left it earlier.

“Make sure you show me a good time, Jisung.”

“Oh, you won’t be disappointed, Y/N.”

Maybe—just maybe, you could indulge in this dream come true for once.

mastertag 🔖— send in an ask if you want to be added ! 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @djeniryuu @lixxpix

[wordstro]

omg hiii !! i found you through ficscafe and i absolutely fell in love with your superhero!ateez series and i saw your requests were open and i was hoping if you could do something similar to what @/thelargefrye did for yunho but for seonghwa ?? bc yk how seonghwa's power is necromancy ,, can reader's power have something to do with life ?? like the avatar or smth IDK SKJDSDJ if you dont want to its completely fine !! p.s. ure san apocolypse!au is SAUR GOOD !! and im so excited for the next part !! hope ure having a good day/night <33

omg hi!! i'm so glad you like my fics. this ended up so long (7k words) so it's unfinished, but i hope you like it!

full disclosure that seonghwa and joong most definitely had a thing in the hero/villain au, but i love the idea of reader having a contrasting power to seonghwa and the connection that would create, so here it is:

hero/villain au, seonghwa x gender neutral reader + "where there is life, there must be death."

warning: mentions of death (unavoidable because of seonghwa's powers), reader's power is animancy/life transference, this y/n is very...morally ambiguous which i thought would be a fun juxtaposition to their powers, listened to running up that hill (deal with god) by kate bush on repeat, i'm not sure if this is what you wanted but i hope you like it!

hero/villain au masterlist

-

when the city fell into the hands of the rogues, you were cowering under a table at work, the ground shaking beneath you as if hell itself was attempting to devour the city whole. your coworker sobbed beside you, another loud addition to the screaming city around you.

you'd always thought of your workplace as a safe haven. perhaps that was naïve of you, to succumb so easily to the little bubble of life you'd created. mornings consisted of a warm cup of coffee as you stood by your window and took in the bustling city below you. food vendors shouting and people narrowly avoiding serious injury as they hurried to work and sometimes you'd catch the sight of pickpocket succeeding in their endeavors. you'd get dressed, pet your cat goodbye, and walk the short commute to the plant shop you'd loved so dearly. the owners raved of how well the plants have grown since you started working there. you told them it was because of your secret plant food recipe and the way you'd spend your mornings before the shop opened breathing life into any wilting plants around you, whispering encouragement to your favorites so they would grow taller than the rest. you never understood that you didn't just have an excellent green thumb like your parents reassured you throughout your childhood. you genuinely believed them. it had to be your secret plant food recipe and your green thumb. it had to be.

you'd believed it so adamantly until you learned otherwise. maybe you knew it wasn't just a green thumb and fertilizer. as you grew up watching the news and attacks on those with weird abilities, a part of you must have known the whole time. but you could pass as 'normal' and if that ensured that your bubble would remain safe, then you would believe anything.

that night the city fell, and so did the plant shop. the roof collapsed in, narrowly missing you and your coworker as you both scrambled into the street. your perfectly curated little bubble collapsed along with it, crushed to pieces like the plants beneath the rubble.

when the rumbling had stopped and the bones of the dead lay scattered across the crumbled street, when the voice of the villain wooyoung echoed through the city, calling for the freedom of those with superpowers, when the city fell so quiet, the silent sobs of your coworker felt like a siren-like wail, you'd ran to check on your bubble. your home. you flit through alleyways. when you got to your apartment, you found your cat crushed under a fallen sign. still breathing, but barely.

you'd fell to your knees, crying for your cat, for him to live, please oh please don't die, and your cat's labored breathing grew steady and it's eyes grew bright and your fingertips tingled as you pulled away in horror and realization. the day the city fell was the same day you'd learned that you were not merely blessed with a green thumb. you breathed literal life into things. you saved plants. you could save animals, too. you'd stared around you, at the skeletons and trembling people in the streets.

maybe you could save people, too.

but when the city fell, so did the heroes that protected your city. walls went up, made of skeletons coiled and piled atop each other, sharp and impossible to get close to. you'd examined the wall once, a little bit after, and you'd shrieked in horror when one of the skulls snapped it's unhinged jaw at you, inches from your skin. no wonder children did not try to climb the walls. it was alive. at least as alive as skeletons could be.

still, that was not the worst of it.

as you grew up, you'd watched the news - despite trying so hard to maintain a happy bubble that not even your parents yelling could burst, you could not ignore the state of the world - and you'd religiously watched every single story about those with superpowers, the vigils and deaths and assaults and mysterious disappearances.

in history, people always despised those that were different. you knew that. the news was proof of it. however, that was the first thing to go when the city fell and the rogues took over.

here, under wooyoung's strict rule, people with powers were protected. they were considered first class citizens. superior. and people without powers were not. you don't think they meant to make it that way, but with the way things panned out, the sentiment grew and grew until the entire city, caged in by bone walls, considered the sentiment law.

you were never one for morals, really. you sought to maintain stability. it was how you were raised and it was how you'd always be.

so when the time came for you to register yourself, you spoke of your powers for the first time. you ignored the way your coworker dropped her hand from your arm, eyes wide in both awe and something akin to horror - maybe even envy, you liked to think - as you demonstrated your power for the city hall official. you brought the dying snake plant on the desk to life, bigger and brighter than ever as it stretched it's leaves towards the sun. thank you, you'd imagined it would say.

you expected to go back to your happy bubble after that. sure things were different after the city fell, like how you haven't seen your coworker since city hall or the way you still couldn't feel things on three of your fingertips, not since you brought your cat back from the brink of death, or how the plant shop remained in rubble, much like the other shops owned by non-superpowered people that was destroyed. deprioritized, wooyoung had announced, eyes glittering under the spotlights as he gripped the city podium. he cleaned up well for his television appearance. he swept his hands out and his voice was sweet as he reassured the city, for now. it is still an action item we intend on working on. we have not forgotten about your struggles. I only ask that you practice patience while we rebuild the city to glory beyond what any of you have ever experienced.

you should have known you'd never be able to go back to your old life. it took four months for the council's footmen, as the rogues called themselves when they established themselves where the hero alliance once resided, to come knocking on your door, uniforms and tasers and all.

your cat hissed at the door long before the knock. you'd peeked out your curtain and your heart beat fast against your ribs at the sight of the government car parked in front of your apartment building. the knock came five minutes later, a sharp rap.

when you opened the door, a dark haired familiar man with a piercing gaze and a pinch between his brows stood at the threshold, arms crossed over his uniformed chest. you were surprised they only sent him.

your cat's tail stood tall and bushy, his hissing louder.

you recognized the man from the television, long before the council's broadcasts after the city fell.

it was park seonghwa. a notorious villain with the power to raise the dead. his very presence made the hairs at the back of your neck stand on in and a chill run up your spine.

he met your gaze briefly, before his gaze flit over your shoulder. to your cat.

seonghwa stared at your cat for far too long.

you'd frowned, "can i help you?"

you stepped into his line of sight, blocking your cat from view. you'd seen what he could do on television. he was the one who'd made those walls, kept those skeletons alive, twisted and coiled around each other, forever damned to do whatever he pleased. unable to rest. unable to die.

seonghwa's gaze shifted over you once more, his eyes drifting slowly from your head to your toes. his gaze is analytical, and you resist the urge to squirm under his judgmental gaze.

his voice was low, but strangely, unexpectedly, soft. nothing like you expected of the man the country called the god of death. "that cat is supposed to be dead."

you startled at that, "ex - excuse me?"

your fingers curled around the hem of your shirt when seonghwa stepped forward. it was a small step into your apartment, but he was much too close. you refused to step back, to make way for him. your fingertips, the ring, middle, and pinky of your left hand, the ones that remained numb since you helped your cat, tingled slightly at his proximity. it was a sharp tingle, like how you'd imagine white noise would feel against your skin, spotty and prickly.

your frown deepened when he stared for another long moment.

then he sighed, "do you even know what you've done?"

"i healed my cat." you'd crossed your arms over your chest, "nothing else."

"you gave it life," seonghwa said, "that's different. that's...that's not nothing."

"excuse me?"

that day you learned that you'd registered your powers wrong. it wasn't merely regeneration.

"where do you think that life comes from? the life you gave to your cat and your" - seonghwa gestured at the plants in your room, his expression twisting into an emotion you could not name, though it made you feel embarrassed. small. - "your plants. life and death cannot exist without each other."

he met your gaze with solemn eyes and your numb fingertips tingled once more. "the bits of life you've given must come from somewhere, y/n."

he'd looked at you with meaningful eyes.

"from," you'd blinked once, twice, before you gestured at yourself, horror dawning on you while seonghwa stared, "me. from my life force."

seonghwa nodded, said, "you're lucky it wasn't a person dying. your plants, your cat, they are small things. they require less life. but a person?"

he shuddered. you thought about how you'd feel dehydrated, extra hungry, after your daily talks with your plants. you'd touched your numb fingertips. seonghwa's gaze followed yours. he gave you a small sympathetic smile.

seonghwa explained then that he could feel death, how close everything is to dying, the thoughts and feelings of the dead he reanimated.

"i don't bring them back to life. not the way you can. i keep them dead."

"how do you know so much, then?" you'd asked finally.

"about you?"

you'd nodded.

seonghwa dragged a hand through his hair, rubbed the back of his neck. "it's like i said. life and death cannot exist without the other. the life that once existed in the dead bodies i've raised live on in me. where you drain your own life force to give life to another, i am possessed by the life force of thousands of souls so i can use their bodies as i please. i suppose it's nature's version of balance."

"how do you," you swallowed at the thought. no wonder his eyes were flat, tired, distracted, "how do you live with that? how..."

"how have i not gone crazy?" he'd thrown his head back, leaning against your closed front door, and let out a sigh. "i have. i am. the dead are hungry for revenge, and if i lose control, even for a moment, they can easily take over. but these are the consequences i must deal with."

he'd tilted his chin downwards and smiled at you, and it was much kinder than you'd expected. the terrifying villain you'd watched raised the dead against the heroes, the one with terrifying solid black eyes and gaunt cheeks, the monstrous being that appeared sometimes in your nightmares, was nowhere to be seen. the man before you looked as if he wouldn't even be able to hurt a fly, let alone raise the dead.

"i guess we're two sides of the same coin then." you'd said it quietly, hesitantly.

seonghwa nodded, smiled kindly once more, "like i said. life and death cannot exist without each other. where there is life, there must be death."

"is that why you're here?"

"the council and i can help you understand your powers and get a better grasp on it."

you should have asked more about why he was knocking on your door. he was a villain after all.

but his kind smile was convincing, and he was technically right. you needed to understand your powers. your limits. you wanted to.

"i'll send for you, then. in two days time?"

you'd nodded and he'd smiled and as the door clicked shut behind you, you looked at your sweet old cat and he'd meowed tersely, ducking away from your hands as he hissed. you should have listened to him.

~.~.~.~.~

you'd arrived to the council with a small weekend bag's worth of clothes and a bout of nerves. you should've known he wasn't telling the whole truth. seonghwa, god of death, is a villain of course. you'd known this. it was public knowledge. he'd played the villain for years.

seonghwa led you into a brightly lit room, where a man in a lab coat and jung wooyoung sat around a table. a shadowy figure stood at wooyoung's shoulder. you'd recognized them from old televised fights and from recent news broadcasts. they had been a hero at first, and then they started killing people and other heroes. they're the one with super strength. the kind of strength that could tear high rise buildings from the ground. in fact, you'd considered living in the apartment building they'd torn off its foundations. it's all you'd thought of when you saw the destruction on your walk to work. yet somehow, here and now, they looked like nothing you'd imagined. nothing like the rampaging beast you'd seen on the television. their eyes were lifeless, blank, as if all their strength was plucked from them. you did not detect much life from them, even though they were very much alive, much like the wilting plants you'd taken care of at the shop.

"y/n, is it?" wooyoung interrupted your staring, pulling you away. he spoke nonchalantly, but with a steady confidence that could charm thousands. it was the same way he spoke whenever he stood behind the podium and addressed the city through the tv. "lovely name."

wooyoung smiled, leaning forward. his burning gaze remained fixed on you. the masked man beside him shifted. that was the moment you knew something was off. you'd glanced at seonghwa, though, questioning, and he'd only nodded in reassurance. alarm bells were going off in your head.

"regeneration would have been a lovely gift, but," wooyoung looked at seonghwa, still smiling, before returning his gaze to you, "animancy? that is a blessing."

you'd frowned, glancing once more at seonghwa. you didn't expect him to say anything. you hadn't even figured out a name for your powers. yet this wooyoung knew everything. your stomach churned as you sat straighter. you eyed him suspiciously, "get to the point already. what do you want from me?"

you never liked beating around the bush.

wooyoung snorted, glanced over his shoulder at his lifeless right hand person. they did not react, only stood there stalk-still. wooyoung turned back to you, sighing before he said, "i think you would be of great help to me and my cause. would you like to join us?"

you'd stared, the hairs at the back of your neck standing on end once more at the way wooyoung's smile fell from his face quite suddenly, his gaze serious.

"or what?" you asked slowly.

wooyoung barked out a loud laugh before he gestured to the man in the lab coat. you realized then he was wearing a mask and holding a syringe in his hands. he waved the syringe. wooyoung said, "or we make you join us. though, it's not a very fun process. you should consider yourself lucky. i usually don't ask, but my friend here," he gestured behind him, "convinced me to at least try asking nicely. i think the political life has made me soft, y/n, and controlling unwilling participants is certainly more of a hastle."

you'd looked at the person behind wooyoung, still not reacting, not moving a bit. a shudder ran down your spine at the thought of being made to join them. you did not want to know how he planned on doing that. the syringe and his friend's blank eyes was enough information for your imagination to run wild.

wooyoung's voice remains nonchalant, amused even, but there's an undercurrent of something sinister, "so either join willingly and get a cushy new government job with paid accommodations, a decent salary, and a pension plan, or we'll have to do this the hard way, syringe and no benefits."

you were never one to fight back. not against circumstances so obviously against you and your survival. besides a cushy life and steady income was always what you wanted. you'd work a nine to five and then go home. save for retirement. maybe you could go back to normality, to your plants and drinking tea in the morning and forgetting about the people on the streets who still did not have homes, due to being deprioritized.

so, you nodded. guilt existed for you, and it ate at you for a moment. but you were always good at burying it away.

before wooyoung could even think of celebrating, you said, "on two conditions."

wooyoung raised a brow, but he waved his hand for you to continue.

"i want my cat. and for an apartment with south-facing windows and a nice view."

the ensuing silence was deafening.

you'd kept your gaze steady, crossing your arms over your chest. "my plants do best with south-facing windows."

wooyoung cackled, tossing his head back as he laughed. you met seonghwa's unreadable gaze and your stomach churned as you finally let go of the hem of your shirt.

"deal," wooyoung said, wiping as his eyes in amusement.

~.~.~.~.~

you did not trust seonghwa. you watched as he tried to sidestep your hissing cat, who continued to hiss and swipe at seonghwa's ankles. he said, "i was going to tell you."

"before or after your friend stuck the syringe full of whatever-the-fuck-that-was in me?" you tucked your laptop under your armpit as you made it a point to glare at him, "c'mon cheddar, you can do better. bite him."

your cat swipes harder at seonghwa.

"you named your cat cheddar?" yeosang, another villain you remembered from television both before and after the fall of your city, asked with an amused snort as he placed your plants carefully in a cart. yeosang had a puckered burn scar running down his face. you didn't ask about it, and he did not mention it. but you knew jung wooyoung's powers involved fire. he used to be a high profile villain, always defeated, but very much a force to be reckoned with, especially from the angles you'd seen on television broadcasts. the entire nation knew of his fire abilities. you could put two and two together.

you shrugged at yeosang, "he's orange."

yeosang grinned, "that makes so much more sense."

"listen to me, y/n.” seonghwa’s voice is sharp, ringing throughout your old, now-empty apartment.

he stepped past your cat. your cat isn’t the best at actually attacking. he just hissed and swiped, claws unfortunately still retracted, perhaps hoping intimidation would be enough. you think your cat has forgotten how not intimidating it looked. seonghwa pressed a hand to your shoulder. his touch was cold, but your skin tingled under his touch. you shook his grip off, glaring.

seonghwa rolled his eyes, “i wasn’t expecting wooyoung to ask you immediately.”

you scoffed.

yeosang interrupted, “he’s right this time. wooyoung usually takes the time to gauge people.”

you sighed, “fine. whatever. either way i don’t trust you.” you plucked the framed photo of your parents from yeosang’s fingers, “either of you.”

“that's fair,” yeosang said with a shrug.

seonghwa pursed his lips and nodded.

~.~.~.~.~

"choreograph?" you frown at seonghwa.

"that's what we used to call it," seonghwa says, shrugging, "back when during the hero-villain alliance."

"so it's nostalgic?" you'd raised your brow at him, "i thought you betrayed them?"

seonghwa's expression darkened. you'd only snorted in response.

"right," you said, "i forgot i wasn't allowed to mention that."

seonghwa fell into step beside you and you continued on your way, aware of the way he opened his mouth as if he was trying to say something.

the two of you came to the top of the hill, where jongho, one of wooyoung, seonghwa, and yeosang's colleagues from their hero-villian alliance days, stood with his hand over his eyes as he bounced up and down on the balls of his feet in excitement. it was nearly seven in the morning. you could not fathom what he could be excited about at a time like this.

"jongho?" seonghwa asked, clearly over whatever internal debate he had at your question.

"we found them," jongho grinned, gesturing excitedly over the hill.

it's been months since you've started your job at the council. you're not sure whether you enjoy it. the work, the things you've seen, the things you've reviewed and approved. the things wooyoung had asked you to do in the name of your cushy government job. you're not sure if you enjoy any of it. but the pay is good and the view is excellent, and maybe you enjoy telling your coworkers off every day.

you've spent every day with seonghwa, mostly. wooyoung too, and sometimes yeosang or jongho. you worked alongside the field agents occasionally, mostly yoojung, doyeon, and yuta, but they were almost always traveling.

you had to do simple things, mostly going around the city and reviving plants. "landscaping," you'd scoffed once, while nursing a drink at a dim bar during happy hour with the coworkers you'd sworn you wouldn't trust. you still don't necessarily trust them, but you certainly do not completely mistrust them. you wouldn't admit it though. you're reminded often of the things they've done.

wooyoung insisted on observing you as you worked. his eyes remained fixed on you when you'd crouch beside dead trees and broken flower pots. you'd realized you could create whole forests if you wanted to. you always needed a long nap afterwards, but the idea of it made you want to do more.

every time you left the council building to do 'landscaping', wooyoung came along, his friend with the blank eyes at his shoulder. it was strange, because he's technically the one in charge. certainly he'd have better things to do. but some days, wooyoung would come along to your team happy hours and he would bring his friend. he'd pour them a drink they wouldn't touch, and he would be so quiet.

you'd noticed it with seonghwa too, some days. you'd be seated across from yeosang, and you'd look over to seonghwa tipping some extra meat onto wooyoung's friend's bowl. the friend never drank, but they ate. every movement remained robotic, though, and it always frightened you.

even seonghwa's kindness towards them. his actions would always be gentle, and his words soft whenever he addressed them, but something about the way his jaw clenched, or the looks he'd give wooyoung or yeosang or even jongho. it frightened you, because you've never seen the person before you, the one who was once a revered hero with the kind of strength that made children stare at the tv in awe, look so helpless. you did not wonder what happened anymore, because you could see the guilt in their eyes, clear as day, and you could put two and two together.

so you started taking to pointing out seonghwa's mistakes. his past. perhaps that was not healthy. but seonghwa terrified you and you found power in reminding him that you knew what he did, no matter how normal he acted. strangely, he never truly berated you for it. maybe he believed he deserved the reminders.

"holy shit." seonghwa's whisper was reverent.

you tore your gaze from him, from jongho, and followed their gazes. below, in the valley between broken trees and a icy blue lake, sat a creature large as a mountain with a tail curled around it, eyes as icy blue as the lake beside it, and teeth sharper than any knife you've seen.

the dragon. that is what the locals in uptown called it. you knew it to be a missing child, a girl who had disappeared months ago during the raid. wooyoung insisted on finding her. you often wondered what is real intentions were, even as he organized huge search parties to find her. if you stepped closer, you would see the gashes in her skin and the ribs poking out from beneath her scaled skin.

jongho said, "wooyoung's down there. with -"

his smile faltered. you'd never seen him look so...upset. seonghwa pressed a hand to jongho's shoulder, smiled, and then he waved his other hand. white bone began to claw it's way out from under the grass below your feet.

"what are you doing?" you'd stepped back. you never liked when seonghwa used his powers around you. a strange shiver always curled down your spine, lingered oddly at the base of your neck. you wondered if it was the death. did it do something to your powers? to you? your numb fingertips tingled and you pressed it to your palm.

"we have to get down there somehow."

"i'd rather walk."

"really?" he gestured at the steep hill. "you would?"

you'd glared at him for good measure and seonghwa only waved another hand. the ground cracked open, revealing skeletal thing with four legs and claws and a lopsided face. you stared at it.

"what are you waiting for? get on."

jongho had already mounted his...thing, as if it were normal. he'd waved, called out that he'd meet you both at the foot of the hill, and he zoomed down the hill, carefree. you'd watched in awe before you pressed a hand to the leg of the one in front of you. it hissed. hissed. you'd jumped.

"what the hell? is it supposed to do that?"

"he can sense fear."

"first of all, i am not afraid. second, 'he?'"

"oh, like you don't name and gender your plants?"

"because they thrive better with names and pronouns!" the skeletal thing - maybe a horse? a really really dead horse? - leaned close to you, and your numb fingers started to tingle.

you'd witnessed seongwha raising the dead often, but you'd never been this close to one. you didn't think you should be this close to one. it seemed to stare at you, despite having no eyes, just darkness where eye sockets once were, and this abject sense of dread spreading through your limbs. for a moment, you thought you could see what it used to look like, before it was buried away.

suddenly, the creature collapsed, and bones scattered. you stared at the pile of bones, watched as it started to disintegrate, as the wind took the bonedust away. you'd shrieked, and seonghwa stared at you for a moment too long. his eyes were darker than usual, almost black, and he said, with a sort of softness that nearly quelled the dread, "come here."

and, you did.

seonghwa held out a hand, and you let him pull you onto the back of his skeletal horse-monster-thing. your hand shook.

"not afraid, my ass."

"shut up."

when you got to the foot of the hill, to where the dragon's spiked tail curled around broken trees, seonghwa helped you off the creature. you'd looked back at it as you steadied yourself, still holding seonghwa's hand.

your footing faltered then.

seonghwa squeezed your hand, said so quietly, you could have mistaken his voice as the breeze, "do not say anything."

you could not tear your gaze from the creature. the horse. it was a horse. how did you know? the place where you sat was no longer just bones. pink flesh wound around the bones, fresh meat, as if it was regenerating. it was fully there. but -

"do not say anything," seonghwa repeated as he pulled you away, as he waved his hand and the horse turned to a pile of bones, as the bones disintegrated.

but the new flesh remained, clinging to the bones like meat would.

you looked at seonghwa, and you realized he was not necessarily demanding anything of you. his eyes were tired, and his grip was tight, and he begged, "please do not say anything."

so, you didn't.

~.~.~.~.~

wooyoung asked you to be there because he wanted you to heal the dragon.

"she's dying," seonghwa said, with one look to the dragon.

he was on wooyoung's other side. you'd placed an entire person between you two, but your body still tingled. you don't know what happened back there, but you had a feeling seonghwa did know what happened. he certainly reacted quickly enough to get rid of all evidence of the two of you regenerating a horse. a dead fucking horse. and he certainly knew enough to insist you don't speak of it.

that was when wooyoung said, "i know."

he looked at you.

you stared back.

wooyoung sighed when you didn't move. he gestured at the dragon, "fix her."

you frowned, "she might be an animal right now, but that's a human. i've never tried to bring back humans, wooyoung."

"you were going to have start some time."

"it's dangerous. seonghwa told me -"

"so you're going to let her die?"

"excuse me?"

"you're going to let her die," wooyoung turned his gaze to the curled up dragon. "do you know how old she is?"

"i don't -"

"nine years old."

you jolted. your eyes drifted to seonghwa. he only stood beside wooyoung, eyes trained on the dragon, expression unreadable. you glanced back, at jongho and wooyoung's friend. jongho was facing them, interacting them, and even in your plight to look for backup from someone, you couldn't help but take note of the rare exchange.

"that's not - me not helping won't kill her," you turned fully to wooyoung, shaking your head.

