#like I haven’t talked to this guy in. 14 months now

[mrs-starkgaryen]

Well, well, well, dissecting time just so I can remind Maggie that I am in her walls (thanks you've passed your illness onto me)

1. "Afterwards, Mason pulls his clothes back on as you are absentmindedly drawing stars in the steam on the windows of his Chevy Silverado."

A) Even at home, she's dreaming/ thinking about the stars (Hollywood stars)

2. "It was good, not that you finished; you didn’t say anything, he didn’t ask, but even if he had you would have told him not to worry about it. It can take forever, especially with an audience. You’d rather wait until you’re alone."

A) Don't worry baby girl, Aegon is gonna make you finish in front of him and I'll you'll love it

3. Mason smirks and taunts: “I don’t know, with the way you talk about him you sound kind of obsessed.”

A) we all are Mason, shut up

4. “You ever feel like people are the best versions of themselves before you really know them? Then you get too close and all the cracks start showing.”

A) well I didn't like that foreshadowing

B) she's gonna get close to Aegon and we know he's a messed up man 😭

C) I'll she'll still love him though

5. “And it’s only until the end of the year,” your father adds. “Then the vacation is over.” Then the meager allowance they are funneling to you will stop and you will be ordered to return home to pursue an honorable course of existence. You have six months to succeed in Hollywood, or the dream dies."

A) Or when Aegon dies...

B) Maggie, are you in my walls? This is my family 😭

6. “Well, regardless of whatever you have going on in California, you’ll either have to get them done now or after you have children,” Mom says. “I love you and Clara and Tripp, but you destroyed my body. At least doctors can repair breasts. My bladder is still useless."

A) mother? What you doing here, loca?

B) how Sunshine is so sunny, idk. I guess you have to have rain to appreciate the sun

C) no wonder she think she needs plastic surgery- not just for Hollywood but she probably feels like she needs to live up to her parents expectations somehow (cuz she feels like she is disappointing them with her choice of job?)

7. Outside the sun is setting, and you gaze westward as the aging daylight turns the tall green grass and silhouettes of horses to gold like the mines that first brought settlers to California. You slide your phone out of the pocket of your denim shorts and take a photo, then post it to your Instagram story with the caption Home and a smiley face emoji.

A) Sunshines reminder that social media is fake lmao

B) but this is a mood- it gives crying whilst doing a thumbs up picture 😭👍🤳

Also those dogs? I love dogs but these ones are scary! The family and the dogs seem to hate her?! My God. Are they picking up on the family hostility to her?

If they don't shape up, unlike the bats- I won't mind if Jace steps on one of these.. (jk)

8. A minute later, you receive a DM. Aegon has typed: This explains the big horse girl energy

A) Aegon ever heard of playing it cool?

B) damn he's down bad

9. You have just finished ringing up a Like It-sized Apple Pie A La Cold Stone when Josh says: “Hey, there’s an old guy asking for you."

A) oh an old man, imagine if he meant Aegon-

B) HE DID! Mf ain't old

C) I also squealed like she did when I recognised the shoes 🥰

10. When Aegon begins to pull it away, you grab his hand and don’t let go until you’ve licked the spoon clean. He laughs hysterically as he watches you. “I haven’t had strawberry ice cream in forever,” you say.

A) and if I say 👀

B) foreshadowing...

C) also hello Simon Bassett from Bridgerton?

11. “Don’t tell me you’re a vanilla girl.”

A) for now Aegon...

B) He will show her the different flavours

C) also could symbolise that she is kinda naive and then as the story progresses- she's not so sweet anymore 😀

13. “It’s small,” Aegon warns. “It’s an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.”

A) said every man ever 😉😂

B) ooh will she be in season 56, episode 28?

14. “Because once you begin to treat scalpels and needles as prescriptions for everything you don’t like about yourself—or everything that other people don’t like about you—..... that are carving away your humanity one incision at a time. I’ve seen it happen to more people than I could count, and I don’t want it to happen to you. Because you seem very, very human, and I’d like you to stay that way. Which means you don’t cut yourself up because some agent or producer or casting director told you to.” Then he adds, perhaps as an afterthought: “And anyway, you don’t need implants.”

A) did he have to do something to make people (or him) like himself more?

B) omg did his dad make or encourage his siblings/ family to change to become more famous, to carry on his legacy in Hollywood? Did Aemond try and change himself and now he's took a step back into scriptwriting cuz atleast then he can control his own story?

C) she's gonna lose or nearly lose her humanity in this industry, I can see it. It's gonna break her down and then Aegon and her have feel better sex..

15. “Always so agreeable,” Aegon muses. So desperate is more like it.

A).... need I say more

16. “The Chinese zodiac. You’re a horse. So you’re the only horse I like.”

A) you're killing me

B) she's gonna like riding this horse 😭 (I'll let myself out)

17. His face is some amalgamation of emotions you can’t read, and this is unusual.“Why do you think I paid in cash?”

A) either becca is crazy

B) or his family are and they'll update becca

C) or both. Like I said before- maybe they set him up wirh becca to calm him down, to make him (the targaryens) look good in the papers

18. “I got you a vanilla latte, vanilla girl.”

A) a possible other nickname?

B) all her nicknames are cute and sunny, like her until this industry snuffs it out 😀

19. Then you are in the scenes under intensely radiant artificial light, and just like it did in your roles back in Minnesota, the real world vanishes and all that exists are these characters, these moments, and your body and mind become theirs, and perhaps even your soul too. Your husband is handsome and kind, and here in this liminal fictional space you love him, and when the surgeons wheel him off to the operating room you are full of blind naïve surety. Then the doctors update you on his condition and you are still hopeful, but it becomes a fragile thing, like something that shatters when it’s dropped from a height. And then he is dead, he has been taken away from you, he has been stolen, and you are eclipsed by a blood-red wrath that is animalistic and unforgiving. After each take when you are ripped back through the veil and into reality, you can’t remember exactly what you did or said, and the director doesn’t have many critiques so you aren’t sure how it’s going.

A) This whole thing felt like a summary for the story

B) at first she's whisked away in a world of Hollywood: glitter and glammer. She's "full of blind naive surety"..

C) Then it's she's less so but she still tries to be optimistic? As she realises this is not what she signed up for

D) husband is dead, Aegon is dead? Then she's full of rage

E) under artificial light? The Hollywood spotlight..

F) she starts to give them her body (plastic surgery), her mind (she starts to doubt and panic in fame) and then her soul (Hollywood kills her optimism and dream)

Also- Are the eyeshadows representing things?

A) In the first chapter she had shimmery, pink, warm brown eyeshadow (showing that she is warm, positive and sparkling with a dream, it's all new).

B) when she's with Mason, it's sparkly black. Like she's not 100% with him but that's okay because she still has her dream that she's gonna be able to be an actress and subconsciously be with someone better...

C) in the ice cream shop, she has bright pink- so bright in optimism still and pink meaning flirtatious feelings for Aegon?

Idk, all this is my crazy mind and I love whatever you come out with!

A Curse [Chapter 2: Harbor Gateway]

A/N: Thank you for the warm welcome you have given this series!!! I am sick with bronchitis currently so this has been a big bright spot in an otherwise miserable week 😅 I can't wait to show you where this story is going, I hope you're ready for it 🥰💜

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent...at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon's right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, a tiny bit of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, some body dissatisfaction/dysmorphia, ice cream, judgmental parents, aggressive Akitas, we're literally in Minnesota!!!

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

Afterwards, Mason pulls his clothes back on as you are absentmindedly drawing stars in the steam on the windows of his Chevy Silverado. On the other side of the glass is inky Minnesota night, a full moon dissolving away, glowing freckles of constellations. You’re staying with your parents and Mason has roommates, so the truck was the expedient choice. It was good, not that you finished; you didn’t say anything, he didn’t ask, but even if he had you would have told him not to worry about it. It can take forever, especially with an audience. You’d rather wait until you’re alone.

Mason glances down at the used condom on the floor of his Silverado, hastily discarded, viscerally slick in a way that becomes sickening in the letdown, as the endorphins and the adrenaline slip away and the blood pumps slow and unclouded. He smirks as he asks: “You sure you don’t want to get back on the pill?”

You sigh, drawing another star. You are still naked and sprawled across the back seat, glistening with sweat in the moonlight. “Well I tried three different prescriptions and had three miserable experiences, and I’m really not interested in playing side effect roulette again. And I can’t risk my skin going insane and random bleeding when I’m running around all over L.A. trying to get parts.”

“What about that little sperm assassin T-shaped thing?”

You look at him. “An IUD?”

“Yeah.”

You wince, engraving another star into the steam on the window. “I don’t think I like the idea of having a piece of metal shoved up inside me.”

He laughs. “But you’ll get silicone implants?”

You shrug; you can’t deny the irony. “I don’t need an IUD to be an actress.”

“Look, I’m not complaining about the tits thing,” Mason says, holding up his hands. “Obviously I’d enjoy them too. And you’d still have them when you move home, so it’s not a waste even if the acting thing doesn’t work out.”

You already know he feels this way, and yet still, it hurts. “When I move home?”

He smiles and crawls back on top of you, his Carleton College hoodie whispering against your belly and chest, soft royal blue cotton on damp skin. He had been a Political Science and International Relations major who took Theater Arts 195: Acting Shakespeare for an arts credit. He was beyond terrible and had no appreciation for the field whatsoever, but he was tall and strong and jolly, an earnest corn-fed Midwestern boy, and when one day after class he’d asked if he could take you to Culver’s for a burger and frozen custard, you’d said yes.

Here and now, in the back seat of his Chevy Silverado, Mason kisses your forehead. Then he ghosts his thumb over the ridge of your orbital socket and cheekbone, where your dark glittery eyeshadow has smudged like a spreading bruise: Galaxy by Anastasia Beverly Hills, Elysian by Natasha Denona. “I’m not saying you aren’t good. But how many people on this planet get to be movie stars? It’s just not realistic. And it’s about so much more than talent. It’s about who you know, and luck, and chemistry, and looks, and a bunch of other things that are mostly out of your control. You’re never going to be the type of girl who’s an influencer or winning Miss America, you’re just not. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t very, very pretty. And I loved you anyway.”

Loved, past tense. You and Mason stopped using that word a year ago; now the nostalgia is painting memories like the walls of an old house. His memories, anyway. You sit up and start yanking on your clothes: oversized yellow Santa Monica crewneck, black sweatpants with elastic cuffs at the ankles. “I think I’m going to get the gummy bear implants.”

Mason licks his lips. “Yum.”

“They’re a type of silicone, but they’re supposed to feel more natural and be less dangerous if they rupture.”

“Will you have scars?” he says as if the notion has just occurred to him, troubled, perhaps a little revolted.

“Well yeah, they have to end up under my skin somehow.”

Mason shudders, then he has another thought. “Who’s going to take care of you after surgery when you’re all sore and zonked out on opioids?”

“My roommate Baela said she would. She’s had friends who have gone through it already.”

“Okay, good. I wouldn’t want you to be alone out there.” Mason touches the back of your head, a quick fond gesture. He’s the only man you’ve ever been with, and even that took a while, months of trying to envision him undressing you before you were sure you could do it without flinching, without being afraid or shy or bewildered. But in the end it had been easy, always easy, which is why you keep coming back to him like a comet. Your elliptical orbit takes you far away and then close again, and such natural patterns are effortless to keep.

You say, the edges of your lips curling into a furtive smile: “I’m definitely not alone.”

Mason groans. “You’re going to hook up with that new agent guy, aren’t you?”

“What? No! No way, he has a fiancée.”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s more amused than annoyed. “Okay, whatever.”

“You know I don’t date anyone.” Which is why each time you’re home visiting, Mason gets a text: Want to get lunch at Culver’s? or Can you drive me to Target? or Pick me up around 9 p.m.?

Mason smirks and taunts: “I don’t know, with the way you talk about him you sound kind of obsessed.”

“I’m just grateful. Someone finally gave me a chance.” You look to the window; the steam and your hand-drawn stars have evaporated away. “And yeah, he’s interesting and he’s cute, and he’s kind of mean but then unexpectedly caring sometimes, and I think he’s one of those people who are really good at what they do but only when they’re inspired…but that doesn’t mean I’m into him romantically.” A pause. “And even if I was, there’s no harm in a super-secret, one-sided crush.”

“Okay. Have fun with all the adulterous sex.”

You chuckle. “Thanks, but that is not the plan.” You slip on your flip-flops, shimmy out of the back seat, and trot around the Silverado to the passenger’s door. Mason climbs into the driver’s seat and turns his key in the ignition. You ask: “What happened to that ballerina girl who was in your Instagram stories for a while?”

“Had to ghost her, she got super clingy and controlling. She was texting me at work all the time and got pissed off when I was putting a ton of hours into that election thing for CNN.” Mason is a political analyst. He turns to you. “You ever feel like people are the best versions of themselves before you really know them? Then you get too close and all the cracks start showing.”

“I think people are wonderful. You just have to find the ones you click with.”

“I should have figured you’d say something like that.” He steers his truck out of the otherwise empty parking lot in Lac Lavon Park. “I’m looking forward to you being home again.”

“I’m not.”

You both laugh, and then Mason drives you to your parents’ house.

At the dining room table, Mom and Clara are researching wedding venues, vast countryside estates and metropolitan historic hotels. Clara got engaged two weeks ago during a vacation to Turks and Caicos. In the living room, Dad and Tripp are watching commentary on the NBA Finals. Tripp’s name isn’t really Tripp; he is the third James in a row, named after your father and grandfather, and Tripp is short for triple. All over the house, there are Akitas lolling in plush dog beds and clicking around on Brazilian Cherry hardwood floors. They have faces like teddy bears, but their dark eyes track you mistrustfully, as if you are an intruder.

No one asks where you have been. They barely acknowledge that you are back. “Hello, dear,” your mother calls distractedly from the dining room, and that’s all. You jog upstairs to the bathroom you share with Clara before anyone can notice your smeared makeup and the unsavory post-car-sex sweat gleaming on your skin. You get into the shower, turn on water so hot it is nearly scalding, and close your eyes. With your back pressed to the jade green tiles, your hand wanders down over your belly and stops between your legs. Your mind cycles through fantasies, but nothing seems to be working.

It’s not real. It can’t hurt anybody.

You imagine that Aegon is the one touching you, and in under a minute it’s over.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I want there to be horses,” Clara says, scrolling through her phone and ignoring the food on her plate: roast chicken, homemade mashed potatoes, green beans sauteed in garlic and olive oil, panzanella salad. Mom prepared it all herself, not because there was no help available—your parents have a housekeeper named Angela who comes by several days per week—but to prove she could. In the living room are shelves heavy with books by Martha Stewart, Ina Garten, Cat Cora, Julia Child, Nigella Lawson. You hear echoes of ambient clicking, Akitas meandering down hallways and staircases.

“Horses?!” Tripp replies with a mouthful of mashed potatoes, gesturing to the sliding glass door. “Don’t you get enough horses in your everyday life? Don’t you have like five right out there?” Your parents’ house sits on ten acres of land, including a barn and several paddocks for Clara’s rescued Thoroughbreds.

“I want beautiful horses,” Clara insists. “Unusual, photogenic, so they can be in the background of all the photos. Maybe Friesians or Haflingers?”

“I’m not sure we can sort the venues by types of horses available, dear,” Mom says. All that’s on her own plate is a heap of green beans and a few pieces of skinless white meat chicken.

Clara moans and drops her face into her hands. “It’s so overwhelming!”

“You’ll find a place you like, Clara Bear,” Dad says mildly, painstakingly slicing meat off a drumstick with his fork and knife.

“And Owen is no help at all. Every time I ask for his opinion he just tells me to do whatever I think is best, but I don’t know what’s best, that’s why I’m asking him!”

Your mother pats Clara’s shoulder reassuringly. “Guys don’t care about weddings,” Tripp says, twisting around in his chair to see the television in the living room. On a rerun of E! News, the hosts are discussing Chris Hemsworth’s rigorous fitness regime and Meghan Trainor’s “mommy makeover.” You peek under the tablecloth. One of the Akitas, Yuki, is glaring as she waits for you to drop something for her to eat.

“You could do something like that,” Mom says to you, and you realize you haven’t been listening to the conversation.

“Sorry, do what?”

“You could be a wedding planner or a real estate agent. Those are actual careers, but there’s more creativity involved, isn’t there? And didn’t you take a design class in college? That would certainly come in handy.”

“Hm,” your father says with a frown, still dissecting his chicken. He would rather you go to law school like Tripp. You would rather lie down in traffic.

“I took a set design class, Mom. Because I was studying how to be an actress. And that’s what I’m doing right now in Los Angeles, trying to be an actress.”

“You could become an architect!” Mom bursts out with sudden enthusiasm. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

You titter evasively. “I can’t draw, Mom. Or use the modeling software, or do math.”

“You know, you don’t need any specific degree to get into law school,” Tripp says, and your father gives him a nod of approval. “You could have majored in dance or bagpiping or Egyptology, it doesn’t matter. All they want is a high undergrad GPA and a 168+ LSAT score, and I bet you could get that if you studied. You can even retake the test a few times if you need to.”

“Why do you do that?” Clara snaps at him. You eat your panzanella salad and pretend not to be listening. Beneath the tablecloth, Yuki growls. You toss her a few cubes of Italian bread so she won’t bite you.

Tripp shovels mashed potatoes into his mouth. “Do what?”

“Why are you always wasting your time trying to convince her to grow up and get a real job? If she wants to embarrass herself, let her. I have problems that I’m trying to solve, so how about applying yourself to those instead?”

“Are you serious? You think I should be calling around to wedding venues asking about their selection of exotic draft horses?”

Clara aggressively stabs at her green beans with her fork. “Fuck off, Tripp.”

“Hey, hey, kids, no swearing,” your mother says. “It’s Father’s Day. Be respectful.”

