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orbitsaturn · 2 months ago

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the virtues of a hero.

─ he truly believed that the noblest of characters were the ones hailing from nature.

until he met you.

kinich x reader angst + 2.8k words TW: death + graphic imagery spoilers for kinich's character stories

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Kinich always wished for freedom. It was an escape from the wars in his household, the violent voice of his father ringing through the walls, and the arguments that plagued his home every week.

He hated his father.

He hated how his family fell apart because of his violent outbursts, hated how he always yelled at his mom and hated how he chased his mom away. He longed to get away from his father, to be free from the negativity that consumed his life, he wished for freedom.

On his seventh birthday, he got what he wished for.

"Dad, do you know where mom went?"

Kinich looked up at his dad expectantly, the smell of alcohol hitting his nose. It was his birthday today, usually, he wouldn't ask for anything but the curiosity of where his mother is ran through his mind often.

But he came to regret his words for years to come, the moment he mentioned his mother, his dad was instantly enraged.

"You little brat!"

The giant figure above him looked at Kinich with stricken eyes, the sight filling the young boy with dread. That wasn't his father anymore.

That was the monster who ruined his family.

With the looming figure's hands raising to hit the boy, he fled. The figure chasing him in pursuit. It was terrifying for a boy his age. He ran through the highest cliffs in Natlan, the sight of the monster behind him pervading him with the sense to flee.

"You wretch! Come here-"

As the man yelled at him he lost his footing due to the steep terrain, plummeting down the cliff. Only when Kinich's adrenaline wore out, did the realization hit him. He stared at the body of his father down the cliff. Kinich slowly crawls down the steep terrain, his palms and knees getting abrase from the rocks.

"Dad."

"Dad!"

"Dad?"

Kinich can only yell for the prospect of his father responding. Any response, whether it'd be a movement of his hand, the utterance of a groan, anything that could show that he's still alive, but there was nothing. The only thing that in his hearing is his own voice, one that's growing wearier and wearier. Yet the only thing in his sight was his dad's lifeless body.

Kinich's father was dead.

His father, the man he lived with for years, the man who frequently yelled at him, and his mom, the man he detested was dead.

Kinich's stomach churned, and the sight of the lifeless body overwhelmed the young boy. He could only stare in a daze before tears threatened to spill out of his amber-green eyes.

The only thing he could do was squeeze his eyes shut, scrunched his nose, twisting his face to prevent any tears from spilling. His lips pressed shut, preventing the whimpers that threatened to come out.

He hated his father, but he was still his father at the end of the day.

It's absurd how you remember a person's greatest qualities, even if they were a terrible person once they're gone.

Kinich could only bury the times when his father would spoil him with sweets, how heroic he looked when he would secretly watch him use his grabbling hook, and how he would always hug him when his mother was still around.

Kinich gained his wish for freedom, yet the only thing he truly gained was solitude.

───

After the departure of his father, Kinich became adept at living alone. He never sought help from anyone, and he didn't trust anyone.

Thoughts of his old life often plagued his mind. He questioned why he still kept the old alcohol bottles from his dad, why images of his family frequently haunt him in his dreams, and why he would ever ask about his mother on his seventh birthday.

All of this was witnessed by Elder Leik, the individual responsible for the children's education in the Scions of Canopy.

So when Kinich visited the market he was approached by the elder. The young boy was offered education in return for courier services. Yet, Kinich refused, and he bid goodbye to the elder before returning to do business at the tribal market.

But that wasn't the last time he'd see the elder.

Every time Kinich visited the market, he'd be met with the familiar face time and time again with the offer of an education. So after months of the elder's insistent offers, he finally relented.

───

Curious stares permeated Kinich's figure, yet the intense looks from peers his age didn't bother him. All he needed to do right now was listen and leave after to do more substantial activities anyway.

"Kinich have a seat anywhere you like!" Elder Lief exclaims with a big smile, happy to see Kinich attending a class.

Without any word, he heads away from the circle of kids, before a hand pulls him down. Catching him off guard, he looks to the owner of the hand, a young kid his age.

"Sit next to me!" You give him a toothy smile, patting the space next to you, "okay," Kinich obliges, not wanting to bring any more attention to himself if he sat away from the other kids.

"I'm (name)! What's your name?" you whisper to him, and he turns to look at you with an inexplicable look, "Kinich."

"Hi Kinich!" you stretch your hand towards him. He hesitates for a bit before grabbing your hand and shaking it.

"Ahem, now children, settle down," Elder Leif coughs, beckoning the kids to quiet down, "Today we'll talk about our honored heroes and their stories, with each of them deserving to be remembered by their contributions and their self-sacrifice for the nation of Natlan!"

Kinich raises his hand, "Why would they want to sacrifice themselves?" he looks at the Elder inquisitively, to which he responds by gently smiling at him, "It's not a question of why, it's simply a virtue innate for heroes to do whatever they can to help those they love."

"And what did their self-sacrifice get them?" Kinich asks again,

"Virtue is a priceless trait, those with it gain the highest rewards"

"The highest rewards? Like fame or mora? "

"Haha, those are part of the rewards," the elder chuckled, "But that wasn't the reward they obtained. They gained and maintained their virtue, they stayed a hero due to their unchanging morals." The elder gave him a sincere smile.

Kinich didn't really understand how a trait could be the greatest reward for self-sacrifice. Would the forest boar be filled with virtue as they relieved his hunger? And would the river water be a hero since it relieved his thirst?

If anything, he wanted to become a hero to gain the reward of mora.

"Hah! Of course, a dirty kid like you would only think of mora!" a little boy shouted, laughing, "Just leave if you're just a money-grubbing monkey!"

"Children! Mind your words!" Elder Leif scolds them, not noticing Kinich already heading out.

"Wait!" you stood up, grabbing his wrist, "Don't take their words to heart, they're only self-projecting!" you whisper to Kinich, "In fact! I heard them talking about how they don't even need to be a hero since they're well-off already! Ugh! Selfish jerks right?" you give him a reassuring smile.

Kinich stares at you, "oh," he pulls something out of his pocket, "Here, this herb can help you heal your scrape." He looks down at your scraped knee, handing you the herb.

"Wow! Thank you so much!" you reply, waving goodbye to him as he leaves the Learning Lodge.

Although he declared that he only wanted to be a hero due to the prospect of mora. You knew deep down that wasn't the case.

Why else would he look down at your scraped knee with a slight furrow of his brows and the apologetic look he gave Elder Leif when he left without informing him?

───

As the years grew, so did Kinich's reputation. He was incredibly skilled, and more and more people started coming to him for dangerous commissions. Kinich also grew closer to the old man he once found annoying, Elder Lief. The old scholar guided him throughout the years, giving him invaluable lessons that would help him for years to come. Yet the only thing the Elder wanted in return for his teachings was the promise with Kinich to learn what it truly meant to be a hero during his journeys.

He also grew closer to you, the first person who gave him words of reassurance ever since his mother's departure.

You were the complete opposite of him, you had a bright personality, always helping others freely. Yet, you were his best friend, even though he was different from you like night and day, You never judged him for his demeanor, you encouraged it.

"Let the people get mad! I mean, you're only making sure they aren't scamming you right?" You exclaim to him, "Mhm, I'm simply making sure I get paid adequately," he smiles at you amused by your unrelenting support for him.

"Yeah! So keep doing what you're doing." You throw your arm around him, "Don't think about those old geezers complaining," you flash him an earnest look. "Let's buy some Saurus Crackers once you're done for today!" you give him a grin.

"I'll pay using those old geezers' money." Kinich gives you a smirk.

And when you give the smile you frequently flash, he finds himself getting dragged into your world every time.

He didn't understand what it meant to be a hero.

But if he had to pick who would be fit to be a hero,

It would be you.

───

Kinich was still the same old Kinich even when he gained an ancient name and a 'pet' dragon. So when he emerged victorious in the Pilgrimage and threw himself into the Night Warden Wars with no hesitation it wasn't a surprise to everyone. Yet, only one person was surprised, it was Kinich.

You were participating in the Night Warden Wars along with him.

"Worried to see your little partner participating? Heh." The dragon beside him said in an irritating voice, causing him to smack it.

"Hey!" the dragon growls.

He knew how strong you were, and that you could easily fend for yourself. But he had an inexplicable feeling in this gut, one he couldn't identify.

As Kinich's team headed into the Night Kingdom and began fighting off the abyss his gut feeling became stronger.

There was something wrong with this place.

"Kinich!" A yell from his left direction catches his attention, "T-There's something wrong with this place! The creatures they can mask as your─" yet before his comrade could relay the news, he was ambushed by a creature of the abyss.

The creatures were disguising themselves as their loved ones.

The warriors that emerged from the pilgrimage were faced with the vile tricks of the abyss. The faces of their loved ones appeared before them, which caused them to hesitate to draw their weapons.

And that hesitance proved to be deadly.

One by one, many warriors that came down to fight in the Night Kingdom were ambushed. Only a few remaining comrades prevailed through the harsh conditions.

"Kinich?"

A familiar voice called out to him, one he thought he had long forgotten. He turns around, seeing his 'mother', who he hadn't seen for years.

The figure opens her arms to hug him, yet, the instincts and reflexes he honed over the years caused him to swing his weapon.

With one swift movement of his claymore, he cut through his 'mother's' body.

"Wow. Heartless." Ajaw laughed heartily.

"Hah..." Kinich wipes the sweat off his forehead. The situation was getting dire, more and more abyssal creatures were flooding near him. Yet, he didn't relent, one by one he slayed every creature that came near him, each making his heart and body fatigued. Once he was done with all the abyssal creatures in his area he looked around, yet he could only see the wretched landscape of the abyss, with no sight of his comrades in sight.

The continuous fighting made him lethargic, but he had to prevail so his fallen comrades could come back again. He looks up, checking the crack in the sky. It was getting smaller, he needed to find his comrades soon, he needed to find you soon. As he drags his tired body to the other areas of the Night Kingdom, a deep pit of worry fills his stomach.

Is (name) okay?

As he scans his surroundings again he spots you lying on the ground, seemingly lifeless. A feeling of dread washed over him.

"(name)!" Kinich runs over to you with a worried expression. His eyes were quivering, a sense of relief washing over him once he saw you breathing.

You were still alive.

"Kinich! I'm okay, just catching my breath!" You reassure him, giving a tired smile, "No, your arm is gashed," he says breathlessly. With his hands trembling he holds your arm before taking out the gauze in his pocket.

He wraps the gauze around your injury tightly, yet the hold on your arm is gentle, careful even.

Looking at you with concern he shoves a herb in your mouth. Which you immediately spat out in response, you give him a disgusted look, "Kinich! You know I hate that herb!"

"But you gratefully accepted it back when we first met, didn't you?" Kinich laughs before stretching his hand towards you, "That's cause I didn't need to eat it!" You grab his hand and he hoists you up.

"We need to go, the opening is going to close soon." He looks up, the crack in the sky getting smaller and smaller.

"Mm. Let's hurry, you nod in response.

The two warriors run to the crack in the sky with hordes of abyssal monsters pursuing them. It was getting smaller and smaller, they needed to be quick. He made sure you were in front of him, it's okay if he didn't make it back. At least one of you needed to return the Ode of Resurrection, and he wanted it to be you.

He didn't want you to experience the feeling of death.

"Kinich!" You yell, spotting a rift hound that caught up to him. The sight of it preparing to attack Kinich made you act without thinking.

Kinich has a better chance of going back.

Without having the time to react, Kinich finds himself pushed onto the ground. You get slashed by the rift hound but you put it down with the last of your strength.

"(name)!" Kinich yells out your name in horror.

Deep gashes painted your abdomen, causing you to wince in pain. You press on your stomach, trying to stop the bleeding but it barely does anything to no avail. Kinich runs over to you, his eyes quivering, lips pursed together.

"(name). (name). (name). Please." he supports your limp body in his arms. Fumbling in his pockets for any gauze, medicine, herbs, anything to keep you alive.

He couldn't lose you.

He was fine losing everything but you.

He sets you down on the ground, hastily wrapping the scarce gauze he had left on your stomach.

"Kinich," you look up at him, giving him an apologetic smile, "Go without me." His hands stop momentarily, before going back to bandaging your abdomen.

A brief moment of anger flashes in Kinich's mind

"Are you serious?" Kinich looks at you in disbelief. He quickly finishes wrapping your abdomen. He hoists you up, the feeling of your limpening body causing panic to bubble in him.

He should've been the one who got slashed.

Why did you go out of your way to save him?

You cough, before putting a hand on his cheek, "You know you're stronger than me, if anyone was getting out alive, it'd be you." you give a weak smile.

"No, you're making it out. You're gonna be okay (name). Please," his hold on you tightened, "Please don't leave me." he looked at you in distraught, his voice trembling. "(name). Please, please don't leave me."

"I should be the one saying that." you laugh at him weakly, causing Kinich to glare at you, "Go without me Kinich. I'm quite heavy." Your hand falls down from his cheek, your eyes slowly shutting close.

"I really need a good sleep too."

Kinich's eyes quivered, his hold on your limp body weakening.

"(name)."

He calls out to you.

"(name)."

This time he shakes your shoulders.

"(name)!"

This time he yells out your name.

He looks at your face, it looks peaceful even with the amount of wounds that littered your body. He strokes your head, fixing any stray hairs and clearing the hair from your face.

He takes in a deep breath.

He doesn't linger any longer, he stands up and starts heading to the crack again.

He squeezed his eyes shut again, he scrunched his nose again, and his face twisted to prevent any tears from falling again.

The bright light seeping from the crack created a stark contrast compared to the dark environment.

He looks back to the direction where you last stood before the light took him back.

He truly believed that the noblest of characters were the ones hailing from nature.

Until he experienced you.

───

a/n: guys don't worry ode of resurrection magic

ill do part 2 (?)

#kinich x reader #ajaw #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin kinich #genshin kinich x reader #kinich x you #k'uhul ajaw #kinich

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heian-era-housewife · 2 months ago

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Synopsis | In which the JJK men receive flowers.

Content | gojo x reader, geto x reader, nanami x reader, toji x reader, reader is implied (but not necessarily) fem, toji's is ever so slightly suggestive, fluff ♡

Word Count | ~1.4k

A/N: The banner quote is not a proven statistic, but a marketing strategy once employed by Interflora based on a customer study. It was later developed into a social media/influencer campaign which included renaming their flowers with more "masculine" sounding names to increase Father's Day flower sales and scare partners everywhere into purchasing unnecessarily gendered plants. The more you know.