"really?" wooyoung asked. then he stepped forward, to her tail, and you watched with growing horror as wooyoung pressed a hand to the dragon's tail. then his hand started to glow a bright, bright blue, like the lake, like the dragon's - the nine year old girl's eyes - and you smelled burning flesh. the dragon did not move. did not thrash.

you were never one to allow yourself to feel responsible for other. when people with powers were being killed just for having powers, you'd turned the other cheek and pretended you were normal. when the city fell and those with powers were treated better, you'd stepped into that privilege without a second thought. you'd ignored the phone calls from the elderly couple that owned the flower shop you worked at. they begged you through voicemail to sponsor their shop so that the city would prioritize rebuilding it. you did not want to call attention to yourself. you did not want to jeopardize your safety. your bubble.

you were resourceful and observant and, most of all, self-serving.

so you didn't care. even as the smell of burning flesh grew and the dragon shifted a bit, barely, and you didn't care even when you heard a low cry, a sob really, and you realized that was the dragon, no the little girl, and you didn't care when wooyoung's flame grew and the girl's scales blackened and charred and you didn't -

wooyoung laughed.

the flames died.

you had your hand pressed to where he had charred her skin, and you'd shoved wooyoung away from her. wooyoung just laughed harder. he said, "fix her up well, y/n."

"what are you going to do to her?"

"teach her," wooyoung shrugged. "yoojung and doyeon need an apprentice, and the rebels have been acting up. a dragon would keep them quiet for a while. besides, nine year olds don't require convincing to join anyone. especially nine year olds who think we rescued them from the scary forest."

he'd pat your back and walked away, towards jongho and his friend, and you were left to stare after him in horror.

~.~.~.~.~

you sat in your apartment kitchen, rubbing at your palms. you couldn't feel anything. you physically could not feel your own fingers against your palms. you had a headache. your vision was still blurry.

but, you knew one thing for certain: you could breathe life into people without dying.

"did you know i'd be capable of this?" you'd asked wooyoung in the car earlier.

wooyoung sat in the backseat of the car, the little girl's head in his lap as she slept and held his hand tightly. when she healed, she returned to her human form, though she still had sharp teeth and nails and icy blue eyes. she grew attached to wooyoung quickly, out of everyone there, and strangely, he was kind to her. sweet almost. it was worse than seeing him burn her on purpose.

wooyoung said, "powers are like muscles. they just need training."

you thought of the 'landscaping' work he had you do. he was growing your stamina with it, you realized. your fingers curled into fists.

you knew you could save people, and so did wooyoung. he hummed a soft tune, and the girl in his lap relaxed visibly, the wrinkle between her brows softening.

wooyoung whispered, "i wasn't the one who suggested the training, y/n. i'm not the only bad guy here." you stared at seonghwa, who was driving wooyoung's car. wooyoung's voice was lofty as he hummed, "right, hwa?"

after dropping wooyoung, jongho, and the little girl to the council building, wooyoung told seonghwa to drive you home. seonghwa gripped the steering wheel as he said, "how are your hands?"

you hadn't been sure if he'd remember your side effects. you certainly didn't think he would care even if he did. you'd shrugged, said, "it's fine."

then he parked outside your building and asked to come in. you'd nodded. you're not sure why you did.

that was how you ended up in your kitchen, rubbing your numb palms together, and seonghwa stood on the other side of your kitchen table, shoulders slumped, eyes tired.

"you knew?" you finally spoke.

"i guessed you were capable of more."

"and you told wooyoung without even thinking of telling me."

"you don't understand."

"understand what? that all you do is betray people?"

seonghwa froze.

"that all you do is lie?"

seonghwa's expression twisted. he said, "i do the things i do to protect those i care about."

"right," you'd scoffed, "so you care about wooyoung? the man who was so quick to throw you under the bus just now? the man who would burn a nine year old alive just to get his fucking way?"

"he's angry. i -" seonghwa dragged a hand through his hair, "he's angry because i helped yeosang escape. he has no proof that i knew yeosang would finally get out, but wooyoung knows me better than i know myself. he doesn't need proof. so he's angry."

"why are you telling me that?" your frowned. you'd been wondering where yeosang was. last you heard, he told you he was going on a field job, but that was weeks ago, "why does it matter to me why the fuck he's angry?"

"because i want you to understand that this is so incredibly complicated, but i am trying to help you."

"why would you help me?"

"because of what happened on that horse," seonghwa gripped the table, knuckles white. "it's something he can't ever know about. it'll change everything. i've seen him terrorize - no, destroy - the people and things he loved just to achieve his goals. i don't know what the fuck he'd do with this kind of power, and it's...he is...-"

"frightening?"

seonghwa nodded. you stared at his dark eyes and the felt the underlying current that seeped from his very being. for months and months, you felt a dreadful feeling in his presence, one that felt like both terror and wonder. around him, you felt death, and it both unnerved you and made you wonder. you'd wondered often if he felt the same about you and the powers he could likely feel seeping from you.

"so are you," you said. "you are frightening too."

his shoulders slumped as if he did not know. or perhaps, he did not want you to remind him, not for this particular shortcoming.

~.~.~.~.~

"seonghwa asked me the other day if i thought he was frightening," wooyoung did not look at you. his hands remained busy with the paperwork in front of him. you watched his nonchalance with wary eyes.

"what does that have to do with me?" you asked, though you couldn't help but stiffen at the reminder of the conversation. after a beat, you added a, "respectfully."

wooyoung smiled, a slow thing. his eyes flickered to the corner of the room, where his friend sat against the wall.

then he said, "seonghwa is kind and gentle. he cares for everyone, even when they don't fucking deserve it. he joined me because he saw and felt the suffering our kind went through. he's told me about them, the people, adults, kids, that were killed long before my initiative began. they're the ones i could not save."

"meanwhile," wooyoung's smile dropped, "you ignored it, y/n. your powers manifested decades ago, but you hid it to protect yourself. i wonder how often you turned the other cheek when someone asked for your help? super powered and non-powered alike? and that's not even the worst of it, is it, y/n? don't shake your head at me. i've seen your phone records. you couldn't even be bothered to check in on the two people who gave you a job, helped you from losing your precious apartment when you'd cut ties from your shitty family in search of a new life in the city. who the fuck are you to call someone like seonghwa frightening when you've done what you'd done? from the looks of it, this is the first time you've ever done something kind for someone else."

you'd stared him, watched as he tossed a manila folder in your direction. a picture of your parents slipped out. they were older in it, and you'd found yourself staring. you hadn't seen them since you left years ago. "how do you know all this?"

"is that all you care about? how i found out about your dirty laundry? me? the government official with access to everyone's records?"

you'd glared, backing away when he matched your expression.

he said, "if anyone is frightening, it's you. and it's ironic, isn't it? y/n, breather of life, is selfish and self-serving. who fucking knew."

"i don't want a lecture from you."

"i've done a thousand terrible things in my life, y/n, but not only will i admit to every single one of them," wooyoung said, "i've also never ignored a person who needed my help. especially not when that person has helped me. if anyone here, in this entire building, maybe even this city, is a frightening monster, it is you. not seonghwa. never seonghwa."

it echoed after you, even when you spun on your heels and left, slamming the door shut behind you.

it is you.

~.~.~.~.~

"woah."

you'd downed another shot. jongho giggled at you. he'd clearly been upset, likely because of yeosang leaving. it was all over the news, the announcement that yeosang was now a high profile criminal who joined the ranks of wanted criminals like kim hongjoong, choi san, jeong yunho, and song mingi. heroes turned into criminals who wanted to cause chaos. according to the news.

you reached for another and seonghwa snatched it from your hand, sliding it to jongho who downed it himself. "hey! he's already plastered."

"he's not downing shots like it's water."

"he should be. it's fun."

seonghwa sighed, his jaw ticking even as he took the seat next to you. jongho giggled as he watched, laying his head on his forearms. he said, "it really is fun."

"besides, he's the sad one. you should be monitoring him."

"i'm not sad," jongho said.

"yeah," you rolled your eyes, "sure."

"i mean, yeosang is happier out there than he ever was here. and, i mean don't tell wooyoung okay? swear it. yes. pinky promise. okay? okay? yes!" jongho nearly fell out of his chair, but he clasped the table and held himself steady as he said, "i promised yeosang i'd take care of wooyoung. i'm the only one he doesn't hurt. i mean, he can't. i'm literally indestructible. but he also never tried to hurt me. it's weird though, because he loves everyone else so much more, but he still - oh i need to pee."

jongho got up and stumbled to the bathroom and you watched seonghwa watch jongho as he stumbled through the bar. his eyes periodically flickered to the bathroom, always watching.

"you should have been the one with animancy."

you didn't mean to say that, but it slipped out so easily.

his eyes left the bathroom entrance, lingered on you. the way his soft gaze flickered over your face left you feeling warm.

"it makes sense," you said, with a small sigh, "you take care of people. you already breathe life into things. it'd make so much sense."

he was the light one would think of someone who could give life to others.

"you think you could handle the dead, y/n? the resentment they have? you can barely handle wooyoung's words."

"hey!"

"who said life had to be sweet and kind? selfless?"

you'd froze, "how did you know -"

"it's wooyoung. i can guess." seonghwa said, "if anything life is the most selfish thing in the world. it has to be. death does not discriminate, it's abundant and fruitful. but life is stingy. it births some people into riches and others into hell itself. it takes months, sometimes even years of praying and medicine, for a baby to be brought into this world. but death can happen in an instant. suddenly. without question. why else do you think it's so difficult for you to transfer life into things while it's so easy for me to raise so many of the dead?"

"was that just your fancy way of calling me selfish?" you'd joked. he was right of course, and it eased your mind more than you'd admit. so you resorted to a jibe. besides, you liked the way a small grin tugged at his lips.

"and annoying," he said, so nonchalantly.

you laughed, and he smiled, and wooyoung's words didn't sting so bad right then. the guilt, however, of calling seonghwa frightening when he was anything but. it would stay with you, you think, until the day you die.

[roger-that-cap]

wildest dreams

witch!wanda x reincarnated!reader 

summary: wanda had walked around the earth for centuries with no magic and hardly any soul left after losing her soulmate. she thought that her lover would never return and that the only reunion they would have would be in the afterlife, but a run-in with bucky changes everything after he insists that he met the long gone y/n at a fountain in the park. 

yet another au by me... 

word count: around 6.5k?

imma tag one person bc she gets upset when she isn’t tagged- and idk if anyone else would actually be interested?

@teenwonder

also this picture is not mine, and the dividers are by @firefly-graphics !!

without further ado, it’s almost 6 in the morning but i give you this!!

She held you tight, fingers digging into your skin as she trembled above you. The rose bushes were rustling in the wind next to you both, the sweet smell of the flowers contrasting with the moment. You were halfway gone already, eyes far off but trying to swim back to the surface, wanting to look at her one last time before the inevitable happened. 

  “S…” you tried to say, but she hushed you immediately, tears falling down on your face and mixing with your own. You shook her head at her as hard as you could, begging for her to let you continue. “Say you’ll remember me,” you ground out, fingers tightening around her hand. 

  “What?” Wanda asked, voice already thick with grief as she tried to decide whether or not it was better to keep the knife lodged between your ribs inside of you.

“When I come back-” you cut yourself off by coughing up blood, and Wanda didn’t even wince when it splattered on her cheek. “Back for you, promise that you’ll remember me.” 

 “Darling,” Wanda whispered back, her voice cracking as she bent over and rested her head on your stomach for a moment, hiding her sob. She could feel her magic tingling inside of her; under her skin, in her bones, dancing on her fingertips. “I wish I knew- I wish I just knew how-”

  “Please.” You said, a desperate look in your eyes as you halted her words, already knowing what Wanda wanted. But natural magic was nothing to mess with. She sobbed again with her lips pressed together, no sound escaping her. You squeezed her hand tighter as the sun started on its routine descent, basking the two of you in an orange glow that you would have stopped to admire in any other moment in time. But Wanda would grow to hate that shade of orange with every breath in her. “Please.” It would always remind her of the sound of your begging, voice reaching for something that she couldn’t see. 

Maybe it was the desperation in your voice, or the way that she just knew that you were well within your last moments, because she looked up at you one last time. “Of course I’ll remember you, darling. I couldn’t even dream of forgetting you.” There was a wheezing sound that came from your chest as you cracked a bloody smile, and then you gave one last squeeze before you looked away from her, your soul settling in the afterlife. 

  Wanda Maximoff would never forget it. Suddenly, her previously  irrational fear of losing her magic became real, but that feeling didn’t even come close to the one she got when you grew lifeless in her arms. 

Ever since you knew what a normal person was supposed to be like, you had identified that you, in fact, were not the normal person that you were probably supposed to be. Normal people didn’t daydream to the point where it felt like their bodies weren’t in the present anymore. Normal people didn’t have birthmarks under their ribs that aced and burned. Normal people didn’t feel out of touch with their world, like they weren’t even meant to be in the century they were in. Normal people didn’t feel like they were searching for something tirelessly, something just under their noses. And normal people surely didn’t dream of the same set of hands, same pair of eyes, or the same voice over and over again, a new setting every time, but always the same, faceless person. You either drew the same faceless person or rose bushes, and every sketch book you ever had was full of them. 

At first, you were sure that you were going insane. Every time you closed your eyes, you would see a flash of reddish brown hair, or the same set of eyes, or the same pair of pale hands. You kept seeing this person without ever seeing a face for nights at a time before you went to see a therapist, who just ended up telling you that worrying about it was only going to make it worse, whatever it even was. But eventually, you learned to get used to it. 

Acceptance turned into expectancy. You went to sleep knowing that there was going to be a pair of hands accompanied by the same slender fingers as always before you, sometimes intertwined with your own. You knew that there was going to be a set of eyes on you, watching you intently with no ace to go with them. You knew that you would hear whispers of the same voice, speaking so clearly in a language you didn’t even come close to understanding, and soon, you were craving to see and hear those things. And wanting to see them led to something that you never told your therapist; drawings. 

You drew nearly every day under the sky, trying to find different park benches to see the sun rise and set at different angles for inspiration. You loved the sky, moon and stars alike, but there was something special about sunrises and sunsets. Sunrises and sets both meant new beginnings to you, out with the old and in with the new, and each rise and fall filled you with a strange feeling of nostalgia. You were watching the sunset on a park bench by yourself, a sketchbook sitting on your lap as you held an idle pencil, still thinking about the way you wanted to draw the hands. The birthmark between your ribs started to tingle, letting you know that it was about to burn again. That damn birthmark. You dropped the pencil and scratched at it, trying to beat the annoying feeling at its own game. You cursed the mark, but your eyes didn’t leave the sky, and you noticed your heart swelling in your chest, faint despair in the pits of it, churning around like the middle of the deep sea. 

 You shook your head and put your pencil in your hand again, brain not even having to work hard at all to see the features of the faceless person who was in your every dream. 

Even before she ever met you, Wanda didn’t sleep well. She would toss and turn for at least an hour before she finally found some temporary, flimsy form of peace. Her sleep was always light and she hardly ever had dreams, which was customary for a woman like her at the time- an un-blossomed witch. 

It was hard for her to remember the time where she didn’t have magic, but that time certainly existed. It lasted nearly thirty years. She never aged a day past twenty one, time moving past her without a care in the world. She was stuck right there, no magic except for the little bit in her bones that was keeping her young. And then she met you. 

You were the person that kicked her magic into gear. You were her kindred soul, her other half and the power to her magic. Meeting you had flung her right into the world of magic and spells, things that she only watched others do, but even as she was introduced to an entirely different world, she could remember only really wanting you. Her heart and soul called to you far louder and stronger than spells called to her eager mind. When she met you, it all fell into place. It was an easy love, one that was never going to be disputed or questioned, and loved it. She was prepared to move heaven, earth, and the gods for you, if she had to. Your arrival into her life had caused her to finally blossom. 

But now, she had bloomed and flourished and wilted all the same, and she was just waiting to decompose. 

“Have hope,” was all that Bucky, a warlock who had been tortured enough in his own way, would tell her. “Have hope that something good will come to you, and it will.” 

She never had the heart to tell him that good things hardly came to those who waited. He himself was a product of waiting, and it had served him well. Before he met his other half, he was taken by a rival clan and experimented on with spells that were so far past illegal that they made the casual witch shudder. Eventually, he was broken out and the rival clan was defeated, but he returned to them as an empty shell of a man. But then, Steve came, and then the man was nothing but a ball of light. His magic grew to be strong and so did Steve’s, and together they became known as some of the strongest practitioners of magic in the world. 

 But what did Wanda have to hope for when you were gone? What did she have to wake up for and smile at when she knew that she had buried you hundreds of years ago? It wasn’t even about the magic. She couldn’t care less about the way she felt the energy leave her- and it was dramatic- leaving in a singular burst of light the second you left. She only knew that you were gone, and that was the only thing that mattered, and it seemed to be the only thing that she even really felt. 

Well, she did feel one other thing. Exhaustion. Exhaustion caused by the lack of you by her side. And exhaustion was exactly why she assumed that she was hallucinating when she felt a small tug at her heart, in a part of her brain that had been dormant for years and years. She shook her head and tried to take her thoughts away from you and the nagging feeling in her gut. 

“Oh, no…” you exclaimed, voice tapering out into a whine as you watched the ruined paper sink deeper and deeper into the fountain, a fist clenching at your side in disappointment when you realized how many hours were lost, just like that, and then even tighter when you realized that part of you wasn’t even truly upset about the time spent on the ruined art. You were mostly upset that you lost the only vision of the hands that you had during the daytime. 

You were on your knees, sleeves still all the way down as you reached into the water frantically, causing the paper to move even further away. You weren’t even worried about your sketchbook that had fallen open onto the pavement, more focused on the rapidly deteriorating piece of paper. You hardly even noticed the man who knocked into you talking, trying his hardest to make the situation better. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, is there anything I can do?” 

“I mean,” you breathed out, taking the nearly disintegrated paper from the water and grimacing. When you realized that the man was fumbling to say something from behind you, celery apprehensive over the fact that you were upset, you took a short breath and turned around, giving him a small smile. He had dark brown hair that was cut short and crystal blue eyes that were striking, but you knew that they held thousands of stories by looking just once.  He was holding your sketchbook, and by the way he was gripping it tightly, you could tell that he had flipped through it for a second. “It’s just a drawing. I guess I can make another one.” 

  His eyes widened. You saw his jaw slacken and his neck stretch out, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He blinked three times, and his parted lips trembled for a second before he slammed them shut. You cocked a brow at him, your sadness about losing the drawing being replaced by a weak feeling of uneasiness. “Sir?” 

  “Knew it.” His face was clear from any type of emotion as he watched yours, and when you opened your mouth to ask him if he was okay, a grin spread across his face. “I’m Bucky, what’s your name?” You furrowed your brows at him, asking what the hell had just occurred without saying a single word. “I’m sorry, you just looked really familiar.” 

 Just like that, you smiled. You knew that feeling, you felt like you got deja vu far too often to be normal. You hated when people made you feel strange for it, you always had, so you tried your best to ignore it with him. “You’re fine, don’t worry. I’m Y/N.” You extended your dry hand for him to shake it. He stared at it for a moment, and then with an eagerness that made you smile, he shook your hand. 

“‘I’m Bucky.” 

  For a moment, you could have sworn that you had done more tha just seen him before. Could have sworn that you had shaken his hand, met him before, been at the receiving end of his blinding yet somewhat shy smile. It flashed through you warm and bright, and you cleared your throat before pulling your hand away and realizing you had held it for too long. You cleared it again when you saw something flash in his eyes, a weak smile lifting on your lips.

“It’s not her.” 

Wanda was furious. She was insulted more than anything, really, angry that Bucky could even mistake the light of you for someone else. She knew that you would never grace the earth with your presence again, and she was so used to the fact that she was going to have to die before seeing you again. And for one of her closest friends to try to convince her that you were back? 

 “She would have already found me.” And Wanda believed that with her whole heart. You had asked her so long ago that you remember her, like she could ever forget. Your scent was so flowery that whenever she walked past a growing garden that she smelled you, your smile was so bright that she saw it in the way the rays of sun came down on the earth. She heard your laugh in the chirping of the birds every morning, and she saw your playfulness in the running waters of the stream by the cabin. She could never forget you, because everything was traced back to you. And you would never return without finding her. 

“I don’t think she even knows it yet, but she is looking for you.” Bucky insisted, stepping forward and receiving Wanda’s burning glare while Steve stepped to the side and let it happen. “I bumped into her and she dropped her sketchbook. I saw her drawings- she drew your eyes.” 

  Wanda’s heart skipped a beat. “What?” 

“She dropped the drawing of hands in the water, but I saw she had drawn eyes that looked just like yours, hair the same shade as yours, even drawn the necklace you used to wear. She draws roses, too. I swear to everything above, it’s her.” 

She could feel herself getting warm, the sort of emotions stirring inside of her that had the potential to turn into a singular weapon. The thought of a rose bush made her sick to her stomach. “It’s not her.” 

“You forget that I knew her, too,” Bucky stated, and Wanda’s desolation was replaced by some ancient feeling of possessiveness. “I could never forget her face, and that was it right there. That was her face, without a shadow of a doubt, And her voice-” 

Wanda’s face curled into a snarl. “Stop talking about her.”  

“Hey, Wanda, take a deep breath,” Steve cut in, ever the mediator, but Bucky was hardheaded. If he thought something needed to happen, he was the one to push for it to happen, and he needed her to see. 

 “She looks the same as she did the day she left.” Wanda let out a choked noise. For a second, all she could picture was her lover dying by the blooming rose bushes in the sunset, ruining two of the most beautiful things in life at once. The third (but first) was you, but not even your horrible death could taint Wanda’s memory of you. You would forever be the brightest and most beautiful thing to grace the earth. “I got her number, we’re meeting at a coffee shop a few blocks away.” 

“Leave her alone.” Wanda said through gritted teeth, tears welling up in her eyes. When she saw the brunet’s eyes widen and his mouth drop open, she spoke before he could get a word in. “Just stay away from her, Bucky.” 

All she could think about was your death. The way you choked on your own blood. The way you cried and looked up at her, but still managed to smile. And as she was consumed by rage and memories, the only other thought in her mind was that she was yours and you were here, and that she couldn’t save you then. But she was surely going to preserve your memory from Bucky’s mouth. 

  “I know you feel it coming back. You haven’t felt it in so long, but it’s warm, right? It’s powerful. You always were the strongest, and you’re not dormant any longer. Stop lying to yourself and depriving yourself of love, Wanda. You know Y/N-”

  She saw red. Red as red as the fires that burned in the magma underneath the ground, as red as embers in a fire. “You don’t get to say her name.” She saw so much red, so much hot anger that hardly covered her sadness, that she didn’t even see the way that she had her hand out red coming from her palm as she lifted Bucky right off of the wooden floor of their shared home. “You don’t get to talk about her.” There was a warbling noise in her ears, whispers that sounded like her name, getting louder and louder until she finally realized it was Steve trying to get her attention. 

  “Wanda.” 

Instantly, she dropped her arm and watched Bucky fall to the ground, landing in a crouched position. She watched him catch his breath on the ground. She opened her mouth to apologize, to say that she felt terrible and that she had no idea what happened, what took over her, but she was stopped by the brilliant smile that came onto Bucky’s face. 

  “You used magic.” He said, slowly and steadily, not a hint of hesitance or animosity in his eyes or voice. Instead, he seemed more proud than anything. “You can’t deny this now, Wanda.” 

She was hyperventilating, the pain in her chest intensifying as she tried without any results to get the right amount of air in her lungs. She felt her knees hit the ground before she knew that she did, her hands covering her face as she sobbed into herself. Her heart ached, tugging in so many different directions as her brain fought to rationalize what everything meant. She had used magic,  and that meant that you were back, in one way or another. She was in disbelief. She was in despair. She was in shock. 

“I know you do, I know you do,” It was Steve’s arms around her, and Steve’s voice in her ear, and she realized that she had been saying I miss her, I miss her, over and over again until the words jumbled. “We know you do, Wanda. We miss her too.” 

But he didn’t understand. He hadn’t lost Bucky since he had found him. He hadn’t walked the earth for centuries after losing the only thing that mattered to him as an empty shell of the person he used to be. He would never understand, but that wasn’t his fault. In fact, she prayed that he would never understand. 

“I’m sorry I approached you like that,” Bucky said, crouching down and hugging her just as Steve was, enclosing her into a hugging circle. They were coven, related by magic, and just being around them made her tears subside. “But you know that I would have never said anything like that unless I was one thousand percent sure. I would never do anything to hurt you, Wanda. All I want is for you to be happy. And I know that I found her.” 