Dad turns to you. “You could be an entertainment lawyer, how about that? You could work in intellectual property or negotiating contracts.”

You smile warily. “I’ll think about it, Dad.”

Clara says to your parents: “Well I hope all the money you’re throwing out the window to support her in California isn’t coming out of my wedding fund.”

You close your eyes and think: I can’t spend my life in a cubical. I can’t spend every minute of every day trying to forget who I am.

“Shh, shh,” your mother pleads, rubbing the back of Clara’s clenched hand. “You will get exactly what we promised you, that amount is still set aside for your wedding. Nothing she does affects you.”

“And it’s only until the end of the year,” your father adds. “Then the vacation is over.” Then the meager allowance they are funneling to you will stop and you will be ordered to return home to pursue an honorable course of existence. You have six months to succeed in Hollywood, or the dream dies.

Your father is now asking Tripp about his summer associate position at Latham & Watkins in Chicago. Your mother is advising Clara to get a wedding dress with a corset back so it can be adjusted in the event she gains or loses weight at the last minute. Underneath the table, Yuki is growling again; she noses your knees threateningly.

“I got an agent,” you say, and everyone looks at you.

“Really?” Mom asks, sounding a little perplexed.

“Who is it?” Dad says.

“Aegon Targaryen. He has a small office in Elysian Park.”

“Oh, I think I recognize the last name.”

“His family is in the industry.” You are beaming; you can feel the heat rising in your face. “But Aegon kind of does his own thing and tries to stay out of the limelight. He was an actor when he was my age. And I guess he thinks I can get roles, so that’s really exciting.”

Your mother seems concerned as she nibbles at a shred of white meat. “Is he an older man?”

“Not that much older. He’s thirty-five.”

“Well, be careful, darling,” your father says gravely. “Who knows what his intentions are.”

Clara evidently agrees. “Men can be so creepy. I had this one professor in pharmacy school who cheated on his wife with one student, then cheated on her six months later with a different student. And then he retired to Boca Raton and was never heard from again.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Tripp says to your father. “We read about Clinton v. Jones in torts class, it was wild, I didn’t know he was such a freak even before the Monica Lewinsky thing…”

After dinner, while your father and Tripp are flipping through television channels in the living room and Clara is upstairs on the phone with Owen, you go to the kitchen where your mother is washing dishes in a bubble-filled sink. Again, she doesn’t have to do this; Angela will be here to clean the house tomorrow. But it’s part of being a perfect homemaker, and if she’s not good at this then she’s not good at anything.

She glances over when she hears you come in. “Did you get an appointment with one of the doctors your father recommended?”

“I did, yeah. I have a consultation on Friday.” You lean against the marble countertop and cross your arms so you don’t fidget nervously. From a dog bed on the floor, Mochi glowers at you. “Do you think I should get the surgery?”

She shrugs; you’re not certain if she is more indecisive or apathetic. “Your cousin Madison had a nose job the summer before college. Your old classmate Emma got a blepharoplasty and then met her husband three months later. Practically all of my friends have had breast augmentations, and I’ve certainly never regretted mine. I think if you’re going to get anything fixed, it makes sense to pick that.”

You try again to elicit a strong opinion, whether an endorsement or objection. “I don’t think I’d want to do it if I didn’t feel like it was necessary to be an actress.”

“Well, regardless of whatever you have going on in California, you’ll either have to get them done now or after you have children,” Mom says. “I love you and Clara and Tripp, but you destroyed my body. At least doctors can repair breasts. My bladder is still useless.”

You stare at Mochi distractedly. The dog huffs, unwelcoming. “What was the recovery like?”

“Oh, hell,” your mother says. “But once you heal up it’s worth it. I can wear square necklines and strapless dresses again.”

“Technically, you could have worn whatever you wanted.”

She gives you an impatient look, a you’re too old for that sort of frustration. “No one wants to see some sad flabby woman.” She is including your father in this statement. You remember being home for Thanksgiving Break during your freshman year at Carleton and inadvertently stumbling upon emails from one of the hospital interns when you used his laptop to buy movie tickets: indecent inuendoes, flirtatious photos, no smoking gun but certainly more than was appropriate between colleagues. You had tried to tell your mother, and she had deflected over and over again until you realized that she didn’t want to know; it was easier to be carried by the currents of momentum than to rock the boat until it sank. “This agent of yours…is he celebrating Father’s Day with his family?”

“No, Aegon lost his dad when he was in college.”

“That must have been difficult,” she says vaguely as she scrubs a pot with a green Scotch-Brite dish wand. Your parents are now at the age when their friends have begun to succumb to strokes and heart disease and cancers, and the lurking specter of mortality both horrifies and fascinates them. “What did he die of?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Mom?!” Clara shouts from upstairs. “Osaka is puking in the hallway!”

Your mother sighs and dries her hands on a dish towel, then leaves you alone in the kitchen. You linger there for a while, listening to the faint drone of CNN from the living room television, then leave the house through the sliding glass door in the dining room. Outside the sun is setting, and you gaze westward as the aging daylight turns the tall green grass and silhouettes of horses to gold like the mines that first brought settlers to California. You slide your phone out of the pocket of your denim shorts and take a photo, then post it to your Instagram story with the caption Home and a smiley face emoji.

A minute later, you receive a DM. Aegon has typed: This explains the big horse girl energy

You laugh and respond: They belong to my sister, I am personally very anti-horse

You hope he’ll continue the conversation. You don’t have to wait long. How’s Minnesota? Aegon asks.

You stop and consider how to answer, then decide not to overshare. Devoid of palm trees…but good!

There is a pause—perhaps thirty seconds—and then Aegon types: How’s the ex-boyfriend?

Is he curious or jealous? You smile. Still not standing in the way of anything :)

Aegon reacts with a heart emoji, then immediately switches it to a thumbs-up. You cannot ignore the wave of warmth and fondness and exhilaration that overwhelms you. Logically, you know he’s engaged to another woman. Emotionally, it doesn’t seem relevant.

You think: It’s just a crush. It can’t hurt anybody.