Gojo

Blue ain't your color

What started as a simple trip to the supermarket has turned into two greenhouses, three floral shops, five phone calls (one of which kept you on hold for twenty minutes!) and now you're on your third day of searching for the perfect flowers with which to surprise your boyfriend.

You're not a botanist. How were you to know that naturally occurring blue flowers were the rarest sort? All you wanted was a little arrangment to match the hue of Gojo's crystal eyes, now here you were getting laughed at from your latest failed internet lead for not knowing hydrangeas have a season...and this is not it. Not wanting to go home empty-handed, you settle for a box of sweets with a bright blue ribbon and make your way back for his return from his latest mission.

Later that day while checking the time, you pause to admire the lock screen on your phone. It's a picture of Satoru, goofy smile plastered across his face, arms spread wide with flat palms facing outward, knees high as he runs with full abandon through a field of...

"Daisies! For me??" His voice nearly cracks as he takes the wild bundle in his hands, a vibrant blue ribbon holding them neatly together.

"Mhm! And there's some chocolate too!" You add, gesturing to a now plain white box on the kitchen table.

"You didn't have to do that!" He practically squeals, unable to hide his childlike excitement.

"I wanted to. Besides," you smile coyly at the daisies you picked mere moments ago. "They reminded me of you!"

Geto

World's greatest mom

It was the morning of Mother's Day. You, yourself, were very much not a mother. And yet, here you stood, one little girl perched on each hip as you held them close in a desperate attempt to quiet their teary sobs outside your local flower shop.

"I'm sorry girls," you cooed, bouncing them as you spoke. "It looks like everyone's sold out."

Earlier that morning you were awoken by two eager faces as Nanako and Mimiko had snuck into Geto's bedroom, where you had spent the night, to tell you their grand idea.

"Today's Mother's Day," Mimiko whispered shyly to you as she tugged gently on the sheets.

"We want to get Geto carnations!" Nanako continued boldly, spokesperson of the pair. "Because he's the best mom ever!"

If sweetness could kill, you'd be a goner. Your heart was threatening to burst as it was. How could you possibly say no?

Together, the three of you snuck out of the house and headed to find some Mother's Day carnations for "Mr. Mom" himself. But, as many a woeful partner has learned, the morning of Mother's Day is the worst time to find flowers. So, here you stood, empty-handed, a sad little girl on each hip.

What would Suguru do? You thought to yourself. He never missed an opportunity to make the girls happy, always finding creative ways to put smiles on their faces, truly earning the title, "Best Mom Ever". Strengthening your resolve, it was your turn to tell the girls your grand idea.

~~~

Suguru woke to the sound of giggles and crinkling paper. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he blinked several times before registering the sight in front of him.

"Happy Mother's Day!" the three of you said in unison, holding out a bouquet of homemade flowers to the now very confused sorcerer.

"What's all this?" He said looking at the small puffs of pink tissue paper and their green pipe-cleaner stems.

"We wanted to get you flowers...but they were all sold out," Mimiko muttered apologetically.

"So we made some instead!" Finished a bright-eyed Nanako.

"I love them!" He beamed, pretending to sniff the crinkled paper blossoms. "But...why?"

"Tell him, girls!" You said, stifling a laugh.

"Because you're the Best Mom Ever!"

Nanami

Forget-me-not

Dinner was ready, the table was set, and your husband , Kento, would be home any time now. The final piece to your romantic evening surprise was the floral arrangement you ordered specifically with him in mind. Heaving the large display to the table's center, you step back to admire your work. The flowers were a nice touch, inspired by a chilling post you'd seen on the internet- one you couldn't get out of your head.

As Kento stepped through the door, his eyes settled on the large arrangement of pure white lilies threatening to swallow up your little dining table for two.

"What's all this?"

"I wanted to surprise you!"

"Well it worked," he said with a smile, pulling you in for a hug. "One question, though. Why all the flowers?"

"I saw something online that said most men don't get flowers until their funeral!" You exclaim.

"Hmm..." He nods as he inspects the elegant bundle. "And were you anticipating mine? My funeral, that is?"

"Why would you say such a thing?" You ask, puzzled by his uncharacteristically callous joke.

"'With deepest sympathy,'" he reads aloud, pulling a small folded card from the center of the bouquet.

"WHAT?!" You shriek, yanking the card from his hand. You hadn't even seen it nestled behind the large white blossoms. "But why would-?!"

"You know white lilies are typically a funerary flower, right?" He states in his kind, but matter-of-fact tone.

"But I was sure I-" whipping out your phone you look back on your order realizing all too late that the arrangement you'd chosen from their "best selling" tab had the words "in memorium" just below the listing price. A small groan escapes your throat and then-

"HAH!" Kento's laughter startles you as he doubles over in a rare fit of humor.

"Well I'm glad YOU find this funny," you pout accusingly, feeling your romantic night had fallen to ruin.

"I'm just glad I get to enjoy them WITH you. But, I suppose if things had gone sideways at work today, you would've been prepared either way!"

"NOT funny, Kento!" You snap, one corner of your mouth twitching in contradiction.

"I know, I know," he says, pulling you in for another hug. "I love them. And I certainly won't forget them!" He comforts you.

"Well," you give in with a small chuckle. "They are in memorium."

Toji

Just a little prickly

"Toji," you humphed. "How come you've never given me flowers?"

"You've never given me flowers."

"That's different!"

"How?" He challenged. "Thought you were all about 'equality' or some shit?"

"It's not like you'd even appreciate them!" You objected. "Besides, you couldn't even keep a cactus alive."

"Wanna bet?"

"As a matter of fact I do!"

~~~

A few days later, after stopping by the plant section of a hardware store on your way home, you returned with scrubbiest most pathetic-looking little ball of spikes you could find.

"Oh Tojiiii~" You called out.

"The hell is that?" He said eyeing the ugly little plant.

"It's your new cactus!" You gushed, eyes twinkling with playful malice.