And how could he want anything but the best for her? He knew her just as much as Steve did. Just as much as she probably knew herself. He and Steve were the ones who stormed the coven that took you from her by her side, and they were the ones that helped her send them to their graves. They supported her through thick and thin, through revenge and peace, and mostly, they loved you almost as much as she did. Why would Bucky lie? 

Wanda blinked, staring down at her hands in fear and wonder as her heart beat started to get away from her. Steve’s warm hand landed on her shoulder, and she flinched from the sudden touch after such a rush of power. 

“I think you should go with him, Wanda.” Her heavy breathing was all that filled the air for a moment. “Just take a look at her from outside so you can leave if he was wrong without anyone knowing, but you should at least try. I think Buck’s right.” 

Wanda’s breaths were still labored. Her hands trembled as she moved hair from her eyes, and her lip quivered before she found the strength to mutter a few words. “Will she- will she remember?” 

“I think she will,” Steve said softly. “But she’s probably just a human. It may take more than just seeing you for her to remember everything.” 

 Her eyes were wet with tears, and her heart was so big with warmth and need that she was scared that it would burst open at the seams. But she was even more terrified to lose the idea of you. Slowly and shakily, she nodded, her head bobbing up and down as she sealed her own fate. “I’ll go.” She saw Steve give her his fatherly and supportive smile, small yet full. “I’ll see her.” 

You didn’t know how you were gently swindled into giving Bucky your number. You knew that it was nothing but friendly, but he was so charming that you felt like you could never not know him. In fact, it felt like you already did know him. He said something about maybe commissioning an artwork of yours, and of course that excited you. You were going to meet him at a coffee shop, in a public place even though you weren’t the slightest bit afraid of him. But something felt different. 

 It started once you got into your car. You were driving to get to the shop when tingles came down your spine, and bumps raised on your arms, like someone was whispering against your skin. You started to feel warmth come and go in waves, brushing against your mind and then retreating again. You shook off all of the strong feelings as you turned your car off, parked in front of the coffee shop while the music from your speakers filled the silence, soft piano music that was perfect for the weather. 

  It was drizzling, the kind of weather that you liked to call a “lover’s drizzle” because of how often it was seen in romantic scenes. Scenes of confession, of reunion, of desperation between two lovers- more often than not, they had the mild rain to stand in. You turned the music down before shutting your car off and then stepping out, closing the door and locking it immediately before walking briskly to the entrance of the coffee shop with your recent drawings in hand. 

 Bucky wasn’t there when you arrived. In fact, hardly anyone was there besides the few employees, who smiled at you when you entered but otherwise fell back into conversation amongst themselves, which was fine with you. There was one beefy blonde man who was sitting with a laptop and a ball cap on. He glanced up for a moment and then took a double take, blinking hard at you with a star struck look on his face, and then he shot his gaze back down and went back to typing.

You sat down at a table for two, the only type of table that was there besides the long, awkward study tables that they had set up in the center of the room. You would much rather take the intimate setting of a two-seater than to sit in the middle of the shop, so you did just that. You flipped through your work, looking at it closely now that you had the time. He had mentioned something about possible portrait work for a friend of his, so you naturally brought most of the drawings that you had done with hands, arms, eyes, hair, nearly everything that was the closest to your heart. You rested your palm on top of them and watched your fingers trace the slender ones that you had drawn in what felt like by memory at the time, like you were just remembering the way an old friend’s hands used to look. You peeled that one back and looked into the eyes, the strangest and prettiest light green color that made your heart pound every time you looked at it. You took a deep breath in.

  “That’s gorgeous.” You jumped in your seat as the chair in front of you pulled out from under the table, and there was the charming brunet that you had met by the fountain, giving you the same welcoming smile that he first granted you. You smiled back without hesitation, your heart warming at the sight. “You sure can draw.” 

  “I try,” you joked, your grin nearly splitting your face. “Do you drink coffee?” 

“Nah,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “But I like tea, though.” You gave him a thoughtful look. 

“Are you into herbal healing?” 

You could have sworn that there was some sort of excitement in his eyes, but you weren’t sure enough by the time he opened his mouth again. “Yes, actually! What, does it look like I’m into it?” 

“No,” you answered, and it was true. Bucky was huge. He had the kind of build that intimidated other guys at the gym, the kind that made athletes jealous. He looked like the typical meathead, but he was sweeter than you could have imagined. But he looked nothing like a man who would be into herbal healing. “Just a guess.” 

“Pretty good guess,” he mused, and you grinned back. Your head was in the clouds of some strange deja vu when he asked you if you wanted something, and the entire exchange of whether or not you were going to pay was on the back burner as you sifted through your thoughts. By the time he came back, you noticed that you must have told him that you liked hot chocolate, and that he must have paid. You scolded him before he sat back down, waving you off. It was silent for a few moments as you looked out of the window, the rain still steadily working through the atmosphere. The cup was comfortingly warm. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

  With any other man, you would have immediately told him no, or at least have your guard up. But there was just something deep down, so buried that it was faint, but it was there, that told you that he was nowhere even close to being a threat. “Yes.”

 He nodded, taking a sip of his tea and then putting his cup down gently before giving you an intense look. “Who’s the girl?”  

You frowned. “What girl?” 

He raised a singular brow. “The one you draw.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat. You blinked twice, and then tilted your head to the side. “I don’t draw just one person,” you said slowly, the lie dragging its way out of your mouth and through your teeth. “They’re different people.” 

“Oh,” he said, but the smirk on his face told you that he knew you were lying to him and to yourself. You sipped your drink and something tugged at you, telling you to look out of the window and into the rain again, just one more time before you spilled your guts about seeing things- and then something caught your eye. A flash of a familiar reddish-brown. You turned your full body to look that way, and once you did, you nearly dropped your cup. 

  There was a woman staring back at you, eyes wide and full of so much emotion that the artist in you wanted to rush to make an unworthy attempt at capturing it. Her lips were parted in pure shock, but you were watching them tremble even from far away. She was getting slightly damp in the rain, but she stood there like it didn’t even matter, just locking eyes with you and sending your heart rate through the roof. When your eyes finally came back to hers after looking at her for what felt like the quickest eternity, you gasped. You knew those eyes. 

  If you weren’t so deep into gazing at the woman stuck behind the glass, you would have noticed the pleased and content look on Bucky’s face, and the look that he gave the big blond sitting with a ball cap on all by himself. You would have noticed the way that the blond man was turning his body towards your table, watching with the same amount of anticipation as Bucky was. You tried to understand why she looked so familiar, why she was scratching the part of your brain that always tried to convince you that you were much older than twenty something- and then it hit you. 

  You had been drawing this woman. And you had been thinking about her ever since you knew how to think. It was just the first time you were ever seeing the full picture. “I-” you muttered, eyes stuck on her and the way she looked like she was about to topple over from emotions. The words got stuck in your own throat as you weakly tried to get your mind to take you back to the conversation. “I- excuse me. I have to- I’ll be back- excuse me.” Your chair made a loud noise as you stood from the table in a haste, pushing the door open and walking towards the woman who was still standing on the sidewalk, dumbstruck. 

Before you even knew you were outside and into the rain, you were standing not even four steps away from the woman, who was now looking at you with an incomprehensible look on her face. You couldn’t even feel the rain on you. All you could feel was her gaze and the warmth that was settling in your stomach and chest, and the same intense familiarity that was hitting you when you looked at Bucky. But it was so much stronger. 

“I-” you frowned, taking a step closer and resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. “Do I know you? Have we met?” You had to have met. You had seen her in your sleep, in your daydreams, in your sketchbook. And still, you never could have imagined how beautiful she was. 

She was silent. 

“I know this is random and that I just bum rushed you, but, did we go to school together or something?” You were embarrassed. You had never begged someone to remember you before, but this woman was different. She hadn’t said a word to you, and you didn’t even know her name, but you were enraptured. You swore you knew her. You swore you saw her eyes glaze over for a second. 

“You really don’t remember, do you?” Her voice struck something familiar in your chest, something warm and comforting. It was so familiar, so far back in your memory that it felt like home. Her accent, her inflection, the way she spoke slowly yet deliberately. It was all there in your mind, but you just couldn’t figure out how you knew it so well. “You don’t remember who I am?” 

 That had you closing your mouth. You tilted your head to the side at what could have been a hostile question, but her tone made it sad. Did you forget a high school friend? “Oh, um, I know you from somewhere, but I can’t really-” 

 “Think.” The desperation in her voice made your knees shake. If she were anyone else, you would have told her to go away, but you couldn’t. You didn’t want her to go away. But you couldn’t quite place her either, even though your own heart was screaming at you to remember. 

  “I’m sorry,” you said, a hurt expression on your face. You braved yourself to leave, taking a deep breath and giving her a weak smile that embarrassed you even further. “This was weird of me. I’ll just-” 

 She was reaching for you. Time started to run slower as her pale arm extended towards you, long fingers that you had committed to memory and to paper a thousand times outstretched. Your mouth dropped open ever so slightly as you stood in place for a second, body still until you subconsciously leaned forward, your nerves buzzing under your skin. 

  For a second, the only thing you could do was look at the point where her skin touched yours. 

  You had seen magic before. You had seen it in movies and at theme parks and when miracles happened, but nothing ever like when her skin touched yours. You swore that the warmth that your body had been feeling kicked in even stronger, surrounding you in comfort. Her hand was wrapped around your arm, gentle yet begging, firm yet wishing all the same for something you couldn’t quite see yet. You looked up and into her eyes, the eyes you had drawn and seen so many times, and then you saw it. 

   You saw it in more than flashes. They were coming in at the speed of light, but somehow you were able to catch every moment and every feeling that came along. You heard her voice as clear as day, ringing with laughter. You saw the two of you attempting to skip stones. You saw her enchanting your stones behind your back to make you think you had actually done it. You saw her mouth brushing over your cheeks, your mouth, your forehead. You could feel her hands on you, holding you, protecting you, cherishing you all the same. You could remember the way that you felt when you saw her standing in traditional witch’s clothing, being inducted into her coven as a blossomed witch. You saw everything and nothing, and you remembered it all. 

Wanda. 

A strangled sound escaped your body, so feral that it scared you, but you didn’t care. You pulled her forward, your head clashing against her chest. You could feel her shaking, like she wanted nothing more than to hold you just as tightly, but she was hesitating. “Wanda,” you called out, hugging her tighter, and then, like something in the universe stretched too far and then snapped right back into place, she was returning the embrace. 

  “I thought I had lost you forever,” she said, her voice hollow yet so full, so expressive. “I lost you, darling.” 

  The memories were all there, like all it took was a touch, but you were still coping with the knowledge. You had been murdered. Murdered by witch hunters, way back when witches were known and feared. That had to have been hundreds of years ago, you knew it. But still, your focus was on Wanda. It always would be on Wanda, forever and always. Just like hers was on you. 

“You didn’t,” you managed to say, your own voice thick with emotion as you buried your face into her neck, finally feeling the texture of the hair that you tried so hard to get right. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere ever again.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly sobbing in your arms. You had no idea how you weren’t being interrupted in the crowded streets, but when you took a look back inside of the cafe to see the men who you so clearly remembered as Steve and Bucky, you knew it had something to do with them and their fulfilled smiles. “I wasn’t able to save you. I let you die, and I’m so sorry, darling. I’m so sorry.” 

  Her words brought you back to the present. “Wanda, no. No, no, no.” You wanted to pull away and look at her face, but the second you started to, she held onto you even tighter. You leaned your head back onto her chest. “It wasn’t your fault. There was no way any of us could have known, and no way that you could have saved me. It was beyond us.” 

  “Nothing should have ever been beyond us.” She argued softly. “I’m so sorry.” 

“But it was,” you said. “And now it’s behind us. Don’t apologize, Wanda.” You wiggled around and got free enough to look up at her teary face. “I may not have recognized you, but now that I do, I can’t believe that I ever forgot you.”

   “A new life will do that to you.” 

“Is it really a new life if I remember everything?” You said softly, the rain long gone as you stood with each other, bodies nearly molded together with how close you were. 

  She pulled away to look down at you, her eyes and overall expression tense, and then there was a look that you recognized from a long time ago. It was a look of sweet desire. You closed the cap between the two of you, pressing your lips to hers in a way that proved that you were both two lost souls who had wandered their way back to their other halves. 

“It can be whatever you want it to be, darling.” Her lips brushed your again, soft and tender and eager for more touch. “As long as you let me be in it.” 

[byeolhyesisi]

LONDON; KIM JUNGWOO

kim jungwoo x reader

An abrupt end left you in what you thought would be everlasting sadness. A trip to London managed to battle your shadows for a while, but you met your first love that drifted away.

genre: slight angst, hurt/comfort, non idol au, fluff at the end, open ending (kind of????)

warnings: was only slightly proofread so i apologize for any grammatical mistakes and misspellings. flow might also be too fast or smth idk im sorry

words: 3.7k+

tags: @angel-hyuckie @joker0705 @bbjisungg @spectracully @mmarrie @jwoos-colored @deysii @trashlord-007 @jeonqquk @neotechhsworld @kjpmin @i-aecrysture @je4nsv @whatsa-bi-as @gu-nil

a/n: hello! this is my entry for @moonsclover's beautiful wounds collab! i really hope i did well with the concept but this was fun for me to write<3 i listened to London by Yerin Baek and I got the mood of this fic from there^^ it has an open ending but it suggests a happy one of course! it's up to you how you would want them to be with eachother once again.

Summer was warm and refreshing just like him. Since he was a new face, he was shy at first but soon enough, he showed how lovable he was. Jungwoo never failed to make you laugh, he was always the reason why there was a smile displayed on your face everyday.

You spent a lot of time with eachother, he always sat next to you during lunch and he always walked you home. The dynamic was unexpected considering that you were known to be this gloomy person, but Jungwoo managed to change that and it was a change that you didn't hesitate to accept. From strangers to friends, it felt like a life-changing experience knowing him.

He made you happy and he made you fall for his charms.

"Jungwoo what are you doing?" You chuckled when you saw him shaking the vending machine just outside the cafeteria. "The chips I bought for us is stuck. I even tried to buy something above it but it didn't help." Jungwoo pouted just as he explained the situation. You approached him, patting his back with a smile on your face, thinking to yourself that he's so adorable. "It's alright. How about we eat the sandwiches I made instead?" "I'd love that." His pout turned into this wide grinned that beamed brightly and it made your heart flutter from the scene.

It was spring when you confessed and he admitted that he felt the same. There, a relationship bloomed along with the flowers; a beautiful beginning, an innocent start. He showered you with his affection. He showed his love in many admirable ways. Jungwoo tells you he loves you religiously everyday and it never failed to make you blush intensely. You felt like your love meter was going to break because of the amount he gives. Of course, you made sure to show off much you loved him too. The way you would always bake him cookies or buy him unexpected gifts was enough for Jungwoo to fall deeper in the depths of love that he likes to call as "you". He adores you to an extent, he always wanted to make you feel special because of it.

Jungwoo always embraced you and it was soft. It felt like home. He is your home. You never want to leave his comfort and he assured you that he would never let you go.

You felt something was being placed on your head. You looked up to see Jungwoo carefully placing a crown made up of flowers with his delicate hands. "Hm? What's this?" You asked. "I made it! A flower crown just for my flower." He cheerfully said and it made you chuckle. "That's not all I have for you though." Jungwoo mentioned and it piqued your curiosity. "Tada~" the boy pulled out a necklace with a daisy pendant out of his pocket, his grin got wider as he put it on you, gently pulling your hair out of the loop to let the chain rest on your neck properly. "As expected. It suits you so much, I'm happy." You blushed, the tint on your cheeks became even redder once he wrapped his arms around you.

Autumn came and just like the leaves on the tree, the relationship has wilted. He left you all alone when he promised he wouldn't. Just like the leaves on the ground everything was dead and empty. The promises he made were meaningless.

Slowly you started to go back to your old self. The gloominess engulfed you again and just like that...

It was already winter.

It was cold. It was lonely. The warmth you wished you had by your side wasn't there. The comfort you once had was nowhere to be found. The person you once called your home left you all alone in this freezing winter where the coldest winds cruelly blows.

Years have passed yet the wound was still fresh as if it was from yesterday. Everyday you wondered if you were the one to blame. He just left without a trace, leaving no tearful goodbyes or bittersweet kisses. As if he didn't even exist in the first place, he just vanished. At first you were concerned; what could've happened to your lover? Knowing that he couldn't even hurt a fly doesn't give you much peace of mind. Yet the concern faded away when you heard that he was ok from one of his friends in school.

"Oh Jungwoo? Yeah he's alright don't worry. He left the country with his parents. Didn't he say goodbye?" He didn't and it made you wonder if you meant something to him at all. Why did he forget about you? Was the "i love you" he'd shower you from time to time a joke? He promised he wouldn't leave you yet where is he now?

Since that day your eyes were just like a broken faucet. Tears would suddenly stream down your cheeks and it would be uncontrollable. You tried to forget but it was hard. Because it felt like you were played and at the same time it felt like it was your fault. You were lost in this depressing world, stepping on the glass-like fragments of your brokenheart; your feet bleeding from each step with your eyes getting numb from each tear that would drop. You loved him truly. You love him truly. Until this day the passionate love you had for him was still there but it was painful.

"What did I do... Why did you leave so suddenly, Kim Jungwoo?" You were looking for an answer that was impossible to have.

Recalling those memories made you break even more. Pieces of you were everywhere and it seemed impossible to fix. You were at your lowest point in life, on the edge of giving up. The depressive surrounding just became darker, the path was just filled with more of those broken shards of glass. No light was found, because it left you years ago. You wanted to give in to the void yet there was still this small piece of you that was keeping you alive. Is it hope? You would be lying to yourself if you said you never hoped that he'd come back, lighting up your world once more.

You still tried to make your self elated. You still tried to make everything better. The facade that you always put up in front of everyone else is the best you can do to make yourself feel happier. Hiding your troubles under a bright smile outside the darkness of your life is the only time you actually appear to be in bliss. You once thought that maybe you're being a little too harsh on yourself by refusing to make a step and move on. Maybe you need a break to forget the venomous thoughts that creeps in your head, even if it's just for a short period of time; a fresh new air to breathe, away from the origins of your dark clouds, far from the nightmares derived from your memories. A trip was what you had in mind, an escape from Seoul where everything haunts you. A two week long break will be enough, right? You asked yourself reluctantly, still having second thoughts about it, but you knew that you had to help yourself some how. So you continued your plan, proceeding to buy a two-way ticket to London and book a hotel room; the only thing left to do was to pack the stuff you need. In the midst of gathering your clothes and essentials, a silvery material fell on the floor and it twinkled in the corner of your eye because of how it reflected light. Eventually you looked closer and picked it up, the familiar pendant made your heart tighten. "As expected. It suits you so much, I'm happy." His soft voice echoed in your head and you were longing to hear it again. You bit your lip subtly, wondering on what will you do with this necklace. Throwing it crossed your mind yet your attachment issues already makes it obvious that you won't have the courage to do it. You held it tightly in your hand, your fist clenching the necklace you once wore everyday.

Your flight to London will be on the day after tomorrow and after an hour of packing, you can say that you're all good. The necklace ended up resting on top of your nightstand, your eyes fixated on it while you were sitting on the edge of your bed. You don't know what went inside your head when you stood up and reached for it. There was something urging you to wear it and well, you did. Your fingers played with the daisy pendant, for some reason this action gave you a sense of comfort. Perhaps the reason because of this is him. The reason is always him. Until now it's still him and you scold yourself for letting it stay this way, but you couldn't change.

And neither did he. Jungwoo couldn't change the fact that you never left his heart nor his mind. Leaving without a word was a decision that he regrets in every second of his life. He had no choice and he didn't have the time. His parents rushed him; fleeing the country was so sudden that until now it still shakes him up. Day by day, he was constantly worried and prayed that you're alright. The tears he shed when he was on the plane was probably enough to make a whole new ocean. Jungwoo was in pain as much as you were. He always wanted to come back because he never wanted to leave you in the first place, but his parents would always stop him and he doesn't have the heart to rebel against what they want. He still managed to be the Jungwoo that you once met but it felt so wrong, as if he was just forcing himself not to breakdown everyday, fighting the desire to reveal how fragile he is now in front of everyone else.

He knows that it'll have a major affect on you because he knows how the world looked like to you before he acted as your light that guided you through your darkness called depression. Jungwoo just wants to keep doing that, he wants to keep being your hope. He wants to keep you safe and hold your hand. He wants to assure you everything is alright while cradling you in his embrace.

"Hey Jungwoo, you alright there bud?" Jaehyun's voice brought him back to senses, making him gulp faintly before flashing a smile, "Yep I am." He nodded. "You sure? You looked too deep in your thoughts." The man who was sitting across him pointed out. "Yeah... Yeah I'm sure, Jae." Jungwoo reassured before looking outside the cafe's window. Rain was pouring, the surroundings dimmed down because of the grey clouds that swarmed the blue sky, and despite being inside, he can already feel that the breeze of the wind got colder. In times like this, Jungwoo would be under the covers with you, warming your bodies from the cold weather in eachother's arms and falling asleep due to the cozy moment. The man glanced at his cup of coffee, wrapping his hands on the warm cup; wishing that you were there instead, wishing that he was still there instead.

Today is the day you'll be able to get away from some of the shadows of the past. Your vacation leave from work got approved just now, receiving an email from your boss saying that it's all noted, even wishing you a safe trip and you replied in gratitude. Shutting your laptop down, you closed it before putting it inside your suitcase and you're now ready to leave.

Fast forward to your arrival at the London City Airport, the twelve hour flight kind of made your body feel strained and the jet lag was already kicking in. You already exited the airport, standing in line to wait for a taxi to bring you to the hotel you booked for your stay. Once you already got you taxi and you already got inside, you showed the directions to the driver as you were internally noting to yourself that thank god you can speak in english. The ride was quiet, the kind driver was quick to pick up that you were knackered from your flight that's why he decided to keep things silent, not bothering you with questions to have a small conversation during the ride. You were looking outside the window, in awe at the new architecture you're currently seeing. The streets seemed busy yet at the same time it was tranquil. Letting your eyes wander around the city somehow managed to make you feel light in a good way, the childlike amazement overtaking you for a while.

"Thank you..." You politely told the driver as you got out of the taxi and he grinned at you fondly in return before driving off. Breathing in the fresh new air that have zero traces of your painful recollections made you feel moderately lively. But would it last? Nevertheless, you decided to shake off the negative thoughts your anxiety is giving you. "I should be positive for once this time." You murmured to your own self before turning around to go inside the hotel, your suitcase trailing behind you. Once you entered the room you booked on the fifteenth floor, you gawked at it's extravagance; especially when you looked at the view outside the window. Well, you did pay quite a price for it and it didn't disappoint. It made you feel giddy for the first time in years, plopping down on the bed face down and you chuckled softly to yourself. Maybe a two week trip is all you really need after all.

For some reason you made a list of places to visit after you took a nap to shake off the jet lag. As soon as you woke up, you heard your stomach grumble from hunger and so you fixed yourself before grabbing your purse that had your keycard, phone, and wallet. There was a restaurant nearby and you thought of checking it out, letting your feet lead you to your destination. Entering the place, the aroma and ambiance greeted you as if you were an old friend and you enjoyed it. The interior was simple yet at the same time, alluring. You went ahead to stand in line, counting how many people were in front of you to know when is your turn. Your eyes were exploring the surroundings however it suddenly became attached to someone exiting the restaurant who looked too familiar. You had no idea if your mind was just playing with you but the person did look like him. Your mood shifted, your head was clouded by questions. Was it him? Is it actually him? Closing your eyes, you shook them out of your brain. It can't be him, right?

The meal you had was amazing but what you saw kept replaying on your mind over and over again like a television that was rewinding on its own. Now it made you think, "Is he here?". It felt impossible, there is absolutely no way. You convinced yourself that it's just a small hallucination your brain decided to conjure and yet it seemed so real. It wouldn't happen again, right? Wrong. The next day you swore that you think you actually saw him when you went to buy coffee before heading to a nearby park. In spite of the many years that passed, his features were still etched in your mind and that's what made you confident that it looks exactly like your past lover. You just brushed it off because the more you think of it, the more the dark cloud above your head is returning; your past is haunting you again. You didn't want to mess up the seemingly good days for you.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips when on the following day, there were no signs of "him" or any illusion of him. Were you just overcomplicating things? Overthinking it, even.