Then you remember what your mother asked, and as you stand outside in the fading dusk light you Google Aegon’s father Viserys Targaryen. He has his own Wikipedia page. You scroll to the bottom, where it reads in nondescript black letters: On October 27, 2009, Targaryen passed away at his Malibu residence after a long illness.

~~~~~~~~~~

You have just finished ringing up a Like It-sized Apple Pie A La Cold Stone when Josh says: “Hey, there’s an old guy asking for you.”

“What?” You look towards the ice cream freezer and there he is, dark jeans, green Nike Killshots, a yellow Hawaiian shirt that’s too big for him. “It’s my agent!” you shout as you rush over to meet him, loud enough that everyone in the shop turns to stare.

“Shh,” Aegon says, but he’s laughing.

“What are you doing here?” you ask from behind the counter.

“I got some good news, and I wanted to tell you in person.”

“Cool! Should I make you ice cream first?”

“Um, sure.” Aegon surveys the menu of Signature Creations. He seems overwhelmed; he actually looks a little panicked.

“Are you usually a chocolate or vanilla person? Or peanut butter, or coffee? Or mint?”

“Strawberry,” Aegon says.

“Strawberry,” you echo, surprised. “Okay, I think you’ll like Our Strawberry Blonde.”

“Neat.”

“Because, you know, it has strawberries and you’re blonde.”

“Sounds literally perfect for me,” Aegon says, smiling.

“What size?”

“Uh…” He reads the labels on the cups in the display case. “The big one.”

“No, you have to say the real name.”

He chuckles. His cheeks are pink, his turbulent blue eyes sparkling. “I’m not saying that.”

“Then I’m not making you ice cream!”

He groans. “I want an Our Strawberry Blonde in the size Gotta Have It.”

“Cup, cone, or waffle cone bowl?”

“Stop asking me questions or you’re fired.”

“Waffle cone bowl,” you decide. Aegon studies you as you work, his head tilted thoughtfully to the side: scraping a mound of strawberry ice cream out of the freezer with your metal spatulas, taking it to the cold countertop, and smashing in graham cracker pie crust, caramel, fluffy whipped topping, and fresh strawberries. You use one of the spatulas to expertly scoop the mixture into a waffle cone bowl, not spilling a drop. Then you hand Aegon his ice cream and ring him up at the cash register. He pays in cash.

You ask Josh, the manager on duty, if you can take your fifteen-minute break now. He frowns. “I thought you were going to refill the yellow cake and Oreo cookie mix-ins first.”

“Hey,” Aegon says. He waves a ten-dollar bill in the air to show it to Josh and then dunks it in the tip jar. “Do it yourself.”

“Fine,” Josh mutters to you. “But you don’t get a second over fifteen minutes.”

There’s no time to waste. You hurry to a small table by the window. It’s 8:30 p.m., and outside the world is indigo-dark and threaded with inorganic sparks of headlights, streetlights, kaleidoscopic neon signs. Your eyeshadow is vibrant and pink, because no one cares about that when you work at an ice cream shop: Push by Natasha Denona, Coax by Urban Decay.

Aegon takes his first taste of his ice cream as he sits down in the chair across from you. “You were right, this is delicious. A bop, not a flop.” Then he notices the bruise on your right wrist. “What the hell happened to your hand?”

“Oh. One of the Akitas bit me. Don’t worry, I can cover it up with concealer.”

Aegon is irritated. “Why is your mother letting her Akitas bite you?”

“It was my fault. I forgot that Oni doesn’t like when people pet his feet.”

Aegon sighs, stirring his Our Strawberry Blonde. “You want some of this?”

“I can’t,” you say reluctantly.

He raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“I already had a little cup when I got here this afternoon so I have regrettably hit my ice cream quota for the day.” And then, when Aegon clearly does not approve: “I try not to restrict too much but obviously staying the same size takes effort. That’s not a disorder, it’s just reality.”

Aegon seems to debate arguing, then instead scoops up a heaping spoonful of ice cream and holds it out across the table. “Come on. It doesn’t count if it’s on my spoon.”

You smile sheepishly and open your mouth for him. Your lips close around the plastic spoon: coldness, sweetness, the grit of pulverized graham cracker pie crust, the infinitesimal black seeds of strawberries that catch between your teeth. When Aegon begins to pull it away, you grab his hand and don’t let go until you’ve licked the spoon clean. He laughs hysterically as he watches you. “I haven’t had strawberry ice cream in forever,” you say.

“Don’t tell me you’re a vanilla girl.”

“I am,” you confess. “I know the joke. But I really do always get the vanilla-adjacent flavors. Cookie dough, French vanilla, sweet cream, cheesecake…”

Aegon smirks playfully. “Pathetic.”

“So you’re an enlightened being because you eat strawberry ice cream.”

“Boring people like vanilla. Kids like chocolate. Interesting adults like strawberry.”

“Do you actually have good news for me or did you just come here to be a ghoul?”

“I got you a part.”

“What?!” you squeal, and people are gawking again. This time, Aegon doesn’t tell you to be quiet. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he replies, grinning like he can’t help it.

“A part in what?”

“It’s small,” Aegon warns. “It’s an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.”

You scream; Josh scowls at you from behind the counter. “Oh my God, no way, no way!”

“You’re going to be the wife of a guy the doctors kill with negligence. Three scenes, two are pretty short and unremarkable but then you get to yell at the surgeon in the last one. Gives you the opportunity to show some range and make an impression.”

You can’t believe this is happening. “They aren’t going to make me audition first?”

“Well…it’s very last-minute,” Aegon says. “The actress who was supposed to do it has a drug problem or something, I guess, so she ghosted and they were scrambling for a replacement. And I completely fabricated your credentials.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah, I typed up a resume and sent it over and they loved it. So try not to talk about your actual experience because none of it will match.”

You shake your head, stunned, amazed. “What if they try to contact one of my alleged former employers?”

“Then they’ll be talking to Aemond, and he will lie and say you were an absolute pleasure to work with.”

Aemond Targaryen: Aegon’s younger brother, a screenwriter, a philanthropist, a well-respected entity in Hollywood, and you know this from the Googling that preceded your first meeting with Aegon last week. “And Aemond doesn’t mind helping you commit fraud?”

“It’s not a favor I call in very often.” Aegon finishes his ice cream, then begins breaking apart the waffle cone bowl and shoving shard-like pieces into his mouth.

“When’s the shoot?”

“Very very early on Thursday, that’s the bad news.” Thursday is two days from now. “So I’ll have to pick you up at your apartment at like 5 a.m.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be ready.”

He smiles, gnawing on a chunk of his waffle cone bowl. “I figured.”

“You’re going too?” The hope is unmistakable in your voice.

“Of course I’m going.”

“I didn’t think agents usually went to film shoots.”

“Well, fortunately for you, your agent is imminently fleeing Los Angeles and has already parted ways with most of his clients and really has nothing else going on besides hiding in his office and playing a Nintendo 64, so I figured I could make it. And also if I’m going to be enthusiastically recommending you to people, I should probably see you work at some point.”

You wiggle your eyebrows flirtatiously. “Do I get to make out with my fake husband?”

Aegon is amused. “From what I understand, you get to chastely kiss him once. They’re sending the script over to my office first thing in the morning, so you’ll only have a day to learn your lines.”

“That’s enough time. I’ll make it work.”

“Always so agreeable,” Aegon muses. So desperate is more like it.

Thursday. “Is the shoot just one day?”

“Yeah, they should be able to get everything they need from you on Thursday morning. Why?”

“I have a doctor’s appointment on Friday and I was just wondering if I’d have to reschedule it.”

Aegon is immediately vigilant. “What kind of appointment?”

“Uh…” You smirk guiltily. “It’s just a consultation. No slicing yet.”

“And you’re going to cancel that,” Aegon says flatly.

“Seriously?”

“Do you want implants because you want them or because you think other people want you to have them?”

You hesitate. “Both.” That’s probably a lie.

Aegon leans back in his chair and studies you. “Yeah, you’re cancelling that appointment.”

“Why?”

“Because when I agreed to sign you, you told me that you’d do anything I say. And I’m telling you to cancel it.”

“But why don’t you want me to get implants? Everyone gets implants.”

“Because once you begin to treat scalpels and needles as prescriptions for everything you don’t like about yourself—or everything that other people don’t like about you—it’s very difficult to stop. First it’s your tits, then it’s your eyes and your nose, then it’s your chin and your cheeks and your neck and your ass, and it’s just this revolving door of painful, dangerous, unnecessary procedures that are condemning you for being mortal, that are carving away your humanity one incision at a time. I’ve seen it happen to more people than I could count, and I don’t want it to happen to you. Because you seem very, very human, and I’d like you to stay that way. Which means you don’t cut yourself up because some agent or producer or casting director told you to.” Then he adds, perhaps as an afterthought: “And anyway, you don’t need implants.”

You smile, then reply quietly: “You’ve never seen me.”

Aegon grins. “I don’t care if you have twelve nipples under there like a fucking beagle, you don’t need plastic surgery.”

You both laugh, and the tension evaporates, and even if you don’t cancel the appointment—Aegon is one person, the entertainment industry is omnipotent and eternal—you are glad he seems to like you the way you are. Behind the counter, Josh is waving manically to get your attention and summon you to return to work. You pretend not to see him.

Aegon asks: “Why don’t you like horses?”

“They freak me out. They’re all teeth and legs and they’re huge, I’m always scared they’ll step on me.”

“Your dad’s a doctor, right? I thought all rich girls had horses.”

“Where I’m from, a lot of women ride horses to distract themselves from the fact that their husbands are riding their receptionists or interns. I’d rather have no horse and no awful cheating husband.” And Aegon stares at you and turns serious, because perhaps you’ve inadvertently addressed the elephant in the room: he has a fiancée, and neither of you are acting like she exists. You swiftly pivot. “I’ll make an exception for you, though.”

He appears startled. “What?”

“The Chinese zodiac. You’re a horse. So you’re the only horse I like.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Aegon chuckles uneasily and gets up to throw his trash away, then stands under the florescent lights with his hands in his pockets, his blonde hair falling out of its gel and hanging over his forehead. He gazes down at you pensively; you are still seated at the table. “When does your shift end?”

“I’m closing tonight, so I’ll be done around 10:30 or 11.”

“Okay. Can I come back to pick you up and drive you home?”

You are puzzled. “Why?”

He gestures to the inky dark window, incredulous. “Because obviously you shouldn’t be walking alone in Harbor Gateway at midnight? You know there was a shooting a block from here last week. I looked it up.”

“I walk home all the time.”

“You really need to stop doing that.”

“You are being very dramatic for a non-actor.”

“Listen, I can’t go to my house and try to fall asleep while I’m wondering if you’re getting mugged or murdered.”

You look at Aegon. He does seem genuinely worried. “You can drive me home.”

“Great. See you in two hours.” He strides away and shoves open the glass door; the little metal bells hanging there jingle.

“Aegon?”

He halts mid-step and turns around. “Yeah?”

“Does Becca know where you are right now?”

His face is some amalgamation of emotions you can’t read, and this is unusual.“Why do you think I paid in cash?”

And before you can reply, he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

On Thursday, June 19th, Aegon picks you up in his white Chrysler Sebring convertible while the city is still asleep. The sky is dark, the streetlights passing by overhead, infinite pinpoint supernovas. There are hardly any other cars on the road. Aegon’s hair is a mess and his eyes are bleary; he’s sipping a Starbucks coffee with one hand and holding the steering wheel with the other. He is wearing a suit, but he still manages to look unpolished, his white shirt half-untucked and his black tie too skinny. He sets his coffee down in one of the cup holders and passes you something venti-sized and iced.

“I got you a vanilla latte, vanilla girl.”

“Aw, thanks! Skim milk?”

“Nope,” he says, smiling. You smile back and take a gulp of it, cold and sweet and bracing. “What’s your hype song?”

“I can’t tell you,” you say, embarrassed.

“Why not?”

“You’re going to terrorize me.”

“Don’t Stop Believing? Don’t Stop Me Now? I Gotta Feeling?”

“Lose Yourself.”

Aegon throws back his head and cackles, his hair flying in the wind. “That’s definitely a fireable offense. I’m ditching you the second we finish this shoot.” But he taps around on his phone and plugs in the aux, and then Eminem is thudding through the speakers as the Sebring sails north and the red-gold dawn rises on the horizon, a celestial message from the East Coast, an omen from the future.

Aegon drives you to Prospect Studios in Los Feliz, just east of Hollywood. Filming will be indoors on a soundstage. You spend what feels like forever in hair and makeup, and the costume designer—who had prepared for a different actress—dresses and redresses you over and over again, frowning at your chest and waist and thighs, and you have a sudden pang of nauseating panic and dread: I don’t belong here. What the fuck was I thinking?

Then you are in the scenes under intensely radiant artificial light, and just like it did in your roles back in Minnesota, the real world vanishes and all that exists are these characters, these moments, and your body and mind become theirs, and perhaps even your soul too. Your husband is handsome and kind, and here in this liminal fictional space you love him, and when the surgeons wheel him off to the operating room you are full of blind naïve surety. Then the doctors update you on his condition and you are still hopeful, but it becomes a fragile thing, like something that shatters when it’s dropped from a height. And then he is dead, he has been taken away from you, he has been stolen, and you are eclipsed by a blood-red wrath that is animalistic and unforgiving. After each take when you are ripped back through the veil and into reality, you can’t remember exactly what you did or said, and the director doesn’t have many critiques so you aren’t sure how it’s going.

But when it’s over, while you are still standing on the soundstage with the other actors, Aegon puts on his sunglasses and smiles at you from across the room; and you remember what he said outside his office on the day you first met—you are so bright, sunshine—and you know you’ve done a good job.

[exopelagic]

I’m at the point with old friends from home where old songs just make me kinda sad now this is weird

[hysteria-things]

(say the reader is famous also, but not an influencer—maybe like a well known model) hear me out, being close friends with madi and you guys end up moving in together and getting your first apartment

and you come home later than usual one night after ‘hanging out’ with matt and madi knows something is up just by the way you’re walking all slow and stuff and you eventually tell her that you had sex with matt for the first time and she’s just like “omgggggg????? tell me EVERYTHING!” and despite not being able to laugh too hard or else you’ll feel like your pussy is going to rip open LOL you two are just sitting on the couch giggle and talking about the whole thing

PERFECT

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: soft dom!matt x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: although you’re a well-known model, you’ve been feeling insecure about your body lately. matt thinks it’s bogus, and wants to prove you wrong.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, insecurity, praising, oral (female receiving), pet names, p in v

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2,075

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i kind of hate this😔

before you and matthew sturniolo started seeing each other, he would always lurk on your instagram page. the two of you met through madi, who is your best friend. you guys met at an event a few years ago and clicked instantly. fast forward to today’s time, where you now share an apartment.

you noticed matt being subtle on your page at the beginning of whatever you guys have going on. no, it’s not friends with benefits, being that you guys haven’t had sex yet. he would leave comments such as fire emojis or hypes until he was brave enough to text you a few months ago. that’s how your relationship came to be. nobody knows about it, not even madi or his brothers. you guys made the mutual decision to keep it on the down low for now.

walking through the boy’s bedroom door, you go over to the side of the bed that you sleep on, gathering some of your belongings. you just got back from a photoshoot. being a model has its ups and downs, especially when you’re on the chubbier side. you get a lot of praise from your fans, saying how you’re an inspiration. sometimes, however, it can be frustrating.

“i don’t get a kiss or even a hug?” matt says, who looks away from his phone to stare at you putting your stuff in the overnight bag you always bring.

you look over your shoulder and smile. “sorry.”

as you’re placing the bag down, he’s already sat up and sitting at the end of the bed. you go to kiss him on the temple, but instead, he pulls you over his lap to where you straddle him — although you hover a bit.

he pouts. “you’re not staying the night again?”

shaking your head, you brush a piece of hair away from his face. “i told madi i’ll be home tonight. i feel bad whenever i leave her alone, and i can’t keep up with the ‘my mom needs me to sleepover’ excuse.”

a sigh comes out as more of a groan, his lips traveling to your jaw, pecking down your neck and nipping at the skin. “you can’t put marks, matt.” you say in a whine as he reaches your sweet spot. you take a look at the clock on the nightstand, reading 9:14 pm. “it’s getting late and i have to go. i mean it.”

you get out of his grasp, another sigh leaving his body more dramatically.

matt furrows his eyebrows; something’s not right. he can sense something is bothering you, he just can’t put his finger on it. “what’s wrong?”

laughing nervously, you shake your head. “i’ll get over it.”

“that’s not what i asked— hey.” when you ignore him, he grabs your wrist to turn you around. “look at me, please. tell me what’s bothering you.”

you hate how matt’s so good at this game. he can tell when you’re upset, even in the slightest way possible. you can sugarcoat your true feelings with fake happiness, and he’ll still notice that something isn’t right.

on occasion, you like to look at comments under the recent posts that you make. most of the comments are positive, but one of the downsides of the modeling community is the negative ones. you try your best to ignore them, but sometimes they hurt. this is one of those times.

“i don’t like my body.” you barely whisper, fidgeting with his necklace as you think back to the haters.

“what?” he asks confused.

“forget about it.” you start, tugging at your hoodie sleeves. “seriously, i’ll get over it. it’s stupid people saying shit online. it happens to everybody. it’s fine.”

you do love your job, don’t get yourself wrong, but showing off your body in lingerie as a career can attract the wrong people. in general, it’s quite nerve-wracking. he kisses your cheek before his breath is against your ear. “you’re fucking gorgeous.” he bites the lobe. “let me show you, hm?”

his fingertips brush from your thighs to the hem of your shirt. “can i?” a pulsing sensation starts between your legs, taking your bottom lip with your teeth and nodding.

your shirt ends up on the floor, matt reaching behind your back to unclip your bra that ends up where your other piece of clothing is. he stares, a wide grin plastering his face. “shit.” he says lowly, squeezing your breasts before running his hands down to the buttons of your shorts. the pulsing remains, becoming much stronger.

heart thumping, you don’t make a peep as your shorts and underwear drop to the ground. you’re refusing to look down at your body, but that’s all matt is admiring. a chill runs up your spine as his lips kiss your flesh like before, but it’s more heated while you’re naked and he’s still fully clothed.

they trail to your tits, matt kneeling to reach your stomach and kissing your stretch marks, too. “so pretty.” he mumbles, ending at your thighs and repeating these actions until you’re face to face again.

going over to the bed, he lays back flat and gestures for you to come over as well. you hesitate but do so. he maneuvers your body to hover over him, or in this case, over his face. “i don’t want to hurt you.” you whine, knowing what he wants you to do.

the eye roll is so intense that it’s like you said the most out-of-pocket thing he’s ever heard in his life. “you’re soaked.” he exhales. “all of this for me?”

pink creeps on your cheeks and you nod like how you did before. being so turned on makes it almost impossible to speak. squeezing your plush thighs to keep you in place, he lowers you onto his mouth.

a gasp falls past your lips, his tongue flicking at your folds. you want to get pressure off of him at least a little bit, but he has you fully sat on his face, and he fucking loves it. soft moans along with the slurping noise fill the room, matt’s head shaking at times to feel all of you on his tongue. your pussy tastes incredible to him.

sucking at your clit, his tongue enters your sopping hole. you throw your head back, chest heaving when your moans turn into whimpers. he has you stable in his grip, pure bliss fogging your brain. “oh my god!” you cry out, slamming your eyes shut and grabbing onto his hair.

matt hums, the vibration making your legs close around his head. a hotness forms in your tummy, orgasm building the more his muscle laps in your cunt. “mm— i’m gonna cum.” you gasp, his mouth returning to your clit and sucking at your bud. you swear out loud, legs shaking while you make a mess on his face. you feel his tongue lick the excess cum from your thighs, flinching every time he does so.

in the blink of an eye, he uses his strength to flip you onto your back. your breath hitches as he runs his bottom lip up your body, the clinking of his belt entering your ears until his pants fall join the clothing pile. leaning up to take his shirt off, a grin plasters over his face, admiring your body in every way possible. you lift your head to look down at his rock-hard cock, mouth watering at the sight.

he wraps his hand gently around your throat to push your head back onto the mattress. “you want this dick?” he coos, teasing the tip at your entrance to coat it with your juices. you whine lowly, rutting your hips to get more friction. “hm?”