"You really are something else," he muttered, rolling his eyes as he accepted your spiteful gift.

~~~

Weeks passed. Months even. You'd forgotten all about the cactus, having long presumed it dead when one day Toji interrupted your would-be peaceful breakfast with a laugh bordering the maniacle.

"HAH!" He jeered pointing a finger directly in your face. "You wanted flowers?? Get a load of these!"

From behind his back he plunked a ceramic pot onto the kitchen table, one you'd never seen. In it was the most beautiful little barrel cactus, golden spikes reflecting the morning light. Atop its crest was a perfect halo of brilliant pink flowers. It was nothing short of lovely and you wondered where he got it.

"Wh-where did this come from?" You asked, taken aback.

"What do you mean where??" He grumped. "It's that shitty cactus you gave me. What, don't recognize it?" He teased.

"No it's not. This thing is huge. And it's in an entirely different pot."

"Uh. Yeah. It grew, genius. I had to change its pot like three times."

You stared in utter disbelief. You had no idea he had kept it- no idea he even cared. It was honestly kind of...hot.

"Looks like you just lost a bet. Time to pay up, sweetheart." He boasted.

"Too bad we never decided on a wager."

"Don't worry," he said, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the bedroom. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

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stayevildarling · 3 months ago

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Natasha Romanoff x Reader- Always

A/N: got this idea based off a tiktok I watched last night. Basically very slow burn kinda love and Natasha being a bit of a stubborn meanie at the start.

Prompt: After a breakup, Natasha is even more miserable than usually, letting her anger out on everyone around her including you. What happens when you finally tell her how you have been feeling for years?

tags/tw: cursing, angst, meany nat, mention of violence, mention of blood, mention of gunshot, slight mention of smut at the end, mention of alcohol

word count: 4.5k

taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker, @billiebeanhoward, @lanawinters-ily, @kenzbro, @minaslittleone, @httpfiftyshadesofgay, @whitelotus00, @ninaahs, @vintagepaulson, @isle-of-earle, @paulsonsratched, @lucyintheskywithxanax, @grilledcheeseandguavajelly, @fanfics4world, @mymiraclewitch, @hazard-to-myself, @awritersometime, @ohrwurm26, @wastdstime, @p1pecleanerwitheyes

Thunder cracks through the sky loudly, lightening striking seconds later, as you make your way towards the gym, ready for another day at the Avengers compound. From afar you can already hear the grunting of some of your fellow team members and you can't help but smirk, assuming Natasha was beating their asses just like she usually would, whenever training the recruits or one of the OG Avengers as you called them would get on her nerves and provoke her, only in order to land on the floor seconds later, underestimating the Black Widow as always.

,,Back off Romanoff'' one of the recruits yells, catching your attention as you walk inside, watching the tight grip the redhead has on him, causing him to squirm and try to wiggle in order to escape her grasp.

Your eyes narrow, seeing her in her black uniform, her red hair flowing freely despite the braids. And you instantly feel the shift from her usual demeanour, that she seemed much colder today, much fiercer and more ruthless. Natasha was certainly badass, moody even, sometimes reminding you of an angry teenager. But having known her for years, long before the Avengers and everything that followed after, you knew how caring she truly was, how she would never hurt anyone intentionally other than if they deserved it. How she was the most loyal one on the team, willing to take her last breath for any of you at any given moment. How she always looked out for the team on missions, always putting them first and herself second.

And truth to be told, Natasha had been irritated lately, snapping more often, lashing out, her patience wearing thinner than usual. You had tried a few times to break through to her, given your friendship and how long you had known each other but she never faltered. Hearing from some of the guys her relationship wasn't going too well but never prying, wanting her to come to you whenever she was ready.

,,Give him a break Nat'' you chuckle, watching the younger recruit struggle still and the others watching both in awe and terrified at the same time, worrying they may be next.

,,What? you want a go?'' she questions, gesturing her head towards you and you can't help but shrug your shoulders, the invitation sounding tempting.

,,Sure go ahead Romanoff'' you tease, the young recruit finally escaping her and curling up behind some of the others. With a proud smirk, you approach her where she is standing, catching a glimpse of her green eyes and seeing both the anger and sadness in them, worrying what had happened, what had upset her in this way.

Before you can even react, her fists lands on your cheek, causing your jaw to throb and you know you should have seen that one coming, considering everything. You successfully dodge the next one, catching her leg with your hand that came flying towards you. It was a battle neither of you could win, the two of you growing up in the Red Room together, each of you made into their own spy and assassin. The same strength, the same tactics, the same mental willpower and capability to endure even the greatest of pains and torture.

Yet, Natasha was a little stronger always, her having taught you as soon as she joined SHIELD and eventually the Avengers, bringing you along as she knew you could be beneficial. ,,What's going on?'' you whisper as you lean in a little but before she responds, her right hook hits you again, causing you to see stars for a minute. Her arm quickly wraps around your neck, before she has you flying to the floor, the recruits watching both in anticipation and shock. ,,Class dismissed for today'' you manage to somehow mutter out and before Natasha can object, they are quick to leave, figuring Miss Romanoff was in no mood today, especially not either of them pissing her off the way they usually would.

It takes a minute for you to catch your breath and despite often training with Natasha and showing the recruits your skills, you had a hard time hurting her, knowing she got beaten up on missions plenty but not wanting her to ever hurt or be in pain. And so you always took it gentle, making sure to put on a show of course but never hurting her. And Nat had always been the same, barely ever hurting you in the process of this but today she was ruthless, not even herself, much more the Black Widow than her usual self, the sunshine with the brightest smile behind the mask of a badass assassin and Avenger.

,,Tasha what the fuck'' you plead, your eyes meeting her as you try to stabilise on your now shaky legs. ,,What's wrong?'' you try again but she ignores you, so lost in her thoughts that she hits you yet again and you wonder whether she was so lost in her thoughts right now, she may genuinely see you as an enemy or even a punching bag at the gym. In a swift motion you manage to send her to the floor this time, quickly stepping away and out of the ring before she could charge at you again. ,,Hey.. calm down'' you try again, throwing her a bottle of water that she catches as soon as she stands on her feet again. ,,What is going on with you?'' you try again, now actually worrying about her as you hadn't seen her like this before other than in the Red Room.

,,I'm fine Y/N'' she mutters before charging past you, ignoring your presence, the bleeding of your nose and the bruises that would surely form soon. You can't help but roll your eyes at her antics, grabbing some water yourself before leaving, cleaning yourself up before the mission later on today and the debriefing that was scheduled over lunch in two hours. You manage to fit in a quick shower and a nap before changing into your uniform, grabbing the necessary things you would need incase it would be overnight, despite it supposedly only taking a few hours but you never know being an Avenger and saving the world from the bad people out there.

As soon as you join the others they stare at you in confusion before you take a seat, Clint handing you a slice of pizza with a reassuring smile. ,,What the hell happened to you Y/LN?'' Tony remarks and you can't help but glance at Natasha who almost sits frozen at the other end of the table, avoiding your gaze as she had seen and realised the damage she had done as soon as you walked in. ,,Just training'' you chuckle, acting as if it was nothing but the others share knowing glances, already having heard from the recruits what had happened as they really couldn't keep anything to themselves.

,,Anyway this mission'' he carries on rambling and you can't help but shut out their voices, focusing solely on the woman sitting at the other end of the table. She had changed into her mission uniform, her hair in those beautiful braids again, her eyes looking the most beautiful shade of green despite the sadness in them and you still wonder what had happened.

Before you know it, you find yourself on the Quinjet as it speeds through the afternoon sky, Natasha of course insisting on controlling it and you simply stay in the back, strapping yourself in one of the seats and waiting to get to your mission area. It's when Clint takes a seat beside you that you snap out of your thoughts. ,,She's got one hell of a right hook'' he gestures towards your black eye and bruised nose and you can't help but chuckle. ,,She does'' you admit and he gives you that half proud half sad dad look that you both hated and adored about him. ,,Do you know what's going on with her?'' you whisper, not wanting her or the others to hear.

He pauses for a moment, always having been close to her and despite not trusting anyone else with this, he knew the two of you knew each other even better, even longer and knowing he can trust you with this. ,,They broke up'' he admits and your eyes widen, having heard about Natasha's relationship problems with her partner and occasionally even providing your shoulder for her to cry on, despite it more being her pacing around the room and muttering in angry Russian. ,,Oh I- I had no idea, what happened?'' you ask but he simply shrugs, this being all the information he managed to get from Natasha.

,,She's left a few weeks ago actually but it only seems to hit her harder these last few days'' he admits and you nod understandingly, finally putting the pieces together as Natasha couldn't stand the thought of losing someone, the thought of someone abandoning her as her lie had been filled with so much uncertainty and not a lot of predictability so far. In all honesty, you had never really liked Natasha's partner, only tolerating her but never really thinking they truly matched all that well but you had been supportive of course, even agreeing on double dates with random recruits and them in order to make your longest friend to date happy and the only person you truly count as family.

You take another glance at her, seeing the determination in her eyes as she lands the Quinjet with so much ease, getting you to your destination safe and sound. You nod at Clint thankfully, your eyes signalling him you would keep this information safe but grateful nevertheless as at least you know what she must be feeling now. As you carefully enter enemy grounds with the others, you go over the goal one more time.

One of Tony's and the Avengers enemies had abducted one of your recruits on one of their team's mission, needing both the person responsible and the recruit back safe and sound. Both you and Natasha are on duty to rescue the recruit, the others needing to find the guy Tony had been after for years, ideally hacking into his technology to make the whole thing a little easier for him and you in the future, as their weapons always turned up somewhere in the world causing some kind of chaos.

The silence between you and Natasha is heavy as you move silently towards the basement of this place, JARVIS directing you over your earpiece. Neither of you can talk, Natasha's guilt causing for her to be unable to speak and you both feeling upset and sorry for her, not knowing which words would be right. ,,This way'' she eventually gestures and with your guns aimed you push open a large old iron door, exposing the recruit, strapped into a seat, beaten and bruised but conscious. ,,Oh thank you so much'' he sighs in relief, as Natasha undoes the cuffs and you help him to his feet, checking for any severe injuries but not being able to find any. ,,Let's get you out of here'' you offer and he takes your hand as you lead him through the same corridor you and Natasha had entered through.

,,Incoming'' JARVIS informs you and you manage to push the recruit behind you, not wanting him to get injured further. Natasha is quick to take the first couple of them out before you step in, sending half of them flying across the basement, their weapons echoing loudly through the silent hideout. It's not until another wave of them comes in, when Natasha again loses her temper, fighting most of them off by herself despite you trying your best to fight them off alongside her. One of them draws his weapon right at her head, making both you and the recruit freeze.

,,Go on then shoot motherfucker'' she curses, her Russian accent thick as his gun is aimed right at her forehead. He cocks his gun but before he has any chances of doing anything, you fire your gun, causing him to drop to the floor. His blood sprays all over you, causing you to flinch a little, not from the encounter but from Natasha's ruthless behaviour. In silence, the two of you follow her back to the others, having informed them of your success, the others already having the guy Tony wanted tied up on the Quinjet and having all the necessary information that Tony required.

Clint flys the Quinjet this time, wanting to give Natasha a break and the two of you sit in complete silence, the other Avengers taking care of the recruit, tending to his cuts and bruises and making sure the other guy is still out cold, at least until they would arrive at the compound. ,,You alright there?'' Steve questions as he walks past you with a first aid kit, seeing the state of your face and your uniform. ,,All fine, not my blood'' you assure and he can't help but chuckle, giving you a comforting pat on the back before carrying on with what he was doing.

She doesn't speak and you so wish she would just say a single word, explain herself, her anger, let out the emotions she is clearly struggling with. You had never seen her so reckless before, despite knowing she probably wouldn't have let him shoot her, always having one of her Black Widow poses ready in order to drop him to the floor even with a gun pointed at her face and mere seconds to spare. She had never engaged like this before, let alone talk to any of the enemies she would beat and kick senseless. It had taken you off guard, seeing her so close to danger, the thought of something happening to her causing your whole body to tremble, to react quick, too quick perhaps as you never usually shot any targets on sight like this, mostly leaving them unconscious as the Avengers are many things but not ruthless killers. Usually, after a mission like this the recruits would wipe up the area, bringing everyone in and guiding them to the right authorities so that they could deal with them. The thought of someone's blood on your hands sends your memories right back to your time at the Red Room, how much you had killed, the innocence in their eyes before you did, despite your mind being controlled by them.

And you would easily kill for Natasha, having loved her from one of the first days of laying eyes upon her, never saying anything as you never wanted to ruin what you had. But lately you don't recognise the person sitting beside you in silence anymore. Eventually, you close your eyes, fully awake but wanting to calm your nerves down, knowing if you so much as opened your mouth your emotions would get the better off you, causing you to lash out at her and maybe say things you would regret afterwards.

The return to the compound is quick, debriefing even quicker, Tony happy with the results and the guys simply wanting to get showered and changed, ready for a night of pizza, video games and beers. Natasha storms off and despite your gut telling you to leave her be, you can't help but follow her. ,,Nat'' you try as you sprint down the hallway, and despite her acknowledging you, she continues storming into her room. You consider leaving her be but your heart aches seeing her like this and so you follow her to her room, the all too familiar room where until her relationship, you spent many nights in together, comforting each other, watching movies together and reminiscing about the old times together.

,,What Y/N?'' she snaps as the door shuts loudly behind you two. The redhead turns around, reaching one of the liquor bottles before pouring herself a drink, chugging it quicker than you can begin to speak.

,,Natasha what the hell is going on with you?'' you snap, your voice betraying you a little due to the slight quiver.

She sighs, pouring herself another drink before shrugging ,,Nothing, I'm fine''.

,,You're not fine Natasha'' you snap, your eyebrows darting in frustration and fists clenching to the extend of your knuckles turning white.

,,What makes you think I'm not fine?'' she snaps, now turning to you, her green eyes locking right onto yours and showing the annoyance in them and that all she wanted was for you to get out.

,,I remember what fine means remember?'' you blurt out and she suddenly seems caught, as if only now remembering who is standing in front of her and what the two of you had been through together. Knowing fine was a statement the two of you used when in reality your worlds are falling apart, either the memories of the Red Room causing you to break, an especially tough mission or something else on each other's mind, meaning your hearts were on the verge of breaking. A statement where the two of you knew the meaning, that either a hug, a drink or a training session was in order to blow off some steam.

,,You have been acting out for days, you beat a recruit senseless, let alone me or what happened earlier, you do realise you could have gotten killed right?'' you snap, remembering her foolish actions from the mission hours ago.

,,Don't be ridiculous Y/N'' she scoffs, and you are unsure which bit of what you said she actually meant but it didn't matter because none of what you are feeling seems ridiculous to you.

For a moment you stay silent as you take another step towards the redhead, despite the anger you are feeling your heart swelling with how ethereal she looks in this moment. ,,Tasha'' you try pleading with her, hoping you could somehow break through her walls that you had managed to break down in the past many times. ,,I heard what happened, I'm so sorry'' you whisper.

Her eyes meet yours for a moment, the vulnerability, the sadness in them evident before it's replaced with the same coldness, anger and harshness from moments ago. ,,It's fine, I don't care'' she spits before pouring herself another drink and you can't help but roll your eyes. ,,It's not fine, you almost got yourself killed earlier'' you push again, still unable to believe she wasn't taking any of this serious.