Although it wasn't just you. For two days straight, Jungwoo thought that he was seeing things from the corner of his eyes; he thought that he was catching glimpses of you twice. But the authenticity of these two moments were unknown to the both of you. The coincidence was brushed off, thinking that they were just false images caused by the yearning of the other's comfort.

Today marks your fifth day in London. Yesterday you took a stroll in the city, stopping by at some shops that caught your interest, and coming back to your hotel room tired, resulting in a good night's rest. Your plan for today was to buy some stuff at a local supermarket and stay at the comfort of the hotel. It may seem like a boring plan when you could go out and explore the city again but you wanted to take a relax for now.

You splashed water on your face at the bathroom sink, drying it with a face towel. Eventually you looked in the mirror and stared at the sight you see. The last time you did this, you saw that you were pale with sunken eyes. As if your life was drained from your whole body and now it was slowly improving. You don't look dead. You don't look alive either but you definitely look better than before. Is this a sign for you to move on? You exhaled an exasperated breath, stubbornly holding on to your false hopes, gripping onto the edge of the sink tightly before loosening it slowly. The past few days for you were good so far; excluding the ghostly sightings of what you thought was forever gone. Negative thoughts were absent, it was all clear skies and you want to make the most of it. You know that once you go back home to Seoul, you'll be back in the dark corners of your head, back to your old self because almost everything makes you think of him. Almost everything reminds you of him. That's why as much as possible, you want to keep things positive while you're in an almost different world.

You left the bathroom to wear your jacket, putting your phone and wallet in your jean's pocket. Walking out of your hotel room and to the elevator. You waited patiently for it to arrive. When it did you went inside and pressed the button for the ground floor, stepping out to the lobby once the elevator made a small 'ding', signaling that you already reached the floor you chose. The supermarket wasn't that far, in fact it was of walking distance. Walking inside, the ambiance completely differs from the one outside; it wasn't busy, it was quiet. The only notable sounds are the beeping of the barcode scanners and the soft music playing in the background. You went ahead and grabbed a cart, leaning forward on the handle as you went around to browse the store. Going to a few aisles to grab some snacks and drinks. After that you were basically aimlessly roaming around for a few more minutes, casually taking a peek on the aisles you didn't go to while pushing the cart in front of you.

A sudden force that made a loud clank almost sent you backwards. You wanted to be mad but at the same time you were also at fault for not paying any attention to where you were going. "I'm so sorry I didn't mean to—" a voice of a man apologized. His voice was soft and it gave you goosebumps. You looked at him and saw that he was looking down, fixing some of the things in his cart that had tumbled over due to the impact. "No it's alright, I wasn't paying attention to where I was—" You halted, your lips parting further while your shoulders dropped subconsciously, relaxing your tensed muscles as the man who hit your cart with his raised his head.

Your body felt weak, your heart felt weak. You felt like breaking down here and now, and so does he. For a while you just stared at eachother in disbelief.

"This isn't real, right? You're not here... You can't be here. No this isn't..." You refused to believe and you refused to cry over something that wasn't true. Jungwoo mimicked the way your mouth was slightly agape because of the shocking encounter. So I wasn't seeing things? He thought in his head. The woman he loved so much was right in front of him after unwillingly leaving her behind. Destiny was playful enough to make the two of you meet in such an unexpected moment.

"You're still beautiful." He whispered audible enough for you to hear, making you feel more frail at his words— it wasn't the response you wanted but it was the response you didn't think you needed. Jungwoo didn't hesitate in engulfing you in his arms and you didn't hesitate in melting into the embrace you craved for so long. It wasn't something your brains made up. Jungwoo was here. You can feel his warmth. He has you in his embrace. This isn't a hallucination. After all these years, you both felt eachother's warmth in the freezing cold winter wind that blew harshly. Slowly you could feel the cold and dark atmosphere disperse in the air.

"And I still love you." Jungwoo choked on his words as he broke down crying, holding onto you tightly and you did the same.

Sure this isn't the most ideal thing to do in a local supermarket, but as simple as the place was— it was what made it more unreal and unnatural. It made it seem like a dream and it's a dream that has finally came true. You sniffled, burying your face on his chest. Your tears were staining the material of the baby blue sweatshirt he was wearing. "Don't leave. Please don't leave me again. Please, Jungwoo..." You pleaded. A part of you was still not convinced that this was reality, telling you that it's pathetic to even say those words but you didn't care. You could feel his warmth. You weren't alone.

Your plead made Jungwoo tighten his embrace, not tight enough to restrict you from breathing but tight enough to let you know that he doesn't want to let you go. Never again.

[cixthotshit]

A Cup of Rose Americano

Pairing: Bae Jinyoung x Original Female Character|Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Poor Girl/Rich Boy, Coffee Shop/Gangster AU (IDEK how I got here, just go with it)

Summary: There's more than meets the eye with every person, including Bae Jinyoung, the world's finest barista at Personal Barista Cafe

Word count: 4.7k

Rating/Warnings: Mature / Explicit Sexual Content: Porn With Some Plot, Kissing, Mirror Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Creampie

Author’s Note: I wanted to write a fluffy Coffee Shop AU but NGL something else has been preoccupying my mind and the world building to this fic kind of went off the rails and transformed into a completely different story. Enjoy this smut, readers! I really want to explore this world a lot more but IDK if I can commit to anything beyond this RN. So please, please enjoy this! Sorry in advance for mistakes! I don't always catch everything when I proofread.

I always appreciate some feedback on my writings!

"Really, it'll be a...new coffee experience," Hyeon assured Sandy. She handed Sandy a green card. It felt like an expensive platinum credit card, the card made of metal, feeling heavy and cold in her hand. "All you have to do is fill out a survey after you get your free coffee. Once you make it inside, hand the card over to your barista."

"Aren't you supposed to find actual volunteers?" Sandy asked, looking at the shiny card. The only thing on the card was the name of the new test cafe, PB Cafe.

“Trust me,” Hyeon said with a grin. “You’ve never had coffee like this. This is free, too. You’re going to say no to free coffee? And I swear, this is really me saying it, their coffee is really good.”

“Fine, thanks for the free coffee.”

“Enjoy!” Hyeon turned her back to Sandy, most likely scanning for potential test subjects for her new marketing event. Being her best friend, Sandy was always her first test subject. She didn’t know if Hyeon’s bosses approved of her taking advantage of all the free stuff she was receiving.

Sandy walked over to a shop that was setup at the southwest corner of a 3 story building. The walls were white and the windows were covered by white curtains. “PB Cafe” was written in black on the front door, though there were no door handles. Standing in front of the door, Sandy noticed a black square pad beside the right side of the door. She pressed the green card to the black pad and jumped slightly as the glass door slid open. A short piano tune played, sounding old but familiar, reminding her of old Hollywood movies from the mid-20th Century.

Tentatively, she stepped in. Walking past the white curtains, she found herself inside a small room. At the back end of the room was a small bar with one wooden chair in front of it. It only took her 4 steps to reach the chair, so she pulled it out and sat down. The wall behind the bar slid down to the floor and a broad shouldered man walked out from what looked like a bright white light before the wall slid back up behind him.

Too shocked to react, Sandy set the green card down onto the smooth marble countertop. Her eyes couldn’t leave the face of her barista. He was very handsome and his small grin softened his masculine exterior. Wordlessly, he took the green card and placed it in the front left pocket of his black apron.

“Welcome to Personal Barista Cafe,” he said in a soft, sultry voice. “My name is Bae Jinyoung, your Personal Barista today. How shall I address you?”

“Uh, just call me Sandy, I don’t like formalities much.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Sandy. If you don’t like formalities feel free to call me BaeJin or BaeBae.” She gave a soft chuckle and threw her hand over her mouth, feeling her cheeks warm up. Such a sultry man telling her to call him something as cute as BaeBae tickled her. “Is this your first drink with PB Cafe?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I don’t know anything about this cafe, except that you have good coffee.”

“A Personal Barista will make you a personalized drink,” he explained, pulling out a menu form. “Whatever you order, I will make it in front of you. If you want to know how I prepare your drink, please let me know and I will explain as I go. If you want small talk instead, I enjoy a small conversation as I prepare you a drink. If you want silence, for any reason, please don’t feel pressured to speak if you don’t want to.”

“Can I get an Americano?” she asked, after glancing at the long list of coffee drinks. The menu was simple and elegant, the writings were in cursive but the paper was black and the ink white. She liked the seemingly simple attention to detail. “How long have you been a barista, BaeJin?”

“Almost a year,” he replied. He poured fresh ground coffee into a metal contraption with a long neck. She pressed her lips together as her eyes were fixed on his skilled, large hands. He was using a device to compact the coffee grounds.

“Do you enjoy being a barista?”

“I do. It allows me to be creative. My regular job is stressful.”

He put the coffee grounds into the machine and pressed a few buttons. She watched him place a small white espresso mug under the spout of the machine. He grabbed a large white mug of coffee, and looked at her with a soft grin.

“This is your side hustle?” she asked. PB Cafe seemed like it paid well.

“Most people have more than one job these days,” he replied.

“That’s true,” she replied. “I have a day job and a night job.”

“What are your jobs?”

“I’m interning at a law firm, helping a paralegal out. I’m hoping to get my private investigator’s license soon.”

“You want to be a private investigator?” he asked.

“I want to be a lawyer,” she answered, “but having a private investigator’s license helps me pick up skills. Research is the true gift of being a good lawyer.”

“Research. You must be very smart and hard working.”

“You are sweet,” she said, resting an elbow onto the counter, leaning forward. “I wish my smarts and hard work were enough to give me success. I’m lacking in luck lately.” His eyes drifted away from the espresso machine and looked into her eyes. She felt her cheeks turn hot, realizing she had overshared. It’d been a sad thought, too. “I feel very lucky right now.”

“Sandy, I don’t mean to make assumptions about people but if I were to guess you are someone with expensive tastes,” he said. He pulled out two small brown glass bottles from a drawer. “But, you settle for less.”

“I..” she breathed out.

She should have been insulted, but her barista BaeJin was right. Sandy had always been envious of people who could afford designer things or had the means to go on extravagant vacations, but all of that had always been a dream. The closest she got was free shit from Hyeon. A drink from PB Cafe was likely three times that of a drink from Starbucks, and Sandy could only afford Starbucks for special occasions.

“Why are you saying this?”

“I want to make you a drink in which you will appreciate,” he replied, pulling out a single stemmed pink rose from under the counter, and handed it to her. She felt her cheeks flush with heat as she accepted it. “Refined, seemingly ostentatious, but simple and hopefully, delicious.”

He poured hot water from a glass kettle into the mug. She felt her cheeks turn hot again as he reached over and plucked a single petal from the rose she held. He tilted a single drop of liquid from one of the brown bottles onto the petal.

“Rose water,” he said to her as he locked eyes with her for a second. He placed the rose petal into the mug, letting it float in the hot water. He poured the espresso into the mug of water, and took a spoon to scoop out the wilted petal, tossing it away before handing the drink to her.

She gave it a sip, and shut her eyes, a smile on her lips. Using a flower as aromatic as a rose was difficult to pull off in cuisine. Oftentimes the rose aroma was too overpowering, reminding one’s nose of perfume instead of food. Baejin’s Rose Americano, though, was the perfect balance of a good cup of coffee elevated with some elegance, refined by the subtlest hint of a rose’s sweet scent. The warm breath she exhaled after a hot sip of Americano filled her senses with flowery comfort.

“This is the most...beautiful cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted,” she replied, setting the mug down when she was half finished. “It tastes...beautiful.”

He gave a small chuckle, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. She bit her bottom lip, trying not to smile any wider than she already was. He was incredibly cute, grinning in reaction to her compliment. How could a man exude the amount of sensuality like BaeJin yet be so cute that she wanted to squish him like a marshmallow?

“You like it?” he asked.

“I do,” she replied. “I didn’t know a cup of Americano could be improved. Thank you for this cup of coffee. You’re a gifted barista.”

“Thank you. I would love to make you another drink.”

“I’ll try to come back one day,” she said earnestly.

She sipped her drink and glanced at her phone. Thanking her talented, handsome (and cute) barista BaeJin one last time, Sandy finished her drink and sprinted out of the odd, surreal cafe. She had to get ready for work. Smelling the pink rose in her hand, Sandy smiled to herself. Who knew her barista would be the first man to give her a rose?

--

“Diamond! Malibu was accidentally double booked,” Danielle called out into the dressing room. “Can you give a lap dance in the Blue Champagne Room before going home?”

“Wait,” Sandy said, holding the gold hoop earring she’d just taken off her left earlobe, “I’m not going to chase Malibu for the flat fee. The last time I covered for her, not only did her John not tip me but I had to chase her for 4 days before she gave me the cash.”

“I have a hard time chasing her down, too,” Danielle said with a heavy sigh, handing her purple vape pen to Sandy to hold. She dug into her pink and purple Bedazzled fanny pack, and fished out a few bills. She handed a bag of clothing to Sandy. “Let me know if this John is handsy or out of line. He’s a new customer. You have five minutes, babe. Fix your makeup.”

Handing the vape pen back to her boss, Sandy put the cash into her purse before shutting and locking the drawer to her vanity. She put her earring back on and retouched her eye makeup and lipstick. Her locks of hair looked good as she combed her fingers through her hair, looking into the mirror before getting up to change.

Sandy hadn’t exactly planned on becoming a stripper, but during her freshman year in college, she took a class on feminist studies, specifically on sex work. What started out as a learning experience in respecting sex work, and educating herself on the legal struggles of sex workers’ rights, Sandy soon found herself stripping as a means of extra income. She herself was in need of money, and recognized her beauty was valued enough that she could make capital from it.

Having walked out on her dysfunctional family as soon as she turned 18, Sandy had been hustling on her own for years. She was still working towards a career in law, but in the meantime, she was balancing between her day job as an unpaid intern at a shitty law firm and her night job as a stripper at a club called Blue Paradise. Giving lap dances were only nice when she received good tips, but they didn’t happen often enough. All she wanted was a good tip.

Pulling out the outfit Danielle handed to her, she took off her clothes and put on her new outfit. She wore a neon pink G-string bikini bottom with her matching lace bra under a black pencil skirt and a white costume button up office dress shirt. She put on a loose blue tie around her neck, and put on a pair of thick black framed glasses, matching it with her black leather knee high boots. Apparently, this new customer had a librarian kink.

Walking down the hall, toward the other side of the back of the club, she entered the room with the blue door at the end of the hall. The Champagne Rooms, where customers received their private lap dances, were color coded. The Blue Room was where the clients with specific kinks went.

Opening the door, Sandy pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, and looked up to see her John seated on the black couch. The dim lighting of the room cast a shadow over his body, making it hard for her to make out his face. She blinked, and closed her mouth, realizing that her customer was her barista from PB Cafe, BaeJin. It had been days since she had her cup of Rose Americano.

He was wearing a loosely worn grey sweater with black denim jeans. She didn’t think it was possible but he looked more handsome than she last remembered. Perhaps, with her body so close to his, knowing that he was there for devious reasons, her face flushed and her nipples hardened as heat rushed through her body from head to toe.

“BaeJin!” she said, forgetting her sexy librarian character.

“Don’t move,” he said, looking alarmed. She stood completely still, one hand on the door handle. “You’re a stripper, Sandy?”

“You...you remember me?” He nodded. “Stripping is helping me pay for my law degree.” She licked her lips and tilted her head, pushing her chest forward slightly. “I can give you what you want.”

“I can’t do this,” he replied, crossing his left leg over his right. His eyes left her, and diverted to the ground. Her ego was bruised. Not only did she need the money, but her vanity made her feel upset that he didn’t want a lap dance from her. “I should go.”

“I have to try to keep you here,” she said shyly, pressing her back against the door. “If I don’t, that means I’m not good at my job.”

“How long should we be in here for you to be considered good at your job?” he asked, his eyes returning to meet her gaze.

“You don’t want a lap dance? Am I not cute? My tits too small?”

He gave a chuckle, and looked away when his eyes moved to her chest as she talked.

“You’re very cute,” he replied, “but that’s the problem. As a barista, I don’t date customers. Since you didn’t actually pay for your drink, I thought it’d be OK to ask you out if I ever saw you again. But if I pay for this lap dance, I wouldn’t want to ask you out. It’s not fair for me to proposition you while you’re working.”

“You’ve been thinking hard about me?” Her cheeks felt hot and goosebumps formed on her arms. “Would you accept my invitation if I asked you out after this? I’m actually supposed to be off work by now, but this is my last job tonight. If I don’t give you a lap dance, we didn’t cross any lines, right?”

He nodded, and she gave a nervous chuckle.

“You said that being a barista was your side hustle,” she said, noticing the expensive watch and ring on his left hand. Sex workers had to know street codes to keep themselves safe, and watches and rings were how gang members communicated their loyalties and rankings. “What’s your main job? You said it’s stressful.”

His right hand wrapped around his platinum watch, the case of the watch encrusted with diamonds. The C9 Gang was a wealthy gang with origins in Tokyo, Japan, platinum was their calling card. BaeJin’s gold band emerald ring sat on his middle finger, indicating he was a made man of high rank. Sandy was impressed; BaeJin had acclimated to a high status in a gang at a young age.

“How long have you been working here, Sandy?” he asked in response.

“Diamond,” she answered, her grip remaining firm on the door. “My stage name is Diamond.”

“Sandy...Diamond,” he said with a grin. He stood, and she took a deep inhale of breath as he took a step forward and pressed his body against hers, his left arm wrapping around her waist as his hand gripped onto her wrist. Her hold on the door handle loosened. “You are the diamond in the rough in Blue Paradise. You still want to invite me out on a date?”

She took a gulp of breath, staring deeply into his dark brown eyes. He licked his lips and her eyes drifted to his mouth. Giving the most gentle nod of her head, she said, “Yes.”

“I drive a blue Ferrari F60 America,” he said as the tip of his nose touched hers.

“I don’t know anything about cars,” she replied, shutting her eyes. His breath was warm, making it hard for her to breathe. He chuckled and she felt his head rest onto her shoulder.

She opened her eyes when she felt a hand touch her chin.

“I drive a blue car,” he said, his eyes drifting down her face to her lips. His thumb ran across her bottom lip gently, sending heat deep into her groin. Her stomach ached at the touch. “It’ll be the most expensive looking car you’ll see when you walk outside.” He looked directly into her eyes again. “I’m a dangerous man, Sandy...Diamond. I have to ask you one more time, do you want to keep talking to me?”

She chewed on the inside of her left cheek nervously, and furrowed her eyebrows. Given how close she was to getting the paid job as a paralegal at Johnston’s &Partners, Sandy was one step closer to her dreams of becoming a lawyer. Would it be ethical to date a gangster?

“Will you take me home or will we be going to your place?” she answered. Life was too short not to take risks.

--

Upon his request, she left work wearing her costume. BaeJin’s description of having the most expensive looking car was accurate. The navy blue car shone brighter than any other car, and the curves of the body created an elegant design to the car. He’d opened the passenger door for her. She realized her skirt barely covered her ass as the cold leather from the seat hit the back of her thighs.

He drove them up a curvy hill to get to his expensive mansion, placed behind a small forest. It sat atop of a mountainous hill, overlooking the bright lights of the city far below. BaeJin was a man of very high rank by the looks of his home. It was large and designed with multiple floor to ceiling windows. Sandy took a soft gulp of air as her mouth felt dry.

“Your home is beautiful,” she said when he led her into his home, the hallway lined with expensively framed paintings. The jade vase that held 3 white lilies beside the coat hanger looked like it was worth more than everything she owned, including the small amount of cash she had in her bank account.

BaeJin’s home aesthetic was minimalist, though each room had a piece of furniture that popped out, like the jade vase in the front entrance. In his bedroom, he had a rose gold encrusted full length mirror sitting at the foot of his bed. It was shameless, but did not surprise her. Their eyes locked as BaeJin sat down at the foot of the bed. Their fingers intertwined when she reached her left hand out to his outstretched right hand.

“I spent a week trying not to think about you,” he said, pulling her easily onto his lap. His free hand wrapped around her waist. “The closest thing to you was trying to get a stripper to dress up like a sexy librarian.”

“Aren’t you lucky?” she said, squeezing his hand. “You went to Blue Paradise wanting a fantasy. Instead, you left with your fantasy.”

His hand released hers and she felt his hand between her legs, sliding up against her slit. Shutting her eyes she gave a soft moan, surprised at his swift movement.

“You deserve the best in life,” he said into her ear before grazing his teeth gently against her neck. “Don’t ever settle for less.”

He kissed her, his lips warm and firm. His tongue parted her lips and she gave a soft hum. She pushed his tongue out of her mouth, appreciating the taste of floral green tea from him. Her fingers tangled into his hair, pulling him closer to her. He tasted better than the beautiful cup of Rose Americano.

With a clouded head, she helped him pull his sweater off as he aggressively pulled her top off of her, the cheap buttons popping loudly as they flew into the air. Her skirt failed to exist when he ripped the zipper and tore the fabric apart with his bare hands.

“Are you going to rip me apart?” she asked breathlessly when his fingers found their way under her bra, fondling her erect nipple. She gave a soft moan and he grinned as he pinched her sensitive bud.

“I’ll be as hard or soft as you want,” he assured her. The pad of his thumb grazed against her nipple. Her back shivered as a sharp heat rode up her back.

“I like a bit of both,” she said, her cheeks hot. It felt like a dream to have BaeJin telling her he would do as she wanted. “You ruined my skirt.”

“The cheap costume skirt?” he asked, his hand returning to rubbing her slit. “You don’t have to settle, remember?” She shut her eyes, her hand grabbing his arm as two of his fingers pressed against her clit. “I like you best without clothes anyway.” The heat intensified as his fingers moved down lower, moistening her panties with the slick heat coming out of her pussy. Her back shook again as his fingers moved up against her slit, and then back down. “Your voice is lovely.”

She moaned as she rested her head against his chest, his fingers continually creating more heat between her legs. One finger slipped under her panties, pulling the fabric away from her wet cunt. The back of his knuckle pressed against the engorged bud of her clit, and she mewled as he rubbed up and down against her.

“BaeBae,” she could only speak with a shaky breath, “BaeBae, I’m going to come.”

Her hips thrust haphazardly against his knuckle as a small flash of heat washed over her, goosebumps forming up the back of her neck. Her orgasm disappeared as soon as it came and she breathed through her mouth. Her pussy felt wet as her slick heat dripped out of her.

“I was just playing with you,” he said with an amused smile, his eyes locked onto the mess between her legs, including his wet fingers. He spread her juices onto her folds, and moved the pads of his index and middle fingers to draw small circles onto her clit. She mewled, shutting her eyes, as her hips rutted against the motions of his fingers. “But with you this wet, I can fuck you right now.”

“BaeBae,” she breathed out, opening her eyes.

Her eyebrows were furrowed as she looked at him. Wordlessly, she stood as their hands began removing each other’s clothes off. His expensive jewelry remained on as he pulled her back to his front, making her stand between his legs. His hand went between her legs and he massaged the inside of her thigh. She hummed a soft moan, enjoying the way his hand relaxed her muscles.

Both of his hands wrapped around her waist, and his lips kissed her neck. He requested she trust him, and one hand reached down to her right knee and had her stretch her leg out to rest over his. As his other hand went to her left knee, she understood what he was doing. He wanted a full view of her pussy so she sat on his lap with her legs hooked over his.

“Ready to put this to use?” he asked, his hands kneading her hips. His reflection from the mirror was staring at her. She saw the cheeks of her flushed face turn a bright red, and she tilted her head down to look away from the mirror. The blood coursing through her chest up to her head clouded her vision. “Look at us.”

His right hand cupped her face, and she felt his wrist press up against the front of her neck. The pulse from his wrist beat rapidly against the pulse on her neck, and she struggled to breathe as her eyes locked onto his from the reflection in the mirror. Hot blood rushed to her groin and her hips jerked forward, out of her control. His left arm wrapped around her waist had her firmly in his hold, so all she could do was wiggle in his lap. Feeling the muscles of his thighs flex under her made her buttocks tighten, her body anticipating his cock.

“If you let me take you raw,” he said softly against her ear, his eyes locked with hers through the reflection of the mirror, “that’ll make you mine.”

His hold on her face was gone as his hand grabbed his cock. He rubbed his hard cock against her slit. She bit her bottom lip as his heat caused more juices to pool out of her cunt. It made her nerves shake, itching her skin in unbearable heat. He blinked, and his eyebrows furrowed as she opened her mouth to breathe loudly.