“y-yes.” you stammer, letting out a choked moan as matt starts pushing himself slowly into your hole. the stretch feels mesmerizing, your eyes fluttering closed when he rolls his hips.

“this pussy has been waiting for this.” he says, humming with contentment when your walls wrap around him. “you look so sexy underneath me.”

“f-faster, please.” you choke out, gripping onto the sheets by your sides.

the movement of his hips plow into you more, your ass slapping against his thighs and an erotic sound comes from where you two are conjoined. numerous curses and whimpers escape your body. his balls slap repeatedly against your clit, the feeling making you gasp and your legs shake. “fuck, matt! yeah!”

“i bet those haters are just jealous they can’t have this beautiful body to themselves.” he starts, pausing to catch his breath. “they can’t fuck it like i can.”

“y-you can’t say that.” you whimper, until the two fingers without rings pacify you. you gag a little around them before you start to suck on them, drool dribbling down your chin. the bed starts to squeak when you wrap your legs around his waist to have him go deeper, your moans muffled by his fingers when he hits your g-spot, back arching from the bed.

“there she is.” he whispers, smiling proudly. “that’s it. you want to cum, baby?”

you clench around his shaft, legs shaking more than they were before. you nod eagerly, the knot tightening in your belly. matt groans, watching your hands go to your breasts to tease and pinch the nipples for more stimulation. you can’t make it out, but you could’ve sworn he mumbles so hot under his breath when his dick twitches inside of you. your eyes roll back, mouth opening wide to scream of pleasure.

body trembling, the knot becomes undone when your cum smears down his red dick, the sight having matt pull out with a whimper. he strokes himself a few times before painting your stomach white.

he collapses on top of you, pecking your lips and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. you get a glimpse of the clock and sigh. 10:32 pm. talk about getting home early.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

you finally get to your apartment complex forty-five minutes or so later. you live on the third floor and usually take the stairs, but you’re so soar that you wobble yourself into the elevator. you walk as fast as your legs can take you down the hallway to your front door, keys jingling once you tap the key fab to open it. a beep noise echos, meaning you succeeded.

once you turn the handle, you're greeted with the TV lighting up the living room and madi’s head snapping in your direction where she’s sitting on the couch. “it’s about time! did you not see my texts or calls? you had me worried. you’re never this late after a shoot.”

“i’m sorry.” you exhale. “i had to make a pit stop.”

her eyes slit, watching the way you’re semi-limping to the seat next to her. you grunt when you manage to sit, looking over to see her mouth agape but smiling. “what?”

“you had sex.”

“you don’t know that.” you scoff, but hide your face as much as possible when you blush, reminiscing about tonight.

“girl.” she gives you the are-you-serious stare. “you’re practically shining with the post-orgasm glow, and you came walking in here like an old lady. who was it with? do i know them? tell me, tell me, tell me!”

madi grabs onto your arms and shakes them in excitement, bouncing on her knees on the cushion. “mattandihavebeenseeingeachotherbehindeverbody’sbacks.”

her nose scrunches. “huh?”

you exhale sharply, checking your phone that’s on your lap to see some messages from the boy that had you screaming on his cock over an hour ago. “matt and i have been seeing each other behind everybody’s backs.”

she claps her hands once, awfully loud, before pointing at you. “i fucking knew it. tell me everything. pretty please.”

so you do. you explain everything — well, you leave out the explicit details — and she’s beaming the whole time as you speak. your phone goes off again, and she grabs it before you can. “madi, come on!” you screech between giggles. she reads the messages with wide eyes, and you peek over her shoulder to see.

matt :)

babe

you left your bra here

should i try it on?

i’ll look good in it

hello :(

did you fall asleep already?

i think we should make it official

be my girlfriend please

i’ll see you tomorrow

i love you

whoops never said that before

oh well!

goodnight <3

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @moncherriis @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @tworosesblackthorn @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hearrtsturns @stars4matt @freshsturns @etershine @tpvmz @sukiipjs @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @ivyyyyyysposts @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @thesturniolos @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @bernardsbendystraws @hoes4matthew

[catboyieejeno]

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

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

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:58

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

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

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

✰ wc: 21k

✰ tracklist: {spotify} {apple music}

✰ navigation: {one} {two}

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

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

≡;- ꒰ ° one ꒱

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Certainly the latter.

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

“Excuse me, Miss. Miss?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks again, uh…”

“Seokmin.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi–” 

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

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

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

“You left your phone here.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seokmin-ah. What’s the matter?”

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

“Nothing!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Is she pretty?”

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

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

He shakes his head, “No.” 

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

“I would, but…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

At first, he thinks he’s seeing things. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At this, Seokmin covers his face with his palm. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry. And thank you.” 

“For?”

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

”Oh,” He knew it would, “I’m glad.” 

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

”Ms. Boo, this is…“

”Y/N.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I plan to do just that. Thank you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“These look like the ones from your shop.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shame. I wanted to borrow a book.”

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

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

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

“Right.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“You like it?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simply put: you were not her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ms. Boo?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright, then.” 

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

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And then—” 

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

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

“Time doesn’t work like that, idiot.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello.” She chirps, “Y/N, was it?” 

“Yes, that’s right.” 

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

“Language.” 

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

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

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

“Here.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spoiler alert: he would.

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

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

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

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

“Coffee time.” 

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

“Morning,” 

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

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

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

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

“You got it.” 

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

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

“Go on, then.” 

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

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

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

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

“Thank you. You didn’t have to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, you ordered already?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess I will,” 

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

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, you are weird,” Seungkwan mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They’re pretty.” 

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

"Distractions can be good, though,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then I wouldn’t have been regretting right now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re just pretty. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[click here to continue]

[tteokdoroki]

imagine if your bestfriend katsuki was really babyfaced until he hit his 20’s. total late bloomer, aure he went through puberty but his body looked like it had never gotten out of the awkward teen boy phase look!

so, anyways maybe you travel back him for some family time, gone for maybe 3-4 months. Katsuki had already looked really mature, he just had some baby fat, and you teased him, because in your words he still looked like he did when he was 5.

now you’ve come back, and boy, has katsuki grown. you and the group go out on the town, and when you see katsuki he has grown in height, build, and his face is now chiseled. and you cant believe your eyes. the whole night you can’t stop staring, seeing your bestfriend in a new light.

(sorry if this makes no sense im running on a low brain battery lol!)

kissing your brain actually absolutely just smooching it ??

growing up with katsuki and he’s just the kid you guys picked on ever so slightly cause it was easy to get on his nerves — he’d just run home and cry. definitely a mamas boy LMAO !! but you’re both so cute, with gaps in your teeth and messy cheeks and your parents think you’re gonna end up together when you grow up. katsuki thinks that’s gross and you think he’s being mean n you push each other away like ewww grosss even though you were probably crushing on each other back then.

when you’re a little older katsuki is still baby faced and his mom always pinches his cheeks and calls him handsome and does that thing mom’s do where they lick their thumb and use it to wipe their kids face. PLEASE but katsuki is still so cute n hasn’t quite grown into himself yet :(( and when you start hitting 13/14 everyone is talking about the boys they like and who they wanna go to the movies with after school — he doesn’t think you’ll wanna go out with him because you’re best friends and he doesn’t look like the guys in your teen pop magazines or the boy groups you like.

stop he has like braces, he’s a little lanky and his voice is always cracking !!! awkward teen boy katsuki for the win!!! he probably stays like that all the way through high school n then you end up losing touch after graduation/starting college.

but then a few years down the line when you’re back from college your friends are begging you to come to a local bar to catch up — you ask if katsuki will be there and they won’t stop teasing you about it because you haven’t seen each other in ages !! laughing and pointing when he rolls in with your other guy friends, taller, thicker more buff. you’re practically drooling.

the katsuki you knew was shy, and small if he wanted to be but this katsuki is loud. he fills the whole room with his presence, he’s got a waistline that could kill and a jawline so sharp you could cut diamonds on it.

“didn’t your ma ever tell ya starin’ is rude?” bakugou mumbles when he’s close enough to order a drink and you literally melt in your spot — because when did his voice get so deep? basically running through your ears like melted chocolate.

“you’ve changed.” you quip.

“for the better, i hope?”

“yeah… you look good.”

“and so do you,” he comments back smoothly. “but don’cha worry, ‘m still your same old katsuki.”

and god, the way he smirks at you afterwards makes your thighs shake and your stomach do back flips, and you kinda hope your katsuki is a little bolder, a little different when you ask him.

“do you wanna get out of here, katsuki?”

your suspicions are confirmed when bakugou kicks back his shot and says.

“i thought you’d never ask.”

[holylulusworld]

Shy guy (3) - Past

Summary: You grew up together. Bucky is the one. He’s just too shy to make a move.

Pairing (future): Shy!Bucky Barnes x Fratgirl!Reader

Sidepairing (friendship): Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: sweet Steve, John Walker hate, John Walker being the worst, harassment, fluff, angst, a little time jump

Inspired by this ask: Shy guy ask and @dawn-petrichor-world​ made me do it…

<;< Shy guy (2) - Past

Shy guy masterlist

Age of 14, …

“Why is Jamie not here?” You sniffle and wipe your eyes. It’s your birthday and your friend Jamie didn’t come to your birthday party.

“His mom wants him to play with other kids too,” Steve softly says. He pats your back and awkwardly tries to soothe you. “I’m sorry. He’s busy with some other boy from his old neighborhood. He moved to town with his mom.”

“A boy?” You are crying now. “But he’s our friend. Jamie is my best friend, and he won’t come to my party for some boy?”

“Hey, we can have fun without him. I’m sure Bucky will apologize for not coming to your party on Monday. He’s…” Steve sighs. “Puberty sucks, okay. Bucky needs some alone time without a girl hanging on to his every word. That other guy told him he can’t be friends with a girl without being…”

“Being what, Stevie?” You whimper. "Tell me!"

“Her boyfriend,” Steve puckers his lips. “Don’t be sad. I will always be your friend. Steve Rogers is a friend for a lifetime.” He grins when you hide your face in his chest. 

You are the only girl whose heart he hasn’t broken yet. Steve doesn’t know why, but you are like a sister to him.

“I don’t like Jamie anymore. He’s so mean,” you cry and whimper. “Why did he do this? I invited him and his sister. Rebecca came, but he didn’t. I hate him!”

“Hey,” Steve jogs after you to walk you home from school. “Did he apologize? I haven’t seen Bucky around today.”

“He was talking to that boy John all the time,” you sniff. “I don’t like that boy. He’s mean. When Jamie wasn’t looking he grinned at me and cupped his…”

“He cupped what, Y/N?” Steve's eyes widen when you tell him that John cupped his crotch and made an obscene noise. “That bastard is dead! I’m going to break his nose!”

“Steve,” you grab Steve’s wrist. “He’s not worth it. If Jamie doesn’t see that guy is no good, I don’t want to be his friend anymore.”

You sniffle and runoff, dashing along the street only to stumble and fall.

“Y/N!” Steve chases after you to help you get up. “Did you get hurt? Wait, I’ll help you.”

“Awe, look at this James. The hero in shiny armor helps her up. LOSER!” John smirks at Steve. Your friend squares his jaw, ready to throw a few punches, but he decides against it. He needs to bring you home first. 

“You’re an asshole Walker!” Steve bites back. “And you, Bucky!” He sneers. “I can’t believe you let that bastard talk about your friend like this while he’s after Y/N. He only makes you do all this to get Y/N for himself.”

“What?” Bucky watches his friend grab your backpack and help you up. “Is that true John? Do you want her to be your girlfriend?”

“I wouldn’t poke that asshole with a stick,” you grunt as Steve wraps one arm around your waistline to help you walk. “You’re not my friend anymore, James Buchanan Barnes. I hate you!”

Steve slowly walks next to you, soothing you on your way home. You’re crying and he feels helpless. He’s only fourteen years old and has no clue how to help you.

“He’ll apologize. You’ll see…”

Three months later, …

Bucky tried anything to get you to talk to him. It took him three months to convince you that he’s no longer friends with John Walker.

Still, something broke inside of you. You don’t see Bucky like you saw him before all this happened. Your heart still hangs on him, but Steve proved that he’s a better friend than Bucky could ever be.

One wrong friend, a few words and he left you hanging and ignored you. 

“I got a belated birthday gift for you,” he shyly hands you a beautifully wrapped gift. “Rebecca helped me with the ribbon.”

“Oh, that’s…nice,” you can’t be happy. The gift only reminds you that Bucky didn’t come to your party because of John Walker. “I’ll unpack it later.”

Bucky sighs. He had hoped you’d like the gift and that you would be all over him like you used to do. “Uh-I hope you like it. I thought of you when I bought it.”

You roll your eyes. “I hope so because it’s a gift for me.” 

He flinches at your icy tone. Bucky knows something shifted in your friendship due to his mistake. You talked more to Steve and pulled away from Bucky over the last weeks.

He only hopes you didn’t change your mind about marrying him one day…

Another month later, ...

Bucky stuffs more popcorn into his mouth. He watches you giggle at something Steve said about the stupid movie he chose for movie night.

“Can we—?” Bucky grunts as you shush him. “Can we watch the movie now?” He murmurs, afraid to speak louder with Steve around. His friend is like an overprotective big brother to you since Bucky let you down and Bucky fears he will make his threat come true and rip him a new one.

“Aw, look at him Stevie,” you jump at Bucky to tickle his sides. “He’s jealous because I got the biggest slice of pizza.”

“No-stop!” Bucky laughs and squeals as you won’t stop tickling him. 

Steve watches you with his friend, humming as he hopes Bucky won’t mess things up with you again.

He’s already got his hands full with all the girls swooning all over him. He can’t always be around to protect you.

Even though, he loves you like a sister.

Part 4

Tags in reblog.

[beerok23]

Runaway Groom AU - Chapter 14

With the compliments of my beta @somewhere-in-wales

Excerpt from Chapter 14 - Wedding Day

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” Beez observed. “Yeah, well, uhm…never gotten married before, have I?” “You’re seriously smitten with this guy, uh?” “What gave it away?” Crowley joked. A door opened behind Crowley and Beez, but they were so intent on talking that neither of the two friends noticed. “So, what will you do after the wedding? When this thing becomes a marriage, I mean?” “I’m moving here.” “What?! Are you completely nuts?!” Beez almost yelled, not believing their ears. “Yeah, I know, I know that it’s not ideal leaving the city…” Crowley sighed, “…but…I can’t drag Aziraphale away from this place, not now…maybe not ever. He loves this town, and he has his friends here--” “You have friends. In London,” Beez complained. “Yeah, a washed out reporter who keeps up with me mostly via voice messages and a bartender who’s too young to know who Robert Smith is.” “Crowley, your job--” “I haven’t got a job, not at the moment.” “With the compliments of your future husband.” “Yep,” Crowley chuckled again, “He still has the workshop, and I don’t know if he’s really ever gonna leave it. But you know what? I can write everywhere, Beez. And I don’t want to spend the first months of our marriage in a long-distance relationship.” “Crowley, but you love London!” Beez objected. Crowley nodded, “True,” he shook his head with a dreamy smile on his face, “But I love him more.” Beez smiled in return, knowing that the argument was over. Crowley had decided, his mind was set on this plan, and his heart was gone. There was nothing left to say except being supportive and happy for their best friend. Crowley heard the door close behind them, and as he turned around to check, he spotted a flash of beige and cream colours leaving the room. For a second, he thought it might have been Aziraphale showing up to greet him, but when he followed through the threshold, the corridor was empty. He just shrugged and came back in. Maybe he wouldn’t see Aziraphale before the ceremony, but in less than twenty minutes he would go down those stairs with the love of his life. He just had to wait.

[READ FROM THE BEGINNING]

TAG LIST

@firephoenix2305 @on1occasionfork @moralsofanalleycatsposts @captainblou @bellisima-writes @shadesofecclescakes

With the ineffable trailer created by @ineffablerainstorm and the support of my second beta @pookasluagh 💛🧡

[justjams2003]

Fast Pace- 15

I'd just like to thank @multi-universe21 for the Spanish Translations for these last two chapters.

The last one guys! This is the very last chapter! I can't believe it. I've been putting off posting this all day, because I'm so sad that this is over now :( Keep in mind, my request are always open. And I'll miss all you pookies so much 🫶. Follow if you'll miss me too, or don't. 🫶

Summary: You're a hard-working Chef in Paris and after a freak accident run-in with Carlos Sainz, your life makes a 180. Let's just say with a certain agreement, you get your bills paid and in return stand in as Carlos' girlfriend for the press. But will you be able to handle the pressure and ensure the lines don't blur?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Carlos Sainz x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: I've aged up Carlos, he is 33 in this fic. Smut (Actually this time!!), sexual themes, age difference, manipulation, control, slight obsession, the word 'daddy', nudity, i guess Instagram posts?? Angst! Lots of it! Tell me if I missed any

Taglist: @httpjeonlicious, @f1lov3r, @messersandmesses, @hollie911, @oriconde08 @thehufflepuffavenger1 @fanboyluvr @thatgirlmj @whyamireadingthis @oriconde08 @depressedriches @roseseraj @skepvids @sain55wifey @distinguishedvoidlady @amatswimming @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @lazybot @formula1mount @fangirl-dot-com @saintslewis @carlossainzwho @lordpercevalcharles @topguncultleader @kitixie @serp3ns0rtiae @hangmandruigandmav @therealone4r @keii134 @dark-night-sky-99 @jax-the-oregonian @hachrinnen @formulaal tjdjindahouse

Word count: 4.3k

Masterlist

Part 14

Y/N'susername 12 January 2024

Liked by CarlosSainz55, Charles_Leclerc, Alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes, LandoNorris and 1,647,903 more Some might say it’s too fast, but you and I have always loved a fast pace. Tagged: CarlosSainz55 Comments: CarlosSainz55: So obsessed with you. I love you so much. <3

Charles_Leclerc: So happy for you two <3

Alexandrasaintleux: You’re gonna be a Sainz before the end of the year!

LandoNorris: Well done, @CarlosSainz55, you found someone who will put up with you like I do…where’s my proposal? CarlosSainz55: You’re not as pretty as her. 🤷 LandoNorris: A dagger to the heart😭