,,I know you are hurting, I know you loved her and I'm so sorry but this isn't the way.. we can do anything, you can beat me up again or we can get ice cream and watch a silly movie, anything but not like this please'' you try reasoning with her and again she pauses before her eyes avert yours.

She takes a few steps towards the window, overlooking the compound, the trees and the rain in the distance before she sighs. ,,I haven't been happy for a while'' she admits and you almost sigh in relief at the honesty in her statement and that her walls are slowly beginning to crack a little.

,,I don't think she really loved me but at least she treated me like I'm somebody'' she carries on and for some reason something within you snaps then. Yes- you had encouraged her to be open and honest, to help her through this but you couldn't believe the person standing in front of you right now. This wasn't the Natasha who broke you both out of the Red Room. Who became a badass assassin and spy before becoming rich and famous and an Avenger. This wasn't the Natasha who held you on a tough night, who told you to fuck all the people that had hurt you and went sure to avenge every single one of them for you when you couldn't. This wasn't the Natasha who taught you to believe in yourself, to trust yourself, to only allow what's best for you. To only let people in who genuinely care about and love you. This version of her, bitter, scared and small wasn't like her and you wonder what happened, what you had missed for it to have become this bad.

,,Yeah but would she have loved you if you were nobody?'' you question, causing for her to turn around abruptly before walking over to you, banging her fists on the table separating you two.

,,Nobody loved me when I was nobody Y/N! no one'' she shouts, her emotions washing over her and causing her anger to again lash out at the person least deserving it, you.

,,I did'' you scream back, completely losing yourself in the moment. Unsure what triggered this but deep down you knew it was the mission, how easily she could have gotten hurt, how selfish and foolish she had been pulling a stunt in front of you like that. And despite you never having voiced your emotions and feelings for her this openly before, in this moment you don't care.

Her mouth stands agape as she stares into your eyes, blinking repeatedly as to make sure she had heard you correctly. ,,Before you became an Avenger and long before your relationship'' your voice breaks now, tears spilling down your cheeks as you are unable to believe how stupid you have been for so long. You had walked to the ends of this world for her, joining SHIELD and the Avengers despite wanting a quiet life after the Red Room. Going on missions, risking your life every single day for her, not wanting her to be on her own, not wanting her to suffer alone. And yet, all she had done was treat you miserably.

,,To me you were a somebody, you were everything'' you cry now, letting the tears flow freely. Suddenly it hurts, your heart, your past all catching up with you. Your face and the bruises from her hurting even more than before, the image of you shooting the guard earlier, replaying in your mind, the gunshot echoing in your brain.

Natasha remains speechless, she moves closer, her mouth still agape as her eyes travel from your mouth to your eyes over and over again, the guilt, the emotions, everything suddenly catching up with the redhead. ,,Y/N I-'' before she can speak, you leave, storming out the room before you can think about it any further, knowing it was a matter of seconds before you would break down and you know one thing for sure, you didn't want her to see this and so with steps as quick as light you abandon her, letting her stand frozen in her spot, your words repeating in her mind over and over again as you steal away to your safe place.

It's about two hours later when Natasha finds you, not needing JARVIS or any of the other guys telling her where she could find you as she knew your safe space. She takes the elevator all the way to the top floor, climbing one of the ladders in order to reach the rooftop. She finds you sitting by the edge, your feet dangling freely, a bottle of liquor beside you. ,,Y/N?'' she tries in order not to startle you and you are surprised by how sober she sounds, considering you assumed she drowned herself in alcohol after your confrontation before.

Silently, she takes a seat beside you and glances over to you, seeing your tear stained red cheeks and her heart breaks at the sight, taking in the bruises that she had left on you both physically and emotionally and she hates herself for ever causing you any pain as you all of people never deserved that. Without a second thought, she reaches for the liquor bottle, taking a rather large sip before passing it to you, your eyes meeting for a mere second before you follow her lead and drown your pain away. The two of you sit in silence for what feels like an eternity, watching the stars and listening to the quiet sounds of the world.

It's a little later when she notices your shivering state and without thinking she takes off her jacket, placing it over your shoulders but you flinch. ,,I don't need your pitty Nat'' you snap, feeling more upset with her than ever before.

,,I don't pitty you Y/N, I'm so sorry'' she whispers, the vulnerability evident in her green orbs. Your eyes meet hers, seeing the genuine remorse in them and you instantly feel bad for your earlier outburst, as you never wanted to tell her any of it like that.

,,You were right, I've been reckless and so damn stupid'' she curses, her accent again thick as she moves a little closer to you, your shoulders now touching, the scent of her jacket lingering and making you feel warmer instantly.

,,I'm so sorry for hurting you'' she whispers, a tear flowing down her cheek but you are quick to catch it with your thumb before it manages to fall. She smiles bitterly, leaning into your touch a little before you retract your cold hand.

,,I know and I'm sorry for before, I just hate seeing you in pain'' you whisper, your eyes again meeting and locking this time. ,,I know I've made a fool off myself and I'm happy to leave in the morning if you need me to'' you admit, biting your lip due to your nerves and your heart beating out of your chest.

,,Leave? why would I ever want that?'' she asks, the shock written across her beautiful but sad features. You remain silent and it takes a minute for the confusion to turn into understanding as your statement finally makes sense to her and her heart aches at the thought.

,,I've made a fool off myself Tasha, I should have been there for you, yet I confessed my feelings to you like some idiot'' you mutter, averting her gaze again as the embarrassment catches up with you.

She pauses before her thumb reaches your chin, moving it to the side a little so your eyes meet again. ,,You're not an idiot Y/N..'' she admits quietly. ,,I have been the idiot for not seeing this, for not telling you myself'' she admits and now you are the confused one, not understanding what she is implying.

She picks it up, ever the perceptive one before she lays her emotions out right in front of you. ,,The reason we didn't work and we argued everyday is because of you Y/N'' she admits and your eyes widen at her statement.

,,Me?'' you ask dumfounded before she nods. ,,Because I love you too and I have for so long'' she whispers, now the raw and real Natasha back where you had lost her a while ago.

,,Tasha.. please don't'' you whisper ,,Don't do this to make me feel better'' you plead, knowing how she cared about everyone else more than herself and never wanting her to say these things to make you happy.

,,I'm not.. I have loved you for as long as I can remember but I pushed those feelings down because I never thought you'd see me this way'' she admits, some more tears rolling down her cheeks, as she remembers the countless arguments and jealousy of her ex partner and how that ultimately ruined the relationship she never truly wanted to commit to in the first place as her thoughts always had been consumed with you.

,,Tasha I became a spy for you, I became a god damn Avenger for you, I wanted to settle down'' you scoff, unable to believe she had been this much of an idiot for so long, as this whole thing could have been avoided.

,,I know.. I- I'm sorry'' she admits, knowing your reasons for doing all of those things and how the reason had always been her and how she knew it every second of every day and how it killed her.

There is a long pause, as the two of you continue staring into the night sky, processing the words and admissions exchanged. Natasha feeling nothing but guilt for her previous actions and not speaking up sooner and you feeling utterly confused and slightly tipsy, the effects of the alcohol now catching up with you as you really aren't that much of a drinker after all.

When your eyes meet again, the gap between you two is impossibly smaller and you can feel her breath on you, warm, smelling both like liquor and cherry from what you assume to be her chapstick. ,,May I kiss you?'' she whispers, knowing she had caused so much damage but the desire to finally feel your lips on hers stronger than anything in this moment.

,,Tasha we're drunk..'' you argue, not wanting this to be like that. ,,I'm not, I mean this, every single word and there is no way in this world I'd forget any of this in the morning'' she admits and her eyes sparkle with honesty and before you know it you close your eyes, nodding before her lips crash onto yours.

The moment you had daydreamed about for several years had finally arrived and it feels more heavenly than you ever imagined. Her lips are soft, the taste of alcohol and cherry and the smell of her perfume clouding your senses. The kiss is slow, passionate, filled with every single emotion, admission and apology the two of you could find and had on each other's mind. As your chests touch, your hearts beat heavily and in synch, beating for each other, the adrenaline causing your body to begin shaking. ,,Nat..Nat..'' you breathe heavily before she breaks the kiss, searching your face for any sign of discomfort.

,,I.. I want you'' you admit, your eyes practically pleading with her and she can't help but smirk amused. ,,You sure?'' she whispers, leaning in again and you nod eagerly before she stands up, scooping you into her arms, as your legs wrap around her waist. ,,We may be idiots detka but at least we're each others'' she whispers as she continues plastering your lips and neck with kisses, carrying you to her room and you can't help but chuckle between moans and your heavy breathing.

(Part two smut? let me know)

#natasha #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #black widow x y/n #scarlett johansson #scarlett johansson x reader #marvel #mcu #avengers

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forlix · 1 year ago

Text

𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠・h.h.

— you're uninviting, there's no doubt about that, your resolve like unpolished diamond and tongue like broken glass. but hyunjin finds you're not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are.

words・11.1k

pairing・idol!hyunjin x female stylist!reader (inspired by this)

genres・fluff, angst, eventual smut so MDNI, some hurt/comfort, some humor, mc is a bad bitch and hyunjin is a #simp, enemies? to lovers, sexual tension, workplace relationship, mutual pining, slow burn, nonlinear narrative

warnings・reader vividly remembers an anxiety attack, alcohol is consumed, lots of compartmentalization and imperfect communication, complex people feeling complex emotions, smut warnings under the cut

playlist・farewell, neverland by txt・like crazy by jimin・black friday by tom odell・collide by justine skye・crying lightning by arctic monkeys

a/n・call me victor frankenstein bc i've given birth to a MONSTER (except i actually love and care for mine ofc). this was easily the greatest challenge of my fanfiction-writing career and it feels like my magnum opus; i hope it's worth the wait! also a huge shoutout to sahar for being my voice of reason and my biggest supporter :’) i don’t deserve u i love u

smut warnings・cunnilingus, overstimulation, creampie (practice safe sex!!), mild dacryphilia

Present day. Cannes, France. 5:54 P.M.

You’ve long made peace with the fact that Hwang Hyunjin is incapable of shutting up for more than five minutes.

As it is, the man has a mouth that runs like a cross-country marathon; then throw in his uncanny aptitude for annoying you, and what do you get? A nonstop slew of terrible jokes and teasing quips, tailored according to his thorough mental manual of what gets under your skin hardest and fastest.

This is the reality you live in, presumably because you were evil in your past life, and you’ve steeled yourself to see it through.

But twenty minutes have passed since you and Hyunjin ducked into the back of a cab and gave the driver the show’s address—and, as stunning as the red rooftops and lazuline coastline of Cannes are, you find you’re more interested in Hyunjin’s peculiar silence.

You move your gaze to his face. He’s looking outside, his chin resting upon the palm of his hand, the afternoon sunlight dusting over his chiseled features like polish on pottery; his complexion an exuberant gold against the cream-colored linen that makes up his clothing.

Maybe it’s because you opted for a simpler makeup look today, leaving the most telling contours of his face warm and bare, or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last year committing his every mannerism and expression to memory. Nevertheless, you see through his pursed lips and tight brow right away.

“Nervous?”

Hyunjin’s head swivels towards you with a small snap, like he’s forgotten you’re here. His lips fall open, their glossy peach color glinting with the small shift.

“No,” he replies reflexively, but then his facade flickers. “Fuck, maybe a little. It’s just hard to believe, you know?”

You do know. It was a huge honor for both of you when Hyunjin was named the newest global ambassador of Versace. For you to be attending the brand’s pop-up show in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, among some of the world’s most prolific creatives, is truly incomprehensible. Even you’ve been feeling antsy since you landed; you can only imagine Hyunjin’s anxiety.

You have never been good at consolation. You think your mouth is too coarse, your propensity for honesty too strong. But you’ve always known just what to say when it comes to him.

“Just remember who you are.”

Hyunjin takes a few seconds to process your words, but his understanding washes over his whole body; straightens his back; hardens his gaze. You don’t see this change in posture, though. You’re too busy looking anywhere else, all of a sudden feeling quite embarrassed.

Nor do you see the private smile that disperses across Hyunjin’s lips; his eyes softening so, so marginally when they peer at your profile; his hand twitching where it rests on his knee, as if contemplating reaching for you with a mind of its own.

Thirty seconds. That is the amount of time you have left to bask in this otherworldly tranquility. And then he speaks.

“I want you to meet my parents.”

Your arm reacts before your mind can. Without having to turn your head an inch, you smack him squarely in the bicep, sending him crumpling against his door with a bark of a laugh; “please,” he adds, and you’re biting back a smile as you hit him again, with less conviction this time.

The cab driver nearly misses an exit, too busy wondering about the peculiar pair in his backseat and the nature of your relationship. He can’t tell if you hate each other or if you’re married.

One year ago. Seoul, South Korea. 8:42 A.M.

“I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me.”

“For my newborn daughter.”

“Yeah, okay. I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me for your newborn daughter. What does that brat have that I don’t?”

“My genes, to begin with.”

“That’s unfair. She’s using—”

An important-looking pair of women step out of the nearest elevators, the clacking of their heels ricocheting sharply off the lobby walls. Hyunjin straightens his back so quickly he thinks he pulls a muscle. He and Seojun incline their heads in perfect sync, their “good morning”s prim and professional.

“She’s using cheats,” Hyunjin hisses the second the women are out of earshot again, and this wrests a laugh from the older man at last.

Around one month prior, Seojun confided in Hyunjin that he and his partner were expecting their first child soon, and that he would be putting his career on indefinite hiatus to welcome her into the world.

Hyunjin had never felt so conflicted in his life. On one hand, he’d grown closer to his stylist over the last two years than he’d thought possible, and he knew it was stupid to be anything but delighted for him and his expanding family. On the other hand, it was precisely because they’d become so close that he wanted to grab the man by the ankles and shake the decision clean out of his body. He couldn’t imagine a dressing room or tour bus without him.

Today is a Saturday, but it’s also Seojun’s last day with the company. Hyunjin dragged himself to the JYP building at half past eight with much less reluctance than he let on. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

“Fourth floor,” Seojun instructs after the pair enter the elevator, and Hyunjin presses a knuckle to the according number. “Thanks.”

The doors slide shut; the floor numbers tick upwards.

“What was her name again?” Hyunjin asks.

“Y/N,” Seojun returns. “Y/L/N.”

“Is she here already?”

“No, she’ll be here at nine.”

There’s a small pause.

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“I feel like I’m being married off to another family for political reasons.”

“God, I can’t wait to be free of your theatrics.”

At this, the two men make eye contact; exchange smiles. The elevator announces their arrival to the fourth floor, and they step through the doors.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seojun reassures. “She’s the best of the best. I hear she’s basically running the industry these days. I’m surprised she agreed to take you on.”

“I’m surprised an old fry like you knows someone like her,” Hyunjin replies, and the look Seojun gives him is so withering that he thinks he pulls a muscle again with his apologetic bow.

“You’re not wrong, though,” Seojun concedes. “We happened to work on the same project back when she was still a small name, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. She’s a great kid. Ambitious, hardworking, strong as hell—”

They arrive outside their destination, and Hyunjin holds open the door to the conference room. Only to find that Seojun has stopped in his footsteps, temporarily stunned by a new realization.

She reminds me of him.

“He’s forgotten how to walk,” the him in question whispers like he’s narrating a nature documentary, and the moment is over. “Is this what fatherhood does to a man?”

Seojun kicks Hyunjin into the room by the seat of his pants.

The minutes pass slowly. Seojun moves his eyes between the door and his phone every few seconds, visibly antsy about the imminent meeting. In the meantime, Hyunjin makes the groundbreaking discovery that these office chairs are absurdly and almost suspiciously comfortable. All it takes is a chin upon his palm and a few seconds of shut-eye, and he’s suddenly slumped over the table, snoring softly into the crook of his elbow.