“I’m yours,” she said clearly. He groaned as he pushed the tip of his cock into her entrance. “Give me everything, BaeJin.” Pleasure blinded her vision as she saw nothing but white and gold flecks of stars. She gave a loud gulp when she felt his hand grip onto her chin again, his wrist pressing against her throat. Her grip on his arms tightened as she held onto him for leverage. His cock pushed in deeper, and the walls of her pussy trembled as heat filled her body in overwhelming waves. “I’m yours.”

His lips were on her neck and when her vision cleared all her eyes could focus was on the way his cock was fucking her pussy. He started with shallow pushes, the rhythm steady as she bounced on his lap. She came and she gave a gentle mewl, blurting out his name as her walls squeezed his cock. A gentle chuckle escaped her lips as she saw him shut his eyes tight.

“You’re so easy to please,” he said as he pushed in deep. She gave a loud groan as he pulled out roughly before pushing in fast, going in balls deep. He started a steady, deep rhythm and she cried as she was filled with undiluted pleasure.

“You fuck so good,” she moaned, her hand reaching back to grab his hair. He sucked on her neck, leaving a red mark before he kissed her shoulder. “BaeJin, fuck me. I’m gonna - I’m - I’m gonna come.”

His grip around her waist tightened as he pushed faster into her, and they bent forward together as he came into her in deep pushes. Her fingers dug into his skin as she shut her eyes, taking in the sensation of his hot seed filling up her insides.

“Come,” he panted out heavily as she felt him withdraw from her. She whimpered as she felt his middle finger push into her come-filled cunt. His thumb rubbed up against her clit, making her nerves dance in hot waves. She cried out a soft orgasm as she came again. She breathed heavily as she rested against his body.

“We barely know each other,” she said after a while. She didn’t know how long they sat together, staring at their reflection before she finally spoke.

“We have the rest of our lives to get to know each other,” he said, running a hand up and down her thigh, sending heat up and down her back. “You are mine now.”

He pulled her off his lap, and they laid in bed together. A shiver went down her back as he kissed her shoulder. They were facing each other, her left leg locked between his muscular thighs.

Giving a laugh, she watched him grab her wrist. He kissed the inside of her wrist before kissing the inside of her elbow. She shut her eyes as she felt his lips on her shoulder. Every kiss sent a vibrating heat under her skin. His mouth sucked on her neck and she grabbed onto the back of his hair as his teeth grazed against her skin. The muscles in her stomach tightened. The world ceased to exist as BaeJin’s embrace consumed her.

[awfullybigwardrobe44]

💕✨create the illusion of hanging out with your mutuals tag game✨💕

Tagged by @perhaps-mr-collins-has-a-cousin , thanks for the tag, this is a fun one!

are you a morning person?  it depends, right now it’s a hard no because of the meds I’m on, oddly. makes it super hard to get up early. but back in college I used to get up and do homework in the mornings, I liked to do homework with my cup of coffee.

ideal breakfast?  ugh, toss up between biscuits, gravy, eggs and hashbrowns and the sort of picnic-style breakfasts we had on my study abroad program. or a pain au chocolat. But most importantly, coffee. 

favorite warm drink, and how do you take it? as hinted above, coffee xD usually lactose free creamer if available, and if not, milk and sugar. 

sit in the sunshine or the shade?  SUN. I am essentially a plant and wilt if I don’t get much sunlight. 

favorite baked good? probably brownies <3 Or anything with cream cheese frosting.

a song or album that makes you feel at peace?  Phil Wickham’s acoustic album for “Children of God.”

take a walk with your friends or read a book next to a friend on the sofa? Walk! Most of my friends would be the kind to find little things to point out and be interested in and it would just be a fun adventure. 

what tasks do you gravitate to when making a meal with others?  huh, idk if I’ve ever thought about this. Does gathering all the ingredients count? 

a chore that if someone completed it for you you’d love them forever?  DISHES. I LOATHE DOING THE DISHES. SO MUCH. it grosses me out beyond words. Even just rinsing them to go in the dishwasher. 

favorite board/card game to play with friends?  ERS--for which there several different full names for but some may know as “Egyptian Rattlesnake.” Super tricky and fast-going and addicting. 

what kind of snacks/candy do you want at a movie theater? Mmm popcorn sometimes, but I definitely go for slushies. If I get candy, it would be something fruity/gummy. 

bar with live music or bar with a pool table?  live music, as long as I’m not expected to dance in any way!!!

go-to wine/cider/beer/cocktail?  I don’t really love any kind of alcohol. I will occasionally have some Irish cream with ice cream, in a milkshake, or in coffee. I don’t mind moscato since it’s so sweet, lol. 

go-to bar food?  Nachos or buffalo wings!

are you tending the fire, looking at the stars, or singing campfire/folk songs?  100% looking at the stars. please don’t make me sing, lol. 

a favorite Scripture verse or prayer?  my brain is useless right now so I’m just gonna be lazy and say the “gentle and lowly” one. 

are you the person begging to go to just one more bar/sing one more song, the person staying up late talking about love and the universe, or the person who fell asleep hours before anyone else? staying up late and talking!

tags if you feel like it: @nothinggold13 @faithfire @sojourner-between-worlds @221bdragonslayer @customarycreate @thetranslucentwallaby @queenlucythevaliant @the-old-fashioned-girl @the-lily-blooms-late @narnia77 @called-kept @wayward-wren

[angelguk]

→ lessons in love — a jeongguk scenario

member: jeon jeongguk

word count: 5.4k

genre: smut + that’s it there’s barely a plot i just ramble for 5k words + besties!au + virgin au

warnings: virgin!oc / jeongguk keeps laughing at her / hey can i touch your dick for experience purposes / except jk is kinda into oc but let’s not discuss that yeah / um descriptions of dick / a handjob that takes forever to be a handjob / oc is babie but like she could be soft dom if she tried / basically jk is a leo moon and oc is taurus idk why she just is / somewhat sub!guk if u want it 2 be / over-stimulation kinda / they r not in highschool they just graduated it’s summer and oc would like to understand how dicks work / there’s a lot of hesitation in this but everyone has consented jk just has to do a lot of manhandling for oc to even touch him

soundtracks: dwbyf + bother, lil halima

a/n: happy birthday aleah! :3 💕💖

This is weird. Jeongguk knows this is super weird. He can feel it in the rigidness of his shoulders, stiff with a pressure that makes his skin crawl. There’s a weight wavering over his head and heart pounds erratically in his chest, driven by nerves he’s struggling to adjust too. Because, in what world is it normal for him to be sitting pretty at the edge of his bed, stripped to nothing but a loose t-shirt and his boxer-briefs, waiting to instruct his best-friend of twelve years on how to give a handjob? Jeongguk’s already came to the realisation that his life was an utter tragic comedy. But this? This was an incredibly new low for him. And when you meander into his room, the bathroom door adjacent to his room falling shut behind you, Jeongguk has the overwhelming urge to call this off. He really could; just slip his pants back on and kindly ask you to leave. But when you glance at him, gaze unexpectedly steady, it throws him off. He’s already somewhat lost, navigating through the anxiety and excitement that mingle in his system with difficulty and the indifference in your features isn’t helping. It’s what makes him swallow the apprehension that clogs his throat, forcing out a sentence that sounds meek even to his ears.

He says it at you descend onto the bed beside him, the tension between your bodies tangible.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

You pause, staring at him closely before you give a quick nod of your head. “Yes. Are you not sure?”

Jeongguk doesn’t know where he stands at right now. He really wants this. There’s already a tingle of heat sparking in his gut and you haven’t even touched him. But he’s also acutely aware of how this could change things. Maybe not for you because you were so painfully oblivious it hurt. But for Jeongguk? He knows his entire world could shift. Turn upside down on its head leaving him disoriented and lost in a complex ocean of emotions he’d never dared to dive into. But he still wants to, so bad that he thinks he might never forgive himself if he lets you leave him like this right now. Especially when you were offering to give him something Jeongguk had thought about more times than he’d like to admit.

He still remembers the night you asked him about this, the pretty innocent look on your face as you’d bunched your hands into the hem of his shirt and murmured your question. He’d forgotten how to breathe, for a moment, when those words glided out of your mouth.

“Can I give you a handjob?” No hidden objectives, just your body huddled into his one night, pressed so tightly together that Jeongguk could feel you. Every inch of you. He’d spluttered on air, his own hands falling to clasp yours and gently push you away because Jeongguk needed space if he didn’t want to do anything he’d immediately regret. But your face had fallen so quickly at that subtle rejection. And before he could tug you closer, reassure you that his reaction wasn’t negative, you were wilting into yourself, suddenly so far from him that Jeongguk couldn’t help but recoil, yearning for the warmth of you against.

“Why?” He tried instead - which was the wrong question. Who inquires the intention of a blowjob? Jeongguk, that’s who.

You’d frowned at him, the scowl on your pretty lips making his heart pound. “Never mind.”

“No – tell me, why?” Jeongguk’s pushed it because he still couldn’t process it the sentence that had left your mouth. It had not settled in his head yet, what that offer meant for him. For your friendship.

“Just because,” you’d retorted, shifting away. “But forget it. You don’t want to anyway.”

“I never said that.”

And that was all it took. You were looking at him again, the glean of hope in your gaze making Jeongguk want to do very dangerous things that he normally would never have conjured up in his head if your eyes weren’t settling on him like that.

“I want to learn,” you replied.

“How to give a handjob?” Jeongguk responded, the disbelief in his voice obvious.

You’d pouted, but your face betrayed the hesitation that gripped your heart. “I’m about to go to college and I’ve never even kissed someone Jeongguk. Or done anything with anyone – I think I should at least learn something before... You know.”

Jeongguk did not know. At all. But he withheld that comment, still bewildered that you were asking for this. “So, why start with a handjob? Not kissing?” The furrow in his eyebrows was instinctive.

“Why would I want to kiss you?” You’d snapped back, clearly irritated by the contents of this conversation even though you were the one that had initiated it.

Jeongguk had just glared, perturbing by this sudden side of you. “Yeah, but you’re willing to touch my dick.”

“All dicks are the same,” you replied.

“No, they’re not. Some have foreskin, some are short as hell, some are –”

“I don’t want a fucking descriptive piece, Jeongguk. Just tell me whether it’s yes or no.”

He’d faltered, taken the moment to read the gaze in your eyes. “You’ve still not told me why you want to do this. And why me?”

“Because you’re the only boy I can stand,” you said, slow with your words.

“Why not just…. learn from porn?”

“It’s not the same thing and you know it,” you’d replied. For once he can agree with you; there’s a difference between watching people fuck and doing the act itself. And it’s a lot more overwhelming and intimate when it’s your first time doing anything like that. “Besides, I don’t like watching that stuff.” That’s when you started twiddling with your hands in your lap, lithe pretty fingers fumbling over themselves. He doesn’t know if that was on purpose but it made Jeongguk’s brain start working, gears in his mind turning as a visual suddenly sprang before his eyes. The feeling of your hands around him, smaller this his own, working yourself along his length, touching him in ways he never imagined could be a reality.

That’s partially why he’s here now, half-naked on his bed. The other reason is that the idea of you doing this with anyone else kindled a fire of possessiveness in his gut that Jeongguk was very foreign too.

You nudge your foot against his, retrieving Jeongguk from the well of his thoughts with the abrupt reminder of your presence. It’s oddly silent in the room – something unacquainted to the both of you because you could never be quiet around Jeongguk. Not since the day you met him, when you were that little but loud rambunctious child that somehow befriended Jeongguk one late afternoon.

But you’re no longer children. Jeongguk’s painfully aware of that fact. Because he’s about to teach you how to give handjobs.

“Are you hard?” You suddenly say, breaking through the silence that cloaks you with an innocence that makes Jeongguk nervous. He is adamant not to give in to it, feeling somewhat irritated that he’s so weak for you that he’s allowing this. Your eyes aren’t even looking at him, focused on the band poster plastered onto his bedroom wall. The corner of it is ripped, and you’re trying to recall the name of the band when Jeongguk scoffs rather loudly, demanding your attention back on him. When your eyes meet, something tightens in your chest. It’s fast and has claws that sink deep, gripping your heart with intent. He’s staring at your closely, gaze unwavering and you’re struggling to decipher the hidden words in his eyes.

“Do I look like I’m hard?” He says it plainly, but there’s a challenge in his tone that you refuse to fall bait to.

“Well… Get hard then.”

Jeongguk laughs. He actually laughs. And you can’t help but be annoyed as your eyes falter to your lap, your palms warm because this shouldn’t be as awkward as it was. Yes, you were about to give your best friend a hand job but shouldn’t there be instinctive sexual tension? Electricity in the air or whatever. Not this – this mortification you feel so deep in your bones because Jeongguk knows you’re inexperienced and he’s just laughing at you.

The punch you land on his shoulder is involuntary, but all you do is hit hard firm muscles and he barely flinches, his fingers slipping into the mess of brown curls that sit atop his head like a halo.

“You’re making it hard to get hard with that attitude,” he comments. Which is true. Jeongguk is incredibly soft right now. Maybe it’s his uneasiness getting in the way but there’s also the wide gap of space between your bodies that is not aiding to the situation in his pants right now. And he’s the only one almost naked. You’re fully dressed beside him, which is strange but not as strange as the fact that you’re in his room to give him a handjob. And still, you won’t even look at him. He’s noted it, the way you’re sitting at the very edge of his bed, ass perched so precariously he’s surprised you haven’t fallen off yet, with your eyes glued to his walls or your lap. Never on his crotch. Not even on him for longer than a brief moment. It’s off-putting. How were you meant to touch his dick with your hands when you blatantly didn’t even want to look at it.

“Well… What can I do to help then?” You murmur. It would be nice if Jeongguk could just hurry up and get hard on his own because you were only here for one thing and that was a lesson you suddenly wished you’d looked for elsewhere. But it was too late to pretend like this never happened – it would be easier to just get it over and done with before swiftly erasing it from your memory.

Jeongguk clears his throat, and you immediately regret offering any help because he seems like he doesn’t want it. Not from someone with your naivety. But in reality, the simple question has a torrent of thoughts flooding Jeongguk’s mind and he has to physically stop himself from drowning further in that hole in his head because he might never be able to reach the surface if he lets himself get that deep. It’s enough for something to spur in his gut, a quick flash of heat that wanes out faster than he wants it too. But it’s a start. And that’s all Jeongguk needs to pretend like this isn’t as weird as it is.

“We could lie down instead,” Jeongguk offers, glancing at you as he awaits your approval. When you nod the tension in his body fades for a bit. Because it would have been ten times weirder if you gave him a handjob sitting on the edge of his bed with ten inches of space between your bodies.

It takes you a moment to get comfortable, rearranging the various pillows that scatter Jeongguk’s mattress until you’re both settled. Jeongguk’s flat on his back and your resting on your elbow, your bodies lined against each other. The intimacy makes your stomach swoop, a fast flash of longing that spreads through your system when Jeongguk tugs his shirt upwards, revealing his firm abdomen. He’s all taut muscles and brute strength and even though Jeongguk is your best friend you can’t lie that that doesn’t do something to you. He’s attractive in a conventional way; tall, handsome and so charming that it makes you sick. But at this moment Jeongguk looks so vulnerable, baring himself to you in a way that makes your heart thump hard.

Your stillness makes him diffident.  

“You’re going to have to touch me, you know,” Jeongguk says, gaze flickering to the way your shirt stretches across your chest. He shouldn’t be staring but it’s tight, revealing the silhouette of your chest easily. He’s noticed them before, but never like this. Something in him hates the way his dick stirs awake in his pants.

“I know,” you retort. And then your hand is skipping down his chest with no hesitation, fingertips warm as the journey along his happy trail. It’s the suddenness that takes his breath away, how bold you are as you touch him, the feeling of your hand tracing ginger patterns just across his navel sending heat right to his gut.

“I – uh – thought you said you were new to this,” Jeongguk can’t help but mumble. There’s already a stiffness forming beneath his underwear and normally he would be embarrassed but Jeongguk can’t seem to muster up a reason to care in this already bizarre situation.

“I am,” you reply. And he can still you’re still tentative from the way your palm hovers above his growing bulge.

“Go ahead,” Jeongguk says, giving you a pointed look that you return with vehemence. But before he can get out another jib at you, your fingers are cupping his cock, pressing hard into the fabric covering his length and Jeongguk short circuits.

You’re not even doing much, but the feeling of your warm palm against his has his brain struggling to string together a sentence, the heat consuming his body steadfast now. He bucks up into it, relishing the tiny gasp of awe that leaves your mouth. Because Jeongguk is rock hard now, heavy and thick under the press of your fingertips, straining against the material of his underwear. It’s then the air shifts – a subtle difference you wouldn’t have noticed if your ears didn’t discern the breathless moan that Jeongguk chokes out when you gingerly squeeze his length.

“That’s – oh,” he sighs when your drag the edge of your nails over his length, cock twitching because of the unexpected gentle pressure. But then you halt, looking at him for further direction and Jeongguk abruptly remembers the reason for this whole situation. He had lost himself, for a moment, in the feeling of your hands touching him like that. But there’s no place for that here.

“I don’t like it dry,” Jeongguk says, gesturing towards his drawers. “There’s lube there, third drawer.”

You’re up fast, digging through his stuff until your hands clasp around a bottle. “Strawberry?” you deride, drifting back to the bed where Jeongguk waits.

He blushes, abhorring the tingle in his gut. “What? It smells good,” Jeongguk justifies. But then you’re dipping back into his bed and he nearly bites his tongue. A part of him wants to ask you to take your top off, make him feel less exposed than the does right now. But that’s overstepping your argument. It was just meant to be him – this was educational after all.

You’re kneeling beside him all of a sudden, a delicate motion that makes his chest bloom dangerously. The bottle is twiddling in your fingertips, the confidence you’d exhibited moments ago diminishing rather quickly and Jeongguk realises you won’t touch him again unless he pushes for it.

“Leave that,” he says, taking your hand. The bottle hits the sheets with a soft thud. “Touch me again.”

Your fingers itch to do so but you’re still so unsure of yourself so you don’t move. Jeongguk exhales, so low that you wouldn’t hear it if it wasn’t for the silence in his room.

“Can I do something?” he mumbles. You nod because you know if he didn’t, nothing would happen and the both of you would have to wallow in this awkward mess you’d initiated.

His hand is gentle as he tugs your own downwards, resting your palm against his straining bulge once more. You slip in some pressure because you know he likes that, and from the subtle twitch of his cock underneath your palm, you think your observation was correct.

“I’m… I’m gonna take it out now.” He only says it not to startle you, because you feel so skittish beside him that Jeongguk has to hold every reaction you draw from him back. He waits for you to nod before he shifts your fingertips the band of his underwear, wordlessly encouraging you to help him out of the last bit of fabric that supports the boundaries of your friendship. You just dig your fingers into the elastic, throat tight as you force it down with the assist of Jeongguk shifting out of the material. His cock hits the cool air a second later, bouncing along the firm lines of his abdomen. The first thing you register is his size. He’s large. Not like you have anything to compare it too, but you’re not that foolish. You know he’s big. That’s what makes you pause, quiet because you’re actually about to touch your best friend's dick.

Jeongguk doesn’t notice it until underwear is somewhere on the floor, cock patiently waiting for a touch that never comes. He tries to give you time to adjust, but you’re just staring at his dick and it’s unsettling.

“Why are you just looking at it,” he asks. You blush in response, face bright with your bashfulness. Jeongguk feels a little embarrassed too. It’s one thing having your best-friend give you a handjob, it’s another to watch her just stare at your cock like it’s a bug.

“I don’t know,” you respond. But you do. Porn wasn’t your favourite thing in the world although you have seen penises before, mainly out of natural curiosity. However, seeing one up close with your own eyes and having the imminent knowledge that you were about to touch it was something else entirely. You don’t know where to put your hands so they stay put in your lap and you consider, for a brief moment, asking Jeongguk to forget about this entirely. That would be incredibly difficult to do though. You’ve seen his dick now – it’s scored in your memory for eternity. Every detail of it, from the veins that run along his length to how it sits heavy against his abdomen, head red with expectancy.

“You’re going to make me soft,” Jeongguk abruptly says, cutting through your apprehension.

“Sorry.”

There’s a long pause. He sighs again. You feel stupid.

“Do you… want to try to touch it? We can stop here if you’re not comfortable.” Jeongguk says it so gently and you feel even worse immediately.

You want to scoff at that because the person who should be uncomfortable here is Jeongguk. You’re the one who put him in this situation and now you’re just staring at his dick like it’s the ugliest thing you’ve seen on the planet. For the record, it’s rather nice. A decent length and thickness that makes your thighs clamp together involuntarily. The fact that you now know what Jeongguk's dick looks like is jarring in itself.

“Show me?” you say. “I mean like… how to touch it.”

Jeongguk bites back a soft laugh. “Just touch it. I’ll like anything you do.” When you reach for the bottle of lube he halts you. “Try without that first, though. If you want to.”

You nod your head, taking in a deep breath because your hands are shaking. And then you reach forward before you can overthink this any further, your fingers wrapping around his length. The first thing you register is how soft he feels in your hands. Warm too. Your gut twists suddenly at the weight of you against your skin, a sharp heady feeling that coaxes your fingers around him tighter.

“Oh – oh fuck,” Jeongguk shudders for a second, the sudden feeling of your bare palm against his length making his head spin. You’re not even moving your hand but he spine tingles, the promise of his high sitting thick in his bones.

“So…what now?” You ask, holding his dick like it’s a fucking joystick.

He can’t help it, the laugh the drifts from his lips. It’s innocent but your blush so hard that Jeongguk partially regrets it. So he stifles it and reaches out for the discarded bottle of lube in his sheets.

“It’s literally so simple, like so simple.” His flicks the cap up. “Open your hand.”

The lube is cold in your palm and you can’t help the tiny flinch that flickers over your face. You hadn’t expected it to feel like that, but you adjust quickly. When Jeongguk’s satisfied with the wetness coating both your hand and his cock, dumps the bottle to the side. His hand settles around yours a second later, gingerly guiding your fingers around his once more.

It warms up quick, the moment your hands begin to create a steady rhythm of up and down strokes along his length. It’s oddly lewd, the sound of your hands working around his cock, his fingers directing your motions. Jeongguk swallows the small sounds that threaten to leak from his throat, afraid he’ll make you uncomfortable. But he notes one thing right away. You’re too gentle. He likes his handjobs hard and fast and demanding. But you touch him like he’ll crumble in your hands.

“It’s not going to break,” Jeongguk mumbles a second later, unable to keep that remark to himself.

“Well,” you retort, exasperated because Jeongguk is so silent beneath you. Not even a gasp to let you know how well you’re doing. “What am I supposed to do?” You ask because you want this to be good for him. Need it to actually. There’s a heat pooling between your legs that you refuse to acknowledge but you’re acutely aware of the how tight your chest feels.

“You could just –” And then his hand squeezes down on yours, subsequently tightening the grip you have on the base of his cock. His body reacts instantly, just a shallow shift of his hip upwards but it’s enough to let you know what to do. “Holy –” Jeongguk stops thinking, brain turning mellow because you squeeze around him again and when your hands twist upwards your grip is tight, dragging at the edge of his head when you pull down. It’s so different from the stoic way you were touching him just moments before. You move with finesse, stumbling sometimes but you read his body well enough to know that Jeongguk reacts when you touch him like this, rather rough even though your fingers glide along his cock. You’d never thought he’d prefer it like this but the way he shivers whenever your palm settles tight around his head is enough to make you stomach flip. Whether it’s with yearning or surprise you discern just yet. Or rather you refuse to decipher that feeling at all. Instead, you keep your hand moving, swiftly along his length until Jeongguk’s mouth finally drops own, the groan that leaves his lips breathless enough to render your own lungs empty.

“Fuck – that’s so –  Nngh,” Jeongguk’s mumbling into the air, hips shifting up to meet the twist of your hands around his length. His fingers fall away, but you keep your fist tight just as he instructed, snapping up and down in quick motions that make the air charge with a heat you’ve never felt before. It’s weird to look but you can’t look away even if you wanted to. Jeongguk is gorgeous, the head of his cock red and needy, slick slipping from the tip with every graze of your palm along him. It gets swept up in the motions of your hand, which is already beginning to ache with the constant friction but the feeling of Jeongguk writhing underneath you spurs you forward, a sudden determination blooming in your chest. He’s not even hiding his moans, the air coloured with the cadences of his pleasure, so carefree with how he lets you know you’re being good to him. It’s intoxicating, observing the haggard rise and fall of his chest as Jeongguk whines into the sheets, your hands still wrapped tightly around him, coaxing out an orgasm that builds so deep inside of him. He should have jerked off beforehand but the prospect of you touching him like that had halted him. And now he was, thighs trembling every time your hand settles tight on his tip, with a load in his balls that he really wants to give you. He couldn’t stop it even if he wanted too. In fact, he desperately chases after it, his brain loose with the pleasure that courses through his body.