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Y/N'susername 6 March 2024

Liked by CarlosSainz55, Alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes and 198, 379 more Working hard or hardly working? The first option. Tagged: Francisa.cgomes and CarlosSainz55 Comments:

CarlosSainz55: Missing you so much already, mi futura esposa. Y/N’susername: I haven’t been this far away from you since we met😭

Francisca.cgomes: Already having so much fun with you!

Francisca.cgnomes: @CarlosSainz55, you’re all she talks about ✋ Y/N’susername: Nooo, don’t expose me😭

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The cold air hits your face, you don’t remember Paris being this cold. It doesn’t help that the dress you’re being fitted with doesn’t do much for heat. You pull the coat you’d been given closer to your body. It’s luckily big, Dior doesn’t want any paparazzi seeing their opening outfit.

You’re exhausted, it’s two days before fashion week starts. You’ve been pulled into a million places, auditions, fittings, rehearsals and everything in between. The cold air makes you crave a cigarette so badly. Not only that, you miss Carlos more than anything. You haven’t seen him in a month. You call almost every night, but it still isn’t enough. When he’s busy, you’ll play the Ferrari video again. He isn’t himself, but it is close enough.

You can hear someone calling your name but assume that it’s the same people who have been calling you all day. That is of course, until someone grabs you from behind and turns you around to face them.

Your fight or flight kick in before you can even see who it is. Your arms flail and your legs kick in all different directions. Not really caring for the pins stabbing into your side. Where are Otis and Brutis when you truly need them?

“Y/N, Y/N! C'est moi! C’est moi!” You know that voice, you know that accent, you know these strong arms. Your kicking stops, but your screaming doesn’t. “Bérenger! Let go of me, you fucker!” He does, he drops you right as you are. You don’t even turn to him, your bare feet hit the pavement with some speed. Before you can even open the door again, he stops you once more.

He calls you again, but this time you turn to him with fury. “Don’t you remember? I’m a whore, and a slut who sleeps with pedos?” You can see your brother bite the inside of his cheek. “What? You were so opinionated when Jean was disowning me! Now, you have nothing to say?” You scoff at his utter silence, but it doesn’t last long.

“Nothing I say will make you believe me, so I’ll just show you.” He pulls out a phone and shows you an image. “What the fuck is this?” He sighs at you refusing to even look at his phone. “It’s a picture of Carlos at the restaurant where you worked, three months before you actually met.” You trusted him, just as you had trusted Jas and Ilsa and told him everything.

Now you regret it more than anything. You look, and you recognised those booth seats and plates, you’d seen them so many times before. You shrug, “May be, but it could be chalked up to coincidence. What are you even trying to say?” His jaw locks and then he swipes to the right, then again and again and then he hands you the phone telling you to do the same.

“Bérenger, what am I looking at?” He still looks on edge but continues to explain. “I hired a private detective. He found this on Carlos’ cloud.” Now you laugh at him, “That’s not possible. I’ve looked at Carlos’ pictures before, and I’ve never seen these photos before.” You go to leave, thinking he’s just lying to hurt you again.

“His phone, yes! But not his laptop, not his PC, and not his cloud.” It’s true, yes. “What would these photos even mean?” You cross your arms, finally allowing him to speak. “He’s been stalking you, can’t you see? Months before you even met and he has hundreds of photos of you!”

This catches your attention. You sigh, and shake your head, trying to make sense of what he is saying. “Please, Y/N, you’re my sister. All our siblings missed you so much over Christmas. The girls were so excited to see you got engaged and couldn’t believe their ears when I told them what happened.”

This hits you in the stomach. It has to be wrong. He has to be lying. Or else your whole world will truly become crumbling down. More than ever before. “Is, is that all?” He shakes his head repeatedly.

“No, no there’s so much more.” How could there ever possibly be more than stalking? “I have to go, but I have just one day off tomorrow before a hectic week. Here’s my hotel room, we’ll talk.”

Your heart is racing in your ears, you don’t really listen to the people talking to you. You just sit in the makeup chair, trying to keep your stomach from twisting and turning. It has to all be lies, right? He must just be trying to get in your head, to hurt you even more. But, if you truly believed that it's all lies, why would have you agreed to meeting him?

The ringing hits your ear, not panic ringing but your phone. Your hands shake seeing Carlos’ name on your phone. For a fact, you know that if you don’t answer, he is going to worry all day. You don’t want that, he’s your fiancé! But, does he really love you or are his jokes more the truth. Each time he tells you he’s obsessed with you, flies through your mind.

Was he being honest with you? Waiting for you to realise? You turn airplane mode on and the phone goes quiet.

Then there’s also the option of your brother lying. After all, he didn’t defend you that night. He didn’t leave with you when your parents kicked you out. In fact, he made it even worse. He called you and Carlos horrible names and haven’t tried to reach out.

Now you wish Kika was with you on this Dior shoot to help you think all this out.

“You have 10 minutes because 10 minutes is all you gave me.” You both sit down on the balcony of your hotel room. You show him the 10-minute timer on your phone and as soon as the clock starts ticking he begins talking. “I don’t need ten minutes. I can tell you all you need to know now.” You don’t say a word, allowing him to continue.

“Carlos paid us a million euros to disown you.”

He doesn’t even say another word, clearly he can see you spinning. “What?” He nods and then pulls out his phone. Your eyes don’t deceive you. Nothing is truer than the image of your parents sitting on the porch of their new mansion. Bright smiles are on their faces. He swipes to the next photo and you see your siblings being spoiled with lavish gifts.

Now you’re glad that you’re sitting down. Your heart rate has skyrocketed, and you can’t help but look around at everything you now own. The million-euro ring on your finger feels much heavier than ever before. Suddenly you feel exhausted, and a throbbing headache makes itself known. Your throat is dry and your eyes burn with tears.

“No, no, this…this is edited. It must be.” The sun feels too bright and your chest feels too tight. What else is left for you, if you don’t have Carlos? Yes, you have Kika and Alex, but if you lose Carlos you lose them too.

You’ve kicked your friends out of your life. You don’t have your family anymore. He’s it. Carlos is the only real stable person in your life. His family, his friends, they’re the only people you have.

Your brother panics, he pours you a glass of water and you swallow it with one big gulp. What’s even worse than having no one but him, is you realise that that is what he wanted. He wanted himself to be the only one in your life. For you to be isolated and depend on him and only him. He’s used his influence and his money to remove your friends, your family, your job and your person.

“Ilsa? Jasmine? Did he…?” Bérenger nods before you can even finish your sentence. It confirms your thoughts. “There’s more…” he pours you another glass of water. “He planned your meeting. We searched and we couldn’t find a single article of any mob or crazy fans that whole day. We looked in further… and found out that he paid your old boss to make sure you ended up in that ally on that day.”

What?

He's obsessed. He's crazy.

Then the contract enters your mind. NDA. Non-disclosure agreement. Is this why he had you sign it? You thought it was just a safety concern for Ferrari. To make sure they don’t lose any sponsors or something like that. Now you see it’s to protect himself. All just to make sure you don’t say a word. Because if this gets out, he’ll lose everything. He’d be in an even worse position than you.

“Bérenger. You need to leave.” His brows furrow together. “I have photos of that too if you don’t believe me. Recordings, audios, you name it.” You shake your head.

“No, no. I signed an NDA. You aren’t allowed to know any of this. He could sue you into oblivion. He could…” Memories of him saying he’d have people fired. The look in his eye when he would tell you what would happen.

He doesn’t move. “No, no. You’re my sister. He can sue me all he wants.” You shake your head, over and over. Standing up on your wobbly legs. Trying to push his huge body from the seat. “He’ll do worse. Much worse, I’m sure.” His eyes go big at your reaction. “Leave. Now.” He sighs and then takes your phone and puts in his new number.

“If you need me. For anything. Message me, call me.” You can only nod. “Be careful. Don’t let the guards see you looking anything but normal.” Then you realise, they’d likely already told Carlos that Bérenger has visited. “Turn your location off. Don’t use the same road twice. His reach is far. Be careful.”

Your mind is reeling. Should you call him or wait for him to call you? If he does call you, should you lie? Pretend you don’t know anything and then buy a plane ticket with your own money? How would you even get to the airport without the guards? If you leave now, you’ll lose all your modelling jobs. Everything you’d been working hard for. Your dreams, you’d be throwing your dreams down the drain.

The phone rings, and you see his name on your screen. Your hands shake as you answer the phone. You don’t hear anything and can’t even speak. “¿Mi amor?” He asks through the phone, sounding just so innocent. ‘My love’. Are you really his love or just something he owns? Like some watch he’s crazy about.

You go to speak, but your throat fails you. Sobs echo through the hotel room. “Y/N? Are you okay? What’s going on? Talk to me.” Your tears become more, he was so perfect. Too perfect. “What did you do?” Your voice is just above a whisper but you can hear him shift on the other end.

He chuckles, thinking it’s some sort of prank. “What are you talking about? Don’t mess with me now. You didn’t call me back yesterday. I was worried sick.” Each of his words are like knifes into your heart. “Bérenger told me everything.” It’s such a struggle to even speak. “And you believe him?” He doesn’t even ask what Bérenger told you. It just confirms it more to you.

“He showed me the photos, Carlos.” You can hear him curse in Spanish on the other side. “Carlos, I loved you, how could you do this to me?” You pull your legs close to your chest, some sort of protection. It doesn’t stop your heart pounding. “And you still do. You still love me, don’t you mi amor? You told me, I’d never get in trouble with you.”

You scoff at his pleas. “That’s before I found out that you paid my parents to disown me!” He scoffs the same as you had. “You say that as if you loved them because they didn’t love you. Think about it, mi amor, they took the money, didn’t they? If they loved you they would’ve kicked me out there and then. But they didn’t.”

He’s right. Who would be so evil as to give up their own daughter, just like that? Clearly, you never really meant much to them. Why are you caring now? He must sense you coming to this realisation.

“I did it for you. I hate the way they made you feel. Weren’t they so cruel? They would hurt you over and over and I couldn’t stand it. Shouldn’t my love be a good enough reason?”

Another cry courses through you. It’s quiet for quite a bit, just the sound of your crying. You can hear the shuffling before he speaks. “We’re hoping on the plane now. Don’t go anywhere.” This just makes your cries worse. “No, no, please. You can keep everything. The car, the jewels, the clothes anything. Just, please don’t hurt me. Or my family.”

You can hear his footsteps stop. “No, no, mi amor. You know I’d never hurt you. Don’t you?” You don’t say anything, you can’t. You’re shaking and your cries become too much. “Don’t do anything rash. We’ll be there tomorrow.” You throw the phone across the bed, wanting to be as far away as possible from it.

Without even thinking, you throw open the door and face your bodyguards. They don’t even turn to you. “Who are you two loyal to? Me or Carlos?” They don’t say anything, like always. You pluck on Otis’ sleeve, he’s shorter and you’ve him smile…once but once is enough for you to reach out. “If Carlos comes for me, trying to take me, who will you go with?”

You can see him gulp and his face soften. “Carlos will not hurt you.” His words are soft and it’s the first time either of them has spoken of you. You scoff and jump on the balls of your feet.

“Answer the question.” You can see he bites his tongue. “We are paid to protect you, from everyone. But also to report everything you do to Carlos.” It’s Brutis who speaks, you both seem shocked.

“Thank you,” it’s all you say before closing the door. You grab your phone again and call your assistant slash publicist slash just about everything. “Y/N, hello beautiful, what can I do for you?” Her voice is always chirpy but it quickly changes when you ask her what would happen if you didn’t show up to any of your shows.

She chuckles, clearly incredibly nervous by your sudden change of heart. “You’d be blacklisted. Not showing up to Dior? As the opener? Yeah, word will spread and you won’t get another runway job again. Why do you ask?” You can hear her panic about her job. “I signed an NDA.” It’s all you say, you don’t want anyone else’s life being ruined.

You sit back down on the bed. Now you need to think clearly. Why exactly is your brother telling you all this? It can’t be to protect you, because if that was the case then he would’ve done exactly as Carlos said. If he really did care about you, he would’ve tried harder.

Bérenger would’ve told him no, beat Carlos’ ass. But he didn’t, so clearly he doesn’t care too much about you.

So why did he bring this to you? Why else but to hurt you and your relationship. Force a break between you and Carlos. To make sure to ruin your connection with him, so that you’d lose the love of your life. Not only that, but you lose everything. Your new family, the Sainz, your new friends, Alex and Kika, and your career.

You’ve dreamed of tomorrow all your life. To walk down that runway, with all those cameras flashing and people screaming. Your wildest dream was walking for someone like Dior. As a little child, you’d wear your mother’s clothes and put on a little runway show for your siblings. It was one of the few times they’d show some sort of interest.

When you were cooking, you’d always imagine being on a show. Explaining in great detail what you're making and people would love it. People would love you. That’s what you’ve always wanted if you really think about it. To be adored and obsessed over. And that’s what Carlos has given you. He’s given you a world where this is a reality.

You peek behind the curtain and look at all those seats. Then you look at the window outside and see the incredibly long line of people. Much more than the seats put out. An hour. One whole hour before you walk the runway for the very first time. Now just any runway, the Christian Dior runway.

Yes, you spend weeks practising your model walk. You’ve rehearsed this runway three times now. Your outfit is perfect, your hair is perfect, all you’re waiting for now is makeup, jewellery and touch ups. But you can feel your heart in your ears. Yes, you’ve wanted this all your life but now that it’s here, you feel like throwing up.

All those people, watching your every move. They’ll know if you’re breathing too heavily, if you're walking too fast, you’re certain that they can smell fear. And boy are you scared. What if you slip and fall. Then again, Naomi Campbell fell on the runway and that became an iconic moment. But are you as iconic as her? Could you ever live up to her?

What if you sneeze and the whole dress bursts open? What if the dress just falls apart as you walk, leaving you naked for everyone to see? You’d be the laughingstock of the model world. Never again seen on the runway, doomed to forever be remembered as the girl whose dress fell apart. Or the girl who was far too unprofessional for the runway.

“Are you okay?” The makeup artist’s voice snaps you out of your hyperventilation. Your thoughts are torn between two very important things. But really they come together for one big thing, your future. And one question affects both things. Do you still want to be with Carlos? “Yeah, sorry. My mind is just all over the place. Very nervous, my first show.” You shrug and she smiles.

“What usually helps when you're nervous?” His name instantly pops into your mind. “My fiancé. He’s always been my rock.” There hasn’t been a moment since you met him that he hasn’t been there for you. If that’s due to an obsession or love, does it really matter? What really is the difference? What if love isn’t enough for you?

Your parents claimed to love you. Your friends claimed to love you. You claimed to love your job. But all three of those are lost at just the mention of money. Not Carlos. To him, money wasn’t even an object. He didn’t care if you got your new shoes dirty or never wore something his money bought. Because to him, there’s always more money but not more of you.

“Speaking of…” the make-up artist’s eyes glance to one of the side entrances. His hair is always something you notice first. You hope he never loses it, even if he goes completely grey. Then it’s the crinkle in his brow, he’s always so worried. Then the way his eyes scan the room, always looking for you. It’s not that he always wants you by his side, it’s just that he wants you safe.

He’s by your side before you can even blink. His hands fit into yours, and like always you reach for the other. “Mi amor, please let me explain.” He’s down on his knees, opening himself up to vulnerability. So many people here could take a photo at any time. But he doesn’t care, he just thinks about you and keeping you.

“Carlos, I can’t do this.” His eyes go big and he shakes his head. “No, no please mi amor. I love you, I can’t lose you. I know some actions to protect you might have been a bit… unorthodox but it all came out of love.” You chuckle and kiss his forehead. “I know and you’re right. Good riddance, I mean. If they gave me up that easily, for that little amount, then I’m better off without them.”

His face lights up and he gives you his charming smile. “You mean it?” You nod and smile, “What I can’t do, is this show. Ask Ava here, I’ve been hyperventilating this whole time. I’m sure she’s so annoyed with me.” The girl gives an uncomfortable chuckle, likely more worried about her job than yours.

He stands up and rubs your shoulders. “Don’t worry, handle it like you do the paparazzi. Because you handle it better than any celebrity that I’ve ever seen.” He holds back your hair, keeping it out of Ava’s way, still gentle enough not to ruin the style. You laugh, it feels like so long ago now, your first real encounter with fans.

“Will you be watching?” “Of course, imagine it’s just me in the audience. Just you and me.”

“Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro Junior, ¡ven aquí ahora mismo o llamaré a tu padre! Quieres decepcionar a papá? Porque si lo haces no podrás venir más a las carreras.” I can’t help but laugh, hearing my wife scold my eldest.

He’s likely run off again trying to find me or Lando or even Charles. It’s nice to hear her speak Spanish. As soon as we found out she was pregnant, she began learning immediately. And she picked it up quick.

“I am shaking in my boots.” Her eyes shine seeing me. Clearly, she’s tired, but still, she is glowing. “Papa!” The little man runs up to me at full speed. His Ferrari shirt is still too big for him at four. But he does insist he’s a big many and doesn’t need the baby sizes. “Are you being naughty? Didn’t I say we must always listen to Mama?”

His wide smile falls, “I’m sorry, papa,” I hate seeing him upset like this. But he does need to know that what she says goes. “You know what they say, happy wife happy life.” Charles comes up behind me, tickling Junior making him cry out in giggles. He then greets Y/N and picks up one of the twins. Also tickling his feet as the other is as always perched on my wife’s hip.

“Aw man, this is why I love the Spanish GP so much,” Charles comments and I can hear my beautiful wife laugh again. “What? To admire my family?” He nods with a smile, “You know it.” I can’t help but shake my head. “Ai, no, get your own.” Charles just rolls his eyes at my shenanigans before he is called away.

I place Junior down, telling him to sit tight. I then bend down and rub her swollen belly. “How are you, mi amor? How is our girl treating you?” She sighs and her fingers find my hair.

“She’s much nicer to me than these two were. But you know how it is when we get to the eight month mark.” I coo and kiss her head. I love seeing her swollen like this. Hands full with our children, in the role I have chosen for her.

“What’s on your mind?” She’s so warm and I just can’t keep anything from her. When she wasn’t pregnant it was hard to say no. Now, it’s basically impossible. “I think I should retire…” Her brows furrow and her bottom lip pops out. It’s no wonder where Junior gets it from. “I have a championship behind my back and this year is looking like another…”

She shrugs and then nods, “You’re his hero, you know? I just don’t want to break that bubble for him.” I sigh, placing my head on her round stomach. The baby kicks my chin and I can’t help but chuckle. “I’m 38, mi amor, my contract ends this year. I don’t want to miss more of my kids growing up.” She holds my face in her hands, this is what I imagine heaven would be like.

“I’ll support you all the way.” I nod and give her a kiss. She pulls Elija, the youngest closer to her. They’re just over a year old. “Look who’s the main breadwinner now.” Elija just babbles on as a reply. This is more than enough for me.

She’s mine, all mine. Three beautiful kids with one on the way. A championship to my name. There is nothing else I could want.

The End.

I just want to quickly add, that this story was written before the Epstein list came out. If the mention of Noami Campbell is too much, please, please tell me so, so that I can delete the mention of her immediately. But like,,,, I'm just a girl and idk what to do 🤷 please tell me what to do😭 Okay, love you bye <3

[elizabethwritesmen]

The Devil Wears Lace

chapter 3 : February 14, 2023

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader

summary: simon still plagues your mind, so you’re overjoyed when he shows up at the bar on valentine’s day. you guys get a little closer, but the night ends on a bad note.

warnings: 18+ for eventual smut, pining, flirting, reader is assaulted, simon gets violent, i think that’s all but let me know if i missed anything!

series masterlist

February 14, 2023

Four months passed and I felt any hope I had of seeing Ghost again vanishing. It was pathetic, really, how I’d gotten so wrapped up in a man whose face I hadn’t even seen. A man that grunted more than he talked and was not personable at all. A man that likely wanted nothing to do with me. A man without a name.