At 8:57, Seojun’s phone lights up with a new notification. At 8:58, he notices that Hyunjin is asleep, and closes his hand around the crumpled receipt in his pocket. At 8:59, he scrunches said receipt into a ball and launches it in Hyunjin’s direction. It hits him squarely on the head, and the boy is nearly knocked to the floor like a bowling pin.

“For that,” Hyunjin sputters, “I’m the godfather.”

“Absolutely the hell not.”

Then, it is 9:00.

When the door of the conference room opens, Hyunjin is still trying to gather his wits, wondering if the bastard is leaving the makeup industry to secretly pursue a career in professional basketball. He just barely notices the unfamiliar figure who steps into his line of vision.

“There she is,” Seojun greets warmly, rising to his feet right away. “God, how long has it been? Two, three years now?”

You’re not doing anything remarkable when Hyunjin sees you for the first time, simply walking across the room and bowing graciously in Seojun’s direction, but he is immediately under the vague impression that you’re cutting through space as you move, scorching the particles of air that dare obstruct your path.

With his head cocked slightly to the left, like a fascinated puppy, Hyunjin watches the stunning smile that forms on your lips when you take Seojun’s hand; your finger as it tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with the elegance of rippling silk. His mind feels impossibly slow, like you’ve tapped open his skull and robbed him of his ability to think.

Then, you toss Hyunjin a look over your shoulder, and he’s reminded of lightning forking towards the earth. Terrifying, volatile, beautiful.

“Something like that,” you say, turning back to Seojun, and time starts to move again. “It’s great to see you again, Mr. Lee. Congratulations on the baby.”

“Please, Seojun is fine,” he answers hastily. “And thank you. Thank you for all of this, actually. I can’t tell you how excited we are to have you.”

“You’re too kind—I’m excited too.”

Upon uttering the word “we,” Seojun delivers Hyunjin a fleeting side-eye; he takes the hint and pushes himself to his feet, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy as he moves towards you.

The second time he meets your gaze, it feels wrong, almost, for him to hold it for as long as he does. Like he’s approaching your throne with his chin held high and eyes fixed forward instead of his head sweeping the ground.

Except he swears he senses a strange warmth within the rings of your irises, and he spends every second of eye contact following, chasing it, almost craning his neck with how badly he wants to get a closer look. Until he’s as close to you as is socially acceptable for a first meeting and comes to a halt.

He ends up losing its trail, but he won’t forget that it’s there.

“My client, I’m guessing?” You say, extending your hand. “Y/N. It’s a pleasure.”

Your fingers are freezing cold where they meet his, and Hyunjin already knows that melting the permafrost that coats your flesh and guards your soul will be the tallest task of his life.

But he finds his next words accompanied by an involuntary smirk; he’s nothing, if not tenacious.

“Hyunjin,” he returns. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Nine months ago. Paris, France. 6:16 P.M.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why—maybe you forget that he can still steal glances at your reflection over your shoulder or through the gaps of your fingers—but he’s learned over the last four weeks that you’re different, gentler, when you’re doing his makeup.

Your cold hands request instead of demand that he angle his head a certain way or suck in his cheeks. Your syllables are rounder somehow, your voice never traveling above a murmur. Even your eyes mellow out when you move in really close, your pupils dilating as you detail the final touches to the fresco you’ve painted upon him.

Your expression doesn’t give you away (it never does), but his hunch is that there’s a sprinkle of doting somewhere among the intense focus. That would explain why he feels like a flower in the moments when your fingertips and gaze move so carefully over his skin, like you’re touching his petals, trying not to tear them.

Too bad you never let him daydream for long.

“Close.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes. Close them.”

His lashes have hardly brushed his lower lids when you begin to empty what feels like an entire bottle of setting spray on him. At the moist surprise, Hyunjin’s features scrunch up around his nose and he lets out a distraught hack like an old man.

A few seconds later, the barrage stops, and he cracks open a wary eye to scope out his surroundings. You wait until he does this to give his face one last spurt.

“Witch,” Hyunjin mutters, clawing back up the vanity chair.

“Thank you,” you reply, completely earnestly.

And whatever Hyunjin was going to say next suspends instantly on his tongue when you bring the pad of your thumb to the very edge of his lower lip and drag it across the soft flesh. He wonders if you know how hard he tries not to look at your mouth whenever you tend to his. He wonders if there’s anything you don’t know.

“You smudged your lipstick already.” There’s a small streak of coral pink on your hand when it falls back to your side. “See? That’s why we need the setting spray.”

“Uh huh.” And Hyunjin spots a ghost of a smile flit across your face, gone nearly as soon as it appears. The only evidence of it ever existing is the quickened heartbeat it leaves behind within him.

“You’re done, by the way,” you say, stepping aside. “Take a look.”

He slips out of his seat and moves closer to the vanity, peering at his reflection as curiously as if he’s never seen it before. But that’s how he’s felt since he started working with you.

Seojun was right: you are the best that the makeup industry has to offer. Hyunjin has come to understand this for multiple reasons. Your phone screen is incessantly illuminated by new notifications and incoming calls. The other stylists heed your advice like it’s the law. Brushes and pencils move like water when it’s you maneuvering them. And then some.

He would call what you have “talent,” but he knows it’s more than that. You show him a new version of himself every time you turn a mirror in his direction, like there are facets of him that are visible to you and you only. As much as he delights in the notion that you have such intimate knowledge of him, it should be impossible, considering you’ve only known him for two months. So no, it’s not just talent that you possess. It’s some combination of talent, hawkish perception, and raw artistry that is utterly inhuman—and sexy as fuck.

Speaking of sexy. Hyunjin’s look is relatively rudimentary tonight, the makeup light, the outfit a simple black tank top beneath a jacket and pants made of bright red velvet. But it’s the details that tie the whole thing together: the wide, loose sleeves causing the jacket to slip continually off his shoulders; the inner layer tight in all the right places. His face doesn’t look half bad either, with the sultry carmine powder that fringes his eyes and the intentionally mussed state of his hair. He pushes a hand through the dark locks, regarding himself with thorough appreciation.

You appear in his periphery as you start cleaning up your work station. “You can just take the jacket off when your sweat glands start malfunctioning, by the way. I thought you’d appreciate that detail.”

At this, his smize cracks into a laugh, the sound loud and uninhibited and uniquely yours to hear. “You suck.”

He looks away from his reflection just in time to glimpse another of your phantom smiles, and he thinks it’s so painfully on brand that the two times it’s appeared tonight have both been from you making yourself laugh. You might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. He might be obsessed with you anyways.

“Well?” You implore. “What do you think?”

“No notes.”

It’s the answer you’re expecting. You survey him from head to toe one last time, decide that you, too, are satisfied, and slip your makeup into your bag; hike its strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you after the show, then.”

You have an important conference call to attend before tonight’s concert, hence why Hyunjin had to come in early for hair and makeup. This is also the reason why the two of you have been the only people in the dressing room for the better part of an hour.

It’s rare that he ever gets you alone, and he doesn’t want it to end. Not just yet.

“I lied, actually,” he calls. “I do have notes.”

You already have one foot out the door when you hear this, and you turn around so slowly and in such disbelief that he has to fight to constrain his laugh—the concept of imperfection is truly unthinkable to you. Insufferable, like he said.

“Do tell,” you say, dropping your bag back onto the floor.

“You have any jewelry for me?”

You chew on this for a moment. You did have a selection of necklaces prepared for tonight, but they were heavy and numerous, not exactly the best-suited for the group’s dynamic sets. You still like them, granted, and you know Hyunjin would as well.

You articulate all of this to him, and he asks if he can take a look at them anyways. “Come here, then,” you say, the words so tantalizing when they fall from your lips that nearly trips over himself trying to obey.

You take out a flat rectangular box from your bag and set it down in front of the lightbulb-studded mirrors. Hyunjin observes quietly as you show him its contents: three thick, gold chains with varying lengths and boasting different pendants, plus a beaded bracelet and an assembly of rings of the same material. His devious plan aside, he does love the selection.

“You’re sure you won’t be uncomfortable?”

He nods, and you pick up the longest of the three chains; turn to him expectedly. He takes this as his cue to move closer to you, except he overshoots a little, and he feels the tips of his shoes accidentally bump into the ends of yours; discerns the warmth emanating from your body against his own. He expects a withering glare, a kick in the shin, maybe, but you don’t seem bothered by the proximity at all, unblinking as you bring your hands around the either side of his neck and fasten the first necklace with a soft tap. Your fingers then brush over his collarbones to adjust the pendant, and he thinks your hands would have to be numb not to perceive the frantic heartbeat threatening to burst straight out of his skin.

Entire minutes pass before Hyunjin musters the courage to actually look at you. By then, you’re already working on the third and final necklace. It’s not a surprise that your face is mere inches away from his; he’s been watching your reflections out of the corner of his eye; he knows you’re closer to each other than you’ve ever been. But there are parts of you that the mirror doesn’t show—the soft curve of your lashes, the concentrated narrow of your eyes, the shapely protrusion of your pursed lips—and these surprise him so thoroughly that he slips and slides out of his right mind.

You are the type of beautiful that’s been around longer than humans have, the same as that of the true blue color of forget-me-nots. And Hyunjin feels enveloped, intoxicated by you from this minuscule distance. The idea forms numbly in his head that maybe, just maybe, he was put on this earth to admire you.

In this inebriated state, he makes a venturesome decision.

When you finish centering the last pendant upon the his chest, you are about to take a step back and review the updated look, but you’re debilitated by the feeling of fingers grazing over your hip—lightly, so lightly that you mistake them for a gust of wind at first, but the contact is enough to push the small of your back against the edge of the counter. Then, both of Hyunjin’s hands reach behind you, pressing flat against the marble surface, and, just like that, he has you right where he wants you, ensnared between cold stone and hot flesh.

And so begins an equilibrium so fragile that it’ll shatter if one of you so much as blinks the wrong way, your rattled breath fluttering against his lips, his eyes dark and hooded and out of focus as they survey the fine lines of your expression. It still doesn’t give you away (it never does), but he finds that in this moment he just doesn’t care.

“Let me take you out,” he murmurs. “One date.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You reply under your breath.

“You know what I’m talking about, beautiful.”

Upon uttering that last word, he angles his head almost imperceptibly, the movement challenging, daring you to say something about it. But you don’t. You merely hiss out a whetted “you’re fucking crazy,” and that’s his opening to drag this on a little longer; push your limits a little more.

“About you? Damn straight.”

At this, finally, fucking finally, there is a semblance of something in your face that isn’t just your usual mildly-irritated nonchalance. Instead, he detects surprise in the whites of your eyes as you widen them; as you part your lips with a response that only comes much later.

And he’s surprised by your surprise. Surely, with your skills of observation, you would’ve noticed long ago how his world shrinks down to only you and your gorgeous voice and your confident glare and your shitty sense of humor whenever he’s been granted the privilege of your presence.

This might be the first time he’s admitted it out loud, but he hasn’t tried—hasn’t been able—to hide how he feels about you, not now, not ever. It’s been that way since the moment the sole of your shoe met the carpet of that conference room on the fourth floor of the JYP building.

“Hwang—” You begin.

“Hyung!”

At the sound of a third, new voice, your arms tense like you’re about to shove Hyunjin off of you, but he only leans in further, so that his lips almost graze your jaw and your hands have nowhere to go except the taut surface of his chest. The surprise is gone; now you’re just pissed. He can feel the heat of your furious eyes and the tremor in your hands as you form fists around the fabric of his top. But he takes his sweet time in scooping up the bracelet and rings, and only afterwards does he pull away from you and straighten to his full height.

“Hey, Innie!” Hyunjin chirps, and Jeongin materializes in the doorway, looking thoroughly perturbed by the older boy’s sunny tone. “What’s up?”

In the meantime, you turn around to snap the lid of your jewelry box shut, and it takes a singular glance in the mirror for a truly horrible realization to settle upon your shoulders. You don’t think anybody would be able to tell even if you announced it outright, but you know yourself and the little nuances of your face all too well.

You’re flustered.

You feel like a horror movie heroine breaking the fourth wall.

“Nothing, weirdo. I was just announcing my arrival,” Jeongin says. Thank fuck you did, Hyunjin thinks to himself, completely unaware of the epiphany you’re having behind him. “Chan-hyung mentioned you were here already? Why?”

“She’s in high demand.” Hyunjin points out the she in question by jutting his chin in your direction. “The usual.”

“Ah.”

Jeongin inclines his head towards you in polite greeting. You return his hello, but your expression starts to feel tight when his eyes dart between the strange smile on Hyunjin’s face and your awkward stance (still glued to the edge of the counter) as he drops his duffel by the couch. The boy isn’t stupid, unlike his older counterpart.

“I saw a vending machine on my way here,” Jeongin says, turning to leave the room again. “You want anything, hyung? Noona?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say.

“I’ll have whatever you have,” Hyunjin says.

Jeongin flashes a thumbs-up and dips out of the room, perhaps a little more hastily than he intends to come across. And then there are two. Again.

You wait until you can’t hear his footsteps anymore, and then you turn to glower at Hyunjin so intensely that he thinks you’re about to place a curse on his whole bloodline.

Then, your phone starts vibrating, and he knows he’ll live to see another day.

“You still owe me an answer,” Hyunjin calls as you turn around and leave the room.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you reply.

One day, I’ll break her, is the predominant thought that resides in Hyunjin’s head as he slips on the remaining jewelry; watches your figure disappear around a corner. One day, I’ll break his face, is the predominant thought that resides in yours as you stalk away. That’s the two of you, in a nutshell.

Six months ago. Osaka, Japan. 3:03 P.M.

When you walk into the dressing room, you find Haeun hunched over an overflowing photo album with her hands forming fists in her hair, muttering to nobody in particular, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

There’s an amused look in your eye as you set your bag down by Hyunjin’s empty vanity chair. She hasn’t noticed your presence yet; approximately three hallways down, the members are rehearsing for tonight’s performance on the main stage of the Kyocera Dome, and the music is so loud that you think you actually saw the walls vibrating while you were in the hallway moments ago.

You rise to your tiptoes and encroach upon her, waiting until she’s within reach to tickle the back of her neck. She nearly flies out of her seat with a shriek that can be heard over the heavy bass.

“Never gets old.” You hand her the photo album that went soaring also, and Haeun snatches it back with an affronted flourish.

“I can’t remember the last time you said hi to me normally, unnie.”

“Me neither, now that you mention it.”

Haeun and Han are your favorite stylist-idol duo in the world because they’re so eerily similar—and it’s adorable. They both illuminate every room they walk into; they both have grins too big for their faces, laughs too loud for their lungs. You always regret leaving your sunglasses at home when you catch sight of the effulgent pair.

But today you cannot detect the usual radiance in Haeun’s voice, nor so much as a hint of her easy grin. Then again, that’s another quality that she and her client share; they’re both well acquainted with the burdens that come with unwavering passion.

Every stylist has their own modus operandi. Haeun’s is a scrapbook of images that she cuts out and saves from catalogs, advertisements, newspapers, et cetera. You’ve seen it many times before, but never in such a state: messy handwriting stuffing the margins to their very brims, numbers and symbols like clusters of rainclouds over a sea of different outfits, arrows and circles and squares highlighting pant cuffs and cascade collars and dangling earrings. Telltale signs that Haeun hasn’t a clue as to what Han will be wearing tonight.

You gnaw on your lower lip, deliberating your next move. You end up placing a firm hand against the album’s cover and pushing it closed.

“Come with me,” you say. “We’re gonna try a new approach.”

Haeun opens her mouth to protest, but unfortunately you have an extensive track record of being right.

“What do you have in mind?” She sighs instead.

“You’ll see.”

With that, you stand up, tuck a small towel under your arm, and angle your head in the direction of the music.

The two of you make your way through the labyrinth of hallways that comprise the venue’s backstage. Eventually, the color of the floor changes from speckled white to solid black, and you step onto the part of the stage that is concealed from the audience by drawn curtains and heavy equipment. You say a quick hello to the group’s manager as you dip past him, and eventually reach the edge of the curtains, where you and Haeun have a good view of the eight members as they run through their setlist for tonight’s concert.