Maybe it’s the feeling of your small hand dragging down his cock or the little gasp that drifts from your lips when Jeongguk unknowingly twitches in the palm of your hand. But it happens before he wants it to. A fast cave of his stomach, breathe caught in his throat and then he snaps, spilling all over your hand as your name glides from his lips. A small chant, a prayer to ground him back to Earth because Jeongguk is levitating. Nothing has ever felt this good. And the fact that you don’t stop, hand still working him even when he’s so sensitive, the cum that leaks from his tip aiding the glide of your palm, nearly makes his brain melt into nothingness.

He chalks it up to your inexperience. You don’t know when to stop and give him a breather. But Jeongguk doesn’t mind because he likes it like this. Likes being pushed past what his body can give, enjoys the sting of pain that lies beneath the pleasure. He’d done it to himself multiple times before but it feels so different when it’s your hand working his cock like this. Like you want him to give you everything he has. Everything and more.

Jeongguk knows he’s in trouble the moment the forces his eyes to crack open, the shudder that slips down his spine when he finds you looking at his cock as you wring him dry making the bones in his body fuse together. He’s tingling, bursting with heat and electricity that threatens to devour him whole. But then his eyes shift to your lips and your tongue sneaks out, skipping over your bottom lip, pink and wet. Jeongguk can’t help the thought that forms in his mind. How your mouth would feel around his length, your tongue on his cock, the feeling of you choking on him as he fucked your mouth open. It’s hitting too fast for him to cope, a terrifying burst of warmth that runs from his head to his toe and Jeongguk nearly cries. It’s then that he paws your hands of him, let’s his still hard sensitive dick drop to his chest, desperately searching for air because he’s about to combust.

You only pause then, the stickiness that coats your palm making your chest feel funny. But then you glance at Jeongguk. His golden skin is glistening with sweat the rouge blush that scatters across his bare body, oddly beautiful.

“You’re still hard,” you murmur, involuntarily reaching out for him.

Jeongguk swats your hand away and something in you crumbles.

“Give me a moment,” Jeongguk gasps into the silence, too afraid to move because his dick hurts but it’s still so hard. He can still feel that edge, sharp and dangerous with how makes its presence known in his gut.

“Was I bad at this? You didn’t like it did you?”

Jeongguk wants to laugh again because anyone with eyes could see the mess you’d just wringed out from him. He can feel the streaks of his release on his chest and the fact that you don’t realise this makes him feel things he can’t understand. But he reads the unsureness in your tone and bites back the laugh in his throat.

“I did,” Jeongguk says instead, voice gentle despite the tension in the air. “You were about to make me come again.”

“Oh.”

And that’s all you can say because you see it now, how much the sheets beneath you are ruined not by the bottle of lube you’d all but dumped on his dick but by the mess of Jeongguk that now coats your hands too. You’d never expected it to be this much but there’s something about seeing him now, wrecked on his bed because of the way you touched him that makes your brain go fuzzy for a second. When you shift on your knees, you feel it. The weight in your gut, the heat between your thighs and the wetness that clings to your underwear.

Jeongguk must see it too because he meets your eyes with his heated gaze, cock still painfully hard against the perfect line of his abdomen. He feels himself sink deeper into that hole when your tongue skips over your lips again. There’s trouble in his. He knows it. He knows it so bad and yet he can’t help himself. Not when your eyes settle on him like that.

“Oh,” you say it again, fingertips settling on Jeongguk’s thigh. He tenses because it wouldn’t take much for you to drift your hands upwards, touch him again until he was whining into the sheets helplessly.

He hopes you read it in his eyes, the silent plea for this to not end just yet. He’s not ready to let this opportunity slip from his fingers right now. And then you say it. Jeongguk kind of wants to kiss you right away.

“Do you want me to make you come again?”

You shouldn’t have asked but your brain isn’t currently attached to your mouth right now and the wanton desire leaves your lips before you can swallow it down. There’s a moment of silence in the room and you don’t dare to look at Jeongguk, because you know he’s looking at you.

It’s the lilt in your voice that renders him helpless, plaint to any of the whims you wish to subject him too. You’re bolder than you pretend to be and Jeongguk wants to see more of that. More of this. Even that thought is wrong in itself because this is just a onetime thing. A blunder in your lives that both of you were immediately meant to forget. He sighs hard, back moulding into the sheets of his bed because Jeongguk feels heavy. The weight of his realisation sits on his heart, accompanied by the warning that bubbles in his chest. He should address it, but it’s so easy in this moment to ignore it. Because he wants that as much as you do. Maybe even more. So he lets himself have this, doesn’t question the way his heart flips when you glance at him, still waiting for his answer to your sudden offer. One mistake can’t hurt, can it?

He takes your hand into his, abhorring the way his gut tightens when your whimper. A tiny helpless noise that makes his thoughts run. Would you sound like that with his dick buried deep in you? Would you even be able to take him at first? No one had ever touched you like that. A part of Jeongguk wants him to be the only one to see you like that. But that’s not his to have. You’re just his best friend. That’s it. Yet as he guides your hand back to his length, feels the weight of your fingertips as they wrap around him, Jeongguk can’t help but imagine having more with you.

“You okay?” You suddenly ask, the sudden twitch against your palm drenching your underwear. But Jeongguk looks so distant, spaced out in the solace of his mind. You want him here, want him present. You give his length a sudden squeeze, the soft moan that glides from his mouth soothing the sudden need for reassurance that lingers in your heart. “Is this fine?”

No this is not fine, Jeongguk thinks. He’s not okay – at all. And that’s because he’s thinking thoughts about you and him and together. The both of you. Waking up with you, limbs tangled in his sheets. Going to bed with you in his arms. Being able to kiss you, touch you, without it being strange. Making you feel good underneath him (or on top of him – whichever you preferred). Being there for you forever. Not just as a friend. As more. He can’t help but long for that.

He hums instead, drives his hips up hard. “Yeah,” he says, even though his heart is beating painfully as he lies. “This is fine.”

[joyful-soul-collector]

❄️Week 1: December 9-15❄️

stars in the city ch. 10 by @parkrstark (Pt. 3 of constant as the stars above)

Summary: Peter and Steve are finally settling into their new life with Tony. Recovery isn't always a straight line, especially with a four-year-old, but they're trying their best. Their newfound fame has Steve juggling between his private life and the one plastered on the front page of every tabloid. He shouldn't have been surprised that the public didn't believe in his rags to riches love story. Tony usually makes it easier for him to handle it all. Until he starts to distance himself from Steve, as if now he's the one hiding something. And Steve is left wondering if he's about to lose Tony for good this time.

Relationships/Tropes: Stony, Irondad, Papa Steve, Homeless Peter Parker, Homeless Steve Rogers, No Powers AU, (Coffee Shop AU??? Sorta)

Review: This fic just always makes my heart ache in the best way. So much fluff, so much angst, it's a perfect balance that I'm just absolutely in love with!

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Devils Roll The Dice ch. 9 by @ephemeralstark

Summary: “I miss you Mr. Stark,” Peter admitted as he stared up through the leaves overhead at the stars that twinkled promisingly at him, “I wish you were back here. I would give anything to fix things, I would give anything for you to be alive today.” What Peter didn't know, as he made that wish and closed his eyes, letting the tears fall shamefully, was that the Universe was always listening, and it was dangerous to make a wish and offer up anything. - Tony Stark wakes up in his bed one morning, not realising that months have passed since his death - that's going to be awkward to explain to the world. Peter Parker has been living on the streets, trying to hide his identity as the entire world wants Spider-Man dead, and dealing with the trauma that Beck left him. To make things worse - it's now his fault that yet another bad guy thinks they're entitled to owning Earth.

Relationships/Tropes: Irondad, Spideychelle, Pepperony, Happy Hogan/May Parker, Homeless Peter Parker, Post-FFH, Post-Identity Reveal, Tony Stark Comes Back To Life

Review: Oh man this fic is so sad and so sweet, I love it so much! I love how it combines Peter's trauma after Mysterio with his reaction to finding out that Tony is alive again, it's just so creative!

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His Heart Bloomed Sunflowers (and he wore them on his skin) by @littlemissagrafina (Pt. 24 of Comfortember 2020)

Summary: Peter honestly didn't know how no one had discovered his tattoos yet. He wasn't broadcasting them but he wasn't exactly being the most subtle either. Although he was partly grateful for it since he was dreading what would happen when May on Tony saw them. But he was pleasantly surprised at the reactions that he got when he was found out. Peter had expected anger, disappointment, maybe annoyance at the very least. What he got was far from that. (A sequel to Comfortember Day 4. Anxiety) Comfortember Day 29. Make/Build/Create Something Beautiful

Relationships/Tropes: Minor Spideychelle, Tattoos, Comfortember

Review: I love this fic so much! I loved the description of how the flowers wilted when the ones he'd drawn had faded, and how the ones he got tattooed never wilted again :']

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I’ll drive all night (to keep them warm) by @littlemissagrafina (Pt. 23 of Comfortember 2020) 

Summary: For the next hour they tried to calm Morgan again but, just like the rest of the day with Tony and Pepper, nothing was working. No teething rings, gel, nothing. The little girl was just well and truly grumpy, tired, and sore.

Suddenly an idea came to Peter and he turned to Tony and Pepper. 

"Can I try something?"

They both nodded at him, prompting him to continue with his idea.

"Can I take her for a drive?" He asked. "I'm not sure if it'll work but Ben used to do it for me when I was younger and it always calmed me down."

Comfortember day 28. Car Ride

Relationships/Tropes: Irondad, Peter & Morgan, Pepperony, Baby Morgan, Car Rides, Comfortember

Review: This one was so cute! I love Peter being a good big brother to baby Morgan, and I relate to finding trips in the car relaxing and nice :D

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It’s What Brothers Do by @littlemissagrafina (Pt. 22 of Comfortember 2020)

Summary: Morgan was somehow full of even more energy than usual that day and wanted to see if she could do the monkey bars that were attached to the jungle gym herself. Before Peter could stop her, she had already grabbed hold of the first one and let herself swing towards the next one.

But the little girl had misjudged just how heavy swinging your own body weight was and almost immediately started falling. Peter shot forward from his place on the ground, jumping and diving, just managing to catch her before they both hit the grass of the park grounds. Comfortember Day 27. Park

Relationships/Tropes: Minor Pepperony, Peter & Morgan, Irondad, Peter Protects Morgan, Comfortember

Review: Another cute Big Brother Peter fic! I love that Peter was really protecting Morgan in this one, he loves her enough to put himself in harm's way to protect her

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The Burger Debate by @littlemissagrafina (Pt. 21 of Comfortember 2020) 

Summary: Tony and Peter shared a lot of similarities, there was no doubt about it. A lot of their mannerisms were the same, personality quirks (especially in the lab), occasional recklessness, selfless hero personas, etc etc. However, one thing they didn't share was their taste in burgers. Whenever the topic came up there was a friendly, yet heated, 'disagreement' as Tony called it. No matter what anyone ever told him, Tony thought that a cheeseburger was the holy grail of burgers. And Peter, well… he happened to think the same only for chicken burgers.

Comfortember Day 26. Junk Food

Relationships/Tropes: Irondad, Peter & Morgan, Pepperony, Infinity War Compliant, Not Endgame Compliant

Review: This was so sweet and so sad, especially the part where Tony couldn't eat burgers while Peter was snapped because it hurt him too much. It showed his grief really well

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Career Day Drabble by @jen27ny 

Summary: uncle happy and uncle rhodey come to peter’s career day

Relationships/Tropes: Happy & Peter, Rhodey & Peter, Happy & Rhodey, Minor Irondad, Career Day

Review:  I loved this story so much! I really appreciate seeing some nice Uncle Rhodey and Uncle Happy content!!

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Gifts by @wayward-fairchild (Pt. 5 of Holiday Collection 2020) 

Summary: Rhodey and Tony have been together to the point Rhodey sees the kids as his own. Maybe that is why the kids agree to help with Rhodey's biggest gift to Tony yet.

Relationships/Tropes: Rhodey & Tony, Irondad, Rhodey & Peter, Christmas, Kid Peter

Review: This was just absolutely adorable! I love some Irondads content and this was very sweet

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evermore by @lyssismagical

Summary: Just a Solid Vent Fic. I wanna do 30 days of Taylor Swift-inspired fics (folklore and evermore) lmao but idk yet we’ll see lemme know tho

Relationships/Tropes: Spideychelle, Irondad, Peter Overworks Himself

Review: I loved this one a lot! I definitely relate to Peter with tending to overwork myself during school and letting other things fall away, and then feeling quite exhausted after it's all over haha. I'm glad MJ and Tony were able to help him <3

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Two Hours Spent Cuddling by @skeeter-110 (Pt. 2 of Twelve Days of Christmas)

Summary: A giant snowstorm takes out the power in the tower. While waiting for the backup generator to come up, the Stark-Rhodes family finds a way to stay warm.

Relationships/Tropes: Ironhusbands, Irondad, Papa Rhodey, Kid Peter, Christmas

Review: I. Love this story. So much. I haven't seen very many stories that center around Rhodey being a father-figure to Peter, and this one definitely filled all my desires for such a story! It's so fluffy and sweet, and I loved every word :D

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Three Stark-Rhodes’ Decorating by @skeeter-110 (Pt. 3 of Twelve Days of Christmas)

Summary: Tony, Rhodey, and Peter Stark-Rhodes begin decorating for the holiday season.

Relationships/Tropes:  Ironhusbands, Irondad, Papa Rhodey, Kid Peter, Christmas

Review: This story was absolutely adorable! It was another featuring Papa Rhodey and Dad Tony with Little Peter, and it was so well done! I love that Tony's robots and JARVIS each get a stocking hung over the fire too, and the way Peter pronounce ornaments as "orminents" was so cute!!!

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Four Poorly Wrapped Presents by @skeeter-110 (Pt. 3 of Twelve Days of Christmas)

Summary: Peter has two presents each for his Daddy and his Papa. The only problem was, he had no idea how to wrap them. He figures the Avengers could help.

Relationships/Tropes: Ironhusbands, Irondad, Papa Rhodey, Avengers Family, Kid Peter, Christmas

Review: This was so sweet! Clint, Nat, and Steve treat Peter with such sweetness, and it made my heart all fuzzy and warm <3

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If you look at any these stories, be sure to show the author your appreciation with a comment/kudos/reblog where applicable!

Click here for more fanfic rec lists!

[cherryhanji]

flowers don't tell, they show

bulleted scenario. stray kids (hyung line) x female reader

genre: florist/flower shop au, fluff (idk what else to put lol)

words: 1.6k

warning(s): none (a single curse word maybe?)

description: what if you received a flower from your own shop?

alexa's note:

so hello there my friends! stay at home this valentines'? (actually u don't need a boyfriend/girlfriend to celebrate valentines. love is not only for couples! it's for everyone! have u heard different types of love?) well, i just want to give my lovely bubs here the half of my cute lil valentines' gift. and i hope y'all like it! *kith kith* (maknae line will be posted tomorrow)

just a quick disclaimer:

so i really don't have that much knowledge about flowers and their specific meanings, i just googled them (sorry) so if i interpreted something that you think is wrong, pls tell me right away. thankies!

•••

BANG CHAN

• your cutie af neighbor who highkey endorses your shop to his fam and friends, in which you are so grateful of because it really helped your business a lot

• "your flower arrangements are so damN beautiful"

• always gives a cup of coffee every morning before you go to your shop

• "cheer up! florists like you are always appreciated. Don't be sulky, okay?"

• one time you went home really exhausted

• valentines' day is always the holiday that makes your business boom a lot

• only seeing a bouquet of flower sitting nicely on your doorstep

• realizing that the bouquet was the one you made a while ago, but didn't have the clue who the person who bought this from you.

• "I know it's very exhausting, since morning, I know you'll get exhausted, so I bought this for you, hoping that it will lift up your mood and put a smile on your face."

• "keep on smiling, it makes me smile too. - CHAN"

• he's right. Definitely right. Because as soon as you read his small note, that bright smile on your face never faded. all the stress from the shop was completely removed by this unexpected gift.

• "He's really a sunshine, as what they always say."

LEE KNOW/MINHO

• "flowers easily wilt and die soon, why are y'all spending your money with that?"

• "minho, if you just went here to mock my family's business, I am happy to tell you that you may now leave"

• "Fine fine. They're beautiful, okay? Like you"

• "oh shut up"

• Minho always annoy the shit out of you every weekends. And when you say weekends, it means Saturday and Sunday because you always help ypur parents manage your own family business which is a flower shop.

• Your mother loves planting, especially growing flowers. And as a daughter of a florist, you grew to love it. Which gives you knowledge about different kinds of flowers and their specific meaning.

• "being a florists' daughter, what's your favorite flower?"

• you smiled at his expected inquiry. your classmates already asked you the same question.

• Minho is your friend for quite a long time already, though you weren't surprised he asked this question, but what's surprising is he asked you about this just now.

• "I actually have lots of them. truthfully I love all kinds of flowers. But I have this one thing on my mind."

• he looks a bit interested, knowing Minho, he's not into flowers, telling you that he always catch allergies whenever he stays near them. Not having an idea why he always manage to go to your shop that is full of flowers and not getting allergies at all.

• "I really love this flower called goldenrod. Aside from its cute little yellow flower heads, I love it because of its symbolism."

• "it symbolizes encouragement and growth, and apparently this flower brings good luck to everyone. Isn't it cute?"

• "Kinda. You know, rose and sunflower are the only flowers I am really familiar of"

• You laugh at his adorable confession, he's right. Most of your customers, example of them are teenagers like you order roses as a gift for their special someone.

• Little did they know, there are different variations of flowers that can really interpret what they feel

• "I heard that Camellia symbolizes adoration, am I right?"

• you were shocked that Minho, a guy who only knows roses and sunflowers knew this.

• Camellia symbolizes adoration, some people give Camellia to tell how much they adore and like that certain person.

• "yeah, you're right. How'd you know that?"

• "Google, duh. Anyways, do you have a stock of Camellias today? If yes, can you please arrange me a bouquet of it?"

• As expected, Minho and his sassiness. But knowing that he'll purchase a camellia from your shop consoled you a bit.

• Giving you his payment, you immediately arranged the camellia bouquet, your favorite arrangement. Showcasing your talent in front of him

• Which you think is effective because you can see how attentive he was from your peripheral view, making you feel a bit awkward.

• But your mind came to abrupt stop after you gave him the bouquet.

• "w-why..?"

• "it's for you, idiot. Good job in arranging the bouquet, you received a pretty bouquet of camellia flowers.

• "the flower says it all. don't ask me why."

CHANGBIN

• "The most expensive bouquet of flowers you sell in your please."

• You frown at the way Changbin address his order to you.

• In your University, Changbin is that one "delinquent, rude-looking guy from your class".

• And your first encounter with him isn't that good. Leaving a bad impression of him to you. So you were kinda surprised to see him in your shop.

• Seeing Changbin, dressed in black leather jacket with lots of piercings hanging on his ears with a colorful bouquet of flowers from your shop in his hands? nah, that's strange for you.

• "are you really this good at arranging those flowers?"

• his "lowkey compliment" made your ears perked up. You and Changbin aren't really that close, given your bad first meeting with him.

• "Uh, y-yeah? Because I do this for a long time now. So I'm already used to it."

• Giving his order to him made your face a bit flushy, your hands accidentally brushed against each other.

• You just handed his order, but why do you feel something in your stomach?

• your eyebrows knitted when he gave back to you the flowers, hesitating to accept it.

• doesn't he like the arrangement?

• "w-why are you giving this--"

• "I'm sorry if I left a bad impression to you. I swear, I didn't mean to be rude to you. I am just totally pissed off that day. And I wished that the ground will just eat me alive when I knew you were one of my classmates in Ethics."

• Hearing him apologize for leaving a bad impression to you, made your heart sank. Maybe he's not that rude unlike what you think of him.

• "Are you really that sorry?"

• You didn't know why you asked that, maybe you just liked the way his sorry and remorseful tone is contrasting his physical appearance?

• "Yeah, I really am. I hope that you accept it. Maybe we can start off again? This time, I'll be nicer to you. I'll never be that rude guy from your class ever again."

• His last line made you giggle because he probably heard what you told your seatmate about him that day.

HYUNJIN

• The classic "high school hearththrob"

• Expected that most girls from your school gave him those plastic flowers, with diabetic filled boxes (aka sweets)

• "I really appreciate their admiration. But where do you think I'll store these plastic flowers? I am not even a fan of flowers."

• "plastic flowers last long. but it's plastic, it can destroy our nature. So, real flowers are still the real deal."

• "yeah, I know. That's why you're lowkey endorsing your flower shop. Yeah, they should buy authentic and fresh flowers from Y/N's flower shop."

• Hyunjin decided to walk with you, going to your shop after school, to help your parents sell and arrange flowers. Because for sure there are lots of people visiting your shop to buy flowers. Valentines' day, people.

• "Is it okay to stay here for a while? If you don't mind?"

• You just let him walk around, his eyes appreciating the beauty of each flowers displayed around the shop.

• The title "flower boy" just fits him perfectly.

• and the way he just picked up the single lavender rose was just as fascinating as him

• "this looks pretty and rare, what does this mean?"

• "you're right. lavender rose are the rare variety of roses, and it symbolizes love at first sight."

• the smile on hyunjin's face is so genuine, and you know that someone came up to his mind after you told him what the lavender rose symbolizes.

• "great. I'll buy this one, please."

• the enthusiasm in Hyunjin's voice tells you that your assumption was right. Who ever they are, they're so lucky.

• But you think you already have an idea who that person is.

• With a small folded paper, and a bar of chocolate, Hyunjin gave you the flower he bought and picked himself from your own flower shop.

• "Happy Valentines, I hope you like it."

• For sure the thumpings of your heart can be heard already because of its wild beating.

• "Good thing I found that rare flower for a girl like you."

•••

tagging my networks: (bcs sometimes it won't show up in the tags😤) @districtninewriters @inkidz @skzwriternet @stayhavens @0325-net

[sugasugawarau]

Synopsis: You knew that Kageyama Tobio was not your soulmate - and that was why you could not help but succumb to the waves that lulled you away from the shores of fate + semi inspired by Eyes Blue like the Atlantic by sistaprod ft. Subvrbs. Also part of @yacoka‘s collab <3 (2.4k words)

Warnings/notes: Some angst near the end, soulmate red string au, gender neutral reader. No beta we die like Rex Lapis so if I ever feel like it this may be edited at some point asdahdhj idk LMAO

— Prologue

There are as many reasons to fall in love with Kageyama Tobio as there are fractals made by the ocean’s breath as the world inhales and exhales, flourishes and wilts, conquers and surrenders. It would not even be a hyperbole to say that in number, they remain unrivalled to the plethora of stars that stain the waves with their reflection and run deeper than the scars of lightyears that paint lines from Cassiopeia to Aquila.

After all, he is the darkest hue of navy blue.

Determination that moves in an orchestra of thundering waves, brandishing on its crest an admirable recklessness, heeding not for the need to call upon courage or confidence; polished instinct that endued one with the same awestruck feeling when facing the beautifully suffocating obscurity of their life in this world, a mixture of raw fear and the need to impart a piece of their soul in everything they do despite how fragile the skin shielding their heart is.

But the best part of loving Kageyama was that you were not - or will ever become - destined to be.

— Shoreline

Red.

It was a word that was always thrown about in conversations, the fuel to the catastrophes that were high school gossip chains, and the colour that held the mangled passion of the string of fate. Garishly predestined and easily tangled by unnecessary complications of jealousy and confusion, it is needless to say that you hated red with more passion than the love it emptily promises with a title as shallow as soulmates.

That was not to say you despised love. There was nothing wrong with love itself, a fact which you had decided firmly since the spry age of four years old. What was wrong was its combination with soulmates: a rigid formula, nothing like the walks with your grandmother on the bright summer roads littered with flowers as her calloused palm gently guided you, or the laughter you shared with your friends after a long run in the rain, hugging each other goodbye at the end of the day despite the muddy battle scars covering your arms and legs from falling countless times.

Your mind could have kept you engaged in your internal debate for longer if you were left to your own devices, but an awkward cough and the sound of a desk shifting towards your right brought you out of your reverie, bringing your drifting thoughts back to the classroom surrounding you.

Perhaps your look of confusion came off as hostile, for the dark-haired boy now sitting next to you looked at you with a slight glare that felt forced, an automatic effort to defend himself.