I was honestly embarrassed of myself, ashamed that I’d become such a mess over a man. I was the one who was supposed to make men feel helpless. Not the other way around. But kicking up the flirting with my regulars seemed to help, plus it magnified my tips, along with the fact that my boss changed our uniform skirt from the mid thigh one we were accustomed to, to one that barely fell below our asses.

It was Valentine’s day, so I wanted to look extra special. It was always a great tip day, lonely people filling the tables up, getting drunk and tipping extra. Lonely men thinking they’ll have a chance if only they’re nice and give me more. So I painted my lips dark red, and slipped on some thigh high stockings with garters and a lace trim, sliding my black sneakers over them.

“Whew!” Sabrina exaggerated as I walked in the door that morning, “You look even better this year than you did last year!”

“Thanks, I try,” I winked, tapping her nose as I made my way behind the bar and clocked in.

The hours passed by until finally night fell. There had been copious amounts of loneliness, drinking, and tipping, just as I had predicted.

“Y’look different,” his voice was rough, like a callous on the hands of a hardworking man, and it shattered my insides on impact. I took a moment to steady myself from it before turning around from my position facing the bottles.

There he was, decked out with his mask on his face. I forgot how to breathe for a second, then choked out a small cough and did my best to appear normal and natural.

“Ghost,” I greeted, with a million dollar smile.

“New uniform?” his eyes fell to my legs, but only for a second, before meeting mine again.

“New skirt but the stockings are a personal touch.”

“Gotta give the men hell somehow, right?”

“Exactly, and these have been doin’ the trick,” I grinned, eyes on my legs, too shy to look at him.

“What’s goin’ on in that head o’ yours?” he asked, “You were all big and bad last time I saw you and now you’re shy?”

“I know I said this last time, but I didn’t think I was gonna see you again.”

He grunted in his usual way, ordering a whiskey neat and gesturing over to a table that his friends were crowded around when I handed it to him.

“They all want to say hello to you, whenever you have a chance to drop by,” he explained, and I nodded as all the boys turned towards me, proving his point. “You don’t have to, though. If they make you feel uncomfortable. I know they’re a lot.”

“I like them,” I shrugged, “They’re different than the other guys that come in here. You’re different too. It’s a nice change of pace.”

“You mean it’s nice that they’re not falling for all the shit you say?”

I had the audacity to look sheepish for a second before nodding, eyes trained on his, and he scoffed lightly and went on his way, barely sparing me a glance back. I grinned, victorious in the way I annoyed him. I wanted to annoy him and get under his skin.

“I see he’s back,” Sabrina spoke from beside me, eyeing up their table.

“Yeah.”

“Well, what’re you waiting for, Daph? Go solve the mystery!” she teased, and I rolled my eyes at her. “Seriously, girl, you’ve been here pining over him since the day he saved you. Go, talk to him!”

“I haven’t been pining over him.” My words were sharp, razor edged but turned feeble because I knew I was just being defensive. “I don’t pine over people.”

“You certainly never have before but there’s a first time for everything.”

I thought for a second, “This doesn’t mean I want him or anything. I don’t. I just need to get the flirting out of my system so that when he leaves this time, I won’t be wondering whether or not he’s ever gonna come back.”

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” she giggled, pushing me in the direction of them and slapping my ass on my way.

One of them I recognized as Gaz let out a slight whistle, “There she is!”

“Hey,” I offered, grin coy on my face.

“What’re you doin’ here all alone on Valentine’s Day?” he asked me.

“I’m working,” I furrowed my brows, gesturing around as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah, but you seem like the type of girl who’d have something to do today.”

“I do…” I hummed, stepping closer to them until I was leaning on the table, “I’m here to make lonely men who can’t keep a girlfriend feel better with booze so they’ll give me money.”

“Now that sounds more like you,” he laughed, and the others joined him, all except Ghost. His eyes just trained on me like they were supposed to be there.

“What’re all of you doing back? More ass to kick?” I turned away to distract myself with the other boys.

“Yeah, and Ghost insisted we come see you,” the other one, Soap, smirked, glancing at the Lieutenant, who stayed silent but his eyes were deadly.

“That’s cute,” I winked at him, “Of all the men that come in here, tall dark and deadly over there is my favorite.”

“You can tell us all about it when you get off and join us,” Gaz urged, and I sighed with a shake of my head.

“I’ve gotta close up tonight, boys. I’ll be here until 3.”

“Oh, we’ll probably stay that late anyway then so the Lieutenant can walk you to your car,” Soap’s voice was light, teasing, an edge to it and he didn’t dare look at Ghost. Smart move, because the glare he was receiving was positively fatal.

“Well if that’s the case,” I drawled, sliding up beside the man himself and giving his shoulder a little squeeze, something I’d not done before but it sent chills all over me the second my skin met the fabric of his clothes, “I’ll make sure to keep the drinks coming.”

“And the conversation!” They called after me as I walked away, and I threw them a wink over my shoulder.

I did as promised, rounding back to their table every so often. I didn’t want to do it too much, didn’t want to give Ghost the satisfaction, but I did it just enough to sate the feelings I’d been feeling for him before they overwhelmed me. I noticed how good he smelled, and just how large and built he was, and that didn’t make it any better as I found an excuse to touch him every time I went by their table. He seemed like a man that didn’t want to be touched but he must not have minded when I did it. He made eye contact with me every time though, his expression a warning to me. Tread lightly. But I never liked listening to warnings and I never liked playing by the rules, so I only got more brazen, until I’d slid one hand down his chest and taken his own hand in mine.

“It’s almost 3,” I observed, “You really gonna walk me to my car?”

“Do you think I need to?” his tone was teasing, and I fed right into it.

“Oh, yes, please. I’m so scared something will happen to me if I walk alone.” My voice was exaggerated, light and damsel-like for dramatic effect.

“You walk alone every night.”

“You don’t know that,” I countered, and his eyes snapped up, burning hot into mine.

“Oh, ‘s that right? You’re having these bumbling assholes from the bar walk you out? You’re not scared of them at all?”

“I can take care of myself, Ghost,” I sighed.

“Against a man who’s bigger than you and has combat training? A man you’ve teased for God knows how long that might finally want to get his hands on you?”

I leaned forward, lips a ghost on the fabric covering his ear, and whispered, “I dare any of them to try it.”

“You’re pretty cocky,” he grumbled.

“It’s always worked for me,” I shrugged with a wink as I pulled away from him.

A moment of silence passed before he spoke, as if he had to think about his words. Or maybe he just wanted to leave me in suspense. “Yes, I’m walking you to your car.”

“Good,” I hummed, walking away again. I hoped I was driving him as insane as he was driving me, all of the give and take between us becoming a lot to handle but I could do it and I knew he could keep up.

As I waited patiently for the clock to strike 3 so we could do last call, my eyes kept falling to the way he lifted his mask over his mouth to take a sip of his drink. Finally, when Sabrina went around telling everyone we were closing up, he did it one last time and drained his glass, placing it roughly back on the counter and pulling the fabric back down. Not before I could observe him, though, pale stubbled skin framing pretty pink sinful looking lips.

They waited for me as I rushed to clean up, and then we all walked out together. The boys said goodbye to me just like the last time before heading in the opposite direction, and Ghost turned me towards my car.

“Don’t you think it’d be smart to stop parking in the alley?” he grunted, and I laughed, a breathy and light thing falling from my lips.

“Maybe.”

He glared at me, his eyes extra bright behind his mask. Deep and brown, I swore I got lost for a second in them before clearing my throat and turning away.

Once we finally reached my vehicle, I was alarmed to find a man leaning against the drivers’ side. I recognized him. I’d served him earlier, he’d ordered way too many drinks. He was upset over a breakup or something and he’d told me that I was the only thing keeping him going. That I was better than his ex anyway. That she was a whore and I was an angel sent just for him. They loved to call me that. Angel. Of all the men, though, I had to give it to this particular one. He was unsettling, even in the bar he had been, his words seeming less like compliments and more like dirty degradations making me feel ill. He seemed demented in some way, like he was thinking the most horrible things about me. The nastiest things about me, and the only way to let them out was to shoddily flirt. I could see why his ex left him.

“There you are, Angel,” his voice was like a snake, slithering up my spine and leaving chills in its wake. “Been waiting a while for you.” He took one last swig out of the almost empty bottle in his hand then threw it to the side, watching as it shattered on the pavement.

“What’re you doing out here? It’s late, go home,” I set my jaw, stepping forward slightly and shaking Ghost off when he tried to stop me. I didn’t need him to fight my battle for me. I was a grown woman, more than capable of dealing with a too-drunk idiot who was waiting for me by my car.

“What am I doing? What are you doing? Leading a man on then sending him on his way like it doesn’t matter?” Every word was loaded like a gun, and he advanced towards me, blocking my path to my car.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” I hissed, voice low, anger flaring up.

“I don’t think I will. Send your little boyfriend on his way, sexy, we’ve got some stuff to discuss,” he lunged at me, reaching for my arm and I only had a second to panic before a hand was twisting in my shirt, yanking me roughly back. I realized it was Ghost, putting me behind him, as distant as possible from the scene unfolding before me.

Ghost slammed the guy against the wall, forearm to his throat, dwarfing him.

“You sure about that?” he growled, his voice deeper and more terrifying than anything the other man had said, but somehow it made me feel safe.

“Get the fuck off of me,” the guy spat, and Ghost chuckled darkly.

“What’s your name?” Ghost asked, but it was more of a demand than a question.

“Why?”

“Because by tomorrow you’ll be stripped of your rank and if you ever bother her again, I’ll make a trip back here just to kill you.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Watch me.” That was a dare, chilling and foreboding.

He threw the smaller man to the ground, and watched as he scampered away on his hands and knees, thoroughly terrified.

“I could’ve handled that,” I huff as soon as he’s gone.

Ghost has the nerve to laugh at that, full and sharp, before advancing lightly on me.

“You think so, angel?” The word from him was mocking, as if to prove his point to me.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry, would you prefer sexy?”

“Stop,” I yelled, “I could’ve handled it, I didn’t need you to step in and be a hero.”

“You couldn’t have. And that’s your problem. You’re not scared enough. You’re too good of a girl to be throwing caution to the wind like that.”

“Why should I be scared?”

“Do you know what that idiot was planning?” I stayed silent, eyes on his like a challenge as he raised his voice, “Well do you?”

“I have some ideas.”

“Exactly. And you stepped up like an idiot. He was bigger than you, and he was plastered, so you wouldn’t have been able to overpower him. You’re not scared enough, and you should be, because you’re crossing the line between bravery and stupidity.” I stayed quiet again, knowing he was right. I’d found my way into a situation that I could not, in fact, deal with on my own and I was thankful he was there. “Stop parking in the alley. Stop walking to your car alone. I mean it.”

I nodded slowly, “Okay.”

“Get in the fucking car and go so I’ll know you’re safe.”

I walked towards my driver’s side door, then paused, turning back. He was looking at me expectantly, and I approached him slowly, leaning up to kiss his covered cheek like I had the first time.

“Thank you, Ghost,” I whispered, falling back on my feet and getting in the car. I went home, shaking from the adrenaline that was coursing through me. I had to admit, that was one of the scarier things that had happened to me working there.

But Ghost was so quick to put himself in front of me, to defend me, to protect me. Any chance I had of getting him off my mind was gone, all I could see were his forearms as he pressed the guy into the bricks. I couldn’t help it as my mind wandered into dark territory, places it should never go when men I might not see again are involved. He was hot. That much was clear, and the fact that every single part of him was deadly made it worse. I wondered what else he could do. How he could take something so dangerous and use it to make me come apart. I could feel the ache settle in my bones when I accepted my want for him, knowing it wouldn’t ever leave.

[sugarushwriting]

Untouchable / Bang Chan

Untouchable

“untouchable like a distant diamond sky,” “I’m caught up in you,” “when you’re close, I feel like coming undone

Prologue.

I’ve known him since I was 7 and he was 9. I’ve been best friend’s with his younger sister for 13 years, and my crush never faltered. Although we have our 2 year age difference, he only and always saw me as his little sister’s best friend, eventually calling me his own little sister. He would never look at me more than a younger sibling. Even when I turned 15, and started to grow in places, he never once glanced my way in an adoring look. Not like he did with other girls and his girlfriends at the time. I even once wore the skimpiest bikini I could find at 16 and he flat out walked past me without a second thought. Lily, my best friend and his sister, couldn’t believe I was brave enough to show that much skin to anyone. 

From those 13 years, Lily never officially suspected I had a crush on her brother. She once told me, “it’s okay if you have a crush on him, every girl does!” I gagged and brushed her off with a blush. “Never in a million years,” I replied, knowing deep down, my heart ached for him to look at me anyway other than a younger sister. It was hard every day to ignore my silly little feelings for him. Christopher, or Chan as we called him at times, never saw my feelings for him. Never saw me bat my eyelashes at him, the cheesy pickup lines I told as ‘jokes,’ or the times I would dress up in hopes to receive any type of compliment. He would reply with “why do you have so much makeup on?” or “your skirt is too short, kid.” I always went home crying into my pillow.

Chan had his first ‘real’ girlfriend at 14, I was 12. I cried so hard, my mom thought I had spilled a drink in my favorite book. They broke up just months later, and I saw the light of day again. However, when he was 17, he went off to college and got a girlfriend. I had thought they wouldn’t last due to college life. My heart shattered into a million pieces when that didn’t happen. Chan hardly came home during college, only on major holidays. He was aiming to be a music producer, so his schedule was always packed. Whenever he did come visit, he always brought his girlfriend, Sharon. I tried to hate her, but I couldn’t. She was sweet, smart, and talented as she was in choir. That’s how they met--their shared musical talents. 

When it was my and Lily’s turn to go off to college, I made a pact to myself - to get over Christopher Bahng. It was hard at first as not only did I go to school with Lily, and shared a dorm with her, Chan came to help her move in. Of course, he would sometimes visit, but never actually come up to the dorm. A few times she offered for me to hang out with them, but I always made up an excuse. Soon, Lily stopped talking to me about his life updates all together, only for a few here and there updates. My heart didn’t flutter like it used to. The feelings weren’t strong, but they were still somewhat there. During college, I found myself lost in my education and even some guys, but the guys never stuck. Mainly because I couldn’t get off by them, and sometimes I even imagined it was Chan’s face. They never quite pipped my interest.

Now, at 20, I haven’t seen or talked directly to Chan since Lily and I moved into college, 2 years ago. I don’t know what he looks like now as I blocked him on every social media account I had. He was now 22, and I wonder how much he grew in 2 years. I guess I would soon find out since Lily and I were spending the summer at her parent’s vacation rental in Australia for 3 months, and Chan would be there as well. 

[hheartsdramas]

final two episodes lfg

ep 11

if this drama doesn’t end with a non-imaginary scene of marital bliss

why do cops in these shows always call loved ones to the scene of crimes/accidents? so i can admire the scenery while they have an emotional breakdown?

oh mom is worried about hee-joo? where was this motherly concern at literally any other moment in her daughter’s life?

thanks for reading my mind, in-a. i always knew i liked you

momma paik has been accusing her husband and fil for the way og!sa-eon turned out, but i see her in his crazy just as much

yu-ri is the purest sweetest wholesomest and i’m so glad they didn’t turn her work crush into 2fl jealousy

does anyone really think ui-yong is the “leading presidential candidate” after all this?

uh-uh mom, you absolutely do not have the right to be broken up like this. i’ve always been impressed with kdramas not feeling obligated to forgive toxic parents, but it seems like they’re trying to give hee-joo’s mom a redemption arc. not a fan

(all my acab values go out the window when watching kdramas. but remember folks: if the cops want to talk to you you stfu and let your lawyer do all the talking.)

whaaaaaaaaaaaaat he’s grandpa paik’s bio son???? how??

these people are fucked up, i can’t believe she’s so vicious to our sa-eon because of things so far out of his control they might as well be happening on the space station

maybe don’t make promises about finding people we haven’t verified a location for, mr. detective man. especially since og!sa-eon is still alive

i am unsure how adding a padlock makes that room more secure than it already was, but you do you i guess henchman

daddy paik fucking things up, as usual

wow they know there’s a gun and they’re not even staying low it’s like they’ve never been through an active shooter training. (well, this isn’t set in america so that’s possible, i suppose)

bro run him overrrrrrrrrrrrrr

you’re literally watching him get ready to shoot that gun STEP ON IT!!! FLATTEN HIM!!! WTF ARE YOU DOING?????? NOW YOU’RE GETTING OUT OF THE CAR???? Why are you idiot????

i don’t even know what to say to you right now sa-eon. i’m already over whatever self-destructive bullshit you’re about to embark on for a probably shit reason.

friends the number started with 604…the mirror of 406

BRING BACK 14 EPISODE SERIES WITH ENTIRE EPISODES DEDICATED TO THE NON-IMAGINARY HAPPY ENDING YOU COWARDS

ep 12

netflix like “one more episode to go” don’t rub it in

he’d better have the best fucking explanation for disappearing or he’s losing all the points he’s earned for being an obsessed feral husband

this man seriously still thinks he can be president? (i will not make real life political commentary i will not make real life political commentary i will not )

all these people telling hee-joo all the ways he loved her is worth jack shit because HE’S NOT HERE i stg i will jump through the screen and smack him so hard when he shows back up

i’m actually so mad i don’t care what his reason is at this point, he abandoned her and i’m not sure i can forgive

wtf is argan

listen, i love a toxic romance in fiction as much as the next gal, but ladies please don’t chase a guy who abandoned you for six months with zero explanation to a fucking war zone all by your lonesome. hee-joo i thought you had some intelligence and some self respect

i’m seriously so upset with him. he fucks off for god knows what reason and has the gall to be mad at her for coming to look for him? the woman who drove off a cliff to protect him?

i hate the noble idiot trope so. much. and it’s not consistent with who he’s been the rest of the time, which is a selfish possessive bastard

okay but what is he actually *doing* in this war zone? other than “punishing himself” 🙄

okay well at least they finally had sex

this phone call is kinky, right?

sigh. my kingdom for a drama that doesn’t become a completely different show at the end. it’s certainly not the worst offender ever but i’m going to block almost all of that war zone arc from my memory i think. then i can be happy with it start to finish.

[thepromptswhisperer]

Partner X You, & Your Friends Prompts

1. “I know we have plans, but I haven’t seen my friends in forever.”

2. Your friend tells your partner an embarrassing/etc. story about you.

3. You find out that your partner kept a secret from you – one that their friend helped covering up.

4. Your friends are so.done. with hearing you gush about your partner.

5. Your partner cannot fathom how you’re still friends with your ex.

6. (You feel like) Your partner spends more time with their friends than they do with you.

7. “So I’ve heard. [Your partner/crush] hasn’t stopped talking about you since [your date/etc.].”

8. You realize that your partner treats their friends and strangers better than they do you.

9. Your friend and partner (seem to) become best friends.

10. You are attracted to/fall in love with your partner’s friend.

11. Your partner becomes a different person when they are around their/your friend(s).

12. “I don’t mind you guys hanging out here, but could you tone it down a little? (It’s late and I have work tomorrow.)”

13. You’ve been with your partner for months now, and they’ve never invited you to come along to meet their friends.

14. Your partner and your friend have an argument.

15. Your friends test your new partner.

16. Your partner has a set day each week/month/year on which they meet their friends. It’s important to them, so you always try to make it possible for them to attend.

17. “They’ll love you. I promise.”

18. You tell your friends that you’re together with your partner.

19. Your friend gives your new partner the whole ‘don’t hurt them’ speech.

20. Navigating the aftermath of your breakup is difficult, as you and your ex-partner share the same friend group.

21. You couldn’t have made a worse first impression on your partner’s friends. (You try to rectify it when you meet them again.)

22. Your friends encourage you to ask out [your crush].

23. When you arrive home after having spent time with your friends, your partner is right there, waiting for you and eager to hear the newest gossip.

24. “Be honest. What do you think of them?”

25. Your friend and partner have both complained to you about someone. You didn’t know they were talking about the other, and they didn’t know the ‘someone’ was an important person in your life. Now, however, you introduce your new partner to your friend.