Haeun settles into the spot beside you, still confused as she follows your gaze.

“Let me ask you this,” you say, just audible over the din. “Can you style a performer if you don’t know how he performs?”

And understanding seeps over her features like poured tea.

“I want you to watch him,” you continue. “Tell me how he performs.”

Han’s part begins, as if on cue. His voice rings out through the empty stadium as he ducks to the front of the formation, a microphone held loosely to his lips, his face taut with focus. Haeun stares at him for some time, silently trying to fathom her observations, but she sees you shaking your head in the corner of her eye.

“Don’t think, Haeun. Just speak.”

She blows out a deep breath before obliging. “It’s hard to picture Han doing anything but laughing or making other people laugh, he’s so goofy and lighthearted most of the time. But he’s like a different person on stage. He’s so intense, it’s almost intimidating. Not intimidating in a douchey way, though—you just get the impression that he’s very confident in himself and his music.

You don’t say another word, but don’t need to. She’s hit her stride.

“His voice and enunciation are so clear. It’s crazy how he sounds exactly like the studio recording. Plus, his delivery feels genuine; he’s not just reciting lyrics, but speaking straight from his heart.

“And this is gonna sound bad, but I didn’t know Han could dance. Like, yeah, I knew that he could dance, but not like this. His movements are so sharp that I feel like my attention is being—”

Right there.

She cuts herself off, reaching the same conclusion.

“It’s his turn to talk, and he wants you to cling to his every word," Haeun articulates slowly. "He’s demanding your attention. He needs you to listen. That’s how he performs.”

A satisfied smile bolts across your face like lightning. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Haeun pictures her scrapbook again, and there are now only a few articles of clothing and accessories that fit the framework you’ve helped her forge. She’s almost dizzy with disbelief, tearing her eyes from Han to look at you instead.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?”

“I do, but I appreciate the reminder.”

She can’t help but giggle. It’s a you answer if she’s ever heard one. “Do you do that with all of your clients?”

Haeun asks the question arbitrarily, without thinking. But you respond in a way that she doesn’t think she’s ever witnessed before, and she’s momentarily baffled by the sight: you hesitate.

As the song’s final chorus approaches, Hyunjin is the one folding himself into the center of the eight-person throng. You can only see his back from this angle, but even then it’s palpable how expertly and effortlessly he molds his body to the modulations of the music; how much fervor and feeling he expresses with every jerk of his spine and flex of his hands.

Within a few short seconds, innumerable descriptors and sensations skim the surface of your mind—but one word knocks the rest clean out of the water, the way it always does when you watch Hwang Hyunjin perform.

Artistry.

“No,” you reply. “Not all of them.”

And where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?

Haeun furrows a brow, understandably puzzled by this response, but you don’t elaborate. Partially because you feel like being coy, but mostly because you know that any explanation you offer will sound like a confession.

The song ends, leaving your ears ringing with the abrupt absence of sound. The members hold their poses with heaving shoulders, staring out into the empty stands until the stage manager’s voice comes through the monitors.

“And that’s a wrap! We’re all set for tonight. Good work, everyone.”

There is a ripple of movement around the stage as the boys relax. Jeongin jogs over to Minho, hoping to review a particularly challenging dance break; the manager asks Chan if he has a second to discuss travel logistics; Seungmin plops onto the edge of the stage and downs the rest of his water; Hyunjin beelines toward you the second he sees you, because of course he does.

You get a good look at him as he skips closer. Stray blonde locks plastered against his damp skin, tank top dyed several shades darker by the perspiration rolling down his neck, the muscles of his arms actually rippling as he swings them around stupidly, a shit-eating smile plastered across his stunning face.

You’re annoyed before he says a word.

“I didn’t know they were letting fans backstage now,” he hums happily. “Want an autograph, gorgeous?”

“Put a sock in it.” You whisk the towel you’ve been holding in his direction. “Wet freak.”

But he catches and tosses it over his shoulder straightaway, and your heart sinks to your fucking ankle. You’ve seen this movie before. You know how it ends.

“No.” You take a shaky step back. “No, nope, don’t even think about—”

The next thing you know, Hyunjin is lunging towards you and winding his arms around your waist, nearly sweeping you clean off your feet as he pulls you into his sweaty embrace. To your complete dismay, your face presses flat against the clammy plane of his chest. “Call me a wet freak again, go on,” he manages to say through his laughter.

In response, one of your hands wriggles free of its slippery prison and snatches the cuff of Hyunjin’s ear with impressive accuracy. He yelps and loosens his hold on you, but doesn’t relent completely, not even when he catches sight of the murderous expression on your face and cackles so forcefully his whole head is thrown back.

You tighten your grip. “Wet,” you seethe, “freak.”

“Ow—okay, don’t make it hot, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wha—what’s wrong with YOU?!”

As the two of you dissolve into your fatuous arguing, Haeun is no longer sure that she’s still standing here. She’s not even sure if she’s in her right mind anymore. She thinks she might be hallucinating the way everything about Hyunjin softens next to you, or the way your biting tone only seems to nibble when it’s him on the receiving end.

“Psst. We’ve been placing bets on them. You want in?”

Han suddenly materializes next to Haeun, and she would have been jumpscared into a different dimension if she wasn’t so fixated upon the bizarre occurrence before her.

But what if she’s not hallucinating?

No, not all of them, you’d said, like you were disclosing a forbidden secret.

“Yes,” she says, and Han beams. “Absolutely.”

Three months ago. Seoul, South Korea. 2:26 A.M.

On a tranquil Saturday night, you’re sitting at your desk, your knees tucked to your chest, the newest episode of your drama playing quietly on your laptop, a half-empty glass of rosé and open sketchbook laid before you. This is your happy place—a safe haven that the trials and tribulations of the real world can’t reach. But you think you’ve really gone and lost your mind when you find yourself thinking about your job.

Well, not your job, exactly. More like the man who makes your job feel fucking Sisyphean.

You know your way around fabric and foundation better than anyone, but you have never struggled with anything as much as you have trying to navigate Hyunjin. You show up to work every day ready to just put some makeup on the man; instead, you wind up stumbling around the potholes of his dimples and the hills of the veins that run over his forearms and hands like a hopeless drunkard. Scouring the creases of his smile and the oscillations of his voice like they’re topographical maps. Mentally replaying your interactions with him time and time again like you’re monitoring security footage, trying to detect illicit activity in every casual touch he leaves on your shoulder or waist; every babe or gorgeous he throws your way, seemingly without a second thought.

You’ve been trying to understand him and his intentions for seven months now, and your efforts have yielded no fruit whatsoever, save for a few theories that you feel insane for even humoring.

You down the rest of the blush-colored liquid, and as you set down your empty glass you notice your fingers itch with a familiar urge. The pen that you’ve been twirling over your knuckles stills, then swivels; its tip hovers over the last free corner of the sheet of cartridge paper below you. And then it presses upon the surface and starts to move, as naturally as if on its own.

When you were little, you came across a children’s book that you no longer remember the name of, about a little girl with a magical pen that brought her every drawing to life. You decided then that you would one day be that girl.

At some point, the subjects of your incessant sketching became almost exclusively runway models and makeup advertisements. You cemented that you wanted to work in fashion as early as your high school graduation, and by then you already possessed the conviction and charisma of the industry’s most experienced members. Your portfolio was stellar; your personality prophesied of wild success. So your career took off, propelled by the neverending positions and projects that various companies continually laid before your feet.

You stand and pad to your kitchen to refill your glass, only to bring the entire bottle of wine back to your room instead. With one hand, you flick the cap off and lift the whole thing to your lips; with the other, you seize your pen again, not wanting to lose momentum.

For the year or so after you joined the industry, you basked in your idyllic prosperity. Even the doodles you scrawled on random napkins during banal business lunches would appear on some of the world’s most renowned faces the next week. You had indubitably become the little girl from your story; made a career out of giving your imagination tangible form. And what a fruitful career it was going to be.

If only you knew how it would strengthen you in ways you never wanted.

The first time someone called you cold, it took you a while to realize that they were talking about you. The phrase was said so casually and lightheartedly that it sounded at first like a piece of unimportant small talk. But the whisper of cold bitch was then followed by a bout of stifled laughter and what was undoubtedly your name. Your heart stopped along with your footsteps, and you looked towards the source: two interns whose names you had yet to learn, while yours was already in their mouths.

You felt nothing until you were three stops away from your apartment, and then the bottom of the subway gave out beneath you and suddenly you were feeling everything. Only confusion, hurt, and rage at first, but then the other emotions that you’d been smothering tirelessly for who-knows-how-long tore free of their cerebral shackles too, and together they formed an amalgamation of anxiety that closed up your throat within seconds.

As your pen studs details into a shapely jawline, you remember how you’d shoved your way off the subway and made a mad dash into the night air. You remember how you collapsed against a utility pole in an unfamiliar neighborhood, how your knuckles paled around the ashen wood, how your tears tumbled over your lips and salted your tongue. You remember wanting to go home so badly that you thought your ribcage would cave in on itself with the weight of it. You remember begging for air, for you.

By the time the oxygen had returned to your lungs, the streets were empty save for you, crouched on the curb, your face buried in your arms, spent, shattered, and alone. You were only nineteen at the time.

You are now twenty-two, and the word “cold” has become a regular guest in the lodgings of your heart. You never invite it over, but you’re no longer surprised to find it at your door. It’s a thief, swiping pieces of you when it thinks you’re not looking—a fragment above the fireplace, a scrap from the cracks between the couch—and you know whenever you’re being robbed, know that you lose parts of yourself upon its every visit. But better that than acknowledging what you lose.

You allow it to walk away with full pockets every time.

Hyunjin does not.

“Three words to describe yourself. Go,” he said a few days ago, the two of you heading back to the tour bus after a filming session.

You were so used to these irrational inquiries of his that you didn’t bother trying to dodge this one. “You first.”

“Smart, sexy, suave,” he said immediately, but burst into a sheepish laugh at the sight of your weary glare. “Fine, fine, let me think. Ambitious, for one. Introspective, definitely—maybe overly so. And artistic. I’d like to think so, at least. Satisfied?”

The most creative person you knew doubting his own ingenuity was absurd to you, but you nodded begrudgingly. It was a good answer, for the most part.

“Now you.”

Honestly, the thief had surfaced the moment you heard the question, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to inform Hyunjin of its existence. Not because you didn’t trust him—you did, more than you had anyone in years—but because you didn’t know what you’d do with yourself if he agreed. You weren’t sure your heart would be able to take it.

When you met the boy’s gaze, though, the carob brown of his eyes was so curious and so comforting that you suspected that was never a possibility.

“Cold,” you mumbled. “I’ve been called cold before.”

There was a pregnant pause. You found yourself holding your breath. And then—

“That’s a joke, right?”

Hyunjin began to count off his fingers.

“Mean. So mean. Impossibly, infuriatingly confident. Talented, stubborn, strong. Funny, sometimes, I guess, though I’d rather you hit me with a metal pipe than admit that ever again.”

At this, you caved; a laugh erupted from your lips, leaving a genuine smile in its wake.

“Determined. Eloquent. Bossy. Some kind of evil, twisted genius. Contemplative, caring, compassionate. Fearless,” he went on. “You get my point. You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but cold isn’t one—”

He was about to say something mind-numbingly stupid. You could sense it in the air.

“—and not just because you’re hot.”

You smacked his bicep, the smile on your face now an uninhibited, helpless grin. And as he vanished into a fit of high-pitched laughter, you thought you sensed him crack open your door and slip your missing artifacts back to their rightful places.

Hyunjin began to climb into the bus, and you caught the cuff of his sleeve, your feet still planted on the pavement.

“Thank you,” you said.

The tremors of his fond chuckle traveled to your very core.

“Idiot,” he sighed softly.

Idiot, you write, and the drawings are complete.

When you stand up, the bottle is mostly gone—and so are you. You splash some water on your face in lieu of your skincare routine and prod the inside of your mouth a few times using a dry toothbrush, and then you dive beneath your duvet and are dead asleep in minutes. Your slumber is interrupted only by dreams of a world where your theories about Hyunjin aren’t just theories.

If you’d had even one mouthful less of rosé, you might’ve remembered that you picked up your phone and opened your most recent conversation somewhere between steps two and three.

[3:10 A.M.] To: Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids, JYP) Audio Message.wav

Hi. I’m drunk and I’m going to regret this tomorrow. But that’s tomorrow’s business. There’s something I need to tell you tonight.

After I moved to Seoul, I used to get these bouts of homesickness. Not in a standard ‘I wanna go home’ kind of way, but in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below me. I was always ready for it to swallow me alive. I would’ve been happy for it to.

But I haven’t felt that way since I met you. I realized this not too long ago, and it threw me for a fucking loop. I’ve never felt seen the way you see me. I’ve never been known the way you know me. Every time I look at you or hear your voice, it feels so much like returning home that I don’t have to dream of it anymore.

You called me fearless the other day, but you’re wrong. I’m terrified. I’m terrified that history is going to repeat itself, that another home will slip through the cracks between my fingers and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. And that’s why I’m so hesitant towards you, towards whatever this is, because I don’t want to go through that ever again.

So the thing I need to tell you is that I care about you. I care so much that I’m scared speaking it into existence will make it real and vulnerable to all the worst parts of the world. But it’s not speaking it into existence if I’m drunk, right? Maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe you’ll never even hear this. So it doesn’t count. That’s how that works, surely.

Sorry if this was totally nonsensical. And sorry that I’m so bad at feelings. You must think I’m impossible, and I don’t blame you.

Good night, Hyunjin. Thank you, again.

One month ago. Los Angeles, United States. 12:37 A.M.

When Hyunjin steps out of the hotel’s tall glass double doors, he’s wearing a teatree facemask, and his bags are draped over the crooks of his elbows like he’s an upper-echelon socialite on his way back from a lavish shopping spree. And then he sees you standing next to the curb, and the situation dawns on him in bits and pieces.

You’re the only one here. The vans that were supposed to take you to the airport are nowhere to be seen. Boarding begins in four minutes.

A soft flinch crimps his features. Oops.

“Tomorrow night,” you’re saying into your receiver, but your attention is on him only, your penetrative gaze putting the dead in deadpan. “The absolute earliest. You’re sure?”

When you finish listening to the manager’s response, you heave a sigh that sags your shoulders and end the call with a jab that should’ve splintered your screen protector.

Then, you start walking towards him.

“Hi,” Hyunjin says, his eyes pleading for mercy. “You are so talented and beautiful. I don’t tell you that often enough, do I?”

He expects you to grab him by the cuff of his ear again, to throw him a retort that’s twice as mean as it is witty, something along those lines. But you merely push your suitcase in his direction, and it is then when he notices that your face is hard enough to chip enamel; that your eyes are eerily, entirely empty. The tendril of warmth that’s always dancing among the subtleties of your expressions, that he’s always pursuing to the very borders of his dreamscapes, is nowhere to be seen.

A shiver travels down Hyunjin’s spine as he curls his fingers around the plastic handle.

Something’s not right.

“We’re gonna have to stay here another day,” you say. “Can you check us in? I have some calls to make.”

“Us?” Hyunjin repeats.

“Junghan could only reserve one room,” you reply, your phone already glued back to your ear. “The hotel is fully booked for the next few months.”

With that, you’re already preoccupied with the next thing, turning to the side to reschedule a meeting. But Hyunjin can only stare blankly at your profile, trying and failing to grasp that he’s going to spend a night with the subject of his every daydream. Though you might be leaning more towards the nightmare end of the spectrum at the moment, considering the way your head snaps back in his direction like a woman possessed.

Go, you mouth, and he obliges.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin is in the elevator by himself. He speculates it’s an ingenious, intentional choice that the lights are turned off, so that whoever’s inside can watch the psychedelic lights of Los Angeles sprawl further and wider the higher they go. But he can’t think of anything except for the subzero nothingness where your irises should’ve been.