His tone of voice only confirmed your unconsciously off-putting expression as he gruffly stated, “Group project.” to explain his sudden presence.

“Oh. What’s the topic on?”

An awkward silence had ensued while you tried to calmly collect yourself by gathering a handful of pens from your pencil case after being caught in your heinous crime of not paying attention to your English teacher.

“You don’t know?” Came his reply, causing you to occupy yourself by finding extreme interest in a lime green highlighter you did not have any recollection of ever buying.

“Well, I clearly wasn’t paying attention.”

“You… weren’t?” The slight intonation in his tone was a stark contrast to your initial impression of him and caused you to look up at him, almost letting out an amused snort at his befuddled frown to which he furrowed his brows and shot a challenging “What?” in return. Realizing that he was genuine in believing that you were deep in thought over the lesson, a burst of laughter blossomed past your lips, attracting a few odd looks from your nearby peers and an abashed glare from him.

You paused to take a breath, a repetition of sorries stumbling their way out to appease the onslaught of nagging you thought would follow shortly. Instead, all the boy muttered was a simple, “You’re weird.”

“Sure, but that’s beside the point - were you paying any attention?”

“No.”

Seeing your face contorted to stop yet another bout of laughter to roam its way into the world as a result of his bluntness, he shot out of his seat and announced that he would go ask the teacher, unable to hide his puzzlement as he walked away. He would come to regret this decision when the teacher began to lecture him, earning more heads to turn his way as she scolded him before sending him off dismissively with a sticky note that you assumed had your now long-awaited topic.

Before you could thank him for enduring what could only be one of the worst things to experience as a high school student, he wordlessly handed the piece of paper to you and sat down.

“Kageyama, right? With this project, you’ll have me to thank for the A we’ll get,” you promised confidently, to which he responded with a halfhearted “Good luck.”

If he had been a close friend, you would have taken the small textbook on his desk and gently hit his head at his evident lack of belief in his capabilities, but settled for a clipped sigh instead. After all, you did not want to further contribute to the premature wrinkles Kageyama was making himself prone to with all of the brow-furrowing he did.

This is going to be one long month.

— Largo

Like how the ocean reluctantly caresses the sleeping shore as it wakes from its slumber during low tide, your lives slowly flowed together.

During the first week of your group project with him, he would greet you curtly, and on a few occasions, you would have short conversations about the outline of your book review.

And this singular week was enough to show that there was some (okay, maybe a lot) of backing behind the teacher’s warning about Kageyama’s dismal grade.

While you flipped through A Midsummer Night’s Dream, you would catch the all-too-familiar confusion on his face - it was written on his features so blatantly that it was almost comical, as if taken straight out of a shonen manga.

“You know if you’re stuck you can ask me for help.”

A slight scowl greeted you over the hedge of pages he had been burying himself in, followed by a biting, “Who said I need help?”

You could only roll your eyes in return.

“Please drop the prideful act. You've been glazing over the same page for about twenty minutes now."

After a few seconds of grumbling did he finally comply, and with your explanations, his bookmark was now comfortably sandwiched between the double-digit page numbers right as the bell rang. You hummed in satisfaction before returning your desk to your original spot, expecting him to rush out along with everyone else - so to turn around and see him still standing there was a bit of a surprise.

“Did you still need help with the last few lines?” You settled on asking, not really wanting to plague your break with work but offering nonetheless. Thankfully, he shot a look of disdain at the play as he stuffed it away haphazardly in his bag.

“No, I just wanted to,” he trailed off a bit, the tinge of red on his ears an out-of-character detail you decided not to comment on, “to say thanks, I guess.”

You smiled softly at the unexpected gesture of appreciation before giving him a teasing nudge which he stiffened slightly at.

“Well, I can’t have you bringing down my mark now can I?”

“Nevermind, I take it back.”

“Too bad, I have those words of gratitude stored nicely in my hippocampus already.”

From there, tutoring sessions with Kageyama became the norm, with you sometimes asking about his volleyball team after he had let slip that you were a better teacher than Tsukishima (something you would be sure to smugly share if you ever met the infamous middle blocker).

By the end of the month, all of the hard work - and a couple of all-nighters due to procrastination - brought forth an A as you had promised.

Even your relentless teasing, varying between “I told you so!” to “You owe me at least three meat buns now” which were all met with an annoyed “Shut up”was not enough to dim the smile he tried to hide.

— High tide

With the force of nature, the tide rose without warning; from goodnight texts to confessing to the first “I love you” uttered shyly between shameless souls, neither of you was sure where things began, but found comfort in such liberating chaos.

In times where he needed to be held, you were there, and the insecurities you would hide, he would turn beautiful. And today happened to be a day for both as you stared absentmindedly at his bedroom ceiling.

“Hey Tobio, what’s your take on soulmates?”

“We’ve been together for almost a year now, what do you think?” he put his phone down and turned towards you, “I could care less about soulmates or whatever else is worrying you enough to make your overthinking go into overdrive.”

“Rude, have some respect, it’s my profession after all,” you shoved him playfully as he snorted in reply, “It’s just... If your string ever appeared, wouldn't you rather-”

“Listen Y/n, did you know that I’m scared of dying but I’m even more terrified of the thought of living without you? I could never and don’t ever want to replace you. People can talk all they want, if I could find a love like ours without something as stupid as a piece of string then I don’t need a soulmate.”

“Really?”

With a flick to your forehead, he huffed in fake exasperation. “Really.”

“Huh, who knew you could be so romantic.”

“It's not romantic, I'm just being honest, idiot.”

“You sure could make do with some more lessons on manners and social tact. It's too bad you can't pick up on those as well as volleyball drills.”

Before he could retaliate, you enveloped him in a familiar embrace, burrowing your face into the large hoodie he donned.

It was effortless, his company.

— Ebbing away

But it wasn’t all romantic.

You fiddled with your phone as you waited for any sign that Kageyama had seen your messages, the pack of meat buns you had bought on a whim no longer letting off their fragrant steam. You knew he had an important match coming up against Seijoh, that he had to prove himself, that he lives hungrily and foolishly like no other. But his missing presence went beyond volleyball practice, keeping his distance from you even when he was right by your side.

Why am I stuck reminiscing about the past when we still have each other?

Why does every step I take towards him feel as if I’m only drawing myself farther away from him?

A carousel of rhetorical questions spun around your head as you stopped your slow pace towards Karasuno. You were not blind; you knew the rumours and dirty looks from your classmates were not something anyone could be immune to, that he tried his best to spend less time around you at school. The only conclusion you could reach was that he was ashamed: either of you, or the fact that he had begun to see his red string and could not bring himself to face you.

Ignoring the urge to let yourself cry, you glanced down at your phone once more, 8:30PM flashed across your eyes, followed by your empty notifications. There was no way he’d still be practicing at the school now and even if he was, you doubted he would be happy to see you. Maybe - no, definitely - it would be better to head home, and maybe stop by the convenience store you had bought the now misshapen meat buns from to get some tea and call it a night.

If only fate did not reciprocate your hatred towards it.

Stepping into the small store, the first person you are greeted with is none other than Kageyama Tobio. The whole situation was like a fever dream, and you would do anything to be able to let out a laugh and have him call you weird all over again. But all you could bring yourself to do was blearily stare at him.

He turned around quickly, as if not wanting to be caught before ushering you outside. “Y/n? Why are you here?” he hissed, a stiffness that he had recently adopted to his body language that you were now all too familiar with.

“What? Am I not allowed to go into any and all convenience stores I please?” You challenged, a part of you waiting for him to care enough to see how tired you were, to actually look you in the eyes for the first time in weeks.

He did not, opting to turn his head towards the door again.

“It’s not that, it’s just-”

“Just what? Tobio, what is up with you lately?” A pause ensued, broken by a small hiccup as your eyes dampened - God, how much more pathetic could you get than crying in front of some dingy convenience store - “Do you even love me anymore?”

How odd. You thought that by finally uttering the final question that had been dancing around your mind free to the world, you would feel better. That he would reassure you, as he always had.

Not that he would at last meet your gaze, grabbing your hand to look at the red string wrapped around your ring finger.

The taste of tears and Kageyama’s eyes as blue as the Atlantic all felt miles away from you as an orange-haired boy stepped out of the store, his mouth dropping into an o-shape when he saw that his string led to you, a disheveled mess arguing with his teammate.

“Kageyama…You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to face the reality of it all. Because I was afraid of losing you.”

“But I wouldn’t leave you-”

“I know you wouldn’t but you should!” Kageyama’s furrowed brows, once a quirk of his that you were fond of, now elicited a sick turmoil in your stomach, “You have to. Please.”

You wanted to yell at him, let the blood pour out of any and all raw words of anger and hurt.

Who was he to decide what was good for you, to throw you at some boy you never met before, to give up?

Then again, you could never say you would not have done the same for him if you knew he had found his soulmate despite the sweet words he had told you so long ago.

So you let yourself go. For his sake.

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

FFT: after an endless dream; finn balor

Notes:

this was originally sent to the asks of my main by @kyleoreillysknee​ and when I got the idea to do a soulmate au, I went for ultimate cheese and fluff. I had to move this over and give it it’s own spot on this blog. Perhaps I’ll write more in the future, idk.

Summary:

for years now, Finn and Eileen have been meeting in their dreams. Living out these entire lives in their dreams. But then, it happens. They finally meet IRL.

Warnings:

so much cheesy fluff very wow. soulmate au thing. 

Pairing:

Finn Balor x OFC, Eileen

She left a yellow rose and a long neck bottle

On a table beside my bed

With a short little note that said I had a good time

It was written in lipstick red

The alarm was almost jarring and he sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He definitely didn’t want to be awake right now, he’d much rather have been finishing the dream he’d been having. Lying under the stars with her on a blanket, that soft little laugh as he pointed out different constellations in the darkened sky overhead.

Well, that’s where they’d been last night. That’s where they always wound up. The area was one Finn was intimately familiar with, it was the woods behind his parents place over in Ireland.

He slipped out of bed and happened to glance at the nightstand next to his hotel bed. The wildflowers were sitting there in the bottle from the root beer he’d been drinking in his dream the night before and for a few seconds, he rubbed his eyes and blinked. He half expected the bottle and the flowers to be gone when he opened them again, but they weren’t.

This was something new. The deep lucid dreamlike state that seemed to take over most nights, he was used to. Finding little notes, he’d grown accustomed to that around the age of 16. Finding out something was missing was still relatively new, he’d started having that happen earlier last year, whoever his soulmate was, she had a penchant for stealing his hoodies or his tee shirts.. But he’d never actually.. Bought something back from his dreams with him. And he distinctly remembered giving them.. To her. Just as the sun was rising and her image was starting to fade away like smoke on the wind.

A piece of napkin, -stained by strawberry milkshake he was almost certain of it, was tucked neatly beneath the dark-colored bottle. The words on the napkin were written in loopy cursive that didn’t look familiar to him at all. Hearts dotted the I’s and in lieu of a name, she’d simply left a deep red lipstick print.

I thought you could use these more than me, tiger. I had a good time last night. Same time tonight? I’m sure you’ll do amazing at your show tonight. Just… don’t get hurt, okay? Please, don’t get hurt.

If he hadn’t basically lived with this whole thing his entire life, he’d be wondering if he led a double life every night once his body clocked out for the day. He hadn’t ruled out the possibility that he just might be a little crazy. But actually having the flowers and the bottle sitting on his nightstand.. Oh, those proved otherwise.

The smile played at his lips and he reached out, sitting down the note carefully. After sitting down the note, he picked up the bottle with the wildflowers inside, raising the bottle to his nose to smell the flowers.

She took my new sunglasses and my old jean jacket

And she never even bothered to ask

Eileen sat up in bed, stretching and yawning. Her first instinct was to throw her hands immediately in her face to shield her eyes from the early morning sun while swearing and vehemently vowing to buy a pair of goddamn curtains.

Instantly upon saying it, she knew she’d forget, she always managed to.  As she passed by the mirror on her closet door, she stopped, eyes catching on tousled dark brown waves.

More to the point, on the crooked crown of wilted wildflowers that sat on top of those waves. Her hand raised and she gave a soft little smile. She was still getting used to finding odd objects or articles of clothing either on her person or thrown haphazardly across the footboard of her bed in the morning. Notes, she’d been getting since she was fifteen, she was used to those. Finding things missing or out of place, that had been happening for a year or so now.

This morning, she was wearing an entirely new tee shirt too. A black one, worn so often that it felt thin and soft to the touch.

The realization called forth the memory of moonlight glimmering on black water and clothing hung on a branch and him.. Offering up his tee-shirt because she managed to trip and fall back into the creek they’d apparently both subconsciously chosen as a rendezvous point long ago and he didn’t want her to get sick.

The way his hazy form held her tight as he laughed from deep in his chest, pointing up at a darkened sky and telling her stories she knew he had to be making up about the different constellations the stars formed overhead.

Her favorite was the story of Catarina and Arturo even though now, as an adult, she knew he’d ripped it straight out of an older movie, Overboard. Her mom loved that movie and watched it literally all the time, so the second she’d heard Kurt’s character telling Goldie’s character the story, she’d instantly remembered it. Never bought it up to him though, because where the story came from didn’t matter.. It was the sound of his voice as he told it, whispered against her hair, his arm around her.

The small fond sigh escaped her mouth and she took a deep breath.

Sooner or later, all of this would mean something, she was essentially pinning all her hopes on that. These kinds of things were special and magical and they took time to reveal themselves in full.

She just found herself hoping against hope that it’d be sooner rather than later. Because she was dying to meet this literal man of her dreams. Curious to know if he’d match up to the mental image she’d formed of him long ago while simultaneously not caring because she knew him like the back of her hand. And she knew that she’d love him regardless.

Oh there’s a thin line between dreams and memories

I’ll be losin’ my mind ‘till she comes back to me

The laughter had his head snapping up almost instantly. Blue eyes darted around as Finn tried to identify the source of that sweet and oh so familiar sound. For some reason he found himself staring intently at the brunette in a pair of cut offs and a tank top that was at least four sizes too large just up the beach from him.

She was trying to wrangle a rope toy away from a large dog. Her dog. It hit him then and he found himself sitting there in awe as everything around them fell away and every single dream he’d ever shared with her replayed in his head like a movie.

He must have been in a pretty serious daze, because the next thing he knew, the rope toy was sitting beside him, with the Golden staring at the toy and then at him as if he knew exactly who Finn was. Finn chuckled and reached over, scratching the dog behind the ears.

“Ralphie!”

The brunette was jogging closer and Finn’s heart was absolutely pounding. It was finally happening and true to form, it almost felt as if it were happening in slow motion.

Eileen froze almost the second she saw who Ralphie was sitting beside. She didn’t need what happened next to happen, somehow, without the fact that every single little intimate moment she’d shared with the handsome blue-eyed man sitting on the beach towel next to her dog replaying in her head, she would’ve just known.

“It’s you.”

They both said it at the exact same time and they were both gaping at one another. Finn rose to stand, towering over her, chuckling quietly as his eyes darted down and he realized that the shirt she was wearing was the shirt he woke up missing two mornings prior.

“So dat’s where et went.”

“Well, I mean you did give it to me.” Eileen bit her lip as she gazed up at him, a hand raised and heading for his cheek because she just had to.. Touch him. To know that he was real and this was finally happening. Because she’d been starting to lose hope that it would ever actually happen.

“Dat ah did.” Finn muttered, a hand resting against her cheek almost tenderly. Ralphie tried to squeeze himself between the two of them and they both laughed, looking down at the dog and then back up at each other.

Finn broke the following silence.

“Dere is so much ah want t’ say to y. But ah don’t even know where t’ start. And ah feel like ah’ve said it all so many times before.” his fingertips curled beneath her jawline as he stared down at her lips intently. Eileen hummed quietly, licking her lips and taking a few shaky breaths. “You could start with your name. Because we never really told each other that.”

“Et’s Finn. Wot’s yer name, beautiful?”

She blushed and shook her head no, giving that soft and sultry little laugh of hers. “It’s Eileen.”

“Eileen. Dat’s a pretty name.”

“You, sir, are a charmer.” Eileen glanced up at a darkening sky and Finn’s gaze followed hers just as the bottom seemed to drop out, soaking them both and making Ralphie bark from their feet. “Okay boy, okay.” Eileen reached down to pet her dog and then she met Finn’s gaze. “So, Ralphie and I were wondering.. Since we obviously have a lot to talk about, Finn.. Would you like to come back to our beach house maybe?”

Finn chuckled and nodded. “Ah would love dat.”

[littlejedii]

Bloom

Long Exposure flower shop AU. This was written off this fanart by sadcooki WOW it’s just so good GO LOOK AT IT please. Made me think of the song Bloom by the Paper Kites. Maybe probably to be posted on ao3 someday maybe? Idk. Story under the break!

It’s a Wednesday, their slowest day of the week. Even worse yet it’s a chilly, windy Wednesday; the clear sky and bright sun deceptive of the dropping October temperatures. Everybody’s bought their Mums for the fall season and the Sunflowers in their greenhouse are starting to wilt a bit.

First thing Mitch does is check on the Indian corn, then the dried Sumac his mom wants to make wreaths with. The heat is on, he’s sure of it, since the warm gust of air that had welcomed him in the early morning had made his eyes tired and heavy.

Regardless, he checks the thermostat, then makes his way back to the greenhouse. It’s barely the size of a backyard shed, lined with damaged plywood shelves on all sides. He starts at the bottom shelf, gently moving each pot out just slightly to check on the plant’s growth.

October is his least favorite month for succulents, but he checks each and every one all the same.

The bottom shelf is the chilliest, populated by small terracotta pots of cold-hardy Senecio Haworthii Cocoon Plant. He runs his fingertips over the fine hair of the plant. They won’t produce their pretty yellow flowers for some time, but they’re sprouting up happily ahead of schedule.

Next shelf up is his favorite for the month, Kalanchoe Tomentosa. For now, these are the smallest, but they’ll grow nicely. The little buds will mature to become alluring, but dangerous; he doesn’t sell them to people with cats or kids or anything likely to eat it, because it’s super poisonous. Which is pretty killer, if you ask him.

Top shelf are his pride and joy, the Echinocereus Reichenbachii. The cacti are growing thick with mean spikes despite the poor conditions, and he grins. It’ll be hard to sell these beauties.

He never actually made it far enough in science classes for their technical names to mean dick to him, but he still calls each and every one by its given name. Writes them down, knows how to pronounce them, makes an effort to remember them. It’s a respect thing. It’s probably why they grow for him even in the cooler weather with only the protection of their shitty, ramshackle greenhouse.

He turns away, crouching to check the bed of soil on the floor. Heavy leaves and thick vines twist and curl through the dirt and onto the floor, yellow flowers dotting the green. A few yellowish pumpkins cling to the vines.

The bell on the door jingles, alerting him of his Mom’s arrival.

That, and her shrill voice rings out, “OH brrr, it’s cold as a witch’s tit outside! Feels so nice in here, huh, Mitchy?”

“Yup,” he calls back, trimming the dead leaves from the pumpkin plant and carefully shutting the door to the greenhouse to amble his way back inside.

“Gonna be a slow day, huh?”

“Mm,” he grunts. He’s not exactly looking forward to being here all day, yet again, just like every other day.

But supporting his mom’s dream is worth it. So it’s okay. As Henrietta pulls her hair up into a ponytail and lights her first cigarette of the day, he sighs. It’s gonna be a long one. Winter sales are painfully slow this time of year. Too far from Halloween from pumpkins, but they can’t grow that many anyway. Too wintery for gardens, because everyone’s content letting their summer flowers die off. Far, far off from the holiday season of holly and berry and poinsettia.

Flower shop limbo. What purgatory feels like, probably.

Henrietta busies herself all morning, humming and smoking while she makes pretty wreathes. Burlap bows and twine wrap her creations, brightened by the Indian corn and Sumac Mitch had fetched for her. He moves their larger plants and bushes around at his Mom’s command, and in no time he’s caked head to toe in dirt.

“I changed my mind, put that Little Henry on the top shelf and move the Brandywine out to the front, so people can see it.”

“In the window?”

“No, next to the doors! And look,” she holds up one of her creations happily, “so cute. Would this be nice on the door?”

“Yeah, I think it’d be perfect,” he responds, smiling a bit. Her excitement about the little things makes the terrible mundaneness of this place bearable. He lugs the Brandywine out to the front, shivering as a large gust whips down the narrow street. A shirt with sleeves probably would have been a good decision today, he thinks as he hangs Henrietta’s decoration on the door. As he’s lugging the second, inexplicably heavier Brandywine over their doorjam, he hears the quick shuffle of footsteps interrupt the silent morning.

Must be 9:30 already. The morning really flew by. Pretending not to look, he stares from the side of his eye at the figure ambling down the street. The boy wraps his jacket tighter around himself, ducking his head as the sharp winds blow his wild, chocolate brown curls around. The sun’s doing that thing it always does around this time, becomes bright and golden as the boy walks down the street, illuminating all the shop windows and catching the mailboxes.

Almost like the dark-haired boy himself is the sun, brightening everything for a single glorious moment before he ducks into the cafe across the street. Mitch sighs. Another day, another opportunity to talk to him passed because he’s too goddamn chicken. How long had he been watching him from afar? Maybe something like 8 months now. He’s thought about going into the cafe, ordering something for the chance to talk to the guy, but that’s too... forced. Lost in thought, he barely hears his Mom calling him from inside.

She’s hand-painted them a sign, “Freddie’s Flowers” in happy blue letters on white, and it’s his job to hang it above the stained red awning on the front of the building. He teeters on the very top step of a rickety ladder, his knees wavering as he grips nails between his teeth and hammers the sign into the wood siding. Another big gust of wind and he’s shaking, from cold and the shuddering ladder.

“Hey up there,” he hears a musical voice call. He looks down, squinting against the sunshine. Big green eyes and a shy smile greet him. The air is knocked from his lungs.

It’s the boy.

Mitch nearly inhales a nail as he drops the hammer, fumbling it in his hands and getting far too close to dropping off the ladder. He scrambles down, awkward, gangly limbs barely catching the rungs before his ratty sneakers hit the pavement.

The boy’s so small. Even prettier up close. A smattering of freckles adorns him, from the expanse of his smooth forehead, down the curve of his neck, then disappear under the collar of his sweater. His teeth are pearly, perfectly straight below his lips, and he’s still grinning. His curls are loose, wild, look like they feel so incredibly soft. He smells amazing.

Mitch hasn’t said anything for almost a solid minute, and the boy is starting to look slightly unnerved.

“Hi. Hey,” Mitch breathes.

“Hi,” the boy’s smile grows, “Are you Freddie?”

“Ah, no. I’m Mitch,” his words falter only slightly. It’s been years since he’s been called his brothers name.

“Oh, nice to meet you. I’m Jonas, I work- like, right there,” he finishes with a soft giggle, pointing across the street.

“Yeah, I know,” Mitch says automatically. “I see you- I see you most days, walking in,” he prattles, trying to recover as his face flushes red.

“I usually see you, too,” Jonas smiles softly, “but you’ve never come in, so I thought I’d bring something to you.” He raises a white cup, stamped with a picture of a Magnolia flower, and extends it out to Mitch.

Goddamn he fucking hates coffee. But he takes it, his freezing fingers brushing against Jonas’ as he takes it and knocks back a swig.

I mean, at least the boy tried to make it drinkable. There’s probably cream and sugar in it, but fuck, it’s still so disgusting. He keeps his face straight as the bitter liquid sits on his tongue.

“Thanks, it’s good,” he lies. “I needed this.”

“Yeah, I just thought you looked hot- COLD. I thought you looked cold. I thought you needed something hot. To drink. So I brought you coffee,” a blush is rising from Jonas’ neck, over his cheeks and up to his hairline as he sputters the words out.

“No, it’s perfect, I did,” Mitch responds quickly. “Thanks, thank you.”

They stay quiet for a moment, Jonas staring into the window of the shop, Mitch staring at Jonas.

“I’ll see you around then, right?” Jonas asks, cocking his head to the side and looking painfully cute.

“Yeah,” Mitch answers back far too quickly, then clears his throat. “Definitely.” They smile at each other for just a second before Jonas nods and turns away, walking quickly back into the cafe across the street. His heart is beating rapidly.

So that didn’t go amazing. He wasn’t smooth or flirtatious or charming like he had always dreamed he’d be when he finally got the balls to talk to Jonas, but it could’ve gone worse. He stares through the window of the cafe and takes another sip of coffee, using everything in him not to shudder at the taste. Through the window he catches Jonas’ green eyes on him again. They widen in embarrassment as he looks down and away, shuffling away from the glass. Mitch grins.