26. You told your friend/partner a secret and made them promise to not tell anyone about it. Later, however, you find out that they told their partner/friend.

27. You don’t like your partner’s friends.

28. After an argument with your partner, your friends cheer you up/give you advice.

29. Your partner cheats on you with your/their friend.

30. “Go. Have fun. I’ll be fine.”

31. You overhear your partner’s friends give them a stern talking to after they upset you.

32. You find out that your partner and your friend dated/had sex/etc. before you met/got together with the former.

33. After your breakup, you thought you’d never hear from your ex-partner’s friends again. You were wrong.

34. Your friends seem to like your partner so that you start feeling jealous. (They were your friends first!)

35. Your friend seems to immediately not like your partner, leaving you to wonder why that is.

36. You try to convince your partner, who intends to spend the evening/etc. with their friends, to stay with you (and use unfair methods to achieve your goal).

[jinkoh]

now playing: dreamer boy - don't be a fool

wooseok x gn!reader

7th fic for my anniversary event | requested by @14-hibiscus

wc: 1.1k, idiots to lovers, friends to lovers, very much a summer fic and i know it's december but the song is giving summer so 🤷🏻‍♀️

a/n: haven't written for ptg in a while so this was nice 🥹 🫶🏻

event masterlist | ptg masterlist

Wooseok is being a fool, he knows that. Actually, he’s been a fool all summer. While you were gone, making new experiences and hooking up with who-knows-who, he’d been wallowing in self pity, frustrated with the chances he’d let slip so easily. And there’d been plenty of them before you left, but he’d been too much of a coward to take any of them. Which is stupid, because you had kissed him, at that party, in the pool, with water dripping from the tip of your nose and laughter in your eyes and Wooseok couldn’t remember the last time he’d been that happy. But then you’d never talked about it, because the one time you tried he was so flustered that he shot you down and after that he’d somehow missed the right timing and lacked the courage to bring it up again before you left for the summer.  And so, life just continued for you, while Wooseok felt like his time had stopped. He’s still stuck now, because even though it’s been over a month, Wooseok is still thinking about the way it felt to be kissing you.

You on the other hand haven’t waited around for nothing while you were away, and Wooseok knew he had no right to be upset, but the fact that you kissed other people while you were gone hurt. It also fills him with regret and a sense of self-loathing, as he watches you play around in the very same pool you kissed in at the beginning of summer. Your hair is wet and swept back and your cheeks are red from the sun or the undying laughter on your lips. He wishes to be the source of that laughter again, but you haven’t really spoken since your return. It’s weird, because it used to be so very different. You used to talk every single day and you used to play silly pranks and you used to call him your best friend. Now he is just some guy staring at you from the side of the pool, it seems. Eventually you catch him looking, a timid smile on your lips when you meet his gaze.

“Did you wanna come in?” You ask, and Wooseok knows this is your attempt to reach out to him, to try and fix the awkwardness, but all he can think of is who else you asked the same question to over the summer and if they said yes and if you kissed them in the water the way you kissed him, so he shakes his head. You press your lips together and Wooseok knows he made a mistake, knows he’s being childish, but it seems he can’t stop himself from acting foolish when it comes to you. 

“You’re so dumb,” Hyunggu comments, letting himself plop down onto the sunbed next to him, “I didn’t tell you about y/n’s summer hook up just so you could act like a depressed loser.”

Wooseok frowns at his friend, upset to be called out over behavior he is already beating himself up about, “What did you tell me for then?”

“To wake you up, obviously. Y/n isn’t going to endlessly wait for you just because you’re too much of a coward to act. And they aren’t going to run after you either. They already made the first move, more than once actually. It’s your turn to do something, or you’ll lose them. Don’t be such a fool.”

Wooseok doesn’t meet his friend’s gaze, instead staring at his bare feet, “Isn't it too late already?”

“Maybe. Or maybe not. Only one way to find out, right?” Hyunggu gives him a pat before leaning back in his sunbed, closing his eyes to enjoy the feeling of the sunshine on his skin. Wooseok can’t bring himself to do the same, can’t bring himself to relax. His eyes keep flickering back to you. Hyunggu is right, there is only one way to find out, and he’d hate himself for not at least giving it a shot.

He takes a deep breath, and then he gets up and jumps right in, the fresh water splashing around him. You turn your head in surprise.

“Actually I did want to,” Wooseok says, and although he isn’t even saying anything risky, he can hear his own heartbeat, loud and fast, as he waits for your reaction. When you smile, he feels himself flooded by the same sense of relief that he sees in your eyes. You wade over to him but you don’t say anything, leaving the ball in his court, and honestly, it’s fair enough because you’ve tried to approach him several times already. But it’s hard to muster up the courage. He stares at his hands under the water, watches the blurry silhouette of his fingers, before he finally looks back up at you. “I missed you this summer.”

You come a little closer, “Yeah, me too.”

He swallows down the little surge of bitterness that wants to crane its ugly head, because what point is there in asking why you kissed someone else then, if you’re standing in front of him right now, giving him your time and attention and no one else.

“I’m sorry for being weird before you left. And since you came back.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “you were kind of being a dick.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to be anything more, but it kinda sucks you didn’t just tell me.”

“It’s not that,” Wooseok is quick to disagree, “I just—I’m an idiot.”

“So, you do… want to?”

“I do,” He reaches for your hand under the water, timidly tugging at your fingers, “I really do. I was just scared.”

“I’m scared too,” you say and your voice is soft and quiet, and your expression is so vulnerable it almost hurts to look at you, “But maybe we can tackle that fear together?”

Wooseok feels the smile spreading on his face, “I’d like that,” he leans in, resting his forehead against yours, “I’d really like that.”

You’re smiling too and your gaze flickers between his eyes and mouth, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Wooseok reaffirms, but before the syllable has even fully left his lips, you already shut him up with a kiss that tastes a bit like chlorine and a lot like the start of something really good.

“Oh, fucking finally,” he hears Hyunggu mumble from the side of the pool, but he has better things to do than pay him any mind. After all, he finally has you in his arms, no more missed opportunities hanging between the two of you.

event masterlist | ptg masterlist

[tealmisthams]

Are you still doing Mistletoe Drabbles? If so, can I request Fives/Ahsoka with No. 14, “Set Up?” I think it would be hilarious for them to be set up by the 501st! 😁 Especially his closest brothers. 💙🧡

Thanks so much for the request! I'll be honest, even if I wasn't still doing these drabbles, I doubt I'd turn down another chance to write Fivesoka. 😁 I think this one ended up a bit more sweet than hilarious, but I hope you like it! 💙

It's also here on AO3.

--

“I don’t like where this is going,” Fives grumbled, as soon as he spotted the mistletoe hanging in the corner of Torrent’s rec room.

“It’s for your own good, vod,” Echo insisted, from beside him.

Fives loved his twin, he really did, and Echo was the only person he told everything to. But suddenly he was strongly regretting confiding in his closest brother about his feelings for their commander.

Ahsoka had left the Jedi Order and the GAR for a few months after being framed for murder; no one could blame her. Most of the 501st were convinced they would never see her again, but one day she miraculously returned. That was when it started. 

Fives had returned from an ARC mission to discover that Ahsoka was his commander again, except this wasn’t the reckless teenager he remembered. Somehow, over the past several months—or maybe longer and he was just now noticing—she’d become the most beautiful, capable woman he’d ever encountered.

Ever since, Fives had been helpless not to stare at her when she entered a room or go out of his way to put a smile on her face at every opportunity. Just hearing her soothing voice and looking into her tranquil blue eyes set his mind and heart at peace in a way he’d never experienced before.

He could never tell her how he felt, of course. Even though he only worked with the 501st on occasion, she was still technically his commanding officer and she was a Jedi, so she wasn’t meant to form attachments. The biggest reason though was that he was certain she’d never feel the same way. Echo hadn’t agreed.

“Have you seen the way she looks at you or has love blinded you that much?” his twin had asked.

“What are you talking about?” Fives genuinely had no clue.

“Sometimes I wonder how you ever made it to ARC,” Echo said, pressing his palm against his forehead. “You seriously haven’t noticed that she always sits next to you whenever possible and laughs at everything you say, even if it’s really stupid?”

“I never say anything stupid,” Fives protested, but his twin ignored him.

“She also talks to you more than the rest of us. Oh and the biggest one. Whenever we’re in the gym, she pretty much just watches you the whole time.”

“She does?”

“Yes, you di’kut!”

Fives couldn’t help the doubt that continued to nag at his gut. Maybe Echo was right; he did make some good points. But there were other reasons why he and Ahsoka couldn’t be together. Maybe it was easier to just tell himself that she couldn't see him that way.

But of course, Life Day was tomorrow and now Echo was leading Fives over to the corner of the rec room to where someone had hung mistletoe from the ceiling. Fives already had a pretty good idea of what his twin’s plan was.

“Echo, wait.” He stopped walking before they reached the corner and his brother turned to face him. “I know what you’re trying to do, but if it doesn’t work out, it’s going to create a lot of unnecessary problems.”

“It won’t, vod.” Echo placed a hand on Fives’ shoulder. “Do you trust me?”

Fives sighed. “I guess,” he grunted unenthusiastically.

“Okay, good. Now maybe get that sour look off your face before she gets here.”

Fives opened his mouth to protest, but froze when an angelic voice sounded behind him.

“Jesse, what’s going on?” Ahsoka was asking.

“You’ll see, Commander,” the lieutenant answered vaguely.

“If this is another one of the pranks you guys always pull…” Skepticism had entered the commander’s voice now.

Fives was still listening to their conversation and barely noticed Echo putting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him the rest of the way to the corner of the room. Fives turned around now and saw Jesse leading Ahsoka across the rec room. The commander spotted the two ARCs and her blue eyes seemed to light up when they met Fives’ gaze.

“Hey, guys,” Ahsoka greeted, as she and Jesse joined the twins in the corner of the rec room. “What’s going on?” 

She was speaking to the whole group, but Fives couldn’t help but notice the way her gaze was fixated on him specifically. Maybe Echo really did have a point.

“We just thought,” Echo began, exchanging a glance with Jesse, “that now would be a good time for you two to talk.”

“Or kiss,” Jesse chimed in.

“Wait, what?” Ahsoka’s mouth dropped open.

“Life Day tradition states that if two people are under the mistletoe together, they have to kiss,” Echo explained, shooting Jesse a stern look.

“So anyway, we’ll give you two some privacy,” Jesse said.

Before Fives or Ahsoka could respond, Echo shoved Fives farther into the corner, directly under the mistletoe. Jesse pushed Ahsoka at the same time, sending her stumbling into Fives, who instinctively put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

“You kids have fun!” Echo grinned cheekily. 

Then he and Jesse swiftly retreated across the rec room, leaving Fives and Ahsoka alone under the mistletoe.

“What’s all this about?” Ahsoka asked.

Fives realized his hands were still on her shoulders and quickly withdrew them. She turned to face him and he was suddenly all too aware of how close they were standing. Their chests couldn’t have been more than a few inches from each other, but she made no move to back away.

Fives stifled a sigh. “They wanted to get us under the mistletoe together,” he explained, gesturing to the green and white plant hanging above them.

“Why would they do that?” Was it his imagination or did she shift even closer to him?

He thought about lying or saying something otherwise evasive, but when he looked down into her deep cerulean eyes—so close now that he could see the distinct patterns of her irises—he couldn’t stop the truth from spilling out.

“Because they know how much I like you.”

Tension filled the small space between them, but it wasn’t unwelcome. It felt like electricity; like some magnetic force that was pulling them closer and not allowing either of them to back away. 

But Fives still hesitated. If he let this happen, it could cause all sorts of complications and he still wasn’t even sure if the strength of Ahsoka’s feelings matched his own. What if-

Fives’ mind went blank when Ahsoka rose up on her toes, lifted her hands to cup his face, and pulled him down until their lips met. Suddenly, she was his only thought and he immediately wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him. Her lips were so soft on his and the kiss quickly deepened, her mouth malleable to his every movement.

By the time they broke apart, Fives’ heart was so full, he knew there was no going back. When their lips disconnected, he couldn’t stop himself from trailing more kisses along her cheeks, and up to her forehead and montrals. He felt her sigh contentedly in his arms and, when his kisses came to a stop, she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, as they embraced each other tightly.

It was several minutes before Ahsoka tilted her head back just enough to meet Fives’ brown eyes with her blue ones.

“Remind me to thank Echo and Jesse,” she said. A soft smile spread across her face as she continued to gaze up at Fives.

“I’m still not sure I liked their methods, but if it led us here, then I suppose we could thank them,” he agreed, somewhat begrudgingly.

Though the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he really did need to thank them. At length. He would thank Echo and Jesse a million times over because it was their interference that led to Ahsoka being in his arms now. And as long as he had her, Fives couldn’t imagine needing anything else ever again.

--

Mistletoe Drabble requests are CLOSED, but stay tuned for more drabbles that have yet to be posted! ✨

[cecexsblog]

Meet Me at Our Spot

L. Hughes

synopsis: You’ve known Luke since you were young. Both your family’s had lake houses on Lake Michigan and over the years you and Luke shared a secret get away on the lake near your houses. As you’ve gotten older it hadn’t been in use until now.

warnings: none. very fluffy.

pairings: Luke Hughes x fem!reader

authors note: this is my first tumblr fic. my apologies if it’s not put together properly or written well. I also have no idea how Lake Michigan laws work and the geography of it so let’s just imagine these things happened. Also this is quite slow burn and I took forever to get to the point so sorry about that.

The past two summers weren’t like normal ones at the lake house. Covid had made it really difficult to see all my friends on the lake including the Hughes. Even though their house is just on the other side of the clump of trees by our house we still weren’t able to see each other. Lake patrol would fien us for whatever reason. Covid caused me and my brother to grow away from the Hughes brothers so who knew if this summer will even be worth it. I’m 18 and finally moving so I’ll at least attempt to make it good.

~

“Y/N go grab the dogs bed from the car” my mom yelled at me from the bottom of our stairs. “Poor puppy is sleeping on the hard floor” she said while petting his head. I just rolled my eyes. I could hear a car coming down the road as I stepped down the porch, a loud one. I seen it drive by, I white Ford Bronco. I put two and two together and realized it was Jacks new vehicle I seen it all over Instagram, girls ogling over how he’s a car guy and that’s the hottest thing they’ve ever seen.

“That means the boys are going to be here” I thought to myself. I haven’t seen them in forever, we kind of keep touch over Snapchat and stuff but that’s it.

“Mom! Have you heard from Ellen recently??” I yelled across the house towards the kitchen.

“Hughes?” My mom asked surprised. “Yes she mentioned her and the boys are out this months, Jim had work in Toronto so he won’t be here for a few weeks”

“Okay… well are we going to see them at all” I asked with a pleading smile.

“Y/N you’re 18, all those boys are also older then 18, as well as your brother. Each of you are capable of making plans without me and Ellen” my mom lectured while preparing some sort of charcuterie board.

“Okay but it’s better when you and El make the plans” I whine while stealing some cheese. “You guys have the best plans”

“I’ll talk to her tonight, let them settle in” she answers. I was slightly satisfied with that answer but still needed to debrief before I spoke to any of them.

I decided to go outside and hike around my old “stomping ground”. A little patch of forest between my family’s property and the Hughes property. That’s when I fell upon me and Luke’s tree house. I hadn’t seen it in years, let alone been inside. I decided to go inside, everything left how it was since the last time I was in there when I was 13 and Luke was 14. We had snuck two beers in here then, thinking we were so cool. The cans sat on the desk next to the rocks we painted when we were in elementary. I sat in the hammock that hung from two rafters, still sturdy like before. I swung for a second until I heard rustling outside, I peered through the plaid curtains. There he was, Luke. He looked really good, but still same old Luke. I didn’t want him to think I was watching I snuck back in and began to swing again. The hammock creaking the rafters. That’s when I heard someone start climbing the ladder. Then a head of curly hair appeared in the window making its way to the door. He didn’t see me at first until peering around the door.

“Hi.” I said in a small voice. He just stood there staring at me. Mouth slightly parting.

“Hi.” He said sweetly. I could see his shoulders relax.

“It’s been awhile” I said quietly again.

“You could say that” he said sarcastically. “It’s been forever… you uhh… look so much older” he said with a genuine smile on his face.

“That would make sense, last time I saw you I was 16 Luke.” I say laughing. The last time we seen each other was at the grocery store in town. We both had masks on and couldn’t go near each other but our moms still talked each others ears off of course.

“I couldn’t even see your face that time” he laughed. I just responded with a small laugh looking away at the cans on the desk. “Last time we were in here we thought we were so cool” he said while picking up one of the cans.

“Yeah, that night was so much fun tho. It’s like we knew it would be the last time till now” I said grabbing the other can. That night we had slowly drank the beers while listening to music and fooling around. That night Luke gave me my first kiss. As I said before, it’s like I knew I wouldn’t see him in person for a long time.

“Yeah” he said, I could see blush run over his face. I knew the memory of the kiss came back to him. “Remember playing truth or dare?” He asked.

“Of course! I was the best at it” I say flipping my hair.

“No you weren’t.” He says smiling. “You passed on so many dares, you only won at truths.”

“Nuh uh! Remember when you made me climb to the top of the tree and I almost died?!” I exclaimed.

“Okay okay, but I got the most difficult dares” he said pretending to kick dust on the ground.

“Oh so kissing me was difficult for you?” I asked pretending to act offended.

“No. That’s not what I meant” he said with a smirk. Looking at me with his pretty hazel eyes. Ever since we were little he’d look at me with pleading puppy eyes. Didn’t matter the situation he just did. I folded every time.

“Mhm” I say rolling my eyes and looking away.

“So… what have you been up to?” he asked sitting on the floor in front of me playing with little car that was left in here.

“Well I was in school but now it’s summer so nothing” I say watching him closely as he grows infatuated with the car on the floor.

“You were going to school in Vermont right?” He asked looking up at me sitting on the hammock.

“Yeah” I say quietly. Deep down I wish I went to Michigan with him. My phone lit up, a text from my mom saying dinner is ready. I felt like a kid again with that sort of text. Having to put this time with Luke to halt because of it. “My mom says my dinners ready” I say with a small laugh. I debated inviting him.

“Okay I’ll stay here for a while longer” he said standing up from his spot. We both stood facing each other. And in a split second I found myself wrapping my arms around him. He was significantly taller than me now so my face went right into his chest. I felt his arms wrap around my upper half. “I missed you” he whispered. Butterflies shot through my stomach. I looked up at him.

“I missed you to Lu” I whispered back. A smile tugging at my lips. I pulled away and backed away to the door so I could look at him as I walked out. He followed just until I reached the ladder. “You can come with me if you’d like, my mom would be ecstatic to see you” I called up the ladder.

“Later tonight I think we’re all meeting up” he called. “I’ll see you guys all later”

“Okay” I pouted. As I walked away I blew him a sarcastic kiss. He just shook his head with the biggest smile and went back in the tree house.

~

“I seen Luke on my walk” I said at the dinner table.

“Oh good how’s he doing?” My mom asked. My dad wasn’t going to be up for a few weeks, if he was he’d be giving me a side eye.

“Good I think, we didn’t talk much just sat in our tree house” I said with another cheesy smile.

“Well we’re having a campfire with them later on our beach anyways so maybe you can catch up more then” my mom said, she looked at me waiting for my excitement to take over me. I tried acting nonchalantly but it didn’t work. My brother looked at me like I was stupid.

~

I carried the s’mores essentials down, my brother carried the chairs, and my mom carried a bottle of wine for her and El.

We sat for a couple minutes when we heard them approaching through the trees. Each of us got up and greeted them. Jack and Quinn squeezed me so hard I almost suffocated.

“You better not hug me like that” I said smiling at Luke. He grabbed me and squeezed me harder than the other two did. I pushed him off and ran from him down the dock, he chased me.