Hyunjin’s initial guess was that he crossed a line with this missed plane, but the more he thinks about it the clearer it becomes that this isn’t an isolated issue. It’s the culmination of something bigger. Something continuous.

You have become as familiar to him as the lines of his eyes or the ridges of his knuckles. He’s learned where to look for your feelings when he can’t find them in your face; studied your words and the undertones of your voice like they’re verses of scripture. Yet, it was around two months ago when Hyunjin looked at your side profile and couldn’t recognize you. He’d blinked, startled, and then you’d asked why he was looking at you so strangely, and everything returned to normal. He wrote it off as a side effect of sleep deprivation and paid it no more mind that day.

Except it happened again a few days later; again, not too long after, and Hyunjin began to suspect that he was losing his mind. You didn’t seem all that different—a bit more taciturn than usual, maybe, but you’d been busier than usual, too, your workspace always full of empty coffee cups by the end of the day, the pages of your planner more colorful and crammed than ever. The minor variances never struck him as a reason for worry.

“Stupid,” Hyunjin whispers bitterly.

He replays your interaction one more time. You, shoving your suitcase against his palm, telling him to go check in. Him, fastening his hand around the handle, sensing the bottomless void within you, feeling like he’d been dismissed from before your throne.

As he steps off the elevator and walks towards your designated room, he doesn’t understand how or why—but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s failed you.

Nearly an hour passes. The room only has one bed, so Hyunjin turns off the lights, folds himself onto the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, drapes a complimentary robe over his shoulders, and tries to sleep. He doesn’t know why he even tries. He’s exhausted, but he knows damn well there’s no hope of him getting any rest until he has you in his proximity again.

He doesn’t look at the door when he finally hears it open, but the knot of tension in his chest comes undone as soon as your silhouette appears in the hallway. He takes out his first real breath since leaving you at the hotel’s entrance.

You hear the sound it makes. You fall still.

“Hyunjin?”

His heart physically aches at how tired you sound. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” you answer. “Move to the bed. You’re not sleeping on that thing.”

He remains where he is, his chin resting on the side of his fist, his eyes glued to the flickering panorama of neon lights below him. You crouch to unzip something, and there’s a heavy thud of metal meeting cloth, presumably your laptop being tossed onto the bed’s mattress.

“Hello? Did you—”

“Is everything okay?”

A short pause follows his interruption.

“I still have a few emails to write, but everything’s been rescheduled, so as long as you don’t miss tomorrow’s flight, too, we should be—”

The robe slides off his lap as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s not what I mean.”

The only source of light in the room is the lone light above the entrance, but it’s enough for him to see your face and the surprise etched upon it. You open your mouth, utter one syllable, and stop yourself immediately after, stunned into silence by the sobriety in Hyunjin’s expression.

“Enlighten me, then,” you say finally.

“You really don’t know?”

“What is there to know? That you missed a flight and pissed me the fuck off? Trust me, I’m aware.”

“No, that’s not—”

“So what are you talking about, then? Why are you talking in riddles? Fuck, what is it that you want from me?”

There’s real frustration in your voice, and it’s the first time you’ve shown him any emotion in pure, unadulterated form. With this, Hyunjin understands that he was right; this conversation is heading towards a culmination of some kind, and so are you, with the devastating force of a natural phenomenon.

He wonders if you’re prepared to destroy yourself, too.

“I know how you are around me,” you whisper. “You’re always acting like you’re trying to unearth something, and I figure this ‘something’ must be wonderful, because you look at me like I’m made of stars; you speak to me like you’re serenading a lover. But I am constantly, ceaselessly haunted by the possibility that this ‘something’ doesn’t exist, that you’re looking for the wrong thing in the wrong person.

“I know it’s selfish to ask for anything more than what you’ve already given me—you’re so kind, Hyunjin, and you’ve been nothing but since the day we met. But grant me one more wish, even if it is the last time you ever do.

“Tell me what you see in me,” you plead. “Otherwise, I will spend the rest of my life mourning the months of yours that you wasted on me.”

With that, it occurs to Hyunjin, falls upon and cracks open his mind like a piece of firewood, that you have never been aware of—never asked for—the throne you sit upon.

For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of you stay there, standing in silence on opposite sides of your dark hotel room. You haven’t felt anything like this in a long time, your chest heaving with your heavy breaths, your vision muddied by both the lack of light and the desperation searing through your windpipe.

When Hyunjin finally begins to speak, his words wrest the oxygen from your lungs.

“After you moved to Seoul, you used to get these bouts of homesickness.”

Your mind careens; your heart reels.

“They came in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below you.” He takes a tentative step towards you. “You thought it was going to swallow you alive. You would’ve been happy for it to.”

You never got to listen to your voice note. You were blacked out when you recorded it and horrified when you discovered it in your chat logs the next morning; the wretched thing was unsent so quickly that you couldn’t check for a read receipt.

But there’s not a doubt in your mind that these are your words falling from Hyunjin’s lips.

“You haven’t felt that way since you met me, though.” He is only a few feet away from you now, and getting closer still. “You’ve never felt seen the way I see you. You’ve never been known the way I know you.”

God, you said that? Did you propose to him too?

“You’re terrified that another home will slip through the cracks between your fingers and there will be nothing you can do to stop it.” Hyunjin flattens his left hand upon the drywall next to your ear; pushes you back ever-so-gently against the hard surface. “I must think you’re impossible.”

And he brings his face so, so close to yours; looks at you with so much adoration, so much tenderness, that you feel the final bulwark around your heart fracture—

“I don’t,” Hyunjin breathes, cradling your cheek, “because you’re not. And I want to prove it to you, even if it takes me the rest of my life. That’s what I see in you.”

—and crumble.

You form fists in the lining of his hoodie. Hyunjin’s hand tightens where it lays over the curve of your jaw.

When you crash your lips upon his, he tastes the metallic sheen of electricity and the salt of tearwater both; he witnesses crying lightning, for the first time in human history.

Present day. Cannes, France. 9:15 P.M.

Hyunjin never thinks when he fucks you.

One part of it is that he physically can’t; his cognitive facilities shut down when he has you quivering beneath him, like his desire to pleasure you is too overwhelming for his mind to bear. The other part is that he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid that the voices of cynicism and trepidation that plague his mind every waking moment will taint the actualization of his wildest dreams.

Lucky for him, you manage to erase his mind on a daily basis with only one accidental touch or an apparition of a smile, so he doesn’t stand a chance whenever you let him between your legs.

“Trust me?” He whispers, imprinting the words upon the inside of your thigh.

“More than anyone,” you breathe, and just this has him tenting against his satin slacks.

Hyunjin used to see you scolding managers or moving racks twice your weight and think that was you in your element—tonight, he learned otherwise. You were so confident that even just the way you puffed your chest out prompted heads to turn and low voices to ask for your name; so charming that even by the end of your self-introduction you had every guest you spoke to eating out the palm of your hand.

Eating out your pussy, though, is Hyunjin’s privilege alone.

He wraps his fingers around the hem of your dress and pushes it upwards, creating a halo of red fabric around your midriff; slides your panties off your legs and tosses them over his shoulder. All obstacles out of the way, Hyunjin winds his arms around your thighs and pins your hips to the mattress, slotting himself between your knees as they fall apart. Your ankles fold over the top of his head, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay like this, but then you feel the hot muscle of his tongue trace over your dripping folds—and every word of every language you’ve ever known is dispelled from your brain and your mouth in the form of a stuttered, euphoric moan.

He teases you first, drags his mouth over you so that he’s lapped up all of your slick, and just when you feel your patience thinning he pulls you apart with reverent hands and begins to suckle on your clit, as attentive to your every solicitation as always. You arch your back so high off the bed that your ankles knock Hyunjin’s head down a few inches, but the new angle is even better; grants him access to more of you.

He reinforces his grip around you, presses his torso right up against the side of the mattress, and gorges: sluices your labia until you’re spilling from his chin onto the sheets; flicks against your bundle of nerves until it’s pulsating and swollen on his mouth; fucks his tongue against your favorite spot until you’re curling your toes, seeing the whole solar system.

“Coming,” you blabber after some time. Tell me something I don’t know, he thinks to himself. “Coming, Hyune. I’m—fuck—”

Hyunjin is aware of the way you clench so hard around nothing that your pelvis hurts. He is aware of the way you’re so dilapidated from pleasure that you’re genuinely struggling to breathe. He doesn’t care. He wants to get the cadences of your climax tattooed into the gray matter of his brain, and there can’t be rests in the sheet music, can there?

He presses a hand flat on your stomach in preparation for your body’s protest, then returns his face to its place between your thighs; starts to leave kitten licks around the edges of your puffy folds before you can finish riding out your high. You press your tongue against the back of your front teeth, emitting a pained hiss as you draw a sharp breath, tears stinging at your eyes.

“Son of a bitch—”

“Trust me?” He asks again, his voice vibrating against your sore cunt, and your complaints quiet into whimpers as you bring a hand over your quivering mouth, and nod.

At least Hyunjin bridles his thirst the second time he eats your pussy open, his lips smacking openly and slowly over your every inch except the one that would be truly unbearable for you right now. He’s so rough and so fucking careful at once like he can’t decide between obliterating and worshipping your cunt.

He’ll end up doing both.

Within a few minutes, your legs have gone slack on either side of Hyunjin once again, and another coil has begun to tighten behind your bellybutton, equal parts pain and pleasure—but he knows your pussy just as well as he does your person by now, and it’s not long before the former is compounding with the latter.

Round two has a faster ascent and a steeper drop. He finds your spot again with the precision and ease of a trained marksman and fixates upon it like a man starved. It has your cries devolving to incoherent profanities and, to his unfettered delight, your foot actually shaking, your heel tapping against the back of his neck every time it comes down.

As if referencing a metronome, Hyunjin matches the rhythm of his tongue to your accelerando. Only when your leg is nearly convulsing does he wrap his lips back around your clit; slide two fingers into the place he leaves empty and pumps them into you until you are liquifying, igniting around him, your mewls lamenting the second orgasm he plucks from your core.

After your body has stilled, Hyunjin lifts his head, his face drenched in perspiration and saliva and you. His eyes travel over the slopes of your arms and the hills of your breasts, over the tears streaming from your eyes and staining the pillow you lie on. It is this last bit that has him shrugging off his shirt and undoing his dress pants with one hand, palming his throbbing cock with the other.

He clambers over you, and the kiss that follows is filthy, your mouth falling apart when he rolls your nipples between his fingers, strands of spit suspending between your tongues before dripping down onto your collarbone. You can sense what he wants in his craving lips, his pleading tongue—and you know he won’t ask for it. He’s tested you enough tonight; he’d rather your comfort than his pleasure.

But you guide his leaking head to your entrance, returning his stupefied look with a watery smile.

“Love me?” You ask this time, for the first time.

There is not even a nanosecond of hesitation when he answers, “with everything in me.”

He comes inside you the moment he bottoms out, your name leaving his lips in breathless, desperate repetition like a broken prayer as he topples off the same cliff he’d dropped you from moments ago. You curl a hand in his hair as he stutters against you, bring your lips flush against his ear, and whisper that you love him too—and the sight of you beneath him blurs he also starts to tear up.

This is the reality Hyunjin lives in, presumably because he was a saint in his past life, and it would be his utmost pleasure to see it through.

Two years later. Milan, Italy. 11:28 A.M.

For the last half hour, a ray of sunlight has repeatedly struck the diamond that sits between the second and third knuckle of your ring finger, and the Vogue journalist on the other side of your desk thinks he is slowly losing his vision. But when he asks his final question, your hand comes to a much-appreciated stop, the fountain pen you’ve been twirling around clattering to your tabletop.

“Where do you find your inspiration?”

As the journalist blinks the phosphenes from his eyes, he finally manages to get a good look at the face of Versace’s newest designer, and he detects something ineffable and warm in your expression.

“My inspiration, hm?” You fall silent for a short time, thinking. “If you asked me this at the start of my career, I’d have said ‘people.’ Their postures, their expressions, their wardrobes. I knew I was a goner when I watched a fashion show for the first time and noticed how the models’ attire helped them harness their innate power and grace—I wanted to orchestrate that kind of symbiosis, too. In that aspect, nothing has changed, actually. I still find wonder in human beings, and not just the ones on the runway. I think it would be difficult not to, don’t you?

“Some time ago, a good friend of mine was having trouble with an outfit for her client. She asked me a similar question, and only then did I realize that it was no longer just people that inspired me most, but a singular person. I had always been skeptical of the idea of a ‘muse’ until I met him. But I could only spend so long denying how he ventured closer to my soul than anything ever had, how he knew me and saw me like nobody ever could. He understood my art. He was my art, so—”

Your eyes dart over your ring, and the journalist would’ve flinched out of habit if he wasn’t so mesmerized by your eloquence.

“—where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?”

A few seconds elapse, and then you clear your throat and straighten your back, returning to your office from your trip down memory lane.

“That’s the long answer, anyways. The short answer would be my fiancé.”

The journalist laughs, and he doubts you’ll give him this next piece of information—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“And who would that be?”

He’s right. You don’t answer the question. But you do flash him an enigmatic smile, and for some reason it reminds him of lightning.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe

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muniimyg · 6 months ago

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6: the madness // series m.list

note: say u missed me or else i’ll cry 🫵

taglist request: send a request with the title of this fic “aao” // DO NOT comment here or on the masterlist . it gets confusing and i prefer answering and tagging through asks !!!

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @pamzn @defzcl @maryy1300 @whoa-jo @taetaecatboy @jksusawife @un06 @firesighgirl @rrosiitas @butterymin @parkinglot-nights @musicjournalsjdb @kissyfacekoo @jkslvsnella @vampcharxter @bloopkook @somehowukook @bbystarcandykoo

Timing.

You’ve never really understood it. Not to mention the whole invisible string theory and how implausible it seems… How is it that you can coexist with the love of your life for years and not be with them until the time is right?

Isn’t that strange?

Love is all-consuming, inevitable, and perfect, but its greatest weakness is a mere concept: time.

Speaking of time, you’re early.

As you enter the restaurant and greet your friends, you can’t help but check your phone every other minute. Waiting for a text from him, checking the time, and wondering when he’ll arrive… It feels exhausting to be in this state of longing.

How is it that you’ve been friends with him for so long and now you need him more than ever?

To hold you and tell you everything is alright.

To smile at you like you’re his favorite person in the entire world.

To just be with him.

Even if today wasn’t life or death, you felt so helpless. It felt like everything was against you.

Yes, it was just about a stupid presentation (that barely scratches the surface of your future), but it was still a tough thing to get through alone. It was unexpected and filled with minor mistakes, making it feel like a complete defeat.

So much happened.

First, you slept through your alarm.

Though you made it right on time, you didn’t have the extra moments to prepare and run through your presentation like you had originally planned.

Then, since there was no time for prep, you encountered technical difficulties. Your notes were missing for some reason…

And your stuttering!

God, you never stuttered so much in your life.

It was truly an off morning.

… And it doesn’t end there.

Nope!

As you texted Jungkook and updated him, you remembered that you had a rescheduled quiz to take… You know, the one that you completely forgot to review last night because your head was all over this stupid presentation.

The quiz went fine but it could’ve been better.

You know you could’ve done better.

That’s probably what annoys you the most. Everything that occurred today wasn’t up to your standard performance level. Humanizing it is difficult because the truth is simple…

Some days just aren’t good.

Some days you just have to take the L.

Some days you just need to breathe through.

And that’s okay.

Because after all the bad, losing, and catching-your-breath moments—there’s him.