Yeah. That definitely could’ve gone worse.

The next day he comes in late, lugging a heavy box of plastic pots from their garden supplier and grunts his way through the backdoor. He’s in a shitty mood. Their supplier got them the wrong size pots, it had started to pour as he was loading them into the truck, and worst of all he didn’t see Jonas through the cafe window. He slings his apron over his neck lazily as he pushes his soaking wet hair back. Henriettas’ chattering away to a customer at the counter, but he doesn’t bother paying attention, standing on his tiptoes to pull a heavy Oakleaf Hydrangea from the top shelf someone had ordered earlier.

“Hey up there,” a familiar voice rings out, and he can’t control how fast he spins around with a grin.

“Hey! It’s- it’s Jonas, right?” Mitch asks, making like he hasn’t been repeating the name over and over in his head since the moment he heard it.

“Yeah. I needed some flowers for the tables, so of course I’d come here. I was... wondering where you were,” Jonas finishes quickly, staring intently at Mitch’s exposed arms then darting his eyes away to the bush.

“I had to pick up a delivery,” Mitch says, bending to place the plant down, “so what’re you thinkin’ for the tables?”

“Gosh. I have no idea,” Jonas lets out an embarrassed, breathy laugh. “Something... Fall-y? Yellow, or oranges maybe? Reds? I’m terrible at this stuff.”

“I have an idea. C’mere” he nods, leading Jonas to their fridge and bending to gather some stems. “I’ll do it. Just some sprigs, yeah?”

“Yeah, the vases are really small, and we have five tables,” Jonas leans down to watch what he’s doing, and Mitch stops breathing. He smells like warm bread and vanilla, and his hand lays softly on Mitch’s shoulder to balance himself.

“How’s, uh, how’s this?” he asks, raising a small arrangement. “Antique Rose, Foxglove, Agonis and some Privet Berries. It’s not really what you asked for, but-”

“No! No, it’s perfect. But how much-”

“Nothing. Consider ‘em payback for the coffee,” Mitch says, red face turned away from Jonas as the small hand squeezes his shoulder. His long fingers waver a bit as he wraps the arrangements with twine.

When he stands to hand them over, Jonas beams up at him. He’s breathless when Jonas’ fingers graze his, sending electricity down his arms as he thanks him for the flowers. The smaller boy walks out with a shy wave, and bids goodbye to Henrietta. Mitch watches him walk the entire way back to the cafe. His mom clears her throat and he looks over to her. She’s got a Cheshire grin.

“He’s cute as hell.”

“Right?”

“So ask him out!”

“Him? He’s way outta my league. I’ll just... keep givin’ him flowers. And drinkin’ that nasty coffee,” he makes a face. Henrietta shakes her head, smiling as she plucks a stem of Thistle from his t-shirt.

Jonas brings him a coffee the next morning.

And the next one.

And the next afternoon, when he comes in late again from delivery. He does the cafe’s flowers once a week as repayment. Months since their first meeting, Mitch still hasn’t gotten the courage to take anything further than a shy smile, a familiar hello, a kind favor. Though they don’t talk much, their encounters are always filled with touch. A soft, small hand on his bicep. Fingers grazing his and remaining on them just a second too long. Once he had even pulled a leaf from Jonas’ curls, knees weak at the silkiness of his hair.

One rainy day, when Jonas brings him a drink and turns to leave, Mitch catches his arm.

“Wait,” he says, and he swears when Jonas turns back around he looks hopeful. “I’m about to take a break. Do you... Wanna sit down with me?”

“Sure,” Jonas breathes back. Mitch drops his arm and leads him to the back, pulling out a folding chair and gesturing to it as he leans against the potting table.

“Sid’ll probably wonder where I am,” Jonas muses, but plops down in the chair as his eyes scan the ribbon wall, the bouquet wraps, the filler flowers in the cooler. Their knees are almost touching in the close space. He doesn’t stay seated for long before his eyes widen and he rises, brushing past Mitch to the cooler and pointing at a wedding arrangement.

“This is gorgeous!” he grins, and Mitch comes up behind him.

“Yeah, can’t take credit for that. That was my Mom... but I’ll make you one like that. If you want it.” One of his long arms is caging Jonas in against the cooler, the other places the coffee down and shoves into his pocket.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Jonas waves noncommittally and glances back at him.

“You... I dunno. You wouldn’t have to. Ask, I mean,” he’s fumbling and blushing.

“Why not?”

“Well,” he starts, his eyes on the back of Jonas’ neck as he stares into the cooler, “I like doin’ flowers for you. You appreciate ‘em.” Jonas laughs and turns, his back pressed against the glass and his front nearly pressed against Mitch. Bravely, Mitch doesn’t back up or retreat. He keeps close.

“That’s how I feel about bringing you coffee, too,” Jonas says almost dreamily, then hums out a laugh. “Feels nice.”

Jonas’ gem-green eyes are locked on his, and he’s melting. His skin sears as Jonas shifts against him, their torsos so close to touching, their hands knocking intermittently as Jonas moves and he feels a knee brush against his. It’s electric.

“I dunno... I feel kinda shitty,” he says honestly, staring down with adoration. Jonas’ eyes become alarmed.

“What? Why?”

“I mean... I’ve kinda been lyin’ to ya,” the words are said with a sheepish grin.

“About what?”

“You won’t get mad?”

“I hope not,” Jonas retorts with a cocked eyebrow. Mitch snorts.

“I... don’t like coffee.” He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck and casting his eyes down as Jonas inhales. He hears giggling, bubbly and musical but slightly muffled. Jonas’ freckled hand is over his mouth. He shakes his head as he brings the hand to run through his curls.

“I don’t believe it,” he says, still laughing softly, “I- I’m actually really allergic to flowers.” Mitch bites his lower lips and snorts, chuckling through his teeth as they both turn bright red.

“I like your coffee, though,” he says after an extended silence.

“Your flowers don’t bother me that much, either,” Jonas grins, so bright and gorgeous that Mitch can’t stand not touching him for a moment longer. He brings his hands up to cradle Jonas’ cheeks, reveling in the warmth of them under his cold fingers. Jonas’ smile drops, but his eyes brighten as they grow closer, close than they’ve ever been.

Mitch closes the gap quickly, his eyes slipping closed as he softens into the warmth of Jonas’ mouth. Arms wind around his neck and pull him closer as they kiss slowly, the world seeming to disappear. He could spend forever like this, only focusing on Jonas and his lips and skin and smell. He intends to, actually.

He teases Jonas lower lips with his teeth, tastes his tongue and presses them firmly together. Small steps close the gap between their bodies, and suddenly he’s pressing Jonas into the cool glass while hands stroke the back of his neck gently. Jonas’ panting is one of the most magnificent sounds he’s ever heard, that along with the soft whine which escapes him.

“Oh, Mitch,” Jonas moans, just above a whisper. He was enamored before, but now he’s beyond smitten hearing the sound of his name on Jonas’ lips.

“God, Joey baby, that sounds nice,” he sighs between their kisses, his heart fluttering as Jonas’ hands make their way into his hair. They’re in heaven, wrapped up in each other for what seems like an eternity, shutting off everything but the parts of themselves dedicated to the other.

A loud bang makes them jump and instantly they’re feet apart, wiping their swollen lips and blushing furiously.

“Mit- Oh fuck, shit, sorry! Keep goin’, sorry!” Henrietta raises her eyebrows, waving her hands and backing out of the door. Their breathing is heavy as they look back at each other.

“So. D’ya wanna... go out sometime? On a real date?” Mitch says, swallowing thickly.

“That sounds pretty great,” Jonas flushes with a smile, still out of breath. “We can go for coffee.”

“Yeah. I’ll bring flowers.”

[waning-atonement]

part 1/? of idk an au where shinji and akihiko are reincarnated into a p5 au because i randomly wanted to write it

Cooking felt different now. He used to meticulously hand pick his ingredients to avoid any bruising of fruit or wilted herbs. Past sporadic bursts of inspiration allowed him to discover interesting food pairings—ground coffee beans enhanced the savory flavor of grilled meats while the bitterness of watercress provided a clean aftertaste. There was always something soothing about the rhythmic sound of a freshly sharpened knife hitting methodically against a wooden cutting board. Now, it was the only sound against a deafening silence causing tension with every dull thud. It was metronomic and displeasing to the ear. The precision Shinjiro usually took in prepping his ingredients was quickly cast aside in favor of speed as he tossed a handful of chopped onions into the pot of curry. Sojiro would have his head if he saw how carelessly he was treating his food. With a dull thud, he set down the bowl.

“Eat,” his tone made his monosyllabic response to sound more like an order, but the hoarseness of it made it apparent how little he slept all week.  

Akihiko looked at him—almost through him. His eyes boring holes into his own haggard gaze. Against Le Blancs’ dim, yellow lights, Akihiko’s eyes only looked more sunken.

“It’s curry, and it’s all we have here,” Shinjiro added trying to fill the silence. It was useless trying to make any of this seem normal. He had lived years of another life, one that he wasn’t sure he deserved. And it wasn’t until just this week that memories from his past came inundating his dreams like a haunting melody. At first, it was a daydream here and there, but the weight of those dreams and the vivid detail in them convinced him they were something real. Every dream about his past life felt like days, sometimes months within the span of mere hours. He would wake up in a more taxing state than when he drifted into slumber. Seeing Takaya as one of his last memories, and the three circular scars scattered throughout his abdomen confirmed it. In retrospect, he was foolish to ever think such distinct, symmetrical scars were just birthmarks.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” It was an untimely jab, but despite seeing Akihiko for the first time in years—and confirming his existence in this lifetime—time seemed to stay still in terms of their friendship. And with that friendship came his sardonic responses.

Shinjiro leaned back in an attempt to seem nonchalant. In actuality, it was to keep some distance between him and Akihiko. It was the first time he had seen one of his past teammates in the flesh. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the realness of it all and it was an unadulterated instinct that wanted to protect some part of his sanity with set boundaries between them. The intangible reality of Akihiko sitting before him was as dumbfounded as the expression on Akihiko’s face for the past fifteen minutes. It was unsettling to see and converse with someone he simultaneously didn’t know existed until this week and considered his brother.  

“How can you joke about that,” Akihiko nearly stuttered, his gloved hands combing through his silver hair. With a muted snort, Shinjiro noted Akihiko still wore gloves in this lifetime. “The last time I saw you—,” Akihiko winced. Shinjiro could practically hear the gunshot vibrating in his skull and with it reverberating memories of his past, “You were gone.”

His hand reflexively rose to gingerly touch one of his fatal scars through his sweater. The outlines of Akihiko’s confused, hurt brow instantly aged his seemingly unbreakable will. The vivid fervor of the Akihiko he last knew was gone. It wasn’t until this very moment that he realized how negatively his death impacted him. He looked so broken. Akihiko bore holes into the bowl of curry now coagulating before him. For Akihiko, he was reliving one of his most painful memories as his concept of true reality slipped through his fingers like sand through a sieve. It was a difficult truth to face.

“When did you start to remember?” Shinjiro asked.

“It’s been a few months,” Akihiko squinted, trying to find the answers from deep recesses of his memory and past lifetimes, “At first I thought it was just dreams, but the same people kept showing up in them. Junpei, Yukari, Fuuka, Ken,” Akihiko paused before finally looking back up at Shinjiro, “You, and—“  

“Have you found her yet?” 

Shinjiro looked at the stain of a coffee cup ring on one of the wooden tables, unable to hide the strain of urgency in his eyes. Arguably, she haunted him the most in his dreams. Memories of her piercing gaze and her tight-lipped coquettish smile left him breathless and wide awake in the middle of the night with a sense of longing he didn’t even know he had.

“No.”

Shinjiro’s lips tightened into an indiscernible line.

“You’re the first person I’ve come across all this time.” Akihiko muttered, frustration coating every word, “That’s why I joined the police force. I figured if I was able to patrol the city I would be able to cover more ground. Maybe find the others. I stopped by on an errand only to find you in Yongen-Jaya of all places,” Akihiko swallowed, frustrated that Shinjiro was here all along just under his nose.

“I’ve been warned by Sojiro about the police sniffing around here,” Shinjiro’s eyes narrowed, “What kind of errand were you on?”

“Wakaba Isshiki’s research. I haven’t been able to find out why they’re so desperate to have it, but I can tell it’s something important.”


“Cognitive Psience.” Shinjiro heard Futaba mumble it in her sleep when she was in her unusual comatose state of recharging. Sojiro also begrudgingly mentioned it when he ordered Shinjiro to stay on his toes about possible prosecutors coming in and out of the cafe. He didn’t press on it any further. The barbed way Sojiro spoke about it demanded no further questions.


“Maybe it can help us figure out what the hell we’re doing here or why we’re remembering things about—.” He paused unable to form his experience into words. Akihiko’s expression physically halted, unable to jump from one topic to the next, hell, one life to the next in mere seconds of a conversation with someone he met for the first time and yet knew with his entire soul. Seeing Shinji, a physical, breathing manifestation, was a rushing sense of relief that his sanity was within his grasp. But with that relief came a flurry of open questions with no answers to be found. 

Akihiko couldn’t read the hard lines of Shinjiro’s expression. Was his hesitation and calculated distance between them because he only had a week to cope with what Akihiko had months to digest and comprehend? Or was Akihiko’s presence an unwelcome reminder of a life Shinjiro would have been happy to forget? Was he the only one desperately trying to find the others? 



Was he being left behind in this life as well?

“What would change if we knew?” Shinjiro asked, his question directed toward the air around them rather than Akihiko.

Akihiko’s lips twitched as though ready to bare teeth and bark back ready to challenge and demand why Shinjiro was so latent about their circumstance, but this was a different lifetime and they currently stood in unknown territory.

“I don’t know, but we have to try. Don’t we?” Akihiko’s question reverberated off the walls, echoing into the night. 

Shinjiro wasn’t sure what his intentions were anymore. Sojiro had given him a home and the freedom to cook in Le Blanc’s humble kitchen. He wouldn’t dare cross the boundaries Sojiro crystallized by unlawfully digging up Wakaba’s research. Whatever happens, happens. That was how he lived his life, his scars were proof of that. He wasn’t sure what he wanted given the choice. Peaceful ignorance or the truth? But his cards were already dealt, he couldn’t help but accept that his returning memories were a sign to pursue the truth. It was time to call a spade a spade. He parted his lips to concede only to find Akihiko practically in pieces before him.

“Shinji,” Akihiko’s brows furrowed, his jaw tightly clenched displaying his inner torment. “I didn’t even know if you would remember me.”

Shinji. Just hearing that grounded the interaction into reality. The familiarity of it wrought him speechless, but dwelling on nostalgia and the past wasn’t his style. Yet his body betrayed his natural instinct. Like a magnet, he took a step closer to Akihiko. The noise of the wooden floor creaking against his mass jerked Akihiko’s attention toward him, his expression was fearful and anxious about Shinjiro’s reply. He closed the space between them, his arms now leaning against the bar table seemingly more welcome to an earnest conversation. 

“Eat,” he said, but this time with a gentler tone. He was a man of little words, but if his instinct was right, Akihiko would understand his meaning. Akihiko’s expression washed over with relief as he nodded dumbly, like a child post-reprimand. Without another word, he picked up his spoon and ate with nothing more than a low, satisfied hum to express the taste.

And that was enough.

[vivitalks]

Maple Trees and Libraries

idk if yall remember but awhile back my friend jeannie and I did a prompt exchange where we would each give each other a prompt and a pairing and then we'd write the fic. well anyhow i'm doing another one with my tumblr amigo @lost-in-the-in-between​ who's super cool and is the reason this fic has come to exist! cheers to you Ash. anyhow i dont know how college works so please forgive me, and also this is mediocre at best but WHATEVER leave me alone just read it

college au because i’m a slut for those

prompt: “Hold my hand so he gets jealous.”

pairing: zoe murphy/evan hansen

“Hi, Evan, right?”

Evan jerks his head up from his book about various different tree species, and swirly shapes bloom in front of his eyes, which he blinks away. “Um — yes? Evan. I mean yes, that’s me.”

And you’re Zoe Murphy, only the girl I’ve been in love with since we both started here two years ago.

Zoe smiles at him, but it’s oddly strained. “Look, I know we’ve literally never talked, but you’re the only person in the library right now and I need a weird favor.”

Actually, they have talked. Twice. One: when Zoe asked what she missed after she missed an econ lesson. Evan gave her his notes with a few incoherent jumbled phrases mixed in and then avoided her eyes. He didn’t get any notes for that class.  Two: when Zoe spotted Evan lingering — or maybe loitering — outside the band room during practice and asked him what he was doing there, and didn’t he have class? And Evan said yes he had class but the thing was was that his class was really boring and anyway he knew enough about environmental science to miss one class and also he totally didn’t realize she was in band, how cool! Even though that was a total lie and Evan knew Zoe was majoring in music theory because he came by the band room all the time to watch them practice just so he could see Zoe do that half-smile. And Zoe said okay and did the half-smile at him and went back into the band room.

But obviously Zoe doesn’t remember either of those, which makes sense because that was all last year and Zoe is different this year, so why should she remember a guy like Evan. Except now she’s asking him a favor and oops, he’s taken too long to respond, again.

Evan blinks. “O-okay?”

"Great. Listen, see that guy?" Zoe's eyes flit to, yes, the only other person in the library. Evan doesn't know him. Evan doesn't know most people, though, so no surprise. "That's my ex." Oof. He's way hotter than me. At least you have standards, Zoe. "He's an asshole and he's going to come over here as soon as he sees me and start hitting on me, which he's been doing since we broke up two months ago. I need you to hold my hand so he gets jealous and leaves me alone. Okay?"

She says this all like it's the game plan, and Evan is all prepared to agree to it until he thinks about the actual words she's saying to him. "Wait – won't that just make him want to, like, kill me? 'Cause I'm not really – I'm actually having a good day and I would really hate for it to be spoiled by, you know, being snapped in half by some Neanderthal who's jealous. Besides he probably won't even be jealous, I mean, look at him, he's way better-looking than me, and also he could break me in his palm, so I really don't think –"

"Evan!" Zoe hisses, as if they're best friends and didn't just speak for the first time ever (in recent memory) right now. Evan chokes on whatever other arguments he was going to present – which is probably for the best, because the last thing he needs is to dig himself into some unending hole of chatter and shame. "Come on, man, I need some help here."

"Okay, fine, okay," he concedes. "I – well – okay."

"Awesome." Zoe drags her chair around the circular table until she's right next to Evan and links her fingers with his very casually, like it's something they do every day, and at a very inopportune moment Evan remembers that you can feel someone's pulse in their wrist, and she can probably feel his heart racing a thousand miles per hour. He has the stupidest urge to yank his hand away and also he really needs to wipe his palms on his jeans because they're probably insanely sweaty because when he's nervous his palms get sweaty and that's just unpleasant for everyone, plus Zoe wouldn't tell him if his palms were sweaty and gross because who says that? But he knows she'd be thinking it and then never speak to him again so –

Their hands are on the table for anyone to see even though Asshole Ex is the only person here, and Evan hopes he comes and goes too fast to even find out what Evan's name is, because the last thing he wants is to be on someone's hit list that looks like he got a dose of Captain America's super-soldier serum. As if on cue, or maybe because he heard Zoe's chair dragging across the carpet, he turns, spots Zoe, and starts towards the two of them. Evan's heart is definitely considering leaping out of his chest and committing suicide, from the way it's hammering his ribcage.

"He's gonna kill me, you know that, right?" he whispers, and Zoe grins loftily.

"Pft," she says dismissively. And then Asshole Ex is standing – towering, looming over them – and Evan can't really say anything else.

"Hey," Asshole Ex says, and boy, Evan wishes he'd just say his name so Evan could stop calling him Asshole Ex, which, okay, it's crude, really, accuracy levels aside. He leans over the table and Evan feels innately like he’s being preyed on by some predator, aside from the fact that he’s being ignored entirely, which is what he’s used to. "What's new, Zoe?"

"What's new is my boyfriend Evan," Zoe answers, her tone clipped, very juxtaposed to the relaxed, laid-back tone she'd used with Evan. Evan jumps at the word boyfriend and shrinks under Asshole Ex's analytical once-over.

Evan swallows. "Yeah, boyfriend. I'm her boyfriend, me, Evan," whose name you now know and can weaponize to bend me to your will, that's great. "What – what's your name again, did you say? You didn't – you never said your name."

Asshole Ex raises an eyebrow in the most threatening glare ever. "Ryan," he says, or maybe sneers is a better word. "Zoe’s never mentioned me?”

“Why would I? If you don’t recall, I hate your fucking guts,” Zoe comments, the way someone would say we have math homework due tomorrow or I really like apple pie.

Ryan scoffs, but his eyes stay focused on Evan, who’s starting to feel pretty uncomfortable, to be honest. “You're Zoe's new arm candy?"

"Well, I don't know about arm candy," Evan begins.

"You're right. You're way too mousy to be anyone's arm candy. Much less someone like Zoe," Ryan says, every word like venom. Evan really fights the urge to sharply answer with, trust me, buddy, I know it.

"Watch what you say to my boyfriend, you motherfucker," Zoe snaps, a cutting edge to her voice that Evan would not like to be on the receiving end of, ever. "Leave us alone. We're very busy doing research."

"About trees," Evan puts in. He hears Zoe repress a laugh.

"About trees," she agrees. "Especially –" she grabs his book and flips through it, "maple trees. They're much more interesting than your clingy ass. So if you would be so kind." With her free hand, Zoe gestures to the exit of the library, and Ryan's stare would definitely make maple trees wilt. Evan's surprised he hasn't been literally laser-eyed to death yet. He's also pretty freaking amazed at how Zoe's more or less keeping her cool.

"Maple trees?" Ryan mimics. "Yeah, fascinating. Just like your rabbity new boyfriend. Enjoy your time while you have it," he snarls in Evan's general direction. And then, in a scarily low tone to Zoe, "You'll realize what you're missing soon enough, babe."

He brushes the book about trees off the table and it hits the carpet with a muffled thud. Then, with a final look of distaste, he's gone.

Evan feels his chest unclench. "That was – frightening. Can we report him for, like, sexual harassment? Or general harassment?"

Zoe releases her hand from his, and instantly Evan misses the warmth it sent through his whole body. "Sorry to drag you into that."

"No, it's okay, it's – its okay," Evan says quickly. "I mean it was frightening in like a good way, like oh, so scary, but more like a rush, you know? Like kind of a roller coaster? I thought you handled that really well, he was a total – well, a total asshole, like you said." WHAT AM I SAYING.

Zoe giggles and turns to look at him. "You held your own. Were you actually reading about maple trees?"

Evan blushes and ducks his head. "Um, well, oak trees, actually. They can get really tall. Like forty feet, maybe more. I tried to climb a forty-foot tall oak tree once. Um, it didn't go well. I actually fell from it," he's gesturing with his hands now, painting the oak tree in the air and watching himself let go, "and broke my arm, which really sucked a lot. Actually, why am I telling you this? I'm sorry, you must have a million things to do. I'll stop talking now." He wishes he could get his book and bury his nose in it. Unfortunately, it's on the floor on Zoe's side, and how awkward would it be to reach over her? Or to get up and get it? So he just looks at his hands instead as they fall to the tabletop.

The book slides across the surface like magic, except the magic is actually Zoe's hands. And then, as Evan opens his mouth to say thank you through his scarlet blush, she says, "Hey, this is a little strange, but do you want to go out sometime? For real?"

Evan's vital organs all pretty much cease to function for a couple of seconds.

"Out?" he repeats uncertainly. "Out like how? Like, outside? Or like on a date? That's weird, sorry, why would you go on a date with me," he laughs a hollow kind of laugh, "but if you – I mean, I can go out with you like a friend --"

"On a date," Zoe clarifies. "With me. Tomorrow night."

Evan blinks, gapes, and then realizes he's imitating a fish out of water and stops. "Oh," he says. He pauses, just to make sure he didn't invent that whole interaction, and then says, "Oh," again. And then he clears his throat. "Uh, yes, that – I would really like that, yes. That sounds great."

"I'll meet you here," Zoe says, pushing her chair back and standing. "At seven. We can decide where to go from there."

Evan's mouth is dry with anticipation, but he manages, "Perfect."

"Can't wait," Zoe says, smiling at him warmly.

She turns and walks away, vanishing into another section of the library, and Evan's vision swims with the unreality of that whole conversation.

He opens up his book, closes it and shelves it.

At the checkout counter, the lady says, "Taking anything out?"

Evan sighs contentedly, and says, "Just a girl."