“They’re right back where they left off” I heard Jack say.

“Of course they are!” Ellen said, “I swear they’re soulmates”

Luke finally grabbed me and picked me up from behind spinning me around.

“The water looks really nice huh? I know you love swimming” he taunted, pretending to almost throw me in.

“Luke don’t you dare!” I screamed. He put me down but he shouldn’t have put me down while standing at the edge of the dock. I inched closer to him slowly. He grew nervous, I seen pink rush over his face. I put my hand on his shoulders and he reached out for my waist but before he could reach I pushed him in the lake. His head came out of the water, I could see his cheeky smile grow but then leave. He stuck his hand out for help up the dock but instead of climbing out he dragged me in.

“You jerk!” I yelled.

“You started it” he said swimming closer to me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he put his arms around my waist. This wasn’t out of the ordinary for us. We could both touch here but that didn’t stop me from wrapping my legs around him. He held me close, I put my head in the crook of his neck. The sun was setting in front of us. “Pretty” he whispered.

“Yeah you are” I giggled looking at him.

“I was talking about the sunset” he said rolling his eyes cheekily. “But you know me and the sunset aren’t the only pretty things here” he whispered in my ear. My face grew red and I pulled back from his shoulder to look at him with a flabbergasted look. “What?” He said nonchalantly, acting like he didn’t just say that. We heard footsteps coming down the dock.

“See I told you they were still over here” Quinn said to Jack and my brother while peering down at us. “Shit my bad guys!” He says covering his walking away. “Was not expecting this to happen this fast”

“This?” Luke questioned.

“Nothing” Quinn said with a suspicious smile while side eyeing Jack and my brother. They all laughed.

“Would you guys stop acting all weird and just get in?” I said pulling away from Luke and swimming out further.

The night went on, all of us swimming in our day clothes under the moonlight.

~

It was about 2am when I heard my my phone ring.

“Hello” I groggily say.

“I can’t sleep”

It’s luke.

“Are you serious Luke??”

“Meet me at the tree house” he says and hangs up.

Although I was so tired I got up and snuck out the back door into the woods. He sat at the top of the ladder smiling with a juice box in his hand. The only light around us was the moon.

“You can’t sleep so you keep yourself awake longer by sneaking out to your childhood tree house? Makes sense” I say sarcastically.

“Hey you didn’t have to come out here” he said jokingly.

“Shut up”

I climbed up the ladder, Luke just stood at the top. Once I got up he just kept standing there, I decided to just walk past him inside. He followed me in.

“Truth or dare?” He asked me.

“Absolutely not”

“Why?” He asked. I just stared at him.

“Truth.”

He stood dumbfounded for a second. “Have you kissed any other guy”

“Yes.”

“Who?” He asked, I could see his expression grow slightly jealous.

“Hey! Only one questions per truth” I say. “Truth or Dare” i ask.

“Truth”

I roll my eyes. “Have you kissed another girl?”

“Yeah” he said, slightly ashamed for whatever reason. We went back and forth with truths for what seemed like forever. Every time he was just getting more and more about my love life out of me.

“Truth or dare” he said

I just stared at him blankly. “Dare.”

A smile grew on his face.

“Kiss me” he said quietly while inching towards me. My face turned bright red. The truth is I had only kissed one other boy. My ex boyfriend who had cheated on me and that was over a year ago.

“Luke…” I say staring into his pretty eyes. He turned away.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that, that was way to fast-

I leaned in and kissed him. Although we were 18 and 19 this felt like such a little kid experience. Like we shouldn’t be doing this.

That kiss only lasted a second but the second one after both leaning in again was long and desperate but sweet. We were both still standing in the middle of the tree house. His hands met the sides of my face and my arms went around his neck lightly tugging at his curls. Our lips over lapping and moving in sync, his nose kept brushing the spot next to mine, slightly cold. When I pulled away I looked up at him into his eyes.

“Hi” he said sweetly with a big smile on his face.

“Hi” I say crinkling my nose.

He leaned down and kissed my forehead. I leaned into his chest again.

•Luke was one of those boys who was so incredibly beautiful. He was made like one of those Greek statues. Broad yet elegant, strong yet gentle. His nose curved and shaped so perfectly, curls falling differently every second, yet perfect every time. He was still and slim yet had the perfect amount of muscle. I hope he knows how beautiful he is. His eyes begging the perfect mix of brown and green, shaped so perfectly, his lashes were whisky and long. One of my favourite parts of him though are his hands, and not in a kinky way. They’re just so slender yet strong looking. Each vein making its way down his wrists perfectly.•

I pulled away from him and grabbed his hands just to analyze them. Measuring them with mine then interlocking our fingers. And looking up at him. He just smiled.

~

I woke up the next morning with the sun on my face. I rolled over to run away but when I did I ran into Luke peacefully sleeping on his stomach. Lips pouting and slightly parted. Eye lashes splayed across his skin. His curls fell over his face making a curtain to block his eyes from the sun. His arms were tucked under the pillow on each side of his head his back upper back displayed in the sun. I ran my fingers down his bare spine and back up. He had little freckles all over his back that looked like stars. I leaned down peppered kisses all over his back, I felt him slightly shift then heard a hum come from his lips.

“Good morning” I whispered into his ear. A smile grew on his face.

“Morning” he whispered back. His eyes still closed.

I looked back over to his back. His muscles slightly flexed from the position of his arms. I leaned back down to his ear letting my lips touch him.

“You’re pretty” I whispered. And just like that I was now trapped in his arms.

Who knew we’d be closer then we ever have been before.

[p-artsypants]

Paint it Black (14) Investigating

Ao3 | FF.net

“Chief Anderson Duffy speaking,” said the voice through the Batmobile’s intercom. 

“This is Batman. I’m calling regarding the investigation you conducted with the missing boys.” 

“Oh! Batman! Right, well, just as you requested, we removed the remains and returned them to those who had families. The rest were cremated. If this is truly the work of Joker and Two-Face as you suspect, we will ultimately leave their capture up to you. I have assigned a team to look into their locations. With a month headstart, I can’t guarantee we’ll find them. They may even be back in Gotham.” 

“They aren’t,” he said definitively. “I have my sources. They haven’t been seen in Gotham in months. I highly suspect they’re still in Jump, laying low and trying to think of a new plan.” 

“Well, we’ll let you know if we find anything, but they did a good job of clearing their tracks.”

“Did you leave everything else where it was?”

“Just like you requested.” 

“Good. I’ll let you know if I learn anything new.” 

“Good luck, Batman.” 

He ended the call, heaving a sigh of relief. Working with the Gotham PD was always a pain, and if Gordan wasn’t on duty, it was damn near impossible. So when Jump PD was so cooperative, it was like a breath of fresh air. 

He assumed their disposition was thanks to Robin. 

The Batmobile pulled up to the building, the address that Cyborg had provided him with. Two dudes were having a smoke on the opposite street. 

“Hey, you Batman?” One guy called. 

Batman just looked at him as he closed his door. 

“Like the real one?” 

“Who wants to know?”

“You the one that’s been catching the petty crooks and leaving love notes?”

“No. Just got into town.”

The guy nudged his buddy. “See, told you it wasn’t Batman.” 

“You guys smoke here often?” Batman asked. 

“Fairly. Live upstairs.” He threw his thumb at the building they were leaning against. “Why?”

“Ever see any freaks come out of this building?” 

One guy, the larger of the two, dropped his cig and stomped it out, and then came closer to Batman so he could talk in a softer voice. “I mean no disrespect Batman, but everyone in this neighborhood makes it a point to mind their own business. It’s not safe to witness anybody coming in or out of any place.” 

Batman grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ground. “I’m not asking about other people coming and going. I’m asking about a clown or a man with half his face burnt to a crisp. I don’t give two shits about anything else.” 

“G-got it. Yeah, uh…I definitely saw those guys.” 

Batman set him down. 

“It was a while back. Probably a month was the last time. They were noisy as hell. Always laughing. I heard gunshots a few times.” 

“Do you know where they went?” 

“Sorry, I don’t. But I always knew they were in when I saw a white utility van parked where you are now. Some electric company logo on the side that I can’t remember. Oh, and the license plate started with ‘A’, if I remember that right.” 

Batman gave him a clap on the shoulder. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“Don’t mention it.” He started walking back to his friend. “Seriously. Don’t.” 

Batman went back to the parking space, scanning the ground for tire marks. Several prints came back, so he abandoned that idea. 

Then he went to the backdoor that Cyborg had detailed in his report. It was unlocked, but he had a feeling anyone that tried to loot the building would quickly change their mind. 

The torture room was worse in person. Blood everywhere. Horrible devices spread across tables and hanging on the wall. But no empty syringes, no notes, no journals. Nothing of use. Just enough information to paint a very ugly narrative of nineteen young men finding their doom, and one entering a torturous existence. 

But perhaps the information he was looking for was never in this room to begin with. He scoured the building. Checking every room he passed. 

He did find an office. There wasn’t much that would allow him forward, but there were some documents left behind that would shed a little more light on the experiment. 

Three piles of applications. 

14 labeled as ‘fodder’. This pile consisted of deeply disturbed and highly medicated individuals with conditions such as schizophrenia or other psychotic disorders. 

Another pile of 5 were labeled ‘true candidates’. This group had been hospitalized for violent episodes towards other minors or foster families. They all were diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder or Bipolar. 

Then, there was one application in between the two piles labeled ‘Control’. It was Robin’s.

‘This one has a strong moral code, despite his level of depression. He may help or hinder the experiment, but is not expected to last long.’

Batman couldn’t help but snort. Neither Joker or Dent were scientists, and had no idea what they had gotten into. 

It looked like these applications had come from the beginning of the project and that further documents had been taken wherever they had gone. 

Then there was the basement. Those two rooms may not contain anything useful, but he was not doing his due diligence if he didn’t at least check it out. 

It took him a minute to find the ladder that Raven had mentioned, but soon he was able to let himself down to the dark, dank, hell mouth. 

It still smelled foul, even without a body still hanging around. But it was a smell Batman had encountered before and knew how to deal with. A dab of Vick’s in the nose, and he could handle being down here for a little while at least. 

He checked out the containment room first. 

There were some flies, still subsisting off of the putrid puddles on the floor. The Slade bot laid in a heap on the ground, broken to pieces. 

As he moved around the room, he noticed tick marks on some of the walls, as evidently the boys were trying to keep track of how long they had been there. 

He saw Starfire’s name on the wall, written in blood. 

He flipped the unsaturated mattresses, just checking for any hidden messages, but found nothing. 

Nothing but grief. 

So he moved on. 

The room next door had housed the skulls of the other victims. The cards that had labeled the skulls remained in place, while the bones were gone. The knives on the workbench were in the same position as the photo. 

Out of the three drums of sulfuric acid, one was gone. The two remaining were still factory sealed. 

Batman made a call.

“Chief Anderson Duffy,” said the voice on the other end of the line.

“It’s Batman. What information did you glean from the drum of sulfuric acid that’s gone?”

“Oh that. Forensics were on that. Let me see what they reported.” There were some clacking of keys on the other end. “They found trace bone fragments in the acid. Says here that the acid didn’t contain the sludge often left over from dissolving a body, let alone 18. They think that these sickos may have only dissolved a few parts of a small number of bodies, before deciding to do something else with the remains.”  

Batman growled, disgusted, frustrated, and angry. 

These were all boys with full lives ahead of them. Boys that were taken advantage of because of where they were in life. Orphans, sick, vulnerable, impressionable. They could have been helped. They could have—

He tried not to dwell on that. They were gone, and it was his job to find out where they were taken. 

I don’t eat processed meat because I don’t want to accidentally eat human meat.

At first, Batman had foolishly taken the statement at face value. Black said something insane, because that’s what he was. It was shock value, it was delusional, it was paranoid…but now it made sense. 

“I know where the other bodies were taken.” 

“Oh great! Just tell us where to look and we’ll take care of it.” 

“Unfortunately, nothing is going to be recovered. I’m fairly certain they were cooked and fed to the other victims.” 

There was silence from the other line, Batman assumed shock. “...If that’s what you think, we’ll go with it for now. I would like proof though.” 

“I’ll get you either a confession from the Joker or Dent, or a witness account from the survivor.” 

“You found the survivor?”

“Yeah. He’s in treatment. His mental condition is very unstable and he has retrograde amnesia. It might be a while before he’s able to talk about this incident.” 

Duffy was quiet for a while before admitting, “you’ve made more headway on this case in the two days you’ve been here than the four months we’ve been working it.” 

“Don’t beat yourself up, Chief. I know how these two operate, and the clues they left were only going to be picked up by me.”

“Well, at any rate, thank you for working with us. Now, if only we could make some headway in Robin’s case.” 

Batman huffed. “Who do you think the survivor was?” 

“What? Really? That’s excellent! Well, maybe not, considering what you said about his mental state.”

“You would do me a great favor if you closed that case and stopped thinking about it.” 

“Right. I’ll pretend like I don’t know anything. Let me know if you need anything else.” 

“I will.” And he hung up.  

There was a part of Batman that was frustrated with how messy this whole thing had gotten. Of course Robin was going to go undercover when he heard about this operation. Of course the easiest and least suspicious way to do so was to use the identity he used as a volunteer at the hospital. 

He just hated that it led back to his real name, and now that name wasn’t safe anymore. 

He was less concerned that Richard Grayson be linked back to Bruce Wayne, because really, how uncommon was the name? 

Emerging from the basement, he crossed over the threshold to the torture chamber and twitched in surprise when he saw a man sitting in the rigged dentist’s chair. 

It was not the half-faced mask he wanted to see. 

“Ah, so that truly was the Batmobile out front. Interesting.” 

Batman observed this new foe quickly, taking in the armor, the physique, the posture, and lack of weapons. 

“I have no business with you, Slade. But I suppose I could fit time into my busy schedule.” 

“You have heard of me. How nice. My old apprentice mentioned me?” 

“No. My old friend mentioned a psychopath blackmailed him into stealing. I told him not to worry too much about a grown man that gets his rocks off bullying children.” 

Slade’s eye narrowed. He tilted his head slightly, his expression completely hidden behind his mask. “So. What does the great Batman want in my building?” 

“You own this block? I assumed it was abandoned.” 

“‘Owned’ is a…loose term. I acquired it, because no one wanted it. It serves its purpose to me.” 

“Ever rent it out?” 

“No. Which is why I’m here. Heard someone was playing doctor while I was away.” 

“Taking a vacation?” Batman snipped. 

“Something like that,” Slade said casually. “I died. Did some sight-seeing in hell. Did some overtime during the apocalypse and got my flesh back. Then I spent several weeks trying to relearn how to walk.” He shifted so his head rested on his fist. “And now I hear I missed out on a very interesting experiment…but why would that concern Batman so much to bring him all the way here?” 

“Ever heard of the Joker or Two-Face?” 

“I subscribe to Villains Monthly.” 

“Got jokes, do you?” 

“I have a new lease on life Batman. Got a little more…pep in my step.” 

“I hope those steps lead you out of my way.” 

“You’re very serious, aren’t you? I see where Robin gets it from.”

Batman just glared at him. 

“In case you’re wondering, I had nothing to do with whatever happened here. Frankly, I’m rather upset I wasn’t invited. I have clean up to do, since your friends decided to make a mess. So if you wouldn’t mind showing yourself out, that’d be just swell.”   

“Sure,” said Batman. “But before I leave,” he cracked his knuckles, “why don’t I take the trash out?”

—-

Batman returned to the Titan’s tower about an hour later, a limp in his step and blood on his uniform. 

“Sir? Are you alright?” Alfred asked as he entered. The rest of the Titans were sitting around at the table, empty plates in front of them. 

“Fine. Just…had a little altercation. Tore the stitching in my leg.” He slid in next to Beast Boy, and leaned on his arms. 

Raven was quick to go to him, and pressed a healing hand to his wound. “What happened?”

“I did a little investigating into that building where Robin was held, hoping for a lead to where Joker and Dent may have gone. Instead I ran into the building’s owner.” 

Alfred placed a plate of Chicken Parmesan in front of him. 

“...was the owner a tough dude?” Beast Boy asked, noticing the blood on his shirt was from his own nose. 

He huffed, annoyed. He didn’t really want to reveal all this to them for several reasons, but they needed to know. “Yeah, tougher than expected. He’s a man by the name of Slade. Ever heard of him?”

Cyborg, who was on his fourth serving, nearly choked on his mouthful of pasta, while the other Titans gasped in horror. 

“But he—” Starfire protested. 

“Trigon resurrected him,” Raven bit. “He was there in the final battle, and then he disappeared.” 

“Apparently, he had to relearn how to walk,” said Batman, shooing Raven away from his leg. “I took care of him. He put up a fight, but I knocked him unconscious and delivered him to Duffy personally. That’s why I’m late.” 

The Titans shared a look, all being slightly embarrassed that Batman had been able to do alone what they hadn’t been able to do together. 

“I can’t imagine this is going to actually stop him, but I bought you some time.” He finally started eating some of his dinner. “And he was tough, but definitely not ready to fight. I think he was still weak.” 

“Still, it’s a little humiliating that you had to take care of our bad guy,” Beast Boy winced. 

Batman smirked slightly. “I have had daydreams about sending that bastard to the hospital. Robin told me all about what happened with that sham of an apprenticeship. Blackmailing him by infecting teens with nanobots that slowly and painfully kill them unless he does what he wants? Sounds like Arkham’s next inmate.” He took a drink of water. “But that’s something to worry about later. How’s Robin—or Black, I suppose?”

“He is unwell,” Starfire looked over to the couch. For the first time, Batman noticed the boy was laying down, but was very still and quiet. “He did not eat dinner, and says…I believe the phrase was, ‘his think meat was thrown against a wall’?” 

“That’s not a real metaphor,” Beast Boy offered. “That’s just his brand of stupidity.” 

“Well, he’s making jokes, so he’s doing alright for now,” Batman argued. “We’ll just have to keep an eye on him. Right, Robin?” He asked a little louder, so he could hear him. 

The other boy didn’t answer for a really long time, but the team was quiet and listened if either Black or Robin would respond. 

Then, in the quiet of the room, with only the hum of the air system and a ticking clock on the wall, he sang. It was in his pathetic falsetto, with a scratchy tone. Up until now, Black’s songs had really depressing lyrics, but he had delivered them joyfully. This time, the song was far too sad. 

“I am…the only one that got through. The others died wherever they fell.”

Starfire floated up from where she was seated and rested on the couch beside him, petting his head gently. 

“It was an ambush…they came up from all sides.”  

Batman set his silverware down quietly and listened very closely. 

“Give your Masters each a gun and then let them fight it out themselves.”  

Beast Boy swallowed thickly, biting his tongue. Black had changed the lyrics. 

“I've seen demons coming up from the ground. I've seen hell upon this Earth.”

Raven closed her eyes as the image of that corpse came to mind against her will. 

“The next will be chemical…but they will never stop.” 

Alfred turned his back, hiding his face.   

Once silence reigned for more than a minute, it was clear that the message was over. 

“He changed the lyrics,” both Batman and Beast Boy said. 

“The song is ‘In Memory of Harry Patch’,” Batman elaborated. “He changed ‘give your leaders’ to ‘give your masters’ and ‘they will never learn’ to ‘they will never stop’.” 

“What do you suppose he was trying to say?” 

“Maybe he thought Dent and Joker turned on each other? Or perhaps they’re going to try this again?” Batman mused aloud. 

Black sat up from the couch, and they could already see the faint veins standing out against his pale skin. “Can I have one of dem Gumby skittles?” 

“No,” Batman said, not blinking an eye. “We’re not giving you any medicine for a while, because we need a clean blood test.” 

Black frowned and turned to Starfire. “You said that if I was ever in pain I should come to you, because you don’t like to see me in pain.” 

Starfire hunched her shoulders, feeling guilty. “You are right, but I cannot give you the medicine you require. Perhaps a shoulder massage will help?”

He stood, stretching. “No. I think I’ll just go lay down in bed for a while, where it’s dark and quiet.” 

Batman swirled some noodles around on his fork. “Alright, we’ll check on you in a little bit.” 

Black nodded in understanding and left the ops room. He only stopped into his room for a moment to grab his trenchcoat, before escaping quickly to the hall, and then to the underground access tunnel. 

Thank goodness for fingerprint scanners.