The very thought of him eases you. Talking to him makes you feel like you’re bigger than the bad and the losing. Being with him is as easy as breathing.

“Hey ___,” an unfamiliar voice disrupts your thoughts. You turn your head to see who it is. Beside you, a tall man with a broad build offers you a smile. He has short hair and dimples. Even with just his appearance, he’s charming (you can’t deny that).

Politely, you return it but it’s obvious you’re confused.

“… I’m so sorry,” you feel slightly embarrassed to not remember his name. “You are?”

“Mingyu,” he introduces himself, stepping closer and offering his hand. You take it, shaking it slowly and unsure.

He tries again.

“I’m Jungkook’s friend,” Mingyu explains. “You’re Jungkook’s… Uh?”

“O-oh!” you avoid the question and redirect the conversation. “Are you in his friend group with Jaehyun and them?”

He scoffs. “By ‘them’ you mean those guys?”

Mingyu points to a group of tall guys hovering over the menu display. You count them and can’t help but laugh.

Then, you notice one.

“Is that DK? I think Jungkook introduced me to him when we were walking home a few weeks ago!” From where you are, you wave at DK. DK sees you from the corner of his eye and sends you a smile. He gestures for you to come over. For the second time, you smile politely and feel stuck.

What now?

“What’s Jungkook doing introducing you to DK and not me?” Mingyu chuckles, attempting to lighten the mood.

You purse your lips. “Ohh.. I get it.”

“Get what?”

“You’re cheeky,” you observe. “Yup… You’re definitely friends with Jungkook.”

Mingyu puts his hands up in surrender and then on your shoulders. “Guilty as charged.”

You laugh.

He likes your laugh. It’s soft and attractive—especially when you throw your head slightly back. Intrigued, he invites you to sit with them.

“You know the others, right? Hobi and them?”

“Yeah!” you answer him happily. “Hobi and I are actually pretty close—“

Mingyu’s puppy eyes light up with excitement. “Oh, shit really? So you don’t need to get to know them or anything?”

You blink at him.

“I guess?”

“Great!” Mingyu beams. “Good. Cool... Sit with me! I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

You know it’s all friendly nature.

Mingyu is known for being like this.

Goofy, a little deceptive, but a good guy overall. You have nothing to fear! Especially when he’s friends with Jungkook, right? He wouldn’t think of trying to flirt with you… Right?

What are you to Jungkook again?

Before you know it, Mingyu’s hands find yours. As he laces your fingers together, you feel your chest tighten.

This feels weird.

It feels like betrayal even though you know it’s not. Isn’t it ridiculous to be thinking this way?

You run excuses and options in your head.

Do you pull away and laugh it off? Do you just let him hold your hand and lead you to sit with him and the others? You aren’t sure… But the one thing that is clear is the look of annoyance on Jungkook’s face as he steps into the restaurant and his eyes land on your hands.

“Jungkook!”

As cinematic as it can be, that’s what it is. You shake Mingyu’s grasp off and rush to Jungkook. He’s completely taken aback, stumbling as you crash into him. A small laugh escapes his lips, as he finds your tiny charge at him to be the cutest thing you’ve done thus far. He barely walked in and you’re already in his arms.

Heaven, he thinks to himself.

As he wraps his arms around you, he kisses the top of your head. “Wow, look at you. Are you sure you’re my girl? Not shy anymore? Not avoiding me? I’m so proud of you, mi.”

He smells like him. Like his laundry detergent and his skin after his workout—a little sweaty but so addictive.

Is that weird?

Most importantly… Who cares?

He’s here.

You can breathe him in. You can breathe again.

You groan in embarrassment. Pulling away, you keep yourself close enough to rest your chin on his chest. He lowers his gaze at you, eyes softening as his lips curve into a pout.

“Bad day?”

“Better now,” you hum, hugging him tighter. He laughs and gently tickles your sides. Your laughter increases, causing you to let go of him. He takes your bag from your hands and swings it over his shoulder. His fingers brush against yours as you two walk to join your friends who go ahead and get seated.

“Hey, am I crazy or was Mingyu holding your hand—”

“___!” Mingyu calls for you.

You and Jungkook turn your heads and see him patting a place for you. Without a second thought, Jungkook lifts his hand to wave and you hold onto him tighter. Exchanging looks, he then proceeds to guide you towards his circle of friends and away from the ones you’re familiar with. Passing by Hobi, you give him a look.

A ‘help-me-get-out-of-this,’ look.

Hobi sticks his tongue out at you and mouths, “you’ll be fine, bitch.”

By the time you gather your thoughts, Jungkook has already introduced you to his other group of friends. You completely blank out as they respond and introduce themselves. It’s only for a few seconds and you already had an idea of who they all are anyway.

The campus calls them the 97 liners.

They’re known for being…

Boys.

Decent ones at that, but they’re definitely energetic. Amusing almost all the time, competitive and intimidating when they need to be. Through rumors and observations you’ve made from afar, it made sense to you where Jungkook gets his playfulness from.

He’s…

A lot like them.

He’s definitely himself. It’s interesting.

Mingyu scoots over, making enough room for you and Jungkook. He dabs Jungkook up, greeting him as warmly as he greeted you. The others continue their conversations, asking for your input every so often. You quickly realize how charismatic everyone is, and to be completely honest, it overwhelms you.

But with Jungkook beside you, it doesn’t feel like a bad thing. He squeezes your hand under the table every so often when he notices your gaze wander. It’s like he’s gravity to you.

“Okay, so we already ordered… But we can order again if there’s something specific ___ wants,” Mingyu says, rather bubbly. He clears his throat, reaches over the table, grabs the menu and offers it to you.

“Yah, yah, yah,” Jungkook sends a glare to Mingyu, yanking the menu from him. You turn to look at him and find that he doesn't look amused. His eyes are fixed at his friend. With an intimidating tone, he warns; “Mingyu, stop flexing.”

Mingyu shakes his head, not taking it seriously. Jungkook and him have always had a playful friendship anyways. “I don't know what you're talking about... I’m not flexing. ___, feel it! I swear I’m not flexing right now.”

Jungkook tightens his grip on your hands.

Taking a sip of your water, you take your time to swallow and gather your thoughts.

“Don’t you gym with Jungkook?”

Dumb question.

“I gym more than him,” Mingyu corrects you.

Wow.

Stupid answer.

You can't help it. A laugh escapes your lips. “Is that supposed to impress me?”

Jungkook lets out a hearty chuckle, liking the way you answer. He feels proud of you. He feels like he definitely chose the right girl.

Mingyu smirks, leaning back.

He thinks this is fun.

It is fun.

“Ehhh.. I mean, if you ever let me take you on a date, I’ll show you what it means to be impressed.”

Jungkook’s smile drops.

Yours does too.

You shift closer to Jungkook and avoid Mingyu's eyes.

“H-honestly, I’m not feeling picky tonight. I’m sure whatever you guys ordered will be delicious.”

The rest of the conversation is easygoing as everyone patiently waits for the food to arrive. Mingyu’s attention turns back to his friends, as he takes the hint from your avoidant eyes. To him, it was unserious.

Hopefully, it’s also whatever to you.

As the food arrives and is set on the table, Jungkook exchanges a few side comments and whispers context into your ear. You giggle and feel your heart race when he places his hand on your thigh.

“Jungkook…”

“Hm?”

“Your hand,” you warn.

“What about my hand?”

“It’s on my thigh.”

“I know,” he snickers. “Wish it was somewhere else.”

You gasp and can’t resist hitting his chest. He takes the hit like a man. He knows he deserves it.

On the table is a plate of shrimp. You pick one up with your chopsticks and begin to peel it. As Jungkook eats, you place the freshly peeled shrimp on top of his rice. He smiles at you brightly, his heart close to combusting.

“You didn’t have to—”

Jungkook’s words are cut off as you hear Mingyu whine, “Awh, no fair! Peel me one too, please!”

You nod and answer his request. Taking another shrimp and beginning to peel it, you then finish quickly and place it on top of his rice too.

Mingyu eats it happily.

Meanwhile, Jungkook’s chest tightens. Again, it’s such a minor thing to happen… Yet, it irks him so much. He’s no boy, though. This isn’t a perilla leaf tantrum—no, he was much too mature for that.

This was… Clarity.

In between bites, Mingyu brings up a fascinating topic.

“Why are you looking at her like that?” he blurts. Jungkook hadn’t even noticed he was looking at you a certain way. What was it? Was it too revealing of his feelings?

Wait… What even is he feeling?

There’s a sense of jealousy and frustration wrapped around the core of it all; his liking of you.

“I’m not looking at her in any way,” Jungkook responds, taking a sip of water. You continue to chew and look away.

“You totally are,” Mingyu laughs. “Hey, is it because you used to like her?”

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat. “Where did you hear that?”

“Ohh.. So it’s not true, then?”

“Nah,” Jungkook scoffs. “I just don’t get why it’s a rumor and why it’s in the past tense. It’s true… I like her. She knows it too—wait, you fuck… Do you even read the group chat? I talk about her all the fucking time.”

Mingyu’s eyes light up.

“Oh my god!” he gasps, piecing everything together. “Shit, right. I remember now. God, why’d that take me so long to connect? Of course! This is ___. The ___! Ice skating bullshit, right? Pocky kiss or whatever?”

Your eyes widen as you turn to Jungkook. “You told them?”

Jungkook smiles innocently.

“I have the best kiss of my life and you expect me not to tell my boys?”

He has you there.

Mingyu laughs, murmuring about how down bad Jungkook is. When you feel your cheeks heat up, you quickly bury your face into your hands. You feel so embarrassed… But at the same time flattered.

It’s awful.

To make matters worse, the butterflies keep fluttering as Jungkook tilts his head and smirks at you. He finds your shyness the most precious thing in this entire world. The mere fact that he makes you feel and act like this?

Oh, it’s remarkable.

Jungkook can't help but compare your behavior from earlier to now. How you took initiative and ran into his arms as if they were your safe haven—and now there's this.

You like this, right now.

So utterly his without him much being done or said. It's an understanding. It's simply how it is.

He chuckles, as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes you into a tight hug.

“Ahh... You totally folded."

With his words, your eyes widen. You push him away and roll your eyes at him. He teases you, mocking the way you cling onto his body.

You huff but let him hold onto you. From here on out, you two keep it casual and continue your conversations with everyone. He piles food onto your plate and in exchange you bring the food to his mouth.

Jungkook eats happily.

When the dinner is over, everyone goes their separate ways.

Jungkook’s friends all hug you goodbye (Mingyu takes his sweet time) and leave him to walk you home. Hand in hand, you two wave goodbye and earn a few winks from Hobi. To that, you roll your eyes and brush it off.

The walk with Jungkook is nice.

The conversation between you two is so natural and good. You talk about the presentation mess up in more detail and he listens well. He empathizes with your feelings and understands. He’s so easy to talk to. He gets you. He makes you laugh even when what he’s saying isn’t funny.

Is this how it’s like when you have feelings for someone?

How embarrassing.

When you two reach your front door, he looks at you longingly.

“Feel better?” he asks you. You notice how gentle is tone is. How thoughtful.

“… About everything? The presentation and shit… Bebu, at the end of the day you did what you could. The grade your received is literally still an A—w-what”

Jungkook is startled.

You grasp the fabric of his hoodie and pull him close. Without a second thought, you take a step closer to him and lean in. With urgency, you kiss him.

Deep.

Needy.

Lovingly.

His eyes flutter shut as you deepen the kiss with your tongue. He gives you way, parting his mouth open for you to explore and do as you please. As he kisses you back with the same kind of energy, you smile into the kiss.

When you pull away, Jungkook is in disbelief.

“... Now what?”

You clear your throat, feeling your lips tingling from the kiss.

“S-sorry,” you gulp. “I d-don’t know what came over me… I just—”

“Why are you apologizing?” he blinks at you slowly. “I didn’t ask for an apology. I asked, now what?”

You tighten your lips.

“Now? I… I just need some air.”

Jungkook nods his head, eyebrows furrowed together. He understands you.

Before you can open your mouth to defend or redirect, he beats you to it.

“Yeah? Me too.”

Before you know it, he kisses you.

Jungkook kisses you like a silent plea. Even though he has already confessed; this felt like another.

The way he kisses you feels like a new language. He knows just when you kiss you more and when you to be delicate. He cups your jaw with the palm of his hand, tilting your head so he can kiss you better.

Which is so fucking weird… But it happens like never before.

He kisses you better.

Breaking away from the kiss, you two catch your breaths. As you do so, you clear your throat.

“Wanna come inside?” you ask, taking his hand.

He smirks, unable to stop himself.

“Sure… But I’m gonna need some clarification on that offer… Come inside where?”

In your dimly lit kitchen, you two make yourselves a cup of tea.

Jungkook multitasks by making passes—saying that the water is still cold since you’re hotter than it. He sneaks in a few kisses on your cheeks as you tell him he’s being stupid. You two laugh as he lifts you up to sit on your kitchen island. He makes himself comfortable in between your legs.

There, you caress his hair.

He is so handsome. You love the way his nose just fits his face… How round his eyes are and even the scar on his cheek. It’s so precious.

He’s perfect, you think to yourself.

As you get lost in your thoughts, Jungkook feels so much comfort and freedom with your touch. It feels like rest. For a moment, he shuts his eyes and takes in how much he loves your touch.

Breaking the silence, you tug on his hair. “You need a haircut.”

He shakes his head, eyes still closed.

“Literally got one two weeks ago.”

“Yeah,” you realize he’s right. He did cut his hair two weeks ago. He came over that night just to show it off. “... But I liked Mingyu’s hair! It was so short. I feel like it would suit you too.”

He opens one eye and gives you a weird look.

You mimic it.

“What?”

Jungkook lifts his face.

“So… Was it just me but I definitely caught Mingyu trying to shoot his shot with you, right?” He snickers, tilting his head as he recalls what he saw. "He literally asked you out."

You shrug, explaining Mingyu's attempt to hold your hand as a friendly gesture. "He’s just friendly, right? He also tried to hold my hand to lead me to the table and that was kinda… Unexpected? But he’s like that, right? He’s just friendly. Like a puppy! Golden retriever energy.”

"Maybe," Jungkook responds, his tone betraying a hint of uncertainty. "Y-yeah. I mean, the shrimp thing was worse."

You laugh softly. "What? This is about the shrimp thing? I peeled it for you too… And it’s not like I peeled his because I wanted to. He asked. It was lighthearted."

"I know that," he reassures you, his tone softening. "I’m not that insecure to pick a fight over peeling shrimp. You don’t have to convince me it was nothing. I know it was nothing.”

Confusion flashes across your face at his mixed signals. "Are you upset?"

"Maybe," he admits quietly.

Then he hesitates.

“Actually, I think I’m frustrated. I’m not mad. Sorry if I sounded aggressive—"

"N-no, it’s fine," you reassure him, gently cutting him off. "Why are you frustrated, bebu?"

Jungkook offers you a weak smile. "I don’t get it…"

"Get what?"

"All this shit and we’re still not together.”

Your brows furrow slightly in confusion.

Taken aback, you ask him, “what’s that supposed to mean?"

Gesturing between the two of you, Jungkook expresses his confusion. "This… I mean, what is this? We’re together, aren’t we?"

"Jungkook—"

"I’m just… I don’t get it. Even if you thought he was just being friendly, why didn’t you just say you were my girlfriend? Mingyu would’ve stopped flirting with you."

"So it’s my fault?" you huff, feeling offended at the pitch of this idea. "I thought your friends knew—"

"Well… Yes. I talk about you, and it’s not like I’m ditching parties to study in that stupid library—"

"Can you leave the library out of this?"

"Okay," he sighs, relenting. "Sorry… I just… They know how I feel about you. I guess they don’t know how you feel about me, and… I mean, did you tell him we were together or not? Because if I had to remind him who you were to me, I don’t think you told him that we—"

"Jungkook—"

"No, I’m being serious," he interrupts, his tone becoming more stern. "Why didn’t you just—"

"You never asked me out!" you interject, frustration evident in your voice.

Jungkook stares at you blankly, prompting you to continue. He runs everything back in his mind.

You were right.

With all these moments, he’s been so busy planning how to get reactions out of you and completely missed out on so many perfect opportunities.

“You never asked me to be your girlfriend. All you’ve been doing this entire time is trying to get me to flirt with you, kiss you, or trick me into dates… You want me to act like your girlfriend? Ask me to be. I’m not built for situationships… And honestly? I’ve been waiting—patiently and elegantly at that. There were so many times where I wanted to hold your hand and give in. You talk about how you’ll get me to fold or whatever—fine.”

You take a breath, caving in. “This is it. I’ve folded! God, do you even know how hard it is to study next to you in that stupid library because y-you… You give me butterflies.”

Jungkook reaches for you. You let him touch you but your heart stays still, fighting to get these feelings out. Your voice wavers with emotion.

“A-and it’s so… I don’t know how you do it. At some point, I set them free. Like, fine, okay! Fly high, my butterflies… But for what?"

There’s a sense of urgency that awakens in you. Never in your life have you ever felt the same way for anyone.

It feels like defeat and victory all at once.

It feels like peace and war all at once.

It feels like love.

Oh, the madness.

To love someone this wide and deep… To love someone at all. It is everything beyond you. How it radiates through your body and onto his lips… How everything unfolds and reveals him no matter what.

You can’t decide if the way you’ve fallen is utterly heartbreaking or romantic. Maybe it’s both.

Let’s say it’s both.

All you know is that with glossy eyes and a fragmented understanding of timing, you tell him;

“Jungkook, I set my butterflies free, and they flew to you."

#bts fic #jk scenario #jk imagine #jk x mingyu x oc #jungkook fanfic #bts scenario #jk uni au #jk f2l #bts f2l